The mouth and tongues continued to milk him as the girl began to grind her cunt into his mouth even more vigorously. She seized his balls in her hand, using them as a makeshift saddle horn while she rode him like a wild cowgirl. Billy, who began the encounter with a prick already throbbing from Apple Annie's masochistic religious ritual, could hold back no longer. He felt the pressure building in his balls, which were being cruelly squeezed in the redhead's hands. He felt the jism shoot out of him, the redhead's supernatural mouth sucking every drop of fluid from his balls. He bit down on her clitoris in appreciation, but soon found that his mouth held only...
...a mushroom. The girl was indeed Mescalito after all.
He looked around at the kitchen floor. There were mushrooms growing everywhere now.
When he whipped it out to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, it felt a little strange. The hood seemed larger than usual, almost (dare he say it) mushroom-like. His burnt hands, however, seemed to be miraculously healed.
When Billy arose for his morning piss, his worst fears were confirmed. His organ had indeed been transformed into a mushroom. A rather large one though, thank God. That was at least some consolation. And as the urine streamed out of him, he thanked God again for the fact that it still worked. No reason why it had to. Would have been a bummer if it didn't, he thought, the idea of vomiting his urine out through his mouth not a particularly appealing picture.
He supposed he had better make yet another appointment with Dr. Peterschticker. Peterschticker had been the one who got him through that urinary tract infection last fall. Not to mention the gonorrhea back in '99 and the clap in '97. Or the herpes infection and the wart situation and his recent problems in properly performing Apple Annie's increasingly exacting tantric rituals. Peterschticker was the go-to guy, all right. He would know what to do in a situation like this.
When Billy went down to the kitchen, most of the floor and walls were covered with mushrooms. Apple Annie was sitting at the kitchen table, nude as usual, munching down her granola. She didn't seem to notice a thing.
Later that afternoon, at the pizza shop, he noticed Gina Ferrilli, the owner's daughter, looking at him strangely. Her massive tits were hanging halfway out of her peasant blouse as usual. How he longed to hold those jugs in his hands and mouth and run his fingers over her sweet olive skin. But Gina wouldn't give him the time of day, preferring the company of that borderline cretin and Harley-Davidson owner, Rocky Gambino.
Today, however, seemed different. Gina was eyeing him up and down as she rolled the pizza dough, stopping occasionally to wipe the flour off of her hands and onto the already well-decorated upper hemispheres of her sizable breasts.
Finally she wiped all the flour off her hands onto those magnificent globes and her apron, with a final dusting on her very tight and pleasantly ample ass.
"Come in the back room with me, Billy, I have something to show you," she said in that sultry voice of hers.
Billy went into the back room without resistance.
"I think maybe I've been underestimating you, Billy," she said, suddenly reaching for his crotch and grabbing his gonads tightly in her hand. You are a man of greater magnitude than I have given you credit for. I never really noticed this huge bulge in your pants for some reason."
She began to unzip him. Billy's higher brain centers suddenly recovered enough to remember the current state of his organ and he reached to stop her, but he was too late. The cat (or rather mushroom) was already out of the bag.
"Oh my," she said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "I have never seen anything like that before, Billy."
Billy was touched by Gina's concern and reached down to stroke her hair.
"I mean it's magnificent, Billy," she whispered. "The most magnificent I have ever seen."
Suddenly, Billy understood. Gina wasn't seeing the mushroom thing that was in fact growing from his crotch, but the massive 14" cock that was the subject of her fantasies. It was the Mescalito thing all over again, only this time Billy was starring in the role of the mushroom.
Gina took him in her mouth and began to suck him like a toddler reunited with a long lost lollipop.
Billy held the sides of her head, stroking her hair as she sucked him. This was what he had always dreamed about. Gina Ferrilli on her knees taking him in her mouth, her gigantic breasts rubbing against his thighs while she deep-throated him. Of course in those fantasies, it was Billy's own cock that Gina was sucking, not some mushroom from outer space. But Billy had to give the mushroom from outer space credit. It felt better than his own cock. He could feel every bump on Gina's rapidly moving tongue and the softness and texture of the inner walls of her mouth as they rubbed against his throbbing, albeit fungal, member.
