‘She who gorges herself ascends from the pains of being a human into something more.’
-Doctor Dicklich
They were halfway into the Mojave when Ralph Baron felt the acid tingle up his spine. He turned to the seat beside him, sun bearing hot overhead, hat upon him hardly giving him shade. “I’m feeling a bit light-headed, maybe you should take the wheel.” Suddenly, when he scanned left and right, where he swore there were once cacti stretching to the horizon, now posed endless sexy models, bent over in the most erotic poses with bikini breasts jiggling with the kicked up sand. “Holy Jesus, what a time and place to be surrounded by busty babes! You seeing this?”
Doctor Gazonga had taken off her black leather jacket, leaving her only in her thin white tanktop and suspenders over her shoulders. She shook that proud Chicana hair and poured a bit of beer on those perky stripper tits, to facilitate the tanning process. “What are you yelling about?” She seemed unconcerned with the erratic driving on this thin dirt road, merely leaning more back with her white sunglasses and closing her eyes despite the swerves of their red convertible left and right.
Ralph blinked a couple of times, realizing that, perhaps, he was seeing things due to the heat, not the drugs, using his journalistic skills to determine so when he had ran one over and only little spines and green juices covered the windshield. He hit the breaks and adjusted his eyes by flipping his sunglasses up and down. “Never mind. It’s your turn to drive.” As long as Gazonga didn’t start seeing sexy guys in those blasted spiny plants, they’d get to their destination fine.
It was nearly noon, and they still weren’t sure exactly where their destination was. They had started out from Las Vegas, and it had a been a tough road once they had gotten off the highway, a bunch of unpaved dirt shaking tits and beer alike in the most disorienting way. If it wasn’t for the acid he took, he’d most likely be feeling car-sick instead of just down right giggly and lucid.
He was suddenly thinking whether he had accepted the right payment from Doctor Gazonga. The woman was desperate, the woman was sexy and the woman was a stripper, turning to him for answers when no one else would help search for her missing sister. He quickly accepted her offer of sex and business expenses simply because he thought that was the only thing she could offer. However, that damn ‘Dr.’ on her business card wasn’t a joke, she was licensed anesthesiologist, which had its advantages, the drugs in the trunk could speak to that, and a lawyer too. A good lesson one why one should check out a client before you agree to their case. At least hold out a little longer after they take their top off.
But damn, this doctor had some nice titties. No doubt thus the name.
At least the case was interesting. Strippers and working girls were disappearing rapidly from the sinful strip, and neither the police nor big newspaper journalists were caring enough for the girls they consider in the ‘seedy professions’. Doctor Gazonga came to him hearing the legends of Ralph Baron, the stories of the fearless journalist who had fucked his way up and down both coasts to find out about some of the dirtiest crimes America and Mexico had to offer. Amazonian gangs from the Dominican? Ralph got an interview of their queenpin during pilow-talk. Corporate corruption at the perky milk factory? Had that CEO bent over for a word by lunch. Montreal lesbian ring of seduction and blackmail? Let’s just say they now call it the bisexual ring now.
Hell, despite being only 28, he’d brag about covering Vietnam and busting Nixon, a superpower gained from acid he supposed.
However, back to reality and things at hand, Gazonga had-
“Hey, do you have a better name?” Ralph was curled up in the passenger chair, switching the radio up and down, swearing he could get that secret channel where they have a sexy voice reads the phonebook.
”What?” She scoffed as they hit another bounce in the road, spilling some beer on her beige khakis. “A better name?”
”I’m doing an inner monologue and I find Doctor Gazonga cumbersome. Terrible if I’m writing a book later, and I don’t want to just call you ‘stripper/lawyer/doctor/goddamned-wonder-woman’ every paragraph.”
An eyebrow was raised, stripper/lawyer/doctor/goddamned-wonder-woman still not used to his rather ‘eccentric’ personality. “I already told you I want to remain anonymous. My sister and I were kind of shit-disturbers, stripping to get to know the underside of Vegas better, but I don’t want any kind of-”
“Yeah don’t worry, just give me a nickname.” He packed a cigarette into his boquilla and lit it clumsily on the third time with the match. It wasn’t tobacco inside, but a rare plant found in Chiapas State in Mexico, the stuff smelling like pepermint with a strange purplish smoke. It didn’t get you high, but made your mouth have a spearmint-like tingle.
“Uh, shit I don’t know.” She stuck her head out of the side, spotting something small in the distance. “How about Ganja?”
”I don’t know why…” He inhaled. “But I like it!” Clichéd but relatable shortcuts gave the normies the wiggly warm feeling inside. Damn world was obsessed with references after all, an inescapable fact when people want to quit thinking of the future. He was even in one right now, goddamn it.
