Thick Country Sluts
3. Homecomin’!
* * *Madeleine woke up to a persistent banging on her door. “Hunnhh—whuhhh?” she asked, her mouth dry and sticky at the same time, and very much useless.
“Whuh-izz-it?” She rubbed her eyes. Opening them was difficult. Was she extra tired, or had she overslept? Thoughts moved slow as lazy lids pulled open and shut to linger on a pale pink comforter.
“It’s me, it’s Robert. Listen, I didn’t want to wake you up too early, but Emily’s going to be here in an hour, and we’re going to need a gameplan.”
She kicked her feet, unwilling to budge, least of all for Robert. As if! “Madeleine?” At least he didn’t call her “Mae-Lynn”. That was some dream...
She wondered what Freud would have to say about that shit. Growing gigantic T&A so she could duke it out in a sexual free-for-all with one of her best friends? Sharing that best friend’s boyfriend as a husband, not to mention their all-controlling master?!
And what on earth was with those accents! Seriously.
It had to have been that weed. “Urrrgggh,” she groaned. She had a raging headache. Robert’s footsteps padded and faded down the hall. Thank God.
She looked at the clock. 1:15 in the afternoon. That wasn’t too late. Besides, what business was it of hers when Emily got home?
Still, it stood to reason to get up sooner or later. Her stomach was growling. She yawned long, threw off her comforter, and sat down at the edge of her bed, working her still-sleepy brain toward anything that resembled a practical thought.
She’d slept naked, and the cool autumn chill breezing in through her window gave her gooseflesh. Madeleine huddled into herself, shaking. Why isn’t my brain working! was all she could manage.
She noticed a puffy tum pushing out, pooling over just a touch to rub alongside her hips, and the belling breasts of her dream that hung and swung so heavily. She noticed these things for ten seconds before noticing they were not supposed to be there. At all.
She jumped up, flicked on her bedside lamp, and shrieked. “No,” she said, repeating the word frantically, smacking herself hard on the cheek, pulling at her hair. “No, no, no no no, no!”
Each time she said it, her big boobs only got more real. Her impossibly big ass only got more real. Her sandy blonde curls only got more real. That stupid fucking Marilyn Monroe thing only got more and more real.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Granted, the reflection in the mirror was not nearly as outrageous as the fucked-up body she’d been saddled with in her dreams, but it was still, most assuredly, not her.
What had even happened the night before? She went to the record store, and then... No, wait—did that actually happen or had she just dreamt that? Robert would probably know.
She rifled through her closet for anything that would fit to throw on and then go to him. It was hard to tell just how big she’d gotten. The only thing she knew for certain was what she didn’t have before today. So she started to make a mental list.
1) She couldn’t have knockers, because she didn’t have breasts to begin with. 2) She couldn’t have an ass, let alone one that was edging dangerously close to bootay status, because she didn’t even have the most microscopic butt. 3) She couldn’t have these too-broad birthing hips. She didn’t have any hips!
None of this new stuff seemed to want to fit into any item of clothing she owned, either. She was fucked. She began to freak out, but in this heated anxiety, couldn’t help but notice how much it was turning her on, despite herself. She gulped. No!
This was a living nightmare. She flat-out refused to become a bimbo. This was not happening. She was going to wake up again, eventually, and have a few laughs with whoever she chose to tell the story to.
No. Nope. Absolutely not becoming a bimbo slut.
She pulled on her favorite baby blue hoodie. Yesterday, it was baggy on her. Today, it was ultra-snug and rode up around the poofy and generous curve of her hips. She didn’t bother with a bra. None of them fit.
She yanked on her trusty jean shorts. They were suddenly way too small, and could only find half-use on her body as daisy dukes. She didn’t bother with underwear. None of hers fit.
Whatever.
She flicked on the TV in the hope that anything on it, no matter how banal, would distract her, smooth out the encroaching panic. It was news coverage of a protest downtown. “No more bimbos!” two or three frazzled college girls half-shouted, overtired. “No more himbos! Close your windows!”
