The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Boys had not made the top ten. Macy had written down her goals for freshman year, and not just musings in a private journal. A bulleted list on her new laptop, saved to the cloud. Boys did not show up.

In fact they only made the list of items to avoid—a dull and embarrassing list, but necessary. Macy was hyperconscious of how few reinventions anyone got in life. High school had been a mess of medications and unavoidable weeping. Graduating had taxed the patience of several therapists and stretched her parent’s health insurance. She was still on mood pills. She’d listed underneath “NO:” in a stern font: alcohol, lack of sleep, boys, isolation.. And even there, boys were thrown it more as shorthand for parties, drama, and social entanglement.

Macy had no reason to think, at all, that a boy would want to fuck her, and she’d be desperate, aching to get fucked.

She’d bought only sensible blouses and jackets. She was eager to avoid depression clothing—pajama pants, dumpy tights. Macy had invested in outfits, full-bore outfits, made to be worn in the front-row of lectures. A lot of belted skirts, a brown blazer. Nothing for attention. “Attention” made the “avoid” list. She had cleared away mental issues and was ready for the college to career pipeline.

But it turned out Cyrus was her next door dorm neighbor in the dorm.

He was short, and dark, and stern. From the start he was nothing like the other boys. They fidgeted and played around with their first beards, and made a lot of jokes. Cyrus did not make jokes. He didn’t find anything funny. He wore cheap shoes and hooded sweatshirts, and he put the hood up.

They first spoke late at night, after midnight. He came in smelling like grease and dough and carrying a pizza box. Macy was trying to study, trying not to worry at her fingernails. “Five minute break,” he said, sitting in the common room, putting his feet up.

“It’s twelve-twenty a.m. I think you can do ten,” Macy said.

“Twelve-twenty-five to one-thirty is homework,” Cyrus said. He had hard eyes. Late at night all the other boys had bleary, wet eyes. Not his. “One-thirty to seven-thirty, bedtime. Then class.”

“Eight A.M. class?” Macy said, horror-struck. She usually slept until nine. Oddly, despite her many other demons, she’d been sleeping comfy, warm nights, on the old college mattress. With vivid dreams. Very vivid.

“Seven forty-five,” Cyrus said. His eyes examined her: hair pulled back in a ponytail, unscrubbed face. She’d caved and gotten pajama pants. “That’s a joke. It’s 8.” He opened the box. It was full of disassembled pizzas—end of shift leftovers. “Take one.”

“Do I look skinny?” Macy said. She meant it to take his measure, knowing it was unfair. Most of the boys knew enough to flush, embarrassed, at the question.

“Yeah,” Cyrus said. “Eat some pizza.”

Macy scowled at the boy internally. But there was truth to it. Keeping herself going was turning out to be very, very hard. “That’s the wrong answer.”

“Are you sure?” Cyrus said. He shook his head. “Just take it. They’re all from other girls who don’t like eating.”

The last time she’d eaten anything was—noon. Before noon. “When do you get personal time?” Macy said, taking a slice. It was upscale stuff, from one town over. Later she’d learn it wasn’t even his only job.

“Right now,” Cyrus said. “Twelve-twenty to twelve-twenty-five. Like I said.”

It was more then enough to earn her attention. It took Macy longer to realize that he had her interest.

She’d never had a crush before. Her high school sexuality had been held hostage by medication and realted struggles. A vector for insecurities. Macy had never felt much more then a tinge of sexual interest. She’d half-heartedly masturbated very few times. The first had earned her a UTI.

She’d wondered if she was asexual, or some variety of queer, but had decided, overall, to leave figuring out the mess that was human sexuality for later in life.

Later in life hit her a month into college. At night.

They were shockingly erotic dreams. And she remembered them very well, which was also strange. In the cold light of day they seemed almost disturbing, except her body seemed to be enjoying them so very much. Macy thought of them, privately, as her “throbbing cocks” dreams. That’s what featured. Big dicks, lots of them, and her. Exposed, naked, and extremely horny her. They were very minimalistic—usually she was just in a circle, getting fucked by nameless, faceless lovers. No, not lovers. She was just getting fucked, in the most porn-y, full-femme sense. Thighs quivering, shrieking in a baby-doll voice, chest heaving orgasmic sex.

When she woke up it was to drenched thighs, her breath coming fast and hot, and her nipples hard. And she felt good. So good. Flooded with warm and happy hormones. She felt like a wholly different person—until they wore off, about eight-thirty-ish.

The rest of the days weren’t going well at all.

Macy had tried to enforce routines and schedules. These were murder on any nascent college-aged social life. She didn’t trust herself enough to go out and party. No one in the dorm was mean at all, they just formed groups and moved on, while she sprawled, miserable at her desk. Classes trudged along.. Outside of her early endorphin rush the days slagged and meandered, the Professors a dreary line of murmuring men.

On her dresser she had put in plain view her pill bottles. Taking them was always humiliating: you need these to be human. To be marginally functional. To be a little happy.

“You smell bad,” Cyrus told her, during his nightly ten minutes of socializing.. She had quickly gotten into the routine of pizzas. She looked forward to them all day long. They were, she told herself, free. And as the two people on the dorm floor with no social lives, it made sense they’d gravitate together. She’d gotten used to his flinty eyes and absolute lack of humor. Cyrus was that rare quality in a man, honest. Too honest.

“I know,” Macy told him.

“Really,” Cyrus said. He never ate the pizza himself, which meant he was bringing it back for her. Macy had noticed this. “You know and you’re just okay with it.”

“Its a girl thing,” Macy said. She was surprised how mortified she was. Macy hadn’t showered in a week. Her hair was sodden with oil. The truth was, the shower was her traditional place for losing it—so Mom and Dad couldn’t hear. It seemed too risky.

Cyrus looked at her. He deliberately sniffed. Macy froze. He was assessing her period excuse. The sheer affront of it. “No it isn’t,” he decided. “Go deal with it. You’ll feel better.”

Macy’s legs surprised her by getting up. They marched her into the shower. A week and a half of school fungus got scrubbed off. She washed her hair. The shock of being ordered to bathe by a male kept her feelings in check. She returned to Macy in pajama pants.

“Better?” she said. Trying to keep it arch didn’t work. It was a real question.

Cyrus rocked his hand back and forth. “Improved,” he said. But he’d stayed up past his deadline, just for her.

The early crisis passed. The crying into the pillow didn’t stop, but it did slow. The warmth in the morning… was more noticeable. Macy felt a little more able to look around her, especially at, it turned out, men.

She was noticing boys. Especially in the early a.m., Macy was definitely noticing boys. If nothing else, her apparent hetereosexuality was confirmed. How they were tall, taller then her, with a puppy strength the more adorable for being unassuming. The ‘I’m in College’ beards they were all growing. At breakfast Macy would look at the boys shoveling down cereal and think: these guys have penises. How interesting.

The dreams kept up. She tried to laugh them off, at what a pathetic pressure cooker her psyche was, that it was giving her porno dreams.. But they were steamy and they were every night. They were really fun. Mindless fuck dreams were fun.

At first Macy felt a sense of vague alarm at this new stirring. She’d tried so hard to exert control over her life. Sex wasn’t controlled, not even a little. And the dreams were so depersonalized, so submissive. She was being used for pleasure by men. Her pert little body taking in big fat dicks.

It felt super good though.

When her roommate was definitely going to be gone for a long period Macy opened her laptop and watched her first gangbang video. The actress looked a lot like her—very good skin, small boobs, wide-eyed looks. She swallowed a overgrown cock to the base, with another penis stretching her pussy from behind. Macy humped a pillow, frantic. She came so hard she flopped over, headphones pulling out of the socket. The speakers broadcast porno until she could get up, on shaky legs, and turn it off.

It was ten thirty a.m. She’d felt hot and good all day. A new personal best.

This led back to Cyrus.

There was only one boy in the entire dorm who could, plausibly, deep-dick her until she spasmed. Who had dominant eyes. Everyone knew that confidence was sexy, but Macy was overwhelmed by it. She was already lingering in the dorm common area, every night, waiting for Cyrus to stride through the door.

“Aren’t you tired of pizza?” he asked. He hadn’t brought up the scent issue. Macy was taking regular showers.

“Uh—no!” Macy said, flushing. She’d dressed up for a boy, for the first time. Her tightest jeans and a tanktop. Sparkly lip gloss. It felt so juvenile, up against a guy working a man’s schedule. Two men. “They’re great! And you said I was too thin!”

“I can’t even taste them,” he said. “Six years baking and delivering. It’s just calories to me, you know. Emergency calories.”

“Hey,” Macy said. She’d rehearsed in a mirror. “We have the same class, don’t we? English 10?” Half the dorm floor had that class, it was required. The lecture hall sat six hundred. “We should study together?”

There was a certain tension. She’d gotten his attention, really gotten it, for the first time. “You’re next door to me, right?” he said. “You and Alicia?”

Macy had given that a lot of thought. “Yeah,” she said, twirling her hair. “Yeah!”

“You sleep on—the west side of the room?”

An odd question. Yes, she did. “Yes?”

Cyrus glanced out the window.. There was a long pause. “Yeah,” he said, turning back. “Lets study together. What’s your last name?”

Macy was having trouble in class.

This wasn’t particularly new. She’d spent her life up to that point not living up to expectations. The reason was new—she was being attacked by puberty.

It was all happening very fast, to the point where she’d started to sleep face down, in hopes it would make her boobs moderate. Obviously a college-age fill-in could occur pretty quick, but it was night to night. After just few days with a tight bra they spilled forth, growing and growing, going from bare bumps to pert handfuls to—breasts. Real breasts.

“Shit, I have boobs,” Macy told herself, nervous. They were plump, and her nipples stuck straight out.. The image in the mirror was new to her. She’d figured herself as one of those boyish, slender waifs with ashen-white skin. A certain indie flair with a gothic twist—a body that was mostly vibes. Now she was getting boobs. After buying a new bra and swiftly growing out of that she gave up—there didn’t seem a point until the growth spurt was over with.

