NOVEL NEXT 2: Coming Out On The Bus
Honoka exited her cubicle around 9 pm, shuffling along with the other overworked drones at Babcock Architecture Solutions. Around a thousand employees, the office faculty was large enough to house some impressive talent and they worked on significant projects for hundreds of high-end international clientele. Taking advantage of the renowned Boston Architectural College - where she graduated from a little over five years ago - BAS gobbled the best talents in the country fresh off the graduation runway and put them to work for a reasonable wage. They accomplished this by placing their fancy highrise right on Huntington, across the street from the college, and lots of aggressive recruitment drives.
Honoka looked up at the night sky, wondering if she should move into the city to spend more time at home. Forty minutes on the bus, then ten minutes walking to her apartment to get not enough sleep. Wake up, back at the office by eight tomorrow morning, rinse, repeat. However, rent in Norwood was a thousand dollars less and the young woman didn’t make enough money to live in Boston proper.
The transit was uneventful and mostly empty at this hour, seated in the entirely empty rear half of the articulated bus, the white fluorescent pleasantly dim. Honoka spent the bulk of her time sending off texts letting everyone know she couldn’t make it this weekend. There were too many WTFs and surprised emojis for the harried woman to deal. It got so bad Honoka turned off her phone and lay back in her seat, closing her eyes and tried not to let her emotions out. Forced to work tomorrow and Friday - and probably most of Saturday - wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to her, though it felt like the worst. For the first time since the Change, she felt important and special, and this weekend was the culmination of all that.
“I should quit,” Honoka muttered, her eyes closed and her thoughts swirling in depressing circles, “tell Steve he can do it himself. Maybe throw in a rectal enema to boot.”
“I don’t know. Steve might enjoy that.”
“Gah!” Honoka nearly fell out of her seat. Not so much from someone replying to her, but because it sounded and felt like a whisper in her ear. Looking around wildly, Honoka found a girl close enough to kiss leaning into her personal bubble, smiling wickedly. The tired architect snapped her head back, crawling as far away from the space invader as possible. The metal railing of the seat pressing hard into her back, Honoka raised her bag in front of her like a shield to defend her maiden virtue.
“Hey, no need to get your panties in a bunch, only being friendly.” Her voice sounded sultry like she licked each word before speaking. A husky alto, mingling with the sharp cadence of a slight Boston accent. The girl…woman - Honoka couldn’t place her age - matched the voice and then some. Hair the color of bright fire under a wide-brimmed hat, teasing between red and vibrant orange, unnaturally wavy, was tied into pigtails going behind her ears. Light freckles instead of tanned skin on her pale face went with her large kelly green eyes and wide, full crimson lips, the spots accentuating her allure instead of distracting it. Honoka couldn’t see any makeup but she looked like the kind of woman on the cover of gentleman’s magazines from yesteryear, the perfect girl next door type.
“Um, ah,” Honoka sputtered, her throat suddenly dry and her heart racing from anxiety more than surprise.
The girl smiled wider, a simple act causing the Beast to twitch from her erotism. “Nice to me ya, ‘um ah.’ My name is Diane Long.” She reached out her hand and Honoka suddenly realized there was more to look at than her head.
Honestly, Honoka’s mind was agog to miss such a feast of a body by being entranced with a pretty face. Wearing a dark forest green colored tube top barely more than a strip of cloth wrapped tightly around her chest, it pushed significant cleavage upward and would keep the average male distracted as they tried to count the freckled spots scattered across her mounds. Leaning towards Honoka, the girl presented a clear outline of her nipples under the nearly transparent fabric, the edge of her areola in plain view and either a miracle or masking tape keeping erect nips from popping out of the strained material. Her abdomen bare, the faint lines of a girl who did crunches every day small and almost dainty, she looked like a healthy and trim woman before her hips flared out above a low riding and very short matching green skirt, black loops of a thong coming out the top and cresting back to a mostly naked ghetto-worthy booty seated on the stiff cushions of the bus. Continuing downward, Honoka felt herself harden as she spied the hint of black thong under crossed legs, black fishnet pressing up on thick runner’s thighs down legs that went on for miles, past calves lightly flexing heart shapes, before ending in a pair of black stilettos.
And that was simply Honoka’s lust looking. When her brain managed to take back the driver seat, other more apparent parts came into focus. The hat’s large brim hid a pair of horns curling around from above her ears and trailing her temples in a slight tilt before sharply cresting upward, even poking through the top of the hat with some holes made for those green tips. Small emerald wings were folded yet remained barely visible behind her back. A long, emerald, forked tail coiled in the seat opposite Honoka’s. Having an inkling of the woman’s Race, Honoka guessed she owned a rather long tongue and a magical aura driving men to drooling if they drew too close to her.
