Chelsea Disaster Pt. 04

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


*Author’s note: all characters depicted in sexual situation are age 18 or older*

Somehow Chelsea and Lisa managed to evade the police.

They couldn’t escape the stares of passers-by however. Both of them were coated head to toe in a glistening layer of pussy juice.

“We’re soaked!” groaned Chelsea. “I can’t go to my interview like this!”

“My place is just a few minutes away,” said Lisa. “We can clean up there and change clothes.”


“Don’t you have anything besides yoga clothes?” Chelsea tugged uncomfortably at the spandex bunching between her nutsack and thighs. Thanks to the size suppressors her cock wasn’t quite as long as Lisa’s, even if it was fatter. She didn’t even fill out the third leg to its full length. Unfortunately, the three-legged stretch pants had been designed more with length than girth in mind, and the black-haired hyper had already popped a few seams.

Chelsea felt exposed and self-conscious in the form-fitting tight clothes. She hadn’t exactly been diligent about diet or exercise since becoming a shut in, and the unforgiving spandex put her muffin top on full display. Not to mention the pants made her already large ass look positively gigantic.

“They’re the only clothes I own stretchy enough to fit you,” explained Lisa, who was dressed more conservatively in a ruffled blouse and ankle-length pleated skirt.

They laid towels down on the carseats and punched the address of Chelsea’s “job interview” into the GPS.

The journey took them far away from Seattle and out into the vast pine-covered mountain range outside Mt. Vernon, to the high gate at the bottom of a long driveway.

“Are you sure this is the place?” asked Lisa, craning her neck to see the screen on Chelsea’s phone.

“There’s nowhere else for miles, this has to be it,” said Chelsea.

“This looks like somebody’s mansion. What kind of job are you applying for?” asked Lisa.

“Uhhh, maid. I’m applying to be a maid,” lied Chelsea.

Thinking back to the disaster at Chelsea’s apartment, Lisa’s lips tightened.

“Well good luck with that,” she said. Then added, “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No, I’ll probably be a while,” answered Chelsea. “I’ll call when I need to be picked up.”

“Suit yourself.” Lisa shrugged.

“Hey, Lisa…” Chelsea leaned in close. “I really… REALLY appreciate everything you’ve done for me these past few days.”

“It was nothing!” Lisa smiled. “Hypers gotta look out for each other!”

“I promise I’ll make it all up to you,” said Chelsea.

“You don’t owe me anything,” said Lisa, blushing furiously.

Chelsea closed her eyes and leaned in, as if for a kiss. Lisa felt the heat rising in her loins and knew the car was very quickly about to become too small for her cock if she stayed much longer.

“Uhh, knock ’em dead, tiger!” said Lisa, hurriedly. She put the car into gear and sped off.

Chelsea sighed and walked up to the speaker box mounted on the gate.


“Hi uhh, it’s—” Chelsea began.

“Chelsea!” answered an excited voice at the other end. “Chelsea Disaster! Come in, come in!”

“It’s Desastre, actually—” Chelsea tried to correct him, but she was cut off by a loud buzz as the gates started to swing open.

Just as Chelsea was groaning at the thought of making the long walk up the driveway to the barely visible mansion at the top of the hill, a golf cart appeared around the bend from behind a stand of pine trees. Chelsea had to do a double take when she saw the driver. He was one of the biggest men (or women?) Chelsea had ever seen. Seeing the driver crammed into the cart with their knees up against their chest made Chelsea think of those bears at the circus who drove around in tiny cars.

No, it was a man. She was sure of it after he stepped out of the cart. A hyper-muscled man. He towered over her, fully eight feet tall. His bulging muscles strained at the seams of what must have been a custom-tailored black suit. His tie looked comically small, almost lost in the bulge of his pectorals and looped around the bull-like arches of his trapezius muscles that completely engulfed his neck. As befitting a hyper, he also sported a python-like cock snaking down the right leg of his pants clear down to his bulging calf.

“If you please, miss Desastre,” grunted the huge man, gesturing toward the golf cart.

Chelsea got in the back. The golf cart groaned as the gigantic man squeezed himself behind the wheel, and away they went.

Exquisitely-carved marble statues flanked the driveway in pairs leading all the way up to the manor house. Chelsea blushed at the sight of the figures’ proportions. All the statues depicted hyper-endowed men and women in heroic poses, their gargantuan breasts and genitals often obscuring the body of the figure behind.

The owner of the sprawling mansion greeted the pair at the towering, gilded doors of the luxurious main house. He would have been short by any standards, but compared to his towering servant the man looked positively görükle escort bayan tiny.

