Toybox #10 (Deus 2) (Patreon)

Chapter Two:

Morgan’s husband was a round, doughy man with greying hair and a heavy wheeze. She loved him and had two children with him, but she was no longer attracted to him. They still shared a bed, but her priority was no longer on building her family. Instead, she focused her energies on her town and on the people in it.

Sometimes, Morgan felt lonely, though she would never admit it. She saw herself as a strong woman and viewed herself as independent, and it didn’t make sense to her how someone who was independent could need people. Her children were not yet grown, but she had raised them to be enterprising and self-sufficient. They did not need her like the town needed her, and her husband was too milquetoast to communicate any need of her, either. He was subservient, and that is how she ended up feeling so alone.

She slept with her back to her husband and thought of the boy. The air around him was a strange one. She assumed that to be the result of the curse, but she did not understand the curse beyond knowing that she should fear it. She had given permission to send for a cleric of the Seven and expected them to arrive within a few days. In that time, Priestess Kia and Samantha would attend to the boy and keep him safe from the townspeople while the guard kept the townspeople safe from him.

As she slept, Morgan found her thoughts and dreams turned to the boy. In her dreams, she is alone with him in his bedroom, and she is beside his bed. His eyes are open, and one is dark while the other is pink. She felt strange when he looked at her, though she did not understand why. Her nipples ached, both in her dream and in real life.

“I am glad to see that you are awake,” she said.

“I’m glad that you’re not,” he told her in response. She had found it strange since she could not see her own dream. On instinct, she understood him, but it puzzled her how he could know that she was dreaming when she wasn’t really aware of it herself.

“You’re beautiful, in your own way,” he told her, and he moved his hand up to touch her thigh. He explored her thigh and found her bottom and gave it a firm, hardy squeeze while she stood beside him smiling a plastic, unmoving smile. “Small breasts but a big bottom.” He smiled back at her. “And a deeply buried lust that has not been satisfied in ages. You will do nicely.”

“I am married,” she said, but she could feel a fire burning in her loins.

The boy sat up and lowered her pants, and he stared at her thick thighs and the dirty blond pubic hair that peeked out from between them. “That is fine,” he told her. “Your husband can watch.”

He parted her legs and began eating her, and Morgan had never felt anything better. His tongue was warm and nimble, and his hands were small but strong. He moved her onto the bed with him and ate her with an urgency that unsettled and excited her. She came for him and left his cheeks wet, and her clothes seemed to melt off of her. He sat up with his pink eye flashing and a smile on his face, and he ran his full, impossible length along her parted vulva as she stared him in the eyes.

“I love you,” he told her. “And you will love me, too, if you give it time.”

She looked at his dick, which was longer and thicker than her forearm, and she nodded.

“Ready?”

She nodded again, and then she shook her head. He shrugged.

“Too late now,” he told her, and he laughed. “You never really stood a chance.”

She came when he entered her, and the climax was so strong that it woke her from her slept. She wailed, and as she settled, she could not remember why. Her husband rolled over to check on her, but she did not want to see him. She was sweaty, and her panties were wet like she has pissed herself. Her pussy was humming with pleasure, though, and she could not remember her dream, but she knew for certain that it was not a nightmare. So, she told herself it was a message from the Seven. She told herself that this dream was prophetic, and that it was a gift of the Divine.

Elsewhere in town, Misha dreamed of the boy, too, and she woke in a sweaty climax that found her staring at the ceiling and gasping for air. Her husband stirred beside her. He was a large man with greying hair and big hands. He felt her forehead and whispered, “Misha, dear, you’re covered in a cold sweat.”

“I’m…I….” Misha could not find words. She could feel that the sweat on her forehead was cool but the moisture between her legs was not. It was like a furnace had been lit in her, and she sat with stiffened, sensitive nipples and struggled for breath and for thought. The dream had been so real, but it had slipped like sand through the fingers of her mind when she woke. She thought of the boy and worried over how he might be suffering under the curse if this was what it did to her.

She woke early and doused herself with a wetted rag to wash away the shame of her dream, and then she stayed awake to avoid such nightmares again. When she met Morgan, she was tired and still very horny, and she could see the same sort of bright-eyed, flushed arousal on Morgan’s face, too. They both recognized it on each other, and they felt a dramatic shift in the air as they approached the healing hut.

They both expected the boy to be awake, but he was not. The air within his room crackled with erotic energy, though, and the curse which they had known little of the day before became a very real and very present threat to them now. Both women stared fixedly at his swollen crotch, and Samantha stood stiff beside his bed with a flushed face and a manic smile.

