Brain Fodder

Here are a few candidates for the next work after Devotion and Great Lines - please feel free to vote on these below, and share in the comments any thoughts you may have or ideas which pleasantly surprised you:

Pink Balled

Reputation was everything: it told people who you were, it got you  in the right places at the right time… and it told you the kind of  things you could get away with.

Case in point: Darcy Long, athlete, lifestyle blogger, sex demon  and dickgirl. She wasn’t red skinned and horned, but when you have as  many partners as she’d enjoyed, when you treat them as she’d treated  them, well ‘demon’ wasn’t far off.

And the icing on the cake, the poisoned cherry on top, was that  Darcy was a supremacist. For her, dickgirls were basically the only news  in town and every one else needed to either get knocked up by one, or  have their wives and partners taken by one.

And that was why, in a large airing cupboard at her aunt’s house  Darcy straightened with little hurry and tucked her enormous junk back  in her jeans, before reaching over and grabbing a purse, as well as a  neatly folded set of clothes. She dropped the tidy bundle onto the  cum-glazed, bloated figure on the floor, with little care for the mess  she was making for her most recent partner.

“Scrape the worst of the jizz off, Mrs Acres and we can both spend  the rest of the afternoon pretending your pencil-dicked bitch of a  husband is worth the oxygen he breathes.”

Mrs Acres, on the floor, still recovering from the aftershocks of a  series of nasty, brutal orgasms, her body twitching as she huffed and  puffed and tried lamely to stop her now cum spattered clothes from  getting any more filthy. It was a losing battle.

“My belly…” Mrs Acres croaked as Darcy stepped over to the door.  The older woman was clutching a midsection which was stuffed with hot,  fresh seed, visibly swollen to nearly the size of a full term pregnancy,  cervix clamped shut again to keep it all in.

“Your belly, your problem,” Darcy said, quickly growing  disinterested. Then, as if a funny thought had occurred she added  nastily, “Maybe Father Acres should get used to the sight of you with a  big belly; it will be a lot bigger in nine months. He’s a useless cuck,  but he’s a Christian, so he’ll forgive you…”

And with that, Darcy stepped out of the cupboard and closed the door behind herself, cutting off Mrs. Acres’ sobs.

Man Up - Part 2 (Part 1, attached)

Claire was sitting in the lounge with Christian, his eyes dreamy  and distant as they listened to some song or other. It was a lovely  moment in the warm afternoon, sunshine and shade dancing as the net  curtains billowed in the breeze.

She looked over at him and smiled, and though he didn’t turn to  face her, the corners of his mouth turned up and he bumped his shoulder  into hers gently.

“So,” she said, eventually, “what do you want to do about getting an apartment near the college?”

“That would be awesome,” he breathed, bobbing along to the song, soaking it all in.

Claire rolled her eyes, “I know that would be awesome… we’ve talked  about it for weeks. But, like, do you have anywhere in mind?”

He glanced at her, grinned and shook his head, still bopping along  to the beat, his beautiful features showing an expression of total  absorption after a moment.

Claire huffed and flopped back onto the comfortable carpet,  consigning the conversation to the great trashcan of aborted  conversations with him. It was a very full trashcan, but Claire didn’t  mind too much.

They’d been friends for years, first as children, then through  school and now, excitingly, into college. She knew he had always been  somewhat fey - pretty rather than handsome, unconcerned with macho  posing and far more into theatre than he ever was into sports. In a  perfect world, he might have even been gay - and happy being so. But it  wasn’t a perfect world.

Delightfully otherworldly wasn’t a great attribute to endear  someone to a group of judgemental high school kids, and the artistic,  sensitive side that might have endeared him to the queenish,  straightforwardly gay clique in their year was more than offset by his  repeated refusal of their attempts to ‘out’ him or their various  assorted passes at him.

And for her part, well, she had nailed her colors to the mast - she  was his friend and she stood by him. He was the golden weird one and  she was his minder… and now, she didn’t care about that much at all. It  was going to be great for them to go to college and put this old, slow  little town behind them.

The doorbell rang - they’d ordered pizza a while ago - and Claire  sprang up, bounding over towards the hallway. Bounding was new,  springing was new and so, she thought as she dashed to the door, was she  after the mystery in the hospital.

