AgraRipe
THURSDAY
The coffee shop opened up at 5 in the morning. Erin showed up at 5:10, to show herself that she could.
She had had a long and… restless… night. Something was wrong in a way that it was difficult to pin down.
And she had a headache. And she was starving.
It had been a ton of hours since her last cupcake, her last big cup of coffee. Erin had made late night pancakes, a dozen of them, after 10 p.m., and they had been tasteless and worthless, even after she dumped a cup of powdered sugar on top.
Around 11 or so she had spent a good, long time learning about the big wide world of internet pornography. It was amazing how much stuff was out there. Any fantasy at all. If you wanted to watch, say, an asian girl get double-penetrated while someone else jacked off onto her face, that was doable. Was there video of a pretend IT girl in a cheap suit getting fucked underneath a desk? Yes, there was.
The air inside the coffee shop was cool, clean. Erin took a few long, deep breaths. Of course she was the first person there, excepting a single boy still cleaning out the pastries. There were a few sad croissants there but no pink cupcakes (she checked again, no) so whatever.
Her legs were warmer than they should’ve been. They were naked for the first time in an age. All of her many pairs of jeans, in uniform dark blue, had felt musty and thick, and she had tossed them off by 1 in the morning. They mouldered in a big denim heap on her bedroom floor. Ransacking her closet had unearthed a bright red poodle skirt from some—actually, she had no idea where it was from. She went through all her clothes—the endless band t-shirts, the disgusting ones with ironic sayings. How did she only own two bras?
And that had meant she had to shave her legs.
So at 3:30 in the morning, Erin had filled the bath with warm soapy water, sat next to it, and shaved herself smooth. Hair from a previous presidency went down the drain. Then she had eased the many nicks with a long soak.
Then she had propped her ipad up and watched a girl get ass-fucked on redtube for thirty straight minutes. Just pounded nearly continuously while she thumbed herself underneath the water.
Anyway, it had been a busy evening.
She had learned a lot, so it had hardly been wasted time. Erin’s sexual experience was a long-term boyfriend in college, who had been boring in retrospect. He had been too happy to just have stupid missionary sex and occasionally touch her tits. She hadn’t been fucked in the butt once, hadn’t gotten on her hands and knees a single time, hadn’t sucked his dick more than once, and frankly, she had just licked it until he came. That wasn’t a blowjob. That was a tonguejob.
The girls online were an education. Erin learned a dozen great expressions—the empty-headed fuck-me stare, the about-to-cry orgasm face, the spank squeak.
Also it turned out there were a number of ways to get your ass paddled, and each one was hotter than the last.
She had gotten as far as typing half of Walter’s name in a google search box before moving on to other things, like shopping online. She had tentatively swatted her own butt, but it hadn’t been the same.
And then around 4:30 she had realized she was absolutely starving. She had eaten cereal, no milk, after finishing the milk. It had been like eating dry leaves. There was no coffee left in the house.
So at 5:00 Erin had carefully arranged herself, put on the too-cute red skirt, a pretty cute blouse, she had found an ancient pair of lipstick, and she had gone to the coffee shop, where she was currently, somehow, flirting with the boy behind the counter.
“Take your time,” Erin said, and smiled at him. He had pimples. “No hurry! I know I’m here early!” he gawked at her. Erin looked down. Her blouse was half-open. She quickly did up the third button, cursing herself.
“Okay… but… what do you want?” the boy said.
Erin leaned on the counter. That pushed her boobs up. The boy’s eyes lingered. Funny to think she hadn’t slept all night. She felt fine. Just.. hungry. “Coffee. One big… enormous… coffee. Please.”
He gave her a big cup. She blew on it, anxiously, noticed that he was watching, and then blew again. God, if only he knew that her underwear matched. That was a stroke of luck. She tried a wink she had seen on Big Ass Sluts 7. The boy swallowed hard.
Erin took a sip.
It tasted like gasoline.
She gagged, pulled her lips off, and slopped half the cup over the floor.
“Sorry! Sorry, I’ll clean that up,” Erin said. She grabbed a wad of napkins, and bent over, sopping up the reeking propane mess.
The boy examined her matching underwear and skirt, and bit his lip.
“Something wrong with the coffee?” he managed.
“It didn’t taste right, can you try it?” Erin said. She watched him take a careful sip. He shrugged. She felt cold, all of a sudden, like the air had chilled ten degrees.
“Fine to me,” he reported.
Erin looked at him, expressionless, holding a bunch of dirty napkins. The air smelled like chemicals, like gas in a ditch. She tossed the napkins to the boy and hurried out.
The air didn’t smell nearly enough like jizz for Peter’s liking.
He had gotten used to it, at detecting it, at the office. The salty-air stink. Girls had their own complex set of scents, he had learned, but it was best against a background of regular coats of jism, like priming paint. His cum, of course.
So it was disappointing to end a night of fucking with the air pathetically thin. They could hold a dinner party in the house, once they made the bed. That was wrong. There should be stains on the ceiling and a white haze in the air.
His wife, Alicia, lounged on the bed, where she was semi-permanently encamped. She hadn’t even mentioned going to work. When he had gotten home she had been watching TV, her legs spread wide, a pair of lace underpants tugging into her expanding ass. She was watching some sort of trash, girls with big hair and short skirts slutting around behind large sunglasses. The cupcakes he had left out for her were gone. Not even the crumbs remained.
He had walked up to her, wordless, and unzipped. She had fished out his cock without looking away from the TV, stuck it in between her lips, and sucked him like a milkshake straw.
And for the most part it had been a great evening. Watching his wife, his earnest, intellectual wife, who had HBO subscriptions and a two full bookcases of semi-literary novels and a goodreads account, drain her brain on every worthless TV show on while he fucked her however he pleased. Doggy style, mostly, while her mouth hung open and the TV blared. She was plenty responsive, cumming in big gushing screams, so it wasn’t THAT that bothered him.
Also Alicia’s tits were coming in real nice.
It was the condoms.
Alicia was allergic to birth control. And condoms had been.. were.. fine. It was just a thin latex sheath. It had never bothered him before. Heck, strapping one on to his enhanced girth had been kind of a thrill, seeing just how BIG he had gotten in what, two days?
