Connie's Weed Pt. 03

Swaying to the driving beat, the bouncy girl worked her way across the stage, the pole firmly fixed in her sights. Connie gulped. The sudden silence of a skipped beat marked Marge's first grip at the silvery rod. She raised her right thigh and hooked her shank around it, spinning slowly while she leaned back until her breasts pointed straight to the ceiling, round and balloon-like in the struggling confinement of her shirt that did not permit the slightest sagging of the pliant orbs.

~~~

The beat returned again. Marge groaned and grabbed the pole harder, righting her body against the overwhelming weight of her breasts until the metal brushed over her nipples while she undulated left and right. Her leg around the pole unwrapped. Standing straight up again and shifting her weight forward over the tipping point, she used the unyielding pole to force her taut shirt into the depths of her cleavage. Her body thrust against the metal. The music froze, and Marge's motions slowed down until she simply leaned into the resistance, panting heavily.

Connie watched her friend's agitated breathing and how the rising and falling motions slowly worked the cloth into the chasm. There wasn't enough material to both wrap around the mammary mass and to coat the inside of her cleavage. The high-pitched tearing of seams cut through the breathless silence of the audience. Liberated white breast flesh jutted through the widening gaps along her sides.

Two more spotlights. The women appearing to her left and right wore a similar cowboy outfit, and while they were more than adequately qualified for their line of work, they couldn't hold a candle to their mistress. Their long fingernails clawed into Marge's sleeves. A harsh pull, and the skimpy dress on Marge's body was gone. She grabbed her hat and threw it into the audience.

~~~

Connie stopped breathing for a second or five, and when she started again, she did it with a gasp she feared could be heard from across the room.

"Oh Marge...," she whispered when she felt sure enough she could control her voice instead of squealing incoherently.

Her friend's breasts were gigantic. Well, that wasn't exactly news to Connie. It was the way Marge had decided to highlight their size and the obvious comparisons coming with them.

Connie had chalked up the paleness of Marge's face to a trick of the stage lights. Now she saw that the uninhibited dancer had covered her whole body in white paint with irregular black spots. On her head, two plastic horns sprouted from her black spiky hair, and between her buttocks, a fake tail whipped against her thighs in her hips' fierce swaying.

With her breathtaking proportions dramatically lit in the sudden glare emanating from the disco floor tiles, Marge was made up as a literal cow-girl save for the fact that her udders dangled from her chest instead of her lower belly.

~~~

The curtain split once again. Connie almost toppled with her chair when she jerked back. The man — the beast — stepping out on the stage had to be at least seven feet tall. She needed a few moments to recognize the head and the foot-long horns for a minotaur mask. Bulging muscles shifted under the oiled, brown-black skin of the naked giant who must've stepped right out of an old 70s fantasy movie. Marge thrust her glaring white body against him in some kind of fertility dance. It showed results, thick and hard results, in a couple of seconds.

Her hand barely fit around the lower arm that grew out of the giant's crotch. Grabbing the bobbing appendage, Marge led him along to an elevated pedestal that the other two women had quickly rolled on the stage. She climbed on it and went down on hands and knees, with her hips raised to just the right height and her udders dangling freely. Connie wasn't surprised any more that the milkmaids already did some dance routine that involved shiny chrome buckets while the guy ran his hands over Marge's back and kneaded her derriere.

~~~

The man-bull standing behind Marge bent his knees and moved forward. His curved rod slipped between Marge's thighs, peeked out in front for its sheer length and bobbed against her belly, almost reaching her navel. Backing away again and taking aim, he pushed the swollen tip of his erection against Marge's crotch. Marge moaned, then she let out a bellowing "Moo" as the hard intruder split her open. And then, under Connie's incredulous stare, she took it to the last inch. Connie's lips were dry. Marge, the girl who once had told Connie, just to watch her squirm uncomfortably, "I can't even use a regular dildo because my vaggie's so incredibly tight," now knelt in front of Connie's eyes, on the stage of a strip club, milked by a pair of girls while being mounted balls-deep by a can-thick prick that had to push inside her up to her stomach.