As she approached the front door, she could make out a tall blonde  figure through the viewing pane next to opening. She slowed down and  frowned, looking worriedly back over her shoulder to where Christian was  sitting; he was looking at her, his expression curious, alert. She  shrugged, he shrugged, and then she turned and opened the door.

Dr. Hayes was stood on the porch, her back arched backward a bit to  counteract the simply huge baby bump she was showing off. It must have  been the size of an exercise ball, and the doctor’s top didn’t stand a  chance of covering it, leaving a sizeable pie-slice of shiny pink tummy  flesh gleaming in the afternoon light. As soon as the tall blonde saw  Claire, the doctor looked her up and down and smiled widely, all  pristine white teeth and cute dimples - it almost wasn’t fair for  someone like her to be both beautiful AND cute.

“Hey Claire, we heard that you and Christian were off to college  soon and just wanted to stop by and make sure you’re both doing well.”

Claire gulped a little at the mention of ‘we’ remembering the  towering, muscular woman that had stepped in and helped them out when  Chad and his accomplices were trying to put the squeeze (and more) on  the pair of them a few months ago. It was hard to forget Nurse Shelley  after you’d seen her, and - for whatever reason - the towering,  powerfully built nurse had been involved in her care and Christian’s  when they had both been in hospital with the virus.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re doing well,” Claire said and grinned, idly  stroking her arm and turning to allow the doctor to see past her and  into the house where Christian offered a cheery wave.

Doctor Hayes leaned over a bit and gave Christian a wave in return,  before puffing out her cheeks and putting a hand on her huge belly to  steady herself.

“How are you doing?!” Claire asked, a little alarmed as the doctor wobbled for a second.

“Ha! Don’t worry about me, I’m adjusting… still can take me a little bit by surprise though!”

“Wow, I can imagine… how far are you along now? Must be due any-“

“Not really, I’m only five months in,” the doctor blushed a little as Claire’s eyes went wide at the news.

“Like… wow.” Claire said, blushing as well.

“Yeah, I know, right?! Anyway, that’s enough about me,” the doctor  demurred with a wave of her hand and a twinkle in her eye, “how are  things getting on between you two?”

The suggestive tone was enough to make Claire’s skin prickle with  embarrassed, happy, mortification, and she just kind of blurted out,  “Well, uh, it’s not quite like that…”

The doctor looked confused for a second, and then leaned in and  made a furtive flick of her fingers Christian-wards and silently  mouthed, “Is he gay?”

The honest concern for him… and for Claire, she realised… made the  moment a lot less awkward than it might have been. She just grinned  ruefully and shook her head minutely, getting a still-confused nod from  the doctor, and then a matching grin and a shrug of her own.

Claire decided to even the scores a little and leaned in herself, whispering, “How are things with you and Shelley?”

The doctor might have looked shocked, or mortified, or furtive, but  Claire watched the tall, very pregnant blonde smile widely, almost  smugly, and pat her hugely gravid belly with evident satisfaction. She  looked Claire in the eye and there was a glint of… something, that  suggested things were still going very well indeed.

“Yeah, it’s… pretty great…” the doctor said dreamily.

“Oh wow.”

“Yeah!”

A younger girl in a shop uniform was trotting up the path, the  large pizza box she was carrying wobbling as she sort of stuttered to a  stop and gawped at Doctor Hayes, or more specifically her immense belly.  And then the girl looked at Claire and the gawp turned into a shy  blush.

Claire smiled, a little uncertainly, and fished around for the little wad of crumpled notes she’d shoved into her tiny shorts.

They were some of the only clothes that fit over her newly thick, strong, athletic-looking thighs anymore.

With a tug, she freed the money and proffered it to the girl,  reaching out to take the pizza box from her. Doctor Hayes watched the  pizza handover with the kid of rapt and intent expression that even a  golden retriever would be proud of.

The girl took the money and stood there, stunned, as Claire bit her lip and tugged her tight tank-top up, stopping the  strap from sliding off her gently sloping trapezius muscles and ensuring  that she didn’t flash bra-clad boob at the neighbourhood.

“Uh, thanks for the pizza - there should be a little extra in there for the tip too… sorry it’s all crumpled up!”

