(MC, MF, Mf, Ff, ff, inc., gr., non.)


A horrific crime is actually worse than it seems.  Can the cops work with a Master PC expert, or will the corruption be too much of a draw?


Five yeas ago


            After a few weeks of learning and cautiously examining the ragtag computer and its “Master PC game”, Shawn Brown finally convinced himself that there was something real about what was (at first) clearly labeled a fantasy game. Having latched onto a nearly obsolete computer at an estate sale, he was initially creeped out when he found out its owner was in jail, several people in the neighborhood dead (apparently) at his hands.  The family disowned him (he found out afterwards) and sold, trashed or donated all of his worldly possessions in preparation for a hurried move.

            He rationalized the purchase as one he would have never been able to afford if it had been new and the fact that its software had been updated at least three times. So if he ignored the fact that it still looked like a Model T Ford, it was a unit with twice as much memory as his newer, pricier laptop.

            Much more of a sports fan than the average computer geek, he learned that the already loaded Master PC Program might be for real when a local star running back at the hometown university had blown out his knee Saturday and was facing the end of his college career. Having helped trouble-shoot the player’s family work station, he knew the kid to be computer literate and someone who would make the most of a shot at college. Carefully following the directions, he typed in the player’s name and came upon a rotating 3-D image of a reclining, muscular black man – the player, Joe Danvers, in his hospital bed.

            Using the left knee as a baseline, repair any damage to the right knee so they are of equal health he typed. He could not tell from the image if anything was happening, so he closed the computer and called it a day. However, the headline in the next day’s newspaper told him everything he needed to know:


            It turned out that what was feared to be a major knee injury was nothing more than a bruise and the running back would be fine in another day or two.

            “Damn! Double damn!” he said as he read the paper while dining on his usual breakfast of Cheerios. “This one’s the real thing!”




            Brown, a creature of habit, flipped his morning paper over to the Metro News section and found himself engrossed in a sensational story.


            “Holy God,” Shaun muttered. “This reads like a horror story.”

            ...After attending a college football game with his wife Saturday afternoon, he dropped his wife off at their Shadow Cove home, telling her he had papers to pick up at his office. When he did not return home by daybreak Sunday, she called the building’s private security firm to check his office. Two unidentified members of the security detail found his office locked, but signs of a struggle in the hallway outside. Upon entering, they discovered the dismembered body of Dr. Bruce Gillespie.

            Police officials had no further comment until positive identification was made, but unnamed sources indicated that there were enough body parts in the office and waiting room to comprise more than one person.

            Brown took a sip of coffee (heavy on the cream), rubbed his eyes and resumed reading.

            Gillespie, a popular cosmetic surgeon who made weekly appearances on the city’s top-rated morning show, Jackson Now, is survived by a wife and four daughters. His eldest daughter, Blair Gillespie, is the reigning Miss USA.

            Brown recalled seeing a photo of the tall, curvaceous blonde when she won the crown. He masturbated to her photo, but that was before he came across his new computer. Moments later, he was again sitting at that computer, but instead of uploading Master PC, he was calling up the newspaper’s on-line Web blog. If anything, the story became more sensational.

            Gillespie facing ethics charges with the state medical board. Hearing was less than a week away read one. A number of well-reasoned follow-ups made it seem very probable this was true. Surgeon “oversized” his clients, read more than one. Unauthorized procedures! Trumpeted another brief but damming entry.

            He switched to a local media message board, where people were neither censored nor held accountable for their posts.

            He worked on local media celebrities for free. He fucked up the face of Cindy Paxton of Channel 7. That’s why she wears so much makeup read the first he found.

            It’s been long known that Gillespie was a homosexual and had AIDS said one poorly written entry. But it was quickly followed with a half-dozen better-written rebuttals. Less likely, Brown thought.

            Rumor has it he owns more than one home in the area. Both are occupied full-time read an intriguing entry.

            He practiced on his employees, his wife and one or more of his daughters said another.

            A few entries claimed to be patients who surgeries Gillespie botched. Others claimed he was a godsend and a miracle worker. Brown figured that both sides might be right to a degree.

