The Mist, Chapter 4B

When Monica woke up, she realized…

I’m wet. The dream was still at the fringes of her mind, but she was wet like she’d had the mother of all orgasms.

And her… Monica blinked and sat up in the bed, ignoring the dampness between her legs. Her tits felt bigger. Which was pretty well impossible, because she’d stopped her growth spurt long ago, before she’d graduated, which was one reason she’d been so popular.

But now… Monica hefted one gown-covered tit in her hand.

It did feel heavier.

She blinked and walked to the bathroom, the warmth between her legs reminding her of the dream. It was hard to remember…just a feeling of submission… Glorious submission… And pleasure.

She got to the bathroom and pulled her night gown off, dropping it to the floor and staring at her body.

She…

They are bigger. Just just a little bigger. They were wider, nipples darker, and heavier, hanging a little lower on her frame.

Monica licked her lips. She cupped one meaty jug and moaned. They were actually more sensitive than they’d been.

But heavier… Not some kind of show tits after you’d hit the plastic surgeon.

She had a sudden image of waiting for a man who’d been working in the fields, working hard, and then he came in to see her body, ready…

Ready for fucking.

Ready for seeding because the farm needed extra hands… the empty land needed to be tilled…

Monica licked her lips and one of her hands descended to her pussy, fingers lightly touching her mons. She hissed, imagining what the farmer would be like.

Older than she was.

Yes, she could see a little salt and pepper in his beard, not some young buck, but a powerful, older male, with the wisdom of age to join his strength.

A thick, long cock, just perfect for taking his wife and making her his, filling her womb, seeding her…

Monica’s soft moan filled the room, and behind her a few curls of mist appeared in the early morning light. She was rubbing her pussy, and then her other hand cupped her tit, the flesh overflowing her palm.

“Mmmm….” Her moan filled the room. Her dream was fading from her memory, in favor of the daydream of just living in a little farmhouse, being fucked, day after day, and then proudly showing off her burgeoning belly to her man and his friends…

Why am I thinking this? Monica shivered in pleasure, but she’d never gotten off on the idea of an older guy—a strong man, taking his woman in hand—fucking her and she’d never really considered getting preg—finding the destiny of a proper woman—let along living on a farmhouse.

She licked her lips, and pulled her fingers away from her slit, with some difficulty. They were gleaming with her juices. The air was cool, her nipples stiff in it.

Monica shook her head, banishing the image with difficulty. She’d not gotten a fuck in way too long.

With that, she turned to the shower.

Maybe a good, long shower will help me forget.

It didn’t.

*****

When Monica came out of the shower she was presented with her first issue. Her bras had always been a little right, and she wasn’t about to kill herself via asphyxiation by trying to fit her jugs into a too-small bra.

So simple solution, just go braless. She pulled on a T-shirt and looked at her self in the mirror. There was something hot about the way her nipples pressed into the fabric, and her tits pulled the shirt away from her body.

In fact…

Fuck it, if I look good on top, why not on the bottom…  She had some cutoffs she kept as emergency clothes in case you had to get wet, do work, or just wanted to showoff.  She found them and wiggled them on and realized that she just hadn’t put weight on up top.

She’d put some on in her ass and hips. Not fat, but curvy, full, the kind of hips…

A farmwife would have… She blinked, imagining the way she’d look, walking along, her hips and ass swaying in counterbalance to her tits—and later her belly.

Holy shit, I haven’t hit my biological clock, have I?  I’m barely even out of college.

Still the thought was… a turn on.

Monica bit her lip, trying to banish the thought. She didn’t need to get wet and have to change clothes, after all.

Then, dressed, she glanced out the window, and blinked.

Holy shit.

There was light shining down over the building, from the rising sun, the there was a sea of fog around the structure. She bet you couldn’t even see a foot in front of your face if you were down in the front. Beyond the fog, she could see the spires of the city rising, and Monica realized that the fog wasn’t all over the place. It was just…

Here, around the building.

Between that and the tree, nobody’s getting down that road.

She shook her head and headed out of her room. Maybe there was something going on down stairs.

As she passed Tom and Jennifer’s room, she heard grunting and gasping.

She paused. I should go on, I shouldn’t listen…

“You want it bitch? Tell me what you want, slut!”

That was Tom’s voice, but he sounded… dominant, powerful.

“P….please, sir!” Jennifer’s voice was high pitched, eager. “Fuck your slut! Fuck me until I’m knocked up!”

“I’m gonna do that, and then what are you gonna do?”

“Wh—whatever my man wants!” Jennifer’s voice rose in a squeal.

Monica shook her head. No, she definitely didn’t need to stick around.

With that, she headed down the hallway.

Pressing her legs together now and then, because the way Tom was dominating Jennifer… was hot.