Re: Continuation of Fertile Valley
Posted: Fri Jan 13, 2017 6:54 pm
Chapter 18 The Fertility Farm
It had been the wakeup call of a lifetime – that fateful moment in the bathroom. The evening that followed was one of the hardest ever, having been confronted with my total loss of control. I had isolated myself – even from Peggy – and in sobbing reflection and contemplation I had come to one conclusion only.
I had to end this. Fertile Valley, for all its free, sexual merits, showed nothing short of a deranged cult mentality. It wasn’t their fault necessarily; the people were ignorant, yes, but they had merely given in to their desires being coaxed by preacher Daniels. Lucas P. motherfuckin’ Daniels. In between my self-loathing and fear began to burn anger – no, HATRED for that insane lunatic priest. That night I didn’t sleep, but I planned.
The next morning I called for a family meeting, even before breakfast. I made sure Peggy was the first downstairs; I didn’t want Julie and Jennie to be alone with me yet. I had to earn their trust again, I realised all too well. Perhaps my plan would be the first step in redeeming myself.
When everyone had gathered it was silent. My children all knew something was terribly wrong and they sensed this was no longer going to be a sexual freefall.
“It’s going to be extremely difficult,” I said, “but after what I almost done t-…to Jules and Jen, the reality is that we must try to stop having sex. It’s WRONG, what people in this valley do, and also what we have been doing, with each other, with friends, with complete strangers. We must at least TRY to stop it all.”
Of course this news was ill-received. Of course my kids protested – as if I was talking about taking away their video games. I got angry then, and shouted “NO!” to which they piped down. God, seeing my daughters’ beautiful, ripe bodies, four of them swollen with life, made my decision so much more difficult. But the caveman wouldn’t win, not anymore.
“There may be times that we can’t fight our urges, but if we always give in, like before, we will do BAD by ourselves and others! We MUST set an example!”
So I told them all what I knew: that they became sexually active because of literally everything they drank and ate, not just from pills or drugs, but from dairy to meat to water to crops. We were going to change our eating habits and have our food imported from outside the valley, and never touch anything from shops here again. We would cook our own meals and eat homemade lunch at school – and always bring our own bottled water.
Reluctantly I had gotten all my children to promise – to SWEAR – they’d obey these new rules. Would they be tempted to break them? Of course, they were children after all, but with Peggy by my (and their) side I could drastically reduce their intake of fertility chemicals. I prayed that would be enough to slow their ‘cavemen’ as well.
After the children had gone to school (“But daddy, we don’t have homemade food yet,” they had asked obediently already), I spoke with my wife.
“Peggy, I’ve been up all night thinking about this. When I finish and submit my FVR (my Fertile Valley Report), all hell could break loose. We’re talking a shit-storm gone south times fifty. That’s why you and I must be ready to prevent that storm from happening.”
My wife looked at me, massaging her heavy belly. She was gorgeous, and she was smart.
“What are you worried about? The feds were here last time too, can’t they take it from there?”
“It’s that priest Daniels,” I sighed, rubbing my weary eyes, “we haven’t seen or heard from him, and that worries me. I don’t believe he fled the valley, Peg, I think he’s hiding. He wouldn’t just leave his life work, even with a few of his businesses out of practice.”
“But he could be anywhere, couldn’t he? Maybe he owns more property than his house and church.”
“I think I know where he’s at,” I looked my beautiful, pregnant wife in the eyes. “But to draw him out we must be fast – can’t wait for a search warrant.”
“So,” now Peggy sighed, scratching her belly button under her maternity dress, “Where do we start?”
“My research. It starts with our oldest three. They aren’t affected at all by the chemicals, and I need to examine their blood to understand why. The answer lies in their genes, Peg, I just got to find it.”
Then I told her my entire plan.
The next two months I worked on the report and my children’s blood samples. I had also FINALLY gotten the results from my crop and soil samples – and they pretty much confirmed what I’d told my family that one morning. Everything had been tampered with: the groundwater, which in turn worked the soil, which then affected the grasses (and crops, of course), which was then eaten by the cattle. Adding the mixture of growth hormones and chemicals, things had gone into overdrive – it was a miracle people didn’t drop by the bushes from an overdose.
With help from my colleagues outside Fertile Valley I was able to get a truck delivering healthy, fresh food twice a month, starting mere days after that fateful morning meeting. My youngest had the most trouble adjusting: the taste was more bland, less sweet, less…addictive. At least at home they ate and drank healthily, and Peggy checked regularly with school to make sure their homemade lunch was not going to waste. It was quite clever really: Peggy had claimed our kids had a rash or allergic reaction to the food at school, making the perfect excuse for the sudden change in diet.
After two weeks of eating imported food, our taste buds had gone back to normal. We all noticed we were clearer of mind, as if a fog in our brains was dissipating. We tried – oh, we tried SO hard – to keep from touching each other. We failed miserably the first week; I didn’t make it through the first day without Meagan coming to me and seducing me to the point of no return. Peggy had jumped Peter twice – and that night she jumped ME (though seeing we were husband and wife we didn’t feel that would count).
