KISS the Girls

By Grosporina

    The day just starting, into the elevator, heading downstairs for a little fun . . . punch the "lobby" button, let the door shut, closed down your mind. Stare vacantly into the mirrored surface of the lift’s door; check out the babe in the back, brunette hottie in a casual DKNY special—loose tan slacks, white blouse tight across large perky breasts, Nine West pumps. The mind hits FOCUS: is it possible to see this girl naked, or at least could you get her alone for a quick hump up in your room—
    Almost to the lobby. The brunette in the back of the cage has her cell phone out . . . quick mumble, ignored by you; you’re still locked on a mind’s eye view of her maybe shaved snatch ready for plucking. The elevator comes to a stop. As the doors open you stumble slightly—vertigo, head spinning a little. Look up—
    Right into the eyes of a goddess.
    She looks a little like that brat who plays the Pepsi Girl on TV—only older, maybe sixteen, eighteen at the most. A mop of thick brown curls billowing past her shoulders; dark brown eyes sucking you into her soul; skin like ivory. He application of makeup—rouged cheeks, bright red lips, heavy eye shadow—telegraph the message: "Teen Slut on Prowl." If that wasn’t enough, there’s her outfit: tight, V-neck tee shit cut low, teases you with a peak of a belly button you’d be more than willing to dip your tongue in if you weren’t so intent on staring at the cleavage between her grapefruit-sized tits standing straight out from her body sans bra; short red mini skirt made of cheep looking imitation leather, probably vinyl; red fishnet nylons held in place with matching garter that just happens to fasten millimeters below the hem of the skirt; red leather "fuck me" pumps, four and a half inch stiletto heels which will force those wide hips to shimmy back and forth when she walks.
    The girl is workin’ it, and she’s say, "Give it to me honey." You wonder what the little whore would charge you—
    You take a step—
    She does, too.
    It hits like a fuckin’ hammer, and your head is spinnin’ ‘cause you realize this girl is you, bitch, and when you move your left arm she does the same, feeling those thick, tantalizing curls ripple through your fingers, your long, painted nails separating the strands like they’re the Red Sea—
    You’re about to freak; this sort of shit isn’t suppose to happen, it’s strictly Twilight Zone stuff. You’re wondering if a spot’s been reserved for you on the Downhill Slide to Hell, when that girl from the elevator, that girl you were only moments ago mulling naked with your dick in her mouth, walks up, grabs you by the arm, and force marches you out of the cage—only it’s not her, it’s Anna from work, Anna that you did yesterday, and she looks truly pissed as she mutters:
    "You want to listen real close. There’s two ways to go from here on out: My Way, or the fuckin’ Highway. My way might save your pretty little ass . . . and the highway might find you selling it—"

    Six weeks earlier, Karen Ashland was in her husband’s office, waiting for him to end his phone call so they could go to dinner, see a show, and maybe get a little sex in before the night was over.
    She knew she was playing long odds on that last.
    Karen married Terry Ashland right out of college. He’d been a business major, and she’d went the liberal arts route. They’d met at a party their junior year and hit it off, by and large because Karen was sexually attracted to Terry, and she was adventurous. There was little she wouldn’t do—to please Terry, and to please herself. Terry moved up the corporate ladder, Karen worked in an art gallery—and they both fucked like minks whenever possible.
    Three years later Karen discovered she was infertile. This depressed her, but not as much when she discovered Terry didn’t give a shit. His only comment: "Well, it wasn’t like we needed rugrats—" Wasn’t long after the pussy was cut down to a trickle, which didn’t set well with Terry. Rather than try to resolve problems, Terry started looking for strange at work. Karen tried to mend their personal problem. Sometime it worked, sometimes it didn’t.
    She discovered her husband’s first affair almost ten years after they were married. True to form, Terry—now an IT manager for a big firm—was fucking his secretary, a low-wattage IQ blond named Mandy. Karen considered leaving him, but then the gallery where she worked closed and it was a while before she could find work again. During that time Terry broke it off with Mandy, and started sleeping with her again .. . . but she was sure that he was still fooling around on the side.
    The last ten years had been a blur. Terry fucked around now and then, Karen worked when the mood struck, and they slept with each other when they had nothing else to do. She hadn’t had a full-time job in almost six years: her last came to an abrupt end when her boss, a slender, 30-something, short-haired brunette named Alice walked up behind her at closing time, slid her hand inside the back of Karen’s slacks, and whispered while fondling her ass, "All women are bisexual, Karen; why don’t you let me show you how good I can make you feel . . ." Karen never returned—not so much because of the approach, but—as she later admitted to herself—she might have wanted to plum the depths of Alice’s knowledge.
    Karen watched her husband. He was still in good shape for someone approaching 43—but so was she. 5’ 3", she remained a slim 120 pounds. Her brown hair was shorter, her eyes maybe not as sparkling, but she still had her figure. Despite Terry’s indiscretions she’d never strayed from the marital bed—not that she didn’t have opportunities. There’d been three or four men who’d broached the subject over the last fifteen years—and, besides Alice, at least two women. Karen had turned them all down—although there had been that one girl . . . Karen would admit to herself that she was "bi-curious," but that was as far as it went. To be totally honest, it was very difficult for her to imagine anyone but Terry between her legs—
    Terry slammed the phone down, muttering, "Assholes!" He was about to say something when there was a knock on the door frame. "Mr. Ashland?" He smiled and waved the person in.
    The woman Karen saw was really a young lady at the most in her early twenties. She had that "dress for success" look locked down solid: tailored gray business dress-suit and white blouse; skirt just short enough to be sexy but acceptable; thick heeled pumps high enough to be worn outside the office and still make her look good. Her red hair was pulled back and tied up; again, sexy in a way—that "prim girl" appearance turned on a lot of guys. Always gave you the impression that once that hair came down, you’d find she was a tiger in bed. Karen thought the six rings in each ear indicated this girl was less prim than she tried to look—
    Terry leaned back in his chair as the woman entered. "Yes, Anna?"
    "Here are those reports you wanted on the number of outside hits our servers have taken," she said. She laid a stack of paper on his desk, stepped back, looked in Karen’s direction. "Was I interrupting anything?"
    "Not at all; I was on the phone . . ." Without standing he gestured towards Karen and said, "This is my wife, Karen. Karen, Anna Kordova."
    They shook hands. "Pleased to met you," Karen said.
    "Same here."
    They stood in silence for a moment; Karen sensed her husband undressing Anna with his eyes, she was certain of this. Karen caught a sideways glance from Anna—a quick smile—Karen could see that Anna knew what Terry was doing. But the smile was between her and Karen; she was letting her know that there was nothing going on.
    "I’m glad to have met you," Anna finally said, breaking the uncomfortable quiet. "I’m going out—"
    "With Lucy?"
