* * *
Katy Perry had gone insane. That was the executive summary of the situation.
And not standard famous-person insane where you shave your head and shill for horrendous politicians. Regrettably, that was normal behavior for Katy Perry.
She’d gone hard insane. Deeper-than-the-deep-end insane. Double-parked-in-the-Twilight-Zone insane. Seven-beers-short-of-a-sixpack insane. All-clown-and-no-car-insane. Belfry-is-97%-bat-by-volume-and-rising insane.
Katy saw it differently: her breasts were under demonic assault by the heads of every state, every major religion, and every spy agency, who had all convened to transmit Orgonic-based death rays through the luminiferous aether of the 7th dimension directly onto her chest. It made perfect sense when you thought about it.
Katy wasn’t worried. She had a plan.
She should have. She didn’t.
* * *
The walls dripped with sweat. A heavy, rhythmic churn boiled and spat upon the stagnant air of the Montecito mansion—the sound of flesh piledriving flesh.
SQUELCH! SPLATT! SLURP! GLURPP!
“Ughhh! Arghhhh!” The boy choked in ecstasy, his toes curling on Katy’s couch.
He lay sprawled on his back on an antique Chesterfield, legs dangling over the side. Wet cracks and slaps pounded out from his genitals.
Katy Perry stood positioned between his thighs, pressing her waist against his crotch. She dangled her upper body forward, leaning over the shuddering boy. She cast a long, sinister shadow over his rippling flesh.
A shadow with absolutely colossal breasts.
The boy’s eyes bulged at the sight before him. Absurd. Just…how?
How can this be happening to me? His stare said. How can this be happening at all?
Two massive globes of bulging, steaming, sweat-slippery titflesh spewed from Katy’s chest. They lay piled over his crotch in jiggling white mountains. Her calcium cannons had tripled in size since her space voyage: ballooning to such obscene size and girth that it was hard to even see them as breasts. They were like gigantic bloated balloons, or parasitic slugs feasting on his crotch.
Katy Perry’s elbows lunged like pistons, plowing her tit-masses forward. She was a titfucking machine.
PLAPP! GLORPP! SLOSHHH! GLUBB!
Over and over, she clasped palm-flooding heaps of flesh into her hands, and then flung her tits forward.
The boy’s eyes widened as they rolled up his body—two watermelon-sized piles of blubberous tit-slop, skating a road of sweat, lube, and precum. The tit-mountains would halt, jiggling on his upper abdomen, before gravity slowly sucked them back to his crotch with a soft wet rasp.
Shhhhhhhlooooppppp
…Only for Katy to grasp, squeeze, and slam-fuck them forward again.
SHLAPP! BLORRPP! SQUISH! SHLURKKK-GLUGG!
The boy convulsed beneath her surging strokes. They were both panting. Dripping. The thermostat was cranked high, and then the dial ripped off. Katy’s sweat-drenched breasts scalded like radiators as they jolted and skidded up his body. Beads of perspiration rolled down the sides of her fuck-tanks, and down into her cleavage. Each time her breasts rolled back across his body, they dragged snail-trails of moisture behind them.
“Ugh…Katy…” His face grew hot and tight. His cock throbbed inside its fleshy prison.
She paused. Her tits bulged in her hands. “Pardon?”
“Your boobs…” The hemisphere of each globe shone like a mirror, reflecting his astonishment back at him.
“What about them? Still attached, are they?” Katy’s pretty, deranged face screwed up in annoyance.
“Yes, it’s just…they feel great…”
“Glad you approve!” she spat dryly. “I’m doing this for your personal satisfaction!”
She scooped and sculpted her globes, jiggling them in her palms. Titflesh gushed white ribbons through clenching knuckles. She cruelly twisted her freakish breast-balloons around his prick, ignoring his gasps.
Then she swung her torso lower and wriggled her shoulders, sucking his prick deeper into the musky, clinging trench of her cleavage.
She grasped. She flung. Her rack slewed forward, engulfing half his scrawny chest, and nearly yanking his prick off.
“…Now hurry up and cum, doofus!”
SQUELCH! SPLATT! SLURP! GLURPP!
He gamely tried to make conversation around the endless pounding churn of her jugs.
“Ugh…I like what you’ve done with…ugh…the place…” he said around tit-pumps, glancing at the walls and into the adjacencies. “Wait, is that an altar? Is that…ugh…blood?”
“Are you my interior decorator now?” Katy’s elbows slammed forward like pistons, propelling her greasy tit-masses forward. She pounded his cock relentlessly, a cold-eyed, steel-hearted titfucking machine. “Stop looking around at my house. I’m here to train for my battle against the forces of darkness. Which is tomorrow, if you’ve forgotten. This could be life or death for me, so I need you to FUCKING CONCENTRATE ON CUMMING!”
The boy cringed. Her boobs continued to rise and fall over his body, slithering across his skin.
“I was just trying to be friendly…”
Without missing a stroke of her tits, she leaned over him. Her eyes became suspicious curves of kohl.
“You were trying to distract me. Trying to make me fail. Who are you working for now, Terrence? The Mossad? The CIA?”
“N…nobody!”
Her tits slurped wetly, enclosing his prick like a kissing mouth.
“The Vatican? The Bilderberg Group? SMERSH? Who have you sold me out to? Spill.”
Terrence was pretty sure SMERSH was from James Bond. “No one!”
Katy shrugged, and rolled her eyes. “Wellllll…”
Her hands shook in rage… then they grasped and shotputted her tits, propelling her globes up his body so hard that they clapped at the apex of their journey. The sound cracked out like a gunshot. Her mascara’d eyes narrowed as her tit-cannons jiggled to a halt, then poured back down the slope of his body.
“…in that case, I’ll ask you to stop pretending to be paid opposition, stop pretending to sabotage me, and FOCUS on shooting your load!” She roared, blasting spittle over his terrified face.
“Yes ma’am,” he whimpered unhappily. What had he even said to piss her off? He couldn’t remember anymore.
GLUSHHH! SKLUBB! BLURRPPP! FLOPPP!
The boy writhed like a rack victim, face contorting in anguished pleasure as her tits sledgehammered against his crotch. His prick twisted back and forth inside her cleavage, every nerve sandblasted raw by endless frictioning force.
He looked down. His penis was drowning in that sea of tit-jelly. He couldn’t see it, and didn’t bother looking for it. As Katy had observed during one of their less tender moments, his equipment was somewhat moremodest than her typical choice of boytoy. Not that it mattered much—at this point, Katy had enough breast slopping from her chest to humiliate a mid-sized Qatgani saddlebred.
Katy hovered further over his body, elbows slamming like steam pistons. Her vast tit-tanks washed back and forth like ocean waves, gathering in intensity. A storm was coming in.
“Oh…ah…not so rough…!” The naked teen clenched his teeth. “Oh…ah…KATY!”
She ignored his moans. Her breath spewed the rotten-sugar stink of hot strawberry vape over his face. She sank her palms into her huge knockers, squeezed, then slung them forward.
GLORCH! SQUIPP SQURK SCHLUUURP! SCHLOOOSH!
The thick air sharpened with his grunts and bellows. He cried out like an animal under the knife, tossing his pelvic arch.
A surge flared in his hips.
“Cumming,” he squealed.
He lunged upward, flexing his glutes. His cock burst dramatically from her tits. The glans yawned and spat.
Splat!
Katy felt his first cumblast punch her jaw in a high-pressure jet.
“Ugh! Uhh!” Hips jerking and thrashing, he sprayed out copious ropes of sperm over her jugs. Her mechanical tit-slamming strokes fractured as his sweat-slippery pubis pounded them away to noise.
Katy shrieked in victory as his cock painted stripes down her neck.
“Another W for the queen! How. Does. She. Do. It? Spooks can’t stop me, police can’t stop me, mental hospital can’t stop me!”
