“Mounten & Mayne”
by Cristina Prince
3. HONEY’S PATROLMAN
“…promised me and promised me — swore up and down an’ six ways to Sunday barbecue, you’d have missy shipshape and twerkin’ away her feminisms in a dang hour or two. And this, you commie… THIS... AIN’T… NO… GOSH-DANG, MOTHERHUMPIN’ HOUR OR TWO!!” The deep voice paused to hock a loogie. “Now look, darlin’. I’mma be straight with you. You with me?“
Hanna started to lose her grip on a sticky sweet, fuzzy neon pink cotton candy dream. A wet hot and silly one that nevertheless felt as crucial as a bible verse, because she was Li’l Miss President Princess of St. Brittany’s America in it, and her boobies looked real fat and super hot, even if she couldn’t be bothered to so much as pretend to read the teleprompter anymore. She had started “singing” syrupy giggles about education reform.
“I’m a good guy. I gave you so many chances. I’m a good guy. I really am. I’m even a.. lord help me, a… a feminist. There. Cat’s out of the bag. Lotta folks ‘round here is a touch too dis’pectful to the... stupider sex. But I’m, uh… whatchu HGTV queer-nadians call it again? I’m a… forward thinkin’ cis male. Honest. I think forward to the next time I can slam a thick slab of coochie. Naw, but for serious…”
Hanna would yawn if she could manage to move her jaw at all. It was an awesome, totally rad dream. She was giving the first state of the union of her second term. She was slurping all the milkshakes and jizz a girl in her position could ever want. She was stripping.
She was seated at the oval office in front of a camera and the whole U.S. of A., and she was riding a mechanical cock as she signed bill after bill of patriarchal legislation into law: with executive power, a foofy pink pen shaped like a penis, and with a cherry red lipstick print for cute luck.
“That’s right. I’m for reproductin’ rights and all ‘at. Really! As long as any and all forms of contraception and pregnancy termination are completely, and I mean one hun’red percent, off the table. Plenty of guys — heck, I call some of ‘em’s my buddies — can’t stand the thought of lesbos y’know, galavantin’ around, lookin’ like socialist vegan monster types, wearin’ men’s clothing to confuse the childr’n of America. But you know what I say? I say: Do you.”
Hanna wondered, polite even in her innermost wishes, if this guy might shush for just a second so she could adjust her nursing bra over there in dreamland, and sing-song her big speech,, so she wouldn’t spray o all those nice television cameras.
For just the briefest quasi-instant, not even enough to resemble the tiniest thought, it didn’t make sense that she was gushing milk. She wasn’t pregnant! But she was a good girl… Math was so hard.
“And I say this in confidence, but between you and me? I’m pro homos, too. But shh — I don’t want my boys to know or they’ll try to start some trouble. Ain’t none of my business if you a nancy. I don’t care which faggot’s ass you prefer! Life’s too short to be prejudice. Just as long as these wayward women and men eventually find Our Family Way back on into the light, and live out the rest of their days with an upstanding Christian of the opposite sex, and bed down and breed a bunch and raise a big family, y’know... I don’t see what harm a little experimentin’ can do.”
“Bible biology works!” What else was going on in that dream? If only this guy wasn’t so loud, she might be able to drift back toward it. So soft. So easy… Oh yeah! And then all of a sudden, she wasn’t just in the white house, but she was on one of those competitive singing shows, too — but still at her desk for some reason. But also on the beach? Whatever.
She was wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and a bolo tie, fighting over that hot country star’s cock with his blonde bimbo co-host. She and the pop tart were kneeling, alternating in 20 second rounds where they exhibited the finest BJ skills they could muster. The audience cheered them on.
They were going absolutely bonkers! Thick-packed, bubbly babes were chirping themselves hoarse or crying hysterically, in a horny rapture. Guys were either openly jacking off or fucking them. Princess President could practically still smell the solid musk of pheromones, even when she climbed out of the TV to address the nation.
Somehow country stud host’s dong doubled as a microphone, and if Hanna gagged the least, she got the most applause. She heard the buzzer that signaled her tonsils had been graced with a dose of precum, before the delightful taste even registered. She drooled a bit of it out, and it dribbled onto her jugs, landing in a stars-and-stripes print as it touched skin. In seconds, it formed into a candy halter top.
The fleshy mic was also a lollipop sometimes, and a top secret phone direct to Russia other times, go figure...
It all made perfect sense at the time, and now she lost almost all of it, all the foggy feelings of accomplishment, as this angry chatterbox went on. He definitely sounded hunky. “So listen up, pantsuit. You listenin’, ya heathen bull dyke bitch?”
Hanna just barely came to a bit more now, not really though. Only sort of. She blacked out for a second first. Unmoving and startled to hear herself finish up a rude and porcine sounding snore, gasping for dank fluid air, she made out another sound. Now she was awake.
Fabric shuffling and jewelry jangling was what did it. It must have belonged to whoever the guy was talking to… whoever he was. He had obviously poked whatever woman hard enough to jostle her. Without any conscious effort, Hanna found herself homing in on the dusky and authoritative, mega-male voice.
“Uh cuz I’m only gonna say this once more before I report you to Father Dongahuge. Oh! Y’know? Maybe I could drop a line to your boyfriends over at the FCC too, how’d you like ‘at?” Father Dongahuge? Was that the priest that adjusted the fit of that electronic gizmo stuck inside her va — wait, was that just in the dream? Probably.
