GENEROUS SPIRIT  
by ghosthostblue


COPYRIGHT 2004-2005
Feedback to: thisguysaghost@hotmail.com



PART SIX: EXTREME FORETASTES



CHAPTER 1
Standing in front of the high windows, her back to him, the robe slid
off of her body slowly, very slowly. When it fell completely
to the floor, bunching in artful folds at her ankles, she turned at the
waist just enough that her eyes could question him.

Before she could ask what kind of pose he wanted, he whispered,
"Don't move," and she obeyed. "Turn your head back to the front
and look down," he instructed her. "Hands at the side."

She complied. David was in control, at last. No more hesitating, no
more stuttering, no more helpless wishing for the impossible to take
place. If breasts like Karen's were possible, than getting his hands
and his tongue on them was equally possible. Victory was almost his.
He could taste it.

He studied the pose that she had taken by following his commands.
Her field of vision would be almost entirely filled by the vast
expanse of her outrageously huge breasts, the same gigantic breasts
that he could see, even from the rear, surging out and away so
magnificently from her perfectly toned torso. Tearing his dazzled
eyes away from those two wide arcs of breast-flesh, he studied the
muscles of her back and the roundness of her shapely ass as he
approached her, his cock pushing at the crotch of his jeans so
forcefully that it pained him. She could not see him, not yet.
Slipping both hands beneath his painter's apron, he lowered the
zipper of his pants, freeing his raging hard-on, giving it room to
move. Could she hear his zipper being lowered? Did she have any
idea, any idea in the world how hot he got whenever he looked at
her incredible body? The tip of his penis now brushed against his
painter's apron. He looked down and saw a darkened spot of pre-
cum growing on the canvas-colored cotton, his body already
reacting to Karen's outrageous degree of sexiness. It was like that Ñ
if he looked at Karen or thought about Karen or dreamed about
Karen, fluid was either going to ooze from the tip of his penis or
shoot from the tip of his penis Ñ there was no third option. 

He wondered: Might her body be reacting in a similar way? Maybe
her vagina was growing moist, the downy blond hairs above her
opening absorbing her scent. Maybe her heart was pounding as his
was, pounding with anticipation beneath those giant breasts. Could
she feel her own heartbeat? From the inside, sure, but if she Ñ or he
Ñ placed a hand on a small portion of either one of those titanic
mounds, would her heartbeat be detectable? He couldn't imagine
how Ñ even if he could put his ear to one of her tits, there would be
so much flesh, so much breast tissue to prevent sound or vibration
from traveling. But maybe her breasts pulsed with their own beat,
the beat of screaming hormones and boiling blood. Maybe if he
jammed his head right there in the colossal chasm of her cleavage,
he would hear Karen's passion in stereo, a song of escalating lust
and elongating nipples entering him through the sexiest surround-
sound system in the universe.

He stepped closer until he could begin to see over her shoulders,
begin to see the forward reaches of her supreme breasts and the
way that the light showed-off their roundness so beautifully. Her
nipples were fully erect, shooting out from the surrounding flesh of
her aureoles like two large bullets. Was she breathing rapidly? The
way those titanic mounds rose and fell... She was excited, he knew
she was. Excited by him, aching to do so much more than pose for
him. She was aching to be touched, she was aching to be fondled.
Moving in even closer, he placed his hand on her shoulder just a
fraction of a second before his apron-covered hard-on brushed
against the right cheek of her rear.

"What..." she began to ask.

"Stretch out your arms and squeeze your breasts together," he
instructed her, his hands resting on her shoulders, making contact
with her flesh just inches away from those twin majestic mountains.
Karen extended both of her arms out at 45-degree angles and then
drew them towards center. Any other woman would be able to reach
directly forward with her arms, and if the woman was especially
busty, her upper arms alone would be in contact with her breasts.
Karen, by necessity, stretched out her arms at a diagonal, and the
wondrous size of her breasts was illustrated by the fact that nearly
the entire length of her arms pressed into her tits, even when she
was stretched out as far as she could reach.

"Like this?" she asked. "Is this what you want?"

There was a telling tension in her voice, and the way that she
emphasized the words "this" and "want" carried more than a hint of
invitation. Of course He Wanted Those! He was dying to touch them,
to squeeze them and run his tongue over every one of her
incalculable inches! Reigning in his lust, he allowed his hard cock to
brush against her ass again, a touch so light that she would be
uncertain as to whether it had been intentional or not.

"No," he told her, playing it cool, remaining teasingly professional.
"Your body is too wooden. Take a deep breath and relax into the
pose."

He nearly came just from watching her breathe in deeply. Had any
woman at any point in history had breasts as magnificent, as
monumental as these? He knew that people had conceived of
breasts even larger Ñ hell, he'd read crazy stories where breasts
grew until they filled whole rooms Ñ but here, in real life, had
breasts that were anything like Karen's actually existed before? They
were perfect in a way that went beyond perfection, their size and
shape and even the texture of her skin more ideal than anything he
had ever imagined could be real.

"How's this?," she asked, her head turning at the neck, seeking his
eyes. "Do you like this?" Something in her voice was changing,
becoming more seductive. "Or perhaps you were thinking of
something more like... this."

Karen pivoted her wrists, bringing her hands to the outermost
reaches of her massive boobs. Her hands were so tiny, they looked
lost and far away in comparison to the vastness of her fleshy
mountains, yet they had an effect as she began to compress
her breasts, squashing them towards her chest. David groaned out
loud as he saw her hands disappearing into that smooth sea of tit-
meat. Oh, God, what a body!

She whispered something.

"What? I didn't catch that."

She whispered again. It sounded like she was saying, "They ache for
you, David."

Oh God, had she really said that? He leaned in closer to hear better,
and she twisted her body, reaching out and pulling him into the
unbelievable mass of her left breast!

"I need you!", she cried out. "They need you!"

Her gigantic tits pushed into him, molding themselves around his
torso from the waist almost to his chin. He was literally surrounded
by tit! He spread out his arms, trying to touch as much of each boob
as possible. His cock pressed against her, strained for her. He knew
she was open, open for him, and her magnificent boobs enveloped
him, surrounded him... He was so happy, so excited but so happy. It
was like Christmas morning for his dick. Merry Breastmas!

David opened his eyes, realizing in an instant that he had fallen
asleep. And he'd been dreaming of Karen again. Crap! It wasn't real,
it wasn't Breastmas morning. He became aware of his hand resting
on his hard cock and he quickly removed it. Sitting up, he looked
around in all directions, scanning the riverbanks and the large rocks
that made this such a popular stretch of water for kayakers and
canoeists. He was still alone. He stood up on the big boulder he'd
fallen asleep on and stretched the kinks out of his back, wondering
how long he'd slept. The sun had passed more towards the west,
giving light to the face of the mountains behind him. It had to be
three in the afternoon, at least.

How long had he been playing with himself as he slept? The spot of
pre-cum in the dream was here on his jeans in this reality, too.
Dreaming of Karen had him as hard as the boulder he was standing
on, which was becoming his default-state these days. Christ, how
many times had he jerked himself off since he'd met Karen? Needing
to release the insistent energy coursing through his genitals, he
rolled onto his back and shut his eyes. Maybe if he could fall asleep
quickly, the dream would resume where he'd left off. She would
turn to him in the dream, offering her bounteous boobs to him like
they were two enormous fruits that he must sample... After a few
seconds of relaxing into this story without results, he tried to will
the dream to continue, to force it to resume... Dammit! Even in his
private fantasies something seemed to prevent him from actually
joining with Karen. 

He got up and walked to the end of the rock where the small canvas
waited on his portable easel. He laughed out loud when he saw what
he had painted. Depicted in greens punctuated with ochre's and
earthy reds, the twin mounds of the Baby Whales rose out of the
surrounding forest, far out of proportion to the landscape that
actually lay before him. He had turned the two mountains into
Karen's boobs without even trying to conceal the fact. The gentle
rising slopes had become precipitous curves erupting out and up
towards the heavens, and there at the pinnacle of each painted orb
sat a lone oversized tree, mimicking the astounding size of Karen's
nipples. The painting, as a painting, was shit. Whatever magic had
entered his paintings of Karen was not present in this ridiculous
landscape. Still, just looking at the giant curves he'd painted added a
renewed pulsation to David's already stiff cock. OhGod that woman
was so stacked, so udderly sexy! She had modeled for him on four
consecutive days now, and he was both more elated and more
distressed than he had ever been in his life!

The paintings of Karen were so much better than anything he'd done
before Ñ even he could see it, although he didn't know how or why
his hands had suddenly become so gifted. When he painted her, his
brush strokes began to look like genius strokes and the colors came
together on the canvas in ways that he couldn't even understand.
That was the elation Ñ that he'd finally become an artist who was
beginning to live up to his potential. His distress came from wanting
Karen so bodily... er, badly... and worse, she'd canceled today's
modeling session. She claimed that she was too tired, but he
wondered whether it was more that she was growing tired of posing
for him. Or had he done or said something to offend her? Had he
stared at her boobs too lustfully? Had she noticed that he had a
constant erection in her presence?

Oh shit he was confused. Maybe she just needed a break. Maybe he
needed one too, to have time to figure out his next move. He
couldn't figure Karen out. Whether she intended to or not, her
actions were keeping him completely off-balance, and his
confidence in the area of seducing women was not all that high to
begin with. She couldn't be doing all of this deliberately, could she?
Being a deliberate cock-tease didn't fit with her rather wholesome
personality, although the girl could be the most potent piece of
unattainable ass in the whole world if she wanted to. She had to
know how much she turned him on. His painting apron might
conceal the extent and the incredible steadiness of his erections, but
the way that he looked at her, the way that he nervously mangled
words whenever he stared at her breasts, the "vibes" of incessant
heightened lust that coursed through his being every time he saw
her... Could she be oblivious to all of that?

No, it was impossible that she could miss the feelings that she
inspired in him. Even the way that he painted her, the final paintings
themselves, clearly showed the incredible degree of his lust. The
Karens there on his canvases were so fucking sexy that he couldn't
even look at the finished paintings without his cock surging to full
mast. Even when composed of brushy strokes and thick dabs of
paint, her bright face, her uncertain, dimpled smile and those
breasts that were so huge that they looked like something from a
different dimension Ñ they all screamed out that she would be one
of the most electrifying lovers in history and it was killing him! He'd
drooled from staring at his paintings, and masturbated in front of
them, imagining that it was Karen herself lying there, her earth-
shattering boobs vaulting up towards the heavens... He had to make
love to her! He'd never wanted anything more passionately in his
life!

Passion Ñ wasn't that what Cassandra had said was missing from his
paintings? Well he'd tapped into his passion, he had found a woman
who flooded him with passion, but what good was it when he
couldn't find a way to fulfill his passions? Was that the pathway to
artistic genius, to awaken passions only to have them eat at you
forever, unfulfilled? Fuck that. In his studio with Karen modeling
before him, he felt totally connected to his passions. Karen was like
his mega-Muse and it was great to be so inspired when he painted,
but he'd rather disconnect with Karen as his Muse and bodily
connect with the flesh and blood woman right in front of him! He
connected with Karen through his brushes, sure, and he was creating
paintings that would have had him jumping for joy only a few days
ago, but he needed more than that now. He needed her, the real,
living, breathing Karen. And she knew that he needed her Ñ she had
to know how much he desired her Ñ but she did nothing, which
meant that she didn't desire him back.

But then why, if that were true, did she send out signals in this weird
on/off fashion, signals that she wanted to play mating games with
him? He was not the only one to get hard during their modeling
sessions, he was sure of that. He could clearly see Karen's nipples
growing huge as he painted her, swelling, growing longer, reaching
out... Holy crap did that woman have some oversized nipples! His
cock, if it wasn't already completely hard, would swell just like
Karen's twin protrusions, like her nipples and his rod were
psychically linked. He would grow faint with desire and that was
when she would begin to squirm so sensually on the model stand.
She gave every appearance of a woman ready to have one of the
world's most earth-shattering orgasms Ñ he even believed that he'd
detected the scent of her arousal as he painted her. But then when
he tried to talk with her after their sessions, to get the feel of her
possible interest, she seemed kind of spaced-out or half-crazed or
distracted, and there was this feeling of sadness that hung in the air,
like he had done something wrong. It was so confusing!

There was one possible explanation, although it depressed him to no
end to think about it. She already had a boyfriend. A girl like Karen,
so beautiful and desirable in a completely unique way, to that
degree... She had to have a boyfriend. And the boyfriend's existence
could help explain things. Karen liked David and trusted him Ñ she
wouldn't have shown up for a second modeling session without trust
Ñ and he had seen, or at least thought he saw, that she flirted with
her body, that she thrust her massive breasts out at him in a way
that was deliberately aimed at getting him turned-on.

Like yesterday, when he'd thought that something might actually
happen between them. She had appeared at his door dressed to kill
in a tiny skirt and heels and a neon colored top so thin and tight
that she might as well have two nuclear warheads for tits, it felt that
dangerous and explosive. Even though he had seen her naked for
several days in a row, he nearly had a heart-attack. Then she
escalated his desire by undressing right in front of him, not even
going into the bathroom to transition into her modeling role!
Everything about Karen Ñ her sultry expression, her body-language
and the slow, strip-tease manner of her undressing Ñ seemed to be
aimed at driving him insane. At one point she stood in front of him
wearing nothing but the world's largest black bra, and even while
still covered he could see that her nipples were at full attention and
they were pointing right at his throat. He imagined that they were
like antennae, organs of sensitivity reaching out, searching,
searching for his touch.

He thought it was going to happen, there was no way that it wouldn't
happen. Karen's nuclear nipples were screaming at him, telling him
that she was dying to obliterate the unspoken "do not touch" rules
between them. The look in her eyes was like that of a hungry wolf,
and he was almost certain that his stiff cock was her prey. She
removed her bra and her gigantic breasts reveled in their freedom
as only hers could, and she took a small step towards him. His heart
pounded like drums of joy. All of his dreams were about to come
true! Karen was a breath away from bowling him over with her giant
tits, and his cock surged and his skin tingled in anticipation and...

And it didn't happen. Karen suddenly looked confused and fragile
and she stopped short, as though coming to her senses in the nick of
time. Her predatory eyes filled with something closer to panic and
even her magnificent breasts took on a look of vulnerability, of
defeat. David's heart sank and his aching cock ached all the more
painfully. Karen's inexplicable flip-flop sent his spirits sprawling like
he was falling down a flight of stairs into a blue-ball basement. And
he did not reach out and squeeze those nipples or lay his cheek
against one of those opulent orbs. He did not sink to his knees and
beg her to wrap her gigantic gazongas around his head. Because he
could not read her erratic behavior. Because of the fear that he
would go too far and offend her, and lose his fabulous model with
her fabulous breasts that inspired him so.

Why was she like this? Why the Dr. Jeckle/Mr. Hyde routine?
Genuine internal conflict? No one was that conflicted unless they
suffered from a multiple personality disorder. He'd wracked his
brains over her on/off behavior and the boyfriend angle was the
only thing he could come up with that made sense. Even if she did
feel some real sexual attraction towards him, she obviously felt that
it couldn't be acted upon, because she was attached to the
boyfriend.

But then why, if she was already involved in a sexual relationship,
would she get so excited when he painted her? The sexual energy
coming from her body every time that she modeled Ñ it wasn't just
wishful thinking on his part, was it? No, no, it had been there from
the very first time, he was sure. Karen got turned-on when he
painted her, and after their very first session, the one where he got
his first look a her perfect body and her far more than perfect
boobs, she had been arriving at his studio already in a state of
arousal. Did she just get off by having her gorgeous body and giant
tits immortalized on canvas? That would be sort of weird. It might
keep her coming back to be painted, which was great, but unless she
transferred some of her lust from the act of being painted to the
one doing the painting, he would never get his hands on those
monumental mammaries of hers.

Or Ñ and he really didn't like to think about this Ñ maybe she was
using him. Maybe she was modeling naked just to piss-off her
boyfriend, and David would get a knock on his door one day and
end up in a fight with some jealous guy. Could Karen be that
calculating? She didn't come across like that. She was enigmatic,
yes, sometimes shy and secretive, sometimes more confident and
overtly sexual. But even when her emotions were shifting around
like the winds, he could tell that she had, at heart, a sweet nature,
and it was impossible for him to imagine that she was using him in
some diabolical manner. But then what the hell was going on? And
what should he do?

David allowed a vision to form, a vision of Karen as he wanted to see
her. All ambiguity was gone, all hesitations and miscommunications
were erased. She felt the same way towards him as he did towards
her. They were in love, or they were in lust, or maybe there was no
difference between the two. This imaginary Karen arrived at his
studio, ostensibly for a painting session, but they both knew there
would be no modeling, no painting, not this time. As soon as the
door closed behind her, she quickly stepped out of her robe. He
gasped, as always, at the impossible extravagance of her figure, the
pert yet humongous boobs contrasting with the rest of her lithe,
athletic form. He had forgotten to put on his painter's apron, and
she stared, knowingly, at the bulge that formed in the crotch of his
pants. She smiled, confidently. Then, instead of walking over to the
model stand, she approached him, a gleam of desire lighting her
eyes, her arms opening to embrace him against those two gigantic
tit-pillows... He sighed out loud, imagining the moment of impact,
the touch of those two incredible...

It occurred to him that he did not have any idea of the mechanics of
such a situation. Karen's breasts were so huge that they extended
out as far as her arms Ñ could she even hug him in the way that
"normal" people do? Where would his body be in such a situation Ñ
pressed against both of her boobs, squashing into them, "flattening"
them towards her frame so that their bodies could come together,
or would his entire torso fit between them as it had in his dream,
her breasts essentially enveloping him from both sides? He groaned
just thinking about it. Karen's breasts were so insanely huge! But if
he was ever lucky enough to make love to her at some point, how
would he actually manage those titanic things?

He pictured Karen lying on her back, her legs spread wide, her
glistening pussy ready to accept him. If he tried to mount her
missionary-style, would his body more or less float on top of her
tits? He had seen for himself the way they surged upward, even with
gravity working against them... Again, maybe he could fit his body
between them and fuck her while surrounded by her tits. Or, if she
used her arms to keep her globes pressed together, he probably
would be propped up on top of them, fucking her at an odd angle.
How much would the weight of his body press down on them?
Would their shape change considerably, or did they have so much
mass that their spherical shaping would only slightly change? Would
it be like he was riding them? The scene changed in his mind, with
Karen kneeling on all fours before him, ready for him to take her
from behind. Her boobs would surely be pushing against the floor...
Could she even assume that position, or would it be as though her
torso was pressing onto two giant beach balls, her back denied the
possibility of bending parallel to the floor?

David felt as though his balls were on fire as he imagined it. Nothing
could be taken for granted when a girl's tits were that immense!
Every position, every move towards coupling would be affected. It
would be like having three lovers in bed at the same time Ñ Karen,
meaning her beautiful face and body, and then her two
mega-bounteous super-bazoombas! Their size, their weight, it would
make everything so difficult and yet so delicious. Maybe some other
guy would feel like it was just too much, maybe some other guy
would be turned off in some way by thoughts of the obstructions
that such a massive amount of tit-meat might present Ñ but for
David, the vision of having to navigate Karen's super-whoppers was
driving him crazy!

He thought about jerking off again, right there on the rock. Or
maybe he should wait until he was back at home. Oh shit! He was
supposed to meet Mr. Taylor, his old high school art teacher, at his
studio at three-thirty! He didn't have his watch with him but he
knew he had to hurry. He gathered his brushes and linseed oil into
his painting box and packed his easel, then made his way from rock
to rock to the river's edge and up the embankment to his car. He
was nervous about showing these new paintings of Karen to his first
art teacher, and it wouldn't help matters if he wasn't there when Mr.
Taylor arrived.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Karen, at that same moment, lay in her bed, quietly sobbing. What
was wrong with her? Her body was going nuts and the same seemed
to be true of her mind. She was so confused. She lay flat on her
back, gazing up at the almost never-ending expanse of her gigantic
boobs. She didn't even know how to feel about these any more!
Three or four days ago she had hated them, hated their vastness,
hated the way that men gawked at them, at the fact that they
completely defined her and she couldn't hope to hide them. Now,
they were so alive, radiating excitement that coursed throughout her
body... and they looked so beautiful to her! There, she had thought
the crazy, forbidden thought, and she had thought it clearly. Her
breasts were gorgeous. Everything about them was absolutely
beautiful, and the fact that they were so gigantic just magnified the
amount of beauty to behold.

But... but she hated them, what was she thinking? They were
completely out of proportion to her body, their volume
overwhelming the senses of all who witnessed them, keeping people
from noticing her personality, her eyes, even her graceful legs... Her
legs were shaking even when lying down. She was burning up
between her legs. She was so hot, and her nipples, they were so hot,
too. Drawn by the tingling, by the insistence of her own flesh, she
reached up to the high summit of each rounded breast-peak,
brushing her nipples with her fingertips.

"Ohh!"

She was still feeling so incredibly excited, so ready to come. Her
nipples were completely erect, her body filled with more sexual
energy than she'd known could exist. Should she try, try to get
herself off? Would she have any better luck this time? She began to
cry again. Why couldn't she come? She was so frustrated, so
bewildered! Only a few days before, she'd felt as though her body
had awakened. Her long-dormant libido had erupted in David's
studio, and it had seemed as though she couldn't stop coming. All
she had to do was think of him, imagine him there in his little round
glasses. And when she imagined him painting her, or imagined
herself seducing him... Heat. Pure blazing heat, and when she
actually did model for him, she'd erupted right in his studio, the
orgasms ripping through her like invisible tidal waves, shaking up
her entire world.

Why would her sexuality suddenly come awake and then shut down
part-way? Was it like a star suddenly going super-nova and then
crunching down to something dimmer, its energy spent? She could
still feel desire Ñ too much desire, enough desire to make her whole
body tremble Ñ but what good was it when she couldn't come?

The problem was emotional or mental, she was certain of it. Her
body was pulsing with life, yet something inside of her was keeping
her from enjoying it. Because she was going crazy. She just knew she
was. Even her dreams were telling her that she was going crazy. In
the latest dream, just this afternoon, she had dreamed of that
mysterious stranger again, the one who made her so hot. She was in
David's studio in the dream, naked except for the new hot pink top
she'd bought, but the man was there instead of David. He was
broad-shouldered with light hair, and she felt so incredibly attracted
to him...

It was because she felt so sexy in his presence, so wanted. His every
glance ignited some new fire in previously unknown regions of her
vagina, in her very womb. She had begun to rub her boobs with her
hands while staring at him, feeling so sexed-up, so ripe, her vagina
on fire and her nipples swollen more than they had ever been. He
responded to her state, a distinct bulge beginning to grow in his
pants. Karen wanted the man's cock so badly! As she watched it
grow, filling the front of his trousers, she had the feeling that she
had been waiting her entire life to be filled by this one penis. It was
hers, hers to be pleasured by, hers to suck and fondle!

She was already so wet, her nerves afire, but she grew wetter as the
man's bulge expanded. It kept growing longer and thicker, so long
that the tip of his cock actually began to seek out additional space
down his pant's leg... Karen began to tremble. OhmyGod it was still
growing! Her nipples sent jolts of pleasure all through her body. It
was like her boobs were rejoicing, welcoming a cock that was like
them, so huge, so much larger than should even be possible...

The front of the man's pants literally ripped apart, unable to contain
the astounding growth of his equipment. The cock that leaped out
and pointed right at her was more beautiful than anything she could
imagine, and it was well over a foot long! It surged out from between
the man's legs with the same gravity-defying enthusiasm as her own
tits...

Yes, they were alike in many ways, the man's penis and her breasts.
She breathed in deeply and felt the strain that her immense breasts
placed on her new shirt. Yes, she thought, my gargantuan tits, made
to surround this Goliath cock... She breathed in deeper, swallowing
air like she wanted to swallow that cock, and felt the struggle of her
shirt to remain intact. She went one step further, arching her back,
thrusting her boobs out as much as possible, and heard the shirt's
seams tearing before it suddenly exploded just as the man's pants
had. She saw the man go pale, all the blood draining down to enlarge
his cock even more. He couldn't believe the size of her breasts, he
couldn't fathom the size and the beauty of her aureoles and
nipples... I am like you, she thought, we were created for each other.
These breasts, your cock, so intertwined, so compatible. Her heart
fluttered with joy when she saw his cock twitch. He was so hard for
her, he wanted her so badly...

But then the dream shifted and David was there, her sweet, sexy
David, staring at her so pleadingly through his little round glasses.
He wanted her so desperately, too, and she wanted him... Except that
she really didn't. She wanted the stranger, wanted the stranger's
cock to be buried inside of her, probing her depths so deeply that
hidden chambers of desire were penetrated and unlocked and set
free... She wanted to come... No, she needed to come! She thought of
the excitement she felt every time that she heard the sounds of
David's brushes splashing and dashing across one of his canvases,
capturing her body in vibrant colors... She wanted to go over to
David as he was painting and pull him into her, bury his head
between her massive, all-enveloping breasts...

She was poised to have a life-altering orgasm in the dream, but it
didn't happen. David's eyes and the stranger's cock shifted back and
forth in her mind, her brain and her body oscillating until there was
nothing but total confusion. She woke up from her tossing and
turning, her body damp with sweat, her pussy even damper and her
nipples aching with desire. Awake, asleep, it didn't matter Ñ she was
just as much in need for release when awake as she'd been in the
dream. She fingered herself and thought of David coming to her,
putting down his brushes and throwing himself right at her boobs...
She was right there on the edge, so close... but then thoughts of the
dream stranger's cock flooded her mind. She got hot all over again,
but images of the dream man and his immense penis seemed to
clash with thoughts of making love to David, and the two lovers kind
of canceled each other out and canceled out her deliverance, leaving
her frustrated and crying. The pulsing in her vagina was so intense,
yet she couldn't take it to that next crucial level, even when she
deftly stroked her wet, swollen clitoris with her fingertips. She
played with herself for at least a half-hour, doing everything she
could think of to precipitate her release...

And here she was, still crying, still so frustrated. And scared. Why
was her mind playing tricks on her, bringing a vision of a man that
she didn't know, with a cock that was so huge that it probably
wouldn't fit inside of anything smaller than an elephant? It was a
cock that seemed to rival the ridiculous scale of her own boobs,
but what did that mean? That she wanted or expected a lover to
have sexual equipment as grotesque as her tits? But the dream
man's cock had not been grotesque, it had been so phenomenally
beautiful... like her two phenomenally beautiful breasts... She
thrashed in the bed, heaving her tremendous breasts from side to
side, shaking the mixed-up thoughts away. She loved her breasts,
she hated her breasts Ñ how could any one person be so screwed-
up, so wishy-washy about their own body?

When she opened her eyes, the first thing they focused on was the
giant black bra laying on the top of her dresser, the new bra that
Cassandra had made for her. Impulsively, she leaped out of bed and
fitted the bra to her body. In her mirror's reflection, she watched as
the massive lacy garment accommodated her giant boobs, accepting
them. Her breasts weren't even fully inside of the cups when she felt
it, felt the embrace... It was amazing. Cassandra was a genius. The
bra fit her boobs like a glove, fit them so well that it didn't contain
them or hold them or even support them Ñ no, it embraced them,
caressed them, molding itself to them like a sensitive lover. The fit
was so perfect that it almost felt like she was wearing nothing at all.
And she had to admit Ñ it was one sexy bra, with a delicate laced
pattern that looked classic while also suggesting a certain kind of
wanton abandon. Classy classic fuck-toy, that's what it said, as
though the bra was there to showcase her breasts as the biggest, the
most desirable and elegant and talented tits to ever grace the planet.

She placed her hands behind her head and thrust her covered
breasts forward, and actually giggled at how ridiculously sexy she
looked. She sometimes forgot how gorgeous she was, the astounding
size of her breasts robbing her of the confidence she should feel.
She felt it now, though, it permeated her being as though confidence
and a sense of her amazing beauty was being born right inside of her
tits, like her breasts were two factories that manufactured a sense of
well-being, a sense of peace and hope... She couldn't understand
how she could fall into that trap over and over again, that trap of
self-doubt, of pessimism, of feeling that her titanic tits were
anything but an incredible gift. She traced her fingertips over the
almost never-ending expanse of her right bra-cup, feeling the fine
texture of the material. Most dresses Ñ even fat women's dresses Ñ
didn't contain as much fabric as the cups of this single bra. How had
Cassandra known just how large to make it? She had an incredible
talent to be able to craft a garment like this to fit Karen's body so
perfectly. Cassandra should go into business, making lingerie for
other women with figures like hers...

Karen giggled again. She was being stupid Ñ as far as she knew,
there were no other women who had figures like hers. Even
Cassandra, who looked a hundred times more perfect and busty
than any woman had a right to, didn't have a figure like hers.

History-changing breasts Ñ wasn't that what Cassandra had called
them? That had certainly been an odd little conversation, when
Karen picked up the bra at the bakery. Cassandra invited her into
the room behind the retail space and suggested that she try on the
bra, just to check the fit. In privacy, Karen removed her bulky shirt
and too-tight bra and drew the hand-sewn garment to her body, and
she knew in half a second that this new bra had been perfectly
designed for every nuance of her figure. She was standing half-
naked in the middle of the room, marveling at the incredible fit,
when Cassandra re-entered.

"It's... amazing!", Karen had gushed. "Unbelievable! Perfect!"

Cassandra smiled in response, that smile that was so much more
beautiful than any other. Karen had a flash of realization that she
was standing in front of a virtual stranger wearing nothing but
jeans and a bra, but she couldn't summon any sense of shame or
embarrassment. In fact, at that moment, she felt more together than
she had in days, more in control of her runaway libido, more sure of
what she wanted. She wanted David. She wanted to become his
lover, his partner. She had a modeling session with him that
afternoon, and maybe she'd let him see her in this new bra as she
undressed. It was at that point that she had thanked Cassandra
profusely for making the bra, and tried to pay her for it.

"No, really, Karen. I won't accept any money. It's a special pleasure
for me to exercise certain talents. And it isn't every day that one
gets to be of service to a pair of history-changing breasts like
yours."

History-changing Ñ what strange way to describe her figure! She had
listened to so many descriptions of her breasts over the years, so
many names and nick-names, some complimentary, some cruel.
History-changing? It was certainly a unique term, but what had
Cassandra meant by it? Breasts couldn't change history.

Karen left the bakery in high spirits, her gigantic breasts feeling for
the first time ever that they were properly accommodated in this
new wonder bra. Her body was still pulsing in sex-starved dynamo
fashion, but at least her boobs felt completely comfortable as she
walked. And she did let David see her in the new bra when she
arrived at his studio that day. He didn't say anything, but he liked it.
He liked it very much, she could tell. She remembered feeling so
sexy, so confident, so ready to engage with him. She stripped out of
her clothes in his bathroom and emerged with only the bra affixed
to her body, and all of her fears and hesitations were so far away
that they might never have existed. Standing in front of him, her
showcased breasts powering out like nobody's business, she felt
more feminine than any woman ever, more beautiful than any
woman alive with the possible exception of Cassandra herself. David
stared at her like he couldn't even believe that a woman as beautiful
as herself could exist, and she felt her pussy throb for him, lubricate
for him, and her nipples hardened and lengthened as only her
nipples could. He directed her to the model stand and she fully
intended to seduce him, as in really, really seduce him. She was
going to remove the bra and then turn suddenly, and go at him with
all she had, which was so much more than any other woman had.
She could see it in her mind, see her massive breasts overpowering
him, taking him off-guard and overwhelming any hesitations or
resistance he might have about the situation.

She reached behind her back, an anticipatory grin the only clue that
she was about two seconds away from burying David's head between
fifty pounds of breast flesh... But somewhere in that action, in the
time between unclasping her bra and letting her breasts surge free,
totally free, she lost her nerve. The giant black bra fell to the floor
but she couldn't see it, because her tits were so huge that the floor
near her feet might as well exist in another universe. The doubts and
fears that had felt like wisps of forgotten smoke were suddenly
there again, thwarting her resolve. What had she been thinking? Her
breasts were too gigantic to be beautiful. She felt dazed, her mind
remembering how sexy she had felt a few moments ago but unable
to feel that way now.

She scrambled for footing within her own mind, trying to regain the
certainty that had been present just a few moments before. And that
was when she saw the face of the stranger. She was looking at David,
her eyes pleading with him to reach out and grab hold of her
oversized nipples, to pull her body into his... And the stranger's
visage was there, almost literally superimposed over David's familiar
features. She saw a massive cock sticking out in front of David and
she did a frightened double-take, realizing that her mixed-up brain
had grafted an image of the mystery man's immense tool onto
David's obvious hard-on, and she suddenly became insanely horny,
but not for David. Her lust spiraled upwards, whirling in circles like
a garden sprinkler, and she waited for David to give her directions
because she was too dizzy and confused to think straight. He
directed her onto the model stand and guided her into a new pose,
and she could feel her pussy getting so wet as he painted her. With
every scratch of his brushes on the large canvas in front of him, she
could feel her nipples and her pussy vibrate as they did every time
she modeled. David was her painting genius and she was his Muse,
and she could feel his eyes devouring her curves and she felt herself
getting so hot that she thought she'd explode into an orgasm that
would bring the walls down...

But it never happened. Because every time she felt close, every time
something began to vibrate in her tunnel in the special way that
could send her over the edge, she would see him, the other man, the
stranger with the enormous cock. She tried to shake the image
away, to banish the unwanted hallucination from her mind, but she
couldn't deny how much she wanted him, the unknown man. She
was more than a Muse for him, she had been designed for him,
destined to please him, destined to be filled by his huge cock... 

She left David's studio all confused, even saddened, and fearful that
she was going crazy from dreaming and day-dreaming about a man
who didn't exist with a cock that couldn't exist! She suffered
through the rest of the day and night, so ready to come but unable
to come. The next morning, she dressed in a short skirt and the
bright-colored stretch top that she'd bought a few days before. She
wore Cassandra's bra under the top and her boobs looked awesome,
or awesomely pornographic, anyway. Her confidence returned and
she plotted in her bedroom, rehearsing lines to feed to David when
she was in his studio. After modeling, she would ask him out. If he
hesitated or looked panicked, then she'd make it simple and light,
like just asking him to walk with her to the bakery. If he was more
willing or even enthusiastic, then she'd propose that they drive east
to see a movie or dine out.

The movie idea stuck with her. She fantasized about sitting next to
David in a darkened theater. Her boobs were so much larger than
they'd been when she'd last had a movie date. Even without trying,
the outer curve of a breast would reach into David's space, probably
blocking a significant portion of the screen. How would he react? He
was attracted to her breasts, she just knew he was Ñ he even
painted them as though they were "history-changing". Maybe having
her tits aggressively invading his personal space would change
David's history. Maybe thrusting her boobs at him would finally take
their relationship outside of the narrow roles of the artist and his
model. Maybe he would even embrace her breasts, and they could
return to his studio and he would lead her back to the apartment-
part that she had never seen, back to his bedroom...

But again, it hadn't happened. Stripping down to nothing except
Cassandra's perfect bra, she felt a wave of iron determination wash
through her. She met her reflection, met the awesome degree of her
own beauty, and thought: To hell with asking him out on a date! She
would just dress for the kill and march over there and seduce the
living hell out of him! Inspired, she fished around in her dresser and
found the hot pair of nylons that she'd bought the day before, the
over-the-top nylons with the seams up the back. She slipped on her
shortest skirt and her sexiest heels and turned her body so she
could assess the effect. Killer, just killer. Her legs alone, their
shapeliness accentuated by the thin line tracing every curve and
indentation, could pull a gallon of cum out of any man. Not about to
stop there, she pulled on the tight, thin neon-pink top she had
bought the other day, and stared at her reflection in the mirror,
grinning with satisfaction. She had a totally amazing body. Her
bright face and adorable dimples clashed so spectacularly with the
enormity of her rack, clashed like everything should clash, clashed
in a heart-stopping, cock-hardening, David-conquering sort of way.
She pulled a coat out of her closet for the walk to his studio but
then thought to herself, why not show off for a change? Why try to
hide what could never be hidden anyway, why keep the explosive
miracle of her figure from the eyes of the world? It was chilly when
she stepped outside but that just hardened her nipples. She smiled,
knowing how totally devastating she must look. And so began her
walk through town, and she walked with poise and she walked with
assurance, knowing that she was one of the most beautiful women
to ever have existed.

And, as luck would have it, Bradley Davis was at the wheel of his
prized Mustang as she approached Main Street. Well well. How many
times had he teased her, making crude or deliberately vicious jokes
about the size of her breasts? How many times had she heard his
voice come from out of nowhere, calling her "Large"? Okay, Bradley.
You thought I was large? Well now you'll finally get to see for
yourself.

Either the shortness of her skirt or the enormous neon pink color of
her top caught his eye and she gave him a big, friendly wave, the
prick. His eyes never left her as he passed and he would have turned
his head backwards like that kid in "The Exorcist" if he could have,
just to keep staring at her boobs. Even so, he lost his attention long
enough to smash his car into a traffic sign. She could see he wasn't
hurt, but the front of his car sure was. He jumped out and began to
stomp and curse, but then his eyes were pulled back to her amazing
legs and the swaying mass of her brilliant pink tits, and he fell as
silent as a man in prayer. She thought she should feel some
sympathy for him and maybe she did a little, but not very much. He
had teased her mercilessly for years, he deserved what he got.

She felt more remorse for the other traffic accidents she caused.
Even in the heart of Extremity, where people knew to expect her to
be gorgeous and have the hugest breasts in the world, people nearly
went crazy. Eyes bugged out, dicks pushed at the crotches of old and
young men alike, and Mrs. Hatch, the octogenarian who tended to
the town's poor excuse for a public library, yelled out her window,
"You go and go and go, girl!"

She went, and there in front of the rest of her, her boobs went and
went and went. Karen heard squealing brakes several times that
twice ended with the crunch of metal on metal. She genuinely felt
sorry for the people who were smashing their cars over her, but all
of the commotion was fueling her lust, too, making her even more
ready to pounce on David. Each collision, every shout or squeal of
brakes went straight into her nipples and clitoris. This was
Extremity, with very few pedestrians and little traffic, and she
imagined what it would be like if she walked through the heart of a
big city like this. Would devastation and chaos erupt all around her?
Would she leave a city in smoking ruins like Godzilla or something,
just by taking a leisurely stroll in the right clothes? She felt like the
most devastatingly gorgeous creature ever born, she felt like her
breasts could conquer the world, she felt like she was going to shove
her giant tits against David's face and nearly smother him with the
wonders of her super-stimulating, mesmerizingly-mammaried,
stupefyingly-stacked body!

