Empire of Flesh

"Platinum blond, about 5'5. Wider hips than the last one. Blow-job lips and ice-blue eyes. Boobs.....I'd say about bowling-ball sized. And trust me, she's enthusiastic!"

"Heyhey! They all are! Everybody you send to me acts like its her lifelong dream to strut around naked fer my camera! I dunno how you dig up all these delicious sluts, but keep 'em comin'!"

"Yeah....yeah, but with this one, she's really, really horny. Most girls like to talk dirty for the audience, but this one; she really means it! You'll need somebody with a big cock to keep her in line."

"Harry! Harry! You say that with every girl!" Lou reminded him. "I know the drill, she needs it at least four times a day, more if she can get it. I've handled your girls before. And I hope for a lot more! I'll wire your usual headhunter's fee to the same account number as before. I gotta tell ya kid, partnering with you was the best thing that ever happened to the Titopia Triple-X francise!"

"And a reminder of the worse thing that ever happened to me...." bemoaned Harrison as he hung up. And that was how he'd survived so long without a steady job. He couldn't simply abandon his victims; they would face abuse, disease, and unwanted pregnancies on the streets, or wind up with brutal pimps. A girl that gave in completely to the Curse, like Darcy, would not only crave sex, she would find it simply impossible to refuse her body to any man.

The only hope for his women was the adult entertainment industry. Here, they could thrive creating media that glorified what they loved more than life itself. The owners of skin mags and porn studios could give the girls direction and focus for their lusts; so far this option was the best chance for survival that his victims would get.

But it wasn't supposed to be this way; not forever. In fact, it was Harrison's plan to escape from this cycle of transformation and pornography that led him to meet Darcy in the first place.

He sought to give something back, in response for all the lives he'd destroyed. He still possessed an almost encyclopedic knowledge in a variety of academic subjects, and was struggling to slowly build a career as a professional tutor. It was in this way that he hoped to no longer have to rely on his vast network of contacts in the porn industry, and their fees he received for providing them with a steady stream of new talent.

His eyes fell upon his latest disaster. Unconscious, sleeping the sleep of the sexually exhausted, lay Darcy....or 'Linda Bordeaux' as she would be calling herself. Her gleaming skin was awash in hot sweat and speckles of cum. Beneath her ample bosom, was a series of backwards numbers written in lipstick across her slick skin. When she awoke, she'd find a similar set on her ass. When viewed in a mirror, a phone number was revealed in the proper order. Most Curse victims still retained enough memory to use cars and phones, so he was usually safe in assuming that they could make contact with her new employers.

Her eyelids....they had begun to flutter rapidly, as was typical. The evil spirit within her always bombarded new converts with a torrid avalanche of erotic dreams, intense fantasies that seared away any lingering vestiges of morality and inhibition. When she awoke, the new female would be a depraved, hollow she-creature, so whorish in demeanor and desires, that it seemed an insult to call her a woman, for not even the most wanton natural women could not match her on-coming perversity.

Soon, it would be time to leave this city and move on, before too much suspicion was raised. The Southwest was nice this time of year.... plus, if anything went wrong, he had another agreement with the owner of Boobageddon Productions; who was predictably, very satisfied with his prospects.

**********

"Astarte! Astarte! There is none other! None to.....compare to you! *Nnnngh* My love is yours forevermore!" grunted the naked Canaanite priest as he thrust into the woman who was more than woman. The priest's lust had only increased after the third orgasm, and Astarte relished the ferocity of his rampant libido as he pinned her against the jewel and gold-encrusted wall, struggling to thrust his member ever deeper in her welcoming chasm; whilst her legs wrapped around his pelvis strained to grind him tighter against her sex.

She could no longer see where the Priest's hands would rove next; for her breasts had blossomed to a width so great, that they seemed close to the diameter of an ox-cart wheel. Her sensitivity increased as her mammaries enlarged, but adding yet more to her pleasure was the surprise: would her mate tweak her clit next? Or perhaps his nails would graze the inside of her thigh? Not being able to see his hands over the ponderous swell of her bosom added a mysterious thrill that only added to her pleasure.