            Gillespie forced wife to abort sons, read one that proved to be the last straw for Brown. He closed the blog with many entries unread.

            From the blog, he turned on a longer, on-line version of the earlier story. In it he read that Gillespie’s wife, Deb, was only 42 years old. Blair was the oldest daughter at 24, Debbie was 21, Brooke was 17 and Alexis “Ally”was still 15.

            Brown searched in vain for photos of the three youngest daughters. He found one of Deb and Blair following her crowning. They could have been twin sisters, he noted.

            “This fucker will put his family through hell for all his shit,” Brown said under his breath. But after his little experiment with Joe Danvers, he thought of a way of sparing the Gillespie girls this grief.


48 Hours Earlier


            Kilah Roberts, cheerleading coach and owner of a Masters degree in physical education, had rarely been angrier. The only reason her assistant coach, Marcie Gray, took her screaming fit was that she shared much of Kilah’s anger at this moment.

            “What is she? Fifteen?” the coach shouted in an unfortunate screech.

            “Sixteen this week. A birthday present, don’t you know?” Marcie said sourly.

            “Jesus! What was she – what was her family thinking?” Kilah replied. “Fake boobs on a girl that age? She still had time to grow!”

            “Not that big,” Marcie said, accurately as usual. “You ever seen a girl her age with a 19-inch waist and double-D cups? Me either – not until practice today.”

            “And they’re so … high and firm,” the exasperated coach continued her rant. “It looks like she’s carrying them on a tray.”

            “And she was so matter-of-fact about it,” Marcie reported. “When she called me last night to say she was coming back, all she said was that she was going to need to buy a new uniform.”

            “Didn’t you think she was sick? Didn’t somebody mislead us about why she was in the hospital?” Kilah asked her trusted aide.

            “I swear my memory is that I heard ‘female problems.’ I quit asking after that,” Marcie said, palms out.

            “Would you get boobs that large?” Kilah asked suddenly after a few moments of awkward silence.

            More silence. “If you asked me to,” Marcie said softly.

            After a quick glance over her shoulder, Kilah reached out and gently cupped Marcie’s hands in her face.

            “Don’t you dare change anything,” Kilah said in an equally soft tone. “You are hard and perfect and beautiful and I wouldn’t change a hair on your head.” Kilah kissed Marcie lightly on the lips. “I might shave your pussy, though.”

            Marcie giggled and kissed her friend and lover more passionately. The sound of a door opening caused the two teachers to separate quickly. Kilah sat back behind her desk and the appearance of a routine meeting greeted Ally Gillespie when she knocked on the open door’s frame.

            “Miss Roberts? Ms. Gray?” asked the young cheerleader. Purely and truly blonde, the 15-year-old was the squad’s only sophomore cheerleader. But her remarkable athleticism and petite size made her perfect for the spectacular tosses the Bailey School squad was widely known for.

            “Hi, Ally!” Marcie and Kilah said simultaneously in cheerleader perfect tones. They glanced at one another and Marcie knew to defer to the head lady.

            “What’s up, kiddo?” Kilah asked.

            “I just wanted to tell you that I was going to miss practice tomorrow,” the young girl said somberly. Her impossibly beautiful blue eyes seemed ready to well over. “I’m going to be at the doctor’s all day.”

            “Oh, no. Not you too?” Marcie blurted, but quickly fell silent after a glance from Kilah.

            “You mean like Brittany?” Ally’s face lit up with a metallic smile. “No way! I’m just getting my braces off and I’m getting fitted for a retainer. I like my little boobies, thank you.”

            The two cheerleader sponsors let out equally relieved sighs. “I know you’ll be excited to get them off,” Kilah said.

            “Oh, yes ma’am!” Ally said, still smiling. “This is a day I marked on my wall calendar!”

            “Anything else?” Kilah asked the girl, one of her favorites.

