Adventures of The Golden Goose

Chapter 1 - Moonriver

By FermiRefuted

Disclaimer

This is a work of fantasy fiction for entertainment purposes only. The author does not condone violence against women, grand larceny, or antivax conspiracy theories.

All characters, events, and locations depicted (apart from HM United Kingdom which is, at time of writing, a real place) are entirely fictional and all characters are original creations by the author, FermiRefuted. If you enjoy this work, I’d love to hear from you at FermiRefuted@hotmail.com.

Tags

BBW, bondage, femdom, degradation, humiliation, cumflation

Part 1: Gruntham-on-Sleet, November 2019

Desolation filled the market square of Gruntham-on-Sleet.

Blood, vomit and broken glass spattered the pavement, the remnants of yet another home defeat for Gruntham FC and their supporters’ inevitable post-match riot. Overfilled bin bags had been kicked open and rotting fast food trampled into the cobbles. The smell of stale lager hung like an acrid mist over everything. Pitiful groans and a hellish squeaking could be heard from St Grubworth’s Lane as one of the town’s numberless vagrant heroin addicts fought for his life against a living tide of rats.

The empty windows of Gruntham’s old police house were like the empty sockets of a skull overlooking the damage. The building had been completely gutted by last night’s arson. In the dull grey glow of an English dawn, the last wisp of smoke curled away into heaven and Detective Sergeant Scallion of Sleetside CID snapped his padlock shut on the ravaged oak front doors for the last time.

“Damned shame”, muttered Scallion to no one in particular, “Bloody town’s gone to the dogs. Schoolkids dealing drugs, hooligans running the streets. If I was only ten years younger…”

“Not to worry, guv”, said a chirpy Estuary voice, “I reckon it’s generational. You leave this lot to me and I’ll have the Joes* under control inside six months.”

Scallion stared in amazement at the curvaceous young costumed heroine who had draped herself over the bonnet of his ice-white BMW 3 Series SUV.

Her face was concealed behind a feather-trimmed venetian mask sparkling with golden sequins. Her lustrous hair tumbled in bleach-blonde ringlets over broad, rounded shouders and a pair of breasts so buxom that they jiggled with every drag the girl took on the hand-rolled cigarette that dangled from her shell-pink, collagen-filled lips.

Her shimmering gold lame bikini top was also trimmed with a froth of golden feathers, barely compensating for just how undersized the tiny costume was for her figure. Her ripe, proudly-presented tits looked liable to burst free from their moorings at any second.

If her brassiere was too small for her, the girl’s matching bikini bottoms were completely overwhelmed. The spaghetti-thin straps cut into her broad, pear-shaped hips, creating a gentle muffin-top around her waist. Her generous pot belly spilled out brazenly over her scoop-front golden panties, a diamond stud bouncing in her navel. Her equally plump thighs and calves quivered precariously as she stood up in gold-sequined six-inch stiletto pumps.

Observing the ageing, grey-haired detective’s dazed once-over of her body, the heroine flashed him a grin with dazzling white dental veneers which shone out from the rich orange of her spray-tanned flesh. Whoever she was, thought Scallion, she was a Gruntham girl to the core.

“And who the bloody hell are you to take the law into your own hands, my girl?” asked the detective.

“I’m the Golden Goose, mate.” Said the Golden Goose, “And I know the streets of my town even better than you know the inside of this motor.”

Scallion immediately went pink with rage and shame. This tarty carnival act had seen the empty beer bottles and takeaway boxes lining the floor of his car and the encrusted stains all over the seat cushions. It was mostly food. Mostly.

“Look, me and the wife are having some disagreements right now, and frankly my love, it’s none of your business where I choose to lay my head at night”, said Scallion. “You’re not taking over policing in Gruntham. There is no policing in Gruntham. The County Council have restructured again and if you want to report a crime, you’ll need to call 999 or go to the station in Steeple Needlewell, alright?”

“Oh, right, fifteen minutes’ drive away,” snorted the Golden Goose as she sashayed over to him, delicately balancing her stillettos on the cobbles. “And the next time some poor Gruntham girl is dragged into a Russian oligarch’s limo at the bus stop and forced to twerk for hours on tables at the Freemason’s bar & grill on Shambledown Green, the lads at Steeple Needlewell will be right on top of her, I bet. I mean on top of it. On top of the case.”

“Oddly specific scenario.” said Scallion, savouring the memory of that evening at the Lodge and trying to remember which of the scantily-clad abductees was filling out a gold bikini in front of him, “But look, I don’t like this any more than you do. Cuts are cuts and we can’t afford any local constables in the town. The Minister of Justice says we’ll be policing digitally now, whatever that means.”

“Digital? I’ll show him digital”, grumbled the Golden Goose as she tugged her overstuffed bikini bottoms back into place with pink-coated nails. “how useful was digital policing when those lads at the Rank Alley Academy blew up old Mrs Coggins for The Claymore Challenge last week?”

“We all know times are tough”, said Scallion. “I like your spirit, sweetheart, but I don’t much fancy your chances around here after dark. The Scrub Lane boys’ll take one look at you and have you stripped and bent over a park bench before you know what hits you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time”, said the Golden Goose, with a top-heavy shrug. “And don’t underestimate me, P.C. Plod. I was the River Sleet wild swimming freestyle champion 2016-2018.”

“Really?” said Scallion, glancing down at the heroine’s zaftig physique, “And what have you been doing for the last few years?”

“Er… sabbatical.” Said the Golden Goose. “In Magaluf. Look, I’m here to help, alright. I can handle myself. It’s those County Lines blokes that won’t be able to handle me.”

“Look, I’ve warned you, love. If you go sticking those big Bristols** of yours into Gruntham gangland business, you’ll end up turning tricks for them on the street – if you’re lucky”.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, copper” grinned the heroine. “Just hand over the keys and me and my Bristols will go wherever justice takes us, alright?”

Scallion rummaged around in his coat pocket and pulled out a pitted Chubb padlock key.

“The station? It’s a write-off, young lady. I’ll be flagging it up for demolition when I get back to the office.”

“It’s… it’s like symbolism, alright? Passing the torch. Give me the station and you can be on your way.”

Scallion looked the voluptuous vigilante up and down one last time. Her soft fleshy hips and thighs quivered as she shifted her weight from foot to foot impatiently. The sergeant couldn’t quite suppress a smirk as she put herself on display.

