The Changeling, Part Three

by: Sandy Man



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The Changeling, Chapter 3 Inches I woke up topless, in a cardboard box in an alley somewhere downtown. It was after dawn, but not by much. A ceiling of ominous grey clouds blocked the sky, and I shivered as my skin was pelted by a light spray of needle rain. There had a momentary pang of elation when I had first come out of my dream, a nightmare of gang rape and murder. This blissful feeling evaporated the moment I realized that the soft pillows on which I had been resting my head were in fact a pair of enormous breasts that were attached to my torso. "Fuck," I muttered, and tried to sit up to assess my situation. This was difficult for two reasons. One was the knife twisting in my skull whenever I tried to move my head. The other was the extremely limited amount of space in my box. I remembered crawling in head first, but sometime in the night I had switched myself around. I tried to turn around. No good, not enough room. I slammed the inside of the box with my fist. The box didn't give, even though it was wet. The non-mammary parts of me had softened to the point where I probably couldn't have punched my way out of a wet paper bag. With some effort I managed to wriggle my way out of the box and into a pile of trash, where I immediately started shivering. The knife in my temples made a couple of spins as I looked down at myself. Each breast was more than twice the size of my head, and not at all saggy. No one would believe that these things were real, even if they touched them. I don't think they even made bras this big, except by custom order. Wonderful. Toss that on my list of problems. If anything, they seemed bigger than they had when I had left Eddie's. I did a double take. They WERE bigger than when I had left Eddie's. Closer to the size they'd been at the end of my dream. And my hair was blonde again, instead of the reddish gold that Eddie had made it. And I was short, but not as short as Eddie had made me. My ass was smaller, tighter, less plump. Had Eddie been a dream? If so, who had inflated my tits to their present, beach ball size? Hard to separate dreams from reality when your life has become surreal. I arranged my priorities. Finding a sucker to pass along my predicament hasn't worked out too well. For the time being, I needed to avoid men altogether. "Clothes," I muttered. "Then food. Then shelter." I rummaged through the pile of refuse I'd used for a bed and tried to find something to wear that wasn't completely disgusting. The best I came up with was a child's shirt and a cheap, see-through poncho. The shirt, which should fit someone of my height, was a joke; it wouldn't even fit over even one of my enormous boobs. At least the poncho would keep the rain off. Where am I? Nowhere I recognize. On one side of the alley is an apartment building. Classic rock drifting through an open window. Probably why the dream was full of it. First off, I need to get out of the rain. There's a fire escape running up the side of the apartment building, but I'm too short to reach the ladder, and with tits like these my high jump is for shit. With some effort I manage to clamber to the top of a dumpster. Tougher than it should be because of these enormous boobs, always in the way. At least the poncho keeps me from scraping metal against my nipples, which are huge and fully erect in the cold morning air. Can I shimmy up the drain pipe? Not with the equipment at hand. Instead I make a Hail Mary dive for the edge if the ladder and hope I don't face plant into the macadam. When my fingers connect with the metal I nearly lose my grip thanks to the film of rainwater on it. Through some miracle I manage to keep a grip on it and dangle. My weight forces the ladder to slide down, but it doesn't stop at street level. Instead it stops more than eight feet above street level. The shock of falling makes my tits bounce up into my face and arms and I almost lose my death grip on the wet ladder. My pants slip right off and plop onto the alley. "Fucking great!" Now there's about three feet of air between my toes and the ground. Perfect for leaving a burning building, but a nightmare for me. I utter some more curses and start kicking my legs in frustration. Pull myself up? Forget it. It's all I can do to stay on the ladder. Doesn't matter that I'm little, and mostly skinny. My biceps might as well be straws. I probably have more muscle in my nipples than in my shoulders. And it's not like there are real pectorals under these tits. Let go and put my pants back on? Sure, and then the ladder will slide back up. This should be an easy stunt to repeat. Right. I kick my legs impotently for a minute or two, and then it occurs to me that the movement will attract attention. To the casual observer I'm already a pair of impossibly large boobs under a transparent top, attached to a mile of blonde hair with no pants or underwear. Kicking and screaming is just overkill. "Think, brain." My brain decides that I subconsciously effected changes while I was sleeping, like blonder hair and bigger breasts. Clearly I have some kind of control over my form that I've been unable to consciously access. Then again, have I tried? I shut my eyes and become Luke Skywalker, hanging upside down in the Wampa cave on Hoth. I picture my arms and legs getting longer until I can reach the ground. I visualize the long legged ladies of the eighties: Geena Davis, Sigourney Weaver, Darryl Hannah. Tall enough to reach the ground and to spare. I open my eyes. Not taller. Still about three feet from the ground. Boobs as big and round and bouncy as ever. Fine. I shut my eyes again and picture the muscle tone on my arms and legs building and growing until I have the physique of a professional mountain climber. I open my eyes. No muscles. Still as puny. Here's what I eventually do: swing back and forth until I have a bunch of momentum, then pull my legs up and lock my legs over the rung of the ladder. From there I just have to do the world's most impressive sit- up. Should be tough with boobs like these, right? What helps is that underneath the soft flesh of my flat belly and groin are taut muscles, ready to engage in acrobatic sexual exercises at a moment's notice. For hours, if need be. It's not too much of a stretch - and I am quite flexible - to re-purpose those muscles