Altered Fates: Freefalling Freestyle free porn video

Freefalling Freestyle By Elliot Reid "What are we going to do with you?" the woman asked, flatly. There was no answer to that. I stared at my fingernails. They were long and well-manicured, though unpainted and unpolished. They were also unfamiliar. They belonged to a teenaged girl I'd never met. I was trapped in a duplicate of her body, powerless. I saw no way out. I was sitting in a bare office with closed blinds obscuring the neon New York night. The glazing kept out the traffic noise but not the subsonic thrum of the city. Separating the woman and me was a scratched and coffee-ringed wooden table. There were a couple of Starbucks cups and a plastic-wrapped cookie on it. Spartan, steel-framed chairs with frayed coverings guarded the table. I lounged disconsolately in one chair, sullen-faced, pressing on the floor with my toes to tip it onto its back feet. The woman, who had identified herself as Jo, sat confidently in another. My lips were dry. "You took my powers away," I said, weakly. I couldn't feel anything. Not the familiar memory of body shapes that I'd imprinted, nor the undercurrent of energy that was the source of my abilities. "Uh-huh," said Jo, calmly. "We had no choice. You were too dangerous in your old body. You could have hurt someone. Or hurt yourself. I had a technology that could transform you into someone without powers. I used it." "Why change my body?" I felt a black anger boil up inside. "Why not use power drainers?" "We don't have any drainers," said Jo, levelly. "Only the authorities are allowed those. We had to improvise." Jo was a stunning redhead with startling, wide-spaced eyes and wavy hair. She was dressed in a form-fitting one-piece in burnished green leather. It was the uniform of her alter ego: the science heroine known as Solitaire. Jo filled it well. Except for the creases at the joints it looked like a second skin on her. She was one of those petite but curvy women who in another life might have made it as a glamour model. But Jo was more than a pretty face; she was more than human. She had the extraordinary ability to manipulate gravity. She could levitate into the air and crush objects with a wave of her hand. "Who did you change me into?" I whispered. I hadn't been able to look into a mirror. According to the back of my hands my skin had an olive complexion, like that of a Latina. I was definitely a girl, with skinny legs and a small, pointy bosom. Looking down, my new body seemed youthful and gawky. I was barefoot and wearing a dark gray jumpsuit, like a prisoner uniform. It was a size too big and it looked rumpled on my tiny figure. I wondered where my costume was. I'd been wearing it in the fight, back when I inhabited the strongwoman body of Cobalt. "That's a long story." Said Jo, holding me steadily in her gaze. "You're a copy of an old acquaintance. It was the only shape I could find at short notice." "So if I'm not myself any more, how can you hold me here?" I looked up at Jo, defiantly. She shrugged. "This is not an arrest. I'm not detaining you here. You can walk out that door any time you want." She nodded towards the exit. "Only, you go in the shape you are in. Stuck in the body of a sixteen year-old girl with no powers, no ID and, I imagine, nowhere to go." "You stole my body!" I could hear myself whining. This form had a young, slightly nasal voice. It buzzed harshly in my ears. "We stole nothing. I'm not even sure there's a law for what we've just done to you." Jo arched an eyebrow. "Of course, I should hand you to the cops. If we turned you in like this, there'd be a lot of embarrassing questions and our lawyers would be busy for a while. But you'd be in deep trouble for what you did. The Forster Act violations alone are worth a ten-stretch." I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. This body had a bony ass with very little padding. "Why haven't you done that, then?" I asked, petulantly. "What do you want from me?" "What do I want? Just the chance to talk. Maybe we can help each other out. If you co-operate with us we can think about giving you your old body and powers back." She hesitated before adding: "Eventually." We held each others' eyes for a moment. I was the first to break contact. I knew I was in deep trouble. "So, why don't you start talking?" she continued. "Talk about what?" I was not in the mood for a conversation with anyone right now. Jo pushed a cup of coffee and the cookie across the table towards me. "Well, if you don't want to give me your name just yet, why don't we start with your origin?" My origin story? I bit my bottom lip. I couldn't see the percentage in keeping my mouth shut. It was easier to play along. So I talked. * * * First, I need to explain something about science powers. The most important thing to know about them is that they are extremely uncommon. There probably aren't more than four or five hundred people in the United States with any kind of powers. Powers are strange bioelectric fields that mess with physics in incomprehensible ways. They seem so close to magic that the term 'science powers' was coined to make it plain to the public that those who possessed these talents weren't gods or wizards or mystics, but