The Crimson Milk Ch. 17

The cable was out. Jonathan spent a few minutes slapping the receiver before turning off his television. He looked outside, expecting to see other frustrated sports fans shaking their fists at the heavens, but all the other houses hummed along with the normal glow of a weekday evening. He cursed his provider and went to check the score on his phone. The display of his cell flickered a few shades of red before turning to black. He groaned and collapsed in an armchair, scowling at the various useless devices around his room.

His hand slid into his gym shorts and scratched the side of his balls. He gave a noncommittal stroke to his slightly stiff dick, and started to wonder if he still had anything to jerk off to on his computer.

-

Across the street, the Wilsons had just finished dinner. Conner cleared away dishes while his wife, Martha, gathered up laundry. The two hummed through their chores, playfully pinching or slapping each other's bottoms as they floated around the house. Martha attempted to put on an internet radio channel, but it only hissed back at her for a moment before going to an empty silence. Unfazed, she dialed up her iPod's playlist. In minutes, her husband danced through the house, belting out each and every word from an obscure Broadway show.

She smiled at her husband, subconsciously thrilled that after ten years of marriage, he could still be so idiotically charming. Her mind drifted off to the memory of their last lovemaking. As affectionate as he was, his job often left him exhausted at the end of the day, meaning sex became an afterthought. His current mood had her hopeful, though. She wondered if she should slip into something seductive for him.

-

Outside, the street seethed with the heat of a summer evening. Poe sat on his front porch, beer in his left hand, cigarette in his right, watching the black space at the end of the street. He heard the sirens earlier, saw the bright flashes of light and the faint yells of alarmed citizens. Nothing said about it on the television, nothing on the radio, so he took his case of beer to the front porch, and waited. Leaning against the wall beside him, just out of sight, but within reach, was a shotgun. Whatever would come his way, he intended to be loaded both ways.

His neighbors seemed equally uneasy, appearing at windows or doorways to look out at the night. They all quailed at the heat and cowered in their air conditioned homes, happy to ignore the spreading disquiet. Deep down, they all had suspicions. Suspicions which had grown for weeks. The strange people around town, gorgeous and bawdy, and the many disappearances should have sent the whole town into a riot. No one raised a finger. It seemed easier to forget someone than lodge a missing person complaint. The few who did were confidently told that the missing would show up eventually. Maybe it was the heat, Poe thought.

In the distance, he saw a bright flash of blue light. His hand twitched toward the shotgun. The city disappeared into darkness with a diminishing hum as the power grid went down. Poe took a long pull on his cigarette, the small orange dot glaring defiantly back at the void. He heard a synchronized clack of heels hitting pavement. Poe's eyes slowly adjusted to the starlight, and he could see the moving silhouettes marching into the suburb.

Women, stunningly beautiful women, stepping forward with a cold determination. The first few wore tight, dark colored dresses that flared at the hips into a swishing skirt that rustled slightly as they walked. Their red lipstick shone brightly despite the lack of light, and lush hair shimmered with reflected moonlight. Each of them looked as if she had walked out of a fifties' pinup calendar. They dispersed to different houses with a clear intent. They did not choose their destination at random, but walked directly to a specific door.

A few passed Poe as he sat on the porch. Up close, he observed the lewdness of their attire. Bulging breasts and swollen asses strained to break out of the confining clothes. The harlots walked one by one to their designated home, took a position right at the front door, and remained motionless as their compatriots continued their grim march. A mesmerizing brunette flashed Poe a perfect, innocent smile. She touched her bobbed hair, fixing it into an exact position as she took her spot one door down at his neighbor's house. With their passing, an intoxicating aroma filled the air, flowing after them in a wave. It invaded Poe's senses and bewildered his mind. With the miasma clouding his senses, their eerie vigil seem entirely normal.

The parade continued, but the participants differed. Miniskirts and tube tops took the place of floor length gowns. Then came the creatures that only resembled humans. Women with bunny ears and cat ears, furred over their entire bodies. Among them danced women wearing nearly nothing. Some chose fetish wear, French maid outfits and Catholic school girls skirts with knee high socks. Some came in shining latex or leather. Like the others, these walking wet dreams dispersed directly to a house throughout the neighborhood as Poe watched, unconsciously waiting for his own fantasy girl to arrive.