Connie really wished she hadn't passed on the free drink.

~~~

The music thundered on. Marge still rested on her hands and knees, and her assistants each held one huge, milk-laden breast in both hands, oiling and kneading the pliant spheres in deft, long strokes. The cow-girl's features barely managed to express the overwhelming ecstasy raging through her body while she writhed to the driving wall of sound, impaled on the firm piston that made her abs swell out and shrink back again with its voluminous thrusts. Slowly, helped along by the lubricated and glistening hands of her handlers, her upper body rose. Each squeeze into Marge's breast flesh forced tiny droplets from the reluctant pores in her hard nipples. Connie glanced around, huddled in her seat. In the twilight of the room, there wasn't a single guest who hadn't whipped out his aching rod and was stroking it feverishly. Though limited as her knowledge about strip clubs was, Connie was quite sure this was not what usually happened. She averted her face and stared back at the stage.

~~~

Connie instantly recognized the expression on her friend's face. Marge was about to explode. She arched her back, grabbed the heads of her milkmaids and forced their lips on her nipples. The music stopped for good. Marge's moaning inhale filled the air. The cheeks of the women bulged. White cascades bubbled from their lips. They struggled free, cupped Marge's breasts and held them up, sending thin arcs of milk all over the audience. Burying himself into Marge to the hilt, the bull held on to her ass, frozen in rapture.

The spectators also stopped moving for a couple of seconds, then they sagged back into their seats. Connie quickly fled the room and hid in a corner of the corridor.

~~~

Chapter 10: Decisions, Decisions ...

~~~

"Uh, so, do you want to ... to talk about that?"

Marge laughed. "No, not really. Ugh, I'm beat. Eight hours of that bull-riding is fun, but it really wears you out." She snuggled against her seat and yawned. "Hey, thanks for the magical twat you gave me, by the way. Never would've thought I could take Mack's prick in one piece. Wake me when we're at my door, willya?"

You won't burst, ever. Her own words. In the clearing. Connie grabbed the rim of the steering wheel harder.

"Marge, we need to talk! Seriously! Look at you! What if you — if you catch something? And when was the last time you showed up for your courses? They'll throw you out! And look at your clothes! What's that? Plus-sized? It looks like fetish clothes on you! And the others in your courses are starting to talk! What if they find out you're Mighty Major Boobage at the — at that — at that bar?!"

"Yeah, so what? Let 'em talk! And, come on. Catch something? Mack's exclusively for me, it's not like he can find any other girl that can take him, and we're all getting screened once a week anyway. It's the law. Oh, and I'm going to give up on the studying. Waste of time. Do you have any idea of the dough I'm raking in now?"

"You'll give up — Marge! You can't — Marge, I — I need —"

Marge ruffled Connie's mane. "I know, sweetie. Don't worry! I'll pay you the same you got from my parents for the tutoring. No, strike that! I'll triple it! You just gotta be my personal assistant. So, deal?"

Thrice the pay. It would definitely allow Connie to continue her courses, and she wouldn't have to fight each month to make ends meet.

Connie nodded reluctantly. They drove the rest of the way in silence.

~~~

Weeks later...

~~~

"Marge, this isn't you!" Connie struggled in her friend's embrace, trying to push away with her hands on Marge's shoulders while the curvy assailant kept on nuzzling into the shallow valley between Connie's meager breasts. Marge's arms were locked firmly around Connie's waist, and the feisty young woman pushed Connie backwards until they stumbled upon Connie's creaky futon bed.

"Oh yes, you're right!" she laughed, biting playfully into Connie's neck. "I'm all besides myself now! Rrrrowwwrrr!"

Marge dug her teeth into the rim of Connie's top and wiggled lower. The edge of the plain cloth scraped over Connie's excited nipples and finally ripped as Marge pulled harder. Her pouted lips closed around the engorged rough nub on Connie's left breast. The blonde gasped. Heat rushed into her cheeks, and the words stumbled from her lips.

"M—mmmmh!—Marge, please, p—please, don't — don't —"

Marge's wet, hot tongue drew a shiny line from the left nipple to the right before her burning lips swallowed the other rough bud. The deft fingers squeezing Connie's buttocks wandered lower and started to do things.

Connie's body was on fire. Every nerve and fiber demanded to be relieved from all her pent-up desires. She grabbed Marge's head and guided the relentlessly kissing mouth lower. The raven's pouted lips took a little detour and adhered to the soft, sensitive skin of the inside of Connie's thighs, pinching it with her shiny teeth. Connie gave in.

