Big Hard Girls

by Nikki Crescent

  It was around noon when he finally replied. “On Hentai Foundry,” he said. First, I squirmed at the thought that my drawing had been posted on a website called Hentai-Anything. It wasn’t Hentai—it wasn’t anime—but that wasn’t my big concern. My concern was that my personal website was apparently being advertised on a website devoted to pornographic cartoons. I rushed over to the website and found myself searching through pages and pages of new art submissions. I finally found my octopus drawing on the twenty-fifth page. And it had 86,000 views and 926 comments. And next to the picture was a link to my website. I was suddenly frozen, my jaw trembling. A part of me was excited—in a matter of days, a photo I drew had been seen by nearly one hundred thousand people. But on the other hand, nearly one hundred thousand people had seen a pornographic picture I drew, and many of them had probably gone to my website and saw a picture of me, next to my name.

  I squirmed and fought back the urge to throw up on my keyboard. I navigated over to my website and checked into how much traffic I’d gotten over the past few days—and I had thousands and thousands of hits. A reverse image search of the octopus picture brought up tons of results; it had been shared on tons of websites: Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, and so on. It had even found its way onto a few porn sites. It would take weeks to contact all of those sites to have the photo removed. Hell, it would probably spread faster than I could remove it.

  I was screwed. It was just a matter of time before word got back to my family that I was drawing disgustingly pornographic images of barely teenaged girls being held down by slimy sea creatures.

  The only idea I had was to change the details on my website. Come up with a fake name, put up a fake picture, and take down all of my serious artwork—which was all of it. So that’s what I did. I spent the next few hours recreating my website, making it look completely different so that it would never be linked back to me. I deleted all of my work and then I uploaded that single picture that I’d done as a commission. I finally finished the redesign around midnight.

  An e-mail dinged in my inbox. “So are you able to do a commission for me or not?” asked Lewis, that same inquirer.

  “What do you need?” I replied.

  “I took this picture of my stepsister playing with a dildo. She doesn’t know I took it. I thought it would be cool if you recreated it in your style. Attached are a few pictures of her face, and a picture of her naked (she also doesn’t know I took that photo). Thanks!”

  The request made me cold and terribly uncomfortable. A tingling ran down my spine as I looked at the pictures. The guy’s stepsister was sexy, but that didn’t make the photos any less creepy. I found myself wondering if I was breaking the law by just having the pictures on my hard drive. Was I supposed to report this to the police?

  “My rate for this would be $300,” I replied, hoping he would decline. But instead of replying, he sent over the money in an e-mail transfer. And then I found myself with a cold dread churning in my gut. What was I agreeing to? What was I becoming?

  I drew the picture. I made sure it was perfect and I made sure the girl’s likeness was spot on. And once I sent the picture over, I deleted all of the source material and I even deleted the e-mails from Lewis. I didn’t want that shit on my hard drive, in case it was illegal somehow.

  Lewis sent back an emoji with hearts beating out of its eyes. I guess he was a satisfied customer. And now I had a second piece up on my website, another piece to draw in the perverted minds and their big wallets.

  It was only three days later when I got another request: a guy who wanted me to draw his childhood female best friend wearing nothing but see-though lingerie while touching herself between her legs. I did the picture and I found myself with another satisfied customer. It was only a month later when I realized I was making more money with my commission work than I was making at my job washing dishes—so I quit the dishwashing job, ready to tackle my new fulltime job: drawing pornographic cartoons for horny men.

  CHAPTER III

  It wasn’t my dream gig, but it wasn’t bad either—and it wasn’t just drawing pictures of unsuspecting girls. Sometimes guys just wanted to see their favourite movie characters drawn with big exposed tits and dripping pussies. Sometimes they wanted to see book characters or video game characters, and sometimes they just wanted to see no girl in specific. “Please draw a blonde with two dildos inside of her pussy,” was one of the more tame ones I got.

  Lots of guys wanted me to draw them with their dream girl—usually a crush from their school, but sometimes a famous actress. I even did a drawing for a young gay man, who wanted a drawing of his buff football idol masturbating in the shower. It wasn’t the most fun six hours of my life, etching out the abs and muscles and a big veiny cock, but I couldn’t turn down the $250 he was willing to pay.

  The weirdest requests I got were from the Furries. They wanted pictures of animals fucking one another, and I turned most of these requests down. But I couldn’t turn down the one guy who offered me six hundred bucks for a picture of a humanoid cat sucking off a humanoid dog. That picture didn’t end up on my website.

  But I posted most of the commissions on my website. Sometimes people just wanted the images for themselves, not to be shared with the world. Other times, people begged me to post their commissions. It was only a month before my website looked like it had been around for years, with pages and pages of sexy drawings. And I was making a decent living, though I was constantly afraid that the market would eventually move onto a new artist, leaving me unemployed and poor and desperate for work.

  It was a quiet Friday night when I got a commission from a girl named Tae. “Hey there! I’ve been watching your website for weeks now and I really like your style—it’s so cute! I was wondering if you could draw me. What would that cost?”