Terrence’s fists clenched and unclenched. Spurts hosed out, splattering her bulbous tit-tanks. Katy Perry’s lunatic stare flicked back and forth, counting the strands flashing out of her tight-packed breasts.
…four…five…six…
Terrence ran down quickly after that. The seventh rope started strong but lost pressure, bubbling away in her cleavage. His cock sank with it as it softened, lost to sight.
Katy snatched her phone from between two seat cushions. She clicked the stopwatch off.
“Ha! Six minutes! That’s gotta be a new record! Hang on…let me add it to the scoreboard…”
Katy extricated herself from between his legs. Warm, pendulous, cum-splattered tits unsucked themselves from Terrence’s groin with a deafening SHLOOOOORRRKKK. They slapped against her waist as she stood, leaving the teen shuddering on the couch.
Katy jubilantly skipped away, her thick ass wagging. The boy sat up, clutching his head. His vision spun with stars.
“Woahhhh…”
He watched her tits, big as motorcycle helmets, go whap and slap against her abdomen as she bounced. The veins at the back of her breasts were visible from behind. You could probably see her headlights from space.
Katy had gone insane, but that was the least of the transformations happening in her mouldering ruin of a McMansion.
Her mind had merely lost contact with reality.
Her body was six continents away and starting an anti-reality cult in the jungle.
He gazed at an empty Ozempic pen on the floor, its chrome-metallic sheath glinting in the dim light like a watching dragon’s eye…
Wasn’t that the drug that caused you to lose weight?
* * *
Eighteen-year-old Terrence McCormick was really going through the hero’s journey.
Twelve days ago he’d been a bitter, hate-filled nerd who jacked off in his room, read Marvel comics and hoped the bad guys won, and dreamed of attaining financial independence from his bitch sister Saffron, who used him as a driver for her Orange County couturier business. He occasionally got to chat to celebrities: more to his delight than theirs.
Then had come the day when he’d chauffeured a tit-plagued celeb to her appointment.
The day when he’d done the unthinkable: said the right thing to a female.
He’d told Katy Perry that he admired her Blue Origin space flight. He loved supervillains, and that had been a bona fide supervillain act.
He hadn’t realized that he was talking to an emotionally shattered woman. Divorced, cancelled, abandoned by the Katykats, hated by the media, watching her two least-liked body parts balloon outward like engorging leeches, Katy had latched on to Terrence. She seemed to think he was her last remaining fan.
He was now a daily visitor at the decrepit Montecito mansion, helping her “train” for her upcoming battle, one pelvis-crushing titfuck at a time. He didn’t understand how Katy planned to fight her enemies—real or imagined—by perfecting the art of titfucking, but he was happy to donate his cock to the cause.
But this meant witnessing her collapse first-hand.
A maladjusted freak himself, even he was growing a bit concerned over her mental health. Twelve days ago, this mansion had been a handsome, ivy-covered, Regency-style estate painted in lavender and pastel. It had a sky-lit gallery, a pool big enough to midwife a pregnant dinosaur, a carved stone fireplace, and an alfresco dining terrace.
Now, it was a haunted house. The skylight shutters were drawn like shrouds, flooding the rooms in darkness.
You had to watch your step. Katy had tactically sniped out the lightbulbs from her overhead chandeliers using a BB gun (because, she’d explained, they were actually NSA spycams). Broken glass littered the floor.
She’d ripped open sample bags of her CoverGirl makeup line and scrawled the contents over every wall. Everywhere Terrence looked, psycho graffiti screamed back at him.
He saw IT TAKES AN ARMY OF 666,666 TO HOLD ME BACK, in slashes of lavender matte.
He saw REAL EYES REALIZE REAL LIES, in jags of mauve insta-dry.
He saw a vast Satanic pentagram shining on the gallery-entrance wall, limned in hell-red lipstick.
In the cloakroom, Katy had hacked arcane messages and symbols into the drywall with a nail file. She’d taken every bottle in her Dolce&Gabbana fragrance line and emptied it in a huge fume-spewing puddle in the middle of her living room, like a cat pissing its territory.
Now that the slapping of her tits wasn’t drowning out everything, he heard the ungodly noise blasting from the soundsystem. This was Katy’s latest music, playing on a loop. She’d independently produced a mixtape with an experimental noise DJ she was humping. She’d sent the mixtape to her record label, Capitol. Their rejection letter (her first in twenty years) was on her bathroom vanity.
Dear Ms Perry, we have received your demo tape, titled ‘BOOB ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT: FAILED #KILLTHECIAPIGMEN’. It is a bold and striking work. We have no idea how to market it. Why don’t you work with Max Martin or Dr Luke?
Katy had accepted her label’s rejection with grace and equanimity.
Capitol Records was obviously in alliance with the CIA pigmen too. She’d been a fool not to consider this possibility.
* * *
Katy stood in front of a spreadsheet.
One that she’d literally written on the wall in lip-liner pen. It contained data from her training—the forty titfucks she’d given Terrence to date. She deftly added his latest cumshot.
“Scooreboaaarrrrd! Twelve days ago, I made you cum in eight minutes. Today, you busted in six minutes!” She skipped, jogging in place. Her breasts bounced, sloshing against her navel like vast water balloons. “That’s a two-minute improvement delta, which means I’m twice as good at titfucking as before! I’m the greatest who ever lived!”
Terrence’s pimply face screwed up in concentration. He tried to follow the math on what she’d just said, and promptly got lost.
“You know, most people would use Excel for something like that, instead of writing on their wall…”
Katy Perry blew a raspberry at him. She found one of his discarded T-shirts, and used it to wipe away the sperm slathering her breasts. Terrence queasily wondered if the crusty-looking shirt had been washed at all after soaking up forty of his loads—it hadn’t exactly been semen-free to begin with…
“I still don’t get it…” Terrence said. “How does titfucking me make you stronger?”
“You’re just a kid and advanced demonology is a little over your head…”
She wadded up his T-shirt, and slung it over her shoulder onto the floor. Flup.
“…but the basic idea is that the Devil can only be slain by his own weapons. Meaning, my breasts.”
“So your breasts are from the Devil?”
She scowled, and planted hands on her hips. “Like, no, dumbass. For the thousandth time, they’re from the Orgonic death rays channeled by a globalist cult of glam-haters that is inspired by the Devil. It’s not that hard to understand.”
“But then shouldn’t you fight him with Orgonic death rays?”
Terrence’s attempt to apply logic to the situation bounced off Katy Perry.
“Tomorrow’s my big day,” she slid a luscious leg forward, striking a pose of high drama. “The day my enemies lose. They’re gonna catch the biggest L of their lives, right to the face. And I’m not just talking about my bra. Damn, I wish I was just an L.”
Terrence glanced respectfully at the brassiere she’d flung on the floor, next to his discarded boxers and socks. It had crosslaced straps, cups with a patent-pending powermesh-reinforced design, and had cost $300. On his first visit, he’d read the tag in awe. “Wow, a 38D bra…”
Katy had told him to remove his thumb from the tag, and read it again. The D had been a P.
“Tomorrow will be glorious. God himself is gonna raise me up, and say ‘Katy, you know why I send you my toughest battles? Because you’re my bravest warrior.’ And we all say ‘Amen!’ Where’s my fucking vibrator? I’m so horny I could fuck a tree stump.”
Katy found her Supola Rabbit G Spot Vibrator and clicked it on. A high-speed whirr turbocharged the air, deepening as she plunged it onto her wet, throbbing cunt.
She gave a loud grunt of relief as she masturbated, rolling the vibrator back and forth. “The entire world tried to bet against me. They failed. They fucking failed! How do you like them apples?”
Her shoulders flexed, and her face knotted with pleasure. Her lips parted, and white teeth gleamed as she ranted and raved.