Two muscle-laden cops with rolled up sleeves twirled batons, grinning at the crowd which comprised dozens of healthy honeys encircling the activists, outnumbering them, laughing at them, and spraying them with big phallic water bottles. One of the girls stopped chanting, putting down a sign that read, “WEARING A C CUP IS NOT A CRIME!”
She looked exhausted, and attempted to move through the giggly gaggle to leave, but a trio of identical (and identically buxom) Indian girls in puckeringly tight, invisibly sheer saris cornered her at each angle. Three little pot bellies pooched out over swaying sets of hips, navels bejeweled in emerald.
The midnight black sheen of their wavy heads of hair were all streaked with platinum shocks. Two of them took off their oversized corncob-patterned ten-gallon hats to shield her scared face from the camera as she woozily tumbled to the grass.
A high-voiced newscaster giggled over the tired protester’s less and less reluctant feeding, trading a handful of samosa for a handful of dark boob:
“The goody-good girlies over at Taste of Bombay have returned to the park for a fourth day of feeding the homeless. Police are unsure how many heathens remain in the city but they, like, estimate—he-he, mate—”
Click. She changed the channel. It was a soap opera. Some top-heavy skank of Asian descent in a sleazy bridal gown picked a chubby blonde girl’s face from out of her lap. A spaghetti strap had fallen down and the bustier was dotted with chocolate stains.
“C’mon, Pattycakes! This me and—mmmmMMmm—Tony’s big, big cock—I mean, like, day, or whatever! If yer drivin’ the limo to the chapel, then why—heyyy, wait! Yew ain’t a-sposed’a, like, drive! Girlies cain’t—”
Click. “I wouldn’t be so sure Oprah. Twenty-two million women certainly seems like a big number, but we at Woman’s Outreach believe that embracing the growing number of cherubs, not shunning them or, like, quarry-teeny ourselves, can only improve our, um... cool-ass nation. And frankly, learning all we can possibly get our, y’know, hands on—the church of St. Brittany can teach us plenty of totally important, really, really, y’know, super-vital—”
Click. Off. No. Nope—nuh-uh! Madeleine fearfully but forcefully sailed down the hallway, disturbed at how everything about her was so bouncy, anxious to get this whole thing straightened out—hoping that, despite all sense of reality, this was some kind of joke that Robert and his buddies had played on her.
They’d rigged her TV or something. Any minute now, someone would dash right up behind her, unzip her voluptuous slut-suit, and yell, “ta-da!” Yeah right. She wriggled and mewed, beyond frustrated, beyond randy. That wasn’t even slightly likely.
She stood in front of Robert’s door, thinking that looking modest could maybe help stamp out her steadily accelerating horniness. Well, that wasn’t happening. The dark wet patch nonwithstanding...
She tried with all her flagging might to pull her shorts down all the way to cover her rear, but her tubby cheeks kept leaking out. “Stupid butt-butt!” she whisper-screamed, accidentally doubling the word. This just can’t be my butt! She crinkled her nose, sniffly.
Her braless boobs looked too round, much too big, like they were itching to bust free at any second. Her nipples were poking too, big tough twin points that were plotting their own escape.
Everything about her looked like a fourteen-year-old boy’s version of what an over-ripe country cheerleader might resemble.
The worst part was that she felt incredibly self-assured at how amazing she looked, was about twice as turned on. She sighed. The only thing left to do was giggle. This is so stupid! I’m not a fucking bimbo!
Madeleine knocked at Robert’s door, twirling a finger through the big sandy blonde curls she woke up with. She burped, anxious. She picked a wedgie. Her ass ate her unwanted new hot pants right back up again. Her left cheek was fully exposed. She let it stay that way. Whatever.
He wasn’t answering. She listened in, but couldn’t hear a thing over the sound of her own bubblegum smacking. She’d woken up with a huge chewy piece in her mouth, but didn’t think to take it out in her hurried rush to get to the bottom of all of this weirdness.
Now, she couldn’t seem to recall what the first step was, in order to stop chewing gum. She couldn’t think of a way to do it without taking the gum out first. And that didn’t seem right, because chewing gum was a lot of fun!