“I don’t see any pockets on that costume, sweetheart. Where’s it going?”

“Oh…” murmured the Golden Goose as she looked down at the miniscule outfit she had stretched over her hefty assets. “It’ll never fit…”

Biting her lower lip, she tenderly cupped her breasts and presented him with a deep well of cleavage.

“You’ll have to put in in here, babes. Be gentle, alright?”

Scallion’s cock tented uncomfortably in his trousers as he pushed the key between the Golden Goose’s soft, yielding tits. There was an audible creak from the straps of her bikini top. She let out a coo as his gnarled hand rubbed over her quivering peach-coloured flesh. Scallion slid his hand to the underside of her left breast and gave it a firm, amiable pat.

“Well done, my girl”, said Scallion, “But if I were you, I’d cut down on the takeaways and forget about fighting crime in this town before you get the clap from one of the local tramps.”

“Babes”, said the Golden Goose, “The transmission rate of the clap

With that, she spun on her heel and strutted off across the market square. After a few steps, she had to stop again to vainly tug on her g-string straps which Scallion was delighted to see could barely contain her massive hips and was slipping down her rump. A maze of cellulite ran across her rear end and thighs. Like her chest and belly, every stride the Golden Goose took made her ponderous posterior wobble uncontrollably. Even with short, halting steps on her stilettos, she had to pause every few metres to primp herself back into the tiny swimsuit.

Scallion got into his car, ready for the journey out of town. With his right hand he reached for the hip-flask full of Famous Grouse in his glove compartment, and with his left he rummaged in the front of his trousers to try to relieve some of the throbbing in his manhood. As he frantically jerked himself to ecstasy, he watched the Golden Goose wiggle and jiggle slowly across the square. It took the girl more than eight minutes to disappear out of sight, which was more than enough time for Scallion to finish.

Thank God the department agreed to leave Gruntham’s CCTV feed online, thought the detective as nicotine-scented sweat rolled down his face. At last, a reason to stay awake on the night shift.

Part 2: under the bridge

It was June 2020.

The derelict Duke of York Bridge, originally built to serve the Gruntham bypass in 1987 and closed for repairs since 2008, blotted out the lights of the town as Gary and Wayne Smash unloaded their white van. Both powerfully built South Bellhill lads, they heaved stainless steel cases onto the riverside. The dingy water of the Sleet lapped at the sea wall and the stench of brine filled the air. Despite current Covid-19 social restrictions, neither of the men had bothered with masks today.

Gary looked out at the moonlit mist shimmering over the murky waters of the estuary and checked the time on his smartphone. Wayne grunted as he piled the last crate on the rotting jetty.

“Might as well have a fag break***, mate.” Said Gary. “I’ll take the first watch.”

“I don’t like this, Gaz”, said Wayne. Five pints of Moloko Plus inside him, it was always hard to tell whether the hummingbird whirring of his heart was due to drugs or nerves. “This consignment’s too hot. If our courier runs into the blockade…”

“She won’t, Wayne. The blockade only prevents UK exports, they don’t bother with craft coming the other way. And we’re not exactly dealing with a conventional form of transportation here. Stop bloody thinking and stick to the plan, alright. Take a walk. Clear your head.”

Wayne grumbled unintelligibly as he lit a roll-up and paced down the riverbank under the bridge. Ragged tents and bundles of filthy rags were piled up in the shadows where the homeless community congregated, but Wayne didn’t approach. Even if he could find an isolated tramp to strangle, there were hundreds of others down here and the odds of being dragged into the shanty town and cannibalised were too high at this time of year.

The fluttering click-click-click of a woman’s feet in stiletto pumps caught Wayne’s ears. He stubbed out his cigarette and slipped into the shadow of a concrete pillar. In a few minutes’ time the newcomer sauntered guilelessly past him. Wayne’s eyes went wide and he licked his lips as he watched the bountiful feminine hips in front of him swing from side to side. She’s a big girl, alright. Those melons of hers are practically falling out of that Mardi Gras costume. Can’t imagine she’ll be able to put up much of a fight once I’ve gotten those knickers off.

The Golden Goose (for it was she) tottered gingerly down the waterfront, her golden bikini glimmering in the light of the distant moon and her platinum curls bobbing over her shoulders, half a beat behind the stately bounce of her spray-tanned russet curves. She passed the tent city under the bridge without a second glance and Wayne felt a faint tremor of anxiety as he realised she must be looking for Gary and the van.

With the moonlight in her eyes it was easy for Wayne to fall in silently behind her and watch the plump hourglass silhouette of the Golden Goose wobble back and forth in front of him. A hundred metres from the jetty where Gaz had parked up, Wayne brought his broad hands down on either side of the heroine’s matronly hips with a sharp smack.

“Ooh!” squealed the Golden Goose, hips quivering in his grasp and hands flying up to her sides in an involuntary gesture of surrender.

“What’s a fat little duck like you doing waddling around at this time of night, eh?”, growled Wayne into the girl’s ear through a curtain of perfectly-coiffed blonde ringlets.

“I’m… a goose, actually, babes. I’m here to fight crime in Gruntham-on-Sleet.” Murmured the heroine, an anxious catch in her voice. Her hands remained trembling in the air.

“Goose, eh, love? Don’t mind if I do” said Wayne, drawing his shovel-sized hand back to give her right buttock a rough, groping squeeze. He felt the joyous surge of an unguarded erection building  in his groin. Wayne, who could easily hold twelve cricket balls in one hand was excited to find this little tart’s well-fed arse was too big for him to cup properly.

“Ooh…” cooed the Golden Goose as she squirmed and thrust her rump back against his rough palm. “ I knew there’s be trouble down by the river tonight. Find anything you like back there, big boy?”

Wayne continued to squeeze and cup the Golden Goose’s bottom with his right hand while his left rose up and over her round chest to plant his forefinger over the heroine’s puffy pink lips in the ancient nursery-school symbol of silence.

“No need to wake up all the tramps, eh darling? Keep it quiet and I don’t have to call in all of these hungry gentlemen of the road for an all-you-can eat buffet.”

