The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Victor was enormously proud of his porn collection.

It occupied an entire, physical wall of a large room. Terabytes upon terabytes of meticulously organized and indexed pornography, up against the sheetrock in glimmering arrays with softly blinking lights. There were times when, vigorously masturbating, Victor would turn away from whatever clit was on screen and beat to the hum and whirr of his collection. Shooting at his altar with all the reverence he could wank. The paint behind the banks was faded and peeling from the constant blast of dry fan heat.

It was a curated collection. It had to be. Sometimes Victor dreamed of the ultimate collection—the complete collection. It was mind-boggling. All the torrents and films and photos mankind and lesbiankind and everyonekind had devoted to getting off—it just crushed him with its immensity, sometimes. In the end sex was all about rubbing some nerve endings briefly, and, technically, there was some reproduction. And yet there were movies beyond counting, pictures of more sultry, oiled women then a man could look at in a lifetime, stories and pictures in uncounted billions and trillions. Millions upon endless millions jilling it every day and night to the image of some great ass gyrating—cocks getting tugged, pussies furiously rubbed.

Victor saved only the best, by and large. Professionally produced movies with real pornstars—dedicated professionals—that was the collection, with a dash of fetish and a pinch of perversions. He could recount entire careers, scene by scene. It added layers upon layers on review to know that the look of surprise on Krista Kupps’ face when she was rear-penetrated by ten inches in AssTastic 10… that was genuine surprise. And then to know that her sly look back three years later in ButtSlutz 12, that easy-to-miss wink, was at being reunited with her first ass fuck.

No wonder ButtSlutz was such a great watch, if someone cared enough to pay real attention.

All of it was locally saved. His money went into terabytes. His bandwidth bill was a noble burden. The reliance on the cloud had, in his view, made porno watchers into sad dilettantes, unable to invest any deeper than the minute between some half-considered search string and a dribbly little squirt. Pathetic. And that despite living in this golden age, this HD-utopia, that any boy from the 1980s would’ve blown his own pants off just considering. It hurt Victor to think of the way modern porn stars became the master of deepthroat, the camera POV closer than ever, every flaw exposed on the high-res video, nonetheless diving fearless into a sea of cocks. And their reward for such—such PROFESSIONALISM—was a bunch of idiots running adblockers mindlessly thumbing through ‘blowjobs’ in some ethnic category.

It was maddening.

But there were recompenses. Especially in the Porno Sleuths section of reddit, where Victor and other nudity archaeologists unearthed half-remembered treasures from the barest scraps. A red pattern on a bed during a fisting scene with two girls, both blondes—that was definitely Tandy Real and Lena Best going buck wild. Reuniting viewers with Abby Winters and Suicide Girls from a fondly remembered adolescence. Or just talking the post-Pirates career for so many talented mid-2000s girls, the seminal [no pun intended] flashpoints in the trends of 70s, 80s, 90s porn and beyond.

On screen, an up and coming starlet looked with wide, innocent eyes at a cock about to go off. She had really sold the spanking scene with a “stepdad” who looked younger than she was. Victor tugged gently at his cock. He wasn’t a virgin or anything. It was just—sex I-R-L was a brief, hairy, sweaty experience impossibly freighted with emotional baggage. He had nothing against women. This was just—better.

His servers blinked. It was always hot in his room. Today it was both hot and humid, a few light grey clouds lost beneath a dark black sheet-sky. As soon as he shot off the banks were getting powered down for protection from lightning.

The girl on his screen was a dark brunette with an unaugmented, but very nicely built chest. Victor could spot even the very best boob job ten miles away. The porn star had a prim, New England look that reminded him a lot—a lot a lot—of a past girlfriend.

The first shot took the girl right in the eye. Victor tensed. This was a make-or-break moment for a starlet. It hurt to get bunged in the eye.

But not in porno. Never in porno, where the cum shots flew long, the best fuck was the most acrobatic fuck, orgasms were loud and long, the moms always willing, the pizza boys always ready to go. The girl looked up at the twitching dick, eyes gummed with jizz, and gave the most cheerful, pleased smile in the world. Thrilled she had cum on her face.

Victor was beyond groaning in appreciation at this stage of his career. But he felt a sudden tension, his hand sped up, when there was a white roar outside the window, a tinkle of broken glass, a heat that caressed him like no girl could…

Kylie had figured out that Tessa did not at all want to head back home.

“You just have to say one word in explanation, and I’ll let it go,” Kylie said. “Like, for example, Boy. If you say Boy, or Boys, I will be never again breath a word of this.”

Kylie was driving, as usual. They were both in business suits, blue and grey. Kylie’s had a pencil skirt and looked great on her—it had a subtle houndstooth and was paired with the perfect cream-colored blouse that even had expensive buttons. Tessa wore dark grey, unpatterned, pants. She was dressed specifically to blend into the background.

“You could say… money. Or just, bored. You could even lie to me, because you not saying anything makes me think it must’ve been super juicy, whatever it was. Was it drugs? Just say the word: drugs.”

Tessa stuck her hand out the window. Humid and wet, welcome home. A storm had just passed through. Covington was either green or green and wet. The old ferns and shrubs glistened back at her. She was going to sweat like hell the entire trip.

“Or maybe it was…” Kylie paused. “Murder.”

“Not murder,” Tessa said.

“Arson. Assault. Theft. Just stop me when I get close. Kidnapping. Warmer? Colder?”

“I just… look, is it surprising I don’t want to go back to a little podunk town accessible by two-lane roads? Our major industry is lost travelers and services for the sorghum industry.”

“Did you have a Miss Sorghum for the town parade?” Kylie said.

“No!” That was a semi-lie, there was a heavily rigged election for a generic agricultural princess for the lead float. Tessa had not competed.

They passed a few outlying buildings, new housing developments that had not been there when Tessa left, just about six years ago. The town had evidently prospered. Tessa knew quite a bit about it—she had so little to discuss with her stepdad they usually talked local business developments for lack of anything else.

“Do you get a lot of tornadoes?” Kylie asked. She had grown up near Los Angeles, and was treating this trip to cropland as a sort of slumming. Flyover country ogling.

“Tornadoes, no,” Tessa said. She pointed to the clouds. “Thunderstorms, yes.” They passed through with each summer heat wave, turning sleepy, muggy days into moist light shows. “Too hilly for twisters. Just go fifty miles south, though. F-5 country.”

“F-5! I love that, I remember that from Twister,” Kylie said. She wore bright gold earrings and had a big boisterous laugh that came out of a 5′2″ second-generation cambodian girl maybe 100 pounds. Kylie had explained her laugh before—as learning to fit in in the massive Chicago college she had ended up attending—to be heard over the drinking.

They reached town. COVINGTON! sign, the exclamation mark added as a marketing afterthought in the mid-90s. Service club insignias. New coat of paint.

There was a new slogan underneath that Tessa didn’t remember. “COME INSIDE!”

“Come inside,” she repeated.

“Good advice!” Kylie said. She loved a good entendre.

Tessa looked out over the town. The trail of dark black smoke whirled up from over near Clayton Avenue. That was new, too. The lightning hadn’t left the town alone.

“Ooh, hope that isn’t the storefront,” Kylie said, examining it. “Or. Uh. Someone you know, Tessa.”

“It probably is,” Tessa said. She sighed. “Lets go see.”

The house was ash. They passed local residents leaving the scene—the rule being that staring at a house in flames was okay, staring at a cinderbed was somehow low class. There were three gleaming firetrucks still pulled out front in one of Covington’s nicer parts of town. The sidewalk in front of the dead house was immaculately paved, the lawn neat and trim excepting scars from bits of flaming house, and firefighter boots. It wasn’t a house that Tessa recognized. An ambulance idled nearby, the paramedics standing in front, hands in pockets.

“Gosh,” Kylie said, admiring, and it took Tessa more than a moment to realize she wasn’t admiring a house in flames.

It was the firefighters.

There were a ton of them, swarming in rubber yellow pants with suspenders, jackets off for the most part in the wet heat, just t-shirts. They were… they were extremely hot, the lot of them. Sexy as anything.

It wasn’t the kind of thing Tessa typically noticed, especially not next to infernos maybe containing corpses. But there were square jutting jaws with just the right amount of grizzle on them, ropey biceps. Shoulders so square you could level a board on them. And everywhere, trickles of sweat that Tessa knew, no question, would be wood-smoke-scented.

“I like this town so far,” Kylie said. She paused. “Too soon? Is this what your town exports? Grass-fed boys?”

“Nnnn...o,” Tessa said. She—no, hadn’t the town firefighting corps been an elderly truck manned by volunteers? Proud volunteers, to be sure, but basically Dads with bellies showing off for wives? A few professionals that had streaks of grey hair?

The hunks conferred among themselves over the charred remains. One turned around, noticed the two of them gawking, and gave a cheery wave. He had burly, hairy forearms.

“Lets dial 911 later,” Kylie said.

There was an odd bright flash, from deep within the house. Or was there? Tessa didn’t quite see it, didn’t quite feel it, like she had caught a flash of bright lightning with her eyes closed. She had the strangest sensation that she was—on her knees, she could feel the pressure from the floor. And smiling, too, smiling so happily, in ways her debt-ridden mid-20s face couldn’t easily do anymore. Someone was right in front of her, pointing his.. No.. that couldn’t be right… his penis…

She jerked backwards. It faded away, a dream.

There was a commotion. The fire studs with their gym-trained bodies, able to carry a number of girls at once, converged on the back portion of the house. The paramedics, who weren’t bad looking either, jumped upright and moved to pull loose the stretcher.

Found alive in the wreckage, miraculous, covered in soot and his hair singed and unconscious but otherwise totally, completely alive, was Victor.

“Special today is milkshakes!” said the waitress. She had enormous tits. Fat, veiny tits that were thrust into a bodycon dress, boobs spilling out on both sides of the flimsy cotton. The dress had pink and red stripes, and a small flair at the bottom of the waitresses’ ass. It had just a bit of 50s-era diner cache, a weak nod at it. But mostly it was a way to stuff tits and ass into clothes. Her nametag read, “Betsy”. There was a good chance the nametag needle went right through her teats, from the geometry of her clothes.

“What KIND of milkshakes?” Kylie said, intently.

Betsy blew a big wad of bubblegum, very thoughtfully. Her tits hovered over the table. “Blueberry, strawberry, watermelon, gumball, banana... “ she said, and trailed off. Betsy put her finger in her mouth to think. Her boobs wobbled on top of the table. Kylie shifted her bony, athletic butt closer to the window. “Basically if you can think of it, I think we got it,” she said.

“Marvelous,” Kylie declared. “Two chocolate milkshakes.” She handed over the menu.

Betsy looked at the both of them. “You two… together?” she said.

Tessa was entirely taken aback. First of all, that Mike’s Diner had become a breastaurant, of all things. She had remembered scowling waitress lifers with pinched faces, counting off divorces on both hands. Tapping their notepads on the cheap tables while nervous teenagers tried to figure out tipping rules. Not this boob cow with her aureole barely concealed, her ass an inch from display with every wiggle.

Second of all, Covington had heard of lesbians, and were against the idea. A gay guy had maybe driven through in 1993. The town elders were still talking about it. To casually suggest—and Betsy WINKED at them!

Kylie cackled at it. She was clearly in love with Covington. “Tessa isn’t my type,” she assured the waitress. “I like them tall, dark, and men.”

“Nothing wrong with men,” Betsy said. She cast an admiring eye along the diner.

She wasn’t wrong. Where were the sour farmers meeting up with sour wives, pink faces thin-lipped as they scanned the lunch crowd? Teenagers desperate to escape, nursing cokes and looking out the windows? This crowd was relaxed, boisterious, cheerful, and SEXY. There were blondes! An easy-to-look at guy in the center of everything had a girl on each side, their tits pert and high underneath bright canary yellow blouses, in equally matching jean shorts. A second breast-heavy waitress was giving the table behind her a great view of her panties, she had to be, bent over to take an order.

It was a varied and strange crowd, and Tessa didn’t recognize anyone in it. Covington just didn’t have good looking people inside of it. It was middle america—gone straight from cigarette-based nicotine skinniness to pear-shaped carb-loads. Who were these FUCKABLE PEOPLE?

Tessa watched attractive guy put his hands casually high up on the thighs of both girls—two wonderfully tanned thighs. Who had a carefully sculpted TAN in Covington? Step outside in high summer and if the lightning didn’t kill you, the bugs would.

“Earth to Tessa,” Kylie said, poking her with a straw. “See someone you know? And loathe?”

“Nnnnnno,” Tessa said, slowly. She eyed the crowd. There were… echoes… of people she knew, in the beefcake and studs and girls on offer. Like if Robert Davies had lost thirty pounds, and twenty years, and undergone radical facial surgery… he could’ve been the guy snuggling up against a big-titted brunette who looked a little like Veronica Stevens. If Veronica Stevens grew massive boobs and was excited to be fondled in public.

