CAVIAR

The Collector was a simple bio-engineered delivery/retrieval system. Totally organic, it could pass inspection no matter what type of screening technology was used on it at its designated target world.

Earth-destined collectors' form and delivery method had been decided on after studying the humans' broadcasts for several years. Its programming had been as complete as was thought necessary, and its organic AI was designed to fill in any gaps in its programming that might appear.

The first two collectors, sent on harvesting missions some 37 earth years earlier, had encountered some problems, and only one had delivered its cargo. The other had suffered an accident and been disabled. Since then the program had progressed without incident, growing steadily in size and scope.

No two collectors were exactly identical as that might attract unwanted attention and external superficial variances were designed into the growth program anyway. While all grown essentially from the same DNA sample, harvested over two hundred years before, their outward appearance was tailored to the geographic region they were designated to infiltrate.

The Combine had been sending down three thousand units a month for the last earth decade. Demand called for that to increase to five, and so the program administrators had been working on ways to achieve that goal without increasing the risk of discovery. The easiest solution was to increase their activity in the planet's un- and under-developed regions, but other steps were being taken as well. The Combine understood the humans' biology even better than they did themselves after thousands of years of their primitive self-examination. Inquiries had been made as to whether the untapped gender could indeed be utilized for collection so as to more easily meet their higher production quota. After brief study, a team acknowledged it was possible, but could not determine whether it would be practical without actual field trials, much like what had happened some forty years earlier when the field-collection program was initiated.

Collector 43769 was the first unit produced for the new (still experimental) program. After intense study of current human culture, its makers decided to stay with the original initiator delivery system. If the harvesting was successful, more refined delivery systems tailored for mainstream norms could be developed. The only difference between this unit and all the others that had come before was the chemical makeup of its cargo and its collection tool.

43769 was destined for a large city and a specific target location was chosen.

1981

Collector 43769 entered the building and swept its eyes over the occupants. Ninety-eight organisms were within view, eighty-four of them positively identified as human:female within three seconds.

Dozens of open beverage containers were in view, and the air was thick with smoke. 43769's olfactory glands sampled and identified six different types of cigarette smoke, eight different types of beer, wine, and several kinds of what was referred to as hard liquor.

It moved through the crowd toward the bar, cataloguing the smells its ultra-sensitive analyzers encountered. Many kinds of perfume, sweat, baby powder, halitosis, and vaginal secretions.

The collector got quite a few glances from women in the crowd as it went by, demonstrating why this delivery system had been so successful in the past. While all collectors shared the same basic chassis, there were literally an infinite number of body styles to choose from to hang on the skeleton. 43769 had been given a statistically average appearance, with cranial features chosen so that members of its species would find it pleasant to look at but unremarkable in the unlikely event there was a problem during the collection process requiring emergency extraction. 43769's head hair was black and cut short for this field test. The irises of its eyes were bright blue and it was attired in articles of clothing similar in style to those worn by the organisms filling the room. The fluid receptacles attached to its torso disguised as breasts were large, and it was those that garnered the attention.

It moved to the bar and ordered a drink from the male bartender while surveying the crowd. There had been a number of organisms in the room whose gender it had been unable to determine at first, but now the collector was able to ID most of them as female from their scent, even though their appearance was more masculine than otherwise. The collector paid for its drink with money provided it that was indistinguishable from that manufactured by the humans themselves.

Over the next fifteen minutes several females approached the collector and initiated verbal communication. Random "conversation" was no problem for its capable AI and it was able to continue scanning the room covertly while talking.

The first several females who approached the collection unit were unsuitable physically. One was obese and a smoker, another was too old. A third appeared within the norms but the collector's highly refined olfactory glands determined it was a disease carrier.

The collector sipped at its drink as it worked, the whisky pooling in its small stomach where the alcohol was quickly neutralized. Seven minutes later a young female of the species appeared in front of the collector and constricted its facial muscles, exposing its teeth. The collector recognized this as a type of non-aggressive greeting called a smile. It evaluated the organism before it, using all of its highly capable senses, and determined it met the basic target criteria. The female was of the right age, physically fit, and, as far as the collector's ultra-refined senses could determine, its body harbored no diseases.

"You here with anybody?" the female inquired of the collector, tilting its head to one side and shifting most of its weight onto its right leg.

The collector's brain evaluated the basic content of the question as well as the inflection used and the "body language" of the female. It then considered 1432 possible responses.

The collector smiled at the female and spoke. "I am now," it purred, raising one eyebrow slightly.

The female's smile grew wider, signaling the collector it was safe to proceed. "I'm Kelly," the collector said with another wide smile.

The female identified itself as "Jane Thompson". The collector observed the female's eyes were focused on the shirt above its breasts as she spoke, and catalogued this information.

After several minutes of hesitant, exploratory conversation the female continued to express interest in the collector. The female seemed to desire direction, and at the collector's suggestion they moved to a table and sat down. The collector had been programmed to steer the conversation toward sexual topics but the female needed no prompting.

After another twelve minutes of dialogue the collector touched the female's leg under the table. The collector had determined the organism to be sexually submissive, which made its task that much easier. Not long thereafter it was "kissing" the female using its tongue. The female began touching the collector's body under the table. Within another three minutes the collector could smell the female's sexual arousal. The female consumed two more alcoholic drinks over the next thirty-five minutes, well within the acceptable limit, and became increasingly frank and amorous. An hour and twenty minutes after it entered the bar the collector followed the female out into the parking lot, both of them smiling and laughing.

