Storiesonline.net ------- Heather's Secrets by Samantha K. Copyright© 2006 by Samantha K. ------- Description: A girl gets married just out of high school but finds that she still has a lot to learn about her own sexuality and the dangers of letting it run amok. Codes: MF cons bro het cheat wife exhib interr BM WF mastrb lac ------- Heather Stevens' face was a portrait of ecstasy. Her eyes were closed. Her head hung back and her blonde hair, gathered in a ponytail, brushed the chenille bedspread beneath her as she moved. Her lips were parted slightly and through them her breathing was punctuated by quick gasps. Naked, she held her shoulders off the bed with her hands below her, her fingers clutching the bedspread, shoulders rolled back as though holding a pose in a gymnastic exercise. Her feet were on perched on either side of a corner at the foot of the bed, and she easily held her boyish rear end off the corner of the bed with the strength of her well-toned legs. Her pink, puffy nipples pointed toward opposite corners of the room as she arched her back with her face toward the ceiling. Her toes curled tightly as she slowly rubbed her pussy up and down the ornately carved bedpost, savoring the bumpy texture as her clit traveled up and down the hard wood. The bed was an heirloom inherited from her great aunt. It was a large, sturdy piece of furniture from the days when all furniture was made to last generations. It held the mattress so high off the floor that getting into it made Heather feel like she did when she was a little girl and had to climb up on everything. A tomboy from an early age, Heather never felt intimidated by things larger than herself. She saw a world that was, by and large, made for people much bigger than she, as a challenge, something to be climbed and conquered. While the other children shot up to be tall, lanky teens, Heather did not. At 5' 1", she was always the shortest person in her class. Her weight stayed under a hundred pounds until she was in High School. Then, when she was fifteen, her breasts grew two cup sizes in only a few months. All the rest of that year, they continued to grow. By her sixteenth birthday, she measured a remarkable 39DD-18-28. Her waist was so slender that it almost disappeared when she turned sideways, and her bottom was the same size as when she was 10 years old. On her diminutive frame, her breasts looked vastly out of proportion. As a sweet-sixteen schoolgirl with a double-D cup size, she had considered them her greatest asset, since they were a boy-magnet that made her competition envious. As she grew older, they had stayed high and firm. During her regular aerobic exercises, they bounced and swayed, but never sagged or flopped. Even so, she still had the same problems that girls with large breasts usually do, but magnified by her short stature. Seatbelts were irksome, she could never get one adjusted so it did not twist her breasts or strangle her. Walking became more hazardous, because she could no longer see things immediately in front of her feet. She compensated for this by changing her stride so that she kicked her feet ahead of her so she feel any obstruction before she tripped over it. This gave her a 'models-walk' and made her look like she was heading down the runway wearing the latest fashion. Clothes were a major issue, because local stores never carried anything in her size. She would either make-do with something that did not fit, modify it so it did, or buy from a specialty-clothing site on the Internet. Many of the Internet places that carried the best-fitting clothes catered to women with exhibitionist tendencies. Their things were all low, snug, short, see-thru, form fitting, or all of the above. Heather began to see clothes less as coverings and more as adornments, the way most women view jewelry. Once you have that perspective, it is easy to adopt a 'less is more' attitude. Underwear was one of the first casualties of this mind-set. She had a worse time getting panties than she did bras. Her small rear put her below the normal adult size Small and into the children's sizes, none of which fit properly, and most of which were styled for the pre-teen set. Eventually, she quit wearing panties, even under short skirts, since she would rather chance someone seeing her naked than wearing a pair of panties with cartoon characters on them. She avoided bras as well, except those that enhanced, rather then concealed, her twin assets. She tried her hand at making her own clothes and managed to create a few simple dresses that were very flattering. Unfortunately, wearing the equivalent of a little-black-dress or skimpy party attire for everyday clothes was not practical. Heather learned that she could take in the seams of some garments much easier than creating something from scratch. For instance, she would take her father and brother's old shirts and cut them down or take them in to turn them into something she could wear around the house or in the yard. Her best results for less casual clothes were from working over maternity blouses because they were designed for large breasts and could be adjusted easily. Skirts could also be taken in to fit her small waist and hips, but shorts were still a problem. She mostly had to make-do with the selection from the children's department. This meant a lot of tight-fitting knit shorts that would have been 'cute' on a little girl, but bordered on pornographic on a girl with Heather's bust line. Since she refused to wear panties, it gave the term 'camel-toe' a new dimension. When her breasts overflowed a D-cup, her gym teachers offered to waive some of the class requirements for her, fearing she might injure herself; but she insisted that she be allowed to participate fully, only allowing herself to be sidelined when there was no other alternative. Doing push-ups on the floor was one of the activities she avoided. With her arms extended in front of her and her hands on the mat, her breasts hung down almost as far as her elbows. Lowering herself face down to the ground was difficult and involved so much manual rearrangement that she was allowed to substitute using free-weights while lying on her back instead. She enjoyed swimming, but it was obvious that she could never be competitive in it. Diving was ruled out altogether, when her first attempt from the three-meter board resulted in the destruction of her swimsuit and embarrassment in front of the whole class. Having large breasts had compensations other than turning heads. Heather found that when she was aroused, her two-inch diameter areolas would puff up like miniature muffin-tops and her nipples would stiffen and stand out like the plastic nipples on baby-bottles. They were very sensitive and she liked to pull on them to see how engorged she could get them. The larger she made them, the more sensitive they were, and the more stimulation they received, the larger they got. She also loved showing them off. Shortly after her blooming chest had altered her appearance so drastically, she began to wear the tightest blouses she could squeeze into to showcase her assets. Sometimes, the stares she received would tempt her to new heights of exhibitionism. With the rush of teenage hormones flooding through her, she would dash into a restroom stall and tease her nipples to attention, emerging with the clear outline of her erect nipples showing through her blouse. She delighted in the rapt stares of all the boys, and many of the girls, too. The attention they received, and some surreptitious tweaks and twists from her, usually kept her nipples erect through the final bell. Even though she was out of school and a newlywed now, she still enjoyed showing off her body. Her collection of tight-fitting and skimpy clothes made her just as popular with the country club set as she had been in High School. Her husband, Bill, was an excellent lover. He was patient and considerate and at just under eight inches when fully erect, his equipment was certainly adequate. At least, every time he put it in Heather he made her climax. In Heather's opinion, he was much better than average in bed and she was lucky to have him as her husband Heather's problem was that the first orgasm just got her warmed up. With continued stimulation, she could climax again and again, each time reaching new heights of pleasure, until she either collapsed from exhaustion or passed out in the middle of a spine-cracking, nerve-shattering orgasm. Bill was in awe of her sexual capacity, and he seemed to enjoy their frequent protracted lovemaking sessions during which he would participate in whatever way he could. After exhausting his own stamina, he would carry on using his hands, tongue, various toys, or sometimes just providing an audience for Heather's exhibitions of self-gratification. ------- It was her streak of exhibitionism and ultimately her scandalous behavior with Evan Kowalski, the owner of the largest company in town, and a notorious lecher; which resulted in her husband's swift promotion to junior executive status and membership in the Mars Hill Country Club. It certainly did not hurt that she had let Mr. Kowalski take certain liberties with her in the coatroom while Bill mingled and networked in the club bar. Her whispered negotiations on Bill's behalf had resulted in a nice raise for Bill, allowing them to buy their dream house much sooner than expected. Something of Mr. Kowalski's had risen quite nicely too, she recalled. That was the night she had first worn her most elegant cocktail dress. It was a two-piece affair with a skirt made from two gold-lamé panels that hung down front and back from a string waistband, with a gap of a few inches on each side. The top was made from another thin string that hung loosely around her neck with strings of beads hanging from it in a loose net. The beads draped her breasts in front, just hanging low enough to cover her nipples — really little more than an elaborate necklace. The effect was stunning. Her back was completely bare all the way down to the crack of her boyish rump, as were her sides and the outside of her legs all the way to her feet. Her ample cleavage was displayed to excellent effect and the sides and lower third of her high, firm breasts were visible under the screen of beads. She had to be careful how she moved in it, because her large nipples tended to poke through the beads if she allowed her breasts to wiggle too much. She had been on her way back from the ladies room when Kowalski waylaid her. He pulled her into the dark coatroom and backed her into a corner before she had a chance to object. She expected some groping and maybe an offer to meet her alone later. What she got was a direct business proposition. "You have the most beautiful tits I have ever seen," he said in a hushed tone. "I'll give you $5000 if you let me cum on them, right here, right now." Heather supposed she should have been shocked, but she had experienced some equally rude proposals from some of the jocks at school so this was nothing new to her. When she replied, she was just as blunt. "No," she said, "but I'll do it if you give the next available VP slot in your company to my husband, Bill." Heather pulled her top over her head and hung it on the coat-hook on the wall beside her. She put a hand under each magnificent breast and squeezed them to show Kowalski her counteroffer was earnest. Kowalski was nonplussed. He thought of himself as a good negotiator, but Heather had just pulled the rug right out from under his opening position. He decided right then that if her husband was half the businessperson that his pretty wife was, then he would come out way ahead on this deal, regardless. Kowalski loved a win-win situation almost as much as he loved for someone else to lose. He said, "Done." Instead of the usual handshake, to seal the deal, Heather put her hand out, unzipped Mr. Kowalski's silk-blend dress slacks, reached in and pulled out his cock. Holding it daintily in one hand she gave it a firm shake. Dropping to her knees, she continued to tug and stroke his already half-erect organ. In a few moments she had it standing tall. Heather held his cock near the base as she admired the results of her effort. Kowalski had quite an impressive organ and, for a middle-aged man, it was remarkably stiff. The shaft was long, very thick at the base, and the head was large and dark-red. It looked much like a ripe plum in the grasp of a small child. While her small hand could just encompass her husband's cock, on Mr. Kowalski's she could only get it a little more than halfway around. Heather felt a rush of desire hit her as she wondered what it would feel like to have such a thing inside her. She wondered if the rumors she had heard about Kowalski treating the wives of his executives like his own personal harem might be closer to the truth than she had imagined. She knew that if she held onto this beast much longer, she might be tempted to go further than the terms of their deal. She was already very wet and beginning to feel the familiar light-headed sensation that she only felt when she was very sexually excited. Releasing the large organ from her small grip, she placed her hands under her breasts with her nipples between her fingers. While pulling and twisting her nipples under the riveted gaze of Mr. Kowalski, she leaned forward and tried to take the head of his cock into her mouth. When she found she wasn't able to open her mouth far enough to get it in, she settled for letting it rest on her lips while she flicked her tongue across the sensitive area underneath. Clear liquid oozed from the gaping hole in the tip of his cock and it quickly covered her lips and ran down her cheek. Heather looked up and met Kowalski's eyes with her own. At first, she hoped the strong feeling of lust she felt wasn't showing on her face. After a few swallows of his precum, she decided that she didn't care if he knew she was just as turned on as he was and she became even more wanton in her oral caresses of his cock. She did not expect him to last very long and was not surprised when after only a few seconds of her onslaught, his cock began to bob and twitch. Leaning back into what she judged to be the target zone, Heather continued to play with her breasts, both for Mr. Kowalski's benefit and her own. Suddenly Kowalski's cock began to erupt and he moaned with pleasure. His cum splashed first on one rounded breast and then the