“I need to cut down on pizza,” she told Cyrus, during a study session. Part of her wanted to just confide—hey, Cyrus, study buddy, look at my nice new tits.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her, not looking up. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

She giggled. That was another new thing, and especially around Cyrus. Was it just a reaction to how oddly serious an eighteen year old was? His absurd intensity in reading Shakespearean dialogue? But it was more then that. Around Cyrus she felt so—spacey, unserious, floating high in a pleasant bubble. She felt good. Like someone else.

Her nipples brushed against her shirt. They were much more… noticeable.

The bathroom mirror didn’t just have breasts on offer. She was curving out all over the place. Soon she’d need a wider mirror. This was, in many ways, more concerning then now packing a pair. Macy was pretty sure girls didn’t suddenly acquire fat butts. Her pelvis was what it was. Still, her hips kept pushing their way towards door frames.

“What is going ON with me?” she said, to the mirror. Had some hormonal dam burst, way deep inside her pituitary gland? Some pent-up surge of femininity coursing through her? It didn’t seem right, and for a few weeks Macy kept making clinic appointments, only to cancel them, uncertain. This followed a pattern. Make the appointment around dinnertime, when the unreality of growing three cup sizes in two months broke through, when her hips ached in too-tight pants.

Cancel it the next morning, in the lazy after-glow of a finger fuck session..

The dreams hadn’t at all stopped, and were starting to add new details. Perhaps from the porn she kept watching, mouth open, groping the heft of her new boobs. The men now sported much more realistic penises, with pubic hairs that tickled her chin. They had heavy balls for her to caress. While still faceless, they had more active hands, and liked to squeeze her boobs. Her own dream body was even more voluptuous, even thicker, a femme parody. And when she woke up her hands were already straying.

“Do you like college?” she asked Cyrus.

“I don’t know,” he said, after a characteristic long stretch of thought. He was always frowning. “It’s… different. New.”

“I’m starting to like it,” Macy said. She felt optimism. Real optimism. She was going to class, studying for class, and there was even a sense of progress in getting a more feminine figure.

That was the ending argument to the “see a doctor” debate. Whatever she was feeling, it included all that serotonin and endorphins she’d been missing for so long. It was shocking how good she felt, at least, in the morning. What if the doctor put a plug back in? Reduced her back to wan chemical substitutes?

If the price of happiness was big boobs, it seemed worthwhile.

“I guess I actually do like it,” Macy conceded. She had gone and made some purchases. It wasn’t hard to justify—her academically sedate outfits with their tartan and long sleeves didn’t fit. While it was possible to clothe her curves in stiff fabric it didn’t at all feel right. Macy had cleavage.

Every so often even Cyrus would glance at it, his fierce eyes wandering up and down the still-growing line. It made her want to tug her blouse down even more.

“You like it,” he repeated, and then rubbed at his lip. “Macy, can I— just sit there for a sec, okay?”

It was an odd request, but that just made her more willing to do it. She could show him how useful she could be. Macy struggled with these feelings, especially during the doldrum afternoons. What did she want from Cyrus? Dating, wasn’t it?

Macy closed her eyes, and felt his hand take hers. Was he just—and then the first wave of it shook her. A golden wave, pleasure in all its varieties washing up and down her. Wellbeing, comfort, happiness, but also sex, sex up and down her spine. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt—both the relaxed joy of life and the high-tension wire of her clit at the same time. Macy slumped in her chair, immediately overcome. She could feel, distantly, his hand stroking hers. The pleasure wrapped around itself, grew, and just as she whimpered, a pre-orgasmic moan, it faded away. Her body, her mind, had no idea what had just happened.

“Cyrus!” He was slumped backwards in his chair, dazed, those hard eyes at last unfocused. “Oh!” His hand had gone limp.

“I couldn’t,” he murmured. “I’m just— not even half.”

He passed out.

Cyrus needed help to get to his room—some of the other boys got him to bed. He was barely conscious but insisted “no ambulance, no ambulance” which they all understood. It was not a university for rich children. He fell asleep right away.

In the morning Macy skipped class to sit by his bedside. It was the first time she’d really been in his room. At first it seemed nearly unoccupied, just the standard school kit, but on the other side of her wall. No posters. His laptop was a battered chromebook with PROPERTY OF DEL VALE MIDDLE SCHOOL crossed out. He owned two pairs of shoes. The book set was a surprise. Her maybe-sorta-crush owned a copy of The Prince, and My Years At General Motors.

She couldn’t resist poking in his drawers. The desk drawer held one pencil, a number of filled-out class notebooks, a postcard from New Mexico, and a picture of a younger Cyrus with his Mom.

His sexy Mom.

She had long curly hair and a big smile, and also really huge boobs. Her thighs barely fit in frame. Younger Cyrus, in a soccer outfit, was surrounded on all sides by hot mother. She wore a too-tight and too-short skirt.

“Hey,” Cyrus said.

Macy stuffed the picture back in the drawer. She herself, was also wearing a too-tight and too-short skirt. A denim mini she’d just gotten. Already it was riding up on her butt.

“Cyrus! Are you okay? You—” right, she had questions for him. The hand-holding. Something had occurred.

“I’m fine— I—it won’t happen again.” He said. In bed, exhausted, his features lost that rough cast. For just a moment he was a teenager with too many jobs. “You’re here.”

Macy flushed. She crossed her legs and turned to him. “You passed out on me! I—did something happen? You were fine and then you weren’t—and—I felt…”

He was staring right into her eyes. The wind fell out of her. Macy felt her thighs slowly open. Her thoughts emptied out, unable to handle the scrutiny. He took her hand again. She waited for another crashing jolt of pleasure, warmth. Her body needed it. Her thoughts slowed to a complete halt.

“Do you want to go—lets go to dinner,” he said. “We’ll go out to dinner. No pizza. Dinner but not pizza.”

Macy jolted back awake. Her mind started to tick again. So they were— he hadn’t actually asked her out. All the concerns and thoughts were driven away into far corners. She had her first boyfriend. She could dress up for him. It was all very exciting for her new set of hormones, for her new boobs, and all the worries about odd physical sensations were driven away. She’d freaked out about holding her crush’s hand, that’s all it was. She was so happy. She was glowing.

Just glowing.

“Anna! Hey!” Macy had gone the route of having exactly two friends in high school. The teachers, who had seen this type of trio many times, referred to them as the latest coven. Three sullen girls who treated the world with icy disdain, who were eager to learn facts about how bad everything was.

“Oh shit,” Anna was visibly taken aback. She had done many subtle things to communicate that she was now in college. Curved glasses, cold shoulder shirts, a silver necklace. Anna was the smart one, the one who had gone ivy league. “Macy. Hey. So this will sound strange, and maybe it’s the camera, but what I’m seeing is a lot of cleavage?”

“Yeah!” Macy couldn’t conceal a little smile. She couldn’t help liking her boobs. They certainly loved her. The red nubs were a delight when squeezed, or just rubbing against a tanktop. They were still getting bigger. “They waited for college. I’m racked now. All racked up. It’s an adjustment.”

“Okay, I thought I was—I was wondering if there was some insane new zoom filter,” Anna said. “I’ve been… uhhh… Macy, how big are they?”

Macy shrugged, which just made them bounce. The line of conversation made her faintly uncomfortable.. Part of her knew that going up a lot of cup sizes in just a few months was weird. And they shouldn’t feel like they were direct-wired to her clit. She’d looked it up on the internet. They should feel sore, tentative, new. Not good. Really good. “How’s the big leagues? Lots of smart people being smart?”

“No. They’re all frauds, same as me,” Anna still looked discomfited. “Macy, are you wearing makeup?”

That set off some giggles from Macy, which bothered Anna even more. The trio had a strict ban on makeup. Actually, washing your face was frowned upon. The third member of the group, Mei, had florid acne, and it was generally solidarity. “I have a date tonight,” Macy confessed. That was the reason for the call, in all honesty. In her p.m. worry-times she’d thought to lay it all at Anna’s intelligent feet—the happy glow, the hand-holding incident, the way her butt was adding padding, while they chit-chatted. But it was all lost beneath: date tonight, date tonight, date tonight.

“With a….?” Anna hunted.

“Man.”

“Uh-HUH. I lost a bet.”

“You bet I was gay?” Macy said.

“No, Mei bet you were hetero. I took the field. A sheep would’ve won me. Lipstick and everything, huh? Looking good for a boy?”

A bit of the old Macy kicked in. She was supposed to make snarky comments. “Normal human mating behavior,” she said, and then punched herself.

“Mating behavior! Now that IS serious,” Anna said. “I haven’t done ANY mating at all. I should go get some lipstick.”

“I’m getting all my girly stuff out of the way,” Macy said, more defensively then she’d intended. The conversation wasn’t going well. Anna picked up her phone and sent some texts off, on screen. A moment later Mei buzzed Macy: you have boobs now?

“Anna, you can hang up to gossip if you want.”

“I’m just readjusting my priors. I thought you’d be…” Anna trailed off. Now she’d said too much: she didn’t think Macy could hack it. She’d been the disaster, among the three. Some sincerity was called for. “What’s the guy like?”

“He smells like pizzas and he said we only have an hour, because he has work,” Macy said. Anna relaxed slightly. This was more, standard Macy.

But she didn’t end up saying anything about the concerning facts, the ones still rattling around in darker moments. Why had she started to skip important medications? Why had she stopped all pillow-crys, for about the first time in adolescence? And why had she spent a half-hour diligently trimming her pubic hair, for her very first date, destined to last no more than an hour?

Before the date Macy had thought: he’s going to take me to a mexican place. It was inexpensive, it was not pizza, and it was fast. Also, Cyrus seemed like someone who knew the best place in town, and probably most of the kitchen staff. They walked there. She’d foreseen that as well, and worn comfortable shoes.

Otherwise, Macy had gone very hard for this date.