“You knew that guy who got electrocuted, right?”

“Victor. Yes. I did know him. Did.”

“Annnnnnd?” Kylie prodded.

“Kylie, why do you CARE?” Tessa said.

Kylie looked hurt. “We’re working together and we’re in your hometown! Which you hate even though it seems super nice! You are a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in.. however that ended!”

“I’m here to put up a big dong slash cellular tower in the middle of town, disguised as a crappy tree, and a storefront, and then I’m gone,” Tessa said. They worked for the second-largest cellular company in America. Covington was nearly a dead zone, although it wasn’t supposed to be completely reception-free. “Have you gotten any reception at all? I haven’t.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Kylie said. “Focus. Victor. Actually, focus. Milkshakes. Wow.”

Betsy put them on the table. They were hugely oversized, and came with both a spoon and several straws. Pure cream ran down their sides. “You girls want cherries? I mean, not you, dear, we went over that,” Betsy said, winking hard at Kylie. Even Kylie was taken aback at that one. She giggled nervously.

The milkshakes were incredible. Tessa’s resistance to them didn’t last longer than the first bite. The cellular phone advance associates worked on their gallons of freshly churned cream in silence.

“Ohhhhh, god,” Kylie husked, her face caked in sugar. Tessa wasn’t much better. There were droplets on both of their suits. “I need to see the cows around here. They must be super-intelligent.”

“No cows,” Tessa said, automatically. “We’re not a dairy. We grow crops.”

“Ugh. Well, whatever. Victor. Dish.”

Fine. Tessa’s defenses were lowered, anyway, after sucking a kilo of sugar through a straw.

“Ex-boyfriend,” she said. “Emphasis on the Ex.”

“Tessa?” said a bearded man just walking in.

He was taller than Tessa remembered, and wore a full, red beard that covered up anything she might remember from High School. But he had the same carefully combed haircut, the same Boy Scout eyes, the same soft-spoken voice. She looked at him, face smeared with ice cream, bits of muddled strawberries drying on her suit jacket.

“Hi Josh,” she said, swallowing the last droplet of whipped cream. Her cheeks burned. Kylie made room for him to sit down. “Kylie, this is Joshua. We used to date.”

Kylie’s eyes gleamed with sugar rush and gossip. “I’m starting to get the PICTURE!” she crowed.

Josh didn’t sit down. “Tessa,” he said, ignoring Kylie. A mark in his favor. “Did you just arrive? In town? I... “ he looked around, his hands bunched. Opening and closing. “Listen, I can’t talk here.” He leaned in near her. His breath was as soft and hot as she remembered. Covered in ice cream, of course she was. “You’re staying at the hotel, right? I’ll try to come by. Something is… off. I’m trying to figure it out. Stay safe.”

“What do you mean, something is off?” Tessa said, mildly annoyed at the former boyfriend leaning in to her personal space.

He pursed his lips from beneath the beard. “Not a single person here is eating anything.”

He stormed back out.

Tessa glanced around. A weird thing to say… but… true. A few people nursing cokes, and that was it. Full seats, empty tables. It was… odd.

“You could’ve just said ‘Ex-Boyfriends,”” Kylie said, watching his ass. “That would’ve been one word.”

Ray always offered up a few hours pre-test for students to come by, safe and secure in the knowledge that no one would. That meant a solid two hours of getting the grading done, unbothered by seniors, all of them tacitly aware that Civics definitely didn’t require a cram session and the grades would be decently inflated.

“Sir? Mr. Felt?” One of his three Emilys peeked in. “You here?”

“Oh,” Ray put a flask underneath the table. A manfully swallowed burst of bourbon half-choked him. Decades of teaching gave him the experience to manage. “Emily, come in.”

Ray nearly bit his tongue.

Nubile 18 year olds were an occupational hazard, and Covington had its fair share of girls who had filled out enormously. No shortage of farmer girls with long lashes blinking at him.

But Emily was taking it way too far. Pigtails, of all things. Tightly wound pigtails and a deep-scoop halter top that showcased her assets.

“Ummm… sir, I kinda need some help on the test, sir,” she said, and bit lightly on a pencil.

“Sir?” Ray said, laughing. He hadn’t been called sir… ever. “Mr. Felt”, it was going on his tombstone.

“It’s just so… HARD, sir,” she squeaked. Her eyes were wet, fearful.

“Well, what’s giving you trouble?” Ray said.

“All the… stuff… about the… government,” Emily said. She walked over. She wore pink shorts and had chosen three-inch heels to go see her aging Civics teacher. A long line of cleavage was practically tossed in Ray’s face. “Can you help me?”

Ray carefully put his hands on the table. Like any good teacher, he was prepared for his The Police moment. Be A Professional. Ignore the fact that his cock was iron hard.

So he gave Emily a slow and careful tutorial on the branches of government, ignoring her ample cleavage, arms thrust beneath it for effect. The way she kept crossing her legs, looking at him and biting her lips. And especially how she treated her pencil like a god damn dick, nibbling and sucking the tip.

“Emily, are you feeling okay?” Ray said, eventually. When she simply licked her lips at him. Emily jumped up. “I’m... “ there was a moment of confusion. Emily looked around, startled. “I’m… no, I’m… this isn’t… I’m... “ she looked down, strangely baffled at her own tits. But then she noticed him, and smiled, doubts floating away. “Isn’t there just some easier way for me to pass this test, sir?” she said.

“Study,” Ray said, teeth gritted. He showed her the door, and, to his own horror, couldn’t resist a pat on the ass as she walked outside. Just a subtle prod. It was such an incredible ass.

He barely had time to sit down and readjust his pants when another heavily-made up face peeked through the door.

“Sir?”

Theresa was his best student. A minor rebel who loved to smartass, had political stickers on her backpack, a purple pro-choice pin. Typically swimming in big grey sweaters. Underneath them were, apparently, two big tits. They were just restrained in a lily-white tank, and she wore a dark blue mini that would’ve fit in at any trashy Wal-mart in the state. Far more makeup than Ray had ever seen.

“I could use a little… umm… help, sir,” she said, in a chirpy voice. Ray watched her start to slide a pencil towards her lips. He gently took it away and snapped it in two. She had her lips painted a deep, deep red. They were a lot thicker than he recalled, too.

“Teresa, you’re getting an A in this class. You could fail to attend and get an A in this class. This class is a joke for you. You called Congress so much over health care you learned the names of the press reps.”

There was that same vague puzzled look in her eyes. Teresa rubbed her lips together, like the big coat of heavy gloss on them had just suddenly occurred to her.

Then she smiled and started to stroke his cock under the table.

It was—Ray started, and then sat back down. It was the best moment of his life, that’s what it was. Why lie? He wanted to fuck his students, sure he did. Use their bodies, paint their big farm titties with jizz. Leave them a mewling mess on his desk. Someone was going to, it might as well be him.

“No,” he said, hoarsely. He scratched at his face, vaguely aware of a goatee he didn’t recall growing. “No! Teresa, stop. You’re my best student. You’re not—get off your knees.”

She had slipped quietly down to the floor. He was an iron bar. His cock stuck all the way down his pant legs. It felt harder, longer. Practically down to his knees.

“But I neeeeed it,” Teresa moaned. “Please, teacher sir. Give me your big fat dick. I want to suck it so very badly.”

She recited it like a stageplay, and that cold bit of oddness gave Ray the strength to march her to the door, show her out. “See a shrink or a jock, they’ll help you,” he said, tightly. He felt stronger, younger. He could fuck her ten times, twenty. He could spurt jets of jizz that would knock her teenaged ass on the floor.

Ray paused. He opened the door just before the next knock.

A dozen students waited patiently in line. Girls, all of them. Blondes and brunettes and dark-haired seniors, in minis and little short dresses and taut shorts. Tits hanging loose, bra-less. Most of them nibbling, nibbling on pencils. They all smiled in unison at seeing him, and almost all licked their lips. Teresa and Emily had just rejoined the line at the back.

His cock throbbed. It practically hurt. It needed to be buried deep in barely-legal cooze. Of course it did, he was a teacher, showing a bunch of brainless co-eds how to use their only assets to at least fuck and suck to career success.

“Alright,” he growled. He had always really wanted to see Sarah, the class troublemaker, suck on all eleven inches of his dick. “Sarah, you’re first. But just so you know, I am going to grade you on this.”

“Want to make several hundred dollars?” the man in the dirty old van said.

“Oh, my god, you even have these?” Kylie said, stopping. They were walking back after carb-loading, practically wobbling under milkshake burdens. Milkshake dinners. Kylie had talked her into a second round, somehow. Tessa felt like she’d been drinking schnapps all day. “What a town of opportunity!”

The van guy was vastly hairy, and wore a number of rings on both hands. His shirt was clean, was the nicest thing Tessa could think to say. Tattoos peered out from anywhere not covered in dense thatched hair.

“Several hundred dollars for what?” Kylie said, as Tessa tried to tug her away.

The man looked surprised. “Sex! You know. What’d you think?”

“I guess I did think sex,” Kylie conceded. She looked a little intrigued. “With you or the driver?”

“Oh, we’re both drivers,” the man said. He gestured inside. “Look, it’s a nice van, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’ve got like, a chair in here. Towels, we got some towels. And my dick, is insanely big.”

“Wow, insanely big,” Kylie said, encouraging.

“This is disgusting,” Tessa whispered. “Lets go.”

“You didn’t tell me Covington had a thriving sex trade! I didn’t think you had red lights, much less a red light district.”

“We DON’T. This guy drove in from Wichita or something!”

“Wichita, oh my god,” Kylie snorted. “This is amazing.”

The man looked affronted. “Excuse me, miss. I am Covington born and raised! Class of 2012 Covington Eagles represent!”

Tessa was properly horrified. She was class of 2011. They had gone to High School together? She didn’t remember a stubby man that looked like an unshaven bull.

“We’ve been part of the Covington small business community for years now, isn’t that right, Nick!?” the man said. He puffed out his chest. “Nick was the secretary for the chamber of commerce last year! We bring a lot of money into the community!”

“Having sex with girls on the street for hundreds of dollars,” Kylie said.

“It’s not JUST sex,” the man said. “Facials, ass-fucks, we are a full-service van-sex business. Right Nick?”

Nick, unseen, called back “right!”

“Go AWAY,” Tessa said. She took Kylie’s arm, her face burning red hot. Accosted by perverts, her semi-boss laughing her ass off, stalking away while the man behind her yelled out, disappointed, “but you two have such great asses!”

They checked in. The hotel was reassuringly normal. Yes, the girl behind the desk had a metric load of makeup on, enough to make her face heavy, but she just smiled and gave them a bunch of key cards. The carpets were reassuringly old and faded, the beds in Tessa’s room squeaky.

“Come on, lets go check out the storefront,” Kylie said, poking her head in.

Tessa got up from the bed. Kylie had gone casual awful quick. She wore light tan shorts, nearly beige, with an oversized zipper that was a bright brass. And a hyperthin hoodie that had to be a counterfeit knockoff of something.

“There’s a tomorrow. We can do it then,” Tessa pointed out. She was tired. Something about her clothes felt… sweaty, like she had been jogging in them, and lifting weights. “We’re not supposed to head over until tomorrow. And I wanted to check on Victor’s status.”

“Call the hospital,” Kylie suggested.

“I did.” And that had been strange. Some nurse with the absolute worst case of the giggles Tessa had ever heard—just barely able to talk without a flighty case of laughter. While describing an unconscious patient. “No, he’s… ha… he’s still out! But he seems fine! Haha! We’re taking super good care of him!”

“Look, how much do you really care?” Kylie said.

Tessa considered. “I… lost my v-card to him. Sorta. Semi.”

Kylie perked up. Finally, gossip. “Three-incher?”

No. He had a perfectly capable cock and had given her a totally reasonable first fuck. It was just that, when it was over, and she and he were sweating on her bed and she had looked at him to affix the moment forever in her life, he had screwed up his face and said “I guess that’s all it is, huh?”

“I don’t a lot care about him,” Tessa said.

“Great! Get changed. You look like you’re selling real estate.”

“It’s mostly antique shops, antique owners,” Tessa explained. Covington’s downtown was not very impressive. “Auto part stores, two banks, antique shop antique shop antique shop. There’s a cute little bookstore, or there was. It got quietly blackballed when it put a Michael Moore book in the front window. Not sure how it’s getting on. Then more antique shops. I am 100% confident the storefront we’re taking over is a.. former.. antique...“

She trailed off. They had reached downtown.

It was still a cracked, dusty street that could use a good sheen of black hardtop. And there was still the single light in the intersection, on permanent caution duty. Otherwise…

“Tessa, why do you keep telling me all these lies?” Kylie said, calmly.