other as Heather held them up to his prodigious stream. Both breasts were quickly drenched in glistening white cum. Heather waited patiently, cum dripping from her breasts onto the floor of the coatroom while Kowalski wrung the last few drops from his cock and replaced it in his pants. "Here," he said, taking a garment from a hanger at random, "let me clean you up." He then gently and thoroughly wiped all of his cum from Heather's breasts with what turned out to be someone's cashmere sweater. The feeling of having her naked breasts rubbed with cashmere was exquisite and Heathers nipples responded approvingly, much to Kowalski's delight. "Don't worry about Bill, "Kowalski told her conspiratorially as he rolled one between his fingers, "I'll take very good care of him." Days later, Heather still wondered about the reaction of the owner of the sweater when they came to claim it and found it saturated with cum. She also wondered what she would have done if Mr. Kowalski had wanted something else and what it would be like to feel such a large cock push its way into her body. Would it be that much better than sex with Bill? ------- Heather and Bill had married right after his graduation from college. He was bright, handsome, came from a good family and seemed destined for a great business career. That he never complained about her flirting, teasing, or exhibitionism meant a great deal to Heather. He seemed very proud to have such a beautiful young wife and encouraged her to show-off whenever she wanted. He had even conceived a few of her more outrageous stunts, both before and after the wedding. The most memorable of these was the costume party last Halloween. Bill convinced her to let an art-major friend of his from college air-brush a cow costume onto her skin. She had been dubious about the idea until she saw some of the concept drawings that showed what she would look like painted white with brown splotches. Heather agreed to be the canvas for the project with only one small change to the design. She nixed the idea of painting cow's teats on her stomach. Instead, wearing her smallest g-string, she allowed herself to be covered from head to toe in paint, leaving bare only her own pink nipples. At the party, Bill arrived wearing a farmer's overalls, carrying a milk bucket and leading Heather by a cotton rope around her neck, her nipples covered with brown tape to match the brown spots of her costume. Everyone at the party thought she was the cutest Guernsey they had ever seen. After the party was well underway, and everyone had downed several glasses of the high-octane punch, Bill announced that there would be a milking demonstration. He led Heather into the center of the room and had her get on her knees on the coffee table with her arms behind her back. He placed the milk bucket on the table in front of her and bent her over it with her large breasts hanging free. He then pulled the tape from Heather's very tumescent nipples and proceeded to pull one with each hand as though milking a cow, while Heather moo'd contentedly. The demonstration brought down the house. People whooped with surprise at the sight and fell over each other laughing uproariously. Everyone not in the room was immediately summoned so they could witness the audacious stunt for themselves. To accommodate everyone, Bill continued to milk Heather while those who had been outside or in other rooms trickled in. This took several minutes, and Heather became highly aroused from Bill's rough manipulation of her sensitive breasts, but mostly from having a room full of people watching him do it to her. Her pussy felt like it was boiling and her juices had saturated the tiny g-string and were trickling down her thighs, threatening her custom paint-job. She was getting very light-headed and her breasts felt swollen and heavy, just as though they were real udders and she was really being milked. Her eyes began to roll back in her head as she felt the beginnings of a climax come over her. Suddenly, Bill stopped pulling on her nipples. The abrupt cessation of sensation made her eyes snap open. She looked down at Bill's hands and saw drops of white liquid dripping from his fingers into the bucket. They both stared at each other with open mouths. She had actually started lactating in response to the stimulation of her breasts. A few days after the party, Heather confided the details of the event to her doctor. He told her that the condition was called galactorrhea and that it could happen to women as a result of breast-stimulation, especially women with breasts as large and firm as Heather's. He gave her a manual breast-pump to use if she found that her breasts became uncomfortably swollen due to her milk production. Heather went home and immediately tried to reproduce the event by fondling her breasts, pulling her nipples and then milking herself with the pump. She found that with the right amount of stimulation and the aid of the pump, she was able to get an ounce of milk from each breast. The next morning, she substituted her own milk for the cream that Bill took with his morning coffee. As he drank it, he commented on the rich flavor, but did not ask about its origin. Heather decided to keep the whole thing secret from Bill, but continued to feed him her milk surreptitiously. Discovering that she could actually make milk from her own body gave Heather a new perspective on life and sexuality and she found a new appreciation for the breasts that before she had viewed as exclusively sexual objects. She began to try to find ways to improve the quantity and quality of her milk. She changed her diet to include more whole grains and fresh vegetables, started taking iron and calcium supplements, tracked her weight, and recorded her daily production. She joined a local gym and signed up for aerobic and strength-training classes. After only a few days, she had increased her output to half a cup a day from each breast, almost half a gallon a week of sweet, high-fat milk. She found that because of her new regimen, she was also more energetic and felt better than she ever had before. Encouraged by this success, Heather escalated her efforts. She exchanged her manual breast-pump for an electrically-powered, dual-cup model that allowed hands-free operation and provided stimulation to her nipples. She rearranged some furniture in the spare room so she could lie across two hassocks with her breasts hanging free between them with the pump attached. She set the pump on its highest speed and then lay down for 30 minutes twice a day while the pump ran. She found the pulsed sucking of the pump on her sensitive nipples to be both relaxing and sensual. She looked forward to her milking sessions for the feeling of tranquility and contentment they gave her. In a matter of weeks, Heather was giving a pint per breast per session, which was a half-gallon a day or almost four gallons a week. One effect of this level of production was that her breasts expanded a whole cup size, from DD to E and her areolas were enlarged and made more sensitive. This pleased both Heather and Bill, although only Heather knew why it had happened. Another consequence was that they had more milk than they could use. Heather was concerned that it would be wasted, until she found that she could donate it to the Milk Bank at her local hospital, where it would be fed to sick and premature babies. The nurse she spoke to was skeptical when Heather told her how much milk she could deliver each week, but when Heather dropped off the first few gallons and the nurse saw the milk and the impressive set of mammaries that produced it, she became the biggest supporter of Heather's new pastime. Heather did not want to tell her husband about her hobby. Even though it felt good, enhanced her bust, gave her a feeling of tranquility, and she was proud of her achievement and of her contribution to the community through her Milk Bank donations, she was still afraid he would think it strange for her to want to moonlight as a cow. ------- It was during a visit to see her parents that the situation changed. Heather and Bill had been invited to stay with them over the Memorial Day weekend and all the following week at their house in the country. They were to leave when Bill got off work on Thursday, drive the two-hour trip into the hills, and stay through the following weekend. They would be put up in the upstairs bedroom down the hall from Heather's younger brother, Hank. Heather's dad had also promised to take Bill fishing and Bill was looking forward to it eagerly. The departure and drive up had been uneventful. Traffic was light, once they got off the main road. They arrived on time and the five of them had a home-cooked dinner that would have fed a dozen people. They all got along well, even 18-year-old Hank, who, like most younger brothers of beautiful girls, had annoyed Heather endlessly while they were kids growing up. They all sat up and talked about the upcoming fishing trip on Sunday, Mom's heart problems, and Hank's summer job working at old man McWhortle's farm. On Friday the weather was wonderful, so they all went on a picnic at a nearby lake. Bill and Heather swam out to a diving platform several yards offshore while Heather's mom and dad sunned themselves on the shore. That evening, after another excellent home-cooked meal, Heather said she was tired and went up to bed early. Saturday was the big local festival and the whole family drove over to a nearby farm where a small carnival had been setup for the celebration. The local people exhibited crafts and musicians played at each end of the main field. They had been there for only an hour when Heather's mom noticed she wasn't feeling well and took her aside for a chat. "Dear, are you alright? You look a little under the weather" her mom asked with more than a trace of concern in her voice. "I'm OK, mom. Really." "It's not your time of the month, is it? You look a little... bloated," her mother whispered behind her hand. "I'll be fine, mom. I just ate too much and it's not sitting real well on my stomach. Let's get back to the others. I don't want to spoil the fun." Heather's mom was dubious, but she did not want to press the issue. She had been watching her daughter walking around with her arms crossed over her stomach most of the day, so indigestion was a plausible explanation. In fact, Heather had not been holding her stomach but supporting her breasts. They had begun to ache the day before, but she had ignored it. Now, they were not only aching, but they were starting to sag, something they never did, and Heather was becoming concerned. Of course, Heather knew what the cause of her distress was. She had last used her breast-pump Thursday morning before they left, so she had missed four milking sessions in a row now. She had known this might be a problem when they planned the trip, but there was just no way she could have smuggled the pump into the luggage and no place for her to have used it in private if she had. She had deluded herself into believing she would not have a problem and now she was paying the price of that self-deception. As uncomfortable as she was, she no more wanted to explain her hobby to her parents than to Bill. She would just have to try to get through the rest of the vacation as best as she could. Bill had noticed the hushed conversation between mother and daughter. He too, was concerned about Heather, but she had reassured him earlier that she would be all right, and he was willing to let her be the judge in the matter. That night, Heather put on one of her father's XXL shirts and sat quietly all evening, curled up in an easy chair. Everyone knew this was odd, since Heather's tendency to be a clotheshorse was nothing new to any of them. She never wore baggy clothes since they hid the body that she was so proud of. Just before she went up to bed, she heard Bill and her father making plans to leave early to go fishing. Both men believed that getting up at 3am was the best way to sneak up on a trout. At 4:30 the next morning, Hank was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of strong black coffee and trying to pry his eyes open before he had to leave for his job at McWhortle's farm. He heard a sound at the door to the downstairs hall and looked up, wondering whom else would be moving around at this hour. Heather had just her head stuck into the room past the doorjamb. She was bent over almost halfway to the floor. She looked like she had not slept all night and she still had on her dad's shirt. It looked like a tent on her. "Psst, Hank," Heather hissed, looking around the room. "Anyone else up yet." "No, Sis. Nobody here but us earlybirds. Dad and Bill left a while ago, and I guess Mom is still asleep. What are you doing up this time of the morning?" "Hank, you have to promise me something," Heather said, still with only her head around the door. "Please?" She looked so bedraggled and sounded so pitiful that Hank decided to put aside the years of bickering that had gone on between them and help her out. Of what, he had no clue. "Like what?" he asked with a suspicious tone in his voice. "I have a problem you have to help me with, and you cannot tell a soul about it. Promise!" "Ah, sure." Hank said in a noncommittal tone. He wondered what he was getting into. This was a little too conspiratorial for his taste. "Promise!" Heather hissed again. "Ok, ok. Whatever! I promise. Now what's the big deal?" Heather crept around the door and shut it quietly behind her. The oversized shirt hung down to her knees and she was barefoot. She shuffled over to the table and stood next to him, still bent over. She looked at him as if trying to decide if his promise was good and then started to unbutton the shirt. Hank stared at her as if she had lost her mind. Growing up in the same house, he had had plenty of chances to see his sister's body. Getting caught peeking at her was one of the best ways to get her goat. Even after the titty-fairy came and she changed from tom-boy to sex goddess, he was the last person in the world that she wanted to show-off to. Now, here she was, undressing in front of him in the kitchen at 4:30 in the morning. It was surreal. Heather had finished undoing the buttons, but still clutched the shirt closed. She still looked hesitant and maybe a little afraid of what she was about to do. Then, having decided, with an obvious effort she stood up straight for the first