(Originally written for the December 2009: A Cyber Holiday Expo! contest on the MC Forum.)
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"I dunno, I'm kinda feeling sick tonight," Kendra said, grimacing as she stirred a still-full gin and tonic. Just a tiny twenty minutes and she was already growing weary of her friend Paul and his two bimbo pals. They were on their third pitcher of beer. They were singing along, horribly, to some Journey song.
Thankfully, they stopped when he hurriedly put down the rest of his mug in one gulp, then went to the bathroom. She just couldn't see what Paul saw in them. The blonde one nudged the Asian one flatly and obviously in the tit and leaned in irritatingly close to Kendra. "Oh, you poor, poor little thing," she meowed, "we have just the thing."
The Asian one (she was honestly too distracted by both of their chests when they were being introduced to remember their names, and too embarrassed to ask now) held out what looked like a grape children's vitamin, unmistakably in the shape of a cock-and-balls. Kendra just rolled her eyes. Of course. These floozies were from Cherub Cove.
She batted the tart-pill away. "I'm fine," she said, feeling an icy chill pulse through her. She took stock of her friend's clear lack of judgement, and began to feel very alone. Kendra had been back on campus for a whole two months now since her mother died and left her an orphan, and Paul was a new friend but a good one, she figured. Maybe she was being a touch irrational, but it felt like he was tearing down the friendship in one gaudy evening. "I'll be fine."
She took a couple sips of her drink and looked around. The townie bar was filled with all sorts of fratboys and grizzly old deadbeats. What few girls were there, without question or hesitation, were all total sluts. The blonde and the Asian texted on candy-colored, glittery flip phones. Sure. Why would they talk to me? Kendra wondered. The man's not around. Some night out.
To say she felt out of place would imply she had a true home out there somewhere, which wasn't the case. No, instead, she was flying rather blindly in her comfy jeans and sweater, since her friend had insisted that Big Pete's was just a casual local bar. For the guys, maybe so. She looked over at the from-another-mother bimbo twins. They wore matching black leather minis with outrageous hems and vinyl tube tops with strategically placed cuts. The blonde had a green one and the Asian had an orange one.
She sighed. These days, what with everything on the news especially, it seemed like more and more girls were going bimbo-mommy. It scared her some, but it would have scared her more if she wasn't already desensitized to it. The idea of Cherub Cove confoundingly becoming PC and almost normal had started with Hollywood actresses and worked its way down to even local politicians now.
Kendra looked at the clock. A half hour was getting to be much too much, and she didn't want to entertain the thought of another one. The blonde one rummaged around in her purse. She kept having to move her breasts out of the way to gain easier access. She pulled out an enormous, pitch black dildo. "You want to try one?" Kendra almost didn't so much as register what she thought she heard, and tried her best to ignore it. She chewed on her drink stirrer.
"It's so fun to vibe out in public!" The Asian one squealed, accepting an egg vibrator from the blonde one. She looked to the back corner of the room and seized up, shuddering with the first hums of the toy. She held her finger to her mouth and shushed Kendra. "Don't tell," she whispered. Paul ambled back to their table, doublefisting with two generous pitchers. He was singing along to some pop-country song. The dippy girls, now moving slowly with their ministrations, sang along sultrily.
Kendra nudged her glass a few inches forward. "Paul, I need to talk to you right now," she said, grabbing him by the wrist to the door, making sure to bring her pocketbook safely along. The blonde and the Asian giggled like chipmunks as behind Kendra and Paul's backs, they took an eyedropper filled with bubblegum-pink liquid and put two squirts in her gin and tonic.
The night was cool and lonely and there was a young, well-built couple voraciously making out on one of the time-worn picnic benches. Kendra could hear the chintzy tinkle of fake gold accessories clink together and briskly ushered Paul to the farthest bench from these hicks.
As she sat down, she disgustedly pondered how many.. people juices had soaked into the wood since earlier in the year when Cherub Cove had begun its national (and recently international) dominance. She thanked herself that she was wearing some tough blue jeans.
Paul looked at her with concern and bewilderment. She scoffed, having had enough. "What's with you?" he asked, half-annoyed. Kendra crossed her legs and huddled into herself. She looked at the moon, and melted its brilliance with a couple exhausted tears. Things were getting so hectic.
"What's with me?!" she demanded bitterly. "What's with me?! I don't know what you're trying to pull by bringing me here, but I want you to take me home." She stared at Paul defiantly. "Right fucking now." He sighed and rubbed at his chin.
"Listen, Kendra," he began to assure her plaintively, "I think you're overreacting just a tiny bit! I thought it would be nice for us to get out into the real world." Kendra shuddered at his abnormal superiority, but was willing to make a concession. As much as it freaked her out, she couldn't judge people on how they chose to live. That was one lesson her mother told her that she'd never forget. "Now I think you just need to come back in, drink a little bit more, have some fun and just relax for a--"
"Relax? Relax?! Don't tell me I need to relax, you douche!" she blurted, immediately regretting it and not meaning it in the slightest. Still, she had leverage to air her concerns. "You want me to relax with a huge fake dick in the middle of a bar like they do? I'm sorry, but I've been doing a whole lot of readjusting lately and I have to be conscious of what sort of people I devote my time to." She looked into her friend's eyes and they both eased up.
"I'm sorry too, but I've known both of them for forever and I understand your trepidation but --" He chuckled. "Wait a second, what's this about a huge fake dick?" Something about the way Paul said it gave Kendra a crystal clear image of the mighty thing. She shook her head like she had water in an ear but couldn't rid herself of the picture. It was so silly.
She zeroed in on his jawline. It seemed like he was getting more toned all over lately, or something. Good for him. Still, as lost as she was getting in his gorgeous eyes, that big black toy-cock kept invading. After a few seconds of zoning out on the funny image, she began to compartmentalize her thoughts and thought about something more tangible: Paul's own dick, hiding somewhere in those cute corduroys. In her fantasy-filled mind, she imagined it as big if not bigger than the dildo, and pounding the shit out of her on a four-post bed.
He caught her with her mouth ajar. "I said, what's this about... a huge fake dick? Why on earth would you mention a.. huge.. fake.. dick?" Kendra got goosebumps listening to his yummy repetitive voice. She squeezed her legs together and brushed her dark brown hair aside.
She felt so crazy to be one minute repulsed, and the next, dumbly intrigued. She could hear the young hot couple at the end of the patio, their kissing getting sloppier and louder. Then a neglected phone buzzing along the table, and a zipper being pulled. It was too far away to be Paul's and that made her almost sad for some reason. She shook her head again and playfully grabbed her friend by the arm.
"Fuck it, I haven't even really touched my drink yet," she said, smiling as she walked slowly arm in arm with him. It only took his two friends' approving and welcoming looks as they sat back down to remind her of what an awfully sweet guy Paul was, helping her out while she was in need and showing her a good time. At least he was trying.
The Asian one poked her on the shoulder and winked, glancing down at her own golden, meaty thighs for emphasis, to remind her of their little secret. Kendra didn't want to wink back but it came as a reflex when she realized she had just given up the girls outside. Her mind started to ease when she saw the blonde one gingerly move to sit on Paul's lap.
She took a healthy swig of her drink and resigned herself to a floaty, fun evening. It tasted so good and it warmed her so inexplicably. The strange tingle and its resulting sloshiness was one of the last things she clearly remembered from that night.
* * *
The next afternoon, Kendra awoke, hungover and muddled. She was horrified to see it was almost three. "What did I get into?" She groaned, surprised to hear her voice so hoarse and light. In the time it took her to realize she was wearing a strange, new tight fuchsia tank top, she smelled the scent of a dozen or so cigarettes on it. "Oh, Paul's gonna hear from me," she muttered under her breath.
Only when she pulled the comforter off did she see that she was wearing matching undies. As she thumbed the waistband, she realized her ass was bare. What the fuck! she thought, her mind racing as her pussy clenched. That's when she noticed how wet the underwear was, and that she was wearing a thong. She never wore thongs. It chewed at her crack and the feeling made her douse it with more dampness.
She stretched out, then, without much thought put into how novel and ridiculous it was, she fingered herself. She was far from a regular masturbator but it just felt logical somehow, to have a nice fingerfuck before seizing what was left of the day. As she sorted out the night's distant memories, she plunged her knuckles deeper and deeper, her need growing by the second.
The whole fractured recollection felt like a dream. Somehow, she had agreed to play dress-up with those bimbos, and somehow, they had convinced her, after a lot more gin and tonics of course, to slob the bartender's knob. Somehow, she didn't know how. All she knew was that she had done it. She considered how long or how many dicks she sucked, since her jaw was positively aching.
She tossed around in the bed now, trying to put the pieces together as she hungrily fingered herself. Her thong rode up again, only now it felt vaguely familiar from the night before. She remembered that after singing along to "Keep On Loving You", smiling wide along with those plastic girls and her cute friend Paul, some dude was brandishing a tattoo gun. No, Kendra thought, mortified. No. She took her hand out of her snatch and and ran it along her torso.
There, below her belly button, was a cross. A dull pain radiated from it. Kendra was freshly marked. She was mortified, and eventually gathered enough strength to stop jilling off. She paced around her bedroom, wondering what to do. As world-ending as the sight was, of her jeans strewn on the floor, splattered with dried cum, she could feel herself get turned on like a switch over it.
She had to call Paul. She thanked herself that she had resisted taking any "vitamins" from the girls, though. Until a flash of a memory clued her in that the banana flavor was better than the grape. Although she initially liked the grape better, the Asian one had convinced her of otherwise as she was stroking Kendra's cunt as she ate the banana one. She giggled, then groaned. Get with it!
She opened her phone and scrolled through numbers with one hand while she touched herself with the other. It took five scrolls of the list for her to slowly but surely recollect that he got a new phone and number not a week before.
She thought about how awesome his dick felt in her ass and how she had blabbed to the whole bar about it as it was happening. It took her more than twenty minutes of fingerbanging, but she was finally spent, rocking to an orgasm as she dealt with the night's events. She opened her laptop, intending to send Paul a Facebook message about what a meanie he was and what an awesome cock he had, but the site wouldn't load right for whatever reason.
* * *
In a completely pink and softly lit bedroom, the two bimbos giggled as Paul sent Kendra an invite. All they could do was wait. Which was all good for Paul, as he could eat as much pussy as he wanted in the meantime, maybe spraying some of his supercum somewhere.
