The Flesh Project

IDENTITY CRISIS

For the third time in as many days, Lola was able to experience the sensation of waking up in Setsume’s arms. It was a wonderful feeling, so much better than waking up alone. She loved the way she could feel warm arms wrapped around her waist, and more than that- Setsume’s long, hot-skinned she-cock pressed up against the smooth skin of her leg. The two of them were snuggled together beneath the thin coverlet, letting it sprawl over the shape of their bodies like a uterus containing conjoined twins.

Lola knew that Setsume was, like her, awake and simply enjoying the feeling of closeness. She could tell, because Setsume’s breathing was different when she was actually asleep- during slumber, there was a small whistle in each exhalation that Lola now knew was the result of the younger girl’s once-broken nose.

That’s something about her I know that no one else knows, Lola thought- and the idea made her heart flutter with happiness. That’s part of us, now- our relationship. Anyone else who hears that whistling from Setsume won’t know the reason. That’s for me alone to know. Something for us to share.

The idea of secrets, and the disclosure thereof, got Lola to thinking. She stirred lightly on the bed, rubbing against Setsume, feeling the friction and warmth. Lola was wearing a black nightie and tiny black panties that left almost nothing to the imagination. She could feel that Setsume was bare-chested, and wearing a pair of high-hemmed shorts that allowed her cock to emerge from one of the leg holes while cradling her large, smooth scrotum comfortably.

“Setsume?” she whispered.

“Yes?” came the answer. Their voices were low in the dim light. Every morning in the compound was a simulated morning, of course- there were no windows anywhere. But the room had begun to illuminate, a timed, preprogrammed increase in light levels that was designed to rouse the Flesh Project subjects at the proper time.

“Well,” Lola said, “As you can probably imagine, I think about you a lot.” Setsume hugged her tightly, and Lola closed her eyes, blissful. “I have a question to ask you about your name.”

“What about my name?”

“Sumie…” Lola said, hesitant. “When a child is born, the most common way to tell the sex of the child is, to see if it’s got one of these,” she went on, rubbing Setsume’s cock gently with one below-covers hand.

“And?”

Lola hesitated again. She was treading on dangerous ground- Setsume obviously had strong feelings about her origins, the mixed and muddled sexual puzzle of her body and her mind. And yet…

“Sumie, what name is on your birth certificate?”

Silence. Lola could feel the soft current of Setsume’s breath on the back of her neck. Two breaths. Three. Four. Five breaths. The soft rise and fall of Setsume’s chest against her back, the comfortable swell of her tits. Lola could feel all of these things, her senses mad godly by the moment, and the silence.

“Setsume Roya. No middle name, no middle initial.” There was something in Setsume’s voice. Not quite anger, or displeasure. Something that Lola couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Lola squeezed Setsume’s hand. “Do you know that for sure?” she asked. Silence. The low hum of electricity and circulating air. Lola pressed on, after some debate with herself, her voice gentle.

“Setsume, male and female babies are almost identical except for between their legs. If you were born the way you are, with boy parts, and no…with nothing else- why do you have a girl’s name?”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lola regretted asking the question. She had identified the sound in Setsume’s voice. It was desperation. The need to cling to an idea against all logic. I’m so stupid, she scolded herself. In her heart of hearts, she knew that secrets could give strength when freely given, but not when solicited. Not when dug out of a person as with the nail-pulling end of a carpenter’s hammer.

She felt Setsume let her go, abruptly, and shift up to a sitting position, rustling the bedspread. The hot flesh that had been pressed against her was gone.

“Well, what’s your real name?” Setsume suddenly asked. Her voice was snippy.

“You already… it’s Lola. Lola is my real name,” replied the older girl, rising to lean on one hip, here eyes concerned. Setsume’s grey eyes, for their part, were stormy. There was anger brewing, there. Lola could sense it.

“Really?” Setsume replied. “Lola Schande?” Setsume rose from the bed, and as the black-haired teen strode toward the bathroom, Lola could only watch her go, ass working beneath her pajama shorts, taut and perfect. Could only watch as her long legs carried her thin, lean body toward the door. Could only watch Setsume’s fat cock swinging, thick and hot, against a tanned and toned thigh.

Setsume reached the door, turned the bolt, and paused. “You think I don’t know that Schande means ‘shame’ in German? What a coincidence THAT is.” Her voice had turned cold, and she pulled the bathroom door shut behind her.

