Chapter 66: Field Testing
The laughter died in our throats simultaneously. A branch snapped, too heavy for a deer. Another. Voices, male and grumbling, tangled with the rustle of clumsy passage.
Elara’s eyes met mine, wide and alert. Cora simply straightened, her massive breasts settling with a weighty shift. We were naked, gleaming with sweat and the residue of our play, monuments of impossible flesh in the middle of the wild.
Three men pushed through the final line of birches into our clearing. They were hunters, by the look of them—sturdy boots, cargo pants, but their faces were flushed with confusion rather than purpose. A map dangled uselessly from one’s hand.
They froze.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the buzz of a fly. I watched their eyes travel. From my impossible height and brutal hourglass, down to Elara’s rolling, fertile hips, and finally to Cora’s breathtaking, absurd abundance. Their jaws went slack. The map fluttered to the moss.
“Holy fucking hell,” breathed the youngest, a guy with a scruffy beard. His words weren’t a compliment yet; they were pure, stunned disbelief.
The oldest, grizzled and thick-necked, rubbed his eyes. “We’re lost. We must be…hallucinating from river water or something.”
“I don’t wanna wake up,” the third man whispered, his gaze glued to Cora’s chest.
This was the test. Not of walking, but of being. A slow, deliberate smile spread across my lips. I let my hand drift down the severe concavity of my waist, over the steep cliff of my hip. The movement was slow, an ownership of my own outrageous form.
“Lost?” I said, my new, lower voice a husky ribbon in the air. “You’ve just found the landmark.”
Elara took her cue. She shifted her weight, setting that built-in pendulum in her hips into a gentle, swaying motion. It was hypnotic. “You boys look parched,” she said, her tone maternal and deeply, deeply wrong. “All that walking.”
Cora simply chuckled, a sound that made her incredible bosom shudder. She crossed her arms beneath them, lifting them, offering them up like a sacrifice to gravity. “Map won’t show you what’s right in front of your face, will it?”
The spell broke, replaced by a more familiar, hungry tension. The scruffy one found his voice. “You’re…you’re real.” It was an accusation, a prayer.
“Real as the ache in your balls,” Cora said flatly.
The grizzled man, the leader, licked his lips. His eyes were dark with a conflict of fear and want. “What are you?”
“A dream you walked into,” I said, taking a single step forward. My new gait was a predatory glide, each sway of my hips a pronouncement. The pressure in my breasts deepened, a sweet, heavy pull. A single, pearly drop of nectar beaded at my nipple, caught the sun, and traced a path down the vast slope. All three men tracked its progress.
“Jesus Christ,” the leader breathed. “You look like…like some kind of fucking forest queen from a dirty comic. All legs and tits and that waist…” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “I’ve had dreams about a woman built like you. Where I just get to hold onto that…that structure.”
The third man, quieter, was staring at Elara. “My wife’s skinny,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “After three kids, just…skinny. I fantasize about a woman with…with hips like that. Something to really grab. Something that moves when you…you know.”
Elara’s smile was beatific. She turned, giving him a profile view of the sublime curve from her back to her ass. “You fantasize about having something to hold onto, sugar? Something that won’t just take you, but ride you?”
He nodded, dumbly.
The young one couldn’t take his eyes off Cora. “I’ve…I watch videos. Big ones. Unreal ones. But fuck, lady…you…you eclipse ‘em all. I wanna get lost between ‘em. I wanna see if my hands can even…” He trailed off, his face burning red, but his cock was a blatant tent in his pants.
The air thickened, saturated with the scent of pine, dirt, and the sharp, coppery tang of male arousal. My nectar wasn’t even spraying, just leaking, a steady, beckoning seep.
“The dream’s fucking you back today, boys,” I said, my voice final.
It was like tripping a snare. They moved as one, a clumsy, desperate rush. Clothes were torn at, buttons flying. They were all hard, ruddy and eager.
The grizzled leader came straight for me, his hands out, aiming for my waist. “I need to feel if that’s real,” he grunted.
