The Changeling

Sandman

She reaches out and gently brushes a tear off of my cheek. A gentle Pink Floyd instrumental spins on the turntable. Atom Heart Mother. I wonder how she can tell it’s me.

Her eyes are blue. A deep, dark blue, like the east at twilight. I never knew blue eyes came that dark. She looks as if she’s staring at something on my forehead.

When she does speak, her voice is soothing and soft.

“Who are you?”

I don’t know how to answer. There’s a long silence. She doesn’t break it with anxious questions. I like that. She’s patient and lets me speak in my own good time.

“I am fluid. Like a sunset. No two sunsets are alike, and yet to the naked eye they appear eternal, like a painting. But then the sun sets and the clouds move on, and we forget. I didn’t used to pay enough attention to sunsets. Now I can’t look away.

“You know how when you dream, you’re sort of aware that you were once awake, and that now things are different? At the same time you sort of accept, at least I do, that the dream might not end. That this is the world now, and maybe the time and place you thought was the real world was actually the dream all along.”

I’m rambling. She’s patient, though, and I appreciate that she sits quietly while I talk, without any phony or forced sympathy. I take a breath and go on.

“One day I started dreaming and didn’t stop. Eventually I came to accept that I had become a dream for other people.” My voice is cracking a little now; I haven’t had anyone to talk to, really talk to, for as long as I can remember. It feels good not to feel any expectations from her. “It’s like I only exist to please them. If I don’t I get sick and…”

I bury my face in my hands and try to keep myself from sobbing. I fail.

I hate this. I hate being dramatic. I feel as if I’m on display. I find myself wondering if she’s genuinely concerned or if I’m feeling this way because she gets off on vulnerability.

Then I look up and I see that despite her lack of expression, tears are streaming down her cheeks.

I need a hug.

I reach out and embrace her, and she takes me in her arms and presses my face to her bosom. She leans back on the couch and I lean with her, and we sit for a while, my head resting sideways on her soft expanse so that I can hear the beating of her heart. She strokes my hair, gently, and makes soothing noises like an ocean. I note that I am not changing. For a while, at least, I am not fluid.

My sobbing dies down and I talk again, and I talk for hours and she doesn’t interrupt. I feel at ease for the first time since the lights went out.

One

Penny and The Makeup

The lights went out at about two thirty.

“Dammit!”

I was in the middle of a guitar solo at the time. It was a really good one, too. Certainly the best way to create music is with a group, with a drummer especially, if you play guitar and like fuzz pedals. Nevertheless, there’s a certain purity to playing by one’s self, a trancelike state that comes after the second hour of playing with yourself, alone, without recording. It’s a form of meditation, I suppose. A pathway to the Id. The longer you play, the smoother that channel to the Id gets, until you’re worn out.

Anyway, I was just getting to some really good Id when the lights went out.

Thunder accompanied the blackout. Loud thunder, cracking across the sky like a gunshot.

It would have been really terrific if the juice were still on. I could have cranked the volume up and made a responding howl in the key of D. I would have been making music with the heavens. Communing with God, you might say.

As it was, I got the impression that maybe God was trying to shut me up; like it was way past His bedtime and the lightning was his way off tossing a shoe at the cat howling in the alley. I got spooked.

After a bit of rummaging I located an electric lantern that I’d bought after the first blackout. You get used to it, living in the country. You prepare, not against emergencies so much as against boredom. I found a collection of Bradbury and curled up on the couch, trying to wear myself down to sleep. It didn’t take long. All Summer in a Day later my eyelids were getting heavy and I clicked the lantern off.

Soon, after, the thunder rouses me again.

I sit up, caught in the confusing eddies of waking. The thunder comes again, only it isn’t thunder, it’s someone pounding on the door. I fumble around and find the lantern. Squint at the sudden pale brilliance. Check my watch before checking the door.

Quarter after three.

I open the door.

It’s a girl.

She’s hunched over and she’s soaking wet. She’s not too short, not too tall. Maybe a little shorter than me. She’s very pretty. She has very big eyes. They’re vulnerable, almost pleading.

I shake my head for a moment, certain that I’m dreaming. “Wha?” is forming on my lips. I don’t take my eyes

“Can I come in?”

I open the screen for her and she steps in and stands just inside the door so as not to drip water on the furniture. I turn the lantern up to full and set it down on the table.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry to bother you so late, but my car broke down and there’s no service out here. Do you think I can use your phone?” Her voice is high. A little squeaky. Cutesy.

“Sure, you can use the phone. Are you alright? Let me take your coat.”

“Thank you.” I peel the coat off and hang it over the tub. When I come back to the living room she’s holding the phone and toggling the receiver button up and down. She’s soaked from head to toe. She’s actually shorter than she looks, because she’s wearing platform heels. About 5’6”, I’d say. A red button-down shirt, a man’s shirt, is snug across B-cups. Nice, full, B-cups, mind you. She turns to look at me and I look her in the eye, hoping she didn’t catch me staring.

“The phone’s out.”

“What?” I take the phone. She’s right. I set it down gently

She bites her lip, fearful of having delivered bad news. It’s adorable. Those lips are so full. I want to suck on them like a slice of orange.

She’s trembling now, or maybe she’s shivering from the cold. “It’s not your fault.” I try to give her a reassuring smile. I put my arm around her, make sh-sh-sh noises. She holds my shirt, buries her face in my chest.

“I’m sorry, I just… the car wouldn’t start, and it’s so dark and I’m lost and… I’m sorry.”

“Shhh.” I sit her down on the couch, then get her a big beach towel. I wrap it around her like a blanket. Her hair is sopping wet, plastered to her face and in her eyes. It’s very dark. Very long; down to the small of her back. I brush it out of her face. Her eyes are dark as well. It’s hard to tell what color. In the cold white light she looks very pale.

She looks up at me with those big eyes and says, “I’m Penny.”

I smile. “I’m Joey.”

She smiles back. “Nice to meet you, Joey.”

“The same.”

She sniffs, rubs her button nose on the towel. “Thank you for letting me in. The first house didn’t. I guess nobody was home.”

“Where was this?”

“At the end of the driveway.”
            Most every house for miles around is down a long driveway. She picked one that had a house near the road.

“Nah, that’s old man Simpson. He’s probably passed out drunk,” I tell her.

She slips off her shoes and curls her little toes in the carpet. When she speaks again, her voice has a throaty, sultry quality. The kind that turns me on. The squeak before must have been what she sounds like panicked, giddy.

“C…Can I dry off before you take me back to my car?”

I smile for a moment, then keep a straight face. “You can.. stay here until the phone comes back on.”

“Thank you.” She dries on her feet and rubs the towel up her long, smooth legs. She slides it underneath her pleated black skirt and says, “I don’t want to ruin your couch.” She shivers again and holds her arms. “It’s cold.”

“I’d offer you coffee but the stove’s electric.”

She looks me in the eye. She bites her lower lip again, revealing the pearls of a cute little overbite. “Do.. do you think I could borrow a dry shirt?”

“Sure.” I go upstairs to my room, find a clean pullover. When I return, she stands up, barefoot, and we see each other eye-to eye. I was wrong about her being shorter; must have been a trick of the light.

I was wrong about the tits, too. The shirt was snug before; now it was stretched tight across very full C-cups. Erect nipples stand out against the wet fabric .

My eyes linger too long before I meet her gaze. I feel slightly ashamed. She doesn’t seem to mind. Her mouth is hanging open now, and her breath is deep and slow. She doesn’t look away. I can see now that her eyes are green.

I swallow. “Here’s a shirt.” I smile weakly, nervously. I’m breathing heavy now, too.

“Help me with mine,” she whispers.

I drop the pullover to the ground.

I undo the top button, then the next. I stop. Just enough for a marvelous view of her cleavage. I decide I want that middle section to remain, taut and straining from the flesh beneath. I start undoing the buttons from the bottom. After a few I stop again and slide my hand across her smooth belly.

She doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, she takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around my waist. Slowly she pulls my shirt up over my head. Her skin never leaves contact with mine. She wraps around me again and pulls her hips into mine, softly rubs her pelvis into mine. She breathes out. The buttons stay strained against the fabric, finding no relief in her exhale.

She smiles  a wry little half-smile and snakes her fingers down the front of my jeans, feels the erection within. I hardly notice it, but she’s spinning me around as she squeezes. Like a slow dance. I’m now positioned with my back to the couch.

 Her hand slides out of the jeans and starts to fiddle with my belt and zipper. Her hands move slowly, gracefully. My eyes roll back into my head. For a moment my knees threaten to buckle.

She slides down me as if I were a pole, and kneels before the throbbing erection. I watch as she slowly opens her mouth and moves toward it. I can feel her breath on the end of my cock. It feels like it’s ready to burst.

I watch as her tongue begins to extend, then stops, and she licks her lips as she looks up at me. I bite my own lip now in anticipation. My heart pounds like a drum, threatens to burst out of my chest.

“Sit,” she says. I obey.

Now she puts her hands on my knees, runs them up the top of my thighs, and back again, and up the inner thighs, and back and again, breathing in time to this rhythm. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back and starts to moan.

I think to myself, This is the greatest night of my life. My hips begin to gyrate with her rhythm. The pantomime fucking threatens to bring me to orgasm. I have never experienced anything like this. I force it down. I don’t take my eyes off of her.

Her rhythm speeds up and I don’t know if I can hold it any longer. She digs her nails into my knee as her brow furrows in an apparent climax. I wonder if she’s faking it or if she’s really coming.

She stops, and I can see the muscles in her arms and stomach tense up. She takes a deep breath. She tilts her head back and her chest forward. Her fingers dig into my knee. I think she makes them bleed. With each breath her chest seems to swell.

With a ripping sound her tits burst forth and bounce heavily on her chest. The buttons flop onto my lap.

Holy shit.

            D cups, at least. Very round. Tear shaped. Nipples like saucers. Puffy and full and erect. They gleam and glisten in the pale light of the lantern.

She resumes the rhythm down my legs and looks into my eyes again. Looks right down into me. I can’t look away, but I can see out of the corner of my eye that her tits continue to swell and grow, ever so little, with each breath, each stroke of her rhythm. I can’t move anymore.

She slows down and stops to catch her breath. She looks down at her newly grown assets, heaving and making large shadows. She’s still smiling as she looks up at me.

“My my my. You do like ‘em big, don’t you?” she coos. Her voice is deeper than when she walked in, more sultry. To hear a sultry woman coo at you from your lap is a little slice of heaven. I thought Marilyn Monroe had it down pat, but now I suspect Penny could give  Marilyn lessons. She closes her eyes and runs her fingers through thick, red hair. When she raises her arms up it does wonderful things to her tits.

As I stare they swell a little more. Bigger than Double D now.

She notices and giggles. She bites her lip again and kneads them, squishes them together to show an enormous line of cleavage. She lifts them up to her chin, then looks me in the eye again as she extends a pink tongue to lick her nipple.

I can restrain myself no longer. I find myself sitting up, reaching for the tits with my hands and mouth.

She puts a hand on my chest, pushes me back against the couch at arm’s length before I can reach them. They jut out so far, I can nearly reach them anyway.

“No.” She says, not too loud but forceful. Her eyes hold  a powerful,  commanding gaze. Hypnotic. I let my arms fall to the cushions.

“You like to see them grow for you?”

I nod.

“You like them nice and big?”

I nod.

The next bit comes out in a moan. She closes her eyes.

“Mmmmeee too…”

She strips off the wet shirt and lets it fall to the floor. Her thin shoulders and waist frame the magnificence of her tits beautifully. She leans forward and the tits spill into my lap. Her hands find my wrists and put them up on the back of the couch. My fingers clench as her head turns down toward my erection, and my nails scrape the wood beneath the thin fabric as her hair tickles my belly and balls. I can feel her warm breath on my cock again. It aches. Begs for her touch.

She kisses first, very gently. She doesn’t open her lips but I can feel the warm moisture between them as she kisses down one side of the cock, then the other. Her mouth hovers over the tip. I wonder for a moment if she thinks it’s small. Smaller than average, certainly, though I’ve never had complaints.