The women were not alone. Poe simply had not noticed the other participants of the march, but once he did, he knew they had always been there. Hulking monstrosities of muscle and fur followed the clatter of heels with the silent steps of enormous predators. Some of these devils went to houses of their own, others remained prowling up and down the street, glittering, black eyes keeping a vigilant watch.

The march dwindled to a trickle as most had passed. His neighbors waited unknowingly in their homes, searching for candles and flashlights or fiddling with a battery operated radio. Another gargantuan passed by Poe. As the black shape moved, a glimmering visage appeared at the foot of Poe's stoop. The woman was tall and thin with white hair flowing down to the top of her plump ass. She wore a long slinking dress that seemed more spectral than tangible. She floated up the steps and gracefully knelt down by Poe, taking his hand into hers. He expected her touch to feel icy or burn, but it sent a warm, familiar sensation through his body. Gazing at her face, he tried to comprehend what he saw. He let out a hoarse whisper, but she held her hand to his lips and shook her head. He persisted, "Annabel?"

"I can be whoever you want me to be," the woman said with a kind smile.

Dismayed, Poe brushed the shining white hair away from the woman's face. His eyes focused again, and he saw a different woman looking back at him, "How...how did you look like her? She's been gone for -"

"For a very long time," the woman replied soothingly. "You've been very alone. All that can change now." She stood and pulled on his arm for him to follow. "Let's go inside and I can explain. Come on. Come inside with me." She led him to the door.

Poe looked up and down the street. All of these creatures had their heads turned to him, otherwise standing rigidly in their designated positions. He remembered his wife lying beside him on a Sunday morning, sunlight flickering over her closed eyes. Her nose twitching as she roused. The woman beside him was a faint specter of her beauty, a faded memory, but her touch was real. He opened the door, and she followed him inside. It closed with an echoing click.

The others smiled. They turned back to their doors. Simultaneously, they raised their hands and gave two rapid knocks.

-

"Honey, there's someone at the door," Conner yelled to his wife. She was in a closet rummaging for fresh batteries. Conner had climbed halfway up a ladder leading to the attic, intending to check the circuit breakers. He heard the knock again, "Martha? The door! It could be someone from the power company or one of the neighbors." She didn't answer. He huffed as he backed down the ladder and made his way to the front door.

He looked out through a window to see a figure was waiting patiently on his doorstep, but he couldn't make out any details. Conner eyed the baseball bat near the door for a moment, and opened the door a crack. "Yes, who is it?"

"Well, it's me, Mr. Wilson," replied the visitor.

He recognized the voice, "Mira is that you?" He opened the door wider and could finally see the young woman. "What on earth are you doing here?

"Can I come inside?" she said. "I was on my way home when the power blacked out. Yours was the first house I recognized."

Conner knew something was wrong. The girl standing in front of him looked and acted like Mira in every way, but something nagged at him. Mira left for college in another state several years ago. Conner still saw her parents occasionally and knew that their daughter had not been one to visit her home town, let alone show up on the doorstep of her senior year algebra tutor. "You shouldn't be here. Where's your car? I can call your parents to come get you."

"My parents don't matter any more, Mr. Wilson. Let me inside, and I can explain everything. Is Mrs. Wilson home? I have something I want to share with both of you."

Martha appeared at her husbands side and gazed out at the visitor. "Mira? What on earth are you doing out in all this? Come in, come in. Conner move out of the way. We haven't seen you in ages dear." His wife ushered his former student inside, and a wave of heat follow her into the house. Resigned to his fate, he closed the door behind them.

He followed them to the living room as they chattered back and forth. Martha had not found any batteries, but had managed to find candles and light them. In the yellow light, Conner could see Mira fully. The girl looked older, as expected, but her body was not the same. Her breasts surged against her top and her skirt barely covered her ample buttocks. While these features held most of his attention, he also managed to notice that she was wearing the same thing she had when they first met, her school uniform. While it had been plain and unbecoming on the eighteen year old he had known, the twenty year old wore the plaid skirt and white shirt perfectly. She even wore the knee high socks that were based more in the Catholic school girl fantasy than reality. His wife did not seem to notice the sexuality oozing from their guest, but Conner's prick began to stir, if only from the glimmer of candlelight across their young guest's ruby red lipstick.

