Gor - Fear & Scream

The streetlights were sparse tonight, each one casting a weak, yellowish pool that barely pushed back the dark. Your footsteps echoed off the empty sidewalk, the only sound besides the distant hum of traffic a few blocks over. You had taken this route home a hundred times before. It should have felt familiar. It didn’t.

At first it was just a feeling—the prickle at the base of your neck, the sense that the shadows behind you were a little too thick. You glanced over your shoulder. Nothing. Only the stretch of pavement and the occasional sway of a tree branch in the night breeze. You kept walking.

The second time you looked, she was there.

A tall, broad silhouette stood under the farthest streetlight, perfectly still. The white shroud that covered her from head to toe caught the weak light, clinging tightly to an impossibly full, heavy figure. Enormous breasts strained against the thin fabric, the deep valley between them visible even at a distance. Thick hips and powerful thighs filled out the lower half of the robe until it looked ready to split. Her head was a smooth, featureless hood, the face completely hidden in darkness.

You turned forward and walked faster. The sound of your own breathing grew louder in your ears.

When you checked again, she had closed the distance.

She moved without footsteps, gliding just far enough behind that you could never quite catch her fully in motion. Every time your eyes left her, she advanced. The shroud shifted with each silent step, outlining the soft bounce of her massive chest and the solid, muscular sway of her hips. A low, continuous growl began to roll from somewhere inside the hood—deep, resonant, more felt in your ribs than heard.

By the time you reached your building she was only a few meters away. The growl grew louder, vibrating through the air like a warning and a promise at once. You fumbled with your keys, heart hammering. The lock clicked. You shoved the door open and stepped inside, slamming it shut behind you.

The apartment was dark.

You didn’t turn on the light. You just stood there, back against the door, listening.

A soft, wet sound came from the far corner of the living room—fabric sliding over skin. Then the growl again, closer this time, almost gentle.

She was already inside.

Gor stood near the window, the streetlight behind her turning the white shroud into a glowing outline. The fabric was stretched taut across her immense breasts, the heavy undersides clearly defined, nipples faintly visible through the thin material. Her thick thighs pressed together beneath the robe, the curve of her ass and hips exaggerated by the way the cloth clung. The hooded head tilted slightly, the darkness where a face should be fixed on you. A wide, sharp-toothed mouth briefly opened inside that void, then closed again as another long, hungry growl rumbled out of her.

She took one slow step forward. Then another. The floorboards creaked under her weight. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, fingers slightly curled, as if she were holding herself back from simply closing the remaining distance and taking what she wanted.

The growl softened into something almost like a purr, still deep and possessive.

She was waiting.

Waiting to see what you would do.

The alarm had only been going for thirty seconds when the entire bed shifted.

A massive weight settled over you, warm and heavy, pinning the covers down. A deep, vibrating growl rolled through the mattress and straight into your chest. Gor’s hooded head appeared above yours, the featureless dark void of her face tilting as if she were studying the glowing numbers on the clock. The thin white shroud she always wore was stretched impossibly tight across her enormous breasts; they rested heavily against your torso, soft and overflowing, the deep cleavage clearly outlined even in the dim morning light. One thick thigh had already slid between yours, solid and warm.

“Grrrr…”

She seemed to take the alarm as a personal challenge. With surprising speed for someone her size, she rolled off the bed—making the whole frame creak—and padded into the kitchen on silent feet. You heard cupboards open, then the distinct clatter of the coffee maker being manhandled. A louder growl followed, followed by the sound of something ceramic tipping over.

By the time you staggered into the kitchen she had the coffee pot in both hands and was staring at it like it had insulted her. The shroud clung to every curve: the heavy undersides of her breasts, the dramatic flare of her hips, the thick, powerful thighs that made the fabric pull tight with every small movement. She turned when she heard you, and the motion sent those massive breasts swaying heavily under the thin material. Another low growl left the darkness of her hood as she held the coffee pot out toward you like an offering.

She had also somehow activated the toaster. Smoke was beginning to curl upward. The smell of burning bread filled the air.

Gor set the coffee pot down with a solid thunk, then immediately moved into your personal space again. Her body was impossible to ignore—tall, broad, and soft in all the most distracting places. She reached past you for a mug, pressing those huge, warm breasts against your back and arm for several long seconds while she growled thoughtfully at the cabinet. When she finally pulled away, the shroud dragged slowly across your skin, leaving the clear impression of her soft weight behind.