David's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets and became
hopelessly glued to her neon pink boobs when he answered her
knock. She had arrived early Ñ on purpose Ñ and he hadn't yet
fastened that painter's apron to himself. She could see him getting
hard for her, she could see his cock straining at his pants, and bells
chimed deep within her tunnel. She wanted to go right at him,
backing him up, pinning him against one of the walls with her
massive tits. There would be nowhere for him to go, no way that he
could even pretend that her behemoth balloons were not right there
for him to fondle and excite...

But she wanted to show off for him first. She started with the skirt,
pulling it down her legs slowly, arching her feet in her heels, flexing
her beautiful calves for effect. She made a show of losing the heels
and peeling her shapely legs out of her nylons. It was so yummy,
effortlessly finding that balance right at the mid-point between
strip-tease and quiet, calm deliberation. One of David's balls might
believe that every stunning posture was an accident, while the other
throbbing testicle would understand that she was in complete
control of her body, using it to jump-start his motor and have him
screaming inside. She slowly drew her panties down her legs as
though she had forgotten that he was there, but fixed her eyes on
him an instant before drawing the tight, pink top over her head. She
arched her back provocatively, emphasizing her proportions,
reminding him that she had proportions like no other woman on
earth. David looked like a fish gasping at air as he once again stared
at the way her boobs filled out Cassandra's gigantic black bra. She
felt herself almost ready to climax right then and there and she
smiled at him, a semi-wicked smile that should make her intentions
plain to any man with more brains than a slug. But not yet. She
wanted to be completely naked when her bare flesh pressed into
him for the first time. She wanted him to feel the skin of her hard
nipples against his throat, to see the goose bumps of her desire as
she touched him... 

She removed the bra theatrically, filled with determination, filled
with a sense TNT-cup power. She allowed her breasts to go into a
full mega-wobble in front of his eyes, then she took her first step
towards him, ready to squash his head right into her super-abundant
cleavage...

But even as her breasts swayed in the open air, she could feel her
determination leave as quickly and steadily as air from a punctured
balloon. In mid-stride her confidence dissipated and she froze, her
eyes wide and uncertain, her planned seduction so remote and out
of reach that it felt as though she had left it on another planet. What
was happening, where had all her confidence gone? She still knew
what she had intended to do, she had intended to go right at David
with her boobs, giving him no chance to object... She was literally
surrounded by the discarded implements of her planned seduction,
her clothing picked out for maximum arousing effect... Why did she
suddenly feel so removed from her plan? It had made so much
sense, she had been so focused on her goal...

She was trying to decide whether to continue the plan when the
image of the dream man's giant cock flashed in her brain, instantly
short-circuiting her nerves. She looked at David pleadingly and he
returned her gaze as though he was trying to figure out what was
going on with her. She could see that he was hard as a rock ÑÊher
little strip-tease had been just as effective as she'd known it would
be Ñ but she met the sight of David's bulging pants with confusion
and a terrible sense that something was wrong. He was the wrong
man, and that was the wrong cock! She didn't feel like having sex
with him, which was crazy, because it was everything she had
wanted a few moments ago! David sighed. He looked hurt, pained,
and then he became very professional, almost resigned, and he
guided her into a standing pose to paint from.

She stood there like a good model, unmoving, but her mind was
swimming around and around, trying to understand what had gone
wrong. How could she be so sure of herself one moment and such a
doubting wreck the next? She should be on the floor with David
pinned by the weight of her boobs, but every time a thought like
that was close to becoming an action, the image of the stranger
would appear in her mind and she would long for him, not for
David, and everything got all mixed-up, she was all mixed-up,
something was wrong or everything was wrong and there didn't
seem to be a way to escape. She didn't know enough about sex to
know much about sexual dysfunctions, but she must have one, a
really bad one. David was hard for her the entire time he painted
her, and knowing it and seeing it made the session excruciating. By
the end of their time together she felt like a bottle of champagne
just praying that someone would remove the cork and let all of the
pressure out... And she kept seeing it again and again, the haunting
image of the man with the king-sized penis, and she longed for him,
not for David, and she left David's studio practically in tears...

And then, stupidly, she had called David to tell him that she couldn't
model the next day, which was today. She was completely naked
when she called him, her pussy dying to have sex with the imaginary
man who had invaded her brain, and she couldn't keep going over
there to model for David when she was so messed up and her mind
and her body were going nuts. She made a feeble excuse about being
too tired that he must have known was hollow. It had made sense to
her then but she could be over there right now, naked with his eyes
roaming so sensitively over her flesh. What had she been thinking?
She wouldn't make that mistake again, she would definitely model
for him tomorrow, even though they hadn't yet set it up. Oh God she
wanted to go over there, go over there right now, but she didn't
know if she could take it any more. She couldn't take the "yes!" of
her body and her mind and then the "no!" that was the vision of
someone else, some tortuous mirage of a man who seemed to throw
her body and her psyche into a tailspin.

But she was feeling stronger now, at least stronger than she'd been
ten minutes ago. Her confidence was back and it seemed like she
could accomplish anything if she wanted it badly enough. She felt
like she could do it, like she could show up at David's studio and
throw herself at him. She picked up her phone and dialed his
number, and sat cross-legged on the bed. She would do the sensible
thing, the thing that wouldn't frighten him away. She would schedule
a modeling session for the next day. And maybe, just maybe, she
could go ahead and ask whether he'd like to go out afterwards,
nothing specific. He could interpret the request any way he wished,
but if she could just see him outside of his studio, in another
context...

The phone rang three times, four, and then his voice appeared on an
answering machine.

"H...hello, David?", she began. "It's Karen. I was just, um, wondering
whether you wanted me to model tomorrow. I can. I'm free all
afternoon and I thought, uh, I'm free in the evening, too, and I was
thinking that maybe you'd want to, you know..."

Could she say it? She wanted to say it, even if it was just his
answering machine. The image of the other man hung in the back of
her mind, ready to come forward and mess everything up. She
hesitated... Stay away!, she thought, I want David! At the back of her
mind she heard another voice, a voice that wanted the other man
more. Her whole body trembled and her breasts jiggled inside of the
bra... A warmth seemed to spread through her, originating in her
breasts. The warmth flowed into her and through her. It was like the
flowing of peace into her body, peace into her mind. It opened a
moment of opportunity within the chaos. She dove straight in.

"David? I... I'm sorry I sound so mixed-up. I want to ask you... out.
Outside, out... as in a date. Unless that isn't something you'd want.
Maybe... I'm just afraid it isn't appropriate, that it might mess with
our... arrangement, the model and artist arrangement. I mean, I
don't want to screw that up, I love modeling for you... Look, just call
me back when you can. I'll model for you tomorrow, and
maybe afterwards we could drive to Five Forks for ice cream or...
something. I'm up for just about anything if you are. I mean that, I'll
do anything with you. Anything. Okay. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

There! She'd done it! Her breath came to her in deep gulps and she
felt as though she'd just swum across the English Channel, but at
least she had done it! But now what? She could wait by the phone,
hoping. No, that was too sad. She wrapped herself in her robe and
went downstairs, not really sure of what she wanted. Her mother
was busy reading something at the kitchen table, her father was
watching a baseball game in the living room. Karen went down and
sat at the piano and thought about David. There was a phone on the
wall about three feet away Ñ she could answer it before anyone else
picked up. No, too pathetic, sitting here pining away like this. She
went back to her bedroom and stood in front of her mirror, stood
there admiring the monumental thrust of her otherworldly breasts.
Why was it that she loved to see them, to admire them, when they
were contained within Cassandra's bra?

Please call me, David, she thought. I have the strength now. The
strength to tell you what I want. Please call, she willed him. I want
you! These breasts want you! Just call, and I'll tell you. I can tell you!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mr. Taylor was waiting at David's studio door when he arrived with
his paints and portable easel. They shook hands and the older man
said he'd just arrived. They went inside and David put his things
down beside he door.

"I love your space," Mr. Taylor exclaimed, walking into the heart of
the studio room. "It looks like you've created an ideal world here
for creativity."

He had been to David's studio only once before, back in the middle
of the summer when there were still exposed studs outlining the
area of his studio-to-be. Mr. Taylor was in his late forties, shortish
with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. The two men
had developed an unlikely relationship since David's one year of art
class in high school. Mr. Taylor was just a bit too young to serve as a
substitute father figure, and they weren't really close enough to say
that they were good friends Ñ David couldn't even bring himself to
call his former teacher by his first name, which was Ed. They were
just two people who loved art, living in a place where most people
had never or rarely been to a museum. Mr. Taylor lived in Five Forks
and looked David up each summer when the younger man was on
break from college, and he was always interested to see the
paintings that had been completed in the intervening time. He would
offer gentle criticisms over a shared bottle of wine and they could
talk easily about pigments and brushes and the techniques of the
Old Masters for hours at a time.

Today, though, David wanted something quite specific from his
former teacher. He wanted to know whether he was deluding
himself about these new paintings of Karen. They were so unlike
anything he'd done in the past, the brushwork more energetic, the
colors more daring, and they had come together so quickly. Painting
wasn't supposed to be like that, you didn't just let the brushes fly
and come up with a finished product in a single sitting. Despite the
fact that so many rules had been broken, David thought they were
excellent, but in truth he got too hot when he looked at them to
evaluate them properly. He became insanely hard every time he
stared at any one of these painted versions of Karen, every stroke
reminding him of the real Karen as she had posed for him. He
needed a second pair of eyes, because he could barely look at the
paintings without wanting to equate the brush strokes with a few
hand strokes on his engorged cock. The one drawing and three
finished paintings of Karen were all turned to the wall for this very
reason.

"Wine?", Mr. Taylor asked, already working at unscrewing the cork.
David brought two mismatched glasses from the kitchen area and
they sat in folding chairs that had been brought out for the
occasion.

"What should we toast?", he asked his teacher, holding out his glass
to be filled with the ruby red liquid.

"How about... new directions. That's why we're here, isn't it?"

They clinked glasses and David downed more of the wine than he
should. He was nervous. He had told his teacher over the phone that
he was working in a totally new direction, but he hadn't gone into
any specifics. He didn't know how he'd be with himself if Mr. Taylor
told him that his paintings were crap, and there was the naked
woman thing, too. You couldn't look at these paintings of Karen
without knowing in a heartbeat that David worshipped her
humongous hooters. His heated admiration for every aspect of
Karen's body was in each composition, each dab and stroke.

They chatted for a respectful amount of time about Mr. Taylor's
wife and kids, about the difficulties of fulfilling the current
administration's ill-funded "No Child Left Behind" policies in rural
school districts. Mr. Taylor launched himself into a pretty heated
tirade against the way the country was going, about prisoner abuses
in Guantanamo Bay, about moving to Canada as a protest against the
government. David agreed with most of what his teacher said, but he
was essentially apolitical. The world of corruption and wars and
environmental degradation seemed pretty far away when you lived
and made paintings in a remote dot like Extremity. He knew the
saying, that if you aren't part of the solution then you're really part
of the problem, but he had his own problems to grapple with. Maybe
he would do good deeds some day, maybe not ÑÊright now he was
just trying to paint and withstand the udderly amazing reality of
Karen Little's appearance in his life and the way the universe seemed
so different now that he knew she existed. He listened politely to his
teacher's gentle ranting, wondering when Mr. Taylor would
remember what he had come here for. Then, almost on-cue, the
older man swung things back to the matter at hand, asking what the
subject of David's new paintings happened to be.

"T...the figure."

"Oh! With the paintings turned around, I was beginning to wonder
whether you had made a more radical jump into pure abstraction. I
get the feeling that you're nervous about showing me these
paintings."

"Yeah. They aren't abstract, but... Well, they're really different.
Maybe kind of, um, risquŽ, too."

"I take that to mean that the figure is nude."

"Yeah."

"A time-honored subject, as you know. Maybe some of the locals
here would still see nudes as risquŽ, but you shouldn't concern
yourself with that kind of reaction. Unless they're... you know,
really kinky or something, like with animals or children or..."

David laughed. "No, nothing like that!"

"Well then... Male or female?"

"Female."

"From life?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. Your model stand over there. I have to say, it sounds
quite traditional, in the manner of Rubens or Rembrandt, you here
in this studio with your model. Who would expect such a thing in
Extremity? But you know, all through art history there have been
painters making important works in small towns. When you read the
books, you sometimes feel that nothing ever occurred outside of
Paris or Florence or New York, that unless an artist was drawn to a
major metropolitan center... Wait. Where on earth did you find a
model? I can't imagine that many women in these parts would have
the time or inclination."

"That was such an amazing thing. I got so lucky! I put out a flyer at
the new cafe... Have you been there yet?"

"No, not yet. I hear the food is out of this world, and the owner...
What's her name?"

"Cassandra Bliss."

"Right. I hear she's... Actually, I heard that she's almost too beautiful
to believe."

"Yeah. You have to see her to believe her, that's true. I never even
imagined... But I was telling you about my model, and how I got her.
I, um, asked Cassandra Bliss... about modeling. I couldn't help
myself, I had to ask..."

"You asked her to model for you? That was very brave."

"You'll understand why I took the risk once you see her. She turned
me down and was the one who thought to put up a flyer. I didn't
think anything would come of it, but almost immediately I got this
call! It's a local girl. She's nineteen and... it was kind of a fluke,
finding someone like her.

"Was she experienced? Fine art modeling is more difficult than most
people would think. They don't realize how hard it is to stay still for
a prolonged period of time. People are always fidgeting or moving in
countless ways all day without even knowing it. To be still in a
focused and supportive way, to be unmoving but not wooden Ñ it's
incredibly challenging."

"I know."

"Is it going well? You're pleased with this girl?"

"Pleased? Yes, very pleased. She'd never modeled before, but... she
seems to enjoy it. And physically, she's stunning and... Well, she's
perfect for me."

"Maybe I know this girl. I don't meet all of the students who go
through Piscataquis High, but I'd be familiar with a fair number of
them."

"Her name is Karen Little. I think she..."

David stopped talking because Mr. Taylor began to cough violently,
spewing wine out his nose. He coughed and coughed, his face beet
red, and all David could do was hand him a couple of paper towels
and wait for the coughing attack to subside.

"W...wrong pipe!", the older man wheezed. After another bout of
coughing, he asked in a strained voice: "You've been painting...
Karen Little? Nude?"

"You know her?"

"Christ, man! You never forget something like that!" After a series of
less intense coughs, Mr. Taylor went on. "I had her... I mean, she
attended art class for one semester in her junior year. She was
bright but kind of depressed... I think it was all of the attention she
got because of her... I mean, she's so much larger now, but even in
the eleventh grade she was so huge! I liked her, genuinely, but... She
was such a distraction... The other students, I mean, they couldn't
take their eyes off of her! You can imagine, a class of mostly boys,
their hormones all over the place... And then such a beautiful girl
with those... amazing... attributes..."

David could see how it got to Mr. Taylor to even talk about this. His
legs were crossed protectively and David almost wanted to laugh
just thinking what it would be like to be a teacher in high school and
then to have one of your students walk through the door that first
day, her gifuckingantic gazongas entering the room way before the
rest of her adorable self. How did you retain your composure in a
situation like that? He could cover up his own hard-on with his
painter's apron and position himself so that Karen couldn't see him
incessantly lusting for her, but what did you do when standing in
front of thirty students who knew that you had to be getting just as
turned-on as they were?

"Karen is pretty... extreme," David soothed the awkward silence.

"She had some talent, did more with clay than paint... I have to
admit to you, David, that I could barely think straight for hours
after every class with Karen. She wore drab clothing, nothing flashy,
big men's shirts as though working hard to just blend in... But when
a girl looks like that, there's no way in hell she can blend in! I'd be
trying to guide some other student with a project, but it was like I
could see her even when my back was turned to her, like her...
her..."

"Breasts?"

"Yes! Yes, her b...breasts were always there in my peripheral vision,
no matter where she was and no matter where I was. I tried not to
look, I tried not to fixate on those incredible... But it was so hard...
How do you do it? How could you even... I don't know that I could
do it, David. Paint... that. Those. You must have, um, wanted, a
model like that, though..."

"No, not really. I mean yes, but I didn't have any clue... I didn't... I
mean I'd never met her before, and I kind of interviewed her over
the phone. I had no idea that she would be so... I mean, she's been
an incredible model, but when I went into this I was, like... I wasn't
prepared."

Mr. Taylor laughed, a laugh tinged with something akin to hysteria.
"No, no, I'm sure you weren't prepared! Who could be prepared for
a girl that adorable, that graceful, with... those... Oh God."

Mr. Taylor began to drink his wine in gulps rather than sips. David
wondered whether or not it was a good thing that his teacher knew
Karen. He wanted an objective view of his new work, he wanted
someone to look at the paintings with a critical eye and nothing else.
Oh well, Mr. Taylor was all he had in a nowhere place like this.

"Is that large canvas... Is that one of them?"

"It's the latest one," David answered. "Are you ready to look at
them?"

"I think so."

"I'm not sure how to do this, show them to you all at once, or one at
a time, or..."

"Choose the one that gives the best sense of where you think you're
going. I'm not sure... Just let me see one at a time to begin with,
yes."

It was hard to choose. Each painting devastated him the same way
and to the same degree. Why not the latest one, though? It was
different in that she was standing, and the composition was tighter,
cutting her off at the hips. It seemed like a sin to not have Karen's
sensational legs depicted on the canvas, but the closer focus on her
boobs more than made up for it. He'd gotten her to lean back
against the wall in this one, her back arched, her gigantic breasts
heaving diagonally upwards. She was in profile, her arms raised so
that her hands were running through her cascading hair. The elbow
of the forward arm concealed just a bit of her face, turning her into
a somewhat anonymous girl while leaving the tip of her adorable
nose and her luscious lips to be seen and admired. And the shadows
on her tits... Jesus Christ had that been a joy to paint, a cock-
stiffening, load-blowing joy! And with this particular painting, large
in scale and intimate in the way that Karen was depicted, there was
also the element of her being larger than life-size. The boobs in this
painting were enormegagigantical, probably making it the most
shocking of the bunch. David figured that he could hit his teacher
with the most provocative painting first, then work backwards. If
Mr. Taylor thought this close-up painting was just too extreme, then
he might approve of the others more as they worked back to the
beginning.

Mr. Taylor went white when the front of the painting came into
view. He stared in silence except for a weird gurgling noise. David
was tempted to fill the silence with meaningless jabbering about the
way he had applied the paint, or about particular concerns that had
led him to the pose. He kept his mouth shut, though, and endured
the silence. People had to have time to absorb a painting, if they just
started spouting off at the mouth after a second or two then they
weren't really looking.

Mr. Taylor motioned to the other paintings with his hand, to turn
them around. Maybe his throat was still messed up, or maybe he
couldn't think of what to say. David turned the second large canvas
around, which was actually the first of the oil paintings of Karen, the
one where she was lying down and you couldn't even see her head
beyond the enormity of her rising tits. With two paintings visible his
dick started to harden. He decided that he'd better keep his eyes on
anything but the images themselves as he turned the remaining
pieces around. Staring at these painted Karens got him too horny, he
would be reminded of what she had looked like when she was really
there. He kept his eyes on the floor and turned the third painting to
the front, another one with Karen lying down. Even while looking
away he could see the enormity of the shapes of her breasts as they
surged into energetic curves on the canvas.

David was taking his time, giving his teacher plenty of time to take
in the images, to come to terms with his new subject and the
differences in his paint application, in the brighter colors and more
aggressive strokes. But he couldn't stand the silence any more, he
had to say something.

"These two paintings have a similar feel as the last one, I think, even
though the composition is so different. I guess you've noticed how
aggressive the paint application is compared to the still-lives and
landscapes you saw last. I don't really know what I think about that,
it just seems to happen. Let me turn this last piece around, the
charcoal drawing. You can..."

And then he realized that he was addressing an empty room. No Mr.
Taylor in his chair.

David stood there, dumbfounded. "Mr. Taylor?"

His door was wide open, and then he heard a car engine start and
the squeal of rubber on the asphalt. He dashed over to his windows
and saw Mr. Taylor's green Taurus sedan heading back to Main
Street at high speed. Gone. Without one word.

He stood there staring out the window trying to understand what
had just happened. Had it been the earlier coughing fit? Had his
teacher been in a state of medical distress? Were the paintings so
horrible that they chased the man away? Or had they reminded the
man too much of the way Karen had disturbed his classroom and his
sleep several years before? David laughed uncomfortably. The first
person to see his new paintings besides himself and Karen, and the
man had literally fled the studio like someone had strapped a rocket
to his back. He couldn't believe what had just happened. What had
just happened?



CHAPTER 2
Damn these machines! Crystal's voice mail message played in his ear,
followed by the beep.

"Crys? It's Glenn. I really, really need you to call me. I'm at home
right now but... Damn." He put his hand over the mouthpiece and
called out to Lauren. "Do you have a cell phone?" Lauren wrote her
number down for him and he sent the information to Maine over the
airwaves, praying that Crystal would regularly check her messages.
He called the airlines next, but had no luck in getting a flight to
Boston until the following afternoon.

"I'll rent a car," he said to Lauren. "If I drive all night I could be in
Extremity by the early morning."

"I'll help you drive," she replied, "because I'm coming with you."

"But..."

"Screw your buts. Do you realize the implications of all of this? Do
you?"

The implications? Yes, he could see them, or enough of them to
make his head spin. The reporter in him knew that it was the story
of the century, if not the story of any and all centuries, and he had
landed smack in the middle of it. Lauren had become a part of it,
too. She paced side to side in front of his couch. She was excited,
stimulated, her brain making connections that were nearly
impossible to believe.

"Cassandra Bliss must be like you, Glenn, only... so much more
powerful! What she must be able to do... It doesn't seem like it could
be true, but..."

"But she can manipulate computers and fortune cookies and
probably even create fucking tornadoes as outcomes."

"Not to mention inserting herself into your dreams, and changing
photographs in some faraway photo album."

Yes, all of that, too. It was inconceivable, but it all made a strange
kind of sense now. If there had always been beings like Cassandra
Bliss on the earth, beings who could shift memories and evidence of
their existence with nothing more than a thought, then they could
mingle among humans without any fear of discovery. But what did
that mean? What was Cassandra Bliss? A witch? A magician? Had he
finally hit the tabloid jackpot and come across a genuine space
alien? Or was she something that he had never even heard of? For
that matter, what was he becoming? Had she transformed him, or
merely awakened something in him that had been dormant? Was he
special in some way, did he have traces of D.N.A. from a neighboring
galaxy? Was she turning him into something like her, whatever that
was?

He wondered what his aura looked like to Cassandra's eyes. When he
looked at his hands he saw the gold color, no flashing lights, but
maybe the lights were in the eye of the beholder. He recalled the
intensity in her eyes, the way she had scanned the air around him
when he'd walked into her cafe. Did she see multiple auras like
Crystal's surrounding him? Did she see flashes of light speaking to
her in some strange way? Had she seen a fuzzy-edged extension, a
huge erect phantom-cock protruding from his glow right at the
center of his groin? Had she sent the energy of her thoughts at him
right there in the cafe, telling his cock to grow much as he had just
done with the blond woman's tits up there on her balcony?

"She changed me," he said out loud. "Right there in her cafe, the
woman turned my life inside-out and I didn't have a clue that it was
happening."

"She did more than that, Glenn. She... made love to you, much the
way that you did with me at work that day. Maybe you two never
touched, but... You told me that you blew your load sitting there
talking to Cassandra Bliss."

"Of course!" He had become so lost in a fantasy of making love to
Cassandra that he'd come in his pants. Had the fantasy and the
super-lust been his, or had they been imposed upon him? As he had
been undressing and stimulating Cassandra's body in his mind, had
she been doing the same with him, the only difference being that her
thoughts had the power to ignite his aura and send him into a spiral
of lust that had ended in that embarrassing public climax? It was like
Angela on the train or Lauren in the store. She must have been
thinking sex thoughts at him and his aura had heated him up until
he boiled over. He felt like kicking himself now for running away.
He had nothing to apologize for, because the woman had stealth-
raped him with her mind!
 
"She was the one you met out on that lonely road. I'll bet she even
created the fog that you got lost in that night," Lauren mused. "If she
can create tornadoes as outcomes, then why not other types of
weather?"

She was probably right, and Cassandra's influences didn't have to
stop at the weather. He had felt the presence of invisible puppet
strings so many times recently, and now he knew who the puppet
master was. How many of the "coincidences" of the past few days
had she orchestrated? Had she created the power outage in
Extremity for some reason? Had she summoned the thunderstorms
that delayed his landing in New York, allowing him to meet Isabella?
Could she have manipulated the actions of a woman like Angela,
adjusting her movements through the day so that she would end up
entering the exact subway car that he was already in? Had Cassandra
caused him to pass by The Lion Tamer right at the moment that
Lauren would be visible through the window, and moved Angela and
Charlotte and Suzanne like pawns on a chess board, bringing them
to the Hot Triangle so that he could meet them and fuck them? Fate
and Destiny Ñ were such concepts even at play if Cassandra Bliss
was capable of orchestrating the actions of so many lives?

Lauren was on the very same wavelength. "My God, Glenn! Think of
how far this could go! How do we know that every event in our lives,
every thought or every desire, isn't just an outcome already set in
motion by Cassandra Bliss? I want to accompany you to Maine, but
how can I know whether I want to do that because I want to do it?
What if she's causing me to wish it? Oh my God! What if she gave me
these?" Lauren cupped her huge breasts, smartly showcased now in
the pink blouse she'd bought. "What if Cassandra Bliss passed by me
on the street when I was thirteen and saw huge astral breasts filling
the air in front of me? What if she tweaked my aura like you just did
with that girl so that I'd grow these massive things?"

Karen Little, he thought. Everything that Lauren was saying was
possible, and it would explain Karen Little's impossibly gigantic
knockers that laughed in the face of gravity. Could Cassandra have
visited Extremity in the past and directed Karen's body to produce
the most incredible boobs on the planet? Could Cassandra have seen
vast phantom-tits pushing out from Karen's glow, and sent an
outcome at the girl that directed her tits to fulfill the meaning of her
fuzzy aura? If that could happen, then how could Glenn know that
he didn't just cause that blond athlete to grow a supernatural pair of
tits just like Karen Little's?

Lauren had stopped her pacing. She was standing in front of Glenn's
balcony window now, staring down at her beautiful boobs.

"I love them," she said, softly. "I love my breasts. I can't even
pretend that I don't. They're gorgeous and sensitive, there's no
sagging or veins, my back doesn't hurt... and I've come to enjoy
being stared at all the time. And you... I know how much you love
them..."

It seemed crazy, but it was even possible that Cassandra Bliss had
switched-on the growth of Lauren's tits years ago just so Glenn could
end up playing with them at the present time.

"Glenn... Could you and me and everybody... could we all be no
more than playthings for Cassandra Bliss to move around at will?
Could she... Is there anything that she can't do?"

Glenn wanted to reassure Lauren. He wanted to tell her that her life
was hers to direct, that she had free will. But who Ñ including
history's most renowned philosophers Ñ could make that claim with
any certainty even in ordinary circumstances? Still, Cassandra Bliss
was not God. He didn't know what she was, but he did not believe
that she controlled everything, everywhere Ñ the dream she had
sent him, the one where she had to check her hands, like him, to see
whether an action was allowed, must have been an illustration of her
limits as well as his own. And her outcomes Ñ or at least the ones he
knew about Ñ did not seem to be malevolent in any way. If she was
responsible for the tornadoes, then she had directed them to
actually help people. And everything that had happened to him, too
Ñ no matter how bizarre Ñ was more pleasant than unpleasant.
Glenn was ready to say this to Lauren, but he stopped. She was
looking up at the ceiling for some reason.

"She's probably aware that we're having this very conversation,"
Lauren said. "She's probably watching us somehow... right now..."

"We know all about you!", Glenn shouted at no particular spot on
the ceiling. "I know now that you're the one who's been messing
with my life! And I'm coming up there! I'm going to talk to you face
to face! What do you have to say about that?" Glenn listened for
some reply but was met with silence. He scanned the room. "Lauren,
where did we put those leftover fortune cookies?"

"Over here. What are you going to ask?"

"Nothing, dammit! She knows what I want to know. Toss me a
cookie." Glenn tore off the wrapper and read out loud. "DELAY ANY
TRAVEL PLANS FOR A SHORT TIME. YOU HAVE UNFINISHED BUSINESS
RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE."

"She is listening!", Lauren exploded. "I knew it!"

"But what do we need to stay here for? All of the answers are up
there!"

"Call her. Maybe she speaks through magic, but we can sure as hell
pick up the phone and..."

The phone rang and they both jumped.

"Shit!", Lauren exclaimed. "It's her!"

"Cassandra!," Glenn yelled into the handset.

"Huh? Glenn? Thank God you're there! I thought you'd be in Maine!"

Not Cassandra Ñ not even close. It was Sal.

"My trip got delayed, Sal, but I was just getting ready to rent a car to
head up there."

"Glenn, we gotta talk! You're not going to believe what I found out!
It's Pulitzer material, buddy, fuckin' Pulitzer material!"

"What is, Sal? What did you find?"

"I found out why your boss is so interested in the whole tornado
thing! I found out why you were sent up there in the first place!"

"Well??!!"

"It's Daggert, Glenn! He holds a gazillion shares of GlobalGro!"

"What? How many shares?"

"Enough to be a major, major player. He's buddy-buddy with Nash
Jenkins, the founder of GlobalGro. They're fucking golf partners!
They fucking vacation together! And it gets better! There's some
kind of connection here between GlobalGro and a company called
Global Transport. It's headquartered in Hong Kong, one of the
largest shipping container companies on the planet. It's big, Glenn!
Massive!"

"What is? What does Hong Kong have to do with anything?"

"I can't tell exactly. Yet. But I'm smelling a rich, tangled web. Turns
out that some of Global Transport's major shareholders have been
generous contributors to Warren Jones' re-election bids. We might
be looking at influence-peddling or campaign finance violations at
the very least, but it could be more. Think insider trading, foreign
interference in Congressional campaigns, maybe even payoffs or
bribery if we're lucky."

"It sounds like you're way ahead of the facts, Sal."

"Maybe, but think about it. You said yourself that Daggert had a
special interest in this story. What if he had insider information on
some major breakthrough at GlobalGro, let's say some strain of corn
that grows men's dicks and women's tits with no bad side-effects.
Imagine the payoff on his shares if GlobalGro announced a product
like that and they already had the product in place all over the
world through Global Transport's distribution network. Imagine the
media frenzy Ñ much of it spurred on through Daggert's own
empire Ñ if a product like that was announced!"

"Okay, that's great, but it doesn't wash. I've also been doing some
research since we met. I'm certain that GlobalGro isn't responsible
for my... for my growth. Trust me on that, okay? Which leads back
to the question: Why was I sent to Maine in the first place? Where do
I come into this picture?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you! Why would Daggert Ñ if he has so
many things to hide Ñ send you, his best reporter, to Maine and risk
that you'd get on the GlobalGro trail? Because the twisters
frightened him so much that he didn't feel that he had a choice! You
said yourself that they couldn't possibly be random acts of nature. If
I saw supernatural tornadoes targeting a place that I had tons of
money invested in, I'd sure want to know what was going on,
wouldn't you?"

"It makes sense," Glenn replied. "Daggert got scared. Something
beyond his control looked like it was going after his treasure."

"He's such an egotist that he probably took the tornadoes
personally. Hell, maybe one or even both of the twisters went after
the research facility. We really don't know."

"No, we don't. It's possible, though. I never saw the place up close,
but... I'll bet you're right, Sal."

"Now imagine our names under the headline that exposes this whole
scheme before it even gets started. We've got corrupt media giants
and politicians investing in miracle breakthroughs to grow women's
tits and men's dicks! The story has it all Ñ the mega-wealthy,
politicians, sex and drugs and maybe even rock and roll! It's the
story of a lifetime, Glenn! The story of a fucking lifetime!"

What Sal was proposing sounded completely on-target, except that it
couldn't be right. There was no big-dick or big-tit breakthrough at
GlobalGro, even though Sal had already forgotten that or simply
didn't want to believe it. Glenn had just discovered that the growth
to his sexual equipment was Cassandra Bliss' responsibility. Hell,
maybe the seasons changed and the planets revolved around the sun
only because Cassandra Bliss imagined it as an outcome. How could
GlobalGro be a part of Cassandra's world? What need would she
have for... But maybe this was the unfinished business he had just
been advised about. The last fortune cookie Glenn had shared with
Sal had hinted that GlobalGro was still a part of the puzzle, and
some of Sal's ideas did sound right. Glenn's trip to Maine had been a
direct outcome of the tornadoes. If Cassandra had created those
tornadoes just to stir fear in Daggert, which had set the entire chain
of events in motion, then... then she must have known that Daggert
would send him to investigate, and that would mean she had been
fixed on Glenn even before he arrived in Extremity! But how? And
why? Why him?

"I'm going to keep working on this one, Glenn. But you have to
promise me that we write it together. I tell you I smell a fuckin'
Pulitzer!"

"I promise, Sal. We'll share the glory."

"You might not have a job for long, buddy. Are you aware of that?"

"I'm aware of it."

"Daggert won't sit around passively if he gets wind that you're
uncovering his dirty little secrets. At the very least he'll fire you, but
it could be much worse. I'd watch my back, if you know what I
mean. I'm watching mine."

"I hear you, Sal. I've been through it before."

"Chicago, you mean. But you ran from that life to hide inside of this
one, remember? If you come out into the sunshine and take down a
couple of giants, a U.S. Congressman and one of the world's richest
men... You'd be back on the radar screen, Glenn. It would be like
painting a target on your chest and inviting some very powerful
people to take their shots. Is that a chance you really want to take?"

"I still have no death wish, Sal, but I'm in too deep. I can't pull back
this time."

"I hear you. I'm beginning to wonder how a story like this might
affect my life, too. I have a wife, kids... Oh, fuck it, it's what we do,
who am I kidding, thinking that I could stop? Full steam ahead!"

"Agreed."

"You know... It would take a lot of balls, but maybe you could march
right up to Daggert and tell him what you know. Make him squirm
and see what kind of information leaks out of him!"

Glenn would like nothing more than to put the screws to an asshole
like Daggert, but the chances that the man was even in the country
were... Kiko. Kiko Yagashima would know how to get hold of
Daggert. She might even be privy to every little detail of Daggert's
life, and Glenn had been given access to Kiko.

"I'll do what I can, Sal. I might even have a special inside source into
Daggert."

"Let me guess. Kiko, the Web tit-queen?"

"Your instincts are scary-good, Sal. Kiko Yagashima came into my
office the other day, which never happens. She started to put the
screws to me, she took control of my story and wants me to give her
anything I learn about this whole thing."

"You aren't going to, are you?"

"Hell no. But maybe I could turn the tables on her and find out what
she knows. I'll poke around a bit with her before leaving for Maine."

Glenn gave Lauren's cell number to Sal and then rang off. He
updated Lauren on the most recent news.

"Your boss is Kiko Yagashima?"

"For the moment, yes. You know of her?"

"Fucking Kiko Yagashima, 'The Tokyo Miracles?'"?

"That's her."

"Jesus Christ, Glenn! She's as huge as I am! Is there any woman in
your life who isn't a total babe with giant juggs?"

"Ah..."

"I remember Kiko Ñ hell, she inspired me. I was sixteen and my tits
were already about as big as hers. I was getting so much teasing and
attention Ñ it made me feel good to see a woman who looked that
cute and poised even though she had such huge knockers. I had no
idea that she was in New York, or that you knew her. You haven't...
You and she haven't..."

"No. Trust me. I don't know what the woman was like before she
met Daggert, but she scares the hell out of me now."

"Why? And why do you believe that you have to keep investigating
GlobalGro anyway? We've already figured out that Cassandra Bliss is
responsible for all that's happened to you. If your boss is freaked
out by the tornadoes appearing near a place he's heavily invested in,
then so what? The tornadoes were nothing but a way to get you sent
to Extremity Ñ Cassandra probably created them for that very
purpose. How could you possibly think that a story on a corrupt
politician and a media tycoon is important at a time like this? We've
discovered a woman with the power of a god, and you're going to go
Woodward and Bernstein on your boss?"

She was right, of course. Still, he could tell that he was being
directed to keep after GlobalGro for some reason. His instincts, too,
believed that it was important. He tried to explain this to Lauren.
She remained skeptical, but she eventually relented.

"Okay, okay. Maybe there is some kind of tie-in. Or maybe you just
like the idea of confronting Kiko Yagashima in the flesh. Do you
really think you can manipulate her? From all that you've said, she
sounds shifty and maybe even dangerous."

"I have the element of surprise," Glenn answered. "Kiko has every
reason to believe that I'm in Maine right now, plus she has no idea
of my... abilities. If what we did today, all of that practicing, is worth
anything..."

"Most of what we practiced was sexual."

"Yeah. I guess it was."

Lauren's lips were closed together, but there was a lot of movement
in her mouth. She seemed to be working hard to keep herself from
saying something she might regret. "You told your friend that you
would 'poke around a bit' with Kiko. What exactly did that mean?"

"Just an expression. I wasn't saying..."

"Forgive me, Glenn. Do what you have to do. This is all very serious
and... I'm sorry. I'll be okay."

Glenn looked at his feet.

"You keep my phone," Lauren offered. "I'll rent the car and bring it
here. Come home as soon as you're done with Kiko."

"Sounds good."

"Glenn?"

"Yes?"

She stepped into him and lay her head on his chest, her huge breasts
pressing into his belly. "I get a bad feeling from this. Even if this has
nothing to do with what we've learned about Cassandra Bliss... Your
boss is a very powerful man. If you do things that stir up a hornet's
nest... Bad things could happen."

"What kind of things are you afraid of?"

Lauren looked up and bit her lip, nervously. "In the suspense novels
I read... I guess this is where one of us would get hurt. You would
probably lower your guard while staring at Kiko's tits..."