Whatever. She blew a big, big pink bubble and let it crash into a pop. I guess I’m kinda dumb after all... But at least I’m not a slut! She pulled down her top and pushed her boobs together, aiming at modesty.
She knocked again. Two whole minutes spent staring at her shimmering candy apple red nails, wondering how and when she got them done (only to have an image of them without the polish prove extremely difficult to locate), and then she just opened his door, impatient.
He was sprawled out in his bed, naked, with a hardon the size of a skyscraper. He was jacking it. She was drooling. He pretended not to notice her. Yeah right. As if!
She couldn’t remember how to make a word come out of her lips, so she just licked them for a while, blew a few more bubbles, then just said, “Ummmmmm,” really nasally and twangy, in that disturbingly effortless way. It wasn’t her voice, and she knew that, but it wasn’t as if she had any other choice.
“Maddie! Don’t you know how to knock?” He just kept jerking his dick, pouring a big dab of lube onto it as she stood there in the doorway and watched.
One part of herself was screaming to get the hell out of there, to get as far away as possible from the entire apartment complex. Another part was begging her to strut closer and closer to him. That part was quite certain he’d let her ride.
In the end, she just stood stock still and chewed her bubblegum. It sure was fun to watch, though. “Um, so, like, whatchew tryna say ‘bout Emily comin’ home or sump’n like ‘at?”
She noticed he was staring right at her boobies. It was so cute of him to acknowledge them, to see her for her. She stuck them out so much that her big perky nips started to ooze through the distended sweatshirt with milk.
Just like in her dreams.
“Yeah, she is. She’s going to be really upset if you’re still here. She told you to go back home, where your kind belong. The fact that you’re her sister doesn’t matter at all, not anymore. Not after you’ve infected the two of us with your... your... pseudo-religious bimbo disease!”
He rubbed at his temples. Stringing a coherent thought together, coupled with the knowledge that it would be one of his last, had given him a royal migraine. Madeleine was dreadfully confused... Sister? Back home? What?
“I can take you back to Cherub Cove, but we abso—uhh, we reallyhave to leave in the next five or so minutes. If she sees me anywhere near—slurp—yew, she gon’l kill me. It’s bad enough that you been stuffin’ your ridiculous body into Virginia’s clothes now. Ya just couldn’t take no for answer, couldja? You had to make damn sure Emily’d become a dumb slutty redneck just like you.”
Madeleine wanted to say that this was her home, that Emily was merely a close friend. That she was a strong, sensible woman who did not belong in this bubbly, slutty body. That these were her clothes, honest! That she didn’t know anything about any Virginia! She wanted to say all these things, and much more.
Instead, she smiled, giggled, and said, “Okay, sugar.” She just wanted all the men in her life to be so happy. She sat down on the bed next to him and softly jacked on his goopy dick. She noticed a jewel case beside him. He’d been gazing upon it intently right as she barged in on him. “What’s ‘at, there, big boss man?”
“That’s your CD. That’s your band, if you could even call it that.” She squinted and took her sweet time sounding out the three words on the self-titled disc. “Thick... Country... Sluts... Thick Country Sluts! Oh yeah! I guess I done plum forgotted.”
It all came back to her at the same time that he did. It was at this point that she recognized the righteously hot bod of her partner in country-rap crime, Lady Glorious! The smell of his jizz brought her back home to church country.
“Aight, then. You can take this big ol’ bimbo bitch right on back home, I s’pose. But I just gotta axe you one li’l flavor...” Robert rolled his eyes. “Yeah?”
She got up and peeled her daisy dukes off, wriggling a big dripping booty just atop his swollen, cartoonishly enlarged cock, squirmy and sloppy. His dick looked positively dreamy. “Y’all gotta let me taste some-uh that first, mmkay?”
He nodded nonchalantly, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her down, impaling her sticky, juiced-up slit. “I’’ve already resigned my—owww—I’m-a be a tomato farmer an’ titty-fuck y’all gals any time I ding-dong say,” he said, bored-sounding.
