Curvy Voluptuous Pt. 01

"We should have used the cyanide a while back, Bridge."

"We made a deal, Thom. The money's too good. Well, back to mayoring. Keep an eye on them."

"Will do," Thom watched the mayor leave. He knew she was right, but it was a devil's deal. "It saved the town," he admitted.

****

Barry trotted across the field, towards the school. The lack of cops made the walk surprisingly easy. Barry noticed the laid back atmosphere around the community. It translated to a laxity in law enforcement.

Most of them are probably working the festival downtown too. Good for me.

Still, the school should have a security guard or fencing, or cameras.

I'll have to be careful.

Barry wore his ninja outfit: a black hoodie, black jeans, and black sneakers. The outfit was an affectation from his high school years, fueled by his love for old teen detective stories and martial arts films.

Barry, and his single mother, lived with his grandfather before he'd passed away. A patrician and old school snob who disdained TV, video games, comics, and other trappings of modern pop culture, he did keep one indulgence: an extensive collection of old pulp and teen detective novels, including all the classic Hardy Boys.

The old man let young Barry read them all, if only to keep the small, energetic, annoying pest out of his hair. Barry's mother supplemented with heavy doses of Encyclopedia Brown.

The building Barry approached evoked memories, none of them good. Barry's old high school was very much like this one, except for the huge warehouse.

Probably has its share of geeks and bullies too.

Barry's classmates found his penchant for snooping and wearing black annoying; a resentment which provided partial fuel for the general bullying. His small height and slight body didn't help either. Physically, in the past few years, things improved for Barry. He'd gained a couple of inches on his height, and filled out with some muscle tone, through an increase in protein, and exercise.

He was still below average height for his age, and people tended to mistake him for someone younger than his nineteen years.

A coworker at his other job, a romantic girl, told him once, while they were hanging out at the park, that he had a... What was it?... lithesome body.

"You're small, yes, but you're so flexible. You're like an acrobat, an elvish acrobat."

He'd blushed, flattered, but wondered, looking back, if she were joking.

He put those memories aside to concentrate on the task ahead. The building wasn't exactly well-lit. Unusual but not overly so. The sign at the double doors read:

Pine Bend Gym and Family Recreation Center

Hours: 9:00am-8:00pm, Mon-Fri

10:00am-6:00pm, Sat

12:00pm-5:00pm, Sun

Barry thought it an odd location for a recreational center; downtown seemed more appropriate.

It could be the building size. The buildings downtown are small.

An uneasy chill crept up Barry's spine. So far, events were going too easy. If the building contained secrets, he would expect tighter security, better cameras, more lighting.

Cameras were above the doors, but of the old kind one saw in low budget DVD mysteries; easily diverted and avoided.

The doors were solid wood over steel, with no windows. Barry tried the obvious and pulled on the handle of one. It opened, to the intern's shock.

His original plan was the direct approach, followed by an exploration around the building to look for another entrance. The unlocked door was so simple as to be unsettling.

Maybe not. It's not the first time a security guard or caretaker forgets to lock a building. My good luck this is one of those times.

So Barry entered, oblivious to the far more sophisticated cameras placed around the grounds, nor in contemplation of the difference between buildings designed to keep people out, and ones built to keep things in.

Thom watched the young man enter the facility. He'd noticed him soon as he entered the perimeter. His first impulse was to call the sheriff and get the kid shooed off, but... Hmmm, let's see what he does first.

The young man's black clothing clued Thom to his intent. His pale face stood out and provided a focus for Thom to study details.

Looks pretty young, certainly not from around here. Doesn't look like a transient, probably from the motel. Bridge mentioned something about reporters coming to cover the festival.

A transient would make disposal easy. The girls' penchant for new toys required a degree of detachment in acquisition.

He could be problematic if he's a reporter. A burglar on the other hand...

Thom made sure to take the security system offline. He did turn on the recorder however. The view was better than porn. The girls were stirring in the pool area.

Better unlock the door. That might lure him in.

Barry gazed about; nothing distinguished the center from others of its type. Some pool tables, video games, a small stage, a snack bar, and vending machines, plus some chairs and tables.

Not something to warrant that large cargo.

A passageway down the hall led to a sizable gym.

This one looks promising.

The right wall displayed the words gym, pool, and sauna, with an arrow pointing the way. He walked down the hall.

Better make this quick before the cops come.

The building kept a few lights on for cleaning staff and security. So far, Barry saw no signs of either. An odd absence but it facilitated his investigation.

The gym was large, with hoops for basketball. No different from other gyms. The door to the pool was at the opposite end. A faint gray light glowed under the space between the floor and the door.

Looks like this is the last room in the building, other than the locker rooms.

The building kept a lot of equipment, but supplying it meant shipping containers, not cages.