“Now look. I like you. I like doin’ business with ya, as much of a tax burden as it’s been for the church, and for your’n truly. You’re an all-right gal, near as I got anythin’ to say about it. I wouldn’t fuck you until you get the sense to ditch that sass and grow some decent tits and ass, but... you are kinda invaluable around here, so, I’ll level with ya.“
Hanna moaned, wholly involuntarily, at the intense workload of just opening her eyelids. Raising them up to a microscopic slit level just made her weep, and she choked out a sob.
“This brand new shrink-wrapped slutty and her big bimbo sister over here have been sleepin’ for a day and a fuckin’ half. Cunny time is cunny money, honey! Our Family Way can’t afford another kidnapping settlement. Do something!“
Hold on. Who was talking? Where was she? Hanna shifted her butt on something cold. It felt like concrete and it was dotted with wet scraps of… straw, or hay? Her butt — she was naked? Huh?
“I don’t care if you have to get on your hypocrite liberal knees and give this Family Way fighter some head, shock her ass awake — like you and I know you wanna. Just do something.”
Hang on a second. What is happening?? Hanna really wanted to find out... riiight after she checked in on how the demo of her presidential dick-sucking song was sounding….
Fingers snapped, loudly, in Hanna’s ear. They may as well have been firecrackers. She started awake, wincing, to see herself nonchalantly humping a fuck machine affixed to a brick wall. She was being real brazen about it, but stopping didn’t cross her mind, even as a theoretical.
It was funny — on the one hand, she was creeped out that she was all mid-fuck, like it was as natural as breathing air.On the other, it was totally hot as fuck. Plain and simple. And the less she let herself consider the insanity of the situation, the better it felt.
Just shut that silly little worried mind off, girlfriend, a voice that sounded like hers intoned, silently, to an emaciated corner in her mind.
Sunlight streamed through a barred basement window, making its way right onto her line of sight. It burned. Sweat poured down her face. Her eyes were finally working, though they felt leaden, wet and sticky, drowning in a thick pink film that clouded her vision.
She was chained to the wall at her ankles and wrists, with weird neon pink laser cuffs. They held her aloft about a foot or so off the ground, but they seemed lightweight, as if she was levitating through her toy fuck session. The things buzzed with a soft but persistent crackle.
Hanna was eventually able to bring herself down to reality for more than a half second. “Why am I in jail?” she asked anyone in possible earshot. Trying to maneuver out of the holo confines sent a sharp pain cycling back and forth between her skull and her crotch.
It felt nasty, and blotted out all cognition, almost like it reset her brain. She twitched and hummed, as if motorized. Her left eye and ear flicked on and began working a few seconds before the right. She saw gold, spinning crosses on a bed of pink clouds.
She had no other choice but to wait for her existence to load. A manicured nail tapped Hanna on a bobbing shoulder. “What. The. FFFFUUUUCK!” she mewled, in rhythm with the machine. Was she about to get off, or was this her new normal? She couldn’t remember being much of anything, outside of this manic sex euphoria.
“Do good and finish up, honey.” a low female voice suggested. “Enjoy that fun new bod of yours. My best advice? Cum hard, so your mind can be clear enough to understand me. I can explain all of this.” She grabbed one of Hanna’s tits and stroked it. Her other hand guided her butt deeper down onto the vinyl cock, petting it sweetly on each upstroke.
Hanna turned her neck, but the reset stab came back, twice as punishing this time. She was laser collared, too, apparently. It took her almost a minute to reboot. This time, she had forgotten waking up and was forced to feel every bit of the horror of realization again.
A surprisingly gaunt woman with tired sunken eyes, in smart business attire and closely cut, slicked back hair, punched a few buttons on the holographic panel that hovered between her and Hanna. She ignored her confused cry.
The fuck machine fucked her in double time now, and her collar fizzled and vanished. Hanna looked down, aghast to see her hips working without any of her involvement. Something about that turned her on just the same, and she was indeed very close to cumming. Her boobs looked so huge, though, way too big, that they shoved the orgasm away.
It was ridiculous that she even had boobs, but, right — of course. It wasn’t a dream. That was a sad, sad pretense, to be sure. Say goodbye to your old life, Hanna, she chided herself.
No one is ever going to take you seriously again. Just look at yourself. You don’t even take yourself seriously now. You’re forgetting everything that made you “you” before visiting your stupid hot sister. You’re probably going to be a lazy, curvy breed-cow slave girl now, just like her.
An electric buzz throbbed in her temples. Had she personally thought all of that, or was it fed to her by outside forces? Was she even a person anymore?
It was a waking nightmare. Some seedy underground cadre that her sister’s husband was involved with had set the wheels of transformation in spin, and she was morphing and thickening under their repugnant and misogynistic specifications. Wanda’s brutish landlord had thrown her in that pool of electric pink goo, last… night or… something…
Yeah, and she’d woken up later on with a new, fattened, unendingly wet pussy, new plusher hips, a fuckable new bubble butt, two new happy handfuls up top, and a new pair of thick, pole smoking lips that never quite seemed to close.
Right now, it was incredibly difficult to hold onto a fading notion she’d held earlier. That all these new changes weren’t permanent, but some sort of allergic reaction. Who knew what was in that fucking pool? But even those terrifying new tits had seemed like something she could work with, maybe, after the initial shock. Growing to fit into a D cup in a matter of minutes was motherfucking crazy, sure… But then again...
