By The Preve
On a warm spring night on May 8, 20... , a sonic boom woke the residents of Paris Falls, Cleveland, Ohio. Lights came on all over the neighborhood. People cursed the low flying aircraft that disturbed their various slumbers. The lights went out again as grumblers returned to bed, but not before the men had a brief tumble with their wives. Unaccountably, the men of the neighborhood sported larger nighttime woods than usual. One well-endowed guy noted a brief pink flash just after the boom. He heard giggling. "Damn kids," he thought. The joke would be on him soon.
*******
Meet Max Casetta, third generation Italian-American. Max Casetta works in human resources. He is very good at his job. Max Casetta is short, 5'2". He has olive colored skin, dark brown eyes, and short dark hair.
Max keeps in shape through diet, jogging, and regular trips to the gym. He is neither handsome nor ugly, just classically average. Max smiles a lot and laughs often. People love to hear him talk with his quick tongue and quicker wit. He has a high-pitched Joe Pesci squeak.
Max has good reason to smile. Max has good reason to laugh. He has a great job, he's in great health but the two most important reasons: he has a four inch thick, foot long cock and a drop dead gorgeous wife to plant it in.
*******
Meet Bambi Casetta, nee' Bambi Bjornson, second generation Swedish-American. Bambi works as a part-time nurse, full time wife. She is...okay at her part-time job, much better at her full-time.
Bambi is tall, 6'6". She has pinkish white skin, deep blue eyes, and neck-length light blonde hair. Bambi is big, Bambi is beautiful. Bambi's pounds are put in all the right places. Bambi has big boobs. Bambi has big hips. Bambi has a big ass, very well-shaped. Bambi's midsection is toned and flat.
Bambi reminds a lot of people of the great big blonde, Jayne Mansfield. She has a whispery baby doll voice. Bambi smiles a lot and giggles constantly; most important to Max: she has an enormous sex drive and the endurance level of an Ethiopian marathoner.
Everyday after work, Max comes home to a great home cooked meal and 200 pounds of good hot babeflesh ready for a good porking. Max thinks he's the luckiest bastard in the world. "Did you see the jugs on that bimbo?" remarked his friend Lou to Vinnie. "Damn! He's a lucky bastard."
Today was no different or so Max thought. He arrived home after a very good day at the office. The boss had given him a raise and a promotion. "Very good work," he said. "The people upstairs have their eyes on you."
Max was in a celebratory mood, his pants were near ripping. "I think I'll have some pie first and dinner later," he thought, but something was wrong when he opened the door: Bambi wasn't there to meet him.
Max's anticipatory smile faded. "What the fuck? Where's my fuck?" he asked. Then he noticed another peculiar thing, he sniffed. "What the fuck?" he asked again.
His house smelled like house. There was no overlaying scent of a home cooked meal; not only was she not in the living room, wet and ready, she hadn't even cooked dinner.
Max was perplexed, Max was irritated. Years of clockwork sex disrupted by...what? And then he heard a sound, a sound which sent shivers up his spine and set his teeth grinding in white-hot anger.
A moan...and not just any moan. A faint, orgasmic moan that wafted down the stairs from his bedroom (their bedroom!) to his ears, into his very long-donged soul.
He recognized that moan. He'd heard it countless times: when he'd dated her, on their wedding night, and on countless nights since. There could be only one reason for that unique moan. "Grrrr!" he growled, rushing up the stairs with thoughts of murder and mayhem.
He burst through the door expecting adultery. What he found dropped his lower jaw. "What the fuck?!!"
He didn't understand what he was looking at, at first. "What's a giant beachball doing on my bed?" he asked. It was perfectly round, skin colored, reaching almost to the ceiling. Its circumference nearly took up the entire room.
It was shiny; there seemed to be some moisture on its surface. There was a smell in the room, peculiar yet somehow familiar. Max inched closer to the ball. A slit was indented in the center; pink and shiny, surrounded by yellowish gold fur, a smaller hole below it.
Abstractedly he thought, "That's a weird design for a beachball, and it looks familiar too."
It wasn't until he noticed the two objects protruding from the sides of the "beachball", that revelation crashed upon his brain with a tsunami of improbability.
The beautifully shaped, well-muscled objects braced against the bedpost, curled against the fleshy ball. He'd stroked those gams countless times, from the lovely feet to the succulent thighs now curled beneath the great flesh globe. That pink, wet slit: how many times had he plumbed the moist depths of her crevasse with his own ample girth, grinding his dark fur against her golden muff? That smell, her smell, permeated the air.
"Impossible! Un-fucking-believable!" Max exclaimed. He tentatively reached out to touch the object, if only to confirm its reality. He was unprepared for what happened next.
At his merest touch, the blob of flesh quaked orgasmically. The great, pink flower flexed and opened wider. A blast of fluid fire-hosed from the big, wet twat, leaving Max splashed and sputtering in cum.
"Whoa!" cried Max. His wife had always been a squirter but this....? The blob shook with a series of very familiar giggles. "Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Mmmm, that tickles."
"Honey pie?!" Max asked.
"Over here, honey," replied the blob.
"What in all the fucks we ever had happened?!" Max asked.
"Tee hee! Come around and I'll tell you. Hee! Hee!"
"But you're....that's....well, is that you?" he asked.
"Of course not, silly. That's only my pussy. I'm up here," she giggled.
Max was cautious but he was the type who always wanted an explanation. Besides, his wife's cum drenched him; between the soaking and her scent, Max got an enormous chubby.
He edged around the blob. His chest brushed against it, causing another orgasmic ripple and a breathy giggle from his honey pie. Max heard a splat as his bedroom wall got another blast of Bambi. "Geez!" he thought.
He approached the head of the bed. The round blob curved downward to meet another near perfect sphere. It was smaller, the size of a basketball, topped by a saucer-sized pink areola and teacup-sized nipple. Its twin sat adjacent; both boobs bubbled white creamy milk.
The mammoth mammaries wobbled and hitched with the bubbly giggles issuing from the beautiful blonde head planted atop the tri-sphered body.
Max gazed upon the wide expanse of sensuous flesh. His mind and body overloaded. "This is my sweetie pie?" he asked and then "Holy fuck! This is my pie!"
