PGAD
7.
Sara was back in bed again, warm and comfortable in a new clean nightgown. She was freshly showered, though now she was beginning to sweat again as she scrolled through the tablet one-handedly, scrolling with her thumb, her other hand idly fingering herself again.
She’d absolutely needed another shower, after her last session in the bathroom. By the time she had finished, she was sweating like a hog, barely able to breathe, her legs shaking, almost unable to support herself, her sweatpants heavy and sodden, practically soaking wet. She’d frigged herself into oblivion, greedily stimulating one orgasm after another. After rinsing off, she’d cleaned and dressed herself in a complete mind-blown stupor, crawling into bed and napping for a few hours.
Sara had awoken feeling refreshed, undistracted by that low level of arousal for the time being, ready now to get back to trying to figure out a solution for it. For the next hour and half, she’d worked on her idea of testing interconnected settings. It was a very tedious job changing one setting, flipping back to the Metabolic/PsychoAnalytic tab, scrolling down to Libido, observing it was unaffected, then flipping back and restoring the setting back to the original position and moving on to the next setting. Her eyes had started to blur. More than a few times she hadn’t been sure if she’d skipped a setting and had to go back to do it again, or changed the same setting twice, or even a third time if it was duplicated on another tab.
After a while, Sara tossed her head back toward the ceiling, eyes closed to give them a rest as she let out a huffing sigh of frustration.
Eventually, she’d had something of an epiphany, realizing that she was wasting a ton of time. If she saw a setting hadn’t changed anything else, there wasn’t a reason to go set it back. She should just leave it alone and move on to the next one. She could then simply restore all the original settings by loading up the ‘Me’ profile she’d saved in the first place.
Sara had mentally kicked herself—so much time wasted. She was practically already done with most of the tabs anyway. She’d tried all of the ones that were psychologically related since that seemed most likely to be linked to the Libido setting, though none of them had panned out. Then she’d found herself back at the Physiological tab, discouraged that she hadn’t found anything up until that point. Still, there wasn’t anything left to do but try the rest of these options.
Initially, she dove right in and proceeded just as she’d done for all the other tabs, adjusting values and sliding bars to random positions, checking back to see Libido unchanged each time. But it wasn’t much later that Sara felt it again as she continued re-inspecting all the settings… that sense of growing intrigue, that tantalizing draw. Indeed, in the back of her mind, Sara knew she’d been purposefully saving the Physiological tab for last, and not just because its settings seemed least likely to affect the Libido one...
Her eyes dropped down to the Weight setting again, still set 35 pounds lighter than her normal weight. She’d told herself at the time she was going to change it back, but she hadn’t done so. Yet, she amended herself. She would, she just hadn’t, not yet…
There wasn’t any point to change it back right now anyway, she’d rationalized to herself. She’d changed a few things around already now without reverting them, so it wasn’t like she could apply the change now anyway. Once she’d finished checking all of the settings, all she had to do was revert back to the saved profile. That was clearly the most efficient thing to do…
As before, her eyes had lingered on Weight again. She’d felt that temptation anew: that magical, instantaneous change, so easily attained, with just the press of a button... On an impulse, she had modified the setting again, despite it being abundantly clear by now that there was no interconnectivity with Libido; but this time she’d moved the bar down to a slim 120 lbs.
No way, Sara had thought to herself with a wry inward chuckle. That was really going too far.
She’d moved on then, continuing on through the options, changing and checking, only now it was much slower going than before. Rather than haphazardly swiping at each bar and field, now Sara had evaluated each option, if only for the entertainment value of idle fantasizing. There was a whole section dedicated to Pigmentation—skin tone, hair, eyes. Sara had never dyed her hair, except within the last few years to conceal some premature grays. Coming into the office with summer highlights telegraphed ‘receptionist’ far more than ‘executive’.