Her sister had outgrown about a dozen stylish, cute little numbers that she was fixing to throw away, and she was rather impressed with the busty centerfold version of herself in the mirror. She warmed up to her new rack pretty quickly. The fact that Wanda made her promise to keep a micro vibrator up her snatch, for as long as possible during the remainder of her visit, surely helped along her swift uptick in confidence. And Wanda’s own titties having also gotten bigger in their own way was an odd but certainly welcome comfort, too.
But those were nothing like these things, bounding every which way — they had to have almost tripled in size and heft since that goo bath. She wore them like entirely different tits, like they couldn’t have possibly grown even out of the new ones, somehow. And they were milky white, growing paler around the meaty pull of the biggest reserves of fat.
Thick new veins trailed up from new silver dollar nipples that seemed decidedly bigger and browner, too. The nubs extended out, like erasers or better yet, like middle fingers to her old self, the self that was beginning to feel disturbing, just how faraway it looked. She felt full, saddled. These knockers were too absurd and intimidating to be proud of.
The woman in the smart tweed suit waved the holographic menu out of the way, pinching another one closer to view. Pulling up an app on her smartphone, she pushed a few buttons there and then a neon pink electro-harness affixed itself to Hanna’s teats. Two clear plastic canisters, looking a bit bigger than gallon jugs, lowered upside down from the drippy ceiling on shaky rods, settling to hover open no more than an inch above her tits.
“You’re overdue for a milking,” she told the bewildered young transitioning cowgirl. “It sucks, I know. It’s beyond degrading! Trust me — I have profound fuckin’ issues with this part of my job. If I was in your shoes, I’d probably work as hard as I could to kill myself a.s.a.p. But you know what? Man Plan technicians really went above and beyond in designing a pain-free apparatus that feels fabulous for you, the user, and for the wallets of the Triple D Dairy’s board of executors.“
“I understand you were looking to move to the city and go to college in a few years, when you graduate — uh, if you graduate, I should say. Just a word of advice — you could at least try to pull a D on at least one of these classes. How’s a girl with a big butt like yours failing out of Hip-Hop Dance? Ehh, who knows? Maybe you’ll luck out and not even have to worry about school, since it looks like this is going to be your lot in life for the forseeable future, unfortunately.”
“Unless your father posts bail, which the sheriff has some serious doubts about. Last we checked, your dad’s really mad at you and might keep you here for a few months, producing until summer. Between these walls? if I had my way, I’d make sure that girls your age aren’t ever put through this. Sophomores in high school are just too unprepared for all this psychic trauma. I guess he already got your mom out, not an hour ago, so who knows.”
Hanna tried to hang on tight to withering concerns. It was a sisyphean struggle to pay attention to any words at this moment. Milking just felt too damn good. She idly wondered how the holographic tracks carried milk to the buckets. It didn’t seem any easier than using real ones, but what did she know? She was just a stupid teenager. Or no. Was she?
“Sorry, honey,” the prim professional grinned. “Where’s my head? I’m Genevieve Ceres, I’m an independent contractor hired to regulate and beta test Our Family Way’s new wireless electronic breeding initiative. I know you’re probably skeptical of me — I would be — but I’m on your side! I’m sort of… double dipping, I guess you could say. I report to the FCC to make sure Man Plan isn’t breaking any laws, and Man Plan foots the bill to make sure I uncover any loopholes for laws they can stand to bend.“
“Wait,” frowned Hanna. Her giant new jugs wobbled and pulsated in their electronic confines. She chose to ignore the red, white and blue trail of LED lights fluttering back and forth through the veins in her udders. Had they been surgically put there, under her skin? “What do you mean, father? That’s my sister, too, not my mom! And, fuck, that’s her husband, not my fuckin’ dad!”
Genevieve pulled up another window after tweaking a knob on the wall that did some narcotic and wonderful bit of business on Hanna’s clit. It was a blown up scan of her student ID. Hanna studied it, trying like hell to re-jigger all the suddenly impossible letters swimming around in her bored mind, suffering through its wet snatch mandate.
“Um,” she said with a moan and a giggle, “My name is Hanna. Excuse me, but—Honey De Lishie?! You gotta me… um… kiddin’…” She was being pushed over the edge, and didn’t get around to protesting that she was 20, not 15.
Her tits were wobbling and gushing like crazy. Milk began to fall from the holographic tracks. A klaxon sounded as her mewing got more guttural, then more high-pitched and crazed. Genevieve looked concerned, but determined.
“Stop drooling, doll. You’re going to short circuit the —“ With a crash and some smoke, Honey fell to the floor, at last cumming like crazy, gargantuan titties spraying a metric mess of milk everywhere. She fell on her face and passed out. Her supervisor grabbed a walkie talkie.
“Honey is ready to go home if her family is okay with the idea. She seems to holding on a bit too dearly to her pre-Doctrine identity, but that can be worked out with further, hopefully minimally invasive prodding. Perhaps some more humiliation is in order, to make re-teening more palatable to the subject.”
“Milking exercise still has major stability issues. We can safely assume the subject will maintain a consistently extreme libido for further processing purposes, but ultimately, I’m unconvinced she’ll hang onto her initial BosomBlossom proportions. We’ll see.”