There were so many people. Young people, out enjoying the post-rain break from relentless heat. Girls in polka dot skirts and wearing pink lipstick, walking cute poodle-y dogs. A brawny cop stood with another brawny cop next to two idling motorcycles, grinning at the crowd behind mirror-shade sunglasses. The firefighters were evidently off-duty, or maybe there were other thickly built men, in mesh shorts walking around with hourglass-figure girlfriends.

Not a single antique shop to be seen—or an old person, for that matter. There were clothing shops, yes. Lots of them, and apparently several with names like NAUGHTY BY NATURE and NIGHTSHOP and KISSES AND HUGS, with lacy things in the window.

“Welcome to the Trump era, huh?” Kylie said, sympathetically. “It’s a trashy world out there.”

“It’s…” Tessa shut her lips tightly. She seemed to be the only female in jeans—no, there was a single one, with pants essentially painted on. A convertible passed by, then another, then a third—two Mustangs and a Camaro. “Okay, fine,” Tessa said.

“Tessa, if that sign over there is correct, I am going to have to go in there,” Kylie warned, pointing. “Ten dollar bras. That’s amazing. And the makeup shop. Free sample lipstick. They must have brain damage.”

“SOMEONE has brain damage,” Tessa said. At least she didn’t recognize anyone. Business was booming, too. Any girl not clutching a man was clutching a big parcel of clothes. There was a thin reek of weed, for god’s sake. She knew a classmate who was practically run out of town for smoking a joint. The cops here didn’t seem to care. They kept a close eye on girl butts.

“Well, here’s the empty storefront,” Kylie said. It was sandwiched between a bar and, reassuringly, the old bookstore. It, at least, was still there. “Mission accomp—holy SHIT Tessa look at THAT!”

She pointed down towards the end of the street. The road seemed to end, although Tessa knew from many long, boring trips that it curved away and led directly into endless fields of crops, ending in Des Moines. As far back as she could recall there was a farm equipment dealer in the prized lot overlooking town.

Today there was a hot pink neon sign that read “EROTIC ESSENTIALS”. It was already on, and blazing in color, despite the sun still sidling down the horizon. The old brown clapboard walls were painted dark, dark black, and there were three times as many windows. All of them contained mannequins, sexy-as-hell mannequins, posed for the world to see in simulated sex acts, flashing plastic white asses to Main Street.

“What the FUCK?” Tessa said, eventually.

“W-O-W,” Kylie said. “Double-you, oh, double-you. Lets go.”

For once, Tessa didn’t protest.

Inside was packed to the absolute limit, and it was hard to say where the merchandise left off and the customers began.

DEFINITELY some of the mannequins weren’t just plastic. In pride of place, right when they walked in, stood a porcelain-white girl, her skin impossibly smooth, in fishnet everything from head to toe, her eyes covered in a black handkerchief that was glossy and smooth. She smiled at them as they entered, nonetheless.

“This is amazing,” Kylie said, unrestrained. “I have never seen this kind of selection. Tessa, there’s two floors! Two! A porn store with an upstairs! Ohh and there’s a fireman pole to get back downstairs that doubles as a stripper pole! That’s so clever!”

There were, in fact, two different girls on the pole. A cherubic blonde in co-ed gear who seemed to be overtaken by it, just twirling, her lush body packed into light-wash denim. And above her, a real pro, a slender girl with a ponytail in skimpy workout gear walking on air.

A deep bass beat echoed through the hall, matched with a girl vocal that was pure sex, both whisper-seductive and brainless bubble-gum at the same time. The only lyric Tessa could make out, over the general hubbub, was “sex, sex, sex.” Just chanted. The rhythm of it seemed to echo in the closely-packed bodies moving around.

It was the first time Tessa had gotten in close with the new Covington, and it was disturbingly uncaring about her personal space. She was instantly surrounded by very attractive boys. There was a type of midwestern hunk that she had tried, so hard, to remove from her list of likes—it was too much like home. A little meaty, a little sweaty, clearly at home riding in a pickup truck, clearly familiar with the ins and outs of transmission work. Suddenly they were all around her, gently touching her hips to move around. They smelled like the kind of sex Tessa wished she didn’t want—a touch of horse and a lot of country.

The only good news was they all were sporting the most terrible facial hair. Wispy, ridiculous goatees. Tessa forced herself to concentrate on them. “Not hot,” she reminded herself. Hot, her body said.

“Oh my god these are so great!” said Kylie. She was bouncing from boy to boy like a petite cambodian pinball, unabashedly patting their chests and patting their butts. At first Tessa simply thought she meant the guys. But instead Kylie had somehow found a line of pure white satin bras. “These are Robert Pans! They cost four hundred dollars! They’re on sale for thirty! They make A-cups look like angels! That’s their tag-line!”

Tessa squeezed in next to Kylie, made a half-hearted examination of the merchandise. They did—she had to admit it—look super cute.

“Here!” Kylie said, handing her a set.

It was her size. “Kylie, how do you know my bra size?” Tessa said.

Kylie wrinkled her nose. She did look puzzled. “I… don’t know. I guess I… guessed? Oh my god, shoes!”

Every pair of heels was at least four inches. They were liquid sex. There was a feeding frenzy around them—girls understood in a way boys never would that heels changed everything. The entire shoe section was full of girls in short skirts and small, undersized dresses pulling on flashy straps with big, thick wedges. No one was bothering to keep their legs crossed.

“These are usually SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS!” Kylie was in some sort of trance. She carried around three of the bras and clutched some other lace thing or another that was too skimpy to identify as clothes. “They’re EIGHTY BUCKS here! Wait, there’s a blue sticker on them. What does blue sticker mean?”

“Twenty percent off!” a girl called out.

“Oh my god,” Kylie said. She looked physically transported. “Tessa, your town is a wonderland. Do you grow shoes out here as well?”

“Just.. mostly sorghum,” Tessa said.

Everything was extraordinarily cheap and ultra-cute, Tessa had to admit. Her own wardrobe was heavily skewed towards what Kylie called “managment clothes,” excepting one pair of running pants she actually did run in, one dress for brunches, one dress for dates she wasn’t going on. It was hard to imagine herself prancing around, hips gyrating on their own accord, ass hoisted high in the air, tits equally up and smooshed together, lace rubbing between her legs. These were all clothes for prancing.

Actually, it wasn’t that hard to imagine. It seemed… nice. And just like that, there was a pair of wine-red heels criss-crossed with ruby straps right in front of her, exactly her size. With skyscraper heels that would make her walk like a drunken co-ed. That’s what it would take to get the boys here to notice someone like her.

Of course, she could just drop to her knees and smile…

Tessa blinked. “I’ll just pick these up,” she said. Kylie nodded from somewhere behind a mountain of black, red, and white nighties, almost all adorned with lace, lightly sprinkled with spandex or modern equivalents. She had put a bra on her head to make room, and everything was precariously balanced around a stack of shoeboxes.

The person behind the counter was—familiar. Rugged, yes, with the same square jawline that every male here sported, and with the same biceps that had to be coerced into t-shirts.

“You’re.. the mayor,” Tessa said, as Kylie let tip her mountain onto the counter. They had waited behind a quartet of late-teens in high knee socks, all of them calmly and nonchalantly buying very large vibrators. It had reawakened her sense of wrongness. “You’re Mayor Ward.”

“Former Mayor,” the proprietor said, cheerfully. “Served my term.”

“You tried to get the High School newspaper shut down because it ran an article on condoms,” Tessa said. Former Mayor Ward’s eyes narrowed, confused. “You gave a big speech about how family planning meant planning to have a family. You run a farm equipment store.”

“I... “ he gave her a long look, attention somewhere else. His eyes searched out the room, the depot of erotic items, with a stairwell built just right to look up skirts from the cashier’s vantage point. He gave her a little laugh. “Well, things change. Right? I guess?”

“You started a PORN STORE?”

“Erotic Goods,” Mayor Ward said. “Yeah. I... “ he trailed off. “I did that. I must’ve. We’re standing in it.”

They looked at each other in mutual puzzlement.

“Oh, god, lighten up,” said Kylie, sorting through her shoes. She swapped on a bright red sticker—50% off—right in front of Mayor Ward, who didn’t notice. “Tessa, I don’t know why you’re sad that you didn’t come from Footloose, U.S.A., but it’s not actually a problem. You can grow corn and still actually enjoy yourself. If I had to stare at corn all day I’d want to fuck IMMEDIATELY once I got home.”

“We don’t grow corn here,” the Mayor and Tessa both said. They both locked eyes again. The Mayor opened his mouth…

There was a white flash… just out of sight.

Tessa licked her lips. She caught just the slightest tang of something—hot, and wet, and salty and sweet.

It was… delicious…

She blinked. Mayor Ward—no, what? Mr. Ward, she remembered him, right? Good-natured, three daughters. Had opened the town’s first… porn store. Right. Had made a rousing speech about how all he wanted to do was bring a little love to town.

That was right.

“Sorry, card declined,” Mr. Ward said, handing it over.

“Oh, what?” Kylie said. “Really? Try it again.”

The card failed. Tessa handed hers over, on Kylie’s promise to pay “ten million times interest.” No luck.

“That happens with out of town cards,” Mr. Ward said. He had a ponytail, Tessa just noticed. A sign behind him read “NO RETURNS IF ITEM IS USED, COME ON PEOPLE.” “But… I can just write down your info and let you two have your stuff. It’s no big deal. I’ll charge it tomorrow when I get time.”

“Oh, that is wonderful!” Kylie gushed. “Small town values!”

“Yeah, I just need to take a photo of you two kissing,” Ward said. He pulled out an ancient polaroid camera and aimed it at them. “For security.”

“Sorry?” Tessa said.

“Kissing. Making out. Lezzing? You’re familiar with lezzing? Sucking face? It’s for the Wall O Credit,” Ward said. He pointed over. There was, in fact, a bulletin board with girls going after each other. Sucking face, debt amounts written right underneath.

“We.. why kiss?” It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, at all.

Ward looked puzzled. “What else do you have to offer?” he said, genuinely confused.

It was a very hard question to answer, for both girls. The logic of it struck Tessa. They didn’t have money, so what else did they have? Bodies, there. Seemed obvious, once you thought about it. They could kiss each other and make something of value right away. All of a sudden the world would have a new picture to pass around, to jack off to, get hard to—two attractive girls slipping each other tongue. Collateral.

“I… uh…” she said, pulling back. No, this wasn’t… this was insane. Why was she supposed to kiss her co-worker? “No.. I’ll just… we can just call visa..”

“Tessa, I know I’m your supervisor,” Kylie whispered, at her. The crowd had caught wind of the credit dispute and were watching them. Tessa felt intent, interested male eyes. They’d get really hard if she kissed Kylie, absolutely. And Kylie had… plumper lips than she remembered. “But I want those shoes so bad I’d get pounded in the ass for them. Pucker up. This is good for your career.”

“I’ve never kissed a girl,” Tessa said. The crowd laughed and cheered.

It was… no. She couldn’t. Kylie licked her lips. Her full attention turned to Tessa. Tessa’s knees felt weak. She tasted—just the slightest edge of wet salt. The room flashed somewhere. She wanted to smile. Kylie just tugged on her shirt and brought her down, kissed her hard without hesitation. The camera flashed. Kylie was hard, insistent, fierce. Her tongue came out, shocking Tessa, who couldn’t quite seem to pull away. It was all so soft and sweet. Her body burned.

The kiss went on and on. The camera flashed and flashed and flashed.

She had made out with her boss. Semi-boss. Senior colleague at the very least. Sucked face for minutes, exploring each other’s mouths, her face cupped in Kylie’s hands, smelling her very subtle scent. Tessa would always know, now. Kylie smelled like blueberries and wet swimsuits.

They hadn’t said anything on the way back to the hotel. Just walked quietly, weighed down with Kylie’s purchases. Somehow Tessa had ended up with a bunch more as well—half-decent dresses that she’d have to tug the hem down on, socks in a bunch of strange and sexy patterns, even a Hooters-girl tanktop that had ribbed cotton to support tits. Plus the red heels.

Tessa kept checking her phone. They hadn’t gotten service the entire time. It was a strange disconnect, going from a world of twitter and snaps and half-assed dating app messages and group chats, to just her with the 100 pound southeast asian girl she had sucked face with.

“See you… tomorrow,” Kylie had said, at their adjoining hotel rooms. Uncharacteristically somber. “We’ll meet at 8, head over to the site. Meeting is at 9. We’ll be out of here by noon.”

“Yeah, noon,” Tessa said. She smiled, in spite of everything. It was strange, how she just kept… smiling. Her town had become Sodom and Gomorrah apparently overnight, everything was strange, and she had a vested interest whether or not Kylie had undisclosed oral herpes.

She shut the hotel door and laid down on the bed.

Tessa let out a deep, deep breath.

