Oca 23

At Long Last Ch. 01 – Justice

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Authors notes – My first story. This is a story containing a heavy focus on size and growth. Contains elements of attribute theft, futa and extreme sizes. This chapter can be considered a slow burn to set up the characters and story. Thank you for reading!


A ringing sounds in my head, getting louder and louder as I try to ignore it. The constantly blaring noise slowly begins to develop a rhythm as I find myself waking up. Before I’d even opened my eyes, a quiet groan escapes my lips while my hand flops down in the direction of the once blaring noise that was now the distinctive alarm of an iPhone. One of my eyes peek open, just enough so that I could see where my hand was resting: a quick swipe across the screen of my phone and the alarm ceases it’s uninviting tune. There was nothing more I wanted to than to ignore the wake up call and drift back into the lovely dream I had been having yet as we all know; trying to force yourself back into a dream never works out well. It had always been a pet peeve of mine, being woken up whilst I was dreaming of a place I’d rather live or as a person I’d rather be.

I let out a few soft grumbles as I rub open my eyes, the light of the freshly risen sun peeking through the slight gap in my curtains. I sit myself up and twist my body so that my legs were dangling over the edge of my bed. Yes, dangling. Despite my bed resting at a relatively normal height, it was a struggle for my legs to touch the floor whilst I sat on the edge. All because I stood at a height of around 4 foot 8’… rounded up. For a few moments, I sat there, staring at my dangling feet. And for a few moments after, my grip begins to tighten, bundling up some of the fabric of my bedsheets within my palms. I believed it to be pathetic, my reaction to my height that is. Letting myself think about it too much would always bring the same reaction. It made me sad, which then made me angry. I wanted to scream when I thought about how small I was as well as a variety of other factors.

I’d always silently curse those who were lucky enough to be tall. Or those who didn’t consider their height to even be an issue. Should I not consider myself lucky? There’s plenty of people out there who are smaller than I. But alas, body dysphoria isn’t so easily rationalised. In fact I found it impossible and hated nearly everything about myself. It didn’t help that I was reminded nearly every day of how unlucky I was, be it from my own family or people at college.

To interrupt my thoughts, my second alarm begins to sound. My hand moves quickly, and I swipe across the screen, delaying the alarm. I pick up my phone and put it on silent before finally pushing myself out of my bed and onto my feet. I stumble a slight bit but catch myself, still not having woken up fully. I begin to rub at my eyes as I open the door to my room. As I do, I find myself almost face to face with my mother.

She was grabbing clothes from the laundry basket but stopped once she spotted me. Pushing some hair behind her ear, she smiles cheerfully and waves. ‘Morning, sweetie!’ She says as I stand there with eyes still half closed.

My mother was an element of my life that had forced my body dysphoria to grow out of control. I can’t think of a word other than ‘envy’ to describe my feelings towards her. She was lovely, truly and I loved her. But I cursed whoever had decided not to bless me with her genetics; she stood so incredibly tall at around 6 foot 3′, with hips so wide you’d be surprised she didn’t have to walk sideways through doorways. Her rear was no slouch either, each cheek dominating any view from behind and making me question how she even found pants to fit herself in. And this is all without mentioning the view from the front. Her waist was slim – ‘slim’ still being the size of my torso, but filled out her figure and still acted to show how she emphasised the word ‘hourglass’ – yet her breasts were enormous: women who had spent hundreds of thousands on implants would still be jealous of her size. Beautifully perky too. Even one cup of her bra would cover my entire torso. The best way to sum up my mother’s figure was to compare it to almost any size-fetish artists drawing of an overly endowed woman… and don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Even her face was comparable to a beautifully painted picture: full lips, bright blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and a perfectly cut jawline topped off with silky and long brunette hair.

I envied her completely, especially considering she was my own mother and it was only logical that her daughter should be blessed with the same genetics. Meanwhile I was built like a rectangle, with barely any hips or an ass: I was the very definition of flat. However I look to her smile, and find myself smiling back.

‘Morning, Mum.’ I say, my speech somewhat slurred. She finishes picking up laundry from the basket and starts to make her way downstairs, her pace stopped as she turns back to me.

