Come to Bed, Dear

"Come to bed, dear..."

Her voice was husky, self assured yet gentle. She was a woman who knew what she wanted. Who was I to refuse.

"Alice, I..."

My own voice faltered and stumbled, lost and alone in what I thought. I knew my opinion didn't matter, what I thought had no bearing on what her vision dictated. I tripped over language, unable or too unsure of the path to take to strike out.

She shook her head gently, her lips curved in a slight, sensuous smile. Her light auburn locks cascaded gently over her shoulders in nonchalant tussles, eddying and curling about her like heavy smoke. A single lock of shocking blonde curved gently downward over one eye, heavy lidded and darkly lined with Kohl pencil.

Her slender hand snaked out from under the sheet, drawing it back from her body, her perfect, incomparable body.

I had done this to her, i had made her this way. Who was I to say no and take that away from her?

Her body bloomed into view, blossoming, erupting, practically exploding. Hugh Heffner once said the key to eroticism was to not reveal, to tease and hint, not to show off and display. As the sheet remained draped over her breasts and crotch it was arguable that she wasn't revealing anything, but in truth what she didn't show paled into insignificance.

Her stomach swelled outward in a continuous, immense curve, a fleshy orb many times the size of what a pregnant woman should carry. Her slender, toned body reclined gracefully beneath the cream expanse, her girth grumbling softly to itself, every sound within echoing audibly through the achingly taut flesh that encompassed her guts.

She carried no child.

Her navel protruded from the rude circumference in a mocking salute to maternity. The pressure within her belly was enough to ensure it's deformity, a slight indent above it indicating that once upon a time she had had it pierced, but no longer.

There was a lot of 'no longer', when we'd first met we used to go dancing. Ballroom and jazz, she could really move, her wide hips and narrow waist accentuating every movement. The first time we danced it had been love. All the other times were just a bonus.

Now, every step was an ordeal, a wobbling, heaving struggle. She could barely support her own body, the moans and creaks of protest if she attempted anything too strenuous

were terrifying, her body doing it's utmost to discourage her ambulatory motions. She chose to remain, when not tasked out, in our bed, though it was hers if anything now. Slowly the house had reconfigured itself around her and her tremendous bulk, the accouterments of two lives lived orbiting her as tiny satellites in slow pirouette of her gargantuan stomach.

She liked it when I held her still, though there was little meaning to it any more, almost like an echo of affection. She was offering it now, her smile all the hook she needed to reel me in as I slipped between the covers and wrapped my arms around her as best i could.

"There... That's better."

*****

I met her in a chartroom of all places, a hidden, secret little place where i could express myself through a veil of anonymity.

I doubted what she said at first, it sounded too good to be true. My life was a boring parade of my research and work and tawdry, perfunctory love affairs, married women and the like. Days melted together, the occasional crash of romance and excitement tellingly absent as the wash of passing weeks drowned me in mediocrity.

She sent me her picture after i advertised myself, my proposal a plea to be noticed through a shimmering barrier of fright at the thought of being discovered for what i was. She responded with an invitation, and after a cautious flirtation we exchanged details, pleasantries and finally photographs.

She seemed much too good to be true. She was stunning, even then, a real one in a million. I told her as such and she only laughed. We began to talk on the phone, two or three hours a night, getting to know each other in ever greater detail. I told her I'd had a bad experience before, not a lie i might add, and that what was suggested by her picture seemed like an offer i would be foolish to turn down, but wise to be cautious of. She laughed, and said she knew what i meant and understood completely, a picture could be of anyone.

She sent me a video of herself, smiling, waving, talking to the lens on her cell phone with her intoxicating voice, before panning lower. She showed me the cavern of her cleavage, my name written upon it in thick, black pen, the ink hugging the contours of her breasts, each mound adorned with the vowels and consonants of sincere, genuine proof of truth. The camera panned lower still, her shirt lifted to show her stomach. She'd puffed it out especially, i later learned a concerto of violently frothing soda and cheap mint sweets conspired to bloat it outward, she wanted to prove to me that she wasn't leading me on, she really did share my want and desires.

I thought that might have been the moment i fell for her, the heady mix of love and lust setting my veins alight, propelling me on to find her, to meet her, to claim her.

I took a train down to where she lived. She met me at the platform in a long dark coat and boots, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me as if i were a loved one not seen for years. No one would have known that was the first time we'd met. She was everything her images and video suggested, she showed me where she lived, pulling up in a rattling, threadbare station wagon to an old house in a quiet corner of not really anywhere. We made it upstairs, our hands still clutched to each others as fell into bed and didn't emerge for a long, long time.