    She nodded. "Yes, she’s coming down—"
    "Hi!" A cheerful-sounding voice came from the hall. Karen saw an Asian woman stick her head in the room before entering. Karen saw Terry’s nostrils flare, knew he was probably getting hard. She couldn’t blame him. Where Anna had been subdued, this Lucy girl was a lot more—obvious. Long black hair covered by a wide-brim black velvet hat; tight low-cut brown knit pullover, two of the largest breasts Karen had ever seen on an Asian woman fighting to get out; matching hip-hugger pants; platform shoes which added a good six inches to the girl’s height. The girl seemed playful—and oozed sexuality. Karen wanted to hate her, found herself envious.
    "You ready?" she asked Anna. The girl nodded. Terry asked, "What you guys doing tonight?"
    "We’ll grab a little dinner," Anna said, "and then maybe . . . I don’t know. We’re both in the mood for tennis."
    "You play?" Karen asked. She was starting to think that his Anna girl looked a little familiar . . . .
    "Some."
    "Maybe we can play sometime—"
    "Hope you like a good beating," Lucy said. She winked at Karen, who didn’t know how to respond.
    "We got to go." Anna hustled the other girl out, waved back to Karen, "Nice to meet you. Hope to see you again."
    Karen smiled, turning just in time to catch Terry snapping his jaw shut. Asshole could at least lust after them when I’m not around— Although she couldn’t actually blame him . . . .
    Both girls were very cute.

    Six months before Anna Kordova didn’t exist.
    Well, she did and she didn’t.
    Six months before Anna Kordova had been Ken Parsons, a going nowhere sort of guy who one morning discovered a program on his computer— Personal Manipulator MegaKISS 1.0 Beta. It was a very special program; using any image you could take of picture of yourself, overlay it with another image—and become that image. Ken used it to turn himself into a virtual duplicate of tennis start Anna Kournikova, then called over a woman he worked with, Wendy Kurstin, and blew her breasts up to immense proportions. They also discovered you could "add on" things. Both Anna and Wendy ended up with more than one set of breasts and arms before going off to bed to make love . . . Anna still carried an extra, albeit smaller, set of breasts low on her torso because Wendy like them.
    The following day Anna and Wendy ran into another girl, Amy Beetler, who eventually was turned into a Lucy Liu look alike—one with larger breasts, but a look alike none the less. Anna thought of themselves as "sisters," and they retained their new forms even though, as in Anna’s and Lucy’s situation, they had no identification proving who they were.
    At least not until Wendy found the Converter—
    Two days after Lucy moved into Anna’s apartment Wendy—working with Hitomi, the MegaKISS help program—discovered the Converter add-on. Although "discover" wasn’t really the word; Wendy asked Hitomi a question, and the little anime-style girl—wearing a white dress which barely contained her huge breasts—told her, "Personality and document conversion now on system, arigato." Of course Anna could remember the night before Hitomi saying something to the effect that a add-on which could give Anna and Lucy new ID didn’t exist, but . . . .
    But it was there when they looked. It seemed it could change anything: birth certificates, driver’s licenses, credit cards—anything in your name could be changed to another, even picture IDs. Items could even be fabricated: anything currently on computer; fake IDs, including passports; college diplomas. It was there for the making and creating. Anna decided to be the guinea pig. After all, what did she have to loose? Deciding on a last name of Kordova, the information was input, the enter key struck—and moments later Anna Kordova was a real person. As was Lucy Chung . . . .
    Soon after Ken Parsons skipped out on his rent, car payment, and other bills A missing person’s report was also filed by the parents of Amy Beetler. Amy’s car was found in the parking lot of a local mall but there was no trail left by the young women to indicate where she might have went. Ken’s apartment was opened, and all anyone could tell was that his computer was missing. On top of everything else, it appeared he’d also left his old life behind—which, in a sense, he had.
    Six months later there was still no sign of them. And there never would be.
    Anna stood with the racket in her hand, twirling it to get a feel for the weight. Unlike her namesake, she wasn’t that good at tennis—but then, she was playing on an entirely different court, and her skill at hitting a ball didn’t matter much.
    She was in her bedroom. Her outfit was hardly a traditional tennis smock: she wore white boots and a white leather mini skirt, and small white satin gloves. She was topless from the waist up, which showed her four breasts and two over-under navels—and the jewelry they sported—quite nicely. Wendy was very big on body piercing, and in the month after Anna had moved into her new place—a house she shared with Wendy and Lucy—"big sister" had began piercing little Anna’s various body parts, generally because it turned her on.
    Besides the rings in her ears, Anna also had two studs in her tongue, two rings in each nipple, a ring in each navel, four rings on the undersides of both lower breasts, eight rings in two rows of four in her labia major, two rings in her labia minor, and a stud in her clitoris. She stayed away from eyebrow and nose piercings: she still worked in the information technology field, and felt she’d be rejected by her peers as "too strange" should she show up for work with a big bob in her nose and rings above her eyes. It was an unfortunate fact that IT professionals were usually high strung geeks easily freaked out—
    But the rest was hidden from plain sight, and was therefor fair game.
    She turned her attention to her bed, and prepared herself for her "match."
    Little Lucy was lying across the mattress, her feet planted on the floor and her ass in the air. She was completely naked except for black nylons and extreme platform sandals: shinny black patent leather shoes with a five inch platform and a nine inch spike heel. Lucy called them her "stripper shoes" and could get around in them very well. She loved them; Lucy was five foot tall, and she enjoyed wearing anything which artificially elevated her height. She figured people thought short girls in platform shoes were extremely sexy. She wasn’t that far from wrong . . . .
    Anna moved behind Lucy and gently ran her left index finger across her quivering buttocks. "I’m ready to serve," she said. "Are you ready to present the ball?"
    "Yes, Mistress," Lucy replied breathlessly.
    Anna began tapping her finger just above the Chinese girl’s anus. "Just ‘Mistress’?"
    Swallowing hard, Lucy responded, "I’m sorry, Goddess Anna. Forgive me?"
    "Of course." Stepping back, Anna planted her feet—took the racket in both hands—wound up—smacked her in the ass as hard as she could—
    There was a soft whap as the strings bounced off Lucy’s ass, leaving several red marks in a checkerboard pattern across both cheeks. Negating the recoil, Anna stepped back, set up her forehand, and as she walked into the "ball" struck Lucy as hard as she could again .. . . again . . . and again.
    Each strike caused a sharp intake of breath on Lucy’s part; she didn’t start to moan until the fifth "lob". By this time blood was seeping from the numerous wounds across the girl’s ass. Anna knew Lucy didn’t mind. In fact it was her idea . . . Lucy had confided some months ago to a fantasy she had where Anna Kournikova would beat her ass with a racket until she bled, and she begged Anna to do the same. Figuring this was no more strange than anything she or Wendy had done, she obliged—and soon found herself performing a weekly routine.
