Atlantea Ch. 08

I awoke in a comfortable queen-sized bed. Light was streaming in around the edges of long white drapes, which hung down the length of the French doors that lead from my bedroom onto an extensive lawn. Several months earlier, I had moved into Rosalind and Phoebe's mother-in-law unit, a small two-bedroom cabin in their backyard. It was early, around 6AM, and when I got up, naked, to look outside. Mist still clung to the wet grass.

There was a knock at the front door.

"Come in!" I shouted, not bothering to get dressed.

Phoebe entered, wearing flannel pajamas. The garment was bulging around the waist, as her eight-months pregnant belly was straining its elasticity. She was holding a steaming mug of coffee, with a dash of half-and-half, in her left hand.

"Here, I thought you'd need it," she said.

"You're a fuckin' lifesaver," I said gratefully.

"No, trust me, you're the lifesaver. I don't think I could walk without these. Have I mentioned how much being pregnant sucks?"

Phoebe was referring to the daily two-hour massage sessions I had been providing for her, every morning, for the past three months. Starting around the fifth month of pregnancy, Phoebe had begun to experience severe hip pain, as her body prepared to give birth by releasing hormones that would loosen that part of her anatomy. While most pregnant women experienced discomfort or pain as a result of this change, Phoebe's case was on the extreme end, bad enough that sometimes she was not able to go in to work.

Fortunately for Phoebe, her best friend, myself, was in the middle of graduate-level studies in athletic training, and had extensive experience performing massages on athletes, including injured ones. Phoebe, herself among the best physical therapists in the city, had been one of the people to train me.

Also, by chance, around that same time that Phoebe's troubles began in earnest, her neighbors, a large and well-to-do Catholic family, had decided to move. Their last child had turned eighteen and was headed for Purdue, and they no longer needed the five bedroom Victorian which loomed over the tiny two-bedroom that Rosalind and Phoebe had called home.

A complicated chain of real-estate deals had ensued. Rosalind had recently sold the chain of kitchen-supply stores that she had founded a decade earlier to some investors from Hong Kong, who intended to expand the local chain into a nationwide business. Using some proceeds, she was able to work out a deal to buy the neighbors' property before they even contacted a real estate agent. Meanwhile, the Twins, with two babies on the way, bought the bungalow, anticipating that they'd all be able to help each other take care of the children, and share costs for nannies and babysitters. Although I expect they would have found some other excuse to involve me, Phoebe's hip troubles provided the perfect excuse to have me move into the small cabin in the backyard, behind the massive Victorian. I was only too grateful to leave my depressing apartment, and the rent, which amounted to giving massages to Phoebe every morning, was hard to beat.

* * *

Phoebe and I walked into the other room, which was, like my bedroom, located off the small galley kitchen. She joined me in my nudity by stripping out of her pajamas, and then climbed onto a massage table.

She had built it herself, and it had several unique features beyond the padded, oval-shaped opening for clients' faces. Around where a pregnant woman's upper body would lie, there were removable slats. By removing specific ones, and replacing them with padded edge pieces, holes of varying sizes could be made, just the right for her belly to hang down, instead of being compressed uncomfortably into the table. Similarly, slats could also be removed from around her chest area to allow large-busted women to let their swollen breasts hang freely, rather than smash into the padded surface. Optionally, there was a "boob shelf", as Phoebe liked to call it, that could be affixed under that area, providing some level of support, if desired, without any unpleasant compression. Below the waist, the table was hinged, and there were U-shaped holders, also movable, for women to place their ankles in for stability. The hinges allowed the lower half of the table to spread out in an upside-down V shape, as needed, while still providing complete support. When a client was lying on her back, all of these elements could be removed, and it would resemble a massage table, just like any other.

Lastly, there was a shelf below the hinge in the V shape, presently holding a wide glass bowl with high sides. This was an addition Phoebe had made, with my encouragement, after having gotten up one too many times to go pee during the two-hour massage sessions. After getting past her initial embarrassment, Phoebe agreed it made for a much more comfortable experience to just be able to let loose, rather than have to interrupt my ministrations.