"They have scenes like that in these novels?"

"And then you would be murdered..."

"Great."

"... and I'd have to solve this mystery all by myself. And then I'd
regret that I never told you how much I love you."

Glenn started momentarily, then leaned back to look into her eyes.
Not one ounce of irony there.

"I do," she said, "whether you want to hear that right now or not.
And I know you didn't program this emotion into me, I might add. I
was feeling it long before you knew you could affect my emotions."

"I... Lauren... Things are so crazy..."

"I know. It's okay. You're in the middle of your own personal
tornado and you've got more women throwing themselves at you
than you know what to do with. If your feelings aren't clear or
exactly the same as mine..." She reached down and stroked his cock
through his pants. He immediately began to stiffen. "Well," she said,
"I know they're at least close."

"You're incredible," he said. "I'll try hard not to get murdered, so we
can keep this thing going. I really want to keep this thing going."

"Good. And here..." She pulled the last fortune cookie out of the bag
and tucked it into his front left pants pocket. "Just in case you need
help. Be careful, Glenn. Nobody knows what's going to come next."
She disengaged from him and was reaching for her coat when she
stopped. "Except, maybe, Cassandra Bliss."



CHAPTER 3
She spread out a number of outfits on the bed, imagining how he
would react to her in each one. She was gorgeous, any one of them
would look incredible on her, but which one would turn him on the
most? That was the point, after all. She tried to concentrate on each
option, but it was hard to think straight because she felt so sexed-
up, her body alive in ways that were nearly driving her insane. How
she dressed was all for him, she couldn't care less because she
couldn't feel any sexier, it just wasn't possible. When he returned
she could answer her door wearing a burlap sack with a hole cut for
her head and it wouldn't matter, she'd just move her exquisite body
in ways that would turn his cock to stone in about two seconds and
they'd be stark naked in a flash, stark naked with her huge breasts
dribbling milk that he would lap up with his tongue. She felt herself
ready to explode from the thought of his mouth on her nipples and
she worked to keep her orgasm down, to save it for him. She was
dying to come but she had to wait, he was coming back, he would be
here soon, she was sure of it, she could feel it.

So back to what clothes to wear for his arrival. Ester had been
dressed in a tank top and skimpy shorts when he arrived at her door
that first time, nothing special, just knock-about clothes that made
it easy to nurse her little girl. But then again, she had been showing
a ton of skin, and he had liked that, he'd liked that a lot. She
remembered catching his eyes traveling up her bare legs from her
painted toenails all the way to the tops of her inner thighs, and that
was when she'd begun to feel the heat building inside of her pussy.
She'd arched her feet and her back then, quite deliberately, showing
him just how lovely her lines were, giving him a good look at her
athletic form and the enormity of her swollen boobs.

He was a reporter for The Sourcerer and she had seen dozens of
photos of really sexy women on the magazine's covers. Sometimes
the women had large tits showcased in scoop-neck tops, and you
just knew their cleavage was plastered onto the front page to make
the magazines fly off the shelves. She could see it in her mind, a
series of before and after shots of herself on the cover, beginning
before her pregnancy and ending right now. It would look like a
series of progressively morphed photographs, her breasts and
nipples growing fuller in each picture. Below would be the caption in
bold type: Maine Mother's Mushrooming Miracle-Mamms Make
Mighty Measures of Milk!, story on page 3. And maybe he would
want to write a story about that, about her massive, milk-laden
breasts and how much they had grown in the last year, about how
nothing but her belly and her boobs had changed at all even during
the height of her pregnancy. She weighed more now than she had
before she became pregnant, but she could see for herself that all of
the weight-gain had taken place in her tits and nowhere else. Once
the baby was out she went right back to being trim and tight
everywhere, even in her middle. She was a hot little sex-object again,
the sex-object who loved being a sex-object, only now her huge
breasts were even fuller, and rounder, and so ready to burst with
milk that she could probably open a dairy factory and make a
fortune.

Or awaken Glenn Cantell every morning with a nourishing nipple
breakfast. Maybe he would write that story, about what it was like
when a sex-crazed girl with luscious lactaters wanted to stuff one of
her swollen nipples into a reporter's mouth every five seconds. He
could describe the taste to the readers, tell them how he could smell
her pussy getting wetter with every drop he swallowed. Then he
could quote her a few times to get the female perspective. She
would be honest but use colorful language, steamy language,
knowing that her printed words would make the paper's readers
really hot. She could describe in detail how her panties got soaked
every time she nursed her child, because she would close her eyes
and dream that he was the one there with his hungry lips working at
her swollen, throbbing teats...

Or maybe Glenn would rather write about her well-defined, shapely
legs, about how tanned and silky her skin was, about the full
muscles of her calves and her perfectly tapered ankles. Even with
her massive tits staring him in the face his eyes had been parked on
her perfect pins several times. Cheerleader legs, that was how he
had thought of them, and he'd been right, she had been a
cheerleader, the cheerleader with the hottest legs on the squad and
the tits that just wouldn't quit. It made her pussy that much wetter,
seeing how he loved the scenery below just as much as her
mountains above. She'd always loved the feeling of being desired,
but the reporter's desire had an extra-special potency that rushed to
her tunnel and her nipples like a tidal wave rushing to a shore. His
stares had pulled milk from her nipples and nectar from her pussy
as though her body was a leaking, three-pronged sex-faucet. Drip,
drip, drip...

And she made sure he didn't quit staring by nearly drowning him
with provocative views that she could see were turning his dick to
stone. But even when steaming him up, she had been the one
sweating with heat, she was the one who couldn't even believe how
her body was responding to his gaze, to his hungry eyes and the
growing lump in his pants. When he'd locked his pupils on her
breasts, on her swollen nipples, the heat between her legs felt like it
was spreading all over her body, like her entire body was becoming
one giant super-connected sex-organ. She grew faint with the
sudden rise of lust and heard a little tune in her head: The pussy
bone's connected to the... waist bone, the waist bone's connected to
the... boob bone... And right then and there she knew she had to
connect to his bone if it was the last thing she did. It was more than
desire, more than being hot and in need of a good fuck Ñ it was like
she would never be right again if she didn't get him inside of her
mouth, inside of her tunnel... And she fixed her mind to the task and
she did it, she had his bone deep inside of her mouth in no time!

She still couldn't believe the size of him, and that she had managed
to swallow so much of him. There was the hot item, the news flash
that should make its way onto the front page of his scandal rag:
Mega-Mammaried Mother Mouths Junk-Journalist's Jumbo Joystick!
It wasn't like she got a chance to measure it, but Glenn Cantell's
cock had to be well over a foot long! Remembering the event,
remembering the feel of his cock in her mouth and his lips sucking
the milk out of her breasts, she nearly exploded again, and might
have if the other memories hadn't come to her, the memories of
him pulling his cock out of her mouth, of him running out her door.
She remembered diving at his feet, of trying to trip him up with a
shoe-string tackle to keep him from escaping her house, but she
missed and he was gone. She cried out to him and stood on her
porch trying to entice him back with her blazing hot body, and she
thought she might be succeeding. But then everything went
impossibly hot, she felt like her boobs had his cock sliding between
them and her nipples felt like he was sucking on them again and her
pussy went haywire like she was being expertly eaten by invisible
lips. She orgasmed like she had never orgasmed before, falling to
her knees and totally losing control, her body trembling, her pussy
firing, and everything became searing joyful heat that she wished
would never end.

By the time her wits started to re-emerge, he was long gone, the
fucker! He was worse than a love-them-and-leave-them type, he was
a leave-them-before-you've fucked-them type! Heating up her
hormones and leaving as he had was like turning on the burners to a
gas stove and leaving for the weekend without turning them off, it
was nearly inexcusable, it was dangerous, wasteful, careless... But he
was forgiven, so forgiven that she would blow him or feed him milk
non-stop for the next hundred years if that was what he wanted, so
forgiven that she had been waiting here, patiently, for days, without
complaining, without cursing, even though she felt like her pussy
had turned into a fire-breathing dragon. She felt like she was in a
fever, like she'd caught a new strain of fuck-flu that only Glenn
Cantell's cock could cure, and she didn't know how much more she
could take!

"Tomorrow," her baby, Sue Ellen assured her. "You just have to hold
yourself together until tomorrow."

Sue Ellen was such a special child, so caring and so eloquent for a
five month-old. And she was right, he was coming back, and she had
to decide how to greet him properly, and that started with what to
wear. She surveyed the choices she'd picked out and placed on the
bed. All of them would show lots and lots of skin. Tiny skirts, low-
cut blouses for her phenomenal cleavage and one silk halter that
allowed the bottoms of her breasts to poke out... They were all sexy
as hell. But none of them were quite right, she knew it. He was a
connoisseur of feminine fuckability and she wanted to give him the
perfect taste, she wanted to appeal to all of his senses and
overwhelm him right off the bat, giving him the kind of unbelievable
orgasm that he had already inspired in her.

She closed her eyes and tried to tune-in to him, to feel his desires.
He was still far away but she could feel him. He was stressed. If only
he would return she could comfort him, feed him from her
throbbing nipples. He had been fascinated by her tits, he loved her
swollen nipples and the promise they held, the promise of her warm
sweet milk. He loved her gorgeous legs, her firm waist, her tight,
curvy ass, her strong arms and strong neck. He loved everything
about her face, but she wondered what kind of expression turned
him on the most? She touched him over the miles again, sensing his
most private preferences. It was interesting how he got turned on by
opposites. He fantasized about feminine power, but he also wanted
his women to be desperate for him. Power and need, strength and
helplessness...  She felt like she had uncovered one of the secrets to
Glenn Cantell. He got turned on by delicious contrasts, by erotic
juxtapositions. Images flashed in her mind: A stunning Asian woman
with an amazing physique and incredible strength, even though she
was tiny. A woman with the physique of a ballet dancer, but with the
breasts of a porn star. Another woman with uncanny wisdom and
boobs even bigger than her own, but with the bright, untroubled
face a child...

There were others, less distinct, but she got the idea. In her own
case, it was partly her huge, milk-filled boobs fitted to her slender,
athletic form. Slim and stupendously stacked, that was how he
though about it. But she had more to offer to his sensibilities than
her tight, athletic body and the huge boobs. It was also her
nurturing spirit Ñ something she had not really found in herself
until Sue Ellen Ñ mixed with her rampaging hormones and her
aggressiveness about wanting to fuck him so badly. He was drawn to
her motherly grace and her milk Ñ he had never sexually suckled a
woman's breasts until she had thrust one of her nipples between his
lips Ñ and she could also be the oversexed small-town
nymphomaniac for him, the oversexed and overly-equipped sexpot
who could feed him and nourish him at the same time that her hot
pussy was devouring him. No wonder he had gotten so hot for her.
He could be a hard man below and a sweet little child above... The
contrast lit his fire and his fire had blown into her with the force of
an inferno, giving her an unearthly orgasm right out there on her
porch...

Unearthly ÑÊwas that another fantasy of his? He did work for a
paper that fixated on space aliens. She smiled. She had already been
the rural nymph for him, so what about adjusting her role,
becoming another fantasy fulfilled? But how to dress for that, how
to make herself even more exciting for him...

"Why don't you try wearing something like this?," Sue Ellen asked.
Ester's baby lay in her crib with her arms raised, and she was
creating a gold-colored outfit in the air above her, an outfit that
reflected light even as it seemed to shine from within. The outfit
floated over to Ester on a bed of weightless sparkles and she took it
in her hands. There were a pair of golden boots with extremely tall
heels and a sliver of golden fabric that barely looked like it could
cover one of her nipples, it was so tiny. But just touching the
garment made her pussy wet. She knew it was perfect!

"Thank you, Sue Ellen," she cooed, and then she got busy with
transforming herself. The boots slipped onto her feet almost by
themselves, and the infinitesimal bit of golden cloth somehow took
control of arranging and fitting itself to her body, like a golden
snake bent upon making her look her absolute best. It nestled
between her thighs like a good magic garment should, then she felt
it stretch up in a straight line for just an inch or so before splitting
into two lines that spread apart so the material could caress each
nipple. Up over her shoulders it went, converging again at the small
of her back to form the single line of material that separated her ass
cheeks and teased at her smoldering pussy.

She strode to her full-length mirror and couldn't believe how
incredible she looked! She was essentially naked except for the
super-sexy boots and this thin filament of shining, glowing material
adorning her nearly flawless body. She thought she looked like a
visitor from another planet, a planet of milk-laden, massively-
mammaried sexbots! Her costume formed something like a golden
letter "V" on the front of her body, "V" for Voluptuous Vixen, for
Vibrating Vulva, for Va-Va-Va-Voom!, for Vanquishing Vagina! The
tiny filament of cloth didn't cover anything as much as provide
triangulation, visually connecting her wet pussy with her wet nipples
like the equivalent of an upside-down arrow pointing right to the
spot where she needed Glenn's massive cock. It was as though the
glowing costume was a universal instruction manual, telling the
observer: Insert Tool Here!  

She thought about Glenn's hard tool entering her and the barely-
there material glowed bright with golden light, sparkling light that
slipped out and away from the cloth, filling the air until it
surrounded her body. She looked so beautiful within the field of
light that flashed and sparked in hot wavy patterns, patterns that
corresponded to the deep pulsing within her breasts, within her
pussy. She felt a surge of pressure building in her tits, too much
pressure to be contained, and they grew in front of her eyes, filling
with even more milk, so much milk... They suddenly gushed milk
like sideways fountains, splattering the mirror, spraying everywhere.
It was like coming through her tits, coming the way she was aching
to come with her pussy, too... She began to shake, her need to come
clashing with her desire to save her detonation for Glenn. She
needed to come! She had to come! Oh God, please come back Glenn!
Hurry! Her pussy felt like it had been hooked up to electrodes and
her breasts kept gushing milk and she thought she would die of
terminal horniness if Glenn didn't come back soon, if he didn't suck
from the fountains of her bursting boobs and shove his power tool
inside her box...

"Stay strong, mommy," Sue Ellen whispered. "We'll go to The Taste
of Bliss tomorrow, we'll find help."

Yes, Sue Ellen was right. She needed help. She had to keep herself
together, not just for Glenn but for her baby. She couldn't fall apart,
she couldn't spontaneously combust, she had to hold herself
together! But it was so hard, the pressure was so great...

"Help me, Sue Ellen," she moaned. "Suckle me, help to relieve some
of the pressure..."

Ester was awakened by the sound of her baby crying. Oh thank
goodness! She went to the crib and lifted her little girl and settled
into the rocking chair, where Sue Ellen's mouth and tiny hands
sought out her left nipple. She didn't want to overfeed her child but
ever since the reporter's visit her breasts had been unusually
engorged with milk. Nursing her child helped to ease the pressure
somewhat, and it also felt almost indescribably good. It probably
wasn't supposed to feel so sexual, nursing a baby, but lately nearly
everything felt sexy or made her think of sex or dream of sex. She
could be making a peanut butter sandwich and she would see Glenn
Cantell's face in the bread, like one of those Virgin Mary sightings
that appeared in The Sourcerer all the time. But seeing his face in a
sandwich had nothing to do with virginity, it caught her pussy on
fire and made her boobs ache for him so badly that she was offering
her breasts to her baby too much.

She remembered the dream and he way Sue Ellen had been able to
talk. Some other things in the dream had been crazy like that Ñ the
tiny garment that had almost been alive, and the flashing lights that
leaked off of the weird costume and floated in the air Ñ but many
things had been remarkably on-target. Like the way she couldn't
stop thinking about the reporter, couldn't stop expecting him to
come back and knock on her door and finally shove his cock inside
of her. She thought about him constantly and really did feel like she
could tune in to him in some strange way...

She was obsessed with him. She went so far as to call The
Sourcerer's offices in Manhattan and they confirmed that Glenn had
returned to the city from Maine, but they wouldn't give out his
number or address. She looked on-line, Googled him and tried
everything she knew how to do to track him down, but it was like he
was deliberately hiding from her. She gave serious thought to taking
a bus to New York to track him down, and she would have done it if
not for Sue Ellen. There was nothing she could do but wait and hope
and she was a wreck, barely holding her head above water (or milk).
Her parents were away in Arizona for a week and they'd called last
night, but she didn't want to worry them. She pretended that she
was fine, that her pussy had not gone nuclear and her boobs were
not producing ten times as much milk as they should be.

That was another accurate piece of the dream: the incredible
pressure building inside of her tits. She had read that breasts did not
store milk, they produced it at the time of need. Hers, though, kept
growing, kept getting heavier with milk. She kept imagining that
they were doing this for the reporter, that they were gathering
gallons of milk to give to him when he came back. In reality, she
suspected that it was all some kind of imbalance, some hormonal
complication from nursing. She should get it looked at, go see her
doctor, but then she would think: What if Glenn returned and she
missed him? And he would probably love it that her boobs were
even bigger, that they were so engorged with milk that she could
shoot streams of warm white liquid all the way across the room.
Nursing her child brought a small measure of temporary relief, but
the amount of milk she was producing was far too great, she'd have
to have several litters of children to drink enough to really help. She
had thought it was funny when she first began nursing her child,
when she discovered that her boobs could shoot streams of milk a
few feet, but in the past couple of days what had seemed like the
ultimate party-trick had become alarming. She couldn't erupt the
way she had in the dream, like her tits were geysers, but she could
shoot streams of milk all the way from her bedroom door to the far
end of the living room, which had to be twenty feet or more! It was
too much pressure, she was like a car with two radiators ready to
boil over and there wasn't anything she could do about it.

Except pray, pray for his return. She needed him, she was dying for
him, she would gladly seed the clouds and create fifty tornadoes if
that's what it would take to bring him back to town. Come back,
Glenn Cantell! Come back and finish what you started! Come back
and drink my milk and make me come!



CHAPTER 4
David returned from his walk around the block, from his attempt to
sort things out and cheer himself up. His life had been so so-so since
returning to Extremity in the summer, and just recently it had gotten
the ultimate jump-start with the appearance of Cassandra in town,
and then having Karen model for him. He had thought that his
paintings were becoming amazing, too, but the landscape he'd
worked on earlier in the day was a piece of trash, and his art teacher
had literally fled the building when he saw the new figure paintings.
Mr. Taylor was not a flake. Even if he hated the paintings he would
stick around to discuss the shortcomings, he was not the kind of guy
who would just run out like that... An emergency. Maybe the
problem with his throat had been serious. But he could have said
something, could have... Maybe he tried, maybe he was even waving
frantically in distress as David had been moving the paintings with
his back turned. Maybe Mr. Taylor had taken matters into his own
hands, losing patience, not able to wait...

He heard his phone ringing as he climbed the flight of stairs to his
apartment. Mr. Taylor? The hospital? He rushed up and picked up
before his machine could get it.

"D...David?"

A woman's voice, familiar but not familiar enough to know who it
was.

"This is... Oh! This is Peggy Tayloooohhhr..." A muffled sound, her
hand over the mouthpiece as she spoke to someone else. "Ed is
okay, he wanted you to know... Oh! Ohhhh!!! Oh God, yes he's okay. I
don't know what you two did over therrrooohhh! He'll call you...
oh... and explain... oh!... and... David?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know... Ohhh... Oh God, yes... Thank you, David. Thank you,
thank yoooesss! Yes! YES!!! YE..."

And then the line was dead. He stood there staring at the phone in
his hand. They were fucking, Mr. Taylor and his wife. They were
fucking big-time, and hadn't even been able to stop long enough to
call without the sounds of sex being included. Mr. Taylor had looked
at the new paintings and bolted from the studio to... to run home
and make love to his wife? He must have shot out of that chair like a
bullet, the images of Karen... All of a sudden he could see it,
especially if Mr. Taylor had a thing for Karen a number of years ago.
Even when steeling himself, even knowing that he would be seeing
Karen naked, sort of, for the first time, the paintings had punched
his teacher in his dick and the man had fled like greased lightning.

So... his paintings could make men horny? Could make men rush
home and fuck their wives as though they'd been injected with an
overdose of Viagra? Okay. But that had nothing to do with the
paintings as paintings, it had to do with how insanely sexy Karen
was. But were the paintings themselves any good?

He noticed that the red light was flashing on his machine. Another
message. Had it been there all day, or had Mr. Taylor's wife called a
few minutes before, attempting to let him know what had happened?
He pushed the "play" button.

"H...HELLO, DAVID? IT'S KAREN. I WAS JUST, UM...

He played the message, his cock growing stiffer with every word. He
jumped in the air. Yes!!! A date? She wanted to be with him tomorrow
as in a date? Yes! Yes!!! YES!!!

His cock received the news as though it was a stick of dynamite and
her phone message had lit the fuse. It was the way she ended the
message, the way she said that she was up to anything Ñ anything.
Her words and tone of voice shot straight into his balls and he didn't
even hesitate, he was so excited. Before even calling her back he had
to, he just had to! He rushed over to the painting that he'd never
turned around and did so, and did the same with the large charcoal
drawing. Standing facing the window, he had two paintings of Karen
to his left, one in front of him, and the drawing to his right. He
unzipped his fly and pulled his jeans down to his feet, then waddled
over to the phone and hit the replay button, listening to Karen's
voice again. As she nervously asked him to go out with her, he
absorbed the full impact of five versions of Karen all at once. Eight
gigantic tits filling his eyeballs. Six pairs of skating-honed legs, eight
tight abdomens and all of that blond hair! He didn't even touch his
cock. He knew he didn't need to. No wonder Mr. Taylor had sped
home to bone his wife! David stared at all of that painted sexuality,
all of the gargantuan grandeur of those eight megabreasts and his
ass tightened and his balls surged and he came, thick ropes of cum
spurting up into the air. He came and he came, and then sank to his
knees, dizzy, reeling. He lay there on the floor for at least fifteen
minutes, the scent of fresh semen everywhere. Oh, Karen. Oh, those
dimples, those legs, that ass! Oh, those TITS!

Finally, buzzing with hope, buzzing with the possibility that he might
be granted the miracle of experiencing Karen's heavenly tit-pillows
in a tactile, flesh-on-flesh way, he crawled to the phone and dialed
her number.

"Hello, Karen? Oh, sorry. Could you get her, please? David. Tell her
that David is returning her call."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not long before the call, Jessica stood naked in front of the full-
length mirror hanging on her closet door. It was finally happening,
and so fast! Karen had not noticed Ñ well, she had her reasons, and
now Jessica knew them. So his name was David. He was cute in a
lanky, unconventional way. And, being with Karen, he obviously
didn't mind the presence of huge tits. She looked at her own, so tiny
compared to her sister's, but not as tiny as they'd been just a few
days ago. Two cup sizes in five days, from a 32-B to a 32-D! That was
way faster than even Karen at her age! She stepped closer to the
mirror and stared intently at her right breast. It was so lovely, and
already so full! At this rate of growth, she wouldn't be surprised if
she could actually see her tits expanding right before her eyes, just
like in the dreams she'd been having.

She lightly pinched her nipple and shivered with the intense
pleasure. So sensitive! Would they become even more so as they
continued to fill out? She would swear that she could feel them
growing right now. Her flesh tingled everywhere in that area, and
her nipples, even without her touch, were almost always completely
hard. They were getting so big and full, too, growing in size ahead of
the surrounding flesh. Would they be really big like Sarah's, or
would they be outrageously big like Karen's? She wanted them to be
as prominent as possible. Karen's, when they were at their fullest,
were insanely large and prominent, like "C" batteries popping out
from the surrounding flesh of her breasts. Why not "D" batteries?
Why not have nipples so incredible that a bra needed to have two
sizes designating its size? An M-cup bra, let's say, with size-D
nipples? She laughed. She was thinking too far ahead. Maybe she
would get lucky and turn out something like Karen Ñ their bodies
and overall looks (minus the colossal boobs, of course) were very
similar. Then again, it was difficult to imagine that two such
gargantuan and spectacular racks could appear on two women in
the same century, whether they were related or not. The main thing
was that she was thirteen years old and her body was finally
changing, and all of a sudden, in a matter of a few days, she already
had the biggest tits of any girl in her grade.

She brought an image of Ms. Owens, her English teacher into her
mind. She wasn't as big as Ms. Owens yet Ñ her teacher probably
had double-D's or maybe even a bit more. Jessica had to admit that
she enjoyed looking at Ms. Owens' figure every day in class. Did she
share some of the tendencies of her friend Marcy? Was she attracted
to women, even just a little? Maybe. Maybe she just loved the way a
woman looked when their body was ornamented like that, with a
pair of full breasts setting everything off better than any earrings,
better than any string of pearls. It often happened that the
classroom would get too hot about halfway through their period
when the afternoon sun began to beat through the tall windows. Ms.
Owens would remove her sweater or one of the intricately-patterned
shawls that she sometimes draped across her neck, and you could
just hear the satisfied sighs in the class, mostly from the boys but
once or twice from Marcy, too. They had all been waiting for the
moment, knowing how good it would be...

That was what it was! It was anticipation fulfilled, the slow and
steady building of something that finally reaches its climactic peak...
Like foreplay, maybe, or like suspense. You knew what was coming,
you could feel it in your bones and in your heart, and the waiting
put all the senses on alert, made them more attuned. She knew how
that worked in movies, and it must be that way with sex. It was
delayed gratification, not for the purpose of delay, but like exquisite
torture to heighten the moment when you finally got what you
wanted...

She felt herself getting damp between her legs, that new tingly
feeling that had appeared so suddenly and so forcefully lately.
Awake or asleep, sex was almost always on her mind. She was having
sexy dreams every night, dreams where her tits grew at phenomenal
rates of speed. There had been one crazy dream where she was in
class staring at her teacher, and the other woman's pretty face and
womanly figure were turning her on. Ms. Owens kept her after class
for some reason. Jessica stood in front of her teacher, expecting to
be lectured about some problem, some assignment missed. Instead,
Ms. Owens hoisted her lovely rear onto the edge of her wooden desk
and hypnotically moved her legs back and forth. Jessica fell into the
hypnotic rhythm, watching those legs, those legs that seemed to get
lovelier with every passing second, so lovely and well-formed that
her nipples began to harden and her damp pussy switched from
simmer to boil, and then she looked up and saw that Ms. Owens was
somehow transforming into Cassandra Bliss, that she was becoming
so much more gorgeous with every breath, her breasts growing, her
features screaming out their limitless perfection...

The woman in front of her now was like some combination of the
two women, a hybrid mix of her teacher's pleasant womanliness and
Cassandra's otherworldly beauty. She could still see this woman's
legs, but now they were the finest legs she had ever seen in her life!
She had never seen Cassandra's legs, she always wore a long black
dress that covered them, but these were not Ms. Owens' legs any
more, they were too perfect, almost painfully exquisite. She found
herself squinting because there was almost too much beauty to take
in. This woman who was part Ms. Owens/part Cassandra, spoke to
her but the words were indistinct. It was something about sex,
though, something about waiting, waiting for a man, for some
special man...

Even though she could not hear the words they excited her. She felt
her nipples harden into bullets, steaming hot bullets and her breasts
began to grow again at that impossible rate of speed and she heard
her shirt ripping and it felt like when she came the explosion would
blow out the walls of the school...

She had awakened from this dream feeling like it could happen, that
her breasts could grow like that if she wanted them to. They were so
tingly, so alive! She wondered how big they would become, and how
fast, and she wondered why she was having these crazy sexy dreams
every night all of a sudden.

Breasts. That was it. She liked breasts and she was finally getting
them. She liked to look at them, she liked to think about them. "The
bigger the better, the tighter the sweater..." They were on her mind
all the time, and no wonder. Today, for the first time in her life,
Jessica had begun to feel the same kind of stares aimed at her chest
that her teacher got every day. She, too, had been wearing a button-
up sweater over a tight sort-sleeved blouse, and when she took the
sweater off during the period, she could feel a number of eyes
locking onto her breasts. Maybe the stares came from curiosity or
shock Ñ she was growing so fast, after all. More likely, though, she
had reached a plateau (well, more like two hills if she was going to
use a geological metaphor) where there was finally enough mass on
her chest to draw the stares of her classmates, especially the boys.
She was, all of a sudden, a girl who had something to look at up top,
and with her nipples being so big all of a sudden, the other students
had to be wondering, just as she was, if she'd get twenty or fifty
times her share in the breast department, just like her sister, Karen.

And she liked the attention. She liked it a lot. Guys had been staring
at her for a long time already because she was so cute, so pretty, but
they hadn't fixed their eyes on her tits because there hadn't been
much there to look at. Now, all in the space of a few days, there was
plenty there, and she had the distinct feeling that there would be
plenty more in the months to come.

Come. Cum? She had awakened last night from that Ms.
Owens/Cassandra Bliss dream, her pussy so wet and tingly that she
had to change her sheets. Every night now she had one or more of
these wild and sexy dreams where her body filled out suddenly, in
spectacular fashion. They were dreams of explosive growth, filled
with feelings of inner explosions between her thighs. Was she
coming in her sleep? What, exactly, did an orgasm feel like? She had
played with herself before, and knew the special tingling that came
from touching that special area, the clitoris. But had she
experienced a full-fledged orgasm? Not while awake, she was sure.
But at night? Was she having female wet dreams? Did girls get them
just like boys?

There had been another dream last night. In this one, Bobby
Donnelley, the guy she had a crush on, started to feel up her boobs.
They were on a picnic date, eating sandwiches and fruit on a big
circular blanket, and Bobby kept staring at her chest and she liked
it. She had gotten all hot in the dream and started to tease him by
unnecessarily bending forward when she reached for food, just
enough that he could look down the collar of her shirt and see for
himself how much she had grown in the past few days. She saw the
lust in his eyes and right there out in the open he reached out and
ran his hand under her shirt and felt her up. She squirmed away but
then thought "What the hell am I doing?", and she lunged at him,
shoving her budding breasts right in his face. She lay on top of him
and she could feel his dick hardening against her. Its growth excited
her and somehow her excitement fueled the growth of her tits and
they began to grow like crazy, getting so big so fast like they'd been
doing in nearly every dream she had nowadays. Bobby kneaded her
tits through her shirt until the seams of her shirt ripped apart from
the super-accelerated growth of her boobs. Fabric flew everywhere
and there, burgeoning out from her body like two immense,
rounded shelves, were her new assets. They continued to swell until
her tits were every bit as extreme as Karen's, until she couldn't even
see Bobby's body any more as he licked at her nipples. That was
when she realized that her nipples, too, were gigantic like her
sister's, and so stiff and hard, the feeling of Bobby's lips and tongue
on them filling her body with so many sensations, so much
excitement that kept building, escalating...

She awakened, panting, her panties soaked. Had she actually come
in her sleep? Her panties were wet and fragrant, yet her pussy was
still so stimulated, so... edgy. Her nipples weren't as huge as they'd
been in the dream but they were just as hard, just as erect. She
brushed one with the back of her hand and hissed because it sent
such incredible excitement down to her pussy. She couldn't go back
to sleep. No way. She got out of bed and went to the computer on
her desk, and for nearly four hours she surfed the Web, reading
snippets of stories about hot sex.

Marcy had told her before about the different Web-sites with their
steamy stories, but she hadn't had much interest until just recently.
She clicked on things randomly at first, not sure what was out there
or what she wanted to read. Sometimes love played a part in the
stories, sometimes not, as though sex and emotional affections were
two entirely separate things. Some stories lost any sense of
tenderness altogether, focusing on themes like domination or
humiliation, on coercion and control and revenge, or even the
inflicting of intense physical or emotional pain. She browsed
everything, only staying with narratives that stirred both her
curiosity and her young loins.

She had been reading like this for the past couple of nights, waking
up from a sizzling dream about her tits growing huge and then going
on-line to read sex stories. It was interesting, finding out which
types of stories got her motor running and which ones did not. Too
much violence or mean-spiritedness was a big turn-off, but she did
kind of like the coercion angle, of having characters do things that
they wouldn't normally do. She mostly read stories with
male/female sex, but girl/girl could get her going, too, if the
characters seemed real enough. What she especially liked, though,
were stories that had romance and longing that culminated in the
fulfillment of wishes. She found these stories both inspiring and
touching, especially when some kind of magic power was added into
the sexual mix. It was like reading an old-fashioned fairy tale, but a
fairy tale that entered her pussy as well as her brain. That amazed
her in a way Ñ they were just words on a computer screen, just a
bunch of black pixels on a pale field of light, but they went right
through her eyes and straight down to her nipples and her pussy,
making her hot and keeping her hot. The stories were about magic,
but reading them was kind of like magic, too, and the ones with the
most potent magic made her so wet that she left a damp, aromatic
spot on the seat of her desk chair.

The main thing, besides loving the way the stories excited her, was
using them to learn how things were done. Even in the really
imaginative and impossible fantasies, information could be
conveyed that she might want to remember for future reference. It
was easy to understand the basic mechanics of sex, but what did it
actually feel like, and how did people go about instigating the act?
She had never seen an erect penis in real life and couldn't imagine
actually getting naked with some guy. Still, she was curious about so
many things. Like what would it feel like to have a guy's thing
moving around inside of her? Would she be able to feel it inside of
her pussy when her lover had his orgasm? And what did sperm taste
like? She had a feeling that she would really like the taste. She had a
feeling that she would really, really like sex.

When the time came, she knew she would pour herself into it with
everything she had. She was like that, whether it was dancing or
playing sports or playing the piano or anything else. She didn't want
to be just mediocre about it. You couldn't be good at most things
right off the bat, but that was what practice was for. If she was going
to do something and keep up with it, she was going to learn to do it
well, and why should sex be any different? She would become good
at it, she would strive to be the best lover that any man ever had.
How long would that take, she wondered, and when would she
begin?

Jessica wondered, too, whether she already knew the guy she would
lose her virginity to. She had fantasies sometimes of doing it with
Bobby, of him stripping her out of her clothes at his house Ñ but
when she really thought about it, she just couldn't see it happening.
Bobby was cute but immature, and he would be the type to brag
about it with his friends. Well, who else was there? No other guy at
her school was even a possibility as far as she was concerned. There
was always Marcy for experimentation. Marcy had let out enough
none-too-subtle hints, Jessica was sure that the slightest
encouragement would have Marcy sucking on her growing nipples in
an instant. But messing around with Marcy might ruin their
friendship, and she didn't think she wanted to begin with another
girl anyway. She wanted a guy, maybe a stranger from out of town...

She imagined walking into Cassandra's cafe and seeing a handsome
out-of-towner sitting at one of the tables. She was wearing a tight T-
shirt and jeans that showed off her ass really well, and the stranger
stared at her, stared at her young but rapidly growing tits, stared at
her firm ass... Her nipples hardened in the fantasy and they
hardened in real life from the fantasy and her pussy warmed up at
the thought of the guy eating up her sinful curves, her curves that
seemed to get curvier every day...

She shook her head. Why couldn't she get sex out of her mind, even
for a moment? Thinking about sex was nothing new, but the
intensity and suddenness of her sexual awakening was confusing.
She mostly didn't feel like she was ready to explore sex just yet, but
part of her seemed more than ready. Or maybe it was more accurate
to say that parts of her were more than ready, especially the
imagination part and the nipple parts and the vagina part. It didn't
seem to matter to these parts of her brain and body that the rest of
her wanted to ease into the world of sex slowly and carefully. She
was beginning to wonder whether the hormones responsible for
building her breast tissue were simultaneously trying to hijack her
consciousness. She wondered: Did the rapid growth of a girl's chest
stimulate some region of the brain that translated ordinary thoughts
into sexual thoughts?

Karen would know about that, if anyone would. She wished that she
could talk more openly about sex with Karen. Karen wasn't a virgin
Ñ that much had come to light during the few times the subject of
sex had arisen between them, and current "affairs" pointed in the
same direction. For a long time, though, Karen hadn't seemed all
that interested in sex. She was undoubtedly the most fiercely desired
girl in the whole state Ñ well, maybe second-most desired, now that
Cassandra Bliss was around. Anyway, Karen could pick just about
any guy in the world to be her lover, but hadn't. It was her boobs.
The recent growth of Jessica's own breasts seemed to be pervading
her entire being, sending out sexual messages in all directions, but it
hadn't been like that for Karen. Karen's boobs were like outer-space
boobs, ideally shaped boobs from the planet Giganticus, but instead
of flaunting what she had, Karen had devised ways to try to hide
them like she just wished they'd just go away.

Which made it so freaky when Karen left the house yesterday
wearing a tight, bright pink stretch top. Jessica hadn't been spying
on her sister, she just happened to see a moving flash of bright neon
pink color while doing homework on her computer, and when she
went to the window to see what it was, there was Karen, walking
quickly away down the sidewalk. The sight of her sister's gigantic
breasts, displayed as they never had been under a top the color of a
watermelon's interior, made her jaw drop, as did the short short
skirt and the fuck-me nylons and heels. Karen was going to walk
through the town dressed like that? It wasn't too much different
than if she'd left the house completely naked with the words "SUCK
ON THESE MONSTER NIPPLES tattooed all over her body! The
awesomeness of her whole body and the enormity of her boobs
would be on full display, which meant that there would be trouble of
some kind. Karen had gotten fired from her doctor's office job
because her figure practically assured that half of Dr. Warren's
patients would drop dead of heart seizures, and she hadn't even
been dressed in a revealing way! She had even become circumspect
in showing her tits around the house after that Ñ Jessica hadn't
gotten a good look at her sister's boobs for months. What on earth
was going to happen if she as much as walked around the block
dressed like that, her legs on view nearly to her triangle and the
otherworldly size and shape of her breasts in plain sight?

And so Jessica rushed out the door and followed Karen. Not to spy
on her, really Ñ she just wanted to know what was going on and
what would happen. Jessica was a good ways behind, and she lost
sight of her sister for at least a minute when Karen turned left at the
bottom of the hill, onto Main Street. Wait. It was chilly, with enough
of a breeze that she wished she'd had time to grab a jacket, yet
Karen was wearing no protective clothing, either as protection from
the elements or as a way to tone down the mega-magnitude of her
figure. And she was going to walk down Main Street, the road that
tourists used to slip through and by their nowhere little town? Oh
boy, this was going to be interesting!