The sensations were ten times as great as anything he had experienced with his own prick, despite all of the efforts of that selfless medical crusader, Dr. Jonathan Thomas Peterschticker.
Gina released him momentarily to pull her peasant blouse over her head. As he had long suspected (knew for certain actually), she wore no bra beneath it.
She managed to lose the skirt and panties and footwear without taking her mouth off of Billy even for a second.
She did finally pull her eager little mouth off, licking her way up Billy's balls and shaft to make one request.
"Billy, honey, I have something to confess," she said in a quiet voice, "I kind of like it up the ass. Would you mind?"
She climbed aboard the meat-cutting table, lay face down on the table, spread her legs and butt cheeks, and in general "assumed the position."
She looked pretty good, Billy thought, her boobs spreading out beneath her, pressed flat against the wood of the table, her long jet black hair spilling over her naked back, the red eye of her ass exposed, just waiting for him. The pupil of that eye looked a tad dilated, Billy thought, as if it had grown accustomed to such activities. Obediently, Billy climbed aboard her, his massive mushroom cock having no trouble finding its way into her seemingly self-lubricating entrance. He collapsed on her back, feeling her long Italian hair tickling his chest as he began to pump her. Her ass felt even better than her mouth did, the way it gripped him so tightly, the sphincter contracting around him and squeezing him as he battered his way in and out of Gina's helpless body.
She reached underneath him to grab his balls while he pummeled her, which increased the sensations by another order of magnitude. In response, he began to shove his throbbing morel-like member even faster and faster into her ever-so-willing ass. He felt her trembling as if in orgasm and soon the pressure grew too great and he exploded inside her as she squeezed his balls tightly in her hands, milking him for every last drop. Except it felt more like spores than drops, Billy thought. A lot more like spores.
Later they sat naked on the floor, Gina's head buried in his shoulder, her gigantic right breast rubbing against Billy's chest. "That was perfect, Billy. Just perfect," she cooed. "I just wish it could last forever. I am so worried, Billy."
"Why?" he asked her, stroking her hair gently. "I'm not going anywhere."
"It's just that Daddy may have to close the shop," she told him. "The mushroom guys are beginning to squeeze him, and I don't think he can afford to operate much longer."
Billy thought about the present state of his kitchen. "I have an idea," he told her.
When he got to Doc Peterschticker's office, he was actually beginning to feel pretty good about things, considering his present circumstances.
Peterschticker was being his usual avuncular, reassuring self. "Don't worry, Billy. I've been in urology for twenty years. Nothing you can show me is going to shock me, so if you don't mind..."
Nurse Swenson gulped. She had seemed more than a little squeamish when Billy had described his symptoms.
Obediently, Billy dropped trou, allowing his fungal organ to spring forth in all its glory.
Peterschickter performed what the Japanese call a bushuru (affectionately named for the first President Bush)
, fainting dead away on the floor, a long stream of vomit issuing from his mouth. So much for twenty years of urological experience, Billy thought.
It was that dark horse Nurse Swenson who proved to be the real trooper, eagerly falling to her knees, taking Billy's new and improved member into her mouth and sucking it for all it was worth.
Days later, old man Ferrilli had to hire hundreds of new delivery persons. The pizzas featuring Billy's mushrooms were selling like hot cakes, and the shop could barely keep up with the demand. Mushrooms were by now sprouting from Billy's forehead, cheeks, nipples, bellybutton and ass. The Nystantin Dr. Peterschticker prescribed for Billy's fungal infection did not seem to be working particularly well. That was to be expected, Billy thought. The treatments appropriate for yeast infections might not work so effectively on fungi from outer space, he supposed. They had offered surgery, but he was kind of growing attached to the mushrooms, especially to the very first mushroom that had sprouted from him. He did not know what he would do without it at this point.