    Anna didn’t mind. She knew Lucy worshiped her—Anna had introduced her to her new life, and for that she was eternally grateful. Anna also knew that Lucy knew Anna was in love with Wendy—and visa versa. And there was little Anna wouldn’t do for her transformed Asian friend.
    After all, sisters have to stay together.
    Five minutes of this left Lucy panting and her ass ripped with bloody lines. Having worked up a bit of a sweat, Anna took a moment to compose herself. Removing a glove, she asked, "Are you ready for the next set, my dear?"
    Lucy nodded, her hair sweat-plastered to her forehead. "Yes, Goddess Anna."
    Walking over to the computer, Anna brought the system out of sleep mode. The KISS program was already up; Hitomi the Help Program stifled a yawn and scratched her head. "Konbanwa, A-chan. Ogenki desu ka?"
    "Pretty good . . . Can you load Morph C-L-001?"
    The little help program winked. "You change Juicy Lucy again?"
    "That’s the idea."
    "Yatta! You want morph loaded for you?"
    "No," she said, shaking her head. "Not this time."
    "Not even for chichi gohen?"
    "No monster tits this time . . . you have it loaded?"
    "Hai."
    "Wait one minute then run it."
    Anna helped Lucy to her feet. Though her butt was stinging, the girl looked relaxed—probably because she knew what was coming next. Lucy always likes being morphed, Anna thought. Almost as much as she likes having kinky sex—
    Anna kissed Lucy full on the lips; Lucy had her tongue down the other girl’s throat in an instant. Lucy liked it when Wendy was not around and she could have Anna all to herself. She knew those two were very much in love, but she always hopped against hope that Anna would one day say her heart belonged to Lucy . . . until then, she’d settle for the little redhead helping her live out her fantasies.
    Anna worked her way down to Lucy’s breasts—sucking her nipples, biting them playfully. She knew the minute was almost gone—the girl should start changing any second now . . . take one nipple in her mouth, suck hard: Lucy moans loudly.
    Nipple starting to grow in her mouth—
    Morphing under way.
    It had been Anna who two months before found the Morphing add-on. She’d been fooling around with the program, wondering what some of the other features were—and that’s when Hitomi showed her how to use the Morphing add-on to slowly change a person, taking them from Picture A to Picture B, and filling in all the good stuff along the way. Anna had tried it out on something simple first: she inflated her breasts several cup sizes. It worked: she had felt her breasts growing, filling out her bra on the top and rubbing against her shirt on the bottom. She hadn’t made them too big—she had this image of her bursting out of her clothes—and getting them back to normal was simply a matter of hitting the "undo" key.
    Then she began work on Lucy’s "transformation"—
    When they first met, Wanda changed Lucy into her current form, then gave her another for the "sex play" they knew would follow: a multi-armed, multi-breast "humantaur," looking like a centaur only with a human lower half. Lucy’s humantaur form also has vaginas in the front and back—and a large penis between her rear legs. Lucy loved her "other" form; in fact, she usually "wore" this when she was home with the girls and knew there wasn’t any chance of something stopping by. She told Anna once that she wished she could be like this all the time—
    Lucy’s breasts and nipples began to swell and move to the sides of her torso. As they did, a third breast began to develop in the empty space between; it quickly grew to the size of the others. Anna continued to suck on the thickening nipple, which was beginning to "split" in her mouth. When she pulled off—Lucy’s hands on the back of her head trying to stop her—there were three inch long nipples situated inside a large areola. The other nipples had underwent the same transformation.
    Three more breasts began to emerge from Lucy’s abdomen. As they did, her arms and legs took on a strange appearance: it seemed as if they were thickening. Once they’d grown to twice their actual size they split . . . first the fingers, then hands . . . feet, too, as well as her shoes and nylons as the transformation move across her limbs. After twenty seconds Lucy had a second pair of legs and arms. Her ass pulled away from her torso like a drop of rain falling off a slick pipe—the second set of legs went with it—Anna heard a wet smacking sound as the vagina between the rear legs fleshed out and opened.
    Anna began to stroke the triple-nipple configuration of her lower breasts as both sets of arms thicken again, two more sets developing. Anna knew the morph was nearly complete. Lucy, her eyes almost closed, moaned loudly as all four arms split into eight, moving into their different positions on her torso. Anna hear the familiar whap, whap of Lucy’s large, erect penis striking her ‘taur belly as the girl reflexively crotch-clenched her member.
    Lucy crawled onto the bed and knelt with her front legs, using her bottom set of arms to begin fingering her front vagina while the rest of her hands were busy with her breasts. Anna walked back to where she’d left the racket, noticing Lucy’s back legs were planted widely apart. Her balls were sung in their sack, her rear vagina moistly beckoned. Anna considered fisting the girl, but knew there was something else Lucy desired.
    She turned her head. The pleasure she was giving herself was self-evident. "I’m ready, Goddess Anna," she groaned.
    Anna nodded. Taking a tube of K-Y, she completely covered the rubber grip of the racket with the clear lubricant. After the application of half a tube, she felt it was ready . . . without any hesitation she placed the handle against Lucy’s back vagina and slid it all the way into her pussy until only the head remained visible.
    Lucy gasped. Anna kissed the bloody marks on the girl’s ass, then gave the racket a quarter turn. Lucy groaned: her back legs quivered. Anna pulled it out half way, then pushed it in. Again. Again .. . . she masturbated Lucy with the racket, bringing her rear vagina to orgasm in less than a minute. The next one came thirty seconds later. The next—
    Anna’s arms were starting to burn by the time she heard, "Goddess, enough! Enough, please!" indicating Lucy was spent or sore—maybe both. The girl was down on all fours on the floor, trying to rest her head on the bed, her breasts preventing her from getting completely comfortable. Anna figured they’d been going at it for almost an hour, which seemed to Lucy’s limit when they played, "Set, Match, Love," as she called it.
    Anna lay for a moment, panting. Lucy’s rear vagina muscles were powerful; the one time she’d fisted the girl’s pussy, an orgasm not only closed around Anna’s arm like a vice, but sucked her in up to the shoulder. Trying to move that racket when Lucy was cuming was like trying to land a shark with a cheep bamboo pole.
    Lucy started playing with her cock, which was still erect—and likely sore. "Your turn, Goddess Anna." This penis was a lot larger than what the average man had; eighteen inches long and a good three inches across, this dick would leave a woman walking bowlegged for a couple of days.
    Anna had been bowlegged on a number of occasions.
    She kissed Lucy’s balls, ignoring the racket still sticking out of the rear vagina. "You up for it?"
    The penis quivered; Lucy moving it with her rear groin muscles. "Something is up, Goddess Anna. The question remains: would you like it in?"
    "Of course." Anna got on the bed. There was no need to remove anything; she hadn’t been wearing panties under her skirt. She spread her legs. Lucy straddled her with her front legs, bringing her front vagina up to where it was possible for Anna to perform oral sex on Lucy. Anna felt Lucy’s dick resting on her groin.