enhanced humans. Not that this stopped some of the more prominent science heroes becoming the focus of religious cults, much to their embarrassment. Most powered people can't do more than circus stunts. There's that guy on TV who has the ability to change the color of objects and the man who can light small flames on the tip of his fingers. There's a woman whose parlor trick is to see things standing directly behind her and the girl who can see five minutes into the past. Comic-book hero powers such as flight or super-strength or laser-beam eyes are possessed by an elite minority and only a handful of those have the chutzpah to dress up in costume and become science heroes. Unlike the comic books almost no powered people become science villains. Why bother when there's good money to be made legitimately? Only psycho nutjobs like Queen Crimson go that route and she's safely incarcerated these days. And then there's myself. Though there's precious little that's super about my petty crimes. * * * "I was a late developer," I admitted to Jo, sipping at the Starbucks cup. "My power appeared last January, just before my seventeenth birthday." "You're a senior, then." The corner of Jo's mouth curled. "I'm not a kid, if that's what you mean," I quavered. I think I pouted, but I'm not sure how a pout worked with this new face. "This thing you did. This thing that's got you fathoms-deep in trouble, was that mature?" I looked at Jo. Her stillness was unnerving. Reluctantly, I shook my head. "Look, you're young," the science heroine said, graciously. "The young get to make mistakes. The question I have to ask you is: have you learned from them?" I digested that. She seemed to be offering me a way out. Jo took my silence as a cue to guide me back to the discussion in hand, "So your powers manifested, just like that?" "Sure. One day it just… happened." That was about six months ago, though it seemed like a lifetime. I halted for a moment, debating what to tell Jo. I had many secrets, not least of which was my gender. Here's the kicker: I'm not a girl, you see. I'm a guy. If you met me in my real body you'd see a tall, gangel boy; an awkward lad with bloodhound eyes. You'd see a social inept, someone who preferred the solitude of his room at home, hiding from his parents in the limpid television gloom, playing games online, watching TV torrents and writing snarky reviews in his blog. I am the perfect profile of the tech geek, with all the neuroses you'd expect of a youth negotiating their last year of the high school jungle. I've always yearned to be someone else. Someone more social and confident, more accepted. Then one day my wish came true. "The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by accident," I admitted, reluctantly. "How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little, her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar. I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she insisted. "No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on. "Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap' feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home." There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many online raids and stunts. That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking through his eyes and breathing his air. "Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off. "Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into that imprinted form and back again." Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered it?" "Uh, yeah. I experimented." Yes, I experimented. A lot. Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies. I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and gel into the new shape and become solid again. I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come. As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses, and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go on longer than in my own physique. All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit amything to Bill. I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to fade away. However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never knew existed. There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth against my tongue. Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't make me feel sick like the first time. I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a girl. This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy. But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out. As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy- looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set my trap at the Mall. If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However, I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air- conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on a one to ten scale. It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose. Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped, with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well- tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the side. "Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad, I'm real sorry." "No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd touched her. "Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me. I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's body, which was beginning to fill my senses. It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal. This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts. Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange, feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now grasped at empty air in front of my pussy. Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin, tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose, along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers. Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger than the other. My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be. They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles. My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me. Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow. As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned behind, soft and satisfyingly round. And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs, which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a miserable meal. From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by a mass of soft hair. I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There, sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of my sex. The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I woke and could change back. I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone. I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time, and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's voice. Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric. That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach a hand inside and rub my vajayjay. My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into. I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something ripping. I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel. There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the dress??"an operation as difficult as getting it on??"and looked for what else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps, I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax. This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I never received as a guy. I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted. Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape. It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed. However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded. I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong. When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions, my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl. I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function properly. My adolescent, unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying. The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my consciousness. With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing. The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like bruised circles. It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However, as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch the tears. Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form. Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos, slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a peak I needed to come down from. By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint. When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support. They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz. It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug, moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to consecutive orgasms, and often did. I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form. Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny, schoolgirl boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form. The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs. Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me want to sink into drowsy torpor. The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes. Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop myself dancing. Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older. With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh. The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in company. And then I overreached. * * * The texture of the air thickened. "Overreached? How?" Jo leaned forward, acutely interested in my choice of words. I'd left most of the details of my identity out of my origin story, and hadn't breathed a word about the sex. It was plain that she knew I was holding stuff back but was not pressing further. Her amiable facade was evaporating in the thick humid air. I shivered, wondering if she'd guessed what I'd gotten up to in the bedroom. "It was not enough to be, uh, someone else," I haltingly ventured, before tailing off. Jo eyed me carefully before filling the silence. "You wanted to duplicate a science hero's body, didn't you?" "Uh-huh. At first it was like a thought experiment. If I imprinted a science hero would I get their powers?" I hesitated. "I mean, powers sounded like a lot