This is a brief sample from “A Family Condition”; the full 46,000 word story is available on Smashword and Payhip.
Pedro brought Vikki to Balotelli’s studio every Tuesday, then every Tuesday and Thursday, documenting the progress of her belly. She understood Balotelli now, she believed, and she responded as much to his eyes as his hands when he directed her movements. There was an easy flow to the sessions, a lot like the flow she shared in bed with Sally. She could anticipate his requests, but she didn’t move from one pose to the next too quickly; she teased the transitions, letting a dip of the shoulder or the movement of her fingers across her growing tummy hint at the changes to come.
Vikki saw some of the photographs when they arrived at Pedro’s office in powder blue envelopes tied down with red thread. Once she walked in on Pedro standing with his back to the office door, trousers loose around his waist, with a set of her photographs arrayed across his desk: black and white and glossy, her face and legs hidden in shadows and her belly a bright moon rising out of the night with a hint of deeper darkness in the shadow below its swell. Pedro looked over his shoulder at her, red faced, and hurriedly zipped his trousers and moved around the desk, hiding the telltale bulge beneath his fly. Vikki had merely smiled and sat heavily in the chair, resting her hands on her belly.
She didn’t know what became of the photographs, or how many were printed. While she had no trouble finding the videotapes and stills from her earlier work, gathering dust in the bargain bins at A1 Entertainment, Discrete Video, and other adult shops near her apartment, with new releases with other stars sitting bright and shiny on the racks by the registers. She never saw any pictures like what Balotelli sent to Pedro at any shop, and there were only a handful of pregnancy videos — “Preggo Poppers”, “Stuffed and Creamed”, “Baby Mama Booty” — at the places that carried her old tapes, all with the skank factor cranked to overdrive. But Pedro must have been selling them somehow, to someone, because every time she came to his office he handed her a roll of bills, and every week the rolls were a little thicker.
One sunny, warm May afternoon, when Pedro brought Vikki upstairs to Balotelli’s studio, she found the photographer stalking in his predatory circles around a man seated where Vikki usually posed. He was broad shouldered, with rope-like muscles under his ebony skin, head shaved smooth as a marble ball. The man was in repose, leaning back on one elbow among the white sheets, and from between his tree-trunk legs rose a cock that looked like a monolith designed for pagan worship. As soon as she caught sight of its veiny shaft and dark velvet head, Vikki wanted to fall on her knees in exultant devotion to its majesty.
“Oh my god,” Vikki whispered, her jaw slack. The sudden tingle in her pussy reminded her that she hadn’t been fucked by a cock since her gangbang series with Wolfgang ended, and even then she couldn’t recall being fucked by a cock like the one on display now. She loved her tumbles with Sally, and Sally’s fingers, tongue, and toys were delightful indeed, but there was something about the real thing — the throbbing pulse and silky thrust of a cock driven by a man overcome with lust — that no toy could possibly recreate.
And this cock — this cock was on par with Gunnar Hawk’s. It was a cock for the ages.
“Do you remember the pictures I showed you on your first visit to me?” Pedro whispered in her ear. He stood behind her, hands on her waist, and she could feel his bulge through his slacks pressing into the small of her back. Vikki leaned back against him, transferring her lust for the penis before her to the one behind. “I asked if you could be the beautiful woman in the photos, astride the powerful shaft? Do you remember?”
“I do,” Vikki said. The man on the cushion looked straight ahead — she couldn’t tell if he was unaware or indifferent — fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft. Balotelli knelt beside him, holding the camera lens close to the cock’s head, from which trickled the tiniest, glistening thread.
“Can you be that woman now? Today?” Pedro asked. He had his hands on Vikki’s belly, pulling her against him. “Can you make beautiful art with Magnus Slade?”
Oh, Vikki thought, I can make some beautiful fucking art with that cock — I can make it paint the fucking Mona Lisa on my tits after it plows me silly!
