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Wererock Chapter 1 The Wererock Like most things in this story, I discovered the rock by accident. I had set out to spend the day fishing Marshal's pond thanks to a rented rowboat. The pond wasn't accurately named; it was a large lake with a small island in the center, but it had been called a pond since long before I moved to the area. The island held a small dock and three lonely, isolated trees. I had rowed to the island, content to fish from the pier while drinking frosty beer from the few icy bottles of Budweiser I'd brought with me. There's an old saying that a bad day fishing is better than a good day of work and that Saturday morning was no exception. I kept a line in the water, watching the bobber sit there, moving slowly as the shiner I'd used as bait swam beneath the surface. I watched the bobber and kicked at the ground, like a bored kid, scaping my shoes over the sand and stone that marked the shore. I kicked one flat rock and saw a flash of blue light rising from my feet. In front of me, the bobber dipped below the surface, rose, and sank again. The tip of my fishing pole arched towards the water. I ignored the fish, my mind captured by that odd flash of light. I bent down and brushed the sand off a queerly phosphorescent stone. The rock was flat and smooth, about the size of one of the vanilla wafer cookies used in banana pudding. The surface wasn't just smooth, it was pristine, without a nick or a mark of any kind. It had a faint blue tinge to it, like it was painted but scaping my finger along its smooth edge I thought it was probably that color all the way through. It wasn't quite glowing, or putting out any light of its own, it just had a natural luminescence to it. I thought it was more reflective than anything else, looking bright because of the sun. I picked up the stone. It fascinated me in a way I didn't understand. Now I think it was speaking to me but at the time it was just another rock. I felt the weight of it in my hand. It was heavy, weighing much more than the beer I had been drinking. I rubbed the rock, surprised by its smoothness and by how cold it felt. It was warmer than ice but not by much. My fishing pole slid towards the water. "Shit." I put the rock in my pock, lunging for my fishing pole. I grabbed for the reel just as it slipped into the lake. I pulled it out, yanking the tip skyward. I felt the hook set. I fought with the bass for a good five minutes before pulling the fish from the water. It was the largest bass I'd ever caught. I took a picture of it with my iPhone and then let the fish go. I was there for fun, not food. Besides, a fish that big deserved to be set free. The rock called to me. I walked to the dock and sat down, my feet pulled up underneath me. I pulled the stone from my pocket and studied it some more. I didn't see anything new about it but still it seemed to draw me too it. It was like a good piece of art; the more you stared at it, the more you wanted to stare at it. That's how that mysterious rock was to me. I didn't catch another fish; I never even put bait back in the water. After that one fish I was satisfied, besides, I had the stone to take home. That was my souvenir. The rock kept my attention for hours. After I got home, I cleaned the cooler that had held my beers, put my fishing tackle away, and with a fresh beer, I sat in my favorite recliner, pulled the rock from my pocket and studied it some more. The blue tint was dimmer now that I was inside, reinforcing the idea that it reflected light and didn't glow with its own internal luminescence. It was still cool to the touch, almost chilly. I rubbed it, enjoying the way it felt in my hand. It was the perfect skipping stone but I didn't want to let it go. By accident I discovered part of what the stone could do. As I said, the three major things about it all seemed tobe found unintentionally. If I were to be honest with myself, I would say that the stone wanted me to know the things I know and it had somehow given me the knowledge. However odd that sounds, that's what I believe. And, as scary as it is to say, I think that I didn't really find the rock at the lake. I think the rock found me. I sipped the beer, holding the rock like some sort of talisman used to ward off evil. I rubbed the stone while watching TV. I wasn't really paying much attention to what was on, I was just studying the icy rock in my hand. I rubbed its smooth surface, wondering if I was the first person to ever find the rock and were my hands the first to every stroke its pristine face. On the television, there was some commercial advertising the newest movie starring The Rock. I've always liked his movies. While rubbing the stone I was thinking how cool it would be if I was built like Dwayne. The rock in my hand grew warm and then went cold again. Just for a second that change in temperature was shocking; it had almost felt like I was being burned. I gasped, dropped the rock into my lap, and looked at my fingers. There wasn't a mark. I picked up the stone and set it down again. My arms were huge. My hands were mountains. I jumped from the recliner, hearing the springs squeak behind me as I rushed to the master bathroom. The stone fell to the carpet. Reaching the bathroom, I gasped, as open mouthed as the bass I had released earlier in the day. I was huge. I had thick, musculature arms that seemed as big as my thighs. My hands were these giant things that seemed to swallow anything they touched. What was happening? The rest of me, from the waist down, seemed unchanged, but my upper body had become as huge and ripped as The Rock from his newest movie. It wasn't possible, but I was staring at the evidence, trying to both believe and disbelieve what I was seeing. Do you realize how odd it is to try to come to terms with what you saw while at the same time trying to cast that proof aside? It's very disconcerting. I looked at myself, feeling a power in my arms that was foreign. I was built like The Rock and while it was scary, it was pretty cool, too. As cool as the rock I'd been holding when it happened. That thought stropped my preening in front of the mirror. Had the stone done this? That seemed both likely and unlikely at the same time. I imagined myself back to normal but nothing happened. I was still me down below and Dwayne Johnson up above. I ran to the living room and snatched the rock up from where it had fallen. I imagined myself back to normal. I rubbed the rock, thinking that I needed to be me again. The rock flared, the heat stinging my fingers. A moment later I was me again. Wholly me. Of course, that led to experimentation. Those experiments became somewhat overwhelming and more and more elaborate. I became something of a junkie, looking for a stronger fix. The rock, the Wererock as I coined it because it had the ability to make me change shapes, became an obsession. Every waking thought became saturated with things to do with my newfound ability. The first thing I did was the first thing I think just about every man would do. I stripped off my shorts, threw my T-shirt into the hamper and stood in front of the mirror, naked and full of anticipation. I brushed my bushy brown hair out of my eyes; I didn't want to miss this. I imagined my cock and made it bigger. What man hasn't wondered what it would be like to have a bigger dick? I know I'm not the only one. How many advertisements are there in the back of men's magazines that promised larger cocks? It was an obsession for countless men and I wasn't any exception. I rubbed the stone, pictured a bigger dick, and just like that, my cock was a good four inches longer. It looked monstrous and out of place. It wasn't the right size for my body, but at that moment it didn't matter. The Wererock was amazing. And I hadn't even scratched the surface as to what it could do. I set the smooth stone on the vanity and did what I had to do. With my new, larger dick, I had to play with it. I stroked