The Qedeshots kneeled and chanted before her, row after row of the cultic temple prostitutes bowed before the raised dias at the back of the temple - her temple. Her nature had so impressed the priests of Jericho that they named her a fertility goddess! It was the most ideal outcome possible for her; here Astarte had comfort, safety, respect, and was regularly supplied with all the male essence she could handle! Nearly every night she limped back to her private sanctum from the well-used soreness in her pelvis!

But with the feeding so easy, she had also grown careless, complacent. She had not made contingency plans, had no escape routes from the temple nor emergency contacts in case of disaster. She simply presided over daily worship that the people of Jericho might be blessed with virile cocks and fecund wombs; and her own womb was engorged with the rich seed of men! She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be hungry, to feel that gnawing heat, the rasping tingle in her groin, the labored breathing, that only a hefty dose of manseed could satisfy!

But she would indeed remember what that hunger felt like in the years to come! Her paradise lasted three centuries, before the Hebrews swept through and destroyed everything; she was nearly killed in the attack. The best thing to do was to return to hibernation; only for a century at a time, and await an age when sex was again considered sacred, and when men did not ask for unreasonable commitments after they spurted themselves within a woman.

That long-lost eon, the Bronze-Age smorgasbourd of Jericho had been Astarte's oldest memory. Everything was hazy, and indistinct before that rutting with the fertility priest all those milennia ago. She sat now in a hotel room in the ritzier part of a city thousands of miles and years from that time. She was thumbing through a worn and weathered pink diary that she had often used. Not to record her thoughts and memories, however.

It had troubled her for centuries that she had no recollection of a childhood as humans consider it. Had she ever been a bumbling, stupid little girl with a head too large for her body? Did she ever meet her own parents? She had no idea.

"...October 29, and it looks like California dodged a bullet this time;" came the voice of a female journalist over Astarte's portable radio plugged in an outlet in the corner. "Yes, seismic readings confirm a Great Quake has occurred just hours ago, but far off the coastline on the ocean floor. In other news, California Adult entertainment industries have experienced record profits - " but she had ceased listening.

"What am I?" she whispered out of her window questioningly to the glittering skyscrapers, and neat avenues of palm trees common to large cities on America's West Coast.

"Am I some freak of nature? Some long-lost species from a rare evolutionary path? A modern scientist might describe me thus." Am I an extraterrestrial? Was I deposited on Earth ages ago by some sort of....flying saucer? Why, what possible purpose could that serve? And where are the rest of my kind?" her demands were angry; as if by her protests she could intimidate the universe into providing an answer.

"Is it true what the followers of the One God would say of me? Am I a supernatural fiend spawned by some fallen angel to bedevil mankind? If I was, would I know it?" She had never known; never met another of her kind, and found no source of answers or information. She massaged her breasts as she petted the small, pink book.

"Freak, Alien, or Demon, what are you, Astarte? All I know is that I am old, impossibly old. Do I have a destiny? A purpose for my endless existence?" Being denied these answers caused her fear in the beginning, then torment in later millennia....now? She felt as though she'd been....swindled. As if the universe had cheated her of a rightful prize.

If there were no answers about her past, then she decided to create them. Trying to integrate into human society would be impossible if she claimed to be incapable of remembering her childhood. So she had decided to create one. After listening to more lovers than there seemed stars in the sky, she understood the basics of childhood, enough to falsify stories of her own.

She filled the small book with wholesome fictions of precocious, play-time messes, bee-stings, and wise sayings from her long-suffering mother. She kept it neutral with respect to technology, so it could be easily updated. This catalogue of false memories gave her folksy anecdotes she could add to conversations with normal humans. Letting her blend in just enough that no one would divine her true nature; yet her beauty was stunning enough to arouse man's basest instincts.

But ultimately, it was not enough. Feeding prospects in this country had been improving steadily since the 1960's, but in the last few years, she'd become increasingly dissatisfied. But why? despite the moral foundations of this society, a point had now been reached where she could freely couple with hundreds of men with little or no social consequences. But it was not like ancient Canaan; here her predatory libido was merely tolerated, but there she had been worshipped!

