The CEOs new boobs

Let me tell you a story. It's not about me, don't worry, I'm nowhere near interesting enough to be the focus of a whole story. No, this is about my boss--her name is Annika. Now where do I begin with Annika? Well, probably the best place to start is to give you a warning: you do not want to meet this woman. Nuts, doesn't even cover it. This woman is, I swear, a borderline psychopath. Sounds alarming, I know, but believe me it's even worse than that. Not only is this woman a menace, but she also happens to be one of the most powerful women in the entire sector. Although, as a CEO, I suppose being a sociopath sort of comes with the territory.

So, Annika is the founder and sole owner of a massive computer software company. I'm omitting the particulars of this company for fear of losing my job--though, as you will see, some of the details of this story are more than a little bit conspicuous. As for me, well my name is Julia, and I am but the lowly executive assistant to Annika. And lowly is the right word. Don't get me wrong, it's a job I am proud of attaining at such a young age, since it is one of the highest administrative roles in the entire company. However, working so close to a CEO like Annika does bring with it a certain level of workplace hazard--something that scared off quite a lengthy list of much more qualified people before me.

My role means that I am forced to spend nearly every waking moment of my life at the beck and call of an insane woman and her endless list of impossible demands. I think it's a testament to my stamina that I still have this job after 8 months--my forebears lasted on average a matter of weeks, and steered well clear of the company afterwards. Sometimes I just think that I really must have a low opinion of myself to put up all of the abuse. Perhaps I've just been beaten down, and it all just washes over me. It certainly feels that way at some points. In any case, the only pertinent detail for this story is that my role gives me a rather privileged insight into an extremely rich and powerful woman.

So a bit about Annika. Putting aside the fact that she is a terrifying lunatic who delights in the misery and subjugation of her employees, she is actually quite a remarkable woman with an even more remarkable story. Annika was orphaned at the age of five and grew up bouncing around a series of abusive homes. Despite a troubled childhood and intermittent schooling, she somehow managed to educate herself to a much higher standard than the privileged silver-spoon trust fund kids who now work for her. By visiting the public library every day to experiment on the computers there, she taught herself how to code, and quickly realised she had an aptitude for programming. By the age of 13, she had already written several pieces of software--despite never owning a personal computer--storing them on CDs donated to her by kind librarians. Once she began to gain connections in the software industry, she eventually sold some of these programs. Even though they are dated by today's standards, I believe they are still part of legacy code used by certain companies in one way or another.


Around the age of 16, Annika realised that her inner-city high school was too underfunded to provide her with a useful education, and decided to leave school for good. She then swindled some banker into giving her a startup loan and formed her own company. Initially running it entirely out of her tiny one-bedroom apartment, for the first three years she did absolutely everything necessary to get that company off the ground. She wrote all the code, ran all the accounts, met with investors, and even managed her own advertising and marketing herself. The software she was selling was something interminably dull, like data collection or accounting programs used for the financial industry. But she was so hard-working, and her expenses were so low, that she quickly accumulated a sizeable revenue from this work alone. Oh, and she also somehow found the time to freelance as a web developer as well.

As you can probably tell already, Annika's intelligence was off the charts, and she had the work ethic to match. Her insane capacity for work is as dizzying now at the age of 32 as it must have been back then. I have no idea when, or even if, this woman sleeps--certainly the frequency with which I'm woken up in the middle of the night to do some task suggests that she doesn't spend much time in bed. This woman is addicted to working like no one I have ever met, and yet that seems to be precisely the lifestyle she desires.

So today, Annika's company, and herself, are worth more than a billion dollars. The precise figure of her fortune is unclear, but I am entrusted with several of her credit cards, and never once have I heard mention of a limit. And with that fortune comes power. Not only is she the owner and CEO of a company, but she is the most powerful executive, of the most prominent company in the software industry in my country. You don't even need to qualify her status with the word woman. No, she was more powerful than anyone, regardless of gender.

So what, I hear you ask, does this impressive self-made genius woman do with her wealth and power? Well, diddly squat. When I tell you Annika is obsessed with work, I mean it. The fact that she is now a billionaire is almost incidental to her. Her home is nice sure, but absolutely nothing like the million-dollar uber-mansions that other billionaires in her echelon buy for themselves. It's not that she is modest though, far from it in fact, it is more that Annika has absolutely no interest in using her money on anything unnecessary. Any thoughts to display her wealth in ways that do not advance her company are simply unimportant to her. She never takes vacations, has no hobbies or pastimes, and basically nothing in the way of family or friends--unless you could call me her friend that is. Her only expenditures are those things essential to do her job and maintain her reputation as a serious and ruthless businesswoman. Her only luxuries are the imposing black Mercedes she drives, and her wardrobe of designer business suits, skirts, and blouses. Typically these items of clothing are in array of aggressive reds and crimsons, with bold angular features like shoulder pads and wide lapels. In fact, the only times I ever see her out of this sharp business-wear are when I am called to her house to attend to errands. Often I will be required to transcribe notes for her while she exercises in her home gym. During these moments, she will wear some plain figure-hugging exercise gear and a sports bra. Still, even these are surprisingly simple for someone with her unimaginable wealth.



So I suppose I should get to the other important part of Annika's character, and that's her looks. There's really no other way to put it. Annika is hot. She is. I wish she weren't--being bisexual myself--but she is a beautiful woman no matter how you spin it. In fact, a woman of Annika's character really has no right being as stunning as she is, but there we are, the world is cruel like that. Not only is Annika gifted intellectually, but sadly, she is gifted physically as well--perhaps even more so, come to think of it.