Honey leaked onto the floor as she happily dozed. Her boobs were gushing to such a degree that they had begun to noticeably deflate. “Though, I guess that’s what good old Cherub Crunch is still good for, in a pinch. But really, I’d get one of your men back here pronto, if I were you.”
SOME HOURS LATER:
Wanna offered Honey a wad of rum-soaked Cherub Chew as officer Stone Brickbasher and Genevieve continued to lay out the most ideal course of action for Honey’s clearance back into society. The overwhelmed young woman refused the beauty gum at first, but immediately went back and yanked the single serving pouch from her older sister’s bangled hand, casting some bratty, mock-disgusted shade in her bumptious direction.
“Like that, for example,” Genevieve said, motioning to both Wanna and Benji, so she’d be including everyone seated at the interrogation table in equal measure. “Honey is very eager, and that’s good. That’s definitely a good sign.”
Honey targeted a fuschia-stained smile at the enhanced newlyweds, sarcastically, bits of the thick and chewy slurry falling down her face. She chewed obnoxiously. The cloying coconut scent drove Wanna crazy.
She scooched her chair over to her sister, to halfway sitting on her lap, and gave her a drooling, open-mouthed kiss. Caught up in the moment, she didn’t, or couldn’t, remember that she was already chewing on a puck of the stuff.
Benji swatted his wife’s lush asscheeks, and attempted to pull her terrycloth hotpants down over them, as if apologizing to Genevieve. Even though she had just thoroughly debased his sister-in-law, he felt this odd compulsion to be a proper gentleman around skinny women.
At least he could kind of remember how to do that. And she was straight up angular, so… Come to think of it, it wasn’t like she’d even look any good if he could see some more skin, anyway… He remembered that there were women in the world with flat chests. It was sad but true.
Wiping his brow, he gave the operative a look of apology, and chastised himself for falling back into the old sexist routine again. It was too easy to just be a craven jerk that treated women like meat. It took real effort to remind himself that pieces of meat had brains. Not all women were cock-addicted dummies. Just most of them.
Did her eyelashes flutter? He didn’t even wink at her! So he of course winked at her, confident in the biblical knowledge that even though she wasn’t into men, it would likely turn her on. Nothing wrong with flirting. He could be a gentleman and still let this lady know he had the upper hand. And always would.
Ms. Ceres blushed and immediately broke eye contact, soon continuing her detached warnings, ignoring the image of half this guy’s fist spelunking around in Wanna’s plump, fluorescent pink cooze. He’d just resigned to letting the wedgie stay in place, but he had pushed the tiny shorts aside and was greedily prodding her lips.
Some facile method of calming his woman down, no doubt. Genevieve undid the top button on her blouse, opened her suit jacket, and fanned herself out a bit. One on one with a starter bimbo was something she could handle. She had the proper training.
But two sweaty sluts, angry with one another and sharing a lot of the same genes, adding some heady bonus familial layer to the physical and psychological zoo they were all boiling in? She shouted at the two-way mirror. “Can we turn the goddamn air on!“
She heard something kick on, but all it did was push even hotter air around the shoebox of a room. It was starting to make her mind go blank. Not enough to make Stone go fetch her a surgical mask, though. Not yet. Although, he really was being patient through all of this.
The idea of making him do a menial task was suddenly really bumming her out. It wasn’t the end of the world if a woman doted on a man just because he was a man. That’s just how God made us —
She shook her head. Focus! she thought. Christ. At least the fog encroaching on her line of vision hadn’t turned pink yet.
“Mmmuh —“ She had to burp, so she did. Nobody could give a shit. There was so much sweat and pussy juice and precum in the air, everywhere. Besides, she was pretty sure Wanna had farted when Benji spanked her.
“I’m sorry for taking the Lord’s name in vain, by the way. Okay. My only concern is that if we do go ahead and alter these indoctrination specs, it might raise some suspicion in your neighborhood, and then all three of you might wind up in some undisclosed breed camp somewhere and get even bigger and fuck all the time and just not think ever and fuck and fuck and fuck forever and ever, sounds awesome, right? Right, but not really, ‘cuz you’d never see any natural light again, aside from Christmas and the 4h of July. I don’t think any of us here wants to see that. But the fact of the matter is, Bigg Don G. specifically requested the family dynamic he and Man Plan agreed upon be set in stone.”
Brickbasher stopped pacing around the table and unfolded his arms, scratching a bristly, cut jaw, trying to find the right words. Honey and Wanna both spread their legs a bit wider after getting dosed with a new whiff of his musk. They were pissed at each other, and at the cruel way the system was stacked against them, but their bodies remained determined to keep them being well behaved li’l big girls. Benji pretended to adjust his overalls and slipped his free hand underneath to tease his hardon, when he inhaled the slutty sisters.
“To put it bluntly,” the lieutenant bellowed in that gorgeous dark voice of his, “he ain’t paid for a slutty younger sister. Homeboy put down top dollar for her complete transition to precocious cowgirl daughter. Otherwise, the premise of the reality show he and Nora-Lou done had goin’ on in development for a half a year is frickin’ useless. We can’t find a more perfect participant on such short notice! So I want y’all to really think this through. Deep down, I ain’t convinced that Honey here don’t secretly thrill to the idea of bein’ a silly little teenager all over again!“
“Yeeeah, right,” Honey huffed, breezing past the fact that she was evidently bought and sold as girlie-chattel, all before even setting foot in the town of Doctrine. Who signed off on that? Benji promised her he didn’t, and Wanna was totally trustworthy… no matter how much of a dumb bitch she was, like assuring her that the idea of escaping Doctrine by bus wasn’t an idiotic idea.