it, rubbed it, damn near yanked the thing right off. It felt good but not as good as I recalled. I stood in front of the mirror, amazed at its size but disappointed by how it felt. Of course, I had an answer for that, too. I yanked the stone and it seemed to jump in my hand like it wanted to be touched. I thought how great my new cock would be if it was just a bit more sensitive, a tad more responsive. The Wererock flashed briefly, though that could have been my imagination. I set the rock down and grabbed my dick again. Oh, and I played with it. It felt amazing. Every self-satisfying stroke that had come before that one seemed to pale to nothing but a mockery. Here I was, a grown man going on forty years old, stroking himself with all the intensity of a young twelve-year-old boy discovering masturbation for the first time. I rubbed myself, feeling sensations I had never imagined or maybe just didn't remember. I could never recall my cock bring me such pleasure. I felt each rapid stroke as some electrifying tingle that made the little hairs on my arm stand up straight. I stroked, gasping in pleasure until I came, shooting further than could every recall doing. It had felt amazing and it was all because of that magic stone. My Werestone. Sated, I donned my shorts again. They felt different; the crotch was much tighter. I picked up the stone and reverted myself to normal. I carried the rock back into the living room. The baseball game I'd been watching had ended and now some old, black and white movie was playing. I didn't care. I had something much more interesting to play with. I sat in the recliner wondering about the power of the stone and what else I could do with it. I made my hair longer; I made myself bald. I made myself a giant, standing well over seven feet tall and I made myself a midget, barely reaching four feet high. I made myself younger and older. I reverted myself back to when I was four years old, taking in my house from this new, smaller perspective. Every time I made a change I wanted to make another one, and another and another, just to see what the Wererock could do. The power of that rock overwhelmed me. And I hadn't scratched the surface. I called in sick on Monday. I wasn't done playing with my new toy. Oh, I played with myself a few more times on Sunday. Sometimes making my dick so big that I couldn't even get it hard, but the stone took care of that, too. I made it so big I literally had to use two hands to stroke myself. It looked like a tree limb jutting from my crotch. Another time I made my balls so big that I couldn't wear my loosest pair of pants. It was all so overwhelming. I was a kid with a toy that I didn't want to share. I didn't even want others to know I had the toy. It was mine and I was all powerful. Lying in bed, the stone in my hand, I wondered what else it could do. An idea flashed in front of me. I shut my eyes and imagined a pair of tits sitting on my chest. The stone didn't care what it did as long as it got to play. Opening my eyes, I was sporting a pair of breasts. They weren't huge but they were there. A rising swell that settled into a smooth teardrop, my nipples sitting perfectly in place. I sat up, feeling the weight of them moving beneath me. Of course, they needed to be bigger. That thought was there before I even knew I had it. I rubbed the stone and watched them grow. They became full C's and then double D's. I stopped there, thinking that they were now the perfect size for my frame. Then I laughed and made them bigger. They became enormous, huge volleyball size mounds hanging from my chest. My back felt the pull of them and that feeling made me hard. I stood in my bedroom, stroking my cock with one hand while rubbing my tits with the other. I picked the stone off the bed and made my nipples more sensitive. This time when I came my knees buckled. I sat on the floor, bent slightly forward from the weight of my tits, and panted in complete sated, relief. It took me a few minutes to recover. I picked up the stone and made me me again. I cleaned up my mess, dressed in a pair of jeans and a clean light blue t-shirt, before settling onto the couch, wondering what else the stone could do. I was already enraptured by it. Or maybe ensnared would be a better word. I was hooked, just like a junkie, and I wanted more. I wondered what else the stone could do. I knew I had to touch it to make a change and every time I made a change I quickly reverted to my normal self. I wondered what would happen if I lost the stone? What if I made a change and couldn't reach the stone for some reason? What if I mailed it away and was trapped in whatever form I left myself in until the mail came a few days later. Just thinking about these things made me hard again. And what other shapes could I take. I had given myself breasts. Could I give myself a vagina too? I was sure of it. Could I turn myself into a woman? Could I turn myself into another person? These were the things that kept my mind racing all through that Monday morning and afternoon. By Monday night I knew I had to find out. I had to play. I called the office and arranged to take the whole week off. When you're the boss you can do that with little fuss. Still, I had to make the proper arrangements and make sure the work would get done. I'm an engineer by trade. I write software. If you've ever seen a computer program, then you know what an if-then-else statement was. Thoughts of using the stone to program myself occupied my thoughts as well. My mind was racing but I couldn't slow it down any more than I could put the Wererock out of my head. What all could it do? I had a week to figure that out. Tuesday morning came and I woke up with the rock sitting on the nightstand next to my bed. I had spent hours the night before imagining all the things I could do and things I wanted to try. All of them concerned that magical stone and what it could do to me. I had some elaborate things I wanted to try, but first I had to learn all the basics. I looked at it like a mathematical problem. I had to be able to add before I could do algebra. The stone was like that. I knew it could change me but to what extent? I started with the obvious. I had already made my dick into some mythical colossus and given myself breasts. That morning of experimentation I gave myself a pussy and like every man out there the first thing I did was play with it. I was by no means a virgin, even if at thirty-eight years old I was still unmarried, so I have touched and fondled my fair share of pussies. This was totally different. I knew what I was doing and I was deftly able to bring myself to a toe-curling orgasm. And it did curl my toes. I'm not sure I can get across how intense that orgasm was as I lay on my bed toying with my new clit. As a man, stroking or pounding my cock into a woman, the feelings are concentrated on my cock. Mostly on the sensitive underside. With a pussy, with my pussy, the orgasm was much deeper and more whole-body. My clit was this whole universe of pleasure nerves and when they lit, they seemed to spread pleasure outward until my toes curled, my back arched, and my eyes rolled into my head. Even after I came I kept playing and experienced my first, true, multiple orgasm. That second one was every bit as intense as the first, but it arrived much quicker. It was like I had started closer, the first orgasm barely waning before the second one crested. It was amazing. The third made me dizzy. Sated, and on wobbly knees, I made my way to the mirror, the stone in my hand. I didn't want to stop playing. The Werestone was calling to me; I could almost hear it. I gave myself tits again, satisfied this time with smaller, natural looking breasts. I tweaked my body, imaging a thinner waist and longer legs. I turned my hair a warm auburn and made my lips a tad fuller. Looking in the mirror I looked almost human. I couldn't quite place what was wrong. I didn't look symmetrical. I looked a bit like Frankenstein's monster... the