            Ally paused for a moment, but only said, “No, ma’am. Thank you ma’am.” She then turned and skipped out of the door. Once out of the office, Ally shook her head and laughed at herself. As if her teachers needed to know about the clit stud and pubic electrolysis…

            She would finally look like a Gillespie sister, she thought. A moment later she stepped into the windowless room that was covered with a shock absorbing wrestling mat. The squad’s other 11 cheerleaders were already there, 10 of them surrounding Brittany Thomas, whose top and sports bra were raised to show an impossibly large set of boobs on the tiny girl.

              “Jesus, Britt! What size are you now?” asked Kelly, a tall brunette who had a nice, modest bust.

            “You won’t believe me,” the tiny blonde beamed. “You are looking and an exactly measured 30 DD.”

            “Does that size even exist?” asked Collette, or Co-Co, the head cheerleader.

            “Not in nature,” Ally said, breaking through the group to give her close friend a hug, oblivious to her exposed boobs.

            “Doesn’t it hurt to hug?” asked Shannon, a redheaded senior whose twin sister, Shelley, was also on the squad and who nodded at her sister’s question.

            “Surprisingly, no,” Britt said. “My dad told me I had to keep the heavy bra on for at least two weeks, but I had to come out and show you guys.”

            “Your dad?” Collette asked.

            “Yeah. He did the surgery!” Britt answered. “Aren’t these the greatest birthday present ever?”

            “I’m sure the boys will think so,” muttered Meloney, a plain-looking (without makeup) blonde who had just lost the title of biggest boobs on the squad.

            “God, they’re perfect!” Ally said, lightly touching one of the erect nipples with her finger. “Is it true that your nips stay erect permanently when you have your boobs done?”

            “I hope so!” Britt said surprisingly. “I love how they’re standing out through most of my clothes.”

            “Well, I’m looking all over, and I’ll be dammed if I can see a scar,” Collette said.

            “Here,” Britt said, pointing at her navel. A flesh-covered Band-Aid covered her belly button. “Now, you want to hear the good news? My dad says he’ll be happy to do the boobs of any of you seniors when she turns 18. All you’d have to pay for is the anesthesia and hospital room.”

            “Oh, God, that’s less than two months away for me!” Kelly said.

            “Why would you want a boob job, Kelly?” Meloney asked. “Yours are fine.”

            “Yeah, but yours are perfect, Mel,” Kelly said. “I’ve been envying you all year.”

            “Oh,” Meloney said, pleased and surprised.

            “Okay girls, show’s over,” Kilah said as she and Marcie entered the square room. Brittany lowered her top and bra, both which were clearly not meant for this kind of strain. “Britt, you won’t be able to perform for, what, six weeks?”

            “More like two, Miss Roberts,” Britt replied. “I don’t have any stitches to tear or be stretched out of shape. I just need to be properly fitted with a bra and I’ll be good to go.”

            “That’s remarkable,” Marcie said. “Your dad must be the best.”

            “I’d like to think so,” Britt giggled. “What do you think, Dee?”

            “Can’t be beat,” said her older sister, a senior who had remained discreetly quiet during her sister’s big moment. “All this attention kind of makes me wish I’d gone super-size.”

            “No, way, sis,” Britt said. “Your body is totally perfect. You couldn’t make those great tosses and catches if you had some of your muscles stretched out by big … bigger boobs.”

            Deidre Thomas was a champion rower, but a girl who fiercely fought to hang onto her femininity despite her athletic skill. But years of rowing at a near Olympic caliber gave her an upper body unlike any other girl in the school. Her more modest small Ds were perfect on her frame and never required a bra except when she was in uniform. Currently braless under her practice top, her nipples were the equal of Britt’s new buds.

            “You guys realize that little sis here is still only third on the Thomas women’s bra size scale,” Dee said, shaking her head. “Mom and Brandy have her beat by a mile.”

            “Have I ever met Brandy?” Kilah asked the senior.

            “Don’t think so,” Dee said thoughtfully. “She was home-schooled because she, ah, preferred not to submit herself to the crap she’d get in high school.”

            “Because of her boobs, you mean?” Marcie said.

            “Yeah, she’s a mega babe,” Britt said brightly. “Mom had to have hers done again to keep up.”