“Everyone who ever doubted me will apologize and grovel. I’ll find a new label, and my new music will fucking sell by the bucketload—it can’t not, the songs are literally number-one chart hits I copied from the future.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yeah. Absolutely. I was tripping balls on ket but for fuck’s sake, what did you think time travel was gonna look like? Thinkpieces? Vibes? UGHHH! Goddamn it…”
She drove the bullet vibrator at high speed back and forth against her quivering sex. Tendons stood out in her wrist as she ranted in narcissistic rapture.
“My enemies will kneel. They will beg my forgiveness. And then, like a true queen, I will grant them mercy.”
Katy’s panting intensified. Sweat flowed in rivers down the slopes of her breasts.
“The mercy of a quick death. Decapitation sounds a bit too painless, though. They deserve some suffering. Maybe I’ll cut off their heads with an axe coated in lemon juice.”
Terrence offered a suggestion. “You could rip out their spines through their mouths. Nova does that to Annihilus in Annihilation #6.”
“Shut up, this is serious!” Submerging deeper in her oozing, shaven void of genital flesh, the tungsten steel motor whirred. She moaned loudly, her strident voice cutting the sweat-thick air like cheesecake.
“Once their psychic attack is stopped at the root, the Ozempic will work again, and my breasts will shrink. I’ll finally have these goddamn oversized pieces of shit off my chest. Ugh, I’m about to…FUCK!”
Terrence watched her sweat-glistening ass flex and tighten. She screamed as the spasms started. The Supola Rabbit jagged in her fist.
“Guhh…! GAHHH!” Katy howled, her hips surging forward. She pounded her sucking core against the vibrating wand. “OHMYGAWWWWFUCKKKK…!”
A violent orgasm blasted through her.
Her pussy detonated with squirt. Heavy churned-up surges of cum slammed out of her urethra, pulsing over the pink vibrator, shattering to droplets in the air with the force of her expulsions.
SPLORG! SPLIRG! SPLAKKSHHH!
“UGH UGH UGHHHH!” Her spine jerked. Her shoulders tightened and dropped. Katy’s entire body seemed to curve inward.
Terrence watched Katy Perry thrash as she hammered out a climax from her exploding cunt. Twin rivers of girlcum sluiced down her thick, quivering thighs, forming pools at her feet.
As her climax ran down, her posture slumped. Her paranoid, delusional expression became slack and stupid instead. Vacant. No signs of life inside that house.
The squirt-splattered vibrator whirred uselessly in the air.
“Um…Katy, are you okay?”
She stared off into space for a moment, then snapped back into her body. “What? No! I mean, yes! This time tomorrow, I’ll be drinking wine from the skulls of my enemies. That is the pre-zacto definition of okay. Okay?”
The vibrator still whirred in her hand. Distractedly, she lifted the hand and tried to use it as a toothbrush. “Ow!”
She flung it aside, and cocked an eyebrow his way. She snapped her fingers.
“Hey, no resting! Get your dick hard for the next round! I need all the practice I can get.”
Terrence began listlessly tugging his prick back to life as Katy clapped her tits together experimentally.
Katy skipped back to the couch, and swung her haunches over his body. She hefted her gigantic mammaries and plopped them onto his crotch.
Terrence sighed.
Second verse. Same as the first.
Incredible the things that could get boring when you did them too much.
He’d slid the Ozempic pen into his wallet. He wanted to ask his sister about it later.
* * *
PLURP! SHLURP! SQUISHH! SPLATTT!
Katy had repositioned. Straddling his chest, she was reverse-titfucking him.
Hips propped on his scrawny ribcage, thick legs folded on his pectorals, heart-shaped ass rearing above his head like an obscene fertility idol.
Terrence’s eyes rode her ass’s heaving slopes, up to her bent and flexing shoulders, with ponytailed hair flip-flopping.
Katy had slung her ginormous tits between his splayed legs, letting gravity suck her funbags down onto his dick. She squeezed, lifted, and slammed the enormous, slippery bulks onto his cock. He felt their heft and heat. Flesh flowed between his legs and down his hips like hot molten wax.
“Gimme a sec…” The pop singer quickly straightened, tucked a strand of loose hair into her hairband with an arrogant flick, then leaned back down, grasping her tits. They exploded from her hands as she squeezed.
SKLUSH! SKLISH!
Then she resumed propelling her gigantic sloppy tit-sacks forward, then jerked them back, leaving snail trails of sweat on his legs as they quivered.
He tapped her back politely.
“Katy…can I fuck your pussy this time?”
SHLAP! PLORP! BLUKK! GLOBB!
“Why do you want to do that?” She didn’t look around as she slopped her tits over his cock.
“I dunno. Might be a nice change. It’s just sort of boring, lying here and not doing anything.”
The pounding of her tits roughened with anger. “What the hell’s your problem? You’re male. You don’t care what orifice your dick goes inside. You agreed to help me train for battle, so shut up.”
A sudden stroke of brilliance arrived in his dim mind (perhaps through mistaken address).
“Katy, is the Devil gay?”
“Hmm…” She started chewing her lip. “There is some literature to that effect, yes.”
“If he is, he’s not gonna want to touch your tits. He’ll probably want to bang you from behind, so he can pretend you’re a dude with long hair. That’s probably more his speed.”
“So what’s your point?”
“We should practice doggystyle at least once, you know? Cover our bases.”
She stopped titfucking him and turned around. An eyebrow arched wryly.
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
Five seconds later, Katy seemingly decided she was that stupid. She shrugged apathetically, let her tits slide off his lap, then hopped off his torso, dropping down to the floor. Her body was as nimble as an Olympic floor gymnast’s, despite her massive freightage of boob.
She flicked her head toward him.
“I guess you can pack me from behind once,” a tiny smirk nudged the curves of her mouth. “But remember, I get three more titfucks before I let you go home to your sister. Training is paramount.”
“Deal.” Terrence eagerly got off the couch.
The pop singer supported her body on her hands and knees. She flexed her body like artwork—curving her back low, raising her hips high. Her thick muscular ass bulged and flexed before his face. She popped it backward, making luscious waves of sweltering ass-meat explode and rebound back in. He glimpsed her pussy. And her asshole.
Flexing and jabbing her glutes, she twisted her head his way. Terrence’s cold, blackened heart defrosted a little. She was so cute, even when presenting herself like a bitch in heat. The kitty-kat wanted to be a doggy-dog.
“What are you waiting for? Hop in!”
The ghost of the old Katy—sane Katy, forgotten Katy, never-gone-to-space Katy who hadn’t yet ruined her life with gray-market GLP-1 receptor agonists—stirred to life in her smile.
In the hollows of that face, Terrence saw a fun big-titted party girl with a flashbang grenade of a smile who just wanted to goof off and play and laugh and get gaped like the Holland Tunnel as soon as Mom and Dad were asleep.
Terrence stepped up, grasping a handful of thick ass. The don’t stick your dick in crazy rule has a loophole for when the crazy is Katy Perry.
He gripped his cock, swung his hips into position, and pressed it against her slit. She groaned throatily. Her fuck-tunnel clenched, the clitoral prepuce jerking against him.
Terrence slid his throbbing prong inside Katy Perry. At first, just the tip. Then he planted himself deep.
As deep as deep would go.
Katy squealed in excitement as Terrence’s fat cock pummeled open her box. Her folds quivered and split, yielding like bubblegum to swallow his prick. She lifted her butt right into the force of his thrust, allowing his thick slippery boner to curve to the bottom of her throbbing cuntal tunnel.
SCHLOP!
She began swiveling her hips, grinding her pelvic floor muscles, chewing at his cockstalk. Terrence gasped as her snatch seemed to ripple around him, as if lined by blunt teeth innumerable.
She was hot. Wet. Alive. Crushing.
With a moist squelch he pulled his hips back. A wet cargo of glistening lube slopped out, coating his balls.