"I can't believe this is, like, actually happening," the Asian one said, between massive slobbers on a better-than-average candy dick. It was big and it tasted like pure cane sugar. "It's so fuckin' nuts, my boo," she chirped. She ran a finger across her crack.
Paul's look switched from eager concentration to utter relaxation at being called that. He joined the nymphet and stuck a rough finger in her sticky folds. She moaned as he got up and whispered in her ear. "Did you just say you wanna.. suck my nuts?"
Without a nanosecond's hesitation, the bubbly, raven-haired girl distractedly bent down and took his whole stiff dick in her mouth, cradling his balls. She had quite the grip, but still let a girlish titter flow from her cock-stuffed lips. It sounded like some intersection of whimper and childlike hum. It was hard to believe she was a valedictorian at one point.
"Is Kendra gonna come out and play with us again?" The blonde one asked, obsessively double-clicking on the old desktop in the corner. Every three clicks or so, the screen turned a brighter, more aggressive shade of pink. The blonde bimbo's legs spread farther and farther each time that happened.
Between guttural moans at the wet, smacking oral servitude of the Asian one, Paul nodded. Kendra was so distracted by thinking pinkly that she didn't notice the insatiable, comically furious blowjob going down on the bed. Or, if she did, it was just another silly bedroom game that seemed so silly to her lately.
"Is she coming soon?" she asked, her eyes now locked on the computer screen. It was a liquid, inky neon pink. It looked like it was sweating. Without warning, a crystalline shimmer of flute and harp cooed its way through the speakers.
"Sure, my sweet, sweet sweatermeat," Paul said. His voice and all that silly computer business signaled a near-Pavlovian trigger in the blonde one. Her eyes rolled and went limp, and her arms locked and unhooked a big silver dildo from the wall. I'm happy I got suckered into that Cherub Cove "home remodel" deal, Paul thought.
"She'll be cumming soon," he said, in a deep, sing-song cadence. He lit a joint and tousled the Asian one's hair as much as he could. It was thick and straight and had to have had a bunch of product in it. Besides, all the better for it not to get in the way of her dick-smoking. "And so will you." He couldn't wait to get another shot at making it even thicker.
* * *
"No, no, no! I don't want to talk about.. tattoo-enhancing gum!" Kendra was freaking out. In the time it took to take a shower and play with herself just a little bit more, she could totally tell her hips got.. wider. And her waist, too, but it was her hips were turning her walk into something different.
And now to make everything more rushed and hectic, her high school friend Kristen was trying to distract her over the phone with bimbo stuff.
"So now, can we get back to talking about.. y'know.. doing stuff on a first date?" She rifled around her undie drawer for anything that would fit. Surprised to see it full of nothing but skimpy next-to-nothings, she passed over a thong that said 'Babybook.com' on it. Like hell I'd wear that one, she told herself.
Kendra luridly ambled to the bathroom in her g-string to finish putting makeup on. She didn't normally wear it, but then why did all the rouges and mauves and shiny lippy pretty things look so familiar? She stuck on a fake mole. It smelled like hot cocoa. "Hello?" She licked the beauty mark off. It was yummy, and left an identical, permanent one on her upper lip.
She got disconnected. The whole conversation had been weird anyway, Kendra realized as she flipped her sparkly pink phone shut. She seemed to remember it being small enough to fit into her handbag. Or was it her jeans pocket? No, no -- that would only make sense if she wore jeans without stitched-on pockets. From the looks of her room, it had been years. Get it together, she pleaded silently.
Suddenly, a house beat flew out of her handbag, and after a couple breakbeats you could hear a baby's wail over the kickdrum. It was her new text notification. She absentmindedly wondered which of the two bimbos changed it. She knew the chorus, though. It seemed to go back all the way to freshman year, when Big Bob O'Herlihy took her to the janitor's closet and --
Kendra shook her head. It was like her memories were being displaced, replenished with all these sexy things. "No, no, no!!!" she screamed, surprised at how much was left shaking and jiggling around when she stopped. She looked in the mirror. She looked great. After admiring her own golden, curly locks and belling boobs, she finally looked down to the text: "Get on Facebook chat :p"
She, reluctantly, did as she was told. She hummed that ringtone as she waited for the site to load. It loaded much quicker this time, oddly enough. Once in, she saw that Kristen had become a fan of that exact same song! "So cool and weird!" Kendra slurped.
She tossed her third Cherub Cream out in the wastebasket. They were so good and Facebook was loading, so she could care less if she remembered how they got there in her fridge. Kristen also left the music video of the song as her status update. When Kendra noticed this, she immediately clicked.
The screen flickered, as if a minor power surge coursed through it. Before she could think it weird, she found herself get more than a little amped when that soothing, playful beat kicked in. Tons of pairs of differently-shaped and colored boobs bounced in colorful, low-cut tops. The fact that they were all so big, though, that was bordering on hypnotic.
She found out fast that she knew each and every word to that stupid chorus. "I can be your bimbo, baby / I can be your bimbo mommy / You can touch my bimbo boobies / I can make your babies, baby." It was stupid but catchy somehow. She looked at the length of the video and yawned, copping a feel of her left titty, brain asleep.
It was more than nine minutes long. She had no idea there was a dance remix, but she loved it just the same and kept singing along, the verses getting shorter and tinier until it was just a chorus repeated for the last six minutes or so. Kendra lost count, too far gone in the sexy, seductively circular words.
She barely noticed her lithe hand snaking down to her pussy, so she definitely didn't notice the five IMs from Kristen. Especially not the one that said, "KENDRA I'M CUMING OVER."
By the end of the overlong, over-hot video, she took her fingers away and felt disgusted. Not disgusted, but bothered. Not bothered.. but turned on. Whatever it was, it didn't stop her from sticking them in her mouth and licking herself clean. She straightened her hair and turned her webcam on. She wasn't sure why.
A big, bothersome pink prompt darted onto more than half the screen. "Do you want to allow Babybook.com to connect with your cam, bimbo mami ;) ?" Kendra usually loathed these sorts of ads. She guessed it was some kind of spam from Cherub Cove. It was a silly website name.
She giggled, even though she wasn't really that amused. Her boobs shook. It looked as though she was finally going to make use of that C-cup drawer.
Which was just plain crazy. She had read about Cherub Cove and its.. womanly effects, but this was different. At this rate, they'd have ways to make a girl grow just by swallowing one pill. She gulped. It sure was scary, but it was also very, very hot for whatever reason.
She found herself zoning out at the winky face. She clicked yes, exhausted and lost in a fog. Like clockwork, the screen made an electric crackle but this time, it was like the screen got more.. relaxing. Definitely more pink, too.
Then suddenly, as if from a lightning strike, the screen went black and so did the entire room, right in broad daylight. At the very least, that's what it felt like, as Kendra nodded off to her mind getting soaked in heavy fuzzies. Before losing consciousness completely, it was like she was blinded by the color pink.
* * *
Before she could fully get why her room would be dark so early in the day, she unconsciously rubbed around her thighs, feeling fuzzy and sated and smooth. Kendra noticed and somehow recollected the candy-colored French tips as she did. She began to stuff her pussy with her manicured fingers. It was, like, just what she did lately, and stuff.
She licked her fingers clean, nearly fellating them. Both her lips and nails were coated in their bimbifying sheen, and it made the nerves in all that sexy stuff explode. Kristen quite literally busted into the room, flooding it with a foggy pink light from a.. shag carpeted hallway? The color was so pretty. She shucked off her fluffy duvet methodically in anticipation of some silly surprise.
Kendra's new (or was it since junior high or something?) best friend barrelled in, tits-first, with a pair of pink and purple shopping bags. She threw a pair of neon orange sunglasses onto a nightstand and made eyes at her new pet. "Oh, girl, let me help you out with that!" Krsten called, kicking off her wedge heels and successfully diving for Kendra's red, wet and pierced clit.
She reached in between her titties and proffered a new tube of Strawberry-Kiwi Swallow (an experimental flavor-tube of Cherub Cream half its size and twice its power), easing it into Kendra's mouth before she could protest. Instead of whimpering or gagging on it, she eased the slurry down her throat like the sucking-pro she was.
As soon as she wolfed down the whole of it, the new bimbo-in-training saw that her body was expanding again, this time rather obviously before her wide, moistening eyes. She openly wept with a blend of joy and intrigue. She shook her head in opposition because she felt she had to, even though she was deliriously creaming in her wispy panties.
As if reading Kendra's mind, Kristen pulled them down her legs with her teeth, pausing to tongue some weird Asian character tattooed just below her calf. She supposed she could wait until after this stiflingly hot steam-session to ask her mistress what it meant. All Kendra knew was that it only cost about two hundred bucks, and that her fiancee Paul had gleefully covered it.
She traced the thick, strong and slightly muscular curvature of her calves to her thighs, which seemed more and more that they could only house the biggest and respectively thickest of wangs. She felt positively distracted and hypnotized by the computer, by the very notion of cocks, by her best friend's masterful cunnilingus, and especially by her own cute-n-hot body's transformations.
She shook her head again as a reflex, but then Kristen did this thing with her tongue before ducking down and out of her snatch.
"What do you mean, don't you want to be a Cherub Cove centerfold? I thought I saw you on Babybook.com!" She teased her new pet's pussy. That chance visit to Cherub Cove really turned her on to a lot of great induction techniques. Kristen was turning out to be quite the operative, and she was sure she'd be able to make Kendra quite the baby slave.
"I didn't say I didn't wanna be a centerfold, Krissi! Don't go putting words in my --" Kristen raised her hand to her puffy pink mouth, startled at the low, dim and girlish coo wafting out of it. She ran her fingers along her lips, then licked them and ran her fingers along again, savoring the sweet undertones of Cherub ChokeCherry edible nail dip.
Something about how good it felt simply seemed too dangerous. "I just --" Kendra hesitated. "Tell me what I should get Paul for Christmas!" She petted Kristen's hair as her mistress kissed and prodded the girl's pussy with more intent.
Kristen soon sidled up and began nuzzling her new pet's copious funbags. She wiped Kendra's sweet sex juices off her lips, but still smacked with them when she could manage to slurp an answer out. "I think you're moving a little too fast," she said, now teasing her neck and shoulders with kisses.
"First, we have to find out what he likes. Now, you said he's been hanging out with a blonde bimbo and an Asian bimbo, right? Do you have any idea how demeaning that sounds?" She tickled Kendra and reached over to the side of the bed, opening up a cute little plastic laptop with a fetching, soft yellow gingham print on the shell. "How stupid and stuck-up you seem by not even catching their names?"
