Kruthika and her husband, Shila, came back from the university to find that their apartment building’s mailboxes had been broken into. The building’s handyman Zachary—a portly black gentlemen—was trying to unscrew the pins of the warped door. His efforts were not aided by Ms. Antonelli, a wizened old white lady in a track suit, rummaging through the mail that had been spilled on the floor.
“Woah,” Shila said in his usual jocular way. “What the hell happened here, man?”
Zachary sighed. “Damned if I know. Some joker took a ballpeen hammer to the whole thing, wrenched it open, and threw everybody’s mail on the floor.”
“They were after my social security check! I keep telling you!” Ms. Antonelli moaned.
“Do you want some help?” Kruthika knelt down on the floor. “Here, let’s get make a pile for everyone. There’s no sense in going through it randomly.”
“Keep away!” Ms. Antonelli snapped. “I’m not letting anybody touching my mail! That’s a federal crime!”
Kruthika looked at Shila and Zachary. Zachary could only shrug in exasperation. Shila gestured to Kruthika that they should go. Kruthika got up and light stepped around the mess, giving the muttering old lady a wide berth. Shila nodded to Zachary and the two of them went upstairs to their apartment. Shila’s first words through the door were to mutter about “that bitch.”
“It’s our mail, too. Stupid old racist asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I don’t want to moan about it.” Kruthika rubbed her face. “Why is it so hot in here? Turn on the AC.”
“Agreed.” Shila fiddled with the thermostat. Then, much to Kruthika’s surprise, Shila peeled off his shirt. Her boyish husband had never been bad looking. He kept weight off (unlike Kruthika) by playing soccer with other grad students. But his suddenly revealed chest and arms had much more definition than she remembered.
He must’ve been hitting the gym, Kruthika told herself, feeling even more like a chubby bespectacled wifey. Without thinking, she wiped beads of sweat off her brow.
“You were TAing the student labs today, yeah?” Shila surprised Kruthika by pulling her into an embrace and taking a whiff of her hair. “Those old teaching labs have no ventilation. You smell like a room of undergrads trying to burn sulphur. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll get something ready for dinner?”
Kruthika nodded dumbly. She wondered if Shila could telling her heart was racing. It surprised her. She hadn’t been feeling randy at all before that moment, but when her buff husband let her go, Kruthika felt like a silly girl with a trickle of moisture collecting on her panties. She glanced back at Shila, now leaning into a fridge like a model in an ice cream commercial, before stealing off to the bedroom.
She ignored how the bottom of her own shirt, too small for her growing bust, swung freely around her flat tummy.
Theresa Antonelli stomped up to the fourth floor in an indignant huff, clutching her all-important social security check. She hated this ghetto building and the stupid, lazy handyman and the idiot students who infested it and all of it, she just hated all of it. For the dozenth time that day, Theresa asked herself why a good woman like her had to suffer this way. She had put in her dues and now she couldn’t even feel safe at home. Especially not since the unit next to hers was taken over.
Theresa swiftly let herself into her apartment and slammed, locked, and bolted the door behind her. Theresa was safe once more in her chintzy fortress. Greasy old blankets and dusty lace covered everything that wasn’t plastic-sealed. Ceramic cherubs watched over her from all sides. The warm sounds of the Universal Christian’s Network on the TV soothed her nerves with much needed sanity.
“I need a drink,” Theresa smoothed down the front of her track suit. “I need a drink for my heart.”
Theresa hobbled into the kitchen. She checked the two old bottles of Blue Nun by the sink, before dumping them into the recycling with the other three. She got a new bottle of California’s Best 2020 from the fridge. Theresa took a good look at herself in the wall mirror as she worked the top off of the bottle. It was no mystery why she had to be so tough with folks. An old bittie like her was nothing but sagging skin and shrinking bones, bent over from her bad back, with her hair having gone through white to a distressing yellow. Life had squeezed everything out of poor Theresa Antonelli. Nobody was on her side but Jesus.
Theresa pour herself a big glass and took the bottle with her over to the couch. She took a long pull, letting mild burn settle in her stomach, and leaned back on the couch. The TV droned in her ear about the Sudanese children so grateful for their box of Bibles. Theresa sighed and took another drink. Warmth filled her tired muscles. Pastor Jay went on and on about the globalist agenda to erase Christianity from Africa. Theresa closed her eyes.