            “Wow. Some competition,” Meloney said, genuinely disgusted with the thought of the expanding the amount of attention the Thomas family gives itself. If she only knew…


24 Hours Ago


            As eager as she was to get on with the big day, Ally Gillespie was feeling a few butterflies of anxiety. Thank God her sister, Brooke, was alongside.

            “Nervous, babe?” asked Brooke, a tanned, more muscular version of her baby sister.

            Looking around the darkened waiting room, Ally noticed the first glimmer of morning light outside the window. At least the whole day would be ahead of her after her many procedures.

            “What was it like for you?” Ally asked her sister.

            “Nothing hurt as much as I thought it would,” Brooke said. “Of course, I didn’t need braces, but I had to have my wisdom teeth removed. I was good to go by the end of the weekend, and you won’t believe how much fun a vibrator can be once you heal down there.”

            “You know, I have made an acquaintance of a vibrator,” Ally said softly.

            “I know. Thirteenth birthday,” Brooke said. “Family tradition, babe.”

            “Speaking of family tradition,” Ally said, “You’re the only one of us who wasn’t a cheerleader. I’ve never asked why.”

            “Not part of the deal,” Brooke said, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “We can be anything we want to be, so long as we remember we’re Gillespie girls. That’s why Blair was able to enter all those pageants and Debbie could … well, do what Debbie does.”

            “There are no words,” Ally said, and both sisters were unable to avoid a giggle. “Bless her boob-covered heart.”

            A blonde receptionist stepped into the waiting room.

            “Ally?” she asked, and the younger girl nodded. “Your dad is ready for you now.”

            Ally rose and looked over her shoulder at her sister, who was a championship tennis player and an Olympic-caliber swimmer. Brooke, who had designs on a Gold medal in 2008, smacked her sister on the bottom as she walked away.

            “Nothing to it,” she said, looking up at Ally. Neither girl even for a moment wondered why  their father was their dentist, their physician, their plastic surgeon, their trainer and their lover all rolled into one.

            Joanne, Dr. Bruce Gillespie’s longtime assistant and partner in crime, helped Ally change into a hospital gown. She lay down on the gurney’s soft mattress and almost immediately fell asleep. Dr. Gillespie never needed the anesthesiologist who worked on call, who did nothing yet was able to bill patients in full. As Ally slipped into a deep sleep, anesthesiologist Max Webb was reading a Playboy and smoking a cigarette in a nearby office.

            Joanne wheeled Ally into the operating room – which in reality was a plush office that held a desk, a couple of chairs and a state-of-the-art computer at which Dr. Bruce Gillespie sat. A mirror covered with lines of cocaine, some partially consumed, sat on the desk as Gillespie failed to get any sleep the previous night. Joanne locked the gurney’s wheels in place and leaned over to snort one of the untouched lines of coke. She then kissed Gillespie, her tongue shooting more than a foot out of her mouth and looking like a writhing snake as Gillespie sucked on it.

            They broke their kiss and Gillespie walked over to his daughter’s gurney. He lifted the covering sheet, threw it aside and pulled apart her gown to expose the naked teen’s body to the room.

            He then turned to the computer, which showed a image of Ally’s nude body rotating slowly.

            “Okay,” he sighed after a tapping a few keys, stubbing out his cigarette. “I’ve opened a hole in her clit hood. Put the stud in and make sure it’s sterile.”

            Only a few seconds passed before Joanne said, “It’s done, doctor.”

            “All right. I’ve halted all hair growth beneath her neck. Wipe her body down thoroughly and don’t miss any hair between her legs,” Dr. Gillespie said as he tapped a few keys on the computer.

            “She’s pretty tightly trimmed,” Joanne murmured. “I guess that’s from being a cheerleader.” She noticed Gillespie’s attention directed towards the computer screen, so she discreetly moved between Ally’s legs and thrust her long, thick tongue into the girl’s pussy. Joanne probed around Ally’s vagina and confirmed her suspicion.

            This girl’s no virgin, she thought to herself as she quickly moved away upon withdrawal of her augmented tongue, wiping away pubic and leg hair. In fact, she kind of tastes like Doc.

