Even the most amateur scientist knew that it doesn't pay to get too attached to your lab rats.
Samantha would keep her distance from now on. The beings held captive in her globelike experimental chambers weren't sources of amusement nor pets, but resources. Soon enough she would have practical need of them. Her experiments with the woman taken locally - no one would miss her - proved a success, and she began producing her mark-two symbiobracelets. That first woman to wear a symbiobracelet she reserved for experimentation, but the following girls she kidnapped and fitted with bracelets would be, for the most part, just resources. She would call them that. She had Experiment-1 and Experiment-2, and the rest were simply numbered Resources. She didn't even particularly care to know their names anymore.
For the moment there was no need to abduct large-busted girls in particular. They were more likely to be missed, and Samantha had more than enough breast-resources to go around. For she saw no reason to hang onto her original batch of girls, those with button-implants. Those implants were cumbersome now by comparison. So over the course of a few weeks she abducted girls whose endowments weren't particulary outstanding, and one by one - or rather, two by two - she transferred the breasts of the original girls to the new ones. When any of the button-girls had no more to give, Samantha disposed of them by the Jeannie procedure. Resources-1 and -2, the former "Laura" and "Sharon", were the last to be dissolved. Samantha remained totally detached about that. She had murdered her own sister... and these beings were only Resources to be used up and thrown away. Eventually all of her girls were wearing symbiobracelets.
Jeannie was right. She'd put off her own improvement for too long already. The fear was completely irrational. She could now restore her old breasts - by which she really meant Lizzie's - with complete intellectual assurance that she would not be affected mentally at all. But actually to do it was something else again. Her identity had suffered too much already. For the same reason, she avoided using the exchanger to make herself even more intelligent. What effect might hyper-intelligence have on her mind? She might go totally insane... or something she'd now call insanity, there being no common standard between such super-genius and the rest of humanity. Or even if the effect wasn't that pronounced, she was almost certain to become to some degree something she didn't now approve of. Samantha was screwed up enough already. Jeannie had seen right through her in spite of everything.
For now she only thought about the money. That was a constant throughout all her personalities, whether it be the method of escape for the school nerd, or a marriable source of security and pleasure for a college dropout bimbo... or the simple means of assuring her independence so that she could pursue whatever she decided she wanted. Actually, Samantha knew what she wanted. She hated Jeannie, and partly herself, for knowing it, but she knew. Well, for now the money was a higher concern.
Samantha had removed her own implant. It was a pretty primitive thing compared to the symbiobracelets she'd invented, primarily metal with just enough unused vestiges of organic technology to tease her, not to permit productive study... or rather, duplicating such organic technology was out of the question; the study of those vestiges might yet, after a few years, prove to have one very practical result. It was possible that the aliens had deliberately utilized more primitive technology, lest it be discovered... but that begged the whole question of why they'd left the implants in them at all. Samantha didn't like the idea that she'd been tagged like some rare fish. For the most part, though, she just figured the aliens to be jerks. She'd spent even her so-called intelligent teen years without the foggiest interest in how a car or V.C.R. worked, and judging by the leering interest the aliens had taken in her, it was more than possible they were in a similar position. Samantha donned a symbiobracelet of her own and grew her breasts back to their post-alien size, confirming in unnecessary detail that she wasn't affected mentally. She felt a little more complete with these babies back. It was a humbling admission that they were all she'd ever really wanted.
That wasn't exactly true. Samantha had already deduced that her restored measurements of choice weren't going to solve all her problems. She still had her attitude to contend with. She would never be happy in the world she missed, the world of cheerleaders and jocks and makeup and tight fashions and half-naked parties on private-beaches. She was so far above all that now. She might long to be back in the world of all those things, but barring a dumbing down - which she was NOT going to do - she was who she was, a girl who lived a pretty spartan existence here in and under her shop on the outskirts of town, who went out to buy food or kidnap Resources and that was all. Well, there was no use brooding about it yet. She was going to need money before she could live any other way. Right now she was still cruising on the last of the money from the sale of Lizzie. She had taxes to pay and food to buy, but she had her own generators for power, generators more advanced than anything the power company had. She found she didn't need them as much as she'd expected. The breast-exchanger powered itself and then some. The exchange itself actually seemed to give off more than enough energy to power the transference. Samantha didn't think too much about it. It was undoubtedly an interesting entropic effect, and one without which the Lizzie of high ordinary intelligence could never have reversed the process, but Samantha had far more interesting things to think about. The scientific side of her new business was perfected. Now she had to turn her brain to the marketing side.
Discretion was obviously called for. She'd have to operate on word-of-mouth. She could charge quite a lot for a single operation of her exhanger, so she had plenty of time to build up her clientele gradually. She redesigned the ground floor of her shop as an office and moved her few personal belongings upstairs. She was going to want all new clothes as soon as she could afford them. But first she had to get the business up and running.