parts put together to make something almost right but not quite whole. That was my first foray into changing myself into a woman. I didn't want to be a woman, I just wanted to test the Werestone. I stared into the mirror trying to fix the little things that were out of place. I softened the curves between my replaced parts; I shortened my legs to be more in line with what they should be and less what I thought would look good. Slowly, after about forty-five minutes, I was satisfied with how I looked. Standing in the mirror was a short woman with long, wavy hair that was more brown than red. I had full breasts that were perhaps a bit too big but still not those huge orbs I had tried the day before. My ass looked good; I could almost see them in a pair of Daisy Dukes. It wasn't a bad first attempt. After that, I turned myself back to normal. I was an average looking guy with slightly thinning hair and small, green eyes. My belly was that of a normal middle-aged man. That is, a bit larger than it should be and truthfully a bit larger still. But it was me and I was happy with me. But the Werestone was calling. I dashed into the living room to grab my laptop. I raced back to the large mirror in the bathroom. The laptop booted and I swear I never knew it to be so slow. Finally, after far too long, I was on the web. I called up a picture of The Rock and using the stone I became Dwayne Johnson. I had the same bald head, the same huge arms with the same tattoos; everything was a perfect match. I tried other celebrities, both men and women. I started with the men. It was just easier for me; I never thought of myself as a woman or a crossdresser. That was all Cynthia. Or maybe it was the stone. I was The Rock; then I became Tom Cruise, Chris Pratt, then Denzel Washington. It seems the stone didn't care what race I was any more than what gender. I turned myself into Jennifer Aniston, Alison Brie and finally Jessica Alba. The laptop on my vanity provided me with the pictures. My imagination filled in the covered, naughty bits. Jessica Alba, the form I took, had a full brown bush. Jennifer was shaved bare. Denzel, my Denzel had a tiny little cock while Chris was hung like a stallion. It didn't matter, my body was clay to be formed in any shape I desired. By the end of the day, when the sun had long set and my stomach was growling from skipping every meal, I could turn myself into any man or woman I wanted. Even the ones I made up became easy. Too easy. Thanks to the stone. And I wanted more. I wanted to play. I was a kid with the hottest toy on the planet that nobody else had. I felt invincible. The thought returned: what would happen if I was stuck without the stone in a shape that wasn't my own. Oh, that thought took hold. I started simply enough. I turned myself into a little boy. I was six years old, no muscles to be found and a tiny little pecker that hadn't sprouted its first hair. I dug through my closet and found a pair of shorts that swallowed me whole and a t-shirt that was more like a dress. I didn't have the clothes for a kid. Oh, well. I tweaked my body and became a teenager. I darkened my skin, flattened my nose. I looked a bit like that guy who played War Machine in those Marvel movies. Google gave me the answer... Don Cheadle. Dressed in shorts and a plain green t-shirt, I donned my shoes and slipped out of the house. I left the stone home, safely tucked away in the nightstand by my bed next to my slick .40 caliber pistol. I got in my car and drove about five miles to the closest McDonalds. I was starving and wasn't about to cook. I wanted to play, so fast food was the answer. I went through the drive through, a handsome black man, miles from my house. I imagined myself back to being, well, me, and nothing happened. The magic of my Wererock was still at home, safely tucked away. I paid for my meal feeling a rising mass in my shorts. Something about being stuck like I was seemed alluring. It was almost intoxicating. What if I was pulled over by a cop; what if I was arrested? Would my fingerprints match my old self or was I a new person with no history? The thought of it made my cock an iron bar. "Anyone ever tell you that you look like that actor from Crash?" The woman ringing up my order was older than I was, I would guess about sixty. I nodded and gave her a genuine chuckle, "Yeah. I'm Adam, not Don Cheadle. I've heard that a bunch. Sadly, no relation." We both laughed. I ate on my drive home, driving the speed limit and not one bit more. The thought of being pulled over excited me but in a way that I couldn't quite explain. The idea that I was miles from the only thing that could change me back electrified me. I was bouncing with nervous energy by the time I got home, my Big Mac already gone. I rushed back to the stone, trying to restore myself. Nothing happened until I touched that smooth, cool surface. Then I was me. I came without touching my dick. That had been a rush and oh, did I want to feel it again. My heart was beating out a symphony and my hands were shaking. It took a good twenty minutes before I felt like trying something new and during that time I was thinking of all the things to try. I put the stone away for the night, thinking of scenarios. Some I discarded but some took root like a weed and just wouldn't let go. I had so many things I wanted to do and I never even scratched the surface of outrageous things until I met Cynthia. Oh, Cynthia. Wait until you meet her. Chapter 2 Fed-Ex Wednesday morning came early. I woke up long before my usual time and well before the alarm clock I had set. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning anxious to see what Santa had brought. I had come up with the plan and I wasn't going to waste any time waiting to see it done. I had come up with a number or scenarios but I was still in the testing stage and so, while I took risks, I didn't take huge risks. Those came with Cynthia and the two miraculous things she discovered about the Wererock. I took a shower, ate a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal, and got dressed in one of the suits I normally wore to the office. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going to make a change. A big one but not one that I couldn't be repaired if things turned out poorly. I knew it was stupid but I couldn't help it. I was a junkie needing a fix. I didn't know what was happening but somehow the Werestone was changing me. That's the best way to describe it, I guess. It was talking to me, calling me to play and I listened. I obeyed. I drove to the office, the Werestone in the front pocket of my light blue shirt. I could feel it there. There was this coolness that seemed to seep through my shirt, making my left nipple hard. I laughed at that, knowing what was coming. I parked at the office. I had fourteen employees with six programmers, four men and two women, each sitting in their own cubicles writing out the code for whatever project they were assigned. My salesman, Jason, was out, probably drumming up new business. Seated at her desk in front of my office was my assistant, Carley. She was a pretty, black lady with tight, curly hair and full red lips. She frowned at me, "What are you doing here? I thought you took the week off?" She had this tone, like she was scolding a recalcitrant student. She hobbled to her feet. "You'll be the one taking more than a week off," I said, watching Carley holding her stomach. "How much longer?" "Oh, about another two months. With my luck, he'll be late, the little shit." She smiled at her own words. "Now, what are you doing here?" "Just wanted to ship something out." We had preprinted air bill labels at the office and a full supply of boxes. "FedEx show up yet today?" Carley shook her head. "Nah, probably won't be here for an hour yet." Perfect. I gathered up the shipping supplies before shutting myself into my office. I filled out my home address on the FedEx label before assembling the small box. The box hung open, taunting