If she got real with herself for a second, Honey obviously lived to service every decent-sized erection that came her way — any girl would!—but she was her own woman. There was just no need to pretend she was a high schooler for some TV show. There were plenty of other totally legit ways to be an eternal supplicant to male impulse.
“You honestly think I’m going to move here?! Omigosh, like, what-evurrrrrr!” She knew her thoughts still weren’t quite crystal clear, steeped in sexual frustration and jealousy as they were, but she did manage to latch onto a thin sliver of resolve. Just as long as she wasn’t expected to plead her case or discuss things like precedents, she’d be set.
She knew there were laws designed to protect her, and she knew that feminism should be a moral imperative for any earthly society going forward. It was just too hard to do anything but let all that stuff hang in the ether, far away from her buxom new body and how amazing and forthright it made her feel. Thinking too much just made her nipples soft. Nobody needed that.
She tried her best not to sound too shrill. Guys around here hated that. “I’m sorry, sir. ‘I respect every boy in blue and all the things you make good girlies do to help us stay so big and true,’ obviously, but… I know my rights?”
Shit. Oh no! She didn’t mean to pose that as a question! Both Genevieve and Bricksmasher opened their mouths to interject, but the viscous air in the cramped closet made them too slow.
“I don’t care what… per-visions you idiots have around here. Nobody should be put in jail for 48 hours for fuckin’ boarding a bus! That’s, like, so insane! Even if she was a cup or two shy of Brittany’s Bra Laws for the traveling and transforming. That shouldn’t matter. I wasn’t even wearing underwear! Doesn’t that count for anything anymore?!“
Honey held her head up high, but with all the makeup she had on, the way her mouth pursed open, and the beginning of a double chin, she showed zero authority. “Look. It’s not like I’m disobeying the Dime Cummandments all the way. I’ll keep this stupid body, I’ll pay the county fine of one lousy game of Twist-R-Dare, which I admit is pretty fair, and I won’t put up a fight when Benji uses my digital SlitSonar clitoral implant to keep track on me over the next eight weeks, and buzz me if I ever get outta line! But I will not be a teenager again!”
“This body is mine, after all!” She gestured toward the chrome clamp on just above her pubic bone, like she could even see it. Her tubby new boobs made seeing anything below them a thing of the past.
The massive cop bent down and copped a feel on the underside of one of the girl’s naked wet tits, as if examining produce. It didn’t even track with Honey. It was just how dudes checked how healthy you were. She didn’t even slow the pace of her chewing.
“But you do realize,” he said, really drawing each syllable out to make her squirm more than she already was, “that Benji can also keep track of what you’re thinkin’?”
He pivoted her to face the mirror, and grabbed her head carelessly, pulling her hair back at the sides, thumbing between some strands on the side of her head, revealing a tiny shaved patch with a pulsating, electronic golden cross tattoo, no bigger than a quarter.
Something seemed really disturbing, all of a sudden. What was it, what was it…
Oh yeah. When did her hair get so blonde and long and curly? It looked super country. She looked so fucking dumb now! It was way rad.
“Cherry Cortex 2020. Any time the patriarchy got ya down, or you read anything more complicated than a magazine or a bible, or if you hang out with anyone Our Family Way don’t ‘prove of for more than 60 seconds, well, Benji gonna be monitorin’ all that sinful negativity and he gon’ zzzzap ya, using our brand new Americhristian Patrolman app. And the best part? Every last bit of that data is stored in the church’s database. It helps us better understand the feminist threat, and it helps us understand, well — you, Honey.“
Honey gulped, partially understanding. She had no idea that brand was there. It was pretty fucking terrifying. But she could see how stimulated the cross was getting, burning brighter the more concerned she got.
“I’m pretty sure my name’s not Honey,” she muttered under her breath. Then what else could it be? Could it be… Sugar? No, that didn’t feel right either! Sugartits! …No.
The cop turned to her brother-in-law. “I don’t want to!” Benji complained to him from across the table. Wanna squeezed his boner, really dug her nails in his shaft, until he shouted out in agony and acquiesced, pressing a button that did something heavenly to Honey, made a chunk of her soul evaporate, from clitty to cloud.
“Wow. Sure, that’s, like, fine, officer,” she cooed, not missing a beat. “Seriously! A girlie could use a more clearer head every now and then.” She grinned, amusing herself. “And I mean every now, and every then, hehe, git it??”
He did, but he didn’t want to. Women comedians just didn’t strike him as funny. “Why ain’t you laughin’, officer? Huh? You want me to suck your cock again or somethin’?”
50 MINUTES LATER.
Officer Bricksmasher was almost done pounding Honey into the Twister mat, making small talk with his wife on a walkie talkie as the poor girl’s ruddy face got smooshed onto vinyl. He batted playfully at her rump with his free hand at each crashing descent of her hips, basically holding her aloft with the steely force of his dong alone.
Genevieve looked on, bad at pretending she wasn’t impressed, captivated. She was chatting — actually unabashedly flirting now, with Benji, against the opposite wall. But she kept steeling glances at the thing.
