Lost and Found [Story] (Patreon)

Lost and Found

Written and Illustrated by: PWC Sponson

I step into the lit hallway, the yellow incandescent lighting showing the age of its own installation. I thought the building was long abandoned? Why were the lights still on?

The heavy metal door latches shut behind me.

“Fuck,” I mutter as the door refuses to open. I look down the hall. The floor is simple concrete, old and decorated with years of pocks and stains. The walls of gray brick are not any better when it comes to aesthetics.

It didn’t take long for me to realize I ended up someplace I shouldn’t be. Not in terms of legality, no, that was assumed with my hobby of urban exploration. But rather, I suppose, someplace that shouldn’t be. The small notepad in my pocket quickly fills up as I jot down this maze-like locale. Pages after pages of mapping, and I’m seemingly nowhere nearer an exit. Hours pass by in my search for an exit. My stomach rumbles with hunger.

My phone is dead, and I’m long out of snacks and water. It’s been days. I’m hungry. I’m thirsty. I leave my backpack on the floor, dead weight now, as I rise from my makeshift bed of musty cardboard. There’s nothing else to do but continue my traipse through this “building”. After what seems like hours, (who knows anymore, it’s not like there are any windows or clocks to keep a sense of time), I come across the first sign of something different. I hear it first. Is it my stomach rumbling, playing a trick on my ears? I stand there frozen, ears perked and attentive, and I’m rewarded with that sound again. The sound of something wet violently splashing against the hard wall and floor.

I navigate towards the source with caution, and the details of the noise grow more strange. More organic. Originally, it sounded like someone splashing a bucket of water at the wall. But now it’s settled into a rhythmic plopping type noise. A scent of ammonia builds as I near the source of the noise, soon growing so strong I can’t help but retch. It’s been so long since I’ve had any food there was nothing to heave up, for better or worse. Still, curiosity drives me forward.

Around the corner I finally find a trail. A literal thick wet trail of what seems to be mucus. Puddles of it dotted the floor along the wall. Along the central path was the stuff smeared long and wide. The puddles are no doubt the stuff plopping earlier. I kneel down and observe it closely. It’s thick like glue and keeps its shape, mostly transparent with a hint of white, and has that faint smell of ammonia.

I dip my finger in. Still warm. I bring it to my lips. Sticky, stringy. I taste it. Slimy, but lightly sweet.

Plop

I can hear the muffled grunts and groans of a woman. I race towards the noise with the little strength I have left.

The scene stops me dead in my tracks. Front and center covering nearly the width of the wide hallway is a bulging pair of impossibly gigantic breasts. Subtle veins run underneath the taut and warm skin. With gratuitously pink areolae surrounding them, nipples the size of bar-stool seats crown the milk bags. The breasts were mashed together by arms that sunk so deep into breast flesh they were gone from view, the deep folds and finger tips poking out being the only evidence they were there.

Up and down, the udders are slowly and rhythmically pumped around a shaft of cockmeat a meter in diameter. The cock towered so far upwards it nearly touched the ceiling, and tied just under the bulbous glans is a formal black tie, far out of reach of those groping hands. I watch a glob of precum grow large at the urethral slit. I watch it drool off and hit the ground with a plop.

Beneath the titanic cock and tits are legs spread in a wide crouching position. Legs with thighs stupendously thick to support what is easily half a ton of meat and liquid, ending with impossibly dainty feet in office high-heels. Tethered to the human-thing is a pair of testicles larger and firmer than the previously described breasts. It reminds me of a ball-and-chain, except the chain is a bridge of meat connecting the testes to the base of the cock.

My stomach loudly rumbles and the face of a young woman in her mid-20’s pokes out from behind the wall of flesh, strangely familiar looking. Her auburn hair is tied back in a pony tail. Round earrings swaying from the movement. She looked like she had just done her face up. She stares at me as if she hasn’t seen someone in years, though that doesn’t stop her from her continued pleasuring of her gargantuan cock.

She speaks first. “Hey there, can you help me find the exit? I feel like I’ve been lost for ages trying to find it.” Just how long has she been here? My eyes go wide as I finally remember where I’ve seen her face. The ‘Missing Persons’ poster I saw online when I was doing research on this abandoned office. The Missing Person last seen… thirty years ago.

She looks at me quizzically, as I’ve still not answered her. Plop

Another glob of precum hits the floor. I stare at the milk and sweat glistening under the incandescent light on her bosom. I breathe in the warm and inviting musk she exudes. Am I going to end up like her? Stuck in this place for who-knows how long? Is my body going to end up looking like hers?

Plop These questions make my head hurt. How am I supposed to answer them? I’m so parched. Licking my lips I take a step closer to the towering mound of milk and cum.

I think… I need a drink first.