Thought melts away as she caresses the tip with her lips. She makes a circle with her mouth agape, touching with only the tips of her mouth. My head rolls back. She is an artists, and this is the opening movement of her symphony.

Her tongue now, and only the tongue. She probes the tip, then swirls it around the head. A small moan escapes my throat. I’m in heaven.

She slides her tongue down to the base of the cock and licks up the shaft, slowly. My breathing begins to quicken. She licks back down with the bottom of her tongue and licks up the center of my scrotum.

She raises her head again, and does something with her hands. I’m about to open my eyes when I feel the warmth of her tits against the bottom of my cock. I smile. It’s a very warm, very nice feeling.

Like home.

She puts her arms around my thighs. I feel her hands at the base of my buttocks, and then Penny begins the chorus of her symphony.

Her mouth engulfs the head of my cock. It is warm and wet and wonderful. The tongue swirls around my head and down my shaft as she slowly takes the rest of me down into her mouth. Her tongue is always busy as she moves.

And then she sucks.

My dick is surrounded in an ecstasy of juice and heat. I don’t come, but some kind of climax takes place deep in the pit of my stomach. I groan audibly in surprise. I’ve had blowjobs, but this is an intensity beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.

I can feel the blood of my lower body rushing into my cock as she pulls back and up. The skin of my cock seems to stretch; painfully, but it feels incredible anyway. It fills with blood and grows as she pulls. She slides down and pulls again, and it fills her mouth wider. After the third pull I can feel the back of her throat.

My cock is enormous.

I don’t come.

She keeps going.

Penny likes them nice and big, too.

I’m groaning loudly now. She readjusts her position so the cock can go down into her throat. Her ass tilts upward. The tits pull away for a moment, and then I can feel them fill up the empty space between my legs to cushion my balls again. The balls are swelling, too.

She speeds up, nearing the crescendo of her symphony. Something clicks deep in my groin and the heat in my belly spreads. My hands are off the couch and stroking her hair. I bend over and my hips begin to buck out of control. I am about to climax.

She knows it and her tongue moves faster. She begins to make a small squealing sound, louder with every thrust.

And then, with a yell, I release.

She squeals as she swallows my juice. I continue to thrust and her tongue actually accelerates. Her throat feels like the tight walls of a cunt. As she swallows, it massages the end of my cock. It feels like it’s being milked.

“Oh, fuck!”

I put my hands on the soft ass under her skirt and squeeze as my eyes clench shut. I want to bite her ass, but can’t quite reach.

I climax again.

The juice continues to pour down her throat. I can feel the quick, hot breath from her nostrils just above my cock.

I lean back again and my rhythm begins to slow. I see stars. I think I fucked her throat pretty hard. I wonder if I’ve hurt her. She gives no indication as she slides my erection out of her throat and back into her mouth. She sucks softly, now. I’m still coming, a little. After-spurts. She swallows every drop.

Soon I’ve stopped coming, though the now-massive cock still twitches. Finally she slides her mouth free and wipes the slobber from her lips. A big spurt suddenly erupts out, shoots straight up.

“Oh!” She cries in surprise. She giggles and proceeds to lick the shaft clean. It feels good. Really good.

I am spent, completely relaxed with a dopey grin on my face. Never in my life have I experienced such a thing. I wonder if anyone, anywhere, has. Gradually my cock leans and relaxes. She smiles and watches it go soft with me.

“How big is it?” I ask.

She stares at it lovingly. “Just over six inches. Limp.”

I swallow. “And hard?”

Her smile widens. “Almost twice that.”

I am speechless.

When I find speech, it sounds like, “Will it stay this big?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She begins to focus more attention on her tits. They’re a little over an E-Cup now.

“Will those stay that size?”

She giggles. “Not if you have anything to say about it.”

I stare at the cock again. I try to find the words. A few come to mind.

“Thank you.”

She laughs as she stands, revealing her tight belly and glorious tits. Despite being at least E-Cup in size they fail to sag. They are very high, and when she caresses them they look very, very soft.

“You don’t have to thank me, baby. You’re going to put that cock to good use in a minute. Do you have a bed here?”

I am breathless. “Upstairs,” croaks out.

I gesture to the door on the other side of the room. She picks up the lantern, opens the door, and lays the lantern on the first step. She turns to look at me over her shoulder, and runs her hand along her hip and under her skirt. When she first showed up, the skirt was halfway down her thigh; now it looks like it barely covers her ass. Her legs are longer and her ass is fuller, rounder. She slides the skirt down her legs and steps out of it. The ass is heart-shaped. She gives it a little slap but it barely jiggles, it so firm.

She runs a hand through her mane of red hair and shakes her head. When she leans her head back the mane reaches halfway down her ass. She holds up the hair and looks at me over her shoulder again. She turns a little, just enough to give me the silhouette of a great and massive tit.

“I’ll be waiting.”

She picks up the lantern and goes upstairs.

In a moment, I follow.

I find her bent over, knees straight, examining a box of vinyl. She’s holding the lantern so I can only see the outline of her ass. I move closer and put my hands on her ass, rub my still-spent cock into her soft bottom. She doesn’t seem to mind.

“Some good stuff here,” she says. She pulls out a copy of Stiff Little Fingers, live. I lean over and slide my hands up her stomach, cupping the bottom of her tits. The massive cock begins to stir. She moans slightly as she feels it.

“Too bad the power’s out.”

“Not anymore.” She points to the alarm clock, which is now flashing 12:00. “Here we go.” She pulls out The Make Up’s last album, Save Yourself, and stands up straight as my hands stray up to the front of her tits. She moans again as she lays it on the turntable. Side 2.

She turns around and gives me her lips. Sweet like a peach. Warm and wet and inviting. My hand goes to her smooth, hairless pussy. Warmer and wetter and aching.

As the record begins to drone I scoop her up and lay her gently on the bed. She’s heavier than she looks; at least ten pounds of her is solid tit. I start to suck on her belly, drag my tongue downwards.

“No,” she says. “I need the Real Thing.”

She wraps her legs around me. This cock is still growing. It takes longer when it’s bigger, I discover. To pass the time I trace my fingers around the edge her areolae. They’re at least three inches wide, and as she squirms they grow. She likes being teased.

On her back the tits seem even more magnificent. Natural tits spread out when a woman lays on her back. They don’t stick out as far but they seem much bigger around.

Her tits begin to swell. By now they’re past an F-cup, and growing. She whimpers, and she puts my hand on them.

“Feel how huge. Squeeze them. Rub them.”

I caress her soft and supple bosom, and then I squeeze them and give each nipple a tentative pinch. They  crinkle and grow in response. Each pops out like a battery. D-Cell, at least. Maybe E. I suckle and she coos again in delight.

“Put your cock in me. I need it now.”

By now my cock has reached its full glory, all of what she said. She spreads her legs as wide as they’ll go, and I hold myself up with an elbow so that I can rub the soft  flesh of one tit and occupy the other with my mouth.

“Oohhh,” she coos again as I suckle. I give  the thick nipple a gentle nip with my teeth and she gasps.

She grabs hold of my cock and begins to guide me into her, gently, slowly. She is very, very tight. I wonder if she’s ever been fucked before. Certainly not like this. The thickness of the cock is such that she can’t quite fit her fingers around its girth. Her skin glistens under a thick sheen of sweat, especially on her bosom. She starts to pant heavily as the cock slides deeper. Her mouth opens and she rolls her head around, moaning and whimpering.

I wrap my arms around her, just under her magnificent bosom, which swells to a G cup. I squeeze her ribs and begin to pump, my face buried in her tits.

“Aaah….ah. AAAH!” She screams loudly and her arms thrash about in the sheets, eventually finding the bars of the headboard. She seems to be in great pain. I stop for a moment.

She opens her eyes wide, grabs my hair in her hands, and howls, “Don’t Stop!”

I begin to pump again, harder, quicker, and her back arches as her arms flail about. She bends her knees, plants her feet flat on the bed, and begins to pump with me. I can feel that I’m hitting the back of her vagina, maxing her out. We pound into each other. She’s so tight. My cock feels like exploding.

Too much was spent on the blowjob; it’ll be a while before I can come, but I spend the next hour on the verge.

The best cover of “Hey Joe” comes and goes, and then there is the static hiss of the needle bouncing off the label.

She comes nine times before I lose count.

She screams out my name, howls obscenity, barks out low groans and high shrieks. Eventually she cries out, “Stop!”

I can’t stop. An animal fury has overtaken me.

“Stop, please!”

This time I come to my senses and freeze, still inside her. I am terrified of hurting her.

Before I can speak she says, “Let me ride you.”

I smile and grab her by the hips. In one fluid movement, her hands around my neck, I pull her up by the hips and swivel around until I’m on my back. She wastes no time and begins to grind and sway her hips into me. She grabs my hands and puts them on her massive tits, squeezes my hands so that I’ll knead her breasts. She screams again in ecstasy and begins to bounce on my cock. She has the stamina of a horseback rider.

Her long, fiery mane whips about like a valkyrie.

I decide I want to see her tits bounce, so my hands go back to her hips for a while, and then her smooth, soft ass. Her tits bounce so high that they smack her in the face. She can only handle this for a little while and puts her hands back on her tits. She cups them and she rubs them and she squeezes her thick nipples. The sweat is splashing onto me now.

She slows down. I can tell by the heat of her cunt that she’s nearing climax again. Her pussy clamps down tight, so tight that I don’t know if I can come. One of her hands reaches behind and grabs onto my knee for support. Every muscle in her body tenses up. She’s grinding in little spasms now as he nears her climax. The muscles inside of her relax and constrict, relax and constrict, down into her. My cock is being milked again.

And then something amazing happens. Her tits constrict, too. She inhales and they shrink all the way down to a D-Cup again as she arches her back. She holds her breath as the pussy continues to massage my prick.
            I give her a deep thrust.

She exhales with a yelp and collapses forward, and it’s as the flesh is being poured back into her tits, they swell so quick. My fluid pours into her at the same rate, and I continue to thrust deep. When the tits slow down she’s an H-Cup, and they’re resting on my chest though she’s holding herself up, elbows straight. Juices pour down onto my stomach and mix with our sweat. The sheet are quite soaked by now. Still I’m thrusting, and still I’m coming, and so is she.

Her tits begin to shrink down again as she inhales. I can’t believe there’s another one coming. I can’t stand it anymore.

“Penny!”

“Yes!” I can’t tell if she’s answering or making her own orgasmic exclamation. It doesn’t matter.

“I love you!”

“What!” she looks at me in complete shock as her tits swell back to an H-Cup, and bigger still. I’m still in her, still thrusting, still coming.

She grabs my wrists, pins my arms back. “What did you say? What the fuck did you say to me!” She shrieks this out like a banshee, and suddenly I’m afraid. She’s very strong all of a sudden. Stronger than me. I can’t move my arms. My face is suffocating in tit.

I chin my way back to the surface. “I – I said I love you.” 

She nods, her eyes suddenly full of some kind of blazing hatred that I can’t possibly fathom. “That’s what I thought you said.” She studies me some more. “You mean it, don’t you?”

My jaw quivers. I am quite shocked at this sudden turn. My cock is still inside her. I am speechless.

“Answer me, fucker!”

“I-I guess.” Her voice is much deeper suddenly, deeper than sultry and throaty, and her questions are barked rather than spoken or even shouted.

She smiles an awful, wicked smile. I don’t know why, but I am afraid. She looks down where we’re joined by sex. She thrusts herself all the way down the shaft, which she hadn’t been able to do before, not quite. The muscles of her sex clench again, but this time it’s quite painful. I feel a sharp pinch, then a stab, then a slicing pain. I scream in agony. Suddenly there is relief.

I find that I can’t go on with this part right away. I’m shaking. I’ve pondered that night a lot, but actually talking about it is something else. A few muffled sobs escape into her bosom, and she strokes my hair again and makes Sh-sh-sh noises.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “It’s okay.”

She feels good. I become calm. I continue.

Two

Good Old Frank

She slid off the bed and I sat up. I was afraid to look at what was going on, but I did. I felt as if I was waking from a dream.

Penny grabbed her massive tits in each hand and parted them to peer down at her crotch.          Between her legs was my enormous, erect cock. Balls and all. It left a gargantuan shadow on the wall beside her.