I have always suspected that her beauty must have had something to do with her meteoric rise to success. From the looks of her, you really would never suspect her to be the super-bright, power-hungry manipulator that she is, looking instead more like an air-headed fashion model. Standing at a tall 5'11'', Annika's appearance would be far more suitable for the catwalk than at the head of a board room. Thanks to a rigorous workout regimen, she has this wonderfully slender and toned body, with a flat stomach, prominent buttocks, and strong legs and arms. Her face is perfectly symmetrical down to the freckle, with pale unblemished skin and striking features. Her hair is the most remarkable thing of all though--a gorgeous mane in a shade of luminous platinum blonde. I knew that hair received frustratingly minimal maintenance while somehow always looking lustrous and curled to perfection. This hair turned her appearance even more into that of a real-life barbie doll. From my perspective, it was all just so unfair how pretty she was. It was true that I was terrified of that woman, but even I could admit that she ever made a pass at me, I probably wouldn't be able to refuse.



And that brings me to Annika's personal life. Now, given my comments about her appearance, you may be surprised to learn that this woman was not successful in the dating sphere. But nor had she any desire to be, it seemed. I had heard of rumours of boyfriends, and maybe even girlfriends from the time before I worked for her. But as of my tenure there were no prospects whatsoever. Zero. Our working relationship was close enough that, believe me, I would know about it--if she ever wanted to arrange a date with someone, I would probably be the one arranging it for her. But as of the last eight months, she had shown no desire to form any new personal relationships whatsoever.



That's not to say there were not plenty of potential suitors. Annika was intelligent, filthy rich, and most of all, stunningly beautiful. In every other way, she was a highly available bachelorette. As it was though, Annika was self-absorbed, argumentative, arrogant, and, I would argue, a complete megalomaniac. I could not imagine inflicting Annika onto even the worst of her recalcitrant board members--those odd men who occasionally made suggestive comments in her direction. Annika's unique combination of jaw-dropping beauty, unimaginable power, and also her bad-temper, was something that many men in the company had a difficult time navigating. Frequently, a poorly initiated intern, or wandering-eyed engineer would be caught checking out her ass, or throwing her a suggestive glance. Those poor souls would soon find out what a mistake they had made when a barrage of screamed insults from Annika rained down upon them.

Those of us who had wisened to this sort of behaviour knew that this was not a woman who could be 'picked up' in any normal sense, and that impression was absolutely intentional on her part. People in the company often asked me in private why she bothered keeping her body in such good shape if she had no interest in a relationship. The usual explanation I gave was that being incredibly good-looking had always been one of her clear advantages: her looks were a way to disarm all those nerdy sex-starved software engineers who populated our industry. However, there was definitely another side to it. If I was really honest, as someone who was by her side practically night and day, I would say that the person Annika was most trying to impress was herself.



***




So where is this story going? Well the interesting stuff began one Sunday morning. I woke up to an angry text from Annika informing me that I was to drive to her house at once. These sorts of out-of-hours calls were not unusual, and given that I was paid quite handsomely for round the clock assistance, I didn't really mind the disruption to my weekend. So I took the 30-minute drive up to Annika's house, and let myself in with the spare key she had trusted me with. As I mentioned, Annika had no family to speak of, so the house was almost always deserted except for the occasional cleaner or handyman. As I walked through the door, Annika yelled my name and instructed me to join her upstairs in the walk-in wardrobe attached to her bedroom.



So I walked up there and was greeted by the sight of Annika standing topless in front of one of her floor-length mirrors, staring at her chest. This was nothing new, you understand. My assistance to my boss extended well beyond simple office chores. I had dressed Annika many times in the past during moments when she had been too preoccupied screaming at someone down the phone to put on a blouse by herself. What was new this morning however was what Annika happened to be looking at. She was such a manic and highly-strung person usually that her muted demeanour in that moment was disconcerting. I wandered around her to face her and instantly realised what the problem was: her once modest-sized breasts had swollen to around twice their usual size.

Annika was staring at her reflection in the mirror, biting down on the inside of her cheek in a mixture of confusion and frustration. This was quite a shock to me too, you see. I would definitely have known if Annika had booked herself a breast enlargement surgery--I would have been the one to book it. Where on Earth these breasts had magically appeared from was a total mystery to me. However, as much as I desperately wanted to know what the hell was going on, I stayed silent. Annika did not tolerate comments about her body, ever. If she happened to overhear even the faintest remark, positive or negative, about her physical appearance, a severe dressing down would soon be in store for you. So instead of asking her what was going on, I simply stood in front of my topless boss, trying my hardest not to look at the two plump breasts that she had conjured up overnight.

After spending a good while staring at her own chest in the mirror, Annika eventually spoke up. Unfortunately it was not the explanation I wanted, instead it was another errand: I was to take her credit card and go and find her a new bra. I had no idea what size she wanted me to get, and thought better than to ask--it seemed as though this was as much of a puzzle to her as it was to me. The only benchmark I had to work with was that her breasts definitely looked larger than my own 34DDs, so I supposed that would have to do.



