Raunchy Secret Lab Tales Pt. 02

Private Evans looked down the receding road from his vantage in the back of a rickety, pre-industrial hay cart. He sank back into the hay while the cart's driver, a bright-eyed nineteen year old Dutch farm girl, lazily held the reins of the pony to which they were hitched. The Private's small body almost disappeared into the hay, which suited him just fine for he was on an undercover mission. Until that day, most of his movements over the flat fields of Holland had been under cover of night. His first instructions had been to make it to a certain crossroads and wait for a girl alone on a wagon and ask her the passphrase question. That moment at the crossroads had been the most exciting thing to happen since being dropped into the territory, in his civilian clothes, a few days before.

As he nestled against the hay pile and listened to the clop of the pony, the Private let his mind wander. Private Evans was not given to a particularly deep line of thinking, even when compared to other eighteen year old enlisted men, and his gift for foresight was particularly lacking. An example of this deficiency could be pointed to in his present circumstances. Despite everything that had happened to him once Dr. Grimes and, especially, Professor Hatwell had selected him to go into the machine back at the secret lab, he was still dumb as a club when it regarded the likelihood of the incredibly variety and intensity of manners of sexual congress he and the fair Dutch beauty currently taking him to a hiding place in her family's hayloft would inevitably be engaged.

As it was, he could not really be blamed for his reveries to taking him back to the moments and days following his emergence from the machine with a newly humongous penis and testicles. In fact, it hadn't been until after his initial post-machine encounter with the Professor that some semblance of the new reality of his life had begun to set in at all. He had no real memories of the world historic blowjob with which the incredibly stacked and brilliantly beautiful, twenty-eight year old British science officer had initiated him into the mission.

However, in the few minutes after the Professor and the Doctor had left him alone in the laboratory, Private Evans had had a chance to regain a small portion of his senses. Of course the first thing that he noticed was that his huge erection was in fact real, and in fact really huge. Of course he handn't been able to keep his hands off it. And of course, within a few moments of touching his own erection, he'd become completely engrossed with it, to the point that he had not been aware of the sound, loud as it was, of the descending elevator nor, as pervasive as it was, the steam that issued through the lab as its doors opened. And he only became liminally aware of the clack of Nurse Periwinkle's high heeled shoes as she placed her white stocking clad feet with confident, rhythmic precision while pushing a metal trolley of medical supplies. He was not fully appreciative of her presence until she had come right up to him, within sniffing distance, as one might say.

Private Evans reminisced about the way Nurse Periwinkle swooned when she caught sight of him playing with his massive erection. She'd come to a stop, her knees had wobbled, and the trolley she'd been pushing rolled a few inches before she thought to stop it. The Private also recalled how he'd let go of his pulsing, leaking organ and thrust his hips forward slightly, thus giving the Nurse the best best view possible of his enhancement. He'd done this purely for the purposes of aiding any scientific observation, of course.

What had followed next, Private Evans recollected as a blissful blur of blowjobs, balls being payed ample tribute to, the sudden not quite accounted for appearance of a rolling metal chair, garters being unclipped, panties shimmying from under a tight white skirt and over a sturdy pair of thighs, the way she pressed her body harder and harder against him and wiggled and lurched and writhed as she lowered herself further and further on his cock, the one glorious overly sized breast he had somehow been able to free from her bra and the front of her incredibly form fitting nurse's smock, as well as the inexplicable as though he'd manifested from ether appearance of Dr. Grimes who stood watching them while nervously twiddling a ruler in his hands.

Just as Private Evans' mind began to recreate the details of that last peculiar moment, the hay cart in which he'd hitched a ride drew to an abrupt stop. To some degree it must be expected that a man, especially when he is just becoming a man, and extra especially a man given to the proclivities of the Private, will have become noticeably aroused after such nostalgiac sexual reimaginings. Of course, given the proportions of Private Evans' massive penis, not to mention its contrast with his slight, nearly girlish frame, any bit of arousal was noticeable from quite some distance.

