Hell's Household Ch. 01

Her long, reddened hair flowed in undulating waves over Jimmy's naked groin. Soon, as the spurting blessing flowed into her, Heather was at last able to fight down the rising tides of forbidden ecstasy enough to grab her discarded dress and flee.

**********

The soft, curvaceous body stepped out of the shadows just seconds after Heather had fled. She too, was nude. Shadows hiding her face, but nothing could hide the wide swells of voluptuous, feminine anatomy that glistened in the cold streetlight.

From behind her, there came a sharp, red, barbed tail. The pointed tip was curved, more like the tail of a scorpion. Surveying the two moaning men briefly, the sharp stinger quickly snaked out towards Jimmy's well-used dick.

Mitzi Melborne knew what she was doing. She had a sister on the Gymnastics Squad, and sshe would know where to cut. That Heather bitch had no right to breeze into her social circle, or steal her man! She frowned, and adjusted a strand of bleach blond, dark-rooted hair as she twisted the scissors against the inner lining of Heather Cox's gym leotard.

She had tested her plan extensively with water balloons, fruit and similar fabrics - and she knew that she could both create a vulnerability and hide the evidence from the outside! That Heather slut though her boobs were as good as a key to the city! Wouldn't take more than a few moments... she sneered as she made a series of practiced, delicate cuts on the inside of the uniform left behind in the Girl's Lockerroom of the Carter Female Athletics Complex. She had a few moments to herself, no one should be able to catch Mitzi in the act. Now, that Boob bitch had cost her Steve!

It hadn't exactly worked out that way, though. Steve Jeffries wasn't her boyfriend per say, but she'd had her eyes on him for awhile now as a tool to make Sam Brickman jealous. Jealous enough to soothe her own ego after Sam's cheerleader panty raid YouTube party.

She'd figured out from her girlfriends just the right blend of golden skin and suggestively form-fitting tube-top to reeeeeeeally catch Steve's eye. She caught up to him on the grounds between the Mathematics and English-Lit buildings. Then... just when her plan was in full swing that Heather whore sauntered by, pretending to be oblivious, with her impossible rack - and drew Steve Jeffries' gaze like iron filings to a magnet. Those tits were impossible! Like... like... human water balloons! But so bouncy - and yet natural! And yet this cow was a gymnast! No f-ing way! She Haaaad to be cheating!

So Mitzi felt no guilt over the act of humiliating sabotage she was about to commit. That bitch.

The golden cheerleader had been too shamed to try and approach Steve after he had so blatantly ogled Heather's stupendous, round gravity-defiers. After being upstaged like that - the guy she was targeting just turning away like she didn't even exist... Mitzi clenched her fist unconsciously as her face reddened.

Something was deeply wrong with that Heather slut. There were rumors from Crosstown U about some nympho gymnastics babe with an incredible set of juggs, who would suck dick like candy. Yet in their school, Heather seemed rather subdued. Had to be the same girl, though. Cox had to be skipping across town to get the cock she was afraid to ask for in her actual school.

So Mitzi continued sawing away at the fabric with practiced subtlety, the textile never designed to handle boobs of such cantaloupe-challenging magnitude! And she knew the routines that Cox bitch would have to perform at her next meet! And those male pigs that drooled over her obscene porno-boobs would reeeeeeally have something to Jack off to!

Well, she heard approaching voices near the outer door to the hallway, and hid herself in the Janitor's closet to avoid discovery. Whoops! It looks like she'd accidentally left her backpack on one of the dressing benches. Well, no matter. She was a student who had classes here too. Nothing sinister about just her bag being here. Nothing to prove, or trace any wrongdoing to her. And Mitzi knew the schedules of all the girl's athletic teams, and the Janitor himself - she could avoid being seen. But wow, next time Heather performed, the whole school would see alllll she had to offer!

**********

Norm Craven pulled up the collar of his trench coat as he puffed out a ring of cigar smoke. Yes, this was the town. He was getting closer. His beat-up late 80's station wagon was parked in a cozy, blossomy residential neighborhood all a fluff with spring greenery and pastoral pleasantness. Soon the rangy, sunken-eyed man would have more than enough proof. He'd make the bastards in D.C. eat their ignorant words. Norm was right, he'd always been right.