me. I thought of what I was about to do. It would be scary. It would be exciting. It would be crazy. I knew I shouldn't do it. I knew that but I couldn't not do it, too. I was a drug addict needing my next fix even knowing that the fix would cost me dearly. The Werestone was calling to me. I could almost hear it telling me to go ahead, it'll be fun. And it would be fun. Scary fun, like a haunted house or a roller coaster. I took off my blazer and unbuttoned my shirt. My chest bared to the room. I fished the stone out of my pocket. I held the icy rock in my hand and gave myself breasts. At first they were small, barely noticeable. Of course, that wasn't good enough. The stone was my pusher, telling me to keep going. Go big or go home, wasn't that the saying? I made them bigger and then bigger still. I stopped with two perfectly formed breasts on my chest, each a little bigger than a grapefruit. I would guess I was a C- cup or maybe a bit bigger. I hopped up and down, feeling them move. They wiggled and wobbled. I rubbed them, feeling their heat. I lifted them, taking in the full weight of them. I pinched my right nipple, making it as hard as the left. One more quick nudge and the nipples became a little more sensitive. I blew on my nipples, first one and then the other, and felt a tingle in my cock. My breathing sped up as my nipple electrified my senses. I buttoned my shirt, my breasts pushing out as two large mounds. I donned my jacket. I looked at my reflection in the glassy computer screen sitting on my desk and then down at myself from above. I was sure they were hidden enough to escape the office without being seen. I looked at the stone still clutched in one hand. It wasn't too late to change my mind. I kept telling myself that but it was too late. I had to do it. I wanted to even more. I dropped the Wererock into the FedEx box and sealed it shut. My heart was pounding now. I felt an excitement I could barely contain. My whole body was tingling. I tried to remove my breasts but nothing happened; I wasn't holding the stone. I could rip the box open, touch the rock and take my tits away but that wasn't what I wanted to do. I wanted to be stuck with tits until my package was delivered. I wanted to be helpless. Before reason took over I left my office, handing the box to Carley. "Make sure this goes out today, please." "Sure thing, Mr. Orlinski." She looked at me a little funny but didn't say anything. I watched as she stacked the little white box on the table behind her desk, setting it on another, similar box. Just one more thing in the outgoing mail. Nothing out of place. Nothing out of the ordinary. But something extraordinary. "Thanks, Carlie. Say 'hi' to Zachary for me." Carlie nodded, "Will do." "See you Monday." I left the office, feeling each step in my chest. The tits were distracting, demanding my attention. No, not the tits. My tits. I had tits. I walked to my car, feeling my tits bounce. I got a thrill as I felt my hard nipples slipping against my shirt. I bucked my seat belt and felt the strap settle between those twin orbs. I raced home, watching the rear-view mirror more than the road in front of me. I was driving on autopilot, concentrating on the box holding the rock getting further and further away. I made it home and raced into the house. I couldn't take it anymore. One hand fumbled with the key to get me inside while the other was pulling at the button on my blazer. I was in the house with the door slamming behind me when my hands ripped my shirt open. Buttons scattered away, sounding like rice falling into an empty pan. I fell to my knees, rubbing my tits. My nipples were hard nubs and so very sensitive. Each caress felt like a thousand tongues. I pinched my nipples and came in my pants, without ever touching my dick. It had all been too much. The sensations of my breasts bouncing as I walked. The electric feeling of my engorged nipples shooting pleasure straight to my cock and my brain, fueling it all, with the same overwhelming thought. "You're stuck with tits. You can't take them away." And I was stuck. That was the most exciting thing. I'm not sure I could ever explain why that was so exhilarating. It was thrilling to be able to make the changes I could make but somehow it was even more amazing to be stuck with the change I had made. Without my Wererock I was stuck with my tits. Even the word "stuck" sent lines of pleasure from my brain to my dick. So far, this first experiment had been amazing. My mind kept coming up with new, riskier, scenarios and I knew I'd have to try them all. I spent the day playing with my tits. I grabbed one boob and brought the nipple up to my mouth like I'd seen in so many pornographic videos. My knees buckled at the sensation; it was more than arousing. It was amazing. Topless I walked from room to room just to feel my tits jiggle with each step. By the time my stomach reminded me it was time for dinner I understood why women wore bras. The weight of the tits, the pull of them, left me wanting to feel some support. And I could only imagine how'd they look if I hoisted them, putting them out for the world to see. Once that thought entered my mind I couldn't shake it. Hastily I redressed and left my house, throwing one glance at my front door. The day had disappeared and it was nearly dinner time. By now the FedEx box was gone, fully ensconced in its journey back to me. I couldn't go to the office and collect the box now if I wanted. I was trapped, waiting for the stone to come home. Just the thought of it made me tingle. I drove two suburbs over to a small outdoor mall that had a Victoria's Secret. I needed a bra and it needed to be lacy and overly supportive. Now, I've never thought of wearing women's underwear in my life; the thought was as alien as the breasts on my chest but somehow when I thought it, the idea felt right. It dawned on my briefly that the Wererock had changed more than my body; it had altered my mind as well. As quickly as that disturbing thought entered my mind, I found it replaced with an equally terrifying idea. That I was glad I was being trained to accept the changes. "That makes it easier," I whispered under my breath. Then those thoughts were nothing but vapor. I walked into Victoria's Secret, surrounded by bras and panties of every color imaginable. The lights were bright, making the sexy underwear even brighter. I looked around, seeing thongs and bikinis, boy shorts and tanga panties all adorned with soft, frilly lace. I spotted panties with matching bras and garter belts paired with sheer stockings. I was overwhelmed by the choices, lost in a world I knew nothing about. "Can I help you sir?" A pretty, Asian woman approached me. She was wearing a tight skirt that barely covered her knees and a white blouse topped with a jacket just a little darker than my own dress shirt. Her nametag read "Suyin." "I need a bra." Suyin turned her head, putting her ear closer to me. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." I repeated my request, louder now so that it could be heard other than in my head. Suyin seemed nonplussed. "A gift?" I shook my head, suddenly embarrassed. I had come here with confidence; I needed a bra. Now that I was here I somehow felt like a child caught stealing a chocolate bar from the checkout line of the grocery store. I felt the heat rise on my cheeks. Where had my confidence gone? I thought of the stone, somewhere in the FedEx system. It could give me the strength to get through this. Another thought followed that one, one that made me gasp. It could magnify my shame, too. Suddenly I wanted it to do both. I was a junkie needing a fix and I didn't care if the resulting trip was good or bad. Hell, I doubted I'd know the difference. "No," I said, finding my voice. "I have," I looked around me. A few women were shopping, looking at the panties in their little wooden bins. Across the store two other women were talking about some new fragrance of lotion and behind them a mom, pushing her child in a stroller, was looking at some gray sweat pants with the word Pink written across the bottom in the appropriate color. All of it was normal; only I was out of place. "Breasts. I have," the word eluded me, "a condition that gives me boobs, breasts, and I need a bra. I guess," I gave a shrug as I finished my tale, feeling my cheeks turning an even brighter red, "I need to finally accept the truth." She took it all in, "Do you know the size?" "No." "Okay," Suyin said. She escorted me to the back of the store. "We'll do a fitting. Go inside and take your shirt off. I'll be right in." I hadn't expected this and I felt my chest growing hot. I felt embarrassed, true, but somehow, I felt even more turned on. The humiliation was exciting. That was new; I'd never been into that but now, as I stood topless, my tits bared to the bright dressing room lights above me, I found myself aroused by the shame I was feeling. And it was shameful; men didn't have tits. In my house, my tits had been fun. Here, in Victoria's Secret, it was humiliating and even more exciting. I felt my cock tighten, threatening to erupt. Suyin returned and let out a little squeak. "You weren't kidding." Did she think it was something I would make up? I was about to ask her when she told me to turn around. She measured my chest below my breasts and again, crossing a soft pink tape with black markings over my nipples. She jotted down each measurement she took and told me my size: 38-C. At her insistence, I got dressed again. I quickly donned my shirt and jacket, needing both to hide what I couldn't take away. "Follow me, sir," Suyin said, leading me from the dressing room. She was quick, polite, and most of all, professional. She didn't make any snide remarks and I never once heard her snicker at my plight but I wanted her to. At the time, I didn't understand my thoughts, I only knew that as I was following her from the dressing room to a round, wooden table filled with lacy bras with matching panties, I was hoping for her to shame me. I swear, had she had called me a big girl, or anything even remotely demeaning, I would have come on the spot. It was the Wererock that put those thoughts in my head. It was the only thing new; I'd never been turned on by sexual humiliation, but I'd never magically sprouted tits, either. One led to the other. Both were caused by that amazing stone. I selected two bras. One, a plain black one with just a slight tinge of lace around the upper cups. The other was bright yellow with an iron underwire that only had half-cups. The wiring would push my tits up; the half cups would let them bounce. Suyin gave me a strange look that caused my cheeks to flare with color. "Thank you, miss," I said, surprised my voice didn't crack. She gave a nod and had me follow her to the register. Just like that I had two bras and I knew my size. I left the store, feeling a flush as I carried that bright pink bag out into the covered walkway that skirted the stores. The bag was a beacon; you couldn't miss it. People milling about, moving from store to store, didn't seem to care what I was carrying. If anyone saw the bag they'd think I'd bought a gift for a wife or a girlfriend. I remember feeling my cheeks flush thinking about Suyin mocking me and that led me towards the bathroom. I ducked into the surprisingly clean restroom. An old black man was washing his hands at the sink, while two teen-aged boys were drying their hands and playing basketball with the paper towels. "You suck like Shaq," the taller boy laughed as his friend's wet towel landed on the floor three feet from the trash bin. "Whatever," the second boy said. They were both laughing as they left the bathroom. I scurried into a stall. I hung my jacket on the hook on the back of the stall door. I raced to take off my shirt. I fished into the bag and pulled out the black bra. Oh, the yellow one would have given me more bounce but I wanted more than the jiggle. I wanted the heat of shame to stain my cheeks. I needed it. I didn't know why and I didn't care. I know now, of course; it was the stone. It was a sentient thing playing with me like a cat toys with a mouse. I fastened the bra around my chest, those three hooks stacked vertically in the front. I spun the bra around before fishing my arms through the heavy straps. I bent forward, allowing my tits to settle into the padded cups. I adjusted myself, tugging the bra, making sure everything was in place. My knees lurched inward as a wave of intense pleasure raced down my spine. My tits looked hot in the bra but that hair would have to go. The stone could do that. I wanted the Wererock to take the hair away; I wanted the stone to make my tits bigger. The more I played the more I wanted to play. Like I said, I was a junkie. I put my shirt back on. The bra amplified my tits, making them appear bigger. It put them out there. One button was straining against the size of my boobs. I could see my bra through my light blue shirt; the yellow one wouldn't have been so evident and I was desperate to feel the shame. I could see my chest though the bulge in my shirt. I put the jacket on; my bra was hidden as was my chest, but you could make out a definite mass underneath my clothing. Somehow, I knew that wouldn't do. I took the jacket off. Perfect. I opened the stall door, my chest demanding to be seen. The bathroom was empty but the mall concourse wouldn't be. It would be busy. My nipples, overly sensitive thanks to the stone, were diamonds. They were so hard they hurt. I felt the soft lace of the bra caress them and that sent another wave of pleasure through me, making my crotch buzz and the hair on my arms stand erect. I almost came just walking out of the stall carrying my pink Victoria's Secret bag. I glanced behind me and could just see the dark outline of my jacket still hanging on the door. Leave it behind, the thought came and I couldn't deny it. You don't want to hide behind your jacket, do you? Oh, I didn't want to at all. I walked out of the bathroom, almost bouncing off a man about my age. He gave me a look, shook his head and uttered, "fucking fag," before disappearing into the bathroom to take care of his business. I came on the spot, feeling my knees grow wobbly and the wetness in my pants. I had to clutch the tiled wall next to me to prevent myself from falling to the ground. My face glowed in shame; my nipples ached. I flexed my fingers, one hand sliding along the cool title the other wringing the handle of my pretty pink bag. My breath came out of me in a ragged, hitching pop. I sounded like a man shivering in the cold. It took a moment to catch my breath. I stood up and began the shameful walk to my car. My jacket was forgotten; I didn't even notice until the next morning that it was missing. The bag in my hand seemed to be a beacon, the color drawing the attention of everyone around me. Mothers with their kids had their children look away. I heard sounds of disgust and words of derision and everyone one of them was like a lightning bolt to my balls. I was more turned on that I could every recall being and I felt more shame than I thought anyone could tolerate. My cheeks were flush, capable of leading Santa's sleigh; they'd put Rudolph to shame. I felt a heat across my hairy tits and my mouth was somehow an arid desert. I couldn't swallow; I could only endure. I felt stuck and that feeling was amazing. I walked through the mall, past Starbucks and Macy's, past GameStop and Bath and Body Works. The cobblestone walkway was filled with people gawking and pointing and laughing. I was cussed at and mocked, ridiculed and insulted. Every word, every gasp, every mom making their kids turn away shot a beeline of pleasure through my system. I was turned on by the shame and I wanted more. I didn't plan anything more than leaving the mall but I stopped at a cupcake stop instead. I ordered a vanilla cupcake with cream cheese icing. The teenaged girl rang up the order and gave me my change, "here