Would she ever have that blessing again? Would there ever be a time and place where women would submit to her will without question, and where she could command any man she chose to her bed without hiding her nature?

Likely not. As liberated as these Americans were becoming, if it were discovered that an ageless being lurked among them that fed upon the sexual energies of men, she would be hustled off into the dark of night to a secret bunker to be poked, prodded and violated. These modern humans would never accept a living goddess among them. What was the answer to her dilemma?

".....Professor of Geophysics at UC Berkeley says that a Quake of this magnitude will indeed have repercussions, even though it did not occur on land - " But Astarte flicked off the bothersome radio broadcast, doubting that the distant tremors would affect her.

Take a lover? But lovers had always failed her in the past; how could she keep a man alive long enough? What then? What then?

**********

It was a pleasant enough cafe, and the Wi Fi link was working nicely, and so Harrison was able for a time to forget his troubles and enjoy the simple pleasures of people unburdened by magical curses of nymphomaniacal monarchs. Buses and cars whizzed on by outside, and an atmosphere of casual relaxation prevailed within. True, this cafe was a little close to the risque` part of town, but there was nothing in here to remind him of that.

" Lorebabe69: lol, but the pyramidal influences in the architecture of the Mayans should be a clear enough indication." flashed the words across the screen of his laptop. A classic argument, he thought, as he debated with the other intelligence via instant messenger. It was so refreshing, so invigorating to have a stimulating, intellectual discussion!

"Brainiac360: But you have to consider the beliefs of the ancient Egyptians at the time, their status in the afterlife depended upon a proper burial in their homeland; to leave it on some incredible voyage across the ocean would have put their souls in jeopardy." Finally! A conversation that didn't involve boobs, pussies, or how strippers picked their stage names!

" Lorebabe69: Essentially true, but there are many plausible vectors for dissemination. Some have theorized that Phoenician merchants might have once attempted an extended ocean voyage that might have led to the Americas. But the technology and seamanship at the time prevented them from being able to return; a ship was most likely marooned. And it's not certain that Egyptians couldn't have been involved; a part of their mythology also related to a Western Paradise beyond death -

"Brainiac360: And you think one of them might have tried to make a voyage to find that Paradise?

"Lorebabe69: Unlikely, true but perhaps not impossible. "

"Brainiac360: But very nearly impossible; it's a fascinating theory, but the Egyptians never demonstrated nautical expertise beyond what was needed for simple river barges. It wasn't until the Middle Kingdom that they even possessed knowledge of the wheel! They just didn't value innovation of that sort; there was a strong focus on the order of the universe, and the maintenence of stability."

"Lorebabe69: So you believe that Mayan architecture was simply an original product of the culture with no foreign influence?"

"Brainiac360: Certainly, you have to remember that this culture also produced accurate astronomy, and a system of mathematics."

"Lorebabe69: Unless their other achievements were also a result of ideas imported from foreigners!"

"Brainiac360: Hah! well now we're getting into shaky territory...."

But Harrison saw it then. It was becoming dark, and the street lights were starting to turn on. That also meant that neon signs and lighted marquees would also begin their electric emanations. He didn't notice it before, but when the Greyhound bus pulled away, a sign up the street became visible:

LIVE TONIGHT!

DEE-DEE CUPS

DANCES AT THE

G-SPOT!

No...oh no....not her! His online conversation forgotten, Harrison felt a tear rolling down his face. Once again, his accursed past rose to haunt him. Just a few years ago, she had been an accomplished surgeon at the Mayo Clinic, at which Harrison was briefly able to secure admittance at great personal expense for an evaluation of his bizarre condition.

Dr. Denise Halloway was an a brilliant physician who took an immediate interest in his case....but mainly in his cock. Detailed scans produced baffling results that provoked words from the doctors such as, 'unprecedented'.....'findings inconclusive'.....' diagnosis uncertain'. Their probes and tests were thorough, but medical science simply wasn't up to challenge of whatever the Curse had done to him. And Dr. Halloway wasn't up to the challenge of resisting the impossible allure of his penis!

She'd hurred to catch the same elevator Harrison was in, and when they were alone she hit the Emergency Stop button, tore through his pants like a woman obsessed, and suckled upon his penis as though it were the a font of ambrosia. She was greying, middle-aged with dark hair. Not what he was used to, but she made up for it with enthusiasm.