“Such an honor to meet you at last!” said the little man, grasping Chelsea’s right hand with both of his and shaking vigorously.

“N-nice to meet you, as well,” stammered Chelsea, the small man still pumping her arm vigorously.

“But where are my manners?” he said. “Please, let me introduce myself! Damien Benedict, at your service.”

“D-damien Benedict?” Chelsea reeled. “The owner of Benedict Pharmodyne?”

Damien Benedict was the wealthiest, most powerful pharmaceutical mogul in the world, largely thanks to cornering the market on size-suppressor drugs that kept the hypers of the world from completely flooding the planet with cum, milk, and other fluids.

Damien scratched his pudgy chin self-consciously.

“Well, actually that’s my father. Technically I’m Damien Benedict Junior.”

“Oh!” Chelsea breathed a little sigh of relief. “I thought I remembered the real Damien Benedict being taller—shit! I mean…”

Damien Junior waved her worries away.

“Think nothing of it my dear,” he said. “As I was saying, please call me Damien. And this—” he gestured to the hulking man that cast them both in shade, “Is my valet, Elmo.”

“Nice to meet you, Elmo,” said Chelsea.

Elmo bowed slightly, an action that sent all the seams in his suit creaking and popping.

“The two of you have already been in correspondence. Elmo is the man who contacted you with my offer. Sorry about being so secretive, but my father and sister prefer I keep my proclivities out of the public eye as much as possible,” explained Damien.

“‘Proclivities?'” asked Chelsea.

“My obsession with hypers, of course!” Damien broke into a wide grin and gestured broadly to the many, many statues of hypers in various poses that covered the grounds. Even the tall, gilded double doors of the mansion were engraved with golden bas reliefs of proud hypers towering over cityscapes that only came up to their knees. The door on the left depicted a hugely muscled man with an erect penis the size of his leg and balls that came down to his knees. The door on the right showed a balloon-breasted woman with an even larger set of cock and balls.

“Elmo was actually the model for this one,” said Damien, pointing to the picture of the man. Elmo kept his face neutral behind his sunglasses. Chelsea was impressed that he didn’t even appear to blush.

“Very impressive,” said Chelsea, not sure what else to say. She felt her cock twitch a little and a few more seams popped in her yoga pants as the head of her dick crept closer to the flopping mouth of her cocksleeve.

Damien’s fascination with Chelsea’s cock was obvious and unabashed.

“I suppose we should get down to business,” he said, eagerly rubbing his hands together as he stared at the thigh-sized bulge bobbing between Chelsea’s legs.

“Uh, yes I suppose we should,” agreed Chelsea.

“I have to apologize for insisting on the time but you see it couldn’t be any earlier. My sister had her wedding here this morning and the reception only just ended half an hour ago. You understand,” said Damien.

“Oh, of course.” Chelsea blushed a little. Of course nobody would want a monster-dicked freak hanging around their wedding.

“It’s nothing personal. I had to cover up all the statues, and even Elmo was instructed to keep out of sight,” said Damien.

“Of course,” said Chelsea.

Damien led Chelsea through the towering doorway into a marvelous front hall that nearly took her breath away.

She had never seen such a luxuriously appointed room. Even when her college boyfriend invited her to stay with him in his summer home, it would have looked like a shack compared to this.

Damien Benedict Junior’s front hall looked like the lobby of a luxury hotel. Everything was made of polished marble and gold. Heroic paintings of hypers flanked the hall on either side.

Chelsea found herself feeling suddenly extremely underdressed.

“I see you’re quite the collector of hyper art,” said Chelsea. She couldn’t turn her head without seeing the hypersexualized body parts of a man, woman or futa.

“Most of the works you see here are originals I commissioned, though a few are reproductions.” Damien paused in front of a painting featuring a futa pointing her dick directly at the viewer. “Take a look at this one, isn’t it fascinating how the cock seems to follow you around the room?”

“It’s pretty amazing, yeah,” agreed Chelsea, who never had much of an eye for art.

Damien continued on, leading Chelsea through the hall toward the back of the house.

Chelsea’s host was a nervous little man, constantly playing with his fingertips, fidgeting and fussing with his turtleneck and glancing over at Chelsea’s cock, seemingly undecided as to whether he had a right to stare at it or not.

“Of course hyper art isn’t the only thing I collect,” said Damien as they passed out of the front hall and into the parlor. “I have many altıparmak eskort hobbies. See here, my collection of Star Trek memorabilia.”