Lola, at first, didn’t know what to do. Had she really thought this conversation was a good idea? She rose from the bed, tiny panties dug into the fleshy folds of her cunt, the rearpiece struggling to contain her bubble butt as it slid off the mattress. With her nightie swaying sexily over her midriff, Lola walked to the door. There was water running inside.

“Sumie,” she called. “Don’t be angry!”

“You expect me to believe that’s your name?” Setsume called back from inside, voice muffled by the running sink. “I guess I should pump you for an explanation, since you’re in the mood for it. You want to get into some ancient history? Who put that tattoo on you?”

Lola didn’t respond. She could only slide a self-conscious hand to the barely-covered mound of her crotch. The tattoo was dormant, of course…but she knew the place where it appeared. Had seen it all too often.

Setsume went on. “No answer, huh? Ok, how about this! How did you support yourself before you ended up in this place?”

Lola turned away from the door and leaned her back against it. Her green eyes were filled with concern. “Why are you being like this?!” she said, eyes confused and afraid. Lola felt a little anger of her own. “Setsume, if you knew the answer to those questions, you wouldn’t be asking them like that!”

In that tone, she silently added. Throwing them at me like shrapnel.

Lola’s eyes began to brim with tears. “I just wanted to know more about you!” she cried. She brought her hands to her face, as if to stifle what sobs might come.

“Well sorry!” Setsume called from behind the door. “I’m not some box you get to unlock!” Lola could tell that Setsume was almost crying. And the thought of that made her begin to weep a little.

“Please don’t be that way!” Lola called back, sinking to the floor outside the door, her head clutched in her hands. “Sumie, please- don’t be mad. I’m sorry!” For a moment, she lay prone, sick with worry about the damage she may have caused. There was silence for close to a minute, a soundless void partially hidden by the running taps in the bathroom.

Then, Lola rose, walking toward the door, rubbing her eyes, sniffling minutely. In her head, she struggled to contemplate the events of the morning.

She’s striking out, blindly. My question hurt her somehow. It hurt her badly. It poked a hole in the things she has to tell herself to stay sane. I mustn’t be upset at her. I hurt her by accident, and she can’t help wanting to hurt me back a little.

Lola reached the door and pulled it open, walking out into the hall in her nightie and panties. She began to walk toward the cafeteria. She would get coffee. She would get some for Sumie, as well.

She’s angry, Lola thought. But she’ll forgive me. I know it. She has to.

In her haste to leave the room, and so too the battleground of the first argument, Lola missed the notice attached to the outside of Setsume’s door.


===================================================


Elsewhere that morning, Ashley Wilder was also waking. The bed he rolled out of to touch his youthful feet to the floor belonged not to his mother, as had been the case for as long as he could remember, but instead to Lorelai, with whom he had been staying for the past several days. He was bare except for a pair of tight white briefs that stood out drastically against his golden skin.

The first thing he noticed, even before the pressing need to pee that crept into his senses just seconds later, was that Lorelai was gone. He had woken up beside her each other day of their short and strange partnership, often feeling her cock, pulsating and long, draped over his body. On the second day, in the early moments of wakefulness, he had felt it slip between his legs and press against his asshole, mashing the fabric of his undies up into the puckered ring there- filling the space between his boyish buttcheeks with a relentless and powerful presence of flesh. She had teased him relentlessly that morning, telling him what was about to happen to him, and the depths to which his cute little ass was about to get drilled. In the end, though, she had done nothing. Only risen and gone about her morning business. He had heard the slimy retreat of her cock as she had pulled it back inside her cunt.

Ashley walked over to the door, thin legs scissoring gently, bladder full, but forgotten. He turned the latch and poked his head outside, sparing a glance down either side of the hall.

No sign of her.

He poked his head back inside, feeling the strange, dry feel of his own hair against his head. They had dyed it together, she and he, spreading thick, foul-smelling goo along the length of Ashley’s hair, in a process similar to what he assumed his mother must go through at the beauty parlor. For the young boy, though, Lorelai had chosen not a lighter blonde, as his mother often did, but a dazzling indigo blue, and now it was that color that cascaded down his head, stopping at his neck, the unnatural and beautiful hair of an anime character.