to climb a ladder. It takes a few tries before I figure out how to climb a ladder with two giant round watermelons bouncing on my chest. The trick is to put my arms underneath and between the breasts so that they bounce freely on either side. Like wings. The second floor windows are locked, no surprise there. Same on the third floor. I'm starting to regret not bringing along something hard to smash a window with. Then again, where would I have put it? In my teeth, maybe. The fourth floor apartment has a potted plant. I'm ready to smash the window in but I check it just in case. Not locked. I slide the window open and squeeze my giant tits inside. I slide the window shut, gently, and freeze, listening intently for signs of life in the apartment. Nothing. I creep into the kitchen and suckle at the spigot for a full two minutes before I come up for air. Relief begins to soothe my head, slowly. I have to keep in mind how much my tolerance for alcohol has dropped now that I'm tiny, melons or no melons. The few glasses of wine I drank last night went a long way. My need for water sated, I check the fridge. All junk. Pizza, leftover fast food, Pabst Blue Ribbon. The hollow pit left inside after a day of multiple transformations doesn't care. I grab a fistful of week-old fried chicken and clean it down to the bones. Two fistfuls later I'm beyond stuffed, which would've been a midnight snack forty-eight hours ago. "Clothes," I mutter, and sneak around the apartment looking for something to wear. Place is a mess; obviously a man lives here. More like a boy, judging by the video games and the copies of Maxim. I rummage through the drawers in the bedroom. Everything either smells rotten or is way too big. I come across a phone bill in the name of Charles Weller. Finally I come across a drawer full of girl stuff. Whoever it belongs to is obviously a lot taller than me, so the pants are out. The underwear is loose on me but it fits well enough. So does the jean skirt, once I find a belt and break a new hole in it. The tag on the bra says 34B, which would just about cover one if my nipples right now. Her shirts are a joke, too, so instead I opt for one of Charles' king size tees, which fits snug over my chest but otherwise hangs like a circus tent. Less of a problem after I tuck it into the skirt. No shoes, of course, unless I want to flop around in Charlie's size thirteen Dock Martens (I don't). In all this time there's no signs of life in the apartment, and I'm feeling pretty ripe after having spent the night sleeping on garbage. For good measure I check all the other rooms. No one's home; Charlie must be spending the night at his woman's place. I decide to risk a shower. The bathroom, which would never have bothered me before yesterday, smells disgusting. Out of reflex I put the seat up and stand in front of it as I undo my stolen belt and slide the skirt down. I fumble for a second at my hairless crotch before I remember that I'm doing this wrong. "Fuck." I slam the seat down, but instead of sitting I strip and get in the shower. I keep an eye in the bathroom door, wary of male intruders. Not as if I could do much to fend one off. Heat washes over me, cleansing, purifying, washing away the transgressions of the night before. I start thinking about what my life will be like from now on. My first priority should be to try and get these tits shrunk down to a manageable size. No easy feat, I imagine. The last attempt backfired completely. I need to find a man who likes smaller tits. But if I find one, why would he be attracted to me with boobs as huge as these? Furthermore, how will I know that the guy who says he likes them smaller isn't lying? I do my best to clean out my nether regions, and the funky goo of three men ooze out if me. This brings to mind some new problems. Everything about this body screams fertility. Do I have a menstrual cycle? Can I get pregnant? Am I pregnant already? It seemed doubtful, given my malleable and empathetic nature. What would happen if I have a big belly and meet a guy who was turned on by a flat stomach and rippling abdomen? Sudden, spontaneous abortion? On the other hand, I don't know any of the rules about my current physical state. For all I know the whole point of my amorphous nature was to guarantee copulation so that I can make more little sex demons. I should get a pregnancy test as soon as I get my hands on some money. Money... damned if I'm going back to my house for a credit card. For all I know Frank is waiting in the bushes with a meat cleaver. I start brainstorming. How to get money when you're a weird shapeshifting sexbot with a man's brain, sort of: Clerical: No ID, social security number belongs to a late twenties male. I appear to be an eighteen-year-old nymphomaniac addicted to excessive plastic surgery. Also, office will call security when I suddenly have a new face, height, build on day two. Shit, I might be Japanese. So, let's amend the list to weird shapeshifting sexbot with no ID. Manual labor: not with these arms. Unless I can shack up with a fitness nut. Also, fellow laborers aren't renowned for tact and restraint around a beautiful woman. Prostitute: Immediate sex slavery guaranteed. Or pimp. Same problem, but worse. Exotic Dancer: Fast cash, until the first horny fuck touches me to put money in my underwear, and I start sucking him off in the middle of the club. Or he takes me by the hand and leads me back to his basement. Panhandler: Excellent tips from gentleman until a noble knight decides to take me home and end up as his fuck slave. I punch the wall in frustration. Is there any career choice that won't turn me into a blowjob machine? I put half a bottle of shampoo in my fucking enormous mane of hair and begin the arduous process of washing it. Things they don't talk about in Pantene commercials. Okay, so I need a career in which I don't touch anyone and also don't need an identity. As an asset I've got a completely bitchin' bod. Playboy model? Lots of money, but also lots of attention. Plus, I have to touch photographers at some point. I might end up as one of Hef's bunnies. So then I spend my nights gobbling an eighty-year old man's wrinkly cock. Probably end up addicted to cocaine. Cam girl? There's probably some money in that, but I need a computer and some pretty good camera equipment. Read: money. Where do I find an investor that I can trust? I