No one seemed to notice the mushrooms much anyway. Hell, half the town was sporting the little critters on their foreheads and cheeks at this point. Apple Annie had especially enjoyed hers. A gift straight from Kali, she called it.
Poor Apple Annie. She had grown so tired that Billy had taken to performing the tantric rituals in her bed. Now she existed essentially as a bed of mushrooms. They grew from her body, her mattress, even the walls. Apple Annie had not moved much in the past couple of days. Billy was not even sure how much of Apple Annie was left anymore underneath all those mushrooms, if anything at all.
Billy was feeling kind of peaked himself as he rang Mrs. Gunnreil's doorbell. Mrs. Gunnreil was one of Pizza King's most loyal customers, and she always asked for Billy.
When she opened the door, Billy saw that she had sprouted two new mushrooms from her temples since last night. She looked tired herself.
"Billy, how nice to see you," she breathed. "Here, let me give you your usual tip." She opened her nightgown, exposing her large firm breasts, each now festooned with mushroom nipples.
She unbuttoned Billy's shirt slowly, stopping to lick his own mushroom nipples with her now mushroom tongue before she squatted to remove his pants. Each touch of fungus on fungus was the purest ecstasy Billy had ever known. She took Billy's magic mushroom twanger into her mouth and pulled Billy down beside her to the floor, where Billy began to eat her mushroom clit with his own mushroom tongue. Spores were soon flying all over the place and new mushrooms blossomed from each of their bodies, each locking its newly formed mushroom lips with those of its nearest neighbor across from it. It was the sweetest bliss that Billy had ever known. Soon his own mushroom parts were touching each other, exchanging their spores and Billy felt his state of bliss increasing exponentially.
Now they were lying side by side, he and Mrs. Gunnreil, their mushrooms interwined, cross-pollinating in a frenzy of combinatorial possibilities. Their human energy was spent, Billy knew. They were going to bed in the most literal sense. Soon they would be nothing but mushrooms infesting the rug, the walls and the ceiling in an unimaginable orgy of spore release.
Suddenly his future looked very bright indeed, Billy mused, in his last human act of cognition.
The End.
Must be the Weather
Jennifer sat at the bar and stared at her drink longingly. it wasn't technically a drink anymore, just an empty glass, but right now she would love for it to be full. But she had a hundred dollars to her name, and that had to last her. She knew she shouldn't have bought the first one, but really hadn't been able to resist. It was one-thirty in the morning and she hadn't a place to go. Not home...no not anymore. She turned 18 last year and about that time she realized that staying under her mother's roof was much worse then sleeping on the streets. Now she was in a self pity spiral as she stared at her glass and watched the lights reflect in it. Swirling colors hypnotized her and suddenly she noticed the shadow. It didn't seem to move, just a black pit in the center of the room, not enough details to know what it was. But she had seen it move to that place and her eyes had tracked it subconsciously. Without thinking she turned her head and looked. It was worth the look. In the middle of the bar, mostly empty already, sat a man.
Sure that fact wasn't worth mentioning, she was sure there were plenty of men in the bar, but this one...her breath froze in her throat as she stared into those eyes. She couldn't tell what color they were, they looked like ice though, not in color, just this odd frozen fire that seemed to look straight through her. She stared deep into them as she took in the rest of him. His skin was pale, to pale, but had an odd delicate look, it contrasted with his eyes. She could see his hair was long, thrown over his shoulder and white blond. And his lips, perfect cupid bow lips that seemed very red next to his pale skin. His nose was thin and sharp and his cheekbones were high. But her eyes couldn't leave his, they were trapped.