She’d clicked on the plain auburn brown of the present setting and a grid showing a vast array of colors popped up. Feeling playful, Sara wondered briefly what she’d look like with hot pink hair, before picking a marginally more pragmatic shade of platinum blonde. Glancing down distastefully at her pasty skin on her pudgy arm, exposed exponentially more often to the rays of her office fluorescent lighting than to those of the natural sun, she had picked a golden tan color for her skin’s pigmentation. And then because her imaginary self was now tan, skinny and blonde, it had been only natural to select a serene sky blue for eye color.
It was around that time that she’d begun idly touching herself as she continued through the options. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned each change, one by one as she made them, herself transforming, adjusting, one characteristic at a time...
Scrolling down, Sara moved on to Height. She was a perfectly average 5′5″, which she was able to offset with some decently sized heels, though there were limits before crossing the line into unprofessional-looking. Despite that, the executive world was teeming with men towering above her, height-ism certainly being a real thing. She mulled over what an ideal height would be, settling on 5′8″. Tall, taller still with heels, but not too tall.
Sara saw her BMI setting drop several points down to a healthy 18, as it was a related value to height. With her current settings, it was a number far below any she’d seen pertaining to herself in her entire life. A little curious, she dropped that even further down to 16, approaching supermodel territory, but her height remained unchanged. Going back to weight, however, she saw that it had now dropped down to a wispy 110 lbs.
I guess we know what the developers prioritize, she thought sardonically to herself.
Still, she was having fun. It was like fantasizing about winning the lottery, though Sara was wealthy enough to buy whatever she wanted these days. In some ways though, this was more of a fantasy, as the things she was changing were, for her at any rate, more unattainable or even impossible.
The interface had everything—height and weight were positively generic compared to the other options she could configure. Sara set her hips at a svelte 34, her waist at an impossibly trim 23, and then set her bust at 34 again. The perfect hourglass shape, literally. When she got to cup size, she looked down at her chest and scowled, again dissatisfied with what she saw. For the umpteenth time, she reflected on having gained weight in all the wrong places while her bust size remained stubbornly unchanged from barely a B cup, refusing to provide even the slightest of mitigating benefits. With a brash movement, she set the cup size to an enormous size E.
Ha, I’d love to see that, Sara had scoffed to herself. I’d tip right over…
Or perhaps not, she’d thought as she moved on. ‘Muscular Tone’ was yet another setting, and it had self-adjusted according to her other changes to an ambiguous ‘Fit’. Sara cringed to think of what level it had assigned to her unaltered self, and decided she didn’t even want to see the other options. Instead, she continued to imagine her new self: tall, thin, blonde, sexy.
It was only when she reached the bottom of the page that Sara realized that she’d been so engrossed in her tasking that she hadn’t even gone back to check if any of the many settings she’d changed had affected Libido, but when she did go back, she saw it still in the same position; at the lowest level allowed by the interface, but no lower.
Well… the whole idea was a bust. There wasn’t any way for her to get 100% back to her normal self. She’d have to go see that lab tech and see if there was something else he could do for her. Sara was willing to bet that if she threatened his job, or better yet to have him arrested, he’d suddenly get creative and think of a thing or two to try…
All of these thoughts were like a splash of cold water on her arousal, and she let out a sigh as she got ready to put the tablet aside, except she needed to do one last thing. Years of rigorous discipline, adhering to perfection, not leaving work until the day’s work was complete, no matter how late, no single task neglected or forgotten, had conditioned Sara’s mind to a state of near OCD compulsion. As much fun as it had been clicking around, building a new version of herself, she was supposed to restore everything back to the saved profile as planned.
Sara clicked the menu, selected the option to load a profile, and then selected the one that she’d previously saved, labeled ‘Me’, the one that captured the entirety of her identity, her numerous and considerable flaws included, in excruciating detail.
She was a little surprised at herself, at the level of dejection she felt just pulling up her own profile; it wasn’t as though she’d actually made any of the wild alterations she’d spent the afternoon selecting, aside from the weight change. But nonetheless Sara hesitated slightly.
This is who you are, she told herself firmly, and then pressing a little harder than was necessary, she tapped on the ‘Load’ button.