Then she heard it, yet again. A mixture of sounds came through the thin walls. Despite the drone of God’s own news network, she instinctually focused on it, like a fly at the opera. It was the sound of a squeaking chair, flesh furiously beating against flesh, and a man muttering to himself over and over. It was the pervert next door: a pathetic little man who watched smut at all hours of the day and couldn’t hide his moans and then would have the temerity to put on a suit and try to shake your hand, say hello to you, and act like a human being.
Theresa groaned with disgust. At least banging on the walls would make the filthy ape have a little shame, but she hated that the job fell on her. She tried to sit up. Vertigo rushed over her. Theresa fell back down on the cushions. The sensation of pins and needles spread over her head in waves. She wiggled as the feeling traveled down her neck and between her shoulder blades. Pressure built up in her ears. The man masturbating on the other side of the wall got louder. Then, lightning arced down her spine and Theresa’s back popped like a gunshot.
Her wine glass went flying. Her vertebrae pulled apart one by one. Her back telescoped, arching as she slid off cushions and down to the floor. Theresa’s eyes fluttered from the rush. She kicked out her legs, hitting the coffee table. Her knees snapped back straight, her thighs pulled out from her hips, and her toes uncurled for the first time in decades. Her hands convulsed, her fingers practically floating. Then, just a suddenly, it all stopped. She lay there, catching her breath, until the endorphins cleared from behind her teary eyes and she realized she hadn’t just broken every bone in her body.
“Oh God. Oh Jesus. Oh God.”
Nobody would know, she reminded herself. She’d die and be discovered a month later. Theresa stood up on shaky legs. There was no pain. She rose and rose, until the old lady stood up straight. Her heart raced. Her head felt light.
“I’m having a stroke. Give me strength, Jesus.” Theresa, dazed, told herself. “911. Oh Jesus, just give me the strength to call 911. I need a doctor.”
She stumbled to the bedroom, where she had left her smartphone. She muttered the emergency number to herself over and over. Her heart pounded faster and faster. Theresa flushed from head to toe. The arteries throbbed under her skin. Theresa reached for her phone and her hand snapped closed in a painful fist. Her whole body shook with tension. Her teeth chattered. Too many teeth, she realized. Theresa watched in fear as the arteries in the back of her hand swelled unnaturally. She braced for an explosion of blood. Much to her surprise, Theresa’s hand inflated instead, smoothing away the wrinkles.
Theresa looked at herself in the black surface of her phone. She looked younger. Sixity? Fifty? Forty? She looked, Theresa realized, younger and younger. Feverish, she stumbled to the in-suite bathroom and ran the tap. Theresa splashed cold water on her hot skin. When she looked up at the mirror, a woman in her twenties starred at. Strands of loose hair pooled on her shoulders. Theresa cautiously ran fingers over her scalp. Dead hairs fell away freely to reveal fresh black stubble. Theresa turned the tap on full force and dunked her head in the sink. Soon, the sink overflowed, jammed with hair. Theresa watched in wonder as black locks crept past her ears.
“I’m going crazy. This is it. They’re going to lock me up and through away the key.” Theresa unzipped the front of her tracksuit, wet from the overflowing sink, and looked at her restored body. She was the proud owner of perky teardrop breasts, a flat stomach, and a trail of black pubic hair leading into her waistband. She dropped the top from her shoulders and saw her arms were smooth and even a little defined. Her heart still pounded and her skin still smoldered. Her nipples stood out straight and Theresa could feel her clit doing the same.
She gasped (more throaty and squeaky than normal) when she the line of cleavage inching over her breastbone. The swell of her breasts was unmistakably pushing outward. The pinch of her waist band alerted to a similar swelling in her thighs, crushing her groin in the middle. Theresa looked back in the mirror. Her cheek bones and forehead had pulled back to give her the narrow profile of a video vixen. Her libs had plumped up like a bee sting. Her thick, dark hair now reached her shoulders.