time since she had come into the room. Striking a pose like a Roman statue, she opened the shirt, letting it fall from her shoulders and hang from her forearms, pooling on the floor. Hank's breath slowed. His eyes slowly grew wider and wider. He blinked, and blinked again, not sure what to say. His gorgeous 19-year-old sister was standing naked in front of him, but the novelty of the event was trivial once he saw the condition she was in. Heather's once large but sag-free breasts had grown enormously. He had noticed earlier that her breasts looked bigger than when he had last seen her, but somehow, in the last three days, they seemed to have doubled in size. It was no wonder she had trouble standing erect. The weight of them must be killing her back. They rose slightly from her small chest and hung, swaying in front of her stomach. Her distended nipples pointed straight down. The skin over her huge breasts was stretched taut and a web of blue veins could be seen bulging under her tan. They looked like they might burst at any second. Her areolas were hugely engorged and had been stretched to almost four inches across. Her nipples were distended to two inches long. "Good grief, sis! What happened?" Hank could not keep the tone of worry and deep concern out of his voice. Heather slowly leaned over the table and braced herself by stiff-arming the top of the table. With her other hand, she reached down and took the nipple of her right breast and pulled it over to Hank's coffee cup. Holding it between her fingers, she pulled on it, stretching it out even further than seemed possible. From the tip of her nipple, a stream of creamy white liquid squirted directly into Hanks coffee, turning the black liquid a light brown. "I need," she said deliberately, enunciating clearly so there would be no misunderstanding, "to be milked." She slid into the chair opposite him at the table, leaning forward and resting her pendulous breasts on the table-top as she sat down. Having the weight off was clearly a great relief for her. As her breasts came to rest, small rivulets of milk ran briefly from both bloated nipples. Her breasts lay on the table between them like overfilled sacks about to split and spill. "Soon," she emphasized. While Hank tried to come to grips with the shocking appearance of his sister, Heather sketched out the story of how she had come to be in this state. As she spoke, Hank absentmindedly took a sip of his coffee and then another before realizing what he had done and pushed the cup away. Heather smiled at this and asked, "Don't you like it?" "It's..." Hank trailed off. He did not feel comfortable telling his sister that her breast milk was delicious. Instead he said, "Why didn't you want anyone to know?" Heather sighed. "For the last three years I have been overhearing catty remarks of jealous women referring to me as a 'cow'. I thought that dressing as a cow for last year's Halloween Party would defuse some of the comments by showing people that I could laugh at myself. Instead, it got much worse. I don't think I could stand it if it got out that I actually give milk." "Ah, right. But you say you have been using this machine to, ah, do the milking? Do you think you are up to the real thing?" Heather looked at him hard, a faint hope beginning to shine in her eyes. "What do mean, 'real thing'?" she asked. "Well, I have this summer job working for old man McWhortle. He has this little farm that where I help with the chores. On this farm he has some cows..." "Well, E-I-E-I-O. And I suppose he has equipment to milk them himself, "she said, eagerly grasping what Hank was suggesting. "Exactly. I'm not sure how this would work, but it's the only thing I can think of. If you want to try, you can ride over with me in the pickup. I really aught to be leaving now." Hank glanced at the wall clock, "You better get dressed if you want to come." "This is going to be it, I'm afraid," she said, holding the shirt open like a bat's wings. "I don't want to risk sneaking by Mom's door again. If she saw me like this..." Hank nodded. It would not do to let his mother see her daughter in this condition, even if the alternative was to have Heather running all over the county buck-naked. "Truck's out back. Let me help you up." Hank came around behind Heather, intending to help her stand under the weight of her breasts, but he couldn't think of what to grab. Heather smiled to see his dilemma. "Thank you, Hank. Your chivalry is duly noted. Now help me up." And she reached behind her, took him by the wrists and guided his hands under her breasts. With his support, she was able to stand almost normally. Hank was amazed at the weight of her breasts. They must have been ten pounds apiece. It was no wonder she had been bent over like that. When she regained her feet, Heather thrust her arms under her breasts and crossed her wrists in her cleavage to give them support. Her nipples again sprung little leaks and drops of milk showered to the floor. Hank withdrew his hands and opened the back door. In the truck on the way to McWhortle's place, Hank saw that the bouncing of the truck over the dirt and gravel road was giving Heather a hard time. Each jarring movement was causing her pain as her breasts bounced in her arms. He slowed to give her a rest. "No," she said through grit teeth. "Let's just get there the quickest way." At the farm, Heather sat in the truck while Hank tried to explain the improbable situation to Mr. McWhortle. To everyone's surprise, he grasped the problem immediately and was quite sympathetic. He walked over to the passenger door of the truck to reassure her. "Happy to help, missy. I know it's gotta hurt. Weaning is as hard on the sow as it is the litter." "Great," Heather thought to herself,, "First I'm a cow, now I'm a pig." Both men helped her into the barn. Hank pulled together a couple of hay-bales next to the stall with the milking machine in it. He left a gap between them so the milker unit could be pulled though from the stall. This arrangement was familiar to Heather, since it was basically the one she used at home. She would not be able to lie down here, though. The milker unit was too big and her engorged breasts would hang down too far... She took off the shirt and folded it into a pad for her knees, then knelt on one bale and put her hands on the other, bridging the bales with her huge breasts hanging above the milker. Commenting on her nakedness, she said, "This doesn't seem to be a time for modesty. I'm ready when you are." McWhortle was just about struck dumb at he sight of Heather perched naked on the bale of hay. "Finest piece of woman-flesh I believe I've ever seen," he thought. Hank stood in front of her, leaning on the stall, ready to give moral support and watch Heather for signs of distress if this did not work out as well as they all hoped. McWhortle checked the controls on the pump, adjusted the vacuum and the pulsator settings, tore the seal off a clean glass collection bottle and hooked it up. He then took a jar of salve from the shelf, scooped up a large glob in his hand and rubbed it into each of Heather's nipples and well up onto her breasts. "Keeps 'em from stretching so bad," he said, smiling encouragingly. When he bent down to check the vacuum in the teat-cups, Heather realized that this was going to be very different from using her machine at home. Her machine had been designed for the anatomy of a human female. This one was intended for a different structure completely. Before she had time to ponder this, McWhortle slipped the cups into place on her nipples and let the vacuum take over. Heather's eyes got very wide as she felt the tender flesh of her nipples and areolas being slowly pulled into the teat-shell of the milker. It was quite a unique sensation, she thought, to have your breasts suddenly turned into udders and your nipples into teats. McWhortle waited a minute for her nipples to adapt to the cups. Their sides were transparent and he could see her flesh slowly being pulled into the tube by the vacuum of the machine. Checking the seal once more, he went to the control panel and said, "I'm going to start off at a low speed on the pulsator. You let me know if you can take more, OK?" He pushed a button and the milker whirred to life. Heather suddenly felt the throb of the pulsator as the machine began its cycle of suck and release, suck and release. "It's not too bad," she said, "You can turn it up." McWhortle nodded and turned a knob on the panel. Gradually, the speed of the machine increased. When Heather showed no reaction, he turned it further. Glancing at the collection jar, he saw a pulse of white fluid shoot into it. He smiled. This was going to work. He hoped that the poor girl would not be permanently disfigured by the milking machine, but he figured it was more important to give her relief from her burden than to worry her pretty head about that. Heather relaxed into the rhythm of the machine. As the speed increased, she began to feel the familiar sensation of tranquility and contentment that she felt when using her machine at home. As it sucked faster, the sensual feeling became more sexual and then became outright arousal. The pulsing of the milker was causing a sympathetic throb in her clit. As her pussy-juice began to flow, she closed her eyes and let the feeling of pleasure wash over her. She was too tired to fight it and the pleasurable sensation was a welcome relief from the discomfort of the last couple of days. McWhortle and Hank watched Heather's transformation from a girl in distress to one in rut with amazement in their eyes. Bulges began to appear in their pants as the spectacle had its effect on them. McWhortle increased the speed of the machine even further and watched in fascination as Heather reacted by becoming more aroused. ------- The powerful pulsations of the farm-grade milker were nothing like the soothing effect of her own machine. She felt like she was being sucked deeper into the machine with each pulse. The boundary between her flesh and the metal milker seemed to blur. It seemed as if she had become an attachment of the machine. In one sense she was right. Although it was out of Hank's line of sight, McWhortle could see through the clear teat-cup that Heather's nipples had been pulled completely into the device and had fully conformed to the cups, which were in the shape of a cow's teat. The bright pink flesh pulsed with each cycle, pressing against the side of the tube as the milk was extracted. He reached out to the control and again increased the speed of the machine. The girl started to moan. She spread her knees further apart on the hay-bale and was moving her hips in small circles. McWhortle's cock had gotten harder than it had been in longer than he could remember and he felt his blood pressure rise as long-dormant hormones found their way into his veins. He licked his lips and cranked the dial on the machine up to the border of the red-zone marking. The pulsator motor raced. He had never had it this high when milking his cows, but the girl looked like it was doing her nothing but good. He checked the collection bottle. The level was just approaching three fourths of a gallon. From the look of her swollen milk-bags, she was good for much more. In McWhortle's professional opinion, it looked like high-grade product, too. Hank stared into Heather's face. Her moans were getting louder. Her eyes were closed, and her expression was a mixture of relief, joy, and sexual arousal. Arousal seemed to be becoming dominant. He was quickly losing focus on her as his sister and was instead seeing her as a sexual animal. He wondered if this side of her was the 'real' Heather. He certainly had never seen her like this before. As she moved her hips, it made her breasts sway as they hung beneath her with the milker tubes attached. Hank was suddenly stuck by the erotic character of the scene. His cock started to try to tear a hole through his jeans. Heather had given herself over completely to the machine. The pulsations made little waves of pleasure that raced from her breasts to her stiff clit and back again. She was oblivious to her surroundings and to the presence of her brother and the old farmer as they stood by, watching her with slack jaws and huge erections. She was riding a wave of sensation that rose higher and higher as the machine serviced her. The rolling motion of her hips made her labia rub together deliciously, but they quickly became engorged with blood and curled apart, preventing any further friction. She began to buck her hips in little jerks, trying unconsciously to rub her clit on something, but was only able to wave it around in the cool morning air, which just made it harder and more in need of attention. Heather's moans became whimpers as she began to crave release. McWhortle's breathing got faster and his mouth got dry. His large adams-apple bounced in is throat as he swallowed repeatedly. Watching Heather being milked was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. Without thinking about it, he twisted the control knob under his hand full over until it hit the stop. In response, noise of the pump rose from a rumble to a whine. The beat of the pulsator became continuous, like a drum-roll. Heathers milk splashed into the collection jar with such force that it began to froth. The level in the jar reached a gallon and continued to rise. Heather arched her back and whipped her head back. Her blonde hair lashed her back. A low howl came from the back of her throat. It sounded like something that should have come from a wild animal looking for a mate than from a human being. Her hips began to buck vigorously. Her clit felt like it was going to burst and it was driving her crazy from not being touched. A red flush came to her face and spread down her throat and her back. Suddenly, she gave a high-pitched squeal and began to shake all over. She had reached climax. The shaking gradually slowed to a shudder and then she was still. She rolled her head forward and let it hang. She took several deep breaths and then raised her head again. She looked at Hank and then McWhortle with hooded eyes and a smile on her face that needed no explanation. Both men were frozen into place by what they had seen. Watching Heather's orgasm had left them stunned. They were both breathing heavily and their muscles were as rigid as their cocks. They continued to stare at Heather, absorbed by her