It was Peggy who came with the idea we should all keep score, seeing who could go without sex the longest. It was perfect considering how competitive our girls were. For obvious reasons Julie, Jennie and Adam were ruled out. We were still having sex, but less every day, holding back more and, secretly, enjoying the build-up. As the weeks passed, our health, it seemed, improved, and the amount of fucking went down from once a day to twice – or even once a week.
Not only did everyone’s health improve: the kids, especially my youngest pair of twins, started doing better at school. When I was summoned to a mid-semester report card meeting (Peggy had grown too large to comfortably fit in the car), I was pleasantly surprised to learn their grades had gone up!
“They are much more focused for some reason,” miss Claire Bonnette had hummed joyfully, “You MUST tell me your secret, Bill!”
God, I had almost forgotten, almost, about that busty, slutty teacher Claire. She was positively glowing – and SHOWING. I had done a number on her alright: her massive boobs had expanded BIGGER than during our ‘sex-ed’ adventure, resting on her desk like bloated beach balls. When she stood up to shake my hand and walk me to the door I could easily see she was pregnant. Before opening the door she had whispered to me: “Triplets, mister Bill, thanks to our little tête-à-tête three months ago!” That night I fucked Peggy with only miss Claire’s jumbo-tits in mind.
After almost a month of working I had a breakthrough with the blood samples of my oldest children. The enzymes that would normally absorb the chemical cocktail from the food and drinks, like with about everyone in the valley, behaved differently in them. When introduced to growth hormones or aphrodisiacs the enzymes would break them down – and then alert antibodies to destroy the excessive components as if they were bacteria. It was as if the enzymes knew the genetic markers inside the chemicals would alter the body in extreme ways, and would not be tricked by the premise of easier reproduction. The paper on this topic alone would nick me an award…
Despite all my research, my hard work and best efforts, I could never completely give up on sex. Neither could my girls or my wife. Within these last two months their bellies had grown SO much bigger, their boobs SO much rounder, their figures were bulging out SO MUCH in their tightening maternity clothes that there was no helping us. Everyone’s hormones, despite the healthy food we now regularly consumed, didn’t let up. Sometimes it was accidental: I would bump into Melissa or Debbie going for a shower, and their swollen, naked bodies would spur me on – in turn spurring them on. Sometimes it was on purpose, because we just couldn’t hold it anymore: the hormones and drugs were tenacious, and we could do nothing but indulge in pleasure.
When my months of work were over my wife was in her 8th month of pregnancy; the girls one month behind. Debbie and Dee (pregnant with triplets) had swelled up a lot, now surpassing the size of overdue with twins, and with that they started to feel the pains and discomforts that came with carrying multiples. Their breasts had grown the least, perhaps due to eating our homemade food. Still, I was surprised they didn’t need help getting around; but then, there were still two more months for them to go (and grow).
Melissa, carrying quints like her mother, couldn’t properly walk anymore without holding on to a table, a chair, or leaning against the wall. She was, at seven months, a LOT bigger than Deb or Dee – as if due with triplets – her belly easily sticking out two feet. Her tits had begun leaking milk, and though they didn’t grow as fast as her sister’s, she had still grown out of her E-cup bras. I remembered little poster girl Emily Walton, and my Melissa was slowly growing and stretching just as big.
Peggy, being one month ahead, had experienced a HUGE growth surge in in the last three weeks. It was the biggest turn-on ever (and thank the LORD I was married to that woman). Melissa may have almost been at Emily Walton’s size, but Preggy Peggy had already surpassed it. Though my wife was not as big in the chest as Emily (she had still grown a hefty H-cup by now), her pregnant belly was WAY BIGGER, and unlike Emily, Peggy still had one month left to go. I still remember how Emily sat a good three feet from her table, that day in Dixon’s store. My wife carried five babies – and I could add half a foot MORE to that measurement. Her babies were developing really well, and my wife dealt with her overly large size amazingly. Like Melissa she needed support – a lot of it – even for a short waddle towards the kitchen. Unlike Melissa, Peggy wasn’t quickly out of breath, and felt less back-pain due to her rigorous swimming regime. Having sex with her was heavenly, as her stamina and libido had by no means diminished. She simply required a lot of bathroom breaks, that was all.
But as usual, none of them surpassed little Meagan.
Ever since she burst through her triple-G bra two months ago she had been growing, and growing, and GROWING. her breasts were BALLOONING outwards with no sign of slowing down. It was as if our healthy food had no effect on her at all as those magnificent breasts went from triple-G to H, to I, to an un-fucking-believable J-CUP in just two months! They had grown insanely much, so fucking HUGE that they were now easily BIGGER than her head. Peggy and I had given up on buying bras for her weeks ago, much to her delight. Her breasts had also started lactating much, much more – until two weeks ago she needed to pump her breasts as much as her mother to reduce the strain and aching of such full, bloated udders. Even with regular pumping her nipples were dripping milk almost all the time; except when she was excited. Then she was simply GUSHING milk, spraying it uncontrollably.
Of course, the most impressive growth was happening below her breasts.
