Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - The Great Experiment
Ashanti Morris was in quite a pickle.
As an executive member of Vault-Tec and a junior member of the Board of Directors—ever since her predecessor got himself defenestrated by an attempted romance with his Mister Gutsy—she was granted privileged access to the Lifeboat Protocol, a proverbial golden parachute for the company’s upper echelon employees to have a spot reserved for them on one of the many vaults dotted across America. More specifically, one of the good vaults.
The pickle arose in the ‘junior’ status of her membership to the Board. Since she was not a senior member, she did not have the ultra deluxe package that would ensure her family a spot alongside her. If the bombs dropped—or, more likely, when—Ashanti would have to leave her husband behind.
Her only course of action was to get the two of them approved as test subjects in one of the less-good vaults. Certainly not one of the shit-awful ones, but one of the ones with the more mediocre social experiments. Like the one where all disputes were settled by gambling. Or the one researching cryogenics. Or maybe that one with the mannequins. Unfortunately, this late into the enrollment process, there was only one vault near their home that still had a manifest that was not finalized.
Vault 69.
She shuddered inwardly at the preposterous nature of such an obscene experiment. And if 69 made her shudder, then its twin, 68, nearly made her vomit. Vault 69 was an experiment in population balancing. In the event that the war decimated too many healthy American men, how many men could be lost and still have enough to stave off population decay? The current hypothesis was 0.1%, although it would take a superhuman effort to claw back from the edge of extinction with such a small allotment of males.
0.1%. One male among nine hundred and ninety-nine females.
It was no wonder the enrollment process hadn’t been finalized. Every man at the company with a pole and a pulse wanted to run his own Vault-Tec funded harem, and the wealthiest members of the company were trying to outbid each other for the position, constantly shuffling each other in and out of the coveted spot. It might take months for enough money to slide through enough hands to solidify a decision.
Ashanti didn’t have that kind of cash, or that kind of time. Instead, she had to carefully nudge things in the right direction for her to capitalize on what small influence she wielded. And so, as the other board members bickered about the Overseer position, Ashanti was busy moving her mental chess pieces around a fourth-dimensional board with the highest stakes in the world.
“Well, it seems obvious to me that a vault full of hormonal incubators would only have one candidate with the fortitude to steer the ship properly,” chortled one of the older members around the table, a wrinkled butterball of scotch and cigar stink who had more hair on his knuckles than on his head. “Why, the man, of course!”
Ashanti flashed a shining smile, all perfect white teeth against her mocha-colored skin. “Come now, Hobart, the man’s days will be full enough without having to tend to boring legislation, crop yields, O2 scrubbers, reactor maintenance, general admin, neo-natal care, nursery services, not to mention the logistics of distributing feminine hygiene products….”
“Hygiene products?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows and fat lips giving him a walrus-like appearance. He frowned sourly, chewing on a thick cigar. “Can’t they just… not bleed? I heard women could shut all that downstairs nonsense off if they wanted?”
A chorus of agreeable murmurs circulated around the table from the other men.
‘Downstairs nonsense’? And they’re agreeing with him? Her smile faltered just a touch. She’d heard it said that ‘black don’t crack’, but if she started getting grey hairs at thirty, she knew it would be their fault. For fuck sake, these men are leading our company—the future of humanity!
“Well, I’m sure you could certainly try to tell nine hundred and ninety-nine women what to do, but you know our kind is just ever so simple.” She batted her eyelashes at him, adopting a slightly spaced-out look. “Sometimes the easiest way to shut a dog up is to throw it a bone. Now, if you do want to oversee the distribution, I have some brochures for selecting the proper tampons according to absorbency. We’ll have to buy multiple types due to the variations of flow between women, and obviously the Overseer should, you know, oversee the seminar for proper insertion—”
“Bah!” He shook his head aggressively, as if he could rattle those words out of his ears before they penetrated deep enough to fully reach his brain. “Fine, fine! Leave the women’s work to the women. The Overseer will be one of the skirts. Frees up my schedule anyway.”
“Your schedule?” Ashanti’s polite, nervous smile froze in place. “Forgive me, Hobart, but the objective of the experiment is to study the stresses of extreme reproduction should the male population decline to dangerous levels. More specifically, how long it would take for a male specimen in peak sexual age and health brackets to stabilize a population decay on his own. And, last I checked, you are… quite a ways north of twenty years old. Or thirty. Or forty. Or fifty. Perhaps we should target someone with as many years of remaining virility as possible. I wasn’t aware we were offering up preferences, but if that is the case, Levi will be twenty-five in February. Even-tempered, high IQ and charisma, military physical conditioning, and I can personally attest that the women in the vault will be quite pleased with my husband’s other… qualifications.”
Although Ashanti was not one prone to gossip, even she had heard that Hobart never used a urinal in the men’s room—always a stall. And several of the other men had made jokes about the delicate ‘sprinkling’ noise of his urine hitting the bowl.
“Oh, pish posh. I’m as healthy as an ox!” he blustered, but she could see that she’d struck a nerve. War… and male ego… never changes. His days of plowing secretaries on his desk were far behind him. He still did it, obviously, but all reports among the secretary pool were that he wasn’t big enough to cause discomfort, and he couldn’t stay hard enough or fuck long enough to be more than a minor inconvenience. Which was probably for the best, because more than ten minutes of strenuous exercise would probably give him a coronary. Quite frankly, in a sealed bunker as the last man on earth, she still didn’t place his odds of getting laid by willing women very high.
Still, she knew why he was fighting so hard for inclusion on the manifest: because she would be there. Ashanti knew what the men said about her behind her back; she was a hot piece of ass. There were very few business suits that could encompass her hourglass frame without looking pornographic on her explosive hips and taut, flexing ass, protruding from behind her like a shelf of muscle with just the right amount of jiggling fat. The majority of her fat was poured into the generous breasts that bounced from her chest like ripe honeydew melons. She had a body that was right on the razor-thin border between svelte and bombshell, and, if she was being honest, it dipped a little closer toward lewdness than what was generally accepted in suburban America.
As soon as word went out that Ashanti was enrolling in Vault 69, all the creeps and perverts poured out of the woodwork to be the man who got to spend the next few decades pulling her hair and making her cum on their pencil-thin, grey-pubed dicks. Most of them were so under-endowed that she doubted they could reach her pussy doggystyle through the bulging globes of her ass.
The thought brought her back to her husband, Levi. Now he could push some inches. She uncrossed her legs, crossed them again. Squeezed her thighs together. His tour was up next week, and she couldn’t wait to ride him like a bucking stallion all around the bedroom. Hell, they might forgo the bedroom entirely. It was a big house. They had options.
Which was more than what she could say for their choice of vaults. It had to be 69. But she couldn’t outbid the old money business execs to secure her husband’s spot, which meant she’d have to outsmart them instead.
* * * * * * * * * *
<One Week Later>
Levi spun the wheel and fishtailed the car through the slurry of muddy dirt at the embankment, barely stopping to shut the car off before he threw open the door, his powerful arms stretching the grey t-shirt that clung to his chest. On the opposite end of the car, Ashanti stepped out in a sheer negligée, her feet still wearing the ruby red platform heels that she had greeted him at the front door in last night. At the time, she hadn’t been wearing the negligée. Or anything else.
She’d unplugged the TV and radio and fucked him until he could barely breathe. And he, in turn, had pumped her full of fat, hard dick all night long, blasting her from one screaming, full-body orgasm to the next. This morning, he still had her fresh hickey on his neck, the reddish-pink blotch fading into his peach-pale skin. She’d had every intention of giving him every bouncing, chocolatey-hued inch of her bubble-ass for him to claim as his own today. He did love her ass so much. It was pure force of habit that had her checking her work terminal first.
The bombs had been reported falling over DC. Vault-Tec HQ was off-line, most likely reduced to a smoldering crater with the rest of the city. Today was the day.