The female used a key to unlock an automobile and the collector sat in the front passenger seat. The female encouraged the collector to pinch its nipples as she piloted the vehicle 2.332 statute miles to a large apartment complex and parked in the lot. The collector had determined a sexually aggressive role promised the highest chance of success and now forcefully kissed the female while sitting in the car, still pinching her nipples. The female fondled the collector's breasts for several minutes. The enclosed compartment made her arousal even easier to measure.

After one hundred and ninety-seven seconds the female broke the kiss and leaned back, panting with excitement. She took the collector by the hand and led her into an apartment building. The collector noted the address as she went inside. A complete map of the city was imprinted on her brain and she knew down to the foot exactly how far she was from the nearest police station, fire station, and retrieval point.

The female lived in a third floor apartment by itself, a fact the unit had ascertained before making a final decision to proceed with the collection. It let itself be led, laughing, into the female's bedroom where, after some brief kissing, it watched the female remove its clothes.

Under the female's expectant, lust-filled gaze the collector quickly removed what clothing it had been provided. While the female stared at its exterior the collector quickly noted the female was an excellent physical specimen, even closer to the ideal than the collector had previously estimated. Her musculature was toned, her color good, all body hair shaved off but for a small rectangular strip of stubble on her pudenda.

The female climbed onto the big bed on hands and knees and the collector did the same. The mating rituals of human female homosexuals had been studied at length, but were still not fully catalogued and documented. The collector's AI was more than up to the task, but so far this female's signals had been unambiguous.

"You dirty girl, you didn't tell me you were shaved," the female said with a delighted smile. "I love your big nipples." She slid a hand between the collector's open thighs and found the hairless folds pleasantly slick. She inserted first one finger, then another.

Body hair had been an early problem for those early research units designed for extended stays. The solution had been to alter that gene sequence so they grew no hair below the neck. Exhaustive study of human media had shown them this would be within societal norms around the globe.

The collector moved and made sounds that convinced the female it was aroused as its brain worked on the problem of how best to proceed. The female sucked on the collector's neck as she fingered it expertly, her other hand pressed to the small of its back. After thirty-seven seconds the collector put a hand on the female's breast and pinched her nipple. The female gasped.

"You're sucking the wrong spot," the collector told her, and proceeded to recline on the pillows. The female licked and sucked at the fingers she had just had inside the collector and it spread its shapely thighs wide.

"Your pussy is gorgeous," the female said as she laid down on her stomach. She began licking and sucking at the unit's perfectly sculpted labia and clitoris. The collector moaned and breathed hard for a minute as the female's tongue danced and squirmed between its legs.

The female's dancing tongue soon slowed, and her technique grew sloppy. In another minute the female lay face down in the collector's vagina, still breathing but unable to move. The unit slid out from underneath the female and rolled her onto her back. The young woman's eyes were open, blinking slowly about three times a minute.

The toxin the female had absorbed via the collector's vaginal secretions would leave it conscious but dazed and docile. The collector, showing hidden strength, slid the female easily into the middle of the bed and straightened her lifeless limbs. It quickly checked the female's vital signs, verifying the proper amount of the toxin was in her system.

The collector slid a hand under the female's shoulders and lifted her up so she could slide some pillows in. With her head properly elevated, the collector could begin. The collector knelt astride the helpless female and leaned forward. The collector directed its left nipple into the female's partially open mouth while resting its weight on its hands. The female at first gave no reaction, but then she blinked once and her lips twitched.

"Suck," instructed the collector, relaxing the tissues connecting the nipple to the large reservoir that made up the bulk of her breast. The fluid inside began to flow.

The fluid superficially resembled human milk both in color and taste, but that was where the similarity ended. As the first drops leaked from the collector's nipple the female's mouth twitched again. Weakly she began to suck, nursing from the large nipple designed for quick flow.

The collector remained motionless as the female feebly nursed at her. Gradually the large breast began to slacken and lose its shape. In another ten minutes it was obvious the breast had no internal structure and was collapsing inward.

The female stared up at the collector with eyes that hardly blinked, sucking softly once every two or three seconds. The neurotoxin ensured she was largely unaware of her surroundings or even her own actions, the nursing being a prenatal reflex. It took her another ten minutes to empty the breast of its remaining cargo. The collector let her suck for another minute before pulling away. Its left breast was a mere shadow of its former pendulous self, hardly more than a flat, pancake-like fold of skin tipped with an oversize nipple, while the right breast remained firm and full.

The female lay still, eyes unfocused, as the collector climbed off the bed and explored the apartment. While the female had ingested over five thousand calories worth of a vitamin fortified solution (to help her body cope with the stresses created by the mutative genetic enzyme also present in the fluid), she would need further fuel to sustain her during the modification and collection process.

The collector did not bother to put its clothes back on as it searched through the rooms. Any container it found that could hold liquids it placed on the kitchen counter. When there were no more it filled them with water and transported them into the bedroom. Between the bedside table and the top of the dresser there was just enough room for them all.

Next it located soft, high-calorie foods in the apartment and set them aside. Most of a large jar of peanut butter, two jars (one unopened) of raspberry preserves, and two pounds of sugar it could dissolve into water would, it estimated, be enough.

After several hours the female began to moan. The changes caused by the genetic initiator, the collector knew, would be very painful, but the neurotoxin would keep the female subdued until the collection process began. Then she would need to be aware of her surroundings, but the collector had much to do before that happened. It could see the female's lower abdomen was swollen slightly, and palpated the area with a hand. The skin was warm, as had been predicted, and the female soon showed signs of a fever.

The collector began giving the female sips of water as her fever rose. The fever was expected, and as long as it never rose above 103.5 F there was no cause for concern.