            “When you’re done with that, raise the head of the bed,” he said sharply. He now had Ally’s dental work on his screen, taking great pains to straighten everything perfectly and making them a permanently brilliant white. A complete cosmetic retainer completed the illusion.

            Gillespie paused. Joanne noticed this right away.

            “Planning to do something more?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

            “This is my baby. This is my last one. I’m so torn…” he said as he started hard at the screen.

            “Remember what you said last week with Brit --” Joanne began. But she was quickly silenced with a “shush” command.

            “Brooke’s right outside,” Dr. Gillespie hissed. “I do not want anyone walking in on this.”

            “I’m going to give her a delayed command on breast growth,” he finally said. “But I will not let this pass without reaming her … she’s so pretty … I’ve got to.”

            Dr. Gillespie typed in commands that would awaken Ally, then cause her to forget totally what would follow. The teen stirred and came awake.

            “Daddy? Are we finished?” Ally asked.

            “Not quite,” he said as he pulled off his surgical pants. Three of Gillespie’s five distinctive cocks were becoming long and rigid. “Flip back on the gurney until you pussy is over your head.”

            Commanded by the Master PC program long before her father spoke. Ally Gillespie effortlessly executed the back stretch, her long legs extended straight back past her head while her now-smooth pussy and asshole waited invitingly six inches over her face and mouth. Gillespie knelt on the gurney, slipping one cock into Ally’s awaiting mouth, then slowly guided one into her rapidly juicing pussy and a third into her seldom-violated asshole.

            Joanne stood behind the doctor and grabbed his his other now-growing cock and began jerking it off while he began thrusting the other three into his youngest daughter. Her adjusted throat, pussy and asshole effortlessly took the two-foot long monsters as he began roaring in an non-human voice. It was pretty much like that over the next 20 minutes, before Joanne brought his freed cock to a gushing climax. He screamed Ally’s name over and over until he finally filled her three holes with more than a gallon of specially concocted cum.

            At no time during the 20 minute rape did Ally speak, attempt to resist or blink. One lone tear indicated her true feelings, but nothing more.

            Gillespie, spent, slipped backward off the gurney and into his chair. Joanne immediately knelt before him and began licking him clean with her long, wide tongue. Ally slipped back onto the gurney and into a deep sleep. Joanne, having finished with the doctor, began sticking her tongue deep into Ally’s pussy and asshole to consume as much of his incredible-tasting sperm as possible.

            “Wow. You’ve never done that before,” Joanne said as she wiped her mouth and changed her rubber gloves.

            “I know,” Dr. Gillespie said darkly. “I know.”

            Gillespie’s commands would allow Ally’s boobs to grow a cup size every year for the next six years until she would be a Triple-E by the time she was a college senior. Her gag reflex was gone, as was any barrier to a massive cock – or fist, or foreign object. Ally would easily take any of the above if offered without any forethought. Her tongue was also now fully distended into a massive muscle even bigger than Joanne’s.

            Family tradition.

            Having cleaned up the bed and the patient, Joanne wheeled her into the bogus recovery room. Having left the sleeping Ally to awaken through the computer-dictated process, she returned to the office/operating room. She removed her scrubs to reveal three boobs resting equally across her chest and three cunts resting across her belly, above her own equipment. Gillespie immediately became hard again and slammed three cocks into the pussies while she returned the favor below.  A fifth grew erect between them, and they alternated between sucking and slurping the massive cock until he came on the both of them.

            Ally was all but forgotten in the recovery room

            More than an hour later, Ally began stirring awake, feeling like she’s just had the best nap ever. She quickly became aware of a wet feeling between her legs.

            “Brooke?” Ally asked sleepily.

            “Hey, babe!” Brooke said, looking up. “See how my tongue feels against your new toy.” Her sister’s massive tongue began flicking at Ally’s sensitive clit as a blurring speed and the youngest Gillespie daughter collapsed into an incoherent frenzy of rapid-fire orgasms.

            Brooke raised her head and smiled.

            “Yep. You’re a Gillespie girl, all right,” she said.

            “Glad to hear it,” Ally murmured. “Could you do that again?”