rinse the shampoo out of my gnarled mass of garbage hair and apply conditioner. How do girls do this? I guess "washing my hair" isn't always just a bullshit excuse after all. Investor. Friends and family? I'm an only child. Mom is half crazy already. If a dirty stripper hobo showed up claiming to be her son, she'd shoot first and call the FBI second. Dad wouldn't believe me either, and I shudder to think where an encounter with my father would lead I my present state. My love of huge tits is more than likely inherited. So, friends? My closest one is Andy. I can just imagine how that would go. (Knock knock. Door opens) Me: Hey, Andy, do me a favor and don't touch me. I need to crash on your couch and borrow like five hundred bucks. It's so that I can make Internet porn clips. I'll even let you film it. Andy (staring at mammary glands): Um, who are you? Me: It's me, Joe! Andy: Uhh... Me (rolling eyes): Okay, I know I look weird, it's because I was cursed by this girl who turned out to be a guy and now I'm some kind of magical girl who transforms into whatever men desire when they touch me and also my saliva makes dicks bigger. Like, huge. Andy (grinning): You don't say. Sure, come on in. SFX: Unzips pants. "Terrific," I groan. Still, at some point I'll have to trust somebody, right? Girls aren't as cruel. Maybe I can find a sweet, unattached lesbian filmmaker with experience in porn. Yeah. While I'm at it, I'll just find me a unicorn and wish myself back to manhood. The hot water is running out. I exit the shower and wipe the fog off the mirror. The girl underneath no longer looks anything like Milla Jovovich. She is a knockout, however. Her face is ready for the cover of Revlon without a drop of makeup, once you scrape away the grime. Not the hair, though. The hair is in dire need of a runway crew. I find a brush and get halfway through my first stroke before I give up. Time for another haircut. No scissors in the bathroom. I go back to Charlie's bedroom and find a pair in his desk, in front of the computer. The computer is password locked. Sitting on Charlie's chair, I chop off a lock, and then it occurs to me to use the mirror in the bathroom. Might be good to see what I'm doing as I cut my own hair. I'm halfway there when I hear the sound of keys in the door. "Shit," I hiss softly. I run back in the bedroom and grab the clothes off the bed, intending to go back onto the fire escape. The door opens. No time to open the window. Instead I sneak into the open closet and pull the door tight. "Please please please don't be a guy," I whisper. Someone coughs. A man's voice. Well, why should my luck change now? I don't hear the clothes-drawer girl with him. Here's the thing about the closet: it's extremely cramped. I can only wriggle so far into the coats and shirts without making too much noise. There's only a few, maybe six inches if space between my back and the door. It's one if those slatted doors; the slats point down. If I hold the slats real tight with my fingernails I can keep the door closed, but my gigantic tits takes up approximately half the space inside of this closet. I'm currently squeezing them flush against the slats. The stranger - Charles? - comes in the bedroom for a moment and groans. I learn something about my boobs - they don't like to be flattened up against a door. They want to be full and round and stick way the hell out in front of me for all the world to see. Also, cold wood makes my nipples hard, which in turn makes me excited. I break into a cold sweat and hold my breath. The stranger leaves the room and I breath a quiet sigh of relief. I hear gagging noises in the bathroom. Dry heaves. So, not with the girl? Drinking all night, maybe. My blood turns to ice when I see that I left a shirt and bra on the edge of the bed. A bright red bra, sure to attract attention. I chance creeping the door open, as silently as I'm able. I sneak over and snatch the clothes, then return to my hiding place. Just in time, because the stranger returns and plops down in front of his computer. As soon as he does, I notice a huge hunk of blonde hair on the seat beneath him. Fuck. Charles - if that's who he is - doesn't notice. He's too busy scanning the web. For what, I have no idea. After a full two minutes he pulls down his drawers and starts to moan softly. Porn? There's an odd sensation in my stomach, like a weird ache. A kind of emptiness, but not hunger. Then there's another sensation in my chest, different from the emptiness. A kind if tightness. It's not unfamiliar. Great. Now I'm shifting at range? All of me starts to get flushed and hot. I grit my teeth and prepare for the worst. How big can tits get before I'm immobile? After a minute I realize that I'm rubbing my breasts without holding the door. They're shrinking. I almost cry out in joy, until I realize that the closet is shrinking, too. Maybe not shrinking, but the shelf above my head is definitely getting closer. I'm getting taller, and I don't know why. Was it enough just to be in the same room with a horny guy? If so, why hadn't it worked like that before? Why did Eddie need to touch me to inflate my tits into melons? I have more immediate problems. Despite my shrinking mammaries, I'm in imminent danger of being de-closeted by my sudden spurt in height. It feels good to fill out everywhere that isn't breast, but the shelf above me only allows for five feet of headroom, and there's no room to bend over. I'm gaining an inch of height every three seconds. After five seconds my head hits the shelf with an audible bump. I hold my breath, but Charlie is too fixated on his porn to notice. In fact, he's so fixated that his level of arousal spreads to me. My pussy is on fire and moistens in anticipation of a hard dick. As my breasts continue to shrink, my nipples get erect and I have the urge to fondle them. In another ten seconds my breasts are down to a totally realistic and manageable cup size, I can feel a phantom dick thrusting in and out of my warm, wet pussy, and I'm too tall for the closet. I grab at the slats with my fingernails to keep the door mostly shut as my knees bend and start to push it open. If I'm lucky it'll look as if the door is slightly ajar and he won't notice. Unfortunately for me, Charles finishes about the same time. I shoot up an extra four inches in an instant right before he does so, and my head hits the shelf