The Golden Goose immediately put her own pink-nailed finger up to her lips and nodded obediently. Wayne dropped his hand to cup the scantily-clad vigilante’s bulging stomach, controlling her movement. The Golden Goose shut her eyes and whimpered through her self-sealed lips as his fingers roamed across her abdomen front and back, and found every part of her agreeably soft and yielding.

Wayne hooked his thick index finger into the heroine’s belly button and worked it inwards. He found a diamond stud, which he instinctively tweaked, and was rewarded with a suppressed moan from the heroine. Growing more daring, Wayne slipped his thumb between the cheeks of her heavily bronzed bottom and delved deeper until he found the thin ribbon of silk which protected her most private area.

Wayne was pleased to discover that it was also one of her most sensitive. He delicately rubbed his thumb against the puckered ring of her anus and a deep shuddering groan burst from the Golden Goose. Her free hand caressed his cheek and she ran her fingers through his hair as she thrust her bum eagerly back against his probing digit. Rolling her hips, she tried frantically to push him deeper inside her, and Wayne briefly stopped his rhythmic squeezing of her belly to check the tiny golden satin triangle of her knickers. Sure enough, she was completely soaked through, her vulva swollen and dripping with sweat and lust. Incredibly, through all the action she continued to muffle her own groans with a finger on her shell-pink lips.

Wayne weighed his options; continue to play with the mysterious but enjoyably full-figured girl struggling in his arms, or report back to Gaz. He decided to combine the two. Wayne abruptly pulled his calloused fingertips out of her navel and anus. The Golden Goose glanced indignantly at him, sapphire eyes flashing behind her golden-feathered venetian mask. She dropped her hand from her mouth at last and opened it to ask a question, when Wayne clamped his hand around her wrist and forced her to put a finger to her lips again. She stamped her stilettoed foot in frustration, but obeyed. Wayne gave the Golden Goose’s bottom a sharp spank and she started to trot forward once again with a suppressed yelp, as he followed silently.

Gary was still scanning the skyline of the estuary when he heard the clacking sound of stilletto pumps on the wharf and turned to see the muscular Wayne and his curvaceous, semi-naked hostage rounding the van. Seeing the red flush on the heroine’s half-concealed face and the massive bulge in the front of Wayne’s jeans, Gary clenched his jaw and fists and rebuked his brother.

“Wayne. Are you shitting me. Why did you bring a prostitute back here on the job. This is bloody serious, mate, we can’t have witnesses here.”

Wayne held up his hand with a guilty shrug.

“Gaz, you won’t believe this. This chubby little tart is our very own superheroine. She was eyeing up the van. Pretty sure if I’d have left alone she’d have blown the whole operation.”

Gary was silent for a moment. He took in the jiggling curves of the Golden Goose and her obvious compliance. There were a few ways of resolving this situation. Given how high he was on the barbiturates, Wayne had done well to avoid murdering this fat slag and leaving her body to be fucked and eaten by Dire Crayfish. That might have caused problems. His brother’s hands were still rubbing aggressively up and down the heroine’s body, though, and Gary needed his brother to be on the alert for any more trouble.

“You keep watch. I’ll question her in the van for now”, said Gary “And keep your eyes peeled. This is one more complication than I wanted to deal with.”

“Alright, Gaz.”

“Oh, you rotten bastards!” exclaimed the Golden Goose, finally freeing herself from Wayne’s gagging order. “I knew you were up to no good! I’ll get the law on you before…”

But Gary’s heavy hand clamped down over the heroine’s mouth. Wayne turned back to the increasingly clear night sky as Gary dragged the big girl kicking and squirming into the all-consuming void of the white van.

Part 3: Get in the van

The Golden Goose hit the floor of the van with a squawk. One of these days I’ll invest in some bloody kneepads.

Looking around her in the dingy electric glow, she took in the arsenal of cable ties, blindfolds, ball gags and the rolled-up carpet which filled the inside of the vehicle.

Gary Smash slammed the door and cracked his knuckles. Unlike Wayne, there wasn’t any mischief in his eyes. The Golden Goose rolled onto her side, locking her generous thighs together in an effort to shield her gold-knickered vulva and allowing her pendulous breasts and belly to spill out in front of her. She felt a tingle of anticipation as Gary loomed over her, his clomping steel toe-capped boots only inches from her trembling coppery flesh.

“Please, let me go, babes”, begged the Golden Goose. “I got all excited when your brother started feeling me up outside and I forgot myself. He’s got such big strong chalks**** I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night shift.”

“You’re our local superhero, then?” Asked Gary. “Sure you weren’t already planning to interrupt us tonight?”

“Just my regular patrol, babes”, said the Golden Goose, her glossy lower lip trembling. “Free titjobs for the local dealers. Those poor lads always get so horny when they’re waiting for trade and no-one offers them any relief.”

The hulking Smash brother sneered the moment he heard ‘patrol’. Arrogant little swine.

“I believe you” said Gary, reaching over to retrieve a bottle of chloroform and a filthy rag from one of the canvas bags strapped to the wall. “Thousands wouldn’t. Can’t say I can let you out of here, but I’ll do you one favour – I can’t decide if I’d rather you tried to fight me off, or froze up like a chubby little bunny rabbit. So it’s your choice, sweet-cheeks.”

The Golden Goose wriggled onto her back, sending pleasing ripples through her cellulite-traced body from her calves to her shoulders, her hair spreading out in a curly golden  ark on the van floor. She reached out beseechingly to Gary and looked up at him with limpid blue eyes.

 “Please, babes. You don’t even have to let me go. Tie me up, beat me, I’ll do anything if you just don’t chloroform me, it gives me such a headache.”

Gary lifted steel-capped boot and planted the heavy leather sole on the softly palpitating swell of her spray-tanned tummy. The Golden Goose felt one of his hobnails slip into her belly button and stifled a whimper.

“Not really a hero, are you darling? Look at the state of you. You’re a fat slag prancing around town in her underwear. I could pop you like a balloon on the floor of this van and there is nothing you could do to stop me except wobble like a big brown panna cotta.”

The Golden Goose felt the humiliation rise into her cheeks as Gary gently rocked his foot back and forth on top of her overinflated paunch, rolling her from side to side like a whimpering beach ball.