Originally collectors were designed to target only males, but close study of human biology had shown that ovaries were nearly as well suited to their purposes as testes, which was no real surprise as both sets of divergent organs developed from the same mass of fetal tissue in the mother's womb. Male subjects experienced massive swelling in the groin and scrotum prior to collection, so while this was the first field test with a female, the collector's programmers had a general idea of how the collection process would progress. The swelling in the female's abdomen increased. With its fingers the collector could feel a golf-ball sized lump inside each of the female's protruding hipbones, as well as a hard spot just above her pubic bone. That was the female's uterus and it would continue to swell even as it was altered to its new purpose. The collector continued giving her water as the fever grew.

Halfway through the second day the female had soaked both sheets and mattress with sweat. She'd gone through most of the water and eaten half the peanut butter and preserves the collector patiently spoon-fed her. It refilled the cups and bottles and once again palpated the female's swollen abdomen. The skin was pink and hot to the touch above her ovaries, which were working the hardest to change. While the enlargement of the female's uterus would tend to indicate that was where most of the changes were taking place, the mutation of her uterus into what amounted to a hollow, thick-walled sponge was a much simpler process than what was taking place in her ovaries. The female herself was delirious and semi-conscious at best. Her knees had spread apart of their own accord, an expected side-effect of the pressure on the abdominal muscles.

Fifty-one hours after being administered the mutative genetic enzyme the collector observed the female's fever had dropped and her near constant moans had subsided, indicating she was ripe. Her abdomen had swollen throughout the ripening process until it appeared she was five or six months pregnant. Her vagina was bulging outward from the internal swelling, leaking the clear fluid that helped the collector obtain the tight seal necessary during the collection process. Her labia and internal tissues were dark red.

The collector inserted two fingers into the female. The mouth of what had been her uterus had lowered itself into the correct position, just inside the female's labia, for the collection process. The collector's manufacturers had named this new organ (as it would never function as a uterus again) the eggbladder. The eggbladder's mouth was at the correct angle and of the proper shape. The collector could feel tiny tremors running through it, one more sign she was ripe or nearly so. The collector kneaded the eggbladder's muscular walls with its fingertips, estimating it was ready from its texture and resiliency. The collector's fingers came out coated with the clear liquid the sponge-like organ was swollen with.

The collector topped off several of the water containers and then slid both the side table and the dresser to the edge of the bed so it could reach them from atop it. Then it knelt astride the young woman again and propped her up with pillows.

The female was dazed but no longer delirious. The neurotoxin had about run its course through her body and anyway would be negated by the initiator. Her face was pale, hair a mess, lips cracked and chapped from the fever. Her eyes followed the collector's face as it appeared before her, confusion registering on her features. The collector lowered its full right breast to the female's mouth and this time didn't need to say anything.

The collector knew it would only have a short amount of time to get into position once the initiator inside the high-calorie energy drink the female was consuming entered her system. As the female hungrily drained the initiating solution from the large breasts suspended above her the sucking activated the collector's dormant namesake tool. Disguised to look like a uterus in an X-ray when not in use, the specialized organ was half muscle and half spongiform erectile tissue. It activated and started growing inside the collector as the female nursed.

The female emptied the collector's right breast in half the time it had taken her to nurse the left dry, due no doubt to the neurotoxin that had almost dissipated from her system. The collector quickly climbed off the female and then positioned herself on her knees between the female's spread legs.

The collector maneuvered its vagina as close as it could to the young woman's dripping, gaping slit, positioned as if she was a male about to initiate sex in the so-called "missionary position". Seconds later a flesh-colored nub appeared between the pink folds of the collector's vagina. The organ continued to grow, emerging from the collector's vagina in a glistening curve.

The tip of the organ was wedge-shaped and slightly wider than a man's thumb. The shaft behind it grew thicker as it disappeared into the unit's vagina. There was a hole in the center of the tip, and it looked like nothing so much as a penis shaped like a snake. It continued to lengthen until eight upward-curving inches of shaft were visible.

The collector could articulate the organ to some extent, as a monkey can its tail. The tip of the organ slid into the female's leaking vagina and began nudging left and right.

Jane moaned. She could hardly string two thoughts together, but something seemed very wrong. Her body felt beat up and bloated and every inch of it ached. She didn't know where she was, didn't recognize her own bedroom, and couldn't really focus on anything outside of her own skin for more than a second or two. She vaguely remembered bizarre dreams but then wondered if she was still asleep as she looked down and saw her belly swollen as if she was more than a little pregnant.

The tip of the purpose-built organ located the mouth of the female's eggbladder and pushed. The muscled ring was clenched tightly but the constant pressure of the wedge-shaped head slowly began to have an effect.

The cupcake-sized knot of hot red flesh began to part, and Jane gasped as sensations like none she'd ever felt before roiled through her pelvis. She could feel something inside herself stretching, but the sensation was so alien she had no frame of reference. It didn't hurt, not really, not any more than other kinds of stretching, but there'd never been anything in her there that was so sensitive, much less that stretched.

The collector leaned forward on its hands and rotated its hips. The organ's head squeezed into the tight ring of muscle, causing the female to wave her arms weakly, then with a pop it was inside the enlarged, thick-walled chamber. The mouth of the throbbing chamber squeezed shut around the shaft just as the initiator began to arouse the female's mutated ovaries, which in turn sent signals to the eggbladder.

"Oh God!" Jane gasped, as the clenching sensation made her back arch. She clawed at the damp sheets as a second squeezing, pushing sensation ran through her body, starting at her head and ending at the swollen, throbbing mass between her legs.