If Peggy had surpassed Emily with moderate success, Meagan simply DWARFED her. Especially last month, entering her third trimester, Meagan’s belly was distending further than anyone I had EVER seen in my life. Of course, there were EIGHT babies growing inside her womb, but those eight sure were developing well. Seeing her day by day, her maternity pants and dresses stretchiiiiing, and twice even TEARING after arching her back, was lustfully maddening. Her belly was SO impossibly big on that tiny frame of hers just standing up was a challenge now, and she needed help with anything she did. She couldn’t get up the stairs anymore, so I had taken her mattress and put it in the living room. Either one of her sisters, her mother or me, if I was lucky, would help her wash in the kitchen. Thankfully we had a toilet downstairs that she could use.
I remembered the pictures from octomom in the news, years ago. Meagan had a dome that size alright, now at 28 weeks gone. On her small frame, her belly stuck out over THREE fucking FEET – more than poster-girl Emily. On top of that Meagan’s belly was so big and heavy it hung down to her knees. It was crazy. It was Impossible. But not for Meagan. She still went to school, but had to rest her swollen abdomen on an adjusted stroller. Three times a week a nurse would examine her to see how she was doing. God, she could barely move, and yet – and YET!
Meagan didn’t have enough. For some godforsaken reason, she wanted to be EVEN BIGGER. I think that was what turned me on the most: the fact that no woman on earth had ever grown so large – at her age no less – and yet she wanted MORE. If it wasn’t for our promise (and, I must admit, for Peggy’s game) I would’ve humped the living shit out of my youngest daughter every day; every HOUR if I could.
Those nights that I couldn’t hold it anymore she seduced me for all her worth. “Oomph, oh daddy, my breasts…my huge TITS are so full daddy… Look daddy, they are spraying milk even though I just pumped them…” She would then grab her mammoth mammaries, causing her milk to gush in multiple streams. She’d ask help to undress (we had a special super-sized maternity dress tailored) and I would be sticking my furious hard-on inside her only seconds later. She’d ride me, or I’d ram her from behind, and despite such an impossibly MASSIVE stomach she was as active a slut as ever.
That wouldn’t be what I’d be doing today, however. Two days ago I sent in my report. Today I was on a mission. A mission to find Lucas P. Daniels and expose him for the lying, manipulative sonnuvabitch that he was. And I had a pretty good hunch where he was.
I had gone to the largest property in the valley; a property completely fenced, and stood in front of the wooden gates that could’ve been the doors to Mordor in Lord of the Rings, they were that thick.
Fertile Valley Farms it read in big letters, carved from wood and painted in faux gold.
It was locked and bolted like the gate to a fancy estate – automated locks I assumed, for there were no yale locks or chains in sight. Someone doesn’t want people to go snooping around, I thought. I suddenly remembered the cows I had seen last time; so absurdly big they fell down on the grass in their pasture and just lay there, helpless, waiting to give birth. A comical image of Meagan falling over in the grass came to mind and I chuckled.
There was a small intercom on the left side of the gate: a simple-looking speaker with a call button. I had prepared for something like this and though up an entire scenario about my car breaking down in front of their gate, no cell-phone and shucks, my pregnant daughter was having contractions in the back. I took a deep breath and, keeping Peggy and my kids in mind, I pressed the button.
“Ya’all took long ‘nuf wit dem delivery, Paul,” an angry female voice blared distortedly through the speaker, “Holler yer ass in ‘ere naow!”
With an audible, annoyed click she shut the mic off and buzzed the huge gates into action. I was stumped! How stupid WERE these people? I wasn’t about to tempt my luck, though, and quickly jumped behind the wheel of my car while waiting for the twin gates to open inwards completely. As soon as there was enough of an opening I rolled in.
A quick image of a sperm entering the womb crossed my mind – it was how I felt upon entering the farm. I had seen it was hundreds of acres before, but it was nevertheless an impressive sight. To my left and right the green pastures stretched out as far as the eye could see. Cows and sheep were grazing (or lazing) in the grasslands, most of them bloated much like I thought they’d be. In the distance ahead, sloping up a hill, I saw a large farmhouse, well over a mile away. As I drove closer I saw exactly how large the place was. The house was easily the size of a mansion, and when I reached the hilltop I saw it stretched back over a hundred yards! At first I thought those were the stables, but no, those were in separate buildings downhill on my left and right. What could they possibly need so much space for?
I parked my car next to two others (run-down pick-ups both of them) and walked to the front door, heart thumping hard against my ribs. My emergency-phone-call-scenario was out the window, so I’d have to improvise…
A woman walked out the door to greet me. She must’ve been in her forties, and she was remarkably …unremarkable. No juggernaut chest, bulging belly, nothing; in the very heart of Fertile Valley, this woman was the antithesis of everything it embodied at an almost ironic level. As she stepped down the porch she was furiously tapping on her tablet, eyes glued to the electronic device.
“Dem barrels be’er have yer best produce dis time, or bossman’s gunna…” that’s when she looked up and, evidently, noticed someone she had not expected to see. “…You ain’t Paul.”
“Eh, no,” I tried to sound casual, a bit dulled even, “I’m eh (think, Bill, think!) Bob. Paul, eh, he said a tyre blew on him, eh, I wanted to say that at the gate earlier, but you were too quick.”