He should have, could have stopped her, but her mouth! It was so good! Such warmth and pleasure! He was almost delirious with lust as she inhaled and deep-throated his member! His hands gripping her head, he tried at first to push her away, but his grip become more of an encouragement after the first few licks.

Before he knew it, he was quivering with post-orgasmic aftershocks, and the fine-lines and wrinkles of a woman approaching fifty had smoothed and flowed into an incorrigible whore at least twenty years younger.

Those screams, he would always remember the unique tone of her screams as her ripening, youthening breasts burst with health, vitality and sweet milk. It was like laughter mixed with animal slaughter - but clearly Halloway was gripped by a delight so profound that her mind was unable to cope with the onrush of power and pleasure brought by the sorcery.

Near the end, she hunched topless on the ground, supported by her elbows, and panting from the pleasure. But her breasts were still growing, still enlarging, and from that position, they came to touch the ground in less than six seconds, and still they grew!

Of course, he had to help her disappear using his network of contacts, and she was greedily snatched up by the Porn industries. Oh yes, she had been missed! Investigation after Investigation. Harrison had been brought in for questioning time and time again. But he was weak; too weak to allow himself to be incarcerated forever! He was....well, what could he have done? No one could have possibly believed the truth of what had happened to Halloway, and there was no way to build a criminal case against Harrison, so the matter just began to fade away.

Now, with the stripper name Dee-Dee Kups (though her bosom had truly grown far in excess of that!) and decades of valuable medical knowledge locked away from her conscious mind, the gorgeous ex-surgeon delighted audiences across the country with her blond-streaked red hair, jade-green eyes, massive melons not unlike halloween pumpkins, and an impressive ability to flex her ass-cheeks in rhythm with Notorious B.I.G. 's 'Hypnotize'.

How many diseases might she have cured? How many lives might she have saved had it not been for him and his damned selfish cock! Harrison logged off...he needed....needed to forget... to forget how much he loved the personality behind Lorebabe69, after all their years of chatting. She was starting to pressure him to finally meet her; and he was torn with how to put her off without putting her off. Their debates, while contentious were more precious to him than sex with 10,000 transformed whoresluts. The conflict, the dilemma weighed upon him too heavily....had to get away...forget.....end......needed it to end....to end.....

**********

The last man gripped her hips firmly, fingers clenched against her firm ass as the svelte figured woman writhed and rutted atop his naked pelvis. Over the hours, his grunts had turned from passionate straining to a crazed, almost manic laughter. That's how it always became when she let herself simply go wild. When she fully indulged herself in a virile man. But this...this was purposeful. This latest one, a meaty construction worker with a stubbly beard and burly muscles that gave an aura of strength and heartiness despite an ample beer-belly.

"Oooh....that was....eleven...." she crooned, feeling that liquid fire of nourishing bliss that she never, could never grow tired of. The seed of each man, every man down through the millenia, was a unique cocktail to her. The orgasming laborer spasming himself within her had a deep, salty, brothy tang; but she had only a rudimentary understanding of how humans experienced their foods. To her it was sperm, rather than food that was most important to her sense of taste. And her lower lips flexed with surprising agility to encompass and suckle the spewing rod within her clenching slit as she pressed her hands into his hairy chest, grunting as she strove to tease each last sperm cell his equipment could produce.

She thrust, and ground her hips against his groin yet again, only to be met by gurgling, giggling laughs. The man's eyes rolled back into his head, his face twisted into a rictus of impossible joy. Not unexpected.

"Three...two.....one..." Astarte counted, a cruel grin crossing her plump, moist lips as her prey jerked suddenly. "That would be the heart." His heart exploding, the strain too great to bear. Not uncommon for men near forty; that was the conseqence of her feeding venoms. After poisoning a man's body like this, forcing it to produce enough sperm for nearly a dozen ejaculations in less than an hour, the human metabolism was bound for disaster. And yet, while her male prey were surely aware of the strain they were under, the narcotic high also caused by her feeding venoms caused desire to increase just as the danger did.