Daddy's Valentine

Elanor looked around the room with a slightly disdainful expression on her face. Her voucher promised a “classy, sophisticated experience”, but so far the spa looked anything but that. The walls were painted pastel pink, and one look at the receptionist was almost enough to make her turn on the spot and walk out of the building.

The girl must have been in her mid-twenties, the same as her, but Elanor would never be caught dead dressing in such a degrading way. Her bleached blonde hair was done up in a pair of childish pigtails, in contrast to Elanor’s own tidy ponytail, and she was wearing a tight white t-shirt that barely contained her enormous tits. Obviously a boob-job, Elanor thought with contempt.

The woman looked up as she approached, and grinned dimly. “Hi!” she chirped, giving her a little wave.

Elanor fought the urge to leave again. But even if the receptionist was a total ditz, it didn’t really matter, she told herself. As long as she got to relax for a couple of hours, she’d be happy. It had been a tough week at work, and she could do with winding down a bit. Besides, her voucher was a Valentine’s Day present from her boyfriend, and if she arrived back at their apartment early then Peter would start asking questions, and she didn’t want another argument with him – not when he was already suspicious about her “sleepover with a friend” the weekend before.

“I have an appointment,” Elanor said stiffly, sliding her voucher across the bimbo’s desk. Then she wrinkled her nose. The faint smell of ammonia had just hit her, as if she’d just walked into a public toilet. She frowned at the receptionist. Was she wearing some horrid perfume?

“Oh!” the receptionist squealed, and she actually bounced up and down on her seat in excitement. “You get to have our special treatment!”

“Wonderful,” Elanor said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The bimbo pressed a couple of keys on the computer next to her, her brow furrowed as if it was taking every ounce of intelligence she had, and a moment later a door to their left opened, and a handsome man stepped out, smiling.

He was tall and tanned, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and accented. “You must be Elanor,” he said. Italian, Elanor thought. Or maybe Spanish. “This way, please.”

She followed him through the door, her disdain for the spa disappearing by the second. Who cared about some baby-brained receptionist if she got to have a sexy Mediterranean masseur rubbing lotion into her skin? The room beyond was pastel pink as well, and there was a scent in the air that might have been baby powder, but Elanor’s attention was focused on the man in front of her as he prepared a set of bottles and creams on a counter.

He turned around and smiled at her again, and Elanor felt a tingling in her pussy. “I will be just a moment,” he said with a wink. “Would you please undress and lie down on the table for me, young lady?”

Elanor felt a momentary flash of irritation. Young lady? He was surely hardly older than she was. But it quickly passed. His voice was almost hypnotic, and unless she was much mistaken, she was about to get a lot more out of this spa trip than her boyfriend had anticipated.

She bit her lip flirtatiously, and started to strip. She was almost disappointed when he turned his attention back to the countertop, but it turned to relief a moment later – for some reason she was finding her clothes a little tricky. She dropped her pencil skirt without much difficulty, but the buttons on her shirt became increasingly difficult to undo, and she ended up tugging her top up over her head instead. What was the matter with her? She huffed in frustration as she yanked her tights clumsily down her legs, quickly giving up any attempt to slid them neatly off and instead opting to stomp her feet until they sprang loose. She looked up anxiously, hoping her sexy masseur hadn’t been watching. Her head felt strangely foggy, and it seemed as though the smell of baby powder had doubled in intensity since she’d entered the room.

Elanor slipped off her underwear and dropped them into the puddle of clothes at her feet, freeing her small but perky breasts and her slightly wet sex, then laid face down on the massage table. She looked around for a sheet – wasn’t there normally a white sheet to cover herself with? But there was nothing. Her pussy tingled again. Maybe she wouldn’t be needing it, she thought with a grin. She closed her eyes and spread her legs a little on the table.

“I’m ready,” she said.

She head footsteps as her masseur came up to her, but then he chuckled. “Silly girl,” he said, and Elanor felt again that flash of annoyance. She was a grown woman, not a silly girl. She was a serious career woman, an equal of any man in the boardroom. But when he spoke again in his delightfully accent, her annoyance vanished as quickly as it had come. “You’re facing the wrong way.”

Elanor breathed in lustily, and smirked to herself. If Peter only knew just how good a present he’d given her, she thought. She turned over on the table, her eyes still closed, expecting to feel at any moment a sudden presence between her thighs. But instead it was her breasts that her handsome masseur reached for, and Elanor purred in pleasure as he began rubbing lotion into them. It was always nice to meet a man who knew what foreplay was.

He massaged her tits, first softly, then so roughly that he was practically groping her, and then softly again, rubbing his thumb across her hardened nipples and sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. She felt her breasts begging to throb strangely, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. Probably just some effect of the cream he was using.

When he pulled his hands away, Elanor let out an involuntary, pathetic whine. She immediately blushed to the roots of her hair. What was wrong with her today? No matter how aroused she got, she never allowed herself to be reduced to some whimpering little sexpot! Not with Jake from accounting, or Tom from human resources, and certainly not with Peter.

