SATURDAY
Myra woke up.
She relaxed. It had all been a silly dream. She had converted a lifetime of sexual frustration, career frustration, and self-aware mediocrity into a ridiculous excess of sex. Turned herself into breeding stock in a futile subconscious effort to get fucked, and still managed to fail at it in her own dreamspace.
“You gotta do better,” she scolded herself. Myra made a firm list of resolutions, right there. She was going to quit her dead-end job. She was going to find a new one in a real city, one that didn’t reek of cow poop and economic anxiety. She was going to start jogging. She was never going to eat another cupcake ever.
Myra sat up, and felt the weight of two big titties hanging off her chest.
“Oh noooo,” she said, horror-struck. She wasn’t even wearing a shirt. Just totally topless, with two big melons with two big nipples. And she had no idea where she was and where she was sleeping. It wasn’t even a bed. She was on the floor, on a carpet with scraggly beige fibers.
Myra stood up. At least she was wearing underwear. She gawked at her new body. Her feet were totally hidden somewhere underneath her boobs. Hips stuck out on either side, and, feeling behind her, an ass that wasn’t hers. The ass she recalled was okay, pouchy, starting to sag. She could bounce a quarter off this one.
The room was a guy’s room. Not hers, at least. There was a bed in the middle of it, a small queen-size. The sheets were soaked with something sticky. There was a set of golf clubs up against a wall, and fist-sized divots in the drywall for some reason. Sun streamed in through the window. A full-sized mirror hung on the back of the door. The girl in the mirror was—it was certainly not a dull looking girl hoping hard that a dusky complexion and a law degree would get her above a 5. It was like 90% bimbo with maybe 10% “toss some Greek in there for variety.”
Her lips were ruby red. Myra was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing makeup. But she was chewing bubble gum, somehow, a big wad of pink gum. She blew a bubble and stared at the mirror.
She was pretty hot. Myra licked her lips. Sucked if she was a silly bimbo girl though. Not hot. Or maybe really hot?
That surge of awareness and fear was fading. Myra fought to hold on to it, to convince herself that this was just a dream, even now, with her tits preceding her. She flicked on a TV in the corner of the room. A newscaster lady sat there, smiling brightly. She was normally dressed. It was a big relief.
Except there was a bright pink cupcake on the desk in front of her.
“And the company is welcoming all residents to a New Beginnings open house starting at…” the girl said. Her eyes kept straying to the cupcake. So did Myra’s.
God, she was hungry. Belatedly Myra remembered that her body was calling the shots. She needed food in her. It seemed likely her life was mostly about putting things in her various holes, now. She giggled. Holes.
She opened the door.
The kitchen was in the middle of the living room in a small one-bedroom apartment, and something was frying. Myra was suddenly, desperately ravenous. She hadn’t had protein in days.
Todd stood in the kitchen, with Erin. The other girl was casually blowing him while he made sausages on the griddle.
Memory flooded back. Right, they had come home, planned to flee the town, started to pack… but they were so tired. So, so tired. Todd had simply collapsed on the bed. Erin had crawled in besides him, and Myra… Myra had fallen asleep on the floor. And slept until—until—there was a clock on the wall but it was one of the funny ones with dials instead of numbers.
“Oh right,” Myra remembered. She was kinda dim now.
“Careful with the griddle, it’s hot,” she said, for the sake of saying something. Erin had learned to deepthroat. She had Todd’s dick all the way in her mouth, and when it emerged, it was practically a magic trick. Her friend hadn’t once looked at her, or anything besides Todd’s cock. Hot fat spattered over Todd’s rippled torso. He didn’t seem to notice the burns. He was a huge slab of muscle with a head bolted on top. Big testicles swung between his legs.
It dawned on Myra that she was the smart one in the family.
It was a chilling thought. Her cunny was needy and empty and she was starting to feel the various needs of her body—sex, food, sex. But someone had to keep things going.
