Progenitor 2

Progenitor 2
By Haramiru – haramiru@hotmail.com

To those following continuity: In the first version of Progenitor 1, over the space of one paragraph the Progenitor traded an egg for a satchel of cash and rented a room at a hotel. It was just a rough sketch of events, and its removal greatly improved P1’s ending. The upcoming eBook edition (tenatively titled ‘Progenitor: Origin’) expands those events into a story of its own, about as Progenitor 2, with slightly less sex. But what you need to know for continuity here is that the Progenitor traded the egg he had at the end of P1 for a bunch of cash, and used that to rent a room at a hotel. I’m not done producing free Progenitor stories, and the free ones will continue to make sense on their own, but the eBook edition will provide plenty of bonus material. I expect to finish it by the end of 2012.


Just Shopping
I awoke to a nasty shaft of sunlight slashing across both of my eyes through a crack in the blinds. Letting out a groan, I turned my head away and opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. My first thought was to find my dentures and glasses, but then I realized I was seeing so clearly that I must’ve been wearing them. But when I sat up, the smooth response of my joints and muscles reminded me that I wasn’t occupying the same broken-down husk of a body anymore.

The bedside table’s clock told me that it was 10am, and my stomach was growling already. But my first stop would be the bathroom, where my new body’s first shower awaited.

For the first time in over 40 years, I could look down and see smooth, unwrinkled skin. And since I’ve always done my best thinking in the shower, I luxuriated in the warm water while I planned my next move. The aliens who created me would’ve probably preferred that I just walk out the front door naked and start screwing, but I wanted a semblance of a normal life in my off hours. The first step towards that goal was going to be the acquisition of normal clothes; next I’d buy a used car with cash, and lastly I’d try to establish a legitimate-looking cover identity.

After toweling myself off, I put on the same clothes I’d worn last night, pocketed my cash, and left. The night clerk had been pretty clear that he considered the deposit I’d left with him in lieu of ID to be a tip, so I didn’t bother checking out.

My attention was suddenly drawn to the hiss of brakes as a bus pulled up outside of the hotel. Its display indicated that its next stop was a local mall, so I decided to take it.

As I took a seat, I noticed that there were some very attractive young ladies on the bus. I had to fight back the instincts which told me to go strike up a conversation, because I knew where that would lead. While it would still get me out of my current clothes, it wouldn’t make any progress towards a semi-legitimate identity.

Two girls in particular, though, made it really hard to stay focused. They were checking out my reflection in the window, and I smiled a little as one of them opened her mouth as if to say something, but her friend pulled her back. If I could bottle and sell Progenitor pheromones, no man would ever be lonely again.

The girl who nearly talked to me was a pale-skinned brunette with green eyes and a perky set of early-20s breasts, barely restrained by a yellow cross-hatched string bikini top. Her bottoms were a pretty modest pair of dark shorts, which were nearly unnoticeable given that her bare, slender waist was much more interesting to look at. Her friend was about the same age, and of Indian descent. Her skin was on the darker side, and her muscles were toned and athletic. She wore a set of contour-hugging electric blue spandex shorts, and her ample bosom had been crammed into a plunging sports bra with a deep scoop in the front to reveal truly exquisite cleavage. Her attire was a little more modest than her friend’s, but not by much.

Just when I was about to break down and start talking to them, the bus pulled up next to the mall. It was for the best, I told myself: I really did need to get situated before resuming my mission to spread my genes to the world.

Stepping into a mall for the first time in 30 years was a shock for me. The last time I’d gone to one, food courts weren’t a standard fixture yet, and I didn’t recognize most of the stores’ names. Nevertheless, I was able to find my way to a familiar big anchor store, where I sought out the men’s wear department before realizing that I had no clue what my new body’s measurements were.

The nearest sales associate was a cute female in her mid-20s. I walked up to her, and she greeted me with a broad smile that made her gray eyes sparkle. She was a bottle-blonde with darker undertones, around 5’6″ tall, with a smile that could light up a room. Her eyes were probably colored by contact lenses, but I didn’t care. “I’ll be happy to take your measurements, sir,” she said. While I had no doubt that she was used to plenty of male attention, speaking to me made her nervous and jittery. I probably had my pheromones to thank for that.

She blushed and added, “I’ll just have to take you somewhere private first.”

I inwardly sighed – there could be no denying my urges at this point, and I was probably going to incite a riot at the mall today. I smiled and said, “I imagine that a fitting room would be private enough?”

She blushed and stammered out, “Why, yes. The formal wear room would be perfect.”

I smirked a little and said. “Lead the way.”

I followed her, catching a glimpse of a huge grin on her face as she turned away from me. She led me out of the men’s department and right next to the women’s, to the formal wear fitting room between the two. The room itself was large and triangular. The far corner was a mirror booth, and there were cloth-covered benches lining the walls for people to sit.

“This is for final inspection on wedding parties. It’s the one room I know for sure there’s always measuring tape in”, she said. She coyly added, “It’s also got benches to sit on in case you get tired.”

I shrugged and peeled my polo shirt off over my head. The girl let out a little gasp, and away red-facedly. Her apparent modesty was a ruse though; I caught her looking at me in the mirror immediately as I attacked my swim trunks, pulling them down and off of me. Her eyes widened and she turned her head back to me, staring wantonly at my body.

“I don’t think you’ll need the tape to get these measurements,” I stated.

She stood for a moment, frozen at the conflict between her hormones and the last shreds of her professionalism. I stepped up and kissed her on the lips, effectively demolishing the last of her objections. Her body went rigid for a moment, then she melted against me as if her knees were made of water.

As she began rubbing her leg against me, I glanced down at her name tag and learned that her name was Claire. “Perhaps you should make sure no one else will walk in?” I asked her.