with a much louder thump. Then my knees buckle as my body is rocked with a sudden orgasm. A moan escapes my lips as I fall out of the closet. "What the fuck?" says Charlie, scrambling to hide little Charlie. I don't say anything, but instead try to cover my naked bits. Lucky for me I thought to put the jean skirt back on before I started my haircut. Which I no longer need, since my hair has shrunk to shoulder length. "Tracy?" says Charles. At least I hope he's Charles. Okay, I'm Tracy. Leggy dream girl has a name. And brown hair, apparently. "What are you doing here," demands the resident. "I came for... my clothes," I snap back at him, and scoop up the bra and shirt. Not the oversized tee shirt, mind you, but a cute little green v-line tee. It's a gamble, but these clothes do suddenly seem to fit. Belt is pretty snug because I'm longer no longer a freakishly wasp-waisted balloon-titted sexbot. Instead I seem to be an ex-girlfriend sexbot. Uh-oh - I hope I'm not an incestuous crush sexbot. Yuck. "Your clothes? What are you doing in the closet? Why are you naked? Were you watching me?" I scoop up the red bra and start putting it on. At least I try to. I'm not used to putting bras on, and certainly not quickly. At least my ridiculous bouncing watermelon tits have shrunk down to a perky handful. The B cup bra looks like it will fit just fine. "No, I wasn't watching you." I wasn't even Tracey two minutes ago, whoever that is. "I was in the closet when you came in. You started jacking it so quickly I didn't have time to slip out without making a scene." I give up trying to fasten the bra and put the green shirt over it. Thankfully whatever connection we had while he was beating his meat seems to have broken. I'm not shifting and he's not in my head or my libido. Better to get while the getting's good. Charlie has other plans. He stands in the doorway, arms folded. "You're going to hide in my closet to spy on me, and then call me out for being a perv?" I get to my feet. I'm taller than him, and he must be five seven at least. I judge myself to be at least five nine. The belt is suffocating me, so I slip it back to its regular notch. I look at Charlie and shrug. "Can I leave, please?" He doesn't budge. "Seriously, why are you here?" "Seriously, I don't owe you an explanation." "Seriously, you do when you're trespassing. How did you get in, anyway?" No harm in telling him. "I came in through the fire escape." "So you broke in. So technically I could have you arrested for breaking and entering." I fold my arms. Much easier when your boobs are human sized. "Look, I just wanted my stuff. If you don't want me here, I'll leave." "What do you mean, if I don't want you here? You're the one who broke up with me." A breeze hits me from behind. The window to his bedroom is still open. "Fine. If you won't let me leave through the door, I'll go through the window." I turn my back to him and scoop up my poncho from the floor. "I.." Charlie starts to say something, but instead I pause for a moment, listening. It occurs to me that he might be on the verge of dropping the L word. I hold my breath. This could be my ticket out of being an amorphous cum-hungry slut. Or does he have to be inside of me when he says it? Shit, I wish I knew the rules. I spin around and fold my arms defiantly. "You what?" He's not quite so tough now. My threatening to leave has suddenly given me all of the power in this exchange. He looks at his feet, struggling to find the right words. I think he's about to cry. I grit my teeth and decide that this is it. His heart has been broken by this girl, and the wound is fresh. There's nobody who'll be as ready to drop the L word. For good measure I have to make sure he says it while he's fucking me. Yes, it would mean more sex as a woman. Probably more transformations. More demeaning orgasms completely beyond my control as a man's plaything. But with a little luck, at the end of this, I get my dick back. Maybe even in time for supper. At least he seems to like tall girls. "Hey," I whisper, plopping my purloined purse onto the bed. "It hurts me to see you like this." He shakes his head, not believing what I'm telling him. Must have been a rough breakup. I notice that his shirt is way too large for him, even though he looks pretty fit. Maybe he has some weird body dysmorphia issues? If so, he's about to get some brand new ones. I reach out and caress his face with my fingertips, and the contact puts a warm flush goes through me, along with a hollow, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Tears start welling up in my eyes. I don't even have to fake it. "I miss you," I whisper, breathily. "I miss you so much." The words aren't coming from me now, but from some internal wish fulfillment script in Charlie's head. He kisses me, deeply, and I've never had such a passionate embrace. The two of us slide into the depth of his longing for me. Or rather, for the girl he wants me to be. "I want you," I whisper, and gently push him down onto his bed. Maybe this time I'll at least be able to assert a little control by being on top. I run my hands underneath his shirt and begin to slide his shorts off. "No," he says, suddenly self conscious. My hands fly away from him, forced away by a sudden anti-magnetism. "What's the matter," I ask, confused and concerned. "Just don't," he says. "I can't anymore. You know why." He reaches underneath his pillow and pulls out a large vibrating dildo. "Let me do you instead." He starts tugging at my jean skirt, but I can tell this isn't what he needs. With a frown I say, "Charlie, I-" "Look, if you want to stay, this is what it costs, okay? I do you, you don't do me." He sniffs and rubs the moisture from the corner of his eyes. Something clicks. He doesn't want me to see his dick. Gently I take the sex toy from his hand and place it on the table by his bed. "Okay, Charlie," I say softly. "If that's what you want. Just let me kiss it first." I coax his pants and underwear off. The smell isn't great; Charlie's been out drinking all night. But that's the least of his problems. Charlie has the smallest penis I've ever seen. Fully erect, it's just over two inches long. Pretty thin, too, and bent at almost a forty-five degree angle. "Oh, Charlie," I say. "Let me fix this for you." I actually do feel sorry for the guy, and even though it means doing something gross, I decide to help him