12 hours later


            “So, how did she look?” Deb Gillespie asked.

            “Perfect,” Brooke replied. “Her little clit hood stood out like a magazine photo, pretty as you please.”

            “Since when have you seen magazine photos of perfect pussies?” her mother asked, drawing away from their naked cuddle.

            “In Dad’s waiting room, of course,” Brooke said. “I must have masturbated for two hours while I was waiting.”

            “I wish I could have seen her before she fell asleep,” Deb sighed. Brooke nuzzled against her mother’s massive, soft mammaries.

            “She was so tired, mom,” Brooke said into the mound of flesh. “I know she’ll show you in the morning. She has the day off from cheerleading, so I know you can keep her home.”

            “I know,” Deb said in a whisper. “Sweetie, would you fist me for a little while?”

            “Sure,” Brooke answered in a similar whisper. Her tiny clinched fist slid smoothly into her mother’s well-stretched pussy and daughter brought mother to a quick climax.

            Both were asleep on the huge couch, Brooke’s hand still inserted, when Debbie Gillespie came home from her latest, failed attempt to find true love. Two buttons were torn off of her silk blouse, revealing some of the massive black bra she wore. And despite her best efforts, there was enough cum left in her mane of blonde hair that the smell was the first thing Brooke and her mother noticed when they awakened.

            “Debbie’s home,” Brooke said sleepily. “And I should be going to bed myself. Did I do it right, Mom?”

            “Oh, hell, yes,” said the former phone sex operator whose amazing, throaty voice turned on Bruce Gillespie years ago. They swapped tongue kisses and Brooke headed for bed, waggling her behind at her mother as she left. She passed Deb in the hallway as her older sister exited the bathroom, Febreezing the air to kill the odor of a strange man’s cum.

            She continue spritzing the air and drying her hair with a big, soft towel as she entered the sunken living room. Her namesake mother patted the couch alongside and the 21-year girl, whose breasts filled her chest from collarbone to hip bone sat alongside and kissed her identically endowed mother.

            “Date okay?” Deb asked her daughter.

            “If a ruined blouse and a premature jack-off constitutes a good night – then, yeah, it was a huge success,” said the girl, who worked at both Hooters and a long-standing biker bar. “Ooh. That’s very nice, Mom,” she added as Deb began suckling one of her daughters hugely augmented breasts. But the computer had decreed that only her mother could nurse liquid out of Debbie’s massive mams.

            She drank deeply for nearly five minutes, then offered hers to her daughter. Not able to draw liquid from her mother, she merely kissed her boob, drawing away with a gentle pull of a nipple.

            “Deb, I don’t know what to tell you. I never dreamed I’d be as lucky as I was to find your dad – and even that was on….” She began.

            “I know. It was on the telephone,” Deb sighed. “Mom, that’s because you have this incredible voice that just drips sex. I’ve never heard any woman sound as sexy.”

            Deb sighed and lifted her surprisingly petite frame off the big couch. She offered her hand to her daughter, but Debbie declined, opting to turn on the TV and crash on the coach. She wrapped her big towel around her busty frame and tucked her feet under her. She was still there, sound asleep, when Brooke awoke the next morning to get herself ready for school.

            Having just brushed her teeth, Brooke elected not to go down on her sister, but proceeded to the kitchen to prepare a bowl of cereal. She was half-dressed for school, wearing her plaid skirt, knee socks and shoes, but was topless in order not to spill any milk on her crisply pressed shirt.

            Debbie, hearing the clinking of the spoon in the bowl, stirred.

            “Brooke? Is it morning already?” Debbie asked, stretching sexily.

            “Yeah. Isn’t your first class at 9?” Brooke asked, standing in the doorway, bowl in hand.

            “What time is it? Shit! Why didn’t someone wake me?” Debbie yelped, climbing off the couch, breasts swaying.

            “I forgot. Ally’s usually the first one up, but she’s in bed sleeping off her clitectomy or whatever the fuck it’s called,” Brooke said breezily as she rinsed out of her bowl, reached into the freezer and applied an ice cube to each of her nipples. Debbie heard Brooke’s gasp and guessed she was in the ice box.