She flicked on the TV and immediately found herself watching porno.

HD, extremely high-def porno. The sound was full-up, too, so there was a brief moment where the sounds of some girl getting off filled the room, until she figured out the volume control.

Had the TV been left on Showtime Nights, or whatever it was? No, this was channel 2, it had been Covington’s boring CBS affiliate for time immemorial, the local newscaster sporting an entire beard and maniacally intent during tornado watches. Showing porn.

Tessa tried to flip the switch. Nothing seemed to happen. Porno, every channel. The same show—a brown-haired girl with perfect white skin, like she had bathed in photoshop, getting reamed in some hole or another from behind. Some vaguely ethnic guy with a very impressive, very long, very hairless dick. It was machine-like, that phallus, insanely oiled. She watched it piston out of the girl, who seemed half-braindead from all those inches. She kept screaming and screaming.

Another long sigh, and Tessa put her hands between her legs. What the hell. If Covington was going to be so damn sexy, there was nothing wrong with masturbating. She’d jacked off pre-moving out, timidly fingering herself in the bathroom to flimsy images of Boy Bands. Classic Americana.

But even in full adolescence, hormones firing, nothing felt as good as that first swipe between her legs in that hotel room.

“Oh, shit,” Tessa swore, half-frightened. It was white fire between her legs, like she hadn’t cum in a year. Easy pleasure, for once. Her clit felt thick, even heavy. She could practically feel it pulse with her heartbeat, swollen with blood and needy. What the hell was this? Sex had always been a treasure hunt for her, a forlorn hunt for an orgasm.

This—this just felt fucking good.

Tessa put more and more fingers on top of her pussy, her hips spasming and shuddering. She felt a dull sense of relief, a weird inability to do more than rub, rub, rub. Her fingers were sopping wet, her slit warm in the air. It was actually noisy, this finger-fucking, a raw slick-slick sound that was all friction.

Gawd, it somehow wasn’t enough. It was too good—sex had never been this good—and she needed something. Tessa, on instinct, flipped over, now on all fours on the bed, pointing her ass straight up. On the screen the camera lingered on the girl’s face, doggy-style, the porno girl’s eyes practically rolling around, panting right into the mic. Tessa reached between her legs—this made no sense—it was harder to reach anything—but it felt so right. She had to support herself with one arm. Her clit pounded with her frantic rubbing. She couldn’t scream, her boss was in the next room over—she was screaming, screaming, and there was someone else screaming too. Not just the TV girl, although she was cumming buckets. A high-pitched, girlish scream from the next room over.

Tessa collapsed. In the morning she had bigger tits.

They had stopped bothering to actually deliver pizza.

For awhile Banello’s Pizza had gone through the effort of making dough, putting red sauce on it, cheese, and toppings, and baking it. But it was such a clearly empty gesture, the box tossed, untouched, not even looked at, so that the delivery boy could vigorously fuck the orderer. And they were so insanely busy, too. The pizza had gotten haphazard, barely baked, eventually just a box of raw dough and red sauce tossed on the couch. They had stopped that too. They needed the bakers to help fuck.

Darren still brought the empty box. It was a kind of calling card.

It was funny, he thought, vaguely, after leaving a house. He hadn’t been hungry in—a long time. When had he last eaten anything? A day ago? Two days?

He wasn’t hungry. For food. He did want to fuck. They had a 30 minute delivery guarantee, and he was fucking the girls for an average of five minutes which meant—he’d cum 20-30 times in the past day? Something like that. Whatever.

His dick bobbed between his legs, revving with the engine of his Kia. It didn’t feel raw. It was meaty, thick, eager. Enormous and veiny. Darren himself was maybe 160 pounds—he was mostly cock, lately. A penis delivery device, fucking eager and horny housewives within 2-3 minutes of arrival.

And even so, he was falling behind. The last house had been a book club. They had all taken turns slurping on his knob, worshipping it, and he had unloaded on every single one of their faces, gobs of cum hitting made-up expressions, dribbling into expensive necklaces. The phone back at Banello’s rang and rang, Covington’s needy females desperate for male servicing.

Darren checked his watch. He’d make the next delivery. It was the one after that that was gonna get dicey. He dialed the upcoming customer’s phone.

“Hey, this is the Banello’s guy.”

The voice was husky, needy. “Ohhh you’re almost late!”

“Yeah, we’re slammed. Listen, here’s what you’re gonna do. Are you wearing clothes?”

There was a pause. “Yes?”

“Underwear? Are you wearing panties?”

“Uhhh. Yes? Is that okay? Please hurry.”

“Yeah. Okay, take off your clothes. Now. Panties, too. Totally buck naked. Got that? What’s your name?”

“Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, are you playing with your tits?”

“Ummm,” Sylvia said. “Hold on, I’m getting undressed? Like you asked?”

“Great, good girl” Darren said. He rounded a curve and pushed down hard on the pedal. “Now, I want one hand to start pinching your nipples. Are you pinching your tits, Sylvia?”

“Ummmm, yes,” Sylvia said. Her voice, already husky, went down another notch.

“Good girl. Now, I want your pussy to be wet when I get there. Sopping wet. Sylvia, when I get to your house, I am going to walk in, I am going to sink ten inches of dick into you, and I want that slit of yours to be absolutely sopping wet. I want lubricant running down both thighs. Are we clear, Sylvia?”

“Ohhh, please hurry, sir,” Sylvia said.

“Sylvia,” Darren said. “With your other hand, start masturbating. Hard.”

“I can’t—I’m—”

“Put me on speaker, Sylvia.”

There, at the end of the road. Darren took a 25 at 48.

“Ohhh, god, hurry, I’m so wet,” Sylvia moaned.

“Good girl. Sylvia, get a chair, put it near the door. Okay?”

“Uh, okay, sir.”

“Good. Sylvia, you are doing fantastic. Now, I want you to bend your big ass over the top of that chair so your pussy is facing the door. You got that? I am going to open that door, and the first thing I want to see is that big, wet pussy of yours, absolutely gushing. Okay? Can you do that?”

“Okay! Okay! Where are you?”

Darren pushed the door open. As promised, a big rear, pre-moistened for him, hoisted up in the air. He took just a moment to admire her curvy ass, well-padded hips with her feet pushing up to give him better access.

“Are… are you the pizza guy?” she asked, when he was already halfway in, cock already starting to thrust, bottom out inside of her. She smelled wet, just like he liked it. He could see a wedding ring on her left finger, clutching part of the chair. Oh well.

“That’s me,” Darren said. Giving her a rough little thrust for emphasis. Darren pulled her off the chair and pivoted her, via her tits, to a table. The first real push had her already moaning and wailing. “Good girl,” he told her, satisfied.

He hadn’t even remembered the pizza box.

It was the next house, as expected, that gave Darren trouble. Out on the outskirts of town, for one thing, in a collection of pre-fabs an energy company had put up for some possible pipeline work running nearby. Just on the edge of their dick delivery window. Dispatch had given him warning, to be fair. “She ordered actual pizza,” the man told Darren, puzzled.

“What?” Darren said. Bits of Sylvia still dripped off of him, underneath his pants. They had broken the chair.

“Yeah. Pineapple. Pineapple and ham.”

Darren sounded this out, puzzled. It sounded… familiar. Those were… pizza ingredients. He remembered those, dream-like. It was all gauzy and slightly unreal. “Did she say anything like, I’m so fucking wet, or promise she’d be waiting, anything like that?”

“Nope, real puzzler. Good luck.”

The door was locked, too. Unheard of. He had to knock on the door and announce himself. “Pizza!”

“Oh, thank god!” a redhead opened the door, and Darren was even more confused. She wore shapeless pajama pants, a black t-shirt with a logo on it. Darren stared at it, baffled. Some sort of… swoosh insignia. It felt vaguely unclean, wrong… heretical. But she was also fully stacked and even draped heavy cotton pants couldn’t quite hide her hips.

They looked at each other, flummoxed. “Where’s the pizza?” she said, eventually.

“I mean…” the question made no sense. Darren finally just walked inside. Women! Expecting actual pizza. “I guess I’m the pizza.” He tried to put some charisma into it.

“Oh… oh god,” redhead whispered. “You’re one of them. I should’ve—this was a mistake.”

“Miss, you ordered a pizza deliveryman, and here I am, and why are you wearing pants?” Darren said, as politely as he could. His cock was starting to flag for the first time in twenty-four hours.

“You’re one of the… sex monsters! You are! I’ve seen you and your—types! All around this horrible, awful town!” she pointed an actual finger at him, accusing. “All you’re doing is having sex, all the time! I was the only one to show up to work today! All the neighbors are—they’re just fucking and fucking! I can hear them scream!”

Darren rolled his eyes at this. He sat down, casually. His cock bulged way down his pants. He watched her eyes shift to it. So that’s what this was.

“Sex monsters,” he said, casually.

“Yes. Yes!” Redhead said. She moved to put a very small coffee table between him and her.

“Going around fucking with total abandon.”

“That’s right!” her voice broke.

“And you decide it makes sense to order a pizza from a pizza place smack dab in the middle of town and have an inevitably male pizza delivery man come into your house.”

“I…” redhead’s voice trailed off. “I was starving. I couldn’t leave the house.”

“Uh-HUH,” Darren said. He walked casually into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator. “Look at that. Fully stocked. Lets check the pantry. One, two, I count five boxes of cereal. Starving.”

He fixed her with a long look and raised an eyebrow. Redhead was sweating. It wasn’t a bad look. Made her tits cling to her shirt.

“I’m starving,” she whispered. “I… I don’t look like THIS. With the big titties and the… I’m not this horny! I’m not!”

Now she was speaking his language. Darren relaxed. “Look, I’ll just pull down my pants, and you can see if you’re hungry or not, and than I’ll go,” he said. Thank god, his dick had been under clothes for 15 minutes, and it was getting antsy. He shucked them down, wet and damp from the fluids of dozens of girls. Half of Covington, at this point. And a tiny bit of pizza grease.

“Ohhhh,” redhead moaned, in a very familiar way. They both admired his dick. It had a slight bow to it, like it was struggling with its own weight, but the cockhead itself was upturned and shining with precum. The veins gave it a look like a piece of machinery—like it had been engineered.

“It’s… some sort of virus or something... “ redhead said, She was drooling, her mouth wide open. “No. Magic. You’ve got a.. Magic… penis… so magic.”

Watching her walk towards him on her knees made up for the hard-to-get performance, her eyes locked on to his cock. He made her wait while he pulled her shirt off, without resistance, unleashing two big boobs that wobbled around for ages after getting unleashed. She had the reddest, ripest nipples he had seen yet, to match her hair. Then he let her start to suck on him.

“It’s all wrong,” she moaned, much later, on top of the kitchen table. “It’s.. it’s like a cartoon or something. Just a… fuck cartoon.”

Darren paused for a half-stroke. It… no, that wasn’t right. Yeah, he had it too, the strange sense that he used to… eat food… and was going to go to college… and had a little wang that never got any use excepting his own hand. A pathetic limp-dicked virgin counting sad tips in a boring town….

But that couldn’t be right. He was a pizza delivery boy. No, pizza delivery MAN. He shoved it so far into redhead her voice cracked.

Tessa tried to remember if she always had such luscious tits.

She didn’t … exactly… remember having such wonderful, cherry titties. Perfectly curved even without a bra, topped by two perky nipples that were a mild and sweet red. Maybe a bit too round, even—there was a little boob job to them, a little bit of balloon and gel. Not that anyone was going to mind. They were great.

And they felt amazing. She stood in the hotel mirror and stroked them, puzzled. She didn’t—surely she’d remember growing up with big boobs. Having big boobs changed a girl’s life. Back pain. Big bras. Jokes from the boys, hesitating before picking out tanktops. Nicknames for each tit. She didn’t… remember any of that.

But they were unquestionably her boobies. When she hefted them they felt fully wired up to her brain, no question. Tweaking a nipple sent a fiery surge through her entire body. And she had a bra correctly sized for them, in the big pile she had bought yesterday. Why else would she have bought that size?

Right.

Except…

Her work shirts had to strain and work to button over the top of them. And there was this sense of… wrongness. She didn’t have any phone reception, still. She had put practically an entire fist up her cunt last night and screamed herself to sleep. In the morning, when she woke up, porno was still running on TV. She had watched it for a half-hour, and caught herself drooling.

And she had soaked her sheets with sweat… and other fluids.

“Morning, Tessa,” Kylie said. She slipped into the other chair. They were the only ones in the lobby for breakfast. Honestly, Tessa wasn’t hungry at all. She just sipped at some coffee.

“Kylie! Your... “

“My what?”

“Your lips!” Tessa couldn’t stop herself from saying.

“You got enough of them last night,” Kylie said. She blew out a long breath. “Lets go bother the contractors.”