out. I go to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water. When I return, Charlie is fully clothed again, but it doesn't take much to coax his pants off a second time. I gently clean his meager manhood. I take between my thumb and index finger and softly caress it with my lips. Charlie, meanwhile, isn't stopping me, but is covering his face with his hands. When I feel that his tiny member is close to climax I take a firm grip of the base of his little shaft and pull his hands away from his eyes. "What-" "Shh..." I put a finger across my full lips. "I want you to see this." "Why do-" My death grip tightens on his little cock. "Shut up, Charlie." I keep my eyes locked with his as I wrap my lips around him again and begin to suck. "Ow, what are you-OW!" From his perspective it must feel like I'm sucking his intestines out through his urethra. Or maybe it feels like I'm filling his phallus with hot air; in my current state of arousal I kind of forget what having a dick feels like. His eyes sure get bigger as he watches my cheek bulge with his sudden growth spurt. When I come up for air, he has a perfectly respectable five inch penis. "What did... how did you..?" "Better?" "I..." I hold my breath in anticipation of the L word. He's speechless. After a full ten seconds I lose patience. "More? Okay." My mouth goes back on him and I suck him out to a full seven inches, thick and straight and trembling with anticipation. "How's that, Charlie." He stares at me, jaw agape, panting furiously. His eyes are a bit cloudy from the alcohol in his system. And maybe more than a little from the cock-swelling beej I'm administering. "Not enough?" I roll my eyes. "Fine..." I place my mouth on him again and apply a firm vacuum. His member swells like a python with hives. The head pulsates and whacks against the back of my throat and I pull back, gagging on the sudden fullness of his masculine power. No less than nine proud, thick inches. "Charlie," I whisper through pouty lips that have grown plumper in the last few moments. "This is a huge cock." I give him my best bedroom eyes. "Your shaft is thick like a beer can. Your head is like an apple. What do we do with this, Charlie?" I peel off my shirt - well, Tracy's shirt - and let the red bra drop to the floor. I stand up, slowly, letting the end of his big dick trace a line between my perfect breasts and down my abdomen. As his head passes over my navel I see the tiny remnants of baby fat smooth out across my midsection, replaced by the flat, rippling muscle of a washboard stomach. "Do you still want me to fuck a vibrator, Charlie? Are would you rather put this huge cock in my wet pussy?" As the words tumble out of my mouth I can feel it happening, moisture as my body prepares for sex. Charlie is still speechless, but he nods. A flutter of anticipation goes through his enormous, rigid penis. I put a hand on his shaft and give him a few strokes, then cup his balls, which have likewise swollen to large proportions. My eyes widen as I gaze upon his manhood, and against my will I bite my lip and raise an eyebrows in an unfamiliar gesture and speak in a soft, girlish voice, the dialogue coming from some internal script that Charlie wants to hear. "I don't know, Charlie. You're so big now! And my pussy is little. I don't know if it'll fit..." Son of a bitch! I feel my vagina tighten up, as if I hadn't been painfully fucked and stretched out by three dicks yesterday, before I even had a growth spurt in this prick's closet. I can tell what this is. Tracy probably acted like a size queen, never satisfied by what he had to offer, probably always yelling, "Deeper. Deeper, dammit!" Or maybe she was fine with his size, and he just projected his insecurities onto her. Either way, he wants to turn the tables now. Be the big man, with his woman having the tiny, inadequate genitalia. I need to stall for time. I gently stroke his shaft again, and lick at his swollen scrotum. Meanwhile I can feel my vag continue to shrink. You can bet he won't be satisfied to stick half of it in and pump til he comes. No, he'll force his whole nine inches up into my two inch twat and rip my insides apart. Probably get off on seeing me cry, the fucker. It's dripping wet now, though, and I can feel myself aching to be fucked. What choice do I have? I can't just get up and walk away; the compulsion is too strong by this point. I'm losing hope about him dropping the L word; he's too fascinated by his huge cock to think about me. Until he's through with me, I'm his plaything. I can't will myself to do anything but let him fuck me, however he wants to do it. And I can't make him want to fuck me with a bigger snatch. Unless... "Do you like my body, Charlie?" "Yes." "Do you want me to dance for you?" "You don't need-" "Oh, but I do, Charlie. I need to dance for you. Please let me." I step back and pick a tape off of his desk and put in the tape deck. Sly and the Family Stone. There's a Riot Goin' On. "Sit here, Charlie." I gesture at the chair in front of his computer. As he sits a warm tingle goes through me, as if somehow we're making contact. Charlie shakes some of the hangover from his head and leans back as I start to contort. I sit on the bed and run my hands over my legs. "Do you like my legs, Charlie? Do you like how long they are?" Charlie smiles. "Yeah." I feel a warm flush throughout my body. Suddenly I'm growing, even taller than I was before, as my legs elongate and my body stretches out to match. When it's over I stand up, at least three inches taller, and my torso is lean and lithe. My breasts don't grow, and in proportionate they're smaller than they were a second ago. "You don't think I'm too skinny, Charlie?" "Nope." "Really? You wouldn't like it if I was curvier? If I had more womanly hips?" "Yeah, maybe," says Charlie. He starts stroking his enormous dick. I slide my hands down my sides and feel my bones bending as my hips suddenly flare out. I'm compelled to cross the room, and then I start giving him a lap dance. A lap dance! I don't even know the first thing about how to do that. It doesn't matter; Charlie's imagination fills in where I'm supposed to be. I start grinding my tight ass against his long, thick shaft, and he slides his hands over my hips. I feel bones stretching as my hips grow wider, while there's a warmth down in my rear. His hands squeeze at my expanding ass flesh as