Theresa needed air. She turned away from the flooding sink and waddled over to her bedroom window, to throw it open. The pants of her tracksuit were taunt on her thick legs and huge ass. A camel toe stood out on the fabric. Theresa leaned on the window still, into the alleyway, and gulped gratefully at fresh air. Huge, plump breasts started to press down on her hands and arms. A foot and a half of silky hair hung down over mounds of squeezed titflesh.
There was a loud bang, as someone broke open Theresa’s door. Theresa couldn’t hear anything over the demands of her body. The flush all over her body felt hotter and more tender than ever. Two faceless hands ran themselves over her rump, before tearing her pants open at the seams.
“Please please please...” Theresa begged with the voice of a helium balloon. She tugged at a pink silver-dollar-sized nipple. She didn’t care who could see her and her two gigantic tits hanging out of the window. Two fingers probed her soaking-wet slit. The very slight pressure against her thumb-sized clit made Theresa moan. Her mystery caller pulled their fingers free and wiped them off on her leg. Then, they did Theresa Antonelli the greatest favor of her lifetime and jammed a cock into her fat twat.
She shrieked with sinful, girlish glee.
Kruthika held the showerhead between her legs and rubbed at her inner thighs and crotch. The gentle wash was meant to clean off her leaking cum, but it didn’t hurt that it drew out the afterglow. Kruthika panted, sweat and condensation mixing on her brow. She had peaked twice since she got in the shower and she could feel her sensitive mound begging for a third. Pulling her hand away with great personal grief, Kruthika flipped the water all the way to ice cold. She held the showerhead to her face for a solid two minutes.
Once the water was off, Kruthika carefully stepped over the torn-down shower curtain. She braced herself on the wall, smeared the blood with her fingertips. It didn’t register with Kruthika. She would never see the contusion on the side of her head stitching itself closed. Kruthika stepped out in the bedroom. She could smell that Shila had warmed up last night’s chicken jalfrezi. It mixed with the scent of freshly cooked rice. Kruthika toweled herself off as she walked over to the vanity. But then she found she couldn’t remember what for.
Something in the mirror? She had a spectacular body, by any standard. Kruthika looked fit and strong. Her abs, shoulders, arms, and legs testified to years of rigorous training. But even with modest muscles, the natural flair of her hips and the bounce of her just-more-than-a-handful breasts stood out. Kruthika pulled her naturally curly, full-bodied hair into a long ponytail, so it showed off her cute movie star face. She had nothing to be insecure about.
“Come get dinner.” Shila called out from the kitchen. Kruthika threw her towel on the bed as she left. Her glasses sat abandoned on the vanity.
Shila gave Kruthika an amused look when she emerged naked. He had no right to criticize, she decided. He was still stripped to his jeans. Kruthika skipped up to her husband, who was holding a plate of rice and curry, and laid her hands on his chest to give him a little kiss. Smiling playfully, he knee’d her rump and press a plate into her hands. If Kruthika looked like a movie star, then Shila looked like a leading man. He had broad shoulders and a broad chest, with arms packed with tennis balls and a lawn of tiny black chest hairs. Shila had a strong jaw with a well-kept, well-oiled beard and he would’ve look unbearably stern without the twinkle in his eyes. That twinkle went so well with his theatrical habit of swinging his sculpted hips as he walked.
“Where’s yours?” Kruthika took a chair at the table. She completely ignored the chair that had been smashed on the floor. Her eyes were fixed on Shila’s bulging crotch. The zipper was riped halfway out. The denim had a wet spot the side of her palm. Kruthika swallowed a bite of curry and licked the sauce from her fingers.
“I already ate. I need to get the pole set up.”
“We need it for when Sir visits.”
Kruthika blinked. Sir? Of course, Sir! They had to entertain Sir soon. Kruthika quickly ate while Shila brought out the pole kit and started to screw the bars together. He had a lot of practice with it. By the time Kruthika rinsed her dish off in the sink, Shila was tightening the plates against the floor and ceiling. He pushed against the stationary pole with a satisfied grunt.
He knocked sharply on the door. A pale young white woman with a broad, doll-like face opened it. She bit her nail with apprehension.