"Oh Fuck!" she cried out as the first real contraction hit. She bucked again and could feel something inside her, something big , ripple and churn and twist like a fish on a hook. A fucking foot-long fish. It didn't hurt, not exactly, but the feeling was so intense she was seeing flashes. It was more intense than most of the orgasms she'd ever had. It didn't feel like an orgasm—it didn't feel good, but it didn't feel bad, either. It felt like it was something that needed to happen. It didn't last long, barely more than ten seconds, but she'd hardly recovered from it, panting and sweating, when another even more intense contraction hit.

"Accck!" Her face turned red and a vein bulged in her neck as the roiling twisting clench ran from her nipples down to her asshole. Her toes curled and her legs involuntarily jerked farther apart and back.

"Oh God," she said afterward, panting. That last contraction hadn't hurt at all, even though it'd been even more intense, which she wouldn't have thought possible. It felt like her insides were clenching into a fist. She could feel it, sense it—there was something inside her that needed to come out, something inside her swollen belly, pushing on her throbbing pussy like a heavy hand. The sensation wasn't orgasmic, wasn't even really pleasure as she knew it. It was just something her body needed to do. She looked up at the gorgeous woman she no longer recognized.

"What-?" she panted.

"You'll be fine," the collector assured her with what it estimated was the right amount of compassion and empathy in its voice. "Everything will be fine. Just relax and let it happen." The collector could feel the bloated muscle chamber quivering around the shaft of its embedded organ, signaling the onset of another contraction.

"Let what happen?" Jane panted. "I don't even—"The next contraction hit and she lost the power of speech. This one was the strongest yet, and her eyes rolled back in her head as her back arched off the mattress. There was pressure, squeezing pressure, below her belly button, all directed down and outward between her splayed thighs.

The collector felt the female's eggbladder squeeze and for the first time the contraction was strong enough to send a tiny bit of her precious cargo shooting into the narrow tube which ran from the tip of the organ inserted in her, through its shaft, and into the bladder-like main reservoir in the collector's abdomen. Barely a drop reached the ultra-elastic reservoir, but it was a start.

The contractions grew slightly more intense but stayed about thirty seconds apart. After five more minutes the female was sending a long spurt into the collector's main reservoir with each contraction.

"Fuck!" Jane growled, as another one ended. Her nails had clawed holes in the sheets. She wanted to reach down, feel between her legs, but was afraid of what she might find. She'd never felt that swollen, never felt that much pressure, not even that time she'd been fisted. It was like period bloating times one thousand. She could feel the spurts shooting out of her, big squirts, giant squirts, and they kept getting bigger, and it felt right , every cell of her body was screaming for her to spray like a garden hose, yet everything was all wrong. Her thighs were splayed flat on the bed, and her knees had pulled back with every contraction until they were practically in her armpits, and yet she still felt like she needed to open her legs wider so she could push whatever was inside of her out. And the woman above her was no comfort, she just kept staring at Jane like she was a piece of meat.

The intense sensations were too draining for her, and she stopped trying to ask questions. She barely had enough energy to think, and was unaware of how loudly she was moaning. She rubbed her stomach for a while, careful not to stray too far down between her legs, afraid of what she might find. The rubbing seemed to help somewhat. It felt good if she pressed her palms against her belly just above her pubic bone, hard, but it also hurt a little. There was something big and hot and hard beneath her skin, and she could feel it move under her hands with each contraction.

The female's fever came back, as was expected, and the collector made sure to keep her well hydrated. It fed her sips of water between contractions and made soothing noises. The collector recorded all its observation as the collection process with this female was slightly different than what had been expected, and the mechanical process itself of course was much different with a female. There was no need for an erectile organ when collecting from a male—collectors just sat atop the males, who had been rendered permanently erect, and sealed the mouth of their main reservoirs around the tip of the man's penis. Care had to be taken, though, not to put any pressure on the males' swollen, oversized scrotums, which sometimes grew to over a foot in diameter.

After six hours of regular, strong contractions the female was unconscious again, her eyes rolled back in her head. Her abdomen had shrunk in size somewhat but was still as hot and hard. There were two distinct lumps to either side where her supercharged ovaries continued to work hard. White drops had appeared on the tips of her nipples as she had begun to spontaneously lactate, a side-effect sometimes observed in males.

As expected, the mouth of the female's eggbladder had dilated during the collection process and the collector's organ had expanded accordingly to keep a seal. What had not been accurately predicted, to the collector's knowledge, was the degree to which the female's former uterus would descend during the contractions. Its swollen, dilated mouth, now over three inches in diameter, protruded from the female's bulging vagina more than an inch. It was blood red and veined and clamped tightly around the fleshy shaft of the collector's organ. The collector's organ could not expand much further and it was cognizant that leakage might soon occur.

After another hour of contractions of unchanging tempo and intensity the collector palpated the female's abdomen and determined that although her eggbladder was still grossly swollen, from the size and temperature of her ovaries she had nearly reached the end of her current productive cycle. The mouth of her eggbladder had swollen to nearly four inches across, with an opening in the center over an inch wide, but the seal around the collector's organ was still good. Two inches of glistening eggbladder protruded from the bottom of the young woman's body, stretching her labia paper-thin and pushing her anus downward into a misshapen oval. The mouth of her eggbladder visibly pulsed and clenched with each contraction.