“Where’d all the food come from?” she ventured. “I thought all of it was like, drugged and stuff?” Did they learn that? Hadn’t they gotten some sort of flash drive with all the evidence-y stuff on it at some point? Where the heck had that gotten to?
“There was a box of stuff outside,” Todd explained. “Clothes and food and you know, stuff.”
Oh. Myra wandered over to it. A cardboard box, in pink and green, with various parcels inside. It smelled heavenly. There was a big pink box inside with a huge collection of coagulated pastries. Myra started to eat it on the floor. It had to be chock-full of bimbo-building chemicals and stuff but the alternative was to hang around Todd’s cock. It was the smart move.
One of the items inside was a big jar of red pills simply labeled “HAPPY PILLS.” Myra sounded the words out. “Well, that’s just insulting,” she concluded, between bites of dough. Although… pills that made you happy… pretty good deal.
“Umm.. who left the package there?” Myra said, eventually. She moved long-lashed eyes over to the clock. Had the hands moved, like, a whole bunch? There were a bunch of crumbs on the floor. The box was empty. That was weird.
Todd and Erin weren’t in the kitchen, anymore. The unattended sausages had burnt, and the smoke alarm was blaring. Myra wandered over and turned off the fire. She thrilled to it, pleased. She had made a positive contribution!
The other two were fucking in the bedroom.
Erin was grunting, up on the bed, while Todd stood next to it, pushing his dick into her. Her tits practically dragged on the bedspread, they were so big. Every so often Todd gave her a meaty thwack on the ass. Myra sat on the carpet and idly played with herself until Todd finished, spraying Erin with a big blast of cum.
“So I was thinking we would run away as far as we could?” Myra said, once they had finished, and seemed a little more with it.
Erin’s eyes immediately shot to Todd. He shook his head.
“No,” he grunted. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
He gently took Erin’s head and lowered it to his lap for cleanup duty, then smacked his palm with a fist.
“Walter. All we have to do is beat the fuck out of Walter. Beat the FUCK,” he grimaced. A bit of spittle flew out of his lips. “Out of WALTER.”
Myra nodded, eagerly. It was exhausting to come up with plans. Keeping them all from burning to death had taken a lot out of her. And she was still hopeful that if she just hung around Todd long enough, he would finally put a dick in her.
The bureaucracy of bimbo care was getting to Peter.
He had this big fuckin’ body, two big swinging balls, a cock that was practically always up. He had muscles for days. And yet he was just… very… exhausted.
He had a stable of twenty girls. Twenty! He had stopped bothering with names. He let the status hierarchy work itself out. And they all had to be properly serviced and well-fucked, kept in decent clothes, he had to find food for them, and water, and soon enough there would be twenty growing bellies he had to fend for. Good god. A Dad twenty times over.
For awhile he had just laid down and let the girls ride him as they pleased, like he was a sort of vibrator. He’d gotten maybe two hours sleep. How could he sleep, with the risk of men poaching his females.
He had spent the morning making over the top two floors—well, below the CEO in the penthouse—as general quarters. Office cubicles had been torn apart by his girls and made into living spaces. Computers were piled high in empty conference rooms. The break room he had staffed with two of the more with-it redheads, as a commissary, and he had sent a few blondes down to the lobby in search of more food.
“Pauline?” he said, turning his head. Some brunette was sucking him off. He let her continue.
Pauline appeared. She wore a t-shirt and a pair of bright pink shorts. She had brown hair down just to her shoulders, and unusually small tits, but she and her partner were invaluable aides-de-camp.
“Sir?” she chirped.
“Any sign of you know who?”
“Cammy says no, and she’s stationed with the binoculars overlooking the parking lot,” the girl reported.
Peter nodded. Maybe he wasn’t going to come. Maybe he was the only guy left, depending on whatever was going on in Tower Two. But Peter hadn’t seen any guys besides him since the big rally.
