tagSci-Fi & FantasyOochie and Me

Oochie and Me


My apologies up front. This story may seem more horror than sci-fi/fantasy, but sometimes reality refuses to fit neatly into arbitrarily delimited categories. The following is one of those examples. Related by Mary-Jane Tillman, Class of 2005 Valedictorian, Jefferson High School.


I'm amazed I had no clue that something about my parent's home had spun out of the ordinary. I should have tumbled to it, though, after Daddy got sick and could no longer work. It's strange to contemplate now: Our standard of living actually went up instead of down after he got sick, and it wasn't because of a timely inheritance or something like that.

But how often does a typical public school coed think about things like that, so long as she has the newest electronic gizmo, a closet filled with latest distressed designer jeans, and anticipation of attending a prestige college long enough to snag some handsome stud-husband with lots of money?

Well, I began my road to discovery the second week after graduation, two months after my eighteenth birthday.

Momma called me into her bedroom that Monday evening long after supper. Her eyes had been red before and reddened worse during supper, so when she summoned me, I assumed whatever she had to say, she'd be telling me more bad news about Daddy. She seemed more clingy than usual, and that reinforced my presumption about her bad news.

I wanted to ask, "What's the matter, Momma?" because obviously she was more distraught than the worst she normally got at times like these. She sat me on the edge of her bed, the one next to the hospital bed where Daddy lived when he wasn't in his wheelchair, within which we wheeled him to the livingroom and back.

"Mary-Jane, Honey?" she said, new tears forming in her eyes.

I looked up, expecting the worst.

"You can't go off to Smith-Western College this fall like you planned," she said as she shook her head slowly.

I'm sure my expression said, Oh? We didn't seem to be hurting in the financial department, and Smith-Western wasn't that expensive

"You're going to start summer school tomorrow instead, and when that's over, you'll stay there for more training and finally, your career."

Career? Hell, I didn't know what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, not yet—unless it was marry some rich guy, attend a never-ending schedule of garden parties and charity functions, and dedicate my life to shopping and playing bridge like Mom had before Daddy's illness struck.

"Where, Momma?" God, I hoped there were lots of guys with big dicks, wherever this was! Last place I wanted was somewhere the guys all liked each other better than blondes with over-sized, after-market breasts like mine. Sex and money. That's what I wanted in a man. Even if he might be ten or fifteen years older than me, I'd take him—specially if he had money with a capital M.

"A place you never heard of." She sniffled, and I assumed she foresaw several months of my absence and only vacations and holidays to visit home thereafter.

"But why not Smith-Western?"

"This is best for everybody, all the way around. Believe me, Honey, you'll learn to like it." Her tone added, or else, but I didn't pick up on that because I was just short of pissed-off that Smith-Western with its successful men's sports program was suddenly no longer in my future. Molly, a year-ahead friend of mine, started there last fall, and came home Christmas and spring-break bubbling that Smith-Western must recruit its male teams based on the size of their dicks.

"Now here, Mary-Jane," Momma said. "Try not to be too disappointed. Take this sleeping medicine and go to bed early so you'll be ready for your big trip tomorrow."

So I did, and never saw Mommy, Daddy, our home, Jefferson High, or my friends for the next eight years.


When I awoke, I felt light headed—and strapped down to whatever I lay on. I tried to move my head, but no dice. Couldn't move it at all, in fact, like my arms and legs. I could move my eyes, though, and this room—or whatever it was—looked more like a lab or hospital room. One color, no decorations, and within the world of my vision, everything stainless steel, shiny clean, with some sort of lighting that glared down and made my eyes hurt.

A door—at least it sounded like a door—opened somewhere I couldn't see. My stereo hearing sense said it was behind my head. Then I heard hard shoes on a hard floor and the swish I put to be a lab coat.

The woman who came into my sight wore no coat, only a long dress-like thing that waisted up under her huge breasts, empire style. From there up she was naked, except for a wrap or two of polished steel chain glistening around her neck and sagging into her immense cleavage. I say immense because her breasts would shame a basketball, or maybe even one of those cheap, Chinese beach balls I'd seen in the 18" rack at Well-Sell Mart.