Another hour and the collector observed that the contractions were waning in intensity. The female's arms were thrown above her head, and drool covered her cheeks and chin. Her breasts were noticeably swollen and streaked with milk from her leaking nipples. The female's legs appeared to have almost folded up beside her body—her knees were tucked tight against the side of her ribcage, heels tight against her buttocks, toes pointed downward, a variation of the fetal position. The position made the protruding, blood-red mouth of her eggbladder the lowest part of her body and seem even more pronounced than it was. The collector made a note of the limb-retraction side-effect, one not seen with males.

The collector slapped the female's face gently to rouse her. The woman's eyes rolled back into normal position and she looked around in exhaustion and utter confusion. She groaned as the massive ache between her legs made itself known. It felt as if someone had shoved a beachball inside her and blown it up with a high-pressure hose.

"Push, bear down on the next contraction," the collector told her.

Jane tried to focus on the woman in front of her. She tried to place her, tried to remember where she'd seen her face before, but then her thought processes were stopped as a new contraction started.

"Push!" the collector urged her again. Jane did, pushing with her internal muscles as well as pressing down on her much-smaller belly with her palms. Her stomach was still hot and round, but nowhere near as big and hard as it used to be. She only looked about three months pregnant now, like a woman just starting to show. Had that huge belly been real? She couldn't remember, everything was like a dream.

The collector felt the contraction through the shaft of its organ. The woman cried out, and the extra pressure forced a long squirt out of her.

Jane felt the fluid leave her body, knew it was almost over, and began sobbing.

"Again,' the collector instructed at the next contraction. It helped, pressing a hand over hers on her belly while the female pushed inside and out. Jane was rewarded with a long, rushing, squirting sensation, and laughed hysterically.

"Again."

"Again."

"Again."

This went on for another ten minutes, until the female was too exhausted or delirious to push, and the contractions had lessened to mere shivers. The collector determined that nothing had exited the female during the last two contractions. The unit looked down at itself, saw its own abdomen was swollen with the female's bounty. She'd filled the unit's main reservoir with fluid, and the two secondary reservoirs, located inside its breasts behind the ones the female had drained with her mouth. The collector once again sported large, firm mammaries nearly fifty percent larger than they'd been when she arrived. The female had even produced enough product to begin to fill the two tertiary reservoirs in the collector's buttocks, but the amount of fluid shunted there had not been enough to enlarge the collector's buttocks noticeably.

More could be harvested from the female. Much more. In fact, if the Combine's contract with the farming guild allowed them to move the selected humans to a secure, off-planet location, the altered humans could keep producing high-quality product at a third of the program's field-harvest rate nearly indefinitely, at least according to their estimates. The contracts were law, however, and homeworld consumers had shown a serious lack of interest in product they deemed "artificial" or "cultured". Product harvested from humans still in the wild, on their homeworld, was the only kind which would command the outrageous prices the guild was used to getting, and until that changed the collectors would have to continue their harvesting covertly.

The collector slowly deflated its organ and withdrew from the female. The blood-red mouth of muscle that used to be her uterus gaped open between her legs. Clear fluid ran out of it in a constant thin stream as the contractions, now barely more than shivers of flesh, ran their course.

The collector climbed off the bed and quickly evaluated its appearance. Its abdomen was of a size and shape consistent with a pregnant human female about to give birth. Its breasts were unusually large, and its internal sensors had rerouted the female's harvest to the tertiary reservoirs in its buttocks before its breasts grew too large to avoid public attention en route to the retrieval point. Its change in appearance was expected and the collector had previously located appropriate articles of clothing inside the female's apartment, as the clothes it had arrived in would no longer fit.

Once dressed in a man's button-down shirt and elastic-waist sweatpants the collector left the apartment without another glance at the female unconscious on the bed.

CAVIAR—PART 2

2003

The neighborhood was small apartment buildings interspersed with old houses, most of which had been renovated over the last decade. On the edge of the Pacific Heights section of San Francisco, the small grocery store was on the ground floor of a square two story building. Next to it was a barbershop, with small apartments above.

The cowbell attached to the door clanked and the teenage boy behind the counter looked up from his copy of Rolling Stone. He watched the customer stomp down the aisle toward the back wearing black army boots and a black leather jacket over jeans, then went back to reading his magazine.

The clerk looked up when the customer set a six pack of Red Bull and one of Gatorade on the counter and said "A carton of Marlboros, too. Box."

The clerk's eyebrows went up dubiously. "You got any ID?" He was presented with a driver's license which he squinted at, then looked from the picture to the person standing before him.

JESSICA RALEIGH, the ID read. From across the room he would've sworn she was a guy his age, with her flattop and soft round face, but it was her picture on the license. He glanced at the date of birth and was handing the ID back when the date clicked in his head. He pulled the license back and eyed her suspiciously.

"What, Ted?" she said in annoyance, putting her hands on her hips. The clerk looked at her, then back at the date on the license. If he'd had to guess he would've said she looked sixteen, maybe eighteen years old, tops. She was maybe five-six, with a compact, almost chunky body and big tits. There wasn't a wrinkle to be seen on her face, no touch of grey in her ultrashort hair.

"How old are you?" he quizzed her, his eyes going back to the DOB on the license. Did he know her? How did she know his name? Did she go to his school?

She rolled her eyes and peered around him. "Mr. Lee? Can you come on out?"

The elderly Chinese shopowner shuffled out of the back office and peered at her over his thick glasses. The clerk didn't have time to wonder how she knew Mr. Lee had been in the office, since it didn't have any windows and the guy never made any noise.

"Ah, Miss Jessica, good morning!" he said cheerfully, with a little bow and a big smile that didn't touch his eyes. His eyes quickly took in her body language. "You have problem?"

