Mrs. Harper Grows (extended video) (Patreon)

“You like it, don’t you?” Her voice was low, commanding, and sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her towering figure, muscles rippling as she flexed, the remains of her sweater dangling from her impossibly broad shoulders. “Admit it,” she purred, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating off her body. My mouth went dry as I tried to form words, but all I could do was nod.

She smirked, her crimson lips curling into a devilish grin. “Good boy.”

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It had started innocently enough. Just a trip to the supermarket, one of those mundane errands I hated but couldn’t avoid. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making the aisles feel even more sterile than usual. I was halfway through grabbing a six-pack of soda when I heard that familiar voice—smooth, warm, and just a little husky.

“Well, look who it is! Fancy seeing you here.”

I turned, and there she was: Mrs. Harper, my best friend Jason’s mom. She looked amazing, as always. Her grey turtleneck hugged her frame like it was painted on, paired with high-waisted jeans that accentuated her curves in all the right places. Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her face, and her makeup was subtle but flawless. She didn’t look a day over 35, let alone late 40s.

“Oh, hey Mrs. Harper!” I managed, trying to sound casual despite the way my heart suddenly kicked into overdrive.

She tilted her head, her smile widening. “Call me Vanessa, sweetheart. You’re not in high school anymore.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice that made my cheeks flush. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out causing trouble with Jason?”

I shrugged, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Just stocking up. Jason’s at some SAT prep thing, so… here I am.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ah, yes. He told me about that. Won’t be back for hours, poor thing.” She glanced at her cart, which was piled high with groceries. “Say… would you mind helping me load these into my car? My arms are killing me.”

“Uh, sure,” I stammered, immediately stepping forward. As if I could say no to her.

We walked out to the parking lot together, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. The whole time, I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at her. She smelled incredible—something floral but spicy, like roses dipped in cinnamon. Her laugh rang out as I loaded the last bag into her trunk, and she placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver. Come on, let’s get these home before the ice cream melts.”

Before I knew it, I was sitting in her passenger seat, the familiar streets passing by in a blur. Jason’s house wasn’t far, but it felt different being there without him. The house was quiet, almost eerily so, as we carried the bags inside. Vanessa hummed softly as she put things away, her movements graceful and deliberate.

When the last bag was unpacked, she turned to me, her hands resting on her hips. “How about a drink? To say thank you.”

“Uh, sure,” I said again, feeling like a broken record. She led me to the living room, where she poured two glasses of wine without waiting for my answer. She handed me one and gestured for me to sit. I did, perching awkwardly on the edge of the couch while she sank gracefully into an armchair across from me.

For a moment, we sipped in silence. Then she set her glass down and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “So, tell me something,” she began, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “Do you like muscular women?”

The question caught me so off guard that I nearly choked on my wine. “Uh… what?”

She smiled, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Muscular women. You know, strong. Powerful. Do you find them attractive?”

I hesitated, my mind racing. Was this some kind of test? A weird mom-joke? But the way she was looking at me—intense, almost predatory—made me think otherwise. “Yeah, I guess,” I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, if they’re, uh… built right.”

Vanessa’s smile widened, and she stood up, setting her glass aside. “Good answer. Want to see a little trick I can do?”

Before I could respond, she stepped back, her posture shifting. It started small at first—her shoulders seemed to broaden, her arms bulging slightly beneath the fabric of her sweater. Then, as if by magic, she began to grow. Her height shot up, her muscles expanding until her clothes strained against her new form. The seams of her turtleneck tore with a loud rip, revealing glimpses of black lace lingerie underneath. Her jeans fared no better, eventually giving way entirely.

Within seconds, she stood before me, towering at nearly eight feet tall, her body a masterpiece of sculpted muscle. Her abs were like steel cords, her biceps larger than my head. And yet, there was something undeniably feminine about her—the curve of her hips, the swell of her chest straining against the lace. She exuded power, confidence, and raw sexuality.

I gaped at her, my jaw hanging open. “W-What the hell…”

She laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent a jolt straight to my groin. “Surprised?” she asked, taking a step closer. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ll get used to it.”

“But… how?” I managed to croak, still struggling to process what I was seeing.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Long story. Let’s just say I’m not your average soccer mom.” She paused, her gaze raking over me like I was prey. “Now, are you going to sit there gaping, or are you going to follow me to the bedroom?”

My heart pounded in my chest as she turned and strode down the hallway, her hips swaying with each step. I hesitated for only a moment before stumbling to my feet, my legs trembling beneath me. Something primal in me took over, overriding every rational thought in my head. I followed her, my pulse racing as I crossed the threshold into her bedroom.

She stood in the center of the room, her massive frame dwarfing everything around her. With a single, fluid motion, she tore off the remnants of her lingerie, the fabric falling away like tissue paper. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight of her body—toned, powerful, and utterly dominant.

“Kneel,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.

I dropped to my knees instantly, my hands shaking as I reached for her. She watched me with a mixture of amusement and hunger, her fingers tangling in my hair as she guided me closer. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Worship me like the goddess I am.”

I obeyed, my lips brushing against her skin as I pressed kisses along her thighs. She groaned softly, her grip tightening in my hair, and I knew then that I was completely, irretrievably hers.