he peels off my panties. Great. Now I've created a guy with an ass fetish. "What's happening," he mumbles through his drunk haze. "How come your butt looks so big?" "You don't like it?" "It's sexy. Just... am I dreaming?" "The best dream of your life, baby." I try to say, 'Do you want to make love to me, Charlie?' What comes out is, "Fuck me, Charlie." With that he puts his arm around me and tries to slide his huge cock into my pussy, from behind, all at once. "Not like that," I say gently. Being taller and wider should make this easier, but that cock is still huge, and even though I'm taller and wider, my vagina is still pretty tight. "Slowly. You have to ease it in, Charlie." I try to shut my mouth but more words tumble out, in that girlish squeaky voice. "Because you're so big, and my pussy is soooo tight..." I was hoping that being bigger and wider would make that huge cock easier to accommodate. So much for that plan. Whatever progress I might have made was just undone with these words, and I feel the muscles in my vaginal wall contract even tighter than before. "Oh, dear." He scoops me up and plops me on the bed. I find myself on my hands and knees, legs spread wide, my ass presented towards him. He grabs hold of my hips and begins to insert himself into me. "Gently," I whisper, and he obeys. It still feels like he's slowly splitting me apart. I whimper in pain. "Do you want me to stop?" YES! "No," is what I say. "It feels so good." And it does, but it's still painful. My puss gained an amazing amount of sensitivity as it shrank, so I can feel every ridge and curve of his phallus. It's if the walls of my vagina were suddenly made of the same stuff as my tongue. A weird sensation, very alien. Still, waves of pleasure emanate from my pussy to spread across my body. "Oh god, Charlie," I scream when he's halfway in. "It's so big. It's so BIG!" He pushes in a little more and the bulbous head of his cock slides over my G spot. I shriek as my body is split apart my a tremendous orgasm. Then the wind suddenly gets squeezed out of me. I feel my ribcage contract and there's a gooey feeling in my guts. I look back and see my waist shrinking, accentuating my wide hips and swollen buttocks into an exaggerated hourglass shape. That gooey feeling must have been my internal organs rearranging themselves to accommodate the new configuration. Even though he can only get about three quarters of his shaft into my tight pussy, he starts pumping me. I bite my lip as another orgasm starts building up, and let loose a whimper. "Does that feel good?" Yeah, yeah. I get it, Charlie. You got a huge cock. Enough to satisfy a leggy, Barbie-doll Amazon. Can you spurt already? But instead of words, a long moan builds up in my lungs and bursts out of my mouth. While he's pumping, it doesn't stop. It builds, louder, louder, louder, punctuated by squealing, while his huge, hard cock slides in and out of my tight pussy. I try to form words. Words like, 'Do you love me, Charlie? Are you in love?' What comes out is more, "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Yes! I love your cock, Charlie! It's so... ohhhhhhhh..." and so on. And he doesn't say the L word. And he doesn't spurt. Instead I'm the one who comes. A lot. Each with a louder squeal than the last. My moans range from low, throaty growls to ear-splitting shrieks. After twenty minutes and about a dozen orgasms, my arms and legs give out, and I collapse onto the bed, face first. In my brain I know that this isn't a simple matter of me collapsing from exhaustion, although I did have a rough night. If he wanted a partner with stamina, I'd be able to fuck for days. No, he wants me to get worn out. He wants to be the stallion, able to outlast the woman he's fucking. As I lay flat on the bed, panting to catch my breath, I feel his hands on my generous ass. I find myself rearing up on on my elbows and knees, tilting my ass up towards him and arching my back. What's going on? Why am I doing this? I feel his fingers spread my ass cheeks, exposing my anus. Oh, shit. No. Nononono. I should say something. I try to get up, but my body is frozen in place, unable to do anything except facilitate what's about to happen. I try to shout the words NO. STOP. All that comes out is, "Um..." And then the head of his cock starts pushing into me, and I let out a low moan. My fingers clutch a fistful of sheets. Behind me a Mack truck is trying to squeeze into a space fit for a compact, with a full load in tow. I try pushing my face into the mattress to hide my tears, but in a moment he grabs a fistful of hair - it's long again, long enough to reach down to the round ass that's being probed - and pulls my head up. With his other hand he grabs hold of my hip and pushes in as far as he can go. Now I scream in pain, weeping as he gets that shaft a little more than halfway in and then slowly begins pumping, in and out. He lets go of my hair and holds my hips in place as he pumps, in and out, in and out, getting a little farther into me with every thrust. Soon he's in far enough so that the head of his huge cock is pushing through me and grinding against my G-Spot. An electrical current screams through every inch of my body. My eyes shut and a sound comes out of me. A sound that's a cross between an eagle screech and a high- pitched wolf howl. A sound of equal parts pain and ecstasy. It actually scares me as it comes out of my throat, unbidden. And then it happens again. Charlie's dick, on the other hand, acts as if this is the treasure that it was digging for. A shudder goes through him, and then I swear his cock bulks up even thicker. His hands clench my ass tight and his hips start bucking wildly, the huge head of his phallus banging against my pleasure zone as my anal muscle starts milking his shaft. I'm weeping in pain by the time I feel his cock give a little pre- orgasm throb. Before he spurts he grabs my hair again and pulls my head back, roughly. I give a final shriek as my body is rocked with a sudden, sharp orgasm, and then he lets go of my hair as he begins to come. The first spurt is inside my ass, but then he immediately pulls out. I feel a moment of sweet relief. That relief dissipates when he grabs my legs and suddenly flips me onto my back. I watch as he faps himself until jets of white liquid squirt out of his huge dick and onto my stomach. I hold a hand up to protect my