Hell's Household
Chapter 1

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Fiction, Paranormal, Gang Bang, Orgy, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Transformation,

Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Sequel to Hell's Housewife, a young succubus comes of age amidst scheming, skull-duggery, and supernatural sex. XXXecil for hire Commission story;

A cackle erupted from the throat of a smoke-shrouded man as he waved his arms in fluid circuits above the dun-colored stone floor. His face was adorned with black eye-paint made from tar that had suffocated a virgin. His nose and lips were pierced with rings forged from molten metal harvested from the charred wreckage of a fatal house fire. Though nearly hoarse from chanting the invocations of direst wickedness, neither pain, fear, or any lingering vestige of morality would deter Erebus Cain from his blasphemous objective.

Channels had been pain-painstakingly etched into the floor, which allowed the blood of tortured goats to flow into intricate pathways of arcane symbolism. The dark red candles that flickered as they emitted their slow heat came from wax that had been rendered from the fat of seven condemned mass-murderers from around the world. Each one had escaped prison to kill again before being recaptured and finally executed.

A burning brazier to his left hissed with burning coals and red-hot metal. It contained an amulet inscribed with an arcane rune written in a forbidden language whose last speakers had been slaughtered for Witchcraft in a distant eon before the Egyptians raised their pyramids.

""Esh' Ult-kra' athrah! Esh' Ult-kra' naka thok! Sarai'erothkok! Sarai'erothkok!" Howled Erebus Cain in the same forbidden witch-tongue of ancient horror found in blood-inscribed texts thought burned in the great library of Alexandria. Erebus took the red-hot amulet from the fires and looped the sizzling chain around his own neck. Laughing, cackling in delight - knowing the power that would soon be his.

He knew that sexual excitement was necessary to resist torture, and through years of grueling preparation and mutilation, he was able to muster up his arousal despite the roasting of his own flesh. He must keep the burning medallion in place for six-hundred and sixty-six seconds. His mind partitioned itself as Erebus enveloped himself in the suicidal certainty of the insane. He laughed yet again in delight at his own power and control as his mighty penis surged yet fuller, harder and longer in the midst of this withering torment.

It was working; the pool of mingled blood in the center of the Circle began to bubble and swirl as his penis lengthened. The blood burst into flames suddenly, and without thermodynamic provocation as unwholesome shapes thrashed and rippled within the sanguine mass. Then, the shapes changed. They became more human-like, arms? Was that a shoulder? Soon a head appeared. The blood oozed as if flowing away from a form within it, yet not a trace of skin could be seen beneath, it was a face formed entirely from blood itself. A face ... a woman's face rose from the pool.

For no logical reason, the room grew dangerously cold in mere moments. The temperature seemed to drop at least fifty degrees in less time than it took to say it. As if some dreadful, lurking power was displaying utter contempt for the pathetic laws of nature. And so from the pool emerged a bust of a glorious woman carved in blood. A perfect sculpture of an impossibly beautiful woman carved in an equally impossible medium.

Now was the test, all would be lost if Erebus could not maintain his male prowess for the proscribed length of time, all the while the skin of his chest charred. But in moments more, his mental count concluded, and it was time for the next step to begin. Chest heaving, skin flush with heat and sweat, Erebus Cain stepped forward and pressed his hardening cock to the plump lips of the unnatural sculpture. The mouth made of solid blood opened, and bitter cold assailed him as the form began to suck him off. His every nerve screamed out in delicious torture from the diametric contrast of these physical extremes; flesh burning as his manhood froze. The anguish was almost sufficient to dampen his male resolve.


But then she arose.

He had never seen a woman so voluptuous and yet so tall, the she-devil stood a few inches short of seven feet in height, yet the sweeping splendor of her gorgeous form was more ripe and randy than any porn-slut could hope to achieve. She emerged from the center of the circle, the blood did not drip off of her, but rather seemed to ... become her. Erebus's willingness and ability to remain aroused under such extreme conditions secured the magic, and summoned this feminine abomination from beyond space and time. The pool of blood was barely two inches deep, yet the demoness somehow emerged as if climbing an invisible staircase up to her full, unearthly height.

After centuries of evil and seduction her skin was still every bit as silky and supple now as it had been a millennia ago. Her breasts were massive, high, perky and temptingly round. Erebus's eyes were riveted to her devilish endowments as they defied both morality and physics as the massive melons swayed brazenly before his eyes. Only with both thumbs touching would the summoner be able to encompass the mammalian grandeur of each tit. He snarled with an animal urge to bury his face in that pencil-swallowing natural cleavage that her bosom maintained even without the benefit of a bra. Cascades of ruby-red hair trailed onto each sweeping breast like lava down a volcano slope.

Bat-like black and red wings unfolded luxuriously as she swayed her red tail. It was not the mythical arrow-pointed devil's tail, the end was more like a scorpion's stinger.

"Mistress of Flame and Lust..." Erebus began.

"I am yours to command..." The demoness purred in a voice to send tingles along the penis.

"Now demon, you will submit to my will as I bind you with a mighty ritual!" Erebus Cain pointed threateningly at her bosom. The demoness smiled coyly and shifted her ripe hips to accentuate her fantastic curves.

"Through the great working of sorcery I shall conceive, you shall aid me in bringing a new, dark age of lust and mayhem upon this benightedly mortal world!" The achingly perfect face of the horned she-devil nodded slightly, but was there a hint of skepticism in her expression.

"You doubt me, Mistress of Flame and Lust, but I am privy to the deepest mysteries of the cosmos, wedded to magics both dark and terrible in a way that the petty, scurrying mortals dare not imagine!" He clenched his fist with frothing-mouthed megalomania.

"And ... what role am I to play in your sweeping plans of Earth-shattering importance?" She cooed. Before responding, Erebus put his hand upon her generous hips to caress the thighs and ass of the sultry sex-devil. A growl of lust erupted from his lips.

"My spell ... will plant my Sigil upon you, binding my fate to yours; after which..." He licked the underside of a massive boob, thrilling at the throbbing heat of her sumptuous flesh. "I will then plant my ... seed within you, succubus ... and you will grow ripe with the half-breed young I shall father upon you; each child born shall be a demonic seductress, that I shall use to create an invisible army of magic and enticement, that will allow me to squeeze this world of every scrap of wealth and power, whilst delivering yet more souls unto you!" Was that a momentary flash of anger upon her flawless face?

"From your womb, I shall spawn a coven of hell-whores that shall serve as my personal harem and agents of seduction and assassination! You should be pleased, succubus. By breeding half-demon spawn to be released on this Earth, you shall be responsible for much mayhem in the world of mortals." Erebus thought it strange, the ravishing harlot of hell nodded, but raised her eyebrows in an expression one might reserve for a beloved dog that had just vomited on the carpet.

"The task you propose ... is a daunting one." Her voice was like acidic honey. "For me to breed a harem of demonesses under your control ... it would not be easy to - satisfy the appetites of a - of my kind." She caressed his shoulders, and began to smother his stripe-painted face with her voluminous boobage. "If you cannot satisfy the fiery cravings of young demonesses, your fate will be - other than what you suspect."

"Dare not underestimate my resolve, succubus!" He jabbed a finger into her soft tit. Of course, as close as she was standing, it was difficult to make any movements that would not at some point involve touching her breasts. She caressed his leg with her own soft, feminine foot with red, clawed nails.

"Do you truly know what it is feel a lust so strong that you would destroy yourself for gratification?" That was when the musk hit him. The sinister, brimstone-hinted musk that at once repelled and attracted. An odor at once unwholesome yet compelling; promising vile ruttings and sweat-stained sheets, with urges that neither could deny. Erebus quivered, his penis bobbing, yet when his fluttering eyelids opened once more, his expression remained resolute.

"I have the power to compel you, succubus. And why should you resist? Is this not why you exist? For lust, and sex, and mayhem? I grant you the chance to bring fresh souls to your burning realm of tortured brimstone with rivers of blood and flame! My forbidden sorceries have created an opportunity for you to birth a new dark-age from betwixt your shapely thighs!"

"And we shall see, wizard ... whether you are the man ... whether you are - up ... to the task." She brushed his rigid, wildly erect penis as she walked around him in a circle. She returned to his face and began an indecent posturing, bending over deliberately as she used her tail to caress and accentuate her impossibly curvaceous ass. Hellish musk assailed Erebus, causing him to gnash his teeth in lust. His hands upon her flesh. He moaned as he palmed and kneaded skin more supple than he could have imagined. To touch her seething flesh! Her skin was like milk woven into fabric, and made into a pillow. The slightest brush, or a feverish grip was absolute female perfection.

The demoness Sarai'erothkok, was not at all on the same page as this cackling psychopath. But she had eons of experience with men in general, and his type of man specifically. He had to be handled quickly, but indirectly. That was the problem with being summoned; any half-way competent mage would put all sorts of wards preventing her from directly harming him. She needed to get back to her 'burning realm of tortured brimstone'. It was her turn to drive carpool from the daycare center.

By allowing herself a more youthful and sensuous body, the demon's clueless husband had responded with even greater vigor than she'd hoped; and it wasn't long before the disguised demon had another bun in her oven. Two buns. Twins, it turned out. She had cast spells to ensure that they would be born human, and as her real-world family grew; she found herself with absolutely no desire to sow demonic mayhem in the community. She caressed the wizard's shoulders as she put on a lying smile. She had no wish to be summoned, did not want to rip open portals in reality to accommodate armies of evil, nor was she interested in seducing the powerful to plunge the nations of man into ruin.