you go, miss." She said. She was laughing at me. My balls tightened listening to her mocking tone and derisive laughter. "Thank you." I took the cupcake and sat on a green wooden bench in the middle of countless shoppers that all became gawkers and commentators. I ate the cupcake, reveling in my shame, with the Victoria's Secret bag sitting between my feet. My back was against the bench, my tits were jutting into the world for all to see. The bra was clearly visible beneath my light blue shirt. I finished the cupcake and looked at the wrapper. I had to get rid of it and I had a bag with me. At the time, it made perfect sense. I pulled out my bright yellow bra and set it on my lap. The cupcake wrapper went into the pink striped bag. I carried my garbage bag in one hand and my lacy yellow bra in the other. Five minutes later I was back in my car, trembling in embarrassment and sexual lust. I dropped my hand to my lap and came again. I slept well that night. Thursday morning came and with it the memory of what I'd done the night before. I felt a wave of regret, promising myself I'd never to that again. I sat up and felt my tits shift. My nipples hardened in the cold room. Draped across the recliner that sat in the corner were my two bras, lying there as twin reminders of what I'd done. The memory of the shame returned which was far greater than recalling what I had done. This was a reminder of what I felt. That lead to another glance at the bras. Suddenly I wanted to wear the yellow one and see how it made my tits bounce. I hopped out of bed, anxious to see the yellow bra caressing my breasts. I donned the bra much faster than the one the evening before. Naked except for that lacy yellow bra that pushed my tits out and left my nipples uncovered, I walked around my house, moving from room to room. My eyes were riveted to my tits. The jiggled and jostled, bounced and bobbed. It was painfully exciting. I stayed naked all day except for the bra. I kept looking down, finding myself excited by my tits and afraid of them, too. I was stuck with them until my Wererock arrived. I tried to wish them away, but without the rock they were a part of me; only surgery could remove them. The hair on my chest looked out of place and while I didn't have the stone I could do something about that. I climbed in the shower and lathered up my chest, feeling a pang of regret as I removed my bra. I gently scraped away the hair until my tits were free of that course bundle of brown hair mixed with an errant gray. My armpits felt the pull of the razor as well; I wanted nothing to disturb the view I expected when seeing a beautiful pair of breasts barely enclosed by a sexy, lacy bra. Finished with the shower I donned the bra again. I watched TV. I browsed the web. I made lunch and dinner all while doing nothing but watching my tits bounce in that sexy little bra. They looked amazing and without the hair I found myself turned on by them. The fear of the Werestone not arriving was there, simmering on the back burner, a nagging, scary thought that kept my nerves on edge and my overly sensitive nipples crystalline hard. That night I masturbated, one hand on my erection and the other pinching and pulling my deliciously hard nipples. I sucked them into my mouth, hoisting them with one hand. If my tits were bigger I could get the nipples to my mouth easier. That thought was enough to send me over the edge. My come launched upward, landing on my ripe chest. Some come landed on my tits; without thinking I licked that, too. It revolted me but excited me at the same time. It was another new thing in an ever-growing pool of new experiences. I felt a new wave of shame as I tasted the warm, saltiness of my spunk. It wasn't anything I had ever thought of doing before but that didn't stop me from doing it then. I regretted it and knew I'd do it again at the same time. I fell asleep wearing that pretty yellow bra. FedEx arrived just before ten Friday morning. I signed for the package wearing a pair of shorts, a T-shirt that had somehow become far too small and my pretty yellow bra. My tits lifted the shirt and the way they bounced when I walked was nothing short of mesmerizing. Truth is, I didn't think anything of opening the door with my tits jutting proudly forward. Sure, I wanted them gone before I went to work on Monday, but I wanted them to be bigger, too. I signed for the package, not saying anything to the strange stare the burly FedEx employee gave me. What could I say? Until I opened the white box there wasn't anything I could do about it anyway. Still, I felt a surge of shame and desire crash down on me by that disgusted glare. Why was humiliation suddenly so exciting? That was the first thought. The second was more gleeful, the stone is back! I shut the door so hard the little window above it rattled. I tore open the box and pulled out the stone. It felt good to touch it, my fingers slipping over the cold, smooth surface. I rubbed the stone, feeling its weight. It seemed to vibrate in my hand like one of those little buzzers they give you at restaurants to tell you your table is ready. There was an energy in the stone I hadn't really felt. It seems my stone missed me, too. I stripped and made my tits disappear. I needed to do that first, to make sure I wasn't truly trapped with tits until I could have a doctor take them away. My breasts disappeared. My chest looked out of place without the hair that was normally there. I marched into the bedroom and donned a pair of jeans. The Werestone stayed in my nightstand. I had an errand to run and I didn't want the stone to be a distraction. The same T-shirt I'd been wearing when I signed for my package looked normal now that I didn't have those magnificent orbs hanging from my chest. I drove back to the mall I'd visited two days before. The sun was bright, spilling warmth onto the cool morning. By mid-afternoon it would be almost ninety degrees but that morning it was still barely seventy and the day felt good. I drove with the windows down and a cool breeze mussing my brown hair. I felt good. My experiment had been a success. I had come up with a way to trap myself with whatever change I wanted and it was delicious. I had so many more things I wanted to try. I had to escalate, that was the thought that kept my excitement high and my mind racing. That next time it would be bigger. It would be longer. It would be scarier. Could the stone amplify my feelings of humiliation? I thought it could. Could it make me a slave to my own desires? Could it make me do things I didn't want to do? That thought made me tremble. I had some more experimenting to do. I parked at the mall and made my way to the center of the three concourses that merged at a covered tent. A pretty woman about my age was sitting behind a circular desk. She smiled as I approached. "Can I help you?" "Hi. I accidently left a jacket in the men's room. I was wondering if anyone turned it in?" She nodded. "Yes, sir." She had a pretty smile. She had short brown hair pulled back into a tiny pony tail that barely reached halfway down her head. She had blue eyes that reminded me of Dory from those Pixar movies. There were even a few flakes of gold in those pretty eyes. The woman opened a little cabinet beneath her desk and pulled out my jacket. She placed it on the counter. "Here you go; is this it?" It was. I picked it up and draped it on my arm, "That's it. Thank you, Cynthia," I said, reading her nametag. She was wearing a smart black blouse, buttoned to her throat; she had on tiny heels and a skirt that ended just below her knees. She was very pretty and yet I couldn't chase the thought that my tits had been bigger than hers. It was catty and I felt bad for thinking it but a little bit proud, too. She gave me a smile that lit up her face. I glanced at her hand; no ring. Was she single? She was pretty, very pretty, so somehow, I doubted it, but I was feeling confident. I had my stone back and if she was taken, well, I'd never