Chapter 15: Foreskin Fucking
The air in Bree’s bedroom had become soup—thick with the smell of sweat, sweet milk, and the sharp, coppery tang of whatever fluid was leaking from Skye’s swollen pores. The broken bedframe listed dangerously, a shipwreck in a sea of flesh.
Skye’s cock was a monolith. It didn’t just tower; it dominated. The foreskin, that heavy, droopy sleeve, had grown so cavernous it had completely enveloped Mae. Only the thick, ridged base, gripped tight in Bree’s white-knuckled hands, remained visible, a handle on the impossible.
“Hold her steady,” Bree grunted, not to Skye, who was past listening, but to Ronnie. Her voice was all focused breath. “I need to observe the direct correlation between stimulus and growth.”
“You need to get the hell off that thing before it eats you,” Ronnie shot back, but she didn’t move. She was pinned by the spectacle, one hand still working between her own legs, her own substantial breasts feeling quaint by comparison.
Bree ignored her. She adjusted her grip on Mae’s base, her chemist’s mind overriding any primal fear. She pulled.
It was a wet, resistance-filled drag. Mae’s slick shaft slid backward through the tight, hot tunnel of Skye’s foreskin. The sound was obscene—a deep, sucking squelch that made Ronnie’s teeth ache.
Skye responded with a guttural roar that shook the paintings on the walls. Her entire mountainous form convulsed. The foreskin rippled, contracting violently around the retreating dildo.
Then Bree thrust forward again, shoving Mae deep back into that fleshy sheath.
Shluck.
“Oh, god,” Skye whimpered, her voice buried under layers of fat and muscle. “That’s… yes…”
“Fascinating,” Bree murmured, her glasses slipping down her nose. She established a rhythm. A slow, deliberate pistoning. In and out of the slick, pre-slickened foreskin tunnel that was now a biological feature of a being who could no longer stand. Each thrust fed Skye a fresh, direct blast of Mae’s essence.
Mae’s world was a nightmare of sensation and helplessness. She was a tool. A piston in a wet, hot engine of flesh. Each shove forward buried her in darkness, the walls of Skye’s foreskin pulsing around her. Each pull backward was a fleeting, dizzying exposure to the lamplight before she was plunged back in. And she couldn’t stop cumming. Each mechanical stroke triggered another volley, her own silent screams lost in the flood she was forced to produce.
The effects on Skye were immediate and grotesque.
With every deep thrust, her cock, already thicker than a mature oak, swelled another perceptible inch in girth. The skin, stretched shiny and taut, began to show a web of darker, throbbing veins. The head, when occasionally exposed by the retracting foreskin, was a bruised, dripping plum.
Her breasts, already sagging to the floor, began to push outward. They spread like slow-moving lava, flattening against the hardwood, their immense weight causing the floorboards to bow and creak a constant, low protest. The trails of milk from her nipples were now steady streams, forming two small, pooling lakes.
“You’re going to drown us in tit milk,” Ronnie said, half-laughing, half-horrified, as she shuffled her bare feet back from the advancing white puddles.
Bree didn’t look up. Her arms burned with the effort. The fucking was no longer sexual for her; it was experimental. A test of cause and effect. She changed the angle, driving Mae upward.
Skye’s back arched off the mattress as much as it could. A sound escaped her that was less human, more like the deep groan of tectonic plates shifting. Her eyes, visible as tiny slits in her bloated face, rolled back.
“More. Harder,” she rasped. “Fill it. Stretch it.”
Bree complied, panting now. She increased her pace. The wet, slapping sounds of flesh on flesh filled the room, a rapid, brutal percussion over the symphony of groaning wood and dripping liquid.
Each impact made Skye’s form jiggle, a seismic event. Her balls, those two enormous sacs, sloshed heavily. Her foreskin, worked like a slick fist, began to glow an angry, fevered red.
Ronnie finally stopped touching herself. The awe was curdling into something else. A kind of stunned dread. “Bree. Seriously. Look at her face.”
Bree paused, Mae half-buried, and glanced up.
Skye’s expression was one of transcendent, empty bliss. The sharp, clever woman who ran a successful cam show was gone. What remained was raw, wanting id. Her mouth was slack, drooling a thin strand of saliva that joined the mess on her chest. Her whispered “more” was just a breath now, a reflex.
“The cognitive functions are likely being overwhelmed by sensory input,” Bree observed, her own breath coming in short gasps. “The pituitary gland must be flooded. Her hypothalamus is probably rewriting her fundamental needs on the fly.”
“She’s turning into a fucking building,” Ronnie snapped. “And you’re the contractor. Stop pumping that thing!”
But Bree was locked in. The data was too compelling. She gave one more, mighty thrust, burying Mae to the hilt and holding her there.
For a moment, there was silence except for the drip-drip of milk and Skye’s ragged breathing.
Then, a low rumble started deep within Skye’s core. It traveled up through her body, vibrating the floor, before culminating in a thick, pulse that visibly traveled the length of her colossal cock. The foreskin tightened like a throat swallowing.
Mae, trapped at the epicenter, felt a final, devastating release tear through her.
Skye’s body did not just grow. It bulged. The girth of her cock expanded suddenly, violently, with a sound like tearing canvas. The new thickness strained against Bree’s grip, forcing her fingers apart. She stumbled back, letting go.
Mae was now fully, irrevocably swallowed. Nothing remained visible.
Skye’s head lolled to the side. A single, clear word formed on her lips, a relic of the person she had been.
“Big…”
Then her eyes closed. The relentless growth seemed to slow, settling into a steady, terrifying inflation. She was a landscape. A quiet, breathing, milking landscape of flesh, with a tree-sized cock and a foreskin that gently pulsed around its permanently embedded secret.
Ronnie and Bree stood amidst the wreckage, the pools of milk reaching their ankles. The only light was from Bree’s overturned lamp, casting long, distorted shadows of the titanic form that now occupied most of the room. Skys breasts are as big as bean bags. Skye's dick was atleast 8 feet long and over a foot wide. There is an excess of disgusting foreskin drooping off Skye's dick. Skye's dick head will probably never see daylight again.
“Well,” Ronnie said, her voice hollow. “Now what?”
Bree, staring at the place where Mae had disappeared, slowly wiped her slick hands on her thighs. Her analytical mind was already whirring, pushing past the horror to the next, inevitable question.
“Now,” she said softly, “we see if she’s still in there.” Bree grabs Skye's loose foreskin and starts jerking Skyes dick