Morphic Adaptation Unit: Sam's Revenge free porn video

Morphic Adaptation Unit: Sam's Revenge A man finds a strange alien device, and after tinkering a bit, discovers that it allows him to change his body. He comes up with a great idea to get back at a pair of friends. ********************************************************************** Morphic Adaptation Unit: Sam's Revenge Prologue First Tm'skor was having a bad day. This had started as a very routine day on another routine freight run on just one more routine Fwirthian freight ship. He was looking forward to a peaceful retirement after eight-four cycles of dutiful, if boring, service on the Fwirthian merchant fleet, including the last twelve at the exalted rank of First, commander of the vessel. Of course, as a member of the merchant caste of Fwirthi, he lacked the imagination to see how dull and boring his job really was. That was, until this morning, when his ship was suddenly surrounded by warp holes, each one spitting forth a M'Platwiri attack cruiser. Even as the bells rang the alarm of the pirate attack, bolts of energy splashed against his hull plates. The ship groaned in protest as his pitiful crew, soft and helpless, shrieked their terror, dashing about in confusion and abandoning their duty stations. Even Tm'skor was frightened and confused. Fwirthian merchant ships were not crewed by the military caste; as such, they were easy prey for the M'Platwiri pirates. Or rather, they should have been. The fates stepped in, and spared Tm'skor the fate of being captured by the pirates. As he stumbled about his bridge, confused and frightened like the other Fwirthian crewmembers, he collided with his navigator, and the pair smashed into the navigation controls. Of the buttons depressed randomly by the flailing captain, one commanded the engines to engage, and the warp generator to activate. The ship, still drawing fire, vanished into a warp hole. Wounded, spewing freight containers from the ugly gashes in the hull, the ship popped out of its warp hole in a backwater of the galaxy, an uninteresting, backward system with one nondescript yellow star and only one reasonably habitable planet. First Tm'skor and his crew ignored the system. It wasn't on their route, and as such it held no interest to their unimaginative minds. And because their orders said nothing about recovering cargo lost from battle damage (such conditions couldn't have been imagined by the traders commissioning the cargo!), they ignored the countless canisters trailing their ship like a ribbon of confetti, each carrying nearly three thousand cubic meters of cargo. As soon as the essential systems had been repaired, they swung around the diminutive and weak yellow star, set a new course, and dropped into another artificial warp hole. Behind the ship, a trail of cargo canisters, not having a warp hole as a destination, felt the tug and pull of the tiny sun and its even more minuscule planets. Some fell almost immediately into the sun. Others were smashed against asteroids or moons or planets. For centuries to come, though, most of the cargo canisters would drift through the system, lost forever to the shipping company and its customers. Eventually, a few of the cargo canisters, bearing the legend of the Glamafi Company, skimmed the atmosphere of the third planet. The canisters broke up quickly, disintegrating in the awful heat, but the cargo itself was made of sterner stuff. ********** 1. Discovery Sam Burns was hiking through the backwoods of his native Arkansas. It was his habit, born of a lifetime of living in these poor Ozarks, of hiking alone whenever the mood suited him. Well, not really alone. At least one six-pack of Bud was always at his side, a true friend to Sam. Be it melancholy, anger, depression, or just plain cussedness, Sam hiked whenever he felt like being alone. Sam had reason to be angry on this hike. He was fit to kill his two best friends over a gag they'd pulled. The three, Sam, Harley, and Skeeter, were always playing tricks on one another, and the local folks got their amusement at the trickery. Only this time, Skeeter and Harley had gone way overboard. It started while they were watching the Razorbacks play in their first game of the season. The game was close, close enough that the camera didn't spend near enough time on the cheerleaders for Skeeter's taste. As the trio watched the game, they drank their usual quantities of beer, so that by the end of the third quarter, Sam had passed out in his chair. Seeing an opportunity too rich to ignore, Skeeter and Harley let the beer cloud their judgment. The next morning, as Sam's tired and bloodshot eyes pried open, his ears detected laughter. That was soon confirmed, as was the source of the laughter. Sam was sitting in his lounge chair, in underwear, in the back of his pickup, and parked in front of the courthouse. But that wasn't the worst of it. The underwear he was wearing were from Skeeter's sister. Sam's hairy stout legs stuck out from her lacy pink panties, while his considerable beer gut hung over the waistband. And the cups of the white satin bra were stuffed with a pair of small cantaloupe, giving him a bustline almost equal to Skeeter's sister. Sam wanted to do great bodily harm to Skeeter and Harley; he'd threatened as much to everyone who dared laugh at him. The deputy decided he was serious, and so Sam was carted off to the hoosegow for a day to cool off. The deputy, not being too bright, however, didn't get Sam anything else to wear for several hours, and the taunting and jeering only made his determination for revenge more intense. As Sam hiked, he happened to glance at the night sky. Unlike that available to the denizens of urban areas, these deep woods gave a spectacular nightly show of the heavens. Sam paused to glance up at the stars. He blinked, and stared hard. He hadn't been mistaken - there was another shooting star. And another. And then a cluster of three or four! This was a real good display. He stopped his slow walk and stared upward, watching as meteor after meteor lit up the sky. A large