So I did as I was told: I went out, and picked up a set of new bras from the expensive lingerie store she had sent me to. I returned with a range of large-ish sizes, and to my relief, a dark crimson 34G happened to just about fit. I couldn't understand how she had gained six cup sizes in a single weekend, but clearly neither could she. Her mood over the morning's ordeal had soured much more than usual, so it didn't take my months of experience with her to recognise that any sort of comments about the issue would be unwise. After placing her swollen breasts inside the new bra, I helped Annika slip on a now mightily-undersized white blouse. After scowling at her misshapen reflection in the mirror for a while longer, she dismissed me, and that was the end of it.

That week at work, I accompanied Annika as she went about her usual business--ordering around miserable underlings, screaming obscenities down the phone to board members, and piling on more tasks to her already overworked engineers; just the everyday work of a boss from hell. As she stormed through the hallways of our company building, I could tell Annika was finding the sudden appearance of these large breasts on her once-flat chest to be quite the challenge. Every moment when she was out of sight of other people I would stand with her while she adjusted her bra straps underneath her suit jacket.

I presumed the only person who really knew what was going on underneath the CEO's blouse was me. From my unique position by her side, I was treated to a near-constant view of my boss's body. It shames me to admit that Annika's new voluptuous figure was indeed very attractive. The only flaw you could even have remotely assigned Annika previously was that she was flat-chested, and now look at her. Not content with being a drop-dead gorgeous, stick-thin barbie doll, now she had to go and grow great big porn star tits to complete the package.

***

It may surprise you to learn that Annika got through that week without a single comment about her new additions. The most she encountered were a couple of perplexed looks from new interns who weren't familiar enough with the company to properly remember if their CEO had always had such large breasts. But then, the weekend that followed was when things really started to take a bizarre turn.



The days leading up to my next phone call from Annika were already enough to warn me of what was coming. It made zero sense how this could be developing so quickly, but I could tell from the increasingly poor fit of Annika's shirt during the latter half of that week that her breasts were continuing to grow. So, knowing that I was in a position to anticipate her demands this time, I decided to use Annika's card to buy another set of much larger bras on my way to her house that Sunday.

Sadly, when I arrived bearing bags full of new lingerie, Annika was not as pleased with my initiative as I had hoped. Far from it, she was furious. I discovered her again, standing topless in front of the mirror, glowering darkly at her body. As I walked in, she immediately began to scream a series of totally irrelevant complaints at me, things about me being useless and never on time. Why I had become a target all of a sudden was not clear, but this was something I was used to. Usually screaming like that was pretence for something, and that morning it was pretence for "why the fuck are my breasts growing so much?". Of course I don't think anyone in my position could have come up with the answer for how a woman's breasts could once again double in size over the span of a few days, but unfortunately there was no one else around to ask.

I endured the dressing-down as best as I could, but it was hard to focus on anything that she was saying. The breasts that jiggled around a few inches beneath her head as she wagged her finger at me were oddly mesmerising. Annika's sudden bodily transformation really was quite a shock, and it was clear she was as unnerved as I was. In fact, I felt like I had underestimated how much they had grown during the week. Perhaps because they had been so compressed inside her bra I hadn't realised. But indeed, they were much, much larger than I expected. She was already well past simply being large-chested, those things were huge. Like two plump, soft-looking cantaloupes hanging perfectly-formed from her chest.

After allowing her to cool off, I managed to convince Annika to try on some of the bras I had bought. I could sense that even the suggestion that she wear a larger cup size was coming dangerously close to addressing the problem that was staring us both in the face, but she begrudgingly decided to try the bras on anyway. She made her way angrily through the bags, discarding one undersized bra after the next. With every motion her hefty naked breasts would swing back and forth, obstructing her movement as she tore through the shopping bags.



Eventually, though, by the skin of my teeth, the largest one I had bought, a 34K, just about fit. Annika grit her teeth and stuffed her heavy, albeit remarkably well-sculpted breasts into the cups. I then watched through my fingers as she attempted to button up a silk blouse around them. The top three buttons were obviously three steps too far for Annika's new bust however, so she was forced to leave several inches of a rather alluring cleavage open to the air. Annika had never been shy to use her obvious sex appeal to her advantage, however this level of immodesty was definitely beneath her. She was always a very professional dresser, someone who relied more on the swerve of her shapely rear end inside her pencil skirt than something as trashy as cleavage.



So I could tell that the failure of her blouse to contain her chest was driving her mad, but there was nothing to be done. If it had been any other day, I would have had time to dash out to buy a new blouse, but that Sunday of all days we had an emergency board meeting to attend. And there was no big surprise waiting for me there, sure enough, as Annika stormed into the room, all eyes went immediately to her chest.

The company board was exclusively populated by stuffy men over the age of 40-- men who in their youth had mostly been dismissed by women, but were now rich enough to be able to buy the female attention that they had once been deprived of. Annika's new cartoonishly curvaceous figure, complete with an obscene level of cleavage and a clearly visible bra was a little too much for some, I think. I watched the room, as several pathetic erections formed at the sight of her. I don't even remember if I managed to successfully stifle my own laughs as I watched the board collectively lose their perverted little minds over their CEO's newfound bustiness. Unfortunately for them, Annika was in no mood whatsoever to enlighten anyone as to the reason for this sudden physical development, and instead got right to work.