Men and woman, Honoka thought, discreetly slurping a bit of mouth water from her lips.
“Don’t leave a girl hangin’,” Diane said after a few awkward seconds, waving her hand in front of Honoka.
Jumping again with a body flinch, Honoka reflexively wiped some of her drool that gathered on her lips while using her other hand to give a limp squeeze. The architect wanted to be polite and greet properly before turning away from the sinful sex sitting next to her, but Honoka neither said anything nor looked away. Quickly taking her hand back, Honoka turned her head to appear like she was gazing elsewhere, yet her eye remained locked on every piece of exposed flesh.
“Wow, I don't have this much effect on horny anime nerds.” Resting both of her hands on the empty edge of Honoka’s seat, the temptress pushed her boobs between biceps while licking her upper lip. One of those nipples sprang free, dark and crimson, as fat as the tip of Honoka’s pinky, the movement bringing a ripple of jiggling breast. Honoka gazed intently at the jellied jostling, the whole alluring moment either captured in slow motion or lasting far longer than physics dictated.
Diane didn't move at all while her kelly eyes remained locked on her squirming victim. “Oopsie,” she said without much inflection, “guess I’m having a Janet Jacksen moment.” Pouting, she leaned in closer to the petrified Honoka. “Could you give me a hand?”
Honoka’s hips lurched forward involuntarily, the snaps of straining velcro audible in the rear articulation. Diane’s eyes darted to the uncomfortable architect’s skirt, her smile widening in questioning hunger. However, before either went any further, the bus came to a stop and the doors opened.
“Sorry!” Honoka screeched, shooting up from her seat and falling out of the bus to sprawl on the curb in a gasping mess. Looking back in a panic, hoping the seductress wouldn't follow, she was relieved to see Diane calmly observing her from the bus window, deftly putting her escaped boob back into place. As the doors closed and the bus got moving again, Diane winked and put her hand up against the side of her head, fingers out in a familiar sign.
Call me, she mouthed, the last things Honoka saw were those lips and a bit of tongue, pouty and wet and likely very willing.
“Fudgesicles!” Honoka swore, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her cock so swollen it was a wonder it hadn’t spontaneously gone off yet. Looking around in the desperate state she was in for the possibility of a place where she could privately take care of her escalating problem, Honoka swore again. “Double fudge!”
This wasn't her stop.
********************
It was midnight when Honoka unlocked the door to her studio apartment, hands shaking bad enough anyone looking at her would mistake her for a junkie so far in withdrawals they wouldn't know whether to drive her to a hospital or the morgue. Halfway through her stumbling walk home, she removed the harness behind some bushes, chaffing getting too close to finishing her in the street. The last half of the March Of The Boner presented Honoka sporting an impressive tent in her skirt, attempts to conceal her problem laughable as she used the canvas purse and a hunched silhouette to play it off.
While Norwood was neither the safest part of town or most deserted at night - currently home to the redlight district of Boston Metro - plenty of well-meaning men stepped up and offered to help the distressed damsel. Honoka turned them all down quickly, mostly with a vigorous head shake or a few polite negatives squeaked out. No muggings occurred, thankfully, but the Change made assault perpetrators leery of jumping any mark based on size and gender. Never know when a seven-year-old girl was a level twenty Paladin.
The reason she needed to get home instead of using some random gas station restroom remained mostly personal anxiety. It was the same reason she didn't date, didn't even leave her apartment except to go to work. Honoka spent most of her days alone because the thought of doing anything anywhere terrified her, even more than her Changed lust urged her to take care of problems immediately instead of waiting.
Honoka lived in an old colonial-style mansion hidden behind thick tree lines in a cul-de-sac located in the northern part of town. Refurbished around fifty years ago, the large estate was refitted and remodeled to house twelve apartments. She was the only one on the fifth floor and had the pleasure of climbing up the narrow and winding stairs each night to get to her tiny apartment, a problematic climb most nights but torturous tonight.
“This…is going…to hurt…” Honoka didn't bother with the clasp on her skirt, the stains of precum soaking the entire front ruining the fabric. With a grunt, she tore the claps off and let the skirt fall to the floor as she closed and bolted her door. Revealed in all its trembling glory, the Beast looked larger with a shade of dark purple, what felt like most of her bloodstream compressed into dark woman meat, rigid veins straining to keep from bursting as they visibly writhed in time with her hammering heart.
“Still need…something…to watch…”
Stepping out of her shoes and socks, throwing blouse and bra to the side, relieved to remember her panties were in her bag, she managed to boot her gaming PC rig, click a few times, then make it into her bathroom without a moment to spare.