That mingled sense of horny and happy grew stronger all the time. Now it was lasting until the early afternoon, even into the p.m. It was getting hard to concentrate during her early morning classes—so Macy had skipped them, to go cute outfit shopping for date number one. She ambled through off-campus stores with a wide, pleased grin and lots of bags. Her newly trimmed pussy buzzed pleasantly between her legs. At no point did she look at price tags.

Store staff talked to her slowly and gently, and it dawned on her, also slowly, that they thought she was stoned. It wasn’t far off. Macy had only smoked a few times, and marveled later at the pictures her friends had taken. She had worn such a stupid grin.

Worries tried to break through the glow: why was this? Why would sour, fragile Macy be shopping for hot outfits with her nipples aching? Why had she put on a really cute red top—and squealed? Actually squealed.

Who was this, in the mirror, glowing?

The glow. Had she heard that term before? It felt right. Everything felt right…

“Tell me about yourself,” Cyrus said, once they had burritos and beers. Like everything Cyrus said, it wasn’t quite a question. More of a command.

“Mmm-MMM,” Macy said, around her burrito. In the end she’d gone with a short black jean skirt and cold-shoulder cream-colored blouse. She’d stolen the top idea from Anna. It was sexy and at the same time wasn’t just tits and ass. On the other hand, she hadn’t worn a bra. “Mmm…mm. Mmm.”

“Right, your name is Macy,” Cyrus said.. “M-macy. Like the store.”

He had shown her around to the kitchen staff. They were all lean men, older than Cyrus, with tattoos up to and on their necks. Cyrus got a lot of hair ruffling, a lot of winks. He’d kept his hand protectively around her waist and Macy had felt her knees shake. Even though it was evening, usually when the disquiet returned, she felt not a touch of it.

“I’m—” Macy stopped, once she’d swallowed the plug of burrito. “I don’t know. That’s a tough question, I don’t—I need a different prompt.”

“Start with that one,” Cyrus said. He sipped free beer. They hadn’t paid for anything. He had worn his usual jeans and his usual shoes. But the shirt was new, and had a collar.

“I mean—” Her entire skin felt taut and warm. Her nipples poked up and out and still seemed to be getting harder. She had her head cocked at an angle blondes used to look dimly inquisitive. Her thighs twinged. It was hard to keep them closed. “I—uhh.. You know. I’m just a pretty normal girl person! You know!”

Why couldn’t she TALK? Macy didn’t have many lists of positive personal qualities, but she prided herself on an arsenal of wit, irony, snark, observations. It had all gone away, disappeared. She had to sound like a complete ditz, stammering. She made an enormous effort to say something cool. “Two legs and two arms! All that kind of stuff. Just like you except with tits! Yeah!”

Now she flushed with acute embarrassment. What was all this?“Sorry, I don’t—I usually don’t—what was I even saying?” He had to think she was extremely stupid. She really wanted to touch up her lipstick. Occasionally his eyes checked out her tits, and more collected thoughts fell away.

“It’s fine,” Cyrus said. “In my house I never did any of the talking.”

“Oh, what are your parents like?” Macy said. Finally, she had asked him a question, and not just twirled her hair and babbled inanely. Chatted like a cheerleader. But now her mouth hung open.

“My Mom is… great. Just—you know. You’ll like her. Or will. Single Mom.”

“I saw her picture!” Macy kept blurting, she felt like. Where was the cool, collected Macy she had envisioned, in the mirror? True, she was having fun, in fact felt wholly electric and completely calm at the same time. All the blood circulated below the brain. A lot of it seemed to be between her legs.. Cyrus’ attention, on her, was amazing. “She’s so hot!”

It was a terrible comment, but Cyrus didn’t seem to mind it.. He finished his beer. “Yeah. A lot of people say that,” he said.

“We’re just gonna kiss,” he told her, halfway up makeout point.

“Ummm, okay!” Macy said. Her eyes felt impossibly wide. She licked her lips. Cyrus, short, had to angle up to kiss her.

They’d only made it halfway up makeout point. It was intended for college students with cars. He’d pulled her aside on a dirt turnout that was just an animal track. And instead of the intended vista of twinkling city lights they got the backside of the apartment buildings. A few cars filled with wealthier horny co-eds drove by. Macy didn’t notice. Cyrus tasted like beer.

The warmth grew. Already Macy felt— passive. She hadn’t been sure how kissing with a boy would go. She had never considered it. Her fantasies had jumped straight to her getting roughly handled by fat cocks. Vaguely she had thought of it as an exchange of equals, learning each other’s bodies, teaching excited boys about the importance of foreplay. Definitely it would be romantic. Instead she just felt limp, pliable.

She had enough awareness to recognize that she was going to let Cyrus do whatever he wanted, and a dim sense that this might be alarming.

Cyrus was losing control.

His hands were on her butt, squeezing and stroking, but then they took off for everywhere. She kept backing up, unsteady, as he pushed into her. He was an inexperienced kisser. Macy could feel his erection poking into her thigh. It seemed to pulse in time with her own glow, like waves pushing in and out. His hands, shaking, disappeared up her shirt. Macy registered it with the same bemused half-awareness: Oh. He was squeezing her tits. That felt very nice. She was being fondled.

Distracted, nipples in his rough hands, she couldn’t really process the first glimmer that she was being acquired. That she belonged to him.

It was just the briefest flash, of her, holding back a very pregnant stomach.

With what little agency she had Macy decided to rub his dick through his pants.. Macy gripped it, briefly shocked by the heft, and then tried to figure out how to rub it. The cock rewarded her with another surge of fun heat. She nearly fell over.

“No, no,” Cyrus said. He broke the kiss. His hands were still all over her boobs, her lovely new tits. Now his eyes had a panic in them. “I—” he backed away from her, and clenched his eyes shut. He seemed to be trying to do deep breathing. His prick still bulged in his pants. Macy’s mouth watered for it. Through the haze she felt thoughts trying to re-emerge: what was going on? Usually boys liked having their cock stroked.

They broke apart and panted at each other.

“Soon,” Cyrus said, first, as usual, to regain control. “Soon… not yet. You can touch it soon. Next date.”

“Sorry, I—” Macy couldn’t catch her breath. The glow swirled in her, constrained. She felt so uselessly sexy. Pricks danced in her head, and she couldn’t seem to reassert normal, non-horny thoughts. What was wrong with her? She tried to concentrate. Her boobs heaved up and down. “I—yes, sir.”

A long and quiet walk back to the dorms. But Cyrus did slip an arm around her. Next date, he had said that. “Are we dating?” Macy said, once she could properly breathe again.

“You’re mine, yes,” Cyrus said. It was both very romantic and delivered with flat male finality. He gave her a chaste peck on the lips before delivering her to her door, which was right next to his.

“Sorry if I pushed— I know you said just kissing—” Macy had chosen to interpret all this as repression. Her mind told her: it was normal, it had to be. She was just turned on. She hadn’t felt preorgasmic bliss timed to the beat of his heart. That would be weird.

“You don’t need to apologize to me ever,” Cyrus said, leaving her at the door.

Macy managed to get out of her wet, soaked panties, and into pajamas, before the glow hit her once again. A sudden downpour of sexual heat, enough that she wanted to throw the door open, jump on Cyrus, mount him, fuck him. Where did it come from? It was all she could do to fall backwards onto her bed, whimpering, and stick her hand between her legs. She could’ve fucked him in the forest, out in public. Bent her knees and stuck her ass up like a proper animal. Let him stick his cock right up her. Macy came. She bit the pillow to keep from screaming. Her roommate shifted in her sleep, on the other side of the room.

Did she hear a grunt from the other side of the wall?

Mom kept giving her funny looks on the drive home.

It took Macy a long while to figure out why. She had figured that Mom had worked out that her daughter had grown inexplicable tits. The day before the home visit Macy had run out and bought an expensive bra, with supportive and engineered cups, just to try and be decent during a weekend home visit. Already it felt tight, the straps digging into her back. On top of it she’d layered one of Cyrus’ t-shirts, and a sweater, and was pretty sure she wasn’t breasting boobily in front of her mother.

Still the arch looks. Macy snuck her gaze downwards. She was sure they were all well-concealed. And she’d worn sweatpants. Yes, they were now snug and well-fitting sweats, as opposed to when they were baggy and loose, but she was still decent.

“You need any refills on your medications? While we’re here?” Mom said, as they pulled into the driveway. The light from the garage shone on Macy’s face. So that was it—she’d forgotten about all the eggshells.

“Oh, no,” Macy said, fidgeting. Her bra was really digging in. She had an entire drawer of obsolete breast support now. “No, it’s fine, I’ve got plenty, really.”

“We haven’t touched your room,” Mom said. “So if you put any booby traps in there, they’re still unsprung.” She laughed, with a touch of unease. Macy’s ears pinked at the booby reference. “Are you going out, you think? I’ve seen Mei around, she works at Starbucks, I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Oh, I was just gonna hang around, get caught up on homework,” Macy said. “Watch TV. I miss cable, is that weird?”

Mom looked relieved. “Dinner is at five-thirty,” she said. Macy took a moment to clock that: for prescription pill timing. How to tell her, she hadn’t taken anything besides birth control since Cyrus had kissed her?

Her room was untouched. The door was shut and there was a chill inside, like even the heating hadn’t bothered. Everything had a chilly gloss to it, like it was not quite damp..

Macy sat on her bed and tossed her bra across the room. The new boobs bounced with her on the bed. The room aesthetic was bleak, smeared with adolescence. A lot of pink, representing ages up through fourteen, including a Wicked Witch-style large oval mirror with pink-gold framing. Then middle adolescence, primarily represented in black—her wardrobe, posters on the wall, some photos with Anna. Finally, late teenager-dom, represented by a lot of frantic diaries and the pill cabinet outside of the room.

No wonder her Mom hadn’t touched it.