    "How would you like it this time, Goddess?" Lucy had to lean forward so they could see each other’s faces.
    "I would like you to make love to me, cum, then eat the cum from my pussy," Anna told her matter of factly.
    Lucy smiled. Hers was about the only dick Anna ever got. Wendy had fucked her a few times with a penis, but didn’t like it as much. Lucy loved pumping cum into her sweet Anna’s pussy; she also love sucking up the juicy aftermath of their love making because it made Anna scream with delight. Anything for her Goddess . . . .
    Anna started to guide Lucy inside her. "There’s one other thing—" she added before she was penetrated.
    "Yes?"
    "We are to continue making love and you eating me until I order you to stop—or you are unable to maintain an erection."
    Smiling once more, Lucy let Anna glide her inside .. . . Anna gasped, gripped the bed sheets. Lucy drove her cock deep into Anna. The girl cried out, then lifted her head and began sucking Lucy’s clitoris. Lucy sped up, her pumping coinciding with the quickness of Anna’s tongue on her clit.
    Lucy clutched her breasts, the bed, Anna—
    She exploded. Anna moaned, whipping her head side to side, arching her back.
    Lucy pumped the last of her load into Anna, then removed herself and went to her knees. Her cum was already starting to dribble—
    The last time they’d played this game Lucy had cum seven times. And she felt very horny this evening. "This is going to be a long night," she mumbled to no one in particular.

    Six weeks later, and Karen Ashland was pissed off.
    Terry was having another of his affairs. This she knew. Terry had just left this morning for an IT conference in Las Vegas. This, too, she knew.
    A friend of Karen's called from the airport; she'd seen Terry checking in at a departure counter with a blond whom she recognized as a cheerleader for the local NBA team.
    That he was fucking some bimbo—these days she didn't give a shit. After their last "get together" a few weeks back, Terry told her as far as he was concerned she was old, worn-out news—an old dog without a trick in her bag. Karen took it all in stride, but it hurt . . . she considered getting out, but knew she couldn’t match his income on her own—and would have a hard time living in anything but the style she was accustomed if she did split.
    But the fact he took his mistress to Vegas for a week . . . Karen had never been to Vegas! Her cheep fuck of a husband never sprang for tickets to a place she’d always wanted to visit!
    That's what really pissed Karen off.
    Which was why she was in his office, trying to find the name and/or address of the slut he was fuckin’ so she could head over to her place and trash that lame little rat hole . . . .
    "Karen, what are you doing here?"
    Anna was standing in the doorway. She was smiling, seemingly happy to see Karen once more, although her, "Looking for something?" was a little more questioning than Karen expected—or wanted.
    "I’m just . . ." Karen didn’t know what to say. I’m looking for the address of the cunt my husband is fucking in Vegas—probably as we speak. That seemed a little too forward. "I was looking for something that Terry left behind—"
    "You want to cut out and go someplace? Maybe get a drink?"
    That stopped Karen dead in her tracks. Here she was, trying to break into her husband’s desk, barely knew this girl, Anna, and after a few seconds she’s asking her out for a drink. There was something in Anna’s demeanor, though . . . Karen was at ease. Confused, but at ease. "I don’t know—"
    "Come on. It’s not like I got a lot to do around here." She stepped into the office. Leaning on the desk, she told Karen softly, "You look like you want to talk."
    "Not—"
    "Yes, you do. Trust me." She winked. "I’m good at sensing these things."
    In fact, Karen did want to talk . . . her heart was ripping asunder, her world was spinning down the shitter, and she did want to talk.
    She only needed someone . . . .
    Someone had arrived.

    Drinks at the lobby fern bar. Memories for Anna: "Ken" first laid out his fantasies for Wendy here. She likes the vibes it gave off. Good place for confessing.
    Anna takes it easy, ordering a Bloody Mary, spending a lot of time chewing the celery. Karen goes for a Brandy Alexander, Ringo Style: Drink in a big glass; couple of shots on the side; pour the shots in; kick the drink up a few notches. Downs it two minutes into the "My Husband’s a Bim-Fucking Shit" spiel, orders another.
    Anna: "Terry hit on me once."
    Karen: "Doesn’t surprise me. You’re a beautiful woman." Shots into the drink— "So what happened?"
    "Well, I didn’t fuck him."
    "What happened, then?"
    "We were having a meeting—oh, four months ago, right after I started. We were in his office; when I got up to leave he came around the desk, grabbed my ass, and told me how ‘good’ I looked."
    Karen giggled. Foamy mustache drying on her upper lip. "And?"
    "And I looked at him and told me if he ever touched my ass again, I was going to cut his hand off and shove it up his ass."
    "Damn." Shaking head: "You could have been fired for that. It was your word—"
    Anna, big time smirk. "Yeah, right. I don’t let just anyone paw me."
    "Still—"
    "Still my ass, Karen." Bloody Mary downed, wave over the waitress, get another. Continue. "How many women do you know Terry’s fucked?"
    "At least—eight or nine."
    "How many do you think he’s done?"
    Shrug. "Maybe twice that."
    "And why are you still with him?"
    Long, silent, inner reflection, eyes focused on the wall behind Anna. She knows what’s coming next, but says nothing. Karen starts the mantra: "I can’t leave him. If I did—he makes most of the money in the house—"
    "Bullshit."
    "—And if I left I wouldn’t have a thing to fall back on—"
    "Boo-fuckin’-hoo. Bullshit."
    "And anyway: I’m too old to be starting over again. I mean, I’m 42 with a liberal arts degree, which means I’m qualified to do shit, and I’m not ready to start over again, it’s not like when you are young, if you fuck up then you just dust yourself off and start over but I’m too old to start over it’s not like I’m eighteen—"
    "What if you were?"
    "Shit, that’s—"
    "What if you were eighteen again?"
    Karen knew where this was going; drunken BS about what you would have done if you could do it over again. She was never much for that; she knew fantasy and reality were two different mediums, and never the twain shall meet. But what the hell? She was starting to work that third Brandy Alexander, and soon she’d be loaded enough that she might start wondering if it was true that all women are bisexual, ‘cause Anna was starting to look pretty hot to her, so why not give her an answer?
    "If I were eighteen? Again? I wouldn’t marry Terry. I’d go off on my own. I’d fuck everything that moves. Most of all, I’d control my own destiny.. . . I’d enjoy myself."
    Karen raised the drink to her lips. She was half way through a sip when Anna pulled her from her chair. Quick hustle to the door after dropping a couple of twenties. Karen asks, "Where are we going?"
    The answer is enigmatic enough to be tantalizing. "We’re going off to recapture your lost youth."

    Reality crept back to Karen, and had nearly become a dull focus—
    When she realized she was in bed. Naked.
    Shit. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. We came back to Anna’s place; I rode with her. We kicked off our shoes, we smoked a joint, and then . . . we fucked?