She snuck back home when her parents were out and took the rest of Jeannie's clothes. Only once before had she dressed in such trashy things, and then she'd had the airhead intelligence of Lizzie. It had been embarrassing enough even then. But Samantha needed a way to get started. So she donned the whole ensemble - skull earrings, ankh necklace, and tight leather - and began hanging out in a bar upstate in which, according to rumor, the playboy son of a wealthy family liked to pick up trashy girls. She chose her family carefully. It wasn't long before he was taking her home to the family estate. It was embarrassing to play the role of an airheaded bimbo, but she focused herself upon the challenge and the practical necessity. Sexual intercourse, after so long an abstinence, was satisfying but underwhelming, not the grand release she'd dreamed about. As usual, she reminded herself that she had more pressing, more pragmatic, concerns. By morning she had the run of his mansion along with several other girls. Mostly they hung out around the pool in bikinis showing off and enjoying the luxury. Samantha struck up a friendship with a flat-chested daughter of the family and gradually let out that she was more intelligent than she seemed to be. It took a full three weeks before she convinced the daughter to give her process a try, but finally she brought her back, sat her in a chair, and fitted her with a symbiobracelet in the dark room. "What're all those hanging globes along the walls?" she wondered, stripping to the waist as instructed.
"Power-receptacles," Samantha replied.
"I'm not sure about this. Is it going to hurt?"
"The symbiobracelet will sting a bit for a moment as it connects up. The actual process will be painless."
The girl gasped with surprise as the needles of the symbiobracelet dug into her wrist, but the pain only lasted a moment, and then she squealed with delight as her breasts began to blossom out. "How much?" she gasped.
"That is entirely your choice," Samantha responded. "But choose responsibly. They'll be yours for the rest of your life."
The rich girl was too infatuated with her blossoming boobs to take her advice. Samantha repeated it when her chest had reached about 40 inches, and finally she got through. The girl began feeling herself up immediately. Samantha's pay-scale was based upon the amount of augmentation desired. Her first client gave her nine thousand dollars in cash. Samantha insisted upon cash. Her client considered it a bargain. "Tell all your friends about my... services," Samantha told her as she dressed and removed the symbiobracelet. "Discreetly, of course."
"Oh, of course." She paused. "What other services do you offer?"
Samantha avoided the question for the moment, handing her about thirty copies of a brochure that mentioned only breast augmentation and reduction, including a paragraph carefully formulated to sound like a patronizing layman's summary of growth and metabolism and her own supposed breakthrough in R.N.A. manipulation. Any scientist who might, by chance, read it would form a vague impression of how her process was supposed to work... an impression that had not an ounce of truth in it. Included were before-and-after shots of a topless Samantha herself with the words "I'm also a client" impishly written below. Tomorrow, she'd get some brochures printed in color... right after she did some shopping.
She'd hung on to all of her old outfits, fully intending to have her boobs back again someday, but she wanted a lot of new things anyway. After private doctors finished examining her first client, Samantha's reputation began to grow among the rich quickly but discreetly. Each operation of course ungrew the breasts of one of her Resources, but Samantha quickly found that she didn't need to abduct new girls anywhere near as often as she'd anticipated. Almost as many clients came to her for breast reductions as breast enhancements. Breast reductions were free, as a way of encouraging clients to come in to resupply her Resources. She told everyone that she wanted, for advertising purposes, one free service.
Samantha still didn't have much of a life. Big boobs alone were insufficient to get her back into the sort of circles she craved. The stupidity of most people positively bored her. But for the moment she was nicely infatuated with all of her new clients. They came to her to the tune of about four or five a day after the first month. At first most of her business was breast enhancement and reduction, but as satisfaction with her services began to spread, clients started taking her up on some of the other services she offered. The first such incident, about a month and a half after her first satisfied customer had left, occurred when a very wealthy ivy-league college kid brought in his girlfriend for a boob job. She was nobody in particular - just a cocktail waitress he'd fallen for - and as she sat down to undergo the procedure, he stood beside Samantha at the controls. "I'm rather surprised you would waste such money on a toy," she began. "Surely you can attract girls with bigger endowments."
"Call me sentimental," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I've kinda fallen in love. You play with dolls when you were young?"
"Never," Samantha replied coldly.
"Well, you know how you get attached to your favorite doll, but then it gets cracked or something, and you could go out and buy a new one... but you'd really rather have that one fixed? It's like that. I want her fixed, that's all."
"That's a service I don't offer," Samantha replied emotionlessly.
"Oh, that's not what I -... Oh, you were joking. God, who can tell with you?" Samantha only stared back expressionlessly. "Um, anyway, well, I like her, that's all. No, a little bigger than that, still."
"That will cost more."
"Dad's loaded. Keep going. I'll say when."
"Brad, for God sake!" the girl gasped. "Aren't these big enough?"
Samantha stopped for the moment. "I think you ought to settle this between you."
"Heather, can't you EVER just cooperate?" he sighed. In a lower voice he added, "I hate it when she gets like this. If she's not bitching about the kinky stuff, she's asking for stock tips or shit knows what."
"It sounds as if little Heather isn't as smitten with you as you are with her," Samantha mocked.
"You're not telling me anything," he admitted, still whispering, as she examined her new breasts in detail. "She cares for me, really. She's just a little too smart for her own good sometimes."
"So you're saying, if she were a little less intelligent, she'd be perfect?"