one disintegrated in a shower of sparks, and Sam sank to the ground, still gazing skyward as he pried open a Bud. Finally, it seemed that the show was over. Sam levered his bulky frame upright, tossed his beer can aside, and began the long walk back to his rickety cabin. A bright flash and small explosion of sound nearly knocked Sam off his feet. As it was, it stunned him for several seconds. When his senses cleared, Sam found himself standing a few feet from a small crater. He peered into the darkness, and as the dust settled and moonlight began to filter into the tiny clearing, the faint light illuminated some kind of metal box at the center of the crater. A smarter man might have left the strange box alone. One thing Sam had never been accused of, though, was being intelligent. He clambered down into the crater, to the box. He reached out his hand gingerly, seeing if the thing was hot. Much to his surprise, it was cool. Sam touched it, then turned it over. It was made of some kind of metal he'd never seen, and there didn't appear to be any seams or buttons. Only a few odd-looking symbols were visible, strange angular figures arranged as if they were some type of writing. Sam sat back on the rim of the crater. He popped open his last beer, and studied the box while he guzzled the amber liquid. As the last trickles slid down his throat, he experimentally tossed the can at the strange box. Nothing happened. Just a dull clang as the aluminum can bounced off the strange metal. Sam thought some more. Finally, he realized he had to do something. The box had captured his curiosity, so he hefted it. The lightness of the object was surprising, and he easily climbed out of the crater with it in his hands. It was a long but easy walk home. 2. First Experiments Sam groaned in agony as he shielded his eyes. Bright rays of light stabbed at his unshaven face, and he rolled his body in a futile attempt to escape the brightness. After a few seconds, he slowly pried himself up off his bed. "Damn," he muttered to himself. "What a dream!" He lurched out of bed, dressed only in an old pair of boxer shorts, and staggered to the bathroom. Moments later, now clad in an old T-shirt and a faded, patched pair of jeans, he stumbled back through his bedroom. He halted almost immediately when he entered the living room. "It wasn't a dream," Sam said to himself as he stared at the strange metal box sitting atop an old pile of titty-magazines on what passed for a coffee table. Sam walked carefully, silently, as if it were live dynamite, and looked more closely at the box. He saw the strange markings, but that was all. No seams, no buttons, nothing. Sam snorted, venting his dismay at the mysterious box. Then, feeling his stomach rumbling, he turned his back on the box and stumbled into the kitchen. Eating took precedence over curiosity. Holding an open beer can, from which he took an occasional sip, Sam flopped down in front of the box. It was some type of silverish metal, not perfectly shiny, but not dull either, and about the color of tin. The markings were some strange set of figures, alien and cryptic. Sam only studied them for a second before he realized he wasn't going to figure them out. He thought for a moment, then he took another swig of beer, set the can on the coffee table, and picked up the box. Sam was surprised once again by its lightness. He'd expected a box this size to be considerably heavier; the thing was no heavier than a shoebox. Sam hefted it once or twice. Then he turned it over and over again to see if he could find an opening. This was an exercise in futility, so he paused for another sip. He was trying to determine which tool he'd attack the box with first when he rubbed his hand across some of the strange symbols. The symbols on the box began to glow, and the box began to hum, softly at first, then louder and louder. Sam dropped the box like a hot potato and scrambled over the back of the couch, staring like a frightened child at the shiny, humming box which had landed on the floor amid the strewn magazines which had fallen with it. The box...grew. Without opening or splitting, it simply grew, as if the material itself were being stretched. The sides extended outward until it was nearly a yard square, and then it began to stretch vertically. Slowly but inexorably, the box stretched, until finally, the figures stopped glowing and the humming noise vanished, leaving a metal phone booth in Sam's living room. "I'll be damned," Sam muttered to himself over and over as he slowly emerged from behind the couch. He retrieved the half- empty beer, took a big gulp, and started to look more closely at the box. The side facing Sam was perfectly blank, more of the smooth featureless metal of the case. He started to walk around the object, and the next face was as smooth as the first. So was the third. Sam snorted in disgust as he killed the remaining beer. This was going to take some power tools after all. Then he rounded the corner and saw the fourth side. Where three sides had been featureless, the fourth more than made up for them. Half the side seemed to be some sort of door; there were lines clearly visible around it. Another of the alien symbols, this time a glistening purplish in color, was placed where one might expect a door pull or handle. The other half was more confusing. A black panel, about nine by eighteen inches, was centered, it's matte surface seeming to absorb every bit of light which struck it. Below the panel was another panel, smaller and reddish, although calling it red was like calling a ruby red. It was less like paint than like a flat crystal, kind of transparent and faintly glowing at the same time. While the black panel was rectangular, this one was oddly shaped, like an elongated circle with three long and mismatched projections pointing upward at different angles. Even Sam, dull as he was, realized that had there been five projections, it would have looked like a hand print. It was as if the designer of this weird contraption only had three fingers. Sam reached his hand toward the plate, ignoring