“I’m off to work,” he said. Alicia’s eyes briefly left the screen. She smiled at him. “Okay, baby,” she husked, and rolled around on the bed. She was totally naked. “Bring me back some snacks, alright? I’m burning a lot of carbs.”
She sat up, felt the bigger heft on her chest, and frowned, puzzled. A mind fried by reruns tried to figure out what was going on. “Geez, am I big today?” she said, hefting noticeably larger tits.
Peter’s balls churned. He had cum maybe nine, ten times overnight. He still felt overloaded.
But would it—but maybe he wanted her pregnant. It hit him with sudden clarity. God, of course. Alicia was nesting on that bed. It was his duty as a man to fill her with seed. Why else was he having all this sex? Why else was he walking around with a big swinging dick, like a loaded gun? He’d knock her up, she’d swell up sleek and horny and his, and it’d all make a lot of sense.
That’s what animals did.
And she was fertile. He could smell it. God, could he smell it. His cock flexed.
He dropped his pants. Alicia leaned back, automatically. She giggled. The TV had a test pattern on. She was watching it anyway.
“Hang on to something,” he told her.
Swagger. That was the only word for it, Myra thought. It was such a boy-only word. Girls didn’t get to swagger at all. A girl who smirked and condescended and was free with her hands would be a—a—there wasn’t even a word for it. Probably just a generic bitch.
And the thing about swagger, she thought, was that it drew attention to how hard it was as a girl to be anything other than… there was no other word for it… submissive.
She ran her tongue over her teeth. It was kind of a hot word, too. Submissive. Sexually submissive. It brought to mind being trapped under some big man, his arms pinning her on both sides, his body broad and hot as he casually spread her legs—
“No,” Myra told herself. She had to concentrate. It was that or get a hand on her ass. There were hands on asses everywhere, here in the lobby. What had been an entranceway had turned into a blockade with pastries and now, today, was a kind of growing social meat market.
There hadn’t been any dress code instituted, to Myra’s knowledge, but the girls in AgraRipe had informally instituted one anyway. Heels were part of it. The higher the better, and anyone with a pair of pinpoint stripper heels or chunky skyhigh wedges, in bright colors, was in them. No girl was in anything less than a full layer of makeup, eyebrows painted, lips bright red and simpering-smiling at some boy. Blouses were pink and had one more button down then necessary. Myra was seeing a ton of lacy black bras, a lot of cleavage, a lot of girls seemingly proud to have men ogling their tits.
These were girls that she had worked with for years, albeit in a nod-in-the-hallway sense. Vanessa, she had a husband and two kids, and was dressed today in a pink skirt while Joseph rested a casual hand on the curve of her ass. Kathleen and Nicole, who hated each other, and were both laughing delighted at some joke by a short guy whose name she couldn’t even recall. His gaze wandered between their tits. Laura, who was pushing 50, Myra knew it, and who had a pair of perky boobs apparently that had monopolized one of the top salesmen. She didn’t look a day over 32.
Everyone was laughing and flirting and eating and drinking and eating and eating and eating. Myra was on her third cupcake. No. Seventh. Her body was butter and fat. She tried to make herself small, in a corner. She just had to get upstairs, to her computer, to—her body flushed—to Todd. Together they were going to fuck until she squeak—no, they were going to get to the bottom of this carb-fueled strangeness.
“All alone?” a man asked her, practically in her ear. He had a thick, full beard, and was dressed in a dark blue suit with a red tie. Red ties were practically mandatory, on the men.
He didn’t even hesitate. He just put a big hand on her ass. It was looking inviting, Myra knew, and she had some responsibility for that. What with all the baked goods she was swelling horizontally in two directions.
“Do you… have to grab my butt?” she asked, looking sidelong. The man seemed surprised. Like girl butts were just handholds. A sort of pocket.
“Don’t you want to go upstairs?” he asked, puzzled. “You’ll need an escort.”
“I… what?” Myra asked confused.
“In case something goes wrong between the lobby and getting out of the elevator,” the man explained.
That made a sort of sense. A big strong man needed to be there. In the elevator. With her. In case a bat flew in or something as the doors were closing. And they needed to repopulate the earth. His hand squeezed an ass cheek.
Myra fought to get ahold of herself. A morning’s worth of sugar and sweaty Todd-fantasies made it hard. She felt stupefied, slow, her tongue struggling to talk back to a boy. But there was a clear way forwards.
“Oh, I’m waiting for Todd,” she told him. “You know? Todd?” She flexed a bicep, for emphasis. “About six foot four?”
“Oh,” the man said. His smile died. He shrugged. But another unattached, confused girl wandered by, crumbs on the top of her exposed chest and a glazed look in her eyes. “Excuse me.”
Myra heaved a short sigh. She tried to rub off the feeling of his hand. Now she just needed to hope that Todd got there soon, so she could have a male to escort her up the elevator. She needed to pee something fierce. And maybe a little handplay, too.
She needed to stop this behavior, Holly told the mirror. It was demeaning. It was a waste of her valuable time. She wasn’t some sort of… beverage dispenser. She was a senior quality assurance lead and she had better things to do.
It was a good speech. It was undermined by the fresh pot of coffee she had clutched in her right hand. And by the overeager secretary outfit she had somehow stuffed herself into. A dark blue dress cinched tight at the waist, it was far too short, landing a mile above the knee and just a few inches beneath her panties. If she bent over to pour a boy a fresh cup….
Holly closed her eyes. She had already masturbated twice to that very image. That was PLENTY. Her hands smelled sweet. She really should wash them. She was getting pussy juice in the coffee.
She took another deep breath, and walked out of the ladies’ room.
A man saw her, and smiled, appreciative. He was sharp in a suit and tie. All the programmers and QA men had dug up musty old suits, and looked like liquid sex in them, even with the wide ties and the linebacker shoulder pads. Holly risked a look back. Of course he had stopped to watch her ass move. She was in four-inch heels, for god’s sake. Her hips were on a swivel.
“Holly! Get over here with the pot,” Miles yelled. He was practically half her age. She could’ve had a son his age. She waddled over and carefully, carefully, poured him a cup. He drank in her cleavage. Holly had no idea what cup size she was, today. Bigger. They felt good. Everything felt good.
He took a swig. “Beautiful work, honey,” he said.
“Holly,” she said, with a diffident smile. “It’s Holly.”
“Of course,” he winked at her. “You’re walking that way, I hope.”