That wasn’t what Tessa had meant. Her supervisor/kissing buddy/synchronized masturbation friend had big, enormous, cock-sucker lips. They looked mostly real, if puffy and thick, and Kylie had coated them in light pink lipstick. Her voice was… breathier? Softer? Like she moonlighted for phone sex. And she wore one of those outfits—from last night. A silver-black blouse that looked shiny and wet, a white pencil skirt that was just as flash.

“No I mean—” the two girls looked at each other. Kylie arched an eyebrow. Tessa was certain, totally certain, that if she leaned forwards and pressed her lips against that perfect, she’d end up with light pink lipstick all over her. “Kylie, are my boobs bigger?”

“Ughhhh literally rubbing it in that you have the best tits,” Kylie slumped across the table. “Not literally. Mostly literally. Yes, Tessa, you have awesome breasts. Just fantastic tits. Congrats on your big naturals. When you’re reincarnated as a single asian female remember these days fondly.”

“No.. I mean.. This place…” The hotel desk attendant waved at Tessa and held out the hotel phone. “Hold on.”

Tessa listened, scribbled a few notes on a pad. She looked over a Kylie, who was drinking a glass of water from a straw. The attendant watched her, enchanted. The water didn’t have a chance. “Kylie, meet you there? Josh wants to meet. He sounds worried.”

“Feel free,” Kylie said. The rest of a big glass of water disappeared between her lips. They were wet. She ran her teeth over them. “Goodbye kiss?”

Tessa could hardly say no. What little qualms she had were erased by the memory of last night—when they had necked, fiercely, in front of a cheering crowd. A little heat in the morning, with just the room clerk to watch, didn’t mean much more. She bent down for the kiss, which was as moist, and as soft, and as hot, as she had pictured.

She did stiffen when she felt Kylie’s hands on her boobs. Yeah, sure, on top of her blouse, and on top of her bra, but still hefting her thick titties. It was fine. Part of being a boob queen was that they were sort of public property. She broke the kiss just as their tongues touched.

“Just kidding! Making sure they’re real!” Kylie said. She laughed. “Go say hi to the old boyfriend. Don’t get too much of my lipstick on them.”

The clerk applauded as Tessa walked out, and Tessa felt both his and Kylie’s eyes on her ass.

“Over here,” Josh hissed.

He was half-hidden behind a wall of books and magazines, a makeshift fortress he had made primarily out of hardcovers. It was clearly intentional—he had his back to the wall, and had piled an enormous amount of texts such that he could just glare over it at the rest of the library.

Tessa retreated behind it. He had saved her a seat. Josh looked intense, worried, his face red-blotchy underneath his big beard. He wore a baseball cap and talked in a whispered hurry.

“I’m glad you made it,” he said. He had a rough baritone voice now that Tessa, frankly, kind of liked. “I was worried.”

“Worried about what?” Tessa whispered back.

He gave her a long look. “You don’t see it? Can’t you tell how WRONG everything is? Tessa, just look around! This is the library, and everyone here is about to rip their clothes off and fuck on the floor!”

She followed his lead, glaring just over the top of the books, fully aware of how stupid they had to look. There was, yeah, more of the general… sexiness… that was new to Covington. A young couple lounged near the entrance, girl sitting on her boyfriend’s lap, purring to each other as they examined a big book that was almost certainly sex instructions, from the way they kept tilting their heads. And over in a corner was a spirited yoga instruction group, listening to soft music, asses taut and high up in the air in matching black stretchy pants.

“I mean… everyone looks good... “ she said, uncertain.

“Tessa, watch the librarian,” he said. Boy, it was a tone that didn’t brook resistance. Tessa had to look.

The librarian was a petite blonde, wearing heavy glasses, white blouse buttoned all the way up to the neck. She was pretty, no doubt about it, ice princess skin and piercing blue eyes. She was flirting pretty obviously with a patron, an older man with his hands on his hips, leaning over the counter and laughing at his jokes.

“She’s just a twenty-something,” Tessa hissed. “She’s a blonde. Big deal. This is crazy.”

“Just keep watching,” Josh said.

Blonde ran an affectionate hand over the man’s bicep, and finished checking out. Then she swept out from behind the counter. Tessa did blink—her skirt was micro-short, too brief to even tell the material, but it was definitely night-black and definitely ruffled and definitely barely hid the skim of her ass. She was perched on stilleto heels. The patrons watched her affectionately, and that was before she went right up a ladder in her ultra-brief skirt.

“Daring,” Tessa conceded. It was a hot scene, to be honest. She was still half-thinking about the Kylie kiss. Kisses. And not unaware of Josh’s intent, very adult body, right next to her. They’d fucked once before. He’d added twenty muscle pounds and a lot of deep growling manhood since then. Didn’t hurt.

“That’s not it.”

“Can you help me brace the ladder?” Librarian cooed out, to the world at large. Two strapping men were happy to oblige, each holding a run in meaty hands and looking directly up her skirt. “Mmmm, thank you boys!” she called out.

“So she’s a bit of a... tease,” Tessa said, trailing off. This was a library in a small mid-american town. She recalled it plenty from her own time—she had hid there for half her adolescence, reading books the town had tried to ban for one reason or another. The librarians were friendly mom-types who drove subarus. They weren’t—sexpots.

Blonde descended from the ladder, rewarded both boys for their ladder-holding skills with long, deep kisses, and waltzed off with them to a back room. They hadn’t spoken to each other. Tessa watched her ass disappear, each cheek underneath a hand.

“Well,” she said.

“That’s not it either,” Josh said, grimly. “You didn’t catch it. Tessa, she went up and down that ladder and didn’t do anything with a BOOK. She didn’t even touch one. It’s all—it was just a performance.”

Josh looked at her with intense, hard eyes. They took Tessa’s breath away. She readied herself to say yes to whatever. “Tessa, something is very, very wrong. It’s like—it’s porn. Everything’s porn. Every single thing in this town is—it’s porno. I swear.”

She giggled at that—but it died, quickly. He was dead serious. “Look, I’m gonna leave aside the big porn shop in the middle of town, the good looking people, the behavior. Just look at the magazines. This is what the magazine rack holds.”

He flipped a bunch of magazines at her. Half were simply skin mags—Penthouse, Playboy, Hustler—back issues, too. Issues from what looked like the 80s and 90s, but still glossy and new. Pages pristine. She opened a page at random and saw a big gaping girl asshole, with half a smile looking back at the camera from far away. There was a gob of cum dripping from it. On the front of each magazine was the usual library barcode.

“Oh my,” she said, from far away. She shook her head—no, it—there had to be a rational explanation. This wasn’t—“Josh, this isn’t—what are you saying? That it’s MAGIC?”

He shook his head, fast and hard. “It’s everywhere, Tessa. Everywhere! Nothing escaped! Look, I pulled out the most sexless things I could. Open up Pride and Prejudice. Any page. Any god damn page!

Tessa took the hardcover with nerveless hands. She had read Austen a hundred times. She had read the Covington Public Library’s copy of Pride and Prejudice, a hundred times. This copy.

….Elizabeth attempted to keep her mouth a thin and severe line, disapproving of Mr. Darcy’s thoughtless manners and bold presumption. But the man simply pushed back and forth within her, in a graceful arc that touched all parts of her, and finally elicited a long moan of wanton delight…

“They’re all like that,” Josh said, when she slammed the book shut. “You should read 1984. It’s fucked up. Here, I picked up a book of maps. Check out Ohio.”

Tessa opened it up. She nodded her head, slowly, and then closed it again. “Well, that’s very graphic,” she said.

“I know. Tessa, I’ve been trying to get out of here, but it’s—it’s like I can’t figure out how to leave. I’ve just been wandering around town, wondering if I’m crazy. I was hoping maybe you weren’t affected yet by—by whatever it is, but obviously that’s not the case.”

Over on the far end of the library, the yoga group was learning about how to hold their rears in the air while still inserting their fingers into their slits, supporting all their weight on just one arm. Their calm, peaceful orgasms contrasted with the furious cumming screams coming from the library backroom. The couple by the front kept staring at their book, the boyfriend’s hand down the front of his girlfriend’s pants.

“What do you mean?” Tessa whispered, frightened, suddenly. There was a little too much going on to explain away, all of a sudden. She put her head right next to Josh. His eyes were intent. “That I’m affected?”

“Jesus, you can’t tell?” Josh said. He looked at the carpet. “Tessa, do you really think you always had such fuckable tits?”

Kylie was in love with the town of Covington. And Covington was loving her back, and everyone else, as well.

The muggy haze of yesterday had boiled away. There was a line of angry looking clouds well off to the east, but they seemed to be funneling north, rolled up like a newspaper and shunted away. That meant nothing but a beautiful golden morning on main street.

Back home this was the hour of old people—grumpy, grey-faced types picking up newspapers, walking old dogs, getting a doctor-ordered walk in. Younger types would zip by on cars, on their way to work, but everyone outside was ancient. Not here. Here it was—there weren’t any olds, as far as Kylie could tell. Just prime-of-life, fucking fertile men and women with cheerful if vapid smiles and fantastic hair. Apparently they got up at 5, because hair was perfect, makeup was thickly applied, and everyone was in really hot clothes that really showed off their tits or muscles or what have you.

And they LOVED Kylie. Yes, it was obviously because she was Exotic—capital letter—in a town that was as white as a new carton of vanilla ice cream. There was plenty of hair-color diversity in Covington, but that was it. Otherwise it was buff men with their sleeves rolled up, hourglass girls with barbie figures. And her.

But it was hard to be upset or anything at all the attention. Honestly, it was getting Kylie kind of hot. Her short self, swaggering in heels, was unquestionably the most fuckable item in Covington—if only for novelty value—and it felt really great. She didn’t have the biggest bust or a thick round ass but she did have an incredible tan and lips that could suck the rust off a tanker.

She stopped, for a second. Looked at herself in the reflection from a nail salon, already busy at 8 in the morning. Right, she had… insanely thick… cock-sucker lips. Like she always had.

But then she saw the boil of men in front of the storefront, and realized with a wet glow that they were all there waiting for HER. Three boys, in yellow hardhats, plaid shirts with the sleeves cut off, and mild tans. She plunged right into the middle of them.

“Good MORNING, boys!” she said. “I hope you’re here to put a cell phone store together!”

“That’s the plan,” the biggest and bestest guy of all said. He had the perfect amount of grizzle-stubble, and Kylie wanted to just rub herself on his jawline. “You’re Kylie? Welcome to town.”

“SO glad to be here!” Kylie said. She opened the door up. It was an empty space with scraps of carpeting around, a few half-plywood counters that would all have to go. “Come on in!”

“I’m Tyler, this is Erik, this is Joe. We’re cousins.”

“Great,” Kylie said. She rubbed Tyler’s chest. “That’s great. Super great. Cousins. Fantastic. Lets, uh, look at the plans.”

She paused. There was—music? It wasn’t quite music. Like someone casually playing a distant guitar, checking out the chords. Maybe next door? But both businesses were still closed.

She had the blueprints in a packet, tossed them onto the counter, bent over just slightly to take a look. The boys clustered behind her. They smelled like a full day of work, already. The storefront had clearly been empty for months, was fairly large, and already smelled like boy sweat. It was magical. “Mostly we need drywall, electrical, paint. Lots of electrical. Which one of you three is the electrician?”

The three looked at each other, faintly puzzled. “We’re construction,” Tyler said. He was apparently the spokesman. “Construction guys. Blue jeans, toolbelts, you know. Got the hats.”

“Right,” Kylie said. “So…. you have a sub who does electrical?” There was the music again. It kept her from focusing, made her strain to hear. A rhythm bounced up and down on some stoner’s guitar.

The boys all looked at each other. “Ma’am, give us a second,” they said. Kylie took her time comparing butts while they conferred in a corner. Lord, she was so horny. Last night she had cum three or four times in the shower—practically passing out, waking up in a half-daze on the shower floor, her fingers still inside of her. This town had her so very randy. She could just—no. She had a fiance—she had a fianc—she was enn—

Kylie shook her head, frustrated. It was so full of pink fluffy clouds, some of them dripping cum-white raindrops. She was a professional. She WAS.

The music, or muzak, was getting louder. No vocals, thank god, just some groove rhythm that was half-considered, garage band meandering born out of funk. It was terrible shit. It drove all conscious thought from her head.

The boys came back over. “Miss, we’re a little confused,” Tyler said. He was very polite. “We’re construction workers. Not sure what you’re looking for.”

“Electrician! I need someone who does electrical work!” Kylie said. Ohhh, they were attractive. What was wrong with her? She wanted to tug open their blue jeans so very badly. She was so very aware of exactly how many holes she had. They smelled so good. She caught herself tapping her feet to the wah-wah. It was loud, now. Filling the space. Soft drums pit-pattered in her gooshy head. She could feel vibrations on her ass.

