Good Little Cocksuckers
By Limerick
9
Quinn had thought: maybe he wouldn’t be attracted to her. Something childish and weird would turn him off. This was, after all, a person he had met before, wearing big sweaters at Christmas and winning at Apples to Apples. Her replacement with a cartoonish cocksucker of a girl would be disturbing. It hadn’t worked out that way.
This new Erica did have a Minnie Mouse voice. And when she was aggravated or confused, which was often, it ascended into a nasally height. “You guyysssss!” she preferred. Although ultimately a high-pitched whine there was a feminine breathiness to it. Something stolen from porn videos. It got Quinn rock hard. Ultimately, like the rest of her, Erica’s voice was pure sex.
Her ridiculous body did most of the work. It troubled Quinn that seeing her overdeveloped, overripe curves did nothing but entice. He hadn’t thought of himself as into very curvy girls. Bailey, his actual girlfriend, had a slender grace and classical proportions. Never once had he been dissatisfied with her body, her perfectly adequate tits, her lips. But there was just more to her sister, an overwhelming presence of female that he was responding to, over and over. HIs eyes traced the race track skim of her hips, her front-and-center tits.
“Erica, come on,” Bailey said. “This is detox. I read about it online. An entire page of writing.”
“About?” Erica said, exhausted. She’d written a paragraph. Bailey had shown Quinn—previous Erica had written in a sans serif typeface. Now it was as curvy and overly girly as the rest of her. She dotted her i with a heart.
“Fine,” Bailey said. “Sex. Or sexual topics. Whatever.” The assigned topic had been history.
“Detox” was really a transparent battle between the two girls over the future direction of the household. His girlfriend had mandated order, rules, and behavior. Erica flounced around in a haze of pheromones and sex. Privately, Quinn had to admit that Erica was winning. Bailey was giving ground, little by little.
It was obvious from their sex life. Before Erica had arrived their lovemaking had retained a certain pre-viral casualness. They were just doing a lot of it. Now they fucked urgently, frequently, repeatedly. Bailey showed little interest in what they were doing, so long as they were doing it. Time and again she climbed aboard, cumming quicker and quicker, always a little harder. They’d dispensed with condoms. It was all down to the pill.
His girlfriend’s eyes slid off her sister, over to Quinn, and then down to his crotch. He was hard again. If they fucked again, that would be time number four that day. They hadn’t kissed in days. Increasingly Quinn just bent her over the bed.
Erica had her tongue stuck out while she worked.
Quinn had expected—he wasn’t sure what he had expected. Perhaps a petulant, sexy brat, voice tuned to a perfect whine. Perhaps a needy and desperate slut. Definitely an imposition. But Erica had worked hard at not being a bother. She even did the dishes, plump butt stuck way up in the air, singing brainless pop tunes. She didn’t bother him for sex. All her conversations were innocent stuff—how was his day?! How were things going?! Did he mind if she borrowed some clothes?!
“She’s getting semen on the sly,” Bailey told him, while they were in post-sex recovery. She’d woken him up so they could fuck. It was five-thirty a.m. “That contractor guy working next door.”
“Great?” Quinn hazarded.
“Is it?” Bailey said. “She just goes over there and… it isn’t exactly detox.” She was snuggled up next to him. Her tits felt nice. But small. “It’s probably three pumps and he’s done. Like she’s a porta-potty. My sister.”
“Baby, really, this is a solution,” Quinn said. Bailey was quiet for awhile.
“I can smell him,” she said, before turning over. Briefly. By seven they were at it again, Bailey on top, grinding hard pelvis to pelvis. Her boobs bounced. They were okay.
If Erica had been a problem, Quinn figured, she would’ve been easier to resist. To resent. Instead, she paddled around with a cute smile, a nice nose, and with an enormously fuckable body stuffed into his girlfriend’s clothes. It was the last that got to him. Bailey’s college hoodie pressed to tearing with oversized jugs. Bailey’s tan shorts struggling to contain a wagon of a rear end. Bailey’s striped tee showing a canyon of creamy cleavage. They looked quite a bit alike.
It was very easy to see how Bailey would fill out. Very easy. Her boobs growing and growing, day by day, her lips turning pillowy soft and ruby red. Hips flaring out to a beautiful curve. Sometimes Bailey widened her eyes and there it was, that inevitability, the post-cocksucker version of her dumb blowjob face. Ripping her panties with a nice new body.