    It had to be. Karen’s vagina and clitoris were still tingling, a sign the orgasms had flowed like cheep beer at a frat party. She felt the sheets on her nipples, her breasts, so that meant she was naked. Which meant she’d probably had sex with Anna. Big fuckin’ surprise there. On the drive over Karen was checking out Anna, wondering what she looked like her in underwear. Then what she might look like naked. By they time they started passin’ the splib she was past wondering and instead hoping that Anna didn’t find her too unattractive—
    But what happened after that? To say Karen was foggy on details it to say Houston has a slight problem with air pollution. She had no idea what went on. She had this peculiar sensation that whatever went down she enjoyed it, but beyond that—
    She figured talking to Anna might be a good start. Shit. I got to get up. She tried moving, but— Nothing. It was like she couldn’t get her arms and legs to move. She tried lifting her arms so she could pull down the sheets—again, nothing. Just the sensation they were there.
    What the fuck? Did the little bitch drug me with some strange shit? Karen was starting to panic. It’s one thing to get so stoned you’ve paralyzed yourself silly; it’s another to discover you can’t make your arms and legs work. She was also feeling a little strange elsewhere, too. The way her breasts were tingling—
    "Ah, you’re awake."
    Anna was in the doorway. Karen began to say something—stopped. Stared. Now it was her mouth that wouldn’t work . . . .
    It was Anna, but she had changed. First, she had a third eye in her forehead. And her breasts; they were not only much larger, but they’d multiplied. She had four where she should have had two. And where she should have had a nice, smooth belly, there were four more breasts! They covered her entire torso. There were four large nipples on each breast as well, making her look something like a cow.
    Anna spread out all six arms, leaning against the door frame with an amused look on her face. Six arms? Karen didn’t seem to mind that as much as the three legs—yes, three. The third one grew out of her groin where her vagina should be. Her hips seemed wider, perhaps to accommodate the extra limb. Between each leg Karen could see a vagina. And above those she could see a third and forth vagina.
    Karen was starting to swoon. This shit can’t be—
    "Oh, it’s real," Anna told her. She moved over to the bed slowly: middle leg in front, then the left and right legs lurching forward. Anna crawled onto the bed; she pulled her left and right leg in, as if he were going to sit cross-legged, then slid her middle leg up and grabbed onto the knee, holding it with her middle set of arms.
    "I suppose you’re wondering about this—"
    "NO SHIT!" Karen screamed.
    "Okay, so here’s the Reader’s Digest version. I can change people—pretty much into anything. As you can see—" Anna’s four unencumbered arms waved open. "I didn’t always look like the Anna you knew before—this. In fact, I was a guy."
    "A—?"
    "Lucy was the same way. She wasn’t a guy, but she didn’t look the way she does now. The same with another girl who lives here . . . anyway, I know how to change people, and I know it stays. You don’t change back unless you want to. I can also give a person a whole new identity. ‘Anna Kordova’ was not a ‘real’ person before six months ago, but you’d never be able to prove that. As far as my identification, my passports, my credit rating—I’ve always been here."
    It was a heavy load to take in—but Karen had to either believe the girl, or admit she was hallucinating like a bastard and this was all some drug-induced nightmare. "And you say you can change—me?"
    "I already have."
    "Huh?"
    Anna reached over and whipped off the covers. Karen saw what she meant, her eyes growing wide in amazement—
    She was all breasts. Her head slightly elevated on a pillow, Karen could see her whole body. She was breasts, everywhere she looked. Her normal C-cups had been joined by a third which had moved into the spot previously occupied by her cleavage. There where also four breasts aligned upon her stomach. She looked left and right and realized what had happened to her arms: they, too, had become breasts, as had her legs. In the area where her crotch should be another, much larger breast sat, a particularly large nipple situated atop the fleshy protuberance.
    Karen tried moving her limbs again. She could feel the breasts which had replaced her arms and legs, but had no more control over them than she had over those on her chest. "Wha—What did you do to me?" she cried.
    Anna lay down next to Karen. Two of her hands began playing with Karen’s various nipples—which sent a ripple of excitement through the woman. "When we got into bed you mentioned you wished you could be all ‘tits and ass.’ I don’t know if this was exactly what you had in mind—" Anna leaned over and sucked on the breast that had been Karen’s right arm, causing her to gasp out loud, "But it didn’t seem to bother you when we were making love."
    She wanted to protest, but Karen’s anger was quickly giving way to the pleasurable sensations building up inside. She might have been turned into a quadriplegic mass of breasts, but they were a sensitive mass of breasts, as Anna was proving with gentle, yet experienced touch. While three hands were softly caressing breasts and nipples, Anna sucked in the nipple she’d been working on, wrapped it between the parallel studs on her tongue, and started her saliva-moistened metal and flesh slithering over Karen’s hard-as-rock breast tip. It wasn’t long before Karen exploded into an orgasm the likes of which she’d never experienced—
    This went on for what seemed like hours—which it may have been, for eventually Lucy arrived, similarly changed. Karen thought of her as a centaur but with a completely human body—including that huge cock between her back legs which she eventually slid up next to where her pussy should have been—something touched her—then penetration—Karen screamed as she took Lucy in all the way, understanding only then that large breast in her groin was her crotch; that her vagina stretched from her asshole to the top of the breast; and that the "nipple" on top was her enlarged clitoris—
    It was dark by the time all three women lay exhausted on the bed, covered in sweat, cum, and any other bodily secretion they could muster. Anna leaned over, kissed Karen on the lips, and asked one question: "Do you want to start over as someone else?"
    No hesitation: "Yes." Then: "Do I stay this way?"
    "If you’d like."
    "How would I live?"
    "You’d be taken care of," Lucy said, chiming in. "You’d be washed, fed—loved, pleasured. I love you form; it’s so—delectable." She reached over and kissed one of Anna’s vaginas. "Since it was a form picked out by my Goddess, I would be more than happy to give you a life filled with happiness and orgasms."
    Karen looked at Anna, who shrugged. "I created a worshiper when we changed Lucy," she said, patting the Asian girl on the head. "Anyway, while I’m sure Lucy would make your life enjoyable, I think you’re wanting to get back on your own feet—no pun intended."
    "Yes, I would." Karen nodded, wondering just what it would be like to live in this current form, having young Lucy administer to her every need. If these girls can change forms the way they do, she thought, maybe I can try this one out now and then—
    "Good" Anna was off the bed and over to the computer. Karen couldn’t see what she was doing, but in a mater of less than a minute she was "returned" to her original form—still naked, but at least she had two arms and legs now. Although she still had four breasts—
    "Let’s start working on who you want to be, then after that we have to get ready for our trip—"
    "Trip?" both Lucy and Karen asked.
    "Sure. I’ve already made reservations. We’re heading out to Vegas for the weekend." She winked at Karen. "There’s someone from her soon-to-be past we need to see . . . ."

    Finding someone in Vegas is very easy to do if you know where to look.