The woman looked at me with scarily piercing eyes. Before I really knew what hit me I blurted out: “T-that’s not the ONLY thing that, eh, ‘blew on him’, hehe…”
It sounded so dumb, what I said, so oafish, I thought she’d see right through me then. Instead it appeared just oafish enough as her brow lifted and she rolled her eyes, sighing in recognition.
“Gawdamn that man… payin’ Rudy a visit is mah bet. Goan’ take hours naow. A’ight, Bub, sorry to haul ya in fer nuttin’.” With that she turned back to the door.
“Wait! Eh, c-can I use your bathroom?” I called. Without turning around she waved her hand, beckoning me.
“Come on in then, but doncha go disturbin’ me naow, y’hear?”
The room inside was not very big, more like a tiny guest room. A small, old TV stood on a small, old countertop and a worn-down couch stood in the corner to the right. The woman, a secretary of some sort I guessed, pointed to two doors in the back.
“Them’s the door to the loo hun. No, furthest to the right. You let yerself out, y’hear?”
With that she went into a tiny office on the left and shut the door behind her.
This was my chance to snoop around. I doubted the woman, who cared so little about a stranger, would notice I was taking a long ‘bathroom break’. The door to the left didn’t open – but as it turned out, the key was still inside the lock. Lucky again. I glanced one last time at the woman, visible through a smudgy window, but she was glued to her gadget, facing the porch. The door creaked a little, but she didn’t look up – and I quickly slipped through.
A long corridor, widening towards the back, awaited me. Doors to the left and right lead to empty bedrooms or messy storages, nothing dubious or interesting. Paintings of farmland, mountains and the occasional portrait hung over drab, brown wallpaper. The floors were made of waxed wood; things were as depressing as they were uninteresting. At the end the corridor split: on the left was a staircase which led to the second floor; on the right was an old, oaken door – with a brand-new looking key card slot.
Now why would a simple old farm have such a fancy lock?
The handle wouldn’t budge, of course. I couldn’t force my way through: the door was too sturdy. After thinking for a minute I heard muffled voices coming from the other side, and some laughter. Before my conscious brain had time to react I ran to the stairs and then up, peering from around the corner, hoping the men (for their voices were low) didn’t need to go upstairs. As it just so happened, they did. Shit.
I jumped up and saw another corridor with more doors – all these with key card locks. Only a bucket and a cloth had been flung into the corner. SHIT! There was nowhere to hide! The men were coming up the stairs, and they would surely see me trespassing. I didn’t think they would believe I’d lost my way to the toilet. Almost losing my mind I ran to the cloth – it was dry, and the bucket empty, but still – picked it up and bowed down, swiping it over the floor, my back turned to the stairs. It was too stupid to work, but what other options were there? Fuck, Bill, you’ve done it this time…
I could hear the men talking as they now turned the corner, up the final steps. In mere seconds they would see me. In mere seconds they’d sound the alarm. I was fucked.
Except I wasn’t. I heard them pass me, all the while talking… ignoring me, as if I was part of the furniture. I was sweating profoundly, my hand swiping the floor in useless circles while I listened to their conversation:
“…But ten milligrams would surely do?” One voice argued.
“No! Not at this stage of the mixture! No, it must be added before mixing, or not at all.” A second, more southern accent, replied.
“We should try a high dose first, then taper it down,” a third, darker voice spoke, “in theory this would increase gland productivity and cell release without side effects.”
“We’ve been over this Tom, resilience may not be enough for the initial dose…”
That’s when I heard the beep and click of a door opening and the men stepped inside, voices muffled. Nervously I dared a glance… Nobody was in the hallway. The door was propped open (luckily) and I heard showers being turned on.
They have key cards, the realisation hit me before I had time to celebrate they hadn’t noticed me. I snuck closer, feeling more and more like a spy. They sounded like scientists talking about test results – did they try their formulas on people? I carefully peeked around the corner. Three out of four white cubicles were occupied by the men, undressing or showering. I was in luck again (how long was THAT going to last): a white lab coat was lying carelessly flung over a chair. I grabbed it and felt its pockets.
When I was down the stairs I was wearing the coat and opened the mystery door without trouble. I would have fifteen minutes, I gathered, before someone missed that coat. A small, dark corridor led to a thick looking steel door with a card lock. One last time I slid my newly acquired card through the slit. There was a green beep, and the door clicked. With trembling hands I opened it.
What I witnessed took my breath away. THIS was what went on for a hundred yards: a gigantic room, spacious like an aircraft hangar, with blasting air-condition units keeping it cool. There were glass-paned rooms left and right; some empty, some with state-of-the-art scientific equipment inside. As I walked further down the hall I saw next-gen computers running automated machines that performed mixtures of chemicals with surgical precision. Behind them were gigantic metal vats, the size of silos, sealed airtight, humming and droning. The walls must’ve been soundproof because I heard nothing of the sort in the corridor earlier. Daniels had a secret lab – no, a secret manufacturing plant.