It was tan, livestock thick, and looked to be a foot long. It got weirdly pale about an inch underneath a big beet red tip, only adding to the animal effect. The shaft looked as furry as it did veiny, too. I work for the U.S. government, or something… She shushed her mind.
Benji nudged her in the ribs with his elbow, laughing. They were both surprised to feel some give there, some jiggle. “Hey, shut up!” she whined, her voice all sticky and breathy in the humidity of the old room. She couldn’t dry it out. “I’m still queer! It’s just…” She didn’t notice she was licking her lips. “It’s just. Whoa. You know?“
“Vegetarian Thursdays?” The cop grumbled to his wife, thrusting like a metronome all the while. “Yuck! Jeepers, what’s next, you’re gonna grow a mustache or somethin’? Over.”
Honey looked really happy though. Her eyes were shut and she was drooling, giggling, lowing. Her face was spackled with the other load of cum he’d christened her with just twenty minutes earlier. He snapped his fingers to the two-way mirror, sending some coded gesture about her to his silent superiors.
“I don’t care if chicken pot pie ‘takes too long.’ If you stop whining, maybe I’ll let you watch a half hour of TV sometime this year. Over.”
Wanna watched on close by, cheering and intending to “keep score,” struggling into some strange, skimpy version of a french maid outfit with referee stripes, for over a half hour now. Pretty soon she and Benji would get her sister back home to the city, so she could concentrate on stupid shit or whatever. Something stupid.
She hummed an old tune, managing to unstick her big lips and get some lyrics out. “I just bought this yesterdaaaaay!” she sang to whoever, pouting. “My big booty’s in Our Family Waaay! Now it sticks out like a serving traaaay, oh I rip jeans, when I kneeel to praaay…”
Genevieve hopped up and down from her indian style position at a corner on the floor. She clapped jubilantly, shouting, “Yaaaay! Get it, babygirl!” Benji nudged her again, just to see if it was his imagination, or if her boobs really had gotten bigger just in the amount of time they were all in the interrogation room. “She inisists she wrote that song,” he chuckled.
He started to further unbutton her shirt and she surprised herself and let him. Looking down, she smirked, raised an eyebrow, and let out a hot gasp. “So we’re doing, this, now?” she purred, playing at oblivious, biting her lower lip.
Bricksmasher growled his last grunt and collapsed on Honey, breathing heavy. After he finally rolled off her, she plopped onto her back and pulled her knees up, fanny to the ceiling. “Are you sure that this’ll help me stay smart?” she begged.
Benji and Genevieve paid no attention to the glaring stupidity on display, even when Wanna began to lap up the spunk falling out of her sister’s cunt. “So, uh,” he said, not wanting to be too forward as he ripped off the rest of the shirt, buttons flying off. “You’re definitely infected now, huh?”
He yanked her bra down. Her tits might as well have made a boiiinng sound. They were probably a C cup now, so still pretty tiny, but he was psyched to help along a brand new infection of Family Way Flu. She was his first newbie. It made him hard as fuck.
“Your hair is even longer, too.” He brushed outgrown bangs out of her eyes. “You’re gonna be a bimbo!” he teased, grabbing her wrist and placing her hand on his package.
“Nuh-uh!” she chirped, unzipping and jacking him instantly. “Not gonna!” Everybody just laughed at her. “That can be your new name, honey!” Wanda suggested.
“Ex-squeeze me?” Honey gurgled. “I told you, I don’t want to change my name! I was born Honey, and I’mma stay Honey!”
Gonna let herself giggle, it was light and easy and fun, and she kicked off another chorus of laughter.
LATER THAT AFTERNOON.
“You know,” Benji said as they barreled down the highway, “I was, uh, wonderment. Just how could it be that you and me ain’t banged yet?” He was talking to Honey. “I mean, only if you want. But you found the time to let two of them hipster protestors give it to ya right outside the police station before Wanna and I met up with you for lunch!”
She clearly heard him, but pretended not to, refusing to acknowledge the kinda-gross but kinda-hot question, or take her earbuds out. She cranked up the volume on her motivational prayer cassette. But as soon as she found herself square in the path of a swarthy puff of her brother-in-law’s B.O., her hands decided it’d be best if they yanked them out all on their own.
Honey dislodged a pacifier out of her mouth, reluctant. She’d just bought it downtown after finally being released (along with the walkman and tiny but matching gold boyshorts and tube top she was jiggling around in), and had been shamelessly going to town on it for the better part of the ride, like it was saintly dick.
“Pardon?” she slurped, tossing him a look of forced irritation in the rearview. Though she’d earlier learned the hard way that sneering at a man would send a surefire, throbbing brain zap right to her skull, she sneered at Benji. Only because she caught her reflection and remembered — and resented — that she was rendered incapable of closing her mouth all the way anymore.
Her lips just sat there all dumbly plump and pursed open, permanent in a suggestive, welcoming state. A perfect little circle of readiness that ensured she’d only ever be seen as an intellectual threat to kindergarteners. She hated it.
“You’re gonna say ‘I know you was thinkin’ the same thing,’ ain’tcha?” She futzed with her pigtails and took down their elastic bands, surprising the both of them when her hair flowed down over her tube top, and they saw how long and full-bodied her curly platinum mane had grown. They’d only been outside for two hours.