“Don’t pop me, Mr Smash…” She begged. “I’m too fat and soft to fight back… I just love showing my body off to get attention… and it makes me so wet when you gangster lads squeeze me and tease me and…”

Gary kept applying pressure, listening to the Golden Goose’s increasingly masochistic pleas for mercy. He more he squeezed, the more her squeals turned into sighs. Her face was pink with embarrassed helplessness, and her swollen areolae were clearly visible over the hem of her overloaded brassiere.  Instead of trying to escape from his brutal roughhousing, she thrust up her unprotected belly for even crueller treatment and bit her lip to stifle the moan as he ground the dirt of the street and the riverside into the brown swell of her bare stomach.

Gary, his own heart and breath racing as the voluptuous heroine was reduced to a squirming, sweaty mess under his heel, eventually gave in to the pulsing ache in his cock, hooked one reinforced toe under her knee and finally flipped the Golde Goose over.

The sequined crimefighter gulped down the stale air of the van and struggled to regain her composure.

“Get that fat arse into the air, you filthy tart”, ordered Gary.

Shakily, the Golden Goose rolled over on her knees and elbows and obediently raised her outsize bruised peach of a posterior up until her back was fully arched. Her thighs, now parted, still kissed delicately where they reached their thickest at the top of her legs. Gary knelt down for a closer look, drinking in the musky smell of her snatch.

As the Golden Goose felt her moist thighs peel apart, the heat of humiliation mixed deliciously with the itch of desire. Her stiff, swollen nipples rubbed maddeningly against the thin layer of grit on the floor of the van and she felt herself involuntarily gyrating to grind the sandy mix into her tender flesh. She was suddenly conscious of her exposure and a tightening spandex tug around her thighs.

“Oh, bollocks… my thong’s slipped down again, babes…”

“This little thing, yeah?”, asked Gary, tugging back the already stretched straps of the Golden Goose’s knickers and observing how deep the elastic cut into her puffy thighs.

“Please… please pull it up, alright? It’s the only one I’ve got that fits and I…”

“You what? Your lardy arse is supposed to fit into these little knickers?”

The Golden Goose bit her lip and wiggled her massive rump with discomfort as she felt his breath hot against her sex, streams of moisture rolling down her thighs. He must be able to see what this was doing to her.

“They’re a bit tight, alright? Since lockdown started, I keep getting fatter and fatter and I’m always spilling out on patrol but… without my thong there’s nothing to stop you from shoving that thick piledriver cock of yours right up into my cunt right… right now!”

Gary Smash licked his lips as he watched the roly-poly heroine work herself into a frenzy. He could see her engorged, pink labia sticking out practically begging to be peeled apart underneath the thrusting, jiggly pillows of her rear end.

He unbuckled his belt and began the logistical nightmare of fishing his erect cock out of the rigid denim prison of his jeans. In front of him, The Golden Goose kept rolling her hips back and forth and whimpering as she could feel the heat of his manhood

“Please, babes… don’t shag me here, alright?” She pleaded. “I… I think I’m ovulating this week! I’m so juicy and fertile… you’ll get me up the duff for sure!”

Gary chuckled as he took a firm grip on the Golden Goose’s love handles, which squished enjoyably in his hands even as she squirmed and moaned.

“Big girls don’t cry, love. You can’t come down here offering your cunt around on a silver platter and expect us not to help ourselves. Sorry I can’t offer you anything to bite on.”

Gary thrust his hips forward and felt the gentle, welcoming caress of the Golden Goose’s labia around his throbbing glans. He felt no resistance and as he worked his way deeper into her vagina he felt the heroine relax and let out a deep, low groan. With her back to him, he could see her curly head sink down to a resting position on the van floor. He felt a firm, rhythmic squeezing around his shaft as the Golden Goose thrust her hips back against his in a lazy gyration which drew him deeper and deeper into her cunt.

The Golden Goose moaned and gasped with every thrust of Gary’s hips, and her vaginal lube was soon squirting from her vulva and adding to the grime on the floor of the van. Her speech now barely coherent, she expertly tugged and massaged him with her Kegel muscles and Gary couldn’t help but increase the pace.

“Oh, please…” the Golden Goose moaned as she felt herself being pounded even deeper. “Oh, please Babes…”

“Please what, sweet-cheeks?”

“Please don’t... don’t come inside…”

“Still worried about the family way, eh sweetheart?”

“If I get… ooooh… if I get pregnant… huhhh…”

“Speak up!”

“I won’t be able to fight… fight crime… too fat… too round… for my thong…”

Gary burst out laughing without breaking his stroke and took a firm grip on the tiny triangle of fabric at the centre of the Golden Goose’s thong, still stretched out halfway down the heroine’s thighs.

“Let’s make this easy then, darling – you won’t have to wear it at all!”

The elastic, already stretched to breaking point, snapped instantly, leaving a dull welt on the Golden Goose’s thighs that faded quickly beneath the spray-tan.

“OOOOH!” squeaked the Golden Goose, hit suddenly with the dual sensation of having her costume ripped off her body, and the humiliating realisation that no matter what happened tonight, she was going to have to walk back through Gruntham-on-Sleet without even her knickers on.

“Come on then, Goosie – brace yourself for my load”, chuckled Gary, driving his cock deeper into her cunt. The Golden Goose panted and moaned as she squeezed back, desperately trying to push him over the edge of orgasm and make him her stud. “Come on, Goosie… COOOME… OOOOON!”

With a groan, Gary Smash came inside the Golden Goose and completed his final thrusts into her vulva with all the strength he could muster. He felt his balls contract and their boiling hot load burst out of the tip of his glans and into the deliciously soft and warm embrace of the heroine’s womb. He felt the liquid pressure squeeze his dick from all sides and it spurred him on to still more thrusts and gouts of sperm into the waiting heroine.

“Oh… OOOH MR SMASH… OOOOH BABES…” The heroine squealed as her womanhood lit up with ecstasy. Her thighs trembled and a mix of Gary’s semen and her own lubrication squirted out around the lips of her tightly packed vagina. She thrashed around in Gary’s grip, unable and unwilling to escape but desparate to work out all the orgasmic tension in her body. Her nipples, fully slipped out of her bikini, were raw with constant rubbing on the van floor, and she felt a cool sensation on her pendulous belly as she settled it onto the gritty metal surface. Inside, she could feel Gary’s thick come swelling her womb and sighed with the satisfaction of completion.