Damien steered them through a door to the right into a large room that looked like the toy section of a comic-book shop. Shelves from floor to ceiling displayed every kind of Star Trek memorabilia from every generation, all the way back to the original series.

Chelsea, being something of a trekkie herself in her youth couldn’t help but be impressed.

“You have your own life-sized Data?” she asked, pointing to a wax replica of Brent Spiner seated on a large throne in the back of the room.

“The crown jewel of my collection.” Damien smiled. “But of course I didn’t invite you here to show off my toys.”

Elmo closed the door to the Star Trek room as Damien urged Chelsea onward.

“No, I’m much more interested in your toy,” said Damien.

“My toy?” asked Chelsea.

“Your magnificent penis, my dear!” Damien laughed.

“Oh, right.” Chelsea hadn’t thought of her cock as a toy since her teenaged years. These days all it seemed like was a burden.

“So, what do you need me to do? Pose for a painting or something?” asked Chelsea, eyeballing a picture of a winged futa descending from heaven to drench a crowd of prostrate pilgrims in cum.

“There’s an idea!” said Damien. “Let me think that one over. But no, I had something different in mind for today.”

“Your bodyguard mentioned a private show,” said Chelsea.

“Oh, Elmo’s not my bodyguard, he’s my valet,” said Damien.


“And yes. Ah, here we are!” Damien threw wide the tall, glass doors at the back of the house and the trio stepped out into a view that took Chelsea’s breath away.

“Oh my gosh!” Chelsea ran out onto the terrace.

The broad terrace overlooked a beautiful garden that stretched for over a hundred yards before terminating in a drop off that looked out onto a lush and plentiful valley dotted with opulent mansions and picturesque cottages.

Damien came up to stand beside her.

“From up here you can see almost the entire valley. Best view in Washington state. Or just about any state for that matter. No wonder my sister decided to have her wedding here,” said Damien.

“Shit, I’d like to have my wedding here,” said Chelsea, gazing open-mouthed at the beautiful valley. Down in the garden below, tuxedoed servants moved about taking the tarpaulins off statues of hyper-cocked men and women.

“I asked the caterers to leave everything set up,” said Damien.

He gestured to a series of long buffet tables piled high with food. A pink wedding cake as tall as a grown man towered over a kingdom of gleaming silver chafing dishes and half-finished delights. White satin tablecloth stained by spilled wine and au juis snapped in the breeze. Chelsea had been so enraptured by the view she hadn’t even noticed the tables, nor that she was standing directly under the wedding arch.

“Oh awesome!” Chelsea hurried over to one of the buffet tables, her fat cock bounced from side to side as she half-jogged, half-waddled across the terrace. “I’m starving!”

Damien had to scurry on his stubby legs to keep up.

“Ah ah!” scolded Damien, snatching a crab puff out of Chelsea’s hand. “That’s not for eating.”

“Oh but—”

“It’s for smashing!” Damien broke out into a broad grin as he gleefully ground the heels of his palms together.

“Smashing?” Chelsea cocked her head to one side.

“I want you to take out your cock and smash all of this stuff,” said Damien.

“Smash the buffet?” Chelsea still wasn’t getting it.

“Smash everything!” laughed Damien. “The buffet, the wedding arch, the flowers, all the wedding stuff!”

“You don’t think the caterers would mind?” asked Chelsea. It seemed like a shame to smash up such a beautiful set up, even if the wedding was already over.

“Trust me, I’m paying them a handsome fee to clean up what’s left afterwards,” said Damien.

“Why do you want me to smash your sister’s wedding?” asked Chelsea.

“Because my sister’s a bitch, that’s why!” cried Damien, stamping his little feet. “Always lording her position over me. She’s a top executive at our father’s company and I’m just the black sheep.”

“Oh,” said Chelsea, trying to look sympathetic.

“You know I wasn’t even invited to her wedding?” said Damien. “My own sister at my own house and I was UN-invited!”

“That is pretty shitty,” Chelsea agreed.

“She’s always trying to shame me for all my hyper stuff, so I it would be a fitting payback if all her wedding stuff were smashed up by a giant hyper cock, don’t you agree?”

“Uh… sure,” said Chelsea. “But why not have your butler do it? He’s a hyper and he looks like he could smash up just about anything.”

“He’s a valet, not a butler,” Damien corrected her. “And I could, but he’s only a Class I hyper. I wanted to get the biggest hyper possible, and you’re the biggest I could get!”

“I’m only nilüfer escort a Class III,” said Chelsea. “I’m sure with your money you could get a class IV.”