any mental warnings that common sense was trying desperately to send. As soon as he touched the plate, Sam was startled by a warm tingling feeling passing into his hand. At the same time, the flat black rectangle shifted, displaying a wealth of the alien symbols in neat rows. Sam drew back like he'd been snake-bit. And as soon as his hand left the ruby plate, the display panel froze. Sam touched the ruby plate again, and the display resumed, filling itself with the alien symbols, then it started to scroll, constantly adding new figures to the bottom. Finally, the display stopped. Sam stared at the alien writing, for there was no other way to describe the contents of the display. It was totally indecipherable, and except for the blinking characters on the last row, quite unattractive. His finger instinctively reached for the block of blinking characters, to touch or trace them to see if they were somehow different. But as soon as he touched the display, the characters vanished. Sam cursed. This was getting maddening. He stalked away from the infernal box to his kitchen. The sound of a beer can opening punctuated the silence of his house, and then Sam came back to his mystery box. He took a long swig, then placed his hand against the plate. The display started to change again. Like a bad television signal being slowly tuned in, a picture clarified. "Well, I'll be damned!" Sam's astonishment was total. The panel was displaying a human body. Though it was fuzzy, and the features were very imprecise, it was recognizably the image of a human. Correction, Sam realized. A naked human. As the picture continued to clarify, Sam realized that it was his body, down to the beer belly and the receding hairline. Sam let go of the plate, leaving his image frozen on the display. Sam slumped onto the couch. So far, this was a mystery. Touching the plate brought a display of himself. So what? He gulped his beer, then set the empty can on the coffee table. And as he set the can down, he noticed the centerfold of one of the magazines which was, in the strangest of coincidences, open on the coffee table. A leering grin crossed Sam's face. Miss July. He recognized her instantly. One of his favorite Playboy centerfolds. Many a night he'd gone to sleep to fantasies of being with Miss July. Sam sighed. This wasn't helping at all. He stood back up and touched the plate again. This time, the image shift was fast, and when the picture stabilized, Sam's mouth hung open. It was the spitting image of Miss July. Sam backed away, his gaze alternating between the picture on the table and the image in the display. For long moments, he stared, his mind working as feverishly as it could to forge the link between the events. Finally, what would have occurred to others in seconds crossed Sam's mind. "I wonder," he mumbled to himself as he stepped back to the box. Touching the plate, he again thought of Miss July. This time, he let himself wonder what she'd look like with longer red hair. And when the image froze, Sam's jaw hung again. Inadvertently, Sam had stumbled onto the secret of this alien technology. The user interface was so painfully simple that even a child could successfully use it. Whatever the user was thinking of when he or she touched the plate was deciphered from the brain and constructed as an image. Sam's curiosity started working in double time. He practically leaped back to the plate. The model grew larger breasts. Her waist narrowed. Her hair lengthened, then it got curlier. She grew a bit shorter. Her lips got full - too full, Sam realized, and he corrected his error. He was slowly making her into his ideal woman. Then Sam's imagination got creative. Somewhere from the dark recesses of his mind, a prankish thought emerged. The image sprouted a third breast, centered between the first two and equally as large. Sam saw this, and he laughed so hard he had to sit down. The image was perfect in every way, save for the absurd third boob. 3. Accidental Changes Sam stood slowly after getting his guffaws out. This box was entertaining after all, he realized. But still - there was something about that third breast that just didn't quite seem right. Some men would have found a third boob enticing; to Sam, it was...weird. He wrinkled his nose, then touched the plate and thought about making it vanish, which it promptly did. To make up for it, however, he thought about increasing the other two, making them bigger, giving the girl in the image breasts that were naturally pressed together. Sam liked cleavage. He stood back and admired his handiwork. Then a thought struck him. There was still that other button... He gingerly reached for the purple button, and as soon as he touched it, the metal side simply vanished, as if it weren't there! Sam flinched, then he peered into the inside of the box. If he'd expected to see lots of gadgetry and high-tech looking things, he was sorely disappointed. With two notable exceptions, the inside of the box was as plain as the outside. Those two exceptions were, first, a purple crystal button on one wall, and second, a lightly glowing translucent yellow crystal on the ceiling. Sam looked at the yellow crystal first, since its glow seemed more interesting to him. About a foot in diameter and an inch thick, it seemed to be part of the ceiling rather than attached to it. Its soft glow thoroughly illuminated the interior of the box without being too harsh. Sam gave up on the ceiling and turned to the purple crystal. It was shaped exactly like the one on the door. It is said that curiosity killed the cat. It has also been known to get humans in a great deal of trouble, and this occasion was no different. Without a thought as to what might happen if the door closed, Sam touched the purple crystal. Instantly, the opening vanished, replaced by the solid metal wall. More disturbing, the purple crystal lost its glow, as if it were now inactive. As Sam turned toward the now-missing door in alarm, he noticed that the glow had changed. He glanced up just in time to see the faint yellow change to a bright red