of fun. I wanted to be powerful." "So this was when you had the idea to copy Cobalt?" asked Jo. She had a weird intensity about her. I could see her stiffen, as if straining to hold her tongue. "She wasn't my first choice. It was more a matter of opportunity." I replied, limply. "Cobalt is a celebrity. She does more public events than other science heroes. I'd seen her in the news. It was just a case of waiting for an opening." It had actually taken three attempts to imprint Cobalt. Her public appearances weren't all that frequent and getting close enough to touch her was difficult. Twice I'd stood in the crowds calling her name and Cobalt had come nowhere within reach. That final time I'd chosen Lita's lissome body as my disguise. I intended to go wait in the throng outside the movie theater where the gala premiere was taking place. It took a lot of guts to get dolled up to go out. I had to steal some of Mom's clothes and then find a quiet spot to change. My parents had a house in a grubby row of brownstones, in a neighbourhood that had just dodged turning to seed. However, there was a garage out back facing onto an alleyway. Dad used it for storage, so this became my hideaway. Amidst the garage's musty smell and the dry piles of boxes I stripped and transmuted into Lita's teenaged form. I found it difficult to dress in the dim glow of a flashlight. I slipped on a pair of satin panties, which were sheer against my smooth skin, and then tried to figure out the bra so that I could strap in my firm little titties. They had plump, sensuous nipples that turned rock hard in the chilly dark and almost poked right through the lace material. Then I pulled on some black leggings and stepped into a knee- length black dress, feeling it hug my figure as I hauled it up. I had to struggle to bend my arms so I could zipper the thing up snug at the back. Finally, I slipped into a pair of Mom's flat-heeled shoes then donned a jacket against the cold. I hadn't a clue how makeup worked, so I didn't bother. And in any case I didn't want to have to wipe it off when I changed back to my real body. No one would claim I was dressed up to the nines, but I looked respectable. So I stepped outside. This was maybe the third time I'd ever gone out dressed as a woman. I hadn't quite accepted the idea that I inhabited a perfect disguise, so I pitter-patted anxiously down the street, with rapid little girl- steps, expecting to be found out as a man at any moment. It didn't help that walking still felt unusual in this body. My wider hips seemed to push my legs inwards so that my knees kept clipping each other. To prevent this I had to train my pelvis to roll like an ocean steamer. Then there were my boobs. I was conscious of their motion as I walked, like soft counterweights to my gait. Riding the sweaty subway downtown I began to notice something else: men checking me out. They were of all ages from young to middling to old, rocking back and forth in their seats with each lurch of the train or swaying as they hung from the straps. It was a subtle thing, a sideways flick of their eyes from my face to my chest to my legs to my face again before looking away. It made me feel apprehensive and vulnerable. It dawned on me that they weren't looking at a person, but at a sexual object. They were coldly sizing me up and rating me, just as I had done to the women in the Mall. In my mind they were imagining me undressed and fantasizing about fucking the nubile Asian girl. Here was the downside to my desire for attention and validation. It didn't feel comfortable to be on the receiving end of the male gaze. I had gotten to the movie theater early so as to be at the front by the barriers with a crowd of screeching celebrity spotters. It was cold enough that even the leggings couldn't protect me from gooseflesh, as the occasional draft whirled up my dress. There was a red carpet beyond the barrier, covering the sidewalk, and under glaring lights the great and good strolled in, stopping to pose for the obligatory flash photos, some of them working the shrieking, demanding fans to shake hands and sign autographs. Then, after a long wait, there was Cobalt, unfolding her supple limbs out from the dark interior of a limousine. Cobalt was over seven feet of muscle, her skin a startling deep blue. She was not hardbody-lean like a female bodybuilder, but had more curves. With her fine-chiseled features, all startling eyes and cheekbones, she looked sexy as hell. This was not supposed to be her real shape. According to internet rumor she was an ordinary-looking woman, but she could transform from her private alter-ego into this giant, blue Amazon who could stop a bullet and whose strength would rip a building apart. Her working uniform was a special dark blue gym leotard, a snug one-size-fits-all costume with special panels that stretched as she changed size. I knew this because I'd bought a licensed copy and hidden it back at home. Tonight Cobalt was not in uniform, but dressed in a black gown that clung to her curves and complemented her skin color. She certainly didn't seem to mind the cold. Cobalt was too large a woman to glide gracefully across the carpet. Instead, she padded heavily, like a lioness. She stood and posed as a