I felt down to my own crotch and discovered nothing. Well, not nothing, but a bald pussy. I  tentatively rubbed the clit and waves of unwanted pleasure shot through my body. Penny smiled.

“My turn,” she said with a sinister grin. She hopped onto the bed and pinned my arms back again.

“No!” I screamed, but it was no use. In a moment the tip of the cock forced its way into my slit. It felt good for a moment, but waves of revulsion washed over me and I wanted it out.

“Big tits, huh? You motherfucker.” She forced the first three inches into the pussy. My pussy. Tears streamed down my face as I watched the muscles on my arms and shoulders melt away. On her arms thick biceps and meaty forearms began to bulge and swell. She stopped and reared herself up, and I felt her incredible tits lift off of me for the last time.

She leaned one hand on my belly and felt her tits with her other. The tits shrank down to G-cups, then D’s, then B-cups, and then they melted away to nothing. Her nipples shriveled down to man size as her chest bulged into the toned muscle of a man’s . She began to pull at her hair, and it came away in chunks until a dirty blonde crewcut remained. Penny’s lips shrank down into nothing, into a thin slash of a mouth. Her nose became large and Roman, her jaw square, her neck thick. The eyes lost all of their femininity and her features became sharp and cruel. The legs became as thickly muscled as the upper body, and dark hair began to sprout on the arms and chest.

“P-penny?”

The man turned his attention down to me, as if I was a bug, as if I was an insect. His sharp voice barked down at me.

“My name’s not Penny, fucker. It’s Frank. And I don’t like great big ridiculous fucking tits bouncing in my face. You know what I like?”

I couldn’t begin to guess.

“Virgins,” he said softly, with a smile.

He caressed my cheek and I felt myself begin to change, to soften. To become smaller. Tears streamed down my face as I felt my hair grow and pour out of my scalp, and saw out of the corner of my eye that it was golden.

Frank leered as the changes continued. I was given thinner hips and slender arms and legs. I could feel my chin soften, my eyes curl into little almonds; my lips pucker out even as my mouth became very small. My skin softened into smooth cream as all the hair on my body evaporated. He loomed over me like a mountain now, growing taller as I became shorter and younger.

He gently put a hand over my slender neck as small breasts sprouted on my chest and my nipples began to grow. The tits were small, hardly even an A-cup, but the nipples continued to grow until they nearly covered my small tits. The areolae grew thick and puffy and cone-shaped; my nipples hardened and grew until they jutted out at least an inch. He put his mouth on one of them. Warmth spread out from it. I whimpered in unwelcome ecstasy.

This was wrong, every fiber in my being said so. I writhed in agony and tried to push him off of me.

“You think you’re going somewhere, wiggly worm?” He reared up and began to force his cock deeper inside of me. After another three inches I felt like I was filled up with cock, but he began to pump in and out and found another three inches. With each thrust my pussy clenched tighter on his shaft. Muscles inside of me came to life; my canal began to massage the cock that had only recently been mine. It felt natural and good, and this fanned my misery; the better it felt to be fucked in my pussy, the more I felt betrayed by my own body.

“Stop it! Please!” I squeaked. My voice was high and girlish.

The hand on my throat squeezed until I couldn’t breathe. At first I tugged on the arm, and tried to pry his grip loose, but I soon realized the futility of the gesture and melted. I looked away from him. My pussy still clenched down on his monstrous cock, but every other part of me was limp. My eyes glazed over and I tried to be numb.

He relaxed his grip, and I gasped for air. He kept thrusting, gentler now, and my pussy resumed its reflexive milking. A warm feeling began in my stomach and spread up my spine to my head. My fingers clenched at sex-soaked sheets. My hips began to buck against my will, and the warmth became a fire in my nipples and my cunt. I couldn’t come, though, not until he did. I knew this instinctively. And he just went on and on and on, never giving any sign that he was close to finishing.

I didn’t like being raped. I wanted more than anything for this to end. When I saw the gray light of morning out the window, I began to wonder if this would ever end. Twelve hours earlier I never would have thought a redhead with ever-growing tits would show up on my doorstep and give me the best (and last) blowjob of my life. I would have thought such a thing impossible. And just two hours earlier (though by this time it felt more like ten) I never would have thought that I could be transformed into a girl with a pussy that welcomes and milks my old cock as it raped the shit out of me. I would have thought such a thing beyond the realm of possibility. Now I was sure that nothing was beyond the realm of possibility. Including the possibility that I was dead and that this was my hell. That this would never end. That from now on, I would be here, in my bed, being fucked by this man. Powerless to stop it.

I thought about this as he calmly and relentlessly thrusted, and I began to cry.

Frank slowed down when he saw that I had started to cry. He slowed down and watched me. I looked up at him and I wondered if he was finally showing a sign of mercy.  Perhaps this was about to end after all.

Frank smiled and then he began to lick my tears. He resumed his thrusting, faster now. I began to sob. As I sobbed he pumped faster, and deeper. It hurt to be fucked so deeply, and I squealed in pain.

Frank groaned and he began to suck on my tits. Waves of hot pleasure flowed from my huge nipples. My cunt grew hotter until it was on fire. Sweat poured off of me. I couldn’t help but make little squeals of  “oh, oh, oh” with each thrust, but the squeals sounded like hurt more than pleasure.

Still he didn’t come.

“Please,” I cried.

“Please what?” He barked between his own gasps.

“Please…” Stop is what I wanted to say. Please stop this. Please stop fucking me. Please finish it and be done, at the very least.

“Please come,” is what came out. By now I wanted him to come more than I wanted him to stop. Admitting it made me weep again, between my gasps. Between each thrust of his magnificent cock.

When I sobbed this time, Frank uttered a deep grunt and began to thrust more slowly, but more forcefully, and deeper still, which really hurt. And then he came, and when I felt his hot juice spurt into me, into my pussy, I felt something snap inside of me. The heat in my pussy and in my cunt flared for a moment, and all of the muscles of my body became rigid, especially those in my canal. He continued to pump and his juice flowed, and then mine did too, and I couldn’t tell where his climax ended and mine began.

I hated it. I hated that this was the greatest orgasm I’d ever felt. I felt sicker and more miserable than ever to feel his juice inside of me, probably because my body was telling me that if felt so good. And I knew that he relished my hatred of it. He got off on my misery. He couldn’t enjoy it unless I didn’t.

Frank stopped and the warmth of my orgasm subsided. He glared at me for a while with wild, blazing eyes, and I started to wonder if he was going to kill me. Then his jaw slackened and he slid out of me.

He got up and staggered for a moment out as if he was drunk. As waves of relief washed over my pussy I curled into a fetal position and didn’t move. He staggered to the mirror and took a good look at his new form. Or was it his old form? I didn’t know. I did notice that he was somewhat taller than I’d been. He yelled and smashed the mirror, cutting his fist open. Then he stomped down the stairs and I heard the front door slam.

For a moment I didn’t move. I was still in shock at the sequence of events. For a while I think I had managed to convince myself that I was having a dream. But now the grey light of morning was streaming in through the window. It was time to wake up and face reality. I rolled off the bed and examined my image in the shards of the mirror. I could only catch slices, here and there, but I looked like a girl of about fourteen, one with ridiculously enormous nipples. My face was absolutely gorgeous: rosy cheeks, blue eyes, cherry lips. I judged myself to be about 5’2”. Maybe a little shorter. It was hard to tell in a broken mirror. I turned around and saw an ass like an apple. Yellow hair fell down almost to the top of it. I looked like I was in the middle of puberty. A Lolita.

From outside I heard a moaning. I went to the window and saw Frank at the edge of the yard. He was pissing in the grass. From the noise he was making he didn’t seem to have enjoyed a good piss in a long time.

“Go, go, go,” I whispered. I always leave my car unlocked, with the keys in it. I hoped more than anything that he’d take it and go. Sure, I wanted answers, but more than anything else I wanted never to see that man again.

When his piss was over, Frank spun around and spotted me watching him. He pointed a finger and I darted to the side, standing with my back to the wall beside the window. I put a hand over my mouth and peeked around the corner again with wide eyes. Frank pulled an axe from the stump under the oak tree and started toward the house with a quick stride.

“Oh my God!” I raced down the stairs just in time to see him kicking open the screen door and coming at me with the axe. I slammed shut the door and slid the deadbolt home just as all of Frank’s weight came pounding into the door. He howled curses and began chopping with the axe as I reached the top of the stairs.

I slid open the closet door and began heaving the boxes of junk I had piled on top of the trap door. It wasn’t easy; I was much smaller and weaker now and the boxes had been heavy when I’d been male. Tears streamed down my face as I heard the door start to splinter.

As quietly as I was able, I slid the closet door shut when I heard Frank begin to kick the wooden door apart. I put all of my energy into sliding the last box off the trapdoor as I heard him thunder up the stairs. He was in the room before I could get it halfway. I didn’t dare make any more noise once he was in the room.

I shivered as silence reigned for all of seven seconds. I stopped breathing. I think he did too.

Suddenly there was a loud commotion as Frank tossed the bed across the room, expecting to find me cowering beneath. I took the opportunity to scoop up the trap door’s ring and lift. I could only get it open a crack, but it was enough to stick my foot into. With the lid resting on my feet I crouched down and started pulling the door up with my palms on the underside. Frank began to howl again.

“What are you, fuckin’ stupid? You think I’m not gonna check in the fuckin’ closet?”

While he ranted I pried the door open just enough to slide my ass through the opening. It hurt, but I managed to wiggle my way through the opening and bounced off a pile of clothes onto the floor of the laundry room just as Frank flung the closet door open. He’d heard the trap door slam and kicked the box aside to open the door.

“You little bitch!” I was out the back door before he was on the stairs.

I ran, and my adrenaline began to pump. I wasn’t tall, but boy could I run. Frank had been kind enough not to saddle me with the extra weight of big tits or big hips.

I headed for the woods. Toward the mountain.

I heard the door slam behind me, heard a feral roar as he ran after me. By the time I hit the trees he had stopped expending his energy on shouting and was caught up in the chase.

I hit the trees and started darting through the woods. I had no shoes and the callouses on my  feet had been replaced with soft cream that ripped and tore as I tumbled over stones and branches. I didn’t care. A hundred yards in, and my feet probably looked like they’d been cut up by razors. I didn’t care. Ignore the pain. Push on. Stay alive.

I don’t how long I ran before I saw him. A hunter, in a red cap with a rifle. I screamed something unintelligible and pointed behind me and kept running. The hunter tried to “whoa, wait a minute, honey”, but I wouldn’t stop. Not yet.

Uphill I stopped, kept my breathing quick as I watched. The hunter spotted Frank tearing through the woods toward him like Satan on crank.

“Holy shit,” I heard the man shout as he fired a warning shot into the air. Bad move. Frank didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, just kept charging on like a grizzly. The man tried again, this time taking hasty aim. The bullet struck a tree inches from Frank’s head. Still he came, and by now he was on him.   

The third shot sailed off into the air again as Frank batted the rifle aside and sank the axe into the hunter’s skull.

“Shit!” I took off again up the hill. Then I thought of something and headed east, sideways instead of up. I heard Frank hack at the body a few more times, and then there was quiet behind me.

“Great. Now he has a gun.” I weaved from side to side. In a few moments a shot rang out above my head. Way off. I tried to call up some reserves of energy, but I was starting to get worn out. I started to dart in and out of the trees, doh-see-doh. Another shot rang out and I heard it splinter a tree behind me. His aim was getting better quick.

Finally I reached the shallow ravine I’d been seeking and hopped in. The shallow creek at the bottom felt cool on my injured feet. I ran down it as fast as I could, hoping to reach the well before Frank could top that hill and take aim at my cute little white bottom. I heard him howl something like, “Where the fuck are you!” as I splashed down the creek towards my only hope of eluding him.

I spotted the stone rim of the well ahead of me. A loud crack as the water splashed up just behind my feet. Frank swore and I remember feeling like Ichabod Crane, making for the bridge with a maniacal headless demon riding straight up his ass the whole.

Except we all know what happened to him. I put the thought from my mind and concentrated on bursting forward. Luckily I had just enough left to put me to the hole as Frank cursed at a jam in the gun or some such.