Brad laughed. "Well, she'd be a lot easier to live with."
"Well," Samantha began casually, "that's not something I can do anything about. At least, not for anywhere near the six thousand you owe so far."
He looked at her. "You mean...?" Samantha replied by writing a figure on a sheet of paper... a figure with five zeroes.
"Hey, what're you two whispering about?" Heather demanded. "Are we done here? This bracelet's tight, and it gives me the creeps."
Brad nodded to Samantha, and she began turning the dials. Heather's inquisitiveness died down and she became more fascinated with her boobs. "Not too stupid..." Brad insisted. "Only..."
"Your girlfriend was a little brighter than she let on," Samantha whispered. "I think you'll find she's now somewhat closer to what she pretended to be, just a tad below average. Give her a test-drive. You can always return for fine tuning, though it will cost extra. Shall we finish the breasts while we're here, for an extra thousand?"
"Won't she... know she just didn't want to?"
Samantha pointed. Heather only giggled as her breasts grew a little more. Brad smiled. Heather came bouncing over without even doing her top back up and thrust Brad's hands onto her boobs to see if he approved. Samantha removed the bracelet, and Heather giggled when she saw that it didn't even leave scars. "Go wait over there," Brad told her, and she headed off without an argument. From his expression, he was obviously thinking that he could get used to that. He counted out the money from his briefcase. "Can you... go the other way?" he wondered.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, I have a friend who's failing out of Harvard, and he'll be cut off if he doesn't graduate."
"Tell your friend," Samantha replied, "that the starting price is one hundred thousand. After that it depends on how much his intelligence need boosting."
"He just wants to pass. I don't think he wants to be too smart."
"A wise precaution," Samantha replied, showing the couple out. "Genius isn't all it's cracked up to be."
So now Samantha charged for dumbings-down and intelligence boosts as well as breast jobs. The dumbings-down were almost always the girlfriends or boyfriends of the rich. Sometimes they just brought their playthings in to have their intelligence tested on some pretext, to see whether they were being made fools of. The standard excuse Samantha began suggesting was to say that they needed a checkup from the family's eccentric private doctor. Most of the intelligence boosts were either college age kids who wanted to be a little brighter, or parents who brought their slow children in, either from genuine concern or because they were an embarrassment. The intelligence changes about equalized out in the long run as well, and Samantha rarely had to abduct new girls anymore.
After the better part of a year, it all began to get a little routine. Samantha was now very rich but getting bored. Her clinic was quite respectable and well-known in private circles, and so far the government hadn't been any problem... most likely her clients saw to that behind the scenes. Once in awhile there'd be an interesting case, like the rich girl who'd taken a pizza delivery guy hostage in her room as a sexual plaything, forcing her family to come to Samantha to dumb him down so that he wouldn't press charges, but most of the cases were all too mundane to Samantha now. There were no challenges in this business anymore... at least not after she got done working out how to pay her taxes without arousing too much suspicion. So eventually she began mulling over how to deal with her boredom and take her mind off the growing realization that she would never be what she really wanted to be... not without making herself an idiot again and losing all security. Samantha was far too sensible to remake herself into the only form she'd ever really been happy in. It was a depressing realization. Best to fight it with new experiments. Her genetic engineering project was slow work, and the virus she needed so far eluded her. She put it aside for easier, more playful experimentation, taking out long-unused Experiment-1 and testing the limits of breast expansion. There apparently were no limits... at least none that could be reached while the subject remained inside her experimental chamber. She grew Experiment-1's breasts until they were positively bursting against the globe's walls and the subject herself was on the verge of suffocation. When Experiment-1 lost consciousness, she reversed the process.
Well, that'd been fun and all... especially Experiment-1's reaction. But no freakshow was going to pay for the millions-of-dollars-worth of breast-resources it exhausted. She thought briefly of marketing videotapes - those reality shows proved that people would watch anything - but she decided that in this age when the whole videotape could easily be faked, even done better, with CGI and morphing technology, such an enterprise would be beneath her. It would be like asking Doctor Frankenstein to play P.T. Barnum. Not that she thought of herself as a mad scientist. She was only trying to keep boredom at bay.
She began trying to crack the codes of the spot receptors. She regarded Experiments-2 and -3 as slightly more expendable than -1, being less entertaining, and performed various experimental exchanges. Sometimes they ended up looking like freaks. For the most part everything was reversible, and she didn't gain a lot of insight into the codes of the spot-receptors, except that she could tighten and loosen vaginas. There might be a few bucks in that service in a pinch. Finally, her experimentation via the exchanger caused irreversible brain damage and she had to "Jeannie" them both. She abducted a new Experiment-2 and took to mental calculation to work out the codes. Finally she worked out - in theory, anyway - a pregnancy exchange effect, which was to say she could ungrow fetus-development by accelerating fetus-development in another. To test her theory, she required one very pregnant girl and once recently impregnated girl. The latter was no problem. She simply impregnanted Experiment-1 while asleep. The spermatazoa was easily come by; when a rich jock came to her requesting a smartening, she dumbed him down to neanderthal levels briefly, took off her top, and gave him a blowjob followed by a tit-fuck. She froze the semen for future use, requiring only a single spermatazoa for the impregnation. She smartened him up again, and he had no recollection of his near-brainless moments. Not that he would have objected, Samantha supposed.