She'd dealt with summoners before, and would have to handle this one accordingly. There was just no way she would put up with being magically yanked out of soccer-games, PTA-meetings, or her bake-sales to turn into a demon and allow this freak to get his rocks off. Yes ... centuries ago, she had relished this sort of thing, now it was beyond annoying.

She never allowed anyone to summon her twice.

First, she would give him a taste of what he wanted, then she would overwhelm him. Despite his control and maniacal strength of will, the sight of her, the feel of her in the flesh was overcoming his restraint. Quivering with lust, the crazed wizard poised his manhood at the moist slit of her sex, preparing himself for the narcotic pleasure that would result from copulating with this most potent of sex-demons.

There were still other spells he would need to accomplish what he wanted. And she couldn't allow him to cast them, or summon her again. If she had to breed a harem for this creep it could mean almost a dozen more manifestations before she could magically birth enough demonic nymphomaniacs to kill this fool with heart-failure from orgasms. (It wasn't like anyone hadn't thought of this before, down through the ages.) But it was the nature of men to bite off more than they could chew. But it would take too long to give this fool the means he needed to fuck himself to death; she needed a faster solution!

He was so close, his cock near enough to feel the radiating waves of infernal heat from her diabolically delightful sex. That was when she struck. Over the eons, she had mastered the sexual responses of both male and female bodies, and so it was with perfect precision and effectiveness that she thrust her tail directly, swiftly into his ass. The point struck his prostate gland with just enough force to provide maximum stimulation with no tissue damage, followed by the potent release of her erototoxin. The scorpion's stinger on the tip pumped out an incredible protein that triggered immediate, overwhelming enhancement of human sexual organs, in a way that would have confounded the most experienced modern doctor.

Erebus Cain shrieked in surprise, arching his back and raising his face to the ceiling. Cheeks reddening, heart pounding as the orgasm ripped through him. His seed splashed uselessly against the firm curves of the demon's silky ass as he spasmed in hellish ecstasy. She found herself content to reject his sperm. Sarai'erothkok had worked out a rhythm over the years with her husband. She could give him the best sex of his life, without bursting a blood-vessel, and his cum was enough that she could sustain herself with her powers at a low ebb. Despite the twist of hunger in her groin, she had the willpower to resist feasting on the wizard's semen. If she needed more than her husband could provide, she could always shape shift and go drain the collective balls of the local Sigma-Chi frat house. Always eager to provide enough spunk to sustain a demon for almost a year of constant activity.

So Erebus collapsed, wracked with explosive orgasms, his dick raging, ejaculating beyond all control. Sarai'erothkok gritted her teeth, again burning with the need to feast on his male release, despite herself. But she had other problems. She raised her arms, casting a spell of her own as the wizard went out of his mind with toe-curling delight. Around the room where blasphemous arcane texts centuries old, most written with blood as ink, some substituting papyrus with human skin. She knew which ones she needed. Fingers of mist reached out and began to corrupt the writing. Her spell would subtly alter the placements of the words themselves on the page, ensuring that any future summoning would go wrong.

A skilled mage would have enough text memorized to spot obvious changes, so instead she simply switched around accent marks and apostrophes on several fourteen-syllable compound words written in the forbidden witch-language. A casual glance wouldn't even catch the changes. Even an in-depth scrutiny would likely be clueless. But the effects would be ... similar. Except that it wouldn't be her that was summoned!

When Erebus cast his spell again, he would actually be targeting another demon of her lineage. Except that there weren't any others of her kind bound by the wards that would be substituted! He would think to summon her, but if all went well, all he would do was open a gateway to the outer-darkness! Her red lips furled in a pleasant smile. Perhaps NASA would detect his desiccated corpse orbiting the International Space Station!

"For next time, we don't like being called Succubi. That's a myth. I am Lilim. I am the reality!" She growled at the thrashing figure. Common misconception.

But next time would be more difficult; for now all the wizard would notice would be his cock. Her erototoxin was having a dramatic effect in mere moments. Already, his seven inches had grown to eight and a half, his balls were tight and swollen, and his orgasm had been an ongoing eruption of paralytic pleasure. The sultry demoness chuckled to herself. So he wanted a harem did he? Just as well, her demonic venom would send him into a spiraling overload of virility. His dick would grow ever larger, and his sexual capacity would sky-rocket beyond belief. His body would make sperm faster and easier than spit. He could screw a dozen women and not go limp. He could spend eight hours a day ejaculating into whatever cunt fell into his clutches and it would not be enough. And with the size his cock would be, he would never be able to wear pants again. It would take a drug breakthrough just to get him to stop being erect!

Most importantly, if he could ever get control of his supernova sexuality long enough to cast another spell, he wouldn't summon her. It would be some other demon.

A demon she was sure didn't exist.

Eleven. A lousy eleven. Heather Cox had been doing gymnastics since high-school, but despite experience, she could feel her control slipping. And she knew why. Or ... thought she knew. Here and now, at the collegiate level, they had moved on to a new scoring system that the Olympic committee had developed, one that went up to sixteen. The greater range of numbers was intended to reward athletes that attempted more complicated routines, in addition to how well they actually jumped and twirled.

Heather was excellent on the pommel horse, but her grip had been weaker and she'd lost the rhythm she'd established earlier as her legs pirouetted and twirled in the florescent light.

She knew what the problem was.

It was the audience.

She panted as she bobbed up and down on her toes, stretching the sheer white fabric of her spandex leotard, seeming uncomfortable around her breasts again. But that was nothing unusual, even in high-school she'd been a busty gal. With her darling double-D's, there had been a lot of doubt as to whether she had a hope of performing serious routines! Hah! Who was she kidding; her chest was waaaay beyond the D-range! Her balloon-like boobs were positively pornographic in dimension! The couch had laughed when Heather had first tried out. Best female athletes were pretty flat by comparison. Yet Heather had always maintained an almost preternatural dexterity and control of her body. Her toned legs had only gotten stronger, more shapely since high-school, towering and sculpted. She was developing the figure of an ideal work-out babe, yet with the largest tits on the gymnastics squad her womanly charms were growing beyond formidable.

Up close, most guys seemed to want to bob their heads up and down like yo-yo's as they tried to decide whether to stare at the shapely power of her perfect legs, or the ripened boobage that fought against containment in her spandex leotard. And she always wore white, as often as possible. Her curves were more pronounced.

But more than becoming athletic, she felt that she was - becoming ... growing ... she was on a path that needed to be brought to final resolution. What she hoped to achieve or become ... she couldn't be sure yet. She was sure that she relished the electric thrill that came from having men ogle her. A little taller, since high-school, strange though - her breasts seemed ... perkier, than in the past. Twin globes of ripe womanly splendor jutted fiercely from the thin white fabric, almost as if her boobs wanted to thrust forward yet further to make up for the restraint imposed by the tight top. Her mountainous G-cups seemed to rise upwards with the passage of time; as if her plump mams were dissatisfied with the attention received from the groping hands of high-school guys, and wanted to jut upwards to prominence to attract yet more admirers.

Other things had changed since High school as well. Her hair was getting positively ... redder. It had begun to grow out a deep, almost blood-like color. Weird thing was, even when she dyed it different colors, she could always detect a trace of that intense ruby hue seeping back in, and not in the roots either! The hair dyes she used must be too cheap.

But her performance was slipping lately.

Luckily this was just practice, but the whispers would begin; ' ... just too big for this sport!' or -

" ... getting in the way of her routine!..."

But Heather knew what she needed. The stands were sparsely populated, and that was part of the problem. Well, her turn was done, now she had to wait and reflect on what went wrong. Oh look, here mom was back. Should Heather be more worried about her mom's weird behavior? Well, after all these years it was becoming the new normal. Sarah Cox returned to the stands with a smile and a wave signifying the boundless enthusiasm that only a parent can muster. But Heather could detect a faint brown spot on the front of her floral-print dress.

Yeah, a couple of times every month, mom would get this frantic look on her face, as if she'd just eaten the world's spiciest hot pepper, then she would run off to the bathroom - if in public, or the basement at home. When she emerged, she often had strange burn marks on her clothes. She would mutter something about being clumsy with cigarettes and try to change the subject. Heather had never been able to work out just what she was doing. Oh well, the busty young college sophomore certainly had secrets of her own! Cheating on Dad? Naw ... it was clear that much of the time she was sealed up in locked, empty rooms. No way anyone could be in their with her.

Then her appearance changed; four years ago she'd been a totally flat-chested frump of a has-been. Middle-age having taken any shred of glamor she might once have possessed. Then, she disappeared for a surprise trip out of town, where she'd undergone some sort of super-experimental plastic surgery. She'd breezed back into their lives with the body and face of a mega-milf. At least ten years younger, incredible tits, even her hips were wider! How was it no one had heard of the doctor she'd gone to? Heather had been totally flummoxed for months after.