bank of photographers flared and popped their cameras, then she loped over to the barriers where she flashed a perfect pearl-white smile at the crowd and began signing autographs. My heart was in my mouth. She was so close I could almost smell her perfume. The din of the crowd, calling for Cobalt's attention, was intolerable. I had an autograph book and pen at the ready, hands stretched out, jostling for space. I felt her grab the book, scribble something and give it back, just long enough for me to touch her hand and feel the zap and the rush of sensation as I imprinted. Then she was gone, leaving only the soft signature of her scent. Trembling, I backed out of the press of the crowd and began to make my way to the subway, my breath forming little white puffs that hung in the air. Taking a moment to gather myself I stepped down into the bright-lit tunnels and rode the rails back home. "And so you finally had Cobalt imprinted," Jo stated, with a flatness that indicated deep disapproval. "What was that like?" I shrugged, as I didn't really have words for it. From the moment I'd imprinted I was suddenly aware that there were two forms to this body: that of a small woman--presumably Cobalt's alter ego--and that of the statuesque science heroine, all muscle and womanly curvature. And then there was an underlying note--that of the science energy that gave Cobalt her strength and protection. I recall rushing back to the garage and undressing in the dark, excited by the new shapes. Almost as soon as I was naked again, I mentally faced the new imprint and changed into Cobalt. Immediately I found myself squeezed against the low roof of the lock-up and had to lower my head. I was now a giant blue superwoman bent double in a confined space. I could barely move. This wouldn't do, so I changed back to my own body and got dressed. "I found it difficult finding opportunities to change into Cobalt," I admitted to Jo, putting the coffee back down. I'd drunk too much and I suspected that this unfamiliar girl-body would soon need to pee. "I mean, how do you change into a seven-and-a-half foot blue woman in this city without someone noticing? I couldn't find any privacy to transform and try out my powers." This didn't, of course, stop me from locking myself in my bedroom and morphing to explore this new form. My bed creaked under the weight as my naked body expanded. I stood up and I could feel the mane of bluish- black hair on my head brush against the ceiling and tumble down to tickle the small of my back. Now I was tall, blue and completely nude. Cobalt's super-physique was unlike anything I'd worn before. To begin with, this was a completely idealized shape, as if it had sprung from an artist's imagination. There were no blemishes on the skin; it was flawless, bereft of moles, scars or unsightly hair. In fact, except for my scalp and eyebrows there was no hair at all; not even in that place where I anticipated a bushy diamond. My new figure was broad-shouldered with defined muscle in the limbs and abs, but other than that I was a statuesque shape. Even my breasts were the most perfect I'd ever seen; splendid teardrops, not overly large. My hands cupped and lifted them. They were firm to the touch and defied gravity. Then there was the perception of great energy and power. I felt as if I could snap an iron bar or punch effortlessly through a wall. It was like having a permanent adrenalin rush. I had to contain myself from doing anything rash and tried to focus on my exploration of this super- shape. I could sense this form had some deep urges inside; something sexual that demanded to be satisfied. My huge hands began to stroke and squeeze my smooth, unblemished blue skin. Those well-proportioned boobs were surprisingly sensitive to handling and after a gentle finger-flick of my navy-colored teats I felt wet down below. A hand flew to my crotch and parted the lips there, a fingertip searching upward for my clit, and when it found its target the sensation was so sharp that my back arched and a leg went rigid, jerking out to smash a wooden chair into splinters with a sound like an explosion. The sound brought me to my senses. Moments later I could hear Dad shouting from downstairs and I had to rapidly change back to my normal body, hop-hopping into my clothing before he appeared and demanded, with red face and bug eyes, to know what happened. I hated run-ins with Dad when he was in one of these moods. It was like he was permanently pissed at me. So I had to bullshit an excuse for the accident and agree to replace the chair out of my allowance. I'd gotten away with it this time, but clearly Cobalt's body was too dangerous to try to play with in this environment. I needed to go somewhere else, away from parents and prying eyes. That night I changed again, though this time I wanted to explore Cobalt's alter ego. It took an age to figure out how to change between Cobalt and her 'normal' form. It was a different kind of focus from that which I normally used to change shape. The alter ego body did not possess the immaculate perfection of the Amazon form and it made me wonder if Cobalt's super shape was some kind of fantasy expression of her subconscious and libido. The mundane body had a bronzed Latina