"— Don't — stop! Don't stop! Unnngh!"

~~~

The days of summer went by, one after the other. A little tweak here, another inch added there, a hint of puffiness to Marge's lips, just a faint tug at her waist, enhancing the puffy nipples, plumping the areolae, drawing muscle ribs along the thighs ... as the stock of juice dwindled, Marge's hotness went through the roof. She radiated sensuousness. Men were barely able to breathe in her vicinity, and even straight women struggled to maintain their senses.

~~~

Connie slowly caught her breath again. She didn't know why she returned to Marge's bedroom at a single call, day and again. No, that was a lie. She knew it all too well, and the money that Marge had promised — a promise she'd kept — was not part of it. It was just so unbelievably good to have her friend go down on her, with all the augmented abundance that her body offered. Marge usually left the strip club by six in the morning, had a little nap, and invariably Connie's mobile would go off as soon as Marge woke for her second breakfast around ten a.m. More often than not, Connie was Marge's second breakfast, and vice versa.

Just a drop of the rich, sweet cream seeping from Marge's nipples at the slightest provocation was nectar of the gods. Closing her lips around the rough spouts of delight, feeling the many thin jets tickling her cheeks from the inside, meant paradise. Resting her tired head on the soft pillows after feasting on the nurturing fountains, massaging the supple mountains that easily overwhelmed a single pair of hands and yet stood proud and sag-less as soon as Marge stood up, curling up against Marge's curves, all this opened the gates to Connie's personal nirvana.

Just the sight of Marge's face, with her lips pouting against Connie's curly bush and her cheeks pumping as she sucked and blew and sucked and blew, and the tongue ... heavens, that tongue alone, it whipped over her vulva with warm, viscid firmness, it wormed into Connie's depths like an angry snake, it made her cave contract in spasms of blissful ecstasy. Marge never showed that trick when she danced on the stage, she never let anyone see what really hid inside her throat. She kept the foot-long, muscular abomination concealed, revealing it only as a special treat for her friend, her lover, her body mechanic. The curling, wiggling, stroking, digging, drilling appendage robbed Connie of her senses. It was the leash that pulled her back, time and again. It was the whip that made her obey Marge's constant demands of more and rounder and jigglier.

The moment Marge got what she wanted, she'd slump back into her bed and fall asleep in minutes, while Connie was left feeling guilty. Never guilty enough to actually try and stop it, at least not until today.

She looked her friend's figure up and down. The hourglass arrangement of breasts and hips and ass scraped the border of plausibility and possibility now, from the far side no less. It was on that day that Connie's thoughts became lost and scared in the uncanny valleys of Marge's boobs and butt. It was on that day that Connie finally made up her mind.

~~~

This needs to stop. I — I can't let her — I —

Connie's eyes rested on her friend's gorgeous bosom, rising and falling to her sleep's gentle breathing.

No, I can't take that away from her. She's looking just too good. But she mustn't —

Connie's hands trembled a little as she took a small gulp from her flask.

No. This is it. Never again. Do you hear me, world? I don't want that. I don't want to play around with these powers. Never should've started. I can't handle all that. She can't handle that, either. She is losing herself. If I let this go on, then she'll dissolve inside. I know it.

Connie leaned in to the sleeping buxom beauty. A little of the sheen and shine still glittered on Marge's skin, just barely enough to reach in and touch her.

"Marge, you won't go back to that strip joint. You'll quit there. Find some other place, someplace decent. And — and you'll not have that crazy urge to grow bigger any more, and not all that hunger for sex, either. You'll — you'll be you again, understood? No crazy tongue, no rug munching cravings. Just best friends."

Holding her breath, Connie put her hand on her bedfellow's shoulder. Once more, the tingling and trembling rushed into her fingers. Faint glow wandered over Marge's skin and faded as it spread. The sleeping girl shuddered lightly. Vague movement crawled under the skin of her throat, and a little of her ballooned mammaries' and buttocks' volume shifted to even out her narrow waist. Marge was still unbelievably hot, but no longer on the wrong side of reality.

The power faded away for good. Connie's perception of the world shrunk and returned to normal.

That's the right thing to do, she assured herself, despite the sudden rush of loss that sent her shivering. It's over. Thank the gods. She exhaled and reached for her scattered clothes.