Levi strode around to the back, his long legs bare except for a pair of black boxer briefs that were looking quite heavily satcheled in the front. He popped the hood and grabbed his military issue Pip-Boy, shoving it onto his wrist. Together, they made the trek up the hill to the concrete tunnel entrance to Vault 69. It was short staffed; two female MPs, three female vault technicians, and a line of women trying to keep the queue moving as fast as possible.
And there, at the mouth of the tunnel, Hobart Collins III stood smugly sucking on a cigar, staring out at them as if to confirm that his prime bitch had arrived. Ashanti’s heart fell.
“Ah, good, good!” he belched a cloud of black smoke past his parted lips. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.” He turned to Levi. “Mr. Morris, you really humped it to get here in the nick of time, didn’t you?” At the word ‘humped’, he glanced down between Levi’s legs, and a frown of annoyance quickly flashed across his face. “Of course, that’s my job now. Humping. Shame the random draw selected me, but what can you do?”
Random draw, my ass. Ashanti pushed past her husband to stand in front of Hobart, watching the two MPs staring back at her. Or, then again, maybe they were staring at the egregiously salacious transparency of her sheer negligée, which hugged her curves but was still loose enough to shift and flow when she moved. “So, you two are joining us in the vault, is that it?” she asked them.
One of the MPs was blushing and making a concerted effort to keep her eyes riveted exactly to Ashanti’s chin and not drop a millimeter lower, but the other one just stared back at her with hollow, slightly sunken eyes. To her, Ashanti could have been wearing sweatpants or a novelty hotdog costume for all the surprise that registered on the woman’s face. It was easy to forget that even the military police were seeing firefights these days, and the woman had that slightly haunted, detached stare that she’d seen on Levi a time or two, when his sea-foam green eyes turned almost storm-cloud grey as they stared at something a million miles away. Ashanti wondered if the woman had any family in DC.
“They’re not coming with us,” Hobart informed Ashanti. “They’re here to escort Mr. Morris to a military rally point in the next town, where the three of them will await orders from the President at Rapidan Camp, along with the rest of the soldiers.”
Levi studied the two policewomen. The slightly embarrassed one was pale blonde, and a little too young to be thrust into a nuclear response of a national or global scale. The other one was Hispanic, with frizzy black hair peeking out from under her helmet, dark brown eyes, and full lips with a constellation of three dotted scars by her right temple that looked like she had barely avoided a shotgun blast.
“Corporal. Private.” He nodded to the two women as he spotted their ranks patched onto their sleeves.
“Mr. Morris.”
“Staff Sergeant,” he corrected the older one. Her eyes widened imperceptibly. He always got that response when people saw a twenty-four-year-old with a rank like that. “They’re really not letting you two in? With almost a thousand women already on the list?”
“Sir.” They straightened. Then the corporal spoke up. “No, sir. We’re not going in.”
He checked her name on her uniform. Adami. He checked the other one, then nearly did a double take when he saw Adami on hers too. Oh. Half sisters, or stepsisters, by the look of them.
He was still trying to figure out how to put them at ease when his wife stepped forward and asked, “Would you like to?”
Hobart stepped between the two Adami sisters and Ashanti, puffing his chest out and looking very pleased with himself. “Well, now, this is a predicament. As your boss, I suppose I could make an exception for them, if I’m properly compensated for my generosity.” He gave a leering smile at her naked body tantalizingly hinted through the sheer negligée.
Ashanti tried to sidestep around him, but he insisted on keeping her staring at him—which was good. It kept him occupied until the older sister blew the back of his head off with a shotgun, spewing chunks of bone and gore all over the Morrises.
“Yes,” the Corporal answered, gripping her sister’s wrist and tugging. “Yes, we would like to.”
As the only person among the four of them with no combat training, Ashanti brushed a hand across her cheek, smearing crimson red. A tooth was stuck in the gore, slick with blood. She flicked it away, then grabbed her husband’s hand.
“Come along, honeybun,” she said sweetly. “I believe a spot just opened up.”
* * * * * * * * * *
<Five Years Later>
One of the first acts Ashanti made as Overseer of Vault 69 was to implement some semblance of order to the inherent chaos. Numbers were selected at random to determine the sequence of Levi’s repopulation efforts. Any women who were completely uninterested in men or pregnancy could be removed from the breeding itinerary without a fuss. The last thing she wanted to do was subject her husband to forcing himself on anybody for the sake of a social experiment. If, in time, those women’s priorities or preferences changed, they could re-enter the itinerary, but they would be added to the bottom.
To Ashanti’s surprise, the vault was absolutely packed full of sextoys, bondage gear, lubes, pornography, but absolutely no condoms. All women had been tested beforehand and found to be free of all STD’s, and fully fertile. Most of the sextoys were designed for women, and Ashanti figured out why within the first year of the experiment.
The women who were furthest down the list grew increasingly pent-up with each passing day. They all had jobs to do in the continuation of vault life, so that filled their days and kept them busy. But when there was free time, sextoys would go missing from the communal inventory for a few hours, only to turn up later, freshly cleaned and returned discreetly. By the second year, they were no longer being discreet, loudly masturbating in their quarters or even in a public recreation area. By the third year, the public aspect of it had become so normalized that few people bothered to retreat into their quarters at all, preferring instead to fuck themselves stupid wherever and whenever the lust took hold. By the fourth year, a growing number of formerly straight women were becoming bisexual, joining in with one another to make an even larger spectacle of what was termed the ‘Free Use’ policy, a self-established rule among the residents that any member with their vault suit unzipped over the chest was communicating a willingness to be fingered, licked, or otherwise pleasured by anyone who wanted to get a piece. And now, during the fifth year, the bisexual community grew, and Ashanti became worried about the prospects of the experiment succeeding if too many women closed off their interest in penetrative sex entirely.
She knew it was perceived hopelessness for ever getting dick that drove many of those women to desperate measures. Masturbating in the hallways. Scissoring in the chapel. Squirting in the water filtration room. She had to find some way to push her husband through the list faster, some way to plow these sluts rotten before they completely lost their minds to depravity.
And before she joined them.
Levi pulled his prick out of the swollen, raw-lipped hole, still oozing his last dregs of semen. Almost immediately, Ashanti was there, spearing her mouth on that hypersensitive erection. She swirled her tongue around, licking him clean even as he continue to shoot his final rope at the back of her throat. Peach-pale shaft met chocolatey brown lips, his hardness to her softness, and she sucked him like a professional. She should be; she’d certainly had enough practice.
“Ash, I think I need a break,” he panted, muscles flexing with exertion. “I can barely see straight.”
“The only thing you should be seeing is me… on my knees and sucking your dick,” she purred, thrusting him past her lips and turning her head so he bulged out her cheek. She slapped that cheek lightly, just enough for him to feel it through his still-twitching fuck-knob, and then she pulled it back out and began furiously stroking him. “You wanna watch me slobber all over your dick, don’t you? You love that. You love turning me into a sloppy little dick-craving slut as my plump lips wrap around this veiny fuckpole. Do you like feeling my tight little throat muscles wrapping around your fat fucking shaft? Does it feel good to have my hot, needy, spit-oozing tongue gliding up and down your throbbing bitchbreaker? Hmmm… you look so spent, don’t you? Most men would have limp little shriveled dicks by now, but you’re made of firmer stuff, aren’t you? All you need is me twerking my fat fuck-dumper to get you ready for another round… get you ready for another fuck… get you ready to turn her womb into your cum-dumping condom! Yeeeeah, pump that shit right on my face, make me wear it! Turn me into a cum-filled, drooling, sloppy mess! Fucking pound that cock balls deep until my brains are just a mushy, cock-obsessed puddle leaking between my legs. Yeeeah, fucking breed my throat with all that virile sperm and use me like your eager little sloppy dick-milking throatslut!”
By the time her tirade of dirty talk was over, Levi’s nine inches were harder than iron again, and dribbles of precum were already beginning to spurt from the swollen crown of his dick. She sucked off the tip one final time with her thick, plump lips, popping off it with a lewd kiss—PWAH!—grabbed his hips, and slammed him home…
…into Lizzie Broderick’s cum-sloppy pussy.