Oooh, I can’t wait to bring this hunky thing back to town with me! He ain’t never gonna leave!
He paused, wincing. “You do know that you’re not the only one who’s been having those dreams. Emily and I know full well what’s in store for us. This is just to make your job easier so you can move out the trailer and into a bigger one after you participatin’ in that there Rutter’s Recruitment, an’ blah blah blah....”
“Welp—maybe we should wait for our hot little Lula then,” Madeleine husked, clenching around his cock, grabbing his balls and shoving his huge shaft deep into her. “’Member? Like in the dreams an’ shit? Whaddya say, Beau-Bob? I think we got the po-tent-show to be one big happy Christian American family.”
Robert groaned. Then, Madeleine groaned too, because a man had done it and whatever a man did was holy. Soon, they both came. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, Mae-Lynn.” She was a goddamn amazing lay, but he resented her. In the week that she’d been visiting, she converted/infected over twenty people. Why did she have to mess with him and her own sister?
She opened her big buck-toothed mouth. He knew it would be something stupid. “Dreams are really, like...” She counted on her fingers as if that would help her think of the word. “Whassat one word talkin’ ‘bout freaky-deaky stuff that like, starts with a W?” Robert smacked a boob. “Wobble?” he offered. She actually considered it.
“No, Beau, no! You definitely know it. You’re a nerd and nerds know stuff...” Since she was just having some powerful and messed-up dreams and was fully back in reality now, she couldn’t find any use for wearing Virginia’s hoodie. So it would definitely work well as the jizz rag she so desperately needed.
“Ewww, Maddie, come on! That’s my little sister’s sweatshirt! Anywhats, I thought you cherubs loved the taste of cum!” She was almost done mopping up the liter of semen off her thighs by the time he’d finished reprimanding her. He grabbed his dick, angry at it, cursing and regretting the four days it took for it to grow seven inches.
“This is her fuckin’ favorite hoodie, Maddie! Covered in my sperm! Do you realize how disgusting that is! She’s my sister!” She took a big whiff of his healthy load before crumpling it up and throwing it on top of a neglected, piling-up laundry bin, all items contaminated with powerful transformative sex juices.
Washing them wasn’t a priority when new clothes that better fit them got delivered to their doorstep every morning, as if by magic. Emily and Robert had gotten so lazy since Madeleine (her birth name, and the only name Emily would use to address her in the beginning) showed up that pussy-creamed panties and spunk-encrusted anything had been scattered everywhere around the apartment, unattended.
Everywhere except Virginia’s room. That was off limits. Until after day two of her visit, when Madeleine grew restless, tired of sleeping on the couch, and snuck into the girl’s queen sized bed after working her sister and her boyfriend into such a frenzy that they’d gone at it until sunrise. Her tongue was definitely her favorite fuck weapon, though her boobs were a close second.
The changing couple were so blissfully over-fucked the next day that they’d just given in and invited her into bed with them, allowing her safe passage between the two. Emily was instrumental in the couple’s decision.
(“I never ever thought I’d be giving head side by side with my sister,” Emily said on that third day. By the end of the fifth night, she confided in her big sister with something else:
“I’m in big trouble at my job, sissy-slut-butt. It’s, like, super totally hard to read, like, almost all my shit. I cain’t ‘member how to use the dang computer machine, neither. I thought you said that believin’ in Britanny, like, max-amazes a girly’s brain-powders! So far, alls I gots is these crazy-ass hips!
Madeleine eased the troubled new tart’s thighs apart to console her. “And I cain’t even see that whatsit—keyboard-y thingy cuz of these tig ol’ bitties all crowdin’ my shit!")
Madeleine, now well-fucked and coming out of any remaining confusion, looked at a mostly white, vigorously marked bunch of t-shirts, still half-folded and neatly stacked on the floor. Double scoop double-team night, she partially recollected, still kind of foggy.
A chunk of waffle cone was lodged in the carpet. She licked her lips, not sure if that was vanilla on it or more yummy cum. What Madeleine failed to mention, whenever she promised to chip in and do laundry, was how impossible it was to get a new convert’s super-seed out of any fabric.