Her studio apartment was tiny, around five hundred square feet: just a bed, her desk with a behemoth of a computer sporting three screens and fancy leather chair, a counter in the corner holding a small sink and stove, and her bathroom. The bathroom was custom, taking up more than half her floor space. When Honoka accepted what her needs would be four years ago, she’d spent through the nose to renovate. Large whirlpool bathtub, enough for her to lay her entire body flat and submerged if she wanted. Wooden slat floor with drains spaced throughout, Japanese style sink with shower wand for rinsing off before a bath. The entire room had been sealed and included vents to pump steam in like a professional sauna. And the shower.
“Gonna need…Thor today…” Honoka mumbled, drool unabashedly dripping off her chin when she pulled open her drawer of dildos and grabbed the massive beige silicone, twenty-inch long, thicker than her arm, sculpted to the ideal penile shape, the pussy destroyer: Thor. She didn't bother with lube, her legs and the puddles trailing behind her enough testament she was ready. She entered her Fortress Of Debauchery, stepping over the waterproof mattress on the tiled floor. Seven feet long and four feet wide, the open shower used a tile partition around three walls. At the far end, above the faucets, hung a waterproofed, high definition computer screen linked to her rig and currently playing a looped two hours of some appropriate porn. Touching the screen, she activated the surround speakers and filled the shower with the moans of a redheaded cheerleader pounded by a long and thick black cock. She wasn’t worried about the noise: encased in three inches of cork, other tenants wouldn’t hear a bomb going off inside this bathroom. Honoka’s dick twitched as if to say ‘hi,’ spurting some juice and filling the shower with a cloying, sweet scent.
The hermaphrodite had moved beyond words, turning on the water to scorching hot and adjusting the three rain-style heads on the ceiling and four heads on the walls to a light misting, like in a rain forest. Honoka wasn’t worried about hot water; the remodeling included three tankless water heaters, two filters, a softener and a pump used in Olympic sized swimming pools to regulate pressure. She could run all the shower heads at full blast twenty-four hours a day and the water would be as hot as boiling and clean as bottled Evian the entire time. It made showering pure bliss, even if it cost half as much as her rent in water bills some months.
Crouching down, she screwed in Thor to the short metal shaft sticking out of the waterproofed motor assembly resting at the base of the shower. Tilting the screen downward, Honoka lay on the porous foam mattress that took up half of the shower floor and looped her feet in the stirrups on either side of the motor. Turning a handy knob on the tile to her left the slightest amount, the deliriously horny woman used her right hand to slowly ease Thor past her sopping labia and stretch her out properly. Sometimes it amazed her how a girl who never so much as sent an exploratory finger into her treasure room became a size queen in only a few short years. It took her three pauses until it eased up against her cervix. Then she cranked the dial. With a scream that matched the redhead on the screen, the horny woman lost herself to the sensations.
“Yes, YES!! [Fun] me, [fun] me good with your huge black cock!”
Honoka snorted a little bit between her moans, the machine moving Thor in and out of her in sync with the video’s actor as her hands firmly gripped her shaft and pumped them up and down, using the copious natural lubrication of her precum to keep the friction down. An adamant hater of any profanity or blasphemy, she badly dubbed the words herself over the usual filth hardcore typically spewed. Properly descriptive words were permissible: a person can go to Hell, or sport a pair of massive tits, or even be called a bitch if she was both female and canine. However, the ordinarily demure and mousy half Japanese girl became a vengeful goddess amid foul language. It was her crusade.
“Oh my [word] oh my [word!] I’m cumming! I’m cumming! [Fun] [fun] [fun] [fun] yes yes YES!!”
When Honoka paired her pleasures, working both male and female genitalia, it was the only time her cock would patiently wait for her pussy. It didn’t make it easier. Jacking and Jilling usually resulted in the Beast increasing output in proportion to the stimulation, a painful experience most days. Thirty minutes passed, the rhythm a frantic buildup as the cresting wave of her vaginal orgasm grew closer and rose higher while the dam of her dick felt ready to burst.
Can you give me a hand?
In Honoka’s mind suddenly, the redhead cheerleader became Diane, her hair growing and framing a pair of horns as those lips spoke directly to the rabid and rapidly masturbating woman. Honoka even imagined what pleasures Diane’s tail brought, thrusting deep into her canal and teasing the whole inside of her. Or how the seductress’ precious place would clamp down on all sixteen inches of Honoka’s black shaft, taking it in and ruining her of her Fortress forever.