And those were cages. I know it, but for what? Maybe the place has hidden rooms.

Barry knew a scoop just waited somewhere in the building. It might be right behind that door. So he went to it, opened, and entered.

Thom switched to the pool monitors.

"Better make sure to lock the doors," he grinned, then undid his pants, and lay back to watch the show.

Barry stared. The women stared back. He tried to process it. He failed.

He'd entered the pool area and gazed around (typical YMCA style pool). The strange, pulsing, writhing blobs around, and in the pool, seemed some monstrous alien, out of a cheap 80s DVD flick. A flesh-colored alien, with tentacles spread across the room.

It took several moments for the creature to notice the new presence. It raised its head, or heads as Barry noticed. The pulsating mass resolved itself into distinct bodies. Barry realized what he'd thought a giant alien blob, were actually people grouped in various clusters. Individuals who were interchanging between one or another.

The throbbing, pulsating activities were sexual. Barry had walked into an orgy.

Once the bacchanal noticed him, it ceased. Barry should have been mortified, embarrassed, to intrude upon such intimate and sordid activity. A story stood in front of him, but mostly for scandal sheets and gossip.

Instead, the young intern and aspiring cub reporter was slack-jawed in shock, some horror, not a little terror. The players in the orgy he'd stumbled upon were women, except just not any women.

Thicc, they're so thicc.

Barry's shock stemmed not from the erotic expanse of nude flesh. The fear came from the humongous reality of that flesh.

The women were big and voluptuous; extremely big, monstrously voluptuous.

Their sizes varied: heights ranged from seven and a half to nine feet tall; breast sizes no less than F, no more than H.

Bodies built to carry such immense weight, rippled with Amazonian muscles, from oak tree-strong legs, to She-Hulk arms.

Barry took in all; small details, such as the women sported short hair styles, slick from the pool, color ranges of black, brown, red, and blonde, straight, wavy, and curly; gleaming eyes of blue, gray, brown, green, and hazel; skin tones of dark brown to marble white.

Barry ruminated on these small innocuous details. His attempts to fully understand this scene acquiring increasing futility. The women were gigantic from his 5'4" perspective. They looked at him, like predatory lionesses to a gazelle. A shiver of fear raced up his spine.

These were not women in the ordinary sense. Something was very, very wrong here.

Time to go, Barry. Ms. Saringo has to hear about this.

He stepped back towards the door, thoughts of the scoop, into which he stumbled, hovering at his side.

One of the women, a dark-haired Amazon with a resemblance to old school actress, Anne Baxter, grinned savagely, and pointed.

"A kid! Bridge's getting desperate."

"He looks cute," a giant, curvy, freckled redhead said.

"I think he's older than he looks girls," a huge-breasted brunette grunted, "Bridge wouldn't sink that low."

"Probably," "Anne Baxter" said, "Makes him a better play toy, and I'm feeling very horny."

The giant Maenads crowded forward.

"Oh! Fuck!" gasped Barry. Ideas raced through his head on what the women had in mind, and he didn't like them. Not that he didn't have fantasies of losing it, but they involved Penthouse models, not ones crossed with She-Hulk.

He turned to open the door; it wouldn't budge.

"Fuck!" Barry frantically slammed his shoulder against the bar; nothing. He banged it with his fists.

"What the fuck's going on?!"

The door had opened easily into the swimming pool, and now, "I'm trapped!"

Barry's eyes darted, increasingly panicked. He was enclosed in a shrinking circle of insane sex fantasy.

Maybe I can dart between them.

His moves used to work in high school, dashing around the bodies of angry jocks and other assorted bullies. These women were much larger.

A wide-hipped, auburn-haired, hot Fiona Shrek looked like the best option. Barry feinted and made his move.

The women were caught off guard, and Barry's small, quick body nearly carried him through.

Unfortunately for the young intern, the women were faster than the jocks. Barry managed to get halfway between the startled "Fiona's" legs, before a tight grasp on his hoodie halted his scramble.

"Ah, ah, ah little mouse!"

Barry shrieked and the hand dragged him back. He found himself held by a giant dark-skinned woman with G-cup boobs and Swiss alp tits. Her face was of one savoring a morsel.

Barry's fingers worked quickly to his zipper and he was out of his hoodie within seconds. He'd used this trick before, when cornered by the girls' volleyball team back in high school.

He scampered the moment his feet touched the floor. The intern dodged and weaved with an agility, Coach Morris once told him, was impressive.

"If only you had the size and weight," he'd said wistfully.

Barry zigzagged between a forest of legs, dodging the oversized hands and arms of giant Amazons.

Back door! Back door! Back door! Gotta find it!

Heady visions of the story of a lifetime, Ms. Saringo's approval, the flip off to his old high school, and the envy of his college journalism classmates, were dashed by an eight foot tall Pamela Anderson lookalike, with beach ball-sized boobs.