There were already three traffic accidents clogging Main Street by
the time Jessica got to the corner. Bradley Davis' Mustang had a
metal speed limit sign folded over the front right hood and it looked
like that whole side of his car was pretty badly fucked-up. To her
left, in the direction Karen was walking, a big Suburban had driven
into a telephone pole, and the other accident involved a pick-up
truck that had rear-ended a cargo van. The wrecks didn't look
serious, as in life-threatening Ñ thank God a logging truck or fuel
tanker hadn't been rumbling through town just then! She saw the
bright color of Karen's shirt two blocks ahead, turning left onto
Spruce Street. Where was she going? There was nothing much on
Spruce Street, just a few houses and the old Greyhound station.
Karen wasn't friends with anyone who lived over there, was she?

Jessica ran, trying to close the distance between them. She was a
quick runner, every bit as athletic as Karen herself, and she covered
the distance to Spruce Street just in time to see her sister opening
the ground floor door to the old bus station building. The lower
floor of the building was unused, she knew, while she'd heard there
were one or two apartments that had recently been carved-out
above. Who did Karen know that lived in the building, and who
would she be visiting dressed as she was? She never went out
without trying to de-emphasize the size of her...

Boyfriend? It had to be the answer. Karen was seeing somebody! Of
course! She had been all spaced-out recently, kind of absent-minded
and secretive... Jessica had begun to worry about her sister,
wondering if she was sinking into some kind of depression. Could it
be that, finally, her sister was in love?

She ran to the square building and looked for a mailbox. Just one
box that said D. Hande. She climbed the stairs, careful not to make
much noise. There was only one door up above. With a keyhole. She
knew it was a terrible thing to do, but she couldn't stop herself. She
kneeled on the floor and put her eye to it. Would this work? They
did it in old movies, and this was an old-fashioned keyhole, kind of
big and tall.

She couldn't even believe what she saw: Her sister, Karen Little,
stepping out of her skirt, removing her heels and nylons and even
her panties, then raising her hands over her boobs and pulling off
her nothing of a shirt until she was standing in the room wearing
nothing but a gigantic black bra! Jessica couldn't stop herself from
gasping. Karen's body was incredible, she knew that, but she had not
seen her sister's breasts in ages. They were still growing! Karen's
breasts, clad in the bra that looked like it should be measured not in
cup-sizes but in gallons, surged out with tsunami-like force, seeking
her lover. So where was he? She angled her eye against the hole as
she could, trying to locate him. Karen had a look on her face, a look
of fierce determination, and then she removed her bra in theatrical
fashion, and Jessica was freshly stunned. OhGod let my breasts turn
out like that! She could barely breathe as Karen stood there proudly
showing off every inch of her miraculous body. But... no, not so
proudly. For some reason her sister's expression had changed, and
she seemed unsure of herself, shy or embarrassed or something.
Jessica expected to see a naked guy rushing in to crush himself
against her sister's outrageous body, but instead someone spoke and
Karen, looking kind of confused, backed up and leaned against a
wall, striking a pose. A sex video? The pose didn't look right. A
photographer? Was Karen finally going to do what every guy in
school had been dying for? Was she going to post pictures of herself
on the internet?

It didn't take long before she understood what was going on. Kind
of. The guy was painting her. She saw him a few times, going up to
Karen to help her adjust her pose, and he had brushes in his hands
and at some point he put a weird apron over his pants. Karen was
having her boyfriend paint nude portraits of her? She watched for
another twenty minutes, but it got kind of boring. When were they
going to get to the sex? Her boyfriend had a hard-on that looked like
it would puncture his canvas if he wasn't careful, but he just
painted, painted up a storm. She couldn't see much of him as he
worked, and she certainly couldn't see the painting itself. When her
knees started to feel stiff, she left as quietly as she'd come.

Jessica kept wondering whether to say something to Karen that
night, some little hint that showed that she knew what she knew. She
didn't. She kept her eye out to see if they had another rendezvous,
but Karen just stayed in her room. And then the phone rang, and she
had an intuition that it was him, and she made sure that she got it
first. It was him and his name was David. She played it smooth,
calling out to Karen to pick up the phone. Again she knew she
shouldn't do it, but she used a pen to make a clicking sound and
then put a shirt over her mouthpiece to keep out any background
noise, and she silently listened in.

"Hello?"

"K...Karen? Hi, it's D...David. I just go your m...m...message. I'm so
happy you want to m...m..."

"Model?"

"Yes! M...model tomorrow! And we can, um, like you said... Maybe..."

"No, David. Not maybe. Definitely. Let's go out, see a movie or walk
up a trail or something. Anything at all. Anything."

Jessica tried to understand what was going on. This David guy could
barely put his words together, and neither of them were talking the
way she imagined that lovers would talk. It didn't even sound like
they'd had a real date up to this point, although Karen seemed to be
trying to take things that way.

"Sure! An...any...anything! How about if we start at f...four?"

"Four sounds good. But let's go out before you paint me."

"What? B...before?"

"David, I... I want to tell you something important. The modeling
thing is great. You're so talented, what you do is amazing and... and I
like the way you make me look in your paintings, like... like I inspire
you. And it's so nice that I can trust you to be, you know,
considerate. But I... I want to see you tomorrow in a different way.
Not the artist, not the model. Just... us. Together. As in... Oh,
dammit, I'm so afraid to say this!"

"S...say what?"

"That I don't even care if you do paint me tomorrow."

"Uh..."

"Look, I know I've been giving you mixed signals. You have, too, in
return."

"M...mixed... s...s..."

"So we have to stop that. We'll do something completely new. You
won't paint me tomorrow."

"I won't? But..."

"Although I'll still... I still want to get naked for you."

Jessica almost squealed. She couldn't believe what she was hearing!

"Did you hear me, David?"

Jessica listened to David's silence. No, not silent. He was breathing
heavily. Very heavily.

"I can't go on any more like this," Karen filled the void. "I can't keep
modeling for you if we don't... progress. With each other. Maybe
you don't want that, maybe to you it's... different. But modeling, it
feels so intimate, so... exciting, and... Do you understand what I'm
getting at, David? I... I really like you. I like you a lot, and I get so...
excited, there, with you painting me... and I want to show up at four
tomorrow and get naked for you, but no painting, just us. And no
movie, no walk in the woods. I... I only said that stuff because I was
too afraid to say what I'm finally saying."

Jessica could hear David breathing so heavily that every breath was
a little bit like a muffled moan. And Karen was breathing heavily,
too!

"You know what I'm getting at, David. You know how I get so hot... I
want to get naked tomorrow and I want you to... touch me. Touch
all of me, especially my... breasts."

"Ohhh...!", came a sharp moaned reply.

"Ooooohhhhh", Jessica whispered, careful not to be heard. Karen,
her sister, was seducing this guy right over the phone with her
fucking super-boobs! This was better than any of the stories she had
been reading on the Web! This was real live phone sex, and she was
kinda-sorta in on it!

"I want you... Oh God I want you to feel my breasts, David! I... used
to hate them because they're so... gigantic. But you... and the way
you paint them... You make them look so beautiful. You make me
feel that they are beautiful! And they.... they long for you, David,
they ache for you... I get so hot, my nipples get so hard... Oh please
tell me that I'm not frightening you away. Tell me that you long for
me, too, that you want this! Please, David. Just tell me that you want
this, that we can go beyond where we are. Just say yes."

"OhGod! Y...y...yessss!!!"

"Tomorrow at four, then. I'll be... so ready."

And Jessica knew where she would be at four, too. They hadn't
fucked yet! And if she was lucky, if they at least started in the room
with the door, she might get to witness part of their first time
through the keyhole! Oh, this was too good to be true!



CHAPTER 5
Each time that her rental Camry rounded a corner and she found
her progress impeded by another logging truck, Crystal thought she
was going to lose it. The dashboard clock informed her that it was
nearly five o'clock in the afternoon Ñ didn't these north country
rednecks ever go home for dinner? Although there was still a good
bit of light left in the day, the sun had already sunk behind a thick
band of clouds hugging the mountain tops to the west. A few
luminous yellow and orange stripes colored the clouds' edges,
hinting at a picture post-card sunset ahead. Would it cloud up
entirely or would she see stars again? Other than glimpsing the lunar
eclipse last night over the parking lot last night, it had been months
since Crystal had seen the dome of the heavens overhead. Life in the
big city had its attractions, yet there were costs, too.

She glanced at the clock again, disappointed to see that no more
than a minute had gone by. She was at least an hour away from
Extremity; more if she didn't start having better luck with these
lumbering trucks. Lumbering Ñ with the weight of all of those tree
trunks slowing the truck to a crawl, she now knew the origins of the
word. Unable to pass the truck on this stretch of the twisting
mountain highway, she reached for the stereo and let it scan for
some music. The numbers climbed all the way to 107 and then
returned to the bottom, locking onto nothing. Fuck! Had somebody
put a curse on her or something? How many ways were there for her
actions to be blocked?

She hadn't awakened until eleven in the morning, which was
something that never happened to her. So much for arriving in
Extremity before lunch time. Then there had been the argument with
the hotel manager about his wrecked table, and then finding her left
rear tire completely flat out in the parking lot, and then temporarily
losing her car keys while grabbing breakfast in a dumpy little
doughnut shop...

And then the parade of fucking logging trucks. She should have been
in Extremity hours ago, yet here she was staring at late afternoon
light and the back of the hundredth fucking logging truck to block
her progress! Crystal gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
There were those times Ñ everybody had them Ñ when you were
having a bad day, you just knew the deck was stacked against you.
Then there were the days when it became more personal and you
knew you were being fucked with. She was being fucked with.
Whatever forces controlled the gears of the universe were looking
down on her with a sniper-scope and they were taking their shots.
They didn't want her to get to Extremity for some reason and they
were doing everything in their power to slow her down.

"Well fuck you!", she shouted up at God or Muhammed or the
freaking Buddha or Whatever.

Her fingers were tense and her butt was squirming on the seat and
she had to find a way to relax, to get past all of the tensions gripping
her body. She was where she was, which came from a mantra her
mother had taught her once. You Are Where You Are. It was simple,
it was real and relaxing, but it was inadequate to her present
situation. Even if she made peace with all of the delays, there was
still the aching, vibrating, screaming longing that seemed to be
centered right in her goddamned clitoris.

She awakened in the morning from a series of dreams in which she
had either been fucking Glenn or watching somebody else fuck
Glenn, and her first coherent thought of the day had been this: Had
she made a terrible mistake somewhere along the way? Had she
trained all of her pussy's internal muscles to the point that they had
become sentient beings that were now taking over the rest of her
body? It sounded like something from a really bad science-fiction
movie, "The Vaginal Zombie From the Black Lagoon". It sounded
ridiculous. But then what the hell was going on? She had been horny
for so long now, in a way that was like being doused with gasoline
from the inside and then set aflame. She felt flames licking at her
clit and she loved having her clit licked, which wasn't helping
matters any. Her pussy was so talented that when a man's nose
ticked her downy pubic hairs, it was the guy who was guaranteed to
go for a magic carpet ride, and now she was wondering whether her
pussy was taking over, asserting ultimate control. How far could this
go? Would she be eaten alive by her own desires? A potential
Sourcerer headline appeared in her mind's eye: "Vibrating,
Vacillating Vagina Vaporizes Voluptuous Vixen!"

"Oh no!," she cried out. "Don't let me turn into Hal!" She was
thinking like her stupid editor, she was talking to herself, she was
wriggling her ass on the car seat, squirming, trying to hold herself
together. How much of this could she take? And what if it kept
getting worse?

She rounded a curve and a straight-away finally appeared. Easing out
into the left lane, she nearly screamed for joy when she saw no
oncoming cars. She was finally going to be able to pass this son of a
bitch! Her right foot became like lead and she zoomed past the
truck, reveling in the freedom to build some speed. The road
remained straight for nearly a mile, then curved to the right,
hugging the base of a low mountain. She took the curve hard, testing
the grip of the Camry. It held the road and she laughed, finally
feeling the rush of...

FUCK!!! She had to hit the brakes as another logging truck appeared
in front of her, moving at slow speed. She gripped the steering wheel
and squeezed with all of her might. Why? Why was this happening to
her? How could there even be any trees left in this state if all of
these fucking trucks...

It was the sound that first made her heart race, but a split second
later her hands felt it. The steering wheel had broken apart! She
lifted her hands together and a curved section of the wheel went up
with them, no longer attached to the rest of the steering mechanism.
Unguided for several seconds, the car took the curve wrong and she
had to jerk the remaining part of the wheel hard to the right to keep
from veering across the highway into the forest. Her fucking rental
car was falling apart! Had she rented the worst lemon on earth? And
what was the steering wheel made of, balsa wood? Resting the
broken piece of the wheel in her lap, she grasped the lower part that
remained with both hands and eased up on the gas, then guided the
car over to the road's shoulder. She had rented a defective car. First
the tire, and now... The absurd thought was there but she tried to
ignore it. No. She couldn't have been squeezing that hard. It just
wasn't possible. She was a strong girl, but... It just wasn't possible.

She fished her cell out of her purse to call roadside assistance, but
her phone wouldn't work. What, had she suddenly become the
magnet for all of the bad luck in the world? Here I am!, she thought
to no one, send all of your miseries and ill omens straight at me and
dammit dammit dammit, she had just charged this phone before
leaving New York! What, had it been manufactured on the same day
in the same stupid factory as this fucking car?

She came to a stop and turned off the ignition, then switched on the
emergency flashers. The truck she had just passed zoomed by her in
a rush of windblown road grit. She tried to be calm but her heart
was still pounding in her chest, her adrenaline pumped up by the
new crazy thought that had appeared in her head. It was ridiculous
to think what she was thinking, but the idea wouldn't go away. How
many things had broken around her in the last couple of days? It
was more than a string of bad luck, it as more like...

There had been the wine glass in her hand the other night. And
hadn't she started to peel off the top of Martin Whitehead's metal
desk with her bare hands? She didn't really remember that but
Dalene wouldn't have lied to her. Martin's desk could have been
ready to fall apart, some loose screws or something... But then she
remembered being at the gym the other night. She had placed the
settings on the Nautilus equipment where she always kept them, but
she'd been able to pump that weight for so long, so much longer
than normal, without the least bit of fatigue, almost as though she
could do it forever. Almost as though the capabilities of her body
had become... magnified.

No. That was crazy. It was her lust that had become magnified. To
think anything else was just another sign that she was losing her
grip. But there, placed warily in her lap, was the fragment of the
steering wheel, which really had snapped in her grip. Something
about the edges of the curved thing caught her eye. The breaks
where it had snapped off were clean and sharp, but there were odd
indentations in the black surface that shouldn't be there. She picked
the piece of steering wheel off of her lap and examined it more
carefully. Her mind did not want to accept what she saw, but it had
to. Deep indentations, and they looked uncannily like the shape of
her own fingers.

No! Not possible! The indentations had been part of the design, she
just hadn't noticed them before. But an inspection of the remaining
bulk of the steering wheel in front of her revealed smooth, even
curves with no such indentations. She sat there and tried to think of
another explanation. Maybe if her pussy wasn't screaming at her all
of the time she could think straight and put the pieces together like
a reporter was supposed to.

Wait. Maybe she was dreaming? Maybe she was still asleep in
Portland, and all of these delays and logging trucks and this whole
thing with the steering wheel was all part of a dream. She felt awake,
though. She rolled her window down and stared up into the clouded
sky, feeling a breeze caress her cheeks. No, not dreaming.
Delusional then, like she feared, like Dalene had said? Maybe. No
one had a grip so strong that their fingers could leave deep imprints
on hard plastic like that. A person's life Ñ her life Ñ didn't just turn
into a script from some super-hero movie. She had not been bitten
by any genetically-enhanced spiders, and she wasn't a mutant with
weird powers. She had always been strong for her size, her body not
only beautiful but extraordinarily capable as well. But nothing that
belonged in an X-Men movie script. No, it was just this fucking
energy throbbing inside of her pussy, stirring up her adrenaline,
making her clumsy and reckless. She looked down at the broken
part of the steering wheel. It was just a faulty part, and she had
squeezed it hard and it had snapped. There was no reason to think...

She studied her hands for a second, another memory hovering
nearby. The bathroom wall! The morning that she'd masturbated in
the office bathroom, she had knocked a huge hole in the wall with
no recollection of having done it, and no pain from the impact! No.
That was just the power of sexual release. That was... But then other
images surfaced. Her hand had smashed through a second wall just
last night, and she had been greeted by the sight of the obliterated
bedside table as she had flicked on the lights this morning. Fine
particles still hung in the air from the impact. The impact of... her?
Her hand? Her arm? Had she lashed out in a dream, and hit the table
so hard that it had fallen apart? But what had remained of the table
looked like it had been hit by a sledgehammer wielded by Hercules.
No, that couldn't have been her, even though she'd wondered all day
long what had actually happened. If it had been her, if she had
smashed that table with her fist or arm, wouldn't some bone be
broken, or her arm or hand at least be red and sore?

She held her hands up in front of her face, gripping the segment of
the steering wheel between them. Her hands didn't look any
different, but was her grip different? Deliberately trying to do
something destructive would be one way to quickly prove or
disprove this train of thought. So... she should do what? Try to
pulverize this piece of composite plastic with her bare hands? That
was ridiculous.

"But it's exactly what you would have someone else do," some
remnant of her reporting instincts told her. Great Ñ now she was
talking to herself, the professional Crystal trying to get past the
distractions of the super-horny Crystal to give advice to the
delusional Crystal. But the voice was right Ñ if this was a Sourcerer
assignment and she saw possible evidence of exceptional physical
strength or exceptional anything else, she would want a
demonstration in order to evaluate the validity or falsity of the
phenomenon. It was routine practice, a no-brainer.

In a burst of energy, without even giving herself the chance to
hesitate, she clenched her fists as hard as she could, squeezing the
steering wheel fragment with all of her might. The muscles of her
forearms flexed and she could see the tightening of tendons right
there near her wrists. But was anything different? Her arms looked
stunningly powerful but that was nothing new. And nothing felt any
different, either. But then she heard a noise and felt it, the hard
material giving way, scrunching in.

She removed her right hand and gasped at the sight of the crushed
material. Holy shit! She didn't know for sure what the steering wheel
was made of, but it was hard and strong, not fragile. Yet she had
crushed it in her hands. She had performed an experiment and she
couldn't ignore the evidence in her own hands. The broken piece of
the steering wheel was now squished Ñ pulverized, really Ñ at both
ends.

Crystal sat there for several minutes, trying to remain calm, looking
for alternative explanations. An occasional car passed and she
remembered to put on her emergency flashers. A calming, everyday
kind of detail, just the thing to keep her from completely freaking
out, from screaming or crying and WHAT THE HELL WAS HAPPENING
TO HER???

"Okay, okay," she said out loud, hyperventilating rather than
breathing. "I've either gone totally over the bend or..."

She couldn't sit there, she had to move. She got out and paced along
the roadway. This was crazy. Yes, she had always felt almost
unnaturally fit, needing to hold something back to keep from
looking like a complete freak, but to think that she was powerful
enough to crush that hard plastic in her grip... How could it happen?
What would be the cause? She was a journalist and she knew that
things didn't happen just because they happened. There were
reasons, causes, cause and effect, every action has an equal and
opposite reaction.

She sat on the front hood of the car and listened to the engine
cooling. She felt the throbbing deep inside of her pussy, the pulsing
motor that had been revving her clitoris and driving her crazy for at
least two days. Could there be a connection between her lust and
her strength? Had the constant throbbing in her pussy messed with
her adrenaline levels, unnaturally intensifying her natural abilities?
She laughed out loud at her own silliness. People did not become
stronger because they needed sex. There had to be other
explanations, and if she wasn't such a mess she might be able to
think of some.

Coffee. Coffee would help her to think straight. But there was
nothing in sight except trees. How did people live in a place like this,
what did you do when you needed a latte or a tall cappuccino? She
got back in the car and gunned the engine, pulling back onto the
highway on a new quest. She was about forty or fifty miles from
Extremity, and there had to be a restaurant or diner somewhere
between here and there, someplace to grab hold of some caffeine.

She found a place about twenty minutes down the highway in a
scrap of a town called Narrows. The restaurant was rather homely, a
long, thin slab of a building that advertised "home cooking" on a
poorly lettered sign. She parked and entered, and about two seconds
in she regretted it.

"Holy sheeeiiit!," a fat truck driver said before letting out a wail that
was meant to approximate the howling of a wolf. His buddy sitting
next to him at the corner table made goo-goo eyes at her and licked
his lips lasciviously.

Crystal didn't even rest her ass on the edge of a stool, she just asked
a passing waitress for a cup of black coffee to go.

Even the waitress couldn't help making a comment. "Missy, you
shore look like somebody poured you outta the right mold!"

Another loud whistle erupted from somewhere behind her. "Hottest
dish I ever saw! Hey girlie, I bet a tiny thang like you could sure heat
up the covers on a cold winter's night!"

Were they truckers, maybe even some of the assholes whose logging
trucks had plagued her all day? She sure hoped they were truckers,
considering how tobacco stained their teeth were. Crystal was used
to lots and lots of male admiration, and she knew that it could
appear in many forms, the charming and the not-so-charming. Either
her looks were too extreme for these Maine bumpkins, or they
never got any Asian visitors up here.

"Here's your coffee, hon," the waitress swooped in. "No charge.
Maybe a hot dish like you had better get yourself moving along
before these dogs get free of their leashes."

"Now hold on, Abby! Donchew be chasin' this sweet thang away! We
don't ever get her kind up here and I shore would like to see what a
woman of her type looks like when she meets my friend Big
Woodie!"

She couldn't help being irritated by the "her kind" and "her type"
comments. Nothing more than her looks, maybe, but if they were
poking at her Chinese heritage...

"Hell with Big Woodie," chimed in another. "It's a ride on my big rig
she's wantin'. Wadya say, sweet thang? I'll bet yur just itchin' to take
a long hot ride on my big rig!"

It would have been an interesting test, her against a roomful of
beefy lard-assed rednecks. She could have figured out whether
something special was going on right then and there. But beating
them up to test her strength was too cowboy, too Hollywood, and
testing her pussy on any of these sorry sons-of-bitches was out of
the question.

She didn't like the idea of running, though. It wouldn't be the case Ñ
if she just calmly walked out, as she should, it wouldn't be the same
as running from a fight. But it would sort of look that way, and she
didn't like that. She was wearing skintight black jeans and a form-
fitting sweater, they weren't "fuck me" clothes but they did little to
hide the magnificence of her body. She knew what she could do
under these clothes, how she could turn on her beauty rockets in a
way that would have these rednecks' jaws dropping. No, she
thought, don't do it. It was a cheap trick, something she used to do
in high school when she got bored in class and wanted to count
erections just to pass the time. She should just leave. She should
just...

Oh, what the hell, it would probably be the most exciting thing to
ever happen in this state. Doing nothing overt, not taking a pose or
anything, she flexed the muscles in her legs and felt the strain on the
seams of her jeans. The truckers' eyes widened as she'd known they
would. Taking things a step further, going for the gold, she brought
her hands together right at her crotch, her inner arms compressing
her big breasts, pushing them up and together. Jaws dropped so far
that they almost rested on the men's' plates of greasy food. Crystal's
flesh was covered, but enlivening the muscles of her body in tight
clothes like this allowed these assholes to get a very good idea of
what she was made of, and even these IQ-challenged Bubba's knew
they were witnessing something far more than just another "hot
dish". She flexed every muscle just a bit more before turning to the
door, and then...

And then she heard the ripping sounds. She was confused for a
moment, but then looked down. Holy shit, this had never happened
before! She could see the outer seams of her jeans separating right
there at the mid-point of her thighs. Her jeans were failing at her
calves, too.

"Fuck!" she whispered. She turned and saw that all eyes were
watching what was happening to her jeans. She was being stared at
now like she was the main attraction under a big-top. The waitress
pulled a small digital camera off the counter-top and snapped a
flash picture. Dazzled by the flash and the unlikeliness of her
situation, Crystal backed towards the door.

"I'm, uh, sorry, folks, but it's time to leave," she said sheepishly. She
was going to slip out like a chastened schoolgirl, but then thought
better of it. Yes, she felt dazed, even light-headed, but why run out
with her tail between her legs?

"You men and your 'big rigs' wouldn't last five seconds with me, as
you can see," she asserted. "'My kind' needs a real man with at least
four inches between his legs, and... Wait a second," she said,
glancing at the guys' crotches and pausing for effect. "Is that what
happened to your dicks? You should be careful about eating too
often in a place called Narrows!"

The waitress burst out laughing, a nervous, shell-shocked sort of
laugh. Crystal winked at her and blew them all a sweeping kiss, then
waved good-bye, making sure not to move too quickly lest her pants
completely fail in mid-stride. She figured those northern hillbillies
would be talking about her for months, and maybe the waitress'
photo would get tacked up on the wall or it might even make it into
the county newspaper, if there was one. Hell, some of the truckers
might be jerking off thinking about her boobs and her ass and her
denim-busting muscles for as long as their peckers held up.

The coffee helped some. It couldn't stop her clitoris from pounding
or explain how her thighs and calves had split her pants apart in the
manner of the incredible Hulk, but with its help she devised a simple
plan. She drove towards Extremity not even trying to make good
time any more, and kept her eyes out for some smaller road to turn
onto. About three miles up on the right, she left the main highway
and pulled the car up a steep mountainside on a dirt road.

She parked and rested for a minute or two, warming her hands with
the hot Styrofoam cup. She sipped the coffee, preparing herself.
Even if she was going crazy her pussy and clit were feeling so
turned-on Ñ the deep pulsating never really seemed to subside Ñ 
but she had to be somewhat together now. She had to see.

She left the car and walked just a bit up the unpaved road, looking
for something, anything. A good sized rock, maybe. She found one
roughly the size of a baseball and stooped to pick it up. Maybe it felt
lighter than it should, or maybe not Ñ she wasn't a fucking
geologist, so who was to say? But she had played shortstop on her
high school baseball team dozens and dozens of times and she knew
how far she should be able to throw something this size and weight.
One good toss would show her that everything was fine. Or not.

Her heart started pounding. What if she could throw it farther than
in the past? What if the fucking thing went into orbit? What if... This
was silly. She had to conquer this silly fear. There were tall trees to
her right, but only saplings and boulders to the left, with the land
dropping away steeply. She could see a short fragment of the
highway she had left down below, and decided to throw her stone in
that direction. She should have a good view of its flight path before
gravity pulled it down the mountainside and out of view. Go for it,
she thought. No holding back, no fear, put everything into it. She
cocked her body into a classic pitcher's wind-up and let the rock fly
with everything she had.

"Oh fuuuuuck...", she whispered.

Her eyes had picked out a spot of land where she thought it would
fall and disappear, a place that should be her limit even on a good
day, but the rock sailed far, far beyond, at a speed that was
impossible to ignore. It didn't go as far as the highway, but that
didn't matter. It went too far. Far too far. It took a few seconds for
the implications to really sink in, and then her knees began to
shake. What the hell was happening to her? How could something
like this happen? What she had just done should be impossible! A
major league pitcher couldn't have thrown that stone the way she
had! Things like this did not happen, they just did not happen! But
she couldn't deny the reality of what she had just witnessed, even
though it was like something from a summer blockbuster movie, or
even a dream!

Again she looked around herself, wondering for a second whether
all of this really could be a dream. No, too real, too detailed. She'd
never had a dream like this, where she could see every leaf on a tree
and feel the sun warming her neck. This was real. Images flooded
her mind, images from Superman or Spiderman movies, from bad
TV shows and old cartoons and comic books. Even in the realm of
fantasy stories, there had to be some cause/effect reason for an
average Joe to gain extraordinary powers. Gamma rays, radiation,
amulets or magic hammers... Something! Crystal had always been
strong and athletically gifted, but not in a way that defied belief.
And how strong was she anyway? The car. How many times had she
seen some super-hero or super-powered villain lifting a car over
their head as a demonstration of their strength?

She strode quickly to the rear of the rental car and didn't hesitate.
She felt herself trembling with a combination of fear and excitement
as she placed her hands apart on the bottom of the rear bumper.
Then, bending her knees, she exerted her force and let out a laugh
of relief when the car didn't suddenly fly off of the ground. She was
lifting the body up off of the shocks, though, and it felt like... It felt
different. The muscles of her arms and legs were straining, and she
could feel the weight in her lower back, and then everything, all of
her sinews and muscles, they felt like they were... vibrating. And the
car was going up. With just a fraction more effort, the wheels slowly
came off of the ground.

The seams of her jeans couldn't take what was happening, and
ripping sounds punctuated her effort. She shook her head in
amazement. Fuck her jeans, they were already too far gone. The real
question was: What was this feeling in her body, this vibration? It
was subtle yet undeniable, and felt a little bit like she had insect
wings beating a thousand times a second all over the insides of her
body. And her throbbing pussy Ñ it was on some kind of super-
charged overdrive, like all of her lust had just been given mega-
vitamins!

She was still holding back a little, cautious not to strain her back or
pull a muscle, yet even so she was lifting a mid-sized car several
inches off of the ground! Shocked, with that weird vibration getting
stronger and the feeling of super-adrenaline coursing through her
pussy and the rest of her body, she gave it her maximum effort,
putting everything she had into lifting the car. She kept her arms
low and did all of the lifting with her calves, with her thighs. Her
muscles strained, her whole body shook, her pants ripped... But it
came up Ñ the fucking Camry came up, at least two feet! Sure, it was
the back of the car, the end without the weight of the engine, but
there was no way in hell that she should be able to lift this thing at
all. What about her arms? She either had to add a curling motion or
go low to use her shoulders.

Curl the fucking car, she said inside her head, fully aware how
ridiculous the thought was. But she went for it. She could feel her
biceps straining, her shoulders and her thighs and calves quivering
from the weight. Could she go further? She took in a deep gulp of air
and gritted her teeth, and the car came up higher, a little bit
higher... It was ridiculous, but the back of the car kept rising, and
the more she taxed her body, the better it felt. She had to be near
some limit, a wall where her muscles would send messages of
complaint to her brain, but that buzzing in her body kept getting
stronger, and the car was still moving up, slowly but steadily...

She heard a sound behind her and she panicked, releasing her grip
on the bumper. The back end of the Camry landed on the dirt road
with a loud metallic clang, sending up a cloud of grit and dust. She
backed away and wiped the dirt from her face, and looked around.
No one there, just birds making some noise in the brush. But she
had just lifted the back of a car a good three or four feet off of the
ground! Her heart pumped and her pussy pounded and she looked
down and saw that there was very little holding her jeans together
any more. Just a couple of gentle tugs left her wearing a pair of
black jeans shorts with a split in the crotch, as though giving her
vagina a way to vent steam. The crotch was soaked with her juices,
and the same had to be true of her underwear. And her.

She got back inside and gunned the engine to life. Now, more than
ever, she was determined to make her way to Extremity, no matter
how many logging trucks appeared to block her way. She didn't
know what was happening to her. She didn't know what it could
mean, but it was happening right at the time that she had connected
the image of Cassandra Bliss to the face that had appeared at the
beach that day.

Wait... Oh, fuck! Hadn't her freaking pussy become super-charged
ever after that? It wasn't until that monster orgasm out on the beach
that she had to worry about crippling Fong with the movements in
her love tunnel! Couldn't it be that her vagina had led the way,
achieving capabilities that the rest of her body was just now
catching up to? Was that why no man was even close to being
capable of keeping up with her in bed? All of these months, all of
this time of feeling so frustrated, actually afraid that her sexual
appetites could cripple or even kill a man... Had her pussy actually
become... super-powered? Right now, at this very second, her vagina
throbbed with unbelievable energy, and her clitoris was chiming like
Big Ben. Was this unnaturally intense sexual longing fueling her
muscles, her tendons and bones, giving her the strength she had just
witnessed? Couldn't it be that she had already shown signs of some
kind of... What? Mutation? Enhancement? Transformation?

The wheels started to turn in her mind and fixed on one point:.
Genetic enhancement? She thought of Glenn's fixation on the
GlobalGro facility he'd seen. Secretive genetic research... She had
failed to see any connection between GlobalGro and freaky
tornadoes, but maybe Glenn had been onto something. The man had
uncanny instincts, and maybe he'd sensed something that she had
completely missed. Could Cassandra Bliss' face be so hauntingly
familiar because the woman had presided over some lab experiment
with Crystal as the subject? She had no memory of such an event,
but writing countless stories about alien abductions and alien
experiments on humans had taught her that memories could be
repressed. Could somebody have given Crystal some kind of potion
or injection years before, some genetic concoction that was turning
her into a freak?

Other wheels turned. Could that be why Cassandra's own face
looked so impossibly beautiful, because she herself had been
enhanced or changed? Crystal knew that her mind was flailing
around in its search for answers, but at least she had a piece of
something, some possible explanation for her strength and her
overworked clitoris and pussy and even her wigged-out mental state.
She could be an unwitting guinea pig. Not delusional, not going
crazy. But without more information she couldn't know what they'd
done to her or what was an effect or what was a side-effect. But at
least she wasn't totally crazy, there was an explanation for things.
 
She found a place to turn around and guided the car back down the
mountain with her shattered steering wheel. Once she reached the
highway, she turned right and gunned the engine, her wheels kicking
up gravel. There were answers out there, and she just knew that
Cassandra Bliss would have them. Cassandra's intensely beautiful
face had been right there at the pivotal moment of Crystal's life,
right at the moment when she had orgasmed with such power that it
had forever changed her, and now Cassandra lived next door to a
secretive genetic research facility. Not a coincidence, not a damned
coincidence!

She made better time now, the logging trucks finally absent. Her
pussy was still pounding and she could see shiny skin there on her
upper thighs, there where her love-juices were at play. But she felt a
new sense of determination, a renewed sense of self. She would be
there soon and she would get answers!

The road was twisty and big clouds were gathering ahead, tall
cumulus clouds and holy shit, would you look at that one? She eased
up on the gas, amazed at the regularity of the form. Sex on the
brain, she thought. The cloud looked like two enormous breasts
pointing upwards, like a voluptuous cloud goddess was lying down
on her back for a nap. There were even twin shapes for nipples,
and... And it was getting closer and lower, nearly falling out of the
sky? What on earth?

She rounded a forested curve and lost sight of the cloud. She
blinked her eyes several times and wondered for about the
thousandth time in the past couple of days whether she was
experiencing a hallucination. This can't be happening, she thought,
but her doubt was quickly replaced by a new thought: Weather.
Manipulation of the weather. She had to stop doubting herself, stop
doubting that what was happening was real. There were
explanations, even to something as strange as a rapidly moving
cloud that looked like a woman's rack! She was still some distance
from Extremity, but if a team of scientists in the area could create
and program two tornadoes, then why not a cloud?

The road curved the other way and the grade became straight and
angled slightly downhill. And there was the cloud, still looking like
two breasts that dwarfed the mountains, but now it was hovering
not high in the sky, but just above the road about a half mile ahead
of her. She laughed through her nose. She was being stalked by a
freaking tit-cloud! She remembered a story she had written in her
first weeks at The Sourcerer, a partially-documented alleged close
encounter where the alleged spaceship had allegedly hidden itself in
an alleged giant cloud. But Crystal didn't believe in space-aliens and
spaceships. Then again, she didn't believe in super-strength and
super-pussies. The fact was, she didn't know what to believe any
more.

She decided that she would rather believe in evil scientists than little
green men. Besides, why would aliens make their cloud look like a
pair of gigantic breasts? Big joke, she thought, making your stupid
cloud look like big bad billowy boobs. She glanced in her rear-view
mirror and brought the car to a halt right in the middle of the
highway. She imagined a team of GlobalGro or Defense Department
scientists sitting around their computers in a gleaming white room
somewhere, drinking Mountain Dew and eating potato chips and
laughing at her while they moved their perverted cloud around by
remote control. Whatever their game was, she was not going to play.
The scientists could have their fun, but she was not going in there.
Nope. No way. There was a driveway behind her, she could back up
and turn around and...

The cloud sped towards her so fast that there was nothing she could
do. She was backing up for half a second and then there was
nowhere to back up to, the entire world was shrouded by the thick
white air. She came to a stop. Nothing happened Ñ she didn't choke,
there was no wind, she didn't feel the cloud trying to get in through
cracks in the car's seals to attack her. She just couldn't see.
Anything. It was like one of those legendary pea-soup fogs out on
the ocean, zero point of reference.

She sat there with the engine idling. "Okay, what do you want?", she
yelled at blank whiteness. Nothing. Stalemate? Just wait it out and
see what happened?

A passageway opened in front of her, an air-tunnel of sorts and she
could see the road, see the yellow lines. Bread crumbs. She was
being given something like bread crumbs to follow. She sat there in
the car Ñ it didn't make sense to get out and make herself more
vulnerable Ñ for perhaps five minutes, waiting for a different option
to develop.  But the thick fog remained, dangling a single avenue for
movement.

"Okay, you bastards," she finally sighed out loud. She inched the
Camry forward and the narrow opening cleared enough that she
could actually go thirty miles an hour for a short time. Were there
any other cars out here? What had happened to all the logging
trucks? Were they also trapped in impenetrable fog? And this tunnel
of clarity Ñ was she being led to freedom or was she being
abducted?

She kept moving forward and then the fog became a white wall and
she hit the brakes. She saw movement, a swirling to her left, and an
opening appeared right at the entrance to a gravel road. She bit her
tongue, didn't curse or anything, just made the turn and started
down this new pathway. The road was smoother than she expected,
like it was newly laid gravel, and she could make out thick groupings
of ferns and other low-lying brush at the road's edge. The opening in
the fog curved and twisted down, closely following the topography
of the gravel, keeping her almost politely on course. Although there
was nothing to see to either side, she thought she heard the sound
of running water nearby, maybe a creek or even a stream with
rapids or waterfalls. She considered stopping, considered backing
up, but a quick look in her mirror told her that the fog closed
behind her with ruthless efficiency, preventing any chance of going
backwards without becoming completely disoriented.

And so she drove forward, eleven miles according to her odometer,
before coming to a 'T' intersection. The fog immediately cleared at
the right, and she went that way. After another quarter of a mile, the
fog burned off as though it had never been there, and she found
herself in a small clearing with the final rays of the setting sun
streaming through dense old-growth forest. A cozy wood cottage sat
at the other end of the clearing.

"What next?", she muttered, getting out of the car. "Gingerbread and
witches?"

A covered deck stood out in front of the structure, and she stepped
onto it cautiously. There were no sounds other than a gentle wind
and the flutter of birds up in the trees.