have to see her again. I could be someone else. Anyone else. That reality was empowering. "This might sound forward, but are you free for dinner tonight?" Her pretty smile became even prettier. "Are you asking me out?" Her voice was playful and melodious. I nodded, "I am." I held out my hand. "Adam," I gave her my last name. "I have plans tonight," she said, feigning an exaggerated frown. "How about tomorrow night?" That was even better. I could play with the stone. "Great!" We exchanged info, putting our information in each other's phones. Business cards of the digital age. And that was how I met Cynthia. Cynthia who would teach me a few more things about the Wererock. Cynthia who became just as enraptured as I was by what that stone could do. Cynthia, that took over and made me do things I had imagined but never truly realized. Cynthia who would one day become my wife. Chapter 3 Triggers I drove away from the mall feeling confidently happy. Cynthia was a pretty girl and I was looking forward to seeing her the next night. I knew the perfect place to take her, a quaint little seafood place on the river that served fresh Appalachia oysters and perfectly blackened red snapper. Just thinking about it was making me hungry. I didn't know if Cynthia liked seafood but even if she didn't they served fresh steaks and homemade soups that were better than I'd ever had. I thought of how she had smiled and the way it made her look even prettier. Her blue eyes had somehow lit her whole face; I found myself thinking of her more than the stone, but only until I got closer to the house. As I approached my neighborhood, passing those matchbox houses that looked the same with very few variations, the Wererock once again dominate my thoughts. It was as if it was calling out to me. I could practically hear it telling me all the fun we could have. The thing is, now, I think it really was calling me. If that sounds nuts, well, so be it. How is that any crazier than magically growing perfect tits or turning yourself into famous movie stars? I couldn't hope to comprehend the power of that rock, so who's to say it wasn't speaking to me? I made it in the house, locking the door behind me. I raced to the bedroom and picked up my stone. It felt good in my hand, like it belonged there. I rubbed it, once again picturing those scenarios I had imagined after finding the stone. I donned my pretty yellow bra and then made my tits fill the space left in the empty cups. I was smiling as I walked from room to room, staring at my tits as they bounced. A grin appeared on my face and soon my tits were just a bit too big for the bra; I was spilling out of the cups. I thought of Suyin and wondered what she'd do if I went back and whispered that her measurement wasn't right and that those bras didn't fit. Just the idea of going through that shame again aroused me. Where was that coming from? With the stone in my hand I wondered about it and that it could do. It could change me; could it change others? I thought of Cynthia with her small chest. Could I make the Wererock give her bigger boobs? I wanted to try but thought better of it. How would she explain it to herself and how would I explain it if we progressed far enough for her to know about this magical stone? No, that wouldn't work. Next door to me lives an old retired couple. His name is Shane and he spent thirty years in the Air Force. He's a nice guy if a bit nosy. I guess that happens when you have nothing to do during the day than stick your in other people's business just to feel important again. He has ash white hair that's almost as thin as Homer Simpson's. I felt it would be a simple test. I got dressed after making my breasts deflate. I somehow missed the weight of them. That incessant pull was arousing mostly because it didn't belong there. There's a sense of excitement in being just a little bit naughty and my tits were naughty. I removed my bra, too. Shane was nosy; he'd notice the straps beneath my shirt and that would lead to questions I didn't want to answer. I walked next door, the Wererock in my pocket. "Shane?" I knocked on his door. He came to the door. A skinny man with thin, white hair and blotches on his face, a happy reminder of his skin cancer scare that had been fully resolved. "How are you this morning?" "Doing great." I made up some excuse for visiting, telling him I was running to the store and I just stopped in to see if he needed anything. It's something we've done from time to time being neighborly. "No thank you, Adam. Let me check with the wife." As he scurried into the house I slipped my hand into my pocket. I pictured Shane with darker hair, not so much as the color of ash but more the color of a peanut. I rubbed the stone, trying to turn Shane's hair that new, darker color. He returned to the door, his hair unchanged. "We don't need anything." We spent a few minutes talking and then I excused myself. I had to go to the store to keep my lie hidden. On the way, I decided I needed to get something for dinner anyway. My thoughts, however, were on the stone. I couldn't change anyone else; I could only change myself. Could Shane have changed his hair if he'd been rubbing the rock. I was certain he could have. I held the rock in my hand as I drove to the local grocery store. I wasn't paying attention to the roads or the traffic around me. The only thing on my mind was the rock. Then, I accidently discovered another power. One that made the stone even stronger than before. Like I said at the beginning of this story, most of my discoveries were accidents. I used to think that. Now I think the rock somehow put the thoughts in my head; it wanted me to know what it could do. I think that maybe I didn't find the Wererock on that little island with those three lonely trees. I think the rock found me. I live in the Southeast. Our local grocery store chain is called Publix. They're big and bright and remarkably clean. We have a few other choices here in Tallahassee where I live: Albertsons, Winn Dixie, Walmart, but I've always found Publix to be the cleanest and their brand of canned goods is just as good as the name brand stuff. I was holding the rock in one hand, thinking about growing my tits, when the idea came. What would happen if I was in the store, wearing my jeans and the olive-green t- shirt I had on, when my tits just grew? I'd be stuck, braless, inside the store. Other people would see me. The idea send tingling shocks straight to my cock. I made a game out of it. As soon as I saw a banana my tits would grow and there'd be nothing I could do to stop it. Just the thought of being in the produce section trying to hide my boobs behind my thin t- shirt with my face crimson in shame was enough to get my pulse racing and my body trembling. My legs shifted together as I felt a buzz in my crotch that was so powerful it made my hands shake. The idea was delicious. So much so that when I went into the store I left the Werestone sitting in the cup holder. I knew I'd do it if I had the stone with me and while the idea of the humiliation sent my nerves abuzz, the reality of it would be a little more terrifying. With the stone in the car I wouldn't be tempted and if the stone was anything, it was a temptation. I grabbed one of the little green baskets. I would pick up a steak for dinner and just for fun I'd buy a few bananas for banana sandwiches for lunch. Just seeing them sitting on the counter at home would make me hard. I started in the produce section. I walked past a few bottles of fruit juice on my left with the deli on my right before reaching the first row of fruit. Oranges and apples and pears were stacked side by side. Some of the fruit looked a bit bruised. At the end of the aisle, past a healthy pile of purple plums sat a row of bananas. I saw them and gasped as my tits grew, filling my chest. The weight of them returned and the increased sensitivity I had given them returned as well. I gasped, dropping the empty green shopping tote and clutched