“Diane…DIANE! Take meeeeaaaAAAHHH!!” Honoka lost all control, her legs and hips bucking in the stirrups, a fountain of cum firing almost to the tiled ceiling before cascading down all over her, one long stream in a sustained spurt as her vaginal walls cinched like a vise on the still grinding silicon, trying to push it out as every muscle in her body tensed and spasmed, drenched all over in sweat and shower rainwater. She felt a gushing squirt building in her pussy, the orgasm about to take on a second stage.
It became too much, her vaginal ejaculation cumming at the same time as the second gout of semen shot into the air, Honoka felt her consciousness cut to black as she passed out, still convulsing like a person with epilepsy as the pleasure wracked her body and her fire hose shot uninterrupted for the next few minutes.
********************
*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*
“…I hate mornings.”
Honoka lay on her waterproofed mattress in the shower, still locked in the stirrups and sporting a massive headache. The dildo long ago retracted, the water shut off and the room a broiling ninety degrees to keep her from getting sick sleeping cold and wet. She was still damp in places and covered in the remains of her sex, but all the controls in her bathroom were slaved to her computer and incorporated automatic shutoffs installed. Today wasn’t the first time she woke up covered in cum and feeling miserable.
Fortunately, after many assurances from her uncle doctor, and many, many tests she learned early in her mutated life that her Race came with immunity to her own semen. So while coated in every orifice with her honey-smelling spunk, she wasn't going to find herself pregnant without outside help.
Adding insult to injury, as if he didn’t get enough yesterday, the Beast throbbed insistently at full mast in front of her face.
“You are the reason I hate mornings.”
It took her ten minutes to spank the monkey, adding another coat of shame glaze to her sex cake before she rose up and took a short but thorough shower. Then she lathered up her legs and gave them a quick shave. While toweling off, she called up her Status out of habit. No alterations, again, Honoka considered forgetting the whole thing and getting on with her life. There was no chance she would discover her Class unlocks the magic of friendship and everything would be pastel ponies from then on. Slipping on a matching set of daisy yellow panties and bra with bits of white lace on the edges followed by the dreaded harness, Honoka headed to her kitchen corner.
“Ug.” First, Honoka scooped up her scattered clothing and dumped them in her closet, making it tomorrow’s problem. Her stomach then shot insistent pangs to remind her eating was more important than laundry.
Breakfast remained the same every morning, even if it was unlike anything considered traditional. Honoka pulled out of her fridge and cupboards five large roasts, two dozen hardboiled eggs, a plastic container filled with a rainbow assortment of four hundred vitamins and supplements. The final course consisted of twelve-gallon jugs containing unpasteurized raw milk. Not everything about being a different Race was distinct or the same as other Races, but their ability to absorb food was common enough in certain circles. Probably close to fifty million people in the world ate like she did every day. Magic was just another form of energy and mystical or not, laws of thermodynamics remained consistent. All the ejaculate - both her splooge and pussy water - came from somewhere. It wasn’t clear where everything got manufactured or how her gallons of jizz was stored, yet the absurd volume and the fact she didn’t look like a blueberry girl most of the time dictated it wasn’t inside her. Regardless, Honoka needed to feed if she wanted to remain healthy. She might masturbate herself to death if she didn’t eat right.
“頂きます.”
Honoka could consume food normally – as in eat like a human - typically taking time to enjoy her meal during the day, sometimes. Yet much like her current attitude of treating sex as a chore, her mornings were only about getting what she needed out of the way. Her parents once watched her eat breakfast like this the last time she visited for Christmas. Her dainty Japanese mother didn’t eat anything for the rest of the day and her burly construction worker father vomited his breakfast all over the kitchen floor. Altogether, it took her eight minutes to put all the food on her counter inside her.
The pills went down, the whole plastic bin tipped into her open mouth and dumped inside with one quick swallow. Next, six gallons of milk, each jug with a cap on the bottom Honoka flicked to relieve air pressure and let it spill down her throat as quickly as possible. By this point, her stomach reached the Five Months Pregnant stage of bloated, everything sloshing around with only a bit of tightness but no pain. Then the eggs, a visibly outward sign she wasn’t human anymore, as she tossed them in her mouth and let them slide down her throat whole and unpeeled, each egg clearly outlined as they traveled down her neck.
Then came the roasts. Precooked and unseasoned, each weighed twelve pounds and were heavy for Honoka to lift. Her mouth, through no controllable action of hers, opened far too broadly to let her lift her head with the roast until down it plunged, her jaw and neck and body stretching impossibly to allow it to pass and balloon her stomach out past Nine Months With Triplets. Four more roasts and six more gallons made her look like she was about to give birth to Jabba the Hutt but it wouldn’t take long before she absorbed her meal and returned to her usual emaciated self. Waddling all the jugs over to the sink and rinsing them off, she put them on the supplement bin and set it all outside her door, unworried anyone would see her, it was 6:30 in the morning and she was the only tenant on the fifth floor of the building.