    Anna knew where to look.
    Terry left behind information to his staff concerning where he would be staying while attending the IT Management conference in Vegas. On top of which, Karen also knew he’d be staying in the Hilton next to the LV Convention Center. So finding him wasn’t that hard. Once the girls checked in at the Riviera, a call to the Hilton gave them Terry’s room number . . . .
    The girls decided to walk. It wasn’t that far.
    Lucy was decked out in a pair of blue PVC Capri pants and matching halter top. A wide-brimmed straw hat covered her face. Her platform sandals added eight inches to her height and forced her to move with short, mincing steps, making her appear as footbound as her adopted ancestors.
    Anna had her long red hair tied back, as baseball cap shadowing her face. She wore a black body stocking on her torso, and tight, shiny black leather shorts which accentuated rather than concealed her privates. Black platform pumps added only six inches to her overall height.
    And Karen—
    Karen didn’t exist any more. At least not as far as she was concerned.
    The woman walking next to Anna had bright, shinny blond hair nearly reaching the small of her back. The white hat she wore kept the harmful rays of the sun off the alabaster skin of her twenty one year old face. Her DDD-cup breasts and proportionally perfect small waist, wide hips, and round, full ass were encased in a white cotton mini dress which seemed to have been painted onto her sculptured, and not a little bit muscular, form. Long white nylon-encased legs terminated in matching pumps with four inch heels.
    The newly created Christina Thorsenburg, "born" in Stockholm, Sweden, but now—according to her "papers", which included a half dozen passports—a citizen of the United States, walked slowly so as to not outpace her "sisters," Anna and Lucy. The woman who had been Karen Ashland smiled, happy that she was not only getting another chance at life, but she’d be doing it in a smokin’ ass bod of her own design. She noticed people looking at her and loved the awareness of their eyes upon her body, speculating how many of them were undressing her in their minds this very moment. She knew she’d better get used to it. Not only was she beautiful—"A classic Scandinavian woman; tall, young, strong, and ripe for a good fucking," as Anna told her—she designed her new body so she’d always stand out in a crowd. In her bare feet Christina was exactly two meters tall—almost six foot seven inches by American measurement. The heels she wore pushed her up to almost seven feet.
    Karen had always hated being short.
    Anna cleared her throat. "Enjoying yourself—Christina?"
    "Ja," she replied. The add-on programs allowed her to keep a trace of a Swedish accent, which only added to her allure. "This is—how do you say? A goddamn delight! I cannot believe this is really me!"
    "I knew you would dig it," Anna told her. They could see the Hilton across the wide street. "Onward, ladies."
    Once inside the casino the plan was simple: they’d scout around for a while, looking for Terry. If they found him inside of a few hours, they’d approach. If not, Plan B: go up to his room and knock—
    "You know where he might be hanging out?" Anna asked.
    Thinking for a moment, Christina replied, "I would think he’d be trying to impress his bimbo . . . guys usually do that ‘round the craps table, no?"
    "Let’s give it a shot."
    They didn’t have to look further. Terry was at the tables, trying his hand at beating the house and impressing the twenty-something blond bubblehead in the light blue sun dress who had about a thousand bracelets on her arms.
    Positioning themselves, the girls waited. After about ninety seconds Terry noticed Christina. Thirty seconds after that—with a less than pleased look on his face—he also noticed Anna and Lucy.
    They began moving towards each other, meeting half way. "Anna, what are you doing here?" Terry asked, sounding exasperated.
    "Working the room," she replied. "How’s things going?" Anna gave the blond on his arm a glib look.
    "Uh . . ." Terry knew he was busted, but figured he could walk out of this—after all, it wasn’t as if Karen gave a shit about who he slept with. "Anna, this is Jean Tiffany. Jean, this is Anna—one on my employees." He put a lot of emphases on that last word—emphases that Anna ignored. Like I give a shit if he threatens me—
    "How you doing?" Anna said to Jean. If there was anything she was certain of, it was that Jean’s last name sure has shit wasn’t "Tiffany."
    "Like, you know—okay," she replied, shrugging as if the question was requiring way too much effort to answer. All three women hit on the accent right away—pure airhead cooz on the make. Jean was most likely brushing her tonsils once a day on Terry’s chubby—a small price to pay considering how much of Terry’s "disposable income" she was probably lapping up on the side. Christina was seething, knowing that she’d given Terry a lot more over the years than this little slut ever could. Cocksucker . . . .
    "Like—cool." Anna smiled at Jean and received that, "Get Lost, Bitch, He’s Mine!" look in return. Ignoring the tramp, Anna asked Terry, "So, what sort of plans you got for later?"
    Terry was playing it cool. He didn’t have to explain himself to this little cunt—although he was starting to wonder why she’d be out her with Lucy and this other fine bitch she had in tow— "I don’t know. What did you have in mind?"
    Anna slid up and took Terry by one arm, trying to pull him away from the octopus epoxied to his other arm. "I’ll be honest with you Terry: when I say I’m ‘working the room,’ that’s exactly what I’m doing—"
    "Huh?"
    "How’d you like to have a foursome?"
    What the fuck? Terry was confused. The one time he’d come on to Anna she’d shut him down hard. Now here she was, roaming around in an outfit that left little to the imagination, and she was talking a foursome? "You mean—?"
    "I mean, you, Jean, me, and that very tall blond next to Lucy—we get down and do the nasty, right?"
    Terry’s heart was in the back of his throat. "Hell, yes. If that’s—I mean, if you—"
    Putting a finger on his lips, Anna told him, "Honey, I’m not going to tell your wife. Because, uh . . . well, I don’t exactly work for free, if you know what I mean—"
    It took a second, but Terry got the message. "You’re a prostitute?"
    "Say it a little louder; I don’t think the blackjack dealer heard you." She laughed at the expression on Terry’s face. "Hey, a girl’s got to have a hobby. Besides, how do you think I afford to fly out here on a whim?" She winked. "I also knew you were out here and thought you might like a little—strange."
    Terry nodded. "Sure. Why not?"
    "Cool." She pulled Terry back to Jean—she latched onto him like a drowning woman to a life preserver—then slid up next to Christina and told her, "Terry says he’d like to do a foursome—" Jean’s eyes popped out like a character in a old WB cartoon; Terry acted ice cool. "I’m wondering if you think we should do it?"
    Christina gave Terry the hard, hungry look. Throwing an arm around Anna, she said, "Ja, jag behöver fin knullar."
    "What the hell does that mean?" Terry asked.
    "It means ‘yes’." She leaned against Christina. "It’s gonna run you $500—each."
    "A thousand to get—"
    "Why don’t you put up a sign and advertise, Terry?" Anna was getting exasperated with this nut. She was about to blow their plan off, but . . . She cuddled close to Christina, began rubbing her up and down. "Did I mention we’re both bisexual?"
    "So that means you’ll do lez stuff?"