He pointed down the hallway, directly away from him. It led away from her office. Her blessed office. She’d been trying to get there all morning.
Holly had made an early beeline for the coffee machine. She’d been thinking about the new AgraRipe special blend all night. Every one of her own intensively sourced, highly expensive home beans had tasted like shit, like just fucking complete ass, by comparison. She’d marched up to the break room, made a cup, and then…
And then boys had happened.
Boys with their mugs and their gentle, knowing smiles, and with their requests for coffee. Bring me more coffee, honey. Sweetcheeks. Babe. Sexy thing. You. God, why had “hey you, with the ass,” gotten her so fucking horny? She’d nearly spilled the jug.
Holly made it to the end of the hallway. Miles whistled, low and slow. It was practically cartoonish. She was a senior member of her team. Her panties were dripping wet. Her boobs were engorged, sweating hot in an inadequate bra.
Holly looked to the right. There was no one around. Her office was just around the corner. She could—
But no. The coffee jug was nearly empty. She couldn’t have that.
On the way back she passed another girl member of the team. Bobbi. She had made a makeshift tray from a couple of planners and was carting around a big batch of blue cupcakes, beef jerky, standard boy snacks. They smelled terrible. But Bobbi’s miniskirt was dead cute.
“Bobbi, aren’t you supposed to be…” Holly trailed off. They were working together on… some sort of project. Computer project. “Working? On computer-y stuff?”
“I’m sorry,” Bobbi whispered. “I gotta hurry. They’re playing beer pong in the break room and they want some snacks.”
Holly stopped to let her pass. She wondered if she should’ve said something about Bobbi’s missing bra. Her nipples were practically cutting glass. Well, presumably Bobbi knew about that. And the boys would appreciate it.
She made it back to the break room. There were a few other girls there, fiddling with their outfits, and filling up on pink cupcakes. Holly snuck a few herself. She didn’t even notice eating them, anymore. Eating ten-twelve cupcakes for lunch was what people did. She vaguely remembered sandwiches.
“I just don’t know,” Katherine said. She had on some sort of white bustier that propped up the biggest tits in the department. Her long blonde hair fell back in big ragged strands. “He’s just… ooo…. But then there’s Kyle. Ooo. And then there’s Carter. Ooo.”
“Ooo,” echoed her companion, Melody. She looked strange. The Melody that Holly knew had short hair, not these long dark black locks. And was a stone-cold lesbian who wore flannel in the summer. This Melody had on a single, strapless dress. “I gotta say Carter. He’s.. he’s man.”
The girls nodded, solemn.
A man entered the break room. Holly took stock. Good shoes. Beard. Tall, maybe even 6′2″, and just a hint of paunch to him. Belatedly she placed him as Luke. She supervised him. He was underneath her. No, that couldn’t be right. She was supposed to be underneath him, on a couch or desk.
“Ladies,” he said, grinning.
“Hi Luke,” Melody cooed. Katherine would’ve said something, but she was three bites in to a danish of some kind, with a pink and red juice box in each hand.
“Holly,” Luke said. He smiled at her. He works FOR you, Holly told herself. Her knees threatened to buckle. He was unattached, smiling at her, made a lot of money, he probably had a big swinging dick—no. “You’ve got exactly what I need.”
Oh god, he wanted a blowjob. He wanted her to kneel in front of everyone and bury his stiffy into her mouth, all six or nine or twelve inches, probably twelve, until she had pubic hairs up her nose. And then he would face-fuck her senseless right there in the break room, demoting and demoting and demoting her until she was just a rag to be spooged on. Her knees started to bend.
“Love this coffee. Thanks, darling.” He held the cup out, and she poured him nearly to the brim. He took an appreciative sip. “Fantastic. Any cream in these?” Luke said, casually fondling a boob. Holly sighed, relieved. He just wanted to feel her up. Well, thank god. Nothing wrong with that. The other girls looked deeply jealous.
“Not yet,” Holly chirped, winking.
“Well, let me know, that’s the only thing missing,” Luke strolled off.
They watched him go. They were walking Bechtel test failures, Holly thought, in a brief moment of fogged clarity. Even alone they could only talk boys.
“Lucky lucky,” Katherine said, eventually.
Holly gave her a look. “That’s what happens when you mean something to the company,” she told the younger woman. “And I’m the one who makes the coffee.”
Lydia probably wasn’t in her office.
Myra had gotten into her own office as early as anyone. She had eventually solved the elevator problem by taking the stairs, by herself, cursing and sweating frosting residue out of her pores. It had been nearly painful, the five stories, sweating and heaving and feeling like a fatass swinging an unwieldy pair of boobs up the stairs. But she had managed it. And Lydia hadn’t come in or out of the office.
Most tellingly, she hadn’t heard that wet buzz at the edge of her hearing. It was a weird thing to think, that her boss wasn’t around because she wasn’t masturbating in her office. But that’s where things were.
Todd had walked in, stalked directly to his own office, and shut the door. Myra hadn’t gone out to say anything to him, yet. Not sweaty and red from the stairs, at least.
Kay was… totally spaced out, her legs up on the desk. The girl wore a fun looking pair of chino shorts and a matching bright green pair of sandals. They looked pretty good, finally liberated from wool pants. She was wearing a collared shirt, at least, even if it was a practically translucent beige number. The girl was slurping on an oversized ring pop, and had three others on her fingers. She appeared to be watching youtube tutorials on how to put on makeup like a modern-day geisha.
It was time.
Myra stepped out of her office, turned, discreetly opened Lydia’s door, and walked inside.
It had been that easy.
She sat in Lydia’s chair. It was bigger then hers. A chair that was earned after decades of high-quality legal work, until she was a lieutenant in one of the largest companies in the Tri-State area. True, at the cost of a personality, and a personal life, and the ability to smile.
There were the six or seven red pens that ruined Myra’s nights, marking up legal documentation with notations on misspellings and poorly-drafted terms. Her expensive L-V bag, the one indulgence Myra was aware of, before this whole jilling-at-work thing. Lydia’s desk had been cleared of all but a few file folders, and her laptop was square in the middle of the glass top, perfectly aligned.