“Naughty girl,” her masseur said in his deep voice, and there was still that trace of amusement in his tone that Elanor didn’t much like. But she felt a wonderful tingling in her head when he passed his fingers through her hair, massing her scalp. She groaned in pleasure and breathed in deeply, and again it was as if the smell of baby powder had grown even stronger. She’d have to remember to complain about that later, she decided. About that and about the receptionist and her pissy perfume. Spas shouldn’t smell like nurseries.

“You will be a good girl soon,” said her masseur, as he continued rubbing some kind of oil into her scalp. “No more being naughty. Just a good girl for Peter. A good girl for your Daddy.”

Elanor’s eyes snapped open. “Whu… What?” she stammered, her voice oddly slurred. He knew about Peter. Did he say Daddy? She sat up suddenly and leapt off the massage table, but she staggered to the side, thrown off balance by a heaviness in her chest. She goggled down at herself and let out a shriek. Her breasts were huge!They must have expanded at least several cup sizes, turning her perky little C-cups into Fs, if not bigger. What the fuck had this place done to her?

“What did you…” she began, but her voice trailed off, and she frowned in confusion. Her head felt so funny. So dizzy. Dizzy and ditzy. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she nearly giggled. The smell of baby powder was so strong. Elanor shook her head furiously trying to clear it. “You…” she tried again, looking up at the handsome masseur. “You… You gave me… You made me have big boobies!” she squealed angrily. Then she blushed bright red again. That wasn’t right, was it?

“Yes, Elly,” said the masseur, smiling gently. “It’s what your Daddy wants. I gave you big boobies, just like your friend Becky!” He pointed to the door she’d entered through, where the dim-witted receptionist was sat outside.

Elanor screwed up her face in disgust and shook her head again. “Not her fwiend!” she whined. What was wrong with her voice? What was wrong with her head?

“No?” the masseur asked, cocking his head. “I am sure she would like to be your friend. She is such a happy girl. How do you say in English? Bubbly? At least, she is now. Ever since she got a lovely spa treatment and quit her job as a lawyer.”

Elanor just stared at him, open-mouthed in horror.

“But maybe she is too big for you,” he went on, nodding thoughtfully. “Too big for babies. After all, Becky wears pull-ups, even if she cannot always keep them dry.” He turned and picked something up off the counter. Something large and white and crinkly. “And you still wear these. Pannolino, we say in Italy. But I like your English word for them too. Nappies.”

Elanor’s eyes were wide and terrified. Her head was foggy, full of cotton candy, but she understood that something was seriously wrong. That she was in danger. This wasn’t an ordinary spa. This was a place where women got their bodies and minds changed. And her boyfriend had sent her here.

“Not gonna wear dem!” she pouted, stomping her foot petulantly. Her enormous breasts bounced on her chest. She was trying to be intimidating, to show this handsome masseur that he was dealing with a tough, independent career woman, but somehow she couldn’t remember how to do that. Was this right? “Not gonna be a baby!” she screeched.

The masseur just chuckled. “I am afraid you will be, Elly,” he said. “That special oil on your pretty little head has already done the job. No more sleeping around. No more cheating on your boyfriend. No. It is just a matter of time until your brain turns to baby mush.”

Elanor touched her head, feeling the dampness there. Then she turned and tried to run, but she stumped and fell to her hands and knees with a whimper. She staggered back to her feet, the new weight of her whore-sized tits still throwing her off balance, and toddled unsteadily towards the door.

But she was far too slow, and before she’d made it even a few feet, she felt the masseur’s arm wrap around her waist, holding her in place, holding her naked body against his own. Elanor let out a wail of desperation, and tears sprang to her eyes. She thought of the childish, big-titted receptionist in the room beyond and realised she was going to be just like her. She realised she’d be worse. Just a big-boobed baby girl – the reduction of her mental faculties no doubt passed off as an accident, or even a mental breakdown as a result of the stresses of her high-powered job. And the last cognisant decision people would think she’d made was to get a boob-job like some kind of stupid bimbo!

She looked down at the massive tits sticking out from her chest, and again she felt a smile tugging at her lips. And this time she couldn’t resist it. The tingling in her head was so pleasant. A dim-witted grin spread across her face as she looked down at her breasts. Her boobies. Silly, bouncy boobies. She let out a girlish giggle and hopped from foot to foot, squirming in the handsome Italian’s arms. Her silly boobies wobbled on her chest, and she giggled again, louder this time.

“Happy girl,” said the lovely, handsome man in a sweet, cooing voice. “Happy baby. Ready for your Daddy.”

And she was. When Peter came to pick her up a short while later, Elly waddled eagerly into his arms, her bare boobs bouncing. Her mind was wiped of all her worries and stress, of all the memories of her infidelity, and as she snuggled into her Daddy’s chest, her bladder let go and she soaked her nappy with a rush of pee, filling it to the brim with wee-wee.

Peter held her tightly, squeezing her soggy diaper with one hand and reaching up to grope one of her brand new breasts with the other.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he cooed.