“Miss, this is Covington,” Tyler said, very slowly. “You need construction, no problem. Police officer, fireman, pizza delivery, again, no problem. Plumbers, got lots of plumbers. You know we got the Fuck Bus guys if you need that. And that’s it. And a few auto mechanics.”

Kylie’s mouth hung open. Her knees were weak. The three stood all around her. The music battered at her.

“Teachers,” one of the other boys said.

“Right, a few of those.” The three of them stood around, considering the possibility of other occupations. “I think we’re good. You okay, miss?”

It was all—“who is going to construct my cell tower?” she said, weakly, acutely aware of her piping voice through dicksucker lips. She only came up to chest height on all of them. Which one of the three was strongest? Probably all of them. They could probably lift her up and toss her to the dang moon. The guitar wailed right through her mind. She needed to—to THINK.

“Miss, you alright?” said Tyler. “Here, sit down for a sec. Here’s a chair.” They produced a folding chair out of nowhere. Now she was crotch height with everyone. One mouth for sucking, two hands for stroking—no, that wasn’t right. She was gonna get.. Whatever the word was for a monogam—a mono—where she’d only get to suck the dick of a single lousy guy. Materamonial.

Kylie struggled to think through the sudden red haze. She kept licking her lips, over and over. Nothing made sense. She was tapping her feet, nodding her head to the insipid beat. “I need to.. I’m here to build a storefront and a cell phone tower,” she said, trying to reassert reality.

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” one of the not-Tylers said. “You’re a girl.”

It was rank sexism. Kylie was horrified that she was nodding, along with the men. She held on to her notes and blueprints, protectively.

“Maid, nurse, uhhhhh,” he ticked off girl occupations on his fingers. “Student. Teacher. Yeah, teachers. Stepdaughter.”

“Librarian,” another chimed in.

“Ooh, right. Housewife, can’t forget horny housewife.”

“Horny housewife,” Kylie broke in. She wanted to stand up, but her legs were too not there, her breath coming too hot and fast. No, she was a trained—what the hell did she do? Was there even a word for “travel around telling men who could use hammers that it was time to do so.” That wasn’t an occupation.

The men all nodded, sincere. “Gotta have housewives, otherwise the pizza delivery jobs would dry up. And the plumbers.”

“Ahhh, nice one,” one of the three said.

“Here, I can see you’re a little overwhelmed,” Tyler said, helpfully. “Just go ahead and take your shirt off. Old Covington trick for when it gets a little warm. Rough in here with no AC.”

That made sense. After all, she was wearing way too many clothes, a blouse that felt sodden and wet. Not that the rest of her wasn’t. What was her job again? Travel around the country and suck cocks? No, that couldn’t be right. Why travel? There were plenty of dicks to suck right here in Covington. Wonderfully big American cocks that were the cornerstone of this great nation. It was just part of the rhythm coming through the walls, through the floor. Music to strip to.

“There, lots better,” Erik or Joe said, helping her with the shirt. “And the bra. There you go. And just go ahead and rub those boobs, helps get the sweat out.”

“I just... “ Kylie bobbed in a warm sea of confusion. A bass guitar joined the rest. There was someone on keyboard who wasn’t very good. All of this had stopped making sense—a bunch of defined roles and occupations she had depended on had disappeared, leaving only the fact that they were three well-hung men with erections she could practically smell, and she was three zippers away from sucking their cocks. No. She couldn’t. Her mouth was watering.

“You got a little drool there,” Tyler said. They were such helpful men. “Listen, let me make a little suggestion. We’re gonna help you with the drool problem, then we’ll get the boys in here, talk it out, maybe see what we can do about this electricity stuff you’re worried about, maybe see if we can figure out building some kinda cellular phone relay technology.”

“Yes,” Kylie said, relieved. A big thread of drool plopped onto her nerveless legs. All the nerves were in her mouth, between her legs. If she moved she’d squish. It was so good of the boys to know what to do. Men were so good at that. She was only good for—hell, she didn’t know. Maybe she could be a sexy schoolgirl, that sounded fun. Or a nurse.

Tyler had seniority, so he pulled his penis out first. It was red and long, and bobbed right in front of her face.

“Do you.. Do you hear something?” Kylie said, trying to pull her mouth away from it. Keep her lips closed. The music swirled, whorled around her, drums tapping tight, a wah-wah pedal used like a cheap whore, a guitar wailing.

“Nope,” Tyler said. “Here, this’ll help with hearing issues, too.”

Good point, she was drooling, staring at these wonderful, delicious cocks. There was just too much logic to argue with. Her big luscious lips, the way there was a dick right in front of her, the fact she was a squishy, horny girl who loved to suck dick, and it wasn’t like these guys were good for much else. They could hammer her, at least.

Kylie leaned forwards and wrapped her mouth around the most delicious penis she had ever nuzzled.

Rimshot on the drums.

No one was home, which was a comfort. Tessa and Josh snuck upstairs, where her old room was, as far she could tell, unchanged. Posters on the wall, old computer with yellow paneling, books on the shelves.

She watched Josh sit himself uncomfortably in her computer chair. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in her room. The last time, he’d fucked her, and then left, and then she hadn’t seen him for the better part of a decade.

When she’d left town the first time, Tessa had made the decision that her two, unsatisfying, pathetic Covington sexual encounters legally didn’t count.

“Good to be back?” Tessa said.

Josh wilted into the chair. For all the beard and inches and pounds he was very much still High School Josh. And back then he was still just a single iota better than the broad mass of boys. He was the one she had fucked because he knew about Indie bands and read modern authors outside of class, and knew what the word patriarchy meant.

And then when they had fucked, the—the thing they were using for—for—for some reason, it had broke, and he had freaked out and avoided her during the thankfully-consequence free two-week wait.

“No,” Josh said, looking her in the eye. Well, that part was different, at least.

“I’ve still got it, you know,” Tessa said. “The—“ she furrowed her brow, struggling with the word. “The thing that broke while we were fucking.”

“The...?”

“The—condom. That’s it.” It was a strain just to recall.

She watched his lips move, confused, and then light up. “Oh! Right.”

The scary moments were hitting more regularly. “Josh, is it weird I couldn’t find the word?”

“There’s no c—c—condoms in porn. There. Whew,” Josh said. He exhaled hard. “Condom! My theory is we’re living in some sort of—porno world. Pornuniverse. Porn rules. Shit, I can’t even remember. Why were we wearing a c- the thing.”

They both puzzled over it. Why had Josh put a thing over his penis? Why had they worried about it busting? It was—not there.

“What the hell does “porn rules” even mean?” Tessa said, focusing on one thing at a time.

“You don’t—okay, I guess you don’t watch porn very much,” Josh said.

“That’s an old stereotype. But... no.”

He waved his hand. “I don’t know exactly. It’s a lot of things. But basically everyone is hot and everything leads to sex. Everything. Leads to sex. No matter what you do, it’s an entendre. And everyone wears cheap porn clothes and when they cum it’s like they’re getting an electric shock.”

“Do they make out with their female coworkers?” Tessa said, still dimly feeling Kylie’s lips on her.”

“Oh yes. Gotta lez out. Rule one, lezzing out. How are you feeling about anal?”

“What?” Tessa said, with a whisper of a warning.

He blanched. “Not us. Just.. in general.”

“I’m…” she lied. “Against. It’s gross.” It didn’t sound that gross at all. Maybe if she faked disgust, that would work.

“We’re becoming porn people,” Josh said. He twirled in her chair, listless. “Like pod people, only porn. Look, you’re totally hairless, I’m guessing.”

“Excuse me?” Tessa said.

“Go check in the bathroom if you want,” Josh said. “That’s rule two of porn. Every single hair below the nose gets waxed right off. Right after lezzing out.”

“What’s rule three? Ugh, don’t tell me,” Tessa said. “Wait here.”

She closed the door to the bathroom, considered locking it, just in case Josh turned into a raving porno monster and tried to bust it down. Decided against it. Then she pulled her shirt off and looked for a long time in the mirror.

Still… herself. She had to hold on to that. It was really difficult, in her childhood bathroom, to put much credence on Josh’s magic-porn theory. She was retaining water in her boobs, and was pre-period or something. There, bobbling boobies explained. She was incredibly sexually repressed, absolutely, and had kissed her boss in the spurt of the moment. Done. The librarian was just some dumb blonde who liked having guys peek up her skirt. There. Everything was normalized, in five seconds of looking in the mirror.

Time for the big test. She was, she knew, fully hairy, with a woman’s proud, thick bush, as brunette as she was. Tessa had felt it, albeit wet and mussed, when she had inexplicably masturbated to a screaming climax while watching free porn that was on every channel.

No, don’t think of that. Things were normal. Normal.

Her knuckles tightened on the sink. Here went. She pulled down her pants.

Nice brown bush. A little wet. She was feeling hot and bothered, for sure.

Tessa let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. That settled it. No self-respecting porno actress had pubic hair. It was a badge of the profession. Cum hard, nipples pointing in opposite directions, no pubes. Even she knew that.

Heck, Tessa was hairy all over, now that she had a look. She unbuttoned her shirt, looked at herself in the mirror in the unforgiving neon tube light. Bright white. Tessa had thatched pit hair, legs were unshaven, two weeks, and of course her pussy was a big mess of gross wet strands.

And there was a man twiddling his thumbs in her room. There for the first time since the last, when she had fucked him. Tessa had gotten on top, too, lowering herself, super conscious of her teenage nymphet self and his adoring eyes, burying his cock deep inside of her. The two of them figuring out together how to move their hips.

She squeezed her boobs together. It was all coming back to her. Her boobs had come in one extremely hungry summer, two bags of fat and overgrown nerves built from an endless, needy appetite. Tessa had flown up cup sizes. Tit-haver had become part of her identity, yes, a little reluctantly, but there was only so much comfort in pointless teen rebellion and doing relatively well on math tests. Having huge wonderful boobs was the best revenge. Fondling them was a joy, the worship of the boys their own justification. Hell, Josh had waited his entire life to get his hands on them, and had treated them like holy relics, her nipples precious objects.

There was an electric razor in her bathroom, if she remembered right. Yes, there was. And, improbably, it still held a charge. Couldn’t hurt to get rid of the armpit hair, at least. It floated right off. Tessa felt enormously better.

There was a swirl of light just outside of view….

Outside, Josh looked up, confused. A poster on the board, previously a 20’s era French reproduction of some brand of champagne, was crinkling, reshaping, the paper folding in on itself.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered.

Tessa couldn’t seem to quite stop. The razor buzzed pleasantly in her hand. She sat on the toilet in her brand new underpants and bra, and rubbed it at the grainy stubble along her leg.

“Mmm..” she said, surprised. It felt... really good. Yes, everything that vibrated on her felt pretty good—she had always been a sensitive girl, after all. Long bus rides were a lot of fun. Train rides on certain types of tracks could get her off by themselves. But still, this was shaving with a razor—and it was bringing shivers up and down her spine.

The poster above her bed made a decision, and the pigments scattered to form a bunch of late 2000s-era boy band members staring intensely down on the bed. Old lipstick imprints caressed them. Josh stood up, just as the chair underneath him fizzled away, the desk itself replaced by a bright pink bean bag chair. Pink everything was flooding the room, pink collages, heart-ridden cards from High School admirers, little bears along the wall, stuffed things that looked like a trophy wall of presents. This was a room for a girl with big tits.

Tessa had to take a break after finishing both legs. She ran a finger along her leg and felt her whole body shiver. It was wet, too—a whole-body sheen of sweat had covered her. There was no razor burn, no sign that hair had ever been there—both of her long white legs perfectly smooth, wet and raw, and the razor in her hand still buzzing.

Why not? Could she even stop? Tessa put the razor between her legs and whimpered. Something with a blade shouldn’t feel that good.

Josh stood in the middle of the room, mouth open, numb. He remembered fucking Tessa. Her parents had been gone an entire day, and they had—it was like watching a movie—they had spent an entire day fucking each other raw. Not really teenager-sex, trying each other out. Determined, animal fucking, working hard to break the bed, Tessa squeezing him dry and begging him to spurt inside of her. He had probably dumped seven loads in her.

He watched, semi-stunned, as her books lost page after page and disappeared, puffing in pink smoke. The only one left was a yearbook, covered in gel pen.

Tessa’s mind tried to tell her—she was dealing with a razor, not a vibrator. She could draw blood. But it wasn’t working that way. She was going bald, panties around her ankles, razor skillfully taking off every last strand of hair from her slit. The gushing wetness between her legs didn’t seem to matter. Each stroke felt like at last seven inches, and the skin between her thighs was perfect—no tan lines, no stubble, no nothing. Like she had some photoshop in her parentage.

