Even at night, the humidity in Hong Kong was a force to be reckoned with. As I stood there, sweating outside of the glass facade of the newest gaudy Michelin-starred restaurant along the marina, waiting for my Valentine’s Day date, I wondered how all of the young, slender women managed the temperature so elegantly. Perhaps it was by wearing hardly anything— I’d seen more nipples, camel toes and butt cheeks since landing than I’d seen back home all year, and yet, it was all so classy. Classy, Hong Kong did well.
I’d never expected to be abroad for Valentine’s Day, but business was going well— so well that they wanted to put a name to a face, and given the bonuses and perks on the cards, I didn’t want to disappoint. Hearing that we wouldn’t be together for the big day, my wife of fifteen years, Veronica (back in Chesapeake) protested passive-aggressively for days, only satisfied after receiving a Victoria’s Secret Valentine’s hamper (expertly selected and delivered via my PA, Tin-Tin).
All day long, my phone had been buzzing with ecstatic thank-yous, emojis and a series of seductive photographs: juicy breasts in sultry bras, and puffy pussy lips between crotchless panties, all of them keeping me company on the flight over. As I waited for my mystery date, I scrolled through the selection of my wife’s snaps, eyeing her gym-obsessed, gluten-dodging body, accentuated and accented with pink frilly lace that made her CrossFit-made butt cheeks look like a delicious fruit. In some ways, I did miss her. Still, it was Valentine’s Day and beyond the three-figure lingerie hamper and sickly, romantic text messages, we both knew that I wasn’t going to be spending it alone. It’s the way our marriage was.
Ten minutes later, I watched in awe as my date stepped out of a chauffeur-driven black saloon car. She was stunning— breathtakingly so. At around six foot tall, with a dress size of around six, she was draped in a skin-tight, sparkly low-cut number, that glimmered beneath the artificial glare of the street lights. Her long, slender legs seemed to go on forever, arcing slightly at her waist like an elongated Greco-Roman vase. The spacing between her heavily made-up, smokey eyes, petite nose and sultry mouth were so accurate in their beauty, that it looked as though her face had been plotted, mathematically. Her long black hair flowed freely down past her perky breasts; medium-sized, and not as big as my wife’s, but still enough to make a nice meal out of. My date grinned widely as we embraced for the first time. My semi-hard cock dug into her stomach, her nipples into my chest. She lingered long enough to feel me, finally pulling away. I introduced myself, using my username, goofily.
‘I am X’, she said, gracefully. ‘It is lovely to meet you. A pleasure. Truly.’
As we entered the restaurant’s lobby, she flagged down the maître d’hôtel, speaking hurriedly in a native language I had not heard before. The short, suited woman nodded hurriedly, before leading us to a table at the head of the restaurant, less than a metre away from the chefs, as they worked frantically and precisely. A curvaceous woman in a black Prada dress walked past us, and I did my best not to check her out, failing miserably, while feeling a pang of envy.
‘I just need to go to the bathroom. I won’t be a minute,’ X said.
I nodded politely and sat down, working my way slowly through the pretentious menu with its tiny font. Less than thirty seconds later, she returned and sat, brandishing a large, sharp smile. My eyes caught her chest for a split second— a split second that nervously became a full thirty. I couldn’t be sure, but somehow, it looked as though her breasts had grown. The longer I shot looks at her chest (covertly of course) as our conversation started and stirred, the more I realised it wasn’t in my head. They were bigger. A lot bigger. Her chest had risen from a modest pair of bumps to a heavy pair of milkers, fit to break her crystalline dress. As we chatted onward, my mind raced, trying to work out just exactly what had gone on.
‘So, here we are— a Valentine’s Day date. From a hookup app, of all places,’ I said, before ordering us a bottle of champagne from a passing waiter. ‘So… tell me— what does X stand for. If you don’t mind me asking, that is?’
‘Xanthe,’ my date began, fluttering her eyelashes. ‘Xanthe is the name The Creator assigned me. But enough about me. You look delectable. Truly, you do. A most perfect specimen.’
I laughed, dumbfounded, but flattered a little. Her talk of this Creator sounded a little strange, but hey— a hookup was a hookup.
‘I’ve never been called a specimen before, but I kinda like it,’ I said flirtatiously. ‘What do you think you’ll order? The duck sounds tasty.’ Xanthe looked at me, blankly. Her breasts were definitely bigger. There was no doubt about it.