One second, a promising exit beckoned in his sights. The next, his head was buried between the two most humongous mammaries of his entire young life.

"Ah fuffmm!" he muffled into the mounds of smothering tit flesh. Big arms wrapped around and hugged him closer.

"Et ee oh!" Barry kicked and squirmed.

"Ooo, he's a live one," the big blonde giggled.

"Tiny little thing isn't he?" the giant ginger smirked.

"Tiny to us, at least," a large Laura Harring lookalike Latina leered.

Under different circumstances, Barry would consider his present predicament phenomenally good luck; but women of these sizes and proportions were impossible.

The blonde flipped the young intern around, to face a sea of warm, wet curves, and flesh, topped by faces wearing varied expressions of contempt, bemusement, and curiosity.

"Anne Baxter" stepped forward, "What's your name kid?"

Barry tamped down his first impulse to be defiant. He saw no reason to conceal anything.

"Barry, Barry Watkins," he gulped.

"So Barry, you're not a local. What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I just wanted to see inside. I was curious, that's all. I'm a reporter... kind of."

"You look young for a reporter," the dark-skinned woman said, "You're not from the school newspaper, are you?"

"I work for KLPO," Barry gulped, "I'm nineteen."

"Aha! An intern," the big blonde said, "It's the only explanation."

"And he's nineteen. That makes things easier," the redhead said. A ripple of assent flowed through the crowd.

"Um, can you let me go? I won't tell anyone, promise," Barry thought it worth a shot.

"Well, of course you won't," "Anne Baxter" said, "You trespassed. There's a penalty."

"Penalty?" Barry squeaked, They're calling the cops! Fuck!

"Yep," "Anne Baxter" drew close, bringing her pneumatic pillows to "Pamela Anderson's". Barry, in what other circumstances would be a breast lover's paradisaical fantasy, was trapped in a pillowy vise of tit flesh, with only his head visible.

The young intern knew he should be ecstatic. His pants certainly were tight. Instead he was terrified.

"Anne Baxter" sneered down at his fear-stricken face.

"Let's not break him too soon girls. He's cute. We should make this one last."

Break me? What's she...? Things were well under way by the time he realized what she meant.

Barry struggled of course. It was not the crazy sex fantasy his colleagues would envision. A maelstrom of soft, warm flesh, boobs, and nipples, rippling bellies, and deep, pink, wet tunnels engulfed his body.

Giant hands ripped his T-shirt away like so much paper. His pants and Hanes followed. His shoes and socks flew into the air, out of the frenzied pack.

A big hand slipped over his cock and balls, drawing out a startled, "Gah!"

"Well," "Anne Baxter" breathed in his ear, "Not much hair down there, but you feel like a grower."

The young intern had little time to appreciate the first time a woman touched his cock.

"Geep! Mmmf!" he gasped; someone had inserted two fingers into his bunghole, and another took the opportunity to thrust a tit into his startled mouth.

Barry fought and struck out, but each time his fists connected, the surface was soft, fleshy, and resilient. His increasingly constrained body's struggles drew derisive chuckles.

A moment later, Barry was on his back, wrapped in the arms, and trapped between the gigantic melons, of a pixie-haired brunette. His eyes were wide, his mouth gasping at the sight of his rigid cock, stiffed up courtesy of the brunette's expert hands, sliding into the thick, meaty pussy of a giant, titian-haired smokeshow with G-sized gazongas.

The giant pussy quickly milked a squirt of cum from the young intern. He grunted, gasped, and screamed, "Aaahh!" His last sight: a huge, wet, dripping, and even meatier pussy descending towards his face.

"Best porno ever!" Thom grinned, watching the young man smother within the growing flesh pile.

Little was to be seen of the young intern, except an occasional grasping little hand, or a naked thigh, or a pair of struggling feet poking from under a massive ass.

The loud grunts of the women muffled the young man's moans. The women had long since learned to choreograph their activities. They fucked their victims until sated, then moved aside for another to take her turn.

Those who waited, occupied their time with each other, or watched and masturbated until their turn came up.

"This one should keep them happy for awhile," Thom thought. "I don't think he's likely to last long, though."

Some of the stronger transients could last for weeks, before dying of exhaustion or heart failure. Sometimes the women got too aggressive. Those times required a bit of cleaning.

The lucky few who survived were allowed to stay, so long as they didn't try to leave, and kept their mouth shut to strangers. Local men also had their use, but their wives and girlfriends kept them close.

This kid didn't look like he would last the week, but there were always surprises.

"I better talk to Bridge. If he's a reporter, his station might miss him. It could be a problem."

He looked at the monitor.

"I think I'll wait an hour or two first."

He leaned back and watched the show.

To Be Continued.