“Can I, um, help you? I’m kinda... this is a bad time?” Two gigantic, lactating teats hung down to navel. They were freakish, even on the fat girl. An old college sweatshirt, having clearly failed to contain her bust, was rolled up to the woman’s neck. A soaked pair of panties were tangled around her knees. Roses bloomed from the wavy corn-blond hair that hung down her knees. A pair of tiny horns cutely poked out.
“I saw you were finished and I thought I’d check up on you.” He looked at the laptop cradled in his arm. The laptop showed a rotating model of the girl in one window with a sidebar of arcane statistics and sliders. In another window, a command prompt rattled off a list of building residents and commands. “Is anything bothering you?”
“Yah!” She stomped her foot. It made her leaking breasts quake. “I’m just a pretty cow? And I’m all drippy? But, like, my girlfriend isn’t here! Nobody’s milking me!”
“That’s too bad. Terri, help her out.”
“Wha—” A pair of hot pink lips latched onto one of the woman’s milky nipples. She immediately grabbed the door frame and cried. Sensation assaulted her shrinking mind. Her moans were echoed by the moans and cries from above and below. The man with the laptop smiled with satisfaction. Most of the residents had managed to contain themselves so far, but some had spilled out in the hallways. The building was turning into a party.
Terri moved to the other nipple. The blond woman moo’d. No longer satisfied with watching, he closed his laptop and set it down on the ground, before joining the beautiful ladies. The screech of the laptop’s burning hot processor didn’t seem to bother him. Two floors of above, a collection of orgasmic moans slid through the railings and fell all the way to the basement with a wet ‘plop.’ None of the lovers noticed.
The shower ran in the dark bathroom. Zachary lay on his side in the bathtub. Hot water ran down his body in waves. He shivered. One hand rubbed desperately at his crotch. The other hand maneuvered the handle of a hammer up his ass.
He felt weak, Zachary’s head swam, and yet he couldn’t stop masturbating. It was a compulsion, to empty himself out. And whatever he was trying to get rid off, it was more than cum. When the marathon had started, the overweight black man sported a seven-inch dick with the girth of a shotgun shell. Now he rolled a micropenis in the palm of his hand, jonesing for stimulation. Zachary had also enlisted the most phallic tool he had, a heavy hammer with a lacquered wood handle, and wrapped it in a condom to go after his prostrate. His hole sucked at the rod hungrily. It almost pulled the hammer out of Zachary’s hand.
“Jesusfuckingchrist!” Another thick deluge of chunky white jizz exploded from Zachary, more and more seeping through his fingers, a quart of the disgusting stuff mixing with water and pooling around his legs.
“What the fuck is happening to me?” Zachary moaned as an ache settled through his torso. His chest labored to hold air. He laid the side of his face in half an inch of water and let his tears flow freely. Zachary felt scared. He wondered if he was going to die. From masturbation.
“This is insane.” Zachary chuckled bleakly.
Zachary bolted upright, hurriedly freeing himself from his makeshift dildo. A wave of lightheadedness made him grab the rim. “W-who’s t-there—?”
“…insane…insane…this is insane…”
Zachary caught his breath. The voice had come from behind him—directly behind his head. He spun around. Nothing was there.
“I said, who’s there?!” Zachary tried to yell.
“…insane…” A voice squealed behind the toilet. “…I’m so horny, it’s insane…”
Zachary pulled himself out of the tub. He shivered and wrapped one arm around his thin frame. He brandished the hammer, still condom-shod, with the other hand. The thing behind the toilet giggled. The laughter in the dark exploded into a cloud that swarmed, unseen, around Zachary’s feet, then rushed out of the room. Dripping wet, Zachary turned around towards the door, towards his dark apartment, which echoed with giggles and sighes that bounced off the walls and raced under the furniture.
“Aren’t you horny?” A dozen voices asked. “We’re all so horny!”
Disbelieving, Zachary turned on the lights. He dropped his hammer.
“Welcome to our humble home, Sir!” Shila and Kruthika announced in unison. They stood at the door in matching golden thongs and golden high-heeled boots. Shila had golden glitter on his muscular arms. Kruthika, with glitter spread down her cleavage, offered a beer on a serving tray. They both smiled wide for the scrawny little man, with his shock of thin hair, who had thrown open their door unannounced.