I hopped in and sailed down into darkness. Twenty feet straight down I hit water feet-first, and down I went into cool clear fresh mountain spring water. Only slightly infested with dirt and snakes and snapping turtles and who knew what else. Still, I figured it beat being shot, dragged, and then chopped up with an axe while still breathing. Not counting raping me again or making me perform some other perverted sexual shit.

When I hit the surface again and gasped Frank was at the hole and shouting obscenities down at me. He disappeared for a moment and reappeared with rocks to hurl down my way. I realized that the gun hadn’t jammed; he’d run out of ammo.

I ducked under the water whenever the barrages rained down. Once a big stone bopped off the top of my head and I saw stars, but the water  cushioned it, and it was no big deal. He howled and cursed me for a while, but I was patient, trying to stay as out of sight as best I could and waiting him out.

I think he began to realize that he’d be in deep shit if he stood stark naked, covered in blood and howling curses down a well for too much longer. He was quiet for a minute or two and then said, “Goodbye, lover,” before disappearing. As he stormed off he shouted something like, “Rot down there”.

The water was very cold, but I stayed in a full hour before climbing out. At least it felt like an hour. Frank didn’t know about the ladder. It isn’t easy to spot from above, unless you know what you’re looking for. Toward the top it’s covered up by vines and moss and shit, and down further it’s hard to spot because of a little shelf of concrete that someone stuck in the middle of the ladder for who-knows-why. That’s the tricky part of climbing out of the well when you’re a kid. Turns out it’s a little tricky when you’re 5’2”ish as well. Being tired out by a night of fucking and a sick maniac chasing you through the wood probably doesn’t help.

I climbed out and shivered in the creek bed, wondering what to do with myself. Nobody knows me, I thought. Not as I am now. I’m young and naked and filthy in a creek bed in the middle of the woods, with no identity. I knew the way back home, and I had left my car full of gas, unlocked, keys in the ignition. What I didn’t know was what would be waiting for me there. Cops? Frank?

My feet were bleeding a crimson stream of me down the creek bed. They hurt a lot. I was shivering.

First of all, I would need clothes and shoes.

I head toward civilization

Three

A Ride to Remember

Two hours later, I find myself sitting in the passenger seat of a late 70’s Chevy Malibu, headed south. I’ve decided not to go anywhere near my house. To my left is George, who’s nice enough to give me a ride into the city. I think he’s about thirty. He hasn’t shaved in a day or two and he natters on about his old job and some show called Deadwood. I’m more of a records person and tv talk makes me zone out.

He says I look like some girl named Alison Lohman. Even goes so far as to ask me if I’m actually her, and he’s serious.

He takes his eyes off the road to look at me a lot. When I start ignoring this and staring out the window, he keeps looking, but at my body instead of my face. I’m not used to this at all and it’s a little unnerving.

Once upon a long time ago I tried to hitchhike home from the city. It took me all day to get a ride, at least four hours, and the guy would only take me as far as the Junction at Vera, which is about a two-hour hike from the mountain. Today I stroll down the road for twenty minutes, no thumb, and got picked up by the fourth car I see. He’s a local boy but in forty seconds flat he offers to drive me all the way to the city, which will take at least half a tank of gas.

Being a girl is weird. I guess I should be enjoying this, but I don’t. He keeps staring.

Usually he looks at my lap, where my cute little hands are nervously fiddling about. He probably thinks I’m just horny. I know when I’d catch myself staring at girls and they fidgeted, I figured I was making them nervous and tried to stop. I don’t know what his thing is. Lack of empathy, maybe. Am I just irresistible?

For some reason he strikes me as a leg guy. Woman’s intuition, maybe? The flood pants are a little big for my new body. Whatever girl they rightfully belong to is  little taller than me and roomier in the hips. I used some of the clothesline to make a belt to keep them from sliding down. As a result they hang pretty loose on me and go all the way down to my ankles. Loose clothes on a cute chick leave a lot the imagination, and when it comes to sex he looks lonely enough to have a vivid one. I know I was.

I couldn’t found any shoes. Luckily for me I seem to heal pretty quick; the first genuine bonus of my Change of Life (unless you count easy rides) My feet are no longer in the wretched state of a few hours ago. My hair was such a tangled, awful mess that I cut most of it off with a rusty pair of scissors I’d found on a picnic table. Now it only goes as far as my neck in the back. The bangs are a little longer, but I have them clipped up with some pink plastic barettes I found on the pool deck.

My hair smells a little from Hot Tub chemicals. Somebody’s Dad is gonna be plenty pissed when he sees the mess I left in there. In my experience as a country mouse, Dads are usually real touchy about the cleanliness of the Hot Tub. If the house wasn’t locked I’d have taken a shower. In a crisis a girl’s gotta make do, and it was still too earl and cold for the pool. I run through a fantasy number about the Dad flipping out at his girl, maybe her mother, maybe a few brothers and then the dog. He calls all of the friends that have access to his place and might possibly come by for a dip, and alienates a few after downing a couple of cold ones. Finally he gets convinced that there’s a stray animal around that nosed the cover off and soiled the sacred Tub (and then replaced the cover when it was done). A bear, maybe, could do such a thing. He sits on the back porch all night waiting for the beast to return, and accidentally shoots his neighbor’s Mother-in-law, who was stumbling around drunk and grunting and is fat enough to possibly be mistaken for a bear in her imitation fur coat.

Boy am I tired.

George asked me something while I was drifting off in the scenery, and now there’s a pregnant pause because I’m not responding. I wake up a little and notice that we’re about halfway to town. What I’m going to do once I get to the city, I have no idea.

It registers that what George asked me was, “Want to hear a joke?”

“Shore.” I’m too tired to muster up fake enthusiasm.

“Okay, so I’m in this bar and I’m feeling kind of down, and I look it as I mope my way through beer after beer and shot after shot. This knockout blonde sits down next to me, and she looks kind of down too, I mean who wears sweatpants in a bar? and she says, ‘Why the long face, stranger?’ I say, ‘Well, my girlfriend just kicked me out.’ She says, ‘What a coincidence, my boyfriend just broke up with me, too.’”

I realize I’ve heard this one. I don’t stop him.

“So she asks why I’m kicked out and I say, ‘Well… I’m kind of into kinky stuff.’ And she looks at me all sly and says, ‘Really? Me, too.’ And I say, ‘No, I’m into really kinky stuff.’ She looks real sly now and says, ‘Me, too. Since you don’t have a place to stay, howsabout coming back to my place?’

“So the next thing you know we’re back at her pad and we’re fuckin’ around on her couch. Not fuckin’, mind you, but getting around to fuckin’. And then just as I paw at her tits a little she peels off and says, ‘Wait here while I go and… make myself a little more comfortable.’

“So I wait. And I wait and I wait and I wait. I wait like ten minutes, which is a long time if you’re waiting to get your fuck on. Finally she comes out and she’s dressed only in a) a pair of high-heeled pink fuzzy bunny slippers and b) a nine inch black strap-on dildo. Only instead of being strapped on with straps it’s strapped on with black electrical tape.

“So she says, ‘Have you ever heard of pegging?’ And I say, ‘Nope.’ And she says, ‘Well, it’s real simple. You drop ‘em and bend over the couch, see, and I fuck you with this dildo. And if you’re a good little bitch and don’t come before I do, I bend over for you and let you fuck me in my ass. With this bad boy, if you really want.”

This last part’s new on me. I think it’s his own addition to the joke. Kind of funny, I guess, but somehow I’m not amused. Instead I get to thinking about how less than eight hours ago I got a piece of ass at least a hundred times better than this douche has ever had. I glance down to ponder the void between my legs, and my internal gloat sours.

“So naturally I get up and make for the door. So she says, ‘Where do you think you’re going, faggot?’ And I say, ‘I’m not doing this bullshit.’ And she says, ‘Why, are you afraid you’ll like it? I thought you were kinky. Are you a little pussy?’”

He smiles now. We pass a road sign that says, Punch Line Ahead (finally).

“So I say, ‘I’m not a pussy. You just kept me waiting too long. I fucked your dog and shit in your purse. I’m good.’”

I smile a tired smile and give a courtesy Heh under my breath. It’s not enough for him. He yells, “Get it?” Real loud and dopey-like. Then he starts slapping my arm with the back of his hand a little. I feel like shying away, but there’s nowhere to go and I don’t want to queer the ride by making him uncomfortable.

He slaps me on the arm a little harder than he ought to, considering I’m an especially soft and creamy little girl now. He hits me just below the sleeve of my t-shirt, which is orange. The shirt is more snug than the pants; the sleeves and shoulders are pretty tight. After the slap I feel funny somehow. A weird little shudder goes through me, just on the inside. I rootch a little in my seat.

It occurs to me that this is the first time we’ve actually touched.

He lets Frampton drone on quietly for a little and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look at me for a while. His hands are busy strumming and fidgeting on the steering wheel.

I was a guy for over twenty years; I can tell he’s pondering asking me something or more likely getting ready to execute some jackass maneuver. I brace myself.

Suddenly he jerks his head toward me with a smile and extends his right hand to shake.

“By the way, I haven’t introduced myself. Not fully. I’m George Everett McGill. Didn’t catch your name.”

I look at his hand for a full twenty seconds before I accept it limply. He gives me one forceful pump and goes back to driving.

“I’m Joe.”

“Joe? Short for Josephine? That’s pretty.”

I realize my error. “Yeah. But call me… Josie.”

He smiles. “Josie….. that’s hot.” He gives me a sly look. Under the grub he is kind of cute.

“Thanks,” I respond with a smile as I pull some hair behind me ear. I think I’m blushing. For some reason I lick my lips and sit up. My hands go down to the seat and I straighten out from my slouch, arch my back so my little titties jut forward just a little.

The hand that touched his won’t stop sit still. Maybe it’s contagious. It fidgets as if it’s asleep and I’m trying to wake it up though it’s perfectly fine. I become very interested in the hand.

I feel compelled to bring my fingers up to my face. I rub my nose and then both of my eyes, like a kitten. I have no idea why I’m behaving this way. It’s as if I have a scratch that I’m not sure how to lick.

I mean itch.

Itch that I’m not sure how to lick.

Scratch.

What the fuck?

I become fixated on the idea of licking. My tongue juts out to give the knuckle of my thumb a tiny, tentative lick. The lick reveals the scent of chlorine. Without thinking I stick the rest of my thumb in my mouth. I close my eyes and suck. I swirl my tongue around my fingernail and make a swishy sucking sound.

Mmm.

I guess this is what it’s like to have an oral fixation.

I open my eyes to find him staring at me. He slows down the car somewhat and glances from me to the road. Embarrassed, I pull the thumb out but I can’t bring myself to pull my hand away. Instead, I rub my lower lip with my index finger. This time I stare back. I lick the tip of my finger a little, swirling it around just once before I close my lips on the finger.

In it goes, and I suck on it for a little. Then slowly I pull the finger back out, swirling my tongue all around the shaft of my dainty digit. In and out, slowly; my eyes never leave his face.

He swallows and he stares. We almost hit a curve sign, and then we almost go off the curve. Suddenly he’s all business until we’re through the curvy hills. He hits the accelerator, anxious to be out of the woods

I lose all interest in the finger wipe it on my pants. What the fuck was that? I slouch again and try to keep my eyes down. Meanwhile Frampton says good night and Floyd hits the stage. Young Lust. I love this song. I love Gilmore guitars no matter what, but he’s unbelievable live.

I reach over to crank it up a notch. He has the same idea and when our fingers touch again I find that I’m caressing the edge of the knob. He decides to caress his fingers up towards my knuckle. When I spy the bulge in his pants a smile flashes across my face before I can stop it. It’s too much and I pull my hand away. My face is flushed as I fix my eyes firmly on the floor in front of me.

I fidget and I stare at my feet. That’s funny. Whereas I kept tripping on the pants along the highway, now they seem like they’re well above my ankles. Must be because I’m sitting down.

Also my bottom feels funny. Like I’m sitting on something. I rootch and scootch and slide my hands under my ass. I clench one buttock, then the other, and then I let the first relax, and then the second. I bring my knees together. My hips start rolling with my ass and I realize I’m doing some kind of lap dance. He’s watching me in small increments as he navigates the winding road. I quit moving and hold my fists to my sides.