light. For several seconds, Sam felt frozen in place, bathed in the intense red glow. And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the red color vanished and the faint yellow glow returned. At the same time, the missing door reappeared, his escape from this strange box. Sam saw the light coming into the box, and he turned instinctively toward it. The motion of hair swirling about his face caused Sam some small confusion. So did the seeming change in the size of the box - the purple crystal seemed higher than it had been before. And something was pulling at his shoulders, swaying and tugging with his motion. Sam glanced down. His next action was probably perfectly normal for a man who sees long red hair cascading off his shoulders onto two immense boobs, with seemingly nonstop cleavage between them, all displayed on his now smooth and hairless chest. Sam screamed, a high-pitch and definitely not masculine sound, which tapered off as Sam fainted and crumpled to the floor, half in and half out of the strange booth. When Sam regained consciousness several moments later, he found himself lying in a very awkward position, face down on his floor. He pried his eyes open slowly, his mind refusing to accept that he'd had anything other than a bad dream. Unfortunately for Sam, the long red hair bunched about his face and was blocking his sight. He reached slowly, fearfully, toward his face, and winced when his hand felt the long locks. Slowly, they parted, giving back his sight, but he moved very slowly, dreading what he was going to see. As if the hair weren't bad enough, Sam gazed long and hard at his hand. It was small, elegant and delicate - and sporting long feminine fingernails. Sam's mouth opened, and the small whimper that escaped was soft and high and girlish. Sam knew he was in trouble, even without the strange sensation of something - things, actually - pressed between his chest and the floor. Sam rolled, and he flinched as he felt the masses flopping and tugging on his chest. It took a few seconds for Sam to work up the courage to look down, to confirm what he'd seem before and seemed to be feeling now. But look down he eventually did, and he gasped in shock at seeing the breasts - voluptuous mounds - hanging from a hairless, soft woman's torso! Sam rolled onto his butt, and felt the distinctively strange sensation of not being on his own ass - yet another difference that threatened to overload his already battered mental faculties. And yet, he hung on, barely managing to not faint a second time. Between his legs, as Sam dreaded yet knew with certainty he'd find, was a vagina, a fully formed woman's sex. It was hard to see, given the configuration of his chest, but he managed to bend and twist and pry apart his mammaries enough to see that he had a pussy. Sam gasped again, a soft scream of shock. For a long time, Sam sat on the floor, his legs spread and his neck craned to see around or between his massive jugs. He contemplated what had happened. The initial shock was slow to wear off, leaving him dazed and unable to think clearly. Finally, as the mental fog began to lift, Sam glanced upward, at the control panels of the box. The picture displayed on the panel was exactly what Sam was, he slowly realized. A perfect pair of boobs, cleavage to drool over, long red hair, and curves that didn't stop. Sam had somehow become the woman on the picture. The designers of the alien device had tried their best to make the entire apparatus idiot-proof; Sam tested their design to the limits. It took a long time, but slowly he came to realize that not only did the box display a picture of the form he was thinking of, but it also had the power to turn him into the image! Slowly, carefully, Sam stood, wincing at the jiggling on his chest and the unfamiliar center of gravity, what with the wider hips and shorter height. Now that he thought he knew what had happened, he had to see if it could reverse the damage. Sam reached his hand to the plate, amazed at the sheer femininity of his hand as he touched the ruby crystalline plate. He concentrated - on his own body, on the form he had until recently occupied. Within seconds, his own body reappeared in all its unglory. From the large beer gut to the receding hairline, the flabby arm muscles and the unshaven face, Sam was able to get his body to reappear in the display. Satisfied, Sam touched the purple crystal on the door and stepped into the box. A touch, a bath of red light, and Sam emerged, restored to his own form. His hands involuntarily gave his body a once over, as if to verify that he had come through the ordeal unscathed. With a shudder of relief, Sam backed away from the box and went into his bedroom. A few moments later, he emerged, fully clothed. He picked up a rifle from the kitchen table, and then headed out the door, pausing only to glare at the alien contraption. 4. Further Experiments Sam sat on his couch, watching the television and drinking a beer. His hunt had been successful; the rabbit had been tasty, and as usual, he found it went quite well with beer. Like just about everything in Sam's life did. He was diligently ignoring the box, having been surprised once by the infernal thing. But there was little on the tube to hold his interest, and curiosity was proving too powerful for him to resist. Eventually, he rose, turned off the television, and sat down to study the box. Slowly, Sam's mind began to think of the possibilities that this box had given him. It had changed him into the image of the woman he'd thought of. Then it had changed him back to his normal self. Sam frowned at that thought. He harbored no illusions that he was attractive to the fairer sex. His hair line was fast receding, and his gut was huge. He frowned, thinking of how the girls fawned over the movie stars, with their muscular trim bodies and full heads of hair. And then two and two came together. Sam wondered. He set down the beer and stepped to the machine. Touching the plate, he conjured up his own image, and then began to think of changes he'd like to make to