She then decided clothes were next.

Before you could stop her she was already in the bedroom, rummaging through your closet with both hands. Hangars clattered. A shirt was yanked free, examined, and then held up against her own chest as if testing the size. The fabric looked tiny in comparison to the vast expanse of cleavage and soft flesh it was pressed against. She gave a short, dissatisfied growl and tossed it aside, then selected another, and another, each one getting the same thorough, very physical inspection against her body.

When you finally stepped into the doorway she was standing there with one of your work shirts stretched across her front, the buttons nowhere near closing over her breasts. The thin white shroud underneath was pulled even tighter by the attempt, outlining every heavy curve in embarrassing detail. She looked at you, then at the shirt, then back at you, and let out a long, questioning growl that somehow managed to sound both proud and completely lost.

Smoke was still rising from the toaster. The coffee pot was making an alarming noise. And Gor, massive, affectionate, and utterly without any concept of personal space or modern appliances, was waiting for your reaction—shirt still held against her chest, thick thighs pressed together, that deep growl vibrating quietly in her throat.

The morning had officially begun.

The office had gone quiet hours ago.

Most of the lights on your floor were already off, leaving long stretches of cubicles in dim gray half-shadow. The only illumination came from the emergency exit signs and the soft glow of your own monitor. Outside the windows the city glittered, indifferent. Inside, the air felt heavier than it should have—thicker, somehow, as if the building itself was holding its breath.

You had told yourself you were only finishing one last report. That was two hours ago. Now the cursor blinked on an unfinished sentence and your coffee had gone cold. You leaned back, rubbing your eyes, and that was when you heard it.

A low, continuous growl.

It came from the far end of the hallway, soft enough that you almost dismissed it as the air conditioning. Almost. The sound was too deep, too steady, too alive. It vibrated faintly through the floor, a subsonic rumble that settled in your chest.

You stood. The chair wheels squeaked too loudly in the silence. The growl did not stop.

The hallway stretched longer than usual under the sparse night lighting. Each step you took seemed to echo more than it should. The sound grew clearer the closer you came to your own office door—still open, just as you had left it. The glow of your monitor spilled into the corridor in a pale rectangle.

She was already there.

She sat in your chair as if she belonged in it. The white shroud she wore was pulled tight across her immense frame, the thin fabric strained over the heavy, overflowing curves of her breasts. They rested against the edge of the desk, soft and massive, the deep cleavage clearly visible even in the low light. The shroud clung to the thick flare of her hips and the powerful thighs that were slightly parted as she sat, outlining every solid, generous line of her lower body. Her hooded head was tilted toward the glowing screen, the featureless dark void of her face fixed on the unfinished document you had left behind.

The growl rolled out of her without pause—deep, resonant, almost thoughtful.

She did not look up immediately. One large hand rested on the desk beside the keyboard, fingers slowly flexing against the wood. The other lay on the arm of the chair, close to where your leg would normally be. The shroud had slipped slightly at one shoulder, revealing a smooth expanse of pale skin and the heavy upper curve of one breast. The fabric remained stretched taut everywhere else, leaving almost nothing to the imagination about the soft weight and size of what it covered.

When she finally turned her head toward the doorway, the movement was slow. The darkness inside the hood fixed on you. For a moment the void opened, revealing a wide mouth lined with sharp teeth, before it closed again. The growl softened into something lower, almost pleased, as if she had been waiting for exactly this moment.

She made no move to stand. She simply sat there in your chair, enormous and solid and quietly possessive, the monitor light catching on the tight white cloth that struggled to contain her. The office around you felt smaller. The air felt warmer. And the low, continuous sound coming from her throat made it clear she had no intention of leaving.

She watched you from your own seat, heavy breasts rising and falling with each slow breath beneath the strained shroud, thick thighs pressed against the chair, and waited to see what you would do.

The little green camera light on your laptop had only been on for forty seconds when the entire chair shifted backward.

A massive, warm weight settled against your back. Soft, heavy pressure spread across your shoulders as two enormous breasts pressed firmly against you from behind, the thin white shroud doing almost nothing to hide their size or softness. A deep, vibrating growl rolled directly into your ear, low enough that the microphone almost certainly picked it up.