Samantha located a very pregnant girl and tricked her into thinking she was in labor, agreeing to help her to the hospital... but of course she ended up waking up in one of Samantha's globes. Samantha successfully transferred the pregnancy to Experiment-1, much to the subject's horror. But of course that sort of usage risked tainting further experimentation, so she downgraded Experiment-1 to a Resource. The formerly-pregnant girl would not be missed and would make an excellent replacement Experiment-1.
Samantha now had new services to offer. She could painlessly and instantly unconceive children, and she priced that service at a mere five hundred dollars. It was in actuality a money-maker, for unconceiving children required making one of her girls pregnant. Normally those who came to her were in their early weeks, so her subject ended up not terribly pregnant. Samantha created a new class of subject, that of Breeder. She kept two or three girls in some stage of pregnancy at all times and reserved them for that purpose. Undoing an early pregnancy would push them along a little. The children, ultimately born in darkness, were worth quite a lot to couples anxious to avoid the bureaucracy of the adoption process.
Undoing a late pregnancy would blossom up a subject's abdomen to near-delivery. There wasn't always a Breeder available with enough time to go, so Samantha required twenty-four hours notice to undo a late pregnancy and then inseminated one of her Resources. It was in so doing that she made her first major mistake. Resource-36, her former Experiment-1, had been used for two dumbings-down in a row and was consequently on a level of genius perhaps in excess of Samantha's own. Samantha then used her to undo a late pregnancy, put her to sleep as usual, and opened the globe to retrieve the child. As Resource-36 sprang to her feet and aimed a blow at Samantha's head, she only had time to think, "Oh, sh-"
Samantha woke up to find the globe still on the floor opened along its seams... and the door to the room wide open. "Damn!" she spat. "Resource-36 escaped! Now I have to move the whole operation! And how much time do I have? How long have I been out?" She ran over to her control panel... but what was this, laying on the floor?
It was a symbiobracelet. Samantha's first thought was that Resource-36 had somehow succeeded in removing it before escaping, rightly figuring that Samantha had precautions in case a subject made it through the door. But the symbiobracelet had retracted to its absolute minimum size, about an inch in diameter. It was a theoretical minimum only... for who had wrists that small? She examined it more closely. The penetrating needles were all fully extended as well, almost touching in the center, looking like the spokes of a wheel. But... "Dear god!" she gasped. "Is it possible...?" She checked the records of her exchanger. Resource-36 had powered up her brain to levels far in excess of Samantha's, cracked the codes of the receptors and... She looked up to the girl under display. Resource-12 was a girl of eighteen, but she looked almost fifty! Samantha looked back down to the symbiobracelet and realized what Resource-36 had done to herself in trying to make herself younger. With a microscope, she located the egg cell on the floor. The sperm was already long gone. Samantha picked up the symbiobracelet and swept the floor.
Resource-36 had cracked the age-exchanger codes, one of Samantha's holy grails... and Samantha had the records in her exchanger. Samantha decided for now not to market that one. She could foresee demand for it getting out of control and causing trouble. But it would come in handy for her own use in a few years. Samantha would be eighteen to twenty-four forever. And if her Resources were longing only for death, they too would have a long, long wait... or at least her favorites.
Samantha felt as if she'd had cold water dumped on her. She'd nearly lost everything... and would have to be far more careful in the future. But she had a challenge again. Somehow Resource-36 had overcome the sleep-inducer of the symbiobracelet with sheer intelligence alone. It took Samantha a full week of turning over the problem in her mind before she put it together, always thinking as she was of technical solutions, something done to the bracelet. But Resource-36 must have hypnotized herself, overcoming the bracelet as a matter of will.
It was when she put that together that Samantha realized the doorway to her happiness was open at last.
Samantha knew that she was the most intelligent living being on the planet, that she had in theory mental talents far in excess of those that had been developed even by yogis and such. She'd never really explored the ramifications, and indeed even now she mostly didn't want to. But there were some mental disciplines she would attempt. Samantha gradually honed the talent of "compartmentalizing" her mind. She could for brief periods - a few minutes at first - not merely play dumb but partially be dumb, without sacrificing the resource of her intelligence. Her early testing methods were rather primitive. She sat watching "The Dukes of Hazzard" and actually enjoying it, but when at irregular intervals one of several taped messages suddenly popped up on her loudspeaker, asking her some tough physics question, she would close her eyes for a moment, concentrate, and find the answer. Within about thirty seconds she was back to enjoying the Dukes. She could watch old movies dripping with sentimentality and actually be reduced to tears instead of analyzing and sneering at them, but on a dime she could recite the periodic table if the question arose. Next she concentrated on extending the length of time she could go like that. Her intelligence was always there, but she could shove it aside until it was needed. Samantha learned to be no longer the slave to her mind. One day she spent the entire afternoon watching taped "Baywatch" episodes... and she decided that she was ready.