That morning, the only item on her agenda was to rabidly admonish her CFO for having just made a serious financial fuck up that had lost the company one of their wealthiest clients. This sort of public humiliation was a trademark of Annika's managerial style, however the impression it left that morning was something quite different. The sight of an enormous-breasted woman who was one mistimed movement away from tumbling out of her blouse, screaming at a forty year old man, was a sight neither I, nor anyone in the room, was expecting to witness early on a Sunday morning.



Now, I should remind you again at this point, that Annika was a ruthless businesswoman in all aspects of her work. That cutthroat spirit was not exclusive to the board room. She was equally as capable of reducing to tears her minimum-wage interns on their first day, as she was her battle-hardened senior engineers. So when Annika showed up the following day in an outfit closely resembling that of a stripper-for-hire, everyone in the company made the wise decision to go about business as usual. This time however, there were definitely looks. Many, many more than the week prior. And I was confident Annika had spotted them. Fortunately for everyone's sake though, not a word was spoken on the subject. And no matter how much I'm sure they all tried to, glances at Annika's cleavage were kept to a safe distance.

Astonishingly, this attitude persisted all week. No one addressed the sudden materialisation of the CEO's massive new boobs, and the CEO herself acted as though nothing had changed. She was perhaps a little more moody and disagreeable than usual, probably because of how much her boobs were encumbering her usual mobility. Unfortunately, Annika's unwillingness to even address the state of her body was her downfall, as it meant she wasn't able to request any further help to resolve the issue. I had still not even heard the word "breasts" leave her lips over this whole time. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't as though we were all imagining them: they were there all right, and Annika knew it. On the few instances when foolish interns accidentally spent a little too long staring down her open top, Annika would catch them instantly. It was just that the meltdowns that would then ensue usually had nothing to do with being perved on, instead they would be about some other nonsensical perceived slight.

This is not to say that there was no discussion of Annika's body at all during this time. There was plenty of that, just not when Annika herself was around. The water cooler gossip mill started up right away, with the hottest question being why our boss had suddenly gone and got a massive boob job. I stayed out of these discussions as much as I could, for fears that she could have spies lurking around who might report on me. A few of my closer colleagues did manage to corner me eventually though. Knowing that I possessed the most privileged insight into Annika's personal life, they asked me directly what the hell was going on with her. All I could say was that she hadn't gotten surgery, but beyond that I hadn't the faintest idea; which really was the truth.

***

It was clear there was a bit of a trend forming here. So a few days later, when Annika called me round her house late one evening, I was much more prepared. I already knew what was coming because the afternoon previously Annika had nearly burst her entire blouse open while simply yawning. So I showed up at her house that evening, carrying several bags full of new bras and blouses in a whole range of sizes.

I expected to walk into that wardrobe to find my boss in a similar state of undress as before, however this time something was different. Annika was not staring at herself in the mirror, she was instead slumped over in a chair in the far corner of the room. For a change, she didn't seem angry about anything. In fact she looked exhausted. Her breasts--which had once again doubled in size to the around the volume of extra-large watermelons--were splayed out uncovered and resting heavy across her lap. I watched her for a few moments before she spotted me and saw her lift up each of the soft masses in her hands to inspect their immense size and weight. The look on her face was not her usual teeth-grinding anger, but one of wary curiosity. I wondered if we were about to have our first real heart-to-heart, but the second she spotted me walk through the door her expression darkened. I braced myself to be shouted at once again, and sure enough she instantly began stomping around the room shouting about something or other, her gigantic pendulous breasts swinging violently around with every wave of her accusatory finger.




Dressing Annika was more of a challenge than ever that evening. The bra that eventually seemed like it would fit, a 34PP, was far larger than anything I had ever seen. I had to help Annika lift each one of her breasts into the enormous cups and then help her fasten the set of 15 clips along the industrial-strength back strap, but eventually, she was supported. From the outside it seemed totally implausible for a bra to have such a gigantic cup size, and such a tiny band size. Yet, Annika's body was so wildly disproportionate by now that, miraculously, it seemed to do the job.

It had taken the two of us over 10 minutes of heaving her boobs around before she was eventually contained in that bra, and over that time Annika remained dead silent. I don't know how many women would be able to tolerate being groped extensively in their private areas without so much of a comment, but Annika managed it. It wasn't like I was expecting a thank you or anything like that, but the fact that she still hadn't once addressed the fact that her body's hormonal chemistry was badly malfunctioning did alarm me quite a bit.

I mean, think about it, this sudden rapid growth was obviously a medical issue. Any rational person would have taken themselves to a doctor that first day--definitely not just ignore the issue while their breasts continued to grow to fifty or sixty times their normal size. Surely anyone would want to understand what was going on? It was bizarre, yet she was so stubborn that the only reaction available to her was to act like nothing had changed--as if these new breasts were nothing more than a mild inconvenience, not even worth mentioning.

But not mentioning them was exactly what she did. Annika went to work the next day, with her new XL white blouse half-covering her two massive knockers that protruded two feet from her chest. She sauntered around with these things jostling in front of her like giant suspended water balloons, and just pretended like they weren't there. And we were all to do the same, and act like our CEO hadn't suddenly grown breasts multiple times the size of her head.

Unfortunately, this act was not particularly convincing. By this point, Annika's bosom was so heavy that her movement and posture was beginning to be seriously affected. While walking through the office hallways, the new weight she was carrying in front of her caused her balance to destabilise every few minutes. After little more than half a day she was forced to ditch her usual four-inch heels, and this was only after toppling over and landing boob-first into the arms of a very startled janitor.