  She was a cute girl—I could tell by the little avatar that was attached to her e-mail client. I clicked on that little avatar and found myself looking at her Google Profile, which had a few different pictures of her. She seemed so innocent, always wearing cute little dresses, sometimes wearing chokers, always with her hair and makeup done up as if she was going to some big event like a wedding. She had a nice smile—and she was my first ever female client. I thought it was strange that someone would want to have themselves sexualized in cartoon form, and then I realized that she never explicitly asked for her commission to be without clothes. Maybe she just wanted a nice picture of her at the beach wearing a little sundress. “My rates depend on what you need exactly. Usually for a simple full-body, coloured character, I charge $200. Some people are just okay with sketches. So for a sketch, I only charge $70. But that price can vary depending on how detailed your request is.”

  “It doesn’t need to be too detailed,” she replied quickly. “But I would like a full-body coloured character. I don’t mind paying the $200.”

  “Do you have a picture or pictures for reference? What kind of pose would you like your character in?”

  “I’ll let you decide that. I’ll send some pictures over in a bit, once I’m on my computer. I’m out right now and I don’t have any good shots on my phone.”

  “No worries. I can start on it tomorrow morning,” I said. And then I went to bed, not thinking any more about work for the day. My hand was sore from a long day of drawing. It had been a couple of days since I’d gotten a commission, so I was filling my spare time by drawing popular characters and posting them around the Internet, trying to draw more and more traffic towards my site. I was getting a few thousand hits every single day, and making about twenty bucks a day in ad revenue.

  And when I woke up, I saw that my first female client had sent me the money and the photos that I could use as reference for her commission. I looked through the first few. The first was a picture of her and some friends and a park, all smiling for the camera. It was a good photo to highlight her soft facial features and her impressive eyes and dark eyelashes. The next shot was of her at her prom, wearing a little red dress. It was a go
od photo to gauge her thin figure and her curvy hips. She had the perfect figure for a sexy cartoon—I could already tell that her image was going to be a hit.

  The third picture was seemingly more professional, taken with a nice camera and a nice lens, with a nice backlight and a fill light and a key light. It was either her foray into modelling or it was a sort of corporate photo shoot and her boss let her wear a tiny white dress, black stockings, and white heels. She was cute in the photo—and I’d seen the photo before on her Google profile.

  And the final photo made my heart stop beating for a moment. She was naked, on her bed with her legs crossed. Her cheeks were dark red and she shyly stared into the camera. And flipped up against her flat abdomen was a rock hard cock: thick and tall and practically throbbing out of my screen. I took a sharp breath in as a cold tingle crawled down my spine.

  She wasn’t a she at all—she was a trap, a tranny, a shemale, and a convincing one at that. I looked away from my screen, feeling strangely gross and perverted. But I’d already accepted her money transfer. I had to do her commission.

  So I took a deep breath and forced myself to look back at the picture. I thought maybe I was being pranked—maybe the cock was fake, either put on in Photoshop, or a prosthetic. But I looked closer at the image and could see no signs of manipulation, and no signs of latex or silicone. It looked as real as real can get. I opened up the photo’s metadata and saw that it was taken just the night before, probably minutes before she sent it to me to use as reference.

  So she did want a naked photo. She wanted me to draw her as a cartoon with a big, throbbing cock. And I wanted the money, so I got started with my sketches.

  With each sketch, I saved the cock for last. And when I went to draw the cock, my hand would start to tremble. It seemed so wrong and so unnatural. I felt like such a degenerate. I stopped multiple times and considered sending her back her money. But I bit down on my tongue and carried on. I just had to finish it. It wasn’t any weirder than the Furry drawings I’d done, or some of the perverted bestiality pictures I’d hesitantly drawn. In fact, this was much more tame, so there was no reason for my heart to be so wild.

  Even though I really didn’t want to look at that naked shot any more than necessary, I had to constantly refer back to it to make sure I was getting the details right. She had a little birth mark on her inner thigh that I felt was important to capture for the sake of likeness, and then she had a little bellybutton ring, which was also in a few of her photos on her Google profile.

  And it was while I was zoomed in on her face that I noticed something in the background: a building that looked awfully familiar. I swung my head back and looked out my own window and saw that same building.

  Tae lived in the same building as me. And judging by the angle on that building, she was only a few floors higher than me. I rushed out onto my balcony and looked up. There were only four balconies above me—one of them belonged to the well-hung girly girl who was commissioning me. My heart stuttered and coughed and I found myself back in my apartment, now with all of my curtains drawn shut and my door locked with the deadbolt and with the chain.

  I approached my computer slowly and cautiously. What if she already knew who I was? She said she’d been following my website for weeks—had she been following since before I changed my personal info? And when I accepted her money transfer, did the bank tell her my real name? Did it tell her that her transfer was accepted by someone in the very same city as her?

  I picked the best sketch out of the various options: a sketch of her on her knees, straddling a giant carrot while wearing nothing but a choker and bunny ears. She was reached a carrot down with one hand and rubbing it against her erect cock. I figured she would like it because it was almost Easter, and her nickname on her Google profile was ‘BunnyGirl66’.