“I tried, but Class IV hypers are all locked up in secure government facilities. Even my father’s entire fortune wouldn’t be enough to get one out,” Damien sighed wistfully. “You’re the biggest hyper still walking around free.”

Chelsea stood awkwardly for a moment while Damien daydreamed about getting an even bigger hyper than her.

“So… where would you like me to start?” asked Chelsea. “Like, just… anywhere?”

“Anywhere is good,” agreed Damien, who was getting visibly excited.

“This is so weird,” Chelsea muttered to herself as she walked cautiously up to the nearest buffet table.

She paused next to a platter of meatballs and checked over her shoulder to see Damien’s reaction. Damien smiled and urged her onward with a wave of his hand. Chelsea shrugged and swept her cock across the platter, sending the china plate tumbling to the ground with a crash that made her wince. Meatballs went scurrying in all directions.

Chelsea looked back over her shoulder. Damien gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. She looked down at her cock, still almost completely soft inside the stretchy pants with about a foot of loose pantleg dangling from the end, now all covered in sauce.


“Actually gimme a minute, I should take my pants off so I don’t ruin them,” said Chelsea.

“No no, leave them on!” said Damien. “I want to see you rip out of them when you really get hard!”

“They’re not mine,” objected Chelsea.

“I’ll buy your friend a new pair. Shit, I’ll buy her a lifetime supply, keep ’em on!” Damien replied impatiently.

“O-ok…” Chelsea closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and thought about all the money she’d been promised for this. “Ok.”

Chelsea walked up to the next plate of food and swept it off the table with her cock, a little more forcefully than last time. She felt a twitch in her loins as the thigh-sized member began to stiffen.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” called Damien.

“Y-yeah.” Chelsea smiled back at him.

“Cathartic,” said Damien.

Chelsea nodded a smile and turned to her next target: a large, silver chafing dish that once held hot wings. She gave her cock a couple practice swings and then clobbered the shit out of the dish, sending it sprawling and clattering across the tile.

“Fuck yeah!” yelled Chelsea. Her cock was getting into the spirit of things as well, rapidly swelling to fill out the third leg of her pants.

She knocked over another chafing dish. She lifted up her cock and brought it down hard on a bowl of salad with a thump that shook the table. Pretty soon she was a whirlwind of destruction, sweeping her ever-lengthening cock back and forth across the table in a blur. Plates, cups, glasses and food went flying everywhere. Chelsea’s entire front was splattered with sauce. She laughed as she crushed a bowl of potato salad completely under her cock, lifting her leg-length member up and down to bash it again and again.

“Break the table!” yelled Damien. The tiny man had one hand down his pants and was visibly stroking himself as he watched Chelsea wreak destruction across the remains of the buffet.

“Break it?” asked Chelsea.

“Break it!” Damien pantomimed snapping a stick between his hands.

Chelsea nodded. She flexed her Kegel muscles to lift her cock up to a sixty degree angle, then let it fall with a SMACK back down on the table.

The table jumped, but did not break. Chelsea took a deep breath, flexed again and brought her cock hard down on the table again. There was a sound of snapping plastic, but the table still didn’t break.

Chelsea’s heart was pounding in her chest, thundering in her ears. She wanted that table destroyed! With a grunt, she flexed her Kegel muscles again, as hard as she could. Veins throbbed in her temples as she held the flex, squeezing blood into her massive member so that it swelled larger and fatter by inches with every throb of her heart. Threads popped and cracked in her stretch pants as her girth overstressed the sheer fabric.

She brought her cock down again, snapping the table in half with a resounding THWACK!

“Yesss!” Damien stood up and applauded.

Chelsea went back and smashed the other two tables she’d already cleared, bringing her cock down on them again and again until they were nothing but shards of plastic and lumps of twisted metal. There was a tearing sound as her cock, which had been steadily growing longer and thicker, finally burst the last seams of her stretch pants, shredding the cocksleeve into oblivion.

The testicular pouch portion of the pants was still mostly intact, but the telltale gurgle in Chelsea’s balls told her it wouldn’t be for long.

Panting, she paused to catch her breath, crouching over with her hands on her knees as her chest heaved and her heart pounded. Her cock rested on the terrace in front of her, as big and heavy as a full sleeping bag. She could feel the weight of it, and could feel in herself the strength to lift it… barely.

Huffing and puffing, Chelsea hefted her monster cock once more and set her sights on that big, fat, disgustingly pink wedding cake.

Damien saw her jogging toward the cake and called out.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32