I told her about my research, what i did after hours when the lab was closed, and her eyes were alight with the potential of it. There's an old truism that states that human existence is propelled onward by the sole hanging specter of sex, the ghost within every machine, every innovation of mankind designed even vicariously to allow it to bring about new opportunities for erotic fulfillment. The camera, the Internet, so many things debased but realizing their full potential through the power of the pornographic.

My research had no real designs on improving the world. I used a complex mechanism involving rapidly decaying nano machines and protein conditioning to encourage the body to rewire itself to produce certain effects. I envisioned it single handedly demolishing the plastic surgery industry, painlessly and efficiently without the need for a single incision, only a half dozen injections.

She wanted to be my first human test subject. I wanted to say no, i yearned to tell her that it hadn't been properly researched yet, but she was unmoving. That night we went dancing, her in a long, flowing crimson number and I in a tuxedo. Together we cut and twirled across the floor, brilliant in our resplendent finery, and she leaned in close to whisper in my ear.

"Let me do it. I can be everything you ever dreamed of."

I was weak. I agreed. The next day we took the returning train to my home, she moved in and for a time we were happy. It took weeks to properly culture the machines, long hours working late programming and setting behaviors and working out the mechanics of what it was we were attempting, but we did it, and as she lay back on the operating table and lifted her shirt, baring the smooth, taut skin of her flat, trim belly we smiled, her lower lip clamped between her teeth as she imagined what it was that was coming.

I could not have imagined it would ever turn out the way it did.

Her stomach grew, and as it did so did our appetite for each other. We never went out anymore, why should we? Whatever time I spent out of work was spent with her, and time spent with her involved a lack of clothing and a degree of flexibility. We fucked in every which way we could think, the urge carrying us from couch to bed to floor to kitchen to stairs to any surface we could find that would support us, and an incident with a side table that could not.

She would lie there, in the glow of what we had just done, her hands resting on her stomach. She looked pregnant. She avoided wearing maternity clothing, after all she wasn't pregnant, but that meant she was never more than a heartbeat from bursting free of whatever she wore. Button up shirts strained around her girth, diamonds of revealed, tantalizing flesh visible as she rolled her hips, unzipped her low slung jeans and beckoned me to take her again and again.

I was weak, loneliness had made me soft and unable to resist.

The first time she took a client i was against it, though I couldn't really argue. She had had to quit her job to be with me, leaving work and home had put a huge strain on our finances and her now incessant appetite drained what little wage i could bring in. She met him at a party, he had invited her back to his home for a party which turned out to be just the two of them. She'd called me, telling me what it was he wanted and what he'd offered, it was more than i could earn in three months. All he wanted was to touch her. Her perfect, swollen body.

I said it would be alright. I knew we couldn't afford to say no. She came back the next day with a fistful of bills, bound in one of those wide paper bands that you see in movies. Heist movies. Bad movies.

It was almost blood money. She laughed at my insecurity, letting me know it meant nothing to her, but also in that laugh letting me know it wasn't the last time it was going to happen.

She went back, more and more often.

As she grew, so did the wads of money. I was promised things too, the man had powerful, influential friends, several of whom took an interest in her too. I never asked what it was she did for them, I didn't have to. My imagination painted enough of a picture for me to figure most of it out. My department suddenly had an almost infinite research budget, we were given, no questions asked, an apartment, and our bills and needs were taken care of without so much as a cheque changing hands.

I saw her less and less. All I seemed to do anymore was help her too and from the limousines that would arrive for her. Not the stretched, ostentatious kinds, but the black out inconspicuous vehicles that only the truly wealthy and prestigious can afford to use.

They sent them for her, because she was theirs now.

We had more than we could ever need, but it was never enough.

And so, i began to work on something new, knowing that some day, when the time was right, i would use it.

*****

"Why so down... Do you have a smile for me?"

I shook my head, hard to accomplish when pressed against a vast, gurgling swell. Her stomach moaned to me, she would need feeding soon.

"Mmmmm... I like it when you hold my tummy... It makes me happy..."

I squeezed her a little tighter. My heart hammered in my chest, unwilling to allow me to do what i wished to.

"I wish you couldn't get your arms around me... Imagine how big I'd be... They'd need to send a tanker, not a car..."

She smiled, giggling at the idea to herself, gently rubbing her back. Her spine curved outlandishly to support her girth, the sheer scale of her belly enough to distort her physically to the point of outlandish mockery. She was so big, immense even, and yet all she could think about was getting even bigger, even rounder, fuller and stretched ever thinner.

