Seven Day Boy
by Limerick
WEDNESDAY
Living at home in a time of radical sexual transformation was good and bad. On the one hand, a little stability was appreciated while developing new senses, an amazing sense of small, a powerful need to drink cum, and an overwhelmingly curvy body. It was like a two-week puberty, and Brandy doubted she could’ve done much laundry or cooking off on her own. Mom had been very discrete and very understanding about her sodden panties, the busted bras—they were both getting very curvy and shiny, after all.
The bad part was that she had to listen to Mom and Dad going at it essentially all the time. So far she hadn’t walked in on them. But she had heard far too much. Happily they were at a restaurant, Mom probably blowing Dad underneath the white linen tablecloth.
So it was time to skype. Brandy had dressed herself with care, in red lace and too-small black jean shorts. Her tits were squished into a sort of bodice thing she had found in the back of the closet, from her high school Ren Faire days.
Thomas blinked onto the screen. He was in his college dorm room. It had been a week apart, and Brandy was about ready to throw herself into the screen, if it got them a little closer.
“Whoa, you’re a beard boy now,” she said, with mock astonishment. Obviously he had been growing it in all week, but it had just ascended from patchy stubble to real hair. And she knew how proud he was of his new, rugged jawline, the corded muscles in his neck.
“We’re all lumberjacks up here, these days” Thomas said. He touched it. “You alone? What’s up?”
“Yeah, my parents are out tonight.”
“How long?”
“I can’t say. I don’t know if all this… stuff… means they’ll stay out longer or if they’ll hurry home. I don’t know,” Brandy smiled at the camera. How could he be so many hundreds of miles away? She could practically smell him. “So.. how’s he doing?”
Thomas didn’t need much encouragement to whip his dick out. It was enormous, especially when thrust into a cheap web-enabled camera. Brandy cooed at it. An entire week without it, so far. Subsisting on sad plastic vials.
“It’s not getting any bigger,” he reported. “Just shy of a foot.”
“No, I refuse to believe it isn’t bigger,” Brandy said. She put her hands between her thighs, adjusted the camera to rest on her bodice. She had worked this move out in advance. Bring her sticky, wet hand up, and start to undo snaps. “It’s enormous. Oh my god. Stud of studs. King of pricks.”
Thomas beamed. The truth was, from what Brandy saw online, he was basically a bit below average. But he was HER below average. And a foot of dick was plenty good. Nearly a foot. Her boobs burst out, creamy and heavy. “I think I’m done. I’m your moo cow. Look at these. They flop.”
“Wow,” Thomas said. He put his hand around his dick. It nearly brought Brandy to tears. God, it shouldn’t be like this. She should be THERE, smelling him and tasting him and sucking him dry. Looking at his big, wonderful cock and not smelling the unmistakeable scent of Thomas—horsey, a hint of cigar, a touch of the earth. Her body was confused by it.
“Miss that big boy so bad,” she said. Brandy aimed the camera at her slit. She had read dozens of “how to keep your long-distance boyfriend” articles that were all written pre-nanos and had 0 application to her life. They talked about finances! And emotional engagement! Not a word about regular exchange of body fluids, slurping and sucking. One of the risque ones encouraged innovative camera angles while sexting, so she was working that angle.
“Wow,” Thomas seemed enthused. Was he cheating on her? No, she couldn’t think that way. She had to believe in him. After all, he was spending his nights on a campus that was full of crazed cum-thirsty co-eds, all in sex-mad inflated bodies, skyping with his long-distance girl. There weren’t even classes right now to focus on. That deserved some sort of medal. Privately, Brandy had told herself she could excuse ONE other suck off per day. Maybe two. “Love your pussy, babe.”
“Ohhhh, Thomas, I want you in me soooo bad. I just want to be your toy,” Brandy said. She had written the lines ahead of time. Her fingers danced. Her mouth ached for twelve inches, nearly, of her boyfriend. “Your sucky-fucky Brandy toy. Five times a day. Can you do five?”
“Oh yeah. Keep going,” Thomas said. His camera had gotten knocked around. Was he really going to just blow into a rag? That was going to be a federal crime, Brandy was sure. Cum was life.
“Oh god Thomas, I’m gonna get there and blow you so bad, I just want your cum all over me,” Brandy was off script, and panicking. “Please, I just want to be your mouth. Your tongue-girl, just…”
“Okay, you can stop,” Thomas said. He took a breath. Brandy wanted to know what had happened with his cum. The camera hadn’t caught it. “You got my package, right?”
“Package?”
“You didn’t? Shipping said it arrived today.”
Brandy flew downstairs, pussy dribbling, her hands leaving wet streaks on the banister. She surprised her parents, who were in a darkened living room, presumably fucking. Brandy hardly noticed. There was a brown paper package on the kitchen table, with Thomas’ cramped handwriting on the outside. She grabbed it, hoisted her big butt back upstairs.
“Apparently it’s still good,” Thomas said. “It keeps for like a week. Isn’t that cool? You don’t even need to refrigerate it. And look, I’ve got more coming.”
Brandy pulled out three sticky vials. Big ones, full of white jism. “Oh god,” she said, electric. This was the nicest thing anyone had ever done. The interior of the box smelled like Thomas. “Oh my GOD. OH MY GOD THOMAS!”
She unscrewed the first one, held it to her nose. Her body spasmed at the smell of Thomas, of still-potent boy right underneath her nose. “OH MY GOD!”
“Love you, baby,” Thomas said. He had never said “I love you before.”
Brandy just managed to choke out “I love you too,” before the first batch slid down her tongue and sent her, screaming, into a white burst of light. Matching and overpowering the screams from downstairs.
Luckily, the camera caught her cumming and cumming at the perfect angle, with the perfect lighting.