himself. First, the beer gut had to go. And as he thought of a trim waist, the image changed, until it was trim as Sam had once been. He stepped back and admired the new tummy. Then he stepped back to the plate. Again, he thought of a change, and again the display complied. For several long minutes, Sam resculpted his body, regaining his hair, toning his muscles, losing fat and flab, and even replacing the missing upper front tooth that Harley had accidentally knocked out years ago. Sam stepped back, smiling. Then he frowned. Something just wasn't quite right. And slowly, he realized what it was. His organ. His manhood. While it was perfectly adequate, Sam felt very self-conscious in the size department. The laughter he'd endured as a teenager now played into Sam's mind. He stepped back to the plate, a determined look on his face. And when he finished, his idealized self sported an organ that was almost ridiculously proportioned, although to Sam's mind, it was perfect. Almost an inch and a half in diameter, it hung about eight inches long - in its flaccid state. Aroused, it would no doubt have been a pike to impale some hapless vagina; no woman alive could have possibly received the full length of Sam's redesigned manhood. Sam stepped back, then smiled and pressed the purple crystal. He stepped through the door, and confidently touched the crystal on the inside. It was with eager anticipation that Sam basked in the reddish glow, and when it was over, he stepped out of the booth. With a huge grin, Sam touched his enormous member, then bent over and picked up one of his favorite magazines. He plopped down on the sofa, one hand pawing the magazine open, while the other began to fondle his newfound biggie. Sam quickly discovered two things. First, his new organ was far more sensitive, and produced one of the most amazing orgasms that he'd ever had. Second, and far more importantly, in its erect state, and with Sam slouched as he was on the sofa, the tip was but an inch or two from his mouth. The explosion of semen took Sam completely by surprise, and with disgust etched on his face, he waddled to the bathroom, one hand holding the dangling monster, to clean up the big sticky mess. In the middle of the night, as he lay in bed after yet another organ solo, Sam's curiosity began to stir. Sure, he had a perfect body now, but his few minutes with a girl's body now had him thinking. And what Sam was thinking was, to one part of his mind, perfectly natural to wonder about. To his macho side, however, it was pure treason. A guy might be permitted to wonder what sex was like for a girl, but there were strict limits. And changing into a girl to find out was past those limits. Sam went to sleep, torn between primitive desires, and hounded the rest of the night by strange and erotic dreams. Sam gave the box a curious look, then shoveled down his Wheaties and headed for the back door. Like most mornings, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt; this morning, the clothing fit him oddly. The pants were many sizes too large around the waist, and the T-shirt clung to his muscular torso like it was spray-painted on. With the rifle slung over his shoulder, Sam appeared the perfect hillbilly. Since there was nothing on the television - no stock car race, no football, and he sure didn't get into baseball - Sam headed out toward the beckoning hills for a little squirrel hunting. And maybe, just maybe, he'd stop by Hank's store and see if there were any ladies about to appreciate his new body. The sound of the pickup door slamming shut preceded Sam's entrance; he straggled in, hot and sweaty and dusty, and as was his habit, grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. He brought his dinner, a bag from a fast-food restaurant, and his beer, and sat down on the couch. Hunting had been a bust, so he'd decided to drive into town. But that was a humiliating mistake; it seemed that all anyone had done was laugh at him. All because of Harley and Skeeter. Even Mary Beth, with her huge knockers, had snickered at him. At the thought of Mary Beth, Sam felt his member starting to get aroused, and as he pulled it out, he grinned in anticipation. Dinner was temporarily forgotten as he satisfied his lust. Sam drifted to a fitful sleep again. Damn, but he'd really been hoping for some action - and with someone like Mary Beth and her enormous hooters. And to Sam, there was nothing so enticing as sliding his member between a large pair of mammaries. From afar, a thought permeated his semiconsciousness. If he really wanted a titty-fuck, why just the other day he'd had a perfectly suitable set on his chest! His macho mind fought that strange thought. No man would want tits! But Sam's strong attraction for tits counterpunched. Why not? It couldn't be any worse than masturbating! And it wasn't like Sam was going to fit himself with a pussy, now, was it? On and on the two thoughts struggled, leaving Sam tossing and turning as his subconscious duked it out with itself. Finally, half awake, Sam rose from his bed. It was two in the morning, and he'd barely gotten any sleep. Flipping on the light, he staggered out to the living room, to where the box stood silently, beckoning with its strange powers, looking all the more alien with only the light spilling from the bedroom illuminating its alien metal surfaces. Perhaps if Sam had been fully awake, he could have resisted its siren call. As it was, with his macho manliness thoroughly drubbed in a nine-round mental TKO, he gazed at the machine, then at a magazine displaying a large-breasted girl, then back at the machine. All the while, he held his semi-erect member, knowing that it needed some relief, and soon. Finally, he stepped to the machine and placed his hand on the panel. It took a few seconds for Sam to stabilize his own image, and then he glanced at the magazine, visible in the dim light. He gulped, and thought of how nice it would be if he could titty-fuck himself. In seconds, the image on the display showed his body - with a nice rack. Sam's eyes widened, and he gulped, but he managed