“Thank you, thank you, it’s so good for you to have me over. Terri, open this, please.” He took the beer from Kruthika and held the top up to his companion. The white woman with the long ponytail of jet-black hair had truly cartoonish proportions. ‘Totter’ was the only way to describe how she minced about on those hot-pink heels with her huge ass and thighs and her gigantic tits. Terri dutifully slid her expansive, hot-pink lips over the neck of the beer bottle. With an audible pop, she sucked the bottle cap off. Everyone clapped. Terri wiped the white foam from her chin with a child-like grin.
The man with the laptop took a seat on their couch. Terri followed dutifully behind and crouched between his legs, waiting eagerly for her owner to unzip his jeans. He obliged her only after fanning his hot computer with his hands and delicately placing it down with the exhaust pointed up. As Terri slobbered on the man’s knob, Kruthika set up her phone on the amplifier stand. A slow, sensual filmi song began to play. Shila and Kruthika both stepped up to the pole, taking positions opposite to each other. They grabbed the pole with both hands, set their feet at the base, and leaned back as they undulated in synch with the music. Kruthika swept her thick curls over one shoulder and smiled brilliantly at Sir. The man on the couch took a swing of his beer, then sighed loudly and leaned back while Terri cradled his balls and ran her tongue along his shaft.
Shila stepped back and Kruthika vaulted up the pole. She spun around the pole half a dozen times, before flipping over and slowly sliding down head first and breasts outward. Shila caught Kruthika around the waist and yanked her thong up to her knees. Pining Kruthika’s legs to the top of the pole, Shila lapped at his wife’s pussy while Kruthika held herself upside down, arms flexing from the effort. Her face turned red. She moaned until her voice rose to a yell. Shila stepped back and let Kruthika swing down into his arms, righting her with a half-spin.
Still red in the face and panting, Kruthika grabbed the pole and thrust her ass out at ninety-degree angle. Shila already had his prodigious cock hanging out his thong. He tore Kruthika’s thong in half so she could spread her legs wide and rammed his cock through her pussy from behind. Kruthika squealed from the quick penetration. Shila pounded her relentlessly. Kruthika bit her lower lip and undulated in unison.
“I came already, you stupid cocksucker! That hurts!” With a kick, Sir sent Terri rolling. She hit the pole with a thunk. Kruthika didn’t think Terri minded. She looked down at the blissed-out bimbo, who gurgled frothy cum between his lips and whose unfocused gaze wandered about the room drunkenly. Terri massaged her massive tits with the widest smile Kruthika had ever seen. That was the moment Shila came in her. Wave after wave of hot jizz flushed Kruthika’s cunt until it flooded out around Shila’s dick.
“I think I made her a little too much of a cock addict…” Sir frowned at Terri drunkenly masturbating on the floor. He picked up his laptop and hissed with pain. He completely ignored her as Kruthika hooked her ankle around the pole and swung around in a lazy circle, showing off her overflowing pussy. He gingerly opened his laptop. Jagged rainbows filled the screen.
“Fuck! Fuck! Turn off that stupid music. I need to think.” He barked orders at Shila, who switch off Kruthika’s phone. Kruthika dismounted the pole, not sure what she should do. Sir pounded furiously at his laptop’s power key. Terri stirred at Kruthika’s feet.
“Master? Can Terri have more cock?”
Kruthika knelt down and stroked Terri’s hair reassuringly. “Why don’t you suck Shila’s cock? You don’t mind, do you, Shila?”
“It’s no problem.” Shila was already stroking himself.
Terri whined like a child. “Noooo… Master has the bestest and tastiest cock ever. Terri wants Master’s cock.”
Kruthika felt that sounded wrong, but she couldn’t pin down why. Of course, Terri was Sir’s cocksucker, obviously, her purpose was to suck his cock. The algebra was undeniable. Kruthika looked up at sir. “Why don’t you let her give you another blowjob, Sir? And you can watch me eat all this cream in my pus—“
“Jesus Christ, shut up! You’re annoying even when you nothing but a cock sleeve.” Sir grabbed at his hair in frustration. Gibberish code ran across the laptop’s screen in a continuous flow. “What the fuck is wrong with this thing? The program was so simple to use before. This isn’t fair!”