On the right, halfway through the plant, was a room with a large window. My jaw dropped when I looked inside. A young woman sat on a chair, completely naked, with breasts the size of beanbags. Literally as BIG as beanbags: they bulged outwards and flowed down over her toes, rendering her immobile. Her nipples were the size of baguettes! She looked like an experiment-gone-wrong – I assumed that was exactly what had happened. She stared out the window with a sad expression, looked at me… no, through me? I suddenly realised it was a one-way mirror: she was staring at herself.
Ahead were three more rooms with one-way mirrors. I passed them with increasing horror. One had a little girl inside, younger than Meagan, who had one oversized, lactating breast and one undeveloped mosquito bite. Another had a teenage boy with a tiny penis but massive, pulsing balls. The last had a sobbing, pregnant woman. She was bald and hooked up to an I.V. drip, much like a cancer patient.
Experiments. A shiver went down my entire body. They were doing human experiments with their illegal fertility drugs. I felt my anger flaring up again – anger at that damn priest for creating this freak show science-fair. I had enough, I realised, for the feds to tear this whole operation down, so I turned around, ready to make my silent escape.
A single, solid punch knocked me out.
When I came to I was in an office, arms and legs bound to a chair. In front of me was a single desk, behind which sat the man himself. Lucas P. fucking Daniels.
He looked older and smaller than on TV, fatter too; a man in his sixties. He held something in front of him, obscured behind his desk – I couldn’t see. Was it a gun? He looked down then, grinning and lifted his hand… empty.
“Alright darling, that’s enough now.” A young girl stood up, wiping her mouth, smiling at him. The bastard. She was younger than Meagan but had grown gorgeous breasts, full and round, trickling milk. Still half hidden behind the desk I saw the swell of her abdomen – she was pregnant alright. With a rasping chuckle the priest latched onto one of her boobs and suckled it before letting go with a smacking sound – milk was dripping left and right. He then patted her belly and waved her off, smacking her ass as she left. Away from the desk I saw she was heavily pregnant, swollen like little Cindy had been in Meagan’s class (carrying triplets too, no doubt). She slowly but purposely waddled passed me and swayed her hips; her bulging belly and leaky tits swayed along seductively. Despite my disgust for the old fucker and the predicament I was in, I felt my groin twitching.
“Quite the little thing, eh?” Daniels spoke when she shut a door behind me. “Granted, not the biggest we got. Making progress though, oh yes sirree.”
I sat in silence, seething with rage.
“You’ve been a busy man, Bill,” of course he knows who I am, “must admit, more tenacious than predicted. Set things back a lot, Bill. A. Lot.”
He was likely referring to half a year ago, when the feds and police closed his dairy factory and water distribution. The man stood up after fumbling with his pants and walked around the desk, looking down at me with beady eyes. In this light, from this angle, his wrinkly visage was that of a fat, disgruntled frog.
“Honestly thought you’d succumbed a few months ago,” the toad smiled, “the way you went after yer family. Yer colleague. Back there in the maternity ward…”
Panic and shock ran through my mind, then hatred. He knew? Had there been cameras? Someone who told him? What the FUCK was this creep doing spying on my family?
“Was surprised to hear you sent another report two days ago! My, my, what was that all about?”
“You’ve been doing experiments on people!” I barked at him, pushing against my constraints. They felt like handcuffs, impossible to escape, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying. “Not just in that…that lab, but the whole valley, you sick fuck! What is THAT all about?”
Now the man truly laughed, hard and obnoxious, as if overreacting to a corny joke. Perhaps, to him, it had been. “Haven’t heard any complaints,” he sang mockingly, “in fact, aren’t the people liberated? No crime, no unhappiness – well, not really – just good ol’ SEX.”
I was furious, but I NEEDED to know. Ever since we came to the valley nine months ago; ever since we saw the giant billboards of pregnant girls; ever since I started my research with Maggie, there had been two questions: HOW, and…
“WHY?” I roared, handcuffs jingling in my futile attempts to get loose. “WHY DO IT? So you can mask your sick tastes, you fucking psycho?”
Again with that laughter. I wanted to scratch his throat out and stuff it down his mouth. When he was finished he walked back to his chair.
“Would you believe it was accidental?” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, giggling. “Never looked into this, have you?” He pointed at himself now, “Was a dairy farmer, waaaay back, here in this valley. Milk, that was the business.” He tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk.
“Struggled for years – bad soil, bad milk, couldn’t afford the commercial stuff others pumped into their grain. Turned to a friend of mine, believe you met? He’s the only one who sells my meds in this county.”
“Dixon…” I growled. Of fucking course. Both men were of similar age, and likely had lived in the valley their entire lives – they were bound to be old friends.
Daniels clapped his hands. “Robert Nathaniel Dixon! Gave hormonal drugs – were for humans, but times were dear – ground it up and fed it to the cows. And Praise the LORD! There was milk. Tried stronger meds, mixed ‘em up, praised the Lord and got more milk. Times got good.”
He pointed to me then, suddenly, eager almost. “Noticed a change after some months. Side-effects. Customers, girls mostly, had changed. Up here,” he gestured at his chest, “and up here,” he pointed at his head, grinning. “Never been a looker, but they were interested, oh yes sirree! Times got reeeal good!”