“Mmmnh,” the doctor and the girl said in unison, the pregnant  woman’s eyes on the pizza, the other’s eyes locked onto Claire’s tall,  strongly built body.

Claire stifled a groan and began directing traffic in her front  yard: “Thanks for the pizza, but you’re going to have to move your bike  before…”

Patty’s Fatty - Part 2 (Part 1 attached)

Patty didn’t know what to do with her hands.

She was sat in a chair, or rather, crammed into a chair in a  pleasant little office in town. Apparently it was the one verity used  when she was ‘doing business’ as she had put it.

Apparently, doing business involved plotting the divorce of her  husband and what appeared to be several sets of court orders, law suits  and related legal work aimed at taking the rest of Verity’s family down a  peg or two. Or six.

The pretty young lawyer, Pippa, that had been sent from Verity’s  trust’s law firm was making pleasant conversation. The pair of them  chatted and idly added one vicious legal manoeuvre after another to  proceedings like they were picking things out from a nice buffet,  occasionally sharing admiring comments and occasional ‘oooh’ and ‘aaah’.

Patty, for her part, had been standing too close when Pippa had  bustled in earlier, earning a grateful sigh and smile as the lawyer  pushed a huge set of lever arched files into Patty’s arms. And Verity  had given Patty a winning smile and slid a full coffee cup into Patty’s  free hand before showing Pippa to the main desk.

There were no other tables.

So Patty had sat.

And thought.

And listened while she figured out how to manage the stuff she was holding onto more sensibly.

“And yeah, the accountant of surgeon who contacted you about  Sophie’s work sent us a quite nasty letter,” Pippa said, grinning, “we  sent a bill back for if they wanted to retain our services to review it  and a strongly worded note about taking your advice more seriously, Mrs.  Rich.”

Verity smiled thinly and shook her head.

“But I have to say,” Pippa continued, “we weren’t expecting your  daughter to have so much work done in one sitting. That’s quite intense,  medically speaking.”

Verity’s smile faded and she nodded at the unspoken question; after a moment she frowned.

“You’re right; Sophie gets the occasional Botox and even had her  tits done a few years ago… low profile, natural-looking. She doesn’t  even really do lip fillers very often.”

Patty felt something in the chair quietly give as the other two  spoke, watching dully as one of the arm rests swung free, allowing her  to spread out and hold the coffee further away from the documents. There  was a roaring in her ears as thoughts tried to worm their way into her  mind.

“So who were the treatments for then, Mrs. Rich?”

It was an innocent question, but Patty remembered the way her mom  had looked as she had been fucked hard by Sophie, seen the blissed-out,  mindless, horny side of the woman that had usually been hidden behind  closed doors, or late, drunken nights. Her mom didn’t sell her body  because it was all she could do… but rather, in some ways, because it  was all she wanted to do.

The roaring grew louder.

“Well, I… don’t…” Verity started and then her eyes went distant,  her expression hollowing out to something shocked and horrified, her  eyes seeking Patty as the older women put a hand to her mouth and turned  towards Patty, “… oh no. Oh dear Lord, not even Sophie would be-“

SKKRRRINNCCHHHSSHHLLL!

Pippa and Verity jumped as coffee erupted over the carpet and chair and Patty.

Patty realised she was shaking, her whole body tense, the sound of  blood thundering in her ears. She didn’t know where the coffee had come  from though.

As she looked for it she saw in her hand a wreck of dripping metal  and plastic as her powerful fingers finished crushing the life out of  Verity’s unlucky keep-cup.

Patty realised she’d made such a mess.

She stood, her flush of rage cooling to quiet, cold embarrassment  in mere heartbeats. She checked the folders out of habit. They were  fine.

She’d made such a mess. Her Ma would be so-

Arms wrapped what they could of her, Verity murmuring softly, soothingly, telling Patty it was ok.

Patty sniffed. Her chest felt tight.

She felt Verity’s fingers on her face and her shoulders shook as  she sobbed and turned, wrapping the older woman in a crying, snivelling  hug, letting it all out.

No amount of laconic back-country reserve could stop the tide of  emotions she felt at learning that Sophie hadn’t just claimed her mom,  but also remade her into the image of the whore, the slut… the Bitch,  she’d named her.