Myra swiveled in the chair, feeling like a misbehaving little girl. This was all silly. What was she even looking for? Shocking documentary evidence that the company had been sold to an outside investor? Some sort of legal papers that read something like “this man is a fraud, and I am writing down the proof”? She was being a naughty, naughty little girl and she should go over to Todd’s office and see if he would spank some sense into her—no.
“No,” Myra whispered. She had to get a grip. She had spent a half-hour in front of the mirror this morning, disbelieving, trying to figure how her body had gone from functional and short to blossoming bombshell overnight. She had rubbed out a screaming orgasm in the shower, to a blurry image of Todd she had found from 2009, on his fraternity’s website. Something was WRONG. Yesterday she had witnessed a company fist fight and a room coated in sperm, like some sort of sex horror movie.
She had masturbated to the image of the smiling, milking bimbo, delighted to be fought over, for much of the night.
She opened the desk drawer, and a rainbow of sex toys practically tumbled out.
They were in every color, flesh-toned and candy. Bright red and green and blue along with realistic cocks of every ethnicity. Little battery-operated nubbins and big honking phalluses with mysterious instructions in Japanese. And they were used. A wave of sweet rolled out of her.
“Holy christ!” Myra whispered. She picked up a bendy rubber dong and let it fall back. They all started to vibrate, some rogue battery unit going off. She pulled through the tacky assortment until she found the little one buzzing away and turned it off. Her fingers were wet.
God in heaven. It was like a treasure chest at the dentist, for orgasms. Myra felt a weird giggle coming on, and could only half-stifle it. Her boss, queen of the dildos. In a weird way, it humanized her. Heck, Myra had a discrete joy buzzer at home, she had probably jilled off to it a dozen times last night, before preferring the more natural feel of five fingers.
She shut the drawer, firmly, and opened the files on the top of the desk. Myra started to read.
After a little bit she re-opened the drawer, picked out a small vibrator that didn’t seem used, and pushed it up her skirt.
“Todd, you need to look at—oh. Oh. Oh.” Myra said. Her mouth worked, uselessly. There weren’t any words.
She had burst into Todd’s office with a clutch of documents, ready to discuss their disturbing implications. Todd sat behind his desk. His pants were around his ankles. He was jacking his big, goopy, spurting dick.
They stared at each other. Well, Todd stared at her. Myra stared at his penis. It was truly impressive. A bunch of possible names flitted through her head. Bitchsplitter was super sexist but really accurate. Todd’s Enormous Dick was a front-runner. Even from just inside the door, she could see big, purple veins running along it, a big mushroom head, and a thick length that made Lydia’s vibrator collection look like a sad sack of rubber trash.
He was still jacking it, the two of them both flummoxed, unable to stop. She had caught him just at peak, too, unless—my god—the white streaks spurting from the tip were just precum to him. It was possible, Myra thought. The papers fell from her fingers. He had to have huge, big balls, overpacked with hot ropes of sperm.
God, what should she do? Running out the door was just impossible. There was a big cock to stare at, after all. Todd’s dick. And his cum. So much cum. Maybe a more forward sort of girl would help with cleanup, just get in there with a big smile and start to lick, but Myra just didn’t have that kind of confidence. It seemed presumptuous, like walking up to the Pope and slapping him on the cheeks.
Todd, finally, acted, jerking up his pants and zipping up his fly. A big wet stain immediately formed on the front of his chinos. He was breathing hard.
“I’m.. I’m so sorry,” Myra stuttered. “I didn’t know.” It smelled so good in there, too. Had it smelled so good previously? Like leather and the best cologne, with an edge of salt that had to be the quart of jizz he had just produced. God, she’d be gargling sperm no matter where he shot it in her. If he fucked her twice she’d have to worry about drowning.
“Just… what. What is it?” Todd said. He sat up. Myra looked around for a porno mag or something. Nothing. Was he getting off on his IMAGINATION? Who did that?
“I... “ right, the papers. Myra picked them up, looked at them, struggled to remember how to read. All the letters looked like squiggly penises. “I found something. I went rooting around Lydia’s office.”
“Oh,” Todd said. “Did you find her collection?”
“I… yeah. How did you know about that?”
“I was in there last night. So you found the bankruptcy materials.”
“I… yes. I did.”
A bankruptcy declaration, as clearly created by Lydia, since it didn’t have any mistakes. Declaring that AgraRipe was underwater and no longer a going concern.
“Right,” Todd said. He rubbed at his jaw. A little streak of cum was left behind on his bristles. It should’ve been ridiculous. But it was hot, so very hot. It didn’t help that Myra had spent the previous half-hour with a vibrator buzzing between her legs. “So that explains the sale. But not… the rest of it.”
Myra struggled to keep up with him. She gave him a polite smile.
“The oversexed behavior? The tribalism?” Todd prodded. “The bimbos? I mean, of course you’re affected by it, just look at the way you’re dressed.”
“The way I’m…?” Myra looked down. She felt like she was waking up. She was dressed in a dark blue dress with a white belt that didn’t fit her at all. It had been designed for someone slender, coupled with a cardigan. Her boobs spilled into it, with a line of cleavage that stopped just short of showing off her nipples. The hem had ridden well up her ass. How had she even managed to zip into it? Magic?
Another part of her thought: he thinks you’re fuckable the way you’re dressed.
“That’s why I was—you know. Blowing off some steam,” Todd said. “I think I’m on top of it. It’s under control.” he arched an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, sure!” Myra said, nodding vigorously. “I’m an attorney, you know! Practically sexless!”
He gave her a skeptical look, then shrugged.
“Well, I’m following up on the bimbo angle. You were talking about working with Erin, right?” Did they? It was all a pink cupcake haze. “See if you and her can dig something up on the new owner. And don’t say anything to Lydia. She knows more than she’s letting on.”
“Can do,” Myra said. She gave him a jaunty thumbs-up. He reached across the table and caught her hand.
“Myra, we can do this,” he told her. Her hand was tiny in his grasp. “Stay on top of it. Have you and Erin watch each other. We’ll figure this out.”
He let her go, and Myra walked out.
She sniffed her fingers. They had Todd jizz on them, now.
She licked them clean immediately.
She had things under control.
Erin sat in the very back of the cafe, and stared at the coke she had ordered. She couldn’t get up the nerve to try it.