Kristen sat on her haunches, which allowed for a delicious view of her honey-colored, donut-like ass. Kendra's eyes slowly darted around the girly-pink room, playing dumb, living dumb. "I'm, like,so stupid!" she played along, reaching down Kristen's back and letting her fingers trail and dance their way past her rump to her needy, hot cunt.
Then they made out for a long time, before the screen flashed pink again. It seemed like everything was flashing pink. Kendra started to feel that familiar woozy feeling, and fell back into a bunch of silk-sleeved pillows. She could faintly hear her best friend / bimbo mistress comfort her. It sounded like she was saying "Give in."
* * *
"...you wanna accept Cherub Cove, St. Brittany, and Babybook.com into your heart and soul for God and country?" Kristen's voice sailed around Kendra's foggy, floating mind. How long had she been trancing out in all those pink bubbles?
"mmm-puh-PWAH--" Kendra tried to talk but her mouth was secreting a thick, hot pink bubblegum residue. She had trouble pulling it off, and couldn't decide where to put all the gunk. Luckily, Kristen ate it all from her hand. Even though it felt great to Kendra, she still hadn't heard what her mistress said. "What?" she giggled. It was what she did after asking most questions. Because she always felt soooo stupid.
"I said," said the expert alpha bimbo, picking her lover's gunk from her teeth, "Do you want to watch the movie Yuko made of you, your hubby and that bartender?" She tried in vain to wrap a giant sports bra around her wobbly udders. "She tagged you and everything."
Kendra beamed and nodded. It felt amazing to smile. Every time she smiled, she was reminded of how much she adored the Milfy Way and St. Brittany and all that her love bestowed on her. Not to mention how hopelessly addicted she was to brushing her teeth with Cherub Chew Boobpaste!
Of course she wanted to see the video! Yuko was one of Kendra and Kristen's oldest friends and biggest inspirations, and her girlfriend Barbie was a capable enough DP to capture that epic moment of DPing from a the other night at the bar, or.. when was that?
Kendra reasoned that she'd find out based on what thong she wore, so it was too bad that when the video streamed and started, the onscreen her was already mid-fuck and naked as the day St. Brittany's love had made her.
It was hot, and the sight of her being plugged from behind with her plastic doll mouth being fed with her husband Paul's dick was real sexy... and it all looked like some slutty pendulum and everything, but -- "I can't believe what a bitch I look like, Krissi!" she bemoaned. "Why didn't I grind down deeper on Timmy?"
Still, the rhythm of her own curveless, timid, and obnoxiously dark-haired image was making her mind drift so sweetly. She latched onto it like the perfect high it was and droned out on the sharp staccato of her well-fucked digital cries. There had to be more than a couple cameras, judging by the number of angles the artful porn kept cutting to. The "Ass Angle" was choice.
"Not Timmy -- Tommy," Kristen corrected, her voice sounding far away and cottony. "It's Tommy." Kendra tried to keep her eyes open and watch the screen as her mistress slyly inserted a big, veiny Banger-brand dildo into her saucy pussy. She tried to stay with it and concentrate. Finally, she locked on to the size and length of the bartender's cock as it went in and out of her from behind. It was so big and yummy-looking.
The fake dick buckled and spasmed inside her, almost mimicking or beat-reading the real one she was watching onscreen. "It's Tommy," she muttered in repetition, mouth thickening again, lips slowly letting the words escape. He looked like he was about to buck and explode.
She couldn't believe it. She was in her first real porn! Now, maybe Paul would finally give her what she'd been asking for for over a year, ever since they moved to Cherub Cove with her big sister Kristen: a baby. Sure, he had given one to Jenny and Jackie and a lot of other girls around town, even total whores like Lolo who already had like three already, but he had been keeping hers from her until she could "prove herself".
Kendra bit her lip. It looked like she didn't even have to wait for her man. In that dippy, drunken night she only quarter-remembered now (with the HD video capture abundantly making clearer), it seemed like she was already heavily pollinated. Huge strings of cum were soaking her pussy as the bartender's dick kept plunging in and out, and Paul's own member erupted in pools of white that were flooding down her chin and neck.
She looked up at Kristen in disbelief, smiling because it felt so good to do it. "That's right, lil sis," Kristen said pedantically. "You're the first suck-sex--" She swallowed and chewed and blew a big bubble. "Sorry-- successful double-penetration procreation video on Cherubcore.com!" She held up a white terrycloth bib with a yellow Babybook logo stitched on. "Aren't these great? Barbie designed them!"
* * *
Kendra had spent hours buying toys for herself, and for the last few minutes of her splurging, she absently charged some last-minute bits of lingerie in lace and satin.
Having never felt as girly or frilly or just plain selfish in her whole life, she vowed to start looking for presents for Paul. She shook her titties. Now, the only thing she needed to figure out was what Paul liked: pink or hot pink. She toggled her cup size, then immediately reconsidered. "I'm not going to be a 36D by the time these get here," she laughed.
She grabbed one from her chest of drawers, just assuming that she had guessed her size. Sure, she had stained it with milk immediately, and that felt pretty good, but it didn't make it fit any better.
Friday, December 23, 2011
_ Jeanie & Jackie + + -
(This is a new, slightly revamped "Director's Cut" edit of a light romp posted elsewhere on the web a few years back. The licentious Limerick requested it be brought back from bimbo limbo. Enjoy!)
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I guess I only agreed to pick my wife's daughters up from the airport to curry favor with her. I had to take a day off of work to make the two and a half hour drive each way, but I had no choice. Dottie never loses an argument.
I was in the doghouse for something she thought that I'd said, but hadn't. It's hard for me to remember all the details, but to be honest, the drive there was cake. It was the drive back that changed our lives forever.
Let me start off by assuring you that, before five months ago, I had never been too much of a sexual guy. Seriously! Within reason, I mean. I gain absolutely nothing by lying to you.
I'll be honest. If I saw a big butt in tight denim ahead of me in the supermarket checkout, I'd most certainly have looked. I'm a heterosexual male. Biology has the final say. Big butts simply have that direct hook line to my libido.
But I wouldn't be one of those dudes who stopped at nothing to make his presence known, or if that somehow didn't work (it almost always does these days, like a charm) jerk off heatedly, immediately afterward, to coat my dashboard with jizz. Don't get me wrong, here. I'm a man.
Wide-set hips and thick, wobbly tits would certainly have caught my eyes or make me turn my head, especially if a woman was equipped with both. But I never used to have this foul, disgusting animal need like I do now, to use my equipment with hers, and to not even be slightly distracted until I can manage to choke out a load of cum.
I have no one to blame but Jeanie and Jackie. God, if my wife heard me admit that, she'd chop my dick off (although, maybe that's not true -- she certainly has had a lot of fun with it as of late). She's been suspecting me of porking her daughters on the side for the past month or so.
Dottie only thinks there must be something going on with how often I go to the movies with them. She'll eventually find out all that's happening. In fact, I give her two weeks.
We really do go to the movies, though, but really, they only blow me. And I always make them take turns! Besides, I think I caught my wife making out with Jackie. Yes, her own daughter. So it's whatever.
Aw, man, now I'm getting hard and ahead of myself. It all began without incident, just some mild annoyance. Again, just to get back in Dottie's good graces. I was to pick them up at ten in the morning, after their flight landed, and bring them back. It seemed simple enough. I was incredibly naive about it.
"Make sure you guys don't stop over in Cherub Cove for anything," Dottie warned me, believing (stupidly, I thought) that prolonged contact with just the air there could brainwash and tranform people. Let's just say I was very skeptical. She'd heard it on the news, she said.
Maybe I should have called her, or at least texted her to let her know that her daughters just wouldn't stop talking up that place. Though I knew this was rather strange, I didn't. Maybe you think that makes me a pussy. Maybe I just felt like not rocking the boat and worrying her.
Whichever the case, the situation sure wasn't made a hell of a lot better by the kind of swill pulsing from the airwaves and into my Civic. After about forty or fifty miles into the trip, the only stations we could pick up were playing, for lack of a better description... hill-hop.
That's not to say it was country-rap. This wasn't Kid Rock. It was messy, strewn with odd, screechy strings and off-beat jug blows. It was charged with some undeniably sexual energy. I have to admit, I was impressed with it, despite myself, but that doesn't mean I enjoyed it. I just couldn't take my mind off it at all.
Literally. "I ain't a slut, I just suck a lot," was the bubbly refrain in the chorus. At first, I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. Once I heard some bimbette drawl the verse, though, they perked up:
"Life sucks and boy, so don't I / so bust a nut in my black eye." I checked the mirror to see if the girls were as bored as they'd usually be at such insipid garbage. To my horror, Jeanie was playing air fiddle and Jackie was bobbing her head, long with the low end of the tune. I switched over to another station in disgust.
I started yelling. "I don't care if you girls think this... music is funny, or ironic, or whatever, but it's hurting my goddamn brain!" It was unusual for me to do, but it felt good to be a stepdad for a change.
The car was starting to reek of some sort of too-sweet candy. It made my eyes burn, the lids starting to droop if just to protectively cover the irritation. Jackie popped a stick of gum into her mouth and flipped open a sparkly pink phone.
I had never seen the device before. It looked almost like a toy version of a first generation cell phone. She was typing a message on the clunky thing, and, not so much as picking her head up or breaking her concentration onscreen, said, "Jeff's got a stick up his ass", to her sister, who was now pulling a second bangle bracelet on past her wrist.
The whole atmosphere was lots chummier and more playful than I remembered it ever being with them, a feeling that was cemented by Jeanie edging closer to the back of my seat and flicking my ear. "I refuse to believe you two listen to that trash," I said. "Even the goth phase you guys went through was more tolerable than that." Impressions of black nail polish and caked-on white foundation fluttered through my head. It didn't concern me that I remembered these things with new and extreme disgust.
"Awww, what's wrong with it, huh?" Jackie smacked. She leaned in closer in the passenger seat, like she was trying to get me to look back at her. I did. Her mouth looked a little bit bigger -- she smiled with... more teeth, or... something. I thought it had to have been a trick of the light, though, or that maybe it was because I just rarely ever saw her smile.
"Too hawt fer ya?" she nudged, popping a bubble and holding her hand out, idly gazing at her polished nails. I decided I approved of their garish and glittery neon hue, without even considering how strange thinking anything about my wife's daughters was, well, hot.