complexion. It was petite and though it was not particularly curvaceous I found it was a delight to play with; maybe because it was older and more lived-in than the less mature teen bodies I'd been trying out. My Latina shape was light, lithe and incredibly sensuous. I seemed to get wet at the slightest touch of my thighs or a stroke of my hard little breasts with their delicate tip-tilted nipples. With my hands between my legs I could bring this body to orgasm again and again without exhausting it. I didn't know where the stamina came from, but it soon became another favorite. I didn't mention much of this to Jo, though. I knew Cobalt was one of her associates and I didn't want her to know how much gratification I got out of her colleague's form. * * * Jo escorted me to the restroom to freshen up. I ambled my way to a cubicle under harsh lights, nose wrinkled against the antiseptic tang. My new senses seemed irritated by the chemical odor. Jo waited by the hand dryers, keeping watch on the door of my stall. The cubicle, with its bright enamel toilet, felt like a prison. I had to step out of the coveralls to sit and pee naked before stepping back in and suiting up again. It was the first time I had enjoyed some privacy for a while and I took a moment to check myself out. My body was young and had not yet filled out. It was lean and bony, ribs prominent beneath tiny, pointy tits that were barely noticable on my teenaged chest. "So, you couldn't find anywhere to play at being Cobalt?" Jo asked as I emerged and shuffled to the basin. I took my time washing my hands because for the first time I could see myself in the mirror. Yes, definitely a Latina girl. Nice hair and high cheekbones with a mole near the jawline. Passably pretty in a skinny kinda way. Not that I looked particularly flattering in the harsh bathroom light wearing this sack-like jumpsuit. "Yeah, there wasn't anywhere I could safely change," I confirmed. I'd gotten into the rhythm of teasing out information, trying not to give too much away about myself. We strolled slowly back to the interview office. I was two steps behind Jo and couldn't take my eyes off her. In those figure-hugging skintights she just looked amazing; pliant and graceful with a carriage that described a sexy wiggle as she walked. I tried to remember what it felt like to wear those sassy curves. "So, when did you decide to duplicate me?" Jo probed, glancing back at me over her shoulder. "Soon after imprinting Cobalt," I mumbled. " I figured that if I could fly, it would be easier to travel to a place where I could change and have some privacy." I didn't tell her how much I was fascinated by the idea of flight. Who would not want to be as free as a bird? Who would not want to stay aloft under their own power? "You wanted to fly somewhere deserted like that demolition site where I found you?" "Yeah, a wasteground or junkyard or even a beach." Jo stopped in her tracks so suddenly that I almost smacked into her. She pivoted to look directly at me and made a face. "So we must have met before. Where was that?" "The Chatham building fire," I admitted. Jo, as the heroine Solitaire, did a lot of rescue-style work. She was often at big fires and if you monitored the emergency frequencies you could tell if she had been summoned. "I'd hoped to catch Freefall," I told her, timidly, "but you were there instead." Freefall was another redheaded science heroine with similar powers to Jo. In fact, so similar were both women and their powers that the gossip columns claimed they were sisters. "I don't remember that fire too clearly. What did you look like?" "I was this Asian girl, a high-school senior," I confessed. I'd changed into Lita to attend the fire, enjoying the sensation of Mom's jeans stretched tight across my caboose, along with a flowery blouse and heels that I almost fell off twice. "You shook hands and did autographs afterwards. I remember you took your breathing mask off, but not your goggles." I recalled that clearly. There'd been soot and sweat on Jo's hands as I'd touched her and stole her imprint. "And then you were me." "Yeah," I agreed, sheepishly. "I could now fly and everything." I left that hanging for a moment and started to ask something that had been preying on my mind. "Are you, like, mad at me for that?" Jo paused, giving me a measured look. "Yes," she said, sharply. "It feels like…" she paused, searching for words, "…a violation. Kinda. I was surprised how icky I felt when I realized what you had done." I thought it wisest not to mention the things I'd got up to in Jo's knockout body. She was a pretty woman, more cute than beautiful, with wide-spaced eyes and lips that were generous without being plump. I'd started, of course, with exploring its sexual responses. Hers was not an idealized form like Cobalt's, and I could make out a web of small scars and blemishes on Jo's skin that looked like the results of old campaigns. But Jo/Solitaire had a petite bombshell figure with full breasts that just yearned to be played with. I spent an age just looking at my peach ass in the mirror and the way my hips swung as I walked. Orgasms in this form were intense affairs, almost as overwhelming as in Tani's body, leaving me sweat-drenched and glowing