After re-configuring the table from the last session, which had been with Ruby, Phoebe climbed on, face down. Her beautiful round belly hung down comfortably, as did her swollen breasts. Today she had opted out of using the shelf, as she did about half of the time. Simply seeing her engorged boobs hanging down gave me a raging erection. Phoebe could not see, as her head was already face-down on the padded support. I began with her neck, shoulders, upper and lower arms, and lower back, taking around forty minutes. She was experiencing a lot of back pain due to the weight of her breasts, which, already large in the first place, were now even heavier as they ramped up towards full milk production.

I moved around behind her, and slowly spread her legs, the sections supporting her legs gliding smoothly on the well-oiled hinges.

"Is that good?" I asked, wanted to make sure I had not spread her too far; her legs were now wide enough apart that, despite her thick, untrimmed pubic hair, I could clearly see her vagina.

"Perfect," she said faintly, and, now that the space under her vagina had been opened up, let loose a torrent of clear, odorless pee.

"Sorry, I should have done that earlier," I said.

"No worries," she said, "I would have said something if it'd gotten too bad."

I began massaging her various gluteal muscles. Her ass rose magnificently from her lower back; she was not quite the gym rat I was, but kept herself in excellent shape and had the curvy buttocks to prove it. Massaging here seemed particularly helpful with her hip pain, and she groaned appreciatively.

"Fuck," she said, "have I ever mentioned how good that feels?"

"I think you have," I said, "And, gosh, if I remember correctly, you've also said something to the effect that being pregnant sucks."

"Hey, you try it sometimes, bub! And I might remind you this is all your fault in the first place?" she said, then added, "Oh my god, right there," as I began to knead her left hip flexor.

After finishing with her hips, I looked over at the floor under her chest. As I had expected, there were drops of fluid below her still-inverted nipples.

"Do you want help with your nipples?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but not wanting to break protocol.

It still amazed me how, no matter how much she enjoyed the massages I gave her, her nipples remained stubbornly inverted, like turtles hiding in their shells. Yet the moment her wife gave her so much as a spank, they would pop right out. Now in the late stages of pregnancy, her breasts were leaking milk, and the effect became more pronounced whenever I massaged the lower areas of her body. She found the sensation uncomfortable when it leaked from her nipples while still inside their sheaths, so preferred it if someone stimulated them into their erect form.

When her milk first came in and this problem had begun, she had stimulated her nipples herself. But she soon tired of this tedious task, and had taught me how to perform it, instead. Since she derived no sexual stimulation from my touch, I had to use the same technique as a lactation consultant might, rubbing and pulling on the surrounding areola for a minute or two until they stubborn flesh got erect enough to show itself. Today, as I did so, I was rewarded with a brief stream of milk from each nipple.

"Aah," Phoebe moaned, as a let-down sensation overcame her; I noticed goosebumps cover her entire backside.

I went back around behind her and continued massaging around her vagina. Just like my girlfriend had been after working out, the areas to the left and right of her perineum were getting extremely sore, and I spent some time pressing in with my thumbs and loosening the knotted muscle and ligaments. About halfway through this process, she let loose another short stream of piss. Peeking around front, I observed a growing puddle of breast milk as well. Several drops fell down as I watched, followed by a brief stream from her right breast; it was the more productive of the two mammaries.

After finishing up her lower half, Phoebe got off of the table and knelt before me.

"Thank god for Marta," she said, observing my hairless body; I was still seeing the brutal Russian hair removal technician regularly.

I stuck my cock down her throat and began to pump furiously. To help me out, she gripped around my buttocks for support, and pressed her leaking breasts into my thighs. The feeling of the wet flesh touching me was more than I could take, and I swiveled my hips back so that the tip of my cock was resting on her tongue. She allowed her mouth to fill with semen, before swallowing quickly and letting the next pulses increase the load again. My dick was spent, and she swirled the cum around her mouth for a while before sending it down her throat.

"You've definitely been tasting better lately, I think the Twins' have got your nutrition dialed in more."

She got up and reconfigured the table so there were no holes anymore, then climbed on and lay on her back. Along with hip pain, her breasts had been bothering her as well, and she had long since given up her prohibition on my touching them. As I gently pressed down and along their length, over and over, she moaned with relief, and I was pleased to see milk dribble from her extended nipples. After massaging the rest of her upper body, including her exceptionally stiff shoulders, I moved down to her lower half, once again spreading her legs on the hinged mechanism.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Phoebe asked me, "Even Rosie gets bored after a couple of minutes and starts doing other stuff to me. Which feels good, but kinda defeats the purpose."

