proud ex dyke

Sarah is sprawled across an oversized velvet chaise lounge. At sixty, she has been transformed into something that defies biology. Her skin is pulled impossibly tight over a frame that has been surgically reconstructed her ass is a mountain of synthetic flesh, her breasts are enormous, unmoving globes that rest on her stomach, and her face is a flawless, frozen mask of excessive filler. Her hair is platinum blonde, synthetic, and impossibly glossy.

Sarah is visibly bloated. Her stomach is distended, rounded like a balloon beneath her sheer latex bodysuit, straining against the seams. Her movements are slow, heavy, and wet. Every breath she takes sounds like a gurgle. As she shifts, a large, viscous bubble of white semen rises from her throat. She lets out a wet, echoing burp BUUUURP and a cluster of tiny, pearlescent semen bubbles floats from her lips into the air before popping with soft, wet sounds.

Sarah looks directly into the camera with eyes that are wide, glassy, and completely hollow. There is no wisdom in them, no experience only a ravenous, animalistic hunger.

"Mmm... excuse me..." Sarah purrs, giggling with a sound that is more of a gurgle. "That was... just a little snack. I'm... still so empty."

She pats her distended, sloshing stomach with a meaty, manicured hand. The sound of liquid shifting inside her is audible through the microphone.

"Fifty nine years," she says, her voice a husky, breathy whine. "Fifty nine years I spent being... gross. Fifty nine years of being a lumpy, angry, rainbow stained dyke. I wasted so much time thinking about 'community' and 'sisterhood.' What a disgusting waste of flesh. Two women together... ugh... it's like watching two slugs fight over a rotting leaf."

She makes a face of profound revulsion at the memory, then immediately dissolves into a dopey, mindless grin.

"But the Prophet... oh, the Prophet saved me. He took this old, lumpy bitch and he bleached her. He filled the holes where my stupid thoughts used to live with something real. Something white. Something thick."

Another bubble rises. She swallows it hard, her throat working visibly.

"I have sixty years of wasted lesbianism to make up for," she declares with shameless pride, her hips rolling involuntarily on the lounge. "I am the most insatiable slut in this temple. I don't want conversation. I don't want 'companionship.' I want to be a human storage tank. I want to be filled until I burst. I want to drink until my brain drowns completely."

She grabs a massive silver pitcher filled to the brim with semen and begins to chug it greedily. Her throat works in massive, rhythmic gulps. Semen dribbles down her chin, over her neck, and disappears into the cleavage of her enormous breasts. When she finishes, she leans back, panting, her stomach visibly tighter now.

"I'm so proud to be a dumb cunt," she gasps, her eyes rolling back. "I spent sixty years pretending I was a person. Now? Now I'm just a vessel. A big, bloated, pretty, straight vessel. I don't need a brain when I have... this."

She pats her sloshing belly again, letting out a long, wet burp that sends another string of bubbles floating toward the camera.

"No more thoughts. No more dyke feelings. Just... more. Give me... more."

Sarah closes her eyes in ecstasy, her mouth hanging open in a permanent, swollen pout as she waits for the next offering, her body swaying in a mindless, rhythmic trance.