Chapter 20: Electric Devotion
The smell of spent sex hung thick in the air, a musky, salty perfume layered over the scents of rust and old wood. Our bodies glistened, coated in a sheen of sweat and other fluids, the cooling stickiness a second skin. The deep, pleasurable ache inside me was a satisfied throb, a testament to Grunts’s last thorough breeding. But the hunger, that low idle thrum, never really left. It was a part of me now, like the new weight of my breasts or the sway of my hips.
Ellie traced a finger through a rivulet of milky fluid drying on the enormous swell of her stomach. She brought it to her lips, her blue eyes thoughtful. “It’s a waste,” she said, her voice husky. “All of it. Just… dripping onto the floor.”
Nancy, curled against Mary’s side, nodded slowly. Her fiery curls were matted and wet. “They make so much. It just… leaks out.”
Mary’s analytical gaze swept over Buck and Grunts, standing placidly by the workbench, their monstrous cocks already beginning to re-engorge, a biological inevitability. “A significant volume of ejaculate is produced with each emission. The nutritional loss is negligible for them, but…” She looked at her own hands, then at the vast, pale landscape of her mother’s breasts. “It has lubricative and antibacterial properties. Historically, it was seen as a mark of… possession.”
“We’re already possessed,” I said, the words flat. “But we own them.” An idea, perverse and practical, took root. Engineer’s mind. Resource allocation. “We should use it. All of it.”
Ellie understood first, a slow, wicked smile spreading on her face. “Paint with it.”
“Not paint,” I corrected, standing up. My body felt utterly alien, a machine of impossible curves and unyielding flesh, yet it moved with a terrible, potent grace. “Coat. Preserve. Mark.”
I walked to Grunts. His dead eyes tracked me. I placed a hand on his chest, felt the unnerving lack of a heartbeat. “You,” I said, my voice leaving no room for anything but obedience. “On your back.”
He complied, lowering himself to the grimy floorboards with a thud. His cock stood straight up, a grotesque tower of gray-veined flesh, already weeping a clear bead of pre-cum.
“The rest of you,” I instructed my family. “Over him. Use him.”
Ellie didn’t need telling twice. She straddled Grunts’s face, lowering the suffocating softness of her cunt onto his open, waiting mouth. He began to lick and suck with automatic, diligent hunger. She threw her head back with a gasp, her blond hair sweeping the floor. “Oh god, yes. That’s it. Get it wet. Get it messy.”
Nancy took his left hand, guiding his blunt fingers to her own soaked folds. Mary took the right, positioning his thumb against her asshole, pressing inside with a sharp, shared intake of breath. I stood over his hips, looking down at the massive, twitching cock.
This wasn’t about penetration. Not yet.
I lowered myself slowly, aligning the swollen head with my cleavage. The sheer scale of him meant my breasts, each one a staggering individual weight, enveloped him completely. I squeezed my arms against my sides, pressing the incredible firmness of my flesh around his shaft. The skin was fever-warm, the vein on the underside a throbbing cord under my palm-like nipple.
“Now,” I commanded, my voice tight. “Come. Coat them.”
Grunts’s body stiffened. A low, rattling groan vibrated up through Ellie, who moaned in response, grinding harder against his mouth. I began to move, sliding my titanic breasts up and down his length, the motion slick from my own sweat and his saliva. It was a friction of immense, soft pressure.
His orgasm wasn’t a human pulse. It was an eruption.
The first thick, pearlescent rope shot up between my breasts, splattering against my chin and neck with a wet slap. The next followed instantly, a volley of hot, viscous fluid that painted my chest in streaking white lines. It kept coming, a geyser of zombie seed, drenching my skin, pooling in the deep valley of my cleavage, dripping in heavy globs onto his abdomen. The smell, musky and profoundly organic, filled my nostrils.
I worked him through it, milking him with the relentless pressure of my flesh until he was spent, his cock giving a final, spent twitch against my sternum.
I was drenched. My breasts were slick and shining, plastered with cum. I looked like some fertility idol dipped in cream.
Ellie climbed off his face, her thighs and lower belly glazed. She knelt beside me, her eyes wide with a feral delight. She swiped two fingers through the mess on my chest and brought them to my lips. I took them into my mouth, the taste salt and iron and something indefinably alien. I did the same to her, painting her lips with it.