Dad ... didn't seem to mind much. They went at each other twice a day, like newlyweds again! Mom's new figure could have won over a stud half her age, but no. It was all for Dad. After the way they were, it was a surprise Mom didn't get knocked up sooner. Now Heather had two baby twin sisters to help out with - not leaving much time to snoop around and figure out what the hell was up with Sarah Evans Cox.

Oh look, next up for her routine was a girl that made Heather growl with disgust. Tina Terwiliger sprang happily upon the mat and began a series of cart-wheels used to catapult herself into a graceful back flip as energetic, pump-you-up music began to bark from the speakers. Tina had beaten the odds; got knocked up in High-school, given birth to twins, but still managed to attend college and keep up with all her classes. The curly blond made no secret of her disdain for Heather; scarcely believing that the girl could rival her own dexterity with those mountains on her chest. Tina's own endowments were scarcely more than a slender B-cup, tips of her nipples barely more than two inches from her chest

"Little Miss Terrible-Two..." Heather breathed mockingly in a low voice. Despite the moniker, Terwiliger's skills were exemplary, speed and grace magnificent as she cavorted and twirled legs, hips, and arms in a swaying rhythm of dexterous showmanship (or womanship).

Ah - but look, across the mat on the other side of the Gymnasium was a guy ... yeah - that was Barry - a somewhat uninspiring fellow that attended the local community college - out of Heather's immediate social circle, which was a plus. There was really no reason for Barry to be here.

No reason except her.

Heather had made it clear that he was welcome to all her practices as a gesture of -whhhooah!!

Heather gasped sharply as her spine tingled. Yes! This was it! She knew, she could feel what was coming! Barry. His eyes upon her. Well, her tits at least. Apparently, it wasn't like this for all girls. Heather had found that when a guy really looked at her, really stared at her with the kind of raging lust that tempts a man to try date-rape, that it did something to her - inside her. She didn't really feel it if a guy just politely found her pretty - but when a man craved her - hungered for her - wanted to drag her down and rip away the mocking garments that he might indulge in a fuck-feast of her ample female charms - that was when she felt the Rush.

All the sudden, she was stronger, faster, more ... alive. Her mind worked more efficiently, her every sense heightened. Other people - Tina included seemed slower, clumsier by comparison. It was like Meth, Speed, and Ecstasy rolled into one - but her it was a natural High. No drugs needed. She just felt a raw current of sensual power jolting into her when a guy wanted to ravish her hard and long. It would be so easy, she could just scamper on over, tackle Barry and rip of HIS mocking garments while she rode him to completion. The first few times she'd felt it, it was amazing how close she'd come to doing exactly that!

There was a core of power inside her - like Barry's lust had just ... fueled her? Somehow? Heather somehow knew that she had a force inside her that could ... do things. It didn't make sense, but there was no doubt.

"Heh, wish I could spoil Tina-Terrible-Two's routine without having to touch her." She joked. Yet at that moment, a rush of heat seethed in Heather's groin, and she felt her nipples tingling, hardening. And from under her white leotard, it was patently obvious to anyone daring to look.

Barry dared.

But that only made it worse.

Heather had to back away, into the tunnel between the stands that lead back to the lockers to prevent the rest of the team from hearing her grunt of passion. Barry wanted to fuck her even more now that he could see just how hard her nipples became, and that just turned into a vicious cycle - the Rush grew stronger, and Heather got hornier, and the potential - the power inside her - the urge to do something to -

"Ulp!?" It was Tina! Her face widened in shock as she stumbled and fell off the pommel horse. Her hips spasmed fiercely, and even though her leotard was blue, Heather thought she could detect a trace of ... moisture ... near her groin? It could only mean one thing. Heather knew that somehow, someway, the power inside her had ... triggered this?

It meant that Heather had forced this girl to have an orgasm just by thinking it.

Tina Terwiliger scampered away from her shame and ran into the locker room.

But was that the limit of Heather's potential?

Or just the beginning?

The movie made her tingle. Would Jimmy think it odd that Heather would pick this movie? They had not gone to a fancy multiplex, but rather a smaller, urban theater whose management had a love for spicier, horror-tinged fare. Heather didn't want society to label her as a slut, but at the same time, she needed Jimmy to make a move. It was that delicate, timeless balance, causing a man to lose control with craving for her young, hard body - but without being branded a wanton whore.

She just had to get every man who dated her so flustered that they ravished her delectable body. The movie marathon in question was the Species series - the busty gymnast felt a throbbing sympathy for the main character - the alien human-hybrid hottie with a thermonuclear breeding instinct. The hot blonde on screen was in a night club cruising for sperm-donors. She went home with a diabetic guy, and realized his condition at the last minute - rejecting him as a mate. Heather's eyes studied her own prospective partner - wiry, head a little too big for his shoulders.

Strange, as her pussy throbbed beneath her deliberately too-tight red knockoff cocktail dress, it was as if she herself possessed some kind of sixth sense about the potential of a mate. Jimmy gave her a strong Rush, meaning he craved her with a violent passion.

That was another beautiful anomaly she had found within herself - since these strange urges began a few years ago, she had never needed to trade furtively-scribbled notes in class to determine whether a boy liked her, she had been able to simply FEEL a man's libido coming at her in palpable waves of nipple-hardening energy. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, debating the need to set up some padding system for her wet, drenching cunt. Her womb began seizing, as if her womanhood was hungering, straining for cock.

But Jimmy? There was something ... lacking about him. Yes, he liked her well enough, but Heather had an ... instinct that Jimmy wouldn't ... last long. As if his physique and endurance weren't enough for a great stress she needed him for. It felt good, she could feel his eyes raking her curves - but there was a certainty that she would need ... more man - or men.

Odd that if never seemed ... possible to resist the urges. She could feel it inside herself; she was already a flaming nymphomaniac, and her urges had just grown stronger over time. Heather Cox could feel in her bones that trying to fight the fires in her groin was a losing battle. It would be like training herself to give up breathing. Losing Battle. Something told her not to even try.

She would have to make her nymphomaniacal pussy work for her. Not as easy as it seemed - she was starting to crave the Rush, and her body felt impatient for ... cock. The silly strictures of clothing and morality aggravated her. How long before Jimmy went crazy and seized her by the boobs to satiate the lust radiating from within? Adding to her present difficulty was the fact that, in addition to feeling the lust of her date, she could also feel the libidos of any nearby men that might crave her! She had savored a cloud of cock-hardening energy entering the theater, and now she could pinpoint three men who craved hot, animal sex with her. The theater was dark, but she could make out a guy with a date - listing after Heather!

It was unfair, Heather's bizarre sexual powers told her what a jerk he was! He was a row behind, five seats to her left - and soon, this guy's desire was overpowering her date's! Tingling waves of invisible energy washed over her tantalized skin - and then- a touch! Her boobs were exploding out of the cocktail dress, but still barely contained. Yet she felt hands, invisible hands. It was her covert admirer, his desire was so strong, that her body seemed to be sensitized to his urges. With a whimper of longing, she felt phantom hands feeling her up.

Desire ... need ... strong enough - he felt her without feeling her. He wanted to knead her massive melons between thumb and forefinger - then, her remote lover would slap each great gazonga against the other, revelling in the jiggly interplay jockeyed against each other. Then ... the sucking would begin.

Heather grunted as a sheen of sweat glistened upon her creamy skin. As her pulse accelerated, and her body moistened, her pussy seemed to grow wetter still to keep up!

Her pussy just didn't understand. It didn't understand human mores and social constraints; the reasons why Heather couldn't just jump over the aisles nude to rape this man.

But meanwhile, Jimmy couldn't help but notice her distress as she fidgeted and moaned in her seat.

"Aw, what's wrong babe? Movie too scary?" Jimmy speculated cluelessly.

"Let's get out of here." She pleaded with wide, gleaming eyes. Jimmy didn't need to be asked twice.

It wasn't that Heather was losing control, she was preventing a descent into nymphomaniacal frenzy. This was something she'd have to weigh carefully as she dragged poor Jimmy out the theatre's rear exit.

This eerie ... awareness of male lust was growing stronger within her. She didn't just know it - she could feel an energy - in her boobs - her pussy. Could a group of guys ... or just one guy control her by pure lust? Maybe she should learn to control them!

As they scampered outside towards an alley beside the building, Heather fondled his groin the entire time, also semi-surreptitiously thrusting his arm between the valleys of her awesome cleavage. The two of them made subtle, primal grunts or erotic craving. Gently, she nibbled on his throat as he clutched her with quivering need near the brick wall of the adjacent building.

"M-my car -?" Jimmy suggested. Heather's eyelids fluttered with the unholy nymphomania burning in her blood as she gave him a lip-pulling kiss and dug her fingers into his ass.

"Ohhh-hh H-Heather," the boy stammered, paroxysms of desire tumbling through his lanky body. Heather cupped his balls and began to rub with ardent vigour. She moved a hand so that she could position Jimmy's hands upon her ample chest, and loop his fingers inside the edge of her cocktail dress, as if encouraging him to pull ... pull ... Heather released a final wail of primal longing before...


"Wh-huh?" Jimmy seemed as if he was waking up.

"No, Jimmy. I'm just not ready for this yet." Heather informed him with a sheepish grin, trying to suppress her panting.

"But you, you can't just tease guys like that!?"

