SRU The Cure
- 1 year ago
- 16
- 0
The Cure free porn video
Contents: Nudity, situational weirdness, and drug use are
depicted. Don't like? Don't read.
[Begun 0046 04 December 2000,inspired by some particular images
depicted in stories by another writer. This piece is not a part
of the Fantasy Life continuity; it is a standalone that has no
bearing on any of my other work. I have an idea, I'm going to run
with it and see what happens. Maybe you'll like it. If you're
under eighteen, you'll have to wait to find out. Note that this
is not my first story, nor do I specialize solely in writing.
The Cure
By Ukio379
([email protected])
I slipped the jeans over my hairless calves, up my thighs... and
cursed loudly as they refused to move any further, caught under
the cleft of my broad, rounded ass. My cheeks jiggled as I
struggled in frustration, leaning backwards to balance the weight
of my belly as I tugged, strained, cursed, willed the jeans to
fit. After a minute of protracted effort, I let them fall to the
floor and stepped out of them, kicking them into the steadily
growing pile of clothing that would need replacing... and soon.
The kick threw me off balance and I fell forward, the heavy
weight of my belly pulling me down, the room tilting as the floor
rushed up at me. I thrust my arms out just in time, catching my
weight as I fell to my knees with a yelp. The stalk of my navel
brushed the floor, a ripple of sensation crawling over my skin.
The thick finger of flesh vibrated like a tuning fork as it
cleared the carpet, evening out to level as I thrust my weight
upward and back, heaving my quivering flesh into a standing
position.
I felt my hands creeping forward, rubbing my belly, and homing in
on that sensitive protrusion of their own volition. I willed
myself to stop, to break contact, deliberately placing my hands
at the base of my spine, atop the crest of my full rear end. I
caught a glimpse of my body in the mirror and turned away, still
in denial, still unwilling to accept the obvious... that
something irreversible, something completely impossible, had
happened.
The cure, they say, can be worse than the disease...
I'm beginning to believe them.
If I'd listened, I might be singing a different song, but
considering the alternatives, I don't know... The jury is still
out.
I have... I had, a really bad case of genital warts. Itchy,
crusty, ugly as you can imagine, the unfortunate result of a
drunken bender at the end of finals week two semesters ago, a
fling with a woman of dubious nature and non-existent hygiene. I
was drunk, completely beyond rational thought, and I haven't seen
her since. Probably for good reason.
I didn't notice at first, which was a good thing, I guess, as I
didn't have a girlfriend at the time. But a few weeks before the
end of last semester, my cock began to itch uncontrollably.
Erections became painful, and I was scratching so much that
sensitive areas were beginning to bleed. The swelling and
disfigurement were disgusting, enough to put me off my lunch and
completely kill my social life.
I was busy, I had studies to keep up in and no medical insurance,
no reasonable recourse for treating a condition that was rapidly
becoming an embarrassment.
Then Steve entered the picture.
Steve was my dealer, and like any good customer, I kept in fairly
close contact with him, keeping appraised of his inventory and
the market rate for the various spectra of pharmaceuticals that
had taken my interest. I met him for lunch in the midst of a
flare-up, and the constant, uncontrollable itching had gotten to
me. It was Steve, so he wouldn't care. So I went to it, slipping
my hand inside my jeans and scratching for relief. Steve ignored
it.
Until I finished, and my hand came away, fingernails crusted in
blood. His eyes widened as he leaned back, pulling his drink
close to him, away from me.
"Shit dude, what the fuck happened to you?!" Shock, curiosity,
not a tinge of concern in his voice. "You bust a sleeve on some
beast?"
"Something like that," I grumbled through a deep blush, avoiding
his gaze.
"Fuck, why haven't you gotten that shit taken care of? No
coverage?"
"Heh." I nodded. "Not that I'd want the shit deal the school
offers. The work deal is a fucking joke... I figured if I played
it safe, well..."
"Safe my ass," Steve replied, "Look, Chuck, I actually give a
shit about you, you're one of my best customers. You have got to
get that cleaned up!" He pushed his drink to the side of the
table, clearly put off his lunch.
"With what?" I snapped back at him, "Conventional shit doesn't do
a damned thing for it, and nothing off the shelf is going to put
a dent in this. You got any ideas?"