‘Don’t forget that rent is due today, honey.’ She says casually. I nod in response and can’t help but chuckle a little since we already had a direct debit bursa escort set up. She knew the money was transferred automatically but she always liked to remind me. Honestly, it would probably be somewhat cheaper at this point to live alone and pay for an apartment but ever since Dad had left, Mum had seriously been struggling for money. This was partially her own fault as she had some spending problems, being a bit of a fashionista, she would spend a tad too much on branded handbags and whatnot. I often considered advising my mother on starting on OnlyFans. I had no doubt she’d be rich within no time given the form she wore. Yet thinking about my own mother on OnlyFans made me visibly cringe.

Meanwhile I only worked in retail, but I made more than enough to pay what bills I had. I thought that it was only right however that I helped my Mum maintain the house she’d lived in most of her life. It would feel wrong to leave her on her own.

Shaking my head free of thoughts, I proceed across the landing and into the bathroom where I promptly locked the door behind me. I begin to take off my pyjamas and catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror. I freeze up, my eyes slowly moving up and down my bare skin. I held a hand over one of my breasts, if you could even call it that. I breathe out gently, my breath stunting halfway through. I gulp loudly and quickly look away as I feel my eyes begin to fill. Taking a moment to catch myself, I wait until the lump in my throat subsides before taking off the rest of my clothes, making sure not to look back at the mirror.

‘So pathetic…’

I grumble to myself as I toss my clothes to one side and open the glass door to our shower. Not even I knew if my comment was directed at my appearance or my mindset. Turning on the cold water, I let my thoughts wash away with it~

After what felt like an incredibly quick 20 minutes, I finally step out of the shower, feeling awake and refreshed. Quickly grabbing two towels: one to wrap around my hair and the other to wrap around my body, I dry off my skin and take my leave from the bathroom. As soon as I opened the door however, I heard my Mum shout from downstairs: ‘Lila! Bring your dirty clothes down!’. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see the pile of clothes that I had been about to leave on the floor. I had always been utterly hopeless at remembering minor things such as laundry. Maybe It was best that I didn’t live alone, I’m sure that I’d brew some type of catastrophe by accident.

I pick up the clothes and dump them on the landing next to the stairway so that I wouldn’t forget to take them down once I was dressed.

Back into my room, I finish drying myself off, sitting down in front of my mirror as I applied a moderate amount of make up: not to the point I was caked in it, but enough to cover the blemishes on my timid looking face. I wasn’t ‘gorgeous’ by any stretch, but I was definitely not hideous either. Either way, I believed taking care of my appearance was the only way I’d stand out but even that line of thinking was probably futile. I finish applying my lip gloss and smile at myself in the mirror. I decided that I was too lazy to dry my hair this morning and that I’d let it dry itself. I was already finding it hard to find any motivation to look after myself after my near-meltdown in the bathroom earlier so sticking to the bare minimum was my plan.

I throw some plain old clothes over myself: a pair of baggy jeans that hid how flat and rectangular I really was, as well as a baggy t-shirt with a baggy, oversized hoodie over the top of it all. ‘Baggy’ might as well have been my middle name.

I pick up the two towels I had used and dart out my room, picking up the pile of clothes I had left on the landing. My pace quickens as I make my way downstairs and into the kitchen.

As I enter the kitchen, I slow down, finding myself looking to my Mother who stood at the sink near the window. She was still, her gaze locked on something outside the window. I take a few steps to one side to see what she was staring at yet I couldn’t see anything. She wasn’t staring at anything, but instead into space. She was as still as a statue, the only sound within the room coming from the radio she kept on the kitchen counter and the water that was pouring from the tap into a dirty bowl that rested in one of her hands. I stood there silently in tandem with her, just watching as she did absolutely nothing.

‘Mum..?’ I ask after a few moments. She doesn’t even budge. I walk up behind her and repeat myself: ‘Mum..?’ yet she still doesn’t move. I reach up and press one hand on her shoulder and she jumps alive, letting out a loud yelp as she quickly turns to look at me. She holds one hand over her heart and shakes her head, letting out a light chuckle.

‘Jesus, Lila…’ she says, turning back to the sink where she begins to scrub the bowl in her hands clean. I pout slightly. ‘Was I..?’ She begins. I interrupt her quickly. ‘Yeah, you were. Mum we need to seriously talk about this. It’s became way too common since Dad-‘ she turns around in a rapid fashion and points a crooked finger bursa escort bayan at me, a dark and fowl scowl upon her face.