But then, as before, a window popped up with the text, ‘Current settings unsaved. Save now?’
Somehow, seeing this popup brightened her spirits slightly, was almost somehow a relief. She had spent quite a bit of time on this, she supposed. Sara clicked ‘Yes’, and deliberated for a few moments at the prompt to enter a name for this latest profile. Her mind again envisioned what she would look like with all of those settings applied; taller, skinnier, tan, blonde haired, blue eyed, curves in all the right places and a massive rack. Almost automatically, she typed in ‘Slut’ and clicked ‘Save’.
The windows closed and the ‘Me’ profile loaded. Sara scrolled through, confirming that everything was restored back to her original settings. The slight mood boost she’d gotten from saving her work vanished like a guttering flame in a strong gust of wind as her eyes passed over BMI... Weight… her waist and hips and bust… The numbers, compared to what she had changed them to, were beyond depressing. And it was more than just those unhealthy numbers. Everything else was equally attractive. The boring brunette/greying hair… the muddy brown shade of her eyes… her skin tone, pale like the underbelly of a fish…
Sara scrolled to the bottom of the page, her finger poised to press the ‘Apply’ button again. She imagined what it would feel like, to have those 35 pounds back on her frame, to watch her belly and hips and thighs expanding before her eyes. It’d probably feel like eating 100 cheeseburgers all at once.
Except, the ugly truth was it hadn’t been 100 cheeseburgers all at once, she admonished herself. It was hundreds of them over the past two decades. Along with hundreds of pizzas. And buckets of fried chicken. And tubs of ice creams. And slices of chocolate cake.
It was every broken diet plan and New Year’s resolution. It was every time she’d told herself she should go to the gym and had taken a nap instead.
You did this to yourself. You earned this body.
Now press the goddamn button.
Her finger hovered just over the button, wavering.
But... she couldn’t.
Sara just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Maybe she’d just leave it like this, just for a little while. She could notice the difference, but no one else would. What was the harm in that?
For that matter, what was the harm in changing anything, here in the privacy of her own home? She could do what she wanted, do what she pleased, and when she needed to go outside again, she could change back to her regular self as easily as changing a pair of shoes.
Impulsively, she pulled up the saved profiles and loaded the ‘Slut’ profile again. She could do whatever she wanted and she could change right back. No one would ever know.
Right?
Sara wasn’t stupid; far from it. She knew exactly when she was telling herself something she wanted to hear, knew how easy it was to talk herself into doing something she wanted to do but knew she shouldn’t. Afterall, how many times had she talked herself into not skipping dessert? But this was a whole other level. This was using unknown, experimental technology to literally alter her body. Her hormones. Her mind. It wasn’t some toy. It wasn’t idle fantasy. This was beyond dangerous.
The danger, however, didn’t change how badly Sara wanted to do this.
She just… she just wanted to… to see what she’d look like. She just wanted to know how it felt to look in the mirror and have everything she’d ever wished for staring back out at her. She wondered what it would feel like, to be lighter, taller, fitter.
Just for a little bit. No one has to know. No one would ever know. You’d be the only one to ever see yourself. It’d only be for a few minutes…
Sara bit her lip indecisively, her finger hovering over the ‘Apply’ button again, only this time, she was deliberating with herself not to press it. The weight had already been enough messing around. And she’d done it not once, but twice. And this would be changing a lot more.
A whole lot more.
Oh, I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. This is a bad idea…
But even as she thought it, Sara already knew what her decision was going to be. She half-turned away from the screen as if it might explode, wincing slightly, as her finger firmly pressed the hard glass surface of the tablet screen.
It was like nothing before, except for the immediacy of the effect.
“Hurrk!”
The grunt escaped Sara’s throat as her body jerked with a loud cracking sound. Her body tensed up as her shoulders snapped forward, hunching her over, before she suddenly whipped back upright, then further still as her spine arched of its own accord.