Anyways, after having room destroying sex with Ganja, this stripper never having a such a big dick with a man who knew how to use it, he was struck by an inspiration on where to start. While it would be easy to assume the many organized, and unorganized, crime syndicates would have their hands in this, there was a piece of evidence which put them across.
Fat people.
Of course, the police quickly busted the Fat Freddie Family, but Ralph was too good to fall for something such simple answers. All answers pointed to a certain micronation found in the heart Mojave desert.
Micronations in America weren’t exactly a rarity or unique. It seemed every week a libertarian decided they hated the government so much that they needed to make their own one up. However, the supposed microstate called Las Vergas was different. While many countries try to attract citizens with the highest numbers in their bank accounts, this nation was looking for some other number.
Weight.
The damned country was a chubby-chaser who was vying for a seat at the UN, and no one was paying attention simply because it was too humorous to take seriously. It wasn’t a joke to Ralph though, as an entire country attracting this kind of lady meant less for him, and he enjoyed it when ladies had a little more to love. Hell, he would have voted Sir Mix-a-lot president if possible, agreeing that he was tired of magazines saying, ‘Saying flat butts are the thing’. That being said, what could be the connection between Las Vergas and the disappearing ladies was a question remaining to be answered.
“I know you’re not the best person to ask.” Ganja looked to her right, seeing Ralph’s leg twitch. “But is that a toll-booth up ahead?”
Ralph shook his head, feeling the needle pulled from his monologue as the plot to his life was still going. Gripping his flappy hat, he jumped to his feet with a hand on the windshield, eyes squinting. Sure enough, there was a wooden shack beside a long painted red pole which stretched out a couple of yards, blocking the dusty road they were plunging down. There was miles of desert to the left of it and miles to right, a farcical display of a toll but a damn perfect image to display the madness they were leaving behind from Vegas and the down right insanity they were about to enter in Vergas.
The lawyer-doctor who brought her own airbags on her chest did the right thing and slowed down their speeding convertible to a California stop, wheels slowly proceeding forward until it got within a yard of the red post laying across the road. A tumble weed was just crossing past them when their red car gave a sudden lurch.
*Stomp*
A black boot smashed the nice little hood ornament which stated that Ganja’s convertible was expensive, the car groaning as it tipped forward from the weight. Both occupants slowly looked up, going up past the many laces of thick knee-high leather boots, seeing the mile of thick tanned thigh connect to ultra-wide hips encased in an olive green miniskirt. Only a little soft belly was revealed between her shirt and skirt but a lot of enormous soft tit was on displayed as it was buttoned down, a pathetically under performing black bra barely holding such succulent flesh at bay. Yet, there was still more woman to look up at, dyed red hair reflecting almost as much as her reflective sunglasses and the badge upon her officer’s hat.
Ralph was immediately intrigued, as he’d had his share of Big Beautiful Babes before, but never had the big been stressed so much. He thought he might have been seeing things again until he saw Ganja’s dropped jaw. The woman was a damned tower, Ralph getting vertigo just imagining crawling to the top of her. What were they feeding these women to get their breasts that full and bodies that tall? Mutant mushrooms? What was she? Eight feet? Some ungodly height which was driving him mad. More to love? More like drowning in those curves! His lust was buzzing at his mind with ideas worse than the acid as he took another inhale with a thumping leg.
There was another lurch as the boot was removed from the hood, this mega-officière giving slow deliberate steps in the sand, each time a crunch as black leather got closer and closer to the driver side. She raised her hat and cleared her throat. “Passport?” Her voice was a deep drawl from the south, two syllables able to send hearts a pounding, sounding hungry but firm.
Ganja slowly turned her head left to Ralph, giving a shrug and a raised eyebrow.
“Now listen here.” He snapped over and pointed his cigarette at her as the officer scratched the underside of her mammoth breasts. “We are American citizens travelling within the United States on an American road. We need a passport here as much as we need Viagra and I’m telling you right now, my pecker working real fine for a body likes yours.”
“Listen here, you little rakes.” Her voice growled as she leaned over, girthy shadow casting over them, creating an chill up their spine. “You are at the border between two sovereign states, the USA and the LV. So you either supply a passport with the required visa allowing your skinny, under-fed, butts inside, or you turn this fancy car around, you hear?”