As fantastical as any tale might be, it would perhaps push the limits of credulity to suggest that a typical Dutch farm girl, even one who has recently turned nineteen, has a great wealth sexual experience or knowledge. At least at this particular point history. But the nineteen year old farm girl, whose beautiful, so tender they looked like they must have tasted like fig nectar lips fell parted and whose scintillatingly blue eyes widened at the sight of the prominent protrusion formed in the front of the Private's poor fitting dungarees, was not exactly typical. A person could not come into the orbit of Prof. Hatwell without experiencing... well, titillation at the very least.

To look at the Dutch farm girl, Kirsten, standing there, it was not easy to discern much of her appearance beyond the particular just beyond childlike effervescence of her visage. She wore the traditional dress of her region and vocation, so iconic that it was recognizable even to Private Evans, as dim and inexperienced of the world as he was. However, the dress she wore in particular did not look like it could have possibly belonged to her. It was sized for a woman nearly twice her size. In fact, Kirsten was on the short side for a milk-fed Dutch girl and her form, whatever it was, seemed truly lost in all of that fabric.

The Private would not have to wait long to find out. Within a matter of minutes after stopping the hay cart, and discovering her passenger in his aroused state, Kirsten had tied up the pony in front of a barn and led her passenger to the loft, where a meager bed had already been prepared in the straw. It was from a reclined position on that bed that Privated Evans had the incredible fortune of being the first man, though certainly not the first woman, to enjoy the teen farm girl's lythe confection of a body.

Kirsten smiled shyly before reaching down to begin the somewhat involved process of removing her heavy, oversized dress. She wore only the most diaphanous slip underneath. Standing against the light coming through the loft window, her silhouette revealed slender thighs and somewhat angular hips, there was a sense about her frame that if it were not for her intrinsic grace she could be thought of as gangly. However, the defiantly fleshy swell of breasts held promise that in the coming few years she might be able to pack on a little more jiggle in other parts of her form as well.

Private Evans had no reason to find her wanting in her exceedingly busty and petite form and was immediately prepared to engage. He kicked off his trousers and she fell upon him with gleeful enthusiasm. The gauzy slip, while never removed with intent, did not last long on her body with the vigorous and varied intercourse that followed.

Both Prof. Hatwell and Nurse Periwinkle had not been able to fit much more than the bulbous head of the Private's penis in their mouth and as Kirsten began to initiate oral contact he didn't anticipate that the teen's delicate, small looking smile would actually be able to accommodate that much. The way she giggled, combined with her own look of simultaneous disbelief and pride, it was clear that the young farm girl did not anticipate taking the entirety of his head and then some either. With that she became determined, and what she lacked in the skills of the more mature women she made up for with a playful exuberance. At some point during their sexual shenanigans, Kirsten had left to retrieve a meal of potatoes and meatballs and sour tasting beer, and even in their post-meal lolling some of the girl's same exuberance remained as she gave him a lengthy, teasing handjob.

Then as she prepared to resume rutting with him in earnest, she slapped herself in the side of the head with his heavy meat and spoke in excited and adamant Dutch. Like every word that she had uttered to him, besides the response to the secret passphrase and the word 'english' itself, Privated Evans did not understand a word that she said. Their ability to come to near immediate agreement on all things sexual notwithstanding, he was not able to understand her words any better the next day as she was dressing him, then leading him across the farm toward a classic Dutch windmill.

They stopped in front of the windmill which, despite the pleasantness of the lowland morning, had an unmistakably haunted look. And, though Kirsten's demeanor and manner of speech grew more and more agitated as they neared the structure, Private Evans distracted himself by wondering at what he thought to be his sudden good fortune that had been befalling him. Unsurprisingly he did not know then but, as he moved forward in this world, Private Evans would find that indeed fortune favors the stupendously hung.

Of course luck would continue to follow him when, after making enough sense of his recent ravishingly sexy teen lover's gestures and hearing her implore in her own native tongue to correctly guess that she wanted him to, Private Evans entered the windmill. He had no idea what to expect, but the crumbling little set of three stone steps that led down to a heavy door, shunted from its hinges and hanging precariously open, gave an appropriate sense of foreboding to the eighteen year old soldier. Due to the Private's slight stature he was easily able to squeeze through the space between the door and its frame.