I itched again at the outside of my jeans, wiping the blood on
the inside of my shirt, under my jacket. I took a gulp of my
coffee and stared at him over crossed arms.
"Fuck ideas, I got connections," Steve grinned, "How much you
got?" He raised his eyebrows, grinning through coffee-stained
teeth.
"If I put you on hold, I'm sitting on two hundred. Cash."
"Any plans within the next couple of hours?"
"Class."
"Fuck class, we're going to get you cleaned up. C'mon."
Steve stood, zipping his tattered leather jacket and shouldering
his bag as he kicked his chair into place. He cocked his head in
the direction of the parking lot, gesturing for me to follow.
And why not, really? I hated chemistry anyway...
...although if I'd paid attention and asked the right questions
in class, I might not be in this predicament now. The jeans
weren't cutting it, my hips were far too wide. Even if they
weren't, my ass stuck out way too far for any of my thirty-sixes
to do me any good.
Thankfully, medium sized underwear is elastic enough to cover my
new endowments. Forest green boxer-briefs slid up my smooth legs
and stretched tightly, so taught I could see my skin through
them. My ass was covered, and it felt better to have some
support, my large backside packed into cloth that was clearly not
designed for such proportions.
The door rattled again as Jake knocked at it, worried.
"Hey dude, did ja die? Coming out any time soon?"
"Something like that," I muttered under my breath, not surprised
at my voice, two octaves higher than it had been at lunch.
I rubbed the flap of fabric that hung loose and unused at my
groin, my hands stroking slowly upward, massaging the stalk of my
navel. I could feel it swell and grow firmer under my fingers,
the sensation tightening my skin, blood rushing in my ears.
I had to stop, my bottom was clothed, but I had to see about the
rest of me. I sat down heavily on my bed, leaning awkwardly
forward, my heavy breasts sliding along the great shelf of my
belly. I put on socks and slipped into my jogging shoes. At least
my feet were still the same size.
If I'd followed the instructions, the rest of me would be as
well. Funny how things work out like that sometimes...
"Look, it's not that complicated," A dark, suit-and-sunglasses
type identified by Steve as "Roy, a biomedical reseller", told me
between even teeth. "This is a military-grade rejuvenator. The
technology is out of circulation because it's a little sensitive,
but you look smart enough to handle it."
"Thanks."
I adjusted my glasses and stared closely at 'this', what looked
to be an Atropine injector with a short needle and a rather
strange-looking backend. It was filled with a reddish fluid that
glinted strangely under the dim light of the back alley.
"So how do I handle it?" I stroked my chin, the wad of bills in
my hand subtly brushing the black stubble of last weeks shave.
Roy noticed immediately, and turned his attention upon me, Steve
stepping off to the side. I dimly registered the clicking of a
lighter, cigarette smoke wafting between us as the suit gave me
the rundown, the cylinder held in his palm, partway up his
sleeve.
"This is easy. Stick an old piece of your body containing your
DNA in the hopper at the end and let it dissolve. A hair will do,
since it's dead material anyway, and yours is long enough- cut
one in half and use the end. A tooth, if you have one lying
around, would work faster. Draw a bath- fill the tub so that
you'll be covered- and strip down. Do not bathe- don't use soap,
don't use shampoo, don't contaminate the water. Inject this, "
Roy tapped the cylinder against his thigh, "and toss the cylinder
over the edge. Got it so far?"
I nodded, it seemed simple enough.
"Okay. This thing is going to take about four hours to work it's
magic on you. In that time, do not leave the tub. Don't bathe,
don't jack off, don't take a drink, and don't do anything. Sit
there and daydream. Your DNA will be completely rewritten with
the old sample, and whatever problems you have," he glanced down,
smirked slightly, "will go away."
He stared at me from behind his sunglasses for a moment tapping
the cylinder against his thigh. "Do we have a deal?"
I thought about it for a moment. I was skeptical, but a burning
resurgence of itching from my genitalia made the decision for me.
"I believe so," I told him, offering my hand in a shake, bills
pressed between fingers.