Macy had brought a ton of homework home. She hadn’t been doing any of it. In a way this felt like self-improvement. Instead of being too sad to do math she was too giggly and distracted to do math. Inside of her notebook she’d even written Cyrus’ name in a glitter pen. It had started out ironic, indulging her 7th grade self. But it had ended up filling a page.

Macy had even written, in a small and secret font, the possible names of some kids.

She was in front of a mirror and barechested, so Macy started to stroke her nipples. It was getting really routine. Her childhood bed squeaked as she leaned backwards. She’d wasted High School, not having any fun at all. Making fun of horny cheerleaders felt so pathetic, now. Lucky ladies on their backs, getting joyfully ploughed by big jock dicks. Lots of friends, lots of things to look forwards to. Why hadn’t she seen that?

“Dinner!” Macy startled. How long had she been just rubbing at her tits? She snapped a quick pic and sent it to Cyrus. He texted like he talked: if he could respond with ? or ‘okay’ he did.

“And how’s college?” Mom said, halfway through dinner. Macy read her Dad’s tension. She’d forgotten to put her bra back on, and her nipples were killing her. Every movement, grazing Cyrus’ shirt, was hot and unbearable. She had to squeeze her thighs together. She’d put on some makeup and then giggled to the mirror—why was she dolling up for her parent’s house? But it did look cute.

“Uh…” Macy said. It came out high-pitched, almost a squeak. Her parents didn’t need to know she was feeling very warm. Cyrus had messaged back “nice tits” and she was still riding that high.

Both parents were very quiet. Macy realized that they’d deliberately waited on the question. There was probably some plan in place, in case she said “bad”. Or started to sob. The underside of her boobs rubbed against her arm.

“Great!” she said, through a shock of heat. This wasn’t her, was it? Spending family dinner all hot and bothered? But they looked so absolutely relieved. “It’s going really good! There’s a…”

“Boyfriend” sat on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed it down. “...a lot of people to do. Stuff. Stuff to do. I think it’s good for me! You know me!” Macy doubted that part. Did they know how she’d shaved her triangle down to nearly nothing? She felt like she had little choice. It had to match her dreams.

“And how are classes?” her Dad said.

“Oh, good! I’ve got a tough biology exam coming up but no big deal!” she’d spent her last biology class doodling cute outfits to go buy. Her proportions were so new, so inviting. Putting curves in clothing was a real challenge, and much more interesting than the powerhouse of the cell.

Late at night the warmth finally faded away. It was very dark in the room and ages 15-17 were haunting. She’d watched Top Model with Mom, a rare bonding moment, gushing over the outfits. But now it was dark. Macy texted her boyfriend.

M:

hey

C:

i’m at work

M:

:(

C:

oh

M:

send me something

M:

i sent you my boobs

C:

penis

M:

really??

C:

hold on—almost on break

She waited. The phone ticked over. There it was, in poor lighting. Cyrus’ dick. It was enormous, Macy could tell. Macy had heard plenty of nasty things about dick pics. But this one was hers to enjoy, wasn’t it? He’d finally shared something private. It made her feel warm, fuzzy.

More than warm. Macy slid her fingers underneath her pajama pants. She held the phone tightly.

Her biology exam score was automatically flagged by the University’s grading platform. By rule she was obligated to discuss with the Professor.

It came at the worst time: very literally the worst time. Seven p.m. Although the periods of sadness grew shorter they were also getting more compressed, more intense. Macy had to pack a lot of worry into about two or three hours. Especially for her first failing grade. Automatically her eyes sought the clock: her boyfriend wouldn’t be back for another three hours. Her bare legs rubbed together.

Macy stood in front of the mirror. She did that all day—checking her morning boob growth with a lazy, pleased smile, reviewing early afternoon clothing purchases, and then a last makeup check when Cyrus was due back. But around seven it was with concern, disbelief. Was this nymph in the mirror her? This boob-heavy co-ed in the too-tight white top? It had shiny black buttons that all threatened to pop off, and her latest demi-bra peeked over the edge of the cotton. She’d decided to risk one last bra on the theory her boobs could hardly get much bigger. It was taut.

Macy ticked off the day’s activities with a horrified, worried review. She’d skipped her 10 a.m. class to go running—a flimsy excuse for the skimpy gym clothes she kept buying. At noon and five she’d indulged in big cafeteria trips. 2 p.m. was spent in class, doodling images of Cyrus. Then she’d shaved her legs. Her formerly squat legs seemed even longer today. Perhaps it was the new jean mini.

School just seemed so—unimportant. And not in the before-times way, where it was the battlefield on which her mental struggles were fought. It was just boring. It was so much more fun to wear sexy clothes or paint her nails fun new colors or get new lipstick.

I STOPPED TAKING MY ANTI-DEPRESSANTS she texted Anna. It was an impulsive decision, but it felt right. If anything she felt a little too un-depressed. Macy kept giggling, even during class. Things just seemed funnier. She’d taken to watching stupid reality TV stuff in the late afternoon, when she didn’t feel up to confronting her feelings. Or makeup tutorials or just whatever was on tiktok. Dances by girls like her—with big boobs and in frilly skirts.

No response from Anna. She hadn’t responded after Macy had given in and sent a picture of her chest. Two alabaster tits filling the frame.

The clock read 8:45 and Macy whined, antsy. Cyrus was supposed to get back around ten, as early as he ever did. She had so much to talk to him about. Although they were sort of dating he was very, very inaccessible. He texted in single syllables. He was deadly serious about his education even if she wasn’t. And he really was working all the time.

Macy supposed she was lucky to get an hour or so per day. But they really needed to talk about the relationship. About her.

About the—Glow.

During the day she could dismiss it as: first boyfriend, infatuation, crush, jitters. But in the fading light of day when she could handle honesty it was clearly more so. Being around Cyrus felt good. Too good. No stranger to drugs, Macy knew his proximity for another one. It was like being in a spa. A warmth and calm mixed with a deep need to get roughly fucked. Her still-swelling tits, her careening back into puberty seemed to be related. It all seemed crazy when she tried to commit it to paper, tried to communicate it to Anna.

But her pussy shouldn’t be that wet, all the time.

She’d trimmed it down again, just that morning. Skipping class to do it. It was nearly bare.

“I’m back,” Cyrus said. As she grew and grew he seemed to be more and more… like a man? He was the same height, the same weight, but it felt different. She felt safe around him. More than safe. Owned.. Ditzy. Tamed.

They hadn’t done much physically since the last date. But he’d made the shift into acting like a boyfriend. Putting his arm around her. Stroking the inside of her leg while they studied. Her other worries turned into a slurry and melted away. Macy felt her skin pucker. She was so alarmingly turned on by this man.

“Hey buddy,” Macy said. “Homework time?” She wasn’t studying very much. Mostly she flirted—biting a pencil, licking it, making sure her arms were crossed underneath her chest.

“On Friday night?” Macy flushed. It was lucky Cyrus never seemed to care about her increasingly common stupid moments. “We’ll watch TV.” He loved anti-heroes in their prime—bootlegged downloads of The Wire most especially. One of the few personal details Macy had gotten out of him. They got onto her bed—roommate was gone, again—and underneath her blanket. Cyrus brought in his little chromebook with the faded keys.

Cyrus carried so much tension, all the time, that Macy took a long time to realize he was nervous. She herself was a gushy wet mess, and had to tuck her hands underneath her butt. All of this was so wildly out of character that, especially around 7, Macy hadn’t the slightest idea who she was. Definitely she wasn’t the sad pill-popper who careened around in life. That girl didn’t have big plush tits, didn’t shave her pussy. So what exactly was she becoming? And when would Cyrus let her touch his cock?

“You’ll be alright,” he whispered to her. A true Cyrus comment. His hand moved up her thighs to rub at her zipper. It felt incredible, somehow just perfectly in time with the warm ebb and flow that was her near constant companion. She made a throaty, deep moan, and spread her legs wide. She was a girl with legs sprung open. He took her hand and put it on his own pair of basketball shorts.

“You’ll be just fine,” Cyrus reassured her, or whoever. Macy shoved her hand down his shorts. She felt very, very ready to touch her first penis.The dreams had prepared her for weeks. It would be insistent, masculine, it would look a little strange, it was everything she needed. Cyrus folded the blanket back.

It was a big, big dick. The pictures hadn’t done it justice. On Cyrus, not a big person, it was nearly outsized. Uncircumcised and powerful, it grew in her hand. With Cyrus still diddling away between her legs, and her man’s penis pulsing red-hot, Macy nearly lost her composure. There was just enough space left in her head to think: stroke it. You know what to do.

The dreams had taken another swerve. Cum was now a big deal. Macy had never given sperm much thought. It was sex mess. The dreams covered her in it, coated her lips, and especially left wet loads up her pussy. They told her: sperm was a reward.. Cum was good. The more she got, the more that was inside of her, the happier she’d be.

“Just keep going, it’s all under control,” Cyrus said, not that she heard any of it. He was barely fingering her at all. Her clit nonetheless rubbed and pressed for more, starting to spark. Her orgasm approached, vast and deep. She had both hands on his cock now, her hands coated in nice hot precum. His dick quaked. It really needed to cum. Cyrus had his eyes closed and was concentrating on something.

Macy fell into a fantasy—not just sweaty sex in the moment. Sometime in the future, when she’d been fucked by Cyrus so many times she’d forgotten how to frown. It was hard even to move, and Macy only slowly realized why. It was because she was almost all tits and ass, and with a big swollen belly.

A sticky geyser pulled her away from the dream. He was cumming, and so was she. An overwhelming, crashing orgasm that was immediately scary. It was too much pleasure. It wasn’t manageable. Macy felt her body give up and slump over, right next to Cyrus, where his dick was still erupting. It spattered all over her face, and she could barely stick her tongue out to lick at it. But she tried. There was so much of it. It was her reward.

“You’ll… you’ll be fine,” Cyrus insisted, as she drifted off.

“Don’t worry about it,” Cyrus told her, a lot.

