calving Signs – part 4

Introduction:
It wasn’t until they arrived at The Store that Terri realized she hadn’t left the house in a week and a half.
The sun revealed how her skin had already reverted to its natural milky-white tone, and she had to squint against the light.
The blonde wore a nice green blouse with a bow in the middle, along with loose khaki shorts.
“You need new underwear,” Anne said. She had picked another of her unending collection of princess-quality dresses, this one green with a light white stripe. “Come on.”
“I’m not going underwear shopping with my Moth…” she trailed off.
Just across the parking lot, balancing on two heels, was another girl. She also wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. And was blonde. But this girl was waddling with a straining new belly, hugely pregnant. She nonetheless had her hair carefully styled, with red lipstick, and wore black heels. Between her stomach and the heels she moved at a glacial pace.
Terri couldn’t turn away. Her belly button was puckered out. The blonde found herself rubbing her own stomach.
“Terri! You coming?”
“Huh?” Terri tore her eyes away. “Oh. Underwear. Right.”
* * *
“If you need a larger bra, Terri, just tell me,” her Mom said. Loudly.
Terri blushed. Once upon a time it would’ve been hidden beyond a powder cloud of white makeup. But even on her day off the thick pasty stuff just didn’t… appeal to her like it had in college. So her cheeks were red and flushed.
“Okay, fine,” she said, and shifted. “Throw one at me.”
Her bra WAS cutting into her back. The cups struggled to hold in a new wealth of boob, high-riding knockers that pushed out her t-shirt.
It was all that eating. And the ice cream. Last night was mint chocolate chip. Terri had two scoops. Afterwards the four women in the house had just basked in the afterglow, plopped in the chairs and luxuriating.
Terri and Anne stood in The Store. It hadn’t bothered with a name since 1981, when the faded and rusted swinging sign had fallen off. It hadn’t mattered. The Store was the only women’s apparel store in town. It had long racks of wire hangers and linoleum floors.
Terri had followed her Mom, only half-aware of where they were going. The hugely pregnant woman with the double-plus boobs strode around the store. Men stopped and stared when she passed. Women rubbed at their stomachs.
The larger bras had been ransacked. The old wire-frame hangars were half-empty, and a harried shop girl restocked out of a cardboard box. She had a hefty pair of boobs herself, with a name tag pinned on them. The pin was struggling.
“What size are you?” Anne asked.
“I don’t know. Bigger then I was.”
“Work with me here, honey.”
Her Mom stepped towards her, grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt, and yanked it upwards. Terri, too shocked to move, stood straight and still as her Mom displayed her bulging tits to the rest of the store.
They were spilling over the cups, and felt cool in the sudden shock of department store air.
Anne nodded and tossed a few pairs at her.
“I should be mortified,” Terri thought, ambling towards the dressing room. “My Mom just flashed me.”
Instead, she felt… calm. Cheerful. Even… docile. So she had given a peepshow to a few female shoppers. Who cared? Not worth fighting about. Besides, visions of that big-boobed cow kept popping in her head.
Why was it so distracting?
Terri wrinkled her nose. The bra was basic beige, and boring.
But it did look big enough, with deep wide cups. Maybe that would help with the oh-so-distracting sensitivity she was experiencing. Her nipples kept acting like little play toys, always ready for a kneading. In the past few days she didn’t like to go to bed without a yummy stroke session in front of the mirror.
“And then we’re getting you something for your date,” Anne called after her. Her tits glowed with approval.
“Can we stop in the shoe department?” Terri asked.
* * *
Terri wobbled down the sidewalk.
“NOW I’m mortified,” she thought, and grit her teeth. Behind her, Anne examined her unsteady stride critically.
“Let your hips sway,” she called out, from a few strides back. “Back straight, small steps.”
“They hurt!” Terri said. Her feet were bound in two heels, each with a slender black spike that tip-tapped on the old sidewalk.
“The height was your idea,” Anne said, unsympathetically. She walked easily in her own blue heels, with the leather strap.