It was a relief when Myra arrived. Erin watched her approach, trying to figure out if she was—different. It was hard to say. Her friend had always been dressed in old wool, her hair up, and couldn’t be described more fully than “short and plain.” Erin honestly couldn’t say if she had been hiding thick tits underneath an endless array of dark blazers. Anyway, they were there now.
“Sit,” she told the dark-haired girl.
“What’s going on?” Myra whispered.
“Don’t whisper. It’s suspicious,” Erin said. She toyed with her phone. It had been physically painful to put it down, but maybe… maybe this was all some sort of… goofy hypnosis thing or something. In any case, she didn’t remember setting her phone background to bright fucking pink. “Talk normally.”
“Well, okay, what?” Myra said. “You asked me down here.”
They sat in the back of a nondescript diner in the middle of town. Erin had opened Yelp, then consciously closed it and chose at random.
“Drink this,” she said, pushing the coke across the table.
“Why? What?” Myra said, suspicious. She had a finger in her mouth for some reason.
“Just… try it.”
Myra took a sip.
“Fine?” she reported.
Erin tried it. Sweet, sugary. Normal. Delicious, even.
“I... “ it all seemed crazy, all of a sudden. What had she been thinking, that she had been drugged into requiring firm junk food, Soylent Green-style? “I… well, okay, I’m sorry. I guess I got a bad batch of coffee this morning… and things have been so weird at the Company… and I got a little… overheated.”
She picked up the cup and drained it. It had been torture, staying away from the land of cupcakes and cream all morning long. She was sweating in the cool, air conditioned air. The soda ran through her.
Myra leaned across the table and waggled her eyebrows. Her tits rested on the formica countertop and knocked over the salt. “Todd and I think that something IS up,” she said. “The company was… is… bankrupt. Todd thinks that they’re, I don’t know, getting everyone horned up and partying with all those bimbos and snacks around or something so we’re too distracted to notice. And then they’ll…”
She trailed off. Buying a bankrupt company and then… what? It was hard to come up with something sinister. The mental effort had exhausted her. She trailed to a halt. As it did whenever she stopped pushing it away, the image of Todd’s goopy dick occupied her head.
The two girls sat there for a few minutes, staring blankly at the scenery, Erin chugging a massive ice-cold coke and Myra trying not to drool over penis memories.
“Excuse me, I think you two are some of mine?” a voice said.
Their CEO sat down in the empty chair next to them. The girls stiffened. Walter waited with practiced patience for their minds to re-engage.
“You’re… you.” Erin said, re-emerging. She had drunk the entire thing, and her eyes were glazed with sugar juice. “The CEO. Walter.”
“And you’re Erin Lin, and you’re Myra Antoniou,” he said. “Did I get it right? It’s a big company.”
He was dressed in a heavy blue sweater with a little bit of turtleneck. It made his head look like a cork on a stumpy bottle of wine. He had big hands, with short, well-trimmed fingernails, and was probably no taller than Erin was. “So, how is it working for me?”
“It’s... “ Myra said. “I’m surrounded by bimbos, everyone in my office is jacking off, and I can’t get the smell of sperm off my hands,” she didn’t say. She had trouble thinking it. Walter’s smile was just too nice to accuse.
“Are you up to something?” Erin said, eventually. She focused, lips tight, and unconsciously crossed her legs.
“Well, I’m making a profit,” Walter said. Myra, gratefully, sank back into her seat, and sniffed a Todd-scented finger. Such a relief when someone else was doing the think-talking.
“From what? The company is bankrupt. It has no real prospects. I’ve seen our product. It’s antiquated Windows 95 garbage,” Erin said.
“I don’t buy companies for the products. I buy them for the people,” Walter said. He put his hands down on the table. “I believe in investing in the heartland. This is a town surrounded by cows that built an impressive mid-level software company with a national presence. That’s hard to do on a coast. It’s nearly impossible out here. That’s what I’m buying. The people who took farmland and made it important.”
Erin tried to look skeptical. But it was hard, when the CEO was explaining how special you were, personally. Walter flagged the waitress over.
“Lunch is on me,” he explained. “She’ll have the special, whatever that is. With fries. Her, too.” Myra startled. She tried to re-engage. “And milkshakes. As many milkshakes as they want.”
Myra tried. “Everyone is acting… kind of weird,” she managed. “Um. Weird. There was a girl yesterday…”
“Oh, Clara. Such a minx. It’s her condition, of course,” Walter explained. No, wait, he hadn’t explained. But it came from such a big, warm, gentle smile that Myra nodded, vigorously.
“But…”
Walter shook his head, mock-appalled. “My goodness. I told everyone I was going to bring energy back and no one believed me. Look, I won’t deny that this company was an energy suck for half a decade, at least. Now people are starting to feel something for the first time in forever. Also I’m drugging them. What you’re seeing is people starting to LIVE. THEIR. LIVES. Imagine, feeling alive for the first time in a decade. What would you do? Go a little crazy, right?”
Wait—Erin frowned. There had been something in there… But he was smiling at her, so serenely, with such understanding. No.. had she heard something?
“Anyway, I have to get going,” Walter said. “You two pets take the rest of the day off, by order of your boss. Hey, I’m handing these out to everyone, but you get yours personally,” he handed them shiny plastic gift cards. “I want you in new clothes. I’m instituting a dress code, effective now. The code is, you should feel incredible.”
He walked off.
Behind him, a trio of waitresses descended on the girls with platters of fries and hamburgers and milkshakes and all sorts of things, crowding them with carbs. The diner owner hadn’t really wanted to sell. But Walter had a growing corporate family to feed.
The girls lowered their eyes to the food and began to feed.
It was weird, being able to fuck pretty much whoever he wanted.
Peter had given up on any semblance of working and had turned his attention to fucking girls on a full-time basis with his big dick.
The office was in a state of—it was hard to quite describe. The early stages of a porno, he supposed. Everyone was walking around holding notebooks and papers and other business-y things, and having conversations, and going to the break room, and all that other outwardly normal stuff.
But at the same time the girls were mincing in their highest heels and their shortest skirts, making cow eyes at the boys, cleavage on full display. The whispered conversations were more and more about who was fucking who, who was hot, who was giving out blowjobs in the bathroom stalls. There were little tells—girls licking their lips as they left offices, submitting meekly to hands on their butts, strange stains appearing on cheap and poorly-fitting clothes.