to not be intimidated by the strange picture. And as he looked at the picture, he realized one thing - the tits weren't big enough. Of course, as he had those thoughts, the machine reacted by reading his very thoughts, and the breasts on the display grew in response to his desires. Larger and larger they grew, and, in the fog of his half-sleep state, Sam found it easy to ignore what he was about to do to himself. All he could think of was the pleasure he was going to get from wrapping those melons around his firm shaft. And how much a girl with bosoms like that should enjoy having a dick rubbing between them. Sam touched the purple button, and stepped into the booth. A stunned cry came from Sam as he staggered out of the box. The tits were far bigger than he'd thought they would be. Bigger, and heavier. They tugged fiercely at his shoulders, each motion of his body sending the beach balls careening around on his chest. He looked at the magazine that had been his inspiration and puzzled. The girl - she didn't have tits that big! What Sam failed to account for was proportionality. F-cups on a model, when scaled up to match Sam's larger torso, came out as J-cups on him. And even as part of his mind rebelled, screaming at him for having done such a stupid thing, his primal instincts and his love of breasts caused his member to rise anew. His eyes started to glaze and his breaths deepened as he pulled the long member into the waiting crevasse between the orbs. He sank to the couch, marveling at how good his dick felt, and how wonderful the tits felt, having a large hot shaft nestled between them. 5. Revenge Sam awoke on the couch, a broad grin on his face as if etched permanently on his features. His eyes opened slowly, rousing himself from a dreamlike state, and he felt his member demanding attention. His dazed mind imagined that the warm flesh surrounding his dick was Mary Beth's big hooters, but as consciousness drifted back to his mind, he suddenly got an alarmed look in his eyes. He bolted upright, and felt the massive jugs bouncing on his chest. With eyes wide open, he gazed down to see his rod protruding up from between the biggest pair of knockers he'd ever seen, bigger even than Mary Beth's, and covered with his own semen. Good grief, Sam thought to himself. What had he done? He'd dreamed that something like this had happened, but it wasn't a dream - it was real! The pendulous weights tugging at his chest were more than enough evidence of that! Sam's mouth hung agape as he stared in shock at the orbs. Sam bolted upright, sending the boobs bouncing dangerously as he staggered to the machine. The damned machine! It had done this to him! And even with his determination to undo the damage, he couldn't help but feel erotic sensations from his rod, nestled as it was between the bouncing breasts, and from the boobs adorning his chest. Both sent powerful waves of carnal desire to his mind, short-circuiting his urge to reverse the changes. Within seconds, he was writhing again, playing with his nipples and squashing his boobs around his erect shaft. With a knee-shaking explosion of passion, he added one final load to his boobs. Weak-kneed, he touched the plate, bringing the display to life. Sam resculpted his body, eliminating the boobs and restoring his manly chest. Then, still quivering, he stepped into the booth, emerging moments later with a normal-appearing body. Sam tried to avoid the machine the rest of the day, but the effort was as futile as a getting a starving man to pass on a meal. By dinner, he was sitting on the sofa, staring at the machine. His dick was almost permanently aroused now, a stiff shaft begging for attention - and unfortunately for Sam, his love of sliding the shaft between breasts was pushing him, subtly, subconsciously, toward a repeat of the past night's performance. Finally, he gave in, and picking up one particular magazine, he stepped to the single control. If the rod emerging from his waist were out of proportion, the breasts Sam attached to his chest were absurd. The picture he'd used as a model was Zena Fulsom, a porn star with extremely large boobs. What Sam didn't realize was that the immense orbs were really prosthetics, skillfully applied for the photo shoots. All he saw were enormous tits, and his compunction toward titty fucks drove him to select the largest breasts he could find. And the silly machine didn't know that the breasts were artificial, either. Sam's mind designed the augmentations, and the machine dutifully complied, sculpting his body into the desired form. Sam staggered as he emerged from the booth. These monsters were heavy! He turned, and they swung dangerously, the shift of mass threatening to pull him over and the tits themselves almost hitting the machine and the wall. Sam gasped, wondering what he was doing, even as he felt his organ enjoying its ride between the bouncing orbs. Sam felt a contented shiver course through his body as he prepared to satiate his carnal lust. By morning, Sam was tired of the huge boobs. Quite frankly, Sam was tired. He hadn't slept much in the preceding nights, having been busy masturbating between his tits about once an hour. And these monsters! They were heavy, they were uncomfortable, and despite the incredible sensitivity, or possibly because of it, they were impossible to keep from being sore. Either his shoulders hurt from lugging around the weights, or they bumped into doors and tables and chairs. He tried laying down to rest; on his back, the things were crushing him. On his belly - well, that was an incredibly failed experiment, too. And on his sides? It felt like he was attached to a pair of small beanbag chairs, and whenever they shifted, they pulled his body along. It was with profound relief that Sam stepped from the machine, relieved of the burdens and restored to a proper manly body. By nightfall, Sam was a little tired of the monster between his legs as well. The workday at the plant had gone reasonably well, except for a couple of things. First, Harley and Skeeter and the others were laughing at