He re-adjusted his foot stance, then cannoned his hips forward. Driving his cock into her again and again—her butt quivered lewdly in the dark as he fucked away at her slut hole.
SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!
Katy gurgled into the carpet as he truncheoned his thick, vein-ribbed cock into her, sheathing himself down to the balls. With each impact of his hips, her enormous breasts were tossed forward, propelled by kinetic force rolling through her body.
“Uh, that’s it! That’s it! Harder! Fuck me harder!”
She lowered her head, growling in sexual desire. A delicious ache wove and clenched through her, igniting a network of nerve endings.
Soon after, she erupted in orgasm, her haunches shaking.
He pounded shockwaves through her, fucking her from one side of her climax to the other.
As her orgasmic contractions surged messily against his hips, Terrence fell into a rhythm, ramming into the singer, and fucking her cunt open with deep, powerful lunges. Her tits sloshed and jiggled and spun. They cracked together, rebounding forward and back like yo-yos.
SLAP! PLAP! SLORP!
Pumping away with his hips from behind, he watched his shaft fill her gooey wet twat. Splitting Katy’s obscenely hot and wet void with his plunging, slurping fuck-hammer was an insane power trip. She giggled, twisting her hips left then right, yanking his cock from side to side like a windsock.
His eyes glanced past her back, at her swinging breasts. As they flew back, he caught them. He began pulling at the heaving flesh-bags like they were throttle controls on an aircraft.
“AAHHH! OOHHHH!” Her voice screamed out bliss as this random kid defiled her. I’m being fucked by someone who’s not famous! Talk about forbidden thrills. She was getting plowed like a slut by a dirty commoner who wasn’t even Eliminated-week-one-from-Survivor famous. Tres taboo!
Her next climax rolled through her with embarrassing speed.
As squirt fountained beneath her, Terrence kept ramming, his hips gorging themselves on her tight malleable slit. His grubby shaft slithered in her depths, a fleshy railspike, pounding out noisy strokes.
Twelve days ago, Terrence would have long since lost control and ejaculated. But after expelling so much sperm at the behest of the desperate, impossible pop princess, he was getting mildly better at self-control. He felt the urge to shoot rising, but clenched his PC muscles. Not now, he thought to his rising ejaculation. It boiled precariously for several seconds, but finally settled.
For now.
Instead, he grinned, watching his pistoning cock jackhammer away at her tirelessly. As her back jerked in climax, her sweaty tit-sacks slipped from his hands.
The gigantic breasts swung forward under her body like a pair of swingsets, changing her center of gravity in a way she wasn’t prepared for. Screaming, squirting, shuddering, Katy unbalanced. She fell forward on top of her own breasts. Terrence was inside her cunt, so he went down as well.
They crashed to the floor, continuing to fuck like animals. They rolled around on the floor, his cock scything into her soft cunt, flinging out strands of gooey squirt with every outstroke.
Finally, Terrence sank in, planted his balls against her sucking folds of wet flesh, and unclenched his entire reproductive tract.
His balls slithered and tightened, pumping out ropes of hot slippery cockslop. His cock flexed dryly inside her a few times with meaty, visceral churning sounds, then his thick load hosed out inside her.
SPLUURRRTTT-SCHLUUUPPP-SQUUUISSSSHHH-PLOOOORRRPPP-SCHLIIIIICK!
The scene dissolved into a mess of fervid breath, moans and sobs, profanity, and assorted convulsions.
He grunted, mind and balls emptying before the hot consuming rush of climax. With a shuddering groan, he pulled their sticky groins apart. His glans resisted like a plug before pulling free, sucking with it thick, trailing ropes of sperm that spewed onto the carpet.
“Bluhhh…” Katy’s response was not cogent as he jerked his softening cock over her ass, knuckling out a final strand.
Terrence fell, crashing face-first into the curve of her hot shoulder. Dizzy, Katy’s eyes spun. She felt and heard herself emptying: his load chugged out of her, splattering on the carpet.
Then her ringtone blared through the musky darkness. “O Fortuna.”
That woke her up. Slinging the orgasm-stunlocked brat off her like baggage, she snatched at her phone, and set it on hands-free.
“Hey. What’s the drama?”
“Hello, Katy. This is Colin Drake. Acting President of Touch of Love. Just confirming our appointment tomorrow, at the Royal Gambit Treatment Center.”
Terrence’s head perked up.
“Are you in league with the Satanic Powers?” Katy didn’t notice the boy crawling closer to eavesdrop. “Or are you just a middleman?”
The man on the other end paused before laughing. He did sound suitably diabolic.
“Katy, I’m just confirming an appointment.”
“I still don’t know who you are, or who you’re working for. How do I know you’re not part of the plot?”
“Katy, there is no plot. Touch of Love is an NGO that is trying to help you. We have the best doctors in the business ready to study your breasts. You have our word that no expense will be spared…”
Katy stuck out her tongue and made a jerk-off motion. Terrence giggled.
“…provided you help us first. We at Touch of Love have wanted to work with you for a long time. You’ve been one of our most-requested celebrities, and when you started to…shrink, we thought our window of opportunity had passed. It gladdens us to see that it was a temporary situation.”
She fumed. “My breasts are growing because they’re under a curse or a spell or something. Fuck your doctors. This is exorcism-type shit. If you’re not prepared to handle demonic possession, then I don’t have any use for you.”
Colin seemed to think that the best response to these bizarre tirades was simply to ignore them.
“Perhaps I should discuss your obligations to us, Katy. They are small. We are at the front-lines of male sexual health and are encountering a wave of patients with a strange psychosomatic disease. We think stimulation by an attractive female celebrity might assist with their cure. There are around five sufferers at Royal Gambit Treatment Resort, a state of the art experimental clinic on the Malibu coastline. Maybe six.”
A small draught of reality penetrated the locked room of her mind.
She could decode this guy’s bullshit. She was being asked to fuck five or six people.
This in itself was not a problem. Katy had let the Dos Pueblos High football team run multiple trains on her in her teenage years, and then there had been the 2009 UMG afterparty. Five cocks at once was nothing.
She was concerned about optics.
“These five patients…” she drummed acrylic nails on the carpet. “Are locked up tight under NDAs, right? Nobody in the press is going to find out about me and my breasts, right?”
Katy didn’t like that this glib bullshitter suddenly hesitated.
Uh oh.
The press hadn’t discovered her scandal. That was the only miracle God had seen fit to grant in this whole sorry ordeal: nobody knew. Nobody except for Terrence. And Saffron. And the drug dealers Oleg and Kiril. And Dr. Emilio Vasquez. And Colin. And a DJ. And another DJ. And a bunch of Capitol records execs, in a futile effort to restart her music career (this was LA. Gas, grass, or ass. Nobody rides for free. Or has a job). And maybe a few dozen other people now that she was divorced and didn’t have to hide her cheating anymore. But all of those people were safe. None had leaked, or snapped photos of her naked breasts and sold them to the paps.
She had been lucky. But sooner or later, she would stop being lucky.
And she still had grave suspicions about Touch of Love, and exactly what they would demand of her.
“These five patients…they wouldn’t be demons, would they?”
“Katy, I can understand that you’re a bit…disturbed at the moment. I won’t rattle you with too much information. Just hold up your end of the deal and we’ll hold up ours. Five patients. Maybe six. Maybe one or two more. It’ll all come out in the wash.”
Katy chewed her lip, kicking her thick dancer’s legs from the floor.
She’d been in showbiz long enough to temper a mistrust for anyone who said things like it’ll all come out in the wash.
She ignored the sound of Terrence moving toward her ass.
She didn’t ignore the hot breath, panting eagerly on her neck.
She couldn’t ignore the skinny teenage forearm that suddenly wrapped itself around her neck.
The boy mounted her from behind, his weight resting on her back and driving her down to the carpet. His erection thrust at her asscrack, lunging and rooting. Terrence had gotten horny again, and was trying to fuck her. Teenagers gonna teenager.