“Bailey, this is boooooring,” Erica complained. They were watching Planet Earth. Polar bears eating whatever they could find.
Bailey let out a long, tired sigh. The evening detox session had gone very poorly. Both girls looked exhausted. Nearby some Mom was yelling. Quinn had a moment of sympathy: all of this had to be so hard for the girls. Every breath of his scent was, evidently, an experience. “Yeah, okay,” Bailey said. She flipped over to one of the new shows getting rushed out. They’d just thrown cocksucker girls in a house with a ton of clothes, and not quite enough guys. Bailey was slumped over the couch. Her thighs could be so much bigger, so much better.
“Ooh,” Erica said. Her roommates looked over. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, and she was rubbing at herself, on top of Bailey’s favorite polka dot shorts. Quinn met Bailey’s eyes. She shrugged, tired.
10
Her cocksucker daughter trudged inside.
At least Trudy was making an effort to hide it, that she had given up her mouth, that she had gone out and gotten her tonsils rocked. She wore a loose tanktop and jeans with some give, that wouldn’t instantly bulge with the notorious bubble butt of girls who gave head.
But of course Susan was, also, a girl. Her daughter smelled like man, and spunk. A cloud of it. Susan was sure she could’ve sniffed the man out of a crowd—the one who had dumped a quart down her daughter’s throat. Started—accelerated?—a swift transformation into a dumb slut. Taken a bright girl with a future and cum in her mouth.
“How was he?” Susan said. “Yummy?”
Trudy looked up, aggrieved. But too slow—she had the ultimately satisfied expression of someone floating with every known neurotransmitter, beaming with unprecedented floods of estrogen. Her lips looked puffy and full. “Mom, what?” she said, pained.
“Honey, lets not. Lets be honest,” Susan said. “Who is the boy? Was it good?”
“Mom!” Trudy’s face finally snapped into focus. She stormed into the house. On the walls were certificates and trophies and programs from her many and varying accomplishments and award ceremonies. Her GIrl Scout uniform was even up there, teeming with badges. The High School diploma was newly framed. A discrete but forceful smattering of Dartmouth gewgaws had taken their places around the room. “Oh my god. Don’t do this. Its NOT that big of a deal.”
Susan decided the way to handle this was seated on the couch, primly. She arched an eyebrow.
Trudy’s face finally flushed. “It was just a bit, okay? Everyone says you just get a nice butt and some real boobs if its a little bit, okay?”
“You could do squats,” Susan told her daughter. “If you want a butt.” They’d agreed, no semen. As soon as Trudy had gotten home from college. They’d wait it out at home until medical science found a cure.
“Look you don’t know what its LIKE,” Trudy exclaimed, pacing now. “The boys are—they’re like gods and they smell like it and they ONLY look at you at ALL if you’ve got cow tits and…” she stuck out a defiant lip. “Everyone I know is swimming in it and Mom they are SO happy so YES I sucked Peter’s cock! Okay!”
So it was Peter. They had been buds all through High School, platonic friends on the honor roll track, friendly competitors to set SAT records and GPA heights. Susan relaxed a fraction. There were far worse men to stick their junk in Trudy’s mouth. She shifted primly on the couch. “Be that as—”
“And besides,” Trudy said. “I know you’ve been guzzling Dad’s cum for weeks! Do you think I don’t know? You think it isn’t obvious? You’re just a dumb cocksucker too!”
Susan was wholly shocked.
She, also, had taken pains to hide it. She stood up and stumbled towards the big mirror in the hall. “Oh, Mom, give me a break,” Trudy followed her. “Your butt is like, super big now. You think I don’t see you wobbling around after he goes to work? Yesterday you just laid on the couch and giggled for an hour!”
The mirror showed harsh truths that jizz and wishful thinking had concealed. Susan looked amazing. She wore a loose beige dress with a belt, ordinary Mother gear. The dress rode up in the back around her expanding assets, and the plunging neckline showed how heavy her tits had come in. And she looked like a thirty-three year old in a matron’s dress. “You’re wearing HEELS at home, Mom!” True—Gregory liked when she wore them while she sucked him off.