erotic display. The afterglow of her orgasm left Heather relaxed. She was greatly relieved to feel that the weight in her breasts had diminished. The pain and discomfort had passed and left behind only a feeling of fullness. The blue veins on her breasts had disappeared under her all-over tan. The milking machine that had brought her to orgasm through stimulation of her nipples alone was still sucking away at top speed. The sensation was still incredible. She could feel the suction power of the machine all the way to her toes. As she focused on the sensation, she felt another wave of arousal lifting her. She smiled and moaned softly. Now that she was again aware of her surrounding, she remembered being watched by her brother and Mr. McWhortle as she writhed in the throes of orgasm. The memory excited her. She tried to picture what they saw, a naked girl attached to a milking machine running at top speed, cumming her brains out. It was so hot! She smiled at the men again. The wave of arousal was lifting her higher and higher. She needed to climax again in the worst way. Her clit was still as stiff as wood. She had to get something to touch it. She had to get someone... Heather moved her legs as far apart as she dared on the bale. She hung her toes off the sides. She bent her cute rear around toward Mr. McWhortle and wiggled it at him. McWhortle just about lost his teeth. Two seconds later he was right behind Heather, losing his overalls. He kicked them free of his boots and waddled up behind her. Reaching between her legs, he slid his hand along her slit. She shivered and moaned at his touch, and he took his hard cock and slowly guided it into her dripping pussy. When his belly hit her bottom, he slowly pulled back and then, with both hands kneading her pert ass, he started to fuck her in a slow tempo that he figured would give him the greatest staying power. He did not want to blow his load too soon. This was a chance of a lifetime and he was determined to make it last. Hank watched McWhortle mount his sister with his jaw practically on his chest. When the old man had settled into a steady rhythm, Hank looked down at Heather. She was looking directly into his eyes with a teasing smile on her lips. She held his gaze for a few seconds and then slowly opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out, rested it on her bottom teeth, and then wiggled the tip. Hank just about came in his jeans right then. He quickly unzipped his fly and then carefully pulled his hard cock out. Straddling the bale, he pushed his hips forward and put his straining cock into his sister's mouth. Heather was ecstatic. With a cock in both ends, and the milking machine in the middle, she was in heaven. The stimulation was overwhelming. She sucked Hank's cock hard, drawing it into her mouth until his pubic hair tickled her nose. Having given him a taste of the suction she was experiencing, she let it slide back out until the head was on her tongue and then she started to suck and lick it like a candy cane. She started clenching her vaginal muscles around McWhortle's cock when it was at its deepest penetration and made him pull against the grip on the way back out. This way she could get him into the rhythm that suited her best. Nobody was going to last long this way, least of all Heather. After only ten minutes, she was quickly approaching her second climax. Her hips started bucking involuntarily. She lost control of her vaginal muscles and her pussy spasmed all over McWhortle's hard cock. She moaned deeply and sucked Hank so far into her mouth so that the head of his cock was almost down her throat. McWhortle knew the time had come. He pushed his cock into her as far as it would go, leaned over Heather, reached below her heaving belly and stroked her clit with his rough fingers. Heather came instantly. This time it was vastly better. The first time had been from the tension of not having her clit touched. This was much more intense. Pleasure steamed into her brain like a runaway freight train. All her muscles quivered and she almost lost her grip on the bale in front of her. She screamed around Hank's cock and the vibrations set him off, too. His cum blasted down her throat and she swallowed reflexively, her throat milking the head of his cock. McWhortle's cock felt like it was in a velvet vise. When he came, it felt like his cum had to build up enough pressure in his cock to force its way into Heather's pussy. He gripped her ass cheeks tightly as he pumped his cum into her. His contractions went on and on until he ran dry and then they went on some more. He felt like he had been the one who had been connected to the pump instead of Heather. The two men collapsed against the barn walls, totally spent. Heather laid her head down on her forearms with her ass in the air, cum drooling from her open pussy and running down her clit to drip onto the hay. When McWhortle was able, he pulled on his overalls and walked stiff-legged to the control panel. The milking machine was still running at top speed and still sucking madly at Heather's breasts. He rotated the control back out of the red-zone setting and checked the collection jar. The milk was coming in much slower now. The streams of white fluid were thinner and their volume had diminished greatly. He knelt to check Heather's breasts. She had a beatific smile on her face and she moo'd softly when he gently squeezed her breasts to check them. They had lost all their bloated appearance and had shrunk back to their normal E-cup size. McWhortle went back to the panel, cranked the dial back to the medium setting and watched the collection jar. He tried to match the speed of the machine to Heather's reduced output. Finally, he shut it off just a split-second after the last small squirt of milk was pumped into the jar. "Looks like three gallons even," he said. Heather had almost collapsed on top of the machine. McWhortle went back to her and gently released the vacuum in the teat-cups, allowing them to slide off. He looked down at her nipples as they slipped free and furrowed his brow. Clearing his throat, he said, "They will be very sensitive for a few hours. I will give you some balm to rub on them. It will shrink them up some." Still in the afterglow of her second orgasm, Heather roused herself from the torpor she had slipped into and sat up. From what she could see, her breasts had been restored to their normal shape. They no longer drooped down her stomach and the weight felt about right. Curious about McWhortle's last comment, she got to her feet and walked over to an old chipped mirror hanging on the wall. As she crossed the room, she glanced at Hank. He was still slumped against the wall, but he had his hand over his mouth and she could not read his expression. Then she reached the mirror and looked at her reflection. Her breasts were riding high on her chest again and when she put her hands under them she could not feel any amount of sag. She looked in the mirror again and then she saw what had put the tone of concern in McWhortle's voice. Her nipples, which had been the size of pencil erasers surrounded by areolas two inches across, were now four inches long and over an inch think. Her areolas had disappeared. She now had two cow teats hanging from the tips of her breasts. The visual effect was awesome. The teats did not stand up on their own. Instead they drooped slightly, with the slightly bulbous tips pointing down at a 45 degree angle. Heather shook her shoulders slightly and the teats jiggled back and forth. She put her hands under her breasts and ran them out to the ends, grasping a teat in each hand. They filled her small hands, the ends poking out of her grip. She stroked them slowly, careful not to pull on them too much. As she did so, the intense sensation reached right to her core. Her teats were just as sensitive as her clit. As she watched, the darker tissue that had been her areolas crinkled and made her teats stiffen. Now they stood out straight, two fleshy probes on the ends of her breasts. She continued to stroke them and was rewarded by more intense bursts of pleasure. She was sure that she could make herself come just by stroking them. Heather turned away from the mirror, still stroking her teats, and faced the two men. Hank's eyes were fixed on her chest. McWhortle was having trouble meeting her gaze. She walked up to him and put her hands on her naked hips, pulled her shoulders back and put her new teats an inch from his stomach. "It this permanent?', she asked. McWhortle cleared his throat before answering. "Well, I don't think so," he said. There isn't any real tissue damage that I can see. Everything is just rearranged. Sort of like when you sit in a lawn chair for too long, and you get up with strap marks on your legs. There may be some stretching, though, but everything should be back to normal in a few days." Heather put her hands back on her teats. She was having trouble leaving them alone. As she started stroking them again, she repeated, "A few days... Well, I guess I'll have to make the best of it." Then she had a thought. "Oh, my! We will be here another week. I will need milking every day if I'm not going to fill up again." McWhortle nodded and smiled. "Happy to have you anytime. After all, you're one of my best milkers," he said. "That three gallons is a record in my herd." On the way back to the house, Heather reflected that it was all for the best. She would have to tell Bill about her hobby now. She wondered how he would react to her teats. As it turned out, she needn't have worried. Bill was fascinated by her new form and spent a great deal of time fondling and sucking them. McWhortle was right to be concerned about the effect of the machine on Heather. A few weeks afterward, her areolas had reappeared, but were just an inch across; and her nipples were still over two inches long and just as hard for her to leave alone. ------- On days when the weather was nice, Heather usually spent part of the morning sunbathing in the backyard of their new house. Since her closet contained a large wardrobe of clothes that revealed more than they concealed, Heather felt the best policy was to avoid the complication of tan-lines on her body, so she always sunbathed in the buff whenever possible. Their house was on a large lot of almost two acres, and the backyard was reasonably private. The windows of the neighboring houses mostly faced other directions and the yards were separated by rows of hedges that screened her from casual observation. Of course, anyone who wanted to spy on her would have no trouble doing so, as the shrubbery would hide the observer as well as the observed. Upon hearing the bushes rustle in the wind, Heather would sometimes pretend that someone was in the bushes, watching her. She would then stretch and pose elaborately, so as to give them a good show. Once, she thought she had actually glimpsed a pair of feet under the hedge dividing her yard from the house next door. She thought it was just her imagination, because they looked like they had clumps of bright yellow dandelions on them. When she tried to get a better look, they disappeared. If it had been the one of the neighbors, they made no complaint. Later that week, she ran into her next-door neighbors while shopping at the mall. They introduced themselves as the Franklins, George and Marie and their 16-year-old son, Greg. Heather and the Franklins exchanged the obligatory promises to 'get together real soon' and then turned to go their separate ways. Heather looked back briefly as she walked toward the department store and saw Greg smile and wave goodbye to her, before walking away wearing the typical teen costume of t-shirt and baggy shorts, and sneakers with double-tied yellow laces. Heather wondered if Greg was the type of boy who could keep secrets, but she wasn't sure how she would feel about the answer, either way. She decided to pursue the matter in her own way. The next day, Heather moved her usual sunbathing spot closer to the Franklin's yard. She had just lain down on her towel, naked as the day she was born, as usual, when she heard a rustle in the hedge. She lay still, showing no sign that she was aware of being watched. After a minute or so, she began to go through her stretching and posing routine. After a couple of minutes, when she was sure she had the absolute attention of whoever was in the bushes, she sat up, picked up her bottle of suntan lotion and turned toward the hedge, asking "Would you help me please?" At first, there was no response. Then she heard the clear sound of a zipper being drawn up Greg shuffled out of the shrubbery. He was shirtless and his flush of embarrassment at being discovered ran down to his skinny chest. Heather saw that he was desperately trying to cover his crotch with his hands without it being completely obvious that he was sporting a serious boner. Heather waved him closer, and he crab-walked over beside her towel. "Here," she said, "would you help me run this on my back?" Greg would not have missed this opportunity for all the gold in Fort Knox. He knelt beside the towel and grinning from ear to ear, held out his hand for the lotion. Heather knew this was the moment of truth. She had her fish hooked, now she wanted to land him. Holding the bottle of lotion to her, she looked pointedly down at his baggy shorts and said, "You're making me uncomfortable. You're wearing clothes and I'm not. Why don't you take those off." The look on Greg's face was priceless. Terror chased desire and surprise all over his features. He froze in place, one hand still outstretched. His lower jaw worked up and down, but no sound came out of his mouth. Heather was sure he had stopped breathing. Heather got to her knees facing Greg, a position that put her breasts directly in front of his face. She rolled her shoulders back, as she had learned to do when she wanted to focus attention on her chest. "Please?" she pleaded, in her most little-girl voice. Greg's frozen pose broke. He resumed breathing and slowly got to his feet. Just when Heather was sure he would bolt, his hands moved to his fly and he undid it. Then he lowered the zipper and let his shorts drop to the ground. His six inch cock was so stiff that it stood straight up and pointed at his navel. The head was almost purple and veins stood out prominently along the shaft. Heather studied his cock. She was careful to let no trace of criticism