I let him. His rough, calloused hands spanned my cinched middle, his fingers nearly touching. His eyes bulged. “God Almighty. It’s real.” He looked up at me, sheer lust overwriting his fear. “I’m gonna fuck you like you’re a goddamn vice. Gonna see if I can make the great big queen scream.”
He shoved me back against the sun-warmed boulder. The moss was cool on my ass. He didn’t kiss me—he just fumbled his cock out, thick and veined, and spat into his palm. He was wasting time. I was already slick, my own new, paradoxical tightness weeping around emptiness.
He guided himself to my entrance, pushing the head against me. “Tighter than my daughter’s fist,” he blasphemed, and then he slammed in.
The feeling was a shock. A brutal, full stretching. My channel, designed to be inviolate, was violently occupied. He wasn’t gentle. He pistoned into me with short, savage grunts, his hands gripping my narrow waist like handlebars, thumbs pressing into the hollows of my hips.
“Fuck! Fuck, you’re a miracle!” he chanted, his breath hot on my neck. “Dreamt of a cunt this tight on a body this fucking extreme. Gonna drain me. Gonna milk me dry in this impossible fucking hole!”
Beside us, the quiet man had Elara on her hands and knees. He was kneeling behind her, in awe of the panorama before him. He slapped one heavy buttock, watching the ripple. “Look at that jiggle,” he moaned. He positioned himself and drove into her. Elara’s head dropped, a groan of pure satisfaction rumbling in her throat. Her hips met his with a practiced, rolling counter-thrust.
“Yeah, ride it,” he panted. “Take all of it. God, you feel ancient. Deep. Like fucking a goddess of the goddamn harvest.”
Across the clearing, the young one had gotten Cora to lean forward, her hands braced on a fallen log. Her breasts hung down, vast and swinging. He was behind her, but he couldn’t reach her easily over the spectacular shelf of her ass. He was slapping against her, failing.
“Help me,” he begged, frantic.
Cora laughed, a rich, generous sound. “Poor boy. Here.” She reached one hand back, parted the swollen lips of her pussy—which looked absurdly small compared to the rest of her—and guided his cock to the entrance. “Now, give it a good shove.”
He did. He sank into a breathtaking, velvety tightness that made him shriek. “Ohmygod it’s so small! It’s sucking me in! With all… all this!” He grabbed two handfuls of her ass, flesh overflowing between his fingers, and began to fuck her in earnest, his tempo frenzied.
“That’s it,” Cora coached, pushing back. “Fantasy come true, huh? Fucking a cartoon? Make it real, kid. Come in the cartoon.”
The clearing filled with the sounds of it: skin slapping against skin, guttural male cries, the wet, slick rhythm of penetration. The leader was fucking me like he wanted to break my spine, his balls slapping against me with each thrust. “Gonna come in the queen’s royal cunt!” he snarled. His pace turned ragged, and with a final, convulsive stab, he emptied himself, a hot flood in my sterile depths. He collapsed against my towering frame, sobbing for breath.
The quiet man was grunting, his rhythm fragmenting as he held onto Elara’s sweeping hips. “Harvest me,” he pleaded, and with a shudder, he did.
The young one lasted only moments longer. “I’m coming! I’m coming in the fantasy!” he wailed, his body stiffening before he collapsed forward, smothered by Cora’s back.
Silence descended again, broken by heavy panting. They pulled away from us, soft and spent, their eyes glazed with disbelief and satiation. They dressed in wordless, trembling haste, unable to look at us directly anymore. They stumbled back into the forest, disappearing the way they came, lost in a different way entirely.
I slid down the boulder to the moss. Elara rolled onto her side. Cora straightened up, wiping sweat from her brow.
We were slick with their sweat, their release, our own nectar. The sun dappled through the leaves onto the mess of us.
Elara let out a long, slow breath. “Well.”
“They were…descriptive,” Cora mused, looking at the sticky dampness on her inner thigh.
I felt the cooling trail of the leader’s seed leaking from me. I felt the profound, hollow tightening return. I looked at my hands, at the severe curve of my own body, now used, proven.
We were monuments. We were vessels. We were empty.
The forest hummed around us, indifferent. The test was over. The result was undeniable. We functioned.