Katy smirked, and playfully swatted him away. Then not so playfully, as he continued to not get the point.
“Not now, silly boy…Hey! What the fuck! What are you doing? Get your dick out my crack!”
Terrence was separating apart the thick meaty curtains of her butt. First with his hands, then with another body part.
“Please…just this once…” he begged, hips flexing inside her ass-chasm.
His cock throbbed deep in the fissure of her ass, prodding for her rectum. Then he found it.
With a trembling push of his hips, he ploughed his cock up her ass.
“Ummmfff!” Katy’s eyes flew open wide as her anal passageway spread open like a sleeve before his shaft.
“Katy? Hello?” Colin’s voice seemed to come from far away.
Terrence’s pelvis cracked against her butt with wet staccato impact. A muscular convulsion flung Katy’s knees off the ground, and she kicked back at nothing.
“Ugh! Uhh!”
She tried to fling him off, but she was anchored down by her breasts at one end and his pumping hips at the other. She fell again with the horny teenager atop her, happily rutting her up the ass. Her tits squished out like airbags as she lay atop them, fuming.
“Do you require a lift to Royal Gambit Treatment Center tomorrow?” Colin was still on the phone, listening to her get sodomized. “Or will you arrange your own transport?”
“Ow! Piece of shit!” Katy’s face reddened with rage. Terrence lunged, cleaving apart her asscheeks, gaping open her anal ring.
There’s no need to get personal.
“Not you! Someone else!” Katy snarled against the carpet, annoyance warring against sexual hunger and slowly losing. As the boy fucked, her fleshy ass leaped and bounced in whorish detonations of meat. His cock curved and slid down her bowels, punching deep with relentless drive.
Terrence bottomed out. His scrotum clapped, piling on her ass in a knot of sweaty skin. He panted like a dog, his cock surging and squirming. It rasped and squelched as he pulled it back and then shunted it back in, rectally defiling the singer.
Katy made gasping oomffs of excitement as her butthole went from full to empty, over and over. Her huge white breasts lolled like beached whales on each side of her. Her clit was throbbing, her head spinning.
Drooling, tongue out, she fully surrendered to the cock fucking her guts to pulp.
“Oh fuck…! F-Fuu-uuhhh…Uhhh! Uhh…! Ah…! Ah..! Ah..!”
“Katy? Are you there?”
Sllrrrp. Skllrch. Sqlllk.
Her mind whited out in ecstasy each time he lifted and dropped his haunches onto her, spiking his prick into her ass. She balled her fists and squirmed beneath his pounding hips, feeling another huge orgasm scream down on her.
Thick, loud, raunchy slaps echoed off the walls. You could practically hear individual veins as his cock plunged in, scoring deep dirty strokes up her shit-chute.
PLAP PLAP PLOP SQUELCH WHAP PLAP PLAP
Colin’s voice blared out of her phone, unanswered over the noise of his rock-hard cock wrecking her anal trench. “We seem to be having some interference. I can’t hear you speak. There’s this…sound coming over the line…”
Katy’s lips curled back, then trumpeted out in a teeth-bearing grimace. As her orgasm screamed forward, her asshole contracted, sculpting out the exact dimensions of Terrence’s engorged corpus cavernosum and glans penis. She needed to break her habit of screwing teenage boys. No respect. Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile. Literally. Up your ass.
PLAP GLURK GLURK GLORK GLURK GLORK PLAP PLAP PLOP SQUELCH BLURP WHAP PLAP PLAP PLAP
Her thighs flexed, pleasure swirling her away to Neverland.
Her hips machinegunned out another orgasm on the stained carpet.
* * *
Four hours later, Terrence was eating dinner with his sister.
“You’re back late.”
“Yep.” He stared glumly at the plateful of gray-green gloop she’d spooned up for him. What was it? Tofu, with bits of kale? Kale, with bits of tofu?
“So how’s the bitch-empress of crazy?” Saffron sneered.
Terrence winced, shifting. His testicles hurt from orgasming so many times that day. It felt like Katy Perry’s acrylic Kim Truong fingernails were shoved all the way up his seminal duct, still hunting for his last sperm cell.
How much was he allowed to say?
“Actually,” Saffron screwed up her nose. “I retract that last statement. ’Twasn’t very inclusive of me, I fear.”
She pounded the table with her fist. Plates jumped. So did her brother.
“What I should have said,” Saffron growled. “Is ‘how’s the phony, fan-betraying, fake-feminist sellout, who is currently enjoying some much-deserved karma for raping the fucking planet and ballwashing Jeff Bezos’s spiritually, morally, aesthetically, and environmentally disgusting phallic rocket into the stratosphere?’ Pretend I said that.”
“She’s found some people who will reverse her breast growth.” Terrence said. “Touch of Love.”
Saffron’s fork clattered to her plate. Her mouth opened.
“No! You’re joking! Tell me you’re joking!”
“You’ve heard of them?” Terrence said.
“They’re a bullshit pseudoscience scam organization, currently ripping off our tax dollars. You wanna know how many celebs have been burned by that org? Sydney Sweeney. Kate Upton. Jennifer Love Hewitt. The list goes on.”
Terrence frowned. His sister had healing crystals next to her bed, arranged her atelier by Feng Shui principles, and could faultlessly recite her sun, moon, and rising signs in both secondary and solar progressions.
When Saffron McCormick called something a bullshit pseudoscience, it meant something.
He wanted to hear more. Luckily, Saff was never one to keep her social justice views close to her chest.
“Among other bullcrap patriarchy-centered beliefs, they believe that men have a biological urge to ejaculate. No, don’t nod your head, you stupid fuck. They don’t. They trick female celebrities with large…assets into jerking off hospitalized men. It’s sick and disgusting. Sometimes I wish Tumblr was still a thing. Doesn’t anyone know basic feminism-101 terminology like ‘compulsory kyriopatriarchinormativity’ anymore? What do they want her to do?”
“The dude on the phone was asking her to help him with five male clients at some treatment resort. In return, they’d fix her breasts. Free of charge. It sounded pretty cool.”
Saffron’s voice settled into its natural register: a scold.
“It’s not cool. I guarantee you it’s a trick. What’s that you’ve got in your hand, by the way?”
“One of her Ozempic pens.” He’d been playing with it.
“Gimme!” It was already in her hand before he’d heard her ask. His sister was like a striking mongoose when there was something she wanted.
She studied the pen, and immediately smacked her face. “How does this keep on getting worse? When’s she going to Touch of Love?”
“Tomorrow.”
Saffron flung the Ozempic pen into her purse.
“Stop her.”
He cringed, ears blushing. “She wants me to drive.”
“Don’t. She’s a cow and it’s a slaughterhouse. If you like her, tell her not to go.”
“She doesn’t listen to me.”
“Fine. Then I’ll tell her.”
“I thought you hated her.”
“I do.” Saffron shook her head defiantly. Hand-scissored bangs flip-flopped. “But not even Katy Perry deserves to have her face eaten off by this leopard.”
* * *
Touch of Love was tomorrow.
Katy Perry lay twisting in the grips of a hideous, hideous dream.
Wet dreams were nothing unusual to her, now that her expanded mammary glands had unleashed a Gangetic flood of reproductive hormones through her endocrinal system. But this was a wet nightmare, repulsive and visceral. It felt like she was slowly sinking into a warm bath of flayed human skin.
The dream began with her being strapped into the Blue Origin command capsule. Everything was how it existed in memory. Mission control in her ear, Jeff Bezos’s dumbass girlfriend beside her asking about Ozempic, panting and winded from the seven-story climb.
Then the man’s voice cut away, like radio stations changing. Her own voice filled her ear instead.
“We are all made of stardust and we all come from the stars!”