No matter how many washes a cummy set of sheets withstands, “missionary molecules” would linger on and carry Family Way Flu indefinitely. What Robert didn’t know could only make him harder, and she knew that. “...hick dick addicts like you around, makin’ a big dumb bimbo out of my innocent sister! Me an’ Emily, that’s all jim dandy, but no way in God’s—”
Madeleine made a dim appeal, riddled with her usual half-facts. “Forget me! Do you even realize how paralegal you are right now! Don’t worry, Bobby boo. She ain’t comin’ ‘round to pick up her shit until she gets home from Indiana, and that’s eight whole monhs from now! I promised y’all I’m-a wash yer shit! An’ you better start callin’ me Mae-Lynn, by the way!”
Robert massaged the bridge of his nose, head splitting, trying to stay at “frustrated” level and not lose his temper. He had fought his initiation into Our Family Way so strongly that he developed what Emily had taken to calling “hunky hulk syndrome”.
Every time he raised his voice to a fed-up, full-blown scream, it would be some time before he could do anything but grunt, get bigger and bigger boners, and find release somehow. Over and over again until his civilized brain kicked in again. The first such occurrence of this lasted twenty minutes.
The afternoon prior, Madeleine had posted a lengthy webcam video, of her and her sister in a sweaty bouncy three-way with Robert, right to his Facebook wall. He wasn’t back to normal for thirteen hours. “No, slut. She actually fixin’ to come on back in eight days. And she was in India, you big-titted moron.”
“Oh, what’s the difference?” she asked, legitimately unsure. He broiled with anger, gnashing his teeth. He didn’t know, either. He did, at one point, but...
“Maddie—sorry, sorry—It’s Mae-Lynn, I know, I’m sorry. Wasn’t you, like, all into world geometrics or whatnot? ...You shoulda knowed by now!” She reached for his dick, and sure enough, it was just as she expected: rock hard. “Indiana’s where Indians come from, and...” His train of thought chugged to a halt.
“Sweetness,” she smiled, showing her big white chompers and the big gap in the middle, “that was, like, so long ago. College days? Like, seven whole months ago. Gimme a dang ol’ break now, y’hear?” She jacked lovingly, coddling her sister’s man’s schlong into the light of the Lord, as per usual during this missionary work.
He was a big producer, giving up gallons and gallons. Whenever he and her sister were ready to accept their true calling, he’d be a popular breeding stud for sure. It only took a few clitty licks to change Emily’s mind from monogamy to real Americhristian, giggly generosity.
“Honey, I done complete-like forgotted-ed all, y’know, like, how to read an’ shit. I prolly, like, couldn’t even name all the 69 united states. All I know is like—well, Disneyland’s one, right?”
Robert shook his head no, letting a long chain of beastly moans go unbroken. ”See, little bro? Yer Mae-Lynn ain’t no G.I. girl or whatever the fuck. Psshhh—yer sister-in-law ain’t nothin’ but a big bimbo bitch what loves her some long fat cock.”
“I used to be, like, really smart, but it’s whatevz, y’know? I ain’t miss that awful life not one bit. I was so skinny and ugly and miserable. Now, I’s a gawjus thick country slut, I’m dumb an’ fertile as the soil in my cornfield, and I ain’t never been no happier.”
She licked her lips at a tiny gift of precum. “Mmm, and that turns you on real good, huh, little brother?” He nodded, dribbling spit, brain blank, whited and pinked out. But not before he could say, “Emily and I ain’t married.”
She smirked. That was the best thing about converting boys. They were so completely full of themselves. It was like none of them had ever heard of a himbo. And the closer they got to becoming one, the more self-righteous they became. Robert was no different.
Even though he’d initially tried his best to resist the real American way of life, rejecting St. Brittany, finding it unsettling how Emily was shedding IQ points by the dozen each day thus far, Robert was awful at concealing just how much he had a yen for her and her sister’s bimboization. He delighted in the little things.