And there were the scents. Peter wasn’t sure if everyone else could detect them. Maybe they would, soon. He was learning so much just by sniffing the air. Janet had just been fucked by three or four guys in a conference room, and they had filled her absolutely full of cum. Hannah over in the break room was desperately horny and would melt if a guy so much as winked at her. He could close his eyes and tell which company bimbo was coming up behind him. He could tell who was fertile. Nearly everyone.
In a way it was strange that any calmness and normalcy remained. Was he the only one to notice how bizarre everything was? The men in their suits, hunting females, guiding them into closed doors for sex-play? The growing cocks, the bigger tits, the women dropping decades as they binged on ridiculous amounts of drugged buttercreams? How had no one run screaming to the police?
But maybe they all secretly, or not so secretly, thought it was just some beautiful dream—where humdrum workdays became carefree orgies of free food and sucking and fucking, watching years melt off with each sugary orgasm.
Peter thought of all of this, feet up on the desk, as he got ready to fuck his secretary.
They were both clearly gearing up for it. Ellen had worn a ridiculously short skirt and an AgraRipe t-shirt and had been angling to get fucked the entire day. Coffee delivered to his desk with a smile and a careful pose to let him admire her tits. She had sat on his desk with her feet dangling and recrossed her legs—Ellen wore dark black lacy underwear.
When that hadn’t worked she had just gone ahead and dropped some papers in front of him, and bent at the waist, letting him admire her heart-shaped ass. She had even held the pose, and shot him a pleading look.
He had surprised himself by holding off. Partly because he was still recovering from definitely impregnating his wife, and possibly also the walls and furniture and ceiling. And he had already fucked two of the company bimbos in his car, immediately on arrival, because. But all of a sudden he was… a little bored with it all.
“Ellen, can you come in here for a moment?” he finally said, peeking his head out.
She flounced in, smirking, anticipating, no doubt soaked and lubed in wet anticipation. She hadn’t even bothered to bring in a pen and paper.
“Sir?” she said.
“Ellen…” he rubbed his chin. It was rough with stubble. He had shaved right before leaving, too. “I’m disappointed in you.”
Her smirk froze. This wasn’t how the many, many fantasies had gone. “Sir? What.. what? I disappointed you?”
He gestured. “For crying out loud, Ellen. You have a college degree, right? You’re a smart girl. Were. Read a lot of books. Right?”
“Uh…” she grasped for the right answer. “Yes?”
Ellen quickly recrossed her legs. She had taken off her underwear and had shaved her pussy bald. Peter shook his head, severely.
“Then how come you haven’t noticed at all that your boobs grew about three sizes in the past few days?” Peter said. He stood up, towering over her. “C’mon, Ellen. This is just silly. You were a prim secretary who wore jeans and had mom-ass last week. Now you’re taking off your underpants in the sheer hope that your boss will fuck you. You’re acting like some sex-hungry cheap tart. Did none of this occur to you?”
“I... “ Ellen looked down at herself, suddenly appalled. She was—god, she had taken off her panties, thrown them away, and diddled herself with a pen she had named “Peter’s Dick.” What was happening to her?
“Eating an extraordinary number of cupcakes each and every day didn’t strike you as odd? Or the literal bimbos flouncing around? The occasional orgasmic shrieks you can hear through the walls? THINK, Ellen!”
Icy shock tossed away Ellen’s sharp, sugary haze. Oh, god. She was a forty-something woman, not this sex-crazed schoolgirl desperate to bang. Something WAS up. “Oh, Peter,” she said, crossing her legs hard. “Oh god, you’re right. I don’t know why I didn’t see it. It’s.. it must’ve been drugs, or something.”
“Drugs, subliminals, pheromones, practically everything!” Peter said. He crossed to the front of his desk. “They haven’t even been very subtle about it. And you went along with it, didn’t you? Felt too good to stop, too delicious to question.”
“Right… right..” Ellen said. She stood up. “We have to get out of here, Peter. We’ll go to… I don’t know… the next town… call the police. No. The FBI. God, to think I was…”
“Right,” Peter said. “First, though, you’ll need to be spanked.”
Ellen gaped at him.
“What?” she managed.
“You heard me. Bend over. You think I missed you pulling your underwear off? You completely blew every chance to stop this and now I’m going to have to spank your ass.” He paused. “And then fuck you.”
Ellen stared at him.
“Ellen, don’t make me ask again. You’ve already done an incredibly poor job of resisting an amazingly obvious transformation. Bend. Over. My. Desk.”
Well, he was right, Ellen told herself. She’d been an unsubtle girl, angling like an animal for a taste of Peter’s dick. And he wanted her to do this. Disobeying was like running through a mountain.
“But.. “ she tried to come up with some good reason why she shouldn’t be spanked silly and stupid. She put her hands gingerly on his desk. He didn’t wait at all. The first smack was steady, firm, and necessary.
“Sir, it’ll..” smack. “It’ll be very hard for me to think straight and intelligently when…” smack. Oh, god. Lubricant was running clear down her thighs, now. “Sir, this is really making me horny as fuck, sir.”
“Ellen, you got your juice on my hands,” Peter told her. He put one hand in front of her mouth. It smelled like electricity. The fuck fog, so suddenly pulled away, was creeping back. She felt high as hell. A giggle escaped her. “Sorry, sir,” she said. “Maybe a few more spanks will…”
Spank.
“Ellen, are you orgasming?” he said, after a couple more.
“Ooh… yes…. sir... “ Ellen gasped. She was trying to hold on to intelligent stuff, in her head, but it was so super hard during a spank session. All that math stuff. Memories in general. What was it she was gonna do, after this? Call the fee-bee-eye or something. What was that?
“I guess it’s not your fault,” Peter conceded. “The only one who had a good way to stop this was me, and I turned it down for a lot of incredible sex.”
The spanking stopped. Ellen looked backwards. She didn’t dare move. Her ass felt red and tender. Her tits burned in her bra. “All done?” she said. “Time to escape, sir?”
“Oh no,” Peter said. “Now I’m going to fuck the rest of your brains out.”
“Oh, okay,” Ellen said.
OMG, it felt so awesome to have a real bestie.
In today’s modern world not having a good girlfriend felt like failing as a woman. Someone to share clothing tips with, commiserate over boys, go shopping, laugh and learn and always be there for each other. Myra just hadn’t had that—just a dull routine of work, home, watch streaming television, occasionally visit parents. Erin had been, at most, a work friend, and one more interested in twitter then in looking in Myra’s direction.