"Hello?"

The front door eased itself open, just like in a ghost movie. The
hairs on the back of her neck came alive, and she swallowed, hard.
For so many reasons, she was wishing that she had waited to come
up here with Glenn.




CHAPTER 6
It felt like all of the butterflies in the world were fluttering in his
stomach as the elevator smoothly rose to the infamous twenty-
fourth floor. He looked at his reflection in the polished gold interior
of the elevator car and wondered whether this was how Daggert
liked to see himself Ñ slightly out of focus yet golden, and
artificially shining like some ancient god. Though his reflection was
somewhat indistinct with soft contours, Glenn could see enough to
know that his body was still changing. His shoulders looked a tad
broader, which he could feel, also, by an unfamiliar tightness in the
fit of his shirt. Just looking down, he could tell that his chest had
deepened; likewise, he could feel that his pants clung to his legs
somewhat differently in the thighs and calves, and the waist was
even looser than the day before. It was nothing over the top Ñ he
didn't look like a bodybuilder, for instance Ñ still, he was becoming
more muscular in some places, thinner or tighter in others. The
changes altered the way he moved, the way he felt inside of his skin
even when standing still. He hadn't really thought to study his own
body during all of those hours of sex with Lauren Ñ why look at
himself when he had a woman like that to park his eyes on? Ñ but it
was obvious that the changes that had been programmed into him
by Cassandra Bliss were still taking place. Had she thrust some
particular outcome at him, picturing in detail the many changes that
would be wrought to his body? Maybe. Or maybe it had been like
himself with that blonde bodybuilder a couple of hours ago. Had
Cassandra aimed something more general or open-ended at him,
something beyond her control? He couldn't know until he
confronted her.

Glenn shook his head to keep his thoughts from going there. He
needed to keep his mind focused on the task at hand, even if he
wasn't really certain what he was expected to do. He had called Kiko
Yagashima's private number to check whether she was in her office,
and he'd quickly hung-up when she answered. She wasn't going to
be happy about this surprise visit, he was certain. He was, as far as
she was concerned, in Maine right now, continuing to investigate the
tornadoes. The tornadoes Ñ could Cassandra Bliss actually have
created them and directed them? If so, then her powers were of an
entirely different order of magnitude than his own. Were there other
beings like her, whatever she was? Were there others like himself,
for that matter?

Glenn worked again to keep his thoughts close to home. What he
was about to do Ñ barging, unannounced, into the closely guarded
offices of The Sourcerer's upper echelon Ñ would be difficult and
perhaps even dangerous. Security at all tall buildings in New York
had been beefed-up post-9/11. The worst thing was, he didn't really
know why he was doing this. At any other point in his life, Glenn
would be like a hound after a fox with the information that Hal had
uncovered about Daggert and Warren Jones. But Lauren had been
right Ñ how important was Daggert's shady connections to
GlobalGro when compared to the discovery of a woman who could
single-handedly manipulate the fucking weather? What was a story
about a politically corrupt Congressman when compared to powers
that could change people's bodies and shift reality so that no one
even noticed? What did genetic research for good or ill matter when
Cassandra Bliss might have the capacity to re-organize time and
space? It seemed to him that GlobalGro scientists would have to be
creating the Anti-Christ for any of it to have any real meaning now.

And yet here he was, in Daggert's golden elevator, dutifully
following the reporting instincts that told him that GlobalGro, and
Daggert's connection to it, did have some relevance, even now. Wait.
That wasn't really true. He wasn't following his reporting instincts,
he was following the instructions from a fucking fortune cookie Ñ a
fortune cookie that Cassandra Bliss had somehow manipulated to
communicate with him! Dammit, all paths inevitably lead back to
Cassandra Bliss! No matter what he did right now Ñ no matter what
he even thought Ñ it felt like she had her arms wrapped around
him. What autonomy did he still have, if any? Was he following her
advice by being here, or following her orders? And if there was some
real mission to accomplish here, why couldn't she just make it an
outcome and save him the trouble? And why couldn't she have just
told him everything from the beginning? Why the mysterious notes,
the dreams and the messages on his computer, when she could have
picked up a phone and called him? Why had she chosen to speak to
him so obliquely, letting him flounder around with his new abilities
while he had no clue as to how or why they had appeared?

He would never have answers to these questions without directly
confronting Cassandra Bliss. The sooner he took care of this last
task in New York, the sooner he could head to Extremity and get to
the bottom of things.

With the elevator car slowing down, he pondered what to do when
the doors opened. He didn't really have a plan of action, other than
to confront Kiko and go from there. He had heard that a grand
entranceway lay beyond these doors, with gleaming marble columns
and authentic ancient Greek statues. An ornate reception desk
would be straight ahead, perhaps thirty feet in. Glenn knew that,
many floors below him now, the news room outside of his office
would be bustling with activity, even if it was 7 p.m. on a Saturday.
He suspected, on the other hand, that "Mount Olympus" would be
relatively quiet, if not near-deserted. Still, if even one or two
employees were present and he was not welcome, there would be
plenty of time for Kiko to be alerted.

The elevator car came to a smooth stop and the golden doors
opened. Glenn had perhaps a full second to take in, in a very general
way, the high ceiling, the majestic columns, the bright marble floor
and the promised statues. He noted that an impressive array of large
friezes, irregularly shaped chunks of marble with little figures
carved into them, hung on every wall. Then, suddenly stepping in
front of his line of sight and blocking his view of nearly everything,
stood a very, very large man. Black suit, shaved head, a neck as
thick as Glenn's waist and shoulders like two blocks of granite. He
had to be nearly seven feet tall, but it was his robust width that was
most impressive. Bodyguard, and born to be one. And not a happy
specimen.

"Who the fuck are you?", the giant growled.

"Ah, hi. I'm Glenn Cantell. I'm one of the reporters downstairs. Ms.
Yagashima is expecting me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The other man did not look at all convinced. He also looked like the
kind of man who ate guys like Glenn for breakfast every morning.

"She didn't say anything to me."

"Ah, maybe she forgo...ahh...ahhh..."

With unexpected speed, the bodyguard grabbed Glenn's left arm at
the biceps. The grip was truly vice-like, and no wonder Ñ each of
the bodyguard's fingers was nearly as thick as Glenn's huge dick.

"Let's take a little walk," the giant said.

There was no option of saying "no". Glenn was held almost doll-like
in the bigger man's unbreakable grip. He had a choice, he supposed,
of complying and walking, or resisting and being effortlessly
dragged along. Glenn chose to walk. They passed between two
statues that had to be ancient Greek in origin. Both of the statues
were of beautiful young men. One statue had no arms and the other
was missing a nose, and Glenn could only hope that the sculptures
were not prophetic. They entered a long corridor and he was
escorted past several large and ornate offices, all of which were
dark and empty. Finally, almost at the end of the corridor, the giant
stopped at a windowless metal door and simultaneously took a ring
of keys and a small hand-held walkie-talkie out of his inside jacket
pocket.

"Carlo, I gotta code three up here. Come up with two boys."

Glenn got a flash of insight about what awaited him. He was going to
be locked inside this room, to be guarded or perhaps even
interrogated. In the age of international terrorism, it was reassuring
that Daggert had so much muscle protecting his domain, but this
was not at all a good thing. In fact, this was a terrible thing. Glenn
didn't have time for this Gestapo bullshit. He had no particular plan,
but he had hoped to have the element of surprise in confronting
Kiko. As things were going, he would lose this advantage and maybe
a great deal more. He began to struggle against his captor's iron
grip. His futile efforts were met with a small laugh that escaped
through the man's nose.

"You wanna broken arm, little man? Or maybe your pretty face all
rearranged? Is that what you want?"

Glenn could have screamed when the pressure on his arm and the
pain intensified. Instead, his survival instinct kicked-in and found an
outlet that was new to him. The idea surfaced all at once, but which
way to take it? A few possibilities immediately came to him. Could
he simply order the man to let him go? He could see the glow
around his free hand, and it said no. Could he just command the guy
to drop dead? Again, no. He thought more creatively and came up
with an outcome that was much less direct. Bingo! He sent it.

The giant security guard immediately released Glenn's arm. Pivoting
gracefully for such a large man, he slipped his key ring back in his
pocket and began to walk in the direction of the elevator.

"What the fuck? What the fuck is happening?", he shouted over his
shoulder. "What did you do to me?"

Glenn couldn't let the man go around screaming and yelling. He had
sent an outcome that the bodyguard immediately go to the nearest
coffee shop and drink coffee nonstop for the next two hours, which
looked like it was going to work out. But if the man called for help,
or radioed for backup... Glenn looked at his hands and considered
an outcome where the bodyguard would remain completely silent
for the rest of the day. He got the okay and sent the outcome.

After the elevator doors closed behind the mute giant, Glenn had a
few moments to digest what had just occurred. What he was able to
do... It was some very intense shit, the kind of thing that only
happened in sci-fi movies or comic books. But it was not a power
lacking in limitations and complications. He could not act
spontaneously Ñ having to make sure that he could do what he
wanted to do produced a time lag, somewhat like the shutter of a
digital camera. And Glenn knew from his experiments with Lauren
that the bodyguard would have an awareness that he was doing 
something that he did not want to do. Because the action that had
been programmed into the bodyguard was not subtle, the man
would probably know that his will had somehow been taken over or
subverted. Would he know with certainty that Glenn was ultimately
responsible, or would it seem like the impulse had come from outer
space? If the former were true, the man would tell others, or even
come back in two hours seeking revenge.

Glenn rubbed at his arm, which probably bore the bruised imprint
of the other man's giant fingers. It was obvious that his ability was
best used in a way that, if detected, could not be traced back to him.
He recalled a lesson learned from playing the point position in high-
school basketball Ñ when your opponent could eventually anticipate
your best moves, you had to invent some new ones to stay one step
ahead.

Sounds from the elevator told him that it was time to try out a new
move. It was almost certainly "Carlo", whoever that was, and
additional security. Glenn looked around the ornate open space and
saw a statue that he might be able to hide behind for a few seconds.
By the time the elevator doors opened, he was crouching behind the
huge marble base of a sculpture of some Greek goddess, probably
Athena, his head partially obscured by one of her white legs. Three
men emerged from the elevator. All of them were big as hell with
close-cropped dark hair. They looked in all directions, their eyes
and their bodies alert. Two of them had their hands poised inside of
their jackets. Guns. The one with both of his hands free raised a
small device to his lips and spoke into it. Glenn wasted no time. He
looked at his hands and got the okay. Sticking with what worked, he
directed the coffee-binge outcome at all three of them, tacking on
the command of silence.

It was totally weird how quickly everything about them changed.
Their tense, guarded movements stopped, and they calmly, quietly,
turned around, and one of them pushed the button to open the
elevator doors. Just for the hell of it, just as a thank-you for his
aching arm, Glenn asked his hands whether he could make all three
of these heavies find the first giant extremely attractive. He got the
okay, sent the outcome, they stepped into the elevator and were
gone.

Glenn remained motionless for almost a minute, waiting to see if
anyone else was going to appear. As he waited, he began to feel
doubt about the wisdom and effectiveness of his directed outcomes.
Had he just turned three men into homosexuals? And how would all
of those guys order coffee when they couldn't speak? Did the
command of silence extend to communication in other forms, or
only talking? Would they write their coffee orders on a napkin? Then
why couldn't they communicate with each other in the same way?
What if one of them had a cell phone with instant messaging? He had
bought himself some time, nothing more, which meant that he had
to get moving and find Kiko.

From the stories he'd heard of this floor, he had a general idea of
the location of her office. Slinking like an alley cat through the well-
apportioned hallways of The Sourcerer's upper caste, he made his
way in that direction, always on the lookout for more trouble. Past
the vacant welcoming desk, into the museum-like passage towards
Daggert's inner sanctum, Glenn came across no one, which wasn't
much of a surprise. It was nearly eight p.m. Ñ perhaps even Kiko
had left for the day since he'd called. Ahead, to the right along the
wall, stood two great stone lions, and a doorway between them that
was grand enough in scale to allow the passage of an elephant. This,
no doubt, was the entrance to Daggert's office, or suite of offices.
Glenn stood for a moment looking up at the two doors, hand-carved
and painted in an Asian style which he did not recognize. He was
tempted to turn the gold handle of the door to the right, to see
whether the office was locked. He wanted a peek at Daggert's
private world, not for any particular reason, just... because. Was the
door alarmed? If he touched it...

He caught the sound of a female voice. Inside, past these doors? No.
Farther along the hallway, coming from the right. Kiko's voice. He
crept forward a dozen paces, then stopped and listened, trying to
gather whether she had someone in her office with her. Only Kiko's
voice, followed by sections of silence. She was talking on the phone.
She was alone. Glenn tip-toed forward, hugging the wall. Her door
was open, and he slowly, carefully, edged his head in just far enough
to locate her.

He came close to making some verbal exclamation when he caught
sight of her. The woman had a majorly sparkling aura surrounding
her body! Fuck! He pulled his head back away from the door and
tried to control his breathing. Maybe he should have been expecting
this. Maybe it couldn't have been more obvious, but he had not
thought it possible. Because he didn't even like Kiko. Her body, sure
Ñ he'd seen enough of her on the internet to know that he couldn't
help but lust over her hot body Ñ but he just couldn't see the two of
them as lovers!

He cautiously peeked in at her again. She was standing behind an
oversized wooden desk, looking towards the north through a long
row of windows. Her ultra-buxom figure was reflected in the dark
windows, but her crackling aura was not. He remembered now that
he had last seen Kiko just minutes before the first appearance of the
auras. If he had been able to detect them earlier...

She began to pace back and forth while talking on her phone, and
her steps to the right brought the lower half of her body into view.
She was dressed much sexier than the other day. She wore a velvety-
red skirt and jacket combo, but the hem of her skirt was several
inches higher than before and pointy-toed red vinyl boots replaced
her usual heels. The tops of the boots ended right where the muscles
of her calves began and he again had to work to keep silent, because
a whistle was called for here, no doubt about it. Kiko was a woman
who had a whole lot of parts that she could choose to showcase, and
she had a talent for setting off those parts. Glenn had noticed before
how incredible Kiko's legs were, but he'd never seen them
highlighted like this with heels so tall and color so bright. In so
many of her internet photos you couldn't even see her legs, the
framing of the lens cutting her off at the waist or at mid-thigh. Her
photographers should be shot for this oversight Ñ why hadn't they
turned their cameras to the vertical, when her legs were so shapely
that they made him salivate at least as much as the shaping of her
massively protruding tits? As inconceivable as it was, Glenn knew he
would have to rate Kiko's legs as being at least as remarkable as
Isabella's. They were different but equal, a lifetime of dance versus
umpteen hours on a StairMaster, and the variation in the gene-pool
took the shaping of these long stems into a different direction, a
direction that traveled straight into the hole in his hardening dick.

Which was trouble, and maybe big trouble. He ducked his head back
out of the doorway and leaned against the hallway wall, trying to
think. What should he do? Kiko was more like an adversary than a
potential girlfriend, but even a few stray sexual thoughts aimed in
her direction would undoubtedly ignite her passions. She looked
more than fabulous, but he didn't like her and couldn't trust her Ñ
she might even still be Daggert's lover for God's sake! But with that
sparkling aura, he and Kiko must be destined... No! How could he
make love with a woman like that? Except for her exceptional beauty
and the size and obvious quality of her ravishing rack, she was
almost the exact opposite of Lauren. She was cold and calculating,
the kind of woman that made you keep up your guard at all times.
And the workplace vow that had kept him from making a play on
Crystal for six months Ñ he might as well commit suicide if he was
going to climb into bed with the boss's play-toy! But in his dreams
and his other communications with Cassandra, she had made it clear
that he didn't have much choice in some matters, that the hands of
Destiny would find a way to grip him and Kiko and thrust them
together no matter what the two of them thought they wanted. What
to do, what to do...

Again he had to contain his voice. What the hell was going on in his
pants? He felt something there, some movement and a spot of
intense heat as though somebody had slipped a piece of hot coal
into his front left pocket. Silently stepping back into the hallway, he
cautiously inserted his hand inside his pants, not knowing what to
expect. Moving his fingers all around, he felt nothing but his last
fortune cookie, which was just as it should be. Except that it wasn't
just as it should be. It was warm and where was the plastic wrapper?
He pulled the cookie out and looked at it without comprehension.
He had never unwrapped...

Oh. It was her again, it had to be. Cassandra Bliss, fucking with him
right inside of his pants, telling him in no uncertain terms that now
was the time for him to look at this last fortune. He hesitated for a
few seconds Ñ he hated the feeling of being her puppet like this,
especially now that he knew the identity of the puppet master Ñ but
then he surrendered to the inevitable and cracked open the cookie,
making as little sound as possible. The slip of paper inside was
folded over and over, much longer than any normal fortune.

GLENN, MY LOVE,
IT IS CRUCIAL THAT YOU EXPLORE ONE LAST ABILITY BEFORE COMING
TO REJOIN ME. FOCUS YOUR THOUGHT AND STEP INTO KIKO'S FIELD,
NOT WITH YOUR PHYSICAL BODY, BUT WITH YOUR BODY OF LIGHT.
ONCE YOU HAVE MADE CONNECTION, EMPTY YOUR MIND OF
EXPECTATIONS AND OPEN YOURSELF TO RECEIVE HER TRUTHS. IT WILL
BE DIFFICULT TO WITHSTAND AT FIRST, BUT REMAIN OPEN AND
ALLOW THE ENERGY TO FLOW THROUGH YOU. DO NOT JUDGE WHAT
YOU SEE. ACCEPT KIKO AND ALL THAT SHE IS. ONCE YOU HAVE
TASTED HER MOST RECESSED DEPTHS, RETURN TO ME. UNTIL THEN,
CONTINUE TO GROW.
CASSANDRA

So she knew that he knew! No more evasive TWOYD, her name was
clearly and personally signed in a very feminine hand. He imagined
her up there in Maine, peering into a crystal ball and spinning her
magic in whatever ways she did, waiting for him... He couldn't stop
the image from forming, an image of Cassandra standing alone in
her cafe, a crystal ball before her on a table. The image in the ball,
her future as well as his, showed the two of them with their bodies
intertwined, his immense cock poised to perform a disappearing act
inside of her magic love box. Sunlight filtered in through the
windows and Cassandra, responding to the prediction, peeled off her
black dress and bra in anticipation of their Destiny, her tremendous
breasts springing free, her eyes going soft but intense with desires
too great to imagine... The vision was so sudden and intense, the
surge of blood flowing to enlarge his penis so powerful, that he
moaned out loud.

Oh crap! He reflexively wiggled his hips and looked down to see the
massive shape of his hardening tool inflating his left pants leg.
Christ, not now! He had too much on his plate, like what was
Cassandra talking about in that message? Step into Kiko's field with
his body of Light? Taste her most recessed depths? Was the message
about sex, or something entirely different? Was he destined to
march in there and fuck Kiko? Was he...

"Glenn! What the hell are you doing here?"

Oh crap!!! 

"How did you get past security? And you're supposed to be in
Maine!"

She stood in her doorway, arms folded sternly. She must have heard
him or sensed that he was there, and she had snuck up on him. A
few fumbling words were ready to tumble out of his mouth, but then
Kiko looked down at the hard-on straining at his pants. Her sudden
intake of breath caused her enormous boobs to expand, and his
cock twitched in response. It was fascinating, the speed with which
her flashing aura went yellow-orange. He was almost positive that
her sexual state was affected before her brain had a chance to
register what she was seeing, because her aura was changing colors
even before her eyes went wide. About a second later, she let out
some kind of sound that seemed to contain equal parts of a
frightened scream and an aroused moan.

She turned on her heels and ran towards her desk. Glenn was certain
that she was going to call security. He couldn't tell where his own
reaction came from Ñ it was a sudden thought, and he immediately
looked at his right hand to see whether he could do it. It was
allowed and he didn't even think about it, he just sent the outcome
at her, an outcome to freeze and be silent. It took about half a
second for Kiko to go as still as a wax statue, her posture caught in
mid-stride. Glenn slipped into the office and walked in front of her,
staring in wonder at his handiwork. Kiko continued to breathe Ñ
nice to know that he hadn't unintentionally caused the functions of
her body to shut down Ñ and she somehow retained the capacity to
show expression in her eyes, even though the pupils didn't move and
her eyelids didn't blink. What he saw, gathering within those still
depths, was fear.

He immediately regretted his action. Not ten minutes ago, he had
decided to be crafty or stealthy in sending outcomes, to prevent
anyone from knowing about his power. Now, in one panicked
moment, he had turned Kiko Yagashima into a woman as still as one
of those Greek statues in the entranceway, and she knew that he had
done it, even if she didn't know how. He felt exposed and stupid
and... He looked at her unmoving body. Kiko might be afraid of what
he was doing, but fear was not the only thing she was feeling. Her
flashing aura was still animated, even if the rest of her wasn't, and
the hot color of sexual excitement had deepened.

Was she getting hot from being controlled? Or maybe he was getting
hot from controlling her, and his excitement was spilling over to
her. He had gotten hard out in the hall from an inner vision of
Cassandra, but now he had Kiko's massive tits and sultry body in
front of him, and the sight was doing nothing to calm down his dick.
She looked amazing in red, the heels of her sexy boots adding to her
already impressive height. And Christ, those fabulous legs! He
circled around her, looking at her from every angle. She was so still
that she looked very much as she had on the internet, but here, in
the flesh, he could move around her and study the spectacular
shapeliness of her body from whatever viewpoint he wished. After
circling twice, he squatted down right in front of her and cautiously
reached out a hand, lifting the front of her skirt up several inches.
Wowwwww... The muscles of Kiko's thighs, tensed in the action of
motion even though they were as still as granite, were spectacularly
creamy. He detected the scent of arousal and lifted her skirt even
higher. Midnight blue satin panties, with a snap at the right side for
quick removal. And a fragrant damp spot right in the center.

Oh, this was too good, too tempting. And he was already in so
deep...  Maybe what he had done in so overtly taking control of Kiko
was clumsy and regrettable, but there was nothing to do but plow
forward, and, if he was clever or lucky enough, cover his tracks. But
in the meantime... He tilted his head up and surveyed the astounding
expanse of her breasts above. Jesus H. Fucking Christ, they were
awesome, and this would be the view he'd get if he were to spend
some time eating this bombshell's Japanese pussy... He had to look
very closely to see the subtle rising and falling of her huge breasts as
she breathed in and out. And frozen stiff or not, the hardening of
her nipples under that blouse was unmistakable. Above and below,
either her state of excitement had been frozen into her at the
moment that he sent the outcome, or the woman was getting further
turned on while he studied her.  

Glenn's cock was about ready to explode with joy. Without meaning
to, without even considering the possibility, he had stumbled onto
an incredibly erotic possibility. Kiko, except for her breathing and
other functions, was for all intents and purposes in a state of
personal time-stop. He didn't know what the extent of her
awareness was Ñ did her thoughts continue normally, even though
her body was immobilized? And did that really matter? He could do
anything he wanted to do with a woman in this kind of state, he
could perform any physical act on them and there would be nothing
they could do to prevent it.

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't... But he couldn't help himself, the
opportunity was just too good and his cock was so hard. Staying
down low on his knees, he reached out with his hands and placed
them at both the front and the rear of Kiko's right thigh, the leg that
had been striding forward when she became immobilized. Damn,
she had some beautiful thighs. He leaned in and licked her flesh
while his hands continued to roam. What a great way to spend an
entire day, he thought, with his head parked in-between these silky
thighs. His hands told him of the exquisite structure of Kiko's calves,
of the smooth skin at the surface and the hard muscle within. And
up there near his forehead... Was her pussy getting more damp,
more fragrant?

Glenn pulled his head back just a little to see. He didn't really know
what the extent of Kiko's awareness was, but her dark blue panties
were getting soaked from excitement. Was it an automatic response,
her body getting hot despite the silent protests of her thoughts and
emotions, or was all of Kiko beginning to go insane with heat in
there? He liked that idea for some reason, of getting her revved-up
but giving her no authority to respond, like she was a sexually
carbonated bottle that was being shaken up. And as long as he was
shaking her...

He drew his head up and tongued her wet slit right through her
panties, tasting her. She was nice, she was very, very nice. Slipping
his fingers under Kiko's panties at her right hip, he exerted a little
pressure, and 'Snap' went her panties, which fell to the floor
between her sexy boots. Kiko's exposed pussy was gorgeous, and he
couldn't resist planting a long, wet kiss right on her swollen clitoris.

What did this feel like to her? She didn't move Ñ she couldn't move
Ñ but he sensed the muscles in her legs tightening further. It was
getting to her, his touch. Whether she wanted to or not, she was
getting increasingly hot. He grinned, and brought his fingers up to 
brush against the vestibule of her vagina. He let them play for a few
moments there at her opening, just enough for his fingertips to
absorb some of her lubrication, and then he slipped two fingers
inside of her, exploring the inner terrain of her wet tunnel. She was
tight, she was silky wet, and he could do any damn thing he wanted. 

ONCE YOU HAVE TASTED HER MOST RECESSED DEPTHS... He was
starting to do that in a way, but was it the right way? He hadn't
come here to fuck Kiko, or at least he hadn't thought so, but was
that the inevitable "outcome"? He could finger-fuck Kiko or eat her
pussy or do any other thing he wanted to do with her recessed
depths when her body was unmoving like this, but wouldn't it be far
better to "do her", as Lauren would say, when she could move and
sigh and cry out with wanted or unwanted passion? And his mission,
to extract information from her...

Glenn decided to try to use this current state of affairs to his
advantage. Glancing at his hands to make sure it was all okay, he
silently commanded her to step out of her panties and sit down in
the plush swivel chair behind her desk. She had an enviable office,
very spacious, incredible view, with real wood paneling and
gleaming hardwood floors. He locked her door and checked to make
sure that she had hung up the phone before freeing her from his
control. She almost fell forward out of the chair when given back
control of her body, enough so that her glasses fell from her face.
Had she been struggling against his wishes? She looked frantic, or
frazzled, and it was impossible to know how much of that was
caused by her sexual state, hovering there in the yellow-orange
zone.

"You... You pervert! What... what did you do to me? How..."

"I hypnotized you, Kiko," he lied.

"That's ridiculous!"

"Oh? Then you must have just wanted to stand still while I stripped
you of your underwear and fingered your cunt."

"No! I... But it's not possible..."

"You won't believe? Then try to do something simple..." Glenn
glanced at his hands. "Pick up that phone to call for help, for
instance. You won't be able to, because I won't allow it."

"But hypnotism... No one can control another person like that. It
isn't possible!"

"Afraid to pick up that phone, Kiko? Afraid to find out that you
can't?"

Her eyes followed his to the phone on the desk and she grabbed it
defiantly and perhaps desperately. With the receiver held in her left
hand, the index finger of her right extended to punch in a number.
She got no further, her fingers frozen in mid-air. She cried out in
alarm and struggled against this outcome for at least twenty
seconds, perspiration beading up on her forehead.

Her eyes told him that she believed now, and witnessing her vain
struggle drove the situation home to Glenn as well. What he was
telling her about having hypnotized her was complete bullshit,
nothing more than a way to cover for his screw-up. But the fact
remained that he could control the actions of Kiko Yagashima in
almost any way that he wanted! This super-buxom sex-goddess, this
woman whose image had been the focus of thousands of internet
masturbation sessions around the globe, was a complete slave to his
desires! In an instant he went through a string of possibilities in his
mind and looked at his hands. The things he could make her do...

"Why are you here?," she asked, her voice trembling. "And... what
are you going to do to me?"

Her aura shifted color as she asked this last question, going a bit
more orange. Holy shit! Was she getting turned on by the idea of
being controlled? She was so damned beautiful... Dressed as she was
with her hand frozen in position above her phone, she looked
exactly like a huge-breasted Asian internet goddess posing for a
photo-shoot with a bad-girl business executive theme. He almost
hated to admit it, but the woman was such a turn-on, despite her
personality.

"Kiko, I want you to tell me everything you know about Vic
Daggert's connection to GlobalGro and Global Transport."

He couldn't fail to miss the widening of her eyes, the intake of
breath. "You know about GlobalGro and... Vic?"

"Yes. And I might even know who targeted the Maine facility with a
tornado."

He was fishing, and it couldn't be more obvious that he was fishing
in teeming waters. Kiko knew what he was talking about. Her gaze
fell back to his crotch, her glow holding steady at a deep shade of
yellow-orange.

"I won't tell you a damned thing," she said.

Crap.

Unless... He thought of an outcome, with Kiko unable to prevent
herself from spilling her guts to him. Not allowed. Okay, just telling
him the truth about GlobalGro, nothing else. Not allowed. Okay,
Kiko having an orgasm so intense that her lovely legs would be
shaking for a week. Allowed.

Well, well. Sexual outcomes allowed with her, others not. Was there
another way, using sexual means, to coerce the information out of
her? "Once you have tasted her most recessed depths" Ñ the words
from Cassandra's message reverberated in his brain. Kiko's sparkling
aura by itself told him they were suitable together as lovers, and
Cassandra had already seen it coming in the last fortune message.
Glenn's thoughts went into overdrive, again imagining a number of
fantasies with Kiko as his submissive love-slave. When they were
sexual, they were all allowed. He imagined her performing a strip-
tease for him on top of her desk, his command forcing her to dance
and put on a leg and tit show that would leave Las Vegas in the dust.
Or he could make her drop her skirt and open her divine legs to
receive him, or make her crawl on the floor to his feet and beg to
blow him. He could command her to parade naked out on the
sidewalk, to show countless pedestrians what males all over the
world had always wanted to see Ñ her wholly naked body and the
full, uncovered magnitude of those two internationally famous,
mammaliscious mega-tits! He swallowed, hard. So many times while
looking at her photos on the internet, he had wanted to see these
tits uncovered.

"Take your blouse off," he commanded her, and sent it as an
outcome.

She watched, aghast, the movements of her own hands as they began
to unbutton her blouse from the bottom to the top. She gasped, and
looked up at Glenn in shock and horror that also seemed to have a
strange underside of deep sexual longing. And speaking of
undersides, the bottom curves of Kiko's massive bra appeared long
before she reached the top button. Her bra was also a midnight blue
and it looked like each cup could envelop a small child. He hadn't
been aiming any specific sexual thoughts at her up to this moment,
but he could feel himself trembling with excitement as her shirt
opened and Kiko's bra-clad Tokyo Miracles powered out past the
fabric of her open shirt front into the space of her office.

"How are you doing this... to me?"

He thought of several ways to answer her question, but lost interest
when he witnessed further traces of orange highlighting her aura.
Who would ever have predicted a situation like this? Kiko the
tyrannical super-titted work-bitch was transforming into Kiko the
please-make-me-do-these-things-I-shouldn't-want-to-do sex kitten!

"G...Glenn? Why am I... How are you doing this to me?"

"I already told you."

Her blouse removed, she dropped it to the floor as though the shirt
had been the thing bewitched. Glenn stared at the way her breast
flesh gathered just below her fine collarbones and then catapulted
outward, the compression of her bra helping to form a line of
cleavage that could nearly swallow one of his arms. He had seen
dozens of photos of Kiko where she had been partially clothed like
this, but the flatness of a photograph could not really convey the
staggering volume of tits like these. Kiko looked like she might be
even more huge than Lauren, and there was another difference, too:
her breasts seemed fleshier, although he wasn't sure why. A
different genetic pool, he figured. Whatever the reason, Kiko's tits
looked like they would find a way to bulge out of whatever bra she
wore, no matter how huge it was. He tore his eyes away from her
humongous tits long enough to glance at his hands. He could make
her do it.

"Tell me what size bra you wear, Kiko." Like countless others, he'd
always wanted to know.

She looked so surprised when the figure flowed out from her
sensual lips. "36-MM."

Holy M&M's and Mama Mia! She really was even bigger than Lauren!
Glenn's hard cock strained even more mightily at his pants leg. He
had to tell her to remove the bra. He just had to.

"When did you do it to me?," she cried out. "When did you
hypnotize me? I don't remember... You never..."

"In my office, two days ago."

"But..."

"I commanded you to forget, Kiko, and you'll do whatever I tell you
to do."

She struggled to recall, to catch a piece of a memory that never
existed. She would probably believe him, though, which was better
than letting her know the true nature of his power.

"Now, take off your bra and shake your tits for me," he commanded,
sending the outcome.

Her eyes filled with panic again, a panic that had a weird kind of
excitement there, too. "Please..." But her hands were already
reaching behind her back. There was a second or two when her giant
bra was unattached but still resting on her massive assets. When she
began to gently shake her upper body to and fro, the blue bra
relinquished its grip and fell to her feet.

Glenn could barely breathe. They were beyond magnificent! Clearly
larger than even Lauren's whopping pair, Kiko's boobs stood out so
far that their mass seemed to push the oxygen out of the room.
JesusfuckingChrist had the world missed out by not seeing the
entirety of these tits! Kiko's aureoles, the color of flesh mixed with
milk chocolate, were smooth and even and at least as big around as
large grapefruit halves. Her nipples, longer and wider than thimbles,
were completely erect and even pointed up slightly, as though
testing the air for the scent of semen. And surrounding these ultra-
pert pleasure-tips were those two oceans of firm, pale perfect flesh,
undulating and wobbling in what almost seemed like slow-motion
because of their sheer size.

"Ah! Ah!," Kiko exclaimed, viewing the motions of her own tits and
her whole body above the waist as though someone had just inserted
a battery to make her run in a way that she didn't know she could.
"Oh!", she cried. "H...how...?"
 
Glenn ignored her question and her fright and concentrated on the
color in her aura, which continued to shift more towards orange.
She was heating up whether she wanted to or not. He pictured
additional outcomes and kept getting the okay. She really was his to
command.

"Now fuck yourself with both of your index fingers," he
commanded. "Fast."

"Nooooo!," she cried out, although her hands went into motion to
fulfill the outcome.

He didn't need to say anything to get her to do these things, but it
made everything more theatrical and it was making him hot as hell.
Kiko was still shaking her tremendous tits up above, and now her
hands parked themselves between her inner thighs. She almost
violently spread herself open and then her index fingers plunged in.

The show in front of him was glorious. Her upper body was like a
pulchritudinous perpetual motion machine and her twin fingers
were banging the hell out of her sopping cunt. She kept grunting
"No!" but the hot color of her aura and even her flushed skin were
beginning to scream "Yes!" Sure, she was getting steamed up because
she was fingering her slit to beat the band, but it was pretty clear
that, counter to all expectations, she was getting off precisely
because she was being dominated so thoroughly. Kiko Yagashima,
the cold-blooded work bitch on wheels, secretly into submission,
into being toyed with Ñ he wouldn't have expected an outcome like
this in a million years...

Outcome. Could that be what it was, an unconscious outcome of his
own? Was she really getting excited by his control or was he making
her get excited in a way that he couldn't even see? Whatever the
source of things, he was completely hard and almost giddy at the
possibilities available to him. Maybe he should command Kiko to
strip off the rest of her clothes, and ratchet up her lust with every
garment she removed. Did he want her to explode, to see that
beautiful face, normally so self-controlled, melt into an expression
of searing pleasure? He imagined what she might look like totally
naked, undergoing a series of rapid-fire orgasms that went on for
half an hour. Looking at the glow around his hands, he saw that he
could do that to her. Or, perhaps it would be more interesting to
bring her to the precipice of the most mind-blowing orgasm she'd
ever felt, only to keep her in that state Ñ much as he had with
Lauren last night Ñ until she did his bidding without having to send
additional outcomes. He checked his glow. He could do it. Could he
do it in graduated steps? Yes.

"Listen to me, Kiko. I'm going to make you more excited than you've
ever been before, more excited than you ever thought you could
be."

She was still bouncing her breasts for him, her aura already a deep
orange.

"Not possible...", she whispered. "This can't be happening! No, no
no..."

"So much more excited, Kiko. Right... now!"

Her aura flared and she gasped, her hands slipping out of her pussy
for a moment, probably because of a sudden influx of her juices.
They plunged back in again and went to work with a new sense of
fury.

"Ohhhhh! Ohhhhh!"

"Want more, Kiko? Do you think you can take more?"

"Oh God, please! Pleeeaaase!"

"Please what, Kiko? Please stop? Please let me come?"

"Oh, OH, OH, NO, NO, N... YES!"

She was too hyped-up to even be clear. And who cared what she
wanted anyway? He had a mission to accomplish, and accomplishing
it was more fun than he ever would have dreamed.

"Since you aren't making yourself understood, I'll have to try to
interpret," he teased. "I think you want to feel twice as hot as this,
but without being allowed to come."

"NO! Oh God, no! No, please..."

"More," he stated theatrically, sending the next step of the outcome.
"Now!"

"Ahhhh! Ahhhoooooooo!!"

She collapsed to her knees and her head shook like that of a lioness,
then she threw her head back and her eyes went wider than he
thought possible for a human being. Her glow and her flesh went red
at the same instant, but then the color of her glow started going all
over the place. It was red/orange and punctuated with brilliant
green splotches and blue-violet streaks that swirled crazily all
around her body. She trembled in a way that went far beyond
trembling, and her mouth opened so wide that he expected a scream
to emerge, but no sound came out. She was right there, her aura
coming but her pussy prevented from physically fulfilling the event.
He had her there walking the razor's edge between coming like she
never could have before and not being able to come at all. Glenn's
cock was screaming from the sight of her. Kiko wore the meltdown
of desperation quite beautifully, and it had him super-hot, too.

He looked at his hands and got the go-ahead to progress even
further. "More!", he commanded.

She did scream then, a moaning animal scream unlike anything he
had ever heard. It sounded almost painful, like a pain that hurt so
fucking good that she could barely stand it.

"Do you want to come, Kiko?"

"YES!!!"

"Do you want to come like you've never come before?"

"Yesss!!! Oh please yesss!"

It was such a shitty thing to do, but he had to do it. It was the reason
he was here.

"GlobalGro, Kiko. I won't command you to come until you tell me
about Daggert and GlobalGro."

"AhhhGodddd, you b...bastard!"

She sank to the floor and rolled over onto her back, drawing her
skirt up and fingering herself like an insane person. She was trying
to provide the extra spark herself, trying to create fire through
friction. He thought his thoughts and checked his hands and was
satisfied that she would never achieve an orgasm without his help.