“Took a wife, young thing – bless her soul – loved the milk. Expanded the business, beef ‘n water, expanded her bust too. Took its toll on her – may she rest in peace.” He made a cross and smiled to the ceiling. It was at that moment I realised what a lunatic he was. A lunatic who, nevertheless, was smart. And a smart lunatic was a dangerous one.
“Knew it could be better! Hired a scientist, genetics like yerself, loved big, wobbly tits – like yerself. Easy to work with; he improved the formula in no time. Had another side-effect…” He gestured at his abdomen and opened his arms in a circular motion.
“Boom! Baby boom! Girls got knocked up really quick – really young. Seed was more potent, well, just MORE in general!” He chuckled, making a wanking gesture. The man made me sick.
“Got more scientists and became a preacher; share the love. Perfecting the formula. Making them BIGGER. Purebred valleygals swelling out their tops. The rest… is history.”
With a content smirk he leaned back in his chair, resting his head in his hands. For a full minute he looked at me, his face unchanging, purposely letting it all sink in. I couldn’t believe it. He was nuts – and had the whole valley gone nuts with him. This was the fucker who led to my wife’s pregnancy. My daughters’ pregnancies. The man who liked the women in this valley big, and wanted them bigger. “Purebred”girls… perhaps I could use that…
“Who’s your biggest?” I asked, almost solemnly.
“What’s that now, son?”
“Your biggest? That girl just now, she wasn’t. So who is?”
The man’s grin widened. “At a young age? Emily Walton, Bill. Emily Walton was truly fine.” The man seemed lost in the moment. “Got to 40 weeks, that one, two days after her autograph session. Then her water broke. Remember that session? You were there, Dixon said. Fine work, wasn’t she?”
Now it was my turn to laugh. Heartily too, if for all the wrong reasons. His grin faded away, making for one grumpy toad-face.
“A-and what? She was born in the valley, wasn’t she?” I said while laughing.
“What of it?”
“Nothing – nothing. Just, well… if that’s the best your ‘fertile’ valley can produce…”
His fists slammed the desk in sudden anger. I was correct: what I insinuated hurt something nobody else had touched for years: his ego.
“What do you mean by that?” he croaked, standing up, leaning on the desk with his fists.
“She carried what? Triplets? Oh, I heard of other girls carrying quadruplets, but maybe they didn’t grow so big…” I looked him square in the eyes, grinning ear to ear.
“My daughters are OUTGROWING your ‘fine work’, Lucas. And they’ve been here less than a year.”
“Liar!” he shouted – but his voice was quivering. “Years is what it takes! Selective breedin’, avoiding birth defects, takes YEARS!”
"Maybe YOU couldn’t do any better!” I laughed, “Maybe oversaturating your followers makes them resistant – did you think of that? (Had I thought of that?) If an outsider can beat your best THIS easily, why, I wonder why you went through the trouble at all!”
“Ain’t no gal got bigger than Emily!” his speech pattern changed, more like the backwards hillbilly he truly was. “We measure ‘em, the jury CHOOSES THE BIGGEST ONLY!”
“I’m sure you would’ve noticed, had you not been in hiding…” I pressed on, feeling the man crack. “Someone at the school could’ve told you – had you only been around. Do you want to know? How many my youngest is carrying? How BIG she is growing, Lucas P-for-Puny Daniels?
“NO! NO, NO, NO!” The man was sweating now, his face had turned red and the veins on his forehead were pulsing. I laughed again. I was actually proud – mostly of my little Meagan, who was outgrowing the whole damn valley out of pure DESIRE it seemed. But also proud that it was a product of my loins – proud of our genes, our love, that was now breaking this bastard’s crazy magnum opus.
“Eight. BIG. Babies, Lucas,” I pestered the man, hoping to break him completely, “She’s surpassed your fine ‘work’ and she’s not even CLOSE to popping.”
That had done it. With bloodshot eyes he walked towards me and slapped me across the face. Then he brought his wrinkly toad-head close to mine, and whispered.
“Imma go to yer house, Bill – near the creek, wussit? Imma git in there, y’hear, then Imma fuck that slutty wife ‘o yers, yes sirree, Imma do her reeeal good. And then Imma FUCK yer youngest, and then I’ll kill ‘em. I’ll kill ‘em, Bill, the first murdah in twennie years – ain’t NO ONE bigger dan MAH GALS!”
Then he smiled a wicked, mad smile, eyes wide open in brilliant insanity. He pulled a syringe from his pocket and jabbed the needle in my leg. I screamed in pain.
“Imma leave you here now, Bill, got a li’ll partin’ gift for ye. Got sum’ girls comin’ in soon, gunna ROCK yer socks off! It’ll be the last thang ye’ll do. Hmm? Oh, this? Dem’s a cocktail not yet tested, dat is. S’posed to be the strongest juice we cooked up so far, Bill, YES SIRREE!”
With that he left, walked out of sight and gave a short, piercing whistle. Then the door behind me shut, leaving me alone.
