Sophie's Decision.
BY Allison Heather
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Allison Heather
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is original and licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. This book might have published in part or full elsewhere under author’s old pennames and the copyright extends to all those versions. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication and Warning
This book like my other books written and to be written are a silent homage to all those who have dared and would dare break taboos. I am struggling to do so.. probably one day I would accomplish and join the ranks of brave and wonderful. Until then, for me pen [keyboard] and imagination are two very strong tools.
The book contains strong adult theme and should be read by those who are open-minded and like challenging imaginations. Best Wishes and thanks for picking up [rather downloading] this book.
This book is second in my MCMB [Monster Cocks and Massive Breasts] series [others one are Jennifer’s Journey and Bride of the family]
Happy Reading.
Allison Heather.
Feedback and suggestions are very welcome.
Email: ALLISONHEATHER
Chapter 1
I docked my dual powered amphibian sportabug. The micro engine utilised solar and sulphur. I still wondered how our forefathers allowed sulphur to accumulate in various form everywhere. By 2128 earth’s environment was shrinking. Although total population had dropped to mere twenty percent of what was at start of the century Hogarth Van Burich, the most innovative scientist of our time, was honoured with lifetime state funded luxury retirement to thank him for his revolutionary micro-engine.
I used our personal chute to ascend directly into our living room. I lived with my mother who was 39 years old and approaching her fortieth birthday. We lived in one of the three most expensive and luxurious houses block, which were the envy of some very rich and powerful. My father was allowed to be not reinstituted after his blood cancer demanded total marrow transplant every year. Mother was heartbroken but understood my father’s philosophy.
My mother brought me up. Money was in abundance. My father’s evolutionary gene and molecular bio-engineering and reconstruction had changed the face of how we looked at history and we believed if his last work could be decoded and completed humans could eventually be what they were destined to be but for the meddling of our egotistical, ignorant forefathers in the last two centuries.
I raced through the schooling at 8X fast track. That was considered once in a century accomplishment. My father had set the record at 7X fast track.
My mother despite options of reformed sperms and electro-coital impregnation had insisted on primitive route of conventional sex, self carrying of baby, i.e. me, for nine months and even insisted on historical vaginal delivery when I arrived actually passing through my mother’s vaginal canal. ‘One of the leading scientific-philosopher chose to be traditionally primitive’, was the talk of networks and recorded “memory scenarios” for months.
I went to the kitchen and looked at my mother with awe that had not diminished. I realised my sexual maturity at twelve and since then I have adored my mother.
Heather Elizabeth Sophia Jacobbat, mum [when happy], mom [when impatient] and [when angry] mother, was five feet and six inches tall.
Mum was far from the ‘ideal BMI’ of the faddish pseudo scientific grading to help survived population to maintain perfect weight, fat-muscle distribution to achieve best physical activities for the given age. Most people above thirty took freely available medicines that maintained near normal biochemical compositions of blood.
Mum [and dad too] was full bodied. Her breasts were considered four sizes bigger according to perfect body modeling scale and any woman would have used changing that as health insurance paid for it. In case of mum money was not even a remote issue.
My mother’s waist was rounded and a slight bulge above her ample bottom made her look ‘soft and homely’ and delectably beautiful according to me, her full ample thighs and rounded ankles complemented her beautiful body. Best feature of mum was her captivatingly beautiful face. Mum cheeks were full, nose exquisitely beautiful, and smile that would light up the darkest alleys.
I hugged my mother from behind and buried my face in her long luxuriant tresses of wavy dark hair. I was as tall as her and our regular computerised health check showed me as a slighter version of her. Predicted progress on comparative grid showed that I would be like mum by forty only with two grades bigger breasts and marginally [half grade] fuller hips and thighs.
Self-correcting health check suggested remedial measures in ten years time to minimise one in a ten million chance of breast cancer, and one in thirty million chance of uterine cancer if I did not procreate. Like my mum and dad I ignored the suggested correctives despite some polite reminders from computers of our personal physicians. Their computers were designed to attempt to please their wealthiest of clients.
Mum turned around and held me tight. Mum and I kissed as we had done all my childhood, something not so fashionable. Mum’s warm soft lips pressed against mine. I tightened my arms around her. We released each other. Mum was dressed in recycled bio-conserved white cotton lounge trousers and light blue similar shirt. Her beautiful feet were unadorned and unfettered. Daddy had designed the floors so that mum could walk bare feet until she had to leave and take Shute.
“Sophie, you look tired. Go on take a bath. I had prepared for myself but you need it more. I would come and rub your shoulders. You have to start using tele-robotic microscopes rather than old robotic arms that need you to bend and twist.” Mum, for a theoretical academic, knew more about the logistics of hardware [and software too] than some pretentious state supported slime-buffoons.
I kissed mum again, “One of these days I, your silly daughter, would learn to listen to her beautiful and wise mother. Thanks mum, I would sit in the bath for some time.”
Mum smiled indulgently as I flicked my flat heeled all terrain snug air filled shoes right across the self adjusting seating sofa and padded off to the enormous bathroom attached to my parents [correction, my mother’s] bedroom.
The room had the same fragrance that my mum seemed to carry all the time. The huge tub had four recliners. Two were double and two were singles. The water was adjusted to the perfect warmth and would heat up or heat down as the person sitting in the bath felt about it. The sensory output from the muscle relaxation or lack of it self corrected the temperature, flow of water and jets of steam and water.
I unbuttoned all weather tunic and freed my aching breasts from the bra. My heavy large breasts drooped ever so slightly with their own weight.
I took off my travelling trousers. Travelling clothing had all kind of safety and emergency aids built into the fabric.
I pulled my old-fashioned bio-cotton panties off. I looked inside to see any stains of my period that should have finished yesterday. There were none.