Ashanti pushed on her husband’s ass, secretly relishing the queefing, liquid squelch of his creampie being pushed out around his cock. Thick gouts of cum splattered to the floor to join a few fresh puddles and countless older cum stains from his prior endeavors. Lizzie was practically hoarse by this point, and she could do little beyond weakly squeezing at his cock as it stirred her up inside with steady, machine-like thrusts. Sweat dripped off her husband’s nose and poured down his back in sheets as he fucked his breeding assignment for this month.
Lizzie had already taken ninety-four creampies over the month, and this would likely be her last one for quite a while. Her menstruation cycle was predicted to begin sometime tonight. If she didn’t bleed in the next few days, they would know for sure that Lizzie was knocked up. Not a single month had gone by so far without a successful impregnation. Sixty months, and sixty bitches with babies pumped into them. But it wasn’t enough. At this rate, Levi would need over eighty years to work his way through everybody… and seventeen more years before he finally reached his wife’s number on the list.
Ashanti was despondent when she’d randomly drawn such a high number at the start of the experiment. She had hoped to be able to maintain certain marital privileges, chief among them being free access to Levi’s stiff fuck-bar whenever she wanted it, but she had learned early on that such preferential treatment ran the risk of fostering hatred toward the Overseer, possibly even a mutiny. A compromise had been reached: Ashanti—and only Ashanti—could fuck him wherever she wanted, jerking him off, sucking his dick, titfucking him, hotdogging his hard prick, but it had to be in service of coaxing him to better fuck his designated broodmare. His heart was always hers, but his cum was now public property.
Five years of watching her husband pump babies into these women—five years of encouraging him to fuck them harder, to really blow out their cunts with his dick—had done strange things to Ashanti’s fantasies. She had always secretly enjoyed daydreaming about petite little bitches trying and failing to conquer her man. It was not a kink that she could indulge in, not in the traditional apple-pie, Frisbee-in-the-backyard, Sunday-barbecue values of modern America. But here in the vault, her tiny kink had exploded into a full-blown lifestyle. More than that: her career now revolved around sending in a parade of a thousand horny sluts to get fucking wrecked by Levi’s magnificent fucklog.
This month, it was Lizzie Broderick. Before her, it was Ginny Dodd last month, and Alina Haversham the month before that, and Prija Puarborn the month before that. Next month would be Si Mok Nut, the Thai engineer, and then Kayla Abernathy down in Hydroponics after that, and then Rochelle Jackson, one of the vault’s many beauticians.
And then there were women like Priscilla Baumfaust, who must have been nursing some kind of chem addiction when the vault door closed five years ago. It had taken precisely one week for the door-to-door makeup saleswoman to promptly declare the world outside a wasteland, strap a bunch of animal skulls to her clothes like armor, and insist on being called Zilla Boomfist. Of course, there were no animals in the vault, so her ‘Wasteland Warrior’ skull armor consisted mostly of papier-mâché and tin foil, although she did have a necklace with three wisdom teeth on it. And, despite the water filtration system working flawlessly throughout the vault, she drank out of the toilet as often as she drank out of the sink, declaring that they both ‘healed’ the same. Nobody knew what the fuck she was on about.
One hell of a chem addiction.
But most of the women in the vault were at least still sane, and those that weren’t were at least not too crazy—or in Zilla’s case, crazy in a way that at least made her a freak in bed. Levi had a lifelong job ahead of him to breed them all, with almost no time left to spend with his wife.
“Do you think… we could… maybe check out… a movie tonight… ugh… just the two… of us, Ash?” He was clearly having a hard time focusing, but the experiment required him to be packing someone full of dick so frequently that most of their daytime conversations were communicated with another woman’s feet on his shoulders. “It would… be nice to… unh… unh… have a date night… with you….”
The casualness with which he masturbated with Lizzie’s sopping, molten pussy made Ashanti moan with desire. This was her husband here, laying pipe like it was his job—and it was his job. His literal nine-to-five job of splitting cheeks and fertilizing eggs. Even after five years of grabbing the horniest women, bending them over, and railing them from sun-up to sundown, still none of them could breach the deepest chamber of his heart where Ashanti resided. To the women, he was always respectful and friendly in the halls, courteous and helpful when he frequented their store kiosks. It certainly didn’t hurt that every woman in the vault—even the ones who weren't too interested in men—unanimously agreed that he was the conventional definition of an absolute heart-throb.
High cheekbones, strong jaw, easy smile, perfect teeth, and that was just the bottom half of his face. His eyes were deep, soulful things that could express depths of emotions so staggering that there weren’t words for them, or harden into flint in that uniquely soldier’s way when every ounce of uncertainty had to be crushed out of him and replaced with mercurial instinct. His hair was dark, so dark that no amount of shaving his face could completely remove the ruggedly sexy hint of his dark stubble peeking from his pores like a fine shadow. And on top of his head, he kept that short too, but still long enough for Ashanti to run her fingers through it.
She had not missed the way everyone flirted with him. In truth, she encouraged it. Not only did it stoke desire, and thus increase the production of seminal fluids, but it also was shockingly intoxicating to know that her man was The Man That Launched A Thousand Libidos.
But when he was having sex, that good-natured chivalry of his was slowly crowded out by the beast inside him. Every man had a beast inside them that came out when they were pushed. There were men like Hobart—the raccoons and weasels that steal from others and build an empire of riches on the foundation of wickedness. When pushed, they hissed and twisted, snarling to make themselves look big. And then there were men like Levi—the wolves. And when the wolves have a prey at their mercy, whether it’s a filthy, unwashed weasel or a bitch in heat, they will conquer it, lay claim to it, mark it as their trophy.
Ashanti cupped his chin. “If you pump those nuts into her one more time, I’ll see what I can do about getting you the rest of the night off. But Levi?”
His thrusts faltered. “Yeah?”
She gave him a look. “Make it a big one,” she instructed him. “I mean, turn her womb into a fucking jizz tank.”
Twenty minutes later, he was furiously rampaging into her ravaged twat. Her whole body was bouncing on the edge of the bed. The way he destroyed her, combined with the way his eyes slid over to Ashanti, studying his wife’s curves, made her fingers dip between her own legs. The raw forcefulness of his thrusts drove her crazy. What drove her even crazier was how he leaned over and kissed her fully on the lips, tongue slipping into her mouth. Ashanti felt like she was his, completely owned by this man. And, paradoxically, she felt like he was hers, a man completely owned by her. The man, in fact. Possibly the last man, for all they knew. She listened to the way his penis spread Lizzie open, her twitching hands holding onto his strong shoulders.
With Ashanti’s tongue wrestling with his own, Levi’s telltale growl vibrated all the way down her throat. A few seconds later, his pummeling thrusts shook the whole bed as he released into poor, catatonic Lizzie. A great wave of nut sludge slopped out of her pussy and spilled down her ass crack. Normally, such wastefulness would be discouraged, but if she wasn’t pregnant by now, then the failure certainly wasn’t on account of a shortage of Levi’s semen.
When he finally slowed his thrusts down, his legs could barely support him. He slid downward, and Ashanti caught him, his skin slick like a fish. “You’re an animal,” she growled in his ear, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Silver Shroud?”
He grunted inquisitively.
“The movie,” she explained. “You want Silver Shroud, or the Mistress of Mystery?”
“I think I’ve got more mistresses than a guy can take.”
She smiled. “Silver Shroud it is.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Levi had many things on his mind when he met with Doctor Gilchrist at the start of the next month. As was usual, she needed to take regular samples of his semen to chart his virility trends across the years. It put her in a unique position of being the one woman in the whole vault whose access to his jizz was unrestricted. Even Ashanti had to submit to the ineffable law of The Fuck List.
“Uhhh, it was ‘Silver Shroud: Death Becomes You’, with the high stakes poker game?”
“Can’t say I’ve seen that one,” the doctor’s half-lidded eyes peered at him over her half-rimmed glasses, eyelashes teased to sultry fullness.
“Not much of a poker player?” he guessed.
She made a tutting noise, wrapping a gloved hand around his stiff length. “I just don’t see the point in reading a man’s face for his tells, when… other parts of him are so much more honest.”