As I slid the cylinder into my jacket pocket, Steve motioning
towards the car. As I turned, Roy cleared his throat. I looked
over my shoulder at the impassive suit, raised an eyebrow.
"Remember this. No refunds, no guarantees, no word of this to
anyone. Not even this man." He indicated Steve with a stiff jerk
of his head, "Follow the instructions and don't try to contact
me. Your mileage may vary."
May vary indeed. I heaved myself to my feet, breasts, belly,
navel and ass bouncing around me. I spread my legs wide, allowing
the broad underside of my swollen abdomen to press down, the
tight band of my briefs cutting into me as I adjusted to the
weight. I ran my hands through long, curly black hair, pulling it
back from my face, as I looked around the wreck of my room, in
search of a shirt, something that would cover me.
Another glance at the mirror, at that massive protruding navel. I
couldn't see it with my own eyes, as it was just under my new
horizon. Maybe a button-down, if it would fit. A T-shirt, if all
else failed. I stared at my reflection, at my curly hair,
cherubic nose, my full, feminine lips... I could pass for
Sandra's sister, easily. My own family wouldn't recognize me,
save for cheekbones, my gray eye, and attached earlobes.
Or, they might ask me when I met myself, and why didn't I tell
them I had knocked myself up and when was I going to give birth?
Maybe not...
I swayed; stalk twanging off the back of my chair. The sharp
burst of pleasure broke me out of my stupor. Back to work it was
time to find a shirt in this mess.
I wonder if I'll have to shave my legs...
Steve dropped me near the house I was renting with Jake, an
Industrial Design Technology student at the local trade school.
As Steve screamed away in his Rabbit, I rounded the corner, the
two blocks home melting away as I contemplated the impending
restoration of my sanity and my sex life.
I scratched vigorously at my crotch as I keyed the door, slamming
it behind me as I entered the house. I threw my jacket at the
couch as I slid the injector into my shirt pocket, and sprinted
up to my room to collect clean clothing and a towel. The bathroom
door was closed, water running. Jake was in class, so the logical
occupant was his girlfriend Sandra, eight months pregnant with
someone else's child.
I popped down to the work area for the scissors, and snipped off
several strands of hair just above mid-length. I halved them
again, and pushed the biomass into the butt end of the cylinder.
I held it to the window for a moment, watching the strands
dissolve inside the solution. So far, so good... at least that
much of it was legit. Time to evict whoever was in the bathroom
for a few hours.
The high-pitched scream that ripped through my eardrums as I
raised my hand to knock on the door confirmed this. I knocked,
inquiring as to the situation. A second later the door opened on
Sandra, bloody razor in hand, a shocked look on her pale face,
towel on the floor, her large breasts resting atop her largely
pregnant belly... I kept my eyes sweeping down to avoid the
implications of staring at my roommate's beautiful girlfriend...
and that's when I realized the source of the outburst.
Sandra had cut herself shaving. Strike that- gauged might be a
better word for it. Bright red blood ran down the outside of her
left thigh in rivulets, dripping off of her knee and splattering
against the bathroom tile.
"Chuck!" She squealed, her shocked voice bursting forth from her
full lips, "Do something!" She swept her curly hair back, out her
eyes and promptly dropped the razor into the bathtub, sitting
down heavily on the toilet. "It won't stop bleeding!"
Sandra was pretty, but she wasn't exactly renowned for possessing
quick wits. She hadn't been here many times, and obviously didn't
know where the medicine cabinet was. She blithered on about being
in a hurry for work and various other things that escaped my
notice as I opened the medicine cabinet, removed what I needed,
and guided her to place her leg over the tub.
She complied, cognizant enough to grab her towel and cover
herself in the process. I hosed the gash with hydrogen peroxide,
and then went after it with handfuls of water from the tub,
washing it clean, assessing the damage. A typical razor wound-
not too deep, but very bloody and quite painful. I did my best to
clean the wound, deliberately brushing my forearm against her
firm belly as many times as I could without arousing her
suspicion. Her navel was flush with her skin, had yet to pop
outward like it did with most women at her stage of the
pregnancy.
I wrapped the wound in gauze and surgical tape, admiring the lean
musculature of her legs. "That should do."