"Now then, Mira, what are you doing out in all this mess? It is good to see you, I mean, but what a time to be out visiting people." Martha sat her on the couch beside her. Mira pulled up her skirt as she wiggled into the couch, flashing her inner thighs to Conner.

"You see, Mrs. Wilson, tonight is a very special night. Dreams are finally coming true. And did you know what your husband always dreamed about?"

Martha looked over at her husband with the same sweet smile she always had, but he could see a dreamy absence behind her eyes. "He always dreamed about fucking your tight little pussy," she said.

Conner almost choked. The tight bulge in his pants strained even harder as he watched Martha's hand pat Mira's exposed knee. Mira was smiling as she pulled her hair up into pigtails. "And that's not the only dirty little secret between the two of you is it?"

Martha blushed and chuckled to herself, "No, I guess it isn't. I'm sorry Conner, things would have been much simpler if I had just told you years ago. Maybe not simpler, but a lot more fun. From the first day that Mira sat at our kitchen table with her nose buried in her studies, I wanted to crawl under the table, push up her skirt, pull aside her dainty little panties and bury my tongue in her young, smooth snatch."

"Martha! What the hell is the matter with you?" Conner protested, but he had never been more aroused in his life.

"Mr. Wilson," Mira said, "how do you want us? Want me to suck your cock while your wife eats my pussy. Or do you want us both bent over this couch so you can take turns fucking us?"

Martha's lust finally overcame her at the thought of her husband fucking both of them. She pushed herself on top of Mira, and the seductress gladly accepted. Martha's hands ran up and down the younger woman's body, reveling in the soft, warm flesh. In a quick motion, she managed to remove the girl's top and fat breasts spilled into sight. Martha's tongue traced around the swollen nipples before she latched on and gave a long suck, delighted to feel the rush of milk flow into her mouth. She looked over at her husband and locked eyes with him as she swallowed her first taste. Conner groaned. "Come on over daddy, you need milk to make you big and strong," Mira said while stroking Martha's darkening hair.

Conner had no desire left to resist. He crawled over to the writhing pair and took Mira's free tit in his hands. He massaged the breast as she moaned, and he watched his wife eagerly suckling down the tainted milk. A dark rivulet appeared at the nipple as he kneaded. He took the dollop on his finger and brought it to his mouth. The taste burned away any inhibitions he had left and he bowed his head to the source of the aphrodisiac and started sucking as much as he could.

Mira smiled and held their heads to her chest, husband and wife suckling at her teats. "That's right daddy, drink as much as you can. And my new mommy won't have to punish me. I've been a good girl, and we're going to have so much fun together. Just need a few improvements first." Both of the initiates, fell away from Mira. Conner rocked back on his haunches with his head down, while Martha clutched her stomach and fell over on her side. "Don't worry! The first time is a little rough in the beginning, but it's going to get so much better. Look daddy, mommy is changing. Tell her what you always wanted her to look like."

Conner struggled to keep his eyes focused. He could see his wife writhing in pain on the floor beside him. The harlot between them had reclined on the couch, her massive tits spilling out of her top while she had hiked up her skirt to allow a finger to stroke up and down her bare pussy. He wanted to attack her, pin her to the ground and fuck her until she stopped talking, but he knew he couldn't. Instead, he turned to his wife.

He straddled her and pinned her arms to the ground. Martha's eyes closed tightly, and her head shook with dark thoughts. Conner ripped open his wife's blouse, and grabbed hold of her bra. "Is this what I married, this tiny titted bitch?" he taunted in an inhuman voice. He pulled the bra, and it snapped free, allowing Martha's breasts to flatten against her body. "Come on, Mar, if you ever want to be fucked again, you're going to have to do better. I want to slide my dick between your fat titties while you suck the head if I'm generous enough to let you."