He had gained a lot of personal confidence from their mutual masturbation session, the one that had ended with her passed out. Cyrus had thoughtfully cleaned her up, tucked her in, and turned out the lights. Which had meant Macy woke up in total darkness some hours later, her last memory her boyfriend’s twitching cock setting off fireworks in her head. That seemed—off. Nothing felt that good, especially not for her.

“It’s fine, it’s completely alright,” Cyrus consoled her, at breakfast. She’d worn ratty pajama pants and a faded tanktop, just to demonstrate his lack of a hold on her. They had itched, and the tank was way too small for her new chest.

“It’s not okay,” Macy hissed. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from getting a big bowl of everything. She was always hungry now. “I know how girl bodies work, I have one. What are you—”

She stopped, looked down at the table. There it was again, the glow. It made everything so—hard. Like giving a presentation in a hot tub.

“It’s okay to not feel bad,” Cyrus told her. “You deserve to feel good, right? Just let yourself be happy. I’ll take care of it.”

Macy disappeared into a bowl of oatmeal. Her stomach was always rumbling. It all got turned into more butt, assuming her boobs didn’t want any. She tried to force herself to stay concerned: the pulse. That pulse of pleasure in time with Cyrus’ heartbeat. It wasn’t… natural..

Or was it love? That was just as concerning. She needed a frame of reference. Did girlfriends usually vibe so intensely they orgasmed vicariously?

It was easier to let Cyrus think through these issues. His head was held higher. He looked outright taller. Perhaps that was just Macy knowing, and respecting, the heft of the dick in his pants. Her boyfriend had a huge cock, it was a source of pride. Even Anna admitted that he had strong boyfriend credentials: reliable, strong, a rock, a pillar. She had re-emerged from her exams—that’s where she’d been. Midterms.

Attempts to write down her concerns usually turned into a gush session, her legs rubbing together. Cyrus was: handsome. Strong. She underlined strong.

And yet…

She HAD basically dropped out of college just to spend time primping for him. And there was the issue of her still-ongoing ass and boob growth. Also her hair was shinier, longer, thicker. A mole on her throat spontaneously resolved. It wasn’t that noticeable, it was just there. Until it wasn’t. Also she was super-duper wet, like basically all the time.

“I’m getting REALLY big up top,” she told him, the next time they were getting off. “College is making my boobs big. Or something is.”

“Its okay. And they look great.” Her reservations about them were eased when Cyrus started to rub them. Like all men, confronted with big tits, he cupped the undersides first, just to see how heavy they were. It took him some time to actually get to her nipples.

“This is the sensitive part, right?”

“Sort of,” Macy gasped. It all felt good.

“They look great,” he’d concluded. His dick was already out, and Macy reached for it. “Don’t worry about it. The bigger the better.”

Now she was proud of them.. She loved having big boobs, and it felt odd she’d ever felt concern. She’d looked in the mirror the next day and felt real pride that she had big, even very big naturals. They’d open a lot of doors for her. And they just looked so—healthy. So bursting with vitality. And they felt REALLY good.

Macy was aware, in the later afternoon, that she was spending a lot of time just in front of her mirror. Staring at the nymph. It still just didn’t seem like—her. Was she really the kind of girl who’d stroke her own nipples at eight in the morning, wholly carefree, for the better part of an hour? Heft them just like Cyrus, feel the afterprint of his hands still clumsily kneading at them?

She’d given a failure of a presentation in her Classics class. It had mostly been an excuse to wear a halter top. Just to keep things honest she’d worn loose, flowing harem pants. “Ummm, everything that’s old-school Greek is about being HOT,” she’d told the class, braless. “They’re all super hot, even Hera, look at statues of Hera. And then there’s Aphrodite, she’s an entire goddess about being sexy. And slutty. Plus the men are even hotter!”

Classics had seemed like a good combination of her former interest in books and her new interest in her tits. Macy had felt like she could The blank look from the professor told her: maybe not. But the boys seemed to enjoy it. Her boobs wobbled as she gestured, and she gestured a lot. “Like, umm, sex is what motivates the gods. The gods! They can do anything and be anything and all they want to do is to FUCK!”

The “meet with professor” note went on a growing pile. “Don’t worry about it,” Cyrus assured her. He was between her legs. He’d handled it very Cyrus-y. He’d informed her that he’d be going down on her at one a.m, once he got back from work, and did his homework.

“But Cyrus, I’m here to learn stuff,” she’d said, unsure. THIS she had to hold on to. Big boobs were all fun and games. There were benefits to big boobs. She was failing all her classes. “YOU’RE serious about classes.”

“Macy, do you think I’d let anything bad happen to you?” It was a really big question, especially with Cyrus about to go down on her.

“I—I don’t know. No. I don’t know. I just thought I was the kind of girl—”

“Just start with being happy, and I’ll handle the rest,” he told her, fingering her.

“But—” what about the future, what about her degree—Cyrus melted these down when his tongue reached her clit. He said he’d take care of it. Obviously it was not feminist, and definitely not smart, to rely utterly on the vague assurances of a young man who wanted into her pants. Macy laid back, helpless, moaning.

He’d take care of it, she shouldn’t worry about it. School was, ultimately, all worry. So why do school at all? Why work hard?

Why think?

He stopped, mid-lick, and wiped his nose. “What’s wrong?” Macy said.

“Nothing,” Cyrus said. He started to rub her. It did the trick—he was very good with his hands. “One thing,” Cyrus said, after she’d recovered. She was rubbing his dick again. They were getting well-acquainted. This, at least, she was good at. “And I don’t want you to overthink it.”

“I won’t,” Macy sighed.

“You’re off your anti-depressants, right?”

“Yeahhhhh,” Macy said. His dick was so nice. She’d made another doctor’s appointment, during her dwindling number of worry-hours. Maybe she needed depressants. She giggled at the idea.

“And you’re on birth control?”

“Uh, yeah,” where was he going with this?

He nodded. “That’s it, then.” He pulled at his nose. “Huh.” He made a face.

Macy stopped rubbing at his cock. “Why?” she said, now conscious of a thread of drool on her chin.

“Nevermind,” he said. “Forget about it.”

“Why would you—” Macy said, but Cyrus was already shaking his head. “It’s nothing, I’m just — here. Stroke it.” he let his dick out again. She reached a needy hand out.

An image shocked her—Cyrus slowly pulling out, a trickle of cum going with it. She was so full of his cum. If she moved carefully, and put her legs up, it’d all stay inside of her. She was so healthy, so fertile—

He was cumming. Cyrus was an enormous producer. A shot hit her on the top of her tits, and slid down into the center of her cleavage.

“Well, typically, Macy, people complain about feeling bad. Feeling good is a little out of my discipline,” the doctor was exactly who Macy didn’t want to see. Male, light brown skin, intense eyes, and short. Her nipples pricked up as soon as he walked in the room.

“It’s—like, logically, um, speaking,” Macy twirled at her hair. It was getting long. And seemed thicker, to boot. It framed her face. “You can definitely have too little of all those happy hormones, right? Like dopamine, all those? Serotonin?”

“Sure,” the doctor’s eyes flicked back and forth from her chest. She was bare chested. Her impossible new boobs rode very high.

“So what about—too much? Right?” She felt super stupid. Macy was starting to feel that way a lot, this growing sense she was the silliest one in any room. “Also my boobs getting big, that fast? Isn’t it weird? I started school a little B-cup!” She didn’t even mention her butt. It had heft now. She was voluptuous. Her eyes traced her own upper boobs: not a single blemish.

“I mean…” the doctor grabbed the underside of her breasts.. Macy, startled, sat back on her hands. Her nipples couldn’t get any harder. She huffed. “Sorry. Did that hurt?”

“N-no,” Macy said. “Not at all!” She was pretty sure she was going to suck Cyrus’ cock that night. Her mouth watered. She had to keep reminding herself: something was going on. This wasn’t her. She’d gained thirty-one pounds, according to the scale, and it was probably sixteen in the chest, fifteen in the butt. Even her lips seemed fuller. “I just—don’t know. I stopped my antidepressants. Is that okay?”

“Understandable! You’re not depressed!” the doctor said, suddenly cheerful. Probably because he’d fondled a hot co-ed’s tits. Macy had no problem with it. Men’s glances excited her. She turned heads. She’d also worn a thin purple dress to the doctor, one that scrunched around her hips. And white heels.

“My diagnosis is this, Macy. You were in a bad situation in high school. You got out, started eating better, got a boyfriend—” she’d made sure to mention Cyrus. Not that he’d ever do anything… bad. It was just—how did you suspect someone and really want to suck their cock at the same time? “..and now you’re not sad. And puberty got a last shot at you, probably once you got healthier habits. I see students get to school and grow three, four inches all the time.”

Macy gave him her best withering look. She had to parcel them out. Her face couldn’t really manage them. She had a distinct feeling the only look she handed out was “sultry”. “Although usually not all in their chest,” the man conceded. He ordered some bloodwork that Macy had no intention of doing.

She’d meant to order more birth control. Somehow it just hadn’t happened. She’d had to force herself to take that morning’s pill. She had to hurry back and put more lipstick on.

As usual she had the dormitory pretty much to herself.

Wrapped up in her own concerns, Macy had only slowly realized that everyone had decamped, returning just rarely for a change of clothes.

In particular Macy’s roommate had gone extremely sorority. At least Macy assumed it was a sorority thing. Alicia typically had her hair up in two blonde pigtails and preferred short skirts in ruffles, pleats, and tutus. It was almost all highlighted in either neon or regular pink.

She always had a smile for Macy, when their paths did cross. Just about everyone in the dorm had a smile on. The men had added assurance and muscle to their boyhood frames, and seemed to be active in various clubs. The girls wore makeup and cute little jackets. No one was bothered by her now-regular orgasmic moans. Quite a few dormmates were adding to the noise. Fit and positive-minded co-eds had a lot of chances to cum.