And now they were having the BEST time.
“Nope, never,” Erin said. Her face was flushed a dark pink. They had shared a few margaritas at the diner before leaving. The manager said they had just put them on the menu that day. “Not a single one.”
“Oh no!” Myra said, pushing her. “Come on! It’s like, part of growing up now! You gotta give a blowjob before you’re 20 or you don’t get to call yourself an American!”
Erin giggled and pushed back. Myra hadn’t realized that having besties would mean being so… HANDSY with each other. Just casually touching, like friends do. Swatting each other’s asses, groping each other’s boobs, joshing about how plush they’d be after downing twenty thousand calories. Pulling off each other’s clothes in dressing rooms. Girl stuff.
“Blowjobs are TERRIBLE!” Erin said.
“You’ve never given one! You can’t even say that!” Myra said. She stuck her finger between her lips and sucked, winking.
“Uh, I haven’t rummaged through a sewage pump, I think I can say THAT sucks,” Erin said.
They both laughed at the word ‘sucks’. Everything was so much funnier with a girlfriend there.
“How many have you given?” Erin asked.
They sat in the parking lot at the mall, fueling up with to-go milkshakes before another round of shopping. In Myra’s backseat sat a growing mountain of purchases. So far they had, thanks to Walter, stocked up on super hot shoes and flimsy dresses and cutoff shorts and tanktops with little straps. They had practically destroyed a Bebe.
“Oh my god, counting your own blowjobs is so trashy,” Myra said. She laughed nervously.
“Six?” Erin said.
“Gosh, I don’t know,” Myra said. “Don’t make me do math!”
“But it tastes gross, right? Don’t try to say it tastes good,” Erin pushed. She had her feet up, next to the window, and was slurping on an oversized straw. Her boobs splayed out to either side, casually restrained by a white tanktop. Myra had talked her in to a pair of tan shorts and the combination was magical. Asian girl mystique with good-old fashioned american trashiness. Equally at home in a salon and in a bathroom stall.
“It tastes… umm… “ Did it taste bad? It felt like it HAD to taste good. She had just had a tiny taste of Todd’s product and it was pretty great. Super good actually. Incredibly good, semen. God, she wanted to drink some cum. Any boy’s cum. She was an insatiable cum guzzler, addicted to jets of spunk pumping out of a thrusting, hot dick. She only wanted to drink jizz. FUCK water.
She shook her head, twitching. They were both doing quite a lot of that.
“Lets go back in,” she said, giving Erin a playful tweak of the nipple. The other girl giggled, mock-batted her hand aside. “I think it’s time to get these boobs a proper bra. I am totally sure they’re bigger with all these friggin snacks. GOD.”
The air inside the car was warm, comfortable, sweet. Like bathing in the ghost of a candy bar. Myra hadn’t noticed that it got sweeter when their legs were uncrossed.
“We still gotta go home and figure out this company stuff,” Erin reminded her, later. They were in the changing room, topless, each of them.
“Oh my god, slumber party,” Myra enthused. They were both slouched over, happy smiles. The salesgirl occasionally brought them new big-girl bras to try. The first dozen weren’t sexy enough. They had just given the staff girl the gift card, it was easier than figuring out the math stuff.
Their breasts were bigger, much bigger. They hung thick and heavy on each girl’s chest, heaving with each breath, absorbing nutrients and gaining mass. Myra was dimly aware they were larger. She was dimly aware of everything, just at the moment. All the thinking earlier in the day had exhausted both of them, made it easy to just pal around in a semi-horny brainless glow. They both assumed the other was doing the thinking. They were a lil’ drunk, that’s what this horny confusion was. Alcohol.
They sat in the changing room, just breathing, and digested milkshakes. Conversation seemed to be too much trouble.
“Erin, your nipples,” Myra said, eventually.
They were dark brown and straining erect.
“Whoops,” Erin said, sheepish. She put a hand over one of them.
“Alright, tell me, what were you thinking about?”
“Nothing!”
“Oh, sure. Nipples are girl boners, everyone knows that. What’s his name? It’s not Cam or Paul, is it?”
“Oh, god,” Erin wrinkled her nose. “No!”
“Is it Todd?” Myra said.
“You don’t even know him! It’s just… some guy at work.”
“Mm… some guy at work sounds pretty good right now,” Myra said. She stretched. Her own boobs were starting to perk up. She massaged them, gently.
“Yeah,” Erin started to look around. “Look, we should… go. Yeah. Go. Do the work thing.” She looked around for a bra. Myra giggled. None of them were gonna fit. Not over big fat tits like that.
She checked her own phone. There was a bunch of texts there. From Todd.
They read:
“Myra.”
“I need your help with something.”
“I need to take the edge off so I can keep investigating.”
Myra nearly dropped the phone.
It was really happening. A Todd booty call. Oh, god.
Her nipples practically rose right off her chest.
“Erin, oh my god, it’s Todd,” she said. She handed over the phone, mutely.
She was expecting her bestie to squeal. Erin screwing up her face in shock and disgust was crushing, like seeing an adorable kitten kill a mouse.
“Myra, no, you can’t do this. This is… look, something is going on, we’re.. Like… the only ones who can stop it and stuff. We’re like Buffy the Slayers, whatever she slayed,” Erin said. She struggled to put on a too-small bra. “Vampires or werewolves.”
“Oh, Erin, c’mon, he is like six foot plus a billion! He has a cock like an oak tree!”
“How the hell would you know?” Erin said. She tried to secure the bra catch, winced as it dug into her back. “When did my god damn tits get so god damned big?”
“Uhh, because I saw it? It was. Incredible.” Myra recapped the afternoon, smiling. Erin struggled with more and more discarded bras, increasingly frantic.
“Shit.. what is… where’s the sales girl?” Erin demanded. She knocked on the door until the mousy staffer showed up. “How come none of these fucking FIT?” she demanded, half-hysterical.
The staff girl looked at the angry, scared girl with the big, naked chest. “Because you have really big boobs?” she ventured.
Erin slammed the door shut.
“Shit, Myra, we’ve got to go. Lets go.”
“Go and… suck on the best dick of all time?” Myra prompted.