Martha squealed. She opened her eyes and looked up at her loving husband. He towered over her with features she had never seen before. Black eyes stared back at her as horns emerged from the top of his head. The sight made her even wetter. A strange tingling sensation spread throughout her body. Her breasts started to swell, as if air was being pumped into them. Her hand came up to touch her own hot, sweaty flesh and she could feel that it wasn't air. Her new breasts were real, firm and incredibly sensitive. Conner swatted her hand away.

"You get to touch yourself when I say. Those fat jugs are good for a start. Something for Mira to suck on while I fuck your ass. Yeah, I've suffered your bony butt long enough. Turn over." He roughly spun his wife over onto all fours. He gripped the waistline of her jeans and with amazing force pulled them over her ass. His wife's ass had never been much to admire, but he had appreciated what he had. No more, he thought. "Is this the best you can do? You think the sight of this could make me cum? You think that letting me touch this flat nothing is a reward?" He raised his hand and brought it down against her ass with a hard swat. She purred.

Mira walked over to Conner and helped him pull of his shirt. The middle aged pudge had vanished and been replaced by a rigid core of muscle with a darkening tint of red to his skin. Mira kissed him, letting him grope her own ass for a moment. "Mommy has been bad and needs her spanking. That's how I got my big juicy ass, plenty of spankings when I was naughty."

Conner growled and turned his attention back to his wife. Martha's new breasts rocked back and forth beneath her as she eagerly awaited the next strike. Her juices ran down the inside of her thighs, and she relished the cool air on her mons as Mira pulled away her panties to give Conner better access.

"Mira's already a better woman than you, honey," Conner taunted. He raised his hand up and brought it down with a sharp strike. He admired the red print on her lily white skin. "She's got that plump kind of ass that men want to bury their cock in. The kind that you're grateful just to wedge your dick in while grinding against her in a shitty bar somewhere. Maybe she'll let you follow her into a crowd and let your hands find their way up to that sweet flesh." Another strike.

Mira laughed as she massaged Conner's shoulders. She could see the effect of the spanking taking place. Martha's ass was growing into a wobbly, bubble butt with each slap. The red coloring of the hand print on her ass cheeks spread over her body as her skin turned to devilish red color. Milk started leaking from her breasts as she grew closer and closer to her orgasm. Mira caught Conner's hand before the final strike that would push Martha over the edge. The pair smiled as Martha's new fat ass wriggled vainly in the air at them. "Not yet, mommy," Mira taunted. "First we have to help daddy grow."

Mira pushed Conner over to the couch, leaving Martha on her fours, jeans binding her knees together and her shirt still in tatters on her shoulders. Mira ran her hands along Conner's newly defined abs. She kissed along his neck, licking playfully at his earlobe. "Isn't this what you always wanted," she said in a hoarse whisper. "For me to put your fat cock in my hands. With your wife humiliated and watching, waiting her turn like a good mommy." Conner growled in response. Mira's hands deftly unfastened Conner's jeans. She pressed against him as she slid down his body, thrilling him with the feeling of her breasts squishing against his heaving stomach, barely drifting over his cock before she stood away to pull off his jeans. He repositioned himself on the couch, painfully aware of his aching cock straining against the thin boxer fabric. Mira pressed her palm against the head, feeling the precum ooze through the fabric. "What's this Mr. Wilson? Is this my lollipop for being such a good girl student?" Slowly, she pulled the hem of his boxers over the rigid member. His dick sprang free and he couldn't help but thrust his hip upwards toward her.

Conner looked down as his own body. The changes had caused him to lose grasp on reality. His wife remained in her spanked position, but had surreptitiously snaked one of her hands down to stroke herself while she watched her husband get his dick sucked. He tried comprehending even that, watching his own wife masturbate, something that he'd never seen in his ten years of marriage. Mira drew back his attention by blowing a cool stream of air across the length of his dick.

"Hmm, this simply won't do, Mr. Wilson. You can't fuck me with that little thing. Do you want me to suck the lolly to make it bigger? You have to tell me what to do. You know I was never a quick learner."

Conner could barely speak, "Suck it."

"Suck what?" she replied, gripping his dick at the base. "This?"

"Yesss...pleasseee..."

"Please what? You always said you have to be specific, Mr. Wilson."

Conner growled in frustration, "Please suck my dick you little slut!"