‘NO, NO M-‘ she cuts herself off and clears her throat, catching herself before she truly shouted at me. I stand there, a blank expression upon my face as her face drops into one of regret. She puts down the bowl and takes a few steps towards me. ‘I’m so sorry, honey…’ she begins, reaching her arms out to give me a hug. I however, take a step back away from her. Pausing her steps, she looks to my eyes but I can’t help but look away. I couldn’t bring myself to gaze at her after such an outburst.

After a very brief moment of silence, I tilt my head up and begin: ‘We can skip breakfast, I’ll grab myself something on the way to college.’ I say as I take a few more steps away, my hand resting on the door handle. Unsure of what to say, Mum stands there, looking at her own hands which I could only assume was in shame of how she’d just acted. I shake my head, open the door and exit the kitchen into the hallway, closing the door behind me.

Almost as soon as the door closed, I heard my Mum burst into tears. Now I had no real idea if she was crying over Dad or if she was crying over her recent actions and anger towards me. It had been getting much more common and I had felt the rift between her and I deepening. It was exhausting to watch happen. I clenched a fist and took my leave out of the house, but not before grabbing my laptop bag.

I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed as I made my way to my car. I prayed that college work would take my mind off of both my personal and home issues. But one thing was for certain, my day had been ruined before it had even started.

I couldn’t be bothered with people today and my stomach was so unsettled that I couldn’t bring myself to even stop off at a Starbucks for a coffee. I thought that the best way to take my mind off of things was to turn the radio on. A brief crackle sounded before the audio cleaned itself, starting off as a news story:

‘Shock and terror hit downtown Chusty today as a rogue Stim took an entire bank hostage. Before the situation even began, the Stim who identified themselves as ‘Daytime’ had showed just what they were capable of by using his supernatural abilities to force two civilian filled vehicles to explode with just a thought. Within both cars, there were no survivors.’

These reports always terrified me but if there was something to take my mind off of things, it was certainly such a dramatic situation.

‘Thankfully, before any more harm could be done, the popular Stim ‘Crack’ was able to land a kill shot on Daytime. It is still unknown if such actions were allowed by the authorities. He may be confident in his aim, but isn’t he putting hostages at risk? What if the rogue Stim had an accomplice waiting to take action? Many questions, few answers so far. After a quick ad break, we’ll be back with in interview wit-‘

I shut the radio off, grumbling to myself as I find myself exhausted by what I was hearing. ‘Well of course he was in the right. These heroes are there to make the choices others can’t. God, nothing would ever get done if Stim’s had to wait until their bosses gave them the all clear.’ I shouted. Heroes, powers, nonsense. It was all starting to become too corporate. It felt like anytime a hero took a positive action, they received backlash from the media, calling them ‘out of line’. It was clear Stim’s were both naturally praised and feared yet the media painted them as soldiers. Loaded guns to be pointed at something and only fired when someone at the top pulls the trigger.

‘I’d get so much done if I was a Stim, I swear to GOD.’ I shout, incredibly annoyed. Leaning back in my seat, my fingers rhythmically tap at the wheel as I shake my head. Stim’s were so incredibly rare and would emerge seemingly at random. Origin stories ranged from falling into a spiders nest like Widow’s Bite to being chemically engineered in a lab like Crack. Envy clouded my mind briefly until my thoughts were all suddenly undone as I had reached my destination.

I pull into the car park of my college, finding my usual parking space. I arrange myself, my thoughts and my emotions before stepping out of my vehicle. Grabbing my laptop bag, I sling it over my shoulder. A slight sigh exits my lips before I hear a voice I really didn’t need to hear today.

‘Wassup, Chick.’ The deep voice sounds loudly across the lot. My light sigh turns into a prolonged one as I close my door and try my best to ignore the voice. I walk around the back of my car, hoping I’d avoid the confrontation entirely. But alas, I was not so lucky: ‘You literally can’t just ignore me.’ The voice says again. It spoke with such a tone that you knew the voices owner was grinning. I stop in my tracks and turn to look at the woman.