"I'm trying to buy some cigarettes," she said through tight lips, looking at the clerk who still held her license.

Ted held out the ID for Mr. Lee to look at and opened his mouth to speak. Lee waved him off.

"Miss Jessica good customer, been coming here long time," he said dismissively. He peered at her closely. "Long time," he said again. He squinted at the bright, early morning sunshine coming in through the store's front door. "You up early."

"I'm up late," she told him. She ran a hand back over her short hair and her many earrings glinted in the light. She had six stainless rings running up her left ear, with a tiny cross stuck in the lobe. She had one small ring through the very top of her right ear, with a very thick captive bead ring stretching its lobe.

"Ah," Mr. Lee said vaguely, studying her again.

Under the leather jacket she wore a white T-shirt and she caught the clerk staring at her tits, wondering if they were implants. She scowled at him and he jerked back.

Lee looked at his clerk. "Treat her nice," he instructed the boy, then nodded at Jessica and shuffled back into his office.

The clerk blinked twice, then turned and handed the license back to the woman. "Marlboros?"

Jessica shut the door and slid the two massive deadbolts into the frame. The apartment was on the top floor of a building that had been built in the thirties, short on style but solid and well made. She set the grocery bag on the kitchen table and shrugged off her leather jacket onto the back of a chair. Her arms were heavily muscled for a woman, and with the crewcut she did look like a young man but for the large breasts filling out the white tank top.

She looked around the big apartment, which was silent, and cracked open first the carton and then a pack of Marlboros. As she lit up she could hear faint traffic sounds coming through the closed window nearby but the building below her was quiet. Not quiet, exactly, but the walls and floors were practically soundproof, so her neighbors couldn't hear her and she couldn't hear them, which was exactly how she wanted it.

She sat in a chair and began to unlace her boots, then stopped and studied the back of her right hand. She'd burned it badly the day before, cooking dinner, a third degree burn, blisters and all, and not a sign of the injury remained. She flexed her hand, then shook her head. Even after all these years she still couldn't get used to it. Every time she walked in front of a mirror she still got a jolt.

Once undone she kicked off her boots, revealing bare feet. Her feet were small, toenails glossy with clear polish. It was her one and only nod to femininity.

Still puffing on the cigarette she stood and unbuttoned her jeans, letting them drop to the floor. She was nude underneath, and hairless; she'd started shaving her pussy not long after the hair had started coming in, and kept at it until laser hair removal came along.

She took another long drag on the cigarette and then stubbed it out in the full ashtray. She smoked two packs a day and had since she was sixteen. She'd tried quitting once, years before, and found that the nicotine seemed to have no hold over her, she didn't go into withdrawal at all. Now she smoked more out of habit than anything else, and because it seemed to piss a lot of people off when she lit up in public.

More out of curiosity than anything else she'd run in a 10K race about ten years earlier, long before her experiment with non-smoking. She didn't try to go fast, and finished without breaking a sweat in just under thirty minutes. She hadn't tried it since, she hated running, but a month ago she'd got it into her head to see how many pushups she could do. After a hundred she was starting to breathe hard and getting bored and stopped. She wondered if the smoking even made a difference.

No one called her Jessica but her mother, and she was in a nursing home losing her battle with Alzheimer's. Everyone who knew her—but one—called her Ral. She'd never felt like a Jessica.

She pulled her tank top over her head and dropped it on the kitchen table, revealing a firm, muscled stomach and round, heavy breasts. They were high and firm enough that just about everyone assumed she'd gotten implants, but she'd never been touched by a surgeon's knife. They were all real. D cups, if she remembered correctly, 36D, but she hadn't worn a bra in decades. Although she doubted they were exactly the same size, she'd noticed her body had been changing, albeit subtly. Fat stainless steel rings pierced her brown nipples. She'd had them pierced when she was twenty, long before it had been fashionable, and kept increasing the ring gauge just because she liked the shocked looks. She couldn't take the rings out without the holes healing up almost immediately, she'd found that out a few years before, but then again the fresh piercings had healed up in a few hours.

Ral grabbed the Red Bull and Gatorade and walked nude toward the rear of the big apartment. Her legs were shapely with muscle and flexed with every step. The apartment had two big bedrooms. The main one was at the end of the hall and had its own bathroom. She instead went through the open doorway to the right.

Hole hadn't moved from the chair. Dating from the fifties, if Ral had to guess, with cushions and pads covered in off-white vinyl in-between a lot of gleaming chrome, they'd found the examining chair in the estate sale of some dead gynecologist and knew it was perfect. Ral had the chairback tilted almost horizontal, with the stirrups cranked so far back Hole's knees were touching her tits. Half her ass stuck out past the edge of the seat, about eighteen inches off the floor, which was just about right. Ral had permanently attached a pair of workboots to the stirrups and laced Hole's feet into them. Modern examining tables didn't have arms, but this one did, and Ral had superglued thick leather welder's gloves onto their ends, then worked nylon laces through the wrists so she could secure Hole's hands in them. Not that hole would try to get out, but it was the principle of the thing, they both needed Ral to be in command.

Hole noticed Ral right away. "What took so long?" she croaked.

"Shut your cunthole," Ral said distractedly, looking for a place to set down the Red Bull.