Emily clearing over twenty hours of arthouse films from the DVR so she’d have enough room for Jersey Shore or anything featuring Kim Kardashian, her new idol. Emily not being able to play guitar because her nails had grown too long much too quickly. Emily trading in that Gibson for miniskirt money.
Emily thinking it would be a grand idea to show off her new bod in a skimpy silver string bikini, at her most important work conference of the quarter. Emily having to call for a ride home from work, because she’d bought some lube and a couple tabloids instead of saving any cash for the subway fare.
That it was all happening in the span of the week only ramped up his newfound fetish. This unspoken preoccupation left almost no room for self-examination, and thus, he often ended arguments completely but obliviously wrong. The girls giggled happily, even if they knew it.
Rare, clear thoughts circled back to him now: Protect your sister. Prevent your girlfriend from losing what little dignity still held on. There’s still time to beat this. There’s still a lot of people whose brains haven’t been smashed to shit by the hormonal sermon of Our Family Way...
There’s still a nice-n-sexy Christian slut at the edge of your bed.
“Turn that thang around. Now. Git on your knees,” he ordered, and Mae-Lynn instantly complied, sighing sweetly. Two fucks before a late breakfast was a surely a good sign for the rest of the day.
“Kay, Beau-Bobby...” She shimmied into his virile grasp and helped him wrangle the painted-on jean shorts off her big white ass. She was cradling the bottom of it with one hand. A pinky grazed her pussy. He snorted.
“Skeetheart, y’can’t-uh git yer shit off with your hand like ‘at.” He sniffed, amused. Her stupidity riled him up even more. “C’mon, y’big bimbo dummy...” She slid his raging wood into her by pushing the straining shorts aside, so he was forced to take himself out for a second. It was frustrating to have to do that.
“C’mon, y’big fuckin’ ditz,” he complained, absently enduring a ditzy moment of his own when he decided to just tear them off of her with his brute new super-strength. He ripped them in half, throwing them into a corner as her two massive buns blubbed out, sighing out the quietest, tiniest fart, and took him in. “Let’s do this, ‘cuz Emily’s gonna be furious atcha if she—”
“Heyy, wait a seh—” she said, stopping as if to sneeze, settling into a slow rhythm where he didn’t have to do anything and she could let her ass do the all the dick-eating. ”OOoohhhmmm, like—uh-huhhhhh! Ain’t, uh, those yer sis’s dunga—” She howled as he plunged his bone deep within.
He reached over beside the bed, dove his fist into a crinkly bag of Cherub Crunch, and stuffed a handful into her mouth. She moaned and munched, satisfied all over as she chewed and luxuriated in the feel of his hunky hands all over her fat tits, bumbling every which way as he pounded.
“She didn’t care for those that ones much, If’n I recall it proper,” he fibbed. He doubled up, ramming hard. Mae-Lynn careened forward, mams first, and almost fell off the bed. He grabbed her chest and helped her back on a foot or two, aiding her ass down the other half a foot of his shaft down all the way to his balls.
“Yeah, right,” she ventured, giggling. He slapped her big butt twice, roughly. “Face to the floor,” he commanded. “Right now. Move!”
She made sure to stick her rump up high for him, but also to reach for the sopping, stretched hoodie to put under her smirking, drooling face, so she could have something to smell, something to lick on as he continued with maximum speed and power. Like a cummy security blanket.
“I’m hoooome!” sang a drawling voice from down the hallway. Shoes got kicked off, keys tossed. Bangles jangled and stilted breaths grew closer, humming or chanting some poppy song, peppered with the noises of wet gum chewing. Robert grabbed a clump of blond hair.
Mae-Lynn was only partially able to bring her beet-red, cherub-cheeked face up to greet her sister with a half-smile, full-fucked. “Hi, guys!” Emily said, looking at the two of them appreciatively, and gave a boob-jiggling thumbs-up after pulling out a wedgie. “Nice to see my hot little faves prayin’ all cute an’ innocent-like!”
