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Collected by Djian
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| Voices | Back to K | Back to main page | ||
Collected by Djian
The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in
locations in which it is legal. If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT
read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or any other use strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except may by posted as part of a review or posted to free-access,
noncommercial archive sights.
Voices 1
By Richard
Story Index
This story, while largely original, is based in part on the story Donna's Humiliation or Dog
Breath serialized in 1998 and earlier. I liked some of the ideas but felt the execution was somewhat
off. It appeared as if several different writers had worked on the story, with plotlines and
characters left dangling and earlier motivation completely forgotten. The first two chapters (at
least) of this story are completely original. Hope you like it.
Voices, Part 1
The baby had turned 4 months old today. That meant it had been five months, plus a little, that
the voices had begun.
Even when Donna heard the first one clearly, that day she was vacuuming the bedroom hallway, she
knew that she had been aware of them for a long time. Not hearing them, you see, but aware of them,
like the far off mutter of a thunderstorm, just over the horizon.
She had shut down the vacuum and looked behind her, knowing no one was in the house but her but
still looking. It would be better, she knew, to have a visitor or even an intruder than what she had
thought the first time the voices spoke to her. Spoke clearly and distinctly.
There was no one behind her in the hallway or in the living room. She glanced in the kitchen but
no one there, either. She headed for the upstairs staircase when the voices spoke again. Inside
her. Inside her head.
She gasped and grabbed the large round knob on the end of the stair rail. It came loose in her
hands as it always did and she held it in her hands, rolling it between each hand and smoothing
imaginary wrinkles on the old, worn wood. She backed up and leaned against the railing. The thin
wood spokes supporting the stair rail held her up as her legs spread apart, her toes clinched tight
in her blue slippers. She took one hand from the stair knob and used it to support her heavy,
swollen belly.
Eight months pregnant is no time to start hearing things, she told herself sternly. Especially
the things she had heard. Things that, well---no good woman should be hearing. Not out loud and
certainly not in her head. Nasty things. Vulgar things. Dirty things. And even as she told
herself this she was very carefully *not* considering what hearing voices might actually mean.
Insanity, madness, all that was swept very quickly away to a small, dusty corner of her mind. Don't
even look there. It just doesn't exist.
What she paying attention to as she leaned against the stairwell was how hot she suddenly was.
That prickly kind of heat you feel in attics in the summertime. Where your skin seems to suddenly
begin to itch all over and a layer of sweat almost seems to cover your skin. The kind of heat where
you don't sweat. It's too hot to sweat but the second you hit cooler air your skin bursts with
water, soaking your clothes and streaming down your body.
Her temples were just short of a paralyzing headache and she was suddenly grateful that she was
wearing only a maternity blouse, panties and slippers. With no one home she had been lazy and
decided not to go through the irritation of maternity pants while doing the housework.
Then the voices spoke again and the sweat began to run. Within seconds her blouse and panties
were soaked and droplets were dripping off her fingertips and nose and splashing on the hardwood
floor leading to the kitchen. Her slippers began to become sodden and her feet began to slip inside
then. She put her arms out and gripped the stair railing. She straightened her body with a soft
groan and kicked the slippers off. Standing there she peeled the maternity blouse off with a great
deal of difficulty. It seemed to stick to every inch of her wet, slippery body.
She walked off the hardwood floor onto the living room carpet and opened the curtains for the
large picture window facing the street. She turned, walked into the kitchen and picked up one of the
chrome legged vinyl kitchen chairs with the yellow and red flowers on it. She carefully carried the
chair in front of her bulging belly and placed it in front of the living room window. She picked up
a scrunchy from a coffee table and gathered her long brown damp hair into a pony tail. She turned
her back to the window and pulled her panties down to her knees, then shook and wiggled while holding
her belly with both hands until the panties dropped to her ankles. She kicked them off her feet.
The last kick flipped them back to the floor by the stairwell where they lay in a rumpled pile with
her blouse and slippers.
The sweat continued pouring down her now naked body and she licked her upper lip, tasting the
heavy salt as she walked back to the kitchen chair. She sat down in it, her back very straight, and
spread her legs wide. As far apart as she could get them. She placed her right hand under her belly
to support it and slid her left hand around the crease of her upper thigh until it dipped into the
heavy wetness of her pussy hair. She could feel her pussy lips partly open and what could be either
sweat or pussy juice gathering in a pool before her crotch. The liquid flowed into the indent her
ass made on the chair and spread around each ass cheek and between her legs into the crevice of her
ass. It felt almost cool, although she knew it could not be, having just come from her body but she
wiggled her ass slightly and the sweat/pussy juice rippled in tiny waves over her asshole, splashing
against the walls of her inner asscheeks.
Her belly kept her from feeling her clit but she slid two fingers into her pussy and spread them
far apart, like an opened scissors. She could feel her fingernails scratching against her inside
pussy walls, up towards the top, near her pee hole and as she opened and closed her fingers she could
feel her clit enlarge and press slightly against the belly imprisoning it.
It had been months since her husband, Bob, had touched her. As her belly had swelled it had
become progressively hard to masturbate the ways she like to. Easy access became a thing of the past
and she was relunctant to use dildos and vibrators for fear they might damage the unborn child. Even
what she was doing now was awkward and slow. Still, the very nastiness and awkwardness was exciting
now as she worked her pussy, scissoring her fingers back and forth inside her. She twisted her
fingers into a corkscrew and, while she couldn't penatrate deeply, only to the second knuckle, she
fucked them back and forth, her thumb scraping againt the overhanging belly.
The vinyl chair was so wet she had to sit very straight to keep from sliding off onto the floor.
Donna could see clearly out the picture window to the street. While the house was set well back from
the street, she was grateful that the sun made the window an opaque mirror to passerbys. There
weren't many, anyways. It was 10:00 am and most folks were at work. Most kids in school. Still,
several people passed by and she shook with fear and anticipation as they did so. Not one of them
glancing towards her house. Not one of them seeing the 8 months pregnant woman diddling herself in
the window.
She had just plunged her fingers into her pussy as far as they would go and was on the outward
stroke when her ass slipped on the wet vinyl seat. She slid suddenly forward, sweat and pussy juices
spraying off the edge of the chair onto her thighs, calves and the carpet below. Her ass just barely
caught the seat's rounded seam. Her right foot flipped up off the floor and smacked hard against the
arm of the sofa that sat beside the picture window. Her left foot strained to hold her in place, the
toes crimped and white with the effort. Cool (or cooler) air flowed over her ass and as it did so,
she began to cum.
She shuddered and she could hear the sofa thud into the wall as her leg pushed it backwards.
Both legs quivered and shook with the strain of the cum and the effort it required to keep her on the
chair. Her pussy seemed awash with fluid and just as the intensity hit its peak a flood of fluid
shot out of her, splashing down her legs and covering her left foot with her juices.
As Donna recovered she slipped down out of the seat to the floor below. The carpet was soaked
directly in front of the seat and she sat there in the wet mess, physically exhausted, as her head
began to clear.
My God! What had she been thinking!? She had rubbed her pussy right in front of the window!
Where anybody could have seen her! In the middle of the day! What could she have been thinking?!?
What in the world was...and then the voices spoke again.
She stopped her panic and listened. A small part of her was grateful for something, even this,
to explain her behavior. What the voices told her was the least vulgar thing they had said thus far.
"Good job, slut." the voices said.