I wanted to think of all the things Daniels had told me, or find a way to escape my bounds. I wanted to think of my family, of my wonderful daughters. I wanted to – but I already felt the drugs affecting me. I wanted to think…but I couldn’t. My penis was on fire, as were my balls. I was panting heavily, beginning to sweat, my vision was blurring. I wanted – no NEEDED – release. I felt my dick pulsing in my pants as it grew to a painful size. That’s when the door opened.
Three women walked out and stood in front of me – naked, young, but tall enough to be adults my waning mind thought. One with ebony skin began to unbuckle my belt, giggling softly. Her breasts were large, DD’s like Peggy’s before we moved to the valley. She freed my aching dick, which jumped from its confines, and began to massage it with her hands. Precum was already streaming down the shaft and it was hardening by the second.
The second girl had black hair, fair skin and much larger tits. She was pregnant, unlike the black woman, a few months along – my vision was blurring, tricky to see – and she started licking the tip of my cock. The third girl had creamy white skin and blonde hair, and she was definitely pregnant: hugely pregnant in fact, four babies if she was full term. Her tits were the biggest by far, and she was lactating profoundly. She brought her jumbos to my face and pressed one nipple against my lips. I began to suck greedily, grunting as my dick grew fully erect.
I came in mere seconds. The black girl kept pumping my shaft as I shot my wad skywards. Most of my cum spurted in the Asian’s hair, her face or tits; some of it on the ebony beauty. The pregnant blonde rubbed her belly against my arm and sprayed her milk over my face. I was gasping – but not due to lack of air.
My dick roared aflame again – and, throbbing painfully, grew harder. The drugs caused it to get stiffer than I’d ever felt before. Moaning loudly I felt it swelling, felt it thicken. The women kept pleasing it, kissing it, stroking it. Their fingers grew apart as my member increased in size and girth, hardening like stone. My balls were swelling too – I could practically FEEL them fill up with semen – and the skin of my sack felt tightly stretched. God, what was happening to me?
Now one of the fair-skinned girls hovered over me and pressed my monster cock against her labia – then slowly pried her pussy open with the tip. She began riding the head only, almost unable to take more in. She moaned and gasped with me, pressing harder against my cock. The pregnant (or other? So blurry…) woman sucked my aching, pulsing balls, while the black girl was helping herself, masturbating while standing up.
With a sudden -pop- the whole head of my dick slid inside, and slowly the woman on top (white, blonde, black, Martian, who cared?) began fucking her way down. She didn’t make it halfway before I shuddered and groaned in a second orgasm. The woman on top screamed as she came too, and the black girl helped her climb off my raging erection. Semen belched from her cunt as I came, and came HARD. I showered all three of them –cum was raining from the ceiling.
The ebony woman, her cunt gaping from her own handiwork, now climbed on top and, facing me, pressed my still-spewing dick against her vagina and slowly lowered herself on me. She moaned long and loud, shuddering and cumming as she took the head, then worked down the shaft. I was so huge, so fucking HARD I felt like I’d split her in half. Yet she took it, more and more, inching me inside her, moaning as she orgasmed herself down. I felt her cervix open and stuffed MORE of my pole in, until finally she had taken the whole length and she sat on my lap. Even in blurred vision I could see my dick bulging inside her abdomen. She leaned back on her hands and began to move up and down.
At the same time I felt the surge – the one caused by the drugs. “G..geh…gittofff…” I tried, then I clenched my teeth and grunted again.
The black girl gasped. I was growing again – fatter, harder, longer – it seemed impossible but we both felt it nonetheless. I felt the strain of her womb entrance tighten around my dick, felt her vagina stretch tight with my cock stuffing her inside, felt every pulse and twitch against the folds of her shivering cunt. I saw the bulge in her stomach extend as I grew, but she didn’t try to escape. She spurred me on by sliding up and down faster, her tits actually beginning to bounce. She had heavenly, dark nipples, poking out from round, wide areolas – and they were swelling from her own excitement.
My balls had gotten bigger too – and tighter – and felt FULLER than just before. The black-haired woman was caressing and licking them; it must’ve been her, as the other womanly shape (I couldn’t really keep my eyes open that well) had begun feeding me her milk again.
“Oh! Oh God! Oh GOD! UNNNGH!” I heard the black girl scream as she came, and she dropped herself hard , impaling herself on my rock-hard piston of a cock. Her spasms and contractions squeezed me harder than I thought humanly possible – had they been subjected to experimental drugs too? The thought couldn’t linger as my pulse quickened and the biggest load of my life surged from my balls, through my massive shaft, rushing for her womb.
I shouted – pain was overtaking pleasure – as I felt too much seed rush out from my dick, blasting its way free. The ebony girl had started to stroke her belly and, half in a cum-frenzied daze, I pried my eyes open and glanced at her. She was gasping little shrieks with every spurt – her tits wobbled and shone with sweat – as I heard her stomach growl. Her dark, flat tummy began to expand, bubbling and gurgling. The ebony lady was enjoying multiple orgasms – her breasts and nipples were trembling – and I felt her pussy tighten with each load of semen that filled her. I was cumming so much more than with Claire; the black belly in front of me was surging outwards, rounder, heavier, tauter… the skin was becoming paler and shinier, then her belly button popped, and still she grew. I was panicking now, and I realised (far too late) this might be it for me. In a final clear moment I thought perhaps my heart would give in, or I’d burst my balls (or this woman for that matter) and bleed out. Or maybe I’d drown in the breastmilk of the heavily pregnant blonde.