“Honey, you should eat something,” Alicia said, by his side. She had appointed herself Queen Bee and was responsible for his fucking schedule. Generally she kept it filled up. She wore a tight bustier with an open midriff, a not so subtle reminder that she was his first, his first breed. And a wedding ring of course. His own he had taken off when his fingers got too big.
“Fine,” Peter said. He ate a blue cupcake mechanically, then stood up. The brunette fell off his cock with a squeak. “I’m going for a walk,” he announced. “Pauline, come with me.”
She walked in his wake. The floor was quiet. Peter had beaten the hidden sound system to death, then dumped it out the window. He felt like he had gotten plenty of hypnotic messaging and chemical manipulation already.
“It’s just so many holes, Pauline,” he said.
Pauline kept her mouth shut.
“Twenty girls. Three holes per girl. That’s…” he concentrated. He could do this. “...fifty.”
“Sixty,” Pauline corrected, as a test. Peter didn’t turn to glare at her. This WAS serious.
“Whatever. A whole bunch of holes. And I’ve just got one cock. I could spend all day fucking and not even bring half the girls to orgasm.”
“You could have them play with themselves?” Pauline suggested.
“Oh, they do plenty of THAT,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “But I’m supposed to be fucking them into the carpet. I’m supposed to be sitting on a throne made of pussy and sticking it into assholes until the sun rises. I’m supposed to be out there finding even MORE slits to put babies in! And getting ready to fight a guy who looks like a video game character!”
Peter walked over to a window. The sun had risen well overhead. It shone down on the crop fields not far from the AgraRipe campus.
“Want a blowjob, sir?” Pauline offered.
“I don’t know what I want,” Peter said. His erection started to grow. “Well, okay, one blowjob, but quietly.”
Cammy came running by, just as Pauline started to sink to her knees. She was rising up the ranks despite herself, with her meager boobs and page-boy hair. She was the only Indian girl in town, and a rare commodity. Plus she was incredible at anal.
“It’s him,” she said. She had knotted her AgraRipe tee under her tits, to show off what she could. “It’s Todd.
“Of course it is,” Peter said.
The two men stared at each other.
Todd wore jeans, one of the pair that had showed up at the door, and a white t-shirt in XXL. The jeans were roomy and comfortable, with a button fly that wouldn’t risk catching a monster cock in a zipper. Peter wore a plush red robe. Alicia had insisted it made him look like a king at ease. He felt like he had gotten out of the shower.
Todd had two girls with him. A girl with mammoth boobs, wearing a pair of jean shorts over a big butt, a misplaced fertility idol in an office building. The top button was undone. Plus some sleek asian girl who was practically hanging on to Todd, in a sports bra and pair of running shorts with a big wet patch on the front.
“I think we both knew it would come down to this,” Peter said. His girls peeked at the scene from behind closed office and conference room doors.
Todd rose a muscular eyebrow. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Peter,” Peter said. He kept his expression emotionless. “Head of sales. We’re coworkers.”
“Oh,” Todd said. Peter put his estimate on Todd’s mental abilities down. But he was built like an olympian, and had at least four inches on Peter. “Sorry. Everyone looks pretty different. All the muscles, and, you know, the tits and stuff.”
“It’s fine,” Peter said. He cracked his knuckles. “Alright. I guess we need to fight. But first I have one thing to say.”
“What?” Todd said. His girls slid in behind him.
“Lets not fight,” Peter said.
His girls gasped, behind him. It was hard to tell if Todd was confused or if that was just how he looked, now.
“I’m sick of fighting. There’s a ton of girls. Take five, ten, fifteen, whatever. Leave me alone. I don’t care,” Peter said. “This whole thing, becoming a sex god, a big stud, king of the range.. I’m kind of over it.”
Peter deliberately folded his arms. “I’m just gonna go home and watch some fucking movies.” he said.
Since Todd didn’t say anything, he added, “I would like to hold on to my wife, I can point her out to you.”
“Why would I want to fight you?” Todd said, confused.