"Oh! I see you are awake. You must have gotten a slight overdose of your sleeping med. You been out six hours longer than you should have. How do you feel?"

"How come I'm strapped down? I can't move. I can't move anything except my eyes."

"Your young Oochie is moving into you this morning. Then, once you understand things here, I'll get its permission to release you so you two can get acquainted. He's a cute little guy. Well, not really a guy, because Oochies are asexual."

Asexual? That didn't sound good!

"But, I'll tell you what. I'll release your head so you can look around more and watch as he's moving in. That way you'll know what's inside you, and I can explain it to you more easily. Okay?"

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? Inside me? What about my virginity? What the fuck!

Her huge breasts moved out of my sight, but soon I felt the clamps against my skull ease and shake loose.

"There, feel better?"

I nodded.

"So now, move your head and look around. What do you see?"

"Your huge breasts."

"Yes, aren't they. I just love them. I'm bigger than those that gal on Earth's Internet claims are the world's biggest—by almost half again, by weight, anyway. And I'm proud of them, too. Mine are real; they make as much milk as tits that size should."

"Don't they hurt, being so big—when they're full?"

"Oh, not much. See, the Oochies figured out a way to make them part of your chest and body, so they just are. Like your legs and feet just are."


"Now, let me show you something else." She stepped back so my vision reached below her breasts. The bulge below them exceeded their size.

"You're pregnant? With a kid?"

"No, Honey. I'm with Oochie, like you will be in an hour or so. Of course yours is young, so your belly will be lots smaller to begin with. But you'll have one, just the same. And it will grow bigger than mine over the next year or so."

"Inside me?"

"Yes. In a year your belly'll be way bigger than mine. Oochies are developing their race to increase its stature—size, you know. The infant you're getting will grow to at least twice as big as mine."

"I don't want to be pregnant!"

"Your want to has nothing to do with it. Your breasts will grow to twice as large, too, so you can make enough milk to feed your Oochie once it grows to adulthood. Adult Oochies take lots of milk. It's all they eat if they have a choice."

"I want to go home, please? I don't want to be here."

"Sorry, Honey. Your family needed a lot of money to provide your father's very expensive medical care, and you were part of the deal. Your mother was the other part."


"Yes. Didn't you notice her breasts got big, and her belly, too? Rather quickly?"

I thought a moment, then nodded. "I thought she just got fat." If she had a belly, that explained why Momma's style had changed to empire waists, like this woman with me now wore.

"So, other questions?"

"What's your name?" I didn't say, so I can have you prosecuted for kidnaping and whatever else once I get out of here, but I was certainly thinking it.

"Della Wainwright."

"How long you been here?"

"Fifteen Earth years—about."

"Earth years? What's that mean? Aren't we on Earth?"

"Keep dreaming, silly little girl!"

"Where, then?"

"You wouldn't know it if I told you. Takes six light-months to get here."

"Light months? What's that?"

"A distance; like light years, but one-twelfth as far. The Sun is seven light minutes for Earth, if that helps give you perspective."

"I can't go home?"

"Maybe when you're old and grey and your health begins to fail, or if your body can't grow as much as the newer, bigger Oochies require. Maybe if you've been a helpful, cooperative, comfortable home for your Oochie or it's family, they'll ship you back when you're no longer of use to them here."

"Oh, god! What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nothing special. Happens all the time. Ever wonder about the basis of all those taken by alien stories? I think last time I heard there were several hundred thousand women here acting as Oochie homes."


"And thirty or forty thousand more back on Earth as well—like your mother. Lots of them make good money as big tit, preggie porn actresses when they're young, then live off their video sales once they get past their prime. Meanwhile ...."

My mind must have responded in the form of a gasp.

"So, more questions?"

I shook my overloaded head, trying to get my brain to work.

"Okay, then. First comes your dose of hormones to start you making milk. You can't bottle feed your Oochie for more than a couple days or its parent will want you hyped up more than is healthy for you. You're nothing but a servant, so they really don't care if you live or die. You die, they'll just light-lift another girl up here to take your place. Would you like that? Stick some other poor, unknowing girl with your fate?"