Plopping into her captain’s chair with a strained groan from the heavy-duty supports, Honoka woke her system up and checked her email. She was about half as large now but it would still be another twenty minutes before she put on her clothing and went to work. Checking her email and forums while she digested breakfast was routine. As she feared, a flood of messages with friends and family concerned over her surprise announcement late last night. Before she opened any of them and got some replies off, her chat window pinged and sent the ball rolling.
Queenforme: grl, where have u been?!
Honoka sighed, unable to avoid it any longer, typing off a quick reply.
BBNihonC: hi Zelda, I got in late last night, had a Change thing to deal with, was too tired to get back to everyone.
Queenforme: so you shut off yur phone?! evryone has been trying to text you ALL NIGHT!! we need answers!!
Honoka sucked in a breath, going over to her bag and grabbing her phone, turning it on and hit with eighty-six unread texts.
BBNihonC: yeah, sorry. just turned my phone on now. this is on me.
Queenforme: i don’t care, no one cares. can you still make it to the tournament?
BBNihonC: no, sorry ∞. my boss is keeping me for the weekend to finish the gremlin project.
Queenforme: aaargh!! u did not just say that. u told us u asked these days off last YEAR before we even knew we would be in the semi-finals. AND NOW we are 4 games away from possibly winning the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP for FANTASY BUILD n BRAWL, the number one most played esport of all time and you say SRY???!!!! im getting the team in on this.
[ carpetDIEM has entered the chat ]
[ DROWNINGinCATS has entered the chat ]
[ tokenwhiteguy has entered the chat ]
BBNihonC: hey guys.
tokenwhiteguy: u alrgt?
carpetDIEM: don’t ask if she’s alright, Frank, TELL her with your toxic masculinity she needs to get on a plane and get to Orlando RIGHT NOW or u will do unspeakable ****ing things to her!
carpetDIEM: TELL HER!!
Queenforme: she’s not cuming, she’s got work and she’s veeeeerrrrrryyyyyy sry!
DROWNINGinCATS: language^ :)
tokenwhiteguy: chill out, we still have my brother as an alternate
Honoka winced.
carpetDIEM: ****
Queenforme: **** me
DROWNINGinCATS: poop :(
BBNihonC: sorry.
tokenwhiteguy: yeah, we’re so screwed. we rly need our Amazon Druid, H
BBNihonC: sorry, but I have to get to work.
carpetDIEM: **** **** $%^$%^@@!!%&JDFLKJGLK!!!!!!!!!
Queenforme: this isnt over, H. u owe us pizza at Alonzo’s, minimum
DROWNINGinCATS: have fun @work ;)
tokenwhiteguy: and DONT TURN OFF YOUR PHONE!!
Tears dropped on her hands as she closed the chat window, wiping her face a bit too harshly and scratching herself. Still, Honoka cried.
*ding dong*
Standing up from her pity party, Honoka picked out a dusty pink skirt and eggshell blouse today and matching white flats. The young, black, Asian, shy and utterly anxiety-riddled woman never saw a need to dress up. All her clothing looked the same, which depressed her sometimes. She missed pants, but she came to terms with skirts years ago and got used to them. Picking her canvas bag off the floor, she noticed one stray text in all the flurry of messages she received from her teammates before dropping her phone in.
Mom: Call me.
Crap.
Deciding to ignore it - for now - she opened her door and pulled the boxes of food inside, putting perishables away for tomorrow morning. Food delivery services became booming businesses after the Change; special dietary needs the hottest topic in the new world. Wally-mart shut down stores because the competition was so fierce.
“I should start my own food delivery business,” Honoka told herself, pulling her keys out of her bag and scrunching her face as something fell out. “I’d call it Cumming UP. My target audience would be sick sickos buying energy drinks mixed with girl spunk.” Bending down and picking it up, it was a black laminate business card.
Solomon’s
For All Your Otherworldly Needs
Find us in Norwood on Washington St
next to the tracks
OP 6pm-2am M-Sa
@claviculabostongirls
Flustered, Honoka flipped the card around. An erotic and stylized outline of a succubus blew a kiss in the black girl’s face with a phone number underneath. Hastily scrawled on top was the message:
my shift is 8-12 tomorrow. -D
“Huh,” was all Honoka said, but the Beast stirred the tiniest bit.