She donned a nice tight sweater and her shortest skirt and spent a long time getting her makeup and hair just perfect, and then she returned to the old restaurant near the college, where she'd been a waitress. Most of the old gang were gone, but a few remembered her. Before long she was back in their circles. When the next semester rolled around, she enrolled in the college again, taking all the popular courses - she wasn't there to learn - and eventually getting back on the cheerleading squad. She never told her friends exactly what she did for a living, but she did bring friends back to her second-floor living area, insisting that the "Samantha" on the sign outside was her very dull, very dedicated mother. Her actual bedroom was much more cozy and human now, complete with stuffed animals on her bed and wallpaper with hearts and smiley faces. Sex was exquisite now, and her friends joked that she was insatiable. It was half-true. Alone or with her customers, with her intellect and will in full bloom, she was the omni-composed, self-restrained girl who appeared to have no life - and no interest in any - beyond her work. As an act of pure will she allowed herself ordinary human pleasures, but in the final analysis she was still the woman down in the lab who allowed the relinquishments.
On Tuesday she might relaxing on the beach with a bunch of college friends, showing off her bikini to the jocks. On Wednesday she might be back in her lab doing mental calculations to work out more possible effects of the spot-receptors. On Thursday she might leave the captain of the football team asleep in her bed to sneak downstairs to make her 9:00 appointment to enhance some rich girl's boobs or dumb down her boyfriend or undo her pregnancy. Samantha was eventually undoing pregnancies of her own.
She always seemed to be finding new uses for her exchanger. One rich bitch who'd heard about her clinic from a friend had just gotten pregnant. Her husband wanted kids and she had nothing against the idea - the nanny would raise them - but it did seem like a hell of a lot of work and inconvenience. She wondered if there were any way to hurry the process along. So Samantha's newest service - she charged plenty for it - was to speed along a pregnancy. A woman could come in hours after finding out she was pregnant and go out straight to the hospital. The service was a tricky one, for it required having subjects who were always very pregnant, or three who were in their second trimester, and so on. Samantha upped her number of Breeders to accomodate the service. Breeder-7 actually remained pregnant for three years - large for the majority of that time - before finally delivering; such was the luck of the draw.
By her senior year, Samantha was of course captain of the football cheerleading team, the one who called the shots in her circle of friends, and the favorite lay of every jock at the school. One day she and her friends were giggling in the locker-room showers and even washing each others' backs with the typical I'm-not-bi-but-isn't-this-silly attitude that Samantha found so much fun in her bimbo moods. The soap started flying and Samantha ran out in between the lockers to chase it down. The noise of the showers was drowning out someone else in here: a girl and a guy who sounded like they were really enjoying themselves. Of course none of the cheerleaders minded guys in here - they often brought them back - but Samantha's curiosity got the better of her and she peeked around the next bank of lockers to see a girl in a cheerleader uniform - minus her panties - straddling a jock on the bench that ran between the lockers. Samantha didn't think the basketball cheerleader uniforms anywhere near as nice as the football ones - not since an anonymous donor had given money to the college on the condition that the football ones be redesigned, anyway - and of course Vicky had every right to be in here, but Sammie felt irrationally territorial in spite of all that. She couldn't, of course, be on more than one cheerleading squad, because of conflicts, and there were times when her rivalry with Vicky wasn't quite so innocent. Samantha usually played fair... but she lost her cool when she noticed the face of the guy under Vicky. She burst out around the lockers, claws out and still naked, flying at her rival and tackling her off her prey. "What the fuck d'you think you're doing?" Samantha shrieked. Matt, the football captain, only sat up and enjoyed the catfight. Within moments Samantha's squad were running to her defense and forcing the illicit lovers out.
Ginny wrapped a towel around their fearless leader. "We showed'er, huh, Sammie? She won't go fucking him again in a hurry."
"Not if he wants any of us again," Dawn added. "We gotta be firm in that, right, guys?"
"Can't blame'im," Nicole admitted. "What guy could resist boobs like that? They're even bigger than Sammie's!" And they all giggled... all but Samantha. "Aw, lighten up, chief. Matt's loyal to us. He was just samplin' something fine."
"We're doin' the basketball team big time, gang," Sammie ordered. "That'll put Vicky in her place." That'n more, Sammie thought.
Vicky woke up the following morning and danced out into the dorm hall immediately, off to the girls' room. She always slept in the nude and all the girls were used to seeing her parade down the hall for her morning shower. Only today they were staring at her. Vicky's face made clear that she was clueless about that. She tried to figure out everyone's expressions while rubbing her wrist, barely realizing that she was doing the latter. She started lathering up, and then a piercing scream came from the dorm showers. No one understood it exactly, but all the girls consoled her that her tits were still pretty big; they just weren't the pride of the school anymore. Even the football cheeleaders, even Sammie, positively gushed with sympathy. Vicky and Sammie became decent friends and even did a couple guys together once. Vicky wasn't really so bad, Samantha reflected; she just needed to know her place. But she did watch her videotapes of that dance down the hall and that moment of realization in the shower from time to time.
Samantha mentally patted herself on the back. The bimbo and the geek, as they might call each other had they dwelt in less than perfect symbiosis, made a fantastic team.