As she cried and slowly calmed down and stayed clinging to Verity,  she could dimly hear voices. Verity and Pippa were talking about  something, their voices low and - unusually - harsh.

And when Patty looked up and collected herself, rubbing the tears  from her eyes, she saw Verity in full Valkyrie mode, expression hard and  fierce.

Patty felt something inside her heat up at the older woman’s look,  the dickmeat tucked back up inside Patty throbbing more urgently again.

“I think that it’s time my husband and I had a bit of a reckoning -  my stupid, spoiled daughter can wait until I’ve come up with something  worse for her.”

Verity’s voice was calm, but Patty suspected it was the kind of calm a sniper had before taking out a target.

She loved that voice right now.

With a watery smile, she pulled Verity in for one last big, appreciative hug and stepped back.

“Now, lover,” Verity continued, a bit of genuine warmth and  affection coming back to her tone, “I’m going to need you to stay here  with Pippa and stay out of trouble while I’m gone. That contract  your…mom signed is going to be tricky for you if they can get you  somewhere they control.”

Pippa looked less than thrilled at this idea, but in a kind of  sympathetic, awkward way - the thought of being a babysitter evidently  warring with understanding of how horrendous Patty’s position currently  was. But eventually she nodded at Patty and gave her a little, rueful  smile.

“I could use an assistant, if you don’t mind, Patty?” Pippa offered.

Hospitality

Dulcinia was walking back to her farm house from the cemetery,  heart heavy and her thoughts very inward: this day marked a year since  Garred, her husband - and the last man in the irradiated remains of  Carson County - had passed away. Lavinia, her young daughter, was out of  town with Dulcinia’s mother and enjoying some rest away from their  little farm - while also giving Dulcinia a bit of space to grieve in  private.

Quietly, she walked past the jagged, irregular homes of Montrose cul-de-sac, the old ruins of houses cannibalised into the few remaining  occupied ones, back gardens co-opted into small pens, vegetable patches  and all reinforced until the whole road looked like nothing less than a gaping mouth of broken, chipped teeth held together with rusty braces.  Her own house had been an old-style cottage on the edge of town anyway,  so she carried on walking.

She passed a huge, hand painted sign that said simply, “Pure Human Town - NO MUTANTS ALLOWED”. That sign was two generations older than she  was… and she suspected that the blocky brushwork might have been her old grandfather’s. She frowned at it and turned to look back towards the  town proper.

Girls ran in the streets, women sat quietly in picture frame  windows and read in the fading evening light, or toiled silently in their farm gardens.

She couldn’t see any men… and she doubted that her daughter would still be here to see that old sign when she reached the same age as  Dulcinia was now. This town was dying just as surely as the men had.

/////

She pulled a box of matches out of her coat pocket as she reached  her porch in the violet half light of late evening. After shielding the  box with her body, bracing against a freshening breeze, she struck the match and quickly reached up to light the hanging oil lamp there. It  burned with the smell of toasted peanuts.

She turned to the door and searched in her deep coat pocket for her keys, fishing then out and opening the three locks on the door one by  one.

“Good evening.”

Dulcinia froze and turned to see a figure on the edge of the lamplight.

A giant seemed to loom out of the darkness, but it must have been a  trick of the flickering light from the oil lamp - when Dulcinia looked  carefully at the visitors face, all she saw was a beautiful woman, with the striking, strong kind of features women got out here after spending their days in heavy manual labor.

“Evenin’” Dulcinia offered in return, “what can I do ya for?”

There was a dry, sticky sounding swallow and the woman she was talking to licked parched lips, before answering:

“I’ve been on the road all day - if you’ve got some room in your outbuildings, I could perhaps camp in an empty stable stall and maybe get some water from your well. Please.”

Dulcinia gave the woman a last look over and sighed.

“I don’t make travellers sleep in the barn, as a rule. But you’ll disrobe and disarm if you’re coming in - I don’t want no surprises and I’ve got some old robes my, uh… anyway, I have some spare robes you can change into. I’ll give you a minute out here to start while I head inside and get them.”

The woman looked briefly dubious and then asked, “Should I start now?”

“Might as well,” Dulcinia said as she turned and let herself into the house proper, “there ain’t nothing there a girl like me hasn’t seen  before.”