into her expression or her voice. She had no desire to damage his ego. From the looks of his cock, he would cum if she breathed on it. "Sit here," she said, handing him the lotion, "do my back." Heather lay down on her stomach, propped on her elbows, while Greg squirted some lotion into his palm and gingerly began to rub it around between her shoulderblades. "Mmmm," she purred. That's nice. Spread it all over." Greg began making bigger circles with his hand, then took a deep breath and began to slide it across her shoulders and then down her back. He stopped short of her small rounded ass and then started back up her back. "No, silly," she said, giggling. "All over. Do my legs... and my butt, too." Greg swallowed hugely and then squirted another dollop of lotion into his hand. He put his hand on the small of her back and then slid it down over one of her ass-cheeks and the back of her leg, then he reversed the motion on the other leg. Heather could feel his hand trembling as he touched her. She was sure he had never touched a girl like this before. She waited until he had finished her back from ankle to neck and then rolled over on her side, facing the boy. "You have a gentle touch," she said, approvingly. "Most men just grab and squeeze. A girl prefers to be stroked instead of groped. I bet you have a lot of girlfriends." Greg straightened his shoulders on hearing himself referred to as a man. He had only been out with a couple of girls, and those dates were so heavily chaperoned that they prevented all but the most innocent contact or conversation, but he was not about to admit that. Instead, he tried to repay the complement. "You have a great body," he said, stating the obvious, but with Heather lying nude within arms reach, the obvious was all he could think of. "Why, thank you, Greg. What a nice thing to say. I think I have a great body, too. That's why I like showing it off." Heather rolled onto her back and lay down on the towel. "Now do my front." Greg tuned so pale she thought he might faint. With his eyes darting all over, he squeezed a glob of lotion into one hand and then rubbed it into both palms. He took a deep breath and then leaned over Heather's nude form. To make things easier for him, she closed her eyes and made no further suggestion about how he was to proceed. She felt his hands first at her neck, spreading the lotion along her collarbone. Then he moved to her shoulders, and down her arms. He stopped for more lotion, and then put his hands on her rib cage, just below her breasts. She was about to admonish him for skipping spots, when she felt his hands slide up and try to cover each breast. They were considerably larger than his hands, even with his fingers spread wide. She suppressed a moan of pleasure and lay quietly under his touch. His hands began to make circles around her nipples and then he touched them with just his fingers, rubbing them in circles. She felt him let them slide between his fingers and then capture both between his thumb and forefingers. He gasped as the nipples hardened under his touch, but did not remove his hands. Heather moaned softly. "Mmmm. That's nice." Emboldened, Greg made another pass over her breasts and then reluctantly moved on to her abdomen. He rubbed it around in sweeping strokes, then dabbed a little bit in her belly button. He rubbed it down her legs, massaging it into her thighs and calves then covered the tops of her feet. Then he stopped. Heather debated with herself for a moment about whether to encourage him to touch her in more intimate places, but decided that since she had let him take the initiative and he had stopped short of touching her there, she would abide by his decision. There was, however, something else she could do for him. "Thank you Greg. That was kind of you to help me out. But your cock doesn't look like it has seen much sun. You better put some lotion on it." Greg looked down at his bright red member, stiffly curled against his abdomen. He got up on his knees and put some lotion in his right hand and with his left he pried his cock down to a horizontal position. Heather could see it was jerking slightly in time with his pulse. He curled the fingers of his hand around the base, closed his eyes tight, and slowly stroked out. When he got to the head, he gave a shudder, and stroked back down again. As soon as his fist reached the base again his cock twitched on its own and then began to shoot ribbons of cum high into the air. Heather counted five good-sized spurts before Greg sat heavily down on the ground beside her, his cock still clutched in his fist. "Oh, my! That's a lot!" Heather said. Greg opened his eyes. His cum had landed on Heather's stomach. He could see it flowing across the curves oh her abdomen and pooling in her navel. A look of shock came to his face. Heather smiled at him, then she reached down with one hand and began to rub the cum around on her stomach. She scooped it out of her navel and spread it on her breasts, rubbing it in. When she had finished, she lay back on the towel and stretched out in the sun. "What's your favorite subject in school, Greg?" she asked, "Mine was Biology." They both laughed at that. Then Greg lay down next to her and they talked about teachers and subjects. A week later, Heather was passing through the food-court at the mall when she saw Greg sitting at a table with a girl beside him. They were laughing and the girl had her arm around him. Heather walked over and they both looked up. "Hi, Greg. How are you?" Heather asked. "Who's your friend?" "Hey, Mrs. Stevens! I'm good. This is Marie." Greg smiled, but Marie tightened her arm around him and shot Heather a look that said clearly, "He's MINE. You get lost!" "Nice to see you again. You two have fun. Bye now." Heather beat a hasty retreat. She walked out of the mall smiling. It was clear that Greg was going to be too busy to hide in the hedge for a while. ------- Today, Bill let her ride his morning-wood to her first orgasm of the day, then he explained that he had an early meeting and had to get to the office. On the way out the door he had rattled off some instructions about the house, blown her a kiss, jumped in his car and raced away, leaving Heather standing in the doorway, aroused and frustrated. As she watched Bill drive away to his meeting, she knew she had to find serious release for the sexual energy building up in her, and soon. Closing the door, she decided to try something that she had been wondering about ever since they had moved in. She climbed back up the stairs to their bedroom and arranged herself on the high bed, straddling the stout bedpost. After some wriggling around, she found a position where she could raise her crotch up to the round post and rub her slit up and down the carved hardwood post. This was definitely a new sensation and she quickly discovered that the feeling of something large, hard, and unyielding between her legs was a powerful turn-on. Soon, she had transferred enough lubricant from her pussy to the post to make the stain in the wood appear several shades darker. Heather used this observation to begin a fantasy in which a black man with a large rock-hard cock was teasing her. "Please! Please! Don't tease me," she murmured, "Put that thing in me. I need it! I need your big cock! Ooooo." Her acting skills may not have been Oscar-caliber, but it was good enough to push Heather to the next level in her experiment. Lowering her tight ass to the bed, she reached down and took hold of her swollen clit. It had pushed out of its hood by a half-inch or so and with her dripping and engorged labia spread wide; it was clearly visible below her shaved mound. After a couple of preliminary caressing strokes, almost as an apology for what she was about to do to it, Heather grit her teeth and gave her clit a sharp yank. The pain was a ball of fire that raced up her spine to her brain, making her arch her back involuntarily and flutter her eyelids. She gasped and then released her clit, placing her hands on either side of her slit, leaving her poor abused clit to stand and throb. When she was able to breathe again, Heather looked down her body and saw that her clit was now fire-engine red and had almost doubled in size. She could see the skin was stretched so taut and shiny that it looked like her clit was made of colored glass. Struggling to her knees, she saw that the lubrication from her vagina was running in little rivulets down her legs. It was time, she thought. She would never be more ready for what she was about to try. Heather reached out and grasped the top of the bedpost. The post was topped with a large knob, over four inches high and three inches in diameter. Her small hand would only fit around it near the sharply rounded top. The deeply carved ornament connected to the rest of the round post just below the constriction at its base. Balancing her knees on the edges of the mattress, Heather pushed her hips forward until her clit brushed over the top of the post and her pussy lips slid on either side of the tip. Then she began to slowly lower herself onto the post. It was such a tight fit that she thought she could feel the grain of the wood as the tip of the post pressed into her vaginal opening. As it stretched her, it pulled her labia and dragged her clit down so that it rubbed along the surface of the wood as it entered her. The feeling was indescribable. Heather almost climaxed twice, but fought it down both times; knowing that if she came now, her vaginal muscles would clamp down and she would not be able to finish what she planned to do. Her breath coming in short gasps, Heather slid slowly lower onto the post. Her pussy was stretched paper-thin around the widest part of the knob. It felt like she would split open any second. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead and more ran down the deep valley between her jiggling breasts. Heather's fingers fluttered around the post at the interface between the wood and her taut flesh. It was too slick to grab and she could not bend forward to reach further down without losing her balance on the bed, so she settled for keeping track of her progress by touch. She slid another inch downward. Her legs were beginning to quiver from the exertion of keeping her positioned over the end of the post. Slowly, the copious lubrication building up in her vagina began to leak out over the wood and her pussy crept slowly around the widest point. Heather was ecstatic. The feeling of being penetrated by something this large and this hard was the greatest thing she had ever felt. Her fantasy of a black lover abandoned, she focused entirely on the incredible feeling between her legs. Suddenly, the wooden knob passed completely into her vagina. Her opening snapped closed around the base of the ornament and her clit popped free again. Heather felt her vaginal muscles begin to pulse wildly around the massive intruder and she knew this was the precursor to a truly spectacular climax. She started to abandon herself totally to the onrushing orgasm. She grabbed her breasts and began to flick her fingers back and forth across her nipples. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Her breathing was a mere vibration in her chest. Then, something unexpected happened. As she diverted her attention from keeping her balance over the post, her knees slipped off the bed, dropping the full weight of her body onto the bedpost. She fell straight down onto the invading pole, ramming it deep into her. Instantly and reflexively, she clamped her thighs onto the post, stopping her fall before the pole could completely run her through. For a tense few seconds she froze rigidly in place; then she began to examine her situation. She was perched on the top of a wooden bedpost about four feet from the floor of her bedroom. The post had fully penetrated her vagina and the constriction below the base of the ornamental bulb on top of the post had disappeared into her. She thought she probably had about ten inches of the pole up her pussy. Some of her toys were that long, she remembered, and she had no trouble taking them to the hilt. Some of the fear began to dissipate. Things had just gone a little further than she had intended. She wasn't injured, and she certainly wasn't dying. As her terror subsided, sensation began to return to her body. The feeling of impalement was a powerful sexual stimulant. She felt completely stretched-out inside. The post was touching her in places nothing else had ever reached. She became aware that her vaginal muscles were spasming futilely around the intruder. The juices in her vagina were running copiously down the carved lines in the wood. She could feel them soaking her thighs where she clutched the pole. When she fell, her inflamed clit had again been dragged roughly over the carved surface of the post and it was throbbing in time with her racing heartbeat. With each throb of her clit, the orgasm she had been cheated of threatened to overwhelm her reason, which by now was hanging by a thread. Her head spinning, she tried to extend her legs down the post toward the floor below, while still keeping them clamped tightly around it so she would not slip further. It was no use. Her legs were several inches too short to reach the floor from her perch on the post. She realized that she could not hold herself in this position for very long. Her legs would tire eventually. She desperately looked around the room for something to use to rescue herself, but anything that might have been useful was far out of reach. The motion of her body twisting to look around allowed some of her vaginal lubricant to work its way between her thighs and the post. She suddenly found herself slowly sliding further down the post. As the pointed top of the post was forced deeper into her already fully stretched pussy, Heather noticed a different sensation coming from deep in her abdomen. It was dull pressure that felt somehow familiar. She briefly wondered how anything in this situation could feel familiar, then it dawned on her — the tip of the pole was pressing into her cervix. The feeling was the same one she felt during her gynecological exams or when she became too rough with one of her sex toys. As the minutes dragged by, Heather lost her terror and became fascinated by the sensation she was experiencing. The post was slowly forcing its way through her cervix into her womb, powered by her own weight forcing