"You'll come when I tell you to and not before," he said. "GlobalGro,
Kiko. Tell me what you know about GlobalGro and I'll give you the
release you need."

"No! You'll... AhGodddd... Please! Please!"

"GlobalGro."

"No! No! You'll... screw everything... up! I can't! I can't! Ohhhh
please!"

It seemed to Glenn that they were like two opponents in a ring, he
with the clear upper hand, but facing a challenger who simply would
not stop fighting. What was GlobalGro that she would fight like this,
that she would refuse to tell him even though it looked like she
would go insane if she didn't come soon? He was so fucking excited
by the entire scenario, but she was also pissing him off. Would she
soon crawl over to him and beg him for deliverance? It might come
to that if she wouldn't open her fucking mouth and tell him what he
wanted to know! He liked that image, of Kiko before him on her
knees, begging him, pleading with him for permission to come. If
she didn't give him what he wanted, he could discover her limits, the
things that she absolutely refused to do, and make her do them.
Some women didn't like to swallow cum, some women would never
allow themselves to be fucked in the ass, some women would be
mortified by being humiliated in public. She had to have a breaking
point, a place of darkness or despair so black that she would do
anything he wanted even without the outcome commands. Maybe he
could use what he had learned with Lauren to send Kiko into an
emotional abyss so deep and dire that she would do or say anything
in the world to be released from...

Lauren's warning from earlier in the day surfaced in his mind with
the power of a thunderbolt. What if you have enough power and
enough latitude that you become a monster? He looked at Kiko,
lying on her back, frantically trying to get herself off. Holy fuck, he
was becoming a sexual torturer, a Grand Inquisitor with the power
to interrogate his victim from the inside!

Kiko was turned on by his power over her Ñ her multi-colored,
super-heated aura told him that Ñ but she was also in pain because
of his power over her. Perhaps a part of her was enjoying this, even
enjoying this immensely, but another part was most certainly not.

It was happening. The fact that he could do these incredible things
was getting to him, eating at his natural or normal sense of restraint.
And it was turning him on. He was getting off on his position of
power, a position so different than what he had felt just the other
day. He had felt like a bug beneath her raised heel in his office the
other day, a bug who had to be so cautious with Kiko, so careful not
to offend her lest she take away his prized perks or make his life a
living hell in some other way. He had looked at her like she was
another potential Julia, but worse. He had seen her as nothing more
than another hot-bodied bitch in a suit, another woman who might
take away his privileges, his freedom, his dignity.

And now the tables were turned. He thought that Kiko was super-
gorgeous and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to
fuck her, but admiration and lust for her physical beauty were not
all that he felt about her. He didn't need an Oprah-style pseudo-
psychologist to inform him that he resented Kiko's elevated position
at the paper, or that he felt more than a twinge of disgust that she
had slept with Vic Daggert. With all of this coloring the way that he
looked at her, he was beginning to see her as a puppet, as a sinful
plaything that he could manipulate and maybe even... punish.

A wave of shame swept through Glenn. He literally felt sick to his
stomach he was so upset with himself. Everything he had done to
Kiko so far was stupid and wrong, from the very beginning. What he
was doing here was not all that different from any interrogator
anywhere who used physical or mental torture to extract
information from a helpless prisoner. He had always condemned
that kind of behavior, had always thought that he would never even
be able to stoop so low. Well here he was, stooping.

The guards out there Ñ that had been necessary, and purposeful.
Likewise his experiments with Lauren Ñ plus, she had actually
desired and encouraged him to manipulate her as he had. But there
were no excuses for how he was fucking around with Kiko. He knew
from recent experience what it felt like to be somebody's puppet,
but the truth was that Cassandra had not mistreated him in any
discernible way since he had met her. No, he had not asked to be
changed, to be given these weird abilities, to have his appearance
altered. And yes, he had often felt the pain of not knowing what was
happening to him or why. But when he looked back at it now, he
could see that Cassandra had done nothing but help him since the
changes had begun. She had guided him, advised him, tutored him
and reassured him... As far as he could tell, she had never forced
him to act against his will, nor had she lashed out at his stupidness
or his reluctance to accept what was happening to him. He had to
assume that a woman with the power to change his body and create
tornadoes would be able to force all kinds of unpleasantness onto
him if she wished, but instead he had been given so much freedom,
no matter how badly he had navigated his way through the changes.
She was probably watching over him right now in some way,
allowing him to learn for himself what it felt like to begin to act
despicably.

In fact, maybe that was the real reason that he was here. If concerns
about GlobalGro had forced Daggert's hand into sending him to
Extremity to meet Cassandra, maybe it was the same here Ñ
GlobalGro was just a pathway that had led him to Kiko, a woman
who inspired equal parts of desire and repulsion in him. Maybe that
was why Kiko's aura shimmered with so many lights for him Ñ
because she was so important to the development of his self-
control.

He looked down at poor Kiko, still writhing, still hovering on the
threshold of a monster orgasm. And that was exactly what he'd been
ready to perpetrate Ñ a monster orgasm, full of heat but with zero
love or warmth. So what now? Withdraw the outcomes and leave her
alone, or give her the orgasm she so desperately sought? Either
option felt like a further violence in many ways. He wished that he
could start this whole thing all over again from the start, but that
was impossible.

He made a decision. He would try to begin again as best he could.
He began by terminating the edge-of-coming outcome. Kiko would
either come or she wouldn't, but he wouldn't make her and he
wouldn't prevent her.

She looked momentarily startled when her body came back under
her own control. She kept wriggling on the floor, fucking herself
with her fingers, but she seemed to know at once that something
had changed. The greens and violets left her aura, and even the
remaining fire colors looked less intense. Glenn stepped back and
found a chair, and settled into it, and watched. Kiko slowly rose into
a sprawled sitting position on the floor, and she watched back. Her
breaths came in deep gulps and her expression was complex as the
heightened sexual tension gradually left her body. She looked
relieved in a way, but also more than a little disappointed. Although
she could move freely if she wished, she remained sitting right
where she was, as though some movement of her own volition might
anger him or cause him to lash out at her with his controlling
thoughts.

"You can put your shirt back on if you wish."

His words were only a normal suggestion, holding no power. Kiko
seemed to recognize this, and she hesitated, perhaps surprised that
Glenn's words had no effect on her. The suspicion in her eyes turned
into something more like fear again, as though she suspected that
Glenn had some new or even worse trick up his sleeve.

"Why would you want me to put it back on?", she asked. "So you can
watch me take it off all over again? So you can see my breasts
bouncing under it when you make me dance again?"

"Just... put it on or leave it off, whatever you want. It's up to you."

"Why have you done this to me? And... why did you stop?"

Meaning why had he hypnotized her Ñ which of course he hadn't Ñ
and why had he made her do and feel things only to stop in
midstream? He was embarrassed about how he had behaved,
although it didn't make sense to confess his sins to her.

Still sitting with her legs curled up on the floor, her red boots
pressing into her ass cheeks, Kiko gathered her shirt, which was
bunched just behind her, and slipped into it without bothering to
button it up. Somehow the partial covering of her mammoth breasts
made them look all the more enticing.

"However you did that... to me... I... I..." She looked down, as though
uncertain whether to say what she had to say. "I didn't want you to
stop so abruptly."

Well, well, a glimmer of truth and cooperation. "Do you want me to
command you to come, Kiko?"

Her eyes darted back and forth and she looked completely
confused, much as he was. He was struck by the woman's
vulnerability. With her lovely legs curled under her and much of her
weight supported by one extended arm, she looked childlike, small.
Her hair was in total disarray and her usually stern expression was a
distant memory. This open and approachable version of Kiko,
evident in her internet photos but never seen before in this building,
was a woman who could call forth some genuine tenderness from
him. This was the Kiko he could enjoy fucking.

"I... I'm not sure...", she finally answered.

That was enough for him, enough to see that their physical union
would have to wait. In his clumsiness and haste, he had focused on
one part of Cassandra's most recent message, the part about tasting
Kiko's depths, and he had interpreted this as being purely sexual.
And that wasn't right, he knew it. What else had Cassandra told him
to do? "Focus your thought and step into Kiko's field, not with your
physical body but with your body of Light". Glenn had to assume
that his body of Light was his own golden glow, and Kiko's field was
probably the crackling glow surrounding her body. He had no idea
how to "step into" her glow, but he needed to make the attempt.
Cassandra was trying to get him to do something for a reason Ñ all
of the previous messages had been helpful and he might as well trust
in this one. There was something he needed to do, now it was up to
him to figure out how to do it.

As to what he wanted from her Ñ he couldn't say, because he really
didn't know. Yet. He needed to find out, though, which meant that
she had to stay here in the room with him. He thought of an
outcome where she wouldn't try to escape from her office or do
anything to harm him, and once confirmed, he sent it. He couldn't
see any change in her and she probably didn't feel any, but now he
could relax enough to explore what Cassandra had hinted at in her
latest message.

"Kiko, I need you to trust me. I need you to just sit there as you are."

"Why? What are you going to do to me?"

The truth was, he didn't know. He made a quick attempt at having
his aura detach itself (whatever that meant) from his body and
envelope Kiko, but that went nowhere. When he took two steps
towards her, to be close enough that their auras touched, she
shrank back, wary of his intentions. He started to tell her to not be
afraid, but why would she believe him? He had already
demonstrated a frightening degree of power over her and he knew
how strange he must look right now, staring at the space around her
body. Maybe he could command her to lose her fear, but if it
worked, wouldn't she feel the artificiality of her calm? It might make
things even worse than they already were.

He couldn't get anywhere like this. He was supposed to focus his
thoughts, but his mind was all over the place, trying to figure
everything out while constantly second-guessing his every move. He
was using the methods for investigating a story, the methods that he
knew  Ñ gather the known facts, weigh the possibilities, view the
angles, and then test the theories or counter-argue all that had been
arrived at to ensure balance and accuracy. Yet these methods were
largely useless and perhaps even self-defeating under these
circumstances. How could he gather facts about stepping into Kiko's
field with his body of Light except to do it? And how could he do it
when he didn't know exactly what was meant or how to accomplish
the act?

He needed to change the way he went at this. Cassandra was
obviously speaking of a different kind of focusing of the mind. He
thought of his yoga classes from a couple of year ago. He had never
gotten very far with yoga Ñ he'd been there mainly to pick up
women, after all Ñ and he had never managed to reach any kind of
state that could be called meditative or centered or blissful. Still, he
had been able to calm down his racing heart and reach a place of
relative quiet by focusing on his breathing.

He looked around Kiko's office and came to a decision. The
overhead lights were too bright and work-like, encouraging him to
think like a reporter. He walked over to a control panel near the
door and dimmed the overhead lights, immediately changing the
atmosphere in the room. Next he went over to the long, black
leather sofa that flanked the room's right wall and sank his butt into
its embracing softness. Kiko remained on the floor, leaning against
the front of her desk. She followed his every move with her eyes,
but did not make any attempt to escape or even rise.

Okay, he thought, maybe she was still frightened or exhausted or
even disoriented. As long as she didn't run out the door screaming
or signal additional security, he would be okay. He sat on the floor,
too, and crossed his legs, then recalled the little bit about focusing
the mind that he had learned in those yoga classes. The setting and
the situation were so different now, but he went with what he knew,
closing his eyes and working to pay attention to his breathing. "Calm
in, agitation out," he remembered his teacher saying over and over.
Calm in, agitation out, focus in, racing thoughts out. Maybe he did
this for a minute, or perhaps it was less. Once he had the rhythm of
his breathing at a place where he could be aware of it without really
thinking about it, he opened his eyes. There was Kiko, still in the
same place, regarding him warily. He looked at her and the golden
layer around her with its winking lights. Her glow was still infused
with yellow-orange, which he thought odd, under the circumstances.
Don't think about it, he reminded himself. Just watch, and breathe
in calm, then exhale agitation. In focus, out these racing thoughts.

His eyes began to take in the random flashes around Kiko's body. He
registered their unpredictable winking in and out. It was like they
were breathing, too. He just watched and breathed. Every now and
then a pattern began to emerge in the flashing lights, but then
everything would abruptly change, and the sparkles looked arbitrary
again. He kept watching, breathing in and out, in and out, the lights
winking in and out...

He was inside. Inside of her glow. Inside of her. He didn't know how
it happened but... And then he felt it, felt her fear, felt her orange
lust, felt the jumbled emotions of an entire lifetime. His breath
caught and his teeth clenched...

And then he was outside of her again, breathing heavily. Holy shit,
what had just happened? Kiko's body was burning like she was inside
of a sexual furnace and he had felt it, had become it for a few
seconds! And her fear... it was somehow fueling the fire. He didn't
understand how he knew that or what it meant or how he had come
to be there inside of her glow...

The words of Cassandra's message came to him again. "It will be
difficult to withstand at first, but remain open and allow the energy
to flow through you".

It had been difficult to withstand. He had felt her fear and her fire
and then a ton of other things. Then he had felt his own surprise at
feeling these things in this way, and he had braced himself, losing
his connection to his breathing and probably interrupting the flow.
But he had been there, inside of her glow, and it had been like being
inside of Kiko in some strange way, like they were almost the same
person, or two different people connected in a way that gave him
access to her in a completely new and unknown way...

Kiko had not moved, but her expression was different. She looked at
him with a new curiosity. Had she felt anything, or only him? It
didn't matter, not as long as she was still there. He worked at
becoming calm again. Don't freeze up when it happens, he told
himself. Just remain calm. Feel it but don't let it make you go crazy.
Breathe in relaxation, breathe out craziness. He repeated the earlier
breathing exercises, and watched Kiko's lights. So many lights,
swirling, flashing, becoming a pattern, becoming a non-pattern,
becoming an entryway...

He was in again, and again he felt the furnace and the fear. It ripped
through him, every breath so hot, so filled with lust... Glenn stayed
with it, breathed in the heat and breathed out whatever there was to
breathe out. In, out, in...

Everything changed. So much flowed into him, so many memories
and emotions... He could see Kiko sitting there in front of him, but
he was Kiko, he was all that she had lived and all she had thought...
A lifetime of emotions, a lifetime of hopes and regrets and dreams
coursing through him in the space of a single breath... Happiness,
anguish, shame and joy and pain, so much pain... He kept breathing,
letting the storm of her life pass in and out... He felt like a sponge,
but a disembodied sponge. Was he still inside of his own body? Was
he a spirit, or a life-force, or pure consciousness?

Suddenly he was outside again, back in his own body. He was Glenn
again, a person with a brain and skin and muscle covering a bony
skeleton. He was Glenn, and only Glenn.

But then he saw that it was all still there, the memory of what he had
seen while inside of Kiko. It was like he'd been inside of her mental
and emotional library, and had managed to read nearly every book
that made her herself. So much, too much... He had to sift through
countless trivial memories, things like the dinner she'd eaten at
home yesterday, or the parking ticket on her windshield last week...
There were thousands of unimportant experiences like these
covering up the deeper actions and feelings...

The woman was a fucking prisoner here! These memories Ñ her
memories of the key experiences of her life Ñ were inside of him
now. He could see the sudden appearance of Daggert at her
apartment door in Tokyo, the things the bastard had done to charm
her, the methods he had employed to seduce her...

It was overwhelming, seeing so much. It was like he could dissect
Kiko's psyche, like he could see all of the psychological fault-lines,
her strengths and her weaknesses. And one extremely potent fault-
line, evident from her very first sexual thoughts and experiences,
had to do with submissiveness. Kiko's relationship, even as an
infant, with an overbearing father was the source of this... this
preference, this twist. She got hot when psychologically used and
abused. Because she was so beautiful, because her body was so
incredible, boys and then men had worshipped her, bowed to her.
And that was the last thing she wanted, the opposite of what turned
her on.

But Daggert did not bow, Daggert had not treated her as a superior
or even as an equal. He treated her like shit from the very
beginning, and she loved it. Glenn could live the memories as if they
were his own, which was totally unnerving. He could see Daggert's
crude domination, his callousness and outright contempt, and he
could feel how Kiko had responded, how her pussy burned with
every verbal abuse, how her nipples ached...

And later, after Kiko tried to pull herself out of a downward spiral,
out of emotional incarceration in submission hell, Daggert Ñ the
motherfucker Ñ kept Kiko in line by arranging to have her kid
brother kidnapped! Suck me off and do it right, he'd demanded, and
perhaps it can be arranged that your dear brother Lin will be located
and returned safely to your family. If you don't...

Glenn could feel Kiko's anguish, her shame, as her life became a
horror show. He could feel her desperation, the pain of her
capitulation, the shame and self-loathing she experienced as she
sucked Vic Daggert's dick in the cabin of his personal jet... It was
bizarre, the way he could see Daggert's naked body as she had seen
it, the way he could feel the clenching of Kiko's jaw and the tensing
of her abdomen as Daggert later jammed his seven-inch prick inside
of her dry, unwelcoming pussy. She had thrown up afterward. There
was no excitement any more. She had wished to be dominated but
not like this, not at the expense of her family. Glenn could feel her
horror when Daggert made it plain that he could have her brother
and the rest of her family killed at any time. She became his slave. In
public, she smiled for the news cameras and beamed at him as she
held onto Daggert's arm. She took the position he created for her at
The Sourcerer and gave him the soulless sex he craved, all to protect
her loved ones.

Glenn felt the birth of her determination, of her thirst for revenge...
He winced as he experienced the turning of her generous heart from
a broad-petaled flower into a hard, black, pitiless thing. She learned
English, learned business and accounting and contract law as rapidly
as humanly possible, all with the aim of taking the fucker down one
fine day. She contemplated killing him several times, going so far as
to purchase a handgun with the intended purpose of blowing his
head off during one of their sex encounters. But she came to
understand that she couldn't kill him in cold blood, not without
killing her family, too. She bore the pain of his continuing advances,
finding small comfort in the fact that he was so often away to some
other continent, getting his sexual satisfaction with some other poor
woman. She had not seen Daggert in more than a month now Ñ
blessed relief Ñ yet her aim remained, undiminished. He would
come back. He would demand sex from her. And somehow, some
way, she would cause the fall of Vic Daggert, eliminating of the
threat he posed to the ones she loved.

Glenn continued to sift. There was so much more that was
fascinating, her whole life, really: Her dim memories of infancy, her
absorption of language, childhood... He could feel, rather than hear,
the Japanese language in her, as though it was so close to the
surface of his mind that he might even be able to speak it if he
concentrated hard enough. Scenes of her life through her own eyes
were there, from major events like the eventual loss of her father to
cancer, to the affection she had felt towards a talkative crow that
frequented the high window of her childhood bedroom. He felt, as
though it had happened to him, her embarrassment as her body
changed and her breasts grew and grew. He experienced her sense
of wonder at their ever-increasing weight and rapidly expanding
shape, and he lived the transition from shyness to pride at the way
that boys and even grown men could not take their eyes off of her
ballooning breasts. He could see her looking down at her breasts
when they had surpassed the size of her head, and he felt what it
was like when she caressed the entirety of each enormous mound
with soapy fingers.

Her first orgasm came in the privacy of her bath when she was
twelve. She had just had an argument with her father and he had
become so angry that he spanked her, something he had not done in
years. She had been completely unprepared for the intensity of the
waves of pleasure that rippled through her body as his hard hand
smacked and bruised the young flesh of her rear... She might have
come right then, but she didn't really know what an orgasm was. 
She definitely came ten minutes later in the bath, reliving the scene
as she played with her hard nipples with on hand, the fingers of her
other hand busily stroking her aching clitoris beneath the soapy
water. And when her fingertips parted her opening, instinctively
moving inside, then plunging and releasing again and again... He felt
her lose any sense of self-control, her mind and her body sucked
into a vortex of heat as she played with her budding boobs and her
hot pussy at the same time. The excitement built and built and
finally crested and she cried out in the bath, her body exploding
with pleasures that she had never suspected could exist. He felt the
waves spread through him, felt those long forgotten waves wash
right through him...

But the pleasures of sex were dim memories for Kiko. She'd had sex
with five men, all significantly older than herself, before Daggert
came calling. She had not felt attraction or desire for so long...

And then he could feel her confusion in his office the other day.
Why had she begun to experience that wave of lust, heat forming in
her nipples and deep inside of her vagina like when she was a
teenager? She had wondered whether playing the role of the bitchy,
domineering corporate witch had actually reversed her sexual
preferences. Had she become attracted to underlings, men whom
she could toy with or order around like Glenn Cantell? She dreamed
of him the next night, a dream so overtly sexual that she awakened
in the night with her pussy sopping wet and her nipples as hard as
stones. She remembered the way his eyes had surveyed her long legs
and the curvature of her boundless boobs under her wool jacket.
Dozens, sometimes hundreds, of men lusted after her beauty and
her gigantic boobs every day, but she never felt even a twinge of
excitement. She was so intensely beautiful, yes, yet it was her huge
rack and her adorable face and her perfect legs that had brought
Daggert Ñ the demon Ñ to her doorstep. She secretly cursed her
ancestors for "blessing" her with the abundant beauty and the
enormous endowments that had drawn such a monster into the lives
of her family members.

She had not achieved a single orgasm since she arrived in this
country. Two years of her life gone by, with so many faked orgasms
in the company of Daggert. She'd fantasized many times about
taking another lover in secret, but fear of discovery and its
consequences kept her in line, kept her true to the man she most
despised. And then, like a miracle, Glenn Cantell's lustful stare had
awakened feelings she had thought dead forever. She tried to ignore
the throbbing in her pussy in his office, but it kept growing... She
worked hard to keep thoughts of Glenn and sex with Glenn at bay,
but there was a new feeling of emptiness in her, a pulsing longing...

And then, out in the hall just minutes ago, she had seen the outline
of Glenn's colossal cock distorting the draping of his pants, and
even through her surprise and anger that he had failed to travel to
Maine she'd felt so much raw lust rising in her body that she
thought she might climax right as she stood there... And then she
came under his weird hypnotic power...

Glenn winced as he felt the fear. Again she felt like a trapped animal!
Again a man had her under his power, but this time she could not
understand it, could not even identify what it was that she had to
struggle against. She wanted to kill him, to break free of his control,
but the control also played into her desire to be dominated and
made her feel so hot, so ready to come... Even covered by his
trousers, she could clearly see that his penis was so incredibly huge,
so much longer and thicker than she thought any man could be!
Though its size terrified her, she wanted to free it from his pants
and wrap her lips around his giant cock-head... But how could she
want that from a man in an inferior position to hers? Why was she
getting so unnaturally excited? She couldn't want to fuck him...

And then he demonstrated that he could make her do whatever he
wanted. She had never felt so excited in her life! She wished that he
would command her to strip for him and then please him in any way
that he desired. And he did make her strip for him, he commanded
her to dance for him, to use her perfect body to tease him... And
then the desire, the desire that he commanded from her, that he
insisted she feel... It was like a dream come true! It had been so long
since she had felt any desire... No desire for so long...

Glenn waded through all of these recent thoughts and concerns and
arrived at a place where he saw himself through her eyes. He was
taken aback at first. He still had a mental picture of himself as he'd
been a few days ago, or even earlier this morning, and much had
happened since then. He was still Glenn Ñ his features were there
and they were easily recognizable Ñ but he was becoming an
improved Glenn, a man whose physical allure seemed to reach right
into Kiko, almost ripping her hormones into an uproar. She felt this
irresistible attraction and wondered how she had failed to
appreciate him in this way before, how she had not realized how
attractive she found him. Somehow she had not fully registered the
sturdy grace of his frame, the comforting width of his shoulders,
even the beauty of his hands...

Glenn was amazed to feel the change inside of her as it happened.
He could actually feel the perceptions of the past being rearranged
inside of Kiko! The memories of his appearance winked out for a
split-second and were replaced with new memories, memories that
did not conflict with the changes that his body had undergone! This
same shift had apparently taken place inside of every person who
knew him and had seen him recently. Sal, Dalene, all of his lovers
who accepted the current size of his penis as though it had always
been that way... The image of his hard penis filling out the left thigh
of his pants was especially resonating inside of Kiko. All of him,
including his super-sized equipment, created a feeling of awe inside
of her, as though he was too good to be real and yet he was real... 

And then he felt, more distinctly now, just how hot Kiko was. It was
more than a physical need, although the discomfort... no,
discomfort wasn't the word, because it was something so much
more than discomfort, or the ache of sexual desire as he knew it. It
was... a humming, pulsing, building Need, a consuming emptiness
that had to be filled. Something indefinable inside of Kiko needed to
be fueled so desperately, needed to be fueled by him. In tune with
her uncanny sexual state, he felt himself beginning to drown with
lust. The fear was there, too Ñ fear of his "hypnotic" power, fear of
the size his colossal cock, fear that she would succumb and become
completely lost in the desire to please him, and that he would turn
out to be another evil shithead like Daggert.

But all of these thoughts and feelings were dwarfed by the hum of
her Need. Something inside of Kiko demanded to be united with
something inside of him... It all became clear so suddenly. He didn't
do anything different, but in an instant, all of the flashes around
Kiko's body began to speak to him in some way. Patterns emerged,
incredibly complex patterns that were so unmistakable and so
precise, even though he could never have recognized them only a
few seconds before. He "listened" to the lights and through them he
could experience the insistence that "his women" had been feeling in
the past several days! It was lust that went far beyond lust. It felt
like... life and death, like fucking him was no different from needing
air and water to survive. Like he was food.

And he laughed, because now he knew all that Kiko knew about
GlobalGro. It was amusing, in a way, how he had come here
expecting to have to confront Kiko on GlobalGro, to bully or
threaten or trick the information out of her. Instead, he was doing
almost nothing Ñ just sitting here Ñ and yet he had peeled her apart
like an onion, finding layers of her thoughts and experiences that
she would never have revealed to him in a thousand years. Kiko was
also seeking more information about Daggert's ties with GlobalGro
and Warren Jones, all in an attempt to eventually bring him down.
Glenn saw that Sal had been right Ñ a wing of the GlobalGro facility
Ñ the wing that housed equipment crucial to the success of a
research project code-named "Financial Nourishment" Ñ had been
clipped by each of the tornadoes that Cassandra had created.
Daggert had been obsessed with the success of this particular
project, and was desperate to find out whether and how someone
was attempting to undermine or sabotage the success of this critical
project.

Glenn smiled. Daggert could have no clue what he was up against.
Cassandra Bliss was almost certainly not all-powerful, but she had
targeted Daggert's interests with the same weather events that had
been so busy helping others. And whether she had known from the
beginning that Daggert would send Glenn to Extremity to investigate
Ñ well, it really didn't even matter if she had known that. The fact
was that he had been sent, and he had met Cassandra, and Cassandra
had undoubtedly looked into him much as he had just looked inside
of Kiko...

Cassandra had probably done this exact thing to him in her cafe. She
had stepped inside of him, and with more skill and practice at her
disposal she would have known all that could be known about him
in an instant, from his childhood memories to his personal history
to what he had eaten for breakfast on some particular morning
exactly ten years ago. She would have known his deepest secrets, his
hidden talents, his obvious foibles and even weaknesses that he
probably could not see within himself. In an instant, Cassandra
would have known him Totally.

Would she have felt like this about him, like he was feeling towards
Kiko at this very instant? He did not know what to call what he was
feeling Ñ compassion, connection, complete empathy ÑÊthey were
all correct yet not sufficient. Kiko needed him and he needed her. It
was powerful and complex and basic... And he needed to help her.
There were problems Ñ wounds, really Ñ in Kiko's aura that had to
be healed. They were more than apparent to him Ñ they called out
to him, were speaking to him in some soundless way. They both
requested and demanded healing. In some ways they were not unlike
the fuzzy breast-shapes he'd seen and addressed in the aura of that
blond stranger a couple of hours ago. That girl's aura had been
speaking to him, too, although he wouldn't have known how to
listen without Lauren's help. Now he could see that he'd had no
choice but to send his breast-growth outcome at that stranger, and
he had no choice but to help Kiko now. Kiko's wounds were
different, because they were psychological rather than physical, yet
the effect of these psychic aberrations on her body was extreme. He
could actually see how her brain and her emotions and her sex drive
were tied in invisible knots, twisted in a way that had shut down her
capacity to generate and experience a deep well of passion and...
happiness. She literally could not come because she could barely
feel. These were Kiko's most recessed depths, the depths that
Cassandra's last message had spoken of. These were Kiko's truths.
And there, resonating inside of him, was his response, and the
knowledge of his responsibility.

He felt a new confidence arise in himself as he could see the path
before him. Incorporating what he had learned when trying to heal
the huge-breasted aura of that blond stranger, he did not attempt to
pick and choose through a series of small maneuvers for Kiko. He
simply focused on all of her visible/invisible wounds and created
one large, over-arching outcome that they all be healed in any way
possible. It was almost like a prayer, or an offering to the universe.
As the glow around his hands remained steady, he felt like someone
in partnership with powers and creative forces far beyond his
comprehension, his own desires subservient to a wisdom that
remained unknowable and unapproachable to him, even now, even
with all that he could see and do. With Kiko still sitting there on the
floor, he sent the outcome and was pleased this time that nothing
seemed to happen, that she felt nothing and knew nothing of the
mysterious processes that would somehow take place inside of her.

And then, oddly, he was done. He stood up and Kiko stood up. She
regarded him warily, while at the same time frequently glancing
down at his cock-filled pants. He had done so much in the last
several minutes, but to her it must have appeared that he was just
sitting there staring at her in silence. And all this time, she had been
caught between feelings of helplessness and desire, between shame
and a steady pulsing attraction to his energy and his king-sized
cock. Not knowing the things he did, she had to be a confused mess.

"Kiko...", he began. "I'm sorry that I hypnotized you the way I did.
And I did it again, just now, although you won't remember it. I did it
to find out what you knew about Daggert's connection to GlobalGro.
We're after the same thing, though maybe for different reasons."

"What... What did I tell you?"

"Everything."

A different kind of trepidation animated Kiko's eyes. Although she
had been fearful of his power over her, until this moment she had
never appeared so vulnerable. Her lower lip quivered as she asked,
"Everything?"

"Everything. You shared all that you know about Daggert and project
"Financial Nourishment" Ñ which isn't much. And I know all about
your brother, Lin, about your wish to destroy Daggert... I know your
whole story."

She collapsed into her cushioned leather desk chair. The look in her
eyes... He couldn't tell whether she was devastated or relieved that
someone finally knew the details of her position. It looked for a few
seconds that she was going to cry, but then she looked at him
squarely, and asked, "What are you planning to do with me?"

He wanted to fuck her, there was no way to deny that. He knew her
more deeply and closely than he knew any other soul on earth,
although the connection was one-sided. And she was everything he'd
ever dreamed of physically. Sitting there behind her desk, her
mouth and eyes expressing a vulnerability that clashed with the
tremendous scale of her bared boobs, she looked like a superb
sexual fantasy come to life Ñ the world's most well-endowed female
executive, conflicted, half-naked, and getting insanely turned-on by
the hard cock of one of her employees. She was leaning back in her
chair, and all he could see of her were her head and neck and most
of her giant tits. Glenn blinked. God, he wanted to go there, to fuck
this woman back to emotional health. And his cock-head thought he
should fuck Kiko right now, and maybe the flashes of light and the
colors in her glow all agreed. But now... Now it was time to make his
way back to Maine. It was time to confront Cassandra Bliss, not
through dreams or computer messages or fortune cookies, but face
to face.

"I'm not planning to do anything with you, Kiko. I'm sorry that I
made you do... those things. The power that I can have over you
through hypnotism... It got to my head. It won't happen again."

She regarded him cryptically, her left hand unconsciously playing
with her right nipple through the material of her open blouse.

"I'm going to Maine now," he continued, ignoring how hard her
nipples looked.  "I'm going to find out what it is that Daggert is so
concerned about. And it's not about my job anymore. It's for me,
and maybe for you. I'm going to take him down if I can. And I think I
can."

"He's... He'll kill you. He's in Hong Kong now, but... He probably
knows everything, Glenn. He was ways of knowing. He might not kill
you himself, but he won't hesitate to have it done."

"I know."

"This project... I've never seen him so focused before. Whatever
they're doing up there... He acts as though it's the most important
thing in the world."

Glenn didn't answer. It was immensely complicated, what was and
wasn't important to him now. GlobalGro? Maybe, but probably not.
Cassandra Bliss? Definitely. And Crystal? He felt the butterflies in his
stomach again, just imagining what could happen if and when she
found Cassandra. He had to get moving! He took one last look at
Kiko, at the mind-boggling size of her tits and the sexually charged
color of her aura... Some day Ñ maybe some day soon Ñ he would
climb the heights of Kiko's twin mountains and see how much of his
giant cock she could take inside of her mouth. He would find her
again soon, and kiss those luscious lips and suck on those beautiful,
pert nipples... He was halfway to the door, his legs already beginning
the journey to Extremity, when Kiko called out to him.

"Glenn? You're just... going to leave?"

He stopped. The change in her voice told him that his work here was
not done. He turned his head and saw that the hand on her left
breast was playing with her nipple more energetically, pulling it
outward and then brushing around it in tight clockwise circles. Extra
blood circulated to his cock, which strained even more mightily
inside of his pants leg.

"Do you want me to stay, Kiko?"

"I... I don't... Are you making me feel this way?"

The color in her aura and the look in her eyes said it all, but he
wanted to hear her say it. "What way is that, Kiko?"

"I'm... I've never felt so..."

Her aura had early touches of red mixed in with the orange. Kiko
moaned and pushed her chair back with her legs, and then planted
her feet, wide apart, on the back edge of her desk. The long heels of
her sexy boots slid along the desktop making little squeaks, and the
smooth flesh of her calves shimmered seductively in the dim light.
When the hand that was not playing with her tits slid between her
thighs and he could see her lightly flicking at her pussy with her
index finger, it was Glenn's turn to groan. His cock had been hard
for at least twenty minutes now, and it was becoming very
uncomfortable in his pants. It was so easy to see himself walking
over there, and standing next to her. She would swivel her chair and
undo his belt and zipper, freeing his monster pole from its fabric
prison. He could see her hands exploring the phenomenal width and
length of him, exploring his size and then pulling all of him that
would fit into the long, embracing valley between her tits...

Kiko's aura became infused with more red and her breath came in
short gulps. She looked like she was immersed inside of a flashing
tequila sunrise and he knew that he was causing this escalation by
thinking the thoughts he was thinking. He couldn't leave her in this
state, yet he had to leave.

"Kiko," he said. "You're completely free of my control now. You can
do whatever you want, although I hope you won't call security on
me. What you're feeling... I know what you must be experiencing,
but I'm not causing it intentionally, I swear. Do you want help?"

"H...help?" The lids of her eyes were fluttering. It looked like one
stray thought would send her into an orgasm that she might never
recover from.

"Yes. I think I could help you."

"W...what kind of help?"

"You were very open with me under hypnosis. You told me that you
haven't been... excited, or able to achieve orgasm ever since Daggert
began to threaten your family."

She looked down, and ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip.
Any hint of shyness or embarrassment about her recent sexual
problems seemed long gone, wiped away.

"I... I feel... excited. Right now. I feel... incredibly excited!"

"Tell me what you want, Kiko."

She looked meaningfully at his pants leg and licked her lips. Of
course. The fire in her body, the color in her glow Ñ they
recognized the solution to her Need whether the rest of her was in
agreement or not. Maybe she didn't trust him or even like him yet,
but being around him, seeing the shape of his hard cock, feeling his
own lust and his powerful imagination fueling the flames of her
long-buried passions Ñ she needed to have the blaze extinguished,
or at least brought down to a tolerable level. Glenn considered the
situation, and then spoke.

"You're very susceptible to hypnosis, Kiko. Think of what you really,
really want. Let your imagination go free. Anything that you want to
feel, any type of physical or emotional experience... Tell me what
you want and I'll try to give it to you."

She looked pleadingly at his cock again, still hard in his pants, and
moaned.

"I can't, Kiko. There isn't time. I really have to go to Maine now."

"Then I want it all!", she blurted. "I want to feel safe, and loved,
and... everything a woman can feel when she's... attracted... And I
don't want to hate men anymore! I wasn't like this...  But ever since
Vic... made me..."

He couldn't be sure, but Glenn thought that he'd probably already
given her the kind of things she was asking for. Maybe the fact that
she was able to confess these things to him was proof. If he was
right, then she would discover the changes over time, bit by bit.
Maybe, though, it would be good to provide her with something
spectacular, just for inspiration or reassurance. He took his own
advice, letting his own imagination roam free. What if... It was
brilliant if it was allowed. She would be safe in her own world, and
she could have, in a sense, what her body knew it needed. A quick
check and then he sent it.

"Go home, Kiko. Put on the sexiest little outfit you own and lay back
on your bed. Then, just close your eyes."

"What's... going to happen? Is this hypnosis?"

"We already finished the hypnosis, Kiko. Funny how you don't
remember it, every time. You went blank and told me exactly what
you wanted to feel in vivid detail. Go home, and you'll feel safe and
oh-so sexy and dozens of times more ready to come than you are
right now."

"D...dozens of times?"

"Dozens of times. Trust me."

"And then... What? Can I... come?"

"It will be like fireworks, Kiko. It will be like riding on an exploding
rocket right in the middle of the biggest Fourth of July celebration
ever. You'll never be the same."

Her aura was still an intense shade of red-orange when he walked
out of her office. On the ride down in the golden elevator, he
thought about what had just happened. The caffeine-laden security
guards would come rushing back in about an hour and would find
that Kiko had left for the day. Glenn smiled. He had come here
tonight expecting to confront or argue with Kiko, and look at how
things had turned out. They weren't lovers Ñ yet Ñ but he had
entered her in a way that, in some ways, was even more intimate
than lovemaking.

He had directed that she not feel any further escalation in her lusty
aura until she was safely back home; nonetheless, she would
probably be a mess the whole way back to her apartment, and some
of the people she passed might think she was crazy, depending on
what she did. If things went according to plan, then she would
already be beginning to hallucinate, believing that he had changed
his mind, that he had returned to her and was coming home with
her. He would be with her in the cab or subway or however she got
home, and she would be completely convinced in the reality, just as
one does when sleepwalking in a dream. The Glenn who was only
there in her mind would evoke no distrust in her, no fear or
hesitation. On the contrary, he would make her feel warm and
trusting and every other thing that she wanted to feel at every
moment. And the responses of her body, the ever-building desires
igniting inside her sexual pleasure-centers as she made love to this
phantom-Glenn, would be very, very real. Once she lay down on her
bed, her lust would build, and build, climbing on and on until she
reached the absolute pinnacle of her physical limit. When she was
one hair shy of the point where she would do herself permanent
bodily harm, she would come in a single all-consuming orgasm, and
it would last for as long as her body could take it. And it would
resonate deeply, the echoes of her climax filling her with
confidence, and hope, and the ability to come like that again,
whenever she dreamed of him.