"Yeah, yeah, too hot for me, yeah right," I said sarcastically, rolling my window down hurriedly, nervy. I knew I needed to change the subject. In reality, I had no business reprimanding these girls for anything. For one, they weren't my kids, and also, they'd just graduated from high school. Young women try out new things. That wasn't a new concept.
"So, when did you start wearing pink nail polish?" The embarrassing fact that I hadn't changed the subject at all, even drove it deeper into inappropriate territory, was smothered by her warming response. In the mid-day glare, I could see Jackie blush. I pretended to divert my attention to another mile of straight, empty road.
I felt like asking her if she was wearing rouge, if she did anything with her hair. What that flirty imitation beauty mark was all about. I came dangerously short of telling my wife's daughter that she reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. I was easing into their infectious enthusiasm. "When did you decide you wanted to look... well - like a girl..." I trailed off. "...should..." I coughed.
Hey -- if they wanted to be so aggressively sociable, I wasn't about to start any unnecessary quarreling. I was still sort of nervous, though. Dottie's girls had never ever seemed to be too interested in girly things. Now Jeanie was applying what I now know to be barbecue -- yes, honey BBQ in fact -- flavored lip gloss.
That afternoon, though, I convinced myself that this couldn't possibly have been what I was smelling. Jeanie was a vegan, for pete's sake. She'd gone so far as to swear off even barbecued tofus or tempehs! The mere suggestion of meat in her food made her lose her appetite.
That afternoon in the back seat, she puckered her new big mouth, looking more than satisfied. That puffy pair of lips gave up after a half-second of struggling to get unstuck. It took a sigh, and a rolling of her eyes that implied a far more intensive labor, to get the candy-colored things open.
Then she slowly, slowly licked them, suggestively screaming out her pleasure with her lapping tongue. Jeanie didn't need to say, "I just love barbecue now!" for me to get the picture. Her juicy mouth was emphatically putting on a show all its own. The long, drawn-out "mmmmmmmm", ending in a blankly horned-out gurgle, was plenty indicative.
I was struck with an idea right as she winked at me. I grabbed my dick to double-check that it was still proper and limp. Jeanie and Jackie erupted in grade-school girly laughs. I willed my penis to ignore them.
"Gee, I'm hungry!" I yawned, hiding a grin. "Thinking of stopping off at the next exit for something... Say, Jeanie -- what do you want on your cheeseburger, hm?" I winked into the rearview. She winked back. She opened her mouth, letting her jaw hang. "Ummm..."
Jackie sucked her tongue, annoyed. "Like, hello! She's a vedge-uh-muh --" Jeanie slapped her manicured hand over her sister's mouth. "Extra bacon's just fine, dad! I don't give a shit about vegetables, neither." I smirked and unbuttoned my collar. She called me dad! But...
Why was I their chauffeur all of a sudden? When had Jackie joined her sister in the back seat? The more I thought about it, the more normal it seemed, so I stopped thinking and just looked at the yin-yang of yummy girl behind me.
"Doesn't even like vegetables," I muttered, playing up the "old man" element. I didn't let myself get too worked up over the depressing and sick notion that I was thinking very randy thoughts about my wife's daughter, and all because her ethics had gotten completely warped or wiped clean somewhere.
I still had a knee-jerk reaction to their BBQ indulgence. I jerked my knee up and propped it to the side of the steering wheel, vaguely recalling how much driving with it impressed one (or both) of them back when they were in junior high, back when I'd started dating Dottie.
I knew I'd have to really squeeze out some dadly disgust for it to come out at all. So it exited my mouth quick, along with unbridled amusement, as Jeanie hid the bottle of lip gloss, generously sized and made to look like a little condiment bottle, between her broad thighs, clasping them shut.
Jackie, almost done with a family size bag of corn chips, wanted to use the beauty product as a dipping sauce. She whined as her sister played keep-away, and I knew I had to say something, or else she'd end up eating Jeanie out.
Did I know that might happen with good reason, or was my imagination running away with me? I can't say. I knew I had to say something, or else I'd let them know how much I actually loved this idea of sibling cunnilingus, for their benefit and mine.
I smacked my forehead, worried. The final straw, my "in", was when one of Jackie's shiny gold hoop earrings got caught in some new and gaudy navel piercing Jeanie got. After only three or so seconds of attempting to wriggle out, Jackie sighed and gave up, cooing on her sister's tummy as she rested her lazy face right on it.
I listened to her start to snore in total disbelief. "What's happened to you girls!?!" I blurted, sharp and deep and angry, surprising even myself. I knew the question was a rhetorical one. I knew I'd be in big, big trouble with the wife.
The girls sat bolt upright and looked shocked, eyes wet and glazing over to match the wet glaze of their lazy open mouths. Twin drippy faces for twin dippy ditzes. The uninvited phrase "daddy's girls" floated into my brain. It wouldn't leave until I mouthed the words, away from them.
It took a lot of willpower to stay on topic, however irrelevantly. "I mean, Jeanie, when did you start eating meat?!" Jackie broke up the heavy mood by crunching her last handful of chips and belching big, her tarted-up face appearing to relax afterward, into an expression she deemed just stupid enough.
"Since she fuckin' felt like it," she giggled, bouncing up and down in the back seat, retrieving a joint from her handbag and lighting it up unselfconsciously. I lost my virile grip of the situation, and I didn't stop her. Some father figure. The closest I came was thinking, Those kids!
I'll come clean. If I had truly felt like being the upstanding sorta-dad, I would have commanded her to put it out. But I swear, we never had a relationship like that! I would pick these girls up from school, drive them to comic book shops, and say "hi." They had shared more words with me in one trip than they had in the previous year.
Meh, I'm making too many excuses right now, I know. I took a healthier-than-healthy hit when offered because I wanted to, playing it cool, barely acknowledging it. "It's been a while," I said, in my best older-guy voice, and tried not to cough.
And there I was: rolling down the interstate with two perky twins, stoned and terrorized on their beauty. It was stabbing me in my guts and in my heart. "What do you have against Cherub Cove?" Jackie asked, referring to me laying out her mother's ground rules early on in the trip.
She was batting her eyelashes at me like some conformity-slathered mallrat. I just choked on weed and words I might have wanted to say. I flicked the radio back on as a concession. I didn't want to get into it. And I didn't want to so much as entertain the possiblity that my stepdaughters were already beginning to be indoctrinated into that sick cult.
I was beginning to feel pretty helpless, and getting much too stoned was feeling inevitable, but part of me felt like I would be in even deeper shit with my wife no matter what. Even though I planned on whizzing right past Cherub Cove on the way back home, her children already showed signs of the... reprogramming, or whatever... family way flu, or whatever, was.
I looked behind to Jackie and inspected her hips for the first time, but was extra-embarrassed and didn't linger long at all. I took a fourth or fifth hit and tossed the joint out my window, cursing the familiar, blood-pumping insistence now taking over my crotch.
I was determined to stop the girls from doing drugs. I only made sure we were all good and high, first, that's all. I tried to will myself not to get a boner. It didn't take long at all for me to give in and luxuriate in the feeling.
I was somehow able to remind myself that, though these weren't my kids, I was still the only adult in the car. I'm gawking at an eighteen-year-old's thighs. I couldn't stop, though, not then, when she had eased them apart ever-so-slightly. Like they were winking at my sex drive.
Yup. They were thicker. Definitely thicker. Much thicker. The demonic brain at the base of my balls was pleading with me to flirt more openly, to let them know with no mistake that I more than noticed how womanly they both looked.
Jackie again asked what my beef with Cherub Cove was. She closed her legs. It looked like it took some amount of effort. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't play her game by the rules. My brain begged me to stop this all before it could really start. My hardon told me to play strip poker with my voice.
"The women there are all fat," I deadpanned, adding a bunch of gravel, and grabbed the cigarette she was smoking right out of her hand. They "pshawed" me. Then I took a couple drags and threw that out the window too. Rolling it and the others up, I turned on the air conditioner.
It was safe to say the warm breeze was getting to my head. I was going to be in the deepest doo-doo with my wife. It seemed now like the only likelihood. Little hints were being ignored just as much as bigger, practically screaming indicators were.
There wasn't a millimeter's room for any doubt as to just what was happening with the girls. I think I probably realized this when Jeanie took her shirt off. Just took it right off. My mouth popped open to chide her, but I shut it right back up when she glared at me with a snotty "What!" look.
You know, it's kind of funny. It didn't even cross my mind then that, as an act, it was totally, without any exception, very out of line. I was much more concerned with the size of her breasts! Though this preoccupation merely registered in telling my jaw to drop, smile, and ruminate on the then-beautiful, seemingly poignant word: biiiig.
Not huge by any means, just... nice. Very full and hot and nice. Oh, how I wish I could shake this initial image from my brain. No matter how big they get -- and apparently they're not even close to being... done -- that image of her in the back seat, craning her neck proudly, fiddling around with another crinkly bag to grab a massive donut to munch on, is seared hot into my memory.
I wasn't always this perverted, I swear. It was just such a shocker to see the girl's open-aired girls rippling and bouncing like they were, because, I'm telling you, Jeanie never had any use for a training bra beforehand. I'd sometimes have to help Dottie console her after school when she'd come home in tears because someone talked shit about her bee-stings.
I cursed my dumb luck. I felt guilty and ashamed. Those tits brought me back down to reality. Not too long before, I felt like a model husband. But in the end, I was the one who okayed their idea to take a trip to St. Brittany's Megamilky Music Party Fun Times.
I guess I thought that it would be harmless, I don't know. I regret it, even if I'm getting like five blowjobs a day. The girls hadwanted to go to make fun of the whole event and get some choice footage for YouTube. I never thought for a second that any of that stuff was real, that the rumors held any itty bitty tinge of truth.
Naturally, I was wrong, but before this could even prove itself to be the case, I'd gotten into a huge fight with Dottie about allowing them to go in the first place. I was sure that a million more arguments were headed straight for me like a bullet train. The two giggly girls bouncing around in my back seat dulled and smoothed out my worries, but didn't completely erase them.
I could only imagine what my wife was going to say. "That's all, Jeff?! Really. I'm supposed to be happy with this 'explanation'? That my daughters magically grew big boobs for no reason and that you had simply had no choice but to let them fuck you with them?!"
Even the tamer versions of us fighting that I imagined were pitiful losses on my part. Okay, okay. I think I get it, maybe. So they weren't masturbating until you came inside both of their cleavages?