That was true. Anne had pushed only for sensible short heels, with a broad sole. But something about the wispy black gloss on the pair in the far back just… called to her. Something about the impracticality, the very inanity of buying shoes that were terrible for walking.
“I just picked them out to mess with you,” she told her Mom. “I didn’t expect you to actually buy them.”
“If you wanted really high heels, they’re yours. And now you’re going to learn to walk in them.”
Terri took another half-dozen mincing steps and winced.
It didn’t help that Main Street was crowded with a sudden bloom of attractive young girls in very towering heels.
Terri had told herself that at least she would stand out from the dowdy, sensible-shoes crowd Calving was used to. But so far she had passed three women in leather boots with a sharp heel, two in wine-red strappy things, and two sashaying in glittering pink.
She forced herself to emulate their stride. “Back straight, chest out,” Terri told herself. Her growing boobs thrust themselves into the air. Okay. Then short, sliding steps, balancing on her hips.
“Good!” Anne said, approvingly.
Terri blushed. But the compliment gave her the confidence to finally take her eyes off her own feet.
Then she finally caught sight of the girls attached to the flashing heels. Ever since leaving the store her eyes had been resolutely on the ground.
Some of the pedestrians were the same dusty, jean-wearing Calving residents she remembered.
But the rest…
One girl wore a grey pencil skirt with a pink blouse, matched with white pearls. Her makeup—solid red lips with a layer of blush—looked like a morning-long endeavor. Three buttons fought to hold back a massive chest, and a fourth had already popped apart, just above her navel. She ambled along, a pleased smile on her lips.
Another had on a white dress with a black belt. On her lush, overripe body the skimpy material simply bulged and revealed. She wore heavy sunglasses, and clutched a brand new purse.
“Terri, that’s perfect! Just like that!” her Mom enthused.
Terri looked down. Without even thinking about it she had lapsed into a steady, swaying gait, tiny little steps down the cracked sidewalk. She had her chest held out, and her ass felt like the world could examine, but somehow the whole thing… worked.
She rubbed her belly once more. What had she been thinking about? Something about… that pregnant girl?
The knocked-up girl had just slipped into the big glass door at Henry’s Diner. Terri turned around.
“Mom, are you hungry?” she said.
* * *
“Six! That’s six in a half-hour. You owe me a milkshake,” Susan said, triumphant. She pumped her fist, thumped her head back against the ancient faux-leather seat.
“Unbelievable,” Dan said, shaking his head. But six pregnant girls had waddled through that door in just a single half-hour.
They were impossible to miss. Not just for the jiggling tits pushed up on top of a shelf, or for the convex stomach that entered the Diner well before them. Also for the identical lazy, contented smiles they wore, the surprisingly short skirts, and the eager way they showed off their expanded boobs.
“That’s weird,” Dan said.
“Yeah, well, they’re out here in the boonies. There’s nothing to do but fuck and pop out kids. I’ll bet they have their own little contests. Biggest boobs. Biggest kids.”
“They aren’t shy about it,” Dan noted. It was weird to see such raw sexuality from a pregnant woman. What few he had seen in the city wore sweatpants and well-padded bras.
His fiancée snorted. She was almost exactly his age, with styled black hair held back by pins, and effortlessly flawless skin. Susan lived in jeans and slept in pajamas; he rarely saw her naked even when they managed to have sex.
“Remind me why we’re here, again,” Susan said.
“Museum of Cow Parts!” Dan said, enthusiastically. Traversing small town museums had been his idea. So far, it hadn’t gone well. Susan had only agreed out of boredom and a keenly honed sense of irony. And the problem with the Museum of Amazing Yarn and the World’s Largest Taco was that you still had 23 hours to kill after your visit. “Says here that they have dioramas for every single part of the cow.”
“Wow, that’s great,” Susan said. She looked around the diner. The surfaces gleamed, but everything needed to be upholstered or replaced, particularly the grease-patina lighting.
“Oh, god, one of them is coming over here.”