Sure, the Bureau had avoided a media frenzy by clamping down on the news in regards to the Hypersex deaths a few years back; but that didn't make the victims any less important! Someone had to speak for the people whose bodies and sanity where destroyed! Someone had to get at the root of the cancer that was parasitizing the population.

And Craven had found the evidence. He'd traced the perpetrators. He'd discovered the means, the motive, and the opportunity. And the Bureau had laughed at him. There wasn't any clear facts that could disprove any of Norm's arguments; but the truth he had uncovered was so mind-bogglingly incredible that even the most imaginative agents could not possibly accept his answer.

But Norm's answers were the correct ones.

Yes, this was the house that the Terwiliger girl had entered. The fact that he was conducting illegal surveillance barely registered with his ruthless intellect. Proof... only Proof mattered. He had turned his radio to the police bandwidths, to give him early warning if his activities were detected too soon; although he tried to be as discrete as possible in setting up his zoom lens camera. Then he waited.

In his car, he couldn't avoid wondering whether the patterns he'd seen in the Hypersex cases would repeat themselves. He opened a manilla folder with polaroids taped to the inner sides. Most where of men with outrageously large penises. Most of them were preposterously huge. Men in the throes of orgasm with dicks the size of baseball bats sat photographically frozen on the flat prints - some of them in the process of ejaculating in the grip of erotomania beyond madness. In one picture a naked man with hands extended to form a claw-like grasp lunged after a terrified, modestly dressed middle-aged housewife, even as his foot-long penis erupted right then in a mighty spew captured on film. The locals had just assumed it was a run-of-the-mill rape-attempted rape case, but both Craven, and the bastards he used to work for both knew this was much, much more than that!

But then, on the right hand lower corner of the collection, there was an image of a fantastically busty, long-haired, freckled redhead ripping open a button-down plaid shirt with a scream as jiggling, thrusting E-cup breasts jutted into view of the camera. Her photographed face frozen in a stark expression of mortified shock as she stared as if in disbelief at the stupendous feminine orbs to match twin grapefruits in size upon her naked chest. James Renfrow, the sharpee marker label read at the base of the polaroid. When he'd realized the truth behind THAT case, Norm had felt as though a few years of his life were scared out of him.

There! Terwiliger had just entered her bedroom, a frantic expression on her face highlighted by the gleam of anguished trails of sweat. Norm fiddled with his ultrasound microphone, but couldn't pick up more than a few fragmentary words. The curly blond tore off her leotard around her chest, revealing round, orange-sized orbs of softly inflamed boob.

"...getting Bigger?!" came a few words over the static. But there was more to her than just her breasts. Norm wasn't an expert, but the blond seemed to be nearing D-cup range, female peaks thrusting out close to four inches from her chest. She seemed only momentarily concerned with them; rather Terwiliger began to rip and yank at her underwear as if her clothes were on fire.

"N-no... why... won't it stop....?" she pleaded to the unseen hand of fate. Even from afar, as the last of her gymnastics suit and underpants were ripped away, Norm could see that the folds of her hot pussy were thick with arousal. Her thighs, already moist began to quiver as if in need.

Terwiliger collapsed onto her bed. Hips rising in the air as if to greet an unseen lover. She began to paw at the moist opening to her own eager womb, as if trying to smother a brush fire of gathering lusts. With a ragged squeal, her hips thrashed and her cunt began to throb with a rhythmic, hungry pulse. Had - had this girl just orgasmed? She'd barely had time to touch herself. Yet, as her thighs continued to drench with the heady nectar of female arousal, Norm had no doubt that was exactly what had happened.

"....not getting bigger.... not getting bigger..." She insisted cryptically, as her body erupted with toe-curling, impossible pleasure. Most men would have been extremely titillated. Norm Craven just ignored his own hardening cock and jotted down some notes on a weathered Mead paper tablet.

"Promissssed myself.... not to..." The curly blond grunted as she held up a plain, brown paper bag that Norm had not noticed before. "But I need it! Need..... something...." she grunted, ensnared by an internal struggle, eyelids quivering with volcanic passions as irresistible as they were frightening. From out of the bag emerged a black, studded dildo vibrator - at least eight inches in length.

Terwiliger began huffing, puffing as if to steady her electrified nerves, them lowering herself back onto the bed - to open herself to the throbbing ministrations of her inexhaustible, mechanical lover. Earlier, Norm Craven had fiddled with his ultrasound instrument to try and increase the level of sound he could detect. Now, he was startled by the burst of feedback as the volume exponentially increased! She howled in savage pleasure while reaming her soft womb with the pulsating black love-machine.