face. I'm a split second too late. Jism streaks across the bed and splashes across my cheeks and over my lips. Some of it goes into my open mouth. Yuck. I quietly spit and look down to see more hot semen spurted onto my tits. They already swelled somewhat while Charlie was fucking me - what else is new - but now I watch as contact with his spunk makes them inflate. The hell? Contact with a guy's jizz makes me shift now? "Great," I mutter. Charlie, meanwhile, puts a hand on my head and shoves the side of my face into the bed. I watch his cock as he spurts more goo onto my stomach, my hips, my pussy. Where it hits, the rock-hard washboard look softens and my hips slim down to a more realistic size. Except, my waist is also shrinking, even though that sharp, toned look is gone. And of course my vagina loses what little elasticity it gained through that colossal fuck and shrinks down to a virginal size again. Now I see what's happening. My tits didn't actually inflate, it's just that the rest of me is growing smal!er. What the hell? This turns him on? His jizz making me shrink? Why did he like me tall before and shorter now? In a minute he's spent, and then he stumbles and collapses in a faint. I don't get up and see if he's alright. I don't move. I feel disgusting. As I lay on the bed in shock, it occurs to me that he only wanted to dominate a woman, to get some proxy revenge on his ex for abandoning him due to his inadequacy. Once I gifted him with a huge cock, his first thought wasn't to use it to give me pleasure, or even to make himself happy, but to degrade and humiliate me. And boy did it work! I was so happy to be tall for a change. I was even taller than I'd been as a man, and I was grateful enough to grind my ass against his huge cock. In return he inflated me into an exaggerated fertility goddess and then fucked me as painfully as possible. And then squirted jizz on me to assert his dominance. And to drive the point home I physically diminished as he sprayed me with his cum. In his eyes I was probably asking for it with all that "Do you like my body" stuff. Ugh. At least Eddie was just turned on by a short girl with huge tits. This is a whole extra level of ick. I step over Charlie's sleeping body and make my way to the bathroom to assess the damage. I walk slowly; Chuck's magic jism restored my pussy but did nothing to soothe my aching asshole. Man does it sting. I get to the bathroom and click on the light. The first thing I see is a ludicrously tiny waist, made smaller by the way that it flows into large, very feminine hips. The magic jism did reduce my proportions, but that just means they were cartoonish, almost bizarre proportions before. Now the hips look big, but real. The waist, though, is something else. I don't recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror. Not just because I'm supposed to be some girl named Tracy (albeit more diminutive, softer, girlish). Not just because of the mane of jet black hair that reaches down almost to my knees. Not just because of the layer of human seed coating me, or the ten yard stare underneath. The person in the mirror was just used as a prop. A thing. A living blowup doll. Inflated into a fantasy version of his ex and then deflated when he was done with me. "I think you were just raped," I whisper to the person in the mirror. I trudge into the shower stall and stand under steaming water until all of the semen is washed away, but I still don't feel clean. I curl into a ball in the corner of the shower and sob. Eventually I cry myself to sleep. I wake up when the water turns ice cold. I shut it off and lean against the wall as I wrap a towel around myself. I find a measuring tape in Charlie's medicine cabinet and take my measurements. Height: Five foot six. Hrrm. That's like an inch shorter than Charlie, now. But still quite a bit taller than I was when I woke up this morning. I'm okay with that, I guess. Weight: One hundred thirty pounds. Kay. Underbust: Thirty-two inches. Overbust: Thirty-four inches. If I remember right, that makes me a C cup. Hips: Thirty-eight inches. Yo. Waist: Nineteen inches. What? There's a noise in the bedroom. I hear Charlie stirring, moaning. I drop the measuring tape and freeze like a deer in headlights. I should be leaving. I should be running and hiding. The fact that there's no window in this bathroom shouldn't stop me from leaving. But I can't move, and I'm not sure why. Suddenly I feel a flush run through me, and I shoot up a couple of inches in height. My waist expands a little to a more human proportion. How? How am I changing when he's not touching me? "Tracy?" I want to run. I want to leave this apartment, now. Instead I find myself walking into the bedroom again, completely against my will. Did Charlie's ridiculous jizz-spraying stunt work? Am I his bitch now? God, what a depressing thought. I enter the room. Charlie's sitting in his chair again. He's more sober now, but looks confused. He looks at me and rubs his eyes, then down at his giant cock. In one hand is a tape measure. "You're not Tracy, are you?" I open my mouth to object, but no sound comes out. "Tell me the truth," says Charlie. "No," I say, against my will. "Not Tracy." "Who are you?" I grit my teeth. "Josie," is forced out of me. He shakes his head. "Why do you look like Tracy?" Without skipping a beat the words tumble robotically out of my mouth. "I look however you want me to look." "What do you mean?" "As long as we're touching, I am yours to shape and command." He looks confused. "But we're not touching." "We are." "How?" "I'm not sure." But even as I say it, I am sure. I flash back to when I was sitting where he is now and chopped off a piece of my hair. "Maybe you're sitting on a piece of me." He stands, drops the tape measure on the floor next to the bed, and scoops a piece of my hair from the chair. It was blonde originally, but must have morphed to black at some point when I was sitting in the closet. While it was under Charlie's bare ass. "Son of a bitch," I say. "What?" Again the compulsion to answer. "I didn't know that this was possible." "What was possible?" "That we could be connected by you touching my hair." "Oh." He mulls this over as he sits again, still clutching the severed lock. "What are you?" I shrug my shoulders, but my mouth has a mind of it's own. "I am a nymph," is what I say, in a voice I don't recognize as my