"It's not like that Jimmy." But of course, it was. "Thanks for being such a sport about it." Jimmy's face began to redden with a lust-flavored aura of angry disbelief. But his hands were gripping her mountainous breasts. And he had entered an aroused sex-rage that could not be denied - Just where Heather wanted him.

"No ... you ... you wanted it ... Wanted ME!" Jimmy stammered.

"It'll be ... okay..." His eyelids shuttered as he tugged on the flimsy fabric.

"NO!!" louder than she needed to.

"You Baaaastarrd!" bellowed a booming, male voice that grew in magnitude and rage in the space of a second. A beefy fist lashed out and struck Jimmy in the shoulder, the blow sent him reeling, and he banged his head against a steel strut on the lip of a nearby dumpster; his eyes widened before he blacked out and he collapsed to the candy-wrapper strewn cement.

Heather's 'savior' was a towering, ponderous young man. Portly build to be sure, but his vast height would cause even the boldest bully to think twice about the fat jokes. His lip twisted with indignation framing a chubby, clean-shaven face. A little thinner, and this guy would be a serious contender for college basketball, a bit fatter, and he could dominate as a Sumo wrestler.

Heather surmised that he hoped to be more popular with the ladies with perceived gallantry to make up for his lack of classical handsomeness. Primal instincts told Heather that this man ... he had what she needed; his vast bulk concealed great strength and ... staying power.

So here he was, no doubt hearing Heather's last 'NO' and discovering Jimmy, in an alley - his hands clutching a pair of the most breastacular melons of cock-hardening titopia ever, and with Heather clad in a skin-tight dress for a dazzlingly date-rapeable package, there was only one conclusion. The busty gymnast clutched herself to feign modesty.

"N-no ... m-means no..." awwww ... how noble of him!

But Heather knew.

She had sensed a momentary pulse of lust in the few seconds after leaving the theatre and ducking into the alley that told her all she needed to know.

"You saved me!" she purred. "My knight in Shining Armour!"

"It's OK miss, just being a good citize - oooph!" Heather clung to him, encircling his thick frame with her toned arms, while slipping a hand to cup his groin. Yessss ... he would do nicely!

"N-no miss, you don't have to come onto me, I just wanted to help!"

"I know! You're my hero!" and in a deeper, throatier tone she whispered: "And I loooove heroes!" She leaped up to wrap her body around him, hooking her legs around his hips, supporting her weight with her arms around his neck.

"Y-you ... don't have to - " Rescuer stammered

"I know, and that makes me want to!" Heather insisted paradoxically. But her lips had fastened themselves upon his, as she thrust her tongue in his mouth as the unholy cravings swept over her. Soon, creature needs would overwhelm mere gallantry, those tempting boobs, those crime-inducing breasts thrust out towards his face.

"This isn't wh-why I saved you..." Rescuer protested.

"Titssss..." Heather growled, speaking directly to his male lusts. The rampant hungers and taken full control of her now. Anchoring her legs around his hips, she leaned into him as she used her hands to swallow his large, broad face in the middle of Tit-valley. She had the goods, the jugg-tastic mountains of mammary to envelope his face. Rescuer's eyes had nothing to gaze upon except the silken slopes of Heather's ripe Grand Tetons, which soon became his entire world.

Her hand slipped into his pants, to find a throbbing rod making a valiant rise to full, male potency. She could feel him shivering, his surrender imminent.

At this point; the sex-crazed Gymnast was confident that he didn't even know what color her eyes were! She ground herself, humping against him as he surrendered to the same urges he had punished Jimmy for.

With a moan of grateful release, he turned to push her against the wall behind him. He lost himself, reason and morality forgotten, to wallow in the twin, silken Heavens jiggling upon her chest. He tried to muster a further protest, but managed only a throaty gurgle.

Soon enough, yet a painful eternity later, her dress was hiked up, and there was a soft, yet irresistible probing of her female depths. It was insane! So salacious! So Whorish! And yet ... so right! Her body became ... nearly possessed, as the raging estrus seized control of her.

Grunting, thrusting, humping - accepting his rampant hardness in her wet tunnel.

"Cummmm ... a strange wickedness insider her whispered. Somehow, it was alright for this strange man to ejaculate unprotected within her soft, young womb.

It made no sense. Which was crazier:The fact that she did it, or the fact that it felt sooo right? She grit her teeth with a perverse hunger as the tall man repeatedly pumped her groin.

Sperm - an impossible greed for sperm. Soon, with a sigh of utter passion there came a feeling of ... floating ... disconnection ... immersion in a cotton-candy cloudbank of electric bliss. It didn't matter that she was being roughly reamed in a cold alleyway by a stranger. As good as she felt, it might as well have been a silken coverlet at the Ritz Carlton upon which she was so vigorously fucked.

There is was again, that blissful flow of caressing energy flowing into her, seemed to be ... feeding her ... sustaining her...

She couldn't be sure how much time had passed. But it was still nighttime. Her rescuer had no one to save him from Heather's own burgeoning, predatory sexuality. He seemed ... visibly thinner, pale. Almost ghostly pale. He quivered slowly on the cold, hard ground, his breathing shallow. She was nude, her breasts were tingling. They weren't ... bigger were they? No ... no, couldn't be.

Somehow, it just didn't register to her how fucked up this scene had become. These boys; they were ... like toys to her. Vessels for her amusement and ... feeding? Did that make sense?

Ahh ... Jimmy. He was still unconscious. No one was around, no one was watching. The instincts were still strong inside her. It wasn't so much a surrender to the flaming heat that still simmered in her cunt, it was more a matter of failing to suppress the overwhelming craving.

Without really thinking about it, Heather crawled naked to Jimmy, and yanked down his pants. Not long ... yes, he'd be hard again soon. Hungrily, she inhaled Jimmy's cock as if it were a candy-coated popsicle. There was no explanation, no way in her own mind to justify such a thing. She just did it. She just wanted it. She failed to stop herself. Yes, yes! Spurt! Spurt in her mouth! How could she crave it? How could it taste so ... tempting? It was wrong, she knew, as she licked, sucked, slurped away at his growing manmeat. Why couldn't she make herself hate this? Why couldn't she stop feasting on his cock?

Her long, reddened hair flowed in undulating waves over Jimmy's naked groin. Soon, as the spurting blessing flowed into her, Heather was at last able to fight down the rising tides of forbidden ecstasy enough to grab her discarded dress and flee.

The soft, curvaceous body stepped out of the shadows just seconds after Heather had fled. She too, was nude. Shadows hiding her face, but nothing could hide the wide swells of voluptuous, feminine anatomy that glistened in the cold streetlight.

From behind her, there came a sharp, red, barbed tail. The pointed tip was curved, more like the tail of a scorpion. Surveying the two moaning men briefly, the sharp stinger quickly snaked out towards Jimmy's well-used dick.

Mitzi Melborne knew what she was doing. She had a sister on the Gymnastics Squad, and sshe would know where to cut. That Heather bitch had no right to breeze into her social circle, or steal her man! She frowned, and adjusted a strand of bleach blond, dark-rooted hair as she twisted the scissors against the inner lining of Heather Cox's gym leotard.

She had tested her plan extensively with water balloons, fruit and similar fabrics - and she knew that she could both create a vulnerability and hide the evidence from the outside! That Heather slut though her boobs were as good as a key to the city! Wouldn't take more than a few moments ... she sneered as she made a series of practiced, delicate cuts on the inside of the uniform left behind in the Girl's Lockerroom of the Carter Female Athletics Complex. She had a few moments to herself, no one should be able to catch Mitzi in the act. Now, that Boob bitch had cost her Steve!

It hadn't exactly worked out that way, though. Steve Jeffries wasn't her boyfriend per say, but she'd had her eyes on him for awhile now as a tool to make Sam Brickman jealous. Jealous enough to soothe her own ego after Sam's cheerleader panty raid YouTube party.

She'd figured out from her girlfriends just the right blend of golden skin and suggestively form-fitting tube-top to reeeeeeeally catch Steve's eye. She caught up to him on the grounds between the Mathematics and English-Lit buildings. Then ... just when her plan was in full swing that Heather whore sauntered by, pretending to be oblivious, with her impossible rack - and drew Steve Jeffries' gaze like iron filings to a magnet. Those tits were impossible! Like ... like ... human water balloons! But so bouncy - and yet natural! And yet this cow was a gymnast! No f-ing way! She Haaaad to be cheating!

So Mitzi felt no guilt over the act of humiliating sabotage she was about to commit. That bitch.

The golden cheerleader had been too shamed to try and approach Steve after he had so blatantly ogled Heather's stupendous, round gravity-defiers. After being upstaged like that - the guy she was targeting just turning away like she didn't even exist ... Mitzi clenched her fist unconsciously as her face reddened.

Something was deeply wrong with that Heather slut. There were rumors from Crosstown U about some nympho gymnastics babe with an incredible set of juggs, who would suck dick like candy. Yet in their school, Heather seemed rather subdued. Had to be the same girl, though. Cox had to be skipping across town to get the cock she was afraid to ask for in her actual school.

So Mitzi continued sawing away at the fabric with practiced subtlety, the textile never designed to handle boobs of such cantaloupe-challenging magnitude! And she knew the routines that Cox bitch would have to perform at her next meet! And those male pigs that drooled over her obscene porno-boobs would reeeeeeally have something to Jack off to!