Little light made its way into the interior of the windmill. Private Evans took a few steps in near blindness before his eyes adjusted. What he discovered shortly after gave him quite a shock. Skeletons dressed in German military uniforms slumped against the round exterior walls and sprawled out on the floor. After taking a moment to settle himself and reassess the situation in light of this new discovery, the Private was taken aback anew upon the discovery that each of the skeletons was wearing its pants around its ankles. What had he gotten himself into, he wondered.

In that moment he felt a cold presence, almost like a hand reaching up from somewhere beneath the floor itself and snaking fingers tracing up his inner thigh. Private Evans may have been somewhat slow-witted, but he did not lack certain other reflexes in excess speed. The feeling was already a memory as he lept and bounded forward, for the presence had seemed to come up behind him, which put it also between him and the door. A set of steps spiraled around the windmill's drive-mast to a second story. Private Evans raced up the steps.

Just as he reached the top of the stairs the presence was upon him again. It slid around his left leg, from calf to knee to thigh and, as Private Evans preferred to dangle to the left, the ghostly entity made gratuitous, if paradoxically liminal, contact with his scrotum and suddenly no longer soft penis.

The entity hugged itself around the Private's waist and expertly undid his dungarees. He lost his balance but the ghostly thing caught him. It set him down gently and began to caress him. While the touch remained frigid, it had gone from unsettling to intensely stimulating for the massively erect Private.

The ghostly thing began to coalesce, taking a form that was no easier to apprehend than smoke itself yet which was somehow still undeniably feminine. She enveloped the Private. He could only succumb and doing so proved to be the fortunate choice. The sensations he experienced seemed to both resonate into and react to the resonations of the entity. It went on and on. It began to dawn on the Private that she was grabbing his gigantic cock tighter and tighter. However this feeling did not trouble him. The grip felt incredible. And tighter and tighter it became.

Then in an instant the freezing grip became almost impossibly tight. And at the same time it went from being an icy, tingly sensation to radiantly warm to the precipice of breath-takingly hot and then, just before vanishing altogether, icy and tingling once again.

Private Evans gasped for breath. The presence was gone. Had it been real? His delayed orgasm left no doubt. Even though he was suddenly completely alone, faciast skeletons notwithstanding, he experienced an orgasm as if fully in the throws of the kind of passion such as he had very recently shared with the nubile Dutch girl who was waiting outside. He came all over the floor and the front of his dungarees. It was a spectacularly large explosion for him.

As he kicked off his sperm soiled pants, something in the corner, tucked against one of the windmill's ancient heavy trusses, caught the Private's eyes. It was long and slender and seemed to glow as if emitting its own light. Being dim does not preclude being curious. The Private went to investigate.

The object was a maybe nine inches long and thick cylindrical piece of scrimshaw that was covered in intricate carvings depicting in exquisitely fine detail every coupling, position, and technique known in the tantric sexual arts. It was polished to an impossible smoothness and luster.

Private Evans emerged from the windmill naked from the waist down, his huge cock still quite tumescent and dripping large pearly globules of seminal fluid from its tip. He held the scrimshaw artifact in his hand.

"My pants got ruined," said Privated Evans. "Oh, and I found this thing. I don't know..."

Kirsten, the slender and busty and truly almost always horny teen farm girl, did not let the Private finish his thought before she rushed to him. She seemed to be ecstatic with joy and, predictably by now, chose to express that joy by giving the young soldier a deeply empassioned blowjob.

The Private's typical semi-trance of sexual gratification, invariably brought about by such expert blowjobs as he was receiving after being enhanced to the status of ultra-stud, was short-lived. A Jeep raced across the field, headed directly toward them. Kirsten continued to pleasure Private Evans' cock as if it was the only thing in the world that mattered, and perhaps for her at that moment it actually was. However, the young soldier was at once caught between the impulse to run for cover and the impulse to keep getting a blowjob, which is destined to win out for most men in most situations and certainly always to do so for the superlatively sized teen.