She felt her chest demand air and she breathed, struggling not to pant at the sudden wave of heat she felt. It was molten and changing, boiling up in her stomach as though she would burn alive. Lust, deep and unending. She had never felt this way before and was tempted to look away, to ignore it. Then he smiled. His lips twitched up just a bit one corner lifting as though he found her expression particularly amusing. She felt herself standing but hadn't decided to, her feet moving on their own towards his table. She found herself standing in front of him and didn't know how she had gotten there. His eyes tracked over her body, igniting secondary flames wherever they touched. He looked down at her feet first. She wore heeled boots, her best ones and they made her a few inches taller, though she wasn't to short in the first place. They traveled up her legs, long and lean and encased in black jeans, skin tight and worn. Past her hips, wide and full, and over her midriff, showing just a bit under the edge of her lace shirt, then up over the black fabric encasing her abdomen and over the swell of her tits, high and large. His eyes took in the tanned skin of her chest, the curve of her breast and the ample cleavage showing where she had left the top button undone. And up her neck, long and thin and then to her face. She knew what he was seeing, darkly tanned skin and full lips, heart shaped face with long eye lashes and a small nose. Her hair was tightly curly, kinky and black and reflected the light.
He smiled when he met her amber eyes and gestured to a seat. His hands were long and he tracked her movements as she moved around and sat.
"Hi, I'm Jen." she said, feeling rather uncertain. He smiled at her and tilted his head as though observing some kind of interesting specimen. He stuck out his hand.
"Hi Jen. I'm Donovan. You are going to leave with me...ok?" her eyes widened for a second. It sounded like a question, but it was actually more of a statement. The okay tacked on the end for comfort, to make her think she had a choice, but she didn't think she did. He wasn't forcing her, it was more like he simply knew she wouldn't say no, and the authority in his voice said he was used to giving orders, and having them followed. She nodded, and his smoke and honey voice let out a sound oddly like a purr. It was a pleased sound and his hand found hers as he stood leading her towards the front door. He took her to his car, black and sleek and opened her door,
She felt as if she were under someone else control, though she knew these were her own decisions. She sank down into the seat and watched his lean body walk in front of the car. He was in regular jeans, blue denim and snug, but not tight. His shirt was black, oddly low cut and some kind of stretchy black material that she could imagine running her hands over to feel the hard plains of his chest. he had a coat on, long and black, a duster, and it seemed to fly behind him in the warm summer night. He got in the car and smiled at her again as he started the engine and she lost her own thoughts for awhile. They didn't drive for long, and only a small part of her mind wondered where they were going. It wasn't strong enough to make her ask.
It was almost twenty minutes before he stopped the car. A wooded area, a park of some kind, and let her out. Sh
e followed him along a walking path, feeling that she was probably making a bad decision, but knowing she couldn't stop, not now. He led her towards a park bench and gestured for her to sit down. She sat and he smiled at her.
"You're going to suck my cock." She nodded but once again it didn't seem like a question, or even a command...more like a statement, as if she really had no other option and he was just informing her of the truth. For some reason she liked it, the sureness in his eyes as he undid his jeans and pulled them down his cock oddly hard for not having been touched. But he was large and thick and throbbing, and when she wrapped her hand around his shaft he felt like silk wrapped steel and she felt herself getting wet. She didn't really know how she was supposed to react to this. Not her first time, but she hadn't had many lovers and as her tongue circled the tip of his perfect cock she wondered exactly how odd this was.
But she let his cock slip through her lips, tightening them around it for the perfect amount of friction and she heard him groan slightly above her, his hands wrapping in her hair as she took him deeper. His cock pressed against the back of her throat and her hands circled his base to keep from choking. At least for a moment, she removed her hand and took him deeper, gagging slightly as she took him down her throat, her muscles flexing as she swallowed. He groaned a bit more above her and abruptly pulled away.
"You're going to take off your clothes. And so will I." She began to strip and he did the same her eyes fallowing the paths of muscle as he stripped. Perfect pale skin contrasted with her natural tan and she reached out to run her hands along the firm plains of his chest and abdomen. She wanted to feel him inside her, to know she was giving him pleasure. It almost seemed like a spell she was under and she wondered to herself if there was something going on, but she felt all that was happening with a sharpness that drugs could not produce. She muttered to herself as she unbuttoned her jeans.
Filthy Daddy's Taboo Erotic Sex Stories Page 34