Susan opened her mouth for a tart response and found nothing there. She and Gregory had agreed—just a bit. Erase a little age. Of course that hadn’t gone as planned, she was draining her man three, four, five times a day, and they fucked all the time. In retrospect Trudy had to hear the moaning. She was a big time moaner. Now it had all taken its usual toll. She’d needed a full morning of handplay to summon an icy demeanor for Trudy.—her daughter, at least, would be more then a house pet. She’d been determined.
So much for that.
Susan heard a helpless titter escape her. That set off Trudy, as well, who couldn’t contain it. They were both giggling, underneath the shadow of Trudy’s trophy for Forensics.
“Was he good—was he a good person—” why lie? At least they could be honest with each other. Maybe that was even better. “Does he have a good dick?”
Trudy flopped on the couch. “Peter? Oh, oh yeah, Mom. Its SO big. I went over for help with the protest march and OH my god I just needed a taste and — well—” more giggles. “He tastes like lemon sugar. He said the only kind rarer is cinnamon.”
The protest march was two weeks ago. “Just a taste, huh?”
Trudy smiled. “MAAAYBE a bit more. I just snuck out when you were all cummy drunk.” Impulsively she stripped off her tanktop, where a pair of mammoth tits had been hiding. They were bigger then Susan’s, and had a perfect pert set of nipples. “Aren’t they great?” she enthused. Susan shrugged her own dress down. Her own boobs were comparable. Trudy had known all the tricks. She’d sucked her lips in to hide their new telltale cocksucker bow, she’d worn hats to conceal her hair’s new golden shine. Clever as usual. Or, was clever.
They both played with their tits for a bit, unsure what to say to each other.
It was very, very difficult for Susan to think around the fun of titplay. And after a bit her fingers snuck between her legs. It was clear her relationship with her daughter would be different. But maybe more fun—it had always been a weary slog of driving to and from events. Now they could do makeup, shopping, watch silly movies.
A thought occurred to her. “Does Peter want to visit?”
Trudy, at the same time, her fingers between her legs, said: “when’s Daddy coming home?”
“What?” they said.
11
Spencer read up on his condition while Esther dozed next to him. While it was still early days the effects were strong and consistent and, actually, universal. Semen had a powerful effect on women. The description varied by article. While some described it as “narcotic”, or some other variety of addiction, the absolute most up to date guidance was clear that was not a strong enough term. Not nearly strong enough. The effect was more like puberty or pregnancy—“enduring and systematic physical and mental restructuring” he read, and turned off the phone, and couldn’t sleep.
“You know what this stuff does to you?” Spencer said, once Esther woke up. Even sleepy and dazed she reached for his dick.
“Big fuckin titties,” Esther said. She sat back in the bed. “I just had a little bit. You boys don’t get what its like. Its like swimming in a chocolate river. Maybe you drown but like, you know. Chocolate river!”
“You didn’t have a little bit, you drank about a quart,” Spencer reported. The first bit had been when a glob of cum had caught her by surprise. But then time number two had been just an hour afterwards, when Esther had shivered, just once, as he’d pumped rope after rope down her throat.
He’d expected this news to trigger something more real in Esther. A widening of the eyes. Instead she kept licking her lips. “This should be very scary,” he prompted.
“I mean, YEAH,” his girlfriend conceded.
“But it isn’t.”
“Spencer, I am feeling a LOT of stuff right now, and there’s like, not a lot of room, okay? Do you want to know what you taste like?”
“No,” Spencer lied.
“Cinnamon. You taste like cinnamon.”
Spencer spent the next two days trying to deny Esther his cock. It was unpleasant and pointless and both of them knew it.
Esther was very patient, very understanding. “I think its sweet,” she said, sitting in her customary chair. “You think you’re protecting me. Its very manly and attractive.”
“Would it also be manly and attractive if I ordered you to suck my dick?” Spencer said. He still barely budged from her bed. It had become a fortress. Beyond it was an unwelcome world of unemployment, cock-crazed women, and radical social change.
“Oh, YES!” Esther gushed. “Do you see how big my lips are getting?” They had come in first and now crowded the rest of her face. Spencer had barely noticed her lips before. Now they were too heavy to open. She had coated them with burgundy lipstick. His cock twitched. They’d look so perfect wrapped around his penis. “They even feel good when I lick them.” She demonstrated, and then sat there, eyes closed, pushing her little finger in and out. Spencer could hardly order her to leave. It was her apartment.