“Them” was a man from down the horseshoe of booths, the largest one. He had been entertaining an entire crowd of men and women—young women—with apparently hilarious stories. The man had a huge grin plastered on, and his hair looked like it absorbed grease from the atmosphere. He stopped in front of their table and absorbed Susan’s dagger-glare.
“Hey, didn’t want to be unfriendly!” the man said. He stuck out his hand. “Welcome to Calving! I’m Pastor Flynn. You folks just move in?”
Dan shook it. The man gripped, tightened nearly to his breaking point, and pumped up and down. “Just passing through,” he gasped. “We’re tourists.”
“Tourists! Rare sight out here. The only tourists we get are the cows, and they don’t stay long.” Flynn grinned.
“No!” Susan said, and put her hand to her mouth. “No tourists? Is it because the entire town smells like an old rodeo?”
“Susan—“ Dan said. But Flynn just laughed.
“Calving is a town on the grow, Miss,” he said.
“Yeah, we noticed,” Susan retorted. “This whole town is a maternity ward. You should get CNN out here for a special report.”
Flynn’s smile froze, this time. “You people enjoy your stay. Hope you decide to make it a long one,” the pastor said. He stepped lightly back to his table.
“Christ, Susan, don’t be a bitch to these people,” Dan said, leaning over the table. “There’s two of us and a lot of them.”
“Yeah, well, there’s going to be a lot more of them, soon enough,” Susan said. “This sucks. Lets just go.”
A redhead appeared at the table, wearing one of those paper hats from 1956. She had two milkshakes in hand. “Pastor Flynn sent them over,” she perked.
Dan stared at his. It was chocolate, tall, and had whipped cream dripping down the side. There was a cherry on top of Susan’s.
“Now I feel like an asshole,” he said.
“I say, free milkshake,” Susan said. She took a quick sip. Her eyes got wide, very fast. “Holy shit,” she said. “They must have the cow outside the door. This is amazing.”
Dan tried some of his. It was good. Very good. The wet, creamy chocolate mixed with a swirl of syrup. He could almost feel it drip down into his stomach. “Good God,” he said.
At first Susan just used her straw. But when that wasn’t fast enough, she attacked the milkshake with a spoon, slurping down big gulps at a time. Whipped cream stained her usually-dainty chin, and strawberry adorned the tip of her nose.
“This is so fucking good,” she moaned, slurping the last of it down. Dan was just behind her, finally chugging the remainder of the glass.
They both sagged against the back of the booth.
“One more?” Dan suggested.
“Fuck yeah!” Susan said, and waved for the busty waitress.
* * *
Dan idly traced the outlines of the waitress’ tits when she bent over with another pair of milkshakes. They were heavy and large, dense, and spilled over the top of her flimsy pink blouse. His cock abruptly stiffened.
“You were just staring at her breasts,” Susan accused, after taking a long pull of strawberry milkshake.
Ordinarily Dan would’ve apologized. But he just wasn’t… feeling like it, now. “Yeah? So?”
Susan looked shocked.
“She had nice tits. So what? I’m a guy. I like to look around.” His cock gave another surge forwards. There was a heat in his head, now. When had that arrived.
“What about her ass?” Susan said, in a small voice. She kept going back to her towering pile of milkshake.
Dan considered it. “Not as good as yours,” he said, honestly.
“Seriously?”
“Sure. Hers is too meaty. You’ve got a sexy little rear end. It’s fucking hot,” Dan said. Susan gave a little wriggle, and licked her lips.
“Is it really fucking hot?”
“You heard me,” Dan assured her. He looked down. His milkshake had disappeared already. Susan was just finishing up the last of hers. A bit of strawberry had fallen onto her blouse, stained it wet. She hadn’t even noticed. Dan blinked, and a vision of him fucking her, up against the wall, invaded his head. Then it didn’t want to let go.
“Come sit next to me,” he ordered. Susan complied. “Then we’re going to have another of these god damn awesome milkshakes.”
* * *
He stared openly at the waitress’ tits. Susan didn’t seem to mind. She clung to his right arm, in the booth. The smell of her sunk into his hindbrain. Their third milkshakes slid across the table.