own. A what? "A what?" "A child of the Muse Melpomene. A creature of inspiration." "So... you look however I want you to?" "As long as you touch me." He looks at the lock of hair clutched in his hand. "Or a part of you." "Correct." "So let's say I want you to look like Chewbacca." Nothing happens. I shrug, and answer in my own voice. "You must not really want that." He shrugs. "Sure I do. I wouldn't mind playing some video games with Chewie." "But you don't want to fuck Chewbacca. You have to WANT me to shift for it to happen." He strokes at his chin and then sits at his computer again, types in a google search. When he finds the image he's looking for, I gain inches of height and a warm flush runs through me. I look down and see longer legs, fuller breasts, and honey-blonde hair. My waist thickens out to a more human, but still sexy proportion. "So if I wanted you to look like Kate Upton-" He turns and his jaw drops when he looks at me. "I guess you mean it," I find myself saying, in a voice and accent not my own. My face lowers into a coy, come-hither smile. "Holy shit," says Charlie. I find myself smirking. "So what can Kate Upton do for you?" He grins uncontrollably. "Um..." He dissolves into giggles. "Go on," I say. "I want you to put on my girlfriend's tee-shirt." I smile and find the smallest tee in his girlfriend's drawer. It's white with a picture of Kermit the Frog. I squeeze my upper torso into it, then I stand up and take a deep breath. "How does it look?" "Real good," says Charlie as his big member twitches. "But it would look better wet." I roll my eyes and head back to the shower. I drench myself in cold water and return to him dripping wet. Large, erect nipples are plainly visible through the soaked fabric of Tracy's shirt. I give him as big a smile as I can muster. "Better?" "Yeah," says Charlie. His massive dick swells and stiffens before my eyes until it's completely hard. "Now what?" He licks his lips. "Blowjob." I bite my lip. "Listen," I say gently as I look down at his quaking member. "If I do that it'll probably get bigger. You don't need to be bigger. This is already a huge cock. Enormous. Bigger than I've ever seen." A lie; mine had been a little longer after I'd been with Penny. But he's still holding a piece of my hair (which has changed to blonde), and apparently I'm permitted a lie that soothes his ego. "Come on," he says, gently stroking his shaft as he sits on the bed. I fight the urge to leap across the room and swallow his cock. "But Charlie..." I try to say something about how the sex will be better if it doesn't hurt, to say nothing of his ability to fit into regular clothes if I inflate his dick to gargantuan proportions. What comes out is, "But Charlie, it's already sooo big. Just looking at it is making me sooo wet..." Still Kate Upton's voice, but in a soft, high pitched little girl voice that I've never heard the real Kate use. My mouth and my pussy start to fill with warm juice as I stare hypnotically at his erect member. Willpower takes a back seat and I find myself kneeling before his lap. "Your cock is so big, Charlie," I whisper just before I slide my lips over the bulbous tip of his penis. Then I slowly lick the sides of his shaft. On the surface I'm administering a slow and luxurious blowjob, but really I'm fighting the urge to suck on it so hard that it doubles in size. Not an easy feat, because Charlie obviously wants that pretty bad, and it's getting pretty hard to fight him off. I take a moment to peel off my ridiculous wet tee shirt. My perfect round tits - or rather, Kate Upton's perfect round tits - bounce free. I cradle Charlie's dick beween them and squeeze them together. Do I want to hop onto this huge cock with my refreshed, tight vag, knowing he wants it too be too big and hurt? Not really. But if it's going to happen (and it's going to happen), I'd just as soon get to it with the big dick he has now, rather than inflating his already huge cock into a real monster. One that might actually split me in half. I thrust his rock hard dick between my soft pillow breasts. "How does... huh... how does that feel, Charlie?" I have to speak between pants, now; the feedback of his desire for me to suck on his knob is overwhelming. "Don't you... huh... want to SEE it... huh... slide into... huh... my tight little cunt?" Nice try. Charlie's only response is to reach forward and push my face onto his dick. I should struggle (no girl likes that); instead I stretch my mouth open as wide as possible and engulf the head of his mammoth member. I shove it as far into me as possible, which isn't much; in no time I'm choking as the tip of his cock hits the back of my throat. I make a gagging sound that seems to encourage him further. In no time my head is bobbing up and down on his knob. My heart is racing, my lungs are pumping, and my wet pussy is aching to be penetrated. Before long I can feel his climax building up. Before that happens I take a firm grip of the base of his cock, hold my breath, and use my mouth and throat to pull on his dick as hard as I possibly can. The bulbous head of his cock swells, and I lean forward so that my throat can take in his growing member. I look up at his face; his eyes were clenched shut, but now they bulge like golf balls as he takes in Kate Upton's big blue eyes staring at him, her lips wrapped around his massive, swelling manhood, her perfect, soft, round breasts cushioning his swollen scrotum. Once the freaky muscles in my throat come to life to milk his growing dick, it's too much for him. He lets out a grunt and hot semen spurts down my throat. I swallow every drop. Now that he's climaxed I get a little of my autonomy back. Not enough to run out of the building, but enough to let go of his junk and take a breath. His cock I'm staring at is absolutely huge. "How big?" asks Charlie. "I don't know," I whisper. "Measure it," he says. He hands me a tape measure from under his pillow. "Eleven inches," I say after taking stock. "But it's only half hard." And Jesus, is it thick. Before, when I said it was as thick as a beer can, I was being hyperbolic. Now it was literally that big. The next time I look up at Charlie he's holding a camcorder. His giant dick twitches and starts to stiffen. "Let's have some fun," says Charlie. I look into the camera and smile. Inside I feel sick.

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