The sheer volume of her chest was also becoming an issue. Annika was obviously not used to having so much of her own body mass in front of her, and collisions between her chest and anything or anyone in the vicinity were frequent. One poor girl, a very petite junior engineer, had the unfortunate experience of trying to pass Annika in a narrow corridor. As the small woman tried to slide past Annika, she ended up having her face crushed in between the wall and Annika's chest, shattering her glasses in the process. This incident was, it turned out, how the gossip transmuted into the idea that Annika's growth, as outlandish as it was, was not the result of surgery. That junior engineer described in gory detail to her colleagues the sensation of having her head smooshed into the wall by the two giant mounds of flesh. This apparently was all the evidence they needed to confirm their suspicions that our CEO's boobs were genuine.



Following this, many more people began to ask me in private what the hell was going on with Annika. Unfortunately, I was in the dark as much as them. Annika's boobs were real yes, but their growth? That had no plausible explanation. It made no sense to any of us why a woman's body would start pumping her breasts up to such an absurd size, and with what? Pregnancy was off the cards, and so was any birth control or medication. It really was some kind of bizarre medical mystery that likely no one without a medical degree would be able to diagnose.



***



I started going to bed every night dreading the next day. I knew that one morning soon that phone call would come, and this time around no amount of initiative would be enough to help Annika dress herself. That singular dark-green 34PP cup bra that I had purchased was the absolute largest one in stock at Annika's specialist lingerie store. In fact, the woman at the check-out thought I was buying it as a joke. So if Annika's breasts didn't stop growing soon, there really were not many more options available: She had now outgrown even the most comedically oversized bra in a lingerie store specialising in clothing women with comedically large breasts. Annika's body was heading into territory to which very few women on Earth could lay claim.

But as reliable as the rising sun, the next morning, the phone call I had been dreading came. I drove over to Annika's house once again, only this time empty-handed. I found her sitting on the floor, surrounded by discarded brassieres and staring down at her body. She shouted dispiritedly at me for a while, but it was clear she was beyond exhausted. I could see in her eyes that she knew her body was a hopeless case. The size of her breasts had expanded considerably overnight yet again and they were now absolutely monumental. Comparisons with large fruit were no longer possible, each one alone being around three times the size of a very large watermelon. They were also so floppy and voluminous that it was hard to get a sense of how large they truly were. Her breasts spilled out across her lap, engulfed most of her outstretched thighs and even drooped onto the floor around her. I helped her stand upright and realised that they now extended several feet out from her body and hung below her waist. I couldn't even comprehend how heavy they must of been on her, but from the looks of her posture it was evidently a struggle. As Annika stared at her grossly disproportionate figure in the mirror, she had to support her lower back with her hands to stop herself from toppling over.



Annika was distraught, yet no matter how much she screamed at me to "get my ass back to the lingerie store", there really was nothing more I could offer. Fortunately for me though, this time I think she recognised that she was out of options. After several minutes deep in thought, she eventually gave up and started to put on her blouse, without a bra.



It had been unnerving enough the day previously, watching Annika walk around with her breasts hoisted up inside a desperately undersized brassiere. Yet somehow, the sight of her without a bra was even more unsettling. Annika proceeded to dress herself in the largest white button-down blouse available to her, and then began to tuck in the ends of that XXL garment into her skirt. This left the formless masses of boob flesh compressed all around her torso, vacuum-sealed in between her body and the paper-thin fabric. Her two huge pink areolas were clearly visible through it, as well as her engorged nipples which stuck out unmistakably by a distance of 10 centimetres. Annika's upper body had so much volume to it now that her silhouette barely even looked human. It was as though she was carrying around two beach balls full of water, harnessed to her chest.



Further growth of Annika's breasts shouldn't have surprised anyone by this point, but the sudden and prolific burst of growth she had just experienced still generated shockwaves of gossip around the office. Annika seemed much more enraged than usual, clearly frustrated by the way her massive chest jiggled around uncontrollably inside a blouse that was just barely hanging on by its buttons. Yet despite her foul mood, Annika occupied her day as she normally did, stomping through the building, going from meeting to meeting.



I could tell the looks Annika received every time she walked into a room were starting to get to her. A few days earlier, she was able to find the time to scream at the odd person caught looking down her cleavage, but we were well beyond cleavage now. Huge sections of her naked skin were clearly visible in the gaps between each of her shirt buttons. Every time she even twitched a muscle, the entire volume of boob flesh jostled and swayed inside its feeble container, only emphasising with even more clarity its sheer enormity and weight. Practically everyone who witnessed her walking through the building had to stop and see her for themselves. She was a genuine marvel, there was no way to physically ignore someone with a body like that--least of all because the clothing she had attempted to cover it with looked seconds away from exploding.

The situation was dire. Annika's breasts were growing out of control, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even if someone did come up with some magic solution to all this, there was no way she would have listened to it. I desperately wanted to reach out to her--to come up with something, anything that would get through to her. But whether out of fear of being sacked, or simply cowardice, I never did. I stuck by her side at all times, following her around the building, and stepping in to fix her frequent wardrobe malfunctions. Every half-hour it seemed like some button would burst apart, or a corner of her blouse would come loose from her skirt. This would then lead to several minutes of me attempting to smoosh the unstoppable masses of soft flesh back inside her clothing. I thought a few times that day of simply trying to slap some sense into her, but every time I even came near to it, the deathly scowl on Annika's face would vaporise what little confidence I could muster. It was clear this situation was untenable, but neither one of us it seemed was in a position to come up with a better solution. If only she would just stop growing, I thought, but that I knew was just wishful thinking.