The room stopped spinning. Josh knew, without a doubt, that if he looked underneath Tessa’s bed—pink bedspread, ruby red sheets—he’d find the half-dozen vibrators and dildos she had there. Including Big Boy, her own personal deepthroat practice, the reason she could fit a dozen inches down her throat without more than a purr. His cock was iron hard.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Josh froze, with his hand on top of his dick. “Tessa?” an older voice called out.

Josh connected dots. Stepdad. Tessa’s stepdad. There was nothing, nothing at all, sexier in porno than a Stepdad. They were the single most fuckable men in the entire world, especially for highly horny post-teens like Tessa, with bodies they could barely control.

He stepped inside the bathroom, where Tessa had just finally, reluctantly, turned off the razor. There was nothing left to buzz. She was panting, marathon-hard, chest heaving, tits bouncing.

“I had… plenty… of hair…” she said, smiling weakly. “We’re cool. Had hair.”

Josh looked her up and down. His dick hurt from sticking behind clothes. “Uh huh. Listen, Tessa. Here’s the thing. Your stepdad is looking for you, and I really, really, really think you shouldn’t go see him.”

“What? Michael?” Tessa half-rose. Josh pushed her back onto the toilet seat.

“Listen,” he said, urgently. “I know porn, okay? I’ve watched… a lot of porn. I live in the midwest. Don’t go see your stepdad. Especially when you’ve been… obviously getting super horny.”

“But…” Tessa’s eyes were like wet glass. She licked her lips. “He’s my stepdad. I’m his stepdaughter.” Her voice was helium-high.

“Yeah, but…”

Three knocks on the door to her room. “Tessa? Are you home? Thought I heard you?”

“I… I gotta…” Tessa stood up. She licked her lips, over and over. The razor dropped through her hands. “Gotta see daddy. Need to see daddy.”

Josh did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that made any sense. He pulled out all twelve inches of veiny, red cock and stuffed it into Tessa’s unprotesting mouth.

It was serendipity that both Tessa and Kylie started to suck on large meaty cocks at the exact same time.

An enormously busy day for Dr. Hardrod.

First of all, his usual secretary was out. Lying to your own doctor-boss about illness was a difficult game at the best of times, and Candace had been—not very convincing. “I’m shorry—ummm—doc—ummm slurp slurp but I am suuuuper sick,”

“Candace, is it safe to say you’re suffering from penis in mouth syndrome?” Doctor Hardrod had said, after listening to a solid minute of moans and licking.

“Yesssssssss,” she moaned back.

“There’s a lot of that going around lately. Take a few more and call me tomorrow, see how you’re feeling.”

And that left him with Alicia, who was just eighteen and surprisingly resistant to the standard outfit, which was a puzzle. Nice, tight white dress with pockets that didn’t work, low cut in the middle, no bra, dark black panythose or white—personal preference—and of course an oversized 19th century hat with a red cross on it. “Doctor, it’s not.. It’s not very decent,” she had said, pained, trying hard to keep her excellent legs well-crossed. They kept drooping apart. She wore blue panties.

“Darling, this is the MEDICAL PROFESSION,” he had finally said. He had patients to see.

And so many patients! His office was choked with fetching young things, fidgeting in tight sweaters and little minis and tight shorts, rubbing semi-discretely at each other. They fell into two categories. The first, hypochondriacs insisting they were there on pre-scheduled appointments for ailments that Dr. Hardrod had never ever heard of—‘bronchitis’ and ‘ulcers’ and the ‘flu’ and some lady that insisted she had ‘cancer,’ whatever the hell that was. X-rays and a vigorous examination of the bosom had confirmed that she was simply possessed of extremely good tits, and she had left in happy, horny tears.

The rest were otherwise sensible young ladies who were simply convinced that there was something “off”. That they were 50 year olds in impossibly nubile bodies, or had cum a dozen times—that didn’t seem right, or they had super-sensitive titties that made them orgasm at a touch.

“What seems to be the problem?” Dr. Hardrod said, sweeping in to the next exam room. A plush girl with raven-black hair fidgeted behind a surgical gown. Nurse—actually, he couldn’t remember her name. There seemed to be a lot more nurses about—they kept making out with each other in the hallways.

“Ummm…” the girl said, hesitant. “Something is…”

“Off. Something is off,” Dr. Hardrod said, unsurprised.

“Yes! You’re a great doctor!” she said, relieved.

“Mm. Dare I guess, some sort of issue with... “ it wasn’t much of a guess. There were obviously some oversized boobs behind that gown. “The titties?”

She let her gown down reluctantly. Dr. Hardrod nodded. Yes, they were extremely large and wonderful tits. And impossibly high and firm, to boot. The nipples definitely showed signs of dysfunction.

“They’re not mine,” the girl moaned. “They’re not! I know they’re—I know all the pictures say I’m Boobs McGee and I have these huge bras in my closet but it’s not me! They’re not mine! I’m a bee-sting girl! I don’t have these…”

“Honkers,” Dr. Hardrod said gently. “Medical term is honkers.”

“Honkers! Oh god, I have honkers.”

Dr. Hardrod put one hand on her left tit, gently. She was sniffling.

“Miss….”

“Victoria! You don’t even recognize me! You’ve been seeing me for twenty years!”

“It’s been a busy day. Miss Victoria, you’re simply suffering from a very normal case of sexual underutilization. Here, let me tweak your nipple. Does that feel extremely wonderful?”

“Uhhh,” Victoria was clearly taken aback. Dr. Hardrod thumbed it again. The nipple was large enough to tug. He half expected milk to spurt out. If it did, he’d write a paper on it. “Y-yeah.”

“Umm. I expected as much. Feels much like your clit is wired into your boobs, doesn’t it? Simply flooding you with waves of pleasure? Lets try nipple number two.”

The deep, heartfelt bellow of sexual release was something Dr. Hardrod never got quite tired of. Nurse whatever her name was, he termed her Nurse Highlights from the dark roots in her hair, was there to keep Victoria from thrashing around.

“Yes, excellent,” Dr. Hardrod said, vigorously stimulating her tits. Victoria’s eyes rolled around. “I’ve been seeing this quite a bit. Actually, pretty much 100% of my patients, really. Severe sexual understimulation leads to confusion and anxiety in the human female. Nurse, hand me a medical vibrator.”

Nurse Highlights handed him a brand new rabbit, just removed from its sterile packaging. Dr. Hardrod didn’t bother to kneel. He’d been in dozens of pussies all day. Frankly, this wasn’t a serious enough case to merit him personally penetrating the patient. And he’d just cummed a bucket in Ms. Fitzgerald, who was extremely pleased to be cancer-free.

“Oh.. oh god… no, don’t stick that—you’re gonna melt my brains.. You’re gonna… ohhhhhh gawwwwwd.”

“There may be a little brain meltage with a case like this,” Dr. Hardrod conceded. He worked the rabbit into her nice, wet slit, taking care to rub it directly on her oversized clit. Nurse Highlights took over breast stimulation duty, reaching over to calmly rub her tits in a circular motion. “Unfortunately the cognitive effects of five or six consecutive orgasms are a little—well, dear, you won’t miss them. God gave you enormous tits.”

“No—I… oh GODDDDDDDD…” Victoria said, the treatment taking hold. Dr. Hardrod felt the familiar squirt against his hand that indicated successful resolution of the issue. Five or six or ten or twenty more cums and she’d be right as rain, if not quite able to hold up a conversation, or read.

“Nurse, continue the treatment… and please enjoy yourself,” Dr. Hardrod said. He smacked his forehead, gently, and left behind a dash of Victoria juice. “I almost forgot. One second.” One judicious tweak this way and that, and Victoria’s nipples were pointed slightly askew, one up and one down, in perfect medical textbook style. “There. Standard a-symmetry.”

His mood was so good from another patient successfully treated that Dr. Hardrod was only a bit put out by his temp flubbing another question.

“Miss Alicia, my name is Dr. Hardrod. Not Dr. Hardesty. Seems like that would be a simple thing to get correct.”

“It… it says Dr. Hardesty on the door plate!” the girl said, confused. She kept closing and opening her legs, her chest heaving. She looked upset. “And there’s all this—screaming from back there, and all the girls leave with their underwear off, and it’s so… so… what is going on?!”

Ah, of course. The beads of sweat on her face, the way her thighs twitched, the obviously swollen honkers. Dr. Hardrod berated himself. Refusing to see it in his own staff! Well, this would have to merit personal attention. His secretary deserved better than a medical device between her legs. And it had been an entire hour since he had jizzed out.

“My dear,” he said, calmly. “Why don’t you take a break and come to my office? I think I know what the problem is.”

Kylie wasn’t super certain how many sexual encounters were on her life list, but the number was certainly going up fast.

She was full-bore naked, although it had taken a long time to get there. True, the boys had stripped off her top quick enough, and released her boobs to bobble and suck. Her panties had stuck around, sopping wet, for a pretty long time while she had gone through dick after dick, until she was covered in a thick layer of stark white cream. But then she had gotten turned over and the dripping-warm pair were unceremoniously torn off her ass. Her little skirt, of all things, had stayed on, wrapped around her waist, thick with fluids, until she had finally let it fall loose, hours into it all.

It was funny, part of her still remembered a pedestrian, tedious sexual history with some guy. Routine sex. M-m-missionary style sex, she vaguely remembered that word. Just the two of them slightly bumping genitals until they mildly grunted or sighed. No anal. Anal wasn’t even a thing. Now her ass was communal property.

Now she was—she had to look around and crane her neck just to figure out exactly what was happening to her. Okay, there was definitely some blonde moo-cow eating out her ass from behind, lapping furiously. There was a tongue back there whipping furiously on her butthole. Underneath her a second blonde—they looked really similar—was gently playing with her tits in what appeared to be her version of taking a break. In front of her—slightly annoyed that his toy was looking around—was some guy, stark naked, thrusting his penis in and out of her mouth.

Kylie had learned really quick, or always known, one of the two, when a boy was about to pop. She released her suck and opened her mouth wide. Say something for the boys of Covington, they were good aims. He spurted another creamy white load right down the middle of her mouth. As usual it was the best thing she had ever tasted, and, plus the tongue in her ass, sent her over the edge on another screaming orgasm.

Kylie blacked out, again.

When she woke up the two blondes were vigorously licking each other’s slits and she had been temporarily abandoned by the boys. Kylie took the chance to kneel-walk on very wobbly knees over to the low chair where, some time ago, she had first started to nuzzle on a penis.

There had been three boys, one girl, at that point, in the dusty and half-finished future space for a cellular phone shop. Now there were—it was hard to count that much moving skin, most of it mildly tanned caucasian. Definitely the space was packed, the orgy flooded in, light from the big store windows struggling to get past the fellatio and buttfucking and doggy-style and thrusting, grunting, jizzing crowd. The music from earlier still boomed and boomed, and everyone was more or less fucking to the beat, a round of cumshots spurting with each beat of the drums.

They were way over fire capacity in there. But there were a half-dozen firefighters, vaguely clad in parts of their gear, running trains on several thick bimbos with enormous lips just like hers. So apparently it was okay.

Kylie tried to catch her breath. She had been, almost the entire time, the centerpiece. Literally a centerpiece, the fulcrum around which all the fucking moved. The only exotic—the single ethnic in Covington’s celebration of white ass and alabaster titties. Everyone had to have their taste, sucking it out of Kylie’s butt, sticking it into Kylie’s cunt, kissing her cummy face without heed. It seemed to be a local custom to make the visitor scream an electric orgasm, her body overloaded.

A sheaf of papers sat on the ground, unnoticed, half sodden with jizz stains. Kylie frowned, picked it up, stared at it. She had gone through way too many orgasms to read with any fluency, but—these were blueprints. Her blueprints. Right. Her name—her name was—it was coming to her slowly—her name was Kylie Seng and she was—she was…

Asian. Right? No. Asia was… a continent. That didn’t narrow it down. She was… started with a C. Chinese? That was… a maybe?

Kylie stood up, tried to hold on the little gem of fear in her stomach, that was there along with a pint of jizz. There was an employee bathroom in the back, she remembered. She had to—she had to get to it.

The orgy behind her carried on.

In the bathroom the fuck music was just a little less loud, a little less insistent. Kylie looked in the mirror at a face caked with cum, a glaze, like she was a cheap doughnut. It should’ve hurt, getting that much in her eyes.

She wiped her face, looked hard at the mirror.

No, that couldn’t be right. She wiped it again.

A lot of her had been worn away in the furnace of Store 1211 in the midwest region. Her engagement, definitely. Vocabulary words absolutely, and her anal virginity was somewhere stuck beneath a brunette with great hips who had simply fallen asleep in a writhing fuck party.

But she did remember—she was… not this. She was a little tannish girl, more tan than this, with real eyebrows. The girl in the mirror was a pale beige at best, with too-wide eyes, dick-sucking lips that swallowed half her face, jet-black hair. Her tits had gotten thick and heavy, swollen on jizz—but clearly bolted on, fake-ass titties, plastic boobs gelled on to her chest.