            “Hey Mom, what’s up?” Brooke said, as Deb, as nude as her older daughter, stood in the doorway with a puzzled look.

            “Dad didn’t come home last night,” she said.

            A confused look came over the Gillespie daughters. Their dad’s programming raced through their heads: home for six days, gone for eight, home for eight, gone for six. Never question where he’s been or try to follow him. Accept it, unconditionally.

            Gillespie was supposed to be home. This was unacceptable and the three women began to pace uncontrollably.

            They were still silently pacing 15 minutes later when the phone rang. Deb’s programming kicked in and she was able to answer the phone suitably. It was the police.

            “I...I don’t understand,” she stammered into the phone. “No. He’s supposed to be here. I don’t understand. No, he’s not home…”

            “Mrs. Gillespie’s delirious,” the detective said at the other end, hand covering the receiver so he could speak to his partner. “Not making a damn bit of sense.” He turned back to the phone. “Mrs. Gillespie? Mrs. Gillespie? We’ll be there in just a few minutes….I understand he’s not home. … Yes. Yes. Okay. Just hang up the phone now, okay?”

            “Christ. Did she understand a word of that?” Lou Michaels asked his partner, Teddy Fiore, as he hung up the phone.

            “Couldn’t tell. She almost sounded like she’d been programmed or something,” Fiore said.

            “I’ve heard stranger stuff. But not a lot,” Michael muttered, pulling on his coat as the two detectives left their station room.

            Back at the Gillespie house, a sleepy Ally Gillespie, naked from the waist down to show off her new stud, discovered her family members pacing aimlessly.

            “What’s wrong?” Ally said, yawning.

            “Daddy’s not home!” all three said in unison. But that triggered a command unique to Ally, and the young girl rushed to the phone.

            “I’ll call Blair,” she said even as she starting punching in the numbers.


Miss USA


            Blair Gillespie was in the back of a limousine with her entourage. Since others were present farther back in the massive vehicle, she was content to have her principal aide, Dixie McTavish, slowly but firmly stroking her clean-shaven pussy beneath her couture gown.

            True to her job description, Dixie effortlessly answered the flip phone with her other hand, never missing a stroke of her mistress’ wet snatch.

            “This is Dixie,” she answered with her unmistakable Mississippi drawl. “Hey, kiddo! Hear you got your merit badge! How’s it feel?”

            “Is that Ally?” Blair said in a low moan. Her climax had been building for almost 15 minutes and she was nearly in a tantric state. In response, Dixie literally petted her pussy and pulled Blair’s skirt down. Across the compartment, Channing Gliding Eagle and Kerry Downs – two Miss USA contestants Blair co-opted for her entourage – continued tongue kissing, saying nothing and not messing up their lipstick.

            “Yeah, babe. She’s right here,” Dixie said into the phone. “But you need to give her a few seconds.” She covered the unit with her shoulder. “You calm down yet? There’s something wrong at home.”

            Blair quickly shook herself to full attention and took the phone from her slave.

            “Alexis? What’s wrong?”

            “Daddy’s not home. And Mom got a phone call from someone about him, but she’s too zonked to deal,” the youngest Gillespie girl accurately reported.

            Blair understood that this was not ever supposed to happen, but had been freed from the absolute nature of her father’s programming in order to let her travel easily.

            “We’ll be in Jackson in less than two hours,” Blair said. “We’ve got the pageant’s Lear this trip. … Dixie, call the pageant fuckers and tell them I have a family emergency.”

            Miss USA handed the cell phone back to her aide and looked over at Miss New Mexico, who was kissing and finger-fucking Miss Ohio.

            “Channing,” she said softly. “Bring that foot-long slab of Indian meat over here and finish the job.”

            “Yes, mistress,” the beautiful native American beauty queen said, dropping to her knees, oblivious to the shocked look the driver had in the read-view mirror. Right on cue, the opaque barriers raised between the driver’s compartment, the back seating area and the entourage, leaving the four women in total privacy.