The overall vibe was one of a too-full, pornified Rapunzel with a food baby. She did love her adorable little tummy, she had to admit. And, heck, her mouth was fine. What was the big deal with needing to looking serious, anyhow? It was pretentious!
Wanna’s face was buried in Benji’s crotch, slobbering her way through an expert rendition of road head. Her big round ass was sticking straight up and pretty much out the open window on the passenger side, for God and country to get a peek, and surely approve of.
The fluffy wifey popped her man’s prick out of her throat for a second, with a protracted smooch. He looked down at her with love and approval. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was covered in sweat. She was so diligent. “It’s cuz she knows I can rock that fat fucking cock way better than her sorry excuse for a ass ever could,” she yelled.
“Yeah, right!” Honey snorted, extremely jealous and extremely horny yet again. She checked herself out in the mirror another time, tried to wipe some candy sauce off her upper lip, but a dot the size of a mole just wouldn’t budge.
Oh well. “I ain’t hear that Jedediah boy complain one ding-dong bit when he fucked it on them stairs!” She knew she looked hot as fuck. But wasn’t she supposed to stop flirting with any guy in olfactory radius, and competing with every curvy girl around, especially her own sister? She was supposed to stop doing that, right? Ugghh, nothing made any sense!
The candy mole was definitely kind of cute. For now. At least until they made it to a rest stop so she could scrub it off. It kind of looked like her roommate’s monroe piercing, the darker it got. Her roommate. Tasha was her name.
Tasha… Monroe? No, Miller! Duh. From Chicopee, Massachusetts! She was so impressed that she could remember all that info so easily, she could somewhat ignore the throbbing brain-quake it goaded along. She totally knew her major and age and her brother’s name, too — oh, what was it—but didn’t dare risk a cluster headache reaching for it.
That was right. Oh man, she loved Tasha! Although, the very notion of doing things together like studying, going to a used bookstore, or watching movies with subtitles, was really starting to make her pussy dry.
Maybe they could both fuck a bunch of dudes to celebrate her return, they could do it together, it would be so intimate, so spiritual. They would definitely have to go shopping, too, as there was no way in fuck that she’d be able to shoehorn her breedable new whooty into any single-digit dress size ever again.
Maybe they could take turns going down on each other in a dressing room. Honey idly imagined what black pussy tasted like before it registered that she didn’t even know what any pussy tasted like.
Wait, was that racially insensitive? The question must have overloaded her Cherry Cortex, because she could smell smoking hair before pinking out.
Six minutes later, Honey’s brain finally turned back on. She heard the celestial multi-tonal harp and zither blast that signaled her body’s sanctified operating system was booting up. It took another two or three for her eyesight to break through a watermelon spiral.
Honey was en route to her real life now, her old life. The one that didn’t seem so unnatural, almost fake, really, a mere three days ago. She should have felt good about the idea, though, not petrified. The name “Hanna” still didn’t sound correct, but she sure was glad Benji and her sister were nice enough to drive her all the way back to her city, so she could live, um…
Yup, it was Hanna. (She had to be dang sure to remember that, for when she went to get all her ID’s and credit cards replaced.) So she could live Hanna’s life again. She thought about what Tasha would think about her big new ass and titties. Would she get jealous? She made sure to pack a gallon of Cherub Cream, just in case she was.
She told herself for the umpteenth time that “ain’t” wasn’t a real word, ten minutes too late, but really she’d been far too doped up to unlock… gosh, whichever dumb old word would fit better, make her seem smart, even with the perma-pout. She felt the radiating onset of a migraine.
No. It wasn’t a migraine. They were still within range of the master unit to her SlitSonar, indeed it was a “tough love tap” from that, so she resigned herself to just not bother thinking critically, until they were at least 60 more miles out. This technological limitation was the last bit of useful advice Gonna had sent them off with, before Lt. Bricksmasher placed her under arrest for leaking top secret Man Plan information.
It was literally impossible to think about any not-fun stuff. Big Bimbo was watching, after all. At long last, after forty minutes of licking the thing up and down and every which way, she put the pacifier back in its travel case, making sure to dunk it in Savior Solution beforehand.
Already she was starting to feel a bit less foggy. She couldn’t remember what opiate the street vendor told her it was laced with. Whatever it was, it made all the bad things in her life shut up for a while. She adored her druggy watermelon thingie. It made her lips tingle.
After a while, she discovered that the handle on the thing felt really good when she pressed it at the corner on the roof of her mouth, like there was a clit there now. Shoot, maybe there was. She really wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. She tongued it just to be sure. It was receding, but even that felt just as good. How many other upgrades did she get? So much to discover!
The melting soother was molded into a female symbol, jutting out into a cross at the end. The stoned looking granola guy who’d sold it to her told her it was the cross of St. Brittany, that it symbolized fun and fertility, and it was a reminder that every woman was intrinsically linked in body and soul to the Lord.
That Gonna lady did warn her just before they left, not to eat any sweets shaped like boobs, butts, cocks or crosses, but the hippie sales-dude assured her that it didn’t necessarily have to be used as a blessed confection. “It’s just like weed,” he said. “Just because it’s still illegal in most states doesn’t mean it’s not a natural gift from God, ya dig.”
He threw in a complimentary dimebag. It was hard to argue. With any guy, but even scrawny guys like him, with his measly 9.5 inch micro-penis. He didn’t even have any chest hair. Nevertheless, she blew him for 5% off.