She would dream of him, too. He would visit her every night in her
imagination until he could come to her for real Ñ he had made a
point of that. There were no questions about whether they would
eventually become lovers Ñ her flashes of light and the strange
private depths he had visited within her had shown him that she
would come to love him, to want him and need him. It wasn't like
seeing into the future as one might think of it; no, it was more of an
absolute knowing, a sensing of a space inside of Kiko that was
prepared and reserved for these future events. He could know with
complete certainty that he would get his fill of Kiko's killer body; he
would run his hands and lips all over those perfect legs, and explore
the wonders of her Tokyo Miracles in so many ways, so many
positions.

And he had seen, too, that a real miracle would take place inside of
her when he did. His cock Ñ too huge now, too long to ever fit
inside of her without tearing her apart, would somehow penetrate
the same depths that he had visited with his aura. He didn't
understand how it could possibly work, but his new immense dick
was just right for taking intercourse into some other... place, some
other dimension or plane of existence. It was like the amount of him
that Kiko couldn't absorb with her body would be absorbed
elsewhere, or in some other way that was even more pleasurable.
And he was nearly certain that this miracle was not reserved for
Kiko alone. If he was right, then he could do this with any woman
whose aura sparkled for him.

Glenn shook his head and laughed. Just a few days ago, he had been
so alone and sexually frustrated, and Kiko had been a hundred times
worse! Now, when he finally did make love to Kiko, their lovemaking
could be transported into some kind of otherworldly zone that was
even more intense and satisfying than what he had experienced over
the last several days! And when he was finally there for her, she
would already feel so comfortable and intimate with him, the two of
them already having explored sex together so many times in her
dreams. It was a beautiful outcome, for both of them. He just hoped
that her apartment had thick walls.




CHAPTER 7
He wasn't sure when he began to stroke his cock. Her voice alone
was enough to get him hard, but when their phone conversation
unexpectedly changed into something more like phone sex, his hand
was already there supplementing her exciting words with a series of
deft strokes. Well, no wonder! Karen was flirting with him, outright
flirting with him, practically promising him that they would make
love tomorrow if that was what he wanted! What he wanted? Was
there any doubt as to what he wanted? He could hear her voice in
his head right now, hear her saying, "You know how I get so hot",
and "I want you to... touch me. Touch all of me, especially my...
breasts." His cock had began to spurt the moment those words went
into him. He was already on the cum-stained floor while talking to
her, there trying to recover from having shot his load from staring
at all four images of Karen in his studio. He didn't think there could
be any more cum inside of him, but when she started gushing about
having him touch her boobs and how hard her nipples got when he
painted her boobs and how much her boobs ached for him, his
stunned cock gushed, too, and was still gushing when she rang off.
He lay on his studio floor in a daze, unable to believe what was
happening. With no prompting on his part, she had reached out and
begun to seduce him over the phone, starting tentatively almost
begging him for sex by the end!

"They long for you, David, they ache for you," she had said, meaning
her gargantuan gazongas with their stick-of-dynamite nipples. He
couldn't believe his luck, he just couldn't believe it! His cock had
responded to her words as though the words were her lips sucking
the cum right out of his him. Oh God Yes!

He got hard again just imagining what it might be like to wrap his
lips around one of Karen's super-nipples. The thought burned
through him with the suddenness of a brush fire. He kept the image
firmly fixed in his brain and stroked himself, and in just seconds he
erupted again, moaning and groaning, feeling like he was falling into
a fever, a fever of blinding lust. He lay there on the floor, staring up
at the ceiling. The paintings of Karen were all there in his peripheral
vision, staring at him like giant sexual icons, totems of cum-inducing
womanhood that charged his studio with so much breastual energy
that it was like being lost at sea in an ocean of pure tit. His aching
pecker began to throb with life again. This was not good. If he kept
imagining what it would be like to play with Karen's breasts, then he
would be totally exhausted when she actually arrived. And the same
thing would happen if he kept staring at these paintings.

It took some time before he could gather his wits and make his body
move with purpose, but he eventually got up off the floor and
turned the paintings back around to the walls. He cleaned up the
mess and then he began to drink from the bottle of wine that his
teacher had left. It was good, it was numbing. He let the fruity liquid
ease through him, relieving some of his heat like aspirin eases a
fever. The contents of the bottle were long gone by the time he got a
call from Mr. Taylor.

"David, I, uh, wanted to explain... I didn't mean to run out on you
like that... It was inexcusable, but I... I... Oh dear, this is so
embarrassing..."

After having received the phone call from Mr. Taylor's wife, he had
an idea of what his old teacher was trying to say, even though he
couldn't make himself say it. It's inexcusable, but when I saw what
Karen Little looks like naked I couldn't help myself, I just had to go
bone something as fast as I could and being a married man that
meant my wife Ñ that was what his teacher was trying to say and it
was completely understandable.

"It's okay, Mr. Taylor Ñ Ed. I'm the one who's been standing here
painting her Ñ you can imagine how hard I get... I mean, how hard
it's been to concentrate, you know?"

"No, I really can't imagine it... Actually, I'd better not imagine it. Not
after... Ha! Well... But yes, yes, you understand. And I must say that I
don't know how you do it, David."

"Do what?"

"Paint her. I wouldn't be able to... She's too... I was afraid of her, you
know, when she was in my class."

"Afraid of her? Why?"

"Because she... No, I suppose I was really afraid of myself. Losing
control, I mean, of the class, of my... self. I tried to tell you what it
was like, having her in my class. She was bright, she'd raise her hand
to ask a question and all eyes would turn to see that simple thing,
just the raising of her hand. The... effect on the class, on me... She
tried to wear shapeless shirts, to tone down the effect. Pointless,
totally pointless, because she was far too... magnified, magnificent...
I can't quite find the word I'm looking for."

"Mammoth, that works for me."

"Yes, mammoth! That will certainly do. And she's even more
mammoth now, dear Lord! But anyway, it got... it got really bad. I
couldn't stop thinking about her back then. I was even dreaming
about her at night, very intense dreams that had me a wreck in class
the next day. I'd have to see her there and control myself after
having so many vivid dreams and... private thoughts. I had no
illusions, I was more than twice her age and happily married. We
weren't going to do anything... But I couldn't stop thinking about
her and it was so hard... It's a terrible thing to say, but I was happy
when she didn't take my class the second semester. I missed looking
at her every day, I won't deny that. But... but that's what I mean. I
don't know how you can be in the same room with Karen... naked...
and not totally... lose it. For me it would be impossible!"

He had lost it every time, coming under his painter's apron, filling
his underwear with semen. Impossible was the word for it, that was
for sure.

"But look, David... I only saw two paintings before I left, and for
such a brief time... but it was enough to see that they're remarkable!
You get that thing as the viewer that every painter wants you to get,
that feeling of being right there, of being the eyes that see. It's a
perfect window that you're painting, a perfect window to Karen
through your eyes. I could go on and on, the way the color comes
together, the sheer... sexuality, there in the paint... Look, I'm going
to ask you something that, well, I hope it isn't totally wrong, totally
inappropriate..."

"What?"

"You can say no, I want you to know that..."

"What?"

"We want to buy one of the paintings. The first one you turned
around. The one where Karen is up close."

David was struck dumb.

"It's... an amazing painting, David! And my wife... It's actually Peggy
who wants to buy it."

"But she hasn't even seen it!"

"I know, but... she wants us to have it. I think... I told her all about
your paintings after we... after supper. We had a very, uh,
celebratory supper and... Peggy felt very strongly that... well, some
meals are very special... She feels that if we had one of your
paintings of Karen here, perhaps we would be having these special
meals more often and, um... Oh dear, you understand, don't you?"

He thought he did and it was hard not to laugh. If he was reading
between the lines correctly, then Peggy Taylor had given an
enthusiastic thumbs-up to having a painting of a naked Karen Little
in their house. Their "celebratory suppers" would probably consist
of exotic dishes like sperm salad and poached pussy, and where was
the harm in that? Maybe they really would hang his painting in their
dining room, but he wouldn't be surprised if they had it installed on
their bedroom ceiling.

"We need to pay you well for the painting, no special favor,
otherwise I'd feel like we're taking advantage of you. What you have
there... If the other two pieces are anything even remotely like what
I saw, then they'll sell. People will want them. I'm... we're just your
first customers, David. There will be others."

"You think so?"

"I know so! All you have to do is get the paintings out there, let
people see them..."

"They aren't too... extreme?"

"Yes, too extreme, that's exactly what they are! But sometimes it
isn't a bad thing to go to extremes. Your paintings are completely
over the top, but they aren't... They aren't vulgar. There are so many
artists out there making vulgar work, just look at New York or
Berlin, you know what I mean. Lots of shouting, arms flailing around
like little children crying out for attention... Empty shock value,
that's all it is, a jolt of current but no light, no heat. But what you
have... Even at a glance I saw full engagement, creativity with
purpose. Yes, your new paintings are extreme, they're more extreme
than extreme. They're of Karen Little and they're like Karen Little Ñ
outrageous but real, too much but just right, fact that takes on the
form of fantasy... And the way that you painted her... It isn't just
Karen who is naked, David, it's you! The desire that you feel for her
as you paint all of Karen's wonders... You aren't even trying to hide
your desire! It's like looking through a sexual fever at a woman who
causes sexual fever! I can't think of a single painting in art history
that achieves that level of... heated focus, of burning, of..."

"Passion?"

"Yes, passion! That's what it is! You feel passion and the passion is
right there in the paint! It translates, it's palpably there! And it's
contagious. I believe that every person who looks at these
paintings... They'll recognize it, they'll see it... Do you know what
I'm trying to say?"

"I think so. But... It makes me nervous, the idea of showing these
paintings in public. Nudity causes problems. It isn't like we're living
in South Carolina or Virginia or some other backwards Christian-
right state, but still... And I don't have any idea of where to start, of
how to find a place, a gallery... And I only have a few paintings at
this point, it's all so new. I only met Karen a few days ago..."

"Well, do anything you have to do to keep her as a model, David! Pay
her part of what you get for the paintings... We were thinking five
thousand dollars for ours, would that be sufficient?"

"Five thousand dollars?" His jaw dropped. The price was way high
for his first sale, especially when the buyer was living on a teacher's
salary, and he said so.

"It's okay, really. Peggy came into a bit of money recently through
her family and she'll happily pay that much. You should see her,
David. She's... glowing! We'd pay more if we could..."

"No, no! The five thousand will be fine."

"I have a feeling that our painting will be worth a good deal more
quite soon. As to how and where to start showing your work... I have
this idea... I don't want to promise more than I can deliver, but I
think I can get one of your paintings of Karen into the Maple Festival
Art Show next week. You know how they turn that frame shop in
Five Forks into a gallery for the event?"

"Sure, I've seen it."

"Your work is far too good for the venue, far too important... It's
just a little country art show, after all, with a hundred dollar top
prize and some ribbons given out for the other best pieces. But
Congressman Jones will be there this year on a campaign swing,
which means newspaper people and TV crews. Paintings with as
much punch as yours could really get some attention in that kind of
atmosphere, I'm sure of it, and you never know where that could
lead. So let's put one of your new paintings in the show. You choose
which one, it won't matter... It will cause a sensation!"

"Yeah, maybe, but... Nudes like that wouldn't be a problem? There
will be families, children..."

It turned out that Mr. Taylor was on the committee choosing the
works for the show, and there were already two female nudes that
had been selected.

"They have none of the power of yours," he added. "They're very
academic, traditional, boring, really... But I have the leeway to insert
a piece or two into the show if I feel strongly enough about them.
The other committee members will be nervous about including one
of your paintings, about showing something with so much... power.
But they were the ones who opened the door to including nudes in
the show. One woman argued quite vociferously that we shouldn't
fear a public backlash about nudity in the twenty-first century, and
the committee agreed to put up a notice outside for parents with
children. The rules are set now Ñ they won't have a leg to stand on
if they challenge me on this selection."

It was all so much at once. The sale of a large painting, a show,
maybe some exposure on the news... David felt elated, but leery,
too. The idea of showing these paintings in public was a bridge he
hadn't expected to cross so soon. He imagined a news crew from
Bangor or Portland filming a correspondent right in front of his
painting, the cropping of the camera and the strategic placement of
the reporter's head blocking the most sensitive areas of the painting
from the eyes of an outraged public. "Heated controversy
surrounding the exhibiting of a lewd nude by Maine artist David
Hande Ñ details at eleven!" Did he want to risk something like that?
His painting might cause too much of a sensation, especially with
Karen's tits... Whoops. How would Karen feel about one of these
paintings being shown in the area? Or on TV? He'd never even
considered the question before.

They discussed this problem, and Mr. Taylor insisted that Karen
needed to sign a model-release form, a contract of sorts between
the artist and model that took care of any legal questions about her
willingness to be seen depicted nude in the paintings.

They rang off and David was alone at home again. Alone, worrying.
There was so much that he should be happy about, so much to be
hopeful about. Karen had asked him out on a date and she might
even want sex with him! He had sold a painting for five thousand
dollars, and might sell another one in a show! Why, then, did he feel
like he was plunging headlong into the jaws of disaster?

Maybe it was the bit about the model release form. What if Karen
didn't want him to exhibit any of these paintings in the area? This
was a likely reaction Ñ he had been asking a few people about her
now that he knew of her existence, and one thing that kept coming
up was her self-consciousness about the size of her breasts. She
hadn't been shy with him about them, but then she was modeling
nude, what would be the point? In public, though, it appeared that
she did everything she could to minimize the attention that her
titanic tits inevitably drew Ñ until yesterday, anyway, when she had
shown up at his door looking like the world's most insanely stacked
pin-up. Anyway, how might she feel about having any of these
paintings shown in the area, or shown anywhere at all for that
matter? They had never talked about it. She could end up feeling
used, exploited, which would doom any chance of a budding
romance between them.

He could give her money. One thousand, maybe, from his first sale.
She certainly deserved it, she was probably the main reason that the
Taylor's were buying the painting. It would be like a bonus, an extra
"thank-you" gesture. But the timing was awful. Wouldn't it look like
a bribe, "Here take this and let me show these paintings of you in
public"? Or, if his fantasies and desires all came true and he got the
chance to make love to her... Ooo, not good. He'd be treating her
like a prostitute. No matter what he said, no matter how he
explained everything, the timing would still be there. It would look
like an exchange of money for sex. He'd be lucky if she didn't slap
him.

But her words ÑÊ"they ache for you" Ñ were so strong! She was the
one who started to seduce him! He should be ecstatic. And he was.
Kind of. If she had begun to show even a glimmer of real interest in
him, he would be ecstatic, and she had leapfrogged past all of that in
the space of a minute, seducing him over the phone with promises
of getting his hands on her two megasuperincrediblygigantical
breasts!  She must not have a boyfriend after all, she must find him
attractive after all, and she was skipping past petting and dating just
like Sharon had, going straight to sex, and this time it was sex with
tits so huge and perfect that they were just unfuckingbelievable!

He was overjoyed, all abuzz... And yet afraid, too. Afraid of the
timing. Afraid to hope too much. Afraid that he was misinterpreting
something. Afraid that his brain and mouth would freeze and make
him look ridiculous. Or that, if his deepest desires came true and
they actually made love, he wouldn't know what to do with tits that
huge.

Wow. He'd actually said it to himself like that. It was ridiculous Ñ he
couldn't think of anything more exciting than fondling Karen's tits,
but how did you "fondle" anything that huge? He had experience
with Sharon's tits from years back, but Sharon's bra had only been a
triple-D. "Only". He didn't know what size Karen wore Ñ he tried to
read the tag of the magnificent black bra she had discarded on his
studio floor yesterday, but there had been no tag, no numerical
indication of its astronomical size. Maybe, he thought, mankind
hadn't invented an alphabet that could properly designate breasts
like Karen's. Anyway, just one of Karen's tits dwarfed both of
Sharon's triple-D's. Hell, taken together, Karen's tits nearly dwarfed
Sharon! He had wanted to reach out to Karen's breasts so many
times in this studio Ñ but now, if he was really going to get the
chance, how would he navigate them? How did you make love to a
woman with spaceship-sized boobs? It would be impossible to tend
to both of them at once. With his lips planted on one of Karen's
oversized nipples, the entire front of his body down almost to his
waist would be consumed by the surrounding flesh of that single
breast! It seemed like the other breast might as well be in a different
room, it would be so inaccessible. How did you play with those
things properly? He felt like a four year old kid being handed the
keys to a real car Ñ sure he wanted to drive it, but he really didn't
know how!

He laughed at his analogy, because he remembered reading a story
in The Sourcerer a few months back that had been exactly that Ñ a
four year old kid drove his unconscious mom to the emergency
room in their big SUV. It was one of those feel-good stories, not so
different than hearing about some dog trekking hundreds of miles
over unfamiliar terrain to be reunited with its kind and lonely
master. Did he have that sort of intelligence inside of himself? Was
he instinctively giant-tit-savvy? If Karen stood before him and put
her arms under her breasts, presenting them to him like the world's
largest and most delicious all-you-can-eat bosom-buffet, would he
find that he had the instincts and table manners to please her?
Would she want him to focus on her boobs right away, or would it
turn her on more if he explored elsewhere first, like he usually did
with Sharon way back when? Sharon had liked the way he tended to
her pussy first, giving her an orgasm before he went at her big tits.
Then again, she dumped him.

Oh. Oh no. He didn't even want to think of that. It was already there,
though, the thought. What would a man's life be like if he became
the lover of Karen Little, and then she dumped him? What did you do
after that? The fear of losing her as a model had been present for
some time, but this was worse. He already knew what Karen looked
like naked. He already knew that no other woman, with the possible
exception of Cassandra, was going to look that good naked. If he
really did get his wish, and got to make love to her... How did a guy
like him, a breast-man through and through, follow up an act like
that? Again, Cassandra, but she'd already made it plain that they
wouldn't be going there. But other than her, you didn't follow up
Karen. You couldn't. He got this picture in his head of himself at
thirty, drunk, destitute and disheveled, lying in a gutter somewhere.
"I fucked Karen Little once," his vision of himself slurred to no one.

Whoa! Enough of that! If she was into him enough to give it a go, he'd
damned well give it a go. He'd have to impress her, though. He'd
have to be smooth, confident, knowing. And in-control. Unless she
had a thing for being in-control herself. Hell, he'd be any way that it
looked like she wanted him to be. Strong? Submissive? Macho?
Sensitive? Straight? Kinky? He'd be any damn thing she wanted.

"Just be yourself," he heard himself think.

Great idea. If himself was what would keep Karen coming back for
more. Otherwise, he'd turn himself into whatever she wanted him to
be. But whoever he was, whatever strategy he adopted, one thing
was certain: He'd better figure out the best way to join his body to
hers in a way that wouldn't have him bouncing off of her or
knocking into and bruising her boobs with his elbows or knees.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Karen removed her giant bra and her panties and eased into the
steaming bath. She usually showered, rarely taking the time to enjoy
a nice hot bath. Tonight, though... She was almost desperate for a
way to ease the tensions in her body. Her heart was still pounding
from her phone conversation with David, and she needed to find
some way to relax. As her body slipped beneath the soapy water, the
level rose, displaced by her torso and legs. She'd filled the tub
nearly to the brim, but the waterline still did not climb very far up
the towering mass of her extravagant breasts. They became two
gigantic curving islands in a bubbly sea, two fleshy lands of paradise
waiting for David's hands and lips to wash ashore.

She soaked, hoping the water and the bath oils would leech her
tensions out from her pores, but her idea seemed to be back-firing,
because her heart was beating even faster and all kinds of doubts
were floating into her head. She had felt so much resolve on the
phone, more resolve than she could have hoped for, but it was gone
now. She reached up high, her cupped hands taking water to the
high summits of her twin tit-islands, and watched the liquid bubbles
speed down their massive slopes. Had she actually said "They ache
for you" on the phone? They did ache for David, her whole body
ached for David, but she still couldn't believe she had begun her
seduction in advance over the phone! She had heard his heavy
breathing on the line, heard the effect of her words on him. He was
getting just as hot as she was, and hearing his excitement made her
own excitement grow, further loosening her tongue. She started to
tell him how she felt, to give him a hint of the way her body was
burning for him. She'd wanted to run to him right then and there, to
fuck him as she had done so many times already in her fantasies...
But she played for time Ñ time to figure out how to make love to a
man with these monstrously huge tits! How would she move her
body in relation to his, how could she even hug him when she could
barely squeeze her breasts inside of this bathtub?

Did it matter? Of course it did. Making love to David in a vaguely
imaginative way was easy, but every time she got down to specifics
in her mind the picture got more confusing. Her breasts were so
gigantic now Ñ would she have to face away from David to feel his
body pressed against her? Did the size of her breasts condemn her
to that, to only being penetrated from behind? She would enjoy it Ñ
just thinking about it made her feel as though her vagina might
release enough lubricating fluid to overflow the rim of the tub Ñ but
she wanted to see David as they made love, at least sometimes, and
how would that work? She had been unable to see him during most
of her time modeling, the scope of her boobs like two fleshy
blinders that prevented them from making eye-contact. Why would
it be any different while making love? In a visual sense, any part of
David that was below the curved ridges of her preposterous pillows
might as well be in another room!

All of those months and years with so little interest in sex Ñ what
had she been thinking? She should have tried out a few guys in her
one semester of college, just to prepare herself for the day when she
would want to know how to be a good lover. She wasn't a virgin, but
then again she'd never had anything but awkward and unsatisfactory
sex. She'd had one penis in her pussy Ñ once Ñ and another penis in
her mouth Ñ once. She felt heat in her face, despite the calming
water. She had been an idiot, learning nothing. Why had she thrown
all of those opportunities away? Why hadn't she prepared for the
future, blowing some guys or at least experimenting with ways to
use her breasts wisely? She was going to seduce David for real
tomorrow, but without useful experience, without any sense of how
to navigate through the situation. Would her breasts literally knock
him over? Would they just get in the way, or were there things she
could do with them? They had stunned and then entirely captivated
her two young lovers in high school, turning them into prematurely
ejaculating feverish tit-fiends, and maybe the same would happen
with David and their sex would be totally unsatisfactory. Would the
fault be hers? Were there things she could do, certain techniques
that she didn't know, certain moves she could employ to make it all
flow? There had to be and she had to find them, because unless she
and David took sex to a place she had never yet gotten to, it
wouldn't work out.

She began to feel panic. She raised an arm out of the water and saw
goose-bumps on her fine skin. She had to figure it out, figure a way
to join with David's lean body with elegance and style, and maybe
even some feigned confidence... She closed her eyes and tried to
picture it clearly. She reached out her hands and David's hands met
hers, and she pulled his body into the warm embrace of her
overflowing breasts. She felt his hands move along the curvature of
her breast flesh. They were so tiny in comparison to her tits, even
when his fingers were spread out wide they couldn't even cover her
aureoles... His fingers closed around her hard nipples and she
looked up into his eyes...

Oh no! Not again! The eyes were wrong, they weren't David's! It was
him, the other one, the stranger who kept stealing his way into her
consciousness, the impossibly sexy apparition who kept interfering
with her dreams of David! No, not again, not now! Her pussy buzzed
with twice the energy of just a few moments ago, and she squirmed
her ass against the bottom of the tub. The unknown man made her
impossibly horny but she couldn't see David any more, couldn't
retrieve his image... No, no, go away, I don't want you I want David
but oh yes, yes, oh God she wanted him, the other man, she had to
find him, she had to have him, she had to fuck him!

She opened her eyes and tears streamed down her cheeks. Why was
this happening? Why couldn't it be easy, why couldn't it be natural?
The size of her boobs made sex with David a difficult enough thing
to figure out, but if she began to hallucinate about the stranger
during sex it would all go sour, she was sure of it. She could see
herself getting it on with David, getting over the initial awkwardness,
finding a rhythm together, finding positions and tempos that they
could both enjoy, doing it, loving it Ñ and then the horrible
hallucinations would come, and she would want the stranger, she
would want the sexy stranger's immense cock to be filling her and
her body would tighten up like she was rejecting David, and he
would think she was frigid or that she didn't want him, and oh
please, please let it all go smoothly, let David be a confident and
patient lover to compensate for the fact that she was an
inexperienced wreck, a near-virgin who didn't know what was
happening with her crazy body or her crazy mind and didn't know
how to make love to a man with these crazy breasts!

Tears ran down her cheeks, finding their way to the hollow of her
throat. What was there to do but try? Compared to her two high
school lovers, David was a man of the world. He had been away to
college and he was cute enough that he had surely engaged in sex
with some comely co-eds. He was obviously intelligent Ñ he got all
tongue-tied around her, sure, but no one could be stupid and make
paintings the way he did. She would rely on his experience, on his
know-how. She would let him guide her, just following his lead. She
would let David take her to the sexual promised land.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Masturbation! Masturbation! It's the new sensation that's sweeping
the nation! Holy moly! Why hadn't she been doing this since she was
three?

Jessica lay on her bed, her soaking wet index fingers still resting
between her legs. The smell of sex Ñ her sex Ñ rose from her damp
sheets and her sopping pussy. Oh God oh God oh God, that was
incredible!

She had drifted off for just a little bit, no longer than twenty
minutes, and the dream had come and the need to come had come
with it. She dreamed of some kind of orgy, of herself and Cassandra
Bliss and at least two or three other women all doing it together with
one man. The man had a cock that looked more like a baseball bat,
it was so huge, and there were titanic breasts everywhere, and two
of them had been her own! She had started out with really big tits in
the dream, with tits a lot like Karen's had been when she'd
graduated from high school. She felt two pairs of lips sucking on her
nipples and she wished that her tits were even bigger and they
started to grow, they grew so rapidly and her nipples grew, too, they
grew and grew until they completely filled the mouths that were
sucking on them. Something began to play with her clitoris,
probably another mouth, a mouth with an expert tongue that knew
just how to tease her clit and alternately dart inside of her tunnel.
Delightful energy shot to every part of her body and then she felt
fingers probing into her depths, her wet vibrating depths. Oh God
yesss, she was going to come, not in the "maybe I came" way that
she'd experienced up to now, but in some new and totally explosive
way, a way that would awaken her lust forever! It built, it built
further, she felt like it should already be happening it was so much,
and it built yet further and then it crashed down as her pussy
gushed forth, and she awakened bucking and writhing on the bed,
the orgy a fiction but the orgasm real, and her fingers were going a
mile a minute inside of her and she moaned and gasped and
grunted, and as it became even more powerful she flipped over and
screamed at full volume into her pillow, screamed and screamed
and screamed...

Just lying here like this, just lying face down with the orgasm
echoing in her brain and body, she could feel that her breasts had
grown some more. There was more mass being squished into the
mattress, the difference was unmistakable. It wasn't like the dream,
her breasts weren't suddenly gigantic or anything, but there was
more there, as though she could be measurably different in only half
a day.

I want that, she thought to herself. More breast-flesh. Hearing her
sister's voice seducing that guy on the phone, hearing Karen telling
this David fellow that she wanted him to touch her breasts Ñ the
words had entered her pussy just like they must have entered
David's dick. When a woman with Kingdom-come-sized tits told you
that she wanted you to touch them, it had a certain power. Jessica
felt her own potential, the potential to also have gargantuan breasts
and all of that sexual power, and it made her clitoris feel so hard
and energized...

She had gotten so excited after listening-in on Karen's phone-breast
seduction that she locked her door to read more sexy stories on-
line. She put the words "expanding breasts" and "magical" and "sex"
in Google and with persistence she found all kinds of stories that got
her motor running even faster. There were stories with huge-
breasted Amazons and women who'd had growth spells cast onto
their tits and even stories where women could control the size of
their breasts during sex, making them any size that their lover
wanted...

And that was the one that got to her, that was the kind of story that
made her pussy ache so hauntingly that she had to jump onto her
mattress and take off her jeans and panties to start fingering herself.
And then in mid finger-fucking, the dream, and the ability there, the
ability for her breasts to grow during sex... She wanted it, she
wanted that power. She couldn't get it, of course, they were just
ideas that worked in stories, never in real life. Why, then, did the
ideas reverberate in her pussy this way? Did this kind of thing
happen to other people?

Definitely. Why else would writers write the stories? Why would
people read these stories? She thought about this. That feeling of
something extra, the possibility to go beyond mortal limitations Ñ it
was a huge turn-on, or at least her pussy thought so. Why else would
there be so many ancient myths and stories about beings with
supernatural powers? There were themes that kept coming up again
and again in disparate cultures, and some of them had been given
new erotic life in the stories on the Web. Like the ones where a man
or a woman is granted three wishes, or perhaps just a single wish. It
was like the ancient Aladdin story or even the Brothers Grimm given
a new sexual context. The characters almost always wished for
something stupid, and they were often given ironic results, perhaps
as punishment for being so greedy or dimwitted. She wondered why
no one ever thought to have their characters wish for the ability to
actually do what they read in stories. That would probably be her
wish Ñ it would include more than what she could come up with all
by herself, because other creative minds would be included in the
fulfillment of the wish.

She felt her clitoris buzz with renewed life. Wow, wouldn't that be
fun, to find stories where characters had special sexual powers and
to imagine that she was absorbing the abilities as she read about
them.

"Ohhhhh...", she moaned, her pussy calling her to the task. She put
on a nightgown and went over to her computer and waited, her
pussy throbbing, until the blue light of her monitor illuminated the
room. She began by typing "sexual powers" and "huge breasts" and
"stories" into her search engine. Pressing the return key, her fingers
returned to tease at her moist slit. The hunt was on.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He felt dizzy from blowing them up, and sat down for a minute to
let his head clear. Their size and shape wasn't quite right, and they
were definitely too hard. Maybe if he let just a little bit of air out of
each one?

David had dashed over to the Dollar store, but it was closed. He hit
the Quick Mart but they only stocked plastic soccer-sized balls, and
they wouldn't do. He drove to Five Forks and just managed to beat
the closing hour of the Ames, and purchased these two inflatable
beach balls. They were silly and insufficient stand-ins for Karen's
breasts, but they would have to do.

Now, what to attach them to? A mannequin would be perfect, but of
course he didn't have one. What about...

After ten minutes of work with a roll of duck tape, he had fashioned
an extremely crude version of Karen by attaching the two beach
balls to a tall freestanding coat rack. It looked ridiculous Ñ a rack
with a plastic, multi-colored mega-rack. And David felt ridiculous.
This "Karen" was about as sexy as, well, a coat rack with two beach
balls strapped onto it. He felt like an idiot. And he felt like he must
be one pathetic and fearful lover, to be doing this.

He made certain that his windows were covered and that his door
was locked. If anyone, especially Karen, even suspected that he felt
the need for a dress-rehearsal before attempting to have sex with
her...

Okay, so how to begin? How about a simple hug? He pressed the
front of his body against the beach balls and was able to wrap his
hands around the pole. That was good news, except that it told him
nothing. Karen's body was not a pole, it wasn't like she was just a
spine with tits attached. He would be stretching his arms past her
tits and her arms and the width of her back. Would he be able to
place his arms on her back to press himself into her? Maybe, or
maybe he'd have to aim higher, going for her shoulders.

Or he could aim low. Could he step between her boobs, and hug her
down low, maybe letting his hands rest on her ass? He tried the
maneuver but the duck tape held his beach balls too tightly together
to squeeze himself between them. Karen's tits would move, unlike
these things, but would they move enough? She was so graceful on
her feet that you imagined her boobs as nearly weightless, despite
their incredible size, but they must each weigh a ton. How hard
would it be to part them, and could he actually place his body in the
center of them?

His cock rocketed forward at the thought of being practically
surrounded by her breasts. Oh crap. Premature ejaculation, he
hadn't even considered that. Just thinking about pressing into her
tits had him on the edge. How would she react if he streamed cum
all over her the instant he touched her tits?

Push the thought away, push it away. You didn't have that problem
with Sharon, so why worry about it now? Because Karen was not
Sharon, because if Sharon's boobs were Venus, then Karen's boobs
were Jupiter. Or the sun. No, the whole fucking Milky Way. 

Wow. Now wouldn't that be a provocative title for one of the
paintings of Karen? No "Reclining Nude" or "Girl with Raised Arm",
no attempt at some distanced kind of title. "The Milky Way". It was
right in your face like Karen's painted boobs were right in your face,
yet it was soft and poetic. too. It even hinted at how Karen's breasts
were becoming the center of his world, of his existence. He liked it,
he liked it a lot.

But back to his attempts to tame her twin galaxies. He felt so puny,
so overmatched, but wasn't that the reason for these silly beach ball
trials? He tried out a number of exploratory moves, and each time
he felt caught between extreme self-embarrassment and extreme
excitement. He was exploring sexual positions with a coat rack and
two beach balls, for God's sake, but every time he let his
imagination go free, seeing Karen in place of this inert model, he got
insanely hot. He remembered all of the positions that Sharon had
helped him to explore, from the missionary position to doggy-style
to her on top to going at each other with one of them upside down.
All of the moves he'd learned with Sharon might work with Karen, or
they might not.

It's really up to her, he concluded. With this rigid wooden pole
sporting its ridiculous version of a super-pair, hardly anything
looked possible. The beach balls got in the way of most frontal
assaults, or they made him assume positions with his body that felt
unnatural and placed a lot of strain on his arms. Her gigantic breasts
would be incredibly sexy impediments to so many ways of coupling
unless she could properly bend and position the rest of her body in
relation to his. Her body was so beautiful and strong, and he
remembered the way she had stretched out her leg that first day,
demonstrating her flexibility. Skating had given her the ability, that
was for sure. Did she have the experience, the sex-smarts?

S.I. Ñ sexual intelligence. Was there such a thing? If so, was it
intrinsic or a product of practice? If it was almost all from practice,
then he wouldn't have much of it. Karen, on the other hand... She
was not a virgin Ñ he didn't really know that, but he knew it. A girl
as gorgeous as her with nuclear-nippled super-boobs and an
otherwise perfect body would have to live in a cave to get out of her
teens without exposure to sex. Maybe she didn't have a boyfriend as
he'd thought, but she must have had one at some point.

He deflated the beach balls by sticking pins in them and took his
crude "Karen" apart. He hadn't learned much, but what he had
figured out might be crucial. He could not take control of the
situation. Her breasts would not allow for it, they required too much
cooperation from the rest of her body. If he tried to surprise her
with something, or tried to lead her somewhere that she resisted
even slightly, then it wouldn't work. Karen would have to take the
lead, and since she was the one who had the experience of
navigating a man's body with her super-boobs, she would already
know that. He could adjust and do all he could to make the
experience go smoothly, but she would need to show him how an
ultra-uddered dream girl liked her sex.

If there was going to be any sex. He stood in front of his window and
looked out at the night sky and the buildings and trees below. He
didn't know what house she lived in, but she was out there, waiting
for tomorrow just as he was. He wanted to be hopeful, but there
were so many things that could go wrong. Karen could change her
mind Ñ she seemed to do that a lot. Or the model-release thing
could weird her out, or she could go ballistic when she learned that
her former high-school art teacher had bought a nude painting of
her, or she could go even more ballistic when he told her that one of
the nude paintings might be included in that Maple Festival art show.
It was ironic or pathetic or whatever, but maybe totally awkward sex
with Karen was as much as he could hope for. With all that could go
wrong, maybe bumping and gracelessly knocking into her knockers
wouldn't be such a bad outcome.



   
Chapter 8
He hated waiting. Lying in wait in the normal sense was fine, sitting
and waiting for some sucker to pass by this camouflaged turn-off at
high speed was fine. You sat about fifteen feet off the highway and
smoked a cigarette and set up the radar gun and relaxed, knowing
that you'd catch some poor idiot sooner or later. This was different,
though. He was looking for a single car, a white rental Camry with
the Skensgard reporter behind the wheel. Even with so few cars
traveling on this stretch of lonely highway, this kind of watching
taxed the nerves, taxed the mind. You had to pay attention for too
long, and that always irritated him. Plus, he was being ordered to do
risky things, dangerous things that would have him covering his
tracks for months or even years. He would have to lie to the press,
lie to the Medical Examiner, suppress or abscond with evidence and
just plain lie and lie and lie until things calmed down, and who the
hell knew how long that would take?

He remembered a simpler time, back before the GlobalGro place
and all of the headaches that came with it. He had been a young
trooper, not very idealistic, not a go-getter, not even caring much
about laws or public service or any of that shit. He just did his job
and got off on the power the badge gave him. The badge and the
gun. Now that he was County Sheriff he had even more power, but
he also had bigger headaches and they were starting to get huge. He
hated doing even small favors for people Ñ "Sheriff Snellings, my
cat is stuck in a tree", or "Sheriff Snellings, my husband beats me,
can you help me?" Ñ it made him sick, having people lean on him to
fix their problems. It was all part of the job but he mostly hated his
job, especially after the big politicians and the money people put
him under their thumbs.

He had welcomed their interest in his career way back when. There
had been nothing but plusses, no minuses Ñ hell, it had been
Congressman Jones' influence and nothing else that got him his
promotions. Warren Jones had muscled through all sorts of red tape
to change Patrolman Snellings into County Sheriff Snellings, and he
had been too thrilled with his rise in pay and position to even know
that they owned him now, that he'd been played for a sucker. He
was their boy, their monkey on a leash, their eyes and ears and
muscle near their precious GlobalGro plant, and now he was going
to have to be their assassin. Get rid of the two reporters, they had
said. And the Bliss woman, too. Make them disappear or if you can't,
make it look like accidents, like a string of bad luck hitting the
county. Just do it. Or else.