her down on the post. She knew her cervix could safely dilate to a diameter sufficient to pass the head of a fully developed baby. The top of the post was nowhere close to that size, so it might not do her any permanent damage as long as she could prolong the process so it happened slowly enough. She decided she had no choice but to hold on as long as possible. Time seemed to drag by at a snails pace. Heather realized that she was losing the fight on all fronts. Her long-delayed orgasm had started to build again, fueled by the extraordinary sensations flooding her nervous system. Her cervix was slowly being forced to accommodate an object that it was never designed to handle and at a pace that should have required hours rather than minutes. Her legs were going numb and the speed of her impalement on the post had increased. After what seemed like an eternity, but could only have been a half-hour or so, she became aware that the feeling of pressure on her cervix had lessened. The knob on the top of the post had passed completely into her womb. She relaxed slightly with relief at the knowledge that a milestone in her misadventure had passed. With that, her legs suddenly slipped further down the post, allowing it to drive another few inches into her and press against the top of her womb. Heather almost succumbed to fear at that point, but a different sensation intervened — the sensation of carpet on her toes. Slowly, Heather slid her numb legs down the pole to put her feet on the floor for the first time in an hour. She stood, reveling in her joy at being able to stand again. She looked down between her breasts at her abdomen. The outline of the pole was faintly visible. She stretched and took a deep breath. With the breath, she realized that she could feel the pressure of the top of the post pressing her abused womb against her diaphragm. She ran her hands up and down her distended belly and estimated that she had taken fully sixteen inches of the three-inch diameter post into her body. She was amazed. She was astounded. She was proud. She was still stuck on the post, dammit! Now that she had the use of her legs again, she realized that she could escape the predicament she had put herself into by climbing off the post onto the bed. Gradually she raised one foot and braced it against the frame of the bed. Pushing up, she tensed her abdominal muscles try to keep the post from wiggling inside her. Then she raised the other foot and braced it against the frame as well. Slowly, she pushed herself upward. The sensation was unbelievable. It felt like all her insides were being pulled out. Gritting her teeth, she pushed harder and was rewarded by a popping feeling as the knob left her womb. The return passage was made much easier by her now fully dilated cervix. Putting her feet next on the box spring and finally on the mattress, Heather finally worked her way up the post until only the top knob remained in her. It was at that moment that the front doorbell rang. She was so startled that she almost slid back down the length of the pole that she had worked so hard to free herself from. She laughed, a short plaintive sound, and gave one last shove with her legs and fell backward onto the bed. Even though the whole ordeal had only lasted an hour and she had not been severely injured or permanently damaged, Heather was mentally and physically drained. Had she not been, she would never have done what she did next. Rolling off the bed, she staggered out of the bedroom down the upstairs hall to go answer the door. The short run to the head of the stairs revived her somewhat. Her legs stopped wobbling and her head cleared a bit. She remembered the instructions that Bill gave her before he left. There was a service coming by to cut the grass and tidy up the yard. She was to show them where Bill had stored the new riding lawnmower that they were to use. She remembered that he had bought the huge piece of equipment, intending to run it himself, but could never find the time. Now that his salary allowed it, he had arranged for someone else to do the yard work, instead. She had paused at the top of the stairs to try to gather her wits, when the doorbell rang again. Refocused on her task, Heather called out, "Coming, coming!" and tried to run down the stairs with the muscles in her thighs quivering. Almost falling, she caught herself on the banister at the bottom step. While holding on to catch her breath, her head cleared a bit further. She realized that she was still naked, but not that her crotch was drooling the lubricants that had been trapped in her, and not that her body still craved the climax she has been denied and that her nipples and clit were still swollen larger than ever before, due to the extraordinary amount of stimulation that they had received that morning. ------- Heather quickly considered and discarded the notion of climbing back up the stairs to the bedroom to get something with which to cover up. She had almost fallen running down the darn things, she was in no shape to run UP them right now. Besides, that bell was going to ring again in a few seconds and she was going to answer the door, even if she had to do it stark naked. It was then that she spied the cardboard box sitting on the floor next to the stairs. It contained some old clothes of hers. She remembered putting it out to drop off at the donation center the next time she went out. Sitting on top of the pile in the box was a pair of shorts and a blouse. She quickly snatched them up and shook them out. She recognized the outfit as the costume she had planned to wear in the Senior Class Play. The play had been some silly comedy about hillbillies and the costume was a pair of Daisy Duke shorts and a thin cotton blouse that tied in the front. Her drama teacher had taken one look at her in it and refused to let her on stage unless she wore something less revealing. She guessed that under present circumstances, it was better than nothing and stepped into the shorts, pulling them over her hips. Reaching for the zipper, she yanked it up, only to have it catch on one of the ends of the cut-off threads and jam solidly. Cursing under her breath, Heather yanked the shorts up, driving the seam of the crotch into the crack of her ass and between her still tumescent labia. As she did so, the seam crushed into her clit, which had been so abused that it was swollen to the size of the first joint of her thumb and stuck out obscenely from between her legs like a miniature cock. The pain almost made her pass out. It took several seconds of deep breathing before her eyes uncrossed and she was able to put on the blouse. Hurriedly, she tied the tails of the garment under her breasts, not noticing that her bright pink nipples were peeking over the top. As a final touch she reached back and pulled the band out of her hair that had been holding it back in a pony-tail and shook her head so that her blond tresses fell free. She then reached for the door handle and pulled it open. Stepping to the threshold, Heather found herself looking straight ahead into the most muscular abdomen she had ever seen on a human. Moreover, it was so dark it was almost blue-black. Below the cropped edge of a t-shirt, the man - the Black man - had six-pack abs that were so developed that they looked like thick cables under his skin. Heather had met a number of body-builders at the gym when she went for her workouts, but no one she had seen there had looked anything like this. Allowing her gaze to drift downward, she saw that he had a very narrow waist and narrow hips. He appeared to be wearing a pair of black spandex biker's shorts that must have been a couple of sizes too small to be stretched as tight as they were. A pair of old work-shoes completed his ensemble. Heather's gaze rose from her visitor's feet back up to those bike shorts. Almost even with her chest, she could make out the black on black outline of a large bulge in the man's groin. As her eyes adjusted to the daylight, she could make out the outline of two large balls and a cock that curved down into left leg of his shorts. Although in scale with the rest of him, that cock held Heather's gaze like a mongoose with a cobra. It ran down the side of his leg inside those shorts for at least ten inches before ending in a bulge the size of a small apple. It was, she realized, the largest organ she had ever seen on a man, much larger than Mr. Koslowski's or her husband's. And then under her breath, to herself she added, "... and it's not even hard". While she pondered the implication of that last observation, her tongue stole out of her mouth and ran across her lips. Her posture straightened, and she unconsciously rolled her shoulders back, forcing her large breasts higher in the air. At this point she heard a rumble that sounded like distant thunder, but was just her visitor clearing his throat. "Mrs. Stevens?" he asked, politely. Realizing that she had been staring at the man's crotch for some time, Heathers head snapped up sharply and she resumed breathing with a quick deep breath. The man looked down at her from his full height of six feet six inches and noticed that she had just caused her puffy nipples to pop completely out of her blouse. They were lovely, he noted. In fact she was drop-dead gorgeous. She was so small she looked like a young girl. She had the ass of a pre-teen, but that sleek, toned body, and especially those magnificent breasts, said she had to be of legal age. Her breasts were too large for her frame, but that was one proportion he never concerned himself with. The fact that she stood there with them on unwitting display and that she had just spent half a minute staring at his johnson, was all the information he needed to know that his day had just taken a definite turn for the better. "Mrs. Stevens, I'm Rondell Jackson. Your husband hired me to see to your yard." Rondell was curious to see what Mrs. Stevens would do next. It was clear that she was in deep lust. Her protruding nipples, dancing at the tips of her breasts with each breath she took were clear evidence of her arousal, and he thought he could even smell her pussy. Heather nodded with her eyes fixed on Rondell's face. She did not trust herself to allow them to look where they wanted. Before he spoke, she had been so mesmerized that she had almost reached out to touch his cock through the shorts. She swallowed and tried to speak normally. "Yes", she said huskily. Swallowing, she continued in a more natural voice, "my husband told me you were coming. You'll want to see the equipment." Rondell nodded back. She clearly wasn't thinking about the mower when she said, "equipment". Rondell knew the mower was in a shed in the back yard, but he decided he wanted to get a better look at Mrs. Stevens. "Would you mind showing me where it is?" he asked, stepping only slightly to one side so she would have to brush by him on the stoop. Heather stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind her. As she passed close by Rondell, she again had to resist the urge to touch him. She reluctantly stepped past him and turned to go around the side of the house. As she walked across the shaggy grass in her bare feet, she felt the seam of the shorts rubbing her from front to back. It felt wonderful. She was about to turn the corner to walk down the side yard toward the back of the house, when her earlier whisper came back to her, "... and it's not even hard." A gust of wind blew past and she noticed that her nipples were exposed. She reached up her hands and pressed her moist palms over them. The warmth of her hands was like fire on her breasts. She reached down and grabbed the tails of her blouse where they lay loosely against her stomach. She pulled the knot tight against her chest, driving her breasts up and out of the blouse so they were fully exposed. She could feel the air moving over them, caressing them. She reached up and tugged sharply on her nipples, renewing their tumescence and their sensitivity. Then she reached around behind her and grabbed the waistband of her shorts and yanked them as far up the crack of her ass as she could. The effect was to pull them so high that practically all of her ass was exposed to the gaze of the man behind her. A secondary effect was to allow her hugely swollen clit to pop free of the shorts, coming to rest in the sharp teeth of the broken zipper. The feeling of the zipper teeth on her clit made her legs buckle and she almost fell. She immediately felt Rondell's hands grasping her by her sides under her arms, pulling her back upright. She turned her head back to him and smiled. Then she leaned back against him as if for support and was rewarded by the feel of his cock against her butt through the cloth of his form-fitting shorts. Turning slightly so that the bulge fell between her ass-cheeks, Heather clenched her rear, making it briefly squeeze his cock. Then she walked on toward the shed. Heather grabbed the handle of the shed door with both hands and gave the heavy wooden door a vigorous shove. The door slid open with a rumble and her full breasts wobbled to and fro. She stepped into the shade of the doorway and turned to face Rondell. She rolled her shoulders back as far as she could to point her nipples toward Rondell's face and asked, "So, Rondell. Just what type of service are you prepared to provide?" Rondell smiled broadly at her lame attempt at flirting. The services that this beautiful girl wanted were as clear as the crystal-hard nipples at the tips of her marvelously high and firm breasts. Rondell stepped forward and placed his large hands on either side of the doorjamb. He was so close that he could feel Heather's hot breath on his stomach. Unable and unwilling to prolong the suspense any further, Heather reached out and touched Rondell's cock through the thin material of his shorts. She slowly stroked it from base to tip, marveling at its size. With her palm cupping the head, she felt it twitch. Under her caress, Rondell's cock began to grow and crawl even further down the leg of his shorts. Overcome with her need to see it freed from confinement, Heather took hold of the waistband of the shorts and dragged them down. Heather knelt on the concrete floor of the shed in order to pull Rondell's shorts down to his ankles. Still in this position, she raised her head just as Rondell's massive member swung by her face. The tip brushed her open lips, leaving a