The low neckline of her blouse would have been horizontal on any normal woman. On her, the neckline arced across her chest in parabolas, plunging deeper into her cleavage in a way that must have been shaped with a semi-flexible wire. No normal clothing could cup each individual teat like that. And with the way her lab coat was always unbuttoned, the view she gave him was spectacular.
She stroked him with slow, measured movements, rocking her whole body as she did, pursing her lips with soft, sultry little moans escaping on occasion. “It’s such a shame that your wife is so far down the list, Levi,” she said as she used her other hand to cup one of his heavy nuts, kneading it and squeezing gently, admiring the heft of it before moving on to the second one. “A man like you is too fine a dish not to have a taste every now and then.”
Levi groaned pleasurably as she worked his long shaft and fondled his balls, which had grown accustomed over the past half decade to a constant low ache, like a muscle that was constantly in use. Come to think of it, that was probably an accurate description. The workers in his proverbial ‘jizz factories’ had been working overtime without holiday, weekends, or sick leave for five damn years, and the latent soreness had become a part of his life.
“Doctor,” he began, his throat tightening down on a growl that tried to escape. His pause was momentary as he tried to navigate the waters of his highly unusual predicament. “I’ve been afforded greater joy in my marriage than I ever believed my life would hold. And while it is difficult to remain faithful to the experiment, remaining faithful to Ash is easy.”
“I’ve told you before, Levi.” Doctor Gilchrist smirked up at him, planting her ruby red lips at the tip of his jutting erection. “Call me Roxanne.”
Slowly but surely she increased her pace, pumping his entire length with little twisting motions, lightly grazing his swollen crown even as she firmly squeezed his cock. She continued kissing the tip of his penis, planting her lipstick on the cum-leaking head before trailing down his rod, moaning gently to vibrate his dick. Nine inches was more than her one hand could easily cover, which gave her mouth plenty of free real estate to work with.
She teased him like that for nearly fifteen minutes, jerking him off with one hand while fondling one ball or the other with her second hand. She alternated between kissing his cock and sucking on whichever ball was currently free, pulling his warm scrotal flesh slightly into her mouth, pressing down just hard enough to leave rings of lipstick on his nuts too.
“You know, your health really is paramount here in the vault, Levi,” she whispered huskily, breathing deeply to expand her chest even farther. A river of precum had slid down over her fingers, over her hand and wrist, and was dribbling along her forearm now. “There is no experiment without you. Everybody knows it. That’s why these visits of mine are so… frequent. It’s important we keep you in top shape. Any time you feel like you might need a doctor, you can come in for another exam. No matter the month, no matter the current number on the list. And nobody needs to know. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”
Leaning his ass against the exam table, his massive erection was bouncing lewdly in her grip, and she could tell by the way his fingers clawed the table’s edge that he was enjoying himself. So she decided to goad him further.
“You wouldn’t even need to make an appointment; just walk in, lower your pants, and drop this fat fucking dick across my desk. You could drop it anywhere, in fact. Straight into my hands, on my shoulder, on these juicy slut-udders.” She opened her lab coat farther, showing him how those bovine fuck-jugs could indeed support his throbbing prick and still have room to spare. Then, in a mock whisper, she added, “You could drop this slab of breedmeat right across my face if you wanted. As your primary doctor, I would be ethically bound to help you pump out all your nasty dicksnot. And of course, I couldn’t say anything even if I wanted.”
Levi heard proposals like this one from a dozen different women every day. The doctor’s ’special exams’, the chief of security’s ’endurance training’, the merchant’s ’backroom barter discount’. Even the woman who made the different dildos wanted his help to design a ‘more lifelike penis with ejaculating fake cum’ by modeling his real ejaculating penis inside her vagina. Some of the pretenses were more obvious than others, but it didn’t stop anybody from trying them on him. Although the attempts made by Doctor Gilchrist—Roxanne—had more traction than anybody else in the vault, due in large part to the fact that she was right. She was the only woman in the entire vault with whom he could sidestep the usual breeding itinerary if he had a reason to be concerned about his sexual health. Any reason to be considered, with a very heavy emphasis on that word.
With her skilled touch and the fantasy of a free-use doctor circulating in his mind, it was not long before his breath quickened and his balls began to draw upward. “Doctor… Roxanne… I’m close… I’m gonna cum… soon….”
She moved faster, sucking on one ball and then pulling the other one in as well. She stared up at him with smoldering desire as his nuts churned inside the warm wetness of her mouth. With a pop, she let his spit-glistening sack bounce free, stroking him with greater and greater speed. She moved her hands so that her palms were on top of his shaft, fingers curling down the sides, thumbs folded in. It allowed her extended tongue to slide up the entire underside of his shaft, from his balls all the way up to his twitching helmet. She savored the salty prejizz that billowed out of his pisshole, and then pulled back, angling his erect prick down like a horizontal bar pointed directly at her face, mouth open and tongue still lightly touching the underside of his cockhead. Her hands were practically a blur, moving so fast that her nearest fist bumped her chin on each furious stroke.
Even before his first cum rope, the orgasm was unmistakable. His cock lurched so powerfully that it almost tore itself out of her grip. But she forced it back down as the long, thick streams of his pearly issue spewed out across her face to paint her forehead, her small nose, her cheeks, but especially her glasses. Those were rendered completely opaque under numerous fat wads of lumpy, steaming choad. The rest of it was very deliberately blasted into her open mouth, piling up on her waiting tongue and sliding to the back of her throat, where she could gargle the yellowish-white stew of fuck sauce into a frothing, bubbling mess. Some of the final ropes actually managed to overfill her mouth, spilling past her lips and dripping down her chin to fall onto her lab coat and the tops of her staggeringly huge tits.
Once he finished his ejaculation, she released his still twitching dick and grabbed a sample cup from her pocket—a regular fixture as part of his health exams. She didn’t open the cup immediately, instead letting his ball gravy roll around on her tongue and slosh from one cheek pouch to the other, savoring the flavor, the heat, and the volume. When she finished her little ritual, she unscrewed the lid and tilted her head down, staring over the rims of her cum-painted glasses at him as she opened her mouth to let his load spill into the cup.
When she had filled the container with his jizz—and she did fill it, going so far as to have some of his viscous nut rising a little over the top—she set the cup down, intentionally spilling a little down her hand. She licked that up, then continued licking up the wall of the cup, scraping the excess into her mouth.
“Waste not,” she said in a low tomcat purr. Arcing strings of cum drooped from the rims of her glass to her cheeks on the bottom and her thin eyebrows on top. She acted like she was about to screw the lid back on when she ‘suddenly’ realized that the inside of the lid had a concave shape to it—one that would press down into the stew of fuck sauce and displace a few more milliliters of it. With a naughty smirk, she shrugged—‘what can you do?’—and raised the cup to her lips. She took a measured sip off the top, then pulled away, showing him the lipstick marking the side of his sperm sample before sealing it up tightly.
“I’ll have the test results sent to the Overseer,” she told him as she pushed the glasses up her nose with a single delicate finger. “I’m sure it will make for a stimulating read.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Ashanti wasted no time in meeting with Roxanne later that day. The test results had barely touched her desk before she had scooped them up and scoured the pages, unable to stop the trace amounts of saliva from filling her mouth at phrases like ‘exceptional virility’ and ‘excessive output’. His sperm count was registered as a very large total number, followed by a second number that was a percentage compared to the national average.
Subject’s sperm count is above the 99.99999999 percentile of all recorded American males. Addendum: likely ALL males, but tests outside of American territories cannot be accessed at this time.
Ashanti knew her husband was a stud. They’d talked about having kids when they first got married, but decided it wasn’t the right time. Too many things pulling them in different directions. After discussing it, they had chosen to have her tubes tied before the bombs dropped, knowing that it could be reversed at a later date. It also benefited her as a way to be taken seriously by Vault-Tec’s Board of Directors—a declaration of intent to let the company know that her career came first, family second. Now that Vault-Tec was probably a blackened crater anyway, the gesture of loyalty seemed wasted. Plus, being seventeen years away from getting knocked-up, she was deeply regretting not getting a baby pumped in her before they’d landed here in the vault. But no, her job had always come first, and Levi had been adamant about wanting to wait until his combat tour was done before they started a family. He didn’t want to hear about his kid’s first words or first steps by holotape from the other side of the planet; he wanted to be there when it happened.