She recoiled, as if slapped. Did she sound like that? Like a demon?
The BE-3PM engine flared beneath them. They tore upward into the sky.
As Earth curved away, she felt…heavier, not lighter. As though gravity was increasing.
That wasn’t right. The flight had been liberatory. An escape not just from the weight of the Earth but from the concept of weight. But now, a hideous force crushed against her chest, strangling her. She was descending into space. Falling off the Earth. Everything became heavier and heavier, including her own body. Her breasts felt like iron ballast, pulling her to hell.
Blue Origin left the planet. It floated in a void that wasn’t empty and cold, but crowded and hot. Biological. A rotten, clotted placenta surrounded the ship, clinging to the fuselage like porridge.
Space was a death-womb.
A place to be unborn.
Katy floated in this black nightmare womb, rattling with fear. And all the while, she heard her own voice echoing through the cosmos.
“I feel super connected to love!”
She remembered saying that.
“This experience has shown me you never know how much love is inside of you.”
That, too.
Her words were booming back at her like distorted whalesong, sounding false and disingenuous.
“I am HONORED to be among this DIVERSE group of celestial sisters!”
The craft was coming to pieces around her, dissolved by amniotic fluid like corrosive acid. Her spacesuit was torn away like tissue paper. She gazed in sick fascination at her huge wobbling knockers, spilling out in zero-G. They looked shiny…
…As shiny as Jeff Bezos’s bald head!
Katy screamed as she floated into eternity. She was drowning in sound. Drowning in hormones and hypocrisy and lying and money and sex, drowning in her own voice. Reality growing thinner and fainter beneath the armor-plating of bullshit.
“We are going to put the ‘ass’ in astronaut!”
In space’s all-consuming fire, she glimpsed her life on fast forward.
Frenzied impressions of fucking and lying, screwing and stealing, of hundreds of sexual partners emptying themselves between her legs—forests of cocks pummeling her senseless in every position possible while checks cashed and rainforests fell and oceans boiled.
“This is about making space for FUTURE WOMEN!”
Distorted blobs of color slid forward, sharpening into focus. They became two hoses unspooling from nowhere, whipping toward her body like tentacles. The nozzles were seeking her out, hunting her down. Starlight glinted off metal—each was emblazoned with the Amazon logo.
“Congrats, Katy!” Lauren said, sitting on her shoulder like a demon. “You’re our new sponsor! Amazon brand Ozempic!”
She screwed the nozzles of the rubber hoses onto Katy’s nipples.
Sick with horror, Katy watched the hoses swell as fluid pumped through them, directly into her body. A surge of pressure blasted through her, and she thought she was about to pop.
She didn’t. Something worse happened.
Her breasts began expanding like balloons.
“Any type of person can reach their dreams, no matter your background, your ethnicity, your economic situation, or your education level!
Her words mockingly echoed through space, while hundreds of gallons of foaming, churning liquid poured into her tits, inflating them beyond insanity. She distorted from a woman with two breasts, to two breasts with a woman! Had Franz Kafka really understood?
No! No! Katy could only watch as her tits exploded outward, surging through space. A living shockwave of meat.
Katy floated, rising higher atop a fleshy sea of her own breasts. She screamed and tried to escape, tried to claw the disgusting, bloated masses off her body, but they just kept getting bigger.
Two breasts that dwarfed her body, dwarfed the spacecraft, dwarfed the planet Earth. She stared in stupefied awe as her breasts flooded across eternity, as immune to the dictates of reality as they were to her will. They were the earth and the heaven and they were everything, all and one.
Finally, she felt the curves of her tits press against the edge of the observable universe…and somehow still growing. Two vile, all-eating cancers that now had nowhere else to go.
Except back inside her.
Gurgling, pulsating balloons of slop swelled on all sides, rising like bread dough, devouring her vision and flowing over her mouth.
Buried alive by her breasts.
“Space is finally going to be GLAM!”
…then her words were extinguished as a tide of hot, stinky sweltering boobflesh poured down her throat, choking her.
* * *
Katy woke.
She panted in bed, soaked in sweat. Her palatial bedroom floor pitched and rolled beneath her, like her 78-foot yacht in a twenty-knot swell.
Her clit throbbed urgently. Her nipples pulsated like antennas wired to hell.
A pungent earthy breast musk assaulted her nostrils, rising from the breasts piled thickly in her lap. There’s underboob sweat, and there’s 38P underboob sweat, she thought, crinkling her nose. They were the size and weight of two watermelons now—furnace-hot, drenched in sweat and body odor and frantic, sexual heat.
Each evening, she hoped her tits had stopped growing. Every morning, she remembered that hope wasn’t enough.
What’s the time? She had no idea. One clock on the wall said 6:30am. Another said 7:00am. (No, she wasn’t going to look up the time on her phone. If you think the government can be trusted to tell you the time, you’re a fucking simpleton). Doesn’t matter. At all. Queens are never on time.
Katy shoved the strange dream into a mental strongbox, shut it, and twisted the key. It’s not real. It’s not real. She tried to hype herself up for this, the day of her victory.
Today she would be free.
Today, surely, her nightmare would end.
* * *
She washed her face, and attacked her randy cunt with a vibrator. She masturbated once, twice, thrice—shuddering and squirting into her bedsheets each time. Then she began her routine.
She sat facing the rising sun, and went through a Bikram yoga flow—urdhva dhanurasana, parivrtta parsvakonasana. Hip flexors shortening, hamstrings extending, big wobbling tits getting in the way of everything. Life was suffering—the Buddha hadn’t known the half of it. Katy ended her flow with a deep, resting body-weight squat that left her facing the sun, hands clasped in prayer.
“Thank you, God, for this day and its blessing of life. I am profoundly humble and grateful, both for my own blessings and for the chance to bless others.”
This had been her morning prayer for many years. The next part was a recent addition.
“I further pray for the complete annihilation of my enemies. May their skulls burn and their blood glut the sea and their souls rot eternally in hell. Namaste. Amen.”
She ran a bath, slathered rejuvenating PDRN serum over her bare flesh—regenerative DNA fragments harvested from the bodies of endangered salmon. I think these fish are endangered, she reasoned to herself, dragging a loofah over milk-white skin.Better use as much of it as possible. Soon it’ll be gone!
She warpainted her makeup on. Thick-pigmented metallics, dense-milled shimmers, and multidimensional mattes to shape her eyes.
Katy washed, shaved, exfoliated, ate, and masturbated yet again.
She saw a text from Terrence, saying he was on his way.
With time to spare, she began the most important part of her schedule.
She opened her freezer box, uncapped a massive 2mg Ozempic pen, dabbed the contact point clean with an alcohol swab, then screwed on a disposable needle.
She rolled the dosage selector to 1mg, and slammed the needle into her rapidly-thickening thigh. Thump. Injected.
Blessed be!
She smiled at the warning on the side. Recommended dosage: 0.5 mg once a week
Katy injected herself again. And again. And then once more again.
Recommended suggestion: fucking neck yourself. Idiot.
Her drug dealer friends could hardly keep up with her demand. She was about to enter a cosmic battle against all the forces of hell, and only Goddess Ozempic had her back. Nobody had any right to judge the decisions she made about her body.
She giggled, lurching and reeling. Every room in her house was doing a spinny drunken dance. The twenty-knot storm now engulfed her whole house. Woah, that shit is strong!
Then she counted doses.
I have injected 25mg of Ozempic in a week.
She idly wondered how much would kill you.
Searching, she found news stories about someone who’d put themselves in intensive care by Ozempic overdose—he’d survived with half a functioning kidney.
She thumbed down the article, fuming. Dosage, you piece of shit article. Give me the dosage.
Then she found it.
He’d taken 10 grams.
Hm.
Katy shrugged. Good thing she was built different.
She dosed one more time, just for luck.
* * *
Soon after, the doorbell rang.