sticky streak of precum. Heather stuck out her tongue and licked her lips, savoring the salty-sweet flavor. Freed from confinement, Rondell's rapidly expanding organ hung in a broad arc with the bulbous head waving in small circles just in front of Heather's nose. A drop of precum was oozing from it. Heather stuck out her tongue and licked off the drop of clear fluid, then she put her lips just around the tip and sucked gently. She was rewarded with another taste of the salty liquid. She stuck the tip of her tongue into the opening. Her tongue was so small and his coal-black cock was so large that she was able to get her tongue a half-inch inside. Rondell moaned with pleasure at the sensation and spread his feet further apart to better balance himself. His half-erect cock began to grow at a faster rate and he could feel his balls descend further into his scrotum and begin to swell as well. Encouraged by his response, Heather opened her mouth as wide as she could and sucked on the head of his cock, trying to draw it completely into her mouth. Running her tongue along the sensitive underside, she sucked determinedly but was not surprised to find that it was impossible. The head of his cock was too large to fit into her dainty mouth. Holding his cock for support, Heather stood up. She discovered that if she bent over only slightly, Rondell's cock was long enough to reach her mouth while she was on her feet. She lovingly licked it and stroked it, pulling on it with both hands. Her fingers could not close around it at any point along its considerable length. After a couple of minutes of this treatment, Rondell's cock was stiff and hard. Holding it in both hands, Heather examined it as though it were an expensive work of art that she had been allowed to hold. It looked to be every bit of fifteen inches long. The head was so big it would not have fit into a coffee mug. It was easily three and a half inches across. After a slight constriction below the head, the shaft swelled to an only slightly smaller diameter. The veins embossing the shaft reminded Heather of an aboriginal war-club she had seen on a museum field trip. She decided that the cock in her hands qualified as a club by any standards. Heather looked up into Rondell's face. Squeezing his immense organ in her small hands, she spoke her heart's desire; "I want you to fuck me with this cock. I want you to put every inch of this in me. I want all of it." Rondell looked down at her with bemused concern. "Honey, you're not big enough to take a cock this size. You'd be ripped wide open." Heather looked directly into Rondell's eyes, and with a defiant glare said, "Then let me fuck you. Sit over there." She nodded to the seat of the mower. Rondell decided to humor her. He stepped onto the deck of the mower and sat down on the cushioned saddle. He took his rigid cock by the base and held it straight up in the air. "Come on, show me" he said. Heather pulled her blouse loose and shrugged the garment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She tugged her shorts down over her hips and let them fall as well. She then stepped onto the deck of the mower facing Rondell and scooted her butt onto the edge of the steering wheel. She spread her legs as far as she could and ran her hands down her sides and over her belly to her dripping pussy. She pulled her labia apart, pressing them back and exposing the entrance to her vagina. She stuck two fingers into her pussy and pulled it open. She fixed her eyes on Rondell's big cock as she worked one, then two more fingers into her dripping hole. She tugged and pulled hard, trying feverishly to stretch her pink flesh wide enough to accommodate the black pole before her. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth as she worked, biting it in her frenzy to get herself ready for Rondell. Rondell was impressed. She was seriously going to try to take his huge member in her small pussy. He watched as she tugged and pulled herself, trying to stretch herself wide enough for him. The sight was the most erotic thing he had ever seen, and his cock responded by becoming rock-hard. The precum oozing from the tip turned into a steady flow, coating the head with lubrication. When Heather thought she was ready, she slowly lowered herself down onto Rondell. With his cock-head plugging her vaginal opening, she began to lower herself onto the object of her lust. Gradually, she transferred her weight onto him. Her pussy stretched to the limit, but still she couldn't get the head inside. "Help me," she whispered. Rondell almost came then and there. Taking pity on the girl, he put his hands on her hips and pulled down gently. The extra pressure did the trick. Heather screamed sharply, the head of his cock popped into her vagina, and Heather's long-delayed climax hit her like a sledgehammer. Heather's head snapped back, her mouth flew open, her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled back in her head. Her back arched and her legs began to jerk involuntarily. She felt the familiar pulse of pure ecstasy begin in her clit and then roll up her spine to her brain, where it burst like a 4th of July fireworks display. Her vaginal muscles clamped down tightly on Rondell's cock, locking it into her pussy. Rondell watched Heather writhe on the head of his cock for a minute or more before she began to regain control of her body. Her breathing slowed, her legs grew still, and she raised her head back up and looked down at him. "More," she said. Again, Rondell had to fight to keep the cum in his balls. Several women had thought they wanted his huge cock, but most had backed out once they had seen it fully erect. Some had agreed to let him penetrate them, but almost all had screamed for him to take it back out after only a couple of short strokes. To have this diminutive blonde Venus perched on the end of his enormous cock and demand "more" was both a unique event and tremendously stimulating. He resolved then to give Heather every inch of his meat. "OK," he said, "let's see what we can do." Heather again spread her legs, this time locking her feet under the metal braces holding the cutting deck onto the frame of the mower. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to relax her vaginal muscles. She wriggled her ass around, rotating her pussy around the head of Rondell's cock to lubricate it as much as possible and then she began to pull herself down onto it, inch by inch. Each small descent forced her labia up inside her vaginal cavity and pulled her clit down to scrape along the top of the hard black cock. She would then push back up slightly, to allow her lubrication to work onto the new stretch of skin and then push back down again. Gradually, she descended his enormous cock. Twice she had to pause and wait for the involuntary contractions in her pussy to subside. Each time she renewed her assault with more determination. Finally, when she had all but four inches of it inside her, she stopped and rested. Rondell interpreted her pause to mean she was through. He could feel that the head of his cock had bottomed out in her pussy and he was about congratulate her on taking more of his monster cock than anyone else had ever done. He had just opened his mouth to speak, when she again looked down into his eyes and said huskily, "All of it." Again, Heather locked her feet in the metal struts. Again she wiggled her pussy on his huge pole, coating it with her juices. Then she tilted her hips and straightened her spine to align his shaft with the entrance to her womb and began to force the head of his cock against her still-dilated cervix. Rondell had no idea what she thought she was up to. He was trying to think of something conciliatory to say to her that would not hurt her feelings, when he felt something constricting the tip of the head of his cock. The constriction slowly worked down the head until suddenly he felt the head pop free and her cervix lock around the shaft of his cock. To Rondell, it felt like a hose clamp had been snapped around his cock and tightened, imprisoning it inside Heather's body. She gave out a small scream as she dropped her full weight onto his cock and the last inch of it disappeared between her legs. Heather's pubic bone mashed into the base of Rondell's cock, trapping her clit between them, and she climaxed for the second time. This time the sensation seemed to be an order of magnitude greater than the first. Heather lost all track of time and place as the fireworks in her head went off with a series of blinding flashes. Her body jerked like a marionette with the strings tangled. Her orgasm went on and on. Rondell held on for dear life. He had never seen a girl come so hard or for so long. He tried valiantly to keep hold of her torso and keep her from hurting herself while she flailed about. Finally, she subsided. Heather moaned. Her hips were making little jerking motions, rubbing her throbbing clit against him. Her vaginal muscles were still gripping him tightly, trying to pull even more of him into her. One more time she raised her head and looked down at Rondell. Her eyes were feral. Her face was a mask of lust the like of which he had never seen. She leaned forward slightly. Bending was not possible with Rondell's rigid cock fully in her. Her full breasts swayed above him, the nipples on them sticking out at least an inch and a half. She put her hands on his corrugated abdomen; her short nails pressing his skin. "Cum in me," she said in a low growling voice. Rondell never got the chance to consider his course of action. It was as though she had commanded his body directly and his body responded. Already fully charged from earlier self-denial, his balls began to pump sperm. His cock began to throb. His abdomen cramped with the gathering climax deep in him. Then it seemed that his whole body exploded through his cock. Pulse after pulse raced up the length of his shaft, painfully forcing its way past the tight band clamped around it. The head of his cock felt like the nozzle of a fire hose with the force of the semen being discharged through it. Stream after stream of his potent seed fired directly into the top of Heathers tender womb and she screamed as it hit her as though it burned like lava erupting from a volcanic explosion. This time, with her third climax coming so quickly after the last, Heather had no time to savor the experience. With a sudden sensation like every neuron in her brain firing at once, she passed out, and collapsed like a rag-doll onto Rondell's muscular chest. She had gone completely limp, her arms and legs dangling. Rondell too, need some time to recover. His balls felt like they had been hit with a hammer and the cramp in his lower abdomen was rebroadcasting the waves of pain. He lay back against the mower saddle with Heather's inert form draped over him. Even though he knew she was beyond feeling it, he tenderly stroked her back and cupped his hands around her cute butt. Some minutes later, Heather woke to the sensation of Rondell's caresses. Raising her head slightly from where she lay on his broad black chest, she spoke. "Wow," she said simply. "'Wow' about covers it," Rondell replied, smiling languidly. Heather raised herself up on her elbows and then tried to sit up. Feeling fullness in her abdomen, she realized that Rondell's huge cock was still inside her. "Help me get off this ride, please. I think my ticket is used up," she said with a lilt of humor in her voice. Rondell put both his hands on either side of her torso, just under her rib cage and began to slowly pull her off of his manhood. "Ooooo," Heather moaned, as his only slightly deflated organ began to pull out of her. "Go slow. Go slow." She grit her teeth in anticipation of some pain when the head of his cock passed her cervix, but there was none. Her cervix had been expanded to the point where it no longer complained at the abuse. As his cock was slowly extracted, Heather could feel her internal organs resuming their normal positions in her abdomen. It was an extremely strange sensation. Finally only the huge head of his black shaft remain inside her. "Let me," she said, bracing her feet on the sides of the mower saddle and leaning back again on the steering wheel. She placed her hands on either side of her vaginal opening where Rondell's cock remained solidly plugged, and holding her crotch in against the strain, pushed back with her legs. The much-softened cock came free with a loud sucking sound, and Heather immediately pressed her labia together and clamped her hands over her pussy, sealing in the large volume of fluids that had been deposited there by her copious lubrication and Rondell's massive cum-load. "This is going to be yucky," she said, looking around for some place she could void the mess. Immediately grasping the situation, Rondell too, began to look around the shed for a solution to the problem. Stepping off the mower, he reached up to a shelf and pulled down a two-gallon jug of liquid fertilizer concentrate. It was obviously new and still had the plastic wrap in place. He ripped off the wrap and pulled off the round clear plastic dispensing cup that was stuck over the cap. The gradations marked on the tapering side showed it held ten ounces. Watching attentively, Heather nodded, "Good thinking. Bring it here." Rondell returned to where Heather was perched on the steering wheel of the mower with her hands pressing her pussy shut. He held the cup directly under her hands and said, "Go!" Heather snatched her hands away and they both watched as the flood of milky fluids began to pour from her. The cup quickly began to fill. They both watched in awe as the four ounce mark on the cup was passed. Seven ounces went by just seconds later. As the flood neared the top of the cup with no sign of slowing, they both realized what would have to be done to contain the mess. "Do it!" Heather said sharply. Heather gasped as Rondell quickly and smoothly pushed the almost overflowing container into Heather's gaping pussy. The flood was contained. All the gooey evidence of their sexual activity was trapped inside Heather's trembling belly. Only an inch of the transparent bottom of the tapered cup was visible sticking out of her badly stretched pussy. Through it could be seen an ocean of milky fluid. Holding the cup in place with her hand, Heater pulled her shorts back on and again tugged them deeply into the crack of her ass. The thin band of