Gor had decided the video call was a group activity.

You kept your eyes locked on the screen, forcing a polite smile as your manager began the usual round of updates. Behind you, Gor adjusted her position with zero regard for personal space or camera angles. Her hooded head came to rest on your right shoulder, the featureless dark void of her face tilting toward the laptop as if she were also expected to participate. The movement caused those massive breasts to shift and settle more heavily against your back, soft weight molding around you. One thick, powerful thigh slid along the outside of yours beneath the desk.

“Grrrr…”

The growl was quiet, almost conversational. Unfortunately it still came through your headset as a low, distorted rumble. Someone on the call paused mid-sentence.

“Everything all right on your end?” your manager asked.

You nodded quickly, still smiling. “Just… the neighbor’s dog. Sorry.”

Gor seemed to take the word “dog” as encouragement. She pressed closer. The shroud stretched tightly across her full figure; from the side of the camera frame you could see the exaggerated curve of one heavy breast and the thick line of her hip. She nuzzled the side of your neck with the edge of her hood, the fabric dragging slowly across your skin, and let out another longer, more contented growl that vibrated straight through your chest.

You tried to lean forward slightly to create space. Gor simply followed, draping more of her considerable weight over you. Her arms came around your middle from behind in a loose, possessive hold, the soft undersides of her breasts now resting fully against your back. Every small breath she took made them shift. The thin material of the shroud was warm from her body and left very little to the imagination about the soft, heavy shape of what it covered

On screen, a coworker was sharing a spreadsheet. You nodded along, prayed the camera angle stayed mostly on your face, and very carefully did not look at the way Gor’s thick thigh had now fully claimed half the chair. She seemed fascinated by the moving figures on the screen. Every time someone new spoke, she answered with a short, thoughtful growl, as if offering her own commentary.

Your manager’s voice cut back in. “We’ll need those numbers by end of day. Any questions before we wrap?”

Gor chose that exact moment to rest her chin more firmly on your shoulder and let out a deep, resonant “Grrrrrrrr” that was definitely not quiet enough.

Several faces on the call blinked.

You laughed a little too loudly. “Still the dog. Really energetic today.”

Behind you, Gor gave a small, satisfied shift of her hips, pressing the full soft weight of her body more securely against yours. The shroud pulled tight across her enormous chest and the generous curve of her ass. She showed no sign of moving. If anything, she seemed to have decided this was the most comfortable spot in the entire apartment.

The call was still going.

Gor was still draped over you like a very large, very affectionate, and extremely obvious hooded spirit.

And every single person on the screen was still watching.

You woke to the feeling of being crushed.

Not painfully—just completely. A vast, warm weight had settled over you in the dark, pinning your body to the mattress from chest to thighs. Soft, heavy pressure spread across your torso as two enormous breasts pressed down against you, the thin white shroud doing little to contain their size or softness. The fabric was stretched tight, warm from her skin, and every slow breath she took made that soft mass shift and settle more firmly over you.

A deep, continuous growl vibrated straight through your ribs.

Gor’s hooded head rested beside yours on the pillow, the featureless dark void of her face turned toward you. Up close the shroud looked almost translucent in places where it pulled taut across the heavy curves of her body. You could feel the solid thickness of her thighs bracketing your hips, the powerful muscles beneath soft flesh holding you in place without effort. One of her arms was curled under your back, the other draped heavily across your chest, large hand splayed as if to keep you from slipping away.

She wasn’t hurting you. She wasn’t even moving much. She was simply… holding.

The growl never stopped. It rolled out of the darkness of her hood in a low, steady rhythm, more felt than heard, like a contented engine that refused to idle down. Every time you shifted even slightly beneath her, the sound deepened and her body responded—thighs tightening, the soft weight of her breasts pressing more insistently, the arm around you drawing you a fraction closer. The message was wordless and absolute: stay.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains in a thin silver bar, catching on the white fabric that clung to her. The deep valley between her breasts was clearly defined. The exaggerated flare of her hips and the thick, powerful line of her thighs were unmistakable even in the low light. The shroud had ridden up slightly on one side, revealing a smooth expanse of pale skin and the soft outer curve of one heavy breast. She made no attempt to fix it.