The two had met one night when a young, stumbling drunk pregnant girl with dark circles under her crazy eyes had pushed in front of the oldest, meanest, butchest dyke in the leather bar, slapped her, and told the leather dyke to fuck her like a farm animal. Ral dragged her into the bathroom and threw her face-first against a wall while the other regulars stood outside the door and kept the prying eyes out. She cut the young cunt's damp sweatpants off with a switchblade—what the fuck was she doing dressed like that in a fucking leather dyke bar?—and had three fingers into her dripping twat before she realized the girl's geography was all wrong. Whether it was the fingers that precipitated it or not the girl took that moment to gush like a busted fire hydrant, all over Ral's leather pants and boots. Ral had been around the block enough times to know something was seriously messed up with the girl, who sort-of half fell onto the bathroom floor shaking like she was having a seizure. Her knees shot up practically to her ears, so that Ral got a real good look between her legs, and then she squirted again even harder than before. A clear stream shot out of her halfway across the bathroom even as she appeared to pass out from however much alcohol she'd consumed.

Ral had never been one to back away from trouble, and in fact had spent most of her life flirting with it, engaging in one risky behavior after another. With the help of a few of the other regulars she got the unconscious, twitching, squirting girl into her car and brought her back to her apartment.

She had to drag her kitchen garbage can over between the little cunt's legs to keep her from ruining the carpet on top of the couch cushions. By the time the alcohol had worn off enough for her to wake up Ral had examined her as expertly as any doctor and knew that while the girl might be a lot of things, pregnant wasn't one of them. Normal wasn't either. A bit at a time, choking and slapping the young cunt to remind her who was in charge, Ral got the story out of her. Not that she believed it at first. No, not at first. That had taken a while. She figured the girl was a nut, but being a nut didn't explain what was going on between her legs. Ral didn't know why, sitting there next to the grunting, squirting girl, she decided to lick off her dripping hand, but she had, and the rest was history. Or maybe fate.

Ral crossed the room to Hole and tipped a bottle of Gatorade to her dry lips. Hole sucked eagerly, her sweaty body shining in the morning light coming through the window. Her shaved head was streaked with sweat trails, and there was a small puddle of it on her chest between her breasts.

As Hole sucked on the bottle the huge stainless steel ring piercing her septum clunked against the plastic. The ring was almost as thick as a pencil, and so big in diameter its bottom edge hung between her lips. The shaved head and nose ring threw most people off, even in San Francisco, but if they'd had to guess, looking at her face, they'd have placed Hole's age around twenty-five. Looking at her naked body, especially during what they called her labor days, they might have changed their minds, but Ral didn't let many people near her Hole when she was naked, and never during that time.

Ral looked down at Hole's body. Her abdomen was huge, as big as if she'd swallowed a basketball, even after six hours of contractions. Half a dozen fresh stretchmarks ran the length of her belly. She looked pregnant, and that in itself was strange if you were a dyke. Ral placed a hand on her stomach. It was hot and firm, and a few seconds later she felt it clench in a contraction. Hole's abdomen got even firmer and squeezed smaller for a few seconds as she grunted and gasped, and the familiar sound of splashing water echoed around the bedroom. Ral looked beween Hole's thighs, her expression unreadable.

Ral had met Hole just six months after she'd been changed by the collector. At that time her stomach would swell over a two or three day period until she looked four or five months pregnant. Then the contractions and fluid expulsion would start. They discovered that the more she drank during the contractions, the more she'd squirt. The contractions lasted eight to ten hours, but it took another twenty-four to thirty-six hours before the swelling in her abdomen went away. The cycle repeated every 28 days like clockwork, but after so many years only the length of the cycle had remained the same.

Hole's belly now started swelling at least 72 hours before her contractions started, sometimes as much as ninety hours beforehand, and when she was fully swollen she could have passed for a nine-months-pregnant woman if Ral had ever let her out in public during those times. And when all the swelling was gone and her abdomen was back to its regular size, people still thought she was pregnant, as her rounded stomach made her look four or five months along. And Ral wouldn't let her hide it. In fact, Ral usually made her wear clothing which emphasized her belly. And that thing that had once been Hole's uterus, that Ral called her squirtbox? Even at the opposite end of her cycle from her labor days Hole never had a flat stomach. What had once been her uterus bulged her stomach out slightly even during those early years, and the mouth of it protruded from her during her contractions. Once the swelling went down it retreated back inside her pussy, or at least it used to.

Those first years, the mouth of Hole's squirtbox had been about as wide as a Coke can, and stuck out of her about an inch during the contractions. It wasn't much more than a fat ring of blood-engorged muscle that pulsed with every contraction, opening in the center to reveal a hole about an inch wide as clear fluid gushed out of her. But as the body of her squirtbox inside her abdomen had grown through the years, so had its mouth.

Ral looked at it between Hole's thighs. The bulging red ring of muscle was as big around as a coffee can, and protruded from the sweaty woman nearly four inches. There was no way when Ral had met her that Hole's pussy, much less her pelvis, could have stretched to fit something that big, but years of internal pressure had changed her internally as much as she'd changed externally. The changes had taken place so gradually that Ral couldn't really remember exactly what Hole's dimensions had been, but looking at her now she was convinced the giant swollen organ inside her had, over the many years, bowed her pubic bone forward, and maybe pushed her hipbones outward as well. The massive mouth of her squirtbox still strained and stretched the flesh around it—it was the size of a large donut, and stuck out of Hole the length of a finger or more, and mashed her anus into a flat horizontal line—but she never tore. Ral had had Hole's cunthair lasered off years earlier, so there was nothing to disguise the massive thing protruding from her.