as I came down from the ecstasy. I also decided I'd keep quiet about how long it took to master Jo's powers. It took me several days just to figure out how to switch them on. This was made all the more difficult by the knowledge that Solitaire was a Class Five telekinetic. If I made an error, I could blow the entire house up. I'd found some stuff online about how many of the powerful science heroes had a telekinetic forcefield around them. This needed to be switched on to use their powers. The forcefield, which formed an inch or so from the heroes' skin, was also the reason why they tended to wear skintights. Any loose clothing would be ripped apart by the field as it manifested. So when practicing I dressed in the copy of Cobalt's gym costume that I'd bought. There was something slinky and erotic about the way it snugly fitted my figure. Eventually, I found the trigger for my powers, a little mental switch that made the forcefield gently pop on. It took a while longer to figure out how to float, feeling the anti-gravity power embrace and lift my body. I was ecstatic at the way the power gave me complete control over where I was in space. It took so little effort to push off from the ground, every part of me feeling like it was being held aloft by gentle, safe hands. It was at least another two nights before I had enough confidence in my control to take a proper flight. My stomach quaked as I stepped out of my bedroom window into the midnight air, dressed only in the gym skintights. Moments later I'd floated upwards away from the ground, cocooned in my forcefield, feeling an exhilaration come over me. I felt liberated, transcendant. Even with the protection of my fields, I soon discovered that flying at night was fraught with hazards. Fly too fast and it was easy to clip rooftops or run into wires. I had to go up real high to fly without hitting anything. So over a week of nights I practiced soaring and speeding like a jet and flying orbits above the sodium glare of the endless suburbs, gaining confidence in my new powers as I watched the traffic below creep along yellow ribbons of illuminated pavement. On cloudy nights I'd wind my way around the flocks of cumulus, which hung like huge towers of vapor above the city. If I dipped in I'd get soaked to the skin as the blue-grey droplets misted through my forcefield, which was porous to air. It was if I'd been swimming in the sky. Though I couldn't get enough of my new flight powers I'd not forgotten Cobalt. On the fourth night I found some waste ground near an old steel plant. There was rubble and walls and acres of rust-streaked junk enclosed by miles of link fence. Grubby signs warned me to keep out. If there was anyone around to see me, I didn't detect them. In the compound I landed and transformed into the blue Amazon, the elastic panels of my costume stretching to accommodate my seven-and-a-half foot frame. In bare feet, muscles flexing in the half-light, I stalked amongst the half-demolished ruins, hunting for bricks to crush and metal to break. At first I couldn't smash anything. I punched a wall, but all I got was a hollow thud and grazed knuckles. I was mystified. Cobalt was supposed to be able to lift a truck, but however much I bunched my blue muscles and strained to heft a heavy chunk of concrete, it would not budge. All I broke was a sweat. Then I cursed aloud as a lightbulb flared on in my mind. I connected the dots, fitting all that I knew about Cobalt together. I realized that she must have her own forcefield; maybe something that armored her and enhanced her strength, like an invisible exoskeleton. I had to figure out how to switch it on, which took me a while. Whereas as Solitaire I had to push with my mind, like SO, I found that as Cobalt I had to mentally pull the power on, like THIS. As soon as I'd done that I found that lifting became effortless and I was able to smash stone and bend iron. Great lumps of concrete rocketed around the wasteground as I hurled them, leaving great dents in the remaining brick walls. Joyfully, I began to finish the work on the steel plant that the demolition crews had started. As my flying abilities in Solitaire's body become more assured, I could wander further afield to find privacy. The nights were warming toward summer, but before the barbecue season started I flew down to New Jersey to hunt out some deserted midnight beaches. The first time I did this I landed beneath the dunes and changed into Cobalt. Then I stripped naked and ran out into the Atlantic to swim. In this body I didn't feel the biting cold; the swim seemed coolly refreshing. As I relaxed I could feel my body's deep sexual needs begin to grow again. A heat swelled between my legs and in my chest. I found myself breathing harder and so I turned for the shore. Stalking back up the beach, water streaming off my nude blue frame in the moonlight, I sat down on the sand and began to touch myself. I craved an orgasm; I needed to be fucked. Here by the ragged dunes I could masturbate without threatening to destroy anything. The knowledge that some passerby might find me only seemed to make the thing more exciting. Cobalt's supercharged body was exquisite to arouse. Those impossibly firm breasts demanded fondling. I plucked