“Well,” Peter said, slowly. “That’s kind of what we’ve been doing. You know? Accumulating a big harem? Impregnating girls?”
“Why the heck would I want to do that?” Todd said. “I’ve already got a girlfriend.” He hugged the asian girl closer. She closed her eyes and giggled. The other girl looked annoyed. “You’ve got TWENTY GIRLS? That’s like, fifty holes! What are you even doing with them?”
Peter shook his head. He felt small. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he managed. He sat down heavily in a computer chair.
“Okay, well, whatever. I’m looking for Walter,” Todd said.
“Top floor,” Peter said. “Probably. He has his own elevator. Just take the stairs off to the side. What’re you gonna do to him?”
“Beat the hell out of him for making us all whores,” Todd said.
Peter nodded, solemnly. “Good luck with that,” he said.
He watched the threesome… well… two-some and the other girl… disappear up the stairs. Probably Walter would kill him. Oh well.
“Alicia,” he called out. “Come on. Lets go home.”
He scanned the assembled ranks of his girls. So many beautiful girls, so many big tits. “And as many of you can fit in my car,” he added. He was only a simple bull, after all. “And the trunk.”
Much later, Myra would wonder what would’ve happened if Walter hadn’t been in his office.
It wasn’t like they had an appointment. And logically he should’ve been down in the streets of the town, watching non-employees drink free coffee and water and gawk at the sexy men and women meandering through the town.
But he had stopped by to check his e-mails.
Myra had been to the top floor before, just once. It contained an old-school version of CEO’s quarters. A very large and very dusty conference room, with leather-backed chairs. A very large secretary desk. A few subsidiary offices. The previous CEO had almost never held meetings there—he had treated it like a private aerie, descending if necessary to talk to people. Myra’s only visit had been with Lydia, to deliver in person some important documents. The previous CEO had been behind his desk, staring out the big windows. The air conditioning had worked perfectly, the carpet had looked fresh and new.
“Oh,” Walter said, at the same desk. “It’s you. Myra and Erin, we’ve previously met. You’re looking fertile. And you must be Todd.”
Todd roared. Not just a cum-roar, that involuntary acknowledgement that he had mounted a female. All the week’s worth of sexual frustration, at the maddening urge to eat and eat, to double in size, to fuck everything in sight. It was all there.
Then he pounded on big hairy legs, arms outstretched, ready to toss Walter through a window.
He got halfway there before slowing, almost stopping, like running into sudden goo. Todd shook his head, to clear it, then stood. He wavered, just five feet from the short CEO in his cheap suit.
Then he collapsed. All six feet plus of him, in a heap at Walter’s feet. Walter prodded him gently.
Erin cried out, devastated. Walter backed away as she ran to her man, pulling him into his back. “It’s okay! It’s okay!” he said, smiling. “It’s just a pheromone thing. He’s not hurt or anything. Well, and some conditioning. He went from alpha male to little baby boy in a half-step. He’ll be just fine.”
Erin gave him a nasty look. Walter laughed at it. “You could’ve just gotten a gun,” he teased. “Everyone in this town has a gun. I’m not bulletproof. If it’s just a big male pissing match then I’m well-equipped to handle those.”
He clapped his hands together. “Well,” he said. “Is that it?”
“We’re here to…” Myra started. The plan formed, fully complete, in her soft bimbo head. That was probably the only way to do it. If she tried to think things through she’d get distracted by gum-chewing or her boobs or whatever she happened to see. But this—this could happen.
“We’re here to strike a deal,” she said.
Walter grinned. “Just like your boss?” he crossed over to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass of—Myra stared—a glass of milk. He gestured at her with the glass. “Want some? Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s cow milk. Cow-cow.”
“What’re you gonna do with Lydia?” Myra asked. She sat down in one of the Modernist chairs and very deliberately crossed her legs.
“Oh, I like Lydia. I don’t know. Did she figure out her contract is just a printout of a wikipedia article on dairy farming?”
“Sort of,” Myra said. She accepted the glass of milk, and raised it, carefully, up.