Hole's squirtbox used to hide just inside her cuntlips when she wasn't all swollen and squirting, but that was no longer the case. After all these years the organ, even fully contracted, no longer hid. Its fleshy mouth was still as big as the bottom of a Coke can, although dusky pink instead of blood red during those times she wasn't having contractions. It protruded from her maybe an inch or more, looking like nothing so much as a giant smooth asshole sticking out past her pussylips, albeit one that leaked regularly. If Hole had had a normal life, one where she had to get dressed and go to work every day, the leaking might have been a problem.

When she wasn't in her labor days Hole's squirtbox was pliable, almost rubbery feeling. With a little work Ral was able to slide her hand inside Hole's pussy alongside the dense organ and found it was like squeezing a water balloon made of rubber. When she slid a finger into the ring of muscle that made up its mouth she found that once past the squeezing ring Hole's squirtbox was just a soft, moist, spacious cavern. Hole could barely even feel the finger—when she wasn't in her labor days Hole's squirtbox was almost numb. A small buttplug inserted into the mouth of her squirtbox would stay firmly in place, even while standing, during those times when they had to go out and leaks would have posed problems, and Hole barely noticed it.

Ral gave the mouth of the hot, hard organ a sharp slap and Hole gasped as the slap brought initiated the next contraction. Ral watched the stream of clear liquid arc from the red, rubbery, protruding ring of flesh and splash into the baby pool beneath the examination chair.

The contraction period had lengthened over the years until it lasted at least eighteen hours. The amount of fluid she ejected during those first years was more than enough to fill up a kitchen sink, but over time that quantity had at least tripled until Ral was pretty confident Hole could just about fill up a fifty-five-gallon drum before she was through. Which was a good thing, in just about every way. When she wasn't in her labor days she leaked constantly, but Ral had found ways to turn that into a positive.

Hole was gasping, and the two studs in her tongue glinted in the light. The lobes of her ears had been pierced and the holes stretched until she now wore stainless steel eyelets a quarter inch in diameter through her lobes. Ral could run thin chain through them to control Hole if she needed to, but mostly she just liked the way it looked.

"You want another?" Ral asked her, motioning to the plastic bottles of Gatorade sitting on the dresser. Hole was panting, sweat running down her neck.

"Yes Master," Hole panted.

"I bet," was all Ral said. She bent down and sucked one of Hole's knobby nipples into her mouth. It was covered with leaking milk and Ral tongued off the sweet milk before sucking. Warm milk gushed into her mouth. She reached across Hole's chest with her other hand and squeezed her opposite breast. Multiple thin streams of milk shot into the air.

Hole's tits weren't nearly as big as Rals, but were droopy and soft even during her labor days when they got engorged with milk. They sagged off the sides of her ribcageas she lay there, and hung low when she was upright, as Ral never let her wear a bra. Ral could suck milk out of her at any time during her cycle, but during her labor days her nipples became fountains.

Her craving for sweets satisfied, Ral opened another bottle and upended it against Hole's mouth. Before she was finished she gasped as another contraction hit, and Gatorade ran down her cheek and chin. Ral heard the forceful spurt splash into the baby pool and realized she'd have to start emptying it soon or there'd be trouble.

When Hole had finished the second bottle Ral tossed it into a corner onto a pile of about forty others and stepped over to the baby pool. It was round and five feet wide and had six inches of fluid in the bottom. Hovering above it was the bulging mouth of her squirtbox, looking like nothing so much as a grotesquely prolapsed sphincter. As Ral watched the mouth of her squirtbox contract and then bulge, and a thick stream of clear fluid shot out into the pool. It looked exactly as if her squirtbox had spit. Between the spurting contractions her squirtbox dripped like a leaky faucet. Drip, drip, drip into the baby pool—sometimes Ral heard it in her dreams.

Ral left the sweating woman's side and went into the apartment's kitchen. The box of glass jars with O-ring lids commonly used for canning preservatives was right where it was supposed to be. Each jar held sixteen fluid ounces which, with Hole squirting out about four ounces every thirty seconds once she got going, meant that Ral would have to work fast filling them to keep the pool from overflowing. She usually filled about two hundred of the jars and put the rest in milk jugs for herself. She was getting five hundred bucks a jar from her clients, who went through one a week. Her business had grown totally by word of mouth, and once she'd run into the kind of people who were not just willing but able to part with that much cash, they led her, dragged her, to their friends. The money was insane, and she could have made even more, but she was more than paranoid about having enough for herself. She told her customers—almost all women—to drink two ounces a day, no more—only because she didn't want to sell them any more than that, and for no other reason. Two ounces a day were more than enough to give the women everything they wanted and a little bit more, but she wondered what they'd think if they knew she drank almost a gallon a day.

Ral didn't know what had been done to her Hole, didn't know what the stuff was her body worked so hard for days to make and then expel, and other than a vague idle curiosity she didn't really care. She wasn't dumb, and yet she couldn't explain the fluid's effects on her. It wasn't logical, or rational, or consistent with human biology as far as she knew it. All she was aware of were the changes it had wrought in her, and Hole, and that they liked them, and that was enough.

"Mr. Lee?"

"Yes, what?"

"Carol's here, so I'm going home."

"Okay."

The teenager shook his head. "That woman who came in this morning, with the buzz cut? The ID?"

Mr. Lee looked up. "Yes?" he said carefully.

"I still can't believe she was sixty-eight. She looked like a teenager. Hell, she looked thirteen. Is she a relative of yours? I could get in trouble selling to minors."

"You stay away from that woman!" Mr. Lee snapped at him uncharacteristically, all signs of an accent gone. "Be polite, say hello, say goodbye, say 'Thank You for Shopping at Lee Market', and that's it. She made a deal with the devil, that one. Hasn't aged in twenty years, and she can hear what you're thinking. Stay away from her."