Gary, pulling out of the Golden Goose with a final torrent of male and female sex, sank down onto the floor of the van and gave the Golden Goose’s still-raised rear end a proprietorial pat, to which she responded with a murmur of sexual contentment.

Their afterglow was broken by a pounding on the door of the van and Wayne’s voice sounded anxiously outside.

“Gaz… I think the courier’s here… although I’m not really sure what I’m looking at here…

Part 4: Claire de Lune

Gary Smash tumbled out of the van to see his consignment of contraband outlined against a glittering silver airship which descended majestically from the dingy night sky. His brother Wayne blinked up at the vessel, unsure whether he was looking at a real aircraft or hallucinating something on top of a commercial helicopter or seagull.

Struggling out of the van behind Gary, a sweaty, cum-stained and bedraggled Golden Goose tried valiantly with her right hand to scoop her enormous breasts back into the inadequate cups of her golden bikini top. With her left, she stroked tenderly over the pleasing bulge of her swollen belly, now concealing over a womb thoroughly and satisfyingly filled up with Gary’s sperm. Still clad in her bra, golden stilettoes and feathery venetian mask, she shivered as she caught a pink-varnished nail against the diamond stud still nestled in her navel.

The airship was a graceful, streamlined vessel with no visible engines or gas-bag to provide thrust or lift. Rather, it looked like a graceful glider with multiple shimmering silver wings, which floated weightlessly down from the firmament, reflecting the pale light of the full moon.

“Gaz…” said Wayne “Just what in the world am I meant to be looking at here?”

“Ignoramus!”, shouted a strident Frenchwoman’s voice from the sky. “Are you English now so isolated from world news that you do not recognise Claire de Lune and her marvellous Lunette?”

As the shimmering Lunette lowered its hull into the cloying black water of the Sleet, a tall, willowy female figure in a gleaming silver jumpsuit and mirrored goggles leaped onto the quay.

“Now, gentlemen.” Smiled Claire de Lune, “Where are my vaccines?”

“Bloody hell, Claire,” growled Gary. “You’re cutting it fine. At least an hour behind schedule.”

The smirking Gallic villainess slipped a silver case and lighter from her chest pocket and helped herself to a gold-tipped cigarette from within.

“There are hours before dawn, cherie, and my contacts in the RAF were unable to create the radar hole until now. Some delay between shifts. You should start loading up now, before we lose any more time. I will get your European hampers stowed in that filthy van of yours.”

She offered her cigarette case around and Gary and Wayne sparked up before beginning to heave the steel pharmaceutical crates on board the Lunette.

“Blimey, Claire…” Grumbled Wayne, “If you weren’t our only supplier for French Roast coffee these days, I swear we’d have you doing your fair share of the heavy lifting on these deals.”

“Button it, Wayne.”, snarled Gary “I’m not listening to another lecture from Dad about how he can’t get proper bloody passata for his bolognaise any more. Let’s just finish this and get home.”

“Hold your horses!” Exclaimed the Golden Goose from the back of the van. “We’re in the middle of the deadliest pandemic in a hundred years and you’re swapping our hard-earned Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccines for a load of old tut from the EU?”

“Don’t you start!” said Gary, with venom. “I’m sick of queueing for truffle oil and pre-ordering baklava at the Greek embassy! What’s the point of making money from organised crime if you can’t buy anything? Are you seriously telling me carbonara tastes better with Victory Bacon than decent pancetta?”

The Golden Goose was momentarily chastened by nostalgic thoughts of the years before the blockade. Claire de Lune looked the shapely heroine up and down with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

“My dear Smash brothers, why on earth did you bring this fat prostitute on a job? She is not even wearing a slip! I hope she more discreet with her words than with her sexual favours!”

“I’m not a prostitute!” snapped the Golden Goose with a stamp of her stilettoed foot. The motion sent a ripple of motion through her pendulous parts. “I’m the Golden Goose, and I’m here to put a stop to this unpatriotic thieving of valuable medical supplies!”

Claire de Lune tossed her jet-black bob and roared with laughter as The Golden Goose took several seconds to stop jiggling.

“Oh, mon dieu! This rondelette bronzee is supposed to be your little town’s vigilante? This is a very good joke, Gary! I accept your gift, I like her very much. Get your big derriere on board the Lunette, cherie, and you can tell me what a naughty girl I am.”

Lightning-fast, Claire de Lune smacked the Golden Goose viciously on the rump. With a squeak and a submissive whimper, the rotund crime-fighter began to trot obediently onto the silver vessel.

With a sweeping feline stride, Claire de Lune herded her voluptuous new plaything into the airship’s cabin and waved decorously at the Smash Brothers who continued to load the crates of vaccine into the hold.

“I’ll be a little busy for the next few minutes, boys, but don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your gifts from our friends in Brussels! Don’t bother knocking if the vessel starts to roll.”

Inside the Lunette’s luxurious art-deco cabin, Claire de Lune found the Golden Goose primping herself in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors which lined the walls. The heroine was delicately brushing dust and dirt out of her blonde ringlets without disrupting the careful coiffe of her hairdo.

“So you thought you could get in my way of my evil plans, then, you nosy little salope?”

The Golden Goose gamely turned on her heel and planted her golden pumps into something like a fighting stance. She raised one clenched fist to Claire de Lune while her other hand slipped between her thighs to conceal her naked womanhood. Her glossy pink lips pulled back into a snarl below her now slightly battered golden feather mask.

“Alright, babes, you can stop trying to seduce me with all that Frenchy mumbo-jumbo. I don’t know how many words for sexy you have, but there’s no way I’m letting you get around Her Majesty’s Revenue & Customs that easily.”

With another melodious laugh, Claire stalked over to the pugnacious heroine, grabbed her by the wrist and easily spun her round to face the mirror. The svelte French villainess ran her elegant hands under the Golden Goose’s soft, barely-contained breasts and began to gently knead the doughy mounds.

“OOH!” squealed the Golden Goose. “Don’t be so rough, they’re sore already…”

“All natural, yes?”, murmured Claire de Lune into the squirming heroine’s ear. “I am surprised, I thought all of you catins Anglaises were silicone blow-up dolls.”

“My girls… uh… ooh… don’t need any work done… to be the biggest and prettiest in town…” The Golden Goose gasped. She could feel her mighty knockers straining to roll out of her overloaded bra and decorously cupped her hands over the swell of her breasts in an attempt to force them back into their cups, while Claire continued to squeeze them out from below.

