World's Greatest Secretary

by SmallFrye

The worst part of being a certified public accountant is having everybody

breathing down your neck at tax time. The best part is the months right after

each of the four quarterly tax deadlines, when it's slow. Usually, I go to my

vacation cabin in Pennsylvania and just call in to my secretary... but these

days, Denise is out here in the woods with me. Maybe you'd like to know why.

My old secretary had to leave me on April 10th last year, due to a family

illness. As bad as the timing was for me, I didn't bitch about it. Stuff

happens. I just gave her two months salary and a good recommendation called up

the temp agency. It was Friday afternoon, so the agency didn't have anybody. But

I pleaded with them to send over the next person who looked like they could

file, or even just answer the phone.

One hour later, I was downing a quick lunch of Maalox, when the biggest breasts

I'd ever seen walked through the door in a sun dress. And Denise was right

behind them.

She wasn't dressed for an interview, but she was lovely, in a way that you don't

see much these days. About 5'6", with pale blond hair that hung straight down

her back, and a golden tan -- it looked like she'd never even heard of styling

gel or skin cancer, either. The quiet sun dress showed off her small arms, and

her slender, tapered legs. Her unpainted toes winked up from flat sandals. Her

breasts were big, and honest about it. A lot of them look fake, like basketballs

velcroed in place, but these had a soft flowing shape, jutting out ten inches

from her chest and landing again a little above her diapraghm. I could see the

weight of those monsters pulling her bra straps into view.

My God, I thought, this girl looks healthy. The only thing that looked

artificial were her eyes, the color of lime lollipops. I figured they had to be

tinted contacts. Looking into her eyes I realized I'd been staring at her for,

who knows, three days? and felt a rush of shame. I looked away, and back long

enough to see that she was smiling up at me, then away again to study the

venetian blinds. The phone rang.

Without a word, she settled herself behind the smaller desk and picked up.

"Tilden and Associates, this is Denise. -- May I ask what this is concerning?

Oh," She made some notes on a message pad. Her voice! It was warm, and

businesslike at the same time. Perfect! "I see. Mr. Tilden's very busy right now

-- is it all right if I just give him the message? Oh, thank you ma'am. You have

a nice day, too."

She handed me the phone message, which contained very detailed information that

would end up saving the client a lot of money. She was accurate and efficient,

too? "Denise," I croaked, "you're the one! Uh... I mean... can you work this

weekend? I'm swamped."

She smiled again, showing perfect, large teeth.

***

A week later, the crunch was past. Denise had excelled at everything, even when

I started having her do a little bookkeeping. I got her a computer, and showed

her Excel. It was fun explaining basic accounting practises to her, and she

picked it up quicker than I ever had. I asked if she wanted to quit temping and

come work for me.

"Greg, I was hoping you'd ask!" She beamed up at me from her desk, where her

huge, lovely bosom almost completely hid her hands on the keyboard. I found

myself fighting back an incipient hard-on. That was the first time she'd ever

used my first name. The phone rang. As she picked up, I wondered if it was wrong

to hire somebody for their looks. Even though she was more qualified than my

last secretary, I knew how attracted I was to Denise. What was I supposed to do,

walk around all day with a bulge in my pants?

Denise held the phone away from her ear. "Oh! That noise!" She winced, and

dropped the receiver. I picked it up and listened. It was like a fax machine,

only impossibly loud. As I dropped the phone, I saw Denise get up, then fall

over. I rushed to help her, but the noise from the dropped phone hadn't

diminished any, and was making me dizzy. The high- pitched, mechanical

screeching seemed to enter my bones, jarring the very marrow. I felt like an

old-time adding machine that had gone out and gotten drunk, and now suffered

from "the spins."

I fought the noise, fought the dizziness, and walked/fell to where Denise lay on

the carpet, whimpering. She lurched up and grabbed me. I tried to ask her what

was going on, but couldn't. As the room spun, we locked on each other's eyes and

held tight. I think I saw her lose consciousness, but I may have imagined it. By

then, I was pretty close to gone myself.

***

Whenever the strange noise stopped, that's when I started to wake up. A faraway

voice chanted "please hang up -- there appears to be a receiver off the hook."

My telephone company does that for about two minutes, then switches over to an

obnoxious beeping that sounds like a car alarm going off on the next block. At

least, that's what it sounded like to me as I finally snapped awake. But where

the hell was I?

I was in a dim, pyramid-shaped room with 2 curving tan walls and one relatively

flat wall. Where the walls met the floor, a diffuse light peeked in. The floor

itself was a shin-deep tangle of gray hemp fibers, the color of my carpet.

Stretched across one side of the floor was a bra strap a foot wide. I could see

where the elastic had snapped and shrivelled. Behind me, a portion of the

underwire--

Wait. Wait a minute. A foot-wide bra strap?

I shuddered and sat down. I was naked, and my clothes weren't anywhere. If that

really was part of a brassiere, then I could bet that I was about three inches

tall. The noise had shrunk me, and I had a good idea where I was. I was trapped

between Denise's breasts and her stomach. I'd thought I was still a little

woozy, but I now realized I was perfectly sober. The walls were moving of their

own accord with each gentle breath the room took.

I had to get out before she woke up. If she moved, she could crush me.

The car-alarm noise finally stopped as I tugged at the bra strap. It lifted up,

exposing a narrow channel. If I could just squeeze myself under what must be her

right boob... I could! I wriggled on my back, slowly working my way under what

had to be tons of Denise's huge breast. I was making some progress, in fact the

cieling was curving up again, when my head hit something hard. It was Denise's

huge, unpainted thumbnail. I crouched to examine the obstacle, then stood. The

thumbnail was wider than I was tall, giving me some headroom as I pondered this

new development. The bra strap had been snapped. I idly poked a freckle the size

of my hand as I did some calculations in my head. She was-- well, between 12 and

20 feet tall, depending on her huge thumb -- and I couldn't even imagine anymore

what its original size was. The strange noise from the phone had made her grow.

Thinking myself the size of a toy soldier, I had kept it together. Now that I

was an insect to my sleeping secretary, I began to panic. In the humid air

underneath her, I yelled for help. Was anything the right size anymore? I began

to pound on the walls with all my strength. I even hit her thumbnail once -- and

almost broke my hand. I don't think she even felt it, but just as I sank to my

knees, weeping, I heard a sharp rush of breath. I was pinned to the floor for a

second, sure that I was dead, hearing what sounded like a tornado inside her and

feeling the crushing blows of her pulse. But Denise was merely moving her hand,

not repositioning herself. When she finally exhaled again, it was her wrist in

front of me. The rest of the terrain had changed very little.

If I had correctly interpreted the sharp breath she drew, she was slowly inching

toward consciousness. I had to get out of there. I hurried back the way I came,

crawling under her right breast, and raced back through the pyramid-shaped room.

The left breast had completely sealed itself off when Denise's right hand moved

-- she must have shifted her weight very slightly. There wasn't even any light

coming through. But there was more light in the chamber. I looked up, between

the breasts, and saw a channel about six feet wide that hadn't been there

before.

I can take or leave cleavage. By itself it isn't going to make me fall in love.

But cleavage on a beautiful young woman is quite another thing. Cleavage on a

beautiful young woman who you have the hots for and who may or may not squish

you like a bug very shortly seemed to me the most beautiful thing in the world.

I looked up, the way people look up at Niagara, said a quick prayer and started

working my way up toward that channel, squeezing myself between my secretary's

gigantic breasts.

To Be Continued.

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2021-08-01

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