“Buck,” Ellie breathed, turning her gaze to the other creature. “Your turn.”
We orchestrated it like a vile sacrament. Mary and Nancy positioned Buck on his back. This time, Nancy took his cock between her own magnificent breasts, squeezing with a fervor that was both artistic and greedy. Mary straddled his face, riding his tongue while she used her hands to spread the accumulating mess over her stomach, her thighs.
“More,” Nancy chanted, as Buck convulsed beneath her, his release spurting in great, arcing jets that matted her red-gold curls and plastered her face. “Give it all to me, you fucking thing. Cover me.”
We traded places, a slick, fluid ballet. I took Buck’s next round directly on my face, opening my mouth to catch a bitter splash on my tongue, feeling it cool on my eyelids. Ellie used Grunts again, this time having him erupt over the full moon curve of her ass, the white streams tracing rivulets down the back of her thighs.
Within minutes, we were unrecognizable. Our hair was helmeted in drying white. Our skin, from forehead to toe, was painted in abstract, dripping patterns. We were glazed statues, a family of grotesque beauties carved from sex and submission. The shed air grew thick with the cloying, fertile scent.
Ellie ran a cum-coated hand through her hair, laughing, the sound unhinged and free. “We’re gorgeous.”
“We’re practical,” Mary countered, her voice muffled through a layer of drying fluid. She scooped a handful from her stomach and slicked it over her sister’s back. “It’s a barrier. A sealant.”
Nancy grabbed a heavy tuft of her own matted curls. “It’s fucking cold now.”
The cooling layer tightened on my skin, a tightening mask. The initial, feverish excitement was settling into a gritty, sticky reality. And beneath it, the hunger roared back, fresh and sharp.
I looked at our two lovers, their bodies also painted in their own spend, lying docile on the floor. Their cocks, never fully soft, were now rigid once more, jutting up from the mess like obsidian pillars.
“Clean it off,” I said, the command raw. “Lick it. Clean us. Then breed us again.”
They obeyed without hesitation.
Grunts crawled to me first, his rough tongue dragging a hot, wet path up my thigh, through the drying streaks on my belly, lapping at the pooled mess in my navel. It was an obscene, tender intimacy. He cleaned my breasts with the diligence of a cat, his dead eyes focused on the task. When he reached my face, his tongue swiped over my closed lips, clearing the residue.
Buck was between Ellie’s legs, his head buried, his tongue scouring her clean with rasping, thorough strokes. Nancy and Mary watched, then guided their respective lovers to each other’s bodies, a mutual, silent grooming.
The cleaning was its own violation, a submissive act that felt more conquering than the fucking. They were reverent. They were reclaiming.
When we were mostly clean, our skin just damp and smelling strongly of them, the final order was a given. No words were needed.
I laid back on the rough floorboards, my body a map of damp, clean skin and re-awakened need. Grunts moved over me, his shadow blotting out the lantern light. The head of his cock, slick from his own saliva and my renewed wetness, pressed against my entrance.
This time, the penetration was a homecoming. My body accepted him with a hungry, gripping welcome, so well-used it offered no resistance, only a perfect, stretching fullness. He fucked me with a deep, punishing rhythm, each thrust a solid, wet impact that drove the air from my lungs and shook my entire monumental frame.
To my left, Ellie was on her knees, Buck taking her from behind, his hands vise-like on her painted hips, his slam of his pelvis against her vast ass a rhythmic thunderclap. Nancy and Mary were a tangled, moaning heap, Mary on her back taking Grunts while Nancy rode Buck’s face, her head thrown back in a silent scream.
The shed was a chorus of wet slaps, ragged breaths, and filthy, loving encouragement. “Fill me up!” “God, yes, right there!” “Breed your fucking slut!”
Their second release inside us felt different. Warmer. Deeper. A claiming written in biological ink on the walls of our wombs. As we convulsed around them, our own climaxes tearing through us with seismic force, I stared up at the cobwebbed ceiling.
The antidote case was a dark shape in the corner. A ghost of a choice.
Grunts collapsed onto me, his cold weight a familiar comfort. I didn’t push him off. I held him there, feeling his spend begin to leak out around where we were joined, a slow, warm trickle.
This was our life now. Not a cycle of fear, but a cycle of consumption. We were the engine. And this was our fuel.