It’s as if a group of butterflies leave my pussy and flutter into my stomach. Then they split up as they crawl up my chest cavity, and I tremble when I see my nipples begin to harden.

Oh no.

No no no no no. Please no.

I try to will them down, but it’s no use. First they crinkle up, and the bumps of my areola poke through the snug t-shirt. Then I watch in horror as short B-Cells begin to emerge from my saucer nipples. As they grow they stick out like flagpoles. I can’t look away. It’s hypnotic. Watching them is making me feel warm.

I don’t dare a glance to see if he’s looking. I’m not wearing a bra, and my nipples are so large that without one, I’m ready to win first place in a wet t-shirt contest without so much as a squirt gun in the room. My brain sends a command to cross my arms over my chest as discreetly as possible.

What happens is that my hands slowly slide from my thighs over my lap and up my belly, tugging slightly at the edge of my shirt as they pass. They come to rest on my little tits, squeezing and lifting instead of covering up, which is probably a lot more obvious than if I’d let them be. They like the attention and crinkle up harder under my fingers. Blood fills them out, makes them a little wider.

I look over at George. I am beet red.

“Are you okay?” asks George. I’m breathing heavy now.

I nod my head and say, mm-hmm.

We’re out of the woods now and he slows the car and starts to pull over.

“No, don’t,” I tray to say, but it comes out halfway between a whisper and a mumble.

“What?” He pulls the car into a field and parks in the shade behind a large oak. He shuts the engine off but leaves the radio.

He turns to me and licks his lips. “Are you sure you’re alright? Is there anything I can do.”

My shoulders shrug. I’m still clutching at my tits and try to play it off by clasping my hands together over the middle of my chest. Nipples poke like big brass buttons against my palms. I inhale at the waves of pleasure this sends through me.

He reaches over and my neck tenses up to receive his touch. I start to squirm away from him a little but it’s too late. He places his hand on my shoulder and touches the back of my neck with his fingers.

I must be sitting on something.

My neck tenses up as he gently strokes and slides his hand around to caress the bottom of my right ear. Suddenly there is a fire in my breasts and I let a soft moan escape my lips. I bite my lower lip as I slide my hands down to my belly again and underneath my shirt. Up my belly and ribs they slide until they find the bare skin of my tits.

My nipples need to be touched. I really don’t want him to do it, but someone has to.

He stops breathing when I begin to squeeze my tits underneath the t-shirt. He stares down at them and the fire in them flares up. They swell with blood and heat. I breathe deeper now, and I tug on my nipples, and with each breath my tits throb.

In my pants I can feel something hot and sticky. It’s sort of like I’m drooling between my legs, and there’s a new itch that needs to be scratched. I have the urge to put a hand down my pants but my fingers can’t seem to leave my tits.

I’m sweating now. It feels hot in here. Stuffy. I begin to pant out of a sudden, frantic, and inexplicable claustrophobia. I look around and find the handle for the window. I slide a hand out of my shirt to reach for it, but when it reaches my stomach for some reason it pulls my shirt up over my tits. With that the claustrophobic tension is gone and I forget all about the window. I start to rub the saucers and pinch the tight, swollen knobs on the end of them.

My tits are growing. Every time I breathe they throb, and with each throb they grow just a little bit. My mind races over the events of the previous evening, and the totality of what’s happening to me hits like a tidal wave.

Oh, shit.

Slowly my eyes crawl up to George. He’s staring at me. His eyes are as big as golf balls at the sight my saucers. I want more than anything to lower my shirt and jump out of the car, run as fast and as far as I can from this scene. Instead I start to make little moaning sounds and close my eyes. He takes his hand off my neck and I can feel the swelling ease off. The fire is still there but it wanes a little. I open my eyes and slide away from him until my back is against the door. My hands are still busy with my nipples.

I’m hoping that putting a little distance between us eases off on my need to fulfill his every whim. He rubs his mouth and shifts in his seat. I think about putting my hand on the door handle, opening it, leaving. But I don’t do it. I find that I can’t take my eyes off of his while he’s staring at me. It occurs to me that what I’ve done is give him a better view.

There’s a restless feeling in my mouth. My tongue starts swirling around; I can’t keep it still. I try to ease it off by licking my lips. The first try doesn’t do it. I try slower, more provocative. I run my tongue over my teeth, then over my lips. That still doesn’t do the trick. George takes his eyes off of mine and stares at the puffy saucers on my chest. I look down.

I’ve seen a lot of tits, but never from this angle. I have to admit that these are the most magnificent nipples I’ve ever seen, even considering the events of the previous night. A whimper escapes my lips. Why can’t I be on the other side of this?

I think my whimper turns him on, because the itch in my mouth intensifies. I switch from pinching to kneading the tits. They’re about a B-cup now, I think. I lift one of them and crane my neck over to suck on a nipple, but either my tongue needs to be longer or the tit needs to be bigger. And anyway, I can tell as soon as I try that this won’t satisfy the urge in my mouth.

I spot the bulge in George’s jeans.

As soon as I look he slides across the seat and has a hand on my abdomen. He feels the flat softness of my belly. Even though I’m sweating, the air feels cool and his hand is warm against my skin. He cups the bottom of my tit, and I can feel the swelling resume at his touch. His other hand snakes around my slender waist and pulls me into him as he caresses down my neck and gently rubs his hand over each nipple.

I’m shaking now. More drooling from the pussy between my legs. Drooling inside my mouth as I stare at the bulge. I don’t think he’s ever going to whip it out. I have to do it for him.

My hand snakes into his pants and feels the rigid rod within. I unzip and pull it out. I lean over and rest my head on his lap so he won’t see my tears. His cock is about five inches long. I can’t believe I’m about to do this.

My tongue snakes out and tickles the spot just underneath the head. I feel more his grunt more than I hear it. He readjusts so his back is to the door and his legs are up on the seat. I try to pull my shirt down, but once my hand comes near my tit it’s stuck there, tugging at a nipple. I can feel that my tits are continuing their slow growth.

With my other hand I hold his shaft firmly around the base. I can tell that he doesn’t want me to tease it any more. I wrap my lips around the end and suck.

Slowly I work down his shaft, and then more slowly, with more suction, I work my way back toward the head. I can’t believe how hard I’m sucking. I can feel the cock fill with more blood and swell to fill my little mouth. In a moment it’s bobbing the back of my throat.

I can only take so much of this. Deep within I can feel my gorge rising, and the urge not to puke all over his dick is enough to pull me off of it and away again. Once we break contact my tits settle and cease. I think they’re a very full C-Cup now. The rest of me has been growing into them.

I look down at his dick. It’s at least seven inches long. Not so long as mine had gotten, but almost as thick. To look at it I don’t think my fingers will fit around it. I wonder how this is going to fit inside of me. My pussy is tight again, as if Frank had never fucked it.

I realize that suddenly we aren’t touching; I might be able to get away. My hand shoots to the door handle, but as soon as I touch the cool metal I can feel his warm fingers on my tits again, and it’s all over. My hands slide down to my pants and unzip. My hips are wider than when I put them on, and my ass fuller, so I have to rootch again to get them off, which turns him on some more. I glance down at my long, smooth legs. I’m somewhat taller than I was five minutes ago.

I’m shaking again, this time a little fearful of the huge member that’s rubbing on my clit. Inside, the juices are flowing. I’m well lubricated.

Don’t, I try to whisper.

“Do it,” is what comes out.

He takes hold of my hips and slides me toward him, until I’m lying across the seat on my back. He pulls the rest of his jeans off and leans over me. Against my will, my legs spread to accept him. He’s on top of me now, licking at my neck, suckling my tits. They’re still swelling, but slower now. He gets off on the way they grow.

Just like I did.

I don’t sob, but tears are pouring out of me. He knows I don’t want to be here, but he can’t help himself. Even though I hate him for that, I know I wouldn’t be able to, either.

He finds my clit with his fingers and gently rubs. I moan at the pleasure and he begins to guide himself into me.

It hurts as he enters, and my moan becomes a squeal of pain. It’s too big. My moistened chasm relaxes slightly and spreads to accept him. The pain eases off but the alien feeling of a huge cock in my pussy doesn’t.

Every time feels like the first.

Slowly he slides the entire length of his shaft into me. He fills me up so completely that I can almost feel him in my throat. Once he’s in my pussy clamps down on him tightly.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers as my lips and canal tighten up. He starts to pump and my hips buck in response. My moaning gets louder, reaches a fever pitch as he fucks me faster and faster and faster.

I want to push him off, I want to slap him, I want to dig my nails in his neck but my hands refuse to leave my swelling tits. They’re at least a D-cup now, and growing. It’s slower when he doesn’t focus on them, but it’s still there.

It’s different this time. Frank only wanted me to feel scared and humiliated; I could only come when he did, and only if it made me more humiliated.

George is different. George wants me to come. So I do.

The first climax hits moments after he begins pumping me. My eyes roll back into my sockets and my toes curl. I am squealing in ecstasy. Suddenly my hands leave my tits, but only to wrap around him and hold tight. I pull him down until he can feel my tits bouncing against his chest. As the first climax subsides I can feel another one building up, larger than the first, and I wrap my legs around him, too.

I am smiling.

I am happy.

I had no idea.

My revulsion, my embarrassment, my fears and feeling helpless, all of it goes away as I lay and writhe in the joy of orgasm. The sensation is more enjoyable than any I have ever had. I can feel it in my face. I can feel it in my skull. I can feel it in the muscles of my thighs, and in the small of my back. I can feel it in the pit of my belly. I feel it in my tits, where the fire has become a warm glow. I am slick with sweat.

The muscles in my abdomen tighten up as I begin to climax again. It takes longer this time; the first orgasm was a peak, this one a plateau. I am screaming again.

As I slide down the edge of one plateau I find myself craving the next. I look up. George is smiling. He slows down and scoops me up, and suddenly I find myself on top, looking down at him over full breasts. I guess it’s up to me to find the rhythm now, and I do.

I crane my neck so that I can sit up somewhat and allow him the full view of my bouncing breasts as I grind my pelvis on his cock. I don’t mind it so much as Frank seemed to. With George’s full attention on my tits they swell to the size of large cantalopes. I grind faster and start to feel it in my belly again. When I slide over the edge this time it’s better than the first, and I collapse forward onto him. My tits make a nice cushion between us, his chin planted in my cleavage. He still hasn’t come.

Caught up in the throes of orgasm, my hips buck wildly of their own accord, like a spasm, and then cease as I relax into the afterglow. He takes up the rhythm and starts slowly pumping me from beneath. I feel a slight flutter and throb in his cock, and know that he’s starting the ascent into his own climax.

My hips begin to grind again, slowly this time, and I feel the canal within come to life. I wonder vaguely if I’m supposed to have muscles that massage his cock. I don’t think so. This time it’s a sublime feeling.

As soon as Georgie feels his cock being milked, he grunts and grabs the soft flesh of my round, full ass. He pushes into me, deeper, and the throb gets bigger as my pussy clenches tightly on him. I’m so tight and he’s so big that it starts to hurt. Fresh tears stream down my face, but it’s a good hurt, and I start whispering, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t…”

He freezes in mid-plunge and my canal begins to vigorously milk him. When I feel his liquid I am complete. Every muscle in my body seizes.

Orgasm. Mind-racking, better than before. My skin feels like it’s on fire. Every inch of me is soaked with sweat. He’s still coming, and so am I. At first I scream, but then I find that I can’t make a sound, can’t even breathe as he continues to thrust me higher and higher and higher. When I manage to crack my eyes open I see spots and stars. He keeps coming and coming and coming.  

When he finishes, I shake and tremble for over a minute. Then I gently slide down into the gentle caress of afterglow, and his embrace. A new feeling washes over me. Biological fulfillment. I have completed a vital biological task, and now I am content. I am a flower that has been pollinated.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My face is mostly the same, but my mouth has become bigger and my lips very full and red. My hair is longer than shoulder length, and a wavy brown. My tits are enormous.