“Gahhh..!” She fell crashing to the floor, convulsing, her legs kicking out erratically in uneven spams, more sharp, loud popping and cracking noises filling the room. It wasn’t painful; rather more that it was extremely rough, like being shoved hard all over, in all sorts of different directions. She felt herself jolting all over, in her hips and knees and shoulders, her head flopping bonelessly in time with each crackle.
For a moment, it seemed as if everything had stopped, and Sara lay there on the floor, chest heaving, one leg awkwardly turned outward, but then she knew that the nanites were still doing their work. Now, she felt that tingle as before, only much, much stronger, washing over her in a series of waves.
“...hhhuuuuuunnnnhhhh..!
This was not unpleasant at all—the sensation swept over her body as a whole at first, as it twitched with less forcefulness, a warmth spreading all over. Her body felt as though it was liquifying, and soon she realized the fat was melting away from her belly, her arms, her thighs.
The waves continued, but receding in some places and amplifying in others as the millions of nanites coursing through her bloodstream obeyed their instructions, modifying Sara, cell by cell. She felt the muscles growing in her shoulders and biceps and forearms, then her back arched again as her lower back and rear began to burn, new toned muscles growing and flexing for the very first time.
“Ooh…” Sara exhaled with a shuddery breath as her scalp tingled, and out of the corner of her eye she could see her hair growing longer, lightening, before her vision began to blur as the the tingle spread to her eyes, her cheeks and jaw. It was like being massaged all over, but different, better. It felt good. Good to be rebuilt, to be remade. The nanites were changing her, making her into what she had decided to be, had selected line by line.
And now, the burning was growing in her stomach, and she knew she was gaining core strength, abdominal muscles she’d always wanted and never had, combined with a BMI low enough to display them. She was regaining control of her body, at least over her limbs, which the nanites had seemingly finished with, and she brought her hands to her midsection, finding her waist impossibly small, her belly impossibly flat, firm and hard beneath a layer of soft supple skin.
Then, finally, as the warmth in her midsection tapered off, it seemed to migrate up to her chest, where the waves crescendoed in a series of powerful pulses. Sara’s hands flew to her bust.
“Guhhh! Nnnnuuuhhhh! Uhhhh! Uhhhhhh!”
She half-grunted, half-groaned out wordlessly with each pulse, her back arched off the floor again, and her breasts rhythmically expanded in bursts, growing larger, rounder, fuller each time. They felt big, huge beneath her twitching hands but still they grew, to an obscene size, overflowing, straining against the soft fabric of her formerly loose-fitting nightgown.
Finally, it was over, the tingling subsiding, and her back sank slowly down to the floor again, her sizable chest heaving as she panted, trying to catch her breath. Sara’s eyes slid shut as she lay there trembling, recovering. But then her eyes snapped open and she leapt to her feet.
Peripherally, she marveled at how easily she was able to do even that, rather than the ungainly, heavy rolling over and straining to rise to her feet that she was accustomed to. But that took a backseat to a much higher, urgent priority. She had to see how she looked. She sped back to the bathroom, again only barely noticing how light and spry she was on her feet, slamming a palm against the light switch.
“Oh my…”
Sara could only stare into the mirror in utter amazement, unable to believe that it was showing her her own reflection. It was like a miraculous funhouse mirror, one that showed a totally warped, distorted image; but it wasn’t comical, it wasn’t some exaggerated contortion.
What looked back out of the mirror was a fantasy come to life. Sara’s own fantasy, and every other red-blooded man in the world. And plenty of women too, undoubtedly. Her hands went to her face, feeling it all over in disbelief. Gone was the double chin, the big cheeks that were beginning to sag into jowls. The creases in her forehead and crinkled stress lines between her eyebrows. Her hands criss-crossed her body, feeling her slim, taut shoulders and upper arms, which served to shove together her new enormous breasts, practically spilling them out the low neckline of her gown.
Sara did something she couldn’t remember doing in her whole life. She pulled the nightgown up over her head and tore it off, baring herself before the mirror, wanting to see herself all over. Her breath caught in her throat.