“All these fucking preggo women,” Susan said. She pressed up against him. “Bunch of sluts. I bet they love to just sit and fuck. That’s probably all they do, stay at home and fuck and rub at their horny little slits.”
“What, like this?” Dan said. He slid his hand over her leg, pressed hard against the mound of her jean-covered cunt. Susan’s eyes popped. Then she curled around his firmly-pressed hand, milkshake temporarily forgotten.
His cock ached. It felt like the size of a tent peg, pulsing loads of insistent demands into his head. Dan couldn’t see any reason not to give in to them.
“Y-yeah, just like that,” Susan gasped. His prim fiancée was shaking and quivering, just from his tensed fingers. Dan was only a little surprised when wetness leaked through, and stained his fingers. “These… ahhh… like baby-making bimbos.. ahh…”
She still managed to raise her milkshake, with one shaking hand, and down the entire drink in one long gulp. Dan pushed in, viciously, and she dropped the glass. It shattered on the table, and everyone turned to look.
Pastor Flynn, from far away, smiled.
Dan fumbled for his wallet and threw scads of green bills on the table. Then, one arm around his woman, he guided her shaking, fumbling legs out the door.
* * *
Their hotel room was a pit, the bed sunken in the center and the TV stuck on mute with Spanish captions. Dan didn’t notice.
Susan had stopped talking. Mostly she whimpered and sighed, thanks to his insistent hand. They had walked to their room with his hand between her thighs.
He dimly remembered something, even as he tossed his woman onto the bed. Something about a piece of rubber in his wallet… it was round… there was something he did with it…
Then Susan managed to get her pants down. Her tan, perfect thighs showcased a well-trimmed pair of pussy lips. She spread her legs as wide as they could go, until Dan stared into a pink wonderland of dripping sex. She moaned and tugged at her nipples.
Dan grunted and tugged his way out of his pants. His cock—it seemed impossibly long and hard—fit easily between her thighs. His first hard stroke ended up buried to the very hilt, and she closed her legs around him.
They were sweating, and the room was hot. Dan fucked her savagely, from tip to base, slamming up against her clit with all the force he had. It should’ve been agony for Susan, but she urged him on, feet digging into his back, kneading her tits with force.
“Fuck… fuck me,” she chanted, the first words she had spoken in some time.
Something built at the base of his cock. Dan growled, and let it go, all the way inside. Scoops of white cum spattered her pussy. That ignited her own orgasm, and she screamed into his ear, eyes wild. White bits leaked along the side, where he was still pushing and shoving his penis inside of his woman.
* * *
“Condom,” he thought, bleary-eyed, “I forgot a condom.”
Susan didn’t believe in the Pill. Too much medical uncertainty about long-term effects, or something. Dan fought against the surges of lust still leaking from his cock.
“No, Susan, we need to…”
Susan rose from the bed, her legs bowed. She walked like a dreamer to the single table in the room, white fluid dribbling down her legs. Then his proper fiancée bent herself over, legs arched up, and rested her tits on the formica top.
“Fuck me?” she suggested, and licked her lips. Dan was already hard again.
Dan grabbed the curve of her ass, spread them wider.
The scent of her slit reached his soggy brain. He inhaled. It smelled faintly like strawberries.
This time, when he fucked her, visions of Susan pregnant ruled his mind. Susan walking in heels and a short skirt, bulging and huge. Susan with big leaking tits. Susan mewing over his cock, shaven and bare, having waited for him to come home. Susan bent over for his approval, waiting eagerly for his cock.
When he came, Dan made sure to stay all the way inside her.
* * *
Dawn came up.
Susan sucked on his cock. She was covered in gouts of sperm, and they coated her body. Despite a night of feverish coupling she still hadn’t managed to get her shirt off. Cum dripped endlessly from her overflowing slit.
Whenever something like conscious thought threatened to intrude on Dan, another of Susan’s long, teasing sucks shot it away.
They had already missed breakfast, but that way okay, Dan thought, the hotel didn’t serve one, anyways.
But maybe the Diner did.

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