He looked at his fingers and toes, turning his thin-fingered, graceful little hand out and back before his eyes, slowly, taking in each curve and cranny. The nails had been painted a shade of indigo to match his hair. The boy didn’t know if he liked what was happening to him, what was being done to him. But it was different- something new, quite possibly something bad- and that, he had to admit, he did like.

Maybe this is my destiny, he thought. I’ve always looked like a girl, and never wanted to admit it. Maybe this was meant to be. Maybe I just needed to meet someone who wasn’t afraid to show me.

He looked down at his nubile, smooth body, and thought of Miss Setsume. What, really, was the difference between her body and his? She didn’t have a cunt, and neither did he- she had a cock, and so did he (though, he noted, hers was four times the length of his). Sure, Miss Setsume had pretty big tits now that she was almost 17 years old, but what had she looked like just one month after her 13th birthday?

Ashley walked over to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. He folded his hands underneath his pectoral area, pushing upward, forming little boy-tits, just to see how they might feel. He ran a thumb over his nipple to check the sensitivity. He felt an excited twinge, perhaps not physically triggered.

I could be a dickgirl, he thought. I certainly don’t look like a boy. I could just be a girl who happens to have a dick instead of a cunt, like Miss Setsume.

It was true. His lips were the plump, curvaceous swells of a girl, his eyes, the wide and deep pools of a girl. His nose was in the thin, small-nostriled form of a girl. His eyebrows were naturally thin. His skin was smooth and glowing as the feminine face of a Noxzema ad. His hair, the jagged, neck-length locks of a girl. His neck, thin and graceful, angular, tendons showing lightly. His shoulders, cute, bronze, lacking in muscle, but soft and featureless.

Of course, some other part of him knew this wasn’t true. He was only imagining it, turning it over in his head, trying it on for size, as a fantasy that could partly be played out in reality. He looked effeminate, but he knew in his heart he wasn’t gay- he couldn’t stand the thought of muscular guys in leather, their chests wreathed in bushy forests of curly hair. No, he wanted something naked and slick, soft, like him. A woman, to be sure.

Then his mind took another turn.

What about Noah? Could he fuck Noah? Noah had no facial hair, and Ashley had seen that he had almost no body hair, either. Noah had a great physique, as well- lithe, like a ballet dancer, muscles sinewy and long. And he was handsome, but not in a rugged way. Ashley tried to imagine kissing him, but couldn’t. Still- it was something. He wasn’t totally turned off by it. He moved on to imagining Noah holding him, placing him gently down on the bed, putting first one finger inside him, then two, brushing one gentle hand over his brow…

Ashley’s hand fell to his erect cock. It was an impressive package for a 13 year old, and the head was poking naughtily out of the waistband of his white undies. He lowered them quickly, raising and dropping one leg to step out, letting them fall around his ankle. He could feel the thick heat of his ballsack rubbing against his thigh as he made this move with haste. This was a new fantasy for him, but an exciting one, and the boy didn’t want to waste time that could be spent exploring it.

He looked at himself in the mirror as his hand started to move quickly up and down the hairless length of his cock. Ashley closed his eyes and imagined the scene.

In his mind, he was a dickgirl.

She-Ashley was dressed in her little blue angel costume, on her hands and knees, panties pulled down, with Noah’s hard, long dick stuffed deep in her tanned, sexy teenage dickgirl ass. Below the hot penetration occurring in her nethers, her cute cock was rock hard, pointing at the bed, slapping up against her belly with every ass-filling thrust, smooth balls hopping back and forth. Between her balls and her asshole, there was a cunt- slick and pink, spread wide, dripping clear lubrication down to the mattress in fat drops as her butt was pounded.

“Yes, fuck my ass!” she yelled, secure and silent inside Ashley’s head. “Fuck my ass! Cum in my ass!”

Her face was being driven into the mattress with each press forward of Noah’s long, driving cock. Her cute butt, hipless and sweat-slick, was jiggling and compressing up against Noah’s abdominal area as he buried himself to the hilt, pulled out again, and re-buried, thrusting quickly.

“Oh god! Oh god! Fuck my butt! Spill your sperm inside me!” came the interior voice, begging, and through the legs of his mental avatar Ashley imagined he could see two pert, budding tits. They were hanging downward like two fleshy drops of water, about to coalesce and fall. He could see the pokey nipples she had, could see them bouncing up and down on She-Ashley’s frame.