my chest. I wasn't holding the stone. I wasn't holding the stone. I raced to the wall, turning my back to the store. I stood in front of a refrigerated section of lettuces and carrots; the cold air made my nipples icy points. I pulled at my shirt as if that would make my breasts recede. I tried to make them smaller but I wasn't holding the stone. That thought came back again and again. I wasn't holding the stone. How did this happen? I heard a few shoppers behind me. I don't think they witnessed my transformation. I felt the cold air on my heated skin; my face was as red as a cherry as was my chest. I couldn't believe how large my tits were; they looked huge as they hung without a bra. I didn't think they were bigger but being in the store, wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt, they looked huge. They practically shouted look at me! I inched back to the tote I'd dropped and held it to my chest, using it to hide my boobs. I tried to act nonchalant but I failed. I looked around the store, at every shopper I passed. Most ignored me; people are so self-centered and that fact helped me. I made it to the front of the store. With my back to the registers I set the carry cart back in its stack and hurried to the car. If anybody noticed my bouncing breasts they didn't say anything. Of course, I was hunched over and holding my hands in front of my face, using my forearms to hide my chest. I got in my car and saw my face in the rear-view mirror. It was as red as I imagined. My nipples were thrumming, sending sparks of energy down my spine. My breathing came out as short, hitching gasps. I was humiliated and excited and scared. The stone had changed me without me touching it. I didn't know that that was possible. I had set up a trigger, and it had acted upon it. I had not expected that at all; the color on my face proved that. Oh, but it set up so many new scenarios. I couldn't shake them. I don't think the ideas were entirely mine. I'm sure that the Werestone put the thoughts in my head. I picked up the rock and made my tits disappear. I made them come back. I did that twice more, making sure I could control the stone as easily as the stone controlled me. Now, sitting in my SUV, they weren't quite as big as I thought. Sure, they were noticeable but they weren't the monstrous breasts I pictured when I was in the store. I let out a little laugh and made them even bigger. I'm not sure what size they were but there would be no hiding those bad boys. I looked at the store and back at my newly formed tits. I didn't want to do it. I don't think I did, but I couldn't seem to help it. I still wanted to get my steak for dinner but now the stone wanted to play and I wanted to play. I sat there for a few minutes wondering what else the stone could do. I made my nipples a tad larger. Now my huge tits jutted forward like the prow of a ship and my nipples were rock hard points that were just as evident. I was scared of what I was going to do. I imagined being proud of my tits, I imagined wanting people to notice them. The rock felt icy in my hand and the change was made. I wanted people to notice my tits. Sitting in the car I waggled my shoulders, making my tits shake. "Look at them," I said into my car. "They're beautiful." I changed my mind and returned my thoughts to normal. As long as the stone was in my hand I could change not only my body but my thoughts as well. I took my tits away. Oh, the possibilities. Just like that the scenario came into my mind. I wanted it to be simple. Complex could come later. I clutched the Wererock in my hand and reset the trigger that as soon as I saw a banana my tits would sprout from my chest. Not my normal ones, as if having tits was now somehow normal, but those new, bigger ones with huge, hard nipples. Adding to that I added another trigger, that as soon as they changed I would be proud of them; I'd want them to be noticed. There' be no hiding this time. Just to be evil, my cock leading my brain, I added a third trigger. As soon as I paid for my groceries I'd lose the pride and gain an elevated sense of shame. Oh, the idea was delicious. I put the stone in the cup holder and climbed from the car. I got halfway to the store when I stopped and turned around. I couldn't do it. Just imagining the humiliation was enough to keep me from entering the store. I knew what was coming and I couldn't make myself do it. Self- preservation took over. I felt frustrated as I sat in the car. I wanted to play out my scenario but the reality of it was too much for me to take, forcing me to return to my traveling sanctuary. I started the car, about to give up. The stone spoke to me or maybe it was my own silly brain. Either way another idea popped into my head. I clutched the stone and with the old scenario still set to activate on the sight of bananas I willed the memory of the scenario to disappear. I wasn't sure it would work, but if it did. Just to be safe I added a final trigger; my full memory would be restored upon returning to my car. This was a huge test. I looked at the stone in the cup holder. "Not this time, buddy," I said, climbing from the car. I had thought it would be fun to grow some tits. Maybe later, but not in a store by the house that I've been in hundreds of times before. I recognized a lot of the employees, there would be no doubt that a few would recognize me as well. I entered the store, feeling a bit mad at myself for not finishing my first shopping trip, but sometimes wisdom takes over. It was too late to worry about it anyway. Entering the store, I grabbed one of the green carry-all carts, the same kind I had used to hide my chest not ten minutes earlier. I smiled at it and how I had clutched it as a shield. It had holes in it; it couldn't hide everything. The thought made me smile. I walked past the deli and reached the produce area in the far back corner. There, among the fruits and vegetables I saw a banana. It made me smile, remembering what I had just done. Immediately upon seeing the yellow fruit my tits sprouted, jutting enormously from my chest. I cherished the weight of them; my tits are amazing. I straightened my spine, causing my taut shirt to become even tighter. My nipples pushed out even more. I dropped my arms, grasping the carry-all with one hand. I didn't want anything to block the view of my massive tits. I saw people looking at me. Some were gasping, others were laughing. One woman pushing a cart with a baby in the little front section raced away from me like she'd smelled a fart. That woman was obviously jealous! I walked through the store, moving up and down every aisle. I had only come for a few things and while I didn't need cat food or dog food, there were people in the aisle and they needed to see how well I overfilled my shirt. People laughed at me, others openly mocked me, and through it all I smiled. I was giving the people a show and they were enjoying it! It felt good. At the back of the store I picked out a nice sirloin for dinner. A man behind the partition, actively slicing some steaks to put out on the shelves gasped at me, pointed and laughed. I watched and he almost cut himself he was laughing so hard. It felt good to bring that much pleasure to another person. I smiled at him, satisfied with myself. With all the aisles visited the idea that new people may have come in made me walk up and down all the aisles one more time. My tits were amazing and I wanted people to know it! After two full trips through the store it dawned on me that there were more people at the mall. If they loved my tits this much in Publix, how much better would it be at the mall? The idea had me racing for the checkout line. There was only one woman in front of me and she gave me a disgusted look and muttered, "Freak." She was obviously jealous. The young teenaged girl, barely out of school if she was out at all, began ringing up my few items. The steak, an onion, even a few bananas all went through the checkout line. She told me my tot