“So proud!” smirked Claire, delighted by her captive’s forlorn attempt to wrestle back control of her own tits. “but, cherie, they make you a very easy target for the wicked criminals of the night! I am only half your size, but look how easily I can defeat these fat mamelettes of yours.”

Claire squeezed her prizes harder, sending a ripple of tormented sensation through the Golden Goose’s breasts. The voluptuous vigilante bit her lip and moaned, tilting her head back to rest on Claire de Lune’s lithe shoulder as the villainess mauled her bouncing jugs.

Claire could feel the Golden Goose’s jiggling boob-flesh spill out between her fingers like plasticene with each squeeze, as she continued to brutalise her prisoner. The heroine, giving up any attempt to resist the villainess, had dropped one hand to paw ineffectively at Claire’s wrist, and the other to her naked and visibly glistening sex. The Golden Goose’s long, pink fingernails traced the outline of her own vaginal lips and Claire felt a glow of satisfaction as she realised the heroine was now totally under her control.

“Oh, please…” murmured the Golden Goose, barely coherent. “Don’t… let the Smash brothers get away with this… You’ve all had me… I’ll do whatever you want…”

“You’re mine, cherie.” Whispered Claire de Lune, “You are now my slave. Just from playing a little with these enormous breasts of yours… but I’ve barely started with you yet.”

The heroine shivered and, to Claire’s delight, slipped a forefinger into her own cunt, releasing a little stream of sexual fluid. Keen to dominate her prisoner even further, Claire slid her hands over the Golden Goose’s round tanned globes to find an even more sensitive pair of weak points. With a triumphant laugh, she found the heroine’s painfully-stiff nipples and swollen areolas thrusting out above the hem of her exhausted bra and completely defenceless.

Claire seized the twin knobs of the Golden Goose’s nipples and tweaked them mercilessly with the sharp tips of her perfect fingernails. The Golden Goose let out a squawk so loud that she momentarily sounded like her namesake animal, and began to thrash fruitlessly in her captor’s grasp as Claire twisted and pinched her puffy nipples. Claire wrapped her prisoner in a bear hug, pinning the heroine’s arms to her sides. With all her might, the Golden Goose thrashed and wailed as she felt the delicious scratching sensation of Claire’s nails on the rubbery, bumpy flesh of her engorged teats. The itching, tickling sensation was overwhelming and Claire seemed to know exactly how to torment the Golden Goose, rasping her nails over the ultra-sensitive tips of the heroine’s inflamed mammary glands.

“NO…” blurted out the Golden Goose “PLEASE, babes… that’s… that’s TOO MUCH!”

“You can’t stop me, little salope”, sneered Claire de Lune in triumph, “These milky mamelons belong to me now, just like the rest of you.”

Claire felt the Golden Goose shiver and groan and saw the heroine’s fingers pistoning in and out of her vagina with utter sexual abandon. The more Claire twisted her prisoner’s nipples, the more enthusiastically she tried to tip herself over the edge.

“Oh, Miss De Lune”, pleaded the Golden Goose, tears of frustration forming behind her venetian mask, “I’m not pregnant yet… my boobs… aren’t milking… if you keep squeezing them… they’ll just stretch out… and sag… and…”

Claire whispered mockingly in the Golden Goose’s ear.

“Your ridiculous breasts are the saggiest I have ever had the pleasure of punishing, my dear”, she crowed. “But you are right… what is the point of playing with water balloons if they don’t burst?”

Claire abruptly released the dead weight of Golden Goose’s jiggling cans. The straps of the heroine’s golden bra, the elastic now utterly perished, snapped like garden twine under the weight of her massive jugs and ripped off her, fluttering to the polished floor of the Lunette.

“Whoops.” Smirked Claire de Lune.

Groaning, with streamers of Gary Smash’s sperm running down her trembling thighs, the Golden Goose tenderly cupped her thoroughly abused and exposed breasts and tried to massage some sensation back into the numb pillows. In a daze, she took one jiggling step toward the exit but found her progress arrested by a firm Gallic palm over the bloated swell of her well-seeded stomach.

“About that pregnancy, madame Golden Goose”, smirked Claire, with a lick of her lips. “You must be very happy with Gary Smash’s sperm to have held it all inside your fat belly for so long.”

“Oh, that…” mumbled the Golden Goose. “He… he came so hard… I didn’t want to be rude and spill it all.”

“It’s spilling out of your sloppy chatte right now, my dear.”

Right on cue, a few more drops of cum dripped down between the Golden Goose’s thighs and splattered onto the tiled floor.

“Well… It’s not easy to see past all this, babes.”, the heroine said, sliding her hands over the pendulous bulge of her stomach with almost maternal gentleness. “I’ve got to do my best. And Gary’s a real man… He was so good… he filled me right up… I thought… maybe when this is over… maybe we could…”

Claire burst out laughing as she watched the plump, cum-swollen heroine shift her jiggling weight uncomfortably in her golden high-heeled pumps. The Golden Goose blushed deeply and bit her swollen lip in humiliation.

“Mon dieu, you are serious!”, gasped Claire, “You want to have a common criminal’s baby!”

“Ooh… please be nice to me, babes… I’m… I’m feeling so delicate just now. And a girl can dream of that tax credit, can’t she?”

Claire giggled as she cupped one hand under the Golden Goose’s swollen belly and one under her plump rear end. The Golden Goose suppressed a little gasp as she once again felt herself being gently kneaded by the cruel French villainess. Desperate to retain the hot, sloshing feeling of Gary’s semen inside her, the heroine strained to keep her nether lips clamped shut and burned with humiliation when the pressure of Claire’s hands forced a tiny squirt out of her vulva.

“Well, my sweet little roulade, you certainly have the figure of an excellent mother. And how will you manage to fight crime when you are so pregnant that you cannot fit into your little swimsuit?”

The Golden Goose whimpered, her shell-pink filled lips trembling as she tried to prevent her womb from releasing its precious load under the merciless ministrations of the French Villainess.

“Oh, Claire”, moaned the heroine “It won’t make a blind bit of difference! I’m always being caught and shagged by the local lads… I get passed around every weekend… and my costume doesn’t fit anyway… I’m always falling out of it. They’ll just laugh at me same as you when they see me get bigger and fatter. It’ll be even easier to drag me for a quickie behind the bins.”