Well, she heard approaching voices near the outer door to the hallway, and hid herself in the Janitor's closet to avoid discovery. Whoops! It looks like she'd accidentally left her backpack on one of the dressing benches. Well, no matter. She was a student who had classes here too. Nothing sinister about just her bag being here. Nothing to prove, or trace any wrongdoing to her. And Mitzi knew the schedules of all the girl's athletic teams, and the Janitor himself - she could avoid being seen. But wow, next time Heather performed, the whole school would see alllll she had to offer!

Norm Craven pulled up the collar of his trench coat as he puffed out a ring of cigar smoke. Yes, this was the town. He was getting closer. His beat-up late 80's station wagon was parked in a cozy, blossomy residential neighborhood all a fluff with spring greenery and pastoral pleasantness. Soon the rangy, sunken-eyed man would have more than enough proof. He'd make the bastards in D.C. eat their ignorant words. Norm was right, he'd always been right.

Sure, the Bureau had avoided a media frenzy by clamping down on the news in regards to the Hypersex deaths a few years back; but that didn't make the victims any less important! Someone had to speak for the people whose bodies and sanity where destroyed! Someone had to get at the root of the cancer that was parasitizing the population.

And Craven had found the evidence. He'd traced the perpetrators. He'd discovered the means, the motive, and the opportunity. And the Bureau had laughed at him. There wasn't any clear facts that could disprove any of Norm's arguments; but the truth he had uncovered was so mind-bogglingly incredible that even the most imaginative agents could not possibly accept his answer.

But Norm's answers were the correct ones.

Yes, this was the house that the Terwiliger girl had entered. The fact that he was conducting illegal surveillance barely registered with his ruthless intellect. Proof ... only Proof mattered. He had turned his radio to the police bandwidths, to give him early warning if his activities were detected too soon; although he tried to be as discrete as possible in setting up his zoom lens camera. Then he waited.

In his car, he couldn't avoid wondering whether the patterns he'd seen in the Hypersex cases would repeat themselves. He opened a manilla folder with polaroids taped to the inner sides. Most where of men with outrageously large penises. Most of them were preposterously huge. Men in the throes of orgasm with dicks the size of baseball bats sat photographically frozen on the flat prints - some of them in the process of ejaculating in the grip of erotomania beyond madness. In one picture a naked man with hands extended to form a claw-like grasp lunged after a terrified, modestly dressed middle-aged housewife, even as his foot-long penis erupted right then in a mighty spew captured on film. The locals had just assumed it was a run-of-the-mill rape-attempted rape case, but both Craven, and the bastards he used to work for both knew this was much, much more than that!

But then, on the right hand lower corner of the collection, there was an image of a fantastically busty, long-haired, freckled redhead ripping open a button-down plaid shirt with a scream as jiggling, thrusting E-cup breasts jutted into view of the camera. Her photographed face frozen in a stark expression of mortified shock as she stared as if in disbelief at the stupendous feminine orbs to match twin grapefruits in size upon her naked chest. James Renfrow, the sharpee marker label read at the base of the polaroid. When he'd realized the truth behind THAT case, Norm had felt as though a few years of his life were scared out of him.

There! Terwiliger had just entered her bedroom, a frantic expression on her face highlighted by the gleam of anguished trails of sweat. Norm fiddled with his ultrasound microphone, but couldn't pick up more than a few fragmentary words. The curly blond tore off her leotard around her chest, revealing round, orange-sized orbs of softly inflamed boob.

" ... getting Bigger?!" came a few words over the static. But there was more to her than just her breasts. Norm wasn't an expert, but the blond seemed to be nearing D-cup range, female peaks thrusting out close to four inches from her chest. She seemed only momentarily concerned with them; rather Terwiliger began to rip and yank at her underwear as if her clothes were on fire.

"N-no ... why ... won't it stop... ?" she pleaded to the unseen hand of fate. Even from afar, as the last of her gymnastics suit and underpants were ripped away, Norm could see that the folds of her hot pussy were thick with arousal. Her thighs, already moist began to quiver as if in need.

Terwiliger collapsed onto her bed. Hips rising in the air as if to greet an unseen lover. She began to paw at the moist opening to her own eager womb, as if trying to smother a brush fire of gathering lusts. With a ragged squeal, her hips thrashed and her cunt began to throb with a rhythmic, hungry pulse. Had - had this girl just orgasmed? She'd barely had time to touch herself. Yet, as her thighs continued to drench with the heady nectar of female arousal, Norm had no doubt that was exactly what had happened.

" ... not getting bigger ... not getting bigger..." She insisted cryptically, as her body erupted with toe-curling, impossible pleasure. Most men would have been extremely titillated. Norm Craven just ignored his own hardening cock and jotted down some notes on a weathered Mead paper tablet.

"Promissssed myself ... not to..." The curly blond grunted as she held up a plain, brown paper bag that Norm had not noticed before. "But I need it! Need ... something..." she grunted, ensnared by an internal struggle, eyelids quivering with volcanic passions as irresistible as they were frightening. From out of the bag emerged a black, studded dildo vibrator - at least eight inches in length.

Terwiliger began huffing, puffing as if to steady her electrified nerves, them lowering herself back onto the bed - to open herself to the throbbing ministrations of her inexhaustible, mechanical lover. Earlier, Norm Craven had fiddled with his ultrasound instrument to try and increase the level of sound he could detect. Now, he was startled by the burst of feedback as the volume exponentially increased! She howled in savage pleasure while reaming her soft womb with the pulsating black love-machine.

Soon, Norm began to understand. The poor girl was trapped in an unwholesome cycle of titillation constantly building towards never-ending orgasms. Something had gone wrong deep inside her nervous system, and she was fighting for control against a mounting tide of impossible stimulation that gripped her body in pussy-moistening madness. She was hoping no doubt, that a dildo to aid her arousal would let her ... process the orgasms faster. Get the madness over with sooner.

Craven doubted she would succeed.

"N-no ... why ... m-my tits ... bigger ... why? W-was a B ... now ... oh hell ... these girls ... bigger around than my fist ... growing? Impossible! Bigger ... than oranges now ... need cereal bowls ... as bra now ... whhhhyyyyy... ? She pleaded. Yet all the while, her wet womb continued its rapid-fire explosions of steamy feminine sex-musk amidst pulses of pure pleasure. "Why ... am I ... a nymphomaaaaniaaaac!!!!" she howled to the universe accusingly.

Norm knew. And someday, the Bureau would believe it.

In the beginning, she had tried to be careful. She knew that the incendiary cravings that had erupted in her groin could not be denied forever. So Heather Cox did her best to at most, tease the boys from her own school; instead finding ways to slip over to Crosstown U - outside her normal social circle. Yes, she knew she was destined to be a slut - but she could minimize the social consequences.

That had been the plan, at least.

She pulled up to the Polysci building in her second-hand Toyota Camry, heart pumping with uncertainty.

She had screwed up royally with Jimmy. These monstrous urges inside of her just kept getting stronger. He actually had some of the same classes as she did. Heather couldn't really explain what she'd done that night - there was just this ... this demon inside of her. A ferocious craving that wanted to ... to ... devour. Who? How? What?

Frightening as those questions where, even more disconcerting might be actually getting the answers.

Heather found a parking spot and paused for a moment, to catch her breath. Not that it was necessary. Not that she was tired. Simply jitters - a fear over what might happen should Jimmy actually show up today! Could she possibly explain to him what had happened?

She couldn't really explain it to herself.

That night, after fleeing the alleyway, she'd gone home to her Parent's house. University was local so it was convenient. Gone home to go to bed. Except that she hadn't slept. Not a wink. Somehow, an infusion of simmering, elemental power burned through every fiber of her being! Heather had spent the whole night going over Calc I homework and practicing her hand-stands. She knew that -somehow the men had ... it's like they'd given her a boost?! Was that the right word? Was there a right word? For some reason, she could only conclude that male semen was now a high-octane fuel for her hyper-sexed body. This was sick - wasn't it? Didn't she need a doctor? or ... maybe a confessional? But nothing - nothing had ever made her feel so whole, complete, electrified as the Rush she'd gotten that night.

So here she was - at class the next day. Not sleeping a wink. Nor did she eat breakfast. Her diet had consisted only of man-meat. But still, she needed a line, an excuse some way to explain away that madness that had happened when -

" ... authorities have arrested a whacked-out serial fondler-rapist dude!" announced a not-quite famous disc jockey on the radio station she had been passively listening to. " Check it out, fan-land - this guy - Jimmy Epstein was caught running around in the nude ... with his junk just hanging out, like - chasing down and groping women leaving a nightclub after 1 am last night! Wowww ... that takes balls ... maybe too much, in his case. Dude was sprayed with mace canisters repeatedly, but according to reports, he barely seemed to notice.

"Jimmy-John was so hopped up that he even tried to sex-up a female arresting police officer! Yeoouch!! Time for a cold-shower Jim-bo!"

Heather sat with her mouth gaping open. Better. Better than she could have ever hoped for - and she hadn't lifted a finger. Or ... didn't think she had.

"Never knew I had it in me." she concluded with a bemusedly happy shrug.

" ... Can explain to me the difference between Head of State, and Head of Government?" droned Heather's Political Science professor, his monotonous lecture flavored with rises in pitch that didn't quite match the conversational threshold of a question.