‘What do you want, Kat?’ I ask, clearly exhausted. In front of me was Kat, a girl no one dared even look at in fear of what she’d do. She was enormous, standing at a huge 7 feet tall, completely dwarfing me. From head to toe, she was clad in black: a black cropped-bomber escort bursa jacket with a crop top that had tears streaking down the front, loose yet not loose enough to show off her sizeable chest, each breast the size of her own head. Looking further down, her black skinny jeans hugged her legs so tightly, it was a surprise they weren’t bursting off. They hugged her hips so perfectly, it looked like they had been tailored to her very form. And to top her figure of, there was an insanely distinctive bulge running down her thigh. The tight fabric of her jeans threatened to rip at the girth of the monster that she had somehow been able to wrestle into her pants. It almost reached her knees, completely flaccid and each thick vain was visible through her clothing. Her face was covered in make up, her eyes surrounded by thick black eyeliner with fake lashes so potent, it was nearly nauseating to look at. Each piece of her body bulged: she was incredibly lean, but her muscles were defined so perfectly.

She scoffs and takes a few steps towards me. ‘What do I want? I just wanna check up on my bestie, is all.’ She says in a joyous tone. I roll my eyes and begin to walk away from her to which her pitch shifts, her voice almost becoming a growl. ‘You don’t get to ignore me, bitch.’ She says. I stop walking and turn back to her. ‘What..? Are you serious? How many days in a row is your pathetic ass gonna try to scare me? Seriously, give me your usual threats and then let me get on with my day.’

Kat, now standing next to my car, grips it by the bumper and effortless lifts it up by its back, forcing the car to teeter on its two front wheels. I roll my eyes again and shrug.

‘Everyone knows you’re a Stim, Kat. Who are you trying to impress? Woah, look at me, I have super strength. Seriously, you need to grow up. We both know you’re targeting me because I’m the only person in town that isn’t scared of you or your bull shit. You’re genuinely the last person who ever deserves your powers. Imagine what any decent human could do with them. And you use it to threaten regular folk.’

Kat’s left eye visibly twitches. She lets go of the bumper, the car dropping down and making a loud clatter as it bounces softly onto its back two wheels. She gathers herself and puts in another bitchy smile. She takes a few steps towards me but pauses near the back wheel of my car. She kneels down, grips the tire firmly and like a child popping a balloon, crushes the tire, forcing it to pop loudly. The sound echoed through the entire lot, all while Kat stood back up and tossed the rubber still in her hand off to one side.

I breathe in deeply as she paces towards me before she comes to a halt, her firm stance next to me. She was so close to me, that her abdomen was practically touching my face. She looks down at me with a scornful expression.

‘You aren’t allowed to say that kind of shit to me. You are beneath me. I don’t need to hurt you to fuck everything up for you. You’ll remember all that ‘bravado’ as your biggest mistake, slut.’

I look past her towards my now burst tire, ignoring what I thought were idle threats. I had hoped that I’d be able to spend the hour between finishing college and going to work getting something to eat but as it turned out, I’d instead be spending it putting on a new tire. Kat had already pushed past me and proceeded towards the main building. I look to her and scoff before following suit and heading to class.

The day proceeded as normal. I got through my lectures as I usually did: struggling to stay awake especially considering that I hadn’t had any coffee or even breakfast. By midday I was feeling so hungry, it was almost making me nauseous. So I decided to skip my last lecture and get my tire fixed early so that I could actually get something to eat. The fix was relatively easy since I had been brought up on cars and various machinery. Before Dad left, he’d always do this sort of thing with me. God knows why he thought It’d be smart to teach a young lass how to operate heavy machinery but it worked out in the end. Yet throughout the day, everything had been starting to build up and stress me out. This whole tire ordeal with Kat paired with my already destroyed mood from my body dysphoria and Mum’s outburst had started to break me down somewhat.

I wipe my brow free of sweat and glance to the clock on my phone, finding it to be 13:30. My shift started in 30 minutes so I had time to grab myself a sandwich and a coffee on my way to work.

Back in the car, back in the drivers seat. I switched the radio on and turned it to the same news channel I had been listening to this morning.

‘More on the Daytime story from earlier today, recent Information has been brought to light. Crack acted without permission and took the shot, claiming that his ability had checked all sight lines already. He may have been correct in this case, that there were no accomplices to Daytime. However, how are we supposed to trust Crack’s judgment from here on? The public believes multiple people in a higher power should always be the ones to make the judgment call. A single person should not hold these lives in their own judgement. Is there too much risk? Whether you agree or disagree, the public are making it clear how they feel about these actions and there are protests outside of the QD building, crying for Crack to be delisted as a hero’

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