Seven Day Boy
by Limerick
MONDAY
Life was so good. Waking was a pleasure. Craig rose each morning with a thrill of disbelief, a nervous tingle in his stomach. That feeling like since it had been Christmas yesterday, it couldn’t possibly be his birthday today. And it was, with a little Halloween to boot.
Inevitably he tossed off the sheets and pulled down his pajamas, and there it was. Roughly doubled in size, and hairy and heavy. It would grow lazily erect as he watched, rousing from sleep just behind him, veins pumping rich red blood up and down the shaft. Until there it towered, his new cock, his fantastic and wonderful new organ, bristling with nerves and ready for action.
Craig stepped out of bed with the happy certainty of a man confident he would get four or five blowjobs that day from hungry sperm-thirsty sluts.
Had it only been a month? The timing of it all was so perfect. The virus had been released in early March, took a week to remake the world. The government had caught and shot the guy responsible. Some hero had developed a synthetic-sperm so no girl had to suck or die. And just when they had all gotten used to their mighty cocks and sexy new scents and tasty new fluids Spring had hit and made the world bright and warm. There was no better season to be horny and built to fuck.
Craig strode out front. At first he had bothered to haul the lawn chair back and forth. Now he just left it out. The morning dew sank into his robe. He beheld the world in the early morning on Ramaset Avenue from the front grass.
The sun rose to his right. The dog-walkers were out. Craig favored them all with neighborly waves. Mostly middle-aged ladies who had melted off the wrinkles and years with blasts of jizz. It was somewhat comical, watching them strolling in sedate cardigans and jeans that didn’t at all fit. Tits popping over the top of Ann Taylor and asses packed into mom-pants. They eyed his loose pajamas with that now-usual look of female interest. Craig hadn’t face-fucked any of the neighbors—there were husbands to consider—and plus he didn’t need a yappy dog interrupting his good-morning blow. But he was thinking about it.
“Craig!” a trio of girls catcalled. “Waiting for the milklady?” They all looked thirty-two and didn’t wear bras. Their dogs kept looking back at them, puzzled. No doubt everyone smelled very different, and their owners didn’t look fifty-five anymore.
“She has a name,” Craig said, cheery.
“And it is?” one of the ladies said. Their eyes strayed to his cock. It was at half-mast, and tented his pajama leg. The day Craig had first measured its new length and girth was a rebirth, as far as he was concerned. It was in vogue to tattoo the measurements of the heft somewhere on the bigger, better body. Silly as far as he was concerned. Of course he had a huge dick now.
“I mean… the important thing is, she has one,” Craig said. He smiled at them. They all set to winking. “You ladies should come over for breakfast soon,” he suggested. Why the hell not. They all brightened, mentally licked their lips. He wondered how many kids they had combined for. But that was pre-nano thinking.
“Uh oh, here comes the little cleaner,” one of the trio said, and they all pushed off, giggling. They had all found pert little skirts somewhere, and had coordinated white tennis shoes. Probably raided their daughter’s closets. But Craig had someone else in mind.
There she was, right on time. Running crisply with her headphones bouncing. Craig deeply admired her dedication. Her boobs bounced up and down with every stride, and her pants were stretched over outrageous curves. It wasn’t really a body that should do more than flounce and fuck. And he was pretty sure she had gone up yet another cup size from his devoted loads into her mouth. But good news, prevailing fashions were already stretchy and well-adapted to getting splashed with fluid. Perfect.
She pulled to a halt in front of him and checked her timer. Craig nodded. He was rock hard. He had no idea how far she had run. Definitely she was slick with sweat. With her heavy curves and extra padding it could’ve been just several blocks. But he liked to imagine his girl ran a good two, three miles just to get to his dick.
“How’s your time?” he said, politely. On cue, her scent reached him. Who needed names? He could smell and know it was her across a ballroom. Scent was so much fun. No wonder dogs got so into it. Sniffing butts was a joy. She was sweat and jasmine and some other complicated things that they didn’t have the words for yet. A sort of… submissive-indicator fertility-indicator horniness-indicator female-indicator possessiveness-indicator.
“Slower every day,” she said, but smiled back.
“I could walk up the street,” he offered. Craig was a little worried she’d start driving to him in the morning. Understandable… but not the same.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. He could smell her frustration, her submission. “Further away.”
That was enough chitchat. His girl got onto her knees and pulled down his pants.
The spring air felt so good on a newly enlarged and very capable penis. Both of them admired it. Penises had been so funny-looking, before. Functional but odd. Now they had a real bestial magnificence. Still catching her breath, his girl ran her tongue up the underside of Craig’s cock. She did it the exact same way every time, and it recycled in his head all day. It felt like it took all morning. The female dogwalkers slowed their stride, and their dogs yanked at their leashes.
And then she gently took his dick into her mouth. Hot air pulsed around it. It was still cool enough outside that the temperature change made Craig groan. How wonderful the world was. They were both relaxed and happy, getting something they both needed. Craig had an entire night’s worth of jizz stored up, and the morning wad was always the best, or so he had heard. Again, the vocabulary had to get bigger, but whatever the girls were tasting, they liked.
His girl moaned around the cock in her mouth. She had gotten better. Craig hadn’t said anything, but now she made sure to look him in the eye, to vary her sucking speeds, to keep her tongue involved. And she had started to very gently massage his big balls. On day one she had practically skidded to a halt, threw herself on his cock, sucked him dry, and then taken off on unsteady legs.
He didn’t try to hold back. She had a time to beat, after all. Craig unloaded in her mouth. His girl locked her lips hard. That was a bit of a bad part—it’d be hot to watch his cum overflow and spill out. But no girl on earth was about to let sperm get wasted. Vitamin S.
At least it was fun to watch it spill all sorts of fucked up shit into her bloodstream. His girl tried to keep focus, but her brain had recently been rewired to spaz out with neurotransmitters and dopamine and all sorts of hormones when jizz got in the system, and it wasn’t something anyone could fight. She released and sat back, eyes lost, a big wet patch spreading between her legs. An orgasm shook her, and she thrust against nothing. Craig wondered how much more her tits would grow. There was a rumor that different sperm caused more growth. It awaited government investigation.
His girl came to eventually, after a few minutes recovering from a brain-shattering full-body orgasm. Hopefully her moans didn’t wake the neighbors, but then, everyone was doing a lot of screaming, lately. Eventually her eyes refocused.
“That’s got to be bad for me,” she said, as she did every time. She got to her feet, stretched out the kinks. All that kneeling was probably good for her thigh muscles.
“It can’t possibly be bad,” Craig said, and felt with all his heart that it had to be true.