Macy flipped onto her bed and started to masturbate. It was just something she did now, when she was bored. Somewhere in the distance her math class went on without her.

Cyrus had added a mirror to the back of her door. His competence with tools went on the Cyrus-turn-on list. All Macy could see, even with her head propped up, was a lot of underboob, her own wide eyes, and her fingers busy between her legs. Sometimes she sucked on her own fingers.

The fantasies were nearly all the time now, and could make regular thinking a challenge. The men were always Cyrus, albeit a confusing number of simultaneous Cyruses, and their dicks were his now-familiar cock. She’d learned all the veins. The new twist is that they kept knocking her up..

It was exciting on so many levels, and once Cyrus had mentioned birth control, had finally taken over all other fantasies. At first it had bothered her, the way she kept rubbing her own belly, measuring herself sideways in the new mirror. Cupping her tits, wondering about expanded aureolae.

But now it seemed to explain a lot about herself.

The submission, first of all. Macy figured that had to be the key. She was just a natural submissive. A girl that liked to be ordered around. To be told what to do, when to bend over. It was possible that all her mental health struggles could’ve been resolved with an uncompromising spanking.

Her fingers sped up. She dribbled onto the bedspread. Macy had to clean it like every few days lately. She was so juicy.

Her own changing self-image, there was that as well. With a swollen set of tits, impossibly wide hips, and ruddy good health, her body was wholly reshaped for breeding. And not much else.

And finally, there was the matter of Daddy.

She hadn’t said it to Cyrus in the real world. But to his dream-selves, the ones that fucked her senseless? She cooed it to them, warbled it in between thrusts. This was an authority figure, and he was fingering her with authority. Macy had gamely signed up for anti-patriarchal thinking in High School. But Daddy made a lot of good points. Daddy had a lot to offer her.

Macy didn’t let herself cum. It was a good way for getting through the 8 p.m. doldrums, edging.. With a few denied orgasms she could run straight through the night-time concerns until Cyrus got back. She hadn’t given any thought to homework in days. Or classes. Much of anything.

She passed the remaining time watching porn and tiktok bimbos. Her swiftly changing self was on full display in the dorm room. At the outset Macy had decorated it sparingly. No posters at all, and a laptop in dark black on the formica desk. Now the laptop was surrounded by an arc of product—she used the laptop camera as a mirror. The keys were dusted with powders and were turning ashen-pink. It all smelled like lipstick and talc. Makeup was a long morning endeavor, especially once she’d gotten up the nerve for regular mascara. Her eyes looked so very wide, not a thought in them.

“Hey,” Daddy himself picked his way through the clothing fens, right on schedule. Macy figured she should wash some clothes, but it was funner to buy new ones. For her anticipated dicksucking she’d gone full zip-up halter top. Her tits strained to be free. The skirt was a kind of scrunchy tube, in a daring burgundy. She’d wondered if Cyrus had clothing preferences, but he seemed pleased with whatever he found her in, so long as there wasn’t much of it..

Macy swung off the bed onto the floor. Onto her knees. Real life Cyrus was taken aback. “Whoa. Slow down. Did you—hold on.” He blinked at her. Her rut settled down. The wash of pleasure turned into its usual warm hum. “The appointment go okay?”

Macy managed a frown. “Fine, the doctor thinks I’m dumb for complaining. Like, oh, doctor, I cum too hard! Its a real problem!”

Cyrus seemed relieved. “Okay, good,” he said. “Did they check you out? Everything okay?”

“He checked out my boobs,” Macy said. That got a Cyrus knitted brow.

“For lumps?”

‘No, for being big tits,” Macy said. That satisfied her man. He didn’t protest when she started to fish around in his pants. His dick popped out heavy and thick. Macy felt one of her infrequent waves of protest—why was she drooling at this? Was she just a cocksucker, these days? She jacked it as a concern started to form.

“They ARE really big, right?” she said. “Do you ever think there might be… I don’t know… like everything has been so confusing lately? And my boobs are part of it? Does that make sense? It doesn’t, right? I know you’re gonna say—don’t worry about it.”

She laughed at herself. Of course he was going to say that, and the silly thoughts would retreat once again, lost in the mess of her tits and eager slit. Cyrus looked very serious. To show that she was just kidding, just joking around, she knelt and took him in her mouth.

“Go slow,” Cyrus said, putting a hand on the back of her head. “I need to be really careful. Go really slow.”

The pleasure was back, rewarding her for all this, for slobbering over the head of his cock. Macy had never sucked an actual dick before. But it all felt very smooth and natural—without much thought she slid her lips halfway down the base, until the tip nearly touched her throat. Already her pussy was starting to spasm, in the center of the warm wet waves. Macy did take it slow, in terms of sliding her thick lips up and down and her boyfriend’s cock. But he didn’t say anything about her tongue, so Macy used that, arching it around the underside of his dick.

“Macy!” a thunderous command. “I mean it!”

Shamed, embarrassed, Macy dialed it all the way down. She’d been a bad girl. Her pussy shivered, deprived for a cruel second of stimulation. Macy diligently returned to working her boyfriend’s penis. Cyrus had his hand on the back of her head. She risked a quick glance up. His face, already stormy, was all screwed up, like he had to scrunch it down to a point.

Macy blinked, and was somewhere else, hanging on Cyrus’ arm, spilling out of a rich velvet dress. The rest of the restaurant took notice. Cyrus didn’t yet own the place, but he would—this was a scouting mission. The dress extended almost past her ass, but not quite. Macy was easily the hottest girl in the room, and a lot of money had gone into perfecting the room. She giggled and snuggled closer—

She was in a kitchen, his kitchen, a palace of new appliances and quartz countertops. Her tits cushioned her on the cold stone. Cyrus took her from behind. He had barely bothered to slide her panties aside. Her fat, pregnant belly hung underneath her—

She woke him at dawn with a blowjob. They deserved the cruise after closing on the new location. His Mom had the twins. Macy had already picked out a trio of girls for Cyrus to fuck and they were probably already feeling hot and bothered—

“Bro! Cyrus!”

Cyrus jerked, and a pint of cum flooded Macy’s mouth. The future disappeared, and she was just an overstuffed girlfriend trying to drink some jizz. It kept coming out, long and thick ropes. Enough of the dreams remained that Macy, confused, thought: these should be in my pussy. I went to get creamed in, I want to be bred. I really want to be bred.

Cyrus, suddenly nervous, shushed her and hiked up his shorts. Macy gamely mopped up. He tasted good. On the other side of the door was a man taller then Cyrus, whiter then Cyrus, but with the same hawk-hewn face and dark flinty eyes.

“I could feel you out there,” he said, with an enormous smirk. “Is that your first? Really? Let me in.”

“Julius,” Cyrus said, and slammed the door shut on his brother.

“Alright,” Anna said, “lets see the boobs.”

Macy tugged her shirt up, reluctant. It was one of Cyrus’ shirts. Unlike the prototypical boyfriend shirt he was short enough, and she was now top-heavy enough, that her boobs pushed out the tee.

They popped loose. Anna had been prepared to whistle, really low, and did so.. She sat on Alicia’s side of the room. She was a very different kind of blonde than Macy’s roommate—her hair was cropped at the shoulders, business-like, and she didn’t wear a millimeter of makeup. She wore comfy jeans.

“Have you seen a doctor about them?” Anna said.

“I did.” Talking to Anna made it clear her very voice had changed. She had a sing-songy lilt now. It was a very girly voice, an uncertain whisper. It had no authority at all.

“And?”

“Ummm, he said, congrats on the boobs.”

“Male doctor?”

“Ummm…. Yes.”

Anna nodded, knowingly. She’d arrived at the door with the conviction that something was very wrong with Macy. Probably the boyfriend, but also possibly some sort of gonad issue. And part of Macy still thought: she is absolutely right. This is your friend who cares about you, who also believes that going up three cup sizes in fall semester is weird. You should listen to her.

But another part thought: maybe she’s just jealous of the nice big titties.

Maybe she wants the boyfriend, the clothes, the makeup. The lifestyle, completely unconcerned about—everything.

“You wanna keep watching?” Anna had interrupted Memento. It had been a favorite of their high school scene. With these new college eyes Macy was mostly into 2000-era Guy Pearce. His body was like a coiled spring. The plot eluded her this time around. Stuff about polaroids. Plus Anna kept glancing over, assessing her.

Macy followed her eyes. She wore a pretty discreet outfit, given her new body. High-waisted shorts with a white racing stripe. They would’ve been loose on anyone else’s butt. A crop tee in pink.

“I can see underboob,” Anna said, suddenly exasperated. “Underboob! Macy, come on. I can see the undersides of your tits! Who does that?”

“We’re just hanging out, what does it matter?” Macy said, suddenly irritated. Not only had Anna arrived, unannounced, her boyfriend had abruptly disappeared. Just one text message: brother was in town, had to handle the crisis. Night time hadn’t been the same since. The dreams were still there, still her getting raw-dogged and knocked up, but thinner, less hot, less warm.

Raw panic over her life situation, failing every class, was starting to gnaw through.

“This isn’t you! I’m watching you sit there with your legs wide open, your mouth is open, all of you is just,” Anna made a disgusted gesture “...open!”

“I can cross my arms and look upset if you want,” Macy said. She did it. It pushed her boobs up. That was deliberate.

“I have to meet this boyfriend,” Anna said, shaking her head.

“And what? What’s the plan with Cyrus?” The idea of messing with Cyrus alarmed her.

Anna rushed into it, headlong—“Is he the reason you’re all tarted up? Macy, why are your books DUSTY?”

They were barricaded behind her wall of lipsticks, on her desk. Anna glared at the laptop. Macy had accidentally forgotten to close about two dozen porno tabs when Anna had needed to book her return flight. Some really hot scenes. And there was the clothes all over the floor, the leftover scent of boy spunk. Anna looked so stiffly disapproving of all of it.

“Its nice to have a boyfriend,” Macy said, wiggling her toes. That part of her said: tell her about your grades. The warm feeling. How your pussy is wet all the time.