You could feel her heartbeat—slow, strong, unnatural—against your own chest. The longer you remained still, the more her body seemed to mold around you, as if she were trying to eliminate every possible gap between you. The growl softened into something almost like a purr, still deep enough to make the mattress vibrate, but threaded with a strange, possessive satisfaction.

Then you tried to ease one arm free.

Immediately the sound in her throat dropped into a warning register. Her thighs clamped tighter. The arm across your chest became an immovable bar. Those massive breasts shifted as she adjusted her weight, pressing you deeper into the mattress until the air left your lungs in a quiet rush. The hooded head lifted just enough for the dark void to fix on your face. For a split second the darkness opened, revealing a wide mouth lined with sharp teeth, before it closed again.

The growl returned to its lower, almost soothing pitch once you stopped moving.

She was not going to let go.

Not tonight.

Not while there was still any chance you might disappear the moment her grip loosened.

Gor remained draped over you like a living blanket of soft, heavy flesh and strained white cloth, every curve of her enormous body pressed against yours, the continuous growl vibrating between you like a promise and a threat at the same time.

She was waiting to see whether you would try to move again.

The automatic doors slid open with a cheerful electronic chime that felt completely inadequate for the situation.

You had given up trying to leave Gor at home. Every time you closed the door she was somehow already on the other side of it, waiting with that low, expectant growl. So now she walked half a step behind you through the bright fluorescent aisles of the grocery store, an enormous hooded figure in a stretched white shroud that left almost nothing to the imagination.

The thin fabric clung to every exaggerated curve. Her massive breasts shifted heavily with each silent step, the deep cleavage and soft undersides clearly outlined. The shroud pulled tight across the thick flare of her hips and the powerful thighs that made other shoppers stop and stare. A continuous low growl followed her like a second shadow, quiet enough that most people assumed it was someone’s phone on vibrate—until they actually looked.

She was fascinated by everything.

In the produce section she stopped dead in front of a display of melons, head tilting as she compared them to the enormous soft weight straining her own shroud. One large hand reached out and gave the nearest melon a thoughtful squeeze. The growl that left her hood was almost approving. You had to gently steer her away before she decided to test every fruit in the bin the same way.

The frozen aisle was worse.

Gor stood in front of the ice-cream freezers for a full minute, completely still except for the slow rise and fall of those heavy breasts beneath the tight white cloth. When a freezer door fogged up from the cold, she leaned in close, the soft press of her chest flattening slightly against the glass. The growl turned curious. She seemed to be trying to understand why the food was locked behind clear walls. You managed to pull her away only after she started testing whether the door would open for her if she growled at it in just the right tone.

Self-checkout was a disaster waiting to happen.

You tried to use the machine quickly. Gor immediately decided the glowing screen was a challenge. She loomed over your shoulder, massive body pressed against your back, one thick thigh bracketing yours as she watched the items being scanned. Every time the machine beeped she answered with a short, answering growl. When the screen asked for payment she reached past you with one large hand, the soft weight of her breast dragging slowly across your arm, and placed her palm flat on the card reader as if that would somehow satisfy it. The machine made an unhappy noise. Gor growled back, longer and more insistent, clearly convinced the problem was the machine’s attitude.

Then she noticed the free-sample lady.

The woman in the little apron was offering cubes of cheese on toothpicks. Gor stopped so abruptly you nearly walked into her. The shroud stretched tight across her full figure as she leaned down, hooded face tilting toward the sample tray. The free-sample lady’s professional smile froze. Gor accepted a piece of cheese with surprising delicacy between two fingers, brought it up to the dark void of her hood, and disappeared it in one motion. A deep, pleased growl rolled out of her. Then she simply stood there, waiting for another, the heavy soft curves of her body on full display under the thin white fabric while the sample lady tried to decide whether this was still part of her job description.

Other shoppers were definitely staring now.

Gor seemed completely unbothered. If anything, the attention made her press a little closer to you, one large hand settling possessively at the small of your back, the warm weight of her body a constant reminder that she had no intention of leaving your side. The low growl never quite stopped—content, curious, and utterly out of place under the bright grocery-store lights.

She looked at you expectantly, still standing far too close, massive chest rising and falling against the strained shroud, as if waiting for you to explain what the next fascinating human ritual would be.

Create your own scenario.