Claire looked into the blushing heroine’s eyes for a long moment. She ran a hand through the curtain of perfectly-crimped curly blonde hair which spilled down over the Golden Goose’s shoulders.

“How long did you spend tonight preparing this pretty hairdo for your patrol, cherie?”

The Golden Goose brushed her feathery-masked cheek up against Claire De Lune’s graceful fingers,

“I leave the curlers in all day”, she sighed “It’s easier, working from home all the time.”

“Then it is settled.” Said Claire de Lune. “Get your fat little derriere into my wardroom, I will have to renegotiate with our friends the Smash Brothers.”

Part 5: Denouement

The Smash Brothers were finished loading up the Lunette with the stolen vaccines and were enjoying a brew from Wayne’s Thermos as they waited for Claire de Lune to return.

“I can almost taste the gorgonzola.” Said Wayne.

“I’m not going to be able to taste anything until I get back home and shower off all the mess that Golden Goose trollop made. Not to mention pressure washing the van.” Said Gary.

“How did you find her?” said Wayne.

“Soft as butter.” Said Gary. “No bite at all. Surprising, really. You’d think given she calls herself a vigilante…”

“Excusez-moi, Smash Brothers.” Called out Claire de Lune from the gunwale of the Lunette “There is a change of plan.”

Claire, her hair slightly dishevelled and her silver jumpsuit a little more creased than the Smash Brothers remembered, stepped onto the riverside, a fine silver chain in her hand.

“Moon-Slave!” shouted Claire sharply. “Get out here, our friends need to see you!”

Her chubby ankles hobbled by silver shackles which forced her to take only the tiniest of tottering steps on top of eight-inch silver platform heels, the Golden Goose clattered obediently out of the cabin. The chain in Claire de Lune’s hand ran all the way to a heavy silver ring attached to a midnight-blue leather choker which clasped firmly around the heroine’s throat. Her gleaming blonde hair was freshly dressed and crimped inside a silver moonstone tiara, and a silver domino mask had replaced her feathery venetian mask.

The heroine’s puffy nipples, tweaked to a feverish stiffness, were each clamped inside a silver crescent moon-shaped nipple shield and linked by a silver chain held perfectly taut by the weight of her softly sagging breasts. Her zirconium navel stud had been removed in favour of a long silver chain studded with moonstones and tinkling silver bells. The chain was also pulled taut over the plush swell of the Golden Goose’s underbelly, and was linked to large silver shackles which locked her wrists and arms tightly behind her back. A silver & moonstone butt plug nestled comfortably deep between the cellulite folds of the heroine’s broad buttocks. The heroine’s slick vaginal lips opened and closed over the tight rubbing chain with every restricted step she took and occasional rivulets of come slid down her inner thighs.

The heroine’s only additional item of clothing was a midnight-blue ball gag stuffed between her collagen-enhanced lips, themselves now recoated with gleaming silver lipstick.

The newly-minted Moon-Slave carefully struggled onto the key, fat thighs rippling and head held stiffly erect by the leather choker. Bells and chains jingling, she shuffled up to Claire de Lune and the gaping Smash Brothers, boobs and belly thrust out proudly for inspection.

“This fluffy little gateau”, said Claire de Lune “Despite her unconvincing fake tan, Is much too professional and dedicated for your appalling English provincial town. I am taking her back to my dungeon in France with this consignment and I will use her talent and dedication to keep my clients satisfied and distracted during future operations.”

“You can have her.” Said Gary. “That slag gets under everyone’s feet over here.”

The Golden Goose squeaked in indignation and rattled her silver chains. Claire de Lune calmed the captive with a comforting pat to her swollen gut.

“Monsieur Smash, you wrong this girl. Even now her womb is filled to bursting with your seed. The evil cabal that runs the European Union will pay me handsomely for the fresh child in nine months. You are certain you do not mind me taking her?”

“Get her ugly fat arse out of here”, said Gary. “Couldn’t care less about the kid.”

“Dad won’t be happy, Gaz”, said Wayne. “He’s been trying to make new babies for the evil cabal since before the referendum.”

Claire de Lune gave a reluctant Gallic shrug and patted the Golden Goose’s cheek tenderly.

“It is, as you English say, pearls before swine. Although in fairness cherie, you also resemble swine.”

The captive heroine blushed and whimpered into her gag.

“Hang on a minute”, said Wayne, catching up. “Gaz, weren’t you just telling me that the Lunette runs on moon-beams? And that there’s absolutely no tolerance on the weight-to-power ratio?”

“What’s your point, Wayne?” growled Gary.

“My point is the Lunette’s already fully laden. We’ll have to take off a couple of boxes of vaccines to compensate for the weight of that tart. Looking at her, maybe three.”

“This does not need to be a problem, gentlemen,” said Claire de Lune, “I will leave you with the excess vaccines which you can sell on your Sleetside Black Market and I will pay you the full fee of the original consignment.”

“No can do, love.” said Wayne. “The cargo’s too hot. Even the coppers round here would trace it back to us.”

“Wayne!” snarled Gary, “Who’s managing this negotiation, you or me?”

“Gaz, this is fucked up, mate”, said Wayne. “We’ll never fence the vaccines in Sleetside. Everyone round here knows about the microchips from Bill Gates. You can’t inject ‘em with anything these days.”

There was a moment of silence as Claire, Gary and Wayne stared at one another with a wild surmise.

“There are… microchips inside these vaccines?” asked Claire de Lune with a note of horror in her voice. “The rumours are true?”

“You complete fucking idiot, Wayne”, said Gary.

Things escalated quickly. Gary flicked out a switchblade and lunged at Claire de Lune, who danced back out of reach while clicking out a collapsible chrome-plated baton. Wayne scrambled for the van, while the Golden Goose struggled to get out of the range of the fighting and anxiously checked the skyline.

In the distance, the faint hum of helicopter engines could be heard. Dark streamers of artificial smoke crossed the face of the moon. Slowly, the moonlight began to dim. The shimmering skin of the Lunette began to lose its lustre and the airship bobbed lower in the water of the River Sleet.