As I waddled a step closer to the mirror. Not a trace of facial
hair... no stubble... no sign that any had even grown on my face
at all...
I made a point to select a fresh razor from the medicine cabinet
as I applied shaving foam to my face, rubbing it over my chin and
upper lip. If I couldn't wash while I was doing this, I wanted to
get the details out of the way. It kept both of my hands busy,
away from the throbbing pain between my legs. I thought about
eighties hair bands, about report cards, about the fat slob lab
monitor that trundled around with a bucket of friend chicken...
Anything to distract me from the image of Sandra's naked body.
I finished quickly and washed my face, running my hands through
my short, straight black hair, admiring my clean visage in the
mirror. I made sure my towel was within reach of the tub, and
proceeded to disrobe. As I bent forward to place the cylinder on
the soap rack, I heard a clink: looking down, I realized I had
knocked a glass of milk into the tub.
What the fuck?
Then I noticed the half-eaten sandwich on the radiator. Sandra
had taken a short lunch while she was in the bath. I rolled my
eyes as I picked the cup and the razor out of the tub, tossing
the bloody blade into the trash. It takes all kinds.
I drew water, letting the tub fill slightly to wash out any trace
of blood or milk before I set the plug and let the thing fill
with warm water. I took off my jeans and shirt, left my glasses
on the sink and finally removed my boxer-briefs, diverting my
gaze from the burning mess of my groin.
This had better fucking work! I thought as I lowered myself
slowly into the tub, the hot water aggravating my situation to a
new high. I bit my lip to ward off the pain, wishing we still had
aspirin in the house. I drew the shower curtain and lay back,
watching the water rise around me.
I rubbed a sore spot on my thigh as I spied a long sleeved white
work shirt atop my dresser. I twisted sideways to pick it up, as
reaching straight out in front of me would have resulted in
stimulation that I was desperately trying to avoid. I pulled the
shirt up over my arms, looking down at my soft hands as I did up
the first two buttons easily. The third was a bit of a strain,
falling at the broadest part of my full tits. The fourth was a
breeze, the fifth a tight fit... the sixth even tighter, a gab
appearing between the two buttons, the skin of my belly showing
through. The seventh proved impossible.
I waddled over to the mirror- three long, ponderous steps, and
took a look at myself. The shirt split wide open a quarter of the
way down my belly, falling out, curving over the sides of the
giant sphere of flesh, the tails hanging even with my hips. Far
too revealing...
I attacked the buttons in a rush, ripping the shirt away from me
as I looked about for a T-shirt, preferably something that wasn't
semi-transparent. As I waddled towards the closet, arms thrown
out to my sides for balance, I felt a fleeting sensation, a
phantom itch from between my legs...
I grunted as I thrust the cylinder into my thigh. It hurt, but
the sensation paled in comparison to its intended target. I
watched as the thing did its work, slamming the reddish fluid
into my body within a second. As per instruction, I tossed the
expended injector onto the bathroom floor and lay back, immersed
in water.
The burning sensation about the injection point began to spread
quickly, washing over my body and rippling with feverish
intensity. My face, above the water, began to sweat. I twitched a
couple of times, taking deep breaths to calm myself.
The twitching passed, and I quickly adapted to the burning
sensation, blending it into the water as it covered my entire,
rising in its intensity. I closed my eyes and drifted, enthralled
with the realization that this was no placebo.
Almost immediately, the maddening itching around my cock
subsided, melding into the heat that covered my body. I reached
down and touched myself. The skin felt loose, flaky... useless. I
tugged experimentally and was delighted to feel the corrupted
flesh give way, dissolving between my fingers as it dissipated
into the water. The flesh below felt new, healthy... and whole.
I opened my eyes and looked down; giving my cock the first
serious stare it had gotten in a long time. The warts and the
skin around them, the corrupted, disgusting flesh, was boiling
away, molting like a snake. Within minutes, the only trace of
that horrid itching inconvenience was my own memory.
For the first time in over a month, I felt myself without pain. I
stroked, tugged, massaged... enjoying the feeling of true skin,
infinitely preferable to the rough sandpaper of moments past. I
began to think of Sandra, my member springing to attention within
my encircling fingers.
Then I remembered the instructions, and four hours started to
sound like a very, very long time.