Fantasy-Noah turned her over then, placing her coltish legs on his shoulders, one on each side, flexing his sexy ass as he continued to plow the She-Ashley’s tight hole, causing nine inches of his cock to disappear below the pink flower of her imaginary cunt, buried in an impossibly tight 13-year-old shit chute.

“Oh god, it’s so big!” cried She-Ashley, hands cradling her titflesh, pushing them together in ecstasy. “You’re fucking my ass! You’re so deep in my ass!” The wet slap of flesh on flesh was like a backbeat, and She-Ashley’s rock-hard little prick was leaking a tiny strand of precum. In Ashley’s mind, it drooled down and connected to her flat, tanned belly, vibrating like a guitar string every time Noah pushed relentlessly into her. The young boy saw an X-Ray cross-section of his alter-ego’s ass, an interior view of her violated hole, saw the fleshy walls push aside as Noah’s cockhead plowed mindlessly forward, then collapse back inward, caressing the sides of his burrowing bishonen dick with the hot warmth and tightness that only a 13-year-old could boast. He saw this repeated time and again, ten thrusts, then twenty, could hear the gasps from the dickgirl and the groans from Noah as his fuckpole was handled by her hot asspipe.

She-Ashley’s hands were cupping her nipples, pinching them, squeezing them, even as her breasts were jostled. “Oh god!” she said, her voice a high pitched squeal, Ashley’s voice at it’s most effeminate register. “You dick is so big! It’s so hot inside me! Keep going! Fuck me deeper! Spurt your cock juice inside me!” And as Noah’s thrusts became harder, as sweat began to fly from the impact between the two ethereal bodies, she continued to encourage him, this dream self, begging for release, begging to have her insides stained with a heavy load of male sperm.

It was filthy, nasty, wrong. This was a young girl, body sprouting with a fleshy organ she didn’t want or understand, confused, helpless with desire and cum-lust, wanting nothing more than to feel release, to cum hard with her hot little dick, to wash her own front with ropes of girlsperm, a boy’s fantasy. And all the while wanting the unmistakable heat of someone else’s ejaculate to pour over her insides, a girl’s fantasy.

“I’m cumming!” Fantasy-Noah roared, lost in the ecstasy of She-Ashley’s tight asshole. “Where do you want it?”

“In my CUNT!” was the begging reply.

And so Noah pulled his long, spasming dick from the She-Ashley’s sexy ass and fucked it, hard and deep, into the pink wetness above. Ashley could see the way the dickgirl’s balls drooped down slightly over Noah’s shaft- and the way her cock stood upright, swaying over the hot act of penetration below.

“Ouch! Oh god, you’re tearing me apart!” she yelled, and Ashley knew that in this fantasy, he (she) was a virgin, that this dickgirl’s cunt had never felt the spearing heat of a man’s cock. He saw her raise her ass up off the bed, muscles tensing in pain. And still, Noah pressed forward. Ashley saw, clear as a bell, the way her pink little pussy lips were stretched around his dick, how her pea-sized clit was poised, slick and quivering, over the top of Noah’s wet cockshaft, and how her cum-loaded, hairless balls were, in turn, hanging above that nub.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” she screamed, blue-glossed lips stretched in a rictus of pain and pleasure, body glistening. Again, Ashley imagined a simulated CUNT-CAM, a view from the inside of the orgasming girl, where he could see Noah’s long cock buried within her, could see the entrance to her disused womb as it was battered open, cervix stretched around the fat head of an invading prick. As he watched, the cock exploded in a torrent of cum, and there was a sound like a water-balloon being filled as whiteness piled up inside her, engulfing the spurting head of Noah’s cock, filling all of the empty space inside her, where a baby might someday grow.

“My body!” she screamed, eyes wide, the pupils vibrating within like drops of water on a skillet. “I can feel your cum inside of me!” And then, Ashley saw, even as his dickgirl self was having her little quim filled with hot jizz, she began to spurt herself, her jutting cock ejaculating ropes to splatter wetly over her tits, her open mouth, and her face- four or five long and thick streams. They landed with the wet and thick sound of tobacco juice on pavement, splattering her immaculate face with the spermy nastiness of her own mutant form, coagulating over her helpless teeth and her tiny, apple-sized tits. One strand even trailed down from her forehead and over the helpless, jittering lens of one blinkless eye, staining the blue with a filmy, bubbling cataract.