Fortunately, Claire de Lune and the Smash Brothers were too busy to notice. Gary was howling on the river-slick stone of the quayside, his kneecap fractured by a devastating blow from Claire’s baton. Wayne meanwhile was taking swings with a cricket bat at the nimble French villainess, using his longer reach to keep her at bay.

The Golden Goose, feeling her flesh pucker up with the night’s chill for the fist time since Wayne started groping her, bounced up and down impatiently as black speedboats raced up the Sleet estuary.

Wayne’s fingers closed around Claire de Lune’s throat at exactly the same moment that the villainess kicked him in the balls. He fell wheezing to the ground and Claire sprawled next to him on hands and knees. 

The platform heels and silver-fettered ankles of the Golden Goose scuttled past Claire’s peripheral vision.

“Moon-slave, you have returned! My thanks, cherie. Let’s get back on board and safely back to France. Wait… the vaccines…”

Claire had no further time to consider the best move as the Golden Goose elegantly planted her massive bottom on the villainess’ back. Exhausted and winded from the struggle with the Smash brothers, Claire scrambled and wriggled but could not extricate herself from the heavy weight of the shackled heroine.

“Ooh… oh, souillon perfide, what have you done?”

The Golden Goose mumbled and moaned around the ball gag which still stuffed her mouth.

“That… cheap fake diamond in your nombril, wasn’t it?”

The Golden Goose wiggled her bottom and moaned again.

“Or… some kind of miniaturised receiver in the mask?”

The Golden Goose shrugged, her tightly-chained breasts bouncing in perfect time.

Three UK Border Agency speedboats roared up to the dock and surrounding the Lunette. With a clatter of hobnailed boot, Black-uniformed and flak-jacketed Border Agency staff leaped onto the embankment and overwhelmed the prostrate and groaning villains, while still more officers swarmed all over the shimmering silver airship, unloading its illicit cargo and photographing every intimate detail of the moon-powered vessel.

The Smash Brothers were handcuffed and tossed roughly into the back of one of the speedboats while a pair of balaclava-clad border staff frogmarched Claire de Lune behind the brothers’ van for interrogation.

A square-jawed Royal Navy officer carefully unclipped the strap around the Golden Goose’s head and the heroine spat out the blue gag with gusto.

“Ooh, thanks for that, Dashy. You were right on time getting here, too.”

“A damned fine set of arrests, GG. We’ve been trying to catch Claire de Lune since the start of the blockade.”, said Lieutenant Dashwood. “And frankly, we all owe you one for keeping the Marines entertained last month when the HMS Cockfoster got stuck in that tide of untreated sewage from the estuary.”

“And they wonder why I don’t go wild swimming any more”, muttered the Golden Goose. “Dashy – don’t get too rough with Claire, she was awful nice to me this evening.”

“As long as she’s willing to share her moonbeam technology with HM Government, we won’t have a problem.”, said Dashwood, giving the Golden Goose a thousand-yard stare in the best traditions of the service.

“And one more thing, babes, where on me did you plant the transmitter?”

“That’s a state secret, GG.” Said Dashwood. “Need to know basis only. Let’s just say…” said Dashwood, with a conspiratorial wink, “The Gates Foundation will be very pleased with these results. Ah, that reminds me - ”

As the Golden Goose chewed her puffy lips and considered a response, Dashwood pulled out an extra-large sharing bag of GSK Gummy Contraceptives.

“As you requested, compliments of the Clandestine Channel Threat Commander.”******

 “Oh, perfect, thanks babes. Just slip it between the girls, alright?”

Tugging on the taut silver chain clipped to her nipples, and with only a modest amount of squeezing and kneading while the shackled heroine moaned and wriggled, Dashwood managed to stuff the GSK bag into the Golden Goose’s cleavage, and her pendulous breasts settled comfortably on her stomach, still bulging with Gary’s semen.

A burly Warrant Officer with bolt cutters approached and saluted Dashwood and the Golden Goose.

“Ms Goose, when you’re ready I’ll get those shackles off.”

“Thanks, darling” said the Golden Goose, shuffling forward eagerly to be released.

“Mind how you go, GG”, said Lieutenant Dashwood. “And the Navy’s luck to you.”

The naval officer delivered a firm maritime swat to the heroine’s right buttock.

“Aah!” squeaked the Golden Goose with a bounce and a tinkle of silver bells. “Ooh, you’ve blown it now, you bugger…” said the Golden Goose, as she finally lost control of her vaginal muscles and let loose a torrent of creamy white semen onto the riverside. Squirting gouts of cum out of her womb, the Golden Goose groaned with pent-up release as Gary Smash’s bounty flowed out of her, leaving her feeling empty and wrung-out. A small crowd of border agents formed as the Golden Goose bent over, her inner thighs soaked with semen and her pink snatch dripping slack and sore as it was rubbed and teased by silver-chased moonstone studs.

“Er… ma’am? Your shackles?”

The Golden Goose licked her silver-glossed lips and squirmed a little in her silver fetters. She glanced down at her soft, round but no longer bloated stomach with disappointment.

“Oh, no need to bother now, babes. I wanted to finish my patrol anyway. Now I’ve got an empty tank, I reckon there’s room for one more adventure before morning. Ciao.”

With tiny, chain-hobbled steps and hands still cuffed behind her, the buxom blonde heroine wobbled off into the shadows of the night.

Lieutenant Dashwood watched her bounce away as Claire de Lune was escorted back to the Border Agency cutters.

“There goes the bravest woman this side of Dogger Bank.” Said the French villainess with a sigh.

“Too right.” Said Dashwood, turning back to her men. “Now, Master-at-arms, take that woman below and clap her in irons!”

Footnotes

*Cockney Rhyming Slang; Joe Rooks = Crooks. The “new towns” of Sleetside, including Gruntham, were a major resettlement location for the displaced population of inner London after the Second World War.

**Cockney Rhyming Slang; Bristol Citys = Titties

***British slang, nationwide use; fag = cigarette

****Cockney Rhyming Slang; chalk farms = arms

*****Cockney Rhyming Slang; pieces of eight = weight

******Clandestine Channel Threat Commander; in the real world, an intentionally comical fake job title invented by the British press to satirise the UK’s increasingly militaristic border & immigration policy. In the imaginary world of The Golden Goose, the author imagines a political landscape so beyond parody that a real person has that job.