"I could do this all day long," I said, truthfully, as I inserted two fingers between the lips of her vagina.

I pressed down and began a perineal massage, which involved pushing towards her anus and making a sweeping motion. I had been performing these fifteen minute procedures, daily, for some weeks now. Phoebe, whose vagina was especially tight, was worried about tearing during childbirth, and had found out that this technique had been proven to reduce the chances of such an occurrence.

"You have no idea how good that feels," she said, after a few minutes. "Also, can you get the jar?"

We had learned that, when lying on her back, she would usually miss the glass bowl, so instead I would hold up a glass mason jar to catch her pee.

"If it feels so good, how come it doesn't get you wet at all?" I asked after another ten minutes, as I was finishing up the procedure. I loved the feeling of her spongy inner flesh, but was always somewhat disappointed that none of my ministrations evoked even the slightest sexual response out of her.

"Dude, you do know I'm gay, right?" she said, "How would you like it if some guy had his finger up your butt, even if he was really good at it?"

"But Alicia and Ruby get wet," I complained, stubbornly.

"Yeah buddy, that's 'cuz they're not lesbians."

"They say they're lesbians!" I countered.

"They say a lot of things," she riposted, "How much of it is true?"

"You do have a point," I conceded, at last.

"Anyway, those two love you. And I don't mean the way Rosie and I do, which is kinda like a little brother," she continued. "God it sounds weird when I say that. But you know what I mean."

"Sure," I said, smiling, "Like a family member... one you're willing to have sex with."

"It's not sexual for me," Phoebe countered, "But it is for the Twins."

"I dunno, Phee, I mostly think I amuse them. I'm basically their personal living dildo."

"Well, d'you see them with any other living sex toys?"

"Okay, okay," I conceded, again.

"Anyway, it's obvious to anyone with eyes how they feel about you. Calista could tell."

At the mention of my absent girlfriend's name, Phoebe tensed.

"Shit, sorry!" she said, "I did not mean to bring her up."

"It's okay," I said, "it's not like I'm not thinking about her pretty much every waking moment, or anything. And sleeping moments too, for that matter."

"Still that bad, huh?" she asked. "Have your heard anything from her embassy or whatever it's gonna be?"

"Well, at least I only think about her every, oh, thirty seconds, rather than, like, all the time. And no, I haven't heard from them yet."

"Okay, come here," Phoebe said, "I'll take your mind off of things."

* * *

After work that evening, I received a visit from Alicia, who was now, of course, Rosie and Phoebe's neighbor. Phoebe had removed the fence that had formerly separated the backyards of the two house, and the Twins liked to drop in on my cabin whenever they felt like it, which was often.

"Time to see if you pumped that booty, Tee," Alicia said.

"Is that how you say 'hello'?" I countered.

"Oh, you'll see how I say 'hello' in a moment. Now, strip please!"

As I took off my clothes, Alicia retrieved a flexible tape measure, such as a tailor might use. She proceeded to measure my chest, biceps, hips, butt, thighs and calves, then noted the figures on her phone.

"Nice work, you're homing in on four inches added to the buttock department, Chico!"

Unbeknownst to me, before returning to her home country, Calista had tasked Ruby and Alicia with making sure I went to the gym regularly, at least five times a week. They were also given the responsibility of tracking my body measurements.

"You still have no idea why this is so important?" Alicia asked.

We had had this conversation before. Not for a lack of trying, I knew no more about Calista's home country than I had on the day she left. She had not been able to tell me anything, and no amount of research helped either. Her friend Rhea had disappeared, and the School of Public Health, when I checked, had no record of her doing a post-doc there. I had unfortunately thrown away the empty tubes of super Viagra after using them. Thinking back on it, they were made of an unusual metal, a sort of flexible carbon fiber that I'd never seen before. If I'd kept one, perhaps someone at the university could have identified where they came from.

"No news on that front," I said, glumly. "I went by the clinic again the other day, but that damn door still won't open."