She couldn’t say she looked like a fashion model. Fashion models weren’t this well-endowed. Nor could she say she even looked like a porn star. Her body was too fit, her features too amazingly striking and beautiful.
She looked like a wet dream come to life.
It was her face, still her face, recognizable in some abstract way, the way she’d always imagined she’d look if she lost all the weight she was carrying around, but more than than too—how she’d look if her eyes weren’t a little too squinty, if her nose wasn’t too big, if her lips weren’t a little thin, if her chin was more dainty and feminine. It was like she’d been sculpted by plastic surgery, only with a skill and technology that surpassed the world’s greatest surgeon.
And that was only the structure… her eyes, she was nearly lost in them herself, in her own gaze staring back with the incredible shade of vibrant blue that looked like it could only be achieved through an app filter. Her hair was long, full, voluminous and exactly the shade of platinum blonde she had selected, which contrasted against the golden bronze color of her smooth, soft skin. Her lips were full as if she’d had Botox injections, yet somehow they too appeared more natural even though they were still so full that they were slightly parted, revealing gleaming white teeth.
Then, there was the rest of her body. Golden skin all over with nary a tan line to be seen, her frame as perfectly proportioned as a Greek sculpture. Sara swayed with a slight vertigo, realizing she was taller now, owing to her altered legs, long, slim, toned. Her hips flared out delicately before receding back to her slim waist which displayed her taut stomach, a gentle outline of a six-pack showing.
Finally, her chest. Massive, huge tits. They could only be properly called tits. The sides of them bulged out past her torso, visible from behind. As large and full and round as they were, there was still no hint of a sag, easily supported by her toned back and shoulders, amazingly highset, and thrust out proudly, as her spine seemed to permanently arch slightly now.
If her bust hadn’t been so large, Sara could have passed for a supermodel easily. But she hadn’t picked something reasonable—she’d overcompensated and now she looked like this. A busty lingerie model. A skin-mag pin up girl.
But no.. even that wasn’t right. That wasn’t what she had named this profile. She had saved this profile as ‘Slut’.
Slut.
With that thought, immediately the fire ignited within with a desperate, urgent need. There was no ramping up, there was no building intensity. It was like an ocean of gasoline with a match tossed in. It was instant, all consuming, undeniable.
One hand went straight between her legs, rubbing her clit hard, the other went to her newly enhanced bust, mauling it, grabbing handfuls, viciously pinching her own erect nipples.
“Ooh shiiiiit,” Sara groaned. Even with the Libido setting still at the lowest permitted setting, somehow, she was hornier than ever, the pleasure was greater.
It’s because I’m a slut now…
She let out a low moan and sank two fingers into her now golden blonde slit.
Holy shit...
Sara, looking into the mirror, still couldn’t believe her eyes, couldn’t believe that this was her own reflection. The squirming ultrafit, super busty blonde vixen in the mirror, her thighs slightly bent, flexing, squirming and twitching as she pleasured herself wasn’t just a slut… she was a smoking hot sex bomb of a slut.
The experience was beyond surreal. She looked so different that it was like watching someone else entirely getting off (an impossibly attractive someone else), lending a voyeuristic quality. But then of course it was herself experiencing the incredible pleasure. The exhilaration and exuberance and adrenaline all mixed together into a potent, heady, erotic mix that pushed her to the edge quickly.
“Fuck!!! Sara squealed as her orgasm slammed into her, her pussy gushing as she frantically fingered herself. She was rapt, enthralled with herself, unable to take her gaze from the reflection for a moment, taking it all in, the way her taut midsection flexed as she clenched down, the way her huge tits bounced up and down, how her beautiful, sexy face contorted with the intolerable pleasure of climax.
“Ooooh shit..!” she choked out. Even as she was coming down from her peak, a second orgasm washed over her. She shivered and twitched, thighs quaking and threatening to give out, but her new fit body was up to the task.
Why did I think this was a bad idea again..? Sara wondered peripherally to herself as she moaned and squirted.