“Come in!” Katy yelled, tugging on her enormous bra in front of the cracked parlor-room mirror.
Security had already gotten the visitor’s name before buzzing them in at the front gate. MCCORMICK.
It was Terrence, here to pick her up.
She tightened the straps. Her cleavage swelled and heaved. Half of her huge bulbous tits immediately went spewing out of the lacings. She swore as her vast left breast slid free. Each tit was bigger than a heavy saggy soccer ball, and they escaped every way they could.
Wait, what am I doing? I’m not wearing this piece of shit bra to Touch of Love, am I?
No. Of course not.
She’d already planned her outfit.
Katy undid her bra, cast it aside, and strode out naked to meet Terrence in the foyer.
He would help her get dressed in her real clothes.
Her battle armor.
* * *
“Why are you naked?” Saffron clapped a hand over her mouth, aghast.
“Why are you even here?” Katy was nonplussed. “I thought you were your brother.”
Saffron McCormick had changed little since Katy’s disastrous visit to the Orange County atelier. She wore grey sweatpants and a white tank top. She’d cut her hair—only an inch was gone, but that’s a lot when there’s just nine or ten to spare—and dyed it seaweed green.
“First,” the couturier said, laying her hands on her hips. “Let’s get something clear. I don’t like you.”
“Thrilling stuff. Keep me posted on any updates on that front.”
“…so the fact that I’m here, right now, trying to save you, should really be a wake up call as to how screwed you are, Katy!”
“I know I’m screwed.” Katy gestured at her vast breasts. “Look at these fucking things!”
“No!” Saffron stormed over to Katy. “That’s the least of your problems. My idiot brother found this Ozempic pen. Look at it!”
Katy looked. “I can’t see anything.”
“It’s because this place is so goddamn dark,” Saffron glanced around the living room, her eyes widening where they encountered fresh horrors. “Is there anywhere with light? And no dead animals?”
“My bathroom,” Katy said, wrapping an arm around Saffron’s waist. “It’s ahead, on the left.”
The girl resisted her pull, walking ahead. “Don’t touch me. You hypocritical corporate ghoul.”
Katy’s eyes followed her ass enterprisingly as it zigged and zagged. It filled out the seat of those sweatpants rather nicely.
She was still pissed off at Saffron, and fucking Saffron’s brother hadn’t quite been revenge enough. She wanted more.
* * *
It was crowded and tight in Katy’s bathroom. Intimate. Saffron wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples cut diamonds against her t-shirt.
Katy laid a dominant hand on her neck. Her fingers flexed restlessly, as if preparing to crush the woman’s throat.
“So…” she purred. “What am I supposed to see?”
“Look at the bottom of the cylinder,” Saffron whispered as she held up the Ozempic pen to the light.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Katy grinned, shamelessly leering at Saffron’s big ass.
The green-haired girl rolled her eyes. “Don’t be gross. Look at the bottom of the pen. There’s a tiny hole, with a transparent bandaid stuck over it.”
“Yeah, so?” Katy said, leaning further in. Saffron reacted to her closeness with a flinch. Her eyes were skipping around everywhere, slightly manic.
The girl’s sexual arousal was palpable.
“Well, er, someone tampered with the pen! They stuck a needle in, sucked out all the fluid through the hole, and then replaced it with God knows what! I bet you’ll find little holes in all the pens you’ve been stabbing yourself with.”
Katy scratched her pretty head. She seemed confused.
“But then what have I been putting in my body these past few months?”
Saffron’s voice sharpened. “That’s the point! You don’t know! There could be anything in those syringes, you dumbass! But it’s not Ozempic!”
Still that same look: polite bafflement. “But it was working before. Anyway, I need that stuff. It gives me strength to fight the Devil.”
“Katy, listen, I am trying to help you. Stop putting that crap in your body. Whatever it is, it’s making you go crazy. This is the last time I’ll ever…oh! Katy! KATY!”
Katy had just planted a kiss on Saffron’s mouth.
A lewd, aggressive, wanton kiss. Full of force and heat and need. Her tongue spiked into the other girl’s mouth.
Then she broke the kiss. Her tongue lolled, dragging a wet line of moisture across the girl’s cheek. All of Saffron’s fine hairs were standing on end.
“Bitches without makeup are fun to kiss! Where’s your brother?” Katy sing-songed in the girl’s ear, slinging a companionable arm around her shoulder.
“In the car…” Saffron whimpered, her eyes distant with shock.
She pressed her torso against the other girl’s, mashing her tits into Saffron’s much smaller bust.
Then Saffron forced her lips back onto Katy’s mouth.
“Oooh, what’s this?” Katy said.
“Shut up. Shut up!” Yet Saffron just kept kissing. The words were muffled by the intensity of their lips and tongues warring.
Katy dropped her hand from Saffron’s shoulder, and worked it under the waistband of her sweatpants. Saffron surged, suppressing a scream as her ex-favorite singer began digitally penetrating her pussy.
schlip schlip schlip…
A lewd raunchy sound pulsed out as Saffron’s cunt was defiled.
“Stohhhhpp…” Saffron’s hips flexed onto Katy’s twat-slurping hand. Fingers pumped in and out of the taller, younger girl. “Katy, nooo!”
Katy dragged her mouth in a heavy, lewd slurp across the girl’s cheek.
“I’m going to win back the world…” Katy snarled, humping her throbbing twat against the woman’s back. “Starting with you.”
Saffron tensed under the digital penetration, swore softly…
…Then she relaxed into the finger.
“I knew it…” Katy whispered as her digit pumped in and out. “You dreamed about this in high school, didn’t you? You wanted me to do this to you.”
“No,”
“C’mon,” she snarled hotly in the quaking woman’s ear. “Let’s fuck it out. Just us girls.”
The slurping sound of the finger intensified, filling the space.
Saffron wailed. Blood flushed her face.
Katy knew some things. Make someone really really really angry, and part of them gets at least kinda horny. It’s simply unavoidable. Your biggest fans sometimes become your worst haters. But the pendulum is ready to swing back, any time it wants to.
Her finger pumped and slammed and tore around inside the girl’s twat, making her scream and howl.
Her musky fleshy pubis shivered with pleasure, releasing a heavy gush of glistening juice. It stained Saffron’s leg pants.
“Ready for me to become your favorite singer again, Saff?” Katy grinned playfully. “Just like high school?”
“But…but…”
“Let’s fuck.” Katy smirked playfully, and kicked out her legs.
They fell, going down together, wrestling on the bathroom floor. Outraged squeals rang shrilly against glass and porcelain.
They struggled for some minutes, their play-fighting wavering dangerously close to outright sex. They grappled on her bathroom floor, knocking aside bottles and applicators with the ferocity of their scissoring. Then Katy dragged her back to the living room, because she didn’t want to wreck her knees on the terracotta floor. Once they were on carpet, the fight-fucking continued.
Katy rolled on top, and ended up in the dominant position. Cries and moans pierced, echoing off glass, as she frigged and humped the girl.
Their legs twisted and locked, their crotches squirmed together wetly. She pulled at Saffron’s seaweed-green hair, making the taller girl scream. Then Saffron slammed her off with an elbow. She had an opportunity to break away from Katy. Instead, she dived back into the woman’s arms.
Katy pressed her tongue against the wet, quivering fork of Saffron’s crotch. She drove it upward through the woman’s fleshy cleft in a single stroke.
She was wet. Soaking wet.
Saffron twisted her body around, and planted her own mouth in Katy’s crotch. Her hot breath snorted against the inside of Katy’s quaking thighs. The pop princess widened her stance, splaying her legs, humping Saffron’s face.
Saffron orgasmed swiftly.
“You’re making a mistake…” Saffron wheezed as she came down. “The Ozempic…”
Katy faintly heard (and ignored) the door opening behind her.