  I coloured it and sent it off, praying that I would be done with her, and that I would never have to think about her again. It was only an hour later when she sent a very nice thank you message. “You’re so talented and I just love your work so much. Thank you so much for this—it really means so much, and I really love it.” It was more sincere than most of the thank you messages I got, but that didn’t make the job any less awkward. In fact, it made it more awkward because she added a PS at the bottom of her message. “I really hope you’re happy with this piece. I’d love to see it on your website.” And now I felt obligated to put the picture up on my portfolio. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and make her think that I was disgusted by her body.

  I waited a day, hoping I would forget all about it, but when I woke up the next morning, I only felt more obligated to post the photo with the rest of my work. I knew that it was probably going to get a lot of put-off comments, and it might even make a few of my followers click the ‘unfollow’ button. But in my heart I felt like it was the right thing to do. So I posted it.

  And to my surprise, it got more likes in the span of twenty-four hours than any other photo I’d ever posted. The first comment that appeared was, “This is the hottest picture you’ve ever drawn. More like this please.” And my heart stuttered again. People loved the photo. People actually liked the fact the girl had a massive cock. Another comment read, “Please tell me this is a real person, and please give me her digits. I want to take her out on a date. I’ll treat her so nicely! Please!” And there were plenty more comments just like that one. I couldn’t believe what I was reading.

  I made more money in ad revenue that day than ever before. And I was starting to worry that I’d found myself a new niche.

  CHAPTER IV

  It was a few days later, while waiting for a new commission to come in, that I decided I would draw another female character with a special endowment between her thighs. This time I drew a girl on her knees, looking back at the audience. She was pushing her cock back between her legs, pointing it at the audience. It was a surprisingly challenging drawing, getting the dimensions and the perspective all correct. But the final product turned out nicely, and it got a flurry of likes on my website.

  The next submission that came in was from a guy who wanted me to draw his wife with a cock. He was e-mailing me from an anonymous e-mail he’d created specifically for that commission. I accepted and managed to finish in just four hours. His wife was pretty cute, and it was exciting when he sent the naked picture of her over, which he had of course done without her permission.

  He e-mailed me back a few hours later to tell me that he’d jerked off to the picture I’d drawn for him. I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a reason to block him from my e-mail account. The same guy e-mailed the next day and asked if he could buy another piece, again of his wife, again giving her a cock. This time he wanted a shot of her sucking herself off, so that’s what I drew him. And once again, he let me know that he’d jerked off to the photo. And I found myself thinking: he must have a lot of money if he’s willing to pay hundreds of dollars just to get off. But I was happy to take his money.

  For the first time in my life, I had enough money for a car. Nothing fancy—just something used for a couple grand. It was a little Honda that I’d found on a classifieds website. I called for the elevator and then I pulled out my phone as one does when they’re waiting for an especially slow elevator. The door opened and I stepped inside without looking up—it was rare that there was anyone in the elevator during working hours. And then I bumped into a young woman. “Sorry,” she said, hopping out of the way.

  I perked up. “No, I’m sorry,” I said, slipping my phone into my pocket while looking up. And then I found myself staring into the eyes of Tae, the trap from the commissioned cartoon drawing. I froze and stuttered.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I nodded my head slowly. “Yeah,” I finally managed to say.

  She smiled and then looked away. And I looked away too, but no matter where I looked, I could see her because the walls of that elevator were mirrors. She was wearing a tiny white dress and brown strappy heels. The short skirt
of her dress hardly covered her ass—and I knew how big her cock was. If it were to slip out from her panties, that skirt wasn’t going to do anything to keep it hidden. I coughed while trying to clear my throat, and then she looked at me again, still with that cute smile—the same cute smile I’d drawn on that lewd image.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

  I nodded my head quickly. “I’m totally fine. I’m fine. Yeah.” I forced a smile and felt my face turning red. It was strange, seeing someone in person for the first time after having seen them naked. It was like seeing a pornstar in person—except this pornstar had spoken with me. Our interaction was short and to the point, but it was still an interaction. And she had no idea that she was standing next to the man who had drawn her big, veiny cock.

  She smelled nice—like the cute perfumes you smell when passing lingerie stores. She had her toenails painted to match her dress, and I could see the slight bulge of her bellybutton ring poking out from her dress. She had a nice figure, and a really nice tush. It was amazing to think that a biological man could have curves and a tush like that.

  The elevator door finally opened and I let her go first, so that she wouldn’t see the beads of cold sweat that were tickling the back of my neck. I was too afraid to move. The elevator doors ended up closing and I ended up rising up to the ninth floor before I even realized I was supposed to exit the elevator.

  That night, after I’d purchased my car and made my way back home, I went to my computer and I pulled up that old e-mail from Tae, so I could look again at those photos she sent—the photo with the big, erect cock in particular. I looked closely at her face, to make sure I had the right person—and I was certain that I did. And then I looked at that cock again, trying to convince myself that it wasn’t real—that it was just really good Photoshop. But it looked real, and I did most of my work in Photoshop so I knew what I was looking for.