“To bimbos,” she said.
Walter laughed. He shook his head. “Oh, Myra, I didn’t know you were special! I thought Todd here was the prize pig. The alpha of my alphas! A bit dumb, yes, even for males, but such a body! And those testicles!”
“Is that all this is? Breeding stock?”
Her boss frowned for the first time, and deliberately drained his glass. “Do you think so little of it? Myra, dear. This company was bankrupt. It was dead. It was dead and run by zombies, dried up men and women spending their brief lives servicing a corpse. And when it went under, as sad as their lives were, their one-orgasm-a-month lives, they would get even worse.”
He looked out the window. “And now? God, Myra, the potential. How many kids will you have now? Ten? Twenty? And Todd will have hundreds. Hundreds! Hundreds of progeny, hundreds of legacies. Doing the will of the Lord instead of fucking a dead corporate entity. People worship bodies like yours, Myra! You were a nobody, a social security number. And now you’re going to live to be a hundred, cumming every one of those days, raising a brood of your own. Breeding stock!”
Walter finished his glass, slammed it down. He had a milk mustache. “Better to be a very sexy cow then a forgotten nobody in the middle of nowhere.” he concluded.
They looked over at the carpet, where Erin was trying to wake up the comatose Todd with a blowjob. “Anyway. I have places to be. You mentioned a deal?”
Here it came. Myra had to shake herself to remember the plan. She had been entranced by Walter’s speech, at his righteous anger. It was super hot.
“Right. The deal.” He pointed at the couple on the floor. “I want them to get away. And like, normal-y. I stay with you. And we can fuck and stuff.”
Walter snorted. “Myra, Todd is a hell of a stud. We spent a lot of money making Todds. And why am I letting him go?”
Here it came, Myra thought. The big, stupid, unsexy secret.
“Because then you get to fuck a virgin,” Myra said.
Walter froze. He looked shocked, for the first time. Then he very slowly rubbed at his forehead, and very slowly looked at her, up and down.
“You’re a virgin,” he said.
“Yeah,” Myra said. The embarrassment of it was nearly too much to bear. Her cheeks burned.
“You’re what, 32?”
“34,” Myra said. She kept her eyes low. This was mortifying.
“And you’ve been literally sucking down fuck chemicals, and both auditory and visual sex subliminals, in quantity, for a week. On top of an entire other month of prep work.”
“Uh huh,” Myra said.
Walter tapped his finger on the chair. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a virgin before,” he concluded. He blinked. “Not a single one.”
“Looking at one,” Myra confirmed.
She leaned forward and put a lifetime’s worth of sexual repression into one sultry look. “Do you want to pop my cherry, daddy?”
Walter hissed. His fingers dug into the chair. The old fabric tore.
“I can’t make them normal, you know,” he said. “Or as smart as they were. Parts of Erin’s brain are actually… geez. Really a virgin. They’ll basically be a sexy, horny, and a little airhead-y couple.”
Myra licked her lips and winked.
“And you’ll have to join my personal staff, not get on the trucks,” Walter said. He stood up, abruptly. “Myra, it’s been a pleasure negotiating with you. I think we have a deal.”
They shook hands.
“Now bend the fuck over before I explode,” Walter ordered.
Myra squealed. She doubted she’d do anything smart-y again. Her dumb bimbo brain was practically screaming from the effort of holding down a conversation. Plus—oh geez—Walter had a hell of a dick and there was an extremely crazy look in his eye. Myra bent over without hesitation, and felt her new man shuck her shorts off with one powerful hand.
A big red cockhead poised at her pussy. It halted there. Walter was clearly savoring the moment. “Aren’t you gonna fuck the vocabulary out of me?” Myra called back, cheerfully. Behind them, Erin had finally gotten Todd back to full-mast.
Walter groaned.
The big AGRARIPE sign on the side of the building was right in front of Myra, out the window. She stared at it, grinning, as Walter slid all the way in.
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