Within, I slowly start to become myself again. I sit up a little and look at George. His hands are clasped behind his head, and he is looking very content. I guess I was wrong before when I said Georgie would never get a piece as good as I got last night, with Penny. He got me, and I’ve been quite a fuck.

I am filled with an intense jealousy. I never got to have this feeling with Penny. Instead, I had to fall in love.

“Fuck you, George.” The words are out of my mouth before the irony of their literal meaning hits me.

He looks confused. I don’t give a shit. I grab my pants from the floor and split before he can say anything.
            Outside, I discover that the pants have become pretty tight. They’re true flood pants now, and then some. Even though I’m at least five inches taller, I don’t think my waist has grown at all. The pants are too tight over my wide, child-bearing hips and my full new ass. Too tight to button. I leave them unbuttoned and use the clothesline as a belt again. I hope that the zipper doesn’t slide down too much; I couldn’t find underwear.

The shirt is almost hopeless. It fit pretty well before, but now my tits have been inflated beyond a DD-cup range. I manage to stretch the shirt over these melons, but without a bra my gargantuan nipples are on display for the world. The yellow daisy on the front of my shirt is now stretched out into an oval. As I walk briskly from the car my tits bounce and wobble. For huge tits they sure are firm. Heavy, too.

George is out of the car and running after me. As he approaches with a “Hey, wait”, I spin around and back off, careful to keep out of his reach.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I howl. “Nobody ever touches me ever again!” I’m sobbing as I storm off, breaking into a bouncy jog.

“But who are you?” he asks in the distance.

I don’t know.

“One of the things I really and truly loved about living in the country was being able to piss outside. You don’t know what it’s like to have a dick, but, well…

“Sometimes you wake up with a full erection and the need to piss at the same time. Sometimes you have to piss really bad. If you have to aim it into a toilet… well, it can be tough. You have to bend way over and might even have to lean on the wall. Certainly sitting down to do it is right out.

“What I used to do, if no one was in bed with me, is jerk off and then go piss. The problem with jerking off with a full bladder is that you probably won’t enjoy it very much, especially if this ritual is repeated every morning. And you don’t enjoy that post-orgasmic afterglow because right away the need to piss is there, waiting.”

Her stomach starts to convulse under my cheek. She can’t hold it in any more. That’s alright. When she laughs it makes me smile, and I put my face in her belly until she settles down. She’s a little chubby by most standards, I guess, but I don’t care. I savor every inch of her.

“So as I was saying,” I begin again when she settles down, “When you live in the woods, if it’s even a little warm out, you can just go outside and piss in the grass. It doesn’t matter if it’s mostly erect; you can piss straight out horizontally and it doesn’t matter. You don’t even have to hold it, really. It’s a much better feeling than trying to get the stream into a little porcelain bowl, always worrying about hitting the back or the floor or the wall. Plus, you don’t have to bend it erect, which feels funny when you’re trying to pee.

“I miss that.”

She starts laughing again. I smother her giggles with her pillow.

Four

A lot of Shit and the County Fair Context

So I hitched a ride into town with a trucker. Surprise, surprise, it’s suddenly even easier to get picked up with a little girl’s t-shirt stretched tight over DDD cup monsters. I tried to sit with my arms crossed over my melons. I’m very careful to avoid any physical contact, even though he sort of makes a few half-assed gropes at the glove compartment and a CB radio.

The truck smells like shit and stale beer. The music is shit. Johnny Cash is the best I can hope for. Don’t get me wrong, I like Johnny Cash, but he gets kind of ruined in the company of shit like Garth and Shania Twain.

The worst thing about this ride, though, is the fact that his shocks must be worn to shit. I feel like I’m in a B-29 making the first run over Berlin. Every pothole is like a direct hit from a flak cannon, and every shell jiggles and bounces the enormous bags of jell-o on my chest. Fun bags, I used to call them. Without a bra they’re not quite as much fun.

It starts raining when we stop on the edge of town for gas. I ask him for a coat or an umbrella, and he begrudgingly coughs up a poncho, for which is a relief. I wasn’t looking forward to strolling around in a genuinely wet T-shirt.

 I go to the bathroom and try to make sense of the new plumbing and equipment. This takes a while, and when I’m done I spend a little while washing up and looking at my new reflection.

I’m almost as tall now as I’d been when I was male. I certainly look a lot older since leaving Georgie, at least eighteen. Even when I dry my mouth my lips are shiny and bright red, as if I have lipstick on. My cheekbones are bigger and there’s a rosy hue to my cheeks. My hair is long again, wavy and a little longer than shoulder length.

If you look at your reflection long enough, you space out and the features of your face start to lose meaning. Not good, not bad. Just shapes. I guess I’m starting to think like a female, because while I know that my face is beautiful beyond words by yesterday’s thinking, I wonder what the big deal is, what it is that attracts them to me so, makes them trip over each other trying to help me, to protect me, to capture me and possess me.
            Then I pull the poncho apart and take a good long look at the tits. Tears well up in my eyes. I don’t want them on me, and I certainly would prefer them smaller. But goddamn, I have to admit they’re beautiful. That hasn’t changed, and I don’t think it ever will. They’re hypnotic. While they aren’t the biggest pair I’ve ever seen, they are just about the nicest. The only contender is Penny.

Penny, who doesn’t really exist. Penny. If I think about her for more than a moment, a black fog blots out the rays of the sun and threatens to overtake me, to send me cowering and sobbing into a corner under the sink. So instead I push thoughts of her away, and I concentrate on the globes before me.

The shirt is so tight that it’s changing their shape, squishing them a little flat against my chest. I slowly pull my shirt up and over until they’re free. In relief the shirt bunches into a tight line above them, while the tits breathe a sigh of relief and spread forth and even bounce a little in the cool air.

When they sit on my chest they look pretty round, perfect spheres underneath but curving into my shoulder on top. Tear-shaped, I guess you could say. They’re very perky; it’s clear from a glance that gravity hasn’t had a chance to ravage and tug, and yet they don’t look the least bit artificial. I can’t help sticking my finger in my mouth and slowly pulling it out.

Wow. When you put it like that I guess I haven’t forgotten what they see in me. I’m actually getting turned on from my own reflection.

I take my wet finger and slowly trace a big circle around the edge of my saucers. At even this slight attention my nipples crinkle and become rigid as they unfold into the air. I pull on the tits to see what’ll happen, and they stretch from globes into large cones. I let them go and they bounce wonderfully and settle.

If I leave them alone there’s a gap in the middle, maybe in inch or so of smooth breastplate between them. I decide to squeeze them together, and I find myself creating magnificent cleavage, second only to Penny’s. I look down. It sure is a different thing to experience tits from this angle. I put my chin on my chest and it nuzzles in between my melons. I squeeze them up a little, give them a little kiss.

I wonder.

I take my glorious tit in my left hand and pull the cone toward my mouth. I extend my tongue and as my tongue hits nipple, the iron door to my right bursts open and slams into a concrete wall.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath as a middle-aged woman walks in and past me, heading for a stall, looking slightly pissed. She doesn’t make eye contact as I scramble to get my tits back into my shirt, which takes a little effort. I hastily button up my poncho and head back out.

“Shit!”

The truck’s gone. I guess he got sick of me. Or maybe he was frustrated at the way I avoided touching him. Still, I would never have believed he would just take off like that. Maybe I’m exaggerating; maybe I’m not as gorgeous as I thought. Maybe there is a limit to the power these tits wield. Especially when I cover them under a poncho.

Still, it shouldn’t be too tough to hitch the rest of the way. Truth be told, I was half considering ditching him. The station’s on a highway a couple of miles from the ‘burbs that mark the edge of the city, but I have to cross the street for the cars heading into town. Along the way I think about what to do if trying to flag someone down with the poncho on doesn’t work. Should I show a little leg? Should I cut to the chase and start flashing cars? That’ll get ‘em screeching.

When I make it to the barrier and start into the passing line on the far side, I hear a screeching from behind me and spin around. It’s the sound of a really loud, obnoxious horn, and I see my trucker coming around the gas station and trying to get my attention.

Shit. He must have been waiting on the opposite side, and now he’ll come over and pester me until I get in his truck. Sonofabitch. I’m not about to march back to his truck, but on the other hand I’m not looking forward to some scene on the highway.

I don’t spot the Sedan rushing at me until it’s too late.

Luckily the driver spotted me and slammed on the brakes a good thirty or forty feet up the hill. By the time he comes skidding to a halt the bumper is three inches from my knees. I couldn’t why I didn’t move. Frozen like a deer in headlights, I guess. The driver hops out and starts barking at me while I stare into the bullseye hood ornament in a daze. My fists are clenched together at my sides and won’t unclench.

“You okay?”

A gust of wind plasters the poncho against my front. I look down and see erect nipples poking through the fabric, crying desperately for attention. With some effort my hands come to life and I cross my arms over my chest under the poncho.

“Did I hurt you? Are you hurt?”

I start to turn my eyes up towards him. He’s tall. Six feet, at least. The wind tousles his brown hair as I try to make eye contact, which is tough because needles of water are spritzing into my face. I still can’t say anything.

“Hey,” he puts his hand on my face, on my neck just below my ear. “Can you hear me?” When he touches me I stop feeling the wind. My whole body starts to feel warm. Flushed. I wonder if I’m turning red. My hands snake into his coat and wrap themselves around him, and I lean my face against his chest.

Meanwhile the trucker has hopped out of his truck and is trying to cross the street.

It occurs to me that I’m being touched by a man. I break from the reverie this warm feeling was generating and back away for a moment. I turn away from him for a moment and feel around underneath the poncho. Nothing seems to have changed. I certainly wasn’t filled with the overwhelming urge to drop trowel and start sucking him off in the middle of the street.

I use my wet lips to flash him my best smile and say, “I’m Josie.”

He looks a little flabbergasted. “I’m Eddie. Eddie Miller.”

“Hi Eddie. Let’s go.”

The next thing I know I’m in Eddie’s bathroom, looking at dry clothes that he says belonged to his ex-girlfriend. I wonder if and when she’s due to walk in on us. Fuck it. He might be telling the truth, and anyway, for some reason he makes me feel comfortable. I haven’t felt comfortable since I was staring up at Penny. 

I leave the poncho and my other clothes hanging over his tub to drip dry. First up is a pair of black panties. They’re not G-string but they along the sides they thin into a little strap. I wonder if this counts as a thong. Somehow I’m going to have to research chick clothing if I’m going to make it as a girl. Then again, with any luck, after tonight I might not have to.

He gave me a choice between sweatpants and a jean skirt. I think about it for a little while. I ponder my legs in the mirror. They’re fabulous legs. I’d probably fuck me after seeing these legs walk by from a basement window. It feels a little funny, but I opt for the skirt.

Next is the bra, a black lacy number. It takes me a little while to fiddle with the straps until I can get it to fit right; this girl is smaller than me but she’s still pretty top heavy. The tag says DD. It’s obvious that I’m somewhat bigger, but it actually makes me look hotter. I’m pouring out of a bra that’s obviously too small for me. Cleavage galore.        It does little to cover up my saucer nipples, which have stayed fully erect since I met him. But on the other hand they’re definitely smaller; this seems to be the only physical change his touch has inspired. I certainly have no problem with smaller nipples.

For a top he gave me a choice between a red-hooded sweatshirt and a black tank-top. The tank is small and tight (big surprise), but it fits. I’m pretty cold, though, so I throw the hoodie on over it.

Fully dressed (except for shoes, still none of those), I look at myself in the mirror. My hair’s wet, which looks really hot. My lips are red and shining. I’m a little nervous.

“Can you do this?” I whisper to the reflection.

If I fuck him, will he fall? Will he love me?

If he loves me, do I get my body back?

Can I do that to a person?

I don’t know.

I emerge from the bathroom to find Ed setting the table.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“A little.” Actually I’m fucking starving.

Eddie makes sushi.

I love sushi.

It fills me up pretty quick because I haven’t eaten all day. Also, my tiny waist has to mean that I’ve got a much smaller stomach. Still, sushi is something I can nibble on for a while even after I’m full. Before you know it we’re on the couch in front of a fireplace with the leftovers on a plate in his lap.

Ed starts to feed me.