Soon, Norm began to understand. The poor girl was trapped in an unwholesome cycle of titillation constantly building towards never-ending orgasms. Something had gone wrong deep inside her nervous system, and she was fighting for control against a mounting tide of impossible stimulation that gripped her body in pussy-moistening madness. She was hoping no doubt, that a dildo to aid her arousal would let her... process the orgasms faster. Get the madness over with sooner.

Craven doubted she would succeed.

"N-no... why... m-my tits... bigger...why? W-was a B.... now.... oh hell.... these girls... bigger around than my fist... growing? Impossible! Bigger... than oranges now...need cereal bowls... as bra now... whhhhyyyyy...? She pleaded. Yet all the while, her wet womb continued its rapid-fire explosions of steamy feminine sex-musk amidst pulses of pure pleasure. "Why... am I... a nymphomaaaaniaaaac!!!!" she howled to the universe accusingly.

Norm knew. And someday, the Bureau would believe it.

**********

In the beginning, she had tried to be careful. She knew that the incendiary cravings that had erupted in her groin could not be denied forever. So Heather Cox did her best to at most, tease the boys from her own school; instead finding ways to slip over to Crosstown U - outside her normal social circle. Yes, she knew she was destined to be a slut - but she could minimize the social consequences.

That had been the plan, at least.

She pulled up to the Polysci building in her second-hand Toyota Camry, heart pumping with uncertainty.

She had screwed up royally with Jimmy. These monstrous urges inside of her just kept getting stronger. He actually had some of the same classes as she did. Heather couldn't really explain what she'd done that night - there was just this... this demon inside of her. A ferocious craving that wanted to... to... devour. Who? How? What?

Frightening as those questions where, even more disconcerting might be actually getting the answers.

Heather found a parking spot and paused for a moment, to catch her breath. Not that it was necessary. Not that she was tired. Simply jitters - a fear over what might happen should Jimmy actually show up today! Could she possibly explain to him what had happened?

She couldn't really explain it to herself.

That night, after fleeing the alleyway, she'd gone home to her Parent's house. University was local so it was convenient. Gone home to go to bed. Except that she hadn't slept. Not a wink. Somehow, an infusion of simmering, elemental power burned through every fiber of her being! Heather had spent the whole night going over Calc I homework and practicing her hand-stands. She knew that -somehow the men had ... it's like they'd given her a boost?! Was that the right word? Was there a right word? For some reason, she could only conclude that male semen was now a high-octane fuel for her hyper-sexed body. This was sick - wasn't it? Didn't she need a doctor? or... maybe a confessional? But nothing - nothing had ever made her feel so whole, complete, electrified as the Rush she'd gotten that night.

So here she was - at class the next day. Not sleeping a wink. Nor did she eat breakfast. Her diet had consisted only of man-meat. But still, she needed a line, an excuse some way to explain away that madness that had happened when -

"....authorities have arrested a whacked-out serial fondler-rapist dude!" announced a not-quite famous disc jockey on the radio station she had been passively listening to. " Check it out, fan-land - this guy - Jimmy Epstein was caught running around in the nude... with his junk just hanging out, like - chasing down and groping women leaving a nightclub after 1 am last night! Wowww... that takes balls... maybe too much, in his case. Dude was sprayed with mace canisters repeatedly, but according to reports, he barely seemed to notice. "Jimmy-John was so hopped up that he even tried to sex-up a female arresting police officer! Yeoouch!! Time for a cold-shower Jim-bo!"

Heather sat with her mouth gaping open. Better. Better than she could have ever hoped for - and she hadn't lifted a finger. Or.... didn't think she had.

"Never knew I had it in me." she concluded with a bemusedly happy shrug.

**********

".... Can explain to me the difference between Head of State, and Head of Government?" droned Heather's Political Science professor, his monotonous lecture flavored with rises in pitch that didn't quite match the conversational threshold of a question.

Head. Giving Head. For just a brief, frighteningly erotic moment, Heather relived the fiery fellatio she had enjoyed last night - seized with a hunger for this strange man's dick beyond any mere womanly desire. Her tongue, her lips had wanted that man's cum. Needed it. Here and now, in the classroom, Heather unconsciously took her wooden pencil and began to suck on the soft, eraser end.