I was referring to the mysterious doctor's office where Calista and I had gotten tested, and where she had been confirmed as pregnant. I suspected they had some connection to wherever it was she was from, but could not get them to open the door. The security guard in the lobby of their building was unable to tell me anything about the tenants there, either. It was all dead-ends.

"Well," Alicia said, "I can't complain too much. You had a cute butt before, for a stinky man-boy, of course; but now, ooh la la!"

She was now stripping out of her clothing. I marveled at her smooth, distended round belly, and small but swelling boobs.

"Stop staring and help me onto this thing," she commanded.

I configured the massage table for her size, and she lay face down atop it. Unlike Phoebe, her breasts did not hang down much, but she appreciated that, by having the slat removed, her sensitive flesh would not be pushed into the surface. I proceeded to perform an abbreviated version of Phee's massage. Alicia was not having nearly as much trouble with her hips.

Like Phoebe, Alicia was hoping not to tear when giving birth, and wanted me to perform the perineal massage on her every day, as well.

"Ruby's not good at it like you are," she said.

"You know she says the same about you," I chided.

Alicia shrugged dismissively.

"Fingers in pussy, please!"

Unlike Phoebe, however, Alicia enjoyed the feeling of my digits' pressure on her canal, and invariably her vagina filled with moisture.

"Yes, you can put it in," she said, affecting a world-weary tone, as I wrapped up the massage.

We ended up fucking every time I massaged either Alicia or her spouse, and, as usual, there were rules about how to go about it. In this case, I was not allowed to touch her with my hands while my penis was inside her, so had to rely on hip motions to slide in and out. Glancing down, I was happy to see that, when I thrust all the way forward, only about three inches of my cock were still outside her lips.

"My, you look proud of yourself," she observed, peeking at me over the mountain her stomach made in front of her.

"It seems like your vagina fits me better now, I did not used to be able to go this deep," I said, truthfully; the Twins were eerily good at sniffing out lies, so I had learned to be candid in these situations.

"You men really like that sorta thing, dontcha?" she teased. "I'd be mad except I want the toy to stretch me out. There's gonna be a much bigger load comin' through there!"

* * *

Later, Rosalind, Phoebe, Alicia, Ruby, and I were seated around the dinner table in the old Victorian's wood-paneled formal dining room. Most nights, the Twins would come over to cook for everyone, and tonight they had made an Asian stir-fry and brown rice.

"Here's the book I was tellin' ya about," Ruby said to Rosalind, as she handed over a slim paperback volume.

"What's that?" Phoebe asked.

"It's called 'Karyotype'," Ruby explained, "Kind of a tough read, but I thought Rosie'd dig it."

"Wait, is that by Akis Papantonis?" I asked.

"Yeah?"

I must have looked like a madman, or something, as everyone started staring at me.

"Dude, you look like you've seen a ghost or something," Phoebe observed.

"It's just that there's something familiar about that book, I just can't remember what it is," I complained.

Suddenly it hit me, and I took out my smartphone and loaded up a picture.

"See, I took this picture of that book in Calista's apartment."

My friends stared at me blankly.

"Um, so what?" Alicia ventured.

"Here," I said frantically, "Check out the book next to it."

"What is that, Greek?" Rosalind said, as she looked at the spine of the book I'd zoomed in on.

"I dunno, maybe Hebrew?" I said, "I left it on the coffee table and then never saw it again. The whole book was filled with that writing though."

"And, this matters because why?" Alicia persisted.

"Well, it might be a clue about Calista's homeland!" I said triumphantly. "If we can just figure out what that script is."

"Gimme that," Ruby said, motioning impatiently with her fingers.

She studied the picture for a while.

"Mind if I send myself a copy? Y'all are hopeless with technology, so I'm gonna figure this one out," Ruby asked.

"Be my guest," I said.

Ruby's offer did not stop me from trying my own hand at Googling around before going to bed. I pored over every foreign language alphabet I could find on Wikipedia, but nothing matched the font in the picture. Maddeningly, I knew I'd seen the damnable characters before, I could not remember where.

* * *

Two days later, I was finishing up a massage session with Ruby, who had maintained an especially cat-like expression, even by her standards, the entire time. I was certain she had figured something out about the strange font, but knew from experience that the Twins rarely responded to direct inquiries.