"it's time... Where's my injection, love?"

The final word carried no emotion, I was now only a means to a seductive, corrupt end. I fetched her needle, slipping out of bed to slope like some hunched naked animal down to my lab to get it. Dirty money had allowed work to come home with me, though my muse inspired me no longer.

Gleefully she speared her tummy with the thin, hairlike sharpness, flooding her system with carefully cultured proteins to ensure her figure only increased.

Increased.

She beckoned me back to her, and I joined her. She ran a finger over my stubble, i had had no peace of prescience to shave in a while. My lips parted to her finger with a breathy moan of pleasure from both of us, before she slipped inside, feeling the warm wetness within.

Her other hand squeezed my rear, bringing me in closer, her eyes drinking the details of my meagre, slender body. I could not compete with her, her seeming maternity casting my own boyish, slender, angular features as gaunt and famine ravaged by comparison. Beneath my small breasts were the details of individual ribs, a clear delineation of stomach musculature marking me out as someone who had lost more than a few meals in the cause of my research.

She was in me and on me, but what was in her was of a more pressing concern.

She began to grow, a long, low, mournful sound grumbling from her abdomen.

"i feel... This is new..."

Her voice was alight with pleasure. Deep within her, the machines within her began converting the layer of fat that had accumulated within her into gas, a complicated process designed for only one thing.

Her bloated swell lurched, the surface rippling and shifting and gurgling as it heaved and stretched, and elastic creaking echoing out from the strained flesh.

She laughed, clutching her enormous fecundity in delight.

"I knew you could do it! Oh God yes! This is... Jesus... Fuck me..."

I wasn't sure if the last phrase was an exclamation or a command, but i bent to her, my tongue submerging itself in her moist slit as she panted and whimpered, her body growing ever larger. Her breath was shallow and drawn, each inhalation snatched and difficult, the sheer strain being so immense placed upon her telling through such signals.

I could feel the heft of it encroaching on me as i busied my lapping tongue, savoring every whiff and taste of her as i struggled to pleasure her in a way discernible or meaningful in comparison to what was occurring elsewhere on her body. The skin of her midriff grew paler and whiter as she grew, the pigment unable to make it's presence known in her skin in the same manner as the skin of a balloon lightens as it is inflated.

She gasped and bucked and moaned in delight, her body writhing with untold and irresistible wanton wonder at the forces enacted upon it.

I could fee her tightening, the pleasure building within her, aching and itching and inching her toward climax as she strained and grunted ever bigger and fuller, planetary and immense, growling with threatening rumbles and gurgles.

"Im... I'm going... Going to..."

Her voice came in fits and starts, she was willing herself bigger and bigger and bigger.

I like to tell myself that she knew exactly what was happening. We'd talked about it before and she always regarded it as something of an occupational hazard, that at any moment her body might just give out on her and she would split like an over ripe fruit, to borrow a fictional cliche.

As her fingers pressed to the surface of her girth she must have been able to sense how little give there was in the skin, she must have known she was growing still, though with her ability to grow larger exhausted the pressure had nowhere to go. It built and built, her body groaning and creaking like a storm wracked ship.

Her nether lips gripped and pulsed, i knew she was close, her climax was, in a manner of speaking, on the tip of my tongue.

She let out a cry. It resonated in my head, I still hear it, the moment seeming to last a century as she convulsed in orgasm, deeper and more wondrous than ever before, her lips agape as the great paen of pleasure erupted forth from her.

Her stomach heaved once more, the strain of her outburst too much for it perhaps. Her body erupted, her stomach detonating with the force of a small explosive charge, the skin bursting open with me pressed against it, the escaping gas punching it's way out of her belly with inhuman force, eager to breath in the outside world away from the confines of her girth. She burst, though at that moment there was a smile on her face that went beyond pleasure. Acceptance, delight, so many emotions, none of them pain or anger or suffering.

The house collapsed in on itself, perhaps sensing that we two were no longer present, our life together all that held it up. The timbers sighed and wheezed as the crashed down around us, both departed yet still clutched to one another as we had been in those first, tentative days.

At least we could be together.

*****

"Sometimes I feel that it's all too much to take
I look in the mirror but don't recognize my face

So show me the light
And tell me that things will turn out right
It cuts like a knife
When you say things will turn out right

Temptation my old friend
You come back to lead me off again
If you see me acting strange
You can call... but you know I'm not afraid"

Login or register to tag items