“I read your recommendations for… enhancement,” Ashanti set one hand on a wide flaring hip.
“Vault 68 had a similar treatment devised to ensure that test subject could… keep up with demand,” Roxanne argued, crossing one shapely leg over her knee and leaning back in her chair. “By all records, the results exceeded expectations.”
Ashanti wrinkled her nose. Vault 68, the sister experiment to their own vault. A thousand residents. One woman. Short of cloning, Ashanti had no goddamn idea how anyone had expected that population to be sustainable. Nine months per pregnancy… even if the poor broodmare was popping out babies all the way into menopause, that equaled about forty pregnancies. To replace a population of a thousand? The math just wasn’t mathin’ on that one.
“The female test subject became almost ravenous for sex,” Roxanne continued, tapping her pursed lips with a pen. Her breathing grew deeper, her voice a bit huskier. “I hear she’s been begging for quintuple penetration for the last three years. The men pass her around every minute of the day, and her entire existence now revolves around…,” she traced a hand down the curve of one wobbling breast, fingers rubbing little circles at a growing bulge that could only be her nipple, “…being used.”
Ashanti cleared her throat loudly, and Roxanne’s glazed eyes slowly came back into focus with a unsatisfied hunger. “The FEV is off-limits,” she declared in a voice like steel. “I don’t care what kind of positive results they’ve been seeing; we don’t know enough about longterm effects.”
Roxanne studied Ashanti for a long, withering moment. “How old is the vault’s first baby boy?” she asked instead. “It was Gina Montgomery who birthed him, wasn’t it?”
Ashanti narrowed her eyes. Where was she going with this? “Ye-es…. Callum. He’ll be four this year.”
Roxanne nodded sagely. Leaned forward in her chair. Steepled her fingers. “And you’re… seventeen years from your spot in line? Maybe sixteen if enough people drop dead between now and then? It’s unlikely, since everyone here is pretty young, but stranger things have happened.”
“What’s your point?” she snapped. She used to be very even-tempered, but even her nerves were beginning to fray from going so long without a good hard fucking.
Now Roxanne stood, pushing her chair back as she did. She closed the distance between them until they were chest-to-chest, one pair of fat-stuffed milk tanks compressing against another pair of degradingly giant fuck-jugs. “At this rate,” she whispered tersely, “Callum will be old enough to pack his fuckpipe into you and knock you up before your husband gets around to doing it.”
Ashanti attempted to scowl at the foul-mouthed doctor, but her irritation betrayed the sexual frustration that had been building up in her. Watching her husband destroy one woman after another for five years definitely set a fire in her loins, but that fire was more like the simmering fuse to a powder keg—the build-up to a big payoff. And she didn’t know if she could wait seventeen more years for her earth-shattering kaboom.
She chewed her lip. “What are the hazards?” she asked.
“Negligible. We’d be using a heavily modified strain of the FEV, with all the bad parts stripped out of it.” Roxanne spoke quickly, her eagerness causing all the words to spill out in a rush. “Vault-Tec approved to be toooootally safe.”
“Would it impact his virility?” she asked, gingerly biting a fingernail. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking about it. “I know the early tests on the Forced Evolutionary Virus showed complete sterilization.”
Roxanne shook her head. “This strain will have the opposite effect: hyper virility. However, since the Vault 68 treatment is targeted to affect females, it’s possible that some of us might experience some tiny fraction of the virus’s effect through the transfer of Levi’s seminal fluid. Nothing major; most of us probably won’t even notice the difference.”
“What kind of difference?”
“Heightened libido, mainly. Increased fertility. Possibly diminished intelligence or loss of focus the longer you go without fucking. Nothing that we’re not already dealing with.”
Ashanti narrowed her eyes dangerously.
“Or you could take the long way around,” Roxanne sighed wearily. “I’m sure Callum will have a thing for GMILFs. That’s a ‘grandmother I’d—’”
“Prep the damn treatment,” Ashanti snapped.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sitting on the edge of the examination table, Levi glanced from Ashanti to Roxanne, clenching his fist to force more bloodflow into his arm. Then he glanced back to Ashanti, and finally to the briefcase that lay open on the little tray at the edge of the table. There was a small cluster of medicine ampules, all of them unopened except for one.
“That’s it?” he asked skeptically as Roxanne moved past Ashanti to the medical waste bin and dropped in the used syringe.
“You were expecting leather restraints and glowing green fluid?” She removed her gloves and tossed them in as well.
In truth, yes. Or some kind of nefarious omen surrounding the FEV samples, like maybe an organ riff from Phantom of the Opera playing when the briefcase popped open. But there was no unsettlingly melodramatic music, no sudden flickering of lights, no eerie radioactive tint. In fact, the virus looked almost colorless except for the barest cloudiness, like someone had poured a cup of skim milk into a gallon or two of water and stirred.
“I don’t feel any different,” he noted as Roxanne strode back from the waste bin, approaching from behind Ashanti where his wife couldn’t see her. She swayed her hips suggestively, touching a single finger to the bridge of her glasses, as if reminding him of his most recent exam. His dick, despite its tiredness, still stirred at the raw sensuality of the doctor. “Maybe a little more energetic,” he guessed with a shrug.
“It’s not likely to take effect so suddenly, Levi.” Roxanne pressed a band-aid to his bicep and rubbed it down onto his skin with the meat of her palm. Her hand lingered, kneading at the strong, firm muscle. “Science isn’t a sprint, but a marathon. A long… hard… marathon.”
Ashanti saw the way Roxanne’s lips caressed each syllable on the way out of her mouth, the way her eyes stared at him with low-lidded sultriness, the way she massaged his arm with her long, manicured nails. Of course Ashanti saw it; she wasn’t blind. But she also wasn’t the jealous type.
Usually.
Her hand went not to rub his arm, but his groin instead, the soft yellow glint of gold on her wedding ring warm against her delicate fingers, which were a pleasing shade of mocha to accentuate the twinkling of inset diamonds like a constellation of stars. “The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than scientists gather wisdom.” She glared at Roxanne, cupping her husband’s bulge as it swelled against her hand. “Which means some scientists might do something fucking unwise before they know any better.”
Roxanne gave a smoky little chuckle, one that was not reciprocated by Ashanti as she continued fondling Levi’s package. Then, after an awkward and very sexually charged silence, the Overseer of Vault 69 turned to face her husband, leaning in so that her juicy, succulent lips were just inches from his own and her breasts were compressing against his chest as she inserted her body between his legs.
“Honeybun, since we’re here, I do think it’s important to perform a quick exam before the FEV takes effect.” She spoke softly, sweetly, in a demure tone of voice that nobody ever saw the Overseer use with anyone else. “Just to establish a baseline.” She unbuttoned his vault suit pants.
“But… I just left a sperm sample earlier today.” He groaned lowly as her fingers closed around his stiffening length, hauling nine inches out into the open air of the clinic. It was as thick as her wrist, and despite its continuous overuse, five years of serving as the vault’s lone breeding bull had conditioned him to grow hard quickly, regardless of how tired the rest of his body might be. “Why do we need another baseline?”
“We’re not testing your semen, dear,” she answered, stroking him one-handed. Her other hand move with such casualness that there was no cause for alarm until her fingers tightened on Roxanne’s auburn hair. “We’re testing your aggression.”
Roxanne’s impractically high heels rolled her ankles as Ashanti yanked her forward, and she collapsed hard to her knees. She would have fallen even lower, possibly straight onto her face, but Ashanti’s hand held her upright long enough for the doctor’s flailing arm to brace herself against Levi’s thigh. She opened her mouth indignantly, her momentum still carrying her forward long enough for his erect prick to spear past her ruby red lips.