    It was all Christina could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Can’t believe I was married to this jerk . . . "Ja, we will do ‘lez stuff’ if you so like." She winked at Jean. "Or with anyone you like."
    "As the girl said—" Anna chimed in. "So what’s it gonna be, Terry? Shit, or get off the pot."

    Three hours later outside Terry’s room: Anna and Christina knocking. Terry needed to get cash—"I’ll find a way to expense this shit off—" told them to come up in the afternoon, he’d have the money for them.
    Anna and Christina had the plan before coming out here: fuck Terry, hold him up for a few bucks, then split back home, Karen/Christina move on with her life, leave Terry to the bim he was dipping. Christina really wanted the chance to get rough with Terry’s trollop; wanted to look the bitch in the face and slap the shit out of her.
    They had pictures of both of them: Lucy had been snapping away with the digital when they were in the casino, and they’d brought a laptop which they’d lap-linked the MegaKISS program on to a while back. Anna figured they’d have their fun, get their money, then give Jean a really big dick as they were leaving. See how Terry dealt with that shit.
    Knocking—Terry opening up, beckoning them in—
    Then it went balls up—
    Jean with a 9mm in Christina’s face. Terry with a sash cord around Anna’s neck. Quick hustle to the bed; girls thrown across .. . . Terry falls on top of Anna, reaches down, cuffs her to Christina—handcuffs already fastened to bed frame. Gags in the mouth. Anna started to clench up as the gag goes in—Snuff?!?—figures not. Terry’s not the sort of guy to snuff someone.
    She hopes.
    Money thrown in their faces: "You fuckin’ bitch whores want your money; here you are." Jean now behind Anna, striping off her shorts, cutting Christina’s panties away. Terry mumbling: "Think you can come out here and hold me up, do you?"
    A loud crack, a muffled scream from Christina. Jean is whipping her ass hard with Terry’s belt, cackling like a crazy bag woman. "Like, that feel good, you cunt?" Another hard crack, Christina squirming.
    Anna wonders what’s in store for her. She feels her buttocks being forced open—no need to wonder anymore. No subtly here: Terry rams it home, ripping Anna bloody as he anally rapes her. She screams, tears flowing: of all thing she wanted to experience as a woman, this wasn’t one of them.
    Jean’s in front of Christina. Wearing a strap on, she forces the latex cock into Christina’s mouth. Like a bad scene out of Boogie Nights, Jean puts the barrel of the nine against the blond girl’s head as she fake-fucks her in the mouth, yelling, "Like, suck it, you fuckin’ cunt, yeah, like suck it!"
    The nightmare goes on for a long time . . . .

    That night, back in their own room. Lucy on the laptop, Anna and Christina a few hundred richer for their troubles—nursing ravaged egos and assholes:
    "Nice husband you had there," Anna mumbles to Christina.
    "At least I know now why he wasn’t fucking me," she replies. She lying across the bed, a mass of wet tissue lodged in her panties in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. Jean had decided to ass rape her with the strap on, then let Terry have a shot as well. "I’d have left him a long time ago if he’d tried that shit with me."
    "You should have left him anyway," Lucy chimes in from across the room.
    Nodding, Christina agrees. "Everything looks so clear in hindsight—"
    "Bingo!"
    Anna and Christina glanced towards Lucy, who was whooping it up. "You get a hit?" Anna asked.
    "Sure did. Woman in Santa Monica. Says she’ll be out tomorrow afternoon to see what we’ve got." Lucy smiles. "She says she thinks our claim is a little dubious, but since we told her we’ll reimburse her for her troubles if we’re lying—"
    "She’ll be here."
    "About 3 PM, she says."
    That was all Anna had to hear. "So we’re going to do this?"
    "With that load of cum dripping out of your ass," Lucy reminded, "I don’t see how you can’t want to."
    "What about the girl?" Anna asks. Christina tells them what she wants to do, asks if it is possible. Lucy nods, as does Anna. It sounds perfect—

    The ambush started with Anna changing herself to look like this swanky brunette; not hard to do when you can make yourself into anyone. She hung out in the hallway waiting for Terry to come out. Which he did about nine AM. He gave her the eye as they got into the elevator; it was fortunate that they were the only ones on board.
    Anna gave Lucy a call: "Do it." She knew Terry would be changed as they were hitting the lobby. She watched Terry change as they came to a halt; Anna changed back right after that.
    Brings them to NOW—

    Anna hustled the confused and totally freaked Terry out of the casino/hotel as quickly as she could. She hoped that her warning was sufficient to keep her from screaming and making a scene. And if she did? Anna would just walk away, vanish, leave Terry on "her" own.
    But there wasn’t a word said. Not until they were outside, away from people—
    "What did you do to me?" Terry screamed.
    "Changed you into a girl, Terri." Anna smiled. "That should be pretty goddamn obvious."
    "That’s—"
    "Don’t say ‘impossible’, or I’ll leave you ass right here! Now shut up and listen—" When she had the girl’s attention, Anna continued: "
    "You’re name is now Teresa Blount, but people call you ‘Terri’, with an ‘I’. You’re 17. You were born in Vancouver, British Columbia, which means you’re Canadian. You don’t have a passport or green card, which means you’re in this fuckin’ country illegally. Which means if the cops pick you up you’ll be back in the Great White North 48 hours later wondering what the hell you’re going to do with your life, since you have no family, no friends, and no where to go but the street.
    "Terry Ashland does not exist. He’s gone, a memory. Your parents and friends can look for you all they want, but they won’t find you. Karen isn’t going to look for you, ‘cause she don’t give a shit. Jean isn’t going to say anything, either. And no one will believe a teenage runaway from Canada claming to have been a male IT director, so no matter how hard to try to get people to listen to you, they won’t.
    "Here’s your choices: one, you can come with me. If you do, you’ll be given to someone who’ll take care of you—"
    "Given?" Terri was starting to cry now. The finality of what Anna was saying had sunk in. She was becoming a true believer.
    "Yes, given. We sold your ass to someone in California." Anna leaned in close, whispered, "It’s amazing the sort of people you find out on the Internet." Terri blubbered even harder. Anna continued:
    "The person we sold you to was looking for someone—special. We told her we knew just the girl. That’s you. She’s coming to see you this afternoon. By tomorrow you’ll be in your new home—"
    "I don’t wanna go!" Terri screamed.
    "Do that one more time and I’ll give you your second choice—"
    "What’s that?"
    "I just leave you ass here. Right now. I walk away, that’s the last you see of me. And you fend for yourself. And before you get any ideas—" Anna pulled a flyer from her purse and thrust it into Terri’s face. "Read this."