at my dark teats until they turned rock hard and sent shivers down to my vulva, where muscles briefly clenched. I then stroked the silk skin inside my thighs until my vagina was all but dripping and every part of me was shuddering with anticipation. With my body keyed to a fine pitch, I gently dipped my fingers inside myself and began to quest for the little blue button of my clitoris. I found it and damn near screamed. I'd never known such eroticism; an electric feeling that zizzed up and down from head to toe, but with the web of threads centered on my sex. I spent a long time playing with this, letting out great sobs, until a tipping point was reached and my whole body convulsed, washed over by hot waves of sensation. The moment of rapture passed and I was deposited sweated and sand-coated on the beach, brain semi-scrambled, wondering whether I'd feel anything so amazing again. Eventually I stood up, padded down to the water to wash up, then gathered my costume and dressed myself. It was now so simple to slip back from my giant form into Jo's tiny body and push off from the Earth to lose myself in the sheer joy of flight. I accelerated back to my home, letting the world rush past, before floating back into my room undetected via the window. Somehow I'd managed to keep this all a secret, even from my parents. * * * Back in the nondescript office one of the ceiling fluorescants started to flicker. The air was turning uncomfortably warm and oppressive. I had flopped my bony teen body into a chair and sat in a dull funk, wondering how much longer this interrogation would go on. "Why didn't you register your science powers?" Jo asked. She was now pacing the cage-like space, her tight leathers creaking as she walked. Strands of her strawberry red hair broke loose and drifted lazily around her head. She absently stroked the rogue hairs back into place. "You know it's illegal to stay unregistered, don't you?" she said, impatiently. "There are people who'd pay brisk money to employ a shapeshifter. That's a unique power. I can't begin to think how much that talent is worth on the market!" "I don't know," I replied, with a sullen pout. With the long nail of my index finger I was starting to pick absently at the scarred wooden tabletop. This room was starting to bug me. "I just wanted to keep this all a secret. I mean, if the government found out they would do something to me, wouldn't they?" At this, Jo let out a sigh. She pinched the bridge of her nose as if relieving some kind of tension then looked sadly at me. "You know," she said. "I thought the same thing the first time I had powers. I got real paranoid about it. But I was wrong. Dead wrong. The authorities really don't want to imprison you or coerce you. Sure, they want to keep tabs and make sure you're not a menace to society. But honestly, so long as you don't get into any trouble they stay away from you. At least that's my experience." "But I didn't keep my nose clean," I said, pursing my lips. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" "Yep." Jo's jaw seemed to stiffen before asking: "Why did you do such a silly thing? Why knock over that liquor store?" "No idea," I shrugged, trying to avoid Jo's eyes. "I think it's all that power. I could fly. I had super-duper science strength. I was invulnerable to bullets. It goes to your head." Having that power was a rush. I felt so juiced in Cobalt's body, it didn't seem enough to demolish a derelict waste site. Smashing down walls got old, fast. I wanted some action. All rational thought went out of the window. "You were intoxicated by the power?" said Jo. It was more a statement than a question. "Yeah, that's it," I let my head fall into my hands, feeling a flush of shame. "I felt amped up in my super-bodies and it made me stupid. I mean, I figured no one was going to find me if I was in disguise. And I honestly didn't intend to hurt anyone." I bit my lip and went on. "Look, I had this idea that I'd try and stop some crime in progress; a mugging, maybe or a stick-up. But, of course, you don't see muggings in the street often. If you do it's more bad luck than anything. So I got it into my thick head that maybe I should create some crime." I paused. This distant from the event I was having trouble making head or tail of the logic. All I could remember was the heady thrill of being strapped inside Cobalt's sexy, powerful frame with its flawless complexion, its animal lust and vast strength. I had all this energy and needed somewhere to direct it. "I don't even know why I did it. I thought I'd just rush in and grab some dough. It was more like a joke, a prank." Saying it out loud made it sound incredibly dumb. It was such a trivial crime and at the same time such a serious one. I'd selected a liquor store in my neighborhood, which was my first mistake. If I'd been thinking I'd have traveled across town, somewhere I didn't normally go. There was no plan. The street wasn't busy. I descended into the inky shadows, landing in an alley between rows of shops, my bare feet splashing a neon puddle as I touched down. Then I hulked into Cobalt, feeling my sinews stiffen and a mass of hair cascade down below my shoulders. Seconds later I ran round the corner into the store, shoulder-b