“No! Look, if you want to go and get… be-sluttened… like some fat fucking sow and go suck on a big dick, you go ahead. We need to go home and we need to BEAT this, okay? We’re the smartest people at that stupid dumb company for jerks and we’ve got to be the ones to do it!”
Erin’s boobs heaved. She put on her tanktop. Two cantaloupe-sized tits wobbled underneath the cotton. “So are you coming?”
Myra sighed. Her brain was 90% images of big goopy Todd dicks spurting all over her face. But Erin was right she guessed. She had to listen to her bestie.
“Can we go to your place?” she said. She opened her purse and pulled out the oversized vibrator she had liberated from her boss. She waggled it and winked. Erin stared at it, and swallowed.
“Okay,” she said, in a very small voice.
Hitting another man in the face felt so right. Peter made sure to do it a few times more than strictly necessary. His hardon ached inside his pants, approving, thick and long down his leg.
He hadn’t gone outside to necessarily beat the hell out of a male. He had first fucked Ellen so thoroughly that she had forgotten her times table, had trouble with her alphabet, was mostly a bunch of dripping holes that occasionally moaned and shuddered. The girl was still cumming when he left her.
Peter had needed some coffee and water, mostly. Most of his fluids were going into women.
But he had taken his time getting to the break room. Enjoying the scurrying girls with their eyes downcast, weighted down with bigger tits. Enjoying the respectful nods from the other men, the subtle dip of the head that acknowledged who he was. Enjoyed listening to the occasional shriek from behind some closed door, the half-hidden bimbos stuffed under cubicle desks for casual blowjobs, the existing bimbo staff still wafting by with drinks and snacks. He had examined the various girls in their overstuffed bras and their high heels and straining minis and too-tight blouses and deemed it good.
And then he had come across some jumped-up little prick trying to hoard three girls in his little cubicle.
“Michael, how’s everything?” he had said, sliding up to the cubicle wall. He took an appreciative sip of some damn fine coffee.
Michael wasn’t completely stupid. He stood up, crossed his arms, puffed out his chest. But it was hard for him to move. He had one brunette under the table, on her knees, still licking her fingers clean from a blowjob session. And a blonde sitting on a table, fidgeting, her skirt hiked up. And, ridiculous, a redhead standing in a corner, confused, eating a cupcake with glassy eyes. There was barely room for him to move. They were packed ass to ankles.
“Little crowded in here, huh?” Peter said.
“We don’t mind,” Michael said, quickly. “Got the storage issues all worked out.”
“Uh huh. Working on a big project?” Peter said.
“Sure. Lots of big projects,” Michael said. He moved, protectively, to the cubicle opening. “Probably bigger than yours, to be totally honest with you, Peter.”
Peter laughed. What a dumb little shit. He had two, three inches on the kid, and could feel brand new muscles strapped on to his chest, his arms. He had developed a six-pack at some point.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to borrow one of your girls,” he said. He gestured at the blonde. He didn’t have a blonde. “Her. What’s her name?”
“Uh,” Michael said. He turned to look at her. The blonde shrugged. “It’s… Candace.” Well, it was now.
“Candy, come on over here,” Peter said, smiling at her. The blonde looked at both boys, then blew a great big bubble from some massive wad of gum. Then she shrugged and started to walk out.
“Uh, no,” Michael said, moving to stop her.
“Mm,” Peter said, taking another sip from his mug. Then he swung it full-force into Michael’s face.
The handle broke off. The rest of it slammed into Michael’s cheek, the ceramic cracking, knocking the younger man to the ground. The girls shrieked and stepped back. Coffee splashed all over the blonde, staining her white shirt dark brown.
Michael was back up in moments, a big red cut on his cheek, and growled at him. Peter took a few steps back. It wouldn’t do to have this fight hit the girls. Didn’t make much sense. So he let MIchael charge at him, before squatting and grabbing his arms, and tossing him casually to the ground. It was like moving an air mattress. His body felt light, amazing. His cock was rock-hard. The hallway was populated almost immediately, men and women in increasingly tattered and scanty business attire watching silently.
“Get up,” Peter said, kicking Michael lightly in the ribs. “Your girls are watching.”
He let Michael get up, then slammed a fist just below his ribs. Michael threw up, immediately, a blue torrent of half-digested cupcakes. Peter stepped back so it wouldn’t get on his suit. Then he slammed a thick, meaty fist into Michael’s cheek, the same one.
Michael fell to the ground.
The girls, Peter noted with approval, had already lined up meekly at the cubicle door. “Lets go,” he told them.
God, did he feel great.
The males and females of AgraRipe turned aside to let him pass.
Cam and Paul were waiting for him in front of his office. Peter nodded the girls inside. He had picked up a fourth on the way back, one of the AgraRipe Girls, although it was getting harder to tell them apart from long-standing employees. Anyway, she had dark black hair, and completed the set.
“Go inside and get yourselves wet,” he instructed the girls, and turned to the two… men.
They had obviously had it rough. Cam had a black eye. Paul’s cheeks were puffy and bruised. They looked small, sad. They both looked down at the ground while the girls walked by, and for that, Peter figured he could see what they had to say.
“What?” he said.
“We… came to see if we could help you,” Cam mumbled.
Peter snorted. He stood closer to the twosome. They had their hands clasped. Their clothes hung on them. Cam fiddled nervously with a lock of hair. “Well, I’m curious to hear this. How can you help me?”
“Um… we can… be your aides,” Paul said. “Like, in charge of paperwork and stuff. And you can… protect us?”
Peter laughed. He rubbed his chin. “Of course we won’t touch your girls,” Cam said, quickly. “In fact, we’ve got every girl and guy in the entire company ranked and sorted, you know, so it’ll be… easy for you.”
“Ranked and sorted!” Peter said. He shook his head. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who is the number two man?”
The two looked at each other. “Uhh… you.” Cam said. They shrunk towards each other.
Peter stood there, quietly. A part of him was disturbed how good the anger felt, how hard it made him. “Who is number one?”
“I mean, he’s six foot crazy, he’s HUGE, he’s been beating the shit out of men all day,” Paul said. “And he said he doesn’t NEED girls. He’s… really scary.”
“Who?” Peter said. He tilted Cam’s head up so he was looking in his almond-shaped eyes.
“Todd.”