I relaxed, hands at my sides, eyes closed, and tried to think of
something else. My mind refused to do anything of the sort,
fixated on the fresh, clean rush of blood through my engorged
member, on Sandra's naked belly, on how I was going to get Steve
SO fucking drunk the next time I saw him...
Testosterone will rationalize anything. After what felt like a
million years of keeping my hands clear of myself, I couldn't
take it any more. The thing, whatever was in it, had clearly done
its job, and the job wanted a test drive to make sure everything
still worked. The heat had subsided to a dull rush, which could
have quite easily been the hot water of the tub. It had been
nearly half an hour with no other sensation or adjustment-
everything seemed fine.
Fuck, I was in the tub; I didn't have to worry about making a
mess. I let my mind wander and went to town. I imagined Sandra
coming home, horny as hell, Jake elsewhere for whatever reason.
The girl slept around with whoever, whenever, whatever. She was
up front about it and had been with Jake for the past couple of
months because he had a fetish for pregnant girls... and he had
beaten me to the punch.
I sat up briefly, head spinning with the sudden shift of height,
and twisted the water up, the showerhead on. I lied back again,
warm water washing over my body as I continued to let my mind
wander, hand happy to be doing what it did best. Sandra in bed...
in a hot tub... skinny dipping... Sitting on my face... pressing
against me...
I felt myself building, a burning sensation blossoming deep
within my scrotum as I released. Semen exploded from long-unused
testes, spraying out into the tub, covering my belly, filling the
depression of my navel as I dropped back with relief. My hands
fell to my sides as blackness tunneled up around me, collapsing
against my eyes with a dull thud, a brief spark of pain as what
had to have been my skull bounced against the porcelain...
I rubbed the back of my head with my left hand, trying to find a
knot that I knew didn't exist. I was remarkably free of scars,
markings, bruises and scabs... Even the spider tattoo on the
inside of my left calf was gone. No headache, no body hair... and
the jury was still out on the most dramatic changes down below.
I grabbed the biggest T-shirt I could see, a tent-like white
Front 242 shirt that I had purchased some time ago, a double
extra large. I pulled it over my head and tugged it down, over my
breasts and across my belly. The shirt fell easily down my back,
stopping at the flare of my hips, where my rump began to really
take shape. I pulled at the sized, coaxing the shirt down over
the curve of my bulging midsection. It went down easily enough,
with a bit of effort.
I was getting ready to celebrate being passably clothed when a
ripple of intense pleasure hit me, coruscating outward from my
belly and washing through me, leaving my spine tingling, a
strange dampness between my legs. The hem had hit the thick,
sensitive stalk of my navel, and wasn't about to move any
further.
Back to the mirror. I revisited my reflection, that of a hugely
pregnant woman with a ridiculously huge belly button. This woman
was clad in jogging shoes, men's underwear and a big T-shirt that
hung in loose folds about her arms, fit her buxom chest snugly,
and stretched to transparency over the vast wide dome of her pale
belly, barely covering half of it. Her face, full lips, button
nose, gray eyes and shoulder length tangles of curly black hair,
held a perpetually bemused expression. The shirt would have to do
for the moment- it was the biggest top I owned.
I caressed my belly as I stared at myself, wondering what I would
do next. How I would move on, how I would start my life over
after this. The shock was beginning to wear off, and I had some
thinking to do...
I drifted out of blackness slowly, feeling bloated and heavy,
sluggish and... I should have felt wet, but the emptiness between
my legs caught my attention first. I opened my eyes and sat up,
or rather, tried to.
I didn't know what to think.
Between the strands of long, curly black hair that hung down over
my eyes, I looked down upon a body that couldn't have been
mine... yet was. I could feel the cold bathtub surface on the
sides of the knees, the bottoms of the feet, and it felt like so
much more underneath me. I fixated, staring at the large breasts,
the huge areola and immensely thick nipples that capped them...
And the belly. That's when I made the first connection.