Her inventory of ongoing changes was a morning routine. “LOOK at these TITS!” she’d say, squishing them together, or she’d shake an expanding booty. There was no obvious regret and Spencer stopped asking: do you mind sprouting an enormous chest? Does it worry you your hips are getting wider? Doesn’t that involve bones? Everything felt too, too good, and the girl in front of him had little mental architecture left for those worries.
After the initial shock his friends were adjusting just fine. The boy group chat was a photo album of new acquisitions. Harem-building tips. Even Peter, the voice of sanity, got real quiet. “My pussy hair fell off,” Esther told him, spreading her legs. His cock jerked. “And before you ask, Spence, it feels GREAT.”
But the really hard thing to come to terms with was: he had changed. First of all he was now six foot three. And as much as he played Sensitive Male he was living in Esther’s room, eating all of her food, which she cooked for him four times a day without complaint. Often she’d masturbate while he ate.
Refusing to cum was painful, very painful. Not just that stopped-up blue balls sense but a whole body tension, like the verge of a sneeze. His balls ached. And his thoughts were—different. He was in a large, manly body with a thick prong and it demanded release. It was the most natural thing in the world to use a girl. That’s what girls were for—every bit of them, the soft curves, the warm and inviting and very grabbable parts, they were there for physical release. Girls were already supposed to end up full of his spunk, white dribble leaking out of them, and now they were incredible at it.
Esther was very sympathetic. “You want me to suck it, don’t you?” she said, her miniskirt hiked up and her legs on the bed. Spencer stared at her pussy. The blood pounded in his ears. With his new muscles he could fuck her against the wall. “I was read—well, Emelia was reading, she’s so smart. It feels right because our brains tell us it is right. Its the same part that says its nice to breath. Or eat. Or fuck.”
“We could,” Spencer allowed, his cock furious and red. He hadn’t cum in three days and it was becoming hard to think. “We could fuck. That’s—it won’t make you any dumber.”
“Okay! But I’m not on the pill and I WILL get pregnant,” Esther said. Nonetheless she stirred herself, eyes bright. “Plus I’ll scoop it out of my pussy later. Just FYI.” His mind told him: do it. Let her pump you, pump into her. They were two parts of a whole, they needed each other to be happy. He groaned. His cock oozed precum.
“Spence… it’ll be okay.” Esther saw an opening. She pushed her hair back, slid her tubetop down to show her tits, and got onto the bed. “It’ll be alright.”
“You HAVE to think that way,” Spencer said. His dick stood straight up. It told him: Esther had room for improvement. Her tits were bigger, not big. Her butt wasn’t anything special. And she talked too much. Another few loads and she’d have lips so pillowy soft she’d lisp on long words. They barely fit around the girth of his dick.
“But it might be true,” she insisted, before fitting her head on his dick. Her ass did end up getting quite a bit bigger, almost overnight.
12
“Okay, girls…” Jaslyn caught herself. “Ladies. Okay, ladies.” Already the taxonomy had changed. Ladies, women, they were resisting the intoxicating scent, the chiseled bodies, the free fountain of youth, the frequent orgasms. Girls were not. “Lets go over this again. Look professional.”
The other three burst into titters. It was all hopeless.
The accounting staff at Mounten Main was all girl—was all women, a rare event. Not just the junior bean counters but the actual comptroller, the one who sucked her teeth at meetings and delivered bad news. That was London, who now appeared to be twenty-seven, and was so preciously soft her skin had a velvet shimmy to it. She had been photoshopped by dick. Next to her in seniority was Frida, who now had her hair in pigtails, and had grown an adorable ridge of freckles over her pert nose. Rowan was the most junior and now had the biggest tits. That left Jaslyn.
Who was doing her very best to keep the team together.
Few ventured into the accounting wing. Jaslyn had encouraged this. Strategic lights had mysteriously gone out. Some of the internal doors were now locked. To get to their cubicles took puzzle-solving and spatial ability.
She was also doing the work of four accountants. London and Frida had gone down on their spouses straightaway and had been soft silly bimbos for some time. Rowan had lasted longer but couldn’t resist the neighbor. “I can smell him. I think his air vent connects to mine,” she’d texted. “I just—his door is open. I need to see it, its all I can think about.”