”This is ridiculous.” Ganja smacked the steering wheel. “We haven’t even left the state and-”
“Do we got a problem out here, Joy?” A voice boomed out of the shack, a second later another enormous figure pulling herself out of the shack. A brunette this time, the officer had a matching beige outfit and hat with her partner, but clearly added an extra ‘X’ to her clothing size, all around larger, heavier and taller. She slung a shotgun on her neck, which looked like a twig in her thick fingers, and used the other hand to chug what looked like a 10-quart bottle of some fizzy drink, sloppy font writing out the words ‘root’-beer. She let out a burp and patted her stomach. “Or am I hearing things?” God damn, you could swim laps in those tits! Why didn’t he look into an exchange program with this country?
”We ain’t got a problem, Terri.” Joy’s hands pressed into the car door, fingers actually slightly warping the metal as the car violently tipped in her direction as she put a bit of weight down. “Do we, no-ass?” She scoffed at the flat-by-comparison Latina.
“No ass?” Ganja growled back. “I’ll let you know, the boys at the club love my round and tight ass and-”
Ralph stood up, and sloppily so, foot hooking on the pants legs so when he got to his feet, his shorts were on the floor. He paid no mind, even when his cock bobbed out, erect and tanning under the hot sun. “Look. We don’t have any paperwork, but if you’re the kind who’s looking for a bribe, I’m willing to exchange sexual favours for free passage into this area. It’s quite the deal, trust me.” His cock roared like the mighty tyrannosaurus, blopping its erect head against his side of the windshield and smearing some pre-cum. And like the mighty dinosaur, he would mount the bigger mate in an incredible act of acrobatics and keep his title as the king of beasts.
The look these two busty giantesses gave to this display was anything but subtle, licking and rubbing their bodies. Ganja took this opportunity to press further. “Look. What would honestly happen if, hypothetically, we just drove off road for fifty miles and then took a left?”
Terri gave a laugh, actually sheathing that shotgun into her endless milky cleavage as she took another swig of her ‘root’ beer. “Oh I wouldn’t dream of that, hypothetically of course.” She continued to chuckle, giving a toss of her bottle a little over the border they were protecting. Instantly, little holes in the sand opened, leaving the bottle in a number of pieces, sliced cleanly as they fell to the sand. “We got a laser system which is most unkind of illegals.”
“Terri!” Joy barked out. “We only got two more six-packs of those bottles until the evening shift. Don’t waste that sugary goodness on the sand!”
“Hello. Am I talking to the radio?” Ralph continued to bang his erection against the car. “I’m willing to bend my steel morals to bribe you two with my dick. I don’t do this often.” He then pointed his dick over like a fescue to the good doctor’s face and wiggled it. “Just ask Doctor Gazonga here, she knows that this stuff is good and pure. Really worth the market price.”
Her legs crossed. “P-Put that away, Ralph. They’re not-”
Joy put her hands back on the indents her fingers made on the hull and smirked. “You know, we can’t give ya a tourist visa. But, we do have a ‘cultural-exchange’ program which will allow you to get in.” She licked her lips. “Show you the best Las Vergas has to offer.”
”Deal!” Ralph sat back down and crossed his arms. “Just tell us how much we have to pay and my lovely client with the beer-soaked tits will pay you.”
”Oh its free, my twiggy friends.” Terri pulled a doughnut from her shirt pocket and got jelly on her lips and powdered sugar on her bulging boobs seven-feet up. “You’ll just have to report to the culture office when you arrive.” She turned around and leaned inside to press something in the shack. Slowly the post over the dusty road raised, the car starting again.
“Have a nice day.” Joy wiggled her fingers. “And don’t forget to tell them Joy and Terri sent you. We’ll be rewarded for that.”
”I don’t know about this…” Ganja whispered as her fingers rattled against the steering wheel. “Something seems weird about this.”
”What’s wrong?” Ralph waved his hands. “We can’t stop here. Over there is big-babe country! If they look like these officers, we’re going to have a great time digging up this story!”
“You’re going to have a great time, Ralph.” The convertible started to roll away, the guards all giggly as they went inside their shack. “But still, I’m wondering what we should be doing here? Where do we start?”
He flicked the ash from his cigarette and stuck his head out the side, spotting a clutter of buildings in the distance. “When is Vergas, do as the Vergans do…” He paused, mouth wrinkling. “Vergans… Vergatians? Vergonians?” He shook his head. “We’ll stop at that little town there and just blend in.”
”How do you expect to do that?” She poked at her flat stomach, the girth of those ladies not lost on her slim form.
“Trust me, I’ve studied counter-insurgency books. Viet Cong, Muhajadeen, the Contras, Jocks at Comic-Con. Just follow my lead and we’ll be fine.” He reached into his glove compartment to grab more acid. “Just listen to my clear logic fly and your worries will just fly away.”
”I’m sure…” She sighed as they drove further into this foreign land, driving to the building he suggested they check out first.
Fri Jul 27 12:40:12 2018
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