As this fantasy unfolded, Ashley was on the floor of the washroom, two fingers jammed up his own ass to massage his prostate, the other hand jerking his hot boycock. The volleys of dickgirl sperm he imagined coincided with is own seething cum spurts, and as he felt the wetness of his own issue erupt on his own chest and face, he continued to imagine that it really was him getting fucked, getting the sacred cherry of his imaginary cunt mercilessly popped by a glasses-wearing hunk he barely knew.

At last, he came to rest, breathing hard, feeling his own cum dripping over his body. As Lorelai had shown him, he would not tell anyone about this fantasy.

He would, perhaps, not even admit it to himself.


===================================================


Mikura was dreaming. In the floating, disjointed continuity of her sleep-mind, she saw herself in a white tile room, sitting in a bathtub. The walls were featureless, the ceiling rimmed with fluorescent bulbs that cast her in the steady, anti-septic brightness she associated with bathrooms. Yet, there was no sink, indeed, no cabinets or protrusions of any kind- only the unbroken whiteness of the wall.

She was naked, her huge tits heavy and sacklike against her chest, her hair tied back in a long brown ponytail. Her eyes, those deep pools of ocean blue, where relaxed and serene. The bathtub was empty- she was dry. She could feel the smooth ceramic hardness of the tub against her fleshy globes of her ass, pushing them into flat shapes as she sat. The fat lips of her beautiful cunt were nestled between her close-set legs, the knees nearly together. Above those lips, her small patch of brown pubic hair was short and well-kept. Silently, as if preparing to soak, she removed the hair-tie of her ponytail, feeling it fall about her shoulders.

There were no taps. No knobs for hot water or cold. The bathtub was free-standing. Moreover, there was no drain, and no stopper for it. She could not begin to wonder about these things, for it was a dream- and dreams seldom make sense. That was when she could feel, almost hear, a gurgling within herself. She looked down worriedly at her own tits, and could see that the nipples were erect and straining. She could feel the heat of fluid moving through herself, rocketing toward the ends of her breasts in a network of channels, like the rush of twisted river rapids over a maze of stones.

She cried out, mouth open, teeth barred, as two thick, high-pressure streams of milk began to erupt from her fleshy nipples, stinging her with twin arrows of pain and orgasmic delight. The sound of milk pouring, splattering, echoing in the empty tub was an auditory goliath in the stark silence of her dream- it was a wet and nasty sound, and it only intensified as the flow from her tits intensified. Her body, as always, was out of her control, and the streams erupting from her tits were fat and thick, they were cereal-pour streams, impossibly white. Mikura couldn’t believe the volume she was spurting, it was beyond anything she had ever experienced. She could only watch, wide-eyed, as the twin milk jets splattered loudly over her legs to wash into the large ceramic basin.

With two hands, she hefted her left tit and squeezed, feeling the bulbous flesh give way like a massive, firm pastry from which the cream filling was erupting. She was rewarded with another gunshot orgasmic sensation, and then the flow from that side of her chest seemed to double in intensity, becoming a hoseblast of white milk as she applied pressure.

“Oh!” she said, collapsing against the back edge of the tub, feeling a thick stream of milk wash down her body to pool at the base. She could feel milk ebbing and flowing in a thin puddle, tickling the sexy half-moons of her ass. Experimentally, she spread herself slightly and pressed her asshole down into the puddle, feeling the heat of her own titmilk as it washed into her crack. And still her fuck udders were pouring their calcium-laden bounty. She placed two hands on her right tit and squeezed, and again she could feel channels and vessels compress to force reservoirs of fluid implacably forward to the spewing spigot of her nipple. There was a second faucet-like eruption, and then her right nipple was a mirror of her left, erupting into the basin.

Before long, the milk-level had reached her asshole, bathing it, and she lowered one long-fingered hand, wetting it in the milk before beginning to play with her large, brown ringmeat, teasing it, poking at the puckered starfish there with first one finger, then two, feeling the wetness of her own fluid wash against her. Her skin was slick with rivulets and droplets, her unbelievable, thick butt was marinating in it.