“As you can see,” she said. “There has been no change in his condition.” She seemed to be fidgeting and restless to them, and were the two of them less concerned with their own health, they might have seen the signs. Instead, they assumed that she, like them, was plagued with cursed dreams and did not think beyond it. Word had been sent to the capitol for a Cleric of the Seven, and all they could do was wait. While they waited, however, Samantha fell.

Once both women were gone back to their work and Samantha was alone with the boy, she found herself overcome with depraved, animal urges again. She stared at his tented trousers with thoughtless longing and remembered the day before when she swore he was watching her. She had helped him. She knew that she had. The curse was doing this to him, and it was her job as the town healer to alleviate his pain however she could.

That was her reasoning when she lowered his trousers against to taste him. She lubricated him with her hungry mouth, and then removed her undergarments before mounting him. She wore her skirt as she rode him and rested her hands on his skinny, almost emaciated chest. The boy had been asleep for a full day without food or water, and she could only imagine how long he had been out in the ditch without either as well. This was all she could do to comfort him, and she felt glad that her body could do this much for him even.

His rod was great, and he stretched her as her husband never had and never could. It almost hurt to be so full, but a few strokes saw her adjusting to him. Her breasts bounced and her nipples ached beneath her blouse. She thought to strip naked and to kiss him but had enough of herself left to know that was the curse speaking. As she healed him, she took his wretched curse into herself, too. She would need the Cleric to heal her once they arrived, and until then she would pray to the Divine for salvation for them both.

She closed her eyes as she rode him, and when she came her face pinched. She settled on him, and when she opened her eyes again, she found him watching her. She was breathless and sweaty, and he had only one eye open. It was a sinister eye with a pink iris, and as she stared into his cruel, demonic, accursed eye, she smiled. “Don’t worry,” she crooned. “I will heal you.”

Samantha began riding him again, and she fell on him with slow, heavy strokes. This was not healing anymore, and she knew it. Each movement stabbed him into the deepest parts of her. She swore that she was choking on him from below, he was going so deep, and she grunted and gasped each time she took him. Her bottom shook, and her clothes adhere to her body as if they were wet. He watched her, and she thought that she felt his hands on her rear guiding her, but she found they were her own hands.

She stared him in the eye as she rode him, and eventually she found he was not watching her. Instead, he was staring just past her, and she followed his gaze, smiling, as she whispered to herself, “What are you looking at…CARRIE!”

Samantha did not run the healing hut on her own. She had an apprentice healer in the young, shapely Carrie Halperton. Carrie was a brunette with a pointed noise and a mousy face. She was short but voluptuous, and she stood in the doorway of the room with a look of wide-eyed arousal plastered onto her face.

“Ms. Sammy, I didn’t mean to, but I…” She looked at the two joined on the bed and squeaked. “Your husband…?”

“No, Carrie, sweetie, you don’t understand. This poor boy…He’s afflicted, and I…” Samantha moved slowly to lift herself off of him, and once he was out of her, she regretted his exit. She lifted her skirt and slid her round bottom down his shaft as she revealed his length to Carrie. The younger woman gasped when she saw the boy, and Samantha smiled over her shoulder as the cleft of her bubbly rear framed his enormous dick. “See, dear? He is afflicted, and I am helping him.

The sight of Samantha’s big bottom bouncing against the boy’s oversized dick is erotic in a way that Carrie doesn’t understand. She was raised to be devout and obedient to the Seven and their dictums, but Samantha’s rapture is intoxicating and beguiling for her. Samantha holds the young man by his thick crown and grinds her sweaty ass cheeks against him, and Carrie felt not only that he deserved it but that she wanted to join them.

“I’m just helping him,” she said. “Look at this poor boy. Look at how big he is. Can you imagine the discomfort?”

Carrie shook her head absently. Her entire body was hot, and she felt the need to cool it. She began tugging on her clothes, but she did not remove them. Staring at his dick, she asked, “Ms. Sammy, should I…Is my assistance required?”

Samantha mewled, and she lifted herself and teased her own entrance with him but sliding him back along the cleft of her pale ass again. “Nn. I don’t know if it is required but…” She sighed and stared at his dick. “I will not require it, but it might benefit you to…learn.” She laughed to herself. “He certainly has more than enough to share, doesn’t he?”