She wriggled out of a gold, white and too-tight leotard, sloughing sweat onto the floor from between a pair of gigantic naked udders. “Welp, looks like it’s my last day at the office,” she said, fake-ashamed. Kneeling down, she presented her chest to Mae-Lynn.
“But my slutty little sister knows just how to make me relax, now doesn’t she?” Mae-Lynn immediately motorboated her, tonguing each nipple with equal attention, getting grabby. “Yes she does,” she cooed, closing her eyes.
Robert pulled out and hopped off the bed. “What do you mean, what happened today at work?” He sounded worried, but just the same stuck his schlong right into her mouth.
Her big lips were hanging open with surprise and slathered with some kind of new bright orange hue, with rainbow sparkles. It was a mouth that was just too hot not to fuck right away.
Emily tried to talk around his dick, but gave up and started to more appropriately do her dutiful thing. “Today’s the day—” he said, enjoying a nice BJ for a change. She’d only given him two that morning.
“She’s leaving. Remember?” He was now fucking her sister with a big pink dildo that was on her side of the bed, emphasizing on an upthrust who he was talking about. “She ain’t gon’ work her country magic any, uh, long—er,” he said, confident. He shoved the monster-sized toy deeper up the ultra-curvy country magician.
His girlfriend spat his dick out. His dick spat in her eye. She rubbed it off, sucking it off her finger like it was brownie batter. “Honey, listen. About that...” She pulled him close to her by the crotch, beginning a measured, even titwank. “Sis, just one li’l sec, mmkay?”
Mae-Lynn fell onto her back and fucked herself silly on her sister’s bed. Emily worked her jumbo jugs around her man’s dick so well that he finished up within seconds. She hunched her shoulders and squeezed her sticky twosome together, pulling off a bright orange scrunchie and letting a big curly head of bright red hair tumble out of a rowdy ponytail.
Her sister, sniffing it out, began to lap up the salty quarts he’d expended in her cleavage. “Sweetie, please!” Mae-Lynn acquiesced and switched over to the rim of Robert’s cock, cleaning what was left of his load with her mouth. Emily glared at her, then shrugged her shoulders, guiding her sister’s head down.
“Okay... remember when you done sat there an’ said it would prolly be aight if I hooked up on the clock with that nerdy tattooed chick from receivin’?” He nodded dumbly, happy to brew up a new batch of cum so quickly, content in the bunk knowledge that Mae-Lynn needed it because she was just another outsmarted dumb-dumb broad.
“And remember how you tole yours truly that this here one-piece’d be jus’ fine to wear into work, especially if I went commando, ah-cuz they wouldn’t be no vizzy-bill panty lines?” He grunted, nodding again. He kept nodding because Mae-Lynn really knew how to suck some cock. The stupid slut.
Emily peeled off the rest of the leotard, kicking it off her ankles, and sat behind her sister, legs wrapped around her cushiony hips. “Well, you were wrong. I totally got fired.” He didn’t apologize. He didn’t see the need. He was a man. “An’ to be totally frankfurter with ya, I knew I would be. But that’s okay...”
He didn’t want to hear her. He couldn’t. He could feel a powerful orgasm build from deep in his balls, a fresh round as if he hadn’t just ejaculated five minutes before. Still, some of her words got in the way and kept him from shooting off just yet. Dumb slut...
“... an’ everything’ll be so good there. We just thought we had to show you, that you needed to know that yore just as much of a dumb slut as we is. None of us is able to make decisions. It’s best to just leave that shit to Brittany. ‘swhy I done took it upon myself to change our names already, Beau-Bob.”
She winked at him. Mae-Lynn cooed and burbled on his twitching dick in support. “And you’ll be... Emmy-Lula?” She nodded, pursing her lips, crying tears of joy. “Just like in our dreams,” she sighed.
Part of him had been hoping that something like this would happen. Part of him was looking forward to starting anew in some hot new real American life in Cherub Cove. But part of him... “What about... my sister?” Her name escaped him. “Vuh.. virgin...”