Anna faced her squarely, and slapped her. Pretty hard.

“You need to wake up. Lets go.”

“Go where?” Macy said. She rubbed her cheek, upset. Pain, she hadn’t felt pain in—months. Real pain. It broke through the pleasant, mind-numbed fog. Alarmed, Macy caught a glance of herself in the mirror. The undersides of her tits were showing. She had thick cocksucker lips. The reflection was of the stupidest, sexiest girl Macy had ever seen, and it was her. “Oh shit.”

Anna was poised for another slap, in case the first one didn’t go. “Oh shit, what?”

“Oh shit, I’m so hot. Are these really my boobs?” Macy picked them up. The pleasure tried to reassert itself. She twirled to look at her butt. “Oh shit that’s my butt. Anna—it’s just—it feels so good. I never felt good and now—”

“You need to tell me more about Cyrus,” Anna said. She paced around, high-strung. “Does he have maybe a device? A drug?”

Macy giggled, and then choked it off. Anna’s concern was so sweet, but it was so fun to admire her rounded profile in the mirror. She wanted to rub her pussy, paint her toenails, not do all this awful thinking. She needed to—the warmth urgently surged in her, but it was fading, unrenewed. Holy shit, she was broke and failing college, and had wheelbarrow titties. “I do suck his dick a heck of a lot,” she heard herself say. “Maybe too much?”

“Okay, lets definitely go,” Anna said. She decided to pack Macy’s bag for her, fingering the new lacy underpants with clear distaste. “This is weird. Don’t play with your boobs, alright?” Macy watched, bemused. Of course Anna was right. Something was wrong, very wrong. Whenever she slept she was fucked senseless by big dicks. She felt that kind of calm that came from orgasms, only all the time. Anna found her old clothes, the ones that didn’t fit, and threw them in the bag. A toothbrush.

“Hup hup, I’m parked downstairs,” Anna said. She ushered Macy towards the door with pats on the tush. Macy let herself be led. No doubt Anna was right.

“Oh—almost forgot,”

Anna grabbed Macy’s pill bottles. There were four of them, and she’d put them behind an unopened book on the dorm-provided dresser. As much as her knowledge of things like chemistry had faded into a gentle pink fog, Macy remembered them. Each of their names. Side effects. Recommended methods of administration.

Anna shook one of the bottles, absently.

It went: click-click.

“No, no no no,” Macy said, pulling away. Anna’s face darkened. “No, it’s okay. It’s really okay. Lets stay here. You don’t understand, you’ve never had to—”

Anna stood upright and grabbed her arm, disappointed in her, pulling Macy towards the door. The warmth hit her before it even opened, and Macy felt the usual soothing calm roll over her. Things would be fine. Cyrus and his brother were out in the hallway, coming back from who-knows-where.

“Which one of you is CYRUS?” Anna said, strident.

Julius pointed at his brother. Macy hadn’t gotten a good look at him, before. There was little surface resemblance. Cyrus was dark and short, with clipped, efficient features. Julius was white and florid, with a big fratty smile, and wavy sandy hair that was the same length as Anna’s. He wore a neat white polo shirt and was doughy.

But they had the—confidence. Different confidence. Julius had the easy smirk of the frat boy with a credit card. Cyrus was confident in himself. Or was, usually. He was rattled—Anna had dropped Macy’s arm and taken Cyrus’. “Lets talk,” she said, hustling him away. Cyrus managed one puzzled look at Macy, and then a warning glance for his brother.

“Mmmmmmacy,” Julius said. He leaned against the wall. “Nice to meet you. I’m Cyrus’ brother. One of them.”

“I didn’t know—”

“Yeah, half-brother. Has little brother told you a thing? Not his style, right? He’s got hundreds of half-brothers. Dad is really something. Are you the only one of his?”

Macy must’ve looked blank. It didn’t seem to bother him. He leaned in closer. “You know. Girlfriend? Just the one? Just this one little hottie?”

“Um,” Macy said. The same glow was there. A warmth, his attention converted directly into a sexual heat. It felt like an instant betrayal, and also her pussy was getting wet. “I don’t know—”

“Do you have a before picture? Lets see.” He barged into her room. She did in fact have a polaroid photo pinned to her corkboard. The trio, her and Anna and Mei, giving a middle finger to the camera. It was their class trip to the water park, and she’d worn black jeans. Julius laughed out loud. “Man, that makes me respect little bro more. My first was this dizzy blonde, she started fertile as a turtle. Do you think Cyrus would mind if I inspected?”

He turned to her, intent. The smile grew or shrank depending on his mood. Right then it was small, tight, predatory. The warmth grew and grew, telling Macy what to do. He sniffed the air. “Still on the pill? Come on Cyrus. That’s the best part.”

This wasn’t the waves, Cyrus’ waves. This was an oozing pool of heat. Spread her legs, arch her back. Nipples erect and mind totally blank, soaking in a roiling pool made out of sex…

“Julius!” Cyrus had returned, with Anna in tow. Her friend had lost her sharp affect. She looked sleepy and confused. Macy came to—she was leaning backwards over the bed, her thighs parted. “Get out. And fuck off.”

“I’m inspecting, its like letting a guest use the bathroom,” Julius said. He grew the smile to maximum effect. “She’s still on birth control? How do you stand it?”

Cyrus marched up to him and grabbed his shirt around the throat. The wash of confidence disappeared. For the first time the fraternity brother with the shaggy locks looked concerned.

“This isn’t brotherly,” Julius said. Cyrus had his fist in Julius’ throat.

“Just go. Tell our father I don’t need any more postcards. I get the picture.” He released his brother, pushed him back.

“I don’t like him either,” Julius said, rubbing at his throat. He opened his mouth to say more. Cyrus’ body went rigid. It was a predator move, and Julius came to understand: he was prey.

When he’d gone, Anna gave an enormous yawn and gave Macy a sleepy grin. “Do you mind if I slept over?” she said. “I’m super tired all of a sudden. It’s SO nice to finally meet the famous Cyrus!”

The next morning was a lot more fun.

First of all Cyrus was back, which meant Macy could sneak over, first thing in the morning, and wake him up with a blowjob. It went just like in her dream: she woke up, padded around a snoozing, adorable Anna, and into Cyrus’ room. He woke up just as she started to lick him hard. He let her do the work, no hesitation or concern this time around, just one calming hand on her hair, showing her how to get the rhythm right.

“Maybe later you can put this in me?” Macy said, once he’d cum in her mouth. It was no trouble at all to swallow. He’d protected her. Little was left of her doubts. Cyrus could cum in her mouth as much as he wanted.

“We’re taking a trip today,” Cyrus told her.

“And thennnnnn?” Macy said, rolling her eyes. What did it take to get a guy to cum in you?

“We’ll fuck.” He stroked her face, and then slipped a finger inside of her mouth. Macy sucked on it. She managed an entire five minutes like that, head wholly empty, before Cyrus patted her butt and told her to take care of Anna. “Good girl.”

Anna was in a MUCH better mood. “That’s the best I’ve ever slept on a floor,” she said, mock rubbing her eyes. She had a bright smile for Macy, and gave her new figure a much more respectful look. “You’re so curvy now! We used to make fun of girls like you!” She held her hands out. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, no!” Macy was relieved. She pulled her shirt up. Anna squished them gently together. “They’re so smooth! And they don’t hurt? I assumed they hurt.”

“They do NOT hurt,” Macy assured her. Actually, Anna’s soft fingers felt kinda good. Especially with the certain knowledge that she was finally, finally going to get fucked later that day. It floated in a big ball in the center of her head, making any other thoughts almost impossible. Her pussy kept clenching, anticipating.

After that they did girl stuff.. It was a first for both of them—throughout High School there had been a total ban on cheerleader activities. No hair braiding, no gossiping about boys, nothing but serious discussions on world politics and the seedy underbelly of the teacher’s lounge. Anna submitted to getting her fingernails painted, a glossy and unabashed pink. It matched her hair, which seemed distinctly more blonde in the morning light.

“Remember when we—“ Anna kept starting, before catching herself. What memory was there to dredge up? They were big college girls now, strutting down to the dorm cafeteria in heels. Anna borrowed some of Macy’s new clothes, and if they didn’t fit, she still seemed to be enjoying herself. Finally she broke through: “remember Senior Ball?”

They’d gone in t-shirts and anointed each other with far too much stolen perfume, from Mei’s skanky sister. They’d reeked terribly. It had been challenging to drive there. They’d driven half the school off the dance floor.

“Yeah, sort of,” Macy said. It was hard to access the memory. It was there but—faded, fading. Aging polaroid.

Anna stirred a big bowl of ice cream. “I guess it wasn’t that funny,” she said, then brightened yet again. “You think if I eat all of this I’ll get your new butt? Is that all it takes?” She wore a yellow tulle skirt and black bustier.

“Its Cyrus. He’s doing something,” Macy said. “I don’t know. It’s really confusing. But I really do like him a lot.”

They shared a moment. Anna gave a big wink at a guy staring at her from the other side of the hall. “I’m glad you like him,” she said, and licked her spoon clean, making sure the man saw each dainty lick. “I had my doubts. But he seems like a nice guy. And hot. Super hot. And you seem happier. I give you my blessing. You’re really gonna have sex with him, like, in a few hours, huh? He scheduled you?”

“Yeah,” Macy said, cheeks a little red. “He’s very busy.”

“I might’ve had sex last month,” Anna said. The spoon was completely de-ice creamed. And yet Anna kept finding a way to lick it.

“No way. No.”

“It’s true,” Anna affirmed. “I have advice, even. Get on top.”

“I don’t think Cyrus is that kind of guy,” Macy said, slowly considering it. It was hard to do. It just hadn’t featured in any of her many fantasies. “I was just gonna bend over and let him go.”

Anna sighed, ragged, looking at her reflection in her spoon. “Sounds good,” she agreed.