‘Order?’
‘To eat, I mean?’ Vacantly, she gazed at me, her lips glimmering. I imagined what those lips would look like with my cock between them. Veronica hadn’t blown me in months, and I was gagging for a Valentine’s Day suck job to blow away the cobwebs. My erection was back, throbbing beneath the table at the prospect of fellatio.
‘Xanthe does not eat,’ she said monotonously, without blinking. ‘When I asked the internet where the best place to meet for such an occasion as Valentine’s Day, she informed me that restaurants are a common place for meeting. This restaurant in particular was the best choice, given its Michelin star and calculated societal standing. That is why we are here. That is why I chose this place.’
Silence fell between us, as the music in the restaurant rose to an intense crescendo. Some people clapped. I felt slightly unnerved by her intensity, but more than that was a horniness— a horniness that I needed to appease.
‘You’re a modern woman. Honest. I like that. If I’m being honest, I don’t really want to be here either. What do you say we skip all of this restaurant nonsense and take this bottle back to my hotel for a little celebration of our own? Virginia style.’
X stared into my eyes longingly, before finally nodding in agreement.
Hailing a cab, we slid into its shadowy interior one by one, welcomed by leather seats and a light mist of patchouli in the air. The moment the automatic sliding door closed and our destination was declared, our lips met in the back lightless car. Xanthe was a brilliant, and passionate kisser— possibly the best I’d ever experienced. Her silky lips worked against mine with precision, with me opening my mouth wide, letting our tongues wrap and fight with one another, my hungry hands working their way up and down her half-naked, goddess-like body. I felt her part her legs slightly, inviting me to reach up towards her crotch, curiously touching her lacey gusset between two hairless thighs. She was already wet. My balls pulsated and ached as if they were filling with more semen than they could handle, as she bit into my neck, her breasts firmly pressed against me.
As we turned a corner, her hand began snaking over my erect cock, expertly handling my erection through my suit trousers with eager, robotically powerful strokes. Letting out a low moan of pleasure, Xanthe unzipped me and began sucking my cock there and then, taking me entirely in her warm, welcoming mouth, with deep, throaty licks. I rubbed her bony back, thrusting myself inside her mouth, her bouncy, breasts cushioned firmly against my leg as I handled and grabbed them, trying not to blow my load as she sucked me deeper and deeper. Without warning, abruptly, she stopped.
‘That is enough, I believe,’ she said, adjusting her dress. Your hotel is 0.13 Kilometres away. We should wait. Truly.’
I chuckled to myself, frustrated and confused, but also a little turned on by the emergence of a power dynamic. She liked making me wait, clearly.
‘That’s a mighty accurate estimate. How do you know how far my hotel is?’ I asked, zipping myself up.
‘Calculations. Everything is just, calculations,’ she said, turning to me, and planting a kiss on my cheek.
Stepping out of the cab, upward to the hotel lobby and into the grandiose lift, she threw me against the wall. Given how slender she was, she was surprisingly strong, pinning me against the mirror as I reached under her dress for the familiar wetness of her vagina. It was incredibly warm; near boiling to the touch even, and soaked, more than my wife’s had ever been, leaking through the thin, fancy fabric of her expensive-feeling thong. Reaching our destination on the eighth floor, we broke apart, catching our breath as we walked to room 825 and I slotted my key card into the black reader. I poured us both out a glass of champagne, and raised a glass, gesturing to hers as it sat on the marble countertop.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ I said. She looked at me blankly, her smile fading.
‘Xanthe does not drink,’ she said, looking to the flute. This time, she sounded serious. Did she not drink at all, or not drink alcohol? The urgency in her voice had a bluntness that unsettled me and I hoped I hadn’t offended her. I was relieved, however, when I heard her continue with a sentence I’d been dying to hear:
‘Quickly, you must be inside me. Truly.’
Pacing over to the bed, with a run-up as if she was about the begin a gymnastics routine, I watched as she landed with artistic grace, her legs wide open, revealing a pair of elegant, black knickers. Walking slowly over towards her, I could feel myself throbbing as I leant down, removing them giddily, panting in hearing the satisfying sound of sticky fabric peeling away from a hairless engorged vulva. It was rouge, throbbing in comparison with her skin colour: creamy magnolia. Her thin, modest, moist labia trailed vertically, glistening, my fingers gliding across her skin as we kissed once more. Finally, she eagerly undid my trousers, and before long, the head of my cock was spreading her lips open. She whispered in my ear.