I discover that I love being fed. He gently dips into the soy sauce (low-sodium) and lays a Philadelphia Roll onto my tongue. Some of the soy sauce dribbles down my chin. Ed scoops it up with his finger and offers it to my succulent mouth. I lick down the shaft of his tongue and slowly suck. Ed starts breathing heavy. He shifts the position of his lap.

I trace my hand down Ed’s abdomen and feel the bulge growing beneath.

Oh my.

So fuck it, I skip ahead a little. Rather than playing it coy or making conversation I take off the hoodie. He leans in for a kiss and I do my best to bottle up my discomfort. Once his tongue hits mine, though, there’s no more discomfort. My tongue pushes itself as far down his mouth as it can and slowly probes around. It rubs against the roof of his mouth and down along his teeth, and then he’s sucking on my lips, which I’m sure he finds full and juicy. Sam Cooke is on the radio singing “A change is gonna come.”

All the while I’m rubbing the bulge in his pants. I stop doing it with my hand and straddle him instead, humping his pants against my panties. My pussy feels warm and I start to feel the nice, juicy, drool feeling inside again. It feels good.

Meanwhile he reaches underneath my shirt and starts rubbing my waist and my belly. It doesn’t take him long to work his way up to my tits.

A moan escapes my lips and scuttles off down his throat as his fingers work my nipples. I can feel my nipples shrinking now, and it’s a good feeling. It’s like feeling them get tight, but more so. Much more so. What’s happening is that all the nerves from the enormous nipple and areolae I had are now being shoved into this little area. So they’re that much more sensitive. Every rub and squeeze is better than the last one. I start to sweat.

My nipples stop shrinking (still huge saucer nipples by any standard, but now we’re below battery size), but the waves of pleasure continue to snowball. He pulls my shirt off and I unbutton his. It feels so good to squish my bosom into his broad, flat chest as we continue to neck. I rub them up and down to keep them stimulated while he runs his hands up my legs and kneads my soft ass cheeks.

I like the way his hands feel on me. He feels bigger than he looks, and this makes me feel secure and turns me on. I’m discovering that I want to feel diminutive, to be smaller than my lover if it has to be a man.

He nuzzles his face into my bosom and uses his teeth to pull the top of the lacy bra down and reveal a nipple. He stares for a moment and then proceeds to massage the edge of my saucer with his tongue.

“God Damn,” I cry out. I breathe quicker and my chest starts heaving as he moves over the other nipple. This time he runs his tongue flat over my nipple, slowly, and my nails dig into the base of his neck.

“Oh, God! OH GOD!” Suddenly I feel as if something’s being poured into my tits. The straps of the bra start cutting into me like soft razor wire. I bite my lower lip. Ed backs his face away to stare, wide-eyed, as they grow big enough to snap the bra apart. I breathe a sigh of relief as they bounce free and swell to the size of large, ripe cantaloupes.

“OH SHIT!” I howl at him. “What did you do?”

“Me?” His eyes get wider, if that’s possible, and he can’t take them off my jugs as they heave. The space between them is gone now; I now have a huge line of magnificent cleavage without squeezing them together or shoving them into a bra. Freestanding cleavage, you might call it.

“Yeah, you! This is your fault!” I get off him and stomp away while my bosoms bounce and jiggle with the effort. As I do the skirt slides down my hips and hits the floor.

“What the fuck?” I find a mirror and realize that I’m shorter by at least four inches. I’m back to the height I’d been before I’d met George. “I’m shorter too? You fucker!” I’m starting to understand Frank’s frustration. My lips have grown a little, too, and my eyes look bigger. My hair didn’t shrink; it’s down to the middle of my back again.

The fact that I’m so much shorter than a few minutes ago makes my tits look even bigger. Makes them look ridiculously huge on my slight frame. The nipples didn’t grow; instead of looking huge they look just about right on these melons.

I try to sound angry but what comes out is more like a whine. “Jesus, they were too big before. I can’t be this small and have tits this big. I can’t walk around like this. I look ridiculous. You have to help me.”

He’s up now, but keeping his distance. He still can’t take his eyes off them. “What can I do?”

“You can wish them smaller. You can wish me taller, too. Look, you obviously love tits, so you don’t have to wish them down to nothing. Just put me back the way I was, okay? To where I’m believable as a normal girl.”

He’s baffled. “Wha… what are you?”

I try to sound sweeter. I don’t want to gross him out if he’s a homophobe. “I’m a girl, just not a regular one. Did you like me before?”

“Yeah, sure. You were really hot.”

“And weren’t my tits already spectacular?”

“Yeah, but now…”

I cut him off by taking a step toward him. I try to put on my best submissive coo. “If you put me back the way I was, I’ll suck your cock.” I whisper the next part. “I’ll suck your cock until your eyes pop out.

“And then you can fuck me.”

He swallows hard. He looks me in the eye. “How?”

I put my hand forward. “You have to touch me.”

“Okay.” He tentatively puts his hand forward.

“Just… wish that they were smaller. Want them to be smaller. Then we can work on making me taller.”

His fingers touch my wrist and I instantly feel the warm, flushed feeling again. My tits tingle a little but remain as big as ever. They feel itchy at first, and then they start to burn like an orgasm. I start pouring sweat.

“Sss.. smaller.”

“I… can’t. I, I-

Don’t say it.

“I wish they were bigger.”

“Oh no,” I moan, and I look down to see my cantaloupes swell into bowling balls. I let him pull me in and feel myself shrinking against him. My resistance melts away as my panties fall to the floor. I feel myself becoming a picture of docile submissiveness. When I lose another two inches of height he scoops me up and gently lays me on the couch, where he puts his mouth on my little pussy.

He flicks the hood of my clit with his tongue, and I come almost instantly. My voice has gotten a lot higher, so I squeak and squeal when I orgasm. While he licks my pussy he reaches his hands underneath my ass, and I can feel it swell to fill his grasp. He puts his tongue down inside of me and I feel another orgasm welling up in my belly. I squeal again and then I lay in the afterglow caressing my new boobies. For the moment they’re settled at bowling ball size. This is because Eddie likes them to grow all at once. Still, bowling balls are gigantic on my little feminine frame.

“Oh, Eddie,” I coo. I know that voice. It’s Traci Lords from the early eighties. Eddie’s seen that one too.

Eddie pulls his jeans off and leans back on the couch to reveal eight inches of rigid cock standing like a flagpole.

“Oh, my.” I know what he wants, and it’s beyond me now to resist, so I lean over and start to lick the swollen head of his shaft while shoving my tits up to pillow his balls. Eddie starts moaning. A flash of memory from the night before crosses my mind. I remember how good that felt. But it’s only for a moment because I become entirely consumed by the task at hand.

I lick down the sides of his shaft. Eddie doesn’t like it quite so gentle and subtle as I used to, so I don’t bother teasing. I try to fit as much of it into my mouth as I can and find my mouth stretching to accommodate him. I suck as hard as I can and it swells bigger still, thicker more than longer. My pussy tightens up as he grows. I don’t think it’s ever been so tight. This time it’ll hurt for sure.

As his head hits the back of my throat I readjust so that it can go down my throat. It feels good, actually, not like choking at all. Eddie sits up and starts to pump his hips, gently at first. It doesn’t take him too long. After three minutes of fucking my face he’s about ready to burst. My body can tell when he’s almost ready and the muscles of my throat start to milk him.

When he comes I swallow every drop, and then I lean back as I feel something tingling in my belly and my chest. For a moment it feels like a thousand tiny tongues are flicking at my tits and nipples, and then my bowling balls swell into basketballs. Eddie’s on them immediately, and I feel his cock already rising to attention.

When he puts his tongue on them I think, If I were to die right now, if someone were to put a shotgun to my head and blow my head off, I would die happy.

That’s how good it felt.

After that thought washes away in a sea of orgasm. And he hasn’t put it in yet.

His mouth on a nipple, Eddie fingers my clit and starts to try and ease it in. I spread my legs and it loosens and opens up enough to let the head in. After that it clamps down tight on his shaft, and I squeal in pain as he works the rest of it in. Despite my small size I somehow take in every inch of him. It hurts a lot by the time he eases down to his pelvis, but it feels good, too.

I feel completed again, but more so than Frank or even Georgie. I realize now that Frank’s cock was an intruding alien presence, and Georgie wanted to make a hot girl come a lot. With Eddie it’s different. I feel like his manhood completes me. Inside I’m not really sure where he stops and I begin. Inside me our sexes merge into a single form; his cock and my pussy are only components of a whole.

I squeal as he begins to gently pump me, and almost immediately my body enters the crescendo of another orgasm. I squeal stuff like,            “Oh Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! Eddie, don’t ever stop!”

I push myself into a sitting position and we fuck slowly as we embrace, and resume necking. It’s tough to reach him with my tits squashed between us, so I push him back down and ride him while my tits bounce and jiggle like crazy. He watches them in fascination, and I lean over so that they can bounce in his face as we fuck.

As soon as I do this I start to feel his next orgasm building up. My lips of my pussy squeeze his cock at the base and the smooth walls of my canal milk him all the way to the head thrusting slowly somewhere in the depths of me. I can feel the pressure building in his rigid shaft, and pressure builds up in my massive tits in response. Despite their large size they start to feel tight, as if the skin of them isn’t enough to contain the blood and heat within.

I sit up straight so that he can see the full glory of my bouncing tits, and he starts to pump faster as my pussy starts to milk him faster. We move in the same rhythm. I grind my pelvis into him as he thrusts, and as he thrusts my canal milks him down, reaching the tip when he reaches the height of his thrust. Each thrust is a little deeper, and each squeeze of his cock a little tighter, and with each thrust the pressure in the both of us builds a little tighter.

“Josie,” he cries out.

Oh man. Here it comes.

“Yeah?” I manage to squeak out between thrusts.

“I… you… I…”

“Yeah?” He’s almost ready to say it. I can tell. And he’ll mean it for sure.

“You’re the best! You are the best ever!”

Ah, shit. That’s not the magic word. But I have no time to dwell on it because he starts coming.

When I feel the first hot spurt I go blind for a moment. I see black, and then stars as his seeds burst into me. The pressure in my tits is unbearable until that first spurt. The moment it hits there is relief. When the stars fade I see my tits swelling with every thrust, every spurt of his cock. The more come he spills in me, the bigger I grow.

He has an awful lot of come.

I grab my ankles and thrust my chest forward as he continues to thrust and spurt hot come into my canal. He grabs at the tits swelling before him and squeezes each nipple. Waves of bright red hair cascade down my back. 

The orgasm building up inside of me now is something new. Startling in its intensity. I begin to shudder and quake as it builds up. When it finally hits a stream of liquid actually shoots out of my pussy and over his head. I don’t scream. I don’t squeal. A slight squeak is the only thing that can escape my throat. Every muscle is stiff until I finally come. Still he’s thrusting, and still my tits continue to swell and grow in spurts. My eyes roll back into my skull and I lose consciousness. I fall forward onto his chest.

My fall is well-cushioned.

I wake up to a feeling of total contentment. He’s still inside of me, and somehow I forget that I was transformed into a girl. At first it feels like I confuse the feeling of a dick in my pussy with having a dick, and laying on a pillow of giant tits feels pretty good, too. I lay half-awake in the dark listening to Sea of Love and smile. I feel completely content.

Then he shifts a little and I feel the dick wiggle and rub something inside of me.

Wait, that’s not mine.

I pull myself and immediately feel the new strain on my shoulders and back. I can see his face in the light of the dull embers. He’s out cold, looking even more contented than me. I slide off his member and start to stumble toward the bathroom. I fumble and find the pull chain for the light.

“Oh shit,” I squeak out.

First of all, I’m even shorter. 4’11”. 4’10”, maybe. Most of my features have a diminutive, overly feminine quality to them. Tiny feet and hands. Thin arms, no real muscle tone. My legs are still very nice, but nowhere near as long and therefore not as nice, in my opinion. My hips flare out a little, but my wasp waist is so tiny that I look like I have an hourglass figure. Especially considering what’s above.

I turn a little and see that my ass is a different story. Nice and full, but very firm. It looks very soft and inviting. I count myself lucky that I have yet to be fucked there.