Kruthika frowned at the way Sir talked to them. She thought about saying something, even if it was their responsibility to entertain him, when someone knocked at the door.
“Hello, sir! Your sluts are here!” The voice sounded like contralto parody of Zachary. There were other voices, too. Indistinct. Whispering. Chittering. “We’ve come to play, sir.”
“Wha? Huh? I didn’t order them to come here.” Sir looked around the room, as if he had to explain himself to any of them. He jumped when the door opened with a click. A gorgeous new version of Zachary stood in the hallway, skeleton key in hand. If Kruthika hadn’t heard him talk, she wouldn’t have recognized him at all. He had the svelt curves of a gymnist, a woman’s gymnist, except for his flat chest. His natural afro framed a beautiful feminine face. The tiny nub atop Zachary’s testicles resembled a clitoris more than a penis. He strode into the apartment trailing a translucent scarlet robe from his arms. It took Kruthika a moment to process, that Sir was screaming because the robe was alive.
“We’re made to be your sluts, sir.” Zachary advanced on the most important man in the room and his broken laptop. “We’re made to pleasure you.”
The flesh of the robe flowed. Not just as a robe, Kruthika realized, but as droplets darting about on the floors and walls and across Zachary’s skin. Where the droplets congealed, they temporarily formed hands and mouths, ears and eyes, and dicks and cunts. A swarm of disembodied hands stroked and groped Zachary, while mouthless tongues crawled inside his thighs, inside his taint, and inside his ass. Zachary and the parade of flesh loomed over the man on the sofa. Zachary planted his foot on Sir’s crotch.
“Okay, wait, wait, I, uh, command you to leave me alone.” Sir tried to stiffen his voice. “Master commands you to leave him alone!”
Zachary grinned as human mycelia crawled up Sir’s arms and legs. “We’re here to fuck, sir, not take orders.”
“Ohgodohgodohgod help me!” Sir screamed and reached up to Kruthika and Shila, before Zachary kissed him and flesh enveloped them both. The married couple had backed into the corner while more and more flesh creeped into their apartment. Terri rolled around on the floor in the midst of it. Tendrils pulled at the sexpet’s nipples. Terri held a bouquet of cocks up to her mouth and tried to service them all.
“We have to get out of here.” Shila tugged on Kruthika’s shoulders. Kruthika couldn’t tear her eyes from Terri’s eyes. They looked so content and empty.
Kruthika nodded and let Shila drag her along. They ran out to the hallway. The whole building roared with the sounds of an orgy. People were in the hall fucking and masturbating. And all around them were the same ribbons of melting flesh, crawling up the stairs and railings. Shila and Kruthika bolted down the stairs. Kruthika could only squeeze her eyes shut and ignore the horrors she passed. People were turning into animals. People were turning into metal and plastic. People were turning into furniture and toys and food! And so many of them had fallen apart mid-transformation, somehow still alive while large chunks of them had dissolved into trailing protoplasm.
“Jesus Christ, what happened to them?”
“I don’t know! I don’t want to see!”
A deer with human legs and penis fucked a mannequin with a crack in its head that exposed a giant vagina. A woman with half her head bisected away bounced in a particularly crab-like way, thrusting at her groin with her hands as eggs squeezed out and splattered on the floor. A face in a puddle begged for someone to fuck it in the ass. A person made of melting ice cream bounced on a chair’s erection. A finch with arms and legs blew a trumpet into the flower that used to be a gasping man’s penis. Kruthika heard a crush and glanced through an open door to see five identical woman whose faces had merged into an undifferentiated mass. They were trying to finger each other.
Finally, they ran past the busted-up mailboxes, scattering the pile of mail underfoot. Shila and Kruthika, panting, collapsed on the tree lawn. It took a Kruthika a moment before she caught her bearings and realized they were surrounded by mercifully normal people. The night air made her shiver. A retiree in pajamas wrapped Kruthika in a bathrobe.
“The hell is happening in there?”
The building, Kruthika realized, was screaming. She could hear its collective passion over the crowd’s mutters and the approach of emergency sirens. Windows were broken and shadowy figures fucked in the flicker of fallen lamps. Whatever inhuman orgy had been created in her complex, it wasn’t slowing down. It was heating up.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I think… someone’s laptop broke?”