I bitch-slapped one of my cheeks. I'm not positive what was going on in my brain, I suppose I just assumed that a titfuck was inevitable, for whatever reason, and was already worming around some ideas that would make it all seem so plausible... you know... to their concerned mother.
Jeanie reached up from behind me and cranked the volume on the car stereo way, way up. "Oh. My. Uh-Gawwwd!" She literally squealed, like an ecstatic frollicking pig. "It's Shayla's new single!" Her soft arms took their time to fall back down to her squirming lap. Suddenly, I was getting a massage from her.
As the backbeat surged up my spine and rattled the whole damn car, my body stiffened. I smelled a faint but undeniable aroma of cow shit, wafting and pushing its way through the plastic princess BBQ candy perfume that my car was marinating in.
I felt a disconcerting lump bubble up, down at the bottom of my throat. I'd been sweating for a while, but it was then that I started to feel every bead. Blanching, I ripped my stepdaughter's hand off of my shoulder. "Just what in the fuck are you doing?" I demanded, confused upon confused. Jeanie and Jackie just laughed at me and turned the radio down a notch.
"Jeanie was wonderin' when you was gonna snap out of it," Jackie giggled. "Thought we done lost ya to da open road for a hawt li'l second right thurr." I looked at her, my jaw ajar, no doubt looking as idiotic as she'd looked earlier. "You was just starin' on into th' spacey-place for the past forty-odd minutes."
I noticed that not only was she shirtless now, but she wasn't even wearing a bra, either. Or jeans. Or any sort of conceit at underwear. I noticed this, of course, before I noticed the car was sputtering to a stop. I stared long and hard ahead, taking dejected note of the gravel road.
"You... fucking..." I couldn't think in anything but a revved-up circle. "You... girls, be... good girls and take your goddamn clothes off -- I mean, put your goddamn clothes on. Right fuckin' now!" I could hear the sound of a bra unhooking in the back seat, a resulting high-pitched sigh.
Jackie had the gall to reach into her purse and gra a tube of baby oil, dousing her tits in the stuff right there next to me. "Or what!" she shouted. "What're yew gon' do about it, huh, daddy?" She pouted to emphasize this last zinger.
When she slushed boobs-first down to the floor of the car to put the baby oil back in her handbag, I could see through her foggy window to the sign I half-knew was there already: WELCOME TO CHERUB COVE, Y'ALL!
"I'll call your mother!" I shouted, my anger getting crazier by the second, flexing chest and neck muscles I never knew I had, drumming the steering wheel savagely with an open fist. I knew I had to take control, had to be a man.
"Oh yeah?" cooed Jackie, circling a substantial areola with her middle finger. She'd come back up to the passenger side, as if magically, most likely when he was trancing out. "I don't know if'n that's wiiiise, big daddy. Omigod, like -- whatchoo gon' say, anyhow?"
She looked back at Jeanie and they both snickered, four nude titties jiggling their own delight in tow. Despite my chaste-ish intentions, I was getting a mean hardon again. I hoped that, by some miracle, neither would notice. I recognized, dimly, that I was living out a douchebag dad's craziest fantasy. God damn it, I didn't want to be a douchebag dad! I still don't...
My bimboized stepdaughters were humiliating me. "Well, honey," Jackie said, utilizing her best gruff dad voice, "your daughters are in their underwear and I think they're trying to --" I opened my mouth to remind her that she didn't have underwear on when her phone rang.
The ringtone was, I shit you not, the sound of a woman climaxing. "Oh hi, mom!" The girls laughed together for the millionth time. I was about to scream bloody murder when I felt Jeanie reach forward yet again, this time to gag me. I moaned and groaned, seething, until Jackie started rubbing her sister's freshly-shucked panties onto my nose, even as she was benignly chatting with her mother.
They smelled, well, fucking incredible. An elemental, prehistoric feeling floated along with the scent. It told me that these two high-school graduates could teach me more about sex than any woman I'd ever been with, least of all their mother. It was hard to mistake pungent undertones of ripe fertility.
"Oh-psshhh -- naw, mom," Jackie continued, as calm and believable as she used to be, once upon a faraway-seeming time. She shoved some of the balled-up undies further down my throat, while lifting the opposite end closer to my nostrils, waving it around like a flag. "We're just gettin' some dinner."
I didn't dare look, exhausted from caring, but I could feel two or three hands stroking my cock. It seemed to be getting bigger as it was getting harder. I didn't look down, I did not want to believe it. Jackie rolled her window down. Now all I could smell were cows and fake raspberries.
"No, mom," she said. "First of all he's not my dad," she winked over pitch-perfect feigned sarcasm. "Your second husband's in the bathroom." Then she began to work my shaft with her own tiny bunched-up panties. I would have laughed if given the opportunity.
"Not sure. I think I'm probably gonna get cream of mushroom," she said, squirting some baby oil onto my bone. I bit my lip then let it gush and flow right onto her left eyebrow. "Okay, mom." She giggled. "Okay. Love you too."
I heard a stroller roll by as my gag lifted. "Nuh-uh, we're not lost! We'll be home so soon." Jackie looked at her cum-caked wrist, then up at me with playfully mock "disbelief". Then she licked it off and straightened up. "I can't wait to see you either," she said sweetly, but looked at me, giving an air blowjob with her hand.
Flipping her huge, ridiculous phone shut and wiping some stray semen off of it, she stepped out of the car. She lit a cigarette and stretched, naked as the day God made her, or, to be more apt, as the day "God" remade her.
She ducked down outside my door, boobies falling down and in the open window, and peered in. "Don't you go on a-worryin'," she heaved, and smooched me sloppily on the cheek. "Y'know I, like, love you too an' shit, daddy-waddy."
Minutes later, they were nice enough to give me a straight answer to precisely how they'd heard of the church of Saint Brittany. "The internet?" I asked dismissively. I cleaned my sticky dick off with Jackie's doused undies. She didn't seem too eager to put them back on anytime soon, anyway.
"That's such a cliche. I thought you girls were above being so typical." They had to be bullshitting. Media domination was in full force. There was even a reality show on basic cable devoted to the church and its way of life: Ho-down Hunnerds.
The object of the reality TV game was simple enough. For every five minutes Cherub Cove man and his woman spent in a soundproofed room without so much as touching each other, they won a hundred dollars. Needless to say, there wasn't, after half a year of Nielsen-clobbering glory, one single couple on the show that won a grand, and barely any that broke 500 bucks.
Why do I know this? "I couldn't care less why you guys became... St. Brit...tani..ennes?" "Brittany-bitches, actually," Jeanie piped up, "but we done purr-fer t'be called cherubs, under the wiggly will of our hunky Lord-man Jesus His Christ-itude." Jackie went, "mmm-hmm, dass right!" and high-fived her sister.
"Whatever!" I roared over a stiffening headache. "I honestly don't give a shit," I lied, "so you don't have to make up some bullshit story about how you knew about it when it was still 'undergound, man.'" Post-orgasm, I had never felt more stoned or more beautifully at ease in all my years, but I was afraid to show it.
Jeanie fought with all her mushed-around might to yank a tube top over her nuzzable, super-womanly titties. "Awww, but we didn't make up no story, big daddy," she whined, spritzing herself with something. It smelled like baked bubblegum and cocoa butter and cum. Like she was spurting out a replenishing dollop of her new essence.
"And we wuddn't on no ding-dong ground floor-type stuff, neither," she drawled in a farmgirl accent that sounded less and less put-on with each word, rolling up her window. "Jackie an' I, us big bitches we is, put together they big ol' webby-site thang after they, like, inter-duced they own shampoo an' shit an' started makin' the mission a little sump'n'. Y'see?"
She brought out her phone and showed me a picture of her in bed with R&B/country singer Shayla Mendoza, a glamour photo shot with all manner of pink bubbles floating around. "This is just a vanity shot, daddy." I have to admit, being called that made my dick rock hard again.
I tried my bst to pull my pants up before either of them noticed. "It's not like I know her know her. I mean, I do kinda sorta know her. Like, she was always real sweet to me and Jackie, at least. She's so kooky and fun in the shower."
"Kooky in the..." I rubbed my head. It felt like grape cotton candy lying out in the country sun. "Wait, so you're telling me you two just got hired into the project sight-unseen? How much money did you make, if you don't mind me asking?" Jeanie took a copy of Fortune out of her handbag and flipped to an earmarked page. For a second, I actually thought she and Jackie might have had a write-up in it. She pulled a polaroid out from some stuck-together pages.
There my stepdaughters were in a faded vision, far from professional-looking. If I hadn't been so invested in the crazy crap unfolding before me, I might have noticed that we were still in the car together. The air was getting stuffier, and there felt like no good reason why we were in there. One of them must have turned the heat on while I was preoccupied with the unnecessary amount of cum cleanup.
Cursing my horrible luck, I took a big strong sniff of the air and felt it slush into my system. Feeling a bit better, I was compelled to recline my seat, letting both girls hover over me and pet my hair at their leisure. It definitely helped me mellow out. That was probably why I didn't react as strongly as I should have when they showed me the photograph.
"Wait, so you two are responsible for the entry page with the legit hypnosis app, then?" They ignored me. "You see that?" Jeanie asked, holding it up closer to mezmerised face, like she was truly concerned for my eyesight. How could I miss it! It was my wife's daughter's shiny and sweaty, heavily made-up faces, each pair of lips happy entertained with its own testicle. Belonging to an inhuman, livestock-y cock.
"That's Monsignor O'Riordan, daddy-waddy," she said, unclasping her fingers from my fist one by one, eventually glomming onto my hand and squeezing it excitedly. "Mom just didn't want to believe that we could make something of ourselves, by ourselves," she said, in a pretend but believable gosh-golly voice.
"Yeah," chimed Jackie, "she has, like no idea we makin' hunnerds of dollars just for stickin' dildos in ourselves on cam!" I was aghast. Hadn't they just told me they were instrumental in the indoctrination of a good goddamned number of girls by willfully designing that page?
Now they were talking about making money just from posing on it? I just had to bite my tongue. I had learned to be lenient with my critcisms and my doubts as to how much truth they were allowing me. All I had to do was stay calm and take a deep breath. Jackie asked if Jeanie knew where a picture was.
"You knooowww," she teased, "the one where we's was all dolled up in gingham wit da empire waiss-es..." She trailed off and put a pen in her o-shaped, jam-colored lips. "We weren't with no underoos on then!" I couldn't seem to find an answer as to what exactly that had to do with web design. Every new bit of evidence since their likely tall tale pointed to their jobs being hardcore-leaning glamour models.