“Yes,” she said, “I think … I know … yes, I can …”
Balotelli stood, his hand on the man’s — Magnus Slade’s — shoulder, and beckoned Vikki to approach. On unsteady legs, she covered the space between the door and cushion, a few feet that felt like miles. The man looked up then, a broad smile crossing his face and igniting his eyes; Vikki had never seen such kind and welcoming eyes.
While Magnus lifted her shirt and pressed his hands to her belly, Balotelli began his slow circuit around the couple. Vikki pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, and Magnus ran strong but tender fingers all over the heavy dome of her tummy. He pressed lips, hot and soft, red as blood, to her navel and cupped the curve of her with his palms.
Vikki’s knees quivered, and she almost toppled over; Magnus held her up with one hand while tugging at her panties with the other, pulling the soft cotton over her ass and revealing the dense tangle of her bush — it had become increasingly difficult to keep things groomed, even with Sally’s occasional help, and she had decided to let her garden grow wild. Magnus tugged at her abundant curls and licked his way through them, humming with pleasure. Sally pressed her hands against his scalp, surprised at the ridges and bumps beneath the smooth skin, and leaned against Magnus, eyes closed and face slack with ecstasy.
Balotelli circled them, hunting for angles and views, silently stalking their passion, but Vikki paid no attention. All that existed was Magnus: his fingers stroking inside her thighs and up to her hips, his tongue circling her clit, his breath hot on her delicate skin. He took her hair between his teeth and tugged, and the little jolt of pain delighted and aroused her, eliciting an involuntary gasp and moan.
Magnus worshipped Vikki’s heavy belly with fingers and lips.
When Vikki thought she might explode from the pleasure of his hands and mouth on her, Magnus suddenly sat up straight and turned her, hands on the globes of her ass. She bent over double when his face dove between the cheeks and his tongue flicked out against her lips, pulling down her hot nectar with each rasping stroke of his tongue. Vikki groaned and opened her eyes; across the room sat Pedro, trousers bunched around his ankles, shirt unbuttoned to bare his chest and belly, and his hard cock in his fist, unashamedly stroking himself with wide eyes and slack jaw. Vikki smiled at him and felt an extra surge of delight.
Magnus pulled his face away and guided Vikki into a squat above his cock. She was afraid she would topple over, unbalanced by the burden of her belly, but Magnus kept his steady hands on her until she hovered above his shaft. She could sense its twitching desire beneath her, could feel the longing in his hands as he draw her back and down, and then reached between his legs to aim his rigid shaft toward her entrance.
Vikki let out a long, low groan as the velvety head parted her lips and the vein-wrapped shaft followed it into her depths. She settled herself onto Magnus’s lap, arms wrapped below her belly, and she fell back against him, head falling onto his shoulder.
Magnus fucked her slowly, gently, guiding her hips in a gentle rhythm. He spread his knees and pulled her thighs wide, then brought a hand below her heavy belly to explore the forest of tangled hair and seek the throbbing bud at the apex of her labia. Vikki came almost immediately at his touch, letting out a cry and a stream of nectar that splashed against his leg, and yet he continued to fuck her with a steady pace, keeping her balanced on the edge of continuous climax.
He signaled his own climax with a gasp, and a gentle nip at her neck. Vikki felt the warm jet of cum against her cervix, the throb of his shaft expanding in her channel, the tight grip of his fingers into her hips as he came, legs shuddering. She looked down, pulling her hair aside to see his shaft quiver between her lips with a curtain of pearly essence sliding down his length. Vikki felt her cunt clench around his cock, and she shook as her orgasm took her once again.
Magnus guided her gently to her side, pulling free as she slid to the sheets, and wrapped his arms around her body. While Magnus kissed her shoulders and nuzzled her back, she watched Pedro release against his bare stomach, eyes closed and jaw tense. She sighed and stretched, warmth flowing through her limbs, and let her belly rest against the cushions.