material in the crotch stretched across the exposed cup, holding it in place. Rondell and Heather then succumbed to a severe case of the giggles. "I can feel it sloshing inside me," she said, gyrating her hips like a belly dancer. "It feels like you came a bucketful!" Still laughing, Heather took a couple of tentative steps to see how secure her containment device was. She was pleased to find that everything was holding nicely. The rim of the cup was wide enough to form a good seal inside her vagina and nothing was leaking. It was an outlandish solution to the problem, but it seemed to work. Dropping to a kneeling position, Heather looked up at Rondell, towering over her with a big grin on his face. "Now let's clean you up," she said slyly. Carefully lifting his gooey cock with one hand, she began to lick and suck the sticky mess from it. She painstakingly scoured every inch of his mighty shaft, even tonguing his scrotum and sucking his lemon-sized testicles one at a time into her mouth for special treatment. From the smile on Rondell's face, he thought he had died and gone to heaven. When the cleanup was finished and both had reluctantly finished dressing, Rondell pushed the large garden tractor out of the shed and cranked it up while Heather waddled toward the house at as fast a pace as she could manage. She was halfway there when, over the din of the mower, she heard Bill's car pull into the driveway. In seconds he would pull around the side of the house "Oh no", Heather thought, "Bill's come home for lunch. He probably wanted to check and see how the yard was coming." Acting quickly, she reached both hands down between her legs and clenched her teeth as she shoved the protruding cup deeper into her pussy so that it disappeared from view, then she held it in place until it settled into the new position. Easing her hands away, she walked as casually as she could manage to meet her husband as he stepped out of the car. Bill greeted her by wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the ground and hugging her against him. He slid his hands down to her small bottom and cupped her mostly-bare ass-cheeks in his hands. He playfully squeezed her ass and tried to pull her cheeks apart. Heather tightened the muscles in her ass as much as she could to keep Bill's probing fingers from opening her any further. Fortunately, Bill desisted. Then he moved his hand up to the small of her back and gave her a big squeeze, crushing her to him and flattening her breasts on his chest. Heather felt the cup inside her being pushed even further upward, sealing it in place over her dilated cervix. The look of on Heather's face was unique as Bill put her back on her feet. The cup had been forced so deeply inside her that she could feel Rondell's massive load being squeezed up inside her womb while she stood there in front of her husband, powerless to stop her own insemination. Heather pressed her knees together and held her hands in front of her tummy, twisting her fingers together helplessly while she smiled bravely up at her husband. She looked so cute in that pose that Bill bent down and kissed her full on the mouth. Reflexively, she parted her full lips under his kiss and stuck her tiny tongue deeply into her husband's mouth, before quickly pulling it back and breaking the kiss. Bill pushed her back at arm's length and looked her up and down. "I see you decided to keep the Daisy Duke outfit," he said, taking in the blouse tied tightly over her breasts, with her bloated areolas clearly visible through the thin material and the micro-cutoffs with the fly open down to the bulge of her hairless mons veneris. "It looks fantastic on you." "Thank you," Heather replied, "it's just the thing for working in the yard." "How is the service I hired working out?" Bill asked, nodding toward Rondell wheeling the mower around the yard. "You haven't been out here teasing him too badly I hope. Good gardeners are hard to find." "Where did you hear about him?" Heather asked. "Believe it or not, Mr. Kowalski gave me his number," Bill said, shaking his head in wonder that the President of his firm had stopped by his office to deliver it in person. "He said he guaranteed that you would be satisfied with his work. Mr. Kowalski seems to like you a lot. He seemed to be quite concerned that you were sitting home alone all day with nothing to do. He even suggested that having some staff to supervise might amuse you. His exact words, as I recall." "Well, you must remember to thank Mr. Kowalski for me. Mr. Jackson is quite satisfying... I mean satisfactory," Heather said. Her mind was not on the conversation; it was on the calendar in her bedroom. On the pages she had marked all the days of her monthly cycle during which her fertility was at its peak. As best she could remember, today had a big red X on it, indicating that she was ovulating. Heather's eyes widened and her smile stiffened. "This," she thought to herself, "could be awful." After Bill had gone back to work, Heather raced upstairs to her bathroom. Dropping her shorts in the middle of the floor, she squatted down and pulled her knees as far apart as she could. Desperately, she reached as far up into her pussy as possible, trying frantically to get hold of the bottom of the cup. She tried and tried, but it was too slick and too deep for her to grab. It seemed to be stuck over the mouth to her womb, glued in place like a big diaphragm, stuck there by suction and the huge volume of thick cum. She threw herself into the shower and aimed the hand-held showerhead into her pussy to try to flush out the cup. The feeling of the hot water pulsing inside her made her hot again and she turned it off quickly, smacking the valve shut with her hand in a fit of anger. She got out of the shower and jumped around madly, trying to jolt it free. It didn't budge. She collapsed into a heap in the middle of the plush bathmat and put her head on her arms, sobbing. "Oh, no!" Heather moaned. "It's not going to come out. What will I do? I can't call my doctor, I have no idea what to tell him. I can't even think of a crazy explanation for this, much less a rational one. This is my punishment for letting my sex drive get out of control. I'm going to be pregnant with another man's baby — a black man's baby — a very black man's baby. I'll be the talk of the town. Right now, there are probably millions, maybe even billions, of little sperm wriggling around inside me, all trying to put a baby into my womb. It's like I'm being continuously raped by billions of tiny sperm, all trying to get me pregnant." As she cried, Heather stroked her widely-stretched pussy, trying to console it for what she had done to it. As the feeling of sexual warmth returned, her caresses gradually became less apologetic and more erotic. Soon, she was leaning against the bathtub with her legs apart, tenderly stroking her throbbing clit with her tears forgotten, lost in a fog of arousal as she tried to picture the exact moment when one of those many sperm would break down the barrier around her small white egg and impregnate her. The image and the stroking soon had her approaching another climax. As it jolted deliciously through her, she felt her insides contracting, her cervix flexing, repeatedly dipping into the cup and sucking even more of the potent cum into her very fertile womb. "Yes!" she thought perversely, surrendering to the inevitability of her fate, "Come on you little bastards, make me pregnant. Knock me up. I'm ready. I'm ripe." Her tender caresses of her body became more urgent and more forceful as she imagined what it would be like to carry what would certainly be a huge baby on her small frame. "I'll look like I swallowed a beach-ball!" she thought. "And labor will be pure torture. I'll be lucky to live through it." She pictured herself lying on the delivery table, screaming for hours at the top of her lungs as she tried to give birth to a baby over a fifth of her own body weight. Then she imagined the expressions on the faces of the staff as she delivered a black baby. Would Bill be in the room with her? Would he be holding her hand as she presented him with something that was so obviously not his child? Could she humiliate him like that? She put her hands over the end of her breasts and tugged on her nipples, gently at first, as though she were milking them, then firmly, then almost cruelly; torturing them until they were bright red and almost too painful to touch. She moved both hands back to her pussy again, pulling on her clit and watching small jets of milk pulsing out of her inflamed nipples while she quivered with pleasure. "I already have enough milk for triplets. But this baby will probably be huge, given the size of his father. He may want it all." Heather imagined having a large black baby nursing at her nipples, not so much suckling as draining her swollen breasts as he greedily sucked her dry again and again. She pictured herself having to breastfeed him in a variety of public places, whenever he became hungry and demanded feeding. She imagined the looks on the faces of the people around her as they watched her feeding him, a virtual slave to his needs. She saw him grow into a toddler, selfishly refusing to be weaned, still climbing into her lap and pulling down her top by himself whenever and wherever he chose so he could chew on her raw, aching nipples, making them crack and bleed, but allowing her no respite from his demands. As the vivid images of her future became clearer to her, she twisted brutally on her nipples and clit, torturing herself for her infidelity and sending herself over the brink into another crushing orgasm. She spent the rest of the afternoon abusing her body and bringing herself to climax after climax, each time imagining some new degradation, some new humiliation she could expect. To Heather, it seemed that each new orgasm was better than the last — each more incredibly intoxicating and more satisfying, yet each leaving her more desperate for yet another climax. She kept it up until she was too exhausted to continue and she fell into a deep sleep from which she woke feeling better than she could ever remember. As she showered and dressed before going downstairs to start supper, she marveled at how she felt more vital, more alive than she had ever felt before. Later that evening, as they got ready for bed, she explained to Bill that they couldn't have intercourse because this was her fertile time of the month. It was both true and avoided some unfortunate discoveries. Instead, she suggested fellatio, something she was getting better at all the time, and which she explained she wanted to practice more. Bill obliged her whim and let her nestle between his legs while she worked on his cock with her lips and tongue. She seemed much more into it than usual, sucking and kissing and handling his organ with a passion that brought him to the brink of cumming several times. Only each time she clamped her hand tightly around the root of his cock, denying him release and forcing more blood into his engorged member until it felt like it would burst. When she finally let him cum, she sucked him hard while squeezing his balls in her hands as though she were trying to drain every drop of his seed from his body. After his gut-wrenching climax, she continued to nurse on his cock, eventually reviving it and returning it to the same state of painful hardness as before. Also as before, she drove him to the edge of sanity by forcing him through several aborted orgasms before she let him cum. When she continued working on his flaccid cock after his second orgasm, Bill thought it was surely in vain. Even as a teenager, he had only been able to cum three times in a row once. Heather amazed him by eventually coaxing his cock to attention one more time. However, when it looked to him like she might use the same clamping technique a third time, he broke down and pleaded with her to let him cum. She granted his wish, and it was the most intense climax he had ever had, even though he was only able to produce one small drop of clear semen from his terribly painful cock before he rolled into a ball and shook for several minutes from the intensity of the orgasm that she had given him. When he recovered, he insisted on repaying her by satisfying her orally as well, even though she seemed reluctant to let him return the favor. At first, she seemed to be responding strongly, but when he tried to slide a finger into her she jerked away and closed her legs, so he desisted, putting it down to Heather being highly sensitive while she was ovulating. He couldn't remember this ever having been a problem before, but he was too exhausted to think about it coherently and he barely managed to crawl under the covers before his eyes shut for the night. Heather lay awake for a bit after Bill fell asleep. Her plan to distract Bill had worked marvelously well, but she had been too nervous to relax and enjoy his lovemaking and she was still worried about her condition. She was sure she could feel the billions of little sperm swimming around inside her. It was terrible that the right ones were in her stomach and the wrong ones were in her womb. It wasn't until the afternoon of the next day before the cup containing Rondell's cum loosened enough for her to pry it out. When she finally managed to pull it from her pussy, she found that it now held only a small amount of the enormous volume of cum that Rondell had pumped into her. The rest had been trapped inside her for so long that it had been absorbed. Rondell would be a part of her from now on, one way or another. For days Heather fretted and fantasized about being pregnant with Rondell's baby. She was sure it would break up her marriage and it was so unfair to Bill for her to have gotten pregnant with a black baby simply because she was a horny slut who had discovered that nothing mattered to her when she had a cock buried deep in her pussy. Finally, she decided that she would deal with it when it happened, that worrying had never solved anything. The following week, when Rondell came to mow the lawn again, he found Heather in the shed, sitting naked on the mower, with her legs spread wide and her fingers holding her pussy lewdly open for him. She smiled at him as he stood and stared at her, "More," was all she said. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2006-10-28 ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------