Claire nodded and latched the door shut, then lowered a privacy screen at the top of the changing room. “We’ve had pervs try to take pictures of the dress fitting a while back. Most brides do end up topless at some point in the fitting process,” she explained.

I smiled and wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her to me. “I imagine that you’d look spectacular wearing only the bottom half of a dress,” I said.

She smiled demurely and began to unfasten the buttons on her blouse. “Would a skirt be close enough?”, she asked. She shed her coat and blouse, then dropped her bra to the floor as well. Claire stood topless before me, her full D cup boobs suspended above a slender waist. The light brown freckles scattered across her upper shoulders and chest marked her as a real redhead, and I found myself smiling as I admired the view. Claire returned my smile mischieviously as she stepped up and snaked her arms around my torso. “Enjoying the view?” she purred.

I cupped my hands around her buttocks and lifted until our waists were touching. Her breasts were pressing against my chest, and as I kissed her she began to grind her hips against me. As her skirt rode up, I could feel her wet sex pressing against me through the pantyhose she was wearing. I set her down for a moment, and she read my mind. She quickly pulled off her pantyhose, then jumped back at me and wrapped her legs around my waist like a spider monkey.

She started off franticly dry-humping me, which quickly started to make me sore as the cloth of her skirt rubbed on my cock. I took one arm away from her and used it to pull up the front of her skirt, immediately providing relief. With no barriers between us anymore, Claire began to slowly slide up and down, probing carefully for the location of my cock. In a few seconds, I felt the tip of my shaft slide into her wetness. Moments later, she thrust her hips downward and buried me completely in her pussy.

I’d be lying if I said that I lasted long. Claire was an absolutely, mind-meltingly hot redhead, and she wanted me badly. This is what I was here to do, and it’s what Claire instinctively wanted, too. There was no protection and there’d be no pulling out, just frantic sex until my entire load of sperm was inside of her.

That was my plan, at least. As things moved along, we shifted positions – first I was doing her against the wall, then we went to the floor with her on top. Just as I was about to climax, someone started banging on the door. “Claire,” called a plaintive British female voice, “you know I’ve got this room reserved from 2pm onwards!”

Claire started to say something, but then I thrust hard and she let out a scream as she began to climax.

“Is she all right in there?” I heard someone ask.

“I saw her walk in here a moment ago with a man.”

I saw a bit of motion at the crack in the door, and winced as I realized that they could see in if they got up at the crack. The privacy screen might force pervs to be more obvious and more likely to get caught, but it didn’t strictly guarantee privacy.

“Claire?!?” the voice shouted in disbelief.

Claire chose this moment to come to her senses and realize that she was straddling a man she’d just met at work, fucking his brains out.

“Oh my GOD!” she shrieked as she looked down at her skirted regions and realized that I was inside her, “what is this?!?”

My cock twitched, dumping the first load of sperm into her pussy. “An orgasm”, I replied.

I heard a gasp from behind the door and a male voice piped up, “Son of a bitch!”

The world seemed to go into slow motion at this point, and three things happened simultaneously:

1. Claire’s already tight pussy clamped down on my shaft as I kept pumping sperm inside.

2. A graying but massive man in his late 40s kicked in the door to the fitting room, ripping the deadbolt out of the frame.

3. The bride-to-be, two of her bridesmaids, and Claire’s British co-worker all gasped in astonishment as they saw what was going on inside the room.

The man, presumably the father of the bride, grabbed Claire’s shoulders and pulled her away as my cock shot another load of semen. Part of this one wound up arcing through the air and painting the outside of Claire’s still-eager vulva. She may have come to her senses, but her body was still begging for my children.

The man, who was built like a retired boxer, glared down at me with a look of sheer disgust and contempt. I didn’t exactly blame him, considering what little he’d seen to form a judgement. My body was still doing what came naturally, and my penis was still oozing sperm onto my pubic region. He brought up his foot to stomp me, but then slowly lowered it again with a bewildered expression. I raised my head experimentally, and watched as he stepped back to the corner of the room and stood there. I looked back at the doorway, and noticed that the girls in the bridal party weren’t looking too shocked anymore. In fact, they were starting to look very interested in what was going on. The bride, in particular, was blushing and smiling at me.

I sighed and pointed at her, not even bothering to stand up. “You’re first,” I said.

The bride was around 30, 5’10” with brown hair and a slender, statuesque build. She was already wearing her wedding dress, and the two women flanking her were carrying their bridesmaids’ dresses to try on. The bride hesitated for a second, then walked over to me. She squatted down over me, draping her wedding dress over us. She brought her hand underneath and I felt her her grab my manhood, then push her panties aside with it and press it up to her pussy. She let out a gasp as I made contact, then spread her legs and took me as far inside as I could go. Claire, over in the corner, was watching in rapt fascination. I didn’t know how long that would last, but I was determined to make this count. I reached up and ran my hands under her dress, feeling her legs flex as the bride-to-be squeezed my cock with her vagina. “What’s your name, bride?” I asked.

“Sarah”, she panted out. “Yours?”

“You can call me daddy”, I answered. She started to let out a moan as she started to orgasm, but I clamped my hand over her mouth. The bridesmaids were clustering around us, watching intently.

“Don’t worry, you’ll all get your turn”, I said. I reached up behind the bride’s back and unzipped her dress, hinging down the front so that it slipped down off her arms and her breasts spilled out. The few moments we’d been mating had produced a tremendous amount of body heat already, and her sculpture-perfect breasts now wore only a sheen of sweat as they were exposed to the air. Sarah’s nipples hardened instantly, and I reached up to tweak them as she shivered in pleasure.

One of the bridesmaids knelt down at my right side, then pulled down her shorts and began to finger herself.