“I’m... “ she tried to force it out. “Asian. I’m an… asian girl.”

It was as much as she could manage. She was a fetish category now. Just trying to remember anything more made her head hurt.

There was someone’s shirt, someone’s spermy shorts in the bathroom. Kylie grabbed them, and made her way out back.

Josh and Tessa picked her up in the rental car. It was a bright green Mustang, now, but the key still worked, so they drove it. It wasn’t enormously easy to recognize Kylie—not that any of them looked a lot like they used to—but the dick-sucking lips were a big clue and who else would be asian in Covington. The three of them drove back in silence to the hotel, which was still quiet and cool, although there was clearly someone below the desk noisily blowing the clerk.

They made it inside Tessa’s room, shut the door, put a chair up against it, and collapsed.

“Tessa,” Kylie said, “I’m done with your town.”

“I was done a long time ago,” Tessa said. “Why couldn’t it just… be okay with blowjobs? Did it really have to swing from pole to pole?”

Kylie didn’t say anything. The idea of swinging from a pole made her pussy tingle. Not that much didn’t.

They were dog-tired, exhausted, barely able to move. Fucking was so vigorous now. Tessa and Josh had tried to just bang in the bed, like the old days, wiggling their hips against each other. It was like—it wasn’t sex. They didn’t feel anything. The only way to fuck was gonzo full-bore slamming Josh’s manly inches in and out, all the way, tip to base, each stroke a jackhammer. Getting ridden with gusto, tits swinging this way and that, moaning and screaming each burning hot orgasm.

Tessa drew her legs up onto the hotel chair, and realized, very dimly, that her pussy was exposed. It was juicy wet as ever, pink as a peach, and she realized it would take more effort to keep her hand out than to keep her hand in. That she was going to start masturbating in front of both of them, lips spread, clit pulsing, moaning periodically. Oh well.

“Porn world,” Kylie mused. She was on the bed, and started jacking off along with Tessa, hands reaching between her legs. Her back arched to give her fist better access. “I guess that explains a lot, at least. Are you guys hungry at all? I haven’t eaten in like, two days. I guess porn people live on cum and air.”

“Pizza?”

“No one actually eats the pizzas,” Kylie said, shaking her head. “Duh. Do you think we still go the bathroom? I haven’t had to go in forever.”

“Uh, that’s a porn category too,” Josh said. He looked at the two hot girls rubbing each other in front of him, and gently pulled out his cock. It hung in front of him, like a foot long, gently wet and shiny. He jacked it softly, and a dribble of precum spurted out onto the floor.

“Ughhhhh,” Tessa said. She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe we got off easy. I just.. I mean, yes, I’m rubbing myself off right now, and I still wanna fuck daddy super bad in my cunny…” her voice went up two octaves whenever she mentioned her stepdad, and she never seemed to notice “...but I’m not, I don’t know, I’m not wearing a diaper or messing around with goats or… what kind of weird porno is there out there? On the internet?”

“It’s… not great,” Josh said. He got tired of stroking his own cock, and briefly eeny-meenie-miney-mo’d to pick a female. Kylie was it. The look of him pointing at her, intent, his dick hard, was enough to get her to flip over on the bed, point her pussy right at him. She apologized to the fiancee she didn’t really remember as the biggest cock in the world slipped into her. It practically picked her up off the bed.

“Guys, we need to... “ Tessa’s fingers picked up speed. It was a hot scene, Kylie getting reamed by Josh. A perfect picture for the DVD box art. “We need to figure out what happened. Maybe if we can work out the cause... “

“We already tried to escape,” Josh said. He reached over and grabbed Kylie’s tits. It was as gentle a bang as he could manage, just him slamming his dick all the way into her, mauling her boobs with both hands. “We just kept ending up on main street. This is Twilight Zone shit. We’re stuck.”

“Something caused this,” Tessa insisted. She leaned over the bed and kissed Kylie on the lips. It was super cute how Kylie tried to respond, even with a dick in her, making it hard for her to think straight. She tasted like sweat and an entire town’s worth of cum.

“Alright, fine. The only thing I can think would be the lightning storm. I was outside town when it came through,” Josh said. He grunted, increased tempo, and shot a wad all over Kylie’s ass. It just felt right to watch the cum shot.

“We came in around then, too. Right afterwards,” Kylie said, five minutes later, when she had recovered. Josh had Tessa pinned against the wall, her legs on his shoulders. “Someone’s house had burned down.”

“Victor’s house,” Tessa called out, from between the wall and Josh. She had her arms around his sweaty back. It didn’t seem possible she wasn’t falling down—it was too acrobatic, this kind of fuck. But here she was. With tits so large they mashed against her ex’s hairy chest.

“Is he okay?” Josh said, concerned. He kept trying to kiss one of the girls, and kept forgetting how it was done. Something about… mouths mashing together? Kylie and Tessa had done it successfully, but it just eluded him, somehow. But he was determined.

“They dragged him out and took him off to the hospital,” Tessa said. He tossed her on to the bed, came hard all over her tits.

“Lick me off,” he ordered them. His cock was temporarily at half-mast. The girls hustled to lick sex juice and jizz from his dick and balls.

“Umm... “ Tessa said between licks. She suddenly kneeled stock upright, realizing something. “Victor.. Really likes porn.” Kylie took the opportunity to really nuzzle Josh’s wonderful dick.

“What?” Josh said.

“Yeah. Have you talked to him much lately?”

“No,” Josh admitted. He stuck his dick in Kylie’s mouth, once again rock hard. She used her tongue in a different way from Tessa. It was nice. “He got weird. Doesn’t go out much. Has some sort of remote IT job, I guess.”

“He… this is embarrassing,” Tessa said, blinking ropes of cum away while her boss sucked her ex-boyfriend’s cock. “We had sex… and he told me… he thought porn… was better.”

Josh came in Kylie’s mouth. She was just too good. “So we should go find Victor. Lightning strikes porn loving guy, magic magic magic, we’re all in porn world. That has to be it. It’s the sort of dipshit plot you’d see in a porno.”

“Then what?” Tessa said. She opened her mouth. The flashes were hitting her more and more often—her, sucking and sucking, a cum shot popping her right in the face. She’d wondered if they’d stop when Josh had hit her across the face, but no. When she closed her eyes she could see it even more clearly. Cum shot, cum shot, cum shot.

“Well, if we’re using porno logic, everyone will have a ton of sex,” Josh said. He stuck his dick into Tessa’s mouth.

“The only asian girl in a town full of magic fucked-up fantasy fetishes,” Kylie said, standing up. “Just my freaking luck. I’m gonna be wearing a ball gag and get my ass paddled before dinner. Which I’m NOT EVEN HUNGRY FOR.”

They stopped talking, exhausted by the effort. It was getting harder and harder to flash lucid, to remember that they were more than fuck meat rubbing on each other. Each orgasm was eroding a bit more, making it a bit harder to struggle, to come up with quips, to do more than open a mouth or stroke or shove. No one ever watched porn for the witty actors and actresses.

Eventually, hours later, Josh jizzed hard over both of his girl’s faces, waving his cock so it sprayed both of them, and then let out a long, weary sigh.

“Alright, lets go do this,” he said, and swatted their asses until they got dressed.

Tessa was about 90% sure that she was a dim, cockhungry little bimbo. She could remember very clearly learning that a little titter, a friendly smile, and her big tits could get her through most of life. Every other problem could be blowjobbed.

But the 10% of her was really certain that Covington didn’t use to have a fully-fledged four-story state-of-the-art hospital. It was a light and airy edifice just off the center of town, two stories bigger than anything else.

“That’s definitely new,” she said, craning her head up. They had sorted in vain through her clothes for something not entirely slutty. Tessa wore a bright white crop top that barely covered the bottom of her boobs—if she pulled it down all the way. Her jean shorts had the pocket sticking out, and were basically denim bikini briefs, but she took a little comfort that they were jeans, sort of.

“What is this, like the tower of porn? Is that what we’re getting into?” Kylie groused. She wore a tight electric blue dress and had insisted on spending a half hour putting on makeup—her lips painted in multiple colors, outlined to their best advantage, her skin milk-smooth with just a few touches of coffee. It had been Tessa’s idea to write down ‘CAMBODIAN—U R’ on a piece of paper and stick it in her spaghetti strap purse. Although it was getting harder to read it. “This is some ghostbusters-type porno tower?”

Inside, the lady at the front desk wore a full body black plastic catsuit, with a zipper at the lips.

“Guess so,” Tessa said.

“Can I help you?” she said, unzipping to talk, then zipping back up immediately.

“Uh… Victor Meyers,” Josh said, leaning across the desk. Her computer monitor wasn’t on, her keyboard was attached to nothing. The lady typed away regardless, and leaned closely to look at a dark black screen. “Third floor, room… uh… I can’t read this,” she said, frowning at nothing.

“It’s fine, I think I know,” Josh said.

“What room is it?” Tessa asked.

“Room sixty-nine. Of course.”

The hospital was packed. Nurses swarmed the halls, of course, clad in any number of fetish outfits, a walking display of every sort of Halloween sex costumes. Rubber dresses and cheap stethoscopes and more than a few with the word NURSE simply written on them in cheap pen. Everyone’s tits were fake, nipples pointing askew, lips bulbous and huge. It smelled like spunk in the air, and there were stray bits of jizz on random walls.

“Oh, gawd…” Tessa mumbled. Walking was like moving through sex sludge, her body protesting, eager to simply dive in to a new life of fetishwear and entire fists up her holes. They had to get to Victor—their only lead. She tried not to blink—on the other side of her eyelids were images of her, kneeling, that same perfect white streak headed right for her eyes.

“Upstairs, don’t try the elevator,” Josh yelled, leading them through. He had his arms around them, and wrenched the two past interested partners. They walked past room after room with muffled screams.

Kylie couldn’t resist looking into the rooms. There were a bunch of old people, of all things, relentlessly going at each other. There were people in costumes of all sorts—or maybe not costumes, anymore, wolf men and wolf girls howling at each other, girls with cat ears that maybe did or didn’t twitch. There were strap-ons, there were horrible things going on with food of all sorts, cakes and pies, and an entire row of dungeon after dungeon—wires and chains and people on any manner of devices. Any pretense to a hospital was gone by the third floor—the signs pointed to AMATEUR and SYBIAN and FEET. There were even a few plump girls, and windows entirely blocked with smoke, reeking of tobacco. They walked past piles of lifelike and not-lifelike dolls, any maybe a few people just pretending.

“People are extremely weird,” Tessa concluded, eventually. They had just passed a bathroom that filled an entire hallway, with a line to get in. Diapers abounded. It didn’t smell great.

“Room 69, thank god,” Josh said.

They stepped inside.

It was—more of the same. Monitors on the wall that didn’t do anything, charts filled with gibberish, a beeping noise that came from a machine attached to nothing. In the center of it all Victor laid on clean linens.

Flash. Flash. More and more. They all three of them looked at Victor, stymied. They were out of ideas, too tired to go on. Josh reached for Kylie, who moved her ass to accommodate him. “We should… wake him up,” he said, heavily. Kylie pulled down his shorts, and looked at his dick with heavy-lidded need. She slumped to the ground.

“Gotta… wake him,” Tessa said, fighting the pink clouds. She couldn’t—couldn’t slap him. This wasn’t that kind of movie. That was on the second floor, next to ball torture. All she could see was the future, and it was her, sucking Victor’s cock. It had to be him. It was his show.

She pulled out his cock.

It wasn’t particularly large. It was, as far as she could tell, the same one he had always had. But it got hard, and long, and longer, as she watched.

Tessa licked her lips, smiled, and started to suck on it.

Victor started to wake up.

It was all one moment. Watching a girl on the screen get that cumshot, a flash of white light, and then—he woke up. Victor’s eyes shot open.

He looked around. This was—a hospital. Okay. And there was a girl sucking hard on his cock. She looked—familiar, although if from real life or from Butt Sluts 10, he couldn’t quite say. Whoever she was, she delivered incredible head. He was already ready to pop. Over in a corner a big bearded stud was getting his own knob polished by an asian girl with luscious red and pink lips. They didn’t seem to notice him.

“I’m gonna.. I’m gonna cum..” he said, and just then the girl on his cock popped off, smiled at him, and kept her eyes wide open.

He started to cum.

It arced high, thick and white, and hit her all over the face. It got her in the eye. Nonetheless, she smiled back at him, and licked her lips.

But he had ruined the shot, staring at the cameraman capturing it all from the corner with a big complicated black camera. The boom mic hovered overhead.

The girl giggled. “Don’t look at the camera, amateur,” she whispered. “We’re gonna have to shoot it again.” Her tits jiggled.

She licked her lips. “But that’s fine by me.”