Desperately, she brought her fingers to her left nipple and dug at it, stretching it, dilating the hole in the tip, trying to relieve the pressure. As she did, she felt the skin of her milk-duct stretch wide, and the spray she had been firing from her helpless tit became a white cascade, washing wetly over the udder that had borne it, and down her side, not decreasing but increasing in volume. The left side of her body became shimmering, milk-soaked waterfall- a dynamite figure, jutting tits, huge hips, massive, sexy ass, cloaked in a constantly falling fountain of white fluid. She could scarcely comprehend the pleasure. Arms nearly numb, she repeated the process with her right tit, stretching the erect nipple open, letting the liquid burble up and out, and then down on herself, turning her entire body into a feminine sculpture of running milk. She arched her back, bending at her thin, impossible waist as milk ran relentlessly down her hips.

It was pouring.
Drenching.
Unstoppable.

The level of white fluid in the bathtub had reached the top of her pussy now. She was sloshing in it every time she moved her legs. She could feel the warmth and slickness of it against the lips of her cunt, could feel it leaking into the fleshy crack of her slit. She reached down and spread herself, rubbing milk into her molten gash, feeling the warmth of it trickle inside. She brought her second hand down and dug in her fingers, pulling the flower of her sex wide, wanting to feel the wet flow of liquid enter the depths of her vagina. As it did, she could feel a cum building- a soul-shattering, cunt-crushing orgasm. The level of milk in the tub crested overtop of her jutting clit, lapping at her midriff and thighs.

When she came, she screamed, and the issue from her two milk sacks seemed to redouble, blasting into the tub in fat, snaking arcs, splattering everywhere, stirring the contents of the bath into a froth. And even amidst that chaos, she could see the milk between her legs seem to bulge and crest, like the surface of a hot tub when one of the jets has been pointed upward. As Mikura watched, the consistency of the milk churning between her fleshy thighs seemed to change as fat onrushes of clear liquid began to burble to the surface- the rocketing, helpless female ejaculations of her peerless gash. Below the bone-white surface of the milk, as if with underwater videotape, she could visualize her cunt spraying jets of clear, slick womansplatter into the roiling white sea, mingling and changing the texture and consistency like cream mixing with coffee. She thought crazily of an octopus, staining the ocean with a plume of black ink.

The tub had nearly reached the halfway point- milk was making a beach of her smooth, sexy midsection and the bottoms of her erupting tits. Her orgasms had rendered her mindless, eyes halfway rolled up into their sockets. She collapsed backward into the liquid around her, feeling it wash over her, drench her hair, and the displacement caused by her big, bountiful body caused the level to rise even higher. She had lost all control, a familiar feeling, could no longer even move. Her muscles would not respond. She felt a fourth orifice in her body give way, and could barely register in the midst of her mindless spurt-craze the fact that she was pouring hotly into the milk with a fat jet of piss, emptying herself helplessly, staining the white bath with all that was inside of her.

She opened her mouth to scream, to cry out, but no sound emerged- only an inexplicable, vomitous geyser of milk, pouring from her throat, splattering back down on her stunned face. Her eyes were vacant, shocked. She voided her mouth and throat in gurgling, choking heaves, barely seeing the thick streams that issued from her mouth, feeling the warm splatter of milk on her face. And all the while, her tits were still open, gushing- her crotch was a spasming eruption of lube and piss. In her final extremity, she fell backward further, unlocking her elbows, immersing herself completely in the bath.

All was white. The milk washed over her every pore, bathing her. In her nose, she could smell the immaculate whiteness, mixed with the tang of her piss and the strong, sexy musk of her pussy. Her mouth was awash with it, her hair, floating in it, every strand suspended, wavering, in free-fall. She opened her eyes under the wash of it, saw white, felt it burble soupily over her corneas.

She screamed crazily, lost in orgasm, an undersea milk-choked cacophony, muffled by the liquid filling the tub. Fat bubbles of air washed to the surface, flying from her throat. She felt her nostrils fill, her sinuses become choked. Her nipples erupted in one last, thick blast, stirring the surface. Likewise, her cunt spasmed, her pisshole twitched, and each geysering hole sprayed a thick and final payload into the churning bathtub. Fluid washed over the sides, splattering the tile. And still the scream went on. It seemed to last forever, buoyed by her powerful lungs. Then she felt milk clog her windpipe. She thought that she would die here, drowned by her own discharge.

It was not to be, though. Slowly, she gained control of her body. Her head poked out from the white surface, rising slowly. She controlled her breathing, feeling her fat tits rise and fall in the warmth of her milk bath. Exhausted, she let her head fall backward against the porcelain, lolling on her long, swan-like neck. Every inch of her skin was dotted with milk droplets. Her brown hair was drenched and plastered against her head. She was a goddess, fertile, an idol of bounty, mother to all. Her blue eyes were soft and contemplative.