Starting exactly at two p.m Macy lost her virginity. Although it was the best moment of her life it was also brief. Cyrus was preoccupied. When he arrived back from his wherever he barely noticed the considerable effort Macy and Anna had put in to making Macy extremely fuckable. Powdered cheeks with red ruby lips, hair tied back in case he wanted a quick suck, sopping wet pink panties underneath a red slinky dress.

“You look virgin as HELL,” Anna ended up declaring. She’d found a lollipop somewhere, and sucked furiously on it. She’d gotten the cafeteria boy’s number.

“Okay. Lets… do this,” Cyrus said. He guided her with pats on the butt to his room, immediately next door. It wasn’t a very flirty line. But once the door was closed he clutched her fiercely and kissed her hard. When they broke Macy had nothing left. She was a bright bundle of warmth.

They looked at each other. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place: she was owned. She was his. She was possessed. Macy shivered, rubbed at her skin. Not really hers. His girl’s tits, his girl’s pussy. Cyrus sniffed. Whatever he sensed made him stop cold.

“I tossed all my birth control pills,” Macy said. She felt a dribble of lubricant make its way down her leg. “Julius said they made me smell weird.”

“I can—I can tell,” Cyrus said. But he shuddered, blushed. His dick was furious and red. “But thanks,” he managed, hoarse. His body was so hot. “Bend over on the bed. Now. Y-you…” He had to grit his teeth to get it out, past whatever was driving him. “You’re okay with—with that?”

“Oh, I’m tired of pills,” Macy said. She waggled her butt at him. “Are you gonna put that in me now?”

His body shook. “Now..” When she was slow, body drunk on his heat, he helped her along. Guiding her ridiculously proportioned body, her pendulous tits, her overstuffed butt. Hiked up her dress and shucked off her sodden panties.

“Cyrus?” Macy said, turning her head to see. Was this really it? This? She was in—there was no other word for it—breeding position. “Are—you’ll be gentle, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Cyrus said. She felt his cock nestle right at the tip of her pussy. He was quivering. “It should be fine. You’re perfect for me. I made you that way, right? But I don’t have a lot of—control. You smell so—good.”

He snorted and pushed in. Even with his oversized cock he slipped in no problem at all, and then all the way to the hilt. A body as hot as hers was probably going to get itself pregnant. It was designed for it. She pushed back against him.

“Its an urge,” Cyrus told her, starting his stroke. Her padded butt took the rough strokes no problem. Her boobs cushioned each powerful thrust. “I just—I need to cum in you, I need to fuck you. You smell like—I can’t describe it. I need this.” He humped at her. It felt very natural, very right. Of course he was going to cum in her. It was hard to picture anything else. Any second now—and there it was—he was going to grab her hair to arch her back. Macy moaned, impossibly lubricated. “I tried to—keep it back. But look at you. You’re so fuckable.”

“I’m so fuckable,” Macy echoed. It was such a good summary. She was fuckable. Ripe and curvy and hot and sexy.

“I’m gonna cum,” Cyrus told her. “Don’t let my cum fall out. I need it in you. It won’t smell right if —nod if you understand.” Macy bobbled her head. Her clit was screaming wildly. She squeezed as hard as she could.

He was going to cum in her, fill her up. He’d made her into this, this breedable sex-starved slut. Big titties to fill up with milk, nice wide hips to fill up with cum and babies. That’s what she was now. Head not too full—no reason that she needed too many smarts. Macy felt around for regrets—after all, she was a horny pump now, and apparently for the rest of her life. But all there was, was glow. They were both glowing.

“I’m cumming!” Cyrus choked. He shoved his prick as far as he could and unloaded into her. She diligently squeezed hard on his cock, urging him forwards to milk every last bit. It was her responsibility as his female. They both collapsed on the bed. Macy kept her hips arched to hold in his jizz. The clock on his desk swam into view. It was 2:08, and she was now sluttified, owned, and bred.

He fucked her twice more before they left, which explained the initial urgency. They barely made the bus.

Still, Cyrus had been more affectionate, even relaxed, after the initial savaging he’d given her. They’d even kissed. Sort of—Macy was too brain-numbed and bred to kiss back in any meaningful way. Cyrus owned her body and she was, if not a passenger, not exactly a co-pilot either. But she’d managed to tit-fuck him for round three, which had ended with him unloading another huge burst onto her face. He had an incredible amount of cum, and his dick never really got soft.

Macy had checked in on Anna, real quick. Her friend had pushed herself up against the adjoining wall, her hands down her tights, and had cum herself half-asleep. She hadn’t been able to focus on Macy at all.

Macy could still feel jizz on her face, crackle on her lips. She diligently tried to keep his cum inside of her. Speed-walking to the bus stop, slippery with jizz, legs reduced to jelly by too many orgasms, it had been an enormous challenge. But she did it, for Cyrus.

It occurred to her: he’d murdered her old self. That Macy was gone, wasn’t she? She was even difficult to put in her mind’s eye, the sad-eyed girl built up out of medicine and snark, propelled by very little. Cyrus had dissolved that person in a vat of pleasure and built a new one out of endorphins. A pleasant toy with huge fun boobs, a bit of a ditz, whose top ambition was delivering good blowjobs and, just maybe, letting her boyfriend knock her up. The old Macy, the one who liked bitter, failed romances, and wore jeans and boots, and read Sally Rooney too young, that girl was gone, right? Or at least buried beneath the needs of her pussy, her mind so swirled and simplified and sexed up it wasn’t rightly Macy. Whatever her driver’s license said.

She looked at him, face fierce. Cyrus was scanning for trouble. She could tell he was super anxious about her meeting his Mom. He noticed her gaze and gave her one of his tight, brief smiles. Macy smiled back.

Had she been thinking about something? It all washed away. She felt good.

“It’s from my Dad,” Cyrus said. Her owner held her hand. His hand. It was all very confusing, all this. His sperm sloshed around inside of her. “All this. He sent me a postcard and a letter.. A photocopy of a letter, since he writes it so often. He has hundreds of kids, he just wrote in my name at the top. I’m surprised he bothered to learn that.”

“Oh no,” Macy said.

“He’s an asshole. But I got the gift. The glow. I’m getting better at it. It feels good, doesn’t it?” he sent a brief pulse through her.. It felt like love itself. Or at least pleasure. It flowed through her and never quite left. Left inside of her, and after finally getting extremely fucked, Macy could put a name on it. It was like that feeling moments before a guy put his dick in her extremely needy slit. All the time.

‘So good,” Macy whispered, trying not to drool.

“Its not all good. I need to—I have to spread my seed. Julius calls it Alpha. He’s already a dad a dozen times. Women smell—wrong, without it. I know its just the genes, Dad’s genes, but…”

“Now what?” she said, feeling at her stomach. He’d done such work, making her fuckable. Now it was all gonna be stretch marks and big round bellies. What a semester it had been. If she looked down Macy could see, in order, the ruby curve of her collagen-thick lips, the impossible swells of her tits, and the seat-grabbing curve of her hips. Her pussy ached from the effort of holding in two batches of cum. But she was a good girl. She could do it.

“I have a plan. It’ll be alright,” Cyrus told her, with total conviction. In his eyes Macy got the first glimpse of empire.. He sniffed her, possessive. “You smell perfect.”

His Mom was a glossy, perfect woman. She lived in the top floor of an intersection-adjacent apartment complex. It was a gray old concrete block that contained an overflowing goddess of a woman, who smiled as Cyrus and Cyrus’ girl approached. She waved down at them. Cyrus’ Mom wore a peach cutoff t-shirt with a heart embroidery lost underneath her own melon-ripe tits. She wore comfortable jean shorts.

“Back from college with a woman!” she said, obviously proud. She looked maybe thirty-four, with just a husk in her voice arguing for a Mom. She pulled Macy in for a boob-heavy hug. Her skin was so dark, up against Macy’s alabaster.

“Mom, this is Macy, and Macy, this is Priscilla,” Cyrus’ eyes shone. He was so proud of himself. His chest was all puffed out. Priscilla rubbed Macy’s stomach and winked. So the news was out. She was part of the family now.

“I didn’t blame his Dad,” Priscilla said, smiling. Up close Macy could tell that her big boobs had the slightest hint of a potential for sag. But they were also even bigger then hers. “He just had to do it! I didn’t smell right or whatever it was.”

“Then he left,” Cyrus said. It was an old argument, and Macy didn’t feel able to join in. How could she even think, beyond the crashing waves of happiness? It was roaring through her, the glow, washing all the final sadness away. What was left was tits and ass and productive pussy.

Priscilla had made the most of life. The apartment was very small but full of knick-knacks on every surface. Items from around the globe—and some actual globes. Postcards, lots of postcards, wooden totems, small eiffel towers, snowglobes with machu picchu inside. “From my guys,” Priscilla said, indicating the room. There were rugs on the floor and a very rickety couch.

“It’s nice!” Macy said. She smiled, all over. “Oh, I love all of it!”

“His Daddy didn’t leave me with any brain cells, but I’ve got the best set of tits in town,” Priscilla said. “Cyrus has been doing my taxes since he was eight! The IRS was damn mad at me.” An ancient Nokia flip phone buzzed on a table. “Oh, shoot, that’s one of them, I’ll be back in an hour, it’s George, he’s a whole hour. Very nice to meet you!”

Out the door she went, without keys, or her purse, or a phone, or anything.

“She seems—really happy,” Macy said, looking around. Cyrus, her master, stood in the center of the room. Baubles from a life of sex work sparkled around him. The dinginess of the room came through without Priscilla there to fill it. The barren kitchen countertop with peeling linoleum, the yellow plastic on the heater. Cyrus examined it, and her.

“She is. But really, Macy, we’re gonna do even better. Believe me.”

Her emperor was so proud, so wonderful.

Macy dropped onto her knees. She waddled forwards to pull out his cock. He put a hand on the back of her head, and she leaned forwards, mouth open, into the glow.