He rolled down his window and spat. Fucking idiot politicians and
their fat-cat business cronies, and fucking GlobalGro. He'd been
nothing but a fucking lackey ever since that place got built. A bunch
of snobby scientists and investors with more money than God, but
none of them must have any real brains. Genetic scientists and
greedy politicians Ñ they thought they were so smart, so clever. So
they had some secret breakthrough that would make them all richer
than oil sheiks. Well, goody gumdrops, but which one of them was
the genius that brought Glenn Cantell up to their neck of the woods
to snoop around? Who had the bright idea to bring in a reporter
who had a history of taking down the very sort of empires they were
trying to build?

He didn't know or care what kind of experiments they were
conducting in the research facility. They could be creating a race of
flesh-eating zombies for all he cared. But even though he didn't
know squat about their research, he thought he knew two things:
One, they must be getting close to completing whatever they were
doing, or they wouldn't be taking the risk of making these reporters
disappear; and two, they were scared of whatever had created those
tornadoes. Both twisters clipped the roof of the most crucial section
of the GlobalGro plant and it couldn't be an accident, or so they
thought. Somebody or something was trying to destroy their
precious project by unknown means, so send a hot-shot
investigative reporter to figure out what was going on. Trouble must
be that the reporter was doing his job too well, and now he was
finding out too much.

Snellings had disliked the Cantell asshole from the first instant,
disliked his boots and his cock-eyed smile and his fucking nosy
questions. He drank a fifth of Johnny Walker Black to celebrate the
reporter's departure from their sleepy little world Ñ let the fucker
return to his big city life with his big-city aspirations, let him rot in
that cesspool filled with rats and dirty immigrants and coloreds and
every other kind of low-life bastards. But that hadn't been the end
of it, it looked like the asshole had just kept stirring up trouble,
zeroing in on GlobalGro and who knew what else. They probably had
the Cantell asshole's office bugged, his phones and e-mail and
fucking everything he touched would be watched or wired. There
was no telling what those people could and couldn't see or hear, and
it looked like they'd found the reporter on the trail of the
Congressman and the Congressman's buddies and that wasn't going
to cut it, nosirree. Worse, Cantell had enlisted another reporter, this
Skensgard piece, to help him snoop around where neither of them
should be snooping.

"Bad move, girlie," he spoke out loud, blowing a series of tight
smoke rings up at the windshield. "You become lucky victim number
one. Now just move your sweet ass down this highway..."

Three-hundred thousand, that's what he would be paid to get rid of
them. One-hundred grand apiece. It was good money, it was great
money, but it was janitor's wages because he was being paid to clean
up somebody else's mess. Fucking Warren Jones or fucking whoever
else it was who had screwed things up so badly.

He saw a pale sedan approaching from the east and became more
alert. He knew exactly what he was looking for. The Skensgard
woman had left New York ahead of schedule for some reason. It
made things more difficult because the two reporters wouldn't be
together as planned, he'd have to take them out one at a time. The
Skensgard bitch put the car on her credit card in Boston last night,
she wasn't covering her tracks and obviously didn't have a clue of
what she was in for. He got the call to intercept her, and they even
gave him the 411 on where she was spending the night. He thought
about driving to Portland to do the job at her hotel, but it was too
risky. No odd patterns for himself, everything normal, that was his
plan.

He did think about it, though, about driving down and slipping into
her hotel room in the middle of the night. They'd given him a
snapshot of the bitch working out at a gym, and man-oh-man was
she something to look at. She was more scrumptious than an all-
you-can-eat lobster dinner, a Chinese chick who was small but
fucking sensational, like she'd been injected with girlie steroids that
upgraded every fucking part of her, including her tits. "Have some
fun with her if you want", his contact had said, and the meaning
couldn't have been more clear. The risks of some fun and games
inside the little muscle girl's cunt or ass were minimal, or maybe
even zero. Any D.N.A. evidence would pass through his hands before
going anywhere else, but only if he did the job in his own county. He
could see to it that it got lost or contaminated or switched with
someone else's sperm. He could probably get away with some real
satisfying back door poking, stuff her muscle-bound, bubble-butt
ass with the old Snellings snake...

The car approached and his heart sped up for a second, but it wasn't
her. The car passed him and it was pale blue and it was an Accord
and a man was driving. He cursed under his breath and lit up
another cigarette. There was no other highway she could be on, she
had to pass him to get to Extremity, so where the fuck was she? He'd
been sitting here all afternoon, she couldn't get past him unless she
came to town in a fucking helicopter.

"Come on, bitch," he muttered and blew out smoke. "Come and
meet my pet snake."

His idea for this Skensgard piece was simple: Pull alongside her car
and aim his gun right at her head and make sure she saw it. He was
pretty sure that would be enough to get her off the road and into
the trees without even firing a shot. If she wrecked and died in the
crash, then it was done. If she was only injured Ñ well then, he'd
have to injure her more. Stick his rod where he wanted to stick it
and have some quick fun, then a good twist of the neck would do
the trick, and who could trace it to him? If the M.E. made any fuss
about the presence of sperm in the dead girl, he'd just switch or lose
the sample, then come up with a plausible explanation or two about
the bitch's last hours on earth. She was gorgeous and a horny one,
too, and she stopped somewhere and fucked some local guy silly
before getting back in her car. Then she got spooked by a moose
and wrecked her Camry and broke her neck and died. It was sad but
at least she got a good fucking from somebody shortly before dying.
There were worse ways to meet your end.

If plan "A" didn't fly for some reason Ñ the rare oncoming car made
him abort things, or she saw his magnum and just pulled over
thinking that he was an overzealous cop giving her a ticket the hard
way Ñ well then, maybe he'd get to use his Tazer. He was getting to
love that thing, he got a real kick out of seeing some dumb-ass
jerking and flopping from the jolt of electricity. There were stories
and warnings coming out these days about suspects having
coronaries from the device, but fuck that. Bunch of pussy human
rights types, no doubt, the same ones who cried bloody murder
when a few Iraqi prisoners got tortured or killed. He sure as hell
wasn't going to let anyone legislate away his right to use a Tazer,
and he almost hoped that this Skensgard broad made him whip it
out. He'd never seen big titties jiggle while a body jerked from the
juice before going limp. Who knew, maybe that could lead
somewhere, become his newest way to perk up his pecker.

If she ever showed up. He stubbed out his cigarette, half smoked,
and lit up a fresh one. He'd gotten to be a heavy smoker in recent
years, but he never smoked like this, like a chimney. Impatience,
that's what it was, and he knew that most of his impatience was
coming from his dick. He'd only used it on hookers in the past
couple of years, a handful of skanky regulars who didn't mind
getting it hard in the ass the way he liked. He was no Romeo himself,
especially now that he had the big gut, but he knew what he liked
and what got his rocks off, and he couldn't wait to do this job and
move on to the next target. Cassandra Bliss Ñ holy shit, just thinking
her name made him instantly hard. What a fucking piece! He didn't
know how she fit into things or why she needed to be removed Ñ
they didn't tell him shit, but she was the one thing that would make
this stinking assassination job a real pleasure.

He'd begun to hear the stories, highly exaggerated rumors as far as
he'd thought, stories about how gorgeous she was. They didn't give
him a photo and he had the sense that she was an add-on, like they
didn't know whether she was a true danger like the reporters, but
wanted her gone just in case. He learned what he could about her,
not being so nosy that anyone would think he was all that interested,
really. He kept hearing that she was fucking gorgeous with a set of
unreal knockers. Hmmmn, another comely hole to park the
Snellings snake inside of?

He paid a visit to her house early in the day when he figured that
she'd be at her cafe, getting to know the lay of the land for what
would have to happen. He knocked, making sure, and pulled some
tools out of his jacket that could get by her lock without too much
trouble. He thought to try the knob before going to work, and the
fucking door wasn't even locked, so he just walked right in.
Careless, so careless, even if it was rural Maine. She was almost
asking for it, here all alone, no dog, no neighbors... No phone? He
didn't see one in the expected places, and made a quick sweep of
the downstairs to make sure. No phone, down here at least. Cell
phone? Maybe, but for some reason he didn't think so.

Taking his time, relaxing into the job, he noticed that her house was
beautifully appointed, with old antique furniture and all kinds of
rugs and other textiles hanging all over the walls. Some of the wall-
hangings were so densely patterned that they were hard to look at,
they kind of messed with his mind. He wandered through all of the
downstairs rooms, getting the sense that this lady was a really
strange one. There was no stove in the kitchen, no refrigerator, no
microwave or even a hot plate. No silverware, no pots or pans...
Wasn't she a fucking baker? Well, maybe she did all her cooking at
the bakery and brought things home.

He started to get sort of spooked the more he looked around. There
was no television anywhere, no computer, no electrical devices of
any kind besides a few tasteful floor lamps. What was this broad,
Amish? A nun or a hermit who just came home to knit complicated
rugs by candlelight or something? Again, maybe the computer was at
the cafe. Even so, her lifestyle gave him the creeps.

He climbed the wooden staircase, being careful not to touch
anything, no need to leave prints. He was looking for the nerve-
center of the house. Every place had one. Sometimes it was the
kitchen, or an office, or even a basement workshop. You knew it
when you found it, you knew you were in the space where people
spent their time, the place where they did their business or had their
fun or did their kinky fucking Ñ it could be anything, any activity
they were into, but so far he wasn't finding any sign that this woman
ever did anything here at all. No office upstairs, no wastebaskets full
of junk mail, still no TV, what the hell did this bitch do when she
wasn't working?

He was starting to think he'd find a coffin that she climbed into
every night until dawn, but then he entered a bedroom that was
more like a library and there was a feeling of life in the room. Okay,
so she read at night, that was something. He took a handkerchief
out of his pocket to prevent leaving prints and he snooped. Books
everywhere about every kind of religion, every scientific discipline,
books on pyramids and alchemy and symbolism, and countless
cookbooks. He found massive leather-bound books written in Latin,
and others, older and more weathered, that looked like they were
penned in hieroglyphs or some strange shit even older. Real page-
turners, definitely on the bestseller lists. Shit, killing this broad
would be doing her a favor. Who lived like this in America, with a
roomful of dusty old tomes and no TV?

Exploring further, he passed a large bathroom with a gorgeous old
claw-foot tub, and then he found it, her bedroom. There wasn't
much going on even in this room, a huge bed on a brass frame, a
single dresser and some kind of old-fashioned loom as long as a car.
No photos anywhere, no knick-knacks of any kind, no make-up kit
or jewelry, wasn't that odd? But he felt the pulse of something here,
this was where she hung out the most, this was where whatever she
cared about took place. Careful to use his handkerchief, he opened
her closet door. A single black dress, hanging like some fucking
icon. No sweaters, no blouses or skirts or pants Ñ come on, every
bitch in the country was into clothes even if they were depressed
enough to slit their wrists. He'd had some sorry bitches locked up in
jail over the years, and even when they were behind bars they were
concerned about their make-up and their fucking clothes and shoes.

He crossed the room and opened up the top drawer of her dresser,
and that was when everything changed. Bras. The drawer was
absolutely stuffed with bras, even though there were only a few of
them. It was the size of the bras that took up so much space. He
lifted one out... Hollllyyyy Sheeeeiiiitttt!!! His dick went rigid in a
heartbeat, something that almost never happened anymore. He
stumbled back and nearly fell on her bed, holding the giant
undergarment between both hands. There was no tag, no indication
of its specific size, but Hollllyyyy Sheeeeiiiitttt, wouldya look at the
size of those fucking cups! Replacing the one bra, his dick gasping
and his hands and everything else shaking, he ran down the stairs
and out the door, and sped over to the cafe.

She was even more gorgeous than he'd heard, with titties so huge
and round that they nearly knocked western Maine's supreme
miracle, Karen Little, into second place! Hollllyyyy Sheeeeiiiitttt!!! She
was unbelievably sexy, better-looking than Karen, better-looking
than fucking anything! Her body animated a tight black dress like
the one in her closet in a way that should be outlawed, in a way that
could disrupt whole economies or governments or draw long lines
of helpless men to their doom. He blinked his eyes a few times,
thinking she might start to look a little less sexy at some point, like
all woman did when you looked close enough with an eye out for
their flaws. Nothing, no change, the bitch was fucking perfect in
every way from every angle. He thought of a coffin again, thought
that she looked like the world's most beautiful lady vampire, the
supernatural night-goddess who had spent her whole life sucking the
sexiness out of every other woman in the world, sucking out their
sexiness so it could be added to her own again and again and again.

He had been contracted to kill this bitch but she was so recklessly
gorgeous that he couldn't help wanting to make the best impression
possible. He found himself trying to suck in his gut and he wished
he'd had time to pick at his teeth. Sweat was beading up all over his
body, and his pecker felt like a lightning rod in the middle of a
violent thunderstorm. He gave Cassandra a gawking kind of smile
when he ordered his coffee, introduced himself and said that he'd
been meaning to get by her cafe for some time now. His pores
seemed to open everywhere so that he was sweating like a pig as he
drooled all over her molten hot body, drooled all over those
intensely beautiful eyes and that succulent mouth, and somehow he
lost track of himself, forgot what he was saying and even forgot that
he was him, Bob Snellings, the man who would end this super-sexy
bitch's life one day soon.

She turned away from him briefly to pour his coffee and he almost
fucking died from the shapeliness of her ass. The black dress was
there but you couldn't hide the allure of ass-cheeks that
stupendously round and firm. His balls started to ache like they
were manufacturing sperm in quantities that he hadn't been built to
hold. It was the image in his brain, the image of himself pressing his
big belly against those stupefying mounds of ass-flesh, parting her
goddess-crack by ramming his lightning rod up her butt hard and
hurtful the way he liked, reaching around her to grab hold of those
super-titties with his thick, sweaty hands, to squeeze them until she
screamed in pain...

He snapped back into himself when she held out his cup of coffee Ñ
fuck, even her hands made his dick ache! Her pinkie finger brushed
against him as he took the coffee and his ass tightened from the
contact, the pressure to shoot his load so intense that it hurt, it hurt
bad. He grimaced and had to bounce on the balls of his feet for a
minute, trying to hold it in, trying not to explode in his pants. His
dick was screaming for mercy but then something went weird all of
a sudden, and part of the pressure in his balls and his dick did an
about-face, pressing in both directions like he was about to blow his
load and shit a brick all at the same time, and he actually
whimpered from the two-sided pain as he fished for his wallet. He
ground his teeth together and held out his dollar bill, his hand
shaking all to hell, and he kept fighting the painful pressure in his
ass and staring at her titties and her nipples, the titties and nipples
he would see without the black dress very, very soon.

He was just starting to gain ground in his silent war with his dick
and his ass when she asked him if he was okay. He looked up from
her titties and saw something there in her eyes that made him edgy,
that made him nervous. She was smiling pleasantly but something
was wrong and he had to avert his eyes from her gaze. Her pupils
were so dark that they looked like raven's eyes, yet the whites shone
as clear and bright as polished marble. They were too intense, too
knowing, and looking into them made him feel like his sense of
himself was as thin as tissue paper, like he was a wisp of an idea of a
man rather than a real man. He felt small or shrunken at the same
time that his hard-on and the monster turd trying to push its way
out his ass felt bigger than ever. Motherfucker! How huge was this
piece of shit inside of him? It felt like his intestines were creating a
fossilized dinosaur-turd, and it was pressing out so hard that he
could imagine that he was about to lay it like it was a massive,
stinking egg! He whimpered again as it felt like it suddenly grew even
bigger, like he was about to give birth to the world's largest and
blackest turd out the backside, like he was fucking ass-pregnant
with it!

She said something else friendly but he couldn't listen, he was
already walking away with stiff little tight-assed baby-steps towards
the door to leave, trying to get out the door before the Mesozoic
mound of crap inside of him broke loose and stank up the place
forever. Once outside, the symptoms immediately eased, and that
change coupled with the bright sunlight and the clear blue sky made
it feel as though he had stepped from one world into another in an
instant, like he had passed from a terrible bowel-driven nightmare
into the normal world of reality in a single step.

Pleased that his fierce intestinal attack had passed so swiftly, he
took a swallow of his coffee on the sidewalk and spat it out
reflexively, the afternoon breeze blowing much of the boiling liquid
right back into his face.

"Motherfucker!", he yelled, the hot droplets burning his skin.

The coffee fucking sucked! He wiped it away from his tender face
with his sleeve, feeling like he might retch. The taste of the coffee
was almost enough to make him happy that he was supposed to kill
the bitch! He staggered away from the cafe feeling like the coffee
had ruined his teeth and gums, that staring at Cassandra Bliss had
turned his brains into dick-meat, that his ass was raw and unreliable
and the rest of his whole fucking body was so turned-on that he had
become nothing but a giant dick with legs, like there wasn't much
else alive in him but the need to fuck that bitch, to fuck her fifty
times a day for the next fifty years. He made it to his cruiser and
dumped his rancid coffee on the street, and got inside the car and
started smoking like he was smoking now, trying to figure out what
to do.

He didn't know why or how this woman could be a threat to the
GlobalGro people and it wasn't his place to ask. They wanted her to
disappear and they were paying him to make her disappear and
disappear she would, but he couldn't kill her, there was no fucking
way. He might slap her around a few extra times just for the coffee,
but offing her was too much of a waste, what man in his right mind
would kill a woman who looked like that with a body like that? Tits
like hers did not come around every day or any day, nor did faces
like that and eyes and lips like that and holy fucking shit he wanted
to rub his throbbing dick over every single centimeter of that
woman's body! You did not cause something like that to fade from
the face of the earth, you just didn't. There was a way, there had to
be a way...

His nerves were shot but he just sat there in the car and smoked and
let different ideas run around in his head, and after a while it all
began to look pretty easy. Make her disappear, but that didn't mean
that she had to be dead. He could use her, over and over again. He
knew of an abandoned shack where he could tie her up and have fun
with her for weeks, with no concern for being found out. Hell, if he
had to organize search parties for the woman, he could assign that
stretch of forest to himself and go there and play with those
monster titties for hours at a time. It would be so easy, she lived on
a street with no other houses, and she was new here, no family, few
friends...

Sitting in his cruiser now, waiting and waiting for the Skensgard
bitch to appear, the pressure was getting to him. Not the pressure of
the waiting or the pressure of having to murder strangers Ñ hell no,
it was the pressure in his dick, the pressure that made him feel light-
headed whenever he thought about Cassandra Bliss too much. He
hadn't been right since picking up her massive bra and he wouldn't
be right until he drove his dick into all of her holes. He looked at his
watch. Nine-thirty, and the Skensgard bitch should have been here
hours and hours ago. Maybe she'd already gotten into a car
accident, hit a moose or even turned around to head back to
fucking New York City for some reason. He'd been sitting here for
half the fucking day, was he supposed to wait forever?

Nine-thirty. Cassandra Bliss would be at home, alone in her house,
maybe reading or weaving or whatever she did. Maybe lying in or on
her bed. Naked.

"Fuck this!", he growled, his dick ready to tear a hole through his
uniform. Enough of waiting to bump off the other woman, he'd do it
in the morning if she ever showed up. Maybe he'd have to abandon
his plan of running her off the highway, but so what? There would
be other opportunities, he'd get her alone somewhere and zap her
with the Tazer and come up with another way for her to die
accidentally. Fuck, maybe he'd drag her to the same cabin where
he'd be doing Cassandra and make them lick each other out while he
played ass-dive musical chairs, his dick taking turns with their
pretty little butt-holes.

He drove slowly back to Extremity, even though his dick was
screaming at him to speed things up, just hurry up and do the bitch,
walk in her house and get her in a choke hold and drag her into the
car. Once she was in the back of the cruiser behind the protective
screen it would be a done deal, she was his to do with as he pleased.
He didn't listen to his dick, though, not totally. Drive slow, say hello
to anyone he saw, act real cool and normal. I'm just cruising
through town like always, nothing special, nothing out of the
ordinary. He did this and then killed his lights before turning onto
Norris Lane. Slow and quiet, stealthy and crafty, that was the ticket.
Quietly, steadily, he crept forward...

The sudden clang and thud made him jump enough that he bumped
the top of his head on the car roof. Motherfucker! What was that?
The cruiser sounded all wrong as he killed the ignition. Switching off
his radio and the inside lights so things would stay dark and silent
when he opened the door, he stepped out into the darkness to have
a look. Out on the pavement he saw just how dark it was on her
street, how perfect it was for remaining undetected. The night was
as black as Cassandra's hair and he didn't want to give himself away
by lighting his flashlight. Getting down on his hands and knees he
looked under the rear of the car and thought he could see
something hanging down all wrong near the back, like his muffler
had fallen off or caved in. Son of a bitch! He shifted his knees and
belly in the road gravel and reached out to probe at the muffler with
his hands. Ouch! Something skinned one of his knuckles and it made
his arm jerk, which made the ends of his fingers touch the hot
muffler for too long. Motherfucker! His hand hurt like shit, but at
least he knew he could still drive, his plan could still work. The
muffler may or may not fall off and his cruiser would sound souped-
up when he drove off, but that was okay. He'd just have to make
sure he didn't leave any car parts on her street as evidence, and
then he'd be home free.

He got back inside the cruiser and took out a cigarette. He'd
planned on parking a little closer but this was okay, he could still
see the house. He flicked his lighter but it wouldn't spark. Son of a
bitch! He tried again and again but there was no spark, the piece of
shit Bic was being a pain in the ass. He had matches somewhere but
couldn't turn on the light to find them, so he kept playing with the
lighter, adjusting the flame knob this way and that, trying it over
and over. It suddenly roared to life when he had it too near to his
face, and he felt the heat of the long finger of flame as it scorched
the bottom of his chin. Motherfucker! It hurt Ñ there was going to
be a nasty red spot there Ñ but at least he could light his smoke, so
he sat back and puffed away and tried to ignore the pain in his hand
and pain in his neck as he watched the house.

She could have company, but it didn't look like it. No car out front,
no porch light on. The downstairs lights were burning, plus a lamp
in her bedroom. Which floor was she on? He sat there, waiting for
clues. Part of his mind worried that somebody would come jogging
this way and see him parked there, but the chances were really close
to zero. No one came here, the road was dead-end and unlit and it
was almost like it was all meant to be, like the best-looking woman
in the whole damn world had placed herself into the ideal situation
for abduction. Her customers would wonder where she was in the
morning, but there might not be real concern for a day or even
days. When his colleagues went to her house and found that she had
no phone, no computer, no dog, didn't even lock her fucking door,
they would all think what he was thinking: The bitch was asking for
it. They would pursue the case with him, no one likes bad things to
happen to people, but in the backs of their minds they would be
saying, "Stupid bitch, you think I'm gonna put out my time and
energy trying to find your ass when you did nothing to help
yourself? You're the most gorgeous woman in creation and you're
going to live in a way that's like putting out an all-points bulletin
that you're ripe for kidnapping or raping?"

The downstairs lights went out at ten-fifteen. Twice he saw her pass
by one of the bedroom windows and his cock rocketed forward
from the sight. Just seeing a tiny piece of her from this far away had
him ready to lose it, her shape was that stimulating. He was hoping
that she would take the back dress off in front of the window,
maybe do a slow and sensuous strip-tease for the benefit of what
she thought was an empty landscape outside. When he conceded
that this was unlikely to happen, he hoped the bedroom light would
go out and it did, but a new light appeared in her bathroom window,
dimmer and warmer and dancing around. Candles. The light grew in
intensity, indicating a whole bunch of candles. He hadn't looked too
closely inside the bathroom, but there had been a shelf lined with
candles, he remembered them now. He brought the image into his
mind, looking at the details he had failed to really think about. The
big freestanding tub to the left with the beautiful claw feet, a
wooden chair in the right-hand corner, the washbasin and toilet...
Had there been a toilet? He didn't remember one but it was
probably at the right, behind the door. The whole right-hand wall
though, had shelves with candles, he remembered seeing that even
though it hadn't made an impression at the time. She was in there
now with the candles lit, she must be...

Getting ready to take a bath!!! He imagined Cassandra Bliss in a sheer
nightgown or a silk bathrobe, bending over to light the candles in
her bathroom, her immense titties nearly spilling out so far that
they'd snuff out the flames. Hot water was running into the tub, and
she lifted a dainty foot and tested the water temperature with her
toes... Just thinking about this little scenario sent shock waves
through his groin. He imagined Cassandra drawing the robe off of
her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms, her huge, creamy
titties revealed in the warm flickering light of the candles...

"Holy crap!", he exclaimed, the image in his mind too much to
handle. His cigarette fell from his lips and landed right on his boner.
He felt the heat and smelled cloth burning and he shouted as flame
erupted like his pants had been pre-soaked in lighter fluid. He beat
at his groin with the flat of his hand to put the fire out and missed
once, slapping his right nut so hard that he yelped. Groaning, he
doubled over, his big gut smothering the fire in his burning pants.

It took a good two or three minutes before he was himself again. His
ball still ached and it felt like the tip of his dick might have a
second-degree burn, but he was ship-shape enough to go do the
bitch in her bath. No more waiting, and no more fucking mishaps. If
there was even a chance that he would be able to surprise Cassandra
Bliss, naked, in her bath, then he was there. It would be like
"Psycho", except no knife, no killing, just grabbing hold of those
tantalizing ta-ta's and ramming his rod inside of her. She could
struggle, she could scream, he didn't care. You've got no phone to
dial 911, bitch! You've got no neighbors! Be still and try to enjoy it!

He picked up his Tazer Ñ he didn't think he'd need it but it might
help frighten her, and you never knew when some bitch would turn
out to be quick or know some fucking martial art. He switched off
the cruiser's inner lights again, then stepped out into the cool night
air. The moon was rising above the mountain tops now, a shade past
full to the east, but it wasn't high enough to yield any troublesome
light. His dick felt cold as he took his first furtive footsteps towards
her house, like the night air was getting inside his pants Ñ he
probably had a hole in his trousers and even in his jockeys from the
cigarette fire. Fuck it, he was one step closer to hooter-heaven, to
ass-alley, his rigid cock pushing at and maybe even out of the crotch
of his uniform. This was going to be the most exciting night of his
life. This was going to be...

A brilliant golden light flashed from her bathroom window. He
dropped to the pavement, momentarily disoriented, and his chin
made contact with the asphalt, jarring his teeth into biting his
tongue. Motherfucker!!! His hard and scorched pecker hit the
asphalt, too, and the burned tip screamed in pain. Fuck fuck fuck!

He lay there for a moment, tasting blood in his mouth, afraid to
move lest she look out and see him approaching. Nothing happened.
Motion-detecting light? After maybe thirty seconds, he pushed his
aching face off the road and sat there, looking up to her second
story windows. What in the hell was going on in there? The house
looked normal, but there was a glowing rectangle still burned into
his retinas, the memory-shape of her bathroom window all lit up
like crazy. It hadn't been a motion-detecting lamp, it had been some
explosion of light inside. What did she have in there, nukular
bombs? A million candle-powered bulb from a fucking lighthouse?

He sat his wide rear on the asphalt and put a finger in his mouth to
examine his tongue, and when he drew it out it was covered in
blood. He could feel the front of his tongue thickening and it ached
like hell. His chin, too, was scraped up pretty badly, the burned spot
now suffering from additional trauma. He was worse for wear, but at
least it didn't look like the light had exposed his approach to the
house. So what had it been, what caused it? It must be... He didn't
know what it was, he'd never seen anything quite like it. It had been
a little like the flash from a camera, but much warmer, almost gold
or orange, and maybe a thousand times brighter. Or had it? He
hadn't seen it spill out the window, it hadn't lit up the leaves of the
big maple there not far from her house. More importantly, it hadn't
illuminated him as far as he knew. Weird. Like a light that didn't
travel much, even though its brightness had knocked him off his
feet. He tried to come up with an explanation, remembering her
bathroom as he'd passed it. There had been nothing in the bathroom
that could produce a light like that, he was certain. Hell, bright and
powerful as it was, you'd need to have special electrical work done
for the house, and this bitch was practically anti-technology, her
house was so devoid of electrical appliances.

Another mystery attached to a very mysterious woman. Maybe he'd
make her tell him all about the light while he had his throbbing
hammer jacked up her ass.

The door was unlocked as before. He gave a light knock, just in case
someone else was there inside. He'd have the perfect excuse now if
he had to abort his plan midstream. "Hey, I saw this freaky light and
thought the place was ready to go up in smoke." He entered, saw
and felt that all was completely still downstairs. Edging over to the
staircase, he began to hear something. Music. A stereo? No, singing.
Soft and low, almost like humming.

He took each step cautiously, but the stairs didn't creak. The soft
singing became more distinct with each upward footfall, and near
the top of the stairs he paused, struck by the quality of the sound.
She seemed to be quietly singing a wordless tune, singing it gently,
like it wasn't much more than breathing. Her voice was fucking
amazing, pure and haunting, like her vocal chords were as hot and
built as the rest of her. He followed the tune for awhile, falling into
its relaxing cadence. It sounded foreign and the melody wasn't
familiar at all, but every note was the perfect note and he almost
wanted to sing along. He wished that his mother had been able to
sing to him like that when he was little. He might have loved her
then, he might not have...

Fuck this!, he thought, shaking the melody out of his head. He was
here to put his rod inside this bitch and take her away to a place
where he could play with her giant titties for weeks on end, not
dream about a happier childhood!

Three quick steps brought him to the top of the stairs, just three
yards or so from the bathroom door. It was shut and he could see
the waving light from the candles under the crack. His heart began
to beat fast. It was time to find out what a pair of titties looked like
that could fill the bra he'd picked up earlier in the day. Blood
rushed to his dick but also to his tongue, which hurt like crazy and
felt like it was twice as big as it should be. A little pain to match her
pain, a little blood to match her blood. Fuck it.

He knew the bathroom door would be unlocked. You didn't lock an
inside door and leave the big one open to have the rest of your place
ransacked. He took out his handkerchief and twisted the knob and
slowly pushed the door in.

She kept up her light singing even after the door was wide open.
What, was she wearing a blindfold? He stepped in, his hand on his
Tazer, ready for anything.

"Good evening, Sheriff," she said, calm as pie.

She was submerged in the tub, high mountains of bubbles all over
the surface of the water. She was looking right at him and somehow
having her head displayed without her body made him even hornier
than he'd been in the cafe. Her wild dark hair was wet and stuck to
the perfect flesh of her cheeks and neck, and the exquisite shaping
of her face and jaw screamed at him, making his legs shake. Fuck,
any and every part of this piece was almost too sexy to look at! You
could decapitate this bitch and still want to fuck her face, every
single part of her was that fucking beautiful!

"You should not be here, Sheriff. It is a mistake. Go downstairs and
give me a few minutes to dress. I'll make you some tea to calm your
nerves, and then you might want to call it a night."

What was going on here? She didn't appear to be the least bit afraid
of him, she was even giving him fucking orders!

"Thud ub, bidge! I'm in thardv here!"

She laughed right in his face Ñ not a cruel or mocking laugh, more
playful, like they were sharing a joke. Was she laughing about his
swollen tongue, about his burnt crotch and the singed and blistered
tip of the cock that was screaming forward because of how
impossibly hot she was?

"I'm sorry, Sheriff, but I can barely understand you. Maybe I can
help fix up your wounds. Your tongue must hurt terribly and your
chin..."

She glanced down at his burnt pecker and the blackened hole at his
groin. A fresh little smile illuminated her perfect features.

"You look like you've had quite a time of it already tonight. Don't
you want me to patch you up? Then you can go home and forget
your agenda and see if tomorrow is a better day."

He was so enraged that he thought about giving her the Tazer right
there in the bath. Would it fry her with all that water involved?

"It's a bad idea, Sheriff. It might fry you, too."

A stab of fear shot through him. Had she read his mind? And why
was he the one who seemed to be the more afraid? He was big and
had the Tazer and the gun and she was just a bitch lying naked in an
antique bathtub!

"Thud ub, bidge! Thtand ub and ged oudda da dub!"

She laughed again, that playful laugh that was almost as musical as
her earlier singing.

He was going to lose it. His blood seemed to be rushing everywhere
Ñ to his face in anger, to his swollen tongue, and especially to his
swollen and blistered dick. He had never abducted a woman and
didn't know how she was supposed to be reacting, but it wasn't like
this. Her utter calm couldn't be pissing him off more, but there were
counter-forces in his own body keeping him from going into a blind
rage. His dick was going crazy and it was like his eyes were
intractably glued to every bit of her skin that showed above the
soapy bubbles. And making his dick go even crazier, he was just now
realizing that what he had mistaken for two especially high
mountains of empty bubbles in the tub were actually her sensational
super-titties, rising high and wide up out of the water but masked by
a layer of white froth. DamnDamnDAMN!!!

"UB!", he barked, brandishing the Tazer.

Something fierce flashed through her eyes for an instant and his
aching dick applauded her momentary reaction. So he could make
her angry, or maybe frighten her. He'd want to see that look,
magnified, when he forced his cock into her back door.

"Your thoughts sicken me, Sheriff. I'm going to demand that you
leave now. I tried to warn you away from this confrontation in
countless ways, but you've been far too pig-headed to get the hints.
How many mishaps would you have to suffer before a light bulb
brightened your brain for a few seconds? Even at the cafe, even with
a log as hard and rank as your heart pushing at your anus, you
refused to question the wisdom of your intentions. I am losing my
patience, Mr. Snellings. I think you should take this opportunity to
leave while you have it."

"Bidge...", he hissed.

"It is not to your advantage to make this personal, Mr. Snellings."

"You bucking bidge! Ged oudda da dub or I'll bucking bap you!"

She didn't laugh this time. She simply raised a hand out from the
soapy froth and peered at it.

"You will 'bap' no one tonight. You have all sorts of plans for myself
and others but they are nothing but puffs of rancid smoke, they
won't come true tonight or any other night, do I make myself clear?
I am being quite generous with you, offering you an alternate path,
an alternate fate, which you are refusing. I will give you no more
warnings, Mr. Snellings. You have five seconds to turn around and
run for your life."

He couldn't take any more of this shit, he stepped forward with the
Tazer and...

"Relax," she commanded and he did.

All of his plans for her felt like they were a million miles away, so
far away that he just stood there like there was nothing to do. He
saw her chew on her lip, and the simple act on that exquisite face
was too beautiful to describe but it also cut through the relaxation,
and some part of him deep inside became terribly afraid. She looked
quietly anguished. Like she was going to have to do something that
she didn't want to do.

"I see that we both have no choice to make, Mr. Snellings. Our
threads intertwine tonight and there is no escaping it."

Even if he wasn't a million miles away he probably wouldn't know
what she was talking about.

"So you're determined to see me naked, is that it? You want to see
the goods, you want to possess this body and have some fun with
it?"

He couldn't answer but the answer was yes yes yes! If he could ever
travel the million miles back to himself he'd have to have her, there
was no way he couldn't do it. He'd tie her up and plug her ass with
his pecker until the end of time... All he had to do was come back
from wherever he was, still here but so far away.

"All right," she sighed. "You win. I will comply."

It was about time, but somehow this didn't feel right. He was relaxed
like she'd told him to be but he had this feeling deep in the pit of his
faraway stomach that he should turn and run, that he should turn
and run from his entire life, run fast and run far and join a
monastery or hide in a cave to keep himself away from what was to
come. At the same time, his dick was about to go nukular and it
didn't want him to run away at all. She raised her knees out of the
water and his heart almost exploded, they looked so fine!
Translucent bubbles clung to them, but in the few spots where he
could see her flesh his eyes felt like they should squint, like he
should turn away or maybe even pray.

"So you think I'm a beautiful woman," Cassandra said in her perfect
voice, allowing a few more inches around her knees to rise out from
the bubbles. "You want to see my breasts and see my legs and grab
all of this perfection with your meaty hands. You're dying to enter
me in every way from every angle and there is nothing in this
universe that you want more, even your own life. Is that how it is,
Mr. Snellings?"

Yes it was that way but he couldn't speak, the extra bit of her legs
that he could see was making him feel faint or something. His aching
dick was throbbing like it had never throbbed before and his tongue
was throbbing, too, and even his eyes and his brain were throbbing,
like he was becoming nothing but a giant throbbing machine who
used to be called Bob Snellings.

"I'm sure you've heard that saying before Ñ 'Be careful what you
wish for'. You've heard that but you never understood it. You don't
understand it even now."

Oh God he wanted her! Him and his dick and every throb wanted
her! The relaxation she had told him to have was falling away,
stripped away by the throbbing everywhere. Up! Up! Show me more!

"I just love bubble baths," she said as she stood up in the tub, water
dripping from her breathtaking body.

His dick instantly gushed cum but that was so far away, a lifetime
away. His breathing was fucked-up and he couldn't help squinting
even though he wanted to look at her, wanted to look at her and
take in every detail like he never had in his life. She was still mostly
covered in bubbles but they just added a glistening sheen to her
shape, and the exquisiteness of her shape, everywhere, was going
into the throbbing and turning each pulse into an explosion in his
brain. He stared at the wide and full expanse of her thrusting breasts
through half-closed eyes and saw her insanely full nipples poking
out of the bubbles, and something became alive in him but
something died, too. He took in the perfect-beyond-perfect shape of
her soap-covered hips and thighs and calves, and the deaths inside
of him began to mount. He squinted more as bubbles popped or slid
away from her abdomen and shoulders and he couldn't stop looking
even though the more of her he saw the more he felt like he wasn't
there.

"Are you ready for the full view?," she asked him, bending forward
to pick up a spray head with attached hose.

Her immense breasts pointed down with the movement of her body
and just the grace of that one simple action destroyed most of what
was left of him. She was going to rinse all of the bubbles away and
there was only a scrap of him still present to witness it. But OhGod
did that scrap want to see her, to see her totally bared in her full
glory! Something in him knew now that she was Other, that there
would be nothing left of his mind once he caught even a glimpse.
There was no other direction to go, though, no way but forward and
she knew it, too, she'd known it from the beginning even though she
had tried to give him a chance. She turned on the water and placed
the nozzle at the top of her head, letting gravity rinse away the
bubbles that had been protecting him, leaving his shattered eyes to
catch just the littlest vision of her devastating beauty, her
obliterating beauty, and with her total nakedness the room erupted
with blinding golden light so bright but so fleeting, and he was lost,
lost inside in the complete darkness, lost forever in some place with
no light and no hope and no exit. But he had seen her, he had seen
the sway of those breasts and the perfect round aureoles and her
perfect waist and perfect legs and, just as all the light was burning
everything dark, there had been just the littlest glimpse of the
mound of wet hairs above her perfect pussy, her divine, sanity-
devouring pussy...