She closed them. For a long time, there was no sound except for the wet patter of droplets on the tile floor. The surface of the milk became still, flat. Mikura’s head was an echo chamber of voices.

My body.
My body.
My body.

I can’t help it.
I’m sorry.
I can’t help it.
My body.
Oh heavens.
Oh goodness.
My body.

I’m sorry, Jonathon, my special, special man. I’m so sorry.

My body.
I can’t help it.


And then, a stirring in the tub. And not from her. Mikura’s eyes snapped open. There were ripples and bubbles coming from between her outstretched legs, and she could see the ripples of something emerging, just about to break the surface of the milk bath. It was a head- a girl’s head. It rose slowly, hair darkened to a light brown, slick with milk. The contrast between the tanned skin and milk rivulets was stark- white icing on golden cake. Her neck emerged, small and delicate, then her shoulders. She continued to rise, as if from some milky birthing vat, and Mikura could see that her barely-there tits were covered by a milk-soaked, lacy bra, wet to the point of transparency. Milk ran from it in lines and swirls. Her nipples were perfect and pink, barely raised. She rose further still, revealing a heart-stopping, tanned expanse of milk-soaked midriff, and then her immature, hairless cunt, the bubblegum pink dripping with whiteness.

Her eyes flashed open, piercing blue. California eyes. They were burning with sinful lust.

April.

“Mother,” she said, and milk dripped sexily from her slick, pink lips. “Forget Jonathon.”

April splashed down into the milk, then, squirming between Mikura’s legs. The older woman felt the heat of their bodies mingling beneath the tide, felt the taut warmth of April’s barely-pubescent, milk-soaked body against her own. The young girl kissed her, rough, with lust, and Mikura’s eyes widened as she felt a mouthful of milk pour past her lips, buoyed by April’s questing tongue.

“Aaaaaaaaaugh!”

Mikura sat up with a start. Silence. Bedroom walls. A ticking Kitty Kat clock from the kitchen. It had been a dream. She felt tremendous wetness, though, and looked down at her sheets. The area between her legs was soaked through. She brought her hands to her chest, experimentally. The front of her nightshirt was stained with milk, and her upper body was sticky with it.

“Oh dear,” she whispered.


===================================================


Elsewhere, Noah was enjoying a cup of coffee in Sarah’s room, and reading the notice that he had found posted on her door.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
TRIPLE THREAT


The following people must assemble in the main room at 12:00 sharp:

Marks, Sarah
Rheinzer, Noah
Roya, Setsume
Schande, Lola
Wilder, April
Wilder, Ashley
Wilder, Elizabeth
Willamette, Lorelai
MIKURA

There will be a short meeting, after which you’ll have a day to make sure you’re ready to roll. This is mandatory. Absence is not something you even want to contemplate, so don’t.

Casual dress is fine. You won’t all be fucking on the spot, as I have said above. We’ll be holding another draw at the meeting, so I hope you’re all feeling lucky.

The rules are simple.

I will pick one of nine names out of a hat. That chosen person will then come forward and draw a further two people to form a threesome. We will repeat this process once, so that we’re left with three groups of three.

Then, exactly one day after the meeting, those three groups of three will make their way to three separate rooms, at which time they will fuck each other raw, using all the talents at their disposal. I know I’ll be enjoying my view from the security office. I’m toying with the idea of giving the most compelling group some sort of prize. Don’t quote me on it, but it’s a possibility. I’m not always an asshole- just most of the time.

IMPORTANT: All threesomes are final. Complaining won’t change anything. Also, I’m not naming any names, but certain people better be prepared to accept the fact that they can’t dictate who fucks who.

Now that the bureaucratic bullshit is out of the way, let’s get together and make sexual history.

Time to do what you were born to do.

Fuck you very much,

Dr. Dick
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***


“Did you see this?” he asked her, pushing the paper in her direction. The thin, red-haired hottie had just walked back into the room after a morning shower.

“I’ll read it later,” she said. “Right now, I want some coffee.”

She squeezed his cock as she walked by, caressing him with one agile hand, and he pushed forward in his chair with a start, banging his breastbone against the table as he looked at her.

“With cream,” she said, winking.

Noah sighed. It was going to be one of those days.