“If we leave today, we ain’t gotta worry none about her. She’ll be fine leadin’ her dumb borin’ life...” Mae-Lynn kept bobbing with vigor as her sister flicked on the TV. A commercial for Angelwear medicated miniskirts had just ended, and an E! True Hollywood Story had come back.
THICK COUNTRY SLUTS was the title card. Mae-Lynn wasn’t phased by the sound of her own voice coming from the screen. She didn’t stop sucking when an image of herself gabbed on, go-go in a mesh cow print teddy, hair done up in corn rows, while Lady Glorious blew big bubble after big bubble beside her.
“Well, I guess, like, it all started this one day when we didn’t quite know full well that y’all had this awesome Christian way of livin’ out here in church country,” she said, constantly checking to make sure her boobs looked good.
“We was in the record shop and I ‘member bein’ just like, what the hell happened to my girl, right? Cuz she had beautiful friggin’ titties and you know, that classic cherub ass and at the time, like, I thought she was the weird-lookin’ one, can you believe ‘at?”
She shook her head, embarrassed. “Yeah,” her voluptuous, totally nude counterpart took over. Her body was painted with an American flag. “I thought she was, like, totally boring as shit. I was like, where the curves at, honey? She tried to pretend like she didn’t want to be saved. ...She was a cute heathen, I’ll give her that much. Kinda cute-ugly, for a hipster-y girl, y’know?”
“When did you know you wanted to start a band with her?” a male interviewer seated rather closely in front of them, with long hair and a broad unclothed chest, asked, “before or after she got this fine-ass blessed body?”
He rubbed where Mae-Lynn’s two shiny thighs stuck together, while twisting one of her bandmate’s nipples. Lady Glorious’ glossy lips leaked madly as she tried to think. “I’m sorry, but—what’d you say ‘bout my booty?” ...
“Hello?” a voice called from down the hall. “Is anybody home?” Beau-Bob bucked, seconds from dazzling his girlfriend’s sister with a hot mess of splooge. “Shh!” he said, pulling her head off his bone. “I think I hear something!” Emmy-Lula and Mae-Lynn shot “now or never” glances at each other.
Emmy-Lula was jealous and knelt down beside her sister on the bed, to bounce with her and share some cock. But not before turning up the TV to distract her big dumb man. “No, honey, nobody’s there. Your skinny little sister’s in Indiana with the Indians, remember?”
Keys jingled ever closer, steps trudged along the carpet apprehensively. Emmy-Lula and Mae-Lynn took turns blowing Beau-Bob, trading off every five seconds. He was sure someone had come into the apartment, but his sluts had kept him on his back, distracting him with their expert slobbering.
“Hey you guys, I decided to come home a few days—” Virginia stood stock still, taken aback with a look of horrified surprise at the sight of her brother with about thirty new pounds of muscle mass, being sucked off by a chubby bundle of soft tits and big fat asscheeks. “Emily, is that you?!”
Beau-Bob couldn’t take it. He jizzed all over his sister’s face.
“She can be Ginny,” Mae-Lynn immediately said, zipping up the girl’s semen-drenched sweatshirt after putting it on and getting up to greet her by grabbing her by the hair and smooshing her worried face right into her own pillowy white cows.
Beau-Bob’s sister passed out in them instantly. He bristled, resigning himself to the notion that she’d live wherever his bimbos lived, talked the way the way they talked, fuck whoever and however they fucked... Sure, then. She’d be Ginny now. Okay.
And Ginny would grow litter-ready hips, swerve around town with those famous cherub thighs so creamy, accomodating and inviting. She’d get the beauty mark, the enormous veiny udders, the two plump asscheeks twice the size of her head.
By the time her buck teeth came in, she’d be so far gone from the girl he grew up with that it wouldn’t even matter. Whatever.
The Thick Country Sluts will continue to record and play shows until they feel they’ve reached as many listeners as Brittany needs them to, continuing to go on low-key missionary trips to loved ones and family members during any downtime.
It takes some work, but they’re grateful for every opportunity that passes their way. “We make music for one reason and one reason only: because we want to change people’s lives forever. We want our songs to give you hot glowin’ feelings that transform you and really take you to another kinda place!“