She spent four years at the college before finally forced to graduate. Most of her original friends had moved on and she was simply too big a fish in that pond. It was no fun always being the captain, always being the number one girl in the clique... usually it was enough just being one of the gang, as long as eyes were on her and none of the other girls were prima donas. So she moved on to another college and started over with new friends, new jocks, a new cheerleading squad. She brought her age back down to eighteen as well. About eight years after opening her shop, she was getting bored again with the same old type of crowd. She wasn't mentally outgrowing them - that was never a problem now - just getting bored with the same old thing. She decided to move her whole operation to California, just for a change of scene. But since she was putting this town behind her forever, she might as well have some fun before she left.
She returned to her house for the first time since Jeannie's death, wearing her shortest skirt and her tightest t-shirt. Her parents double-took when they answered the door. They'd known she was around town all these years but had lost track of her. "Samantha!" her mother gasped. "Is it really you? It can't be!"
"I take care'a myself, Mom. You'd never know I was twenty-seven, wouldja?" Samantha had her intelligence on the back-burner for them. "Can I come in? You'n Dad still together?"
"Yes," she said coldly, as if to hint that she had no idea why. Samantha caught up on old times, hinting that she was leaving town and probably wouldn't see them again. When they weren't looking, she drugged their drinks. Her mother woke up much later in a vacant shop she'd driven by a few times with the words "Samantha's All-Purpose Clinic. By Arrangement Only" still on the window. She'd never made the connection. She heard a voice to her right. A familiar voice.
"Baby! Where've you been all my life!"
"Where the fuck do you think I've been?" she spat, turning. But her husband's voice was coming out of a kid who couldn't be more than eighteen, a kid stunned by her own voice. And then she noticed her breasts - firmer than they'd been in years and she could swear bigger! She ran to the window to examine her reflection... and a girl of eighteen stared back. Samantha was watching in hiding from across the street when her parents came out, stunned.
Samantha rented a nice long tractor-trailer and drove her whole operation to California, where she set herself up in a similar shop, giving due notice to all her customers of the move. They were all rich enough so that her state made no difference. Samantha was through experimenting with new effects. She downgraded her remaining Experiments to Resources or Breeders and just offered her usual services on Mondays, Tuesday, and Wednesdays. The rest of the week she lounged on the beaches in nice tiny bikinis, finally falling in with the surfers and beach girls. When that got boring, she moved to Michigan and fell in with the sort of rough set Jeannie'd always liked. There was always something new to like or do, and she could condition her mind to go for anything, as long as she was surrounded by cool friends and was the center of attention. Whether she was a coed, beach bunny, biker babe, showgirl, stewardess, or fashion model, she always fit in precisely with the in-crowd and had a blast. Her more sensible self, back in the lab, always remembered her public activities with a little embarrassment... but there was no arguing with happiness. She took false names for the more high-profile stuff. She was even a professional cheerleader for awhile. She always kept her age between late teens and mid-twenties, depending on what seemed more appropriate for her lifestyle of the year. Finally, about fifteen years after opening her shop, she was a highlighted stripper at a fashionable club in Philadelphia, under a false name of course. Her specialty - an optical illusion, she insisted - was growing and shrinking her breasts during her act. By the end, she was always wearing only a symbiobracelet, specially designed to look fashionable for her act and fitted with remote controls back to her lab to do the breast growth. She had her exchanges down to a science by now, and if she got careless during the act she could within a heartbeat come to herself. For a moment or so on stage, she'd look like a cold fish, embarrassed or sneering at the audience as she adjusted her bracelet, and then she'd be the giggling stripper again. Everyone thought it part of the act.
In those later years she had only two close calls. The first came during her upscale sorority period, when a vicious bitch of an investigator from some government agency began prying into her operation. Her superiors told her to lay off but she ignored them and kept snooping, eventually quitting her job with threats about going to the press. Word of her prying leaked to Samantha through her network of powerful friends, and one day the investigator awoke to find herself in an experimental chamber. Minus ten years and half her intelligence, and with much bigger boobs, Samantha released her back onto the streets. She lost all interest in her story and eventually ended up as a high-price call-girl.
The second close call came during her stripper period, when someone in the audience infatuated with her act secretly filmed it and found out that the breast-size-changes weren't an optical illusion or hypnosis. He was a regular at the club but a bit too curious for his own good. Samantha returned him to his long-suffering wife without his tapes and half his intelligence... but with a bigger dick. She'd worked out that effect, but since no one came for penis reductions it wasn't a practical service to offer. She'd had one guy prisoner in a globe for about six months, since he'd made the mistake of trying to rape her in an alley. She'd had a feeling he'd come in handy someday, so after reducing his dick in exchange, she Jeannie'd him.
One day after her act, she allowed herself a few too many moments of lucid thought in the strip club dressing room and the realization snuck through, for the first time since that night Lizzie had jumped her, "My god... I've become my mother." It was true that she hadn't heard from either of her parents since restoring their youth and had no idea where either of them had gone, separately or together. But as she sat there realizing how much she liked showing off her body for men, how stripping was in some sense the ultimate end she'd been after for all these years since hearing Jeannie fucking and envying Lizzie, she felt genuinely dirty for the first time. She loved stripping and it disgusted her. She longed to experiment and make new scientific discoveries and yet it seemed like such a fucking geeky thing to do. "Shit, I'm losing it," she realized. "I'm becoming a fucking multiple personality. Gotta nip this thing in the bud. Gotta pull it together somehow..." She needed a life in the middle somewhere. She'd gone too far in becoming a stripper. She quit her job on the spot and began mulling over what sort of new life to plan for herself.