him. Even the ladies, who should have been awed by his incredible body. And Mary Beth laughed right along with them. The teasing had left Sam in a foul mood to begin with. Second, and more importantly, every time he started thinking of a woman, his dick begged for attention, and with its size, it was very difficult for Sam to ignore. In fact, given the size of the bulge in Sam's pants, it was hard for anyone to ignore. And so, despite the fact that it was great for playing, Sam slowly concluded that it was simply too big. A quick bout with the machine, and he'd shortened it, with great regret, but he knew it was getting in the way and was so utterly sensitive that it was demanding too much attention. At the same time, Sam began to realize something else. Perhaps it was the freakish nature of being in a man's body with big tits - which was exactly what his `friends' had done to humiliate him. Perhaps it was because he used the machine to reduce his large manhood. In any case, the taunting of the day had gotten his dander up, and he really, really wanted to get revenge on Harley and Skeeter. And his experiences slowly began to gel into a plan. If they embarrassed him by giving him fake tits, then Sam would see how they'd feel with real tits - and not just any tits, but monsters like he'd sported the night before. That would serve Harley right for what he'd done to Sam. As for Skeeter, Sam started thinking. Sure, giving Skeeter tits would be funny, but if he did that to Harley, well, Sam knew that just wouldn't be as funny to repeat Harley's punishment. Sam sat back with a magazine and thought, pausing to play with himself. The idea hit out of the blue. Skeeter claimed to be a ladies' man, and was always bragging of his conquests. Well, maybe Sam could fix that. If the machine could shorten his dick, maybe - just maybe - it could do the same to Skeeter. Sam laughed to himself - Skeeter and Harley were going to be so embarrassed. But then Sam thought again. Harley's changes would be visible; Sam intended to give him a rack that he couldn't possibly hide. But Skeeter? He could pretend nothing happened. No, Sam needed to do something visible to Skeeter as well. The magazine sitting on the coffee table gave Sam the idea. He'd rearrange Skeeter's face, giving him a girl's full sensuous lips and cheeks and nose. Skeeter would look like a girl. Sam grinned wickedly. After downing a couple of beers, Sam gave Harley a call. He had something to show him, and since the next day was a holiday, could Harley come over? Harley, wisely, deferred. He suspected Sam was up to something - Sam had never been know to be subtle in his life, and his eagerness to have Harley come over tipped off his friend. The same scene repeated for Skeeter. Sam went to bed dejected. How could he lure his friends into his trap? The answer occurred in a very erotic and strange dream. Since he'd had the tits, Sam's libido had started working on his brain, egging it on with the tiny question of what would the rest of a woman's body feel like? It was a question most men wondered at some point in their lives, and Sam had been no different; at an early age, Mary Beth had shown him the difference between boys and girls, and he'd gotten curious. He awoke with a start, and had to feel his body to reassure himself that it wasn't a dream. No, he discovered, he was still normal. But the dream. Morning found Sam very pleased with himself. He pored through his magazines, searching for something. Slowly, he began to identify those features of girls that he found most attractive - eyes here, boobs there, sexy legs on yet another. And slowly, as he searched, a composite girl began to form on the display. Finally, Sam stepped back to admire his handiwork. The girl was a knockout - long, honey-blonde hair, hourglass figure with heavy emphasis on top, long sexy legs, full sexy lips. Perfection, at least according to Sam's desires. He grinned - this disguise should make it easy to lure Harley and Skeeter to the machine. Sam pressed the purple button, and then frowned. The door didn't appear. He glanced at the screen, and saw some of the strange alien symbols scrolling across the screen. Sam pressed the button again, and the stupid symbols disappeared. He thought nothing more of it, and stepped into the booth. The girl that emerged was every bit as sexy as Sam had imagined her. This, of course, was demonstration that the unit was working perfectly; if he hadn't imagined her, the machine couldn't have read his brain waves and designed the transformations. Sam couldn't resist rubbing his hands over his generous bosom, marveling at the way they responded, the way they sent an intense pleasure radiating into this chest from the large nipples. He paused, reveling in the pleasure. What Sam didn't quite understand was that the machine not only built the body as he'd designed it, but it also had the power to make slight adjustments in the mind as well. Not huge, but slight. Like increasing the libido, or making a body comfortable with the changes. And since Sam's dream girl was extraordinarily sexy, including in her attitudes and desire for sex, the machine had faithfully made the mental adjustment in Sam. He continued his ministrations to his breasts, and slowly let one hand slide down into his crotch. Once more, a brief skirmish was fought in Sam's mind. The rational male half ordered his body to stop, protesting that this action was weird at best. The libido, enhanced by the mental adjustments, repelled that feeble attack and made its own thrust. This was just too nice, wasn't it? Sam's mind forgot its objections as the pleasure of his first female orgasm swept over him. It was after lunch when Sam was able to stop masturbating. He staggered to the bathroom and cleaned himself up, then scrounged around the house for some suitable clothing. He ended up with a pair of his shorts, which were far too large in the waist and tight as hell in the hips. A T-shirt was easy to put on, but his boobs stretched the fabric to the limit. He pushed his mane back over his shoulders, then picked