"....while the duties of the Head of State can be said fulfill in essence, a ceremonial role. A Monarch who attends Parades for his subjects; a President throwing out the opening pitch at the World Series. Whereas, the responsibilities of the Head of Government can be decidedly less glamorous; administration, management, the nitty-gritty details of organization, as it were."

Something snapped inside Heather for a moment - as if a... door was opening in her mind.

Gritty....

Flesh, woman's flesh. Wallowing moist on a cool, slightly sandy floor. Swells of ass and hip and ravishingly curvaceous legs. Writhing, thrashing in a pit of similarly soft and delicious feminine forms.

Glamorous...

She saw a face, a strange face bathed in steam. A woman of beauty so preternatural that she couldn't be real. And yet she was. Mouth gaping wide into the 'O' or orgasm. Eyes, mouth, lips, sculpted with a perfection that defied nature, glistening with moisture - from the other women. A terrain of legs, hips, breasts, - fantastic women, embracing each other...

Heather felt a flush of intense warmth, both within and without. The impersonal nature of the large lecture hall allowed her to silently excuse herself without disruption as she went to a nearby girl's bathroom.

To masturbate.

**********

Luckily, Heather Cox was no fool. It's true, the demands of her body had been... distracting of late. But her erotic escapades had only heightened her suspicions. Not yet ready to become some kind of stripper-whore, she would have to take pains to minimize knowledge of her burgeoning sexual appetites. So here she was, back in the Girl's lockerroom in the Athletics complex contemplating her open locker.

Well, this wasn't highschool anymore; surely childish pranks and ponytails in inkwells were behind her now. She paused for a moment as she set down her bookbag and prepared to get dressed. The Bus would be here at 5:30 to transport her team to the Regionals Tournament! Months in the planning, longer in the practicing. It was the biggest 'don't-you-dare-screw-this-up-event' of the past six-months. Maybe longer, if Heather continued as a gymnast.

Her foot tapped against a small, hard object that had fallen behind one of the dressing benches. It was a small, pink-skinned smartphone. Hmm... belonging to whom? Suspciously, Heather turned the device on with a mechanical chirp and began thumbing through the contacts. Ah - this belonged to Mitzi Melbourne; yet another in a series of blond harpies that seemed to take personal offense at Heather's bust-size without even bothering to speak a word to her. Was that any different or better than the guys that indulged obsessions with Heather for the same reason? Well, the difference was that Heather enjoyed male attention far more of late.

Was it possible? Was Mitzi so jealous just from Heather's existence that she'd reverted back to the third grade? Should Heather expect a snake or spider in her opened locker? She rolled her eyes with a sigh. Or maybe... Maybe this would be a 'Revenge of the Nerds' type of scene where some volcanically-horny, socially-maladjusted geek was attempting to conceal himself in the girl's lockerroom? Grasping at straws, she almost wondered if Mitzi would be a party to something so absurd as a way to embarass her? No, surely not. This wasn't a movie; or a cheesy, internet sex story.

All the same, with no one else in evidence, Heather yanked up her shirt, tugged at her bra, and released her titanic tittage into the light of the lockerroom. She just.... sensed it - that if a man was watching, lusting at her - that she would feel it. She was using her jiggling, taut-nippled breasts as a sort of sexual Geiger counter to sniff out lingering male lust.

And the sperm that went with it.

Why did that thought make her mouth water? Why did it make her so wet? She'd heard from other girls who had gagged over the thought of swallowing cum; yet she craved it! It was like... like cocaine to her!

But no, it wasn't happening. She was the first one here, it looks like. Well, the rest of the Gym squad would be along shortly. She paused for just a moment too long - feeling up her own water-balloon assets with the fleeting, prurient hope that her own hands were those of a man. And yet - she scrutinized her white leotard for a moment. And sighed.

For a moment, she really believed there would be some spider, or bug in there! Maybe... what, itching powder? She shook the garment around. Nope. Not a thing wrong. She dressed herself, breasts shimmying as she readied herself for the trip, draping a jacket over the leotard as she prepared to head off to the bus stop.

But as she left the Girl's lockerroom, a fumbling, pimply nerd all but crashed into her - with a huge-gulp Slurpee super-size. In less than a second, she was drenched in the chilly beverage.