    Terri scanned the paper. It was telling her . . .. she was having trouble concentrating. Trouble understanding. She recognized a couple of words, but as far as knowing what it said . . . she looked up at Anna with more tears in her eyes. "I—can’t—"
    "Can’t read, can you?" Anna put the flyer back, making tisk, tisk sounds. "Guess you should have spent more time in school der, ya hey. If you did, you might not be this illiterate little slut you’ve become—
    "Now, since you can’t read, that means you can’t get a job working fast food, working retail, working—hell, just about anywhere. Sounds pretty bad. But you do have a nice body, and . . . Well, being this is Vegas, there is one job you can do. You can be a hooker. Prostitute. Streetwalker. Whore. You getting the image, Terri?"
    Terri was shaking. She looked around. None of the signs made sense to her. Even the numbers were confusing. She vaguely remembered what room she was staying in—she still had the card key—but if she walked in and started telling Jean what had happen . . . no fucking way she’d believe any of this bullshit. Jean wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist, and she’d think she was some teen quiff Terry had found in the casino and sent up to keep Jean amused. Not a damn bit of help there.
    Terri was fucked. She knew it. If left on her own, she’d be hungry in a few hours, walking the streets tonight, probably screwing for lunch money before it was too dark. Then it hit her: How the hell would I even eat? I can’t read a fuckin’ menu! And forget about getting a place of her own. If you can’t read, you can’t sign a contract—and I’m seventeen, which means I can’t do anything an adult can. I can just get arrested, deported . . . probably die.
    She shook her head. This game was going nowhere. And she knew it. "Where do you want to take me?"

    The flight back—time to relax. First class all the way home. Easy to do when you have a program that can hack the ticket for you.
    Christina stretched her long legs, lay her chair back. Anna was out cold on her left; Lucy was watching a movie on the personal seat monitor just across the aisle on her right. Christina thought about their weekend in Vegas—
    Anna had brought Terri back to the room; the kid was quivering in fear. Lucy and Christina were waiting for them—already changed. Terri started to scream, but it was child’s play to gag her: Christina had been "bulked up" by Lucy: Ms. Olympia could only hope she looked this good. She grabbed her ex-husband with one hand and held her off the ground while humantaur Lucy slipped on a ball gag she’d picked up the night before.
    Anna went to the laptop and made the final modifications to Terri, explaining their "customer" was looking for someone "very special"—and they were just the people to deliver such a wish. First her clothes disappeared; the better to see things in the mirror on the dresser. Terri then screamed when her vision blurred; she could see the third eye crammed between her other two, situated at the bridge of her nose. Her breasts swelled even larger than at first; then a third breast appeared, squeezed between the other two, triple G-cups on her chest. Her nipples changed, multiplied: where once had been one were now four, all much larger than normal. Terri suddenly felt her breasts grow even larger . . . she moaned in pain when she realized what had happened: her breasts were engorged with milk. She was becoming some sort of freakish human cow . . . .
    She tried to struggle free of Christina, but the muscle-bound girl was too strong for her. She locked her powerful hands on either side of Terri’s head, forcing her to stare at the mirror. Terri wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t—part of her had to see where Anna was going, how much of a freak she would make her . . . .
    Pressure and pain ripped across her stomach: another set of breasts, just like the three on her chest, appeared; all stretched to the limit by the milk they held. She was crying from the pain now; if the ball gag were removed Terri knew she’s be begging to be milked—if she could still talk. She was frightened the only sound she would be able to make when she opened her mouth would be "Moo."
    Her legs changed: where once were two were now three. one in the middle where her crotch had been. Her feet, all three, hurt: they’d been forced into these extreme high heels. She tried to wiggle her foot out of one—gasped—her foot was the high heel. No getting these off—ever—
    Two vaginas appeared between her legs. Twice the size of a "normal" woman’s vagina, they rode up on her hairless crotches, looking like they wanted, needed to be fucked. Terri could feel both clitoris throbbing. She wanted to cum—she had to, soon. Maybe the girls—
    The girls had plans, but probably not what Terri had in mind. Christina threw her on the bed; the pain caused by falling on her engorged breasts brought tears to her eyes. The tall blond ripped off the ball gag while Anna knelt next to Terri’s face. "There’s one other thing we wanted to give you—well, a couple actually—"
    Terri looked up. Christina had this huge cock. She could see Lucy standing behind her, another huge cock between her back legs. What comes around . . . she closed her eyes. "Just fuckin’ do it," she muttered between clenched teeth.
    Anna nodded, then said, "Oh, and there’s Jean—"
    "What about her?"
    Christina grabbed Terri by the hair and yanked her head up. "I thought you made such a cute couple, I didn’t want you to be without her."
    Terri didn’t know what they hell they were talking about. "So where is she?"
    Anna moved out of her line of sight. A moment, then— Terri felt something very strange happen. Her vaginas felt so—stimulated. Excited.
    Animated.
    And she heard Jean’s voice:
    What the fuck . . . like, where am I? What is this . . . Terry? Terry? Like, what is this? WHAT’S GOING ON????
    Terri closed her eyes, but couldn’t block out her shouting. "Where’s that voice coming from?" she asked Christina.
    The girl looked down: her smile was one of absolute gratification. "I thought she was such a cunt . . . so that’s what she’s become. Your cunts." Christina forced her cock into Terri’s mouth and started pumping as Lucy was ripping Terri’s ass open. "Ja, you’ll like having her as your slida; she’ll keep you excited all the time . . . nu, suga pitt, ragata . . !"
    It had went on like that for a while; Lucy in her ass, Christina in her mouth, Anna fisting her pussies. The bed sheets were soaked with sweat and milk by the time they’d finished; Terri simply lay there in the aftermath, a mumbling basket case with a glazed expression of finality encrusted upon her face. She was the ugliest rape victim she’s ever seen; Christina couldn’t say for sure that she—or Jean, who’s internal screaming cause Terri to twitch every so often—deserved this treatment—but then, neither Anna or she had deserved the raping they got.
    Karma works that way, she thought, gazing upon Anna’s sleeping form. They fucked with us, they got fucked in return .. . . .
    In the end it didn’t matter. They’d cleaned Terri up. The buyer showed. She couldn’t believe that a person such as Terri—who was a little more responsive by this time—could exist. She was very happy with her "purchase". After the woman left Anna changed Terri back to her "old" self. They drugged her, got her out of the room an into a limo . .. . picked up the buyer later that evening, Terri back in her "new" form. Handed her over, accepted payment: two briefcases with fifty thousand in cash.
    The limo headed back to California with Terri. The girls boxed up the briefcases and Fed Exed them home.
    End of story.
    Christina wanted to think about the future, but figured there was enough time for that later. She would sell the house, move in with the girls—they would probably have to get a bigger house now. Anna told Christina about Wendy, who was now modeling—among other things. She’d meet her when they got home. Christina thought she might want to visit her "homeland," take the girls on vacation.
    Her future was looking much brighter—
    She wondered if it had been proper for her to tell Terri—while fucking her in the mouth—that she was really Karen . . . .
    Sure.
    If she hadn’t, it might have spoiled her fun . . .. .
 

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