She gave a demonlike roar, wrapped her thick legs in a crushing scissorlock around Saffron’s neck, and began frantically humping her like a jackrabbit.
“You’re making a…BLUGHHHGHHG!”
Grinding herself onto the other woman’s mouth, Katy exploded. She sprayed out cum, wiping huge paintlike stains over Saffron’s hand-scissored ’do with each violent lunge of her squirting hips.
They lay panting together, quivering in each other’s arms.
Until Katy felt the head of Terrence’s penis poke against her slit from behind.
“Terrence?”
She hadn’t even realized he was in the house.
“The security guard let me in,” he said, slapping her big ass with an open palm. Grinning, he pulled back, gripping and pumping his chubbing boner with both hands. His pants were around his ankles. “Can I fuck you before we go?”
“Ohmygod, nobody wants to see you naked, Terrence,” Saffron hissed, writhing in orgasmic aftershocks. “I certainly don’t, at least.”
“Oooooh!” The brat buried his entire pulsating cock deep inside Katy Perry.
Heedless of his sister’s scolding, he fucked the singer hard and fast. His rock-hard cock whipped in and out of her spewing twat, which disgorged a symphony of disgusting noise.
SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT! Katy roared as the boy’s hips cracked and beat against her ass, ripping a path through her engorged, fucked-slack pussy lips.
She screamed as the boy lunged, hilted himself, and fired out a disgusting load of sperm. She felt Terrence’s pink flabby scrotum squeezing and tightening against the curve of her hips, cremaster muscles working frantically as he dumped thick splattery loads of wrigglers into her box.
“I am in hell…” whispered Saffron, sounding mortified. She squeezed her eyes shut.
* * *
An hour later, they still hadn’t left.
Distractions were numerous and compelling.
“Yeah…we should probably get going,” Terrence jerked a final rope of ball-slop over Katy’s tits as his prick softened.
“Shit…” Katy panted, her enormous cum-splattered tits rising and falling with her breath.
Ahead of her, Saffron lay like a murder victim, legs splayed. The evidence of several orgasms lay spurted out over the floor.
“Ugh…” Saffron’s eyes were wide open. She looked shocked at how quickly she’d been overwhelmed and compromised—intellectually, physically, sexually—by her former hero. What had Katy told her, two weeks ago? “I’m a star, and you’re you.” Meaning, a commoner. And stars can do whatever they want to commoners.
Even command their love.
“How late are we?” Terrence gasped as he rose from Katy’s vast chest. His legs quivered like stalks.
Katy checked two clocks.
“Either half an hour late or an hour late. Not sure.”
She stirred herself into action.
“I need another bath. Can someone help me get dressed? Wash your hands. You’ll be handling latex.”
* * *
Katy flung open her wardrobe doors, with Saffron and Terrence flanking her like cut-rate bodyguards.
Latex.
Her secret weapon.
She’d worn the stuff for years on stage, feeling it resist her body, making movement a struggle and dancing a battle. She respected it, and it respected her.
She had the same love-hate relationship with latex that she did with the breasts packed underneath it.
They were her second skin, and one that frequently seemed inseparable from the first—particularly when blazing studio lights caused the latex to stick. Getting herself in and out of the sleek, rib-crushing ensembles frequently took a whole pit crew of helpers.
When she wore it, she couldn’t wait to take it off. But once it was off, she couldn’t wait to put it back on.
And when she imagined herself conquering the world—or at least Touch of Love—she saw herself wearing latex.
She had prepared the Barbie-pink outfit in secret, commissioning it piecemeal, so that nobody would suspect they were selling outfits to Katy Perry. Outfits in dramatically larger dimensions than the model charts they had on file suggested. The crop top was 0.5 mm of chlorine-treated latex. It hugged her body tightly, fitting audaciously to her curves. It had a solid built-in bra line—cannibalized from some oversized maternity bras—to add structure and definition.
It took fifteen minutes of Katy, Saffron and Terrence’s combined efforts to shove her huge slopping tits into the vast cups. They kept missing, and squishing out undesirably into her armpits, and down her side.
A metal zipper up the back sealed her up inside it. An airless pink coffin.
Her fleshy, thickened midriff lay bare and exposed. A white band of flesh. Beneath it was a matching latex bottom in a sturdier 0.6 sheeting, because it had to hold the massive, muscle-fueled swings of her ass. An ass that had bloated and swollen to an enormous dump truck of meat. Katy’s big butt stretched the latex almost to transparency. She now wished she’d gone a size bigger.
Hopefully it wouldn’t break. She’d bought the best material from the best suppliers, and prepped the outfit with lukewarm soapy water, and silicone-based dressing aid. Latex shiner had buffed it to the shininess of Jack the Ripper’s knife.
Once the singer was dressed, her two helpers drove her to Touch of Love’s new headquarters in Malibu.
It was a nerve-jangling ride down Mulholland Hwy. Katy insisted on blasting her new experimental industrial music at dash-shattering volumes, and when the mixtape finished, she subjected them to Gregorian chants.
Terrence drove. He was rapt—completely under her spell. There is something deeply charismatic about the mad.
Saffron sat beside Katy in the passenger seat. She was shocked and outraged at what the singer had done, but—if she was honest about herself—far more the former than the latter.
A skyscraper reared up from the coast. Its clean-cut glass facade blazed like rows of teeth as the sun hit the panels. Balconies jutted out audaciously.
This was it.
“Judgment day, Katy said, her huge tits bouncing on a pothole.”I don’t know what Touch of Love wants me to do, exactly. I just know I’m going to do what I always do. Win.”
They pulled up at the parking circuit, then swerved down the drive. The front terrace entrance was a few hundred feet away.
Terrence parked, and Katy got out of the car. Her nails sparkled as she waved goodbye.
“Well, see you both on the flip side!”
Terrence shook his head as she jiggled her way inside.
“Damn. So do we go home, then?”
Saffron’s thumbnail had a permanent dent from where a steel chenille pin had slipped. She ran the nail over the Ozempic pen, feeling the syringe-hole. It seemed to get more and more noticeable each time.
“No.” Saffron’s shrewd eyes flicked between the tampered Ozempic pen, and the building. Back and forth, back and forth. “We have to save her. Come on.”
* * *
“She’s here, boss.” Colin Drake’s aide-de-camp spoke with a pronounced Russian accent. “An hour late.”
“Never mind that,” the Touch of Love president spoke over the office intercom. “I’ll be down shortly to formally welcome her.”
“Man, her goddamn tits are huge…”
“Duly noted. Keep your mind on your job.”
But yes, Colin agreed.
They were huge.
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing on his CCTV camera feed. Katy Perry, strutting through the lobby, her ludicrously top-heavy body jiggling and wobbling inside the latex suit. She was enragingly thick, her body shrink-wrapped and vacuum-packed into latex. Latex that seemed on the verge of bursting with the gallons of flesh inside it.
Impressive. Her nemesis had done quite a number on her.
He smiled in his office, pleased at how things were going.
Six months ago, Touch of Love had faced termination. Federal funding had been slashed, then struck from the budget altogether. Some lily-livered quibbles had been raised in Washington, he suspected. Massive scandals this. Not proper science that. Trifles, really.
But in the organization’s darkest hour, a private source of capital had stepped in. Touch of Love was now an NGO. Funding was now guaranteed for another year.
All he had to do was pull a rather nasty trick on a certain pop singer.
Colin was never one to abstain from getting nasty.
Know thy enemy and know yourself, Sun Tzu had cautioned. Katy Perry was zero for two. She neither knew her enemy nor herself. Doom waited in the wings here for her.
He smiled, adjusted his tie, and prepared to meet Touch of Love’s new guest.
Who would have guessed that at sixty years of age, I’d become a Swiftie…
“Are the boys ready, Oleg?” He spoke into the intercom, his smile wolfish.
“Yes, boss. All forty of them.”
To be continued…
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