“Mmmph!” she squealed, but Ashanti, who had already been standing between Levi’s spread legs, now pivoted behind her to trap her there. The head of his cock scraped across the roof of her mouth, and his throbbing cumvein dragged across her tongue. Her mouth reacted automatically, twisting her tongue around the rigid cock as it slid all the way to the back of her throat.
In her mid-thigh skirt, Roxanne’s legs parted outward, knees folded. It became clear immediately that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Maybe she never did. Her pussy was a blushing pink of aroused engorgement surrounded by milky pale flesh. Like most of the women in the vault, her puffy slit had already been dripping wet.
“Ash,” Levi groaned, hands reaching out to push the doctor away. “What are you doing?”
His wife swatted his hands away. “Just sit back, dear. You’ve had such a long day. Let me take care of this big fat dick with the doctor’s misbehaving throat.” And with that, she began to push and pull Roxanne by her hair, sliding her up and down his meaty fuckrod. Her lipstick smeared the thick shaft, and the doctor’s reluctant protestations diminished with each bob of her head. Masturbation had become so commonplace that Roxanne never even registered when her hand started working at her needy twat.
The cock slipped out of her mouth, and she took a long, deep, shuddering gasp. “What are you, hah, doinnngghh?” Ashanti pushed her back down for another round of throat-swabbing. Roxanne’s body moved with the momentum, her head twisting and corkscrewing on each deep plunge. Eventually, the ebony-skinned housewife and cuckquean let her slide off for another spit-belching gasp of air. “The FEV can be transmitted through his glluurrrrghhh! Glurk-glurk-glurk-GOK!” Ashanti didn’t care about what Roxanne had to say, and, judging by the way she whorishly moaned and slurped at his dick, gagging herself as her whole body shook with abject lust, neither did Roxanne herself.
Ashanti stood over her, casually holding the doctor’s head in place, auburn waves of hair spilling over her fingers. Soon the husband and wife were working in tandem, with Levi humping forward every time Ashanti pushed the doctor’s head down. The two of them began rocking her back and forth, cock sliding smoothly in and out of her. She felt overwhelmed and helpless, unable to struggle even if she wanted to… which she didn’t. Each time Levi slid against the back of her throat, a white-hot jolt of pleasure shot all the way down her body, making her moan as her pussy tightened around her own fingers pumping in and out.
“Desperate's a good look on you,” she told the doctor, sending a clear message that Roxanne was sucking her husband’s dick only because Ashanti allowed it. Literally, in this case.
Something awakened in Levi then. Ashanti’s teasing was cut short as he mercilessly smacked his hips forward, burying inch after inch of his cock inside Roxanne’s skull, not stopping until his balls punched her chin. He hopped off the table, forcing both women back a step. Except Roxanne couldn’t move back a step, and was instead smooshed between the married couple. Ashanti held her as her husband jackhammered lewdly into her esophagus, filling the room with wet glottal noises, deep slobbery retches, and throatal clicks as he pistoned his hips at a furious pace. A thick mixture of precum and drool formed strings between her ruby red lips and his crotch, visible briefly every time he drew back his hips to drive another inch of dick into the doctor. And while there was indeed precum spilling past her lips, there was significantly more of it leaking down her throat and into her belly, potentially loaded with their modified FEV.
“He might be your toy.” Ashanti leaned in until her lips were brushing the crest of Roxanne’s ear, whispering her words like feathers on the wind. “But he’s my king.”
Roxanne couldn’t help what happened next. Her body reacted on its own, outside of her volition, pussy convulsing around her fingers, throat convulsing around his fleshy obelisk. And as she did, she felt him throb inside her gullet, tears of ecstasy sliding from her eyes as his thrusts became shaky and erratic.
“Cumming!” He growled, barely able to get the word out around the forceful exhalations of breath. His thick, gooey load sprayed across the walls of her throat in lumpy, splattery gouts, sliding down inexorably into the core of her body, turning her belly into a cum dumpster for his seed. Her eyes went totally unfocused as she climaxed again, powerfully, overwhelmingly, the ecstasy so intense that she felt she would pass out. Ripples of pleasure flowed through her with every blast of semen, until at last he was spent.
Now Ashanti pulled her away from her husband’s groin, and the hard dick sprang upward as soon as it cleared her lips like a crocodile snapping out of the water. His erect meat slapped his abdominals before bouncing back downward, but still curving upward in shocking rigidity. Roxanne could barely see straight around the tears and with her glasses askew, but she thought that maybe his nine inches looked just an extra inch bigger.
She told herself it was a trick of her close perspective.
Ashanti slid an arm around her husband’s waist. “Now that we have a good baseline for your usual vigor,” she told him, tracing a finger up his length as it leaked cum onto her suit, “I’m looking forward to seeing where you go from here, honeybun.”
Roxanne stumbled backward on her heels, falling onto her ass as she panted for breath. Only now did she see the lewd puddle of syrupy pussy squirt expanding outward across the floor where she had been squatting, betraying her own arousal from such abusively rough treatment.
Ashanti led her husband toward the door, walking in front of him to show off the way the fat globes of her ass bounced and swayed in huge, wobbling ellipticals. At the exit, she turned and cast a sultry look over her shoulder, dark kinky curls covering one eye.
“Doctor Gilchrist? I expect an in-depth test report summarizing your… observations of Mr. Morris’s performance on the Overseer’s desk first thing tomorrow morning.” The ghost of a smirk played across her full, juicy lips. “Don’t leave out a single detail.”
* * * * * * * * * *
When Ashanti slowly rolled over in bed that night, she was just close enough to the edge of consciousness to tell that something was wrong. She reached around, hands exploring her husband’s body beneath the sheets. There was his hard muscles, made softer by the relaxation of sleep, but still firm and cut. She smiled inwardly, eyes still closed, his heat pressing against her body, melting against her curves as she stretched across him.
Her elbow brushed the familiar stiffness of his erection, but it too seemed wrong somehow. Her naughty smirk turned to a confused frown as she reached out for it. It was thick, thicker than it had ever been. Her eyelids carefully opened just a tiny amount, still half-asleep as she stroked his erection down to the base and then back up. And up. And up.
She opened her eyes a little wider. And then she opened her eyes a hell of a lot wider.
Laying on his back, his erection thrust upward under the sheets, but instead of nine or ten inches of heart-fluttering hardness, the sheets were raised and billowing around a towering protrusion like a circus pavilion tent thrown over a jutting flagpole. Ashanti’s hand held his penis as he stirred. She moved the base of his prick left, then right, expecting that the huge hump might be his raised knee, but no, the monstrous pitched tent swayed left and right like the mainmast of a ship on a stormy sea.
“Levi,” she breathed, nudging his shoulder. Her breasts hung down over his closest arm and pectoral, resting atop them like two overfilled water balloons.
“Five more minutes,” he replied without opening his eyes.
“I beg your pardon?”
He grunted. “You’re pardoned.” And then he lazily smacked his lips and began snoring.
She slapped him on the stomach.
“Oof!” He roused himself grumpily. “What is… it?” He faltered on the last word when he too felt the alarming difference between his legs.
Rare was the morning when he didn’t have an erection when waking up next to his wife. In fact, if his penis was a cellular phone, then the cleft of her bulging, spherical ass cheeks was like the charging port to rejuvenate its battery after a long, long day of heavy, heavy use, allowing him to wake up with his naughty parts fully charged and ready to go. It was more unusual for him to wake up soft, with a bored penis laying snug against his thigh. But there was morning wood, and then there was… this.
Experimentally, Ashanti tugged the corner of her end of the sheet and started slowly pulling it toward her, drawing it away from Levi’s body. It crept across his naked skin, revealing more of his flesh, including a pink hand imprint where he’d fallen asleep on his stomach at one point with his arm folded under him. He sat up, his muscled back against the headboard, scooting his ass further up until the sheet was swept aside like a drawn curtain.
Ashanti’s gasp was as alarmingly shocked as it was sultrily intrigued.