"Nahh, it's somewheres on my phone an I don't feel like wastin' no time lookin' fer it," said Jeanie. "Wait, is you talkin' 'bout that time we played Cowgirl Corral or some such video game thingie, when Duke snuck into our office with that cock-shaped --" I couldn't take much of it anymore. I started giggling and swatting one of the girls' boobs.
Trust me, I don't even give a shit which one it belonged to, and what's more is that they wouldn't either. Jeanie gets all sorts of heated when I have my dick down her throat and I mistakenly call her Jackie, and vice versa.
"I'm sick of that big-ass ugly piece of shit phone." I shot up, grabbed it from Jeanie, and scrolled through her stored numbers. The screen was huge but only accounted for a baker's dozen LCD letters. It took an eternity to pass through our numbers. I laughed at the thing. It looked kind of familiar.
"This is fucking retarded. Two of these numbers are for pop star hotlines, one is for something called... 420 Chicken Pot Pizza, and then you have Jackie's number. I gulped and saw the last one toggle onscreen. "What's... what's 'Dad-Homestead?'" I began to panic, feeling a rough burst of strength course through me as Jackie ran Jeanie's ill-fitting tube top over the driver's side window to defog it.
This had to be my "new house." I could see some shadows on the passenger side, forms hoving closer, that fucking familiar chatter. I put my window down to get a better look. Sticky, humid air flooded in. I noticed the somehow erotic tang of manure and hay before I noticed the cameras pointed my way.
I'd heard about this show. I knew what to do. "Oh, heck!" I fake-lamented directly into one of the handhelds. "I guess I's on 'Stupid Cupids!'" My stepdaughters just laughed along with the crew.
For the rest of the season, the filming of which was spread out over one week, I pretended like I wasn't enjoying any of it. We'd swoop down to Cherub Cove every weekday while my wife was working. They told me midway through the shoot that I was already being edited to look like a strict father, so I played up that angle, because I thought we were getting paid. Lifetime supplies of beauty products and St. Brittany's health shakes don't cut it. Neither do the complimentary Barbecue Bibles.
If I had any idea that this was what our salaries would consist of, I wouldn't have swatted their asses so many times on camera because it "looked paternal." Well, I'm not sure, actually. I'm not one to argue with a producer, though. I smacked their big behinds so much each day that it became a habit. Even when the cameras weren't rolling, I swatted their butts for foreplay. It's become a sort of running joke now.
My wife has no clue about any of it, but the series premieres two Tuesdays from now. Jeanie and Jackie and I want to go somewhere private where we can fuck and watch it, and we know that Dottie never watches TV, but I'm sure someone she knows will rat us out. I'm just hoping that she won't go completely ballistic, and that maybe, just maybe, she can be persuaded into joining the cast for next season.
_____++_ +_ _____++_ +______++_ +______++_ +______++_ +______++_ +______++
I was in the doghouse for something she thought that I'd said, but hadn't. It's hard for me to remember all the details, but to be honest, the drive there was cake. It was the drive back that changed our lives forever.
Let me start off by assuring you that, before five months ago, I had never been too much of a sexual guy. Seriously! Within reason, I mean. I gain absolutely nothing by lying to you.
I'll be honest. If I saw a big butt in tight denim ahead of me in the supermarket checkout, I'd most certainly have looked. I'm a heterosexual male. Biology has the final say. Big butts simply have that direct hook line to my libido.
But I wouldn't be one of those dudes who stopped at nothing to make his presence known, or if that somehow didn't work (it almost always does these days, like a charm) jerk off heatedly, immediately afterward, to coat my dashboard with jizz. Don't get me wrong, here. I'm a man.
Wide-set hips and thick, wobbly tits would certainly have caught my eyes or make me turn my head, especially if a woman was equipped with both. But I never used to have this foul, disgusting animal need like I do now, to use my equipment with hers, and to not even be slightly distracted until I can manage to choke out a load of cum.
I have no one to blame but Jeanie and Jackie. God, if my wife heard me admit that, she'd chop my dick off (although, maybe that's not true -- she certainly has had a lot of fun with it as of late). She's been suspecting me of porking her daughters on the side for the past month or so.
Dottie only thinks there must be something going on with how often I go to the movies with them. She'll eventually find out all that's happening. In fact, I give her two weeks.
We really do go to the movies, though, but really, they only blow me. And I always make them take turns! Besides, I think I caught my wife making out with Jackie. Yes, her own daughter. So it's whatever.
Aw, man, now I'm getting hard and ahead of myself. It all began without incident, just some mild annoyance. Again, just to get back in Dottie's good graces. I was to pick them up at ten in the morning, after their flight landed, and bring them back. It seemed simple enough. I was incredibly naive about it.
"Make sure you guys don't stop over in Cherub Cove for anything," Dottie warned me, believing (stupidly, I thought) that prolonged contact with just the air there could brainwash and tranform people. Let's just say I was very skeptical. She'd heard it on the news, she said.
Maybe I should have called her, or at least texted her to let her know that her daughters just wouldn't stop talking up that place. Though I knew this was rather strange, I didn't. Maybe you think that makes me a pussy. Maybe I just felt like not rocking the boat and worrying her.
Whichever the case, the situation sure wasn't made a hell of a lot better by the kind of swill pulsing from the airwaves and into my Civic. After about forty or fifty miles into the trip, the only stations we could pick up were playing, for lack of a better description... hill-hop.
That's not to say it was country-rap. This wasn't Kid Rock. It was messy, strewn with odd, screechy strings and off-beat jug blows. It was charged with some undeniably sexual energy. I have to admit, I was impressed with it, despite myself, but that doesn't mean I enjoyed it. I just couldn't take my mind off it at all.
Literally. "I ain't a slut, I just suck a lot," was the bubbly refrain in the chorus. At first, I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. Once I heard some bimbette drawl the verse, though, they perked up:
"Life sucks and boy, so don't I / so bust a nut in my black eye." I checked the mirror to see if the girls were as bored as they'd usually be at such insipid garbage. To my horror, Jeanie was playing air fiddle and Jackie was bobbing her head, long with the low end of the tune. I switched over to another station in disgust.
I started yelling. "I don't care if you girls think this... music is funny, or ironic, or whatever, but it's hurting my goddamn brain!" It was unusual for me to do, but it felt good to be a stepdad for a change.
The car was starting to reek of some sort of too-sweet candy. It made my eyes burn, the lids starting to droop if just to protectively cover the irritation. Jackie popped a stick of gum into her mouth and flipped open a sparkly pink phone.
I had never seen the device before. It looked almost like a toy version of a first generation cell phone. She was typing a message on the clunky thing, and, not so much as picking her head up or breaking her concentration onscreen, said, "Jeff's got a stick up his ass", to her sister, who was now pulling a second bangle bracelet on past her wrist.
The whole atmosphere was lots chummier and more playful than I remembered it ever being with them, a feeling that was cemented by Jeanie edging closer to the back of my seat and flicking my ear. "I refuse to believe you two listen to that trash," I said. "Even the goth phase you guys went through was more tolerable than that." Impressions of black nail polish and caked-on white foundation fluttered through my head. It didn't concern me that I remembered these things with new and extreme disgust.
"Awww, what's wrong with it, huh?" Jackie smacked. She leaned in closer in the passenger seat, like she was trying to get me to look back at her. I did. Her mouth looked a little bit bigger -- she smiled with... more teeth, or... something. I thought it had to have been a trick of the light, though, or that maybe it was because I just rarely ever saw her smile.
"Too hawt fer ya?" she nudged, popping a bubble and holding her hand out, idly gazing at her polished nails. I decided I approved of their garish and glittery neon hue, without even considering how strange thinking anything about my wife's daughters was, well, hot.
"Yeah, yeah, too hot for me, yeah right," I said sarcastically, rolling my window down hurriedly, nervy. I knew I needed to change the subject. In reality, I had no business reprimanding these girls for anything. For one, they weren't my kids, and also, they'd just graduated from high school. Young women try out new things. That wasn't a new concept.
"So, when did you start wearing pink nail polish?" The embarrassing fact that I hadn't changed the subject at all, even drove it deeper into inappropriate territory, was smothered by her warming response. In the mid-day glare, I could see Jackie blush. I pretended to divert my attention to another mile of straight, empty road.
I felt like asking her if she was wearing rouge, if she did anything with her hair. What that flirty imitation beauty mark was all about. I came dangerously short of telling my wife's daughter that she reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. I was easing into their infectious enthusiasm. "When did you decide you wanted to look... well - like a girl..." I trailed off. "...should..." I coughed.
Hey -- if they wanted to be so aggressively sociable, I wasn't about to start any unnecessary quarreling. I was still sort of nervous, though. Dottie's girls had never ever seemed to be too interested in girly things. Now Jeanie was applying what I now know to be barbecue -- yes, honey BBQ in fact -- flavored lip gloss.
That afternoon, though, I convinced myself that this couldn't possibly have been what I was smelling. Jeanie was a vegan, for pete's sake. She'd gone so far as to swear off even barbecued tofus or tempehs! The mere suggestion of meat in her food made her lose her appetite.
That afternoon in the back seat, she puckered her new big mouth, looking more than satisfied. That puffy pair of lips gave up after a half-second of struggling to get unstuck. It took a sigh, and a rolling of her eyes that implied a far more intensive labor, to get the candy-colored things open.
Then she slowly, slowly licked them, suggestively screaming out her pleasure with her lapping tongue. Jeanie didn't need to say, "I just love barbecue now!" for me to get the picture. Her juicy mouth was emphatically putting on a show all its own. The long, drawn-out "mmmmmmmm", ending in a blankly horned-out gurgle, was plenty indicative.
I was struck with an idea right as she winked at me. I grabbed my dick to double-check that it was still proper and limp. Jeanie and Jackie erupted in grade-school girly laughs. I willed my penis to ignore them.
"Gee, I'm hungry!" I yawned, hiding a grin. "Thinking of stopping off at the next exit for something... Say, Jeanie -- what do you want on your cheeseburger, hm?" I winked into the rearview. She winked back. She opened her mouth, letting her jaw hang. "Ummm..."
Jackie sucked her tongue, annoyed. "Like, hello! She's a vedge-uh-muh --" Jeanie slapped her manicured hand over her sister's mouth. "Extra bacon's just fine, dad! I don't give a shit about vegetables, neither." I smirked and unbuttoned my collar. She called me dad! But...