There was only one thing for it. She had to get the bimbo in check, for now at least. She still had control of "the bimbo" but feared that she might not for much longer. So she returned to her clinic and her experiments, shutting herself off from people - except clients. She could reactivate her social life on a moment's notice, but for now she opted to focus herself on her intellect. She moved her operation from Philadelphia onto a yacht that she sailed around the Atlantic. It was a sensible enough idea. She could keep in touch with her clientele by her own short-wave frequency and patients could arrive by helicopter or speedboat; they were rich enough. She spent six months getting the operation going flawlessly on her yacht and experimenting with new technologies. Everytime she'd gotten close to her cloning breakthrough she got bored with it and put it down again. She was very close in theory to being able to make full-grown mental and physical doubles of people - not via her exchanger - if only she could keep her mind on it. There was no denying that "the bimbo" had made her flighty. Samantha had made too many concessions to her social life. Once all was underway, she could have it again on her own terms. She docked her yacht in the Riviera and lounged about with the rich and famous on topless beaches. But she could always go back to her yacht and take off for the solitude of the Atlantic again, without a lot of bother about moving her whole operation and building a new shop.
One night she was lounging topless under the stars on her deck, thinking about heading to Naples to get herself seriously laid, when one of the stars disappeared. Samantha sat up as another vanished. "Oh shit!" she shrieked, running back inside and taking the yacht away at top speed. But she knew it was useless. She couldn't outrun a fucking U.F.O. no matter how fast her yacht was. Why the fuck hadn't she built better defenses into this thing? As it hovered above and bathed the yacht in blinding light, she fired off a couple missiles... but they only exploded harmlessly on the hull of the alien craft. Samantha was playing with the controls, attempting to fire all her missiles at once, when she blacked out.
She awoke in a room identical to the one she and Lizzie had woken up in so many years earlier, again hovering in mid-air and covered in the seran-wrap-like organic substance, with a loosely-hanging breathing tube covering her nose and mouth. Her body was bound tightly together and she was naked except for a symbiobracelet. "You fucks!" she thought. "Let me out of this! I know you can fucking hear me!" She looked across the room, where a bunch of the little aliens were giggling.
"Experiment-alpha is conscious," came the words in her mind as an alien language filled the air. "Locating her was not difficult, despite removal of implant."
"Begin recording," another one said to the air. "The purpose of this experiment is to see if our procedures have been sufficiently upgraded. Only 53% of abducted human females are currently usable and this figure has been deemed unacceptable. Subject is a known reject, so is perfect for study."
"Let me fucking go, you bastards," Samantha thought. "You'll regret this, damn it!" The aliens played with controls and her breasts began to shrink. She was the only one visibly bound up, so she wondered where her breasts were going. To a concealed girl? Into some sort of storage?
The aliens examined the controls and then started applauding wildly. "Subject is no longer a reject. Projections indicate that we will now be down to a 12% reject rate. Shall we place her with the others?"
"Negative. Subject is perfect for advanced experimentation. Release the aesthetic bindings." The organic wrapping dissolved away, leaving her hanging naked in midair as the breathing mask pulled away from her face and retracted into the ceiling. She tried to move about but couldn't; there was only air to push against. She reached for her symbiobracelet, but organic tentacles lashed out from the wall and bound her hands behind her. "Note subject's bracelets are a substantial improvement over implant technology. We shall adapt the devices for our purpose. Adaptation complete. We may now program her bracelet to service our experiments. Beginning first experiment."
Samantha's breasts grew back to their normal size, the size she liked, and then thankfully stopped. Despite her helplessness, she was intellectually curious what they had in mind. She only had to wait a moment. Discolorations appeared below her breasts. At first she thought they were some sort of disease... but they were too well-shaped, little round colored areas beginning to ripple up into... My god, they were nipples! In a moment, two more breasts were blossoming out below her natural - or unnatural - pair. She struggled to free her hands. "Stop it, you bastards, you're making me a freak!" she screamed.
"Subject's bracelets render experimentation much easier," the voice came. "Note the increase in mammary quantity will increase efficiency drastically, requiring even fewer abductions."
"Query:" came another voice, "how many mammaries can subject's body accomodate?"
"God, no!" Samantha shrieked. "Stop it!" But it was too late. Two more breasts began blossoming out near waist level, until she was brandishing six boobs all the size of her own... or Lizzie's. She thought it was over now at least... but another pair appeared, one under each of her armpits... and beneath them, another pair. She now had ten huge boobs. Her bound arms were forced backward as another four blossomed out of her back. "Please!" Samantha begged. "Stop it! Let me be normal at least!" Now at least it had to be over. But her face began to bubble and feel strange... She couldn't see what was happening. But boils were forming down her legs. God, they weren't boils at all, they were miniature...