At first, Levi and Ashanti could barely comprehend what they were looking at. The big, fat length stabbed outward past his knees… by a wide margin. It was thicker than her arm. It was thicker than his arm. The massive cockhead seemed the size of a softball. And spreading out in a huge meaty pouch of scrotal skin made loose and relaxed by the heat of their bed, Ashanti saw his massive, heavy nuts. Each one was larger than her fists, and laid fat and happy and percolating between his muscled thighs.
It was a monster. It had to be nearly two feet long.
“Oh… my God…,” she breathed. It was huge, but also unmistakably her husband’s penis. She recognized every vein—now twice as thick—and the bell shape of his swollen crown—now twice as large—and the scent of his precum—now twice as copious. Her stomach fluttered. The thick scent of musk, cock and maleness filled her nostrils, hitting her like a wall. She breathed it in. She licked her lips, one hand on the sheet, the other still trying to encircle the midpoint of his shaft. Trying, and utterly failing. The ring of ebony fingers—thumb to middle finger—was broken open by the unfathomable girth of his brutal fuckspike.
Always she had worshipped her husband’s body, glorying in his athletic frame as he moved atop her in the early years of their marriage, and later as he moved atop other women, dominating them, fucking their wombs into submission. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel satisfying to watch these skinny white girls get ruined by his big white dick, addicted to it, only to realize that he wasn’t chasing after them anymore. But there was worshipping his body and his penis as she had always done, and then there was surrendering to the reverent, panty-wetting awe of it… really worshipping it as some slab of godhood.
“I suppose… you should be getting ready… for your work today.” She sounded as if she was being pulled into a trance.
Her hand moved down to the base, sliding over thick, gnarled tree-root veins. When the bottom of her fist smacked his hairless pelvis, she slowly stroked back upward. At the speed she went, it took thirty full seconds to reach the tip. She looked at him desperately. Their eyes met. She tried to summon the strength to defy her body, to assert the importance of the experiment, to view this towering spire of breeding bull meat from the perspective of the Overseer instead of the pent-up, lust-crazed wife. She tried to deny her pussy’s need to be wrapped around this fencepost. But his monstercock seemed to radiate a power and superiority that no pussy could resist.
His pelvis rolled against her, and although his hands reached out, he made no move to stop her. “Who’s the woman for this month?” he groaned, a throaty growl rising up like a hungry bear waking up.
“Si Mok Nut,” Ashanti replied automatically, her hands still gliding over his throbbing, warm erection.
“The little Thai woman?” Incredulity crept into his voice. Si Mok was barely ninety pounds, and an inch or two shy of five feet tall. “This thing will kill her, Ash. I was worried about hurting her before, but this will tear her open.”
Ashanti nodded, chewing her juicy bottom lip. He was right. A whole month of getting smashed against this column of dickmeat? The little Asian girl would be lucky if she could ever walk again. The size of it was like a tool for execution, and it exuded an aura of intimidation, penetrating Ash from every angle.
“Someone should… try it out… first,” she said. “For her.” Precum was spilling down the immense fucklog and over her fingers. Her skin shivered, and her nipples hardened.
“Someone like you?” He slid a hand between her legs and cupped her mound. She was drenched. “You want it to be you,” he said, not a question this time.
“Yesss.” The protocol was for Doctor Gilchrist to test any of his anomalies. But to let her have her husband’s giant fuckpipe before Ashanti herself had even gotten a chance to try it herself? Maybe a better Overseer could have kicked him out of bed and started a cold shower for him. But not a better wife.
She brought her second hand up. With both, she was barely able to encircle his shaft. She sat up in bed, and crawled closer to him, positioning herself in a kneeling position between his spread legs. Her thick ass expanded outward behind her, its curves brushing his shins. In front, her breasts hung heavily, each one almost as big as her head. The scent of sweat from the warm bed, and her sopping sex, and his viscous cum brewing in those jizz tanks… her mind was a haze, a fuzz of sexual stimuli. She looked down at the knob of his cock, so tall it was already practically touching her lips. His pisshole seemed the size of her mouth.
She leaned in and pressed her big, puffy DSL’s against his slit. A fat, lumpy wad of fresh prejizz billowed out, and her tongue reflexively slid into the slick piss-pipe. He groaned, and so did she. God, his size was unreal… so massive that his cum-tube could take almost her entire tongue!
And he’s MINE.
It was a match made in heaven. Her big, spongy dicksuckers pressing against his fat cocktip. After a few further moments she kissed her way down his shaft, letting the behemoth cast a shadow over her shoulder as she sank lower. She could tell the exact moment that his eyes slid down the length of her back and alighted on her wobbling globes of thick brown-skinned ass-meat. She could tell because his cock bucked, blasting a pencil-thick ribbon of precum that shot straight up toward the ceiling, only to arc back down and slap heavily across her lower back in a pearly stripe.
She felt his male power, and she couldn’t stop herself from turning around, lifting herself up onto the balls of her feet as she looked away from him and positioned her ass for his viewing pleasure. Even standing, she only needed to squat a little to make that swollen cocktip mash against her thick ass cheeks. The tingling between her legs had become so urgent it was impossible to ignore. She put her hands on her ass, the long, pearlescent nails fanning out as her fingers indented into each cheek. She lifted them. It was like watching rolling hills move. She let her ass pile up in her hands, showing the weight of it, the size. And then she let it drop.
WHOP. The sound of her cheeks clapping together around his bloated knob was loud and sordid. Her cheeks jiggled and wobbled with the impact, and her stomach buzzed with butterflies at the spurt of molten precum that hosed her nethers, belched from his crown.
“Ffffuuuuck,” he growled, reaching up to take hold of her. “Do that again.”
She started bouncing. She started twerking. She arched her back and proudly started throwing ass. The sound of her thick, clapping cheeks grew louder. And in time, she wanted it to be louder, wanted the noise to penetrate his brain and rise to the forefront many hours from now as he was trying to squeeze himself into little Si Mok Nut, the meaty whop-whop-whop sounds spurring him to greater hardness as he performed his breeding duties. She wanted him to think of her while he fucked all of these women who thought they were competition.
Two beautiful, brown, monster ass-mounds exploded with continuous rippling, wobbling momentum around his cum-leaking prong, the big, smooth, perfectly-complexioned hemispheres keeping his prick sandwiched between them, hammering it from both sides as she grew more aggressive, more reckless.
The instant she felt his brutal cockhead grind against her needy muff, a lightning bolt of raw pleasure screamed through her. Her clit was swollen and fat, prominently rubbing against his dick like a pebble cozying up next to a marble slab. An orgasm flash-boiled through her, and her legs went weak, sending her toppling down. She started to fall.
Levi would never let her fall like that. Even before the last vestige of strength had left her legs, he was already surging upright, hands catching her before she knew she was falling. But even he could do nothing about the angle of her descent. His larger hands gripped her cheeks, barely able to keep her butt-mounds open as they were so massive, but what was even more massive was the tip of his fleshy spear, aligned with her slick cunt to skewer through her tight lips as Levi tried to arrest her fall.
She was still cumming, still convulsing, unable to offer him any assistance as gravity pulled her down, down, down. Gritting his teeth hard enough to bite through steel cables, Levi managed to fight her curvaceous body to a standstill halfway down that tremendous fuckspike. Her legs sprang open, and a hose-blast of boiling-hot squirt sliced across the room in a glistening wet arc. She howled in orgasm, ass flexing in his grip, pelvis rolling as her cunny walls milked his fat prick. It curved up from his muscled pelvis like a scimitar, twitching and tenting her belly upward with an obscene cock-bulge that went all the way to her navel. Ashanti cried out at the feeling of having her pussy stretched wider than it had ever been. There was a feeling of throbbing, brutal fullness—she could feel his blood pulsing and his fat cumpipe spasming and leaking into her. She allowed her leg muscles to settle, feet bracing to either side of him, and another two inches of meat slid inside with a wet, churning sound.
“Fuuuuuuuuck!” she cried. Her mouth opened and she sprayed out harsh breaths, like one of the many women who had gone into labor in this vault. Her panting only made the scene more animalistic. Rivulets of her wetness were leaking down Levi’s shaft, fat droplets of nectarine pussy juice chasing down that indomitable fuckmast. It felt…
Amazing. Overwhelming.