***

The next day I didn't even receive a call from Annika. It would have been a long shot to imagine that she had stopped growing, but it was still peculiar that she hadn't called me for help. Not knowing what her plan was going to be that day, I simply arrived at work ahead of her and waited nervously for her arrival. When she did finally show up to the office though, the sight of her was even more horrifying than my worst fears. Annika was always a woman who prided her reputation above everything, and an important part of that was her very sharp sense of dress. That morning was the first time I had ever seen that woman give up on herself.

The problem she had encountered was clear: the very largest XXXL blouse I had found for her was no longer up to the task of containing her body, yet she had no other options. So that morning, she stepped out of her Mercedes, wearing that blouse again, but instead of attempting to stuff the ends of it into her skirt, she instead allowed both of her breasts to hang freely out of the bottom. Her breasts were so huge and so long now that they emerged from the hem of her shirt and fell all the way down to her knees. She had attempted to cover most of her upper body with the blouse, but lacked anything else to cover the rest of them. This also meant that she was forced into the obscene situation of brandishing both of her thick and heavily engorged pink nipples for everyone in the vicinity to see.



This new development startled us all. We were all just as terrified of our boss as we had always been, but that morning something changed about her in our eyes. There was something uniquely sad and pathetic about the sight of that woman with breasts so colossally large that she could not even conceal them from view. Were we really still supposed to say and do nothing about this? Most people at the company despised Annika, but anyone with even an ounce of humanity could see this woman was suffering. If only she would have reached out for some kind of lifeline, there would have been someone willing to help her out, but she carried on as usual.

It was unclear how she wanted us to react, but trying to talk about the issue was not on the cards. I suggested to the queues of people who came running to me for some kind of guidance that all we could do was just get on with our work. It was absurd yes, but we all just had to pretend that we couldn't see those several feet of naked boob poking out of the bottom of our CEO's pathetically undersized blouse. It was either that or steer clear of her altogether.

As I'm sure you can understand, seeing Annika's body at such an incomprehensibly massive scale was quite something to behold. Oddly, it wasn't just the fact that they were freakishly huge that gave me pause, but it was how mesmerising they were. They had gone past a grotesque deformity and had transcended to something else entirely. It was impossible not to look at them now--they were simply far too large. They were not just excessive in comparison to her body, they were excessive in comparison to everything else around. She took up as much space as three people, and even more if you counted the berth you needed to give her to avoid colliding with them. Her breasts were not just long and pendulous, but they were enormous in width and depth as well. They made a good metre's radius around her body totally off-limits, unless you had the perverted wish to be crushed under several hundred pounds of boob flesh.
My role as Annika's assistant began to shift that day. It's true that I had started out as something a little beyond a mere assistant--I was the person in charge of keeping track of her personal life, her day-to-day activities, and even to be on hand to help dress her on occasion. But as Annika's body started to grow faster than she could keep up with, my role as a personal dresser started to overwhelm my other duties. By this point in the story, I could barely even call myself an executive assistant anymore. My job was now quite decisively the CEO's boob-wrangler.

A frequent task asked of me by Annika at this stage was to follow her into her office, close the blinds so no one could see in, and then proceed to lift up and inspect her breasts as though they were two living creatures. Her breasts were getting to the limits of what she was able to hoist up by herself. So if she ever needed them removed from her clothing and massaged, then I was to be on hand to help her. She began to complain of sores and rubbing, especially on the underside of her boobs, and needed them to be rubbed down with moisturiser. Remarkably, Annika was able to instruct me to perform all of these tasks without ever mentioning any body part by name. She simply yelled commands such as "check underneath" or "lift me up", or "rub me", without once addressing the two jiggling pink elephants in the room.

Yet as private as these moments sound, it wasn't long before others were roped in to help with the task of managing Annika's boobs. We had reached the point that Annika's breasts were so large that she needed round the clock assistance to simply live her life and get from A to B. A few days after she had forgone her bra for the final time, they had grown to the point where they sailed past her knees and rested on the floor in front of her. Given that Annika was already a tall lady, this implied that her breasts were well over 6 feet in length. But in reality they must have been much longer than that from chest to nipple, given the way that they gathered in two swollen heaps on the floor.

It was apparent that they were close to immovable for her now. Her instinct initially was to try to lift them up from the ground and carry them around to walk, but she found that she was only able to take a few steps before she would lose her grip and they would tumble from her arms. After giving up on that strategy, she resorted to walking backwards while dragging them painfully across the floor behind her, but after a while I could sense that this was too humiliating, even for her. So by the end of the day, clearly sensing defeat on the horizon, she instructed me and a few sorry interns to find some form of transport for her breasts.



Now, I can tell you that the looks on the board members' faces when Annika showed up for her 5 o'clock meeting that day were quite something to behold. All of them watched in horror as their CEO trundled into the room with her two fully-nude breasts resting on a heavy-duty platform trolley used to push large crates around our warehouse. Each breast was now the size and weight of an entire person, and if you didn't know what you were looking at it would have been tough to convince yourself that these were in fact breasts--the same breasts that belonged to the slender woman pushing them along from behind. Yet, despite the pure lunacy of this display, no one said a word. But what could you even say after witnessing something like that?