The aliens pushed another button, and tentacles came swooping in from all sides. Only these had suction-like devices on the end. They attached themselves to the countless nipples all over her body and began to suck. Samantha writhed but could go nowhere. She could feel the milk coming out, all over, as the tentacle-ends kneaded her countless mammaries. God, they couldn't keep this up! Surely even hooked up to this metabolizer, there was only so much fluid in her. Most of her mass now had to be a fucking milk factory! The aliens only giggled, seemingly content to test the limits of her body and endurance. Only a sheer act of will kept Samantha from losing her mind as she took in the sight her body, now a mass of boobs, and as the tentacles kept kneading at and sucking on her flesh. She kept her sanity by focusing all her inhuman intelligence on one thought: there had to be a fucking way out of this!
She now had more nipples than the aliens had tentacles. There was one on her left butt-cheek going un-nursed. She had her opening. Samantha summoned all her mental power to push her terror aside and focus on the eroticism of this bizarre milking... until she could feel with her hand the nipple hardening. This wasn't going to be easy. She couldn't see what she was doing, and she had to keep the aliens from catching on. They were obviously enjoying the show. But with the available nipple she slowly touched the proper sequence of hidden buttons on her symbiobracelet. And suddenly it got slippery. Slime was oozing out of it, and she rubbed it onto the tentacles holding her hands, and onto any of the other sucking tentacles she could reach. Her captors looked up, baffled by what she was doing. But they'd noticed that her hands were free. "I'm probably gonna fucking regret this," she realized. "But I'd rather crash or explode than go through life like this, you bastards! I told you you'd be sorry!"
The tentacles grew limp and pulled away from her countless mammaries. The aliens at the controls couldn't get their equipment to function properly. The tentacles and control panel grew slimy, and when an alien touched the substance he screamed, "It burns! Don't touch it! Get away!" But it was spurting from all their appartus now. A dull green light above Samantha's head dimmed and she began to lose altitude. When it went out altogether, she crashed to the ground.
Two of the aliens had already keeled over. Another was rushing toward her, staggering. "What have you done?" he screamed.
"Just because I can't understand your organic technology doesn't mean I can't sabotage it," she smiled, trying to stand up but unable to get her balance with so many boobs. "I've long had a virus ready in case you came back. Looks like you based your organic tech a little too closely on yourselves, too. That's an unexpected bonus."
"Stop it!" he insisted. "Cure it! If you cure it, I'll repair the machine and normalize you!"
Samantha touched a few buttons on her symbiobracelet and released a second slimy substance onto his skin. He ignored his dying companions and ran to the controls to save his ship. Samantha wobbled over and spread the curing-slime onto the control panel. Slowly the instruments began to respond. The alien reached for the controls and her symbiobracelet lit up. Slowly her extra breasts dwindled down, leaving Samantha her normal self, with just two boobs in the right place and of that perfect, Lizzie-size. "I'll take you back to earth," the alien said, looking down at his dead crew.
Samantha grabbed his throat from behind. "That wasn't part of our deal, black-eyes," she smiled, squeezing. He fell over dead. She found her bikini bottom in a small receptacle and slipped it on. And then she began exploring.
The ship was huge, and apparently now deserted. At least, there were no aliens on it. For in an adjoining room she found all her globes transparent and hanging from the ceiling, and their inhabitants terrified. The little fuckers'd moved her whole operation up here, stealing not just her but all her subjects! Samantha played with the controls for a minute to dim the globes back down. She found the fact that they'd already transplanted all her subjects... decidedly convenient.
She found the ship's control room and a viewscreen revealed that she was in earth-orbit, apparently undetectable. She spent the next few hours figuring out all the ship's controls, until she could pilot it expertly. Then she began exploring. In another large chamber she found most of her notes and other equipment. They'd plundered everything of value from her yacht.
It really was no good learning to fly this thing if she couldn't make heads or tails of their technology. So after returning to her yacht to retrieve all her personal belongings, she flew to the far side of the moon and spent a few days deciphering their language, and then she studied all the ship's maintenance manuals. Their science would take a little longer. Her first priority was figuring out what fueled this baby. She headed down into the bowels of the ship into a large room with about five hundred canisters lined up in row after row, three-high. All were dark. Samantha discovered how to light them up... and countless human girls became visible, each nude and confined to a liquid-filled canister with a small tube covering her nose and mouth. The first thing Samantha noticed was that their breasts were in constant flux, transferring one to the other constantly, growing and shrinking, growing and shrinking, like countless pistons of some massive organic engine. Samantha remembered what they'd said about her and Lizzie being rejects. And then she remembered how the breast-exchange effect had powered itself, the exchange itself giving off not only enough energy to work the machine, but actually a little extra.
Samantha watched their breasts growing and shrinking for the better part of an hour. It was a very hypnotic effect. She reached under her skirt, into her panties, into that already-wet private place... The girls in the front noticed her watching and banged on the inside of the canisters, pleading for release. The new captain only waved back and then left the room, leaving the canisters transparent and their nude captives visible.
Samantha was going to really enjoy space travel.
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