I am literally gonna be fucked to death. It was the last thing I thought before everything turned black and I drifted away.
I slowly regained consciousness, hearing a soft, steady beeping noise. My eyelids felt heavy, as if I hadn’t opened them in years. My head was clouded and my entire body felt numb.
“He’s coming to!” I heard a familiar voice whisper in soft enthusiasm. With great difficulty I forced my eyes into slits.
I was in a hospital room, hooked up to a machine that tracked my heartbeat. I had two or three tubes attached to my arms (and a catheter in my penis, I found out later) with different coloured bags dripping medicine into me. The voice, of course, was Peggy’s.
I tried to ask what had happened, but only a weak groan escaped from my throat. My wife, nevertheless, understood perfectly.
“Your plan, Bill, oh it worked! It was exactly as you said it would be.” She kissed me on my hand, unable to come forward more due to her gargantuan figure. Behind her appeared my oldest three; Julie, Jennie and Adam, relief visible on their faces.
“It’s their blood that saved you, honey. Your alive because of them, oh honey, we were so afraid… You were out for two days!”
Hearing those words I began to cry. I cried looking at my children, my wonderful, brave children, and they began to cry too as they came forward and hugged me tightly.
“After I examined their blood and my report is done, we’ll have to move quick,” I had explained to Peggy two months ago. “Daniels is a slippery guy, we can’t allow him to disappear. He’s at that farm, Peg, the big one? That’s the heart of his operation. He MUST have had a team, no-one can do this alone.”
“Peg, when I send my report I’ll send instructions to the feds. They are to hide around the house. I plan on getting Daniels to come to us – to YOU – so make sure the kids are safe. When he arrives the feds can spring him, honey. They still want him from dodging his payments, they’ll agree to this.”
“As for me, I know a guy who works surveillance. I’m gonna ask for a special camera, like a button on a shirt. When I go to the farm, no more than two days after my report is sent, I’ll wear it and record everything I see. That way they can clean up shop all they want; the evidence will be there.”
“Listen closely now, this last part is very important. I’ll make sure Daniels knows I sent the report. I’ll talk loudly at a church, in earshot of his fellow priests, so someone will tell the bastard. But when I find Daniels there’s no telling what he’ll do to me. He won’t be stupid enough to just kill me – that’ll really start a manhunt for him – but he will likely try to set me up. I predict he’ll drug me, as that’s what he’s doing to the entire fucking valley.”
“When I find whatever’s in Jul’s and Jen’s blood I’ll send samples to my colleague Mark, a microbiologist. His team can produce a vaccine, or antidote or whatever. When they send a that back, you hold onto it and IF I’m right, and IF Daniels did something to me, get this to Maggie in the hospital. I’ll make sure she knows what to do.”
The plan had worked perfectly. Peggy told me Daniels had arrived, screeching tyres, with three scientists. They hadn’t even made it to the front door when they were jumped and cuffed. The feds had been fast, alright. My family had been completely safe.
Later, when the kids had been brought home by an FBI agent, Peggy told me three of their men had found me a little under an hour after Daniels was caught. I had been in an office on the second floor of the farm, passed out, dick buried in a black woman who had swollen to freakish proportions – equally passed out. The other two ladies were pleasing each other on the floor. All three had been thoroughly drugged and brainwashed, and were recovering in a different ward.
“You were barely breathing, and your pulse was weak…” Peggy cried, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, “when you got to the hospital, Maggie had given instructions to the doctors, like you said. They treated you with antibodies from our kids, sweetheart – that and other medicine they said would help. Maggie did well.”
“How is she?” I managed a whisper, meaning to thank that buxomy bombshell of a nurse.
“Oh, she’s in the maternity ward, unable to move.” Peggy giggled. “That busty slut is due any day now, and too big to stand or walk. She looks pregnant with a horse, Bill! You would love to see that, wouldn’t you?”
I’m certain it would’ve been exciting to hear, had I not been high on drugs – the good kind – and so very, very tired. I simply nodded, and closed my eyes.
“You rest up now, Bill… Oh, my sweet Bill…” Peggy kissed my hand again, then held it in between her tits. I felt my palm rest on the swell of her pregnant stomach. “It’s finally over, so you rest up.”
Once more I felt myself drifting away, but this time I welcomed the sensation. Daniels was gone for good.
My family was saved.
Author’s note: this was a fun chapter to write, especially the encounter with Daniels. A bit more narrative than erotica, but I get the feeling it ties things together in a nice sort of way. I didn’t want to get carried away too much with the secrets in the farmhouse, nor focus on it too heavily, as the confrontation with Daniels was where everything lead to. I’m quite pleased with how his portrayal turned out.
Only one more chapter to go (plus the epilogue), in which we conclude Bill and Meagan’s final moments in quite a laborious way. Wink-wink.
Thank you all, as always, for your support, encouragement, and infinite patience.