Why was I their chauffeur all of a sudden? When had Jackie joined her sister in the back seat? The more I thought about it, the more normal it seemed, so I stopped thinking and just looked at the yin-yang of yummy girl behind me.
"Doesn't even like vegetables," I muttered, playing up the "old man" element. I didn't let myself get too worked up over the depressing and sick notion that I was thinking very randy thoughts about my wife's daughter, and all because her ethics had gotten completely warped or wiped clean somewhere.
I still had a knee-jerk reaction to their BBQ indulgence. I jerked my knee up and propped it to the side of the steering wheel, vaguely recalling how much driving with it impressed one (or both) of them back when they were in junior high, back when I'd started dating Dottie.
I knew I'd have to really squeeze out some dadly disgust for it to come out at all. So it exited my mouth quick, along with unbridled amusement, as Jeanie hid the bottle of lip gloss, generously sized and made to look like a little condiment bottle, between her broad thighs, clasping them shut.
Jackie, almost done with a family size bag of corn chips, wanted to use the beauty product as a dipping sauce. She whined as her sister played keep-away, and I knew I had to say something, or else she'd end up eating Jeanie out.
Did I know that might happen with good reason, or was my imagination running away with me? I can't say. I knew I had to say something, or else I'd let them know how much I actually loved this idea of sibling cunnilingus, for their benefit and mine.
I smacked my forehead, worried. The final straw, my "in", was when one of Jackie's shiny gold hoop earrings got caught in some new and gaudy navel piercing Jeanie got. After only three or so seconds of attempting to wriggle out, Jackie sighed and gave up, cooing on her sister's tummy as she rested her lazy face right on it.
I listened to her start to snore in total disbelief. "What's happened to you girls!?!" I blurted, sharp and deep and angry, surprising even myself. I knew the question was a rhetorical one. I knew I'd be in big, big trouble with the wife.
The girls sat bolt upright and looked shocked, eyes wet and glazing over to match the wet glaze of their lazy open mouths. Twin drippy faces for twin dippy ditzes. The uninvited phrase "daddy's girls" floated into my brain. It wouldn't leave until I mouthed the words, away from them.
It took a lot of willpower to stay on topic, however irrelevantly. "I mean, Jeanie, when did you start eating meat?!" Jackie broke up the heavy mood by crunching her last handful of chips and belching big, her tarted-up face appearing to relax afterward, into an expression she deemed just stupid enough.
"Since she fuckin' felt like it," she giggled, bouncing up and down in the back seat, retrieving a joint from her handbag and lighting it up unselfconsciously. I lost my virile grip of the situation, and I didn't stop her. Some father figure. The closest I came was thinking, Those kids!
I'll come clean. If I had truly felt like being the upstanding sorta-dad, I would have commanded her to put it out. But I swear, we never had a relationship like that! I would pick these girls up from school, drive them to comic book shops, and say "hi." They had shared more words with me in one trip than they had in the previous year.
Meh, I'm making too many excuses right now, I know. I took a healthier-than-healthy hit when offered because I wanted to, playing it cool, barely acknowledging it. "It's been a while," I said, in my best older-guy voice, and tried not to cough.
And there I was: rolling down the interstate with two perky twins, stoned and terrorized on their beauty. It was stabbing me in my guts and in my heart. "What do you have against Cherub Cove?" Jackie asked, referring to me laying out her mother's ground rules early on in the trip.
She was batting her eyelashes at me like some conformity-slathered mallrat. I just choked on weed and words I might have wanted to say. I flicked the radio back on as a concession. I didn't want to get into it. And I didn't want to so much as entertain the possiblity that my stepdaughters were already beginning to be indoctrinated into that sick cult.
I was beginning to feel pretty helpless, and getting much too stoned was feeling inevitable, but part of me felt like I would be in even deeper shit with my wife no matter what. Even though I planned on whizzing right past Cherub Cove on the way back home, her children already showed signs of the... reprogramming, or whatever... family way flu, or whatever, was.
I looked behind to Jackie and inspected her hips for the first time, but was extra-embarrassed and didn't linger long at all. I took a fourth or fifth hit and tossed the joint out my window, cursing the familiar, blood-pumping insistence now taking over my crotch.
I was determined to stop the girls from doing drugs. I only made sure we were all good and high, first, that's all. I tried to will myself not to get a boner. It didn't take long at all for me to give in and luxuriate in the feeling.
I was somehow able to remind myself that, though these weren't my kids, I was still the only adult in the car. I'm gawking at an eighteen-year-old's thighs. I couldn't stop, though, not then, when she had eased them apart ever-so-slightly. Like they were winking at my sex drive.
Yup. They were thicker. Definitely thicker. Much thicker. The demonic brain at the base of my balls was pleading with me to flirt more openly, to let them know with no mistake that I more than noticed how womanly they both looked.
Jackie again asked what my beef with Cherub Cove was. She closed her legs. It looked like it took some amount of effort. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't play her game by the rules. My brain begged me to stop this all before it could really start. My hardon told me to play strip poker with my voice.
"The women there are all fat," I deadpanned, adding a bunch of gravel, and grabbed the cigarette she was smoking right out of her hand. They "pshawed" me. Then I took a couple drags and threw that out the window too. Rolling it and the others up, I turned on the air conditioner.
It was safe to say the warm breeze was getting to my head. I was going to be in the deepest doo-doo with my wife. It seemed now like the only likelihood. Little hints were being ignored just as much as bigger, practically screaming indicators were.
There wasn't a millimeter's room for any doubt as to just what was happening with the girls. I think I probably realized this when Jeanie took her shirt off. Just took it right off. My mouth popped open to chide her, but I shut it right back up when she glared at me with a snotty "What!" look.
You know, it's kind of funny. It didn't even cross my mind then that, as an act, it was totally, without any exception, very out of line. I was much more concerned with the size of her breasts! Though this preoccupation merely registered in telling my jaw to drop, smile, and ruminate on the then-beautiful, seemingly poignant word: biiiig.
Not huge by any means, just... nice. Very full and hot and nice. Oh, how I wish I could shake this initial image from my brain. No matter how big they get -- and apparently they're not even close to being... done -- that image of her in the back seat, craning her neck proudly, fiddling around with another crinkly bag to grab a massive donut to munch on, is seared hot into my memory.
I wasn't always this perverted, I swear. It was just such a shocker to see the girl's open-aired girls rippling and bouncing like they were, because, I'm telling you, Jeanie never had any use for a training bra beforehand. I'd sometimes have to help Dottie console her after school when she'd come home in tears because someone talked shit about her bee-stings.
I cursed my dumb luck. I felt guilty and ashamed. Those tits brought me back down to reality. Not too long before, I felt like a model husband. But in the end, I was the one who okayed their idea to take a trip to St. Brittany's Megamilky Music Party Fun Times.
I guess I thought that it would be harmless, I don't know. I regret it, even if I'm getting like five blowjobs a day. The girls hadwanted to go to make fun of the whole event and get some choice footage for YouTube. I never thought for a second that any of that stuff was real, that the rumors held any itty bitty tinge of truth.
Naturally, I was wrong, but before this could even prove itself to be the case, I'd gotten into a huge fight with Dottie about allowing them to go in the first place. I was sure that a million more arguments were headed straight for me like a bullet train. The two giggly girls bouncing around in my back seat dulled and smoothed out my worries, but didn't completely erase them.
I could only imagine what my wife was going to say. "That's all, Jeff?! Really. I'm supposed to be happy with this 'explanation'? That my daughters magically grew big boobs for no reason and that you had simply had no choice but to let them fuck you with them?!"
Even the tamer versions of us fighting that I imagined were pitiful losses on my part. Okay, okay. I think I get it, maybe. So they weren't masturbating until you came inside both of their cleavages?
I bitch-slapped one of my cheeks. I'm not positive what was going on in my brain, I suppose I just assumed that a titfuck was inevitable, for whatever reason, and was already worming around some ideas that would make it all seem so plausible... you know... to their concerned mother.
Jeanie reached up from behind me and cranked the volume on the car stereo way, way up. "Oh. My. Uh-Gawwwd!" She literally squealed, like an ecstatic frollicking pig. "It's Shayla's new single!" Her soft arms took their time to fall back down to her squirming lap. Suddenly, I was getting a massage from her.
As the backbeat surged up my spine and rattled the whole damn car, my body stiffened. I smelled a faint but undeniable aroma of cow shit, wafting and pushing its way through the plastic princess BBQ candy perfume that my car was marinating in.
I felt a disconcerting lump bubble up, down at the bottom of my throat. I'd been sweating for a while, but it was then that I started to feel every bead. Blanching, I ripped my stepdaughter's hand off of my shoulder. "Just what in the fuck are you doing?" I demanded, confused upon confused. Jeanie and Jackie just laughed at me and turned the radio down a notch.
"Jeanie was wonderin' when you was gonna snap out of it," Jackie giggled. "Thought we done lost ya to da open road for a hawt li'l second right thurr." I looked at her, my jaw ajar, no doubt looking as idiotic as she'd looked earlier. "You was just starin' on into th' spacey-place for the past forty-odd minutes."
I noticed that not only was she shirtless now, but she wasn't even wearing a bra, either. Or jeans. Or any sort of conceit at underwear. I noticed this, of course, before I noticed the car was sputtering to a stop. I stared long and hard ahead, taking dejected note of the gravel road.
"You... fucking..." I couldn't think in anything but a revved-up circle. "You... girls, be... good girls and take your goddamn clothes off -- I mean, put your goddamn clothes on. Right fuckin' now!" I could hear the sound of a bra unhooking in the back seat, a resulting high-pitched sigh.
Jackie had the gall to reach into her purse and gra a tube of baby oil, dousing her tits in the stuff right there next to me. "Or what!" she shouted. "What're yew gon' do about it, huh, daddy?" She pouted to emphasize this last zinger.
When she slushed boobs-first down to the floor of the car to put the baby oil back in her handbag, I could see through her foggy window to the sign I half-knew was there already: WELCOME TO CHERUB COVE, Y'ALL!
"I'll call your mother!" I shouted, my anger getting crazier by the second, flexing chest and neck muscles I never knew I had, drumming the steering wheel savagely with an open fist. I knew I had to take control, had to be a man.
"Oh yeah?" cooed Jackie, circling a substantial areola with her middle finger. She'd come back up to the passenger side, as if magically, most likely when he was trancing out. "I don't know if'n that's wiiiise, big daddy. Omigod, like -- whatchoo gon' say, anyhow?"