Carrie nodded and undid his bodice. Her enormous bosom came swinging into view as she undressed herself. She was a thick woman with heavy curves. Her face was flushed as she jiggled toward the bed. “Ms. Sammy, what can I do?”

“See his skinny little legs there,” whispered Samantha as she slid against him. Carrie nodded, and Samantha smiled. “Part those legs and caress his testicles with your tongue, dear.”

Carrie parted his legs and stared at his oversized testicles. His scrotum was like a massive fruit and is glistened with her healer’s juices. “Caress him with my tongue…” She gasped. “You mean for me to…taste him?”

“I mean for you to suck him, yes. Meanwhile, I will…” Samantha lifted herself and angled him to take her, and then she slid smoothly down his shaft and took him to the root. Her round butt nearly slapped Carrie across the face as the younger woman did as asked, but Carrie tilted her head in a way to avoid it. She could not avoid the dripping pleasure that splattered across her cheek however.

Samantha settled on him and gasped. “Ah! I will stroke him with my…body.”

“Yes, ma’am,” whispered Carrie, and she suckled her mentor’s pleasure from the young man’s heavy, nearly hairless testicles.

In this way, the two beauties coaxed him and pleased him until he erupted inside of Samantha. Samantha came loudly, and Carrie rose to quiet her with a kiss. They shared this kiss and clung to each other as both women came, and afterward stayed together to enjoy the afterglow of the moment. When ready, they parted from him, and Samantha sucked him clean before Carrie was given permission to wash him with water.

Afterward, while his essence ran down her shapely thighs, Samantha told Carrie as she dressed, “Please, do not speak of this to anyone. The boy needs it, but I fear that Morgan or Kia might…misunderstand.”

“O-Of course,” said Carrie as she fastened her bodice. She hated how stifling her clothes felt after that. Her cheeks were still warm, wet and fragrant from her time attending to the boy. She stared at Samantha and blushed. “In truth, ma’am, I hardly understand it.”

Samantha nodded and stared Carrie in her pretty eyes. “But…you do understand, don’t you?”

Carrie stared back and the nodded, and her bosom bounced from her vigor. “Of course, ma’am. He very clearly needs this.”

“Exactly,” said Samantha, and she embraced the younger woman tightly. Their soft bodies met and melted together, and the aftermath of their pleasure touched. They came together and parted panting and with flushed faces. Their lips met briefly as they stared at each other, and then Samantha whispered to Carrie, “We will check him again at noon…”

“Will he need us again…”

“He…will need us often, I think.”

Carrie nodded her understanding, and then the two parted to do their work.

Before they could attend to him at noon, Kia Gehhilfe returned. Like the others, she had seen the boy in her dreams and was drawn to him like a moth to a flame afterward. She felt dizzy as she entered the hut, and she could smell the stench of sex in the air and on the staff there. Samantha and Carrie both had a faraway, glossy stare that unsettled her, but it did not frighten her off.

Kia approached the boys room with Samantha at her side, and she found the woman’s flushed face and pale skin unsettling. She could smell the sweat of sex on Samantha and crinkled her nose with disdain. “How has his rest been?”

“…Restless,” said Samantha carefully, and it was like something was restraining her tongue. Kia listened, and she feared that they would not have time for the cleric to arrive. She stood at the door, but she felt a foreboding presence waiting inside.

“Has his condition worsened.”

“No,” admitted Samantha. “But, I fear that it the result of the tireless efforts of myself and my assistant.” She stared at the door with intense longing and said, “We may have to spend the night with him to care for him in the cleric’s absence.”

Kia’s dark eyebrows rose. “He is in such a dire condition?”

“The curse is powerful,” said Samantha, and she said no more.

“I see.” Kia looked at the door. “Allow me time alone with him.”

Samantha woke from her fugue and looked at the priestess, and she frowned. “…Are you sure?” Kia gave her an imperious stare, and Samantha stammered. “He become fitful, and I am afraid to leave him unattended.”

“He will not be unattended,” said Kia archly. “I will be attending, and I bring the light of the Seven with me.”

“Of course.” Samantha bowed her head and stepped away against her own desire. “Yes, ma’am. Stay with him as long as you like.”

“I will,” said Kia, and she touched the door lightly. Her fingertips thrummed, and she could feel the lust radiating from the wood. She hesitated and, gripping her eight-point star, she whispered a silent prayer and entered. Samantha stared at the boy with his tented sheet, and she watched the door swing shut and lamented her inability to serve.