I shook my head. I knew that response was the ethical one, although truth be known, in practice I'd have gone for better her than me.

"And don't forget your father. You're mother's not worth as much on the market as his medical bills have become, so if you get difficult, they may just let your daddy die. You want that?"

I shook my head. I knew now what helpless despair meant. Come on, I thought. Face it. Get on with it and make the best of it.

The needle hardly hurt at all, but the injected fluid ached like hell. Della rubbed my shoulder where the injection landed.

"And here," she said. "You'll need this sometimes for a while yet." The box she held up was for a drugstore breast pump. I never envisioned using one of those—ever. How did they work, anyway?

"In about six hours your tits should start to ache from all the milk you're making, and I'll show you how to use it. In several weeks or so your Oochie will grow enough to take all your milk, so you'll no longer need it. After that, your body will synchronize with the Oochie's hunger and everything will all work out even. That is, unless it invites company into you. Then I'll shoot you up some for a few more days to provide the extra."

I said nothing. What could I?

"Hey? Want to meet my Oochie?"

"Sure, why not?" I mean, what else could I say? She sounded so proud of it.

Della stripped off her empire waisted skirt and tossed it across my still bound-down legs. Yes, she had a belly to match her breasts. She gently tapped the front-most part of it with the middle three fingers of her hand. Almost immediately several ridges and lumps on her belly's sphere began to move around.

"It's coming out! I thought it might be asleep, but it's coming out!" She sounded ecstatic, as if she'd waited all day for this.

The first part visible was a tentacle sort of thing looking like a cross between a horse's penis and a human penis, and long enough to reach from her vulva to the lower split of her cleavage. That must be an eye in its center. It looked around like a cartoon periscope and settled for looking at me. Me, for god's sake!

"It likes you," she said.

Next, out came two more tentacles, longer and larger in diameter. These quickly aimed for her breasts, placed their suction cup ends over Della's nipples, and began extracting her milk with a slurping sound.

"Ooh, that feels so good!" She shuddered and giggled. Can you believe that?

Then came one longer yet, but smaller diameter tentacle that found its way between her breasts to her mouth and shoved itself inside. Della gave an impression of a woman giving a lover head—clear up to swallowing. With both hands she pulled it back to her lips, kissed it, then shoved it down her throat again.

Once, when it was nearly out, she quickly said between gasps, "Waste removal. The home—me/you/or the other—takes care of it so your Oochie doesn't have to. You swallow it, it goes through you, and finally disappears out your other end."

And finally, a fifth tentacle appeared. Shorter than the others, but much larger around. I guessed it at least three, maybe four inches diameter. It promptly disappeared between her legs, and in a moment Della was dancing around as if it where shoving itself up her ass.

"Wow!" she said once she stopped squirming.

I looked at her, a question obvious on my face.

"Nothing like anal with something like that!"

God! I thought. Two of those things are going to suck my tits, one is going to stick itself down my throat and crap so I have to swallow it, another is going to fuck my ass, all while the one with the eye watches! And the whole Oochie is going to live in my pussy and make my belly huge. From now until I'm too old to ever get fucked by a human—if I'm lucky and do my best?

Right then I was seriously considering letting Daddy die, and Momma, too, if the Oochies took their revenge on her. Shortly, I found myself considering the pain of losing my virginity to some alien thing, and this was no hypothetical loss.


Della helped me get acclimated to my new situation. I mean, what else could I call it?

I lived in a small nook off the main room. This main room housed maybe five hundred Oochie homes. Each had a nook like mine with a bed in it and some place to clean up. The showers and toilets sat exposed on a stage-like rise the center of the room. At first I was embarrassed to death to use them, but soon got over it. There again, what can you do when you know if you don't, you'll certainly lose control and poop all over the floor? As Della explained—and I soon confirmed—I was pooping for two, now: myself and my Oochie. The volume was a lot more than I was used to!

Della lived in a nook down the way to the left a few nooks, up on the next floor, but close enough she could help me. In fact, she spent most of her free time with me. My Oochie was an offspring of the one in her pussy, so hers let her have more time with me than she might have otherwise.