She looked back at Jeanie and they both snickered, four nude titties jiggling their own delight in tow. Despite my chaste-ish intentions, I was getting a mean hardon again. I hoped that, by some miracle, neither would notice. I recognized, dimly, that I was living out a douchebag dad's craziest fantasy. God damn it, I didn't want to be a douchebag dad! I still don't...
My bimboized stepdaughters were humiliating me. "Well, honey," Jackie said, utilizing her best gruff dad voice, "your daughters are in their underwear and I think they're trying to --" I opened my mouth to remind her that she didn't have underwear on when her phone rang.
The ringtone was, I shit you not, the sound of a woman climaxing. "Oh hi, mom!" The girls laughed together for the millionth time. I was about to scream bloody murder when I felt Jeanie reach forward yet again, this time to gag me. I moaned and groaned, seething, until Jackie started rubbing her sister's freshly-shucked panties onto my nose, even as she was benignly chatting with her mother.
They smelled, well, fucking incredible. An elemental, prehistoric feeling floated along with the scent. It told me that these two high-school graduates could teach me more about sex than any woman I'd ever been with, least of all their mother. It was hard to mistake pungent undertones of ripe fertility.
"Oh-psshhh -- naw, mom," Jackie continued, as calm and believable as she used to be, once upon a faraway-seeming time. She shoved some of the balled-up undies further down my throat, while lifting the opposite end closer to my nostrils, waving it around like a flag. "We're just gettin' some dinner."
I didn't dare look, exhausted from caring, but I could feel two or three hands stroking my cock. It seemed to be getting bigger as it was getting harder. I didn't look down, I did not want to believe it. Jackie rolled her window down. Now all I could smell were cows and fake raspberries.
"No, mom," she said. "First of all he's not my dad," she winked over pitch-perfect feigned sarcasm. "Your second husband's in the bathroom." Then she began to work my shaft with her own tiny bunched-up panties. I would have laughed if given the opportunity.
"Not sure. I think I'm probably gonna get cream of mushroom," she said, squirting some baby oil onto my bone. I bit my lip then let it gush and flow right onto her left eyebrow. "Okay, mom." She giggled. "Okay. Love you too."
I heard a stroller roll by as my gag lifted. "Nuh-uh, we're not lost! We'll be home so soon." Jackie looked at her cum-caked wrist, then up at me with playfully mock "disbelief". Then she licked it off and straightened up. "I can't wait to see you either," she said sweetly, but looked at me, giving an air blowjob with her hand.
Flipping her huge, ridiculous phone shut and wiping some stray semen off of it, she stepped out of the car. She lit a cigarette and stretched, naked as the day God made her, or, to be more apt, as the day "God" remade her.
She ducked down outside my door, boobies falling down and in the open window, and peered in. "Don't you go on a-worryin'," she heaved, and smooched me sloppily on the cheek. "Y'know I, like, love you too an' shit, daddy-waddy."
Minutes later, they were nice enough to give me a straight answer to precisely how they'd heard of the church of Saint Brittany. "The internet?" I asked dismissively. I cleaned my sticky dick off with Jackie's doused undies. She didn't seem too eager to put them back on anytime soon, anyway.
"That's such a cliche. I thought you girls were above being so typical." They had to be bullshitting. Media domination was in full force. There was even a reality show on basic cable devoted to the church and its way of life: Ho-down Hunnerds.
The object of the reality TV game was simple enough. For every five minutes Cherub Cove man and his woman spent in a soundproofed room without so much as touching each other, they won a hundred dollars. Needless to say, there wasn't, after half a year of Nielsen-clobbering glory, one single couple on the show that won a grand, and barely any that broke 500 bucks.
Why do I know this? "I couldn't care less why you guys became... St. Brit...tani..ennes?" "Brittany-bitches, actually," Jeanie piped up, "but we done purr-fer t'be called cherubs, under the wiggly will of our hunky Lord-man Jesus His Christ-itude." Jackie went, "mmm-hmm, dass right!" and high-fived her sister.
"Whatever!" I roared over a stiffening headache. "I honestly don't give a shit," I lied, "so you don't have to make up some bullshit story about how you knew about it when it was still 'undergound, man.'" Post-orgasm, I had never felt more stoned or more beautifully at ease in all my years, but I was afraid to show it.
Jeanie fought with all her mushed-around might to yank a tube top over her nuzzable, super-womanly titties. "Awww, but we didn't make up no story, big daddy," she whined, spritzing herself with something. It smelled like baked bubblegum and cocoa butter and cum. Like she was spurting out a replenishing dollop of her new essence.
"And we wuddn't on no ding-dong ground floor-type stuff, neither," she drawled in a farmgirl accent that sounded less and less put-on with each word, rolling up her window. "Jackie an' I, us big bitches we is, put together they big ol' webby-site thang after they, like, inter-duced they own shampoo an' shit an' started makin' the mission a little sump'n'. Y'see?"
She brought out her phone and showed me a picture of her in bed with R&B/country singer Shayla Mendoza, a glamour photo shot with all manner of pink bubbles floating around. "This is just a vanity shot, daddy." I have to admit, being called that made my dick rock hard again.
I tried my bst to pull my pants up before either of them noticed. "It's not like I know her know her. I mean, I do kinda sorta know her. Like, she was always real sweet to me and Jackie, at least. She's so kooky and fun in the shower."
"Kooky in the..." I rubbed my head. It felt like grape cotton candy lying out in the country sun. "Wait, so you're telling me you two just got hired into the project sight-unseen? How much money did you make, if you don't mind me asking?" Jeanie took a copy of Fortune out of her handbag and flipped to an earmarked page. For a second, I actually thought she and Jackie might have had a write-up in it. She pulled a polaroid out from some stuck-together pages.
There my stepdaughters were in a faded vision, far from professional-looking. If I hadn't been so invested in the crazy crap unfolding before me, I might have noticed that we were still in the car together. The air was getting stuffier, and there felt like no good reason why we were in there. One of them must have turned the heat on while I was preoccupied with the unnecessary amount of cum cleanup.
Cursing my horrible luck, I took a big strong sniff of the air and felt it slush into my system. Feeling a bit better, I was compelled to recline my seat, letting both girls hover over me and pet my hair at their leisure. It definitely helped me mellow out. That was probably why I didn't react as strongly as I should have when they showed me the photograph.
"Wait, so you two are responsible for the entry page with the legit hypnosis app, then?" They ignored me. "You see that?" Jeanie asked, holding it up closer to mezmerised face, like she was truly concerned for my eyesight. How could I miss it! It was my wife's daughter's shiny and sweaty, heavily made-up faces, each pair of lips happy entertained with its own testicle. Belonging to an inhuman, livestock-y cock.
"That's Monsignor O'Riordan, daddy-waddy," she said, unclasping her fingers from my fist one by one, eventually glomming onto my hand and squeezing it excitedly. "Mom just didn't want to believe that we could make something of ourselves, by ourselves," she said, in a pretend but believable gosh-golly voice.
"Yeah," chimed Jackie, "she has, like no idea we makin' hunnerds of dollars just for stickin' dildos in ourselves on cam!" I was aghast. Hadn't they just told me they were instrumental in the indoctrination of a good goddamned number of girls by willfully designing that page?
Now they were talking about making money just from posing on it? I just had to bite my tongue. I had learned to be lenient with my critcisms and my doubts as to how much truth they were allowing me. All I had to do was stay calm and take a deep breath. Jackie asked if Jeanie knew where a picture was.
"You knooowww," she teased, "the one where we's was all dolled up in gingham wit da empire waiss-es..." She trailed off and put a pen in her o-shaped, jam-colored lips. "We weren't with no underoos on then!" I couldn't seem to find an answer as to what exactly that had to do with web design. Every new bit of evidence since their likely tall tale pointed to their jobs being hardcore-leaning glamour models.
"Nahh, it's somewheres on my phone an I don't feel like wastin' no time lookin' fer it," said Jeanie. "Wait, is you talkin' 'bout that time we played Cowgirl Corral or some such video game thingie, when Duke snuck into our office with that cock-shaped --" I couldn't take much of it anymore. I started giggling and swatting one of the girls' boobs.
Trust me, I don't even give a shit which one it belonged to, and what's more is that they wouldn't either. Jeanie gets all sorts of heated when I have my dick down her throat and I mistakenly call her Jackie, and vice versa.
"I'm sick of that big-ass ugly piece of shit phone." I shot up, grabbed it from Jeanie, and scrolled through her stored numbers. The screen was huge but only accounted for a baker's dozen LCD letters. It took an eternity to pass through our numbers. I laughed at the thing. It looked kind of familiar.
"This is fucking retarded. Two of these numbers are for pop star hotlines, one is for something called... 420 Chicken Pot Pizza, and then you have Jackie's number. I gulped and saw the last one toggle onscreen. "What's... what's 'Dad-Homestead?'" I began to panic, feeling a rough burst of strength course through me as Jackie ran Jeanie's ill-fitting tube top over the driver's side window to defog it.
This had to be my "new house." I could see some shadows on the passenger side, forms hoving closer, that fucking familiar chatter. I put my window down to get a better look. Sticky, humid air flooded in. I noticed the somehow erotic tang of manure and hay before I noticed the cameras pointed my way.
I'd heard about this show. I knew what to do. "Oh, heck!" I fake-lamented directly into one of the handhelds. "I guess I's on 'Stupid Cupids!'" My stepdaughters just laughed along with the crew.
For the rest of the season, the filming of which was spread out over one week, I pretended like I wasn't enjoying any of it. We'd swoop down to Cherub Cove every weekday while my wife was working. They told me midway through the shoot that I was already being edited to look like a strict father, so I played up that angle, because I thought we were getting paid. Lifetime supplies of beauty products and St. Brittany's health shakes don't cut it. Neither do the complimentary Barbecue Bibles.
If I had any idea that this was what our salaries would consist of, I wouldn't have swatted their asses so many times on camera because it "looked paternal." Well, I'm not sure, actually. I'm not one to argue with a producer, though. I smacked their big behinds so much each day that it became a habit. Even when the cameras weren't rolling, I swatted their butts for foreplay. It's become a sort of running joke now.
My wife has no clue about any of it, but the series premieres two Tuesdays from now. Jeanie and Jackie and I want to go somewhere private where we can fuck and watch it, and we know that Dottie never watches TV, but I'm sure someone she knows will rat us out. I'm just hoping that she won't go completely ballistic, and that maybe, just maybe, she can be persuaded into joining the cast for next season.
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