Head. Giving Head. For just a brief, frighteningly erotic moment, Heather relived the fiery fellatio she had enjoyed last night - seized with a hunger for this strange man's dick beyond any mere womanly desire. Her tongue, her lips had wanted that man's cum. Needed it. Here and now, in the classroom, Heather unconsciously took her wooden pencil and began to suck on the soft, eraser end.

" ... while the duties of the Head of State can be said fulfill in essence, a ceremonial role. A Monarch who attends Parades for his subjects; a President throwing out the opening pitch at the World Series. Whereas, the responsibilities of the Head of Government can be decidedly less glamorous; administration, management, the nitty-gritty details of organization, as it were."

Something snapped inside Heather for a moment - as if a ... door was opening in her mind.


Flesh, woman's flesh. Wallowing moist on a cool, slightly sandy floor. Swells of ass and hip and ravishingly curvaceous legs. Writhing, thrashing in a pit of similarly soft and delicious feminine forms.


She saw a face, a strange face bathed in steam. A woman of beauty so preternatural that she couldn't be real. And yet she was. Mouth gaping wide into the 'O' or orgasm. Eyes, mouth, lips, sculpted with a perfection that defied nature, glistening with moisture - from the other women. A terrain of legs, hips, breasts, - fantastic women, embracing each other...

Heather felt a flush of intense warmth, both within and without. The impersonal nature of the large lecture hall allowed her to silently excuse herself without disruption as she went to a nearby girl's bathroom.

To masturbate.

Luckily, Heather Cox was no fool. It's true, the demands of her body had been ... distracting of late. But her erotic escapades had only heightened her suspicions. Not yet ready to become some kind of stripper-whore, she would have to take pains to minimize knowledge of her burgeoning sexual appetites. So here she was, back in the Girl's lockerroom in the Athletics complex contemplating her open locker.

Well, this wasn't highschool anymore; surely childish pranks and ponytails in inkwells were behind her now. She paused for a moment as she set down her bookbag and prepared to get dressed. The Bus would be here at 5:30 to transport her team to the Regionals Tournament! Months in the planning, longer in the practicing. It was the biggest 'don't-you-dare-screw-this-up-event' of the past six-months. Maybe longer, if Heather continued as a gymnast.

Her foot tapped against a small, hard object that had fallen behind one of the dressing benches. It was a small, pink-skinned smartphone. Hmm ... belonging to whom? Suspciously, Heather turned the device on with a mechanical chirp and began thumbing through the contacts. Ah - this belonged to Mitzi Melbourne; yet another in a series of blond harpies that seemed to take personal offense at Heather's bust-size without even bothering to speak a word to her. Was that any different or better than the guys that indulged obsessions with Heather for the same reason? Well, the difference was that Heather enjoyed male attention far more of late.

Was it possible? Was Mitzi so jealous just from Heather's existence that she'd reverted back to the third grade? Should Heather expect a snake or spider in her opened locker? She rolled her eyes with a sigh. Or maybe ... Maybe this would be a 'Revenge of the Nerds' type of scene where some volcanically-horny, socially-maladjusted geek was attempting to conceal himself in the girl's lockerroom? Grasping at straws, she almost wondered if Mitzi would be a party to something so absurd as a way to embarass her? No, surely not. This wasn't a movie; or a cheesy, internet sex story.

All the same, with no one else in evidence, Heather yanked up her shirt, tugged at her bra, and released her titanic tittage into the light of the lockerroom. She just ... sensed it - that if a man was watching, lusting at her - that she would feel it. She was using her jiggling, taut-nippled breasts as a sort of sexual Geiger counter to sniff out lingering male lust.

And the sperm that went with it.

Why did that thought make her mouth water? Why did it make her so wet? She'd heard from other girls who had gagged over the thought of swallowing cum; yet she craved it! It was like ... like cocaine to her!

But no, it wasn't happening. She was the first one here, it looks like. Well, the rest of the Gym squad would be along shortly. She paused for just a moment too long - feeling up her own water-balloon assets with the fleeting, prurient hope that her own hands were those of a man. And yet - she scrutinized her white leotard for a moment. And sighed.

For a moment, she really believed there would be some spider, or bug in there! Maybe ... what, itching powder? She shook the garment around. Nope. Not a thing wrong. She dressed herself, breasts shimmying as she readied herself for the trip, draping a jacket over the leotard as she prepared to head off to the bus stop.

But as she left the Girl's lockerroom, a fumbling, pimply nerd all but crashed into her - with a huge-gulp Slurpee super-size. In less than a second, she was drenched in the chilly beverage.

"Yeah! Didn't think he'd have the guts!" said the nerd's partner, as he got some shots off his phone of the way her delicious tits were revealed by the white, moist fabric. The first nerd turned to run - yet for some reason, acting on instinct - Heather pounced on him in surprise.

"Yyoouuuuuu..." she snarled, not certain what she was going to accomplish. Yet for some reason, she had grabbed his cock. Down his pants, her hands just immediately shot for his groin. Heat suffused her grip as she held his now pulsing manshaft in a firm clutch.

"Wh -wh -what are you ... I don't understand..." His eyes went wide with a heady mixture of terror and lust. Heather realized what she was doing and released him to flee. Well, if they tried to do anything with the shots, she was sure the School could find some way to punish them. Her anger faded quickly - replaced by ... hunger? No ... no she had to change! She couldn't let this ... this flaming nymphomania take over now!

What luck that she happened to have brought her spare leotard from home!

"Wonder what has Mom so worried?" Heather wondered as she bounced up and down, priming her muscles for the performance she'd been drilling for these past several months. Of course, Sarah Evans Cox was in the audience; she wouldn't miss her Baby's big Regional Meet for anything. She could at least count on her support. Still, her Milf-mom did have a decidedly worried gleam in her eyes, visible even across the distances in the partitioned stadium. The complex could have seated 30,000 people but ... frankly that was an overly optimistic figure for a Gymnast meet like this - still they had a good crowd.

Her sleek legs were tense with feminine grace that at any moment threatened to explode into coordinated strength. She ignored the tingling between her legs. No, this weird Rush thing - this ... this feeding on ... what - lust? No, Heather decided that she couldn't count on it. She would try to shut out any men in the audience that might crave her body and instead focus solely on the pure art of her performance. She was a gymnast; not some kind of ... of ... what witch? monster?

All too soon, it was her time. Her music began - her blood pumped - and she ignored her moistening pussy as she bounced out onto the mat.

"Whoa oh ohhh ... she's a lady..."

Each muscle in her leg stood out with sculpted perfection as she began with a series of elaborate pirouettes that flowed into cartwheels, followed by a surprisingly nimble back flip. But she felt them, felt them rising out of her top... 'No, girls ... bad boobs! " She mentally admonished her mammalian G-cups; the way they jostled, jiggled, and rose higher. As if they wanted to escape; reveal themselves to the world. Her tight, taut ass bulged provacatively towards the audience as she erupted into an expert, handstand. Next, it would be time for her Pommel Horse phase.

Steve Lowenstein couldn't explain what was happening to him over the past several hours. Yes, it's true that he'd had a thing for that hyper-busty gymnast chick. But crippled as he was by paranoid insecurities; it proved all but impossible to even ask her name. It was only with a hearty dose of liquid courage and peer-pressure from the Frat that he had pledged that he had been amenable to such a juvenile stunt.

But in his insecurity, he pathetically justified his actions as being the closest he could ever come to his one, true, breast-goddess. So the brothers had put him up to a silly prank that was to prove portentous in a way Steve could not have imagined possible.

Something had changed inside him. Something had gone terribly wrong ever since his breast goddess had for some impossible reason fondled his dick. For an hour afterwards, he'd been infected with the worst case of blue-balls ever. He'd been forced to masturbate in the bathroom, and had blasted off three times in twenty minutes - yet somehow ... it wasn't enough.

Worse, it seemed as though - impossibly - his dick was getting progressively larger! There was no way for him to have gained more than one inch of permanent size in less than two hours. Yet it happened. And his desire increased to match. Soon, he became inured to the embarassment of being seen walking around with his hands down his own pants. Dick ... so hard ... so horny ... unnatural ... why?!?

Yet a part of him already knew why. As an English Major, he'd been required to study a bit of mythology - and he was reminded of a man who'd cut down the tree inhabited by a mythical forest nymph - and was subsequently cursed with a supernatural gluttony that no amount of nourishment could feed. He had eaten all he possessed, sold his daughter into slavery for money to buy more food; and finally cannibalized himself. Is that what Steve Lowenstein had just done? With his prank, had he just cut down the Forest nymph's tree?

But Steve knew what to do. This curse had been accompanied by a blessing as well.

He could sense her.

He could ... feel the presence of his fantastic breast-goddess, and just ... home in on her location. There wasn't time to explain it, rationalize, or worry about it. He knew he would weep with joy at the chance to sell his soul to fuck her, yes. But any sort of contact would help him. He could feel it. So Steve had hoped into his car and just ... followed his lusts.