Not all of the board members were quite as content to allow Annika to stand at the front of the room with her monstrous overgrown breasts splayed out on an industrial trolley. Most of them clearly pitied the woman, but a select few were outraged, claiming that it was obscene for a woman to brandish her naked breasts in front of them like that. Of course, those particular men were immediately ejected from the room, and if Annika had her usual mobility, she likely would have kicked them out herself. After that outburst, the rest of the board took the wise decision to hold their tongues on the issue.

It didn't take a genius to realise that Annika was quickly running out of options. She was able to lug these things around for now, but the weight of her breasts was already visibly burdening that trolley. I began to wonder how long would we allow this to go on. Surely someone had to step in at some point?



After the meeting, Annika pushed herself out of the building, crammed herself and her breasts inside her car, and took what must have been an incredibly unsafe drive home. After she had driven off, many of my colleagues surrounded me and began frantically asking what we were all supposed to do about this. Of course, I had spent the last few weeks wondering that myself, and I had still failed to come up with an answer. Even if she allowed us to, containing the body of a woman like that was a near-impossible task. It was especially unthinkable to attempt any kind of strategy when the woman herself was clearly still in denial about everything.

The trolley phase lasted little more than a day before Annika's breasts overwhelmed it. The single trolley then became two trolleys, one for each breast. The workers in the warehouse who provided them informed me that she was approaching the maximum load that those trolleys could bear, meaning they probably weighed almost two metric tons each. From the looks of them, that estimate couldn't have been far off. The trollies themselves were too heavily laden for Annika to move by herself. So the strategy instead became to angle the handles of the trollies away from her so that the breasts could be pulled along by four very miserable-looking interns. Annika would then walk casually through the hallways, with her employees pulling her breasts along ahead of her. It was like her breasts had become these two giant fleshy emperors sat atop a palanquin and carried around by slaves. At that point, I and everyone around knew we were reaching a point of pure absurdity.

Yet deep down, I feared that Annika's body was far from done. Although few wanted to admit it, it was obvious that her breasts were still growing. The rate of growth was so rapid now that if you simply stayed with her for more than an hour, you would notice them having expanded within that time. In fact, if you sat close enough to them as I often did, and watched them very carefully, you could even perceive their expansion moment-to-moment.



After the two-trolley stage, Annika's days of personal mobility were over. Her body extended well beyond her arm's reach now, so washing herself was impossible--that became a job for me and a wet sponge. She could also no longer get up the stairs inside her house, so I was forced to set up a bed downstairs, along with an extra mattress beside it to rest her breasts on. As well as not being able to walk on her own, she could now no longer even fit through many of the narrower corridors of our building. Especially not in the elevator or stairs, which meant that she had to take all of her meetings from now on standing in the lobby of our building.

After that earlier attempt to drive herself home and nearly crashing her car, she realised that driving was no longer an option either. Unfortunately, she couldn't even fit in the back seats of most cars now, so a series of incredibly spacious limousines were called in to assist her. With the help of the driver and a few interns, we did manage to squeeze her in and out of the back of an incredibly large limousine, but even that was a painful and embarrassing struggle for everyone involved. If I wasn't so distressed by the ordeal, I might have been able to see the humour in it. When applying for a job at this company, I'm certain those fresh college graduates could not have expected to be spending their mornings grabbing hold of sections of their CEOs swollen bosom and squashing it into a space it was far too large to fit inside. In fact, I don't suppose many of us could have imagined this was what we would be spending our days doing, but there we were.

That Thursday morning though, after pulling Annika breast-first out from the back of a limousine--and nearly severing her breasts from her body in the process--I knew it was over, for good this time. She had filled up the back of that car to the extent that she barely even had enough air to breathe. The limousine driver explained that there was no way he would be driving that wretched woman again. So the only way she was getting out that evening was if we loaded her into the back of a truck. I pondered for a while that afternoon how exactly to break this to Annika as I knew that she would be unwilling to face this truth on her own. Certainly, she was not going to be happy in the least about the prospect of being loaded into a truck like some cattle. Throughout all of this, Annika was never the one to lose face, and that was surely a step too far, I thought.

Yet curiously, after psyching myself up and letting her know that the limousine company was abandoning her, she did not scream at me for once. In fact, she barely reacted at all. It was odd, like something had finally given her pause. Perhaps she finally saw that her options were dwindling, or maybe it was she simply that she couldn't take much more humiliation. I didn't know, but whichever it was, a few hours later, she called me down to meet her in the lobby. She then did the last thing I had expected her to do: She actually addressed her situation.
It was late, and there were few people around. Annika was standing in the middle of the open space, beside the front entrance to the building. She was still resting in all of her immovable magnitude on top of her trollies. I rounded her breasts and approached the skinny body that was somehow still attached to the back of them. She was still wearing her tight pencil skirt as well as a blouse and blazer, though the latter two were open at the front.

As I came in close to her, she whispered to me in a hushed and much more hesitant voice than I had ever heard come out of her mouth before. She told me that she had come to the realisation that there was no way of getting out of the building with the final shreds of her dignity intact. Therefore, I was to begin making the arrangements necessary to set her up to live in the board room permanently. I tried to bargain with her for a while, taking advantage of this rare vulnerable state that she found herself in, but her mind was made up. I could see her point to an extent--there was little point in employing teams of people solely to carry her breasts around from place to place. They weighed in excess of several tons now, so if she grew further, then nothing short of industrial machinery would be able to move them around for her.