~~~

The half-full hip flask in her backpack gurgled faintly as she picked it up and quietly left Marge's room.

~~~

"Hey, Connie! Connie! Over here!"

Connie turned around on the stairs to the university and saw Marge waving at her, climbing from the passenger seat of an expensive sports car. The spunky girl waved her ride goodbye, ran over, grabbed Connie around the waist and effortlessly lifted her into a wild spin.

"I got it! They gave me the job! Come December, I'll be the new lead model at Leather'n'Lace! Y'know, the folks who tailored me that awesome bodice? They instantly recognized me!"

"Gnnnghhh—that's great!" Connie gasped for air until Marge put her down again and released her from the vise of her arms and the soft envelope of her cleavage. "And, the, y'know, the other job?"

"They're not happy to see me go, of course. Tough. Their problem. Cut quite hard into my paycheck, though. Ah, hell with 'em. Got another job to bridge over until then. Until December, I'll be waiting tables down at the diner."

She pinched Connie's nose and leaned in.

"You hexed me into all that, last night, right? Took away all that crazy sex weirdness, eh? Damn, I should be angry at you, but I just can't bring myself to that. But just so you know, I already miss going down on you. You had such a nice fruity taste. You sure you don't want to bring my mind back into that mood?"

"Marge!" gasped Connie. "Even if I w—wanted to, uh, there's nothing of the juice left."

"Damn!" Her friend's face darkened. She glanced around and whispered, "Connie, are you sure about that? I really could've used — I've still got one problem. My — no, better take a look at it. Come! Hurry!" She grabbed Connie's wrist and pulled her along through the doors and towards the restrooms.

~~~

"So what is—"

"Ssssst!" hissed Marge, walking along the stalls and checking that they truly were alone. Satisfied, she straightened herself in front of Connie. "Okay, listen, I should be pissed, what with you sneaking out in the dead of night after you redecorate my brain and my body! Do you think it's funny, waking up with part of my assets missing and the urge to work a square job?"

Connie remained silent. She couldn't think of any reply.

"Yeah, didn't think so, either. Good thing it worked out in the end. Bad thing is you've forgotten about a very private part of me!"

"What? No, I — I didn't —," stammered Connie.

Marge spread her legs, bowed, grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it up.

"Uh-huh? Then what is this?"

Connie gulped. Of course Marge had gone without panties again, some things just couldn't be changed. Connie knelt down and tried to do some kind of detached visual inspection, to find out what Marge was complaining about. She couldn't see anything unusual. Nice, plump outer lips swelled out in a palm-pleasing curvature. The curly, glistening inner lips and the slightly protruding hood of Marge's clit made for a sight straight out of Connie's biology books.

"Uh, well, it is — beautiful?"

As soon as she said it, Connie almost bit her lips. Beautiful? Fuck, where did that come from?

"Uh, er, I, eh, it's — it's like it's supposed to look, I mean, it's your pussy. I guess it looks what it's supposed to look like. It's not like I've ever wanted to get this close to it."

"Gee. As if I hadn't noticed, Miss Coyness. And of course it's beautiful! It's pussy. They only come in beautiful. Trouble is, they usually don't come in that size, Connie! I mean, before all this started, it fit in my palm. Now it barely fits in my hand! And just look at this!"

Marge stooped, holding her skirt up with her elbows, and grabbed her labia. She pulled them apart, and they stretched effortlessly into a pair of pink butterfly wings, forming a funnel with a small, wrinkled hole that quickly relaxed into a gaping, dripping rosette. Connie jerked back.

"Holy shit!"

"Yeah, right. That's a cave for a cow, not for a girl. You better fix that now!"

"Heavens, Marge, I'm sorry! I—I hadn't thought of that when I wished you back."

"Uh-huh. You don't say. Seems like it. Well?"

Connie reached for her backpack. "Yes, yes, I think I can fix—"

Marge's hand snatched her wrist. With her other, she wrestled the flask from Connie's hand and held it out of her reach. "Ah—hah! Gotcha! Nothing left, again? Do you think I'm stupid enough to fall twice for that?" She grinned from ear to ear, right into Connie's scared face, popped the cap and raised the flask to her mouth.

"Marge! No!" Stooping in the pain of Marge's vise-like grip on her wrist, Connie froze, gasped for air and stared at her friend. The flask was still half-full. Neither of them had ever swallowed that much of the juice before.