Just as the Jeep rolled up and came to a sudden stop which sent a cloud of dust to swirl, the Private was able to recognize the driver. He could not believe his eyes.

Nurse Periwinkle stepped out of the vehicle and took in the scene. There was the until only minutes prior haunted windmill. In front of that, dressed only in a shirt and shoes, was the recently augmented super hung soldier with a sexy, salivating Dutch farm girl in a delirious state performing oral sex on him while he held a mystical whale bone dildo is his hand.

"Absolutely glorious," she breathed.

As if she had been waiting for that very, barely audible expression from the delectably curvy nurse, Kirsten somewhat reluctantly pulled her face away from the Private's enormous erection and regarded their visitor. She then went about teasing one side of the Private's cock with kisses and nibbles and little suction motions as she simultaneously looked over it and made an almost taunting face at Nurse Periwinkle.

The Nurse did not need so much as a moment to understand the nature of this silent entreaty and forthwith began stripping out of her confining white uniform to join the nineteen year old farm girl on her knees in front of the Private.

Once the nurse had joined her there in front of the gorgeous monstrosity of the Private's constantly oozing penis, Kirsten only paused long enough to remove her own massively oversized dress to reveal her impossibly proportioned naked body, having never bothered to replace her previous slip which lie in tatters in the barn loft.

And it was to the loft that the three of them returned, magical scrimshaw sex object in tow, after their trist had begun to progress to entanglements beyond a double blowjob. They spent the rest of the day and the night in the loft together. The girls took turns polishing the scrimshaw while one or the other rode down on that cock like their own fates depended on it.

Private Evans relished the opportunity to have sex with two amazingly busty women at once. He squeezed his head between one pair of tits while the other girl blew him and then between both sets of breasts during restorative naps. He explored and found joy in the differences of their bodies, too. The Nurse offered curves and some gorgeously toned flesh wherever the Private grabbed. Kirsten had the energy of a fawn and moved through his wanting hands like silk.

He would miss Nurse Periwinkle after she left the next morning. He always missed her. Before she left, he walked with her to the Jeep while Kirsten cooked a hearty breakfast in the otherwise empty farmhouse. As the Nurse retrieved her clothes from the ground and did her best to shake off the soil before commencing to stuff her taught thighs and bottom and hips and eye-popping bust back into her uniform, she explained the next part of the Private's mission.

"You are to go to the Castle von Kupp," said Nurse Periwinkle. "You have a week, but I wouldn't spend more than one more day here. Now, hand me the artifact."

She had climbed into the Jeep and reached a hand out to the Private, who handed the scrimshaw dildo. She took it from him and looked between the object and the soldier.

"You know," she said, "you really are quite lucky. Now, like I said, you have one more day to fuck the dickens out of the that scrawny little Dutch farmer. Then you have to move on to your next objective. The Professor will be very pleased that you were able to complete the first assignment with such aplomb."

Private Evans looked on with a confused expression as the Nurse dropped the Jeep into gear and sent a spray of fertile Dutch soil in her wake. She spent the next two days on the road, only stopping once, to eat and sleep at a safe house. She was a real trooper.

When she got back to base she headed straight to the secret laboratory. Nurse Periwinkle stepped out of the elevator, and through its ubiquitous cloud of steam, to find Prof. Hatwell conducting an experiment with Dr. Grimes and a blindfolded soldier. Despite the fact that the elevator loudly and vaporously announced the arrival of anyone to the lab, the Professor did not so much as pause in her experiments.

She stood behind the blindfolded soldier, who was seated in a metal rolling chair, while Dr. Grimes was nearby at the controls of the electrographic telepathy translator. The Professor gave the soldier elaborate instructions to visualize places in nature, or his childhood home, or the first time he kissed a girl. All the while, she kept bumping the back of the soldier's head with her epicly large bosom, which like always was tightly contained in her uniform and lab coat. She let on to the soldier as if this were an accident each time it happened.