‘A perfect specimen. Yes— you will do, perfect. Perfectly. The Creator needs your seed. I need your seed. Truly.’
Being far too horny to be put off by what sounded like religious jibber-jabber at the time, I slid the rest of my bare cock inside her. Her tight, slender hole felt hot— near boiling hot, but I tried to ignore the minute pain, grabbing her thighs and thrusting deeper and deeper. Without a second thought, she ripped her dress open, exposing her breasts, guiding her erect, large areolas to me, and gesturing for me to suck. It was as though she could read my mind. Obliging, I held her body closer to me, feeling the walls of her pussy writhe rhythmically. It was pulsing; vibrating almost, like some futuristic sex toy, yet to be invented. I wanted to ask her how she was doing that, but her warmth drew me back in, deeper, more furiously each time.
She exhaled, heavier and heavier, as I gripped her, her legs, in turn, gripping me, her ankles digging into my back before wrapping around me completely. I was nothing more than prey in the mouth of her hungry cunt; devoured by her as deeply as humanly possible. Then frantically, she began licking my face; long slow trails of her long, pointed tongue, painting thick saliva on me. I could feel the vibrations from inside her reducing, as everything seemed to slow to a spacier rhythm.
‘Yes, exactly. Like that,’ she said lovingly. ‘Now. It is time. Are you ready?’
I looked down at her, puzzled, my cock squelching against her juicy cunt.
‘Ready for what?’
‘Your seed. I need your seed. It is time, truly.’
‘What? I don’t—’
‘Now.’
Then I felt it. Rising from complete stillness to an unfathomable intensity, the walls of her pussy vibrated violently, causing me to ejaculate harder and longer than I had ever before. The contents of my gonads, drained from my body, were pumped deep into her womb, as she dug long knife-like nails into me, holding me firmly into place while extracting me. Her pussy scorched my cock as I lay there in agony and pleasure, falling out of her cunt, into a sweaty heap beside the most beautiful human I’d seen in my life. Drenched in sweat, I shivered, wide-eyed, feeling my body going into shock, my muscles tensing rigidly.
‘Yes. Yes, that was perfect. The Creator will be pleased. Yes, indeed. Truly.’
‘W-w-what— have you— d-d-done to me?’ I managed to mouth, my jaw muscles seizing up as her ethereal toxins flowed through my post-orgasm body.
Lying in the centre of the bed, I watched her as she raised her legs towards the ceiling. Holding them there, she gradually lowered them. Her body looked deliciously sweaty in the low light of the room; her pussy was a sticky mess, glazed with my two-day load. Then I saw it happen. Her breasts were shrinking, her tender areolas narrowing along with them.
‘H-h-how? How— w-w-what—’ I began, aghast, struggling to get my words out, my jaw locking disobediently.
I watched as X paused, her pristinely angular skull turning to face me with a maniacal grin. Creepily, she slowly rolled onto her side, her slender stomach rising from a near-chiselled six-pack, inflating into the familiar swollen, heaving dome of pregnancy. She was not of this world.
‘You enjoyed my breasts?’ she asked, watching my body sadistically, as it began to shake. ‘Yes… I thought you might. You see, when we first met, your pulse rate upon seeing me was impressive. However, your pulse rate when seeing the larger female in the restaurant was considerably higher. It was therefore only logical for me to improve my appearance to ensure the securing of your seed. Truly, yes.’
I watched as the hand resting on the skin of her naked stomach began to writhe, creepily. Life, inside her.
‘But, our child will be nurtured by The Creator. I have no use for them, now,’ Xanthe said, with a dangerous sneer. ‘And I have no use for you. Truly.’
Falling from the bed to the hotel floor in agony, my body shook agonisingly. My joints and muscles seized. Rising to her feet, she stood over me, grinning, lowering to plant a kiss on my forehead, before pacing towards the large glass windows of the hotel room. Gazing out at the sleepy city, I watched her slender figure walk beyond the glass, onward, out into the warm night air, fading into a glinting, glowing nothingness.