Yet the torment had only grown worse as he approached the object of his impossible affections. Just the sight of her - in that fresh white leotard, had caused him to cum right there in his pants. Luckily, the crowd was loud enough that no one could hear his moans of tortured ecstasy as he lurched in the corridor leading off to the ticket counters. Yet his ejaculation was only a tease. Somehow, he hadn't released even a fraction of the desire boiling his balls. He needed Her for that. Steve had - at this point shut down most rational thinking. Lip quivering with need, brow moist with stressed perspiration, he had become a shambling zombie of lust as he lurched forward towards the object of his unholy obsession.

This was a Regionals Tournament that Mitzi Melbourne would not want to miss. And not just because her sister was on the team. Soon, that Cox Cow would get what she deserved for ruining her chance with Brick - erhh ... one of those boys. Who he was wasn't important. It was her pride that mattered. Yes; with the modifications Mitzi had made - it was a wardrobe malfunction guaranteed! Yes, keep on jumping, Heather ... keep on jiggling! Shame Mitzi had dropped her phone; she'd bought a cheap replacement camera phone until she could find her old one. But the one she had now would still be enough to upload the whole sorry episode to YouTube...

Keep on Jumping...

Keep on Jiggling...

She sneered with vicious delight.

Her instincts were what told her to vary her routine. Instead of throwing up her arms and arching her back at the completion of a successful jump, she would shimmy her hips and brush her hands over the sides of her chest to draw attention to her gravity-defying endowments. As her lower body spun in tight circles during her pommel-horse routine, she found ways to increase the jiggle to her ample chest as her legs spun deftly between her arms much like the coordination needed by a propellor plane to avoid shooting off its own blades. Her own body was trained, practiced, with an adroit flexibility that allowed her these convoluted exercises with near-mechanical perfection.

But there was something more than that, she knew, as she leapt off the pommel horse, adding a sideways sway to her chest that allowed her tightly-packaged mega-mamms to jostle and jiggle like captured silken moons as they quivered with inertial rebellion at their confinement. Knowing what she wanted, she felt she could force - improve her body's performance in a way that should not have been possible.

It was the Rush, she knew - the lust-feeding that was even now empowering her. Her lips curled into a guilty smile as the realization dawned of what she could really do with this strange curse-gift. She bounded across the mat, building up momentum as she did so for a routine that would lead into a cartwheel followed by a bounce on a short ramp that would allow her some dazzling aerial spins. And she knew to thrust her shoulders forward, just a little, with each footfall, causing her twin girls to leap just a little, in bosomy rhthym.

With each jiggly bounce, she could feel a distinct twinge of the sweet energy radiating towards her, breasts thrusting at - challenging, arousing the men in the audience. And ... an eerie certainty told her - some of the women as well. Again, she had to reflect on the implications of her - awakening. Her body had become - like a leaf. A green leaf soaking up sunlight and using biochemical trickery to make sugar out of it. But it was different for her - it was - erotosynthesis. There was just no getting around it; sexual craving energized her. Now she knew that if she opened herself up, allowed and embraced the fuel that was all around her in dilated eyes and jerking hands, that she could control her destiny like never before.

She knew her performance so far had been stellar, adding an extra bounce-and-jiggle for her cleavage's benefit before leaping into her momentum-building cartwheel set. With this power-source she could envision ways to boost her abilities in every area - strength, speed, smarts - all she had to do was plug in. When she bounced off the ramp following the cartwheel, her leap was just a little bit higher than anything her not-underdeveloped leg muscles could have managed. But that just gave her more time for more brilliantly-perfect twists and tumbles in mid-air.

Having decided to fully embrace the potential within her, and the lusts radiating towards her, a bit of concentration allowed her to sniff-out the sources - sniff wasn't the right word, it was a deep, groin-felt sixth-sexual sense difficult to put into normal language. But there in the stands - some of the most luminous eye-undressers were revealed to her preternatural senses.

In the second row on the bleachers to her right, there was a seemingly handsome, blond jock - a quarterback, the slight scar on his eyebrow as a reminder of an especially nasty tackle just made him seem grittier, more virile to the ladies. Amazingly, Heather was able to sense buried truths deep inside his soul, her unwholesome abilities giving her an empathic sense that astounded her in its depth. Blond jock was truly afraid - afraid of a drastically under-sized dick. It hadn't taken long for him to eventually realize the true extent of his shameful underendowment. It had developed into a neurotic phobia that caused him to turn-down the easy offers of companionship from female classmates; he just couldn't take the risk - of what they might do or say, if they knew how puny he was where it counted. Heather seguewayed into a more dance-style routine at this point, lots of spins, twirls, pivots and foot-hip thrusts - which allowed her to aim her thermonuclear cleavage in his direction. Her hardening nipples feeling like tiny, hot-coals of passion under her leotard.

His eyes, his cock burned for her. She felt from his aura that he'd followed her at least three times. Something about his own undersexuality resonated powerfully with Heather's own implausible feminine assets. She could sense a seething, maddening hunger from him. A feeling as if, sex from her - with those earth-shattering boobs, could validate him in a way he never imagined possible - yet he could no more approach her for fear of ridicule than he could any of the other women. The torment of his thwarted yearnings only kindled his neurotic-fueled urges into a relentless, masturbatory mania.

She wasn't sure how, but an instinct told her she could help this insecure, otherwise ravishingly handsome jock.

Heather knew that she was pushing her luck, as her dance-style routine continued. Yes, her acrobatics had been exemplary, she knew, based upon the way her body drew strength from lust, but the Judges could give her negative marks for being too vulgar; and how would the two balance out? But she needed it to be this way; she needed to feel that Rush to drive herself to physical heights never before possible!

Close by, her pussy felt the aura of another, exceptionally powerful source of the Rush.

He was an older, middle-aged man. On the surface not at all classically handsome, yet Heather's unnatural senses could detect that he was afflicted with the exact opposite problem as the young Quarterback. That problem had consumed his personal life. His own cock was a freak of nature. It was enough to easily land him a lucrative career as a male super-dicked adult movie 'actor', if it could be called acting. For awhile, when he was younger, he could easily pull down a hundred grand a year. But he'd decided to get out; he wanted the sex to mean something - to matter. He'd found a nice, decent woman of sincere compassion, who had touched him in a way the brazen porn-star sluttettes never did.

But Heather could sense the disaster.

His cock, his unbelievable forearm-sized dick had been too much. One night he was tired of holding back, and he gave her the reaming they'd both wanted. He wanted to take the plunge, enjoy his new love to her fullest. He didn't want anymore restraint. In his porn-career, he had to moderate his arousal level for many hours to avoid 'white-out', cumming too soon and ruining the hours of sex needed for successful filming. No more.

She'd certainly enjoyed it at first; but as his male rut overtook his good sense, the screams of passion shifted into those of pain. In the end, he'd been more man than she could handle. She ended up hurt, painfully, deep inside, and at first he just brushed it off with a lurid chuckle. But the damage was real - and she'd actually gotten a cervical infection and died when it went septic.

The horror of it consumed him. Never again. Never again could he risk the health of any woman he cared about with the ardent demands of his monstrous, killer-cock. The sex-demon in his pants was now a deadly weapon to be contained. He let himself go, wallowing in depression, he'd stopped exercising and gained fifty pounds. It didn't matter; he couldn't allow any woman to find him attractive - for her own sake. Now, there was only volcanic gouts of seed from his relentless self-gratification. The demands of his death-dick had grown greater since he'd seen Heather entirely by accident. He had to see her again with his own eyes, get as close as possible to hold her gorgeous image in his thoughts, as his quivering hands tried, more often these days, to quell the rampant urges of the gynocidal monster between his legs.

An instinct Heather didn't understand told her to keep this man close.

Nearing the end of her performance, she performed a tumble that ended with a slide into a crabwalk posture, legs bent under her, chest thrust upwards towards the stadium lights, back arched, head thrown back as she savored another erotosynthetic dose of sexual craving.

She sensed the aura of a woman; not much more than a girl really, barely her own age. Heather felt that she was depressingly flat-chested. It wasn't that she was treated with exceptional cruelty over her sexless figure, just that she was ignored, always overlooked. Once someone like her leaves the pigtails-in-inkwell phase of primary school pranks, there was just no reason for anyone to bother with her, or take notice of her in any way.

Once, many years ago this shrinking violet had dared express interest in a boy, and he was actually confused; it never occurred to him that she could consider herself in a sexual light at all. Shame, outrage, and crushing humiliation bore down upon her with the weight of a lifetime of lonely despair. As years passed, she found that - indeed she could barely think sexual thoughts around any boys.It was just too painful to look for approval based on feminine charms she could never have. She wasn't sure at first what made her steal one of her brother's big-titty mags he kept not-quite-concealed in the shoebox of his closet. But her heart pounded not so much from the images, but the depraved stories such magazines contained, of the explosive yearnings such women triggered from those around them.

Within herself, she nurtured a hungering compulsion to press her pale skin against the voluptuous form of a true breast-goddess. She had discovered Strip-clubs then, as long as she paid the cover charge, no one cared about her gender. At first, she laughed and kidded as if this was just a looney gag to her, but discretely, yes she did pay for lap dances from the juiciest, bustiest, boob-queens available. Who didn't mind; her money was good, so nothing else mattered. Yes, the club had a no-touching rule, but that only applied to hands. The raven-haired mammary-mistress she usually preferred learned her weakness. - Dangling those nipples at her lips, allowing the flat-chested customer to suckle them - the stripper was a good enough actress to seem flattered by the attention. But the flat girl, to her the contact was like lightning! She needed a busty woman, a real woman to melt into her body, she needed to lick, slurp, suckle upon those glorious boobs; as if from them she might suck out a draught of the womanhood she herself had only sprinklings of.