I had a huge, massive, heavy belly pressing into my thighs,
filling the space beneath these tits and above my... vagina. I
touched this huge expanse of flesh experimentally, amazed at the
sensation I felt within, the stretch of nerves over what was,
undeniably, my immense belly. I slid my hands down, amazed at the
smoothness of my skin, feeling underneath as I lay back, the
heavy weight pressing into me, holding me against the tub bottom
as my breasts slid off to either side, bouncing gently. They were
so huge...
My fingers met the juncture of my thighs, coming upon smooth
flesh, a perfect, hairless vagina. My cock was gone.
I laughed, realizing that the contents of the cylinder had done
the job; my disease had left. And taken my cock with it.
Well now.
It was a dream. Had to be.
My hands moved up, across the underside of my belly as I
struggled to sit up. I scooted my rump across the tub by pushing
my legs against the far end, though I didn't get very far. My
thighs refused to close, unable to pass the weight of my belly
bearing down on them. I attained a sitting position, barely.
And my hands met my navel, fingertips barely touching it as I
stretched to my fullest extent. Something was off. It felt like
an outie, which made sense, but it felt like too much of an
outie. I couldn't see it. For that I was going to need a mirror.
Which was going to require standing up...
Getting to my room had been a bitch. Standing up, figuring out my
new center of gravity, stepping onto the digital scale and
hearing the thing blurt out "Two Seventy Three" had been
something of a shock. I'd gone into the bath at one sixty, quite
a gain.
I glanced in the bathroom mirror. My face was also something of a
shock, which formed the second connection. I looked a lot like
Sandra. Not completely, I had her nose, lips, hair, and her
softer skin. Something must have happened when I came... some
sort of reaction between whatever was coursing through my veins
and the traces of her blood left in the tub. At least I retained
my six feet of height, Sandra was a full foot shorter than me,
the crown of her head barely even with the mirror I was staring
into.
I walked, make that waddled, into my room, where I rehashed the
situation as I thought about finding some clothing to cover my
naked body. I closed the bedroom door, coming face to face with
the full-length mirror bolted to the back, and finally realizing
the extent of my new body.
My ass was huge; this much was obvious, as I was turned sideways
to close the door. It stuck out a good six inches from the base
of my spine, accompanied by hips that were a good deal wider than
my shoulders, which hadn't changed a bit. My legs were a bit more
muscular, and my arms were the same, less the coils of veins that
had traced up them the morning before.
No trace of an Adams apple, either. My body looked completely
female, almost. One feature stood out to me more than the others,
something I didn't notice until I backed away for a good look at
my full, rounded form.
My navel was enormous. It was ridiculous, a towering stalk just
out of my reach, at least an inch and a half in diameter. It
stuck out so far that it curved downward; drooping slightly under
its own weight- it had to be at least four inches long. It looked
almost like a limp cock. I had to touch it- I found myself trying
to suck in my huge belly as I stretched my hands out to their
fullest extent. I sat down heavily on my bed, bending forward
into myself, and finally succeeded in touching it.
The results were immediate. Pleasure washed over my body,
radiating out from that thick stalk, rippling through me and over
me. I felt my nipples harden as I caressed it. I could feel it
grow rigid, becoming less rubbery and steadily harder beneath my
touch. It demanded attention- it had to be felt, be played
with... and I couldn't sate myself.
I leaned over and grabbed a pencil from my desk, used the eraser
end to flick at my navel, thrilling at the sensation as the stalk
bounced up and down.
The sound of the front door opening snapped me out of my reverie.
Voices down below. Jake and Sandra were home.
Shit.
I heaved myself to my feet, stalk vibrating in the breeze. I
leaned over and grabbed a pair of jeans off the back of my chair.
This was going to shock the hell out of them, and I'd rather have
something on when I met them.
~Fin.
I'd like to take this story further. But here it's self-
contained, and I'm fine with that. If it's going to go anywhere
or not all depends on you, the reader: feel free to make your
opinions known! And relax- this was the equivalent of a one night
stand, and I fully intend to keep making progress on my other
projects. I've been out of it for so long that I had to do
something. If you like this, please email me: the more input I
get, the more likely it will be that there are further
installments.
Haven
- 29.12.2020
- 9
- 0
Andersonville 20 The Cure
- 3 years ago
- 23
- 0
Interview With the BimboChapter 11 The Search for a Cure
- 2 years ago
- 14
- 0