And when I look back, it's no wonder her Oochie sometimes got impatient and took her away and just left me to sort it out as best I could. But usually, when her Oochie took her somewhere, she took me with them. Mostly these were social meetings.

Oochies had an odd means of socializing with each other. They'd put their homes up close to each other, I mean like touching front to front, breasts to either side and bellies pushed out of the way to opposite sides. Then they'd roll their tentacles out, suck milk from whoever's breasts were closest, while their eye tentacles stared into each other's eye. Toward the end of the meeting, they usually shoved their short-big ones into our asses. If two Oochies met, either Della or I would have two short-big ones up our chosen ass. In my case it wasn't too difficult to get my adolescent's tentacle and an adult in at the same time. But poor Della! She had a hell of a time trying to get two adults in at once. I think her Oochie took pride in the size of its/his short-big one, and always invited other well endowed Oochies to join in. Tears often filled her eyes, but she told me several times, some day she hoped to get three inside her at once.

Us homes could eat anytime our Oochie sensed us it was okay. Every-day eating was pretty basic: Get a scoop of dried dog food—I think they light-lifted it up from Earth because I recognized the brands on the bags. Mix the dry with warm water, stir it up until it reached a soft, icky consistency, then eat. I liked Gravy Boat brand best, but usually we got that only two days out of every seven. Della explained they didn't have days on this half of this planet, but set our schedules up that way in hopes us homes would have a schedule we were used to and thus would acclimate quicker.

We got store-brand dog food during the week—I recognized some of the store names from traveling with my folks. These certainly weren't Gravy Boat or Gormley's Prime Dry, but they weren't too bad. If I were a hungry dog on Earth, I'd eat them.

We had holidays, too, one every thirty of their make-believe days. The big change was we got canned dog food for those: Alpino being the usual brand, and chicken-rice my favorite flavor, although Gormley's Best Beef and Potatoes flavor ran it a close second. These holiday celebrations were when us homes received our little certificate of achievement awards sort of gifts. You, know: piercing hardware, hair care stuff, soaps, and that sort of thing. Sometimes longer toe extensions for our boots, ankle or knee struts, some really strange harnesses and clothing, and to help you enjoy it, a needle in the arm that in a few minutes made you all giggly and stupid.

As a newcomer, I basically lived for the giggly and stupid part because I had a long way to go before I got any of those higher value awards. Luckily, Della shared hers with me or I'd have very soon needed soap real badly!


Six months passed—at least Della said it was six Earth months. Even after my breast implants were removed, my breast size quickly grew to surpass my after-markets. My belly size kept right up with my tits. I got really good at tending my Oochie's needs: feeding him (it, I mean), sucking his shit tentacle and swallowing the result, and taking the big, short one up my ass. I swear, sometimes its eye tentacle even smiled at me!

Oochie was getting bigger by the day, and I'll admit it, I liked my new belly and tits. Della got me a breast-high robe, but I seldom wore it. After all, it would have kept my Oochie's eye from seeing the world from its vantage point between the curvature of my breasts.

I learned interpretation of the communication signals Oochie sent me. "Go left. Go right. Walk faster. Walk slower. Stop. Start. Nurse me. Swallow my pooper tentacle. Put my short-big one up your ass—all the basic functions a home should provide for its Oochie. I got so I didn't have to think about it to translate, I just knew instinctively what it wanted, and did so.

Things got a little confusing, though, when Della and I were commanded to put on a party-meeting for a pair of them. You ever try having your Oochie suck one of your breasts while with the other it sucks a tit on the other woman? How about taking the other home's short-big in your ass, while having yours shitting down your throat? Well, we did the best we could, and the sensations I got from the Oochie in my pussy said we'd done just fine. Della got similar approval.

We must have done well. Before long we were in demand, putting on much larger parties, and still getting rave reviews.

I knew something else was coming because Della warned me. But the when in the schedule depended upon my Oochie. When I tried to get a definite date, the gentle shock it returned said, "Patience. Your Oochie knows, but your purpose is to provide, not schedule." So I waited in fear, because each day it got larger, and my pussy didn't, at least not as fast.

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