I ran my fingers through the curly my thick curly growth of pubic hair in an absent minded state of mind. I had rich growth along with my breasts very early and by twelve years I had bigger breasts than most girls of my age and nearly fully covered vagina.
Mum observed this habit of running my fingers through my pubic hair while taking bath, when I was thirteen. She smiled and told me that my father had same habit. He would after having sex when they talked or mum was snuggling up to him, dad would contentedly run his fingers through his bush.
I smiled and already felt better.
I sank on the double recliner. The recliner dipped and tilted to submerge me under the water leaving my head rested and above water, automatically.
I closed my eyes and probably dozed off. Mum kissed my forehead and my eyes opened to look straight up in her eyes.
I tugged on her hand with my dripping hand. Mum picked up strewn clothes and put hem in the sorter wash bin. They would get sorted and washed overnight. Mum took her clothes off. I looked at her graceful movements. Her shirt once off revealed her deep cleavage of her very large heavy beautiful breasts straining against her soft bra. Mum flicked her bra off. Mum’s breasts, drooped with their weight and swayed as she took her trousers off.
Mum stood in her panties for a few seconds. Her soft bulge of her belly along with that slight bulge above her full hips made her the most beautiful woman ever born in my eyes. Mum pulled her panties off. Mum was always wet. I could smell the fragrance of her vagina as he threw her clothes in the sorting bin as well.
I opened my arms and mum climbed onto the double recliner and soon she put her head her arms around me and we both lay in the bath clasping one other in our arms.
Mum inquired about my work. I was trying to finish dad’s last work to unravel the failure of human kind first control their population and then when needed to increase it. State encouraged people to procreate and had created various schemes and methodologies to make it easier, fashionable and less restricting. Babies could be conceived in android mothers, artificially controlled robotic womb. Impregnation could be done in the actual mother or outside by all kind of ways including having sex or intercourse. There were memory sensory inputs available that could instill the pleasure and sensation of having sex along with vivid memory if a woman wished.
But mothering was still considered the most important aspect of raising children. State run programme of raising children with androids and robots had been shelved no sooner it began- a complete disaster. The decreasing population and increasing older population with multiple organ repairs was becoming an endemic problem. The socio-political framework made intra family relationships even more of a taboo than they were a century ago in more conservative society.
The philosophy was that incestuous love was successful in giving solid relationship that decreased individual’s appetite to search for sex outside family. Moreover, poor understanding of genetic transference and strident polemic propaganda scared people from seeking help if they wanted to procreate in an incestuous relationship.
My father’s company had exclusive patents on gene replacement through mucus membranes. This had revolutionised the gene therapy and made my father rich beyond all imagination and more powerful than political hyenas.
My dad’s company had patent on Diabetic, Alzheimer’s, Non-ischemic dementia cure, all solid organ cancer [not to cure but curb and reduce it to an insignificant level where it could be removed with an ultimate cure] and many more. His daughter, i.e. I, discovered three of them starting at age of thirteen and by seventeen I was most commended ‘biomoleculo-gene restructuring’ scientist after my father. I ‘loved’ his hypothesis that humans should have evolved to an ideal hermaphroditic state. He was searching for the key to find how evolution failed.
I was on the threshold of separating the molecular code that determined when a fetus would march towards becoming a boy or a girl. There is a short time when both possibilities exist and if dichotomy fails then the born child is infertile with ineffective hermaphrodite feature.
My father’s conviction was that a female form would sustain male organs and would be an ideal hermaphrodite. That would give independence of choice of relationship and procreation as two independent choices, still leaving conventional heterosexual type procreation.
My mother hugged me, she was very proud of her daughter, “Sophie, daddy would never leave this kind of work without using ‘prediction quotient’.”
I had forgotten. My dad had devised a tool during time of ‘boredom’, which was a combination of abstract maths, probability coefficient, and regression analysis in three dimensions with time factored in.
This could predict his successes of theories to an accuracy of 92%.
I kissed my mother with jubilation, who smiled and said softly, “You are like your dad. When with me in intimate situations once he got thinking, his fingers would comb my bush.”
I blushed and giggled. Sometime during my long lecture my fingers had moved to my mother’s rich pubic growth and had been running through them, as I would have done with mine.
I hastily removed my hands. Mother kissed and finished her bath with shower. I watched her voluptuous full ample body as she dried herself. As I got up to shower I brought up my fingers to my nose and sniffed. The fragrance on my fingers whether was my mother’s or mixed but it was intoxicating.
I was infatuated with my mother since I was ten years old. I lost my nerve to even express my true emotions when I was in her presence. I had tons of ‘memory loops’ of my mum and me in all kind of possible virtual sexual situation, which I used to make myself cum with my fingers [I too was old fashioned, I suppose].
Mother and I had dinner and by then I had various lines of investigations run through my mind.
Mother brought up a subject not often discussed in Jacobbat-household, “Sophie, do you think it is time to try re-correct Jack.”
Mum used an old word to help someone who had slumped into despair or emotional ambivalence.
Jack Haverman Angleton was mother’s brother, five years younger. He was a whizz kid and redesigned all the basic frames on which the electronic messages ran. He changed the linear multi phased interaction to an ‘erratic multiphasic bi-regressional’ communicating flow that changed artificial intelligence and ushered it to an era where electronic scrutiny of big brother became meaningless.
Everyone could trace the origin of signals and secretive taps became trite. Moreover, new AI refused storing information held with mal-intent. Uncle Jack had liberated the human interaction and so called computer fear vanished over the next decade. If you wanted to hurt someone now you had to do it in an old fashioned physical manner. That no one had appetite for and was too clumsy and labour intensive. Uncle Jack had set up the empire of corollaries of his invention. He was super rich at seventeen when his elder sister married my dad, Thomas Clactus Jacobbat.