By the next morning her bras had already gotten tight.
Sixty years of experience with Excel and Quickbooks had drained out in a brief spell of sucking dick, replaced by not much. Sooner or later the rest of the company would work this out. They were still distracted by Marketing, Jaslyn figured. It was a heavily female department. She could hear them all moaning.
“London, come on,” Jaslyn said, at her boss’ outfit. It was a pink leotard with yellow thigh-highs. She’d gone very garish with the makeup—dramatic sparkly eyeshadow and equally sparkly lip gloss. She looked like a whore ballerina. “You have to present on Q1 Earnings.” They’d done it over Zoom for a bit, when the ladies were more with it, cared a bit more. When London had been able to read from Jaslyn’s script, with just a mild lisp. Now it wasn’t clear if she could read.
“Aw, sorry Jaslyn!” London was unabashed.
Frida was even worse—masturbating again, her jeans down to her ankles. She had stuck to her old outfits, apparently exulting in literally bursting out of them, ruining pair after pair of slacks and shirts with her new assets. And she liked to get off manually—no vibrator at all.
“I’m… ummmm…. Just a sec,” Rowan murmured, apparently oblivious to the gi—woman with her legs spread right next to her. Her eyes were glued to the same spreadsheet as yesterday. Rowan was still wholly in denial about her unchecked breast growth and corresponding changes. Her sweaters were apparently trying to hide the double melons on her chest, two pneumatic titties that were still getting bigger. Jaslyn wasn’t sure if she knew her belly button was showing.
“Ladies… ladies… GIRLS!” Jaslyn finally lost her temper. She was working twelve hour days or longer. At first there was a rush to it—she was still using her brain, she was still fighting, she had breasts instead of titties. Now she was just very tired. Despite her best efforts she could still smell the men, one department over. She could smell them on London and Frida and Rowan’s skin. They smelled very good.
She could smell one right then. The girls got quiet, not because of her, but because a man approached. Will from HR. He stood in front of the girls, squared off in a suit, wearing a silver belt buckle. Frida guiltily removed her fingers from her snatch, and then, moments later, shoved them back in.
“Girls… well. London, Frida… Rowan. This is it.”
“What is it?” Jaslyn said, standing in front of them. Protective.
“We—” he rubbed his hand through new, dark black hair. He’d been thinning before. “We’re letting them go. I’ve spoken with them individually although… not sure the girls remember.”
“Oh, that’s fine!” London said, cheerful. “Danny said its okay if I go door to door! Do I get a plaque or something? I was here like, a lot of fuckin years!”
“Thirty-three, yes. Its in the packet,” Will held it out for her. Frida waddled, pants around her ankles, to pick up hers. “And Rowan, I know you need a male still? I checked in with the guys. Pick a card.”
“Oh wow,” Rowan said softly. Will held five folded up index cards. “Five? Really? Five wanted me?” she blushed, then picked the second card from the left, as her new owner. “Oh, its Calvin! Oh, really!” She held it close to her chest, swooning. The sweater ripped down the middle, overstrained.
“What about me?” Jaslyn said, very quietly. She hadn’t said a word as her world was dismantled. It was so hard to contradict a man. He smelled like wool and shaving cream. Will tucked the index cards back into his breast pocket. He examined her, and Jaslyn felt every inch of his regard. Her knees started to creak. It would be very simple to kneel.
“Jaslyn… we know how much work you’ve done… so we ARE promoting you to Frida’s position,” Will said, uneasy. “But you have to understand. Girls…”
“Yeah, us girls,” Jaslyn said. Can’t be trusted. At any moment she could heave up and sprout fat tits. Slide her booty into something work inappropriate and jack off. She managed to fall back into a chair. The seat was wet, from Frida. “Its fine. Thanks for the promotion. I… I’m not gonna do it. You know. I’m not gonna. Really.” Her pants were getting soaked. No one in the room believed her, including herself.
“Sure, sure. We’ve asked Luke to help out. Luke?” a blonde head appeared. He looked perhaps twenty-one, and his big, full beard only partly hid his apprehension. His tie was poorly tied, and choked a bull neck. A college student, had to be. “Can you help get him up to speed? As quickly as you can?”
“Yes sir,” Jaslyn said. He was enormous, and her coworker. In seconds she would find out what he smelled like. It was sure to be good.