Levi hesitated, feeling genuinely fearful for the damage this monstrosity could do to his wife. But she started dropping her hips in little up-down motions, as the animalistic, primal, fuck-frenzied part of her wanted to get fucked up on this big dick. There was the wet sound of sex-meat sliding through a wet, hot passage. The bulge in her pelvis moved further up, and she cried out like a bitch in heat.
There was absolutely no restraint in her cry, no reservations of her usual decorum as Overseer. For the first time, she caught a glimpse of what the other women must have felt: a feeling of being his meat.
Her eyes rolled. She moaned like a wild beast. Her pelvis muscles clamped around him and her toes curled. Her twat was slobbering for that big white cock. She thought of ivory-skinned babes and freckled gingers and tanned Latina women and petite Asian girls and even the other dark-skinned black bimbos that populated this vault. She thought of them all, bending down in front of Levi, Vault 69’s mega-cocked breeder bull stud with dick down past his knees. She thought of fair-skinned women, dark-skinned women, and everything in between, being turned into baby factories by her husband’s freakishly massive fuckstaff.
“I want you to fuck them,” she groaned hoarsely, digging his cocktip against her cervix. “I want you to fuck all of them… starting with me!”
Levi thrust his hips up, unable to control the animal that tore out of him. She cried out again as his leaking, spasming pisshole indented her cervix, pressing right up against her womb, drooling that pre-nut into her most sacred, life-giving place. She began to bounce on his dick, her toned thighs flexing as she worked her fucktunnel up and down that shaft, swabbing it with her foaming, sloshing walls, leaving gleaming lube on its deepest point, a little more than halfway down his shaft. But she wanted more.
Levi’s cocktip stretched open her cervix and invaded her womb, filling and pressing against the back wall, forcing it up into her guts. He began to thrust, coaxed into a lustful frenzy that none of the other women could pull from him. Only Ashanti, often laying on the bed next to that month’s broodmare, or holding the woman from behind, could bring him to such ferocity with her vulgar language and crude goading. He was more than two-thirds inside now, stirring up Ashanti’s guts, making her taut, toned midsection undulate around his unyielding pipe.
With an ear-splitting shriek, she dropped herself completely, smashing her ass against his pelvis. She collapsed backward against his chest, crying out as she laid her head in the crook of his neck. She squirted powerfully, spraying another hot explosion of lube halfway across the room, leaving a gleaming splatter line across the floor.
“Oh my fucking gawwwd…,” Ashanti moaned, his hot breath against the side of her face. She tilted her head to the side, her coarse, kinky hair brushing over his face. “It’s in my fucking womb!” She clamped her lips over his, moaning into his mouth, and Levi’s thrusts went absolutely crazy.
Her bombastic body seemed tailor-made to take his savage cock and look good doing it. Her ass-cheeks pillowed against his abs as he held her in place with a firm arm around the waist and tunneled into her; her massive tits, spritzed with sweat and gleaming in all of their chocolate glory, also bounced up and down hypnotically.
“Ash! Fuck! You’re the best!” He hissed in the fractional moments that their lips separated. He was jamming the full length into her, reshaping her, churning her guts. Her pussy painted up and down Levi’s shaft, coating the whole thing in foamy wetness. Strings of thicker, syrupy lube stretched between her ass and his pelvis with every body-shaking impact. “You’re… gonna make… me cum!”
In that moment, she knew it would be seen as administrative overreach for her to jump the line, but she didn’t care. If he blew chunky loads of semen deep in her hot, throbbing cunt, she didn’t care. If the entire experiment failed due to her slutty, dick-taking pussy, she didn’t care.
Her uterus was totally stuffed with dick and her vaginal canal would no doubt never be the same after such brutal resizing. Her arms and legs went limp and spasmed as she had the most debilitating orgasm yet; an eye-rolling, glorious, nostril flaring, tongue-wagging, spine-bending cumquake. Every muscle on her gorgeous, fit black body stood out in a rictus. Sculpted shoulders, slender, graceful, balletic arms and calves, all the same caramel brown color. Sweat danced on her skin. Her breasts bounced and draped over Levi’s gripping forearm like wobbling meat sacks, the dark nipples painfully erect and raised. And as ever, her ass-mounds, those two bubbly hemispheres that could roll and jiggle for days, compressed against his pelvis, bulging out.
Levi orgasmed with her, lips sealed over hers; she could feel him cumming, bloating her womb with fat spurts of jizz from that twenty-four-inch sperm cannon, drowning her most sacred place in a tar-thick reservoir of reproductive material. It was so hot and heavy and thick! She could feel it inflating her womb, filling her oviducts, which had previously been tied for years. The strangest thing was that she could almost feel a kind of pressure against those tied tubes, as if the sheer volume of his cum was dangerously close to prying them open from force alone, popping the threads that pinched them closed. At the last second, as the pressure seemed too great to hold back, just as she was feeling some internal loosening, his semen came pouring back out of her pussy. The pressure of her labia lips on his shaft turned out to be just slightly less, and with each twitch of Levi’s cock, a nasty, chowdery splurt of viscous, chunky nut ejected from the tight seal her pussy made around the base of his cock, slopping down onto his balls and the mattress.
Ashanti’s switch had been well and truly hit. The brutal, soul-evacuating orgasms had been more intense than anything she had ever felt. She looked down at her own midsection with glazed, spent eyes and saw the bulging dick-shape that was pushing up on her skin with pure awe. Levi had fucked her up… in the best possible way. She rubbed a hand over her belly, massaging the gargantuan prong of white meat impaling her, blowing every one of boring old Lizzie Broderick’s ninety-five creampies up into her womb in a single body-warping spunksplosion.
If this new volume was permanent going forward, then she imagined Levi wouldn’t need a solid month to work his way through each woman. Or, more accurately, it was the women who wouldn’t be able to endure a solid month of furious, pelvis-creaking, bed-breaking rutting with her husband’s newly modified monster cock. She tried to picture someone like Lizzie Broderick getting pounded ninety-five times in a row by his twenty-four-inch mammoth fuckspike, everyday without end. The next image that rose to her mind’s eye was a spreading field of tombstones engraved with women’s names, with identical epitaphs that all said ‘FUCKED TO DEATH’.
No, a single day for each woman would suffice. He was already cumming three or four times a day. That would surely be enough. All of a sudden, impregnating nine hundred and ninety-nine women turned from an eighty year job… to three. And her seventeen year wait would be reduced to a few months from now.
As their orgasms waned, he continued sawing up into her, churning the great plumes of yellowish-white ballspew with his cunt-crushing monster dick. She shuddered a little with every slow thrust he made, stretching her insides into new lewd shapes with that rutting fucktrunk, until at last he stopped, and just remained inside her, kissing her deeply. She felt so full, but in a good way, like her body was complete, like the entity known as Ashanti Morris had found its calling with his goliath cock and oceanic cum bloating her lewdly and his lips sealed over hers.
He loosened his arm on her torso. “How bad is it?” he asked when they broke the kiss. She was left panting for breath, licking the fresh salted sweat along his jawline. Nearly the entire time they’d fucked, he had been paranoid about her pelvis breaking in half.
She bit teasingly on his lower lip, pulling it back before releasing it. “I’ll live,” she croaked, voice rasping, throat dry. He twitched inside her, and she nearly swooned. “I’ll be doing… all my work… hnngh… tomorrow from a… fffuck… sitting position behind the Overseer’s desk, but I’ll live.”
His face fell. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“I couldn’t say no to such a big dick,” she admitted, looking guilty, but with an undercurrent of supreme satisfaction, like the cat that got the canary. “No matter how much damage this thing could do. I knew it would wreck me, but….”
“You couldn’t resist it?” he finished for her. She nodded and squeezed around his freakish fuck-girth; her pussy was stretched into a perfect, cavernous circle by that monstrous meat-tube.
A wicked smile spread across her face. “And neither will anyone else.”