So that meant she fucked, what? Three guys, over the long weekend? And doled out four unique blowies. So it wasn’t like she’d become a total whore overnight. Not irredeemably bad. But it had been several months since she’d seen any action before visiting Doctrine. She needed to keep this fact in her head.
It was Doctrine that did this to her. Doctrine all along. Doctrine made her mutate in accordance with some twisted, Dr. Moreau style biological imperative. Doctrine made patriarchy a religion with which she’d instinctively be smitten. Doctrine made her over completely, tit to high heel, with barely tested tech that exploded her body and mind, in a scary fraction of the time it spent on converting her sister.
Doctrine made living out the rest of her life as a thick country bimbo slut seem not only plausible, not only viable, but an easy, natural duty. For at least half a day, she was legitimately under the impression that her body had simply “found Jesus.” Sure.
Riiiight, Jesus had manifested himself into over a dozen extra inches of ass meat, okay! She’d probably revert back to this delusion if Benji and — was it Wanna, or Wanda? — if Benji and Wanna didn’t begin to see the light and drive her back home.
The pacifier was slathered with a bright lime green and hot pink swirl that glowed in broad daylight. The pattern even started to rotate, slowly, as if she’d coaxed it into action with her tongue. She almost put it in her mouth again, and immediately felt dumb. Funnily enough, it was just like the swirl that played in a locked loop on her phone...
And in her mind when she closed her eyes, if she thought about anything for more than a second or two. Up until a few minutes prior, she’d been in sort of a waking slumber, because nobody was talking that much at all, and that swirl was swirling endlessly.
She suddenly remembered the four assignments she should have handed in hours ago. Oh no, her friend Juan’s art opening was tonight! She already bailed on his last two events. Fuck! And she had to open the coffeeshop tomorrow morning!
Leaden and flushed with a grounding, palpable anxiety, maybe the first bout of truly elemental dread that wasn’t accompanied by a flood of sexual energy, since ringing Wanna’s doorbell. There was nothing sexy about having your personhood robbed from you.
So what if she was destined to look like a slightly dumber, way hotter Anna Nicole Smith forever? So fucking what! That had nothing to do with her mind. She could beat this! And maybe if she dieted and exercised, she could shore up just a couple of those excess pounds, nothing major, and start to feel a bit less ridiculous —
“OWWWWW-uh!” she wailed, ear-splitting hell incinerating her head. It felt like someone was violently jabbing needles into her clit, into her nipples, into the tender new bud on the roof of her mouth.
Benji slammed on the dash, pushing buttons on the SlitSonar panel built into the rental car. “Sorry about that. We should be in the clear in like, five minutes? We’re far enough away from downtown Doctrine that your pussy, sorry, your, uh… vuh… vagina? Shucks, is that how you say it? Ugh, why does that sound so weird to me! Vagina! It’s like it hurts my mouth to say it. So weird.“
‘Your… vagina, and brain will be in safe hands from now on, or at least until the two month ‘husband’s arrest’ has run its course. Here, I’ll show you.” Honey couldn’t really hear him. Her clit felt pampered. She knew he was talking, but English sounded like scrambled Navajo all of a sudden, and if she tried to pay any amount of attention, the pink and green in the pleasant swirl just burned that much brighter, that much more vivid and potent.
She sure could hear her sister’s mouth as she continued to make out with that big dick, though. So wet, such a masterfully tight seal around his shaft. She had a lot to learn from the queen. Jealousy bubbled up, but it was more playful now than angering. And as Wanna started to gag, the guttural girly noise reached Honey’s brain as a comforting communique. Everything is going to be just fine.
Sucking dick would always be something she could totally understand. Something that brought her and every good Christian woman closer and closer to the truth. Something that would save America from the unholy clutches of secular humanism. Something that gave her a perfect way to say anything she needed to say, anything at all.
Something she was built to do.
SUNDOWN IN THE CITY.
Tasha walked down to the ground level of the parking garage after getting her roommate’s text. She couldn’t believe her eyes, what was waiting for her on the sidewalk. What on earth?
She recognized Hanna’s polka dot phone case right away, but everything else about this chubby babe was… absurd. Did this bimbo eat her friend?
“H-anna?” she asked, cautiously keeping a nice distance. The almost nude fertility bombshell nodded and nodded, yes, extending her soft arms out for a hug. But the one teat that wasn’t sheathed in gold lycra was covered in cum instead.
“Uh, wow, I think I’ll pass for now,” she said, about to pat her on her giant hairdo, before realizing at the last second that there was jizz all over that, too.
The car that Honey wiggled her flesh out of was peeling out down an alley. A pit formed in Tasha’s stomach. “I don’t know what to say!”
Honey smiled, opened her mouth wide, and pointed toward her throat. “Tasha, omigosh! I know just how you…” Tasha was appalled, watching her friend take forever to find the next word.
“Feel! Ummm. You totally sucked dicks before, right?” Tasha’s jaw came unhinged, and Honey copied her. They stood there gawking at each other like that, for very different reasons, for quite a while.
Then, as if she was a dot matrix printer, Honey hummed and whined mechanically, torso vibrating slightly, whimpering in such a clipped way that it almost sounded like beeping. Her mouth fell open and her eyes went blank. Then she looked dumb and happy again in the here and now.
“Feel! Ummm. You totally sucked dicks before, right?” she said, in exactly the same way. “Feel! Feel! Feel! Feel!”