She was close, close to soliciting one of them. To come home with her. That she might feast with eyes and hands and tongues upon the treasures of a true female. Money seemed the only answer, while she craved a delicious lesbian orgy, she had no more to offer such a fantastic female than she did a man. But unlike most men she knew, these women were professionals; she could offer them wads of cash; well - her daddy's cash, but same thing. And they could take the reasonable, profitable option.

But then she'd seen Heather. The redheaded wonder triggered a drenching in her cunt, and there was a twittering, twisting butterflies-feeling in her belly at how much she craved this newcomer! She would sell her soul for the chance to sell her soul that this Heather goddess could become her lover. That her lips might suckle those staggering melons! As an infant feeds on milk, she needed closeness to a body like that! The gaping hole in her soul and womb could only be filled by Heather's tits in her mouth, and both of their hands, mutually frigging one another's gaping, drenching pussies.

Wow, Heather's routine was almost thrown off balance by the intensity of the flat-girl's urges, flowing into her via the unnatural connection she was learning to exploit when a normal person lusted after her! There was something important about these three; there was a need that tingled in Heather's breasts to ... connect with them. It was vital that above all, these three be allowed to fuck her - or be fucked by her. Something more than just the sex. But she knew their auras now, as crazy as it sounded to hear herself thinking that. She knew that she would find a way to seek them out, and provide what only she could.

But this was the final step, Heather leapt back on the pommel horse for a final swinging twirl, then used the momentum to catapult herself into a leap that ended with her standing, back arched, arms raised, a smile on her face!

But that was when the burning started...

A heat, a sudden surge of blazing warmth filling the air around her, it was as if the lust she'd been feasting on had - kindled something. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the heat seemed to radiate from her nipples and amplify into a blazing surge of potential she had no idea existed...

It seemed as though her hard, protruding, aching nipples were to blame. The wave of fire seemed to start there.In less time than it took to think it, Heather Cox was wreathed in flame that scorched away any fabric covering her seething sexual centers!

And there they were, those wobbly, trembly mounds of melon-tastic bustiliciousness.It was eerie, the way they hung in the air. How could breasts so large remain so perky without a bra, or - at this point, any kind of support?! The tender skin of her unveiled fem-mountains gleamed from hundreds of camera-flashes firing off almost at once. But that, that undeniable evidence of attention, desire - that only made her nipples yet harder. The dark nubs were already nearly as wide as fingertips, could they swell tighter? Become yet more sensitive?

And here was yet another dilemma; the natural, womanly shame she should have felt was overwhelmed by the sweet trickle of yet more of that Rush-sensation! How long could she afford to bask in the escalating lust of the multitude?

Far too long. She held her pose for a full five seconds afterwards. That seemed like all the time she could allot herself in the interest of surprised disbelief, before the semblance of modesty that was fading from her had to be addressed.

She made an almost-convincing motion to cover up her boobs, and remembered to put up a demure expression of gaping shock. But what fascinated as much as frightened her was that there was almost no shame. All these people looking, lusting for her! She just wanted more of it! Her heart hammered in her chest as exhibitionist tendrils of unimaginable sluttiness coiled around her soul. Deep down, she wanted men to come at her, naked. She wanted to feel a forest of dicks thrusting, caressing, jabbing her skin! Her pussy lips unfurled as a primal yearning from deep inside her womb told her how good it would be for dozens of those dicks to be gushing, spewing their male release on her, in her, all over her! She wanted Flat-girl to suck furiously at her nipples! She wanted Killer-cock between her legs, even the Quarterback could be fun. She wanted them lusting, cumming, as she drank it all in! Heather Cox would give her naked body to the lusting masses, that she might drink from -

"And we're heading this way." Came a firm, female voice that she didn't recognize. A short, red-headed woman dressed in a khaki trenchcoat with thick sunglasses dragged her arm and was pulling her firmly off the stadium mat towards the corridor that would lead to the lockers.

Men in suits and coaches of both teams were rushing towards the center of the mat, confusion and concern on their faces as they would attempt to make sense of the madness that had enveloped.

But who was this woman? There was something comforting, familiar about her -but Heather was quite sure she'd never seen her before. It must be the hair, it was such a deep, rich shade of red, almost ... no it was a noticeable match for Heather's own shade!

"It'll be better this way, can't have you sprouting in front of a crowd, not this kind of crowd, at least." Khaki trenchcoat said.

"But who -"

"Better to say that I'm a friend of your Mother's, for now."

"But, where are you taking me I -"

But the emergency exit doors where opened, and an ambulance was right there. Lights flashing, but no siren yet. It had been waiting, and ready.

"But I -"

"You've just been attacked; you must've suffered burns ... somewhere. " Mom's friend decided. "So it's only natural that you disappear off into an ambulance as quick as possible."

"I guess that's - " But then the doors opened. It was the geeky kid, Superslurpee, who'd drenched her first leotard. The one whose cock she'd grabbed, without knowing why. He was here, inside the Ambulance; but as for his medical problems, they seemed sexual in nature.

A part of her understood now, what had happened, why she had just reached into his pants to grab hold of his dick.


To stew.

In his own juices.

The boys cock tented his pants mountainously, the way his steely member throbbed, Heather could be forgiven for thinking of a Cape Canaveral Rocket rumbling before the final blast-off. The boy was a junkie; from the maddening, sweating mania on his face, and his moist brow, it was clear he was already hopelessly addicted to something he'd never even had.


"D-don't care ... If I g-go to prison ... Need it ... Need you ... be ... inside you..." he gurgled, hips jerking as if his explosive dick was dragging him forward with the steely tug of psychopathic lust.

Heather didn't know him, didn't especially like him. But she hungered. With an animal snarl, she tore off the paltry, scorched remainders of her gym leotard, and leapt into the Ambulance, tackling him, bodies entwining, thrusting, licking, humping, grinding, sweating. From each throat came a simultaneous, inarticulate howl of lusting savagery as desire fed upon desire which kindled into a sizzling stew of rutting estrus beyond reason.

Mitzi Melbourne was ecstatic! She didn't understand what had happened, exactly. But somebody up there must be looking out for her! That Heather slut, somehow she'd still been exposed! It didn't happen the way Mitzy planned but hey, no complaints! The slut still got what she had coming to her!

Mitzi mentally rehearsed her speech before she walked through the doors of the Dean's office.

"Okay, it's all Professor Biggs' fault. He's been touching me inappropriately all semester! But I was just so afraid because I'm a lonely little student, and he's such a powerful, important man!" That'll teach him for giving her a 'D' in general studies!

Dean Bartowski was a stern, heavily moustachioed academic who seemed as though a little cartoon stormcloud should be perpetually raining over his head.

"Sit down, Miss Melbourne."

"Ohhh ... Dean ... Bar-Bartowski ... it was horrible..." She sobbed! She could turn it on and off like a faucet!

"Before this goes any further, Miss Melbourne, tell me; is this your phone?" He held up a clear plastic zip-bag with - sure enough, Mitzi's smartphone inside it!

"Wh- huh? Ohh ... oh yeah! I dropped it ... earlier! Great! I'm soooo glad you got it back!"

"Yes, we were quite fortunate to recover it; Told us a lot of important details about recent events here, in the athletic department." the Dean rumbled.

"Whaa - y-you didn't ... go through my contacts? Why would you do that?"

"No Miss Melbourne, we did not. However..." the Dean gestured behind her with his pudgy fingers as the door to his office opened again. A blunt-faced man in a grey trenchcoat with a badge on the lapel stepped in, crossing his arms in silent appraisal.

"Unfortunetely, the recent ... incident got the Mayor all over my department, and our forensics team has completed a thorough examination of everything Heather Cox might have come into contact with the day before the ... incident."

"H-Heather who?" Her eyes widened with innocent confusion.

"Y'see, Miss Melbourne - " The blunt-faced man continued. "We found this particular phone on the premises, and it turns out we found something interesting."

"Interesting? Well, I don't see what that has to do with me?" Mitzi shrugged.

"Apparently," the Dean cut in. "It has a great deal to do with you! That girl was taken away in an Ambulance!" The Dean gave the side of his desk a quick pound with a hammy fist for emphasis.

"I ... I didn't..."

"Didn't you, Miss Melbourne?" Blunt-face asked rhetorically. "See, our techs had to examine the scene of the attack, and they discovered some form of unknown, organic accelerant; it's something ... frankly which they've never before encountered. Some flammable agent that they can't find anywhere, in any reference guide."

"I'm not a chemist..." Mitzi pleaded.

"I almost wonder about that, because it turns out, the only other object where that unknown accelerant has been found was - " he pointed. "On your phone. Which you just identified. You are the only link to what happened in the stadium, Miss Melbourne. And it was clear to everyone, with that kind of deliberate pattern of incineration, there was just no way this is anything but foul play. I'm afraid you're needed ... downtown ... we've got a lot of questions for you!" His voice deepened ominously. Mitzi's lips quivered in terror.

"It was her tits! Damn those tits!"

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