So I did as I was told. I began making phone calls to a moving company, preparing to have her essential possessions moved from her home, and set up in the board room. How we would wash and take care of Annika's more private business with her trapped inside one room was less clear, though I supposed that would be something to address once we had successfully moved her. I made these phone calls while wandering aimlessly around the lobby, occasionally doing laps around the breasts that took up a good 10 square metres of floor space. Annika herself remained oddly still. For such a psychotic woman, her muted state while I took these phone calls unsettled me. Instead of barking commands and corrections at me like normal, she merely stood there, gazing out across her endless naked chest with a look of total exhaustion.

After having arranged to set up the board room for Annika's installation, the next most pressing issue was actually getting Annika in there. Even with the wide corridors and huge double doors that led to the board room, it was not obvious that she would fit. So I and all the people who had been tasked with moving her around that day were trepidatious, to say the least. Still, there was no point in giving up now, so I called over a team of six lingering interns to take charge of the trolleys in pull Annika's breasts through the lobby and towards the board room.

Mercifully, the task proved to be less difficult than I imagined. We had to temporarily lift the breasts off of the trollies when it turned out that width of the double doors was too narrow to get both breasts through at once. But with the strength of the whole team, each lifting up a portion of the heavy flesh, we were eventually able to cram her through the doors one breast at a time. Once inside, we offered to lift her back onto the trollies again, but Annika refused. Her plan was for something more permanent.



The board room contained a very long 20-seat table that extended all the way down the room. Annika instructed us to lift both of her breasts up onto the table, and after another back-breaking heave-ho, we managed it. Now with her breasts fully supported at a reasonable height from the ground, Annika was able to stand or sit at the head of the table with some semblance of comfort. Of course, from most of the other seats around the table, Annika herself was invisible behind the mountains of flesh, but from the seats closest it was still possible to see and communicate with her. Clearly this was not going to be ideal, but Annika had no hope for anything better.

***

So what happened next? Well that's it, I'm afraid. That's the story of how my unusual company came to be. Perhaps you have heard rumours of the software company whose CEO is perpetually trapped inside her own board room. Sure, CEOs can be idiosyncratic people, but would you ever expect for one of those idiosyncrasies to be an immovably heavy pair of hyper-inflated breasts?



Perhaps it seems incredible that such a story would not be more widely known. I don't entirely know why that is, all I can only tell you is that Annika has since spent a sizeable fraction of her fortune suppressing all rumours of her body from public knowledge. Even her disobedient board members are now paid handsomely to keep their mouths firmly shut about the issue. During meetings I can still sense that they are not fully comfortable with the image of Annika and her grotesque body. Not many employees can claim that their boss gives important presentations with her naked breasts splayed out across the board room table for all to see. In fact her breasts fill so much of the space in that room that they are essentially part of the furniture now. Most people sitting around the table are forced to touch or brush up against them in some way--either using them to lean their papers and notes up against, or as armrests. It's not clear how much of this groping Annika is aware of, and how much she just tolerates, but for sure if you are to sit around the table, then touching that preternaturally soft boob flesh of hers is inevitable.

Perhaps you are wondering what on Earth was going trough Annika's mind throughout all of this. And if I knew the answer to that, believe me I would have told you. It is true what I said, that Annika never once addressed the size of her breasts in any explicit terms, and that remains true even today. Any mention of her body, or its unexplained propensity for freakish growth is banned. It could not be said that Annika was unaware of how she looked. Who could possibly ignore something like this happening to their body? But in truth, I could not say for certain what her state of mind was during all of this.


Oddly enough, and this is just my speculation, on a few occasions it almost seemed like Annika liked having breasts this large. It is difficult to comprehend, but her mood after imprisoning herself in that board room actually improved significantly. But even before that, when this was all beginning, I could swear that there was something about her rapid growth that excited her. Back when they were still large enough for her to hold in her arms, I caught her admiring herself in the mirror a few times. When she thought no one was looking, she would squish and squeeze and jiggle them around in her arms, in this strangely alluring and sexual manner. While she did this, it almost looked like she had a smirk on her face.

You might say that no one could possibly want breasts so large that you could not even walk around. I would have said that too. But still, and it feels insane to even suggest this, there was something about Annika's behaviour that made it seem like the enormity of her chest was a thrill to her. Despite her tendency to scream and shout at people, I could still see the perverse glint in her eye every time she caught someone staring at her boobs. It was impossible not to look at them now of course, but even so, something about the way her breasts imposed their magnitude on everyone around her did seem to bring her some sort of pleasure.


You know, there were even times when I would stand outside the board room after everyone had left, and I would watch her. Annika was incapable of turning around now, her chest was simply too heavy to allow a change of posture. This allowed me to spend a great deal of time watching her without her knowing I was there. She was truly hypnotising--just such a beautiful woman. Despite the fact Annika's body was some freak of nature, there was something desirable and awe-inspiring about her. Something about her sheer size inspired a primal urge to sink your face into them. I was inclined to believe that Annika thought of herself in a similar way. Many evenings, after an exhausting day of meetings, I would watch Annika inspect herself, extending her arms across the surface of her outstretched bosom as far as she could reach. She would press down on sections of the soft, pliable flesh in a peculiarly playful manner. It almost seemed, in a way, like she was proud of them.