up the phone. Sam felt a little cheated when he found that Harley and Skeeter were out hunting. But then, if he hadn't been so mad at them, he'd have been with them. As it was, he had to wait for them to come back, which would be sometime around dinner. Give them a chance to eat, and Sam figured they'd be available about seven or eight. After dinner, which had itself followed an afternoon of self-play, Sam gave Harley another call. This time, he was at home. Sam passed himself off as Sam's cousin, Betty Jo, and did his best to sound like a sexy girl, which wasn't too hard given the changes that had been made to his voice box. Harley sounded interested, until Sam suggested Sam's place. Harley immediately became suspicious. Sam had to think, and quickly. Not being his strong suit, Sam lied that Sam had been called to visit his sick uncle, and that she had to watch his place for a couple of days. And located as it was, she was lonely and needed some company. Harley fell for it. As did Skeeter a few minutes later. Harley would be there first; Sam might have to knock him out after the change, lest he warn Skeeter. Plus, with Sam in this girl's body, he knew he was weaker than Harley. All Harley had to do was to overpower her, and then he could run the machine. Sam trembled at that thought. A knock sounded at the door, and Sam eased the door open. Harley stood outside, peeking inside warily, but when he saw Sam's body, his eyes widened and he got a grin of anticipation. After all, Sam had practically begged for company, and Harley had a firm idea of what company meant when alone with a single girl. Harley was all too eager to come in. It took all of three seconds for Harley to notice the booth. "What's the box?" he asked simply. Sam smiled. "That's what Sam found. Some kind of funny gizmo, he said." Harley shrugged. He wasn't nearly as curious as he was horny, and he wasn't about to let a silly little box distract him from some serious sex, especially with a knockout like Sam's cousin. "Huh," he grunted. Then he tried to encircle Sam with his arms. "How about you let me keep you company now?" Sam forced a smile. "I dropped, uh, something inside when I was looking. Can you see if you can find it for me?" He'd left the box sitting, its door open. Harley smiled, then gave in to the lady's request. He stepped into the box, bent over and looking down. "Sure, honey," he assured her. "Then we'll have some fun." Sam sprang to the side of the cabinet. He pressed his hand on the plate...and nothing happened! He pressed again, and the display remained blank. On the third try, as panic started to set in, a set of symbols blinked into view. Sam suppressed a scream as he tried again and again to activate the display. But nothing he did would work. A second knock sounded at the door. Sam turned, blanching. Dammit, Skeeter was early! He glanced once more at the controls, and still they refused to work! Harley emerged from inside the box at the knock. "Nothin' inside," he reported. Then he glanced at the door. "Ain't you gonna answer it?" Sam felt trapped now. His transformation of Harley wasn't done because this stupid machine was acting up, and now Skeeter was here. His plan was falling apart. "Uh, yeah," he muttered, then he turned to the door. It was Skeeter. "Hi. You must be Skeeter," Sam said, trying hard to contain his panic. Skeeter barged in, eyes wide with appreciation and wearing a broad grin. "Sure am. And you're Betty Jo?" "Hey, Skeeter!" Harley called in a friendly but curious voice. "Fancy finding you here." Skeeter got defensive. "Well, I was invited," he retorted. Harley stepped to Skeeter, nose to nose. "Yeah? Well, so was I!" The two men eyed each other, trying to figure out who was lying, both wanting to claim this sexy girl for their own prize. And then Harley grinned. "I guess she figgers it'll take the both of us to satisfy her, huh?" Skeeter processed the new thought, and a grin lit his face. "Sounds good to me," he agreed. The duo turned to see the girl, and saw Sam, panic-stricken, nearly in tears, pressing a ruby-red plate on the strange machine. "No," Sam cried over and over. "No! It's got to work!" Harley glanced at Skeeter, then he walked to the girl and took her arm in his hand reassuringly. "So Sam found this funny thing. It's not important." His hand wandered to one of the huge breasts. "Now how about we keep you company, like you asked?" Sam felt the pleasant tingling on his boob, and knew that he was starting to feel aroused. He also knew that the damned machine was broken, and because of it, not only was he not going to get his revenge, but he was going to be dorked by Harley and Skeeter. Even though Sam tried to muster all his willpower to resist, a soft moan of pleasure slipped from Sam's lips. The warmth spread rapidly, and slowly, the two men began to minister to the sexual needs of this very sexy girl. And all the while that they ravaged Sam, the stupid display blinked its alien symbols, symbols that were unintelligible to any human. Perhaps if Sam had understood Fwirthian, he would have understood the symbols blinking just after he'd made his last change into the oversexed and almost bimbo-like female he'd become. And he would have realized just what kind of predicament he was in. Over and over, the alien machine blinked its message, waiting for an answer that never came. "We are sorry, but your four-day evaluation license has expired. To continue using the Mark 5 Morphic Adaptation Unit, please remit 52,495 Fwirthi Rakburs to the Gemalfi Corporation within eight Febulons. Thank you for trying the Mark 5 Morphic Adaptation Unit." On and on the message blinked, until, after almost twenty hours, it assumed that payment was not going to be forthcoming. The unit refolded itself into its shipping configuration, the compact little box with no seams that Sam had first found, oblivious to Sam's screams of pleasure and agony as his body betrayed his mind, giving in totally and completely to the engineered body made so perfect by the Morphic Adaptation Unit, Mark 5. FIN (of this episode only)