My face looks a lot younger. It’s familiar, too; I can’t quite place it until I put it together with my fire-engine-red hair.

Milla Jovovich. But young, Blue Lagoon era. With fuller, poutier lips. And they still look shiny and wet; Ed obviously digs that.

Like I said, my hair is red like a fire-engine. Mostly. There are these streaks of pure gold throughout. It flows past my ass now, almost to my knees. I try to look for something to chop it off but am far too distracted by the tits.

On my chest are two perfectly round tits the size of large ripe watermelons. The thing is, I’ve only seen watermelons this big at the county fair.

These tits are unbelievably firm. I’m sure now that there’s genuine magic to my situation now; no biological explanation for the sequence of events that has so suddenly and so drastically alter the shape of my life could possibly account for the way that these things defy gravity.

Still, even if they don’t look heavy, they feel heavy. I heft one massive tit in my left hand. It’s firm but it’s also unbelievably soft and inviting. Anyone would immediately suspect plastic surgery to look at them; anyone feeling them would instantly know that they were real. I notice that he couldn’t help inflating the nipples, too, though they still look small on these melons. Which of course makes the melons look even larger.

I drag a finger across one of the large, puffy saucer nipples and gasp at the waves of pleasure this sends exploding across my brain.

He certainly made sure they were sensitive.

I can’t resist.

I bite my lower lip and slide both hands up my tits toward the nipples. When they reach I hold my breath as nipples as thick as Ed’s thumbs tighten and stand erect. I begin to squeeze them.

My knees buckle and I see stars again. I rub and squeeze and tug on them, pulling my tits into cones that would fit on the end of a surface-to-air rocket. I lean against the wall as my knees buckle and wobble again.

I’m trying to keep quiet, but a squeak escapes my lips as a small stream of juice trickles down my leg.

I try it again with one hand on the tits and a finger on my clit.

Eddie likes me horny, too.

Speak of the devil-

“Mmmuh.. Josie?”

Oh shit.

My future flashes before me as I cover my mouth and stand still. If I stay here, my tits will continue to inflate and so will my craving for Ed’s cock. My real self will erode until it’s gone. And anyway, if these get any bigger I’ll be totally dependent on him. If I can escape now…

But how? Out the window?

I stand in the tub and check it out. Outside of the window is a fire escape.

But will I fit?

Shit.

I turn out the light as I hear him begin stumble around looking for me. Quickly I slide back into the flood pants, which are still a little damp and are now way too big for me. Luckily the cord I used for a belt is still on it, but now I’m tripping on the cuffs whenever I walk. How did Penny buy clothing?

I roll up the cuffs and ponder the shirt for a moment. It’s hopeless. I could never squeeze even one of these melons into it. Instead I poke in the hamper and find a beach towel, which kinda sorta covers me if I hold it.

There’s a knock on the door. No more fucking around.

I slide the window open. I’m so short that I have to stand on the edge of the tub to get my tits up to it. It’s a tight squeeze, and for a moment I’m not sure I’ll make it, but by squeezing one melon through, and then the other, I manage.

That’s a relief. The last thing I needed was to re-enact some pornographic version of Winnie the Pooh.

I clatter down the fire escape and onto the street. I have no money, no shirt, and no idea where to go. I still don’t even have shoes. Luckily it’s about three in the morning and I don’t attract any attention.

Nearby is a park. I start for it, but urban paranoia gets the best of me and I steer clear. A good thing, too, I’ll find out later that a girl was raped in the park that night. Shit, if someone tried to rape me I’d probably still be sucking him off.

“So I wandered the streets for a while, scared, cold, and alone. Completely miserable and for the first time in my life seriously contemplating suicide.

“And then I heard it. A siren song emerged from the gloom of the city and washed over me like a warm wind. Hearing it drove me to tears, and I followed the sound of the music until I found a light shining in the doorway.”

And she sings for me:

“No I would not give you false hope

On this strange and mournful day.

But the Mother and Child reunion

Is only a motion away

Oh, little darling of mine.

I can't for the life of me
Remember a sadder day
I know they say let it be
But it just don't work out that way
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again.”

And we sing together:

“No I would not give you false hope

On this strange and mournful day.

But the Mother and Child reunion

Is only a motion away

Oh, little darling of mine.”

And now we’re crying as we sing:

“I just can't believe it's so,
and though it seems strange to say
I never been laid so low
In such a mysterious way
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again…

But I would not give you false hope (no!)
On this strange and mournful day
When the mother and child reu-nion
Is only a motion away,
Oh, oh the mother and child reunion
Is only a motion away
Oh the mother and child reu-nion
Is only a moment away…”

And now I speak while she kisses me lightly on the neck, and lays her head on my breast.

“And I followed the light until I saw someone sitting in a rocking chair, silhouetted against the light from inside the house. And I dared enter the yard, and approach the back porch.

“And when I came nearer the light I saw…

“You.”

Interlude: Dancing with Flo & Eddie

She quivers as she sits on the edge of the bed, and she thinks I don’t see it, but I do. She is in the web, and I feel every tingle.

“Who lives here?” she asks. Her voice is like a squeak. She takes off her sunglasses, which are small and round. I leave mine, which are large and red. She looks around with big inquisitive eyes. Young eyes. Unspoiled.

“I do.”

She nods toward a poster on the door. “You like Madonna? Most guys don’t have posters of her unless they’re gay.”

I smile. I peek at her for just a moment over the red rims. She’s so sweet. “Do you think I’m gay?”

She giggles. “No.”

I walk to a cardboard box full of vinyl on top of the speaker next to the door. I selected this place for the excellent sound system, but the previous owner’s taste in music was for shit. I think he was gay, actually. Luckily this neighborhood is full of great spots for picking up cheap vinyl, and you can find gems if you’re patient. It’s good to be back in the city.

I find what I’m looking for, and on the way to the turntable I take a moment to lock the deadbolt. She’s leaning back on the bed, and her feet are spread a little. She’s trying to look cool and relaxed, but her knees are locked together.

“What’s your name?” she asks.
            “My name is Francis. Sometimes people call me Frank. Are you cold?”

“Huh?”

“You still have your coat on.”

“Oh.” She smiles nervously and takes the jacket off. Those dimples drive me crazy. Her slender arm is adorned with a black silver-studded bracelets. The studs are in the shape of five-pointed stars. I like the look of it very much.

Her name is Ellen, so I pick cut three on side two. When the chorus hits, she smiles again. Anything for dimples.

“Elenore, gee, I think you’re swell, and you really do me well, you’re my pride and joy et cetera…”

“What’s this music?”

I give her a cigarette and twist the knob on the shade to shut the blinds, despite how much I love the way the light catches the smoke and casts slants on her face. Like a noir film. Her hair is dirty blond but she’s dyed black streaks into it.

“You’ve never heard The Turtles?”

“No.”

“I saw them tour with Zappa in the early seventies. Now there was a supergroup.”

She looks slightly confused. “You don’t look that old.”

“I’m not, really. I’ve been… away for a while. How old are you?”

“Mmm… seventeen.” She’s lying. I’d place her at about fifteen.

I flip the record over and play Happy Together, and she doesn’t recognize that either. Amazing. The song I actually want is two cuts in, but I need some time before that.

“So where did you go?”

I ignore the question. “Want to hear a story?”

“Sure.”

I sit on the bed next to her and collect my thoughts for a bit. “Do you know what a Muse is?”
            “Yeah, we just covered that in English. They’re greek goddesses, right?”

“That’s right. There were nine Muses and it is said that they inspired all mortal poetry and art. There were muses for dancing, for epic poetry, for comedy, like that.”

She stares up at me with big brown eyes, completely absorbed in my words. Soon.

“One of the Muses, Melpomene, was sleeping one day beneath a tree by a pond, and a shepherd came upon her and was stunned by her beauty. As he gazed on her beauty he was overcome by an incredible lust and his loins became swollen with a passion that only a goddess can inspire.

“The shepherd was so moved that he removed his loins and lifted her skirt and he entered her, and when Melpomene awoke to find a mortal boy forcing his manhood into her quite against her wishes she naturally became filled with a terrible wrath.

“Melpomene’s first reaction was to tear the boy’s manhood off with her fingers. And so the boy lay, bleeding from a gash between his legs and trembling before.

“And the boy said, ‘Forgive my offense, Lady, but your beauty was such that I could not resist any more than I could resist breathing or cease the beating of my heart by mere will, so great did you inspire me. I beg for your forgiveness.’

“And Melpomene answered, ‘I would have you know what it is to be taken against your will. From this day forth your existence shall be devoted to the inspiration of others, until the end of time.’

“And then with a crack of lightning the boy was transformed into a beautiful girl, nearly as beautiful as Melpomene herself.

“Nearly as beautiful as you,” I add with a wink. She smiles and blushes. God, I love to see those dimples.

“And the girl who had been a boy cried out, ‘But Lady, how long until the end of time? Is there no freedom from your curse? Is there no way to be with my true love?’ See, the shepherd was in love with a beautiful farmer’s daughter and had been working up the courage and the capital to ask for her hand in marriage, and he wouldn’t get her as a girl.

“So Melpomene answered, ‘You shall walk the earth accursed until you find true love. Then and only then will the curse be lifted.’”

I take a moment to lean back and bask in the riffs of Outside Chance. The Reaper will begin in a moment.

“So?”

I open my eyes and look at her. She’s leaning forward in anticipation.

“What happened? Did the shepherd find true love?”

I sit up. “Yes he did. But it took a long time. Over twenty years, and the girl that he loved had already married and had many children.” I realize there is a distant melancholy to my voice and correct this before she picks up on it.

“Why did it take so long if the shepherd boy/girl was so beautiful and so… inspiring?”

“Well, the male gender is a funny thing. You see, the changeling had become a kind of nymphy. She would appear to a man exactly as he wanted and would fulfill his every desired, with no will to resist or deny him. Very often what we want the most, and therefore what we love, is the unattainable. What we cannot have. You know?”

She nods. I don’t think she really understands. She will.

“What the changeling didn’t expect is that the boy who professed his love for her became the new changeling, and the curse worked for him in exactly the same way. They say that there is still a changeling roaming the earth today, out there somewhere, roaming the streets, giving men what they desire and searching for true love to pass the curse on and be free.”

She giggles at this, thinking it a campfire ending. The Reaper begins and I take the glasses off.

“Movin' on slowly, sittin' forlornly. Looks through her window, clouds hide the sun. She thinks of her love, gone like the wild ones. She knows he'll never return…”

I speak with my back to her.

“You see, Melpomene was the Muse of Tragedy. Do you know why there is tragedy? It’s very important. A necessary function of the world, you might say. Tragedy gives joy definition, just as dark gives definition to light. Without rainy days, would you appreciate the sun?

“For example, think of the joy felt by the shepherd boy when his own curse was lifted, and his life started anew? How wonderful must every day have been, not to be tossed about by the whims of men, not to be plagued by the relentless, sickening need at the core of every true changeling. Picture his first night with a woman after he became a man again. It must have been the very best sex of his life. Of any life, ever? Can you imagine how good it felt to be with a man after decades of being a woman?”

I pull the drawer and take out the razor. I turn to face her as I continue. I put out the main light and turn on the red light. I close my eyes.

“Grim Rreaper of love! Grim Reaper of love!

Killing the living and living to kill!

Grim reaper of love thrives on pain. people, beware…”

“This is not generally known, but the cult of Melpomene would gather, every month in a secret place along the river Acheloos, and sacrifice a virgin to Melpomene. But first they would torture her. Part of the ritual required her to lose her virginity.

“Can you imagine how it feels to go through that and then to wake up in Elysium? Golden fields and shady groves, where it is always spring, and the sun shines warm and the stars twinkle without clouds every night. To enter there without sin. To be free of the pain of being alive before it really begins. To be free of the tugs and constraints of the body, just as the body is beginning to waken. To be spared the pain of being a woman. Can you picture that?”

I open my eyes. She is very still, and I can see in her big brown eyes that she knows what comes next. No more dimples.

I put the glasses back on. I move toward her.

“I can.”

“Grim Rreaper of love! Grim Reaper of love!

Killing the living and living to kill!

Grim reaper of love thrives on pain. people, beware…”

TO BE CONTINUED…