            Blair Gillespie was now dressed in a fashionable sweat suit, her hair pulled back and her heels replaced with cross-trainers. But even with little makeup, her flawless face betrayed her as one of the world great beauties. As he walked down the hall with this woman, her still-confused mother and his partner, Lou Michaels cursed his luck that this is what it took to have a Miss USA ever visit their dingy precinct.

            “Are you sure you want your mother in there?” Michaels asked Blair at the door to the morgue.

            “Yes. She needs to see him to move forward,” Blair answered cryptically. “Come on, Mom.”

            The women held hands as the coroner pulled back the sheet. No one said anything for a moment.

            “That’s him,” Blair said softly.

            “It is,” Deb Gillespie affirmed. “My God, that means we’re free. Blair! That means we’re free of his control!”

            Deb grabbed the collar of her daughter’s jump suit and looked at her.

            “We’re free! Right?” she added.

            “Mom, no,” Blair said softly. “He’s gone. His … control isn’t. Can’t you feel it?”

            Deb Gillespie’s eyes opened wide and she stood up, apart from her daughter. Suddenly, she went weak at the knees and collapsed.

            “NOO-O-O-O!” she wailed as the lawmen tried helplessly to bring her to her feet.

             “Mom, listen,” Blair pulled her distressed mother close and whispered in her ear. An immediate reaction took place, as the two cops and the coroner saw a broken woman rebuild her dignity in a matter of seconds.

            “Blair, baby, you’re right,” she whispered. “That was the trigger, wasn’t it?”

            “Yes, Mom,” Blair said, looking hard into a matching set of blue eyes.

            “Then…” Deb Gillespie began, then seemed to suddenly recognize she and her daughter were not alone. “I’m sorry, officers. I’m making a positive identification. That is – was – my husband, Dr. Bruce Gillespie.”

            “Okay, that it, then,” Michaels said. “Mrs. Gillespie, we’ll take care of all this paperwork, just let us know about the arrangements.”

            The two women left, and Michaels’ partner looked hard at his partner.

            “What?” Michaels said, defensively.

            “You know Goddamn good and well this thing ain’t near over,” Fiore muttered.

            “Yeah,” Michaels nodded, lowering his eyes. “Yeah.”

            At that moment, Fiore’s cell phone buzzed and the detective answered, moving around to get a better connection in the remote room.

            “Fiore. What you got?” he said, then listened. “How is that possible? Okay, fair enough, what’s your opinion? Oh, that’s helpful. Thanks, anyway.” He flipped his phone shut.

            “So?” Michaels said as he turned to leave the morgue.

            “Forensics. They rushed DNA checks on all of severed penises,” Fiore sighed. “Four of them were positive matches to Dr. Bruce Gillespie. The fifth was a positive match to Joanne Moore, his receptionist.”

            Michaels stopped dead.

            “Did you say Joanne?” he asked, not looking.

            “Yep. And guess what? So was a lot of the blood. And she’s missing,” Fiore said.

            “Well, this is about as fucking weird as it gets,” Michaels said. At that moment, detective j.g. Marie Wilkinson led two beautiful blonde women into the morgue. At a glance, it looked like the Gillespie women except for the hard-to-miss mammoth breasts each sported.

            “This is Cynthia Thomas and her daughter, Alisha,” Wilkinson introduced the two apprehensive women. “They asked to see your sti … your body for a possible i.d.”

            “Fine. But we’ve already got a positive from the Gillespie family,” Michaels said.

            “I understand,” Wilkinson said. But she nodded to the coroner, who again slid out the drawer holding Dr. Bruce Gillespie.

            Cynthia Thomas’ wail matched that of Deb Gillespie. Alisha gasped, but held her composure.

            “That’s my father,” she said, trembling. “Dr. Bruce Thomas.”

            The detectives locked eyes and an indeterminate amount of information passed between them.

            “You’re 100 percent sure?” Wilkinson asked Cynthia Thomas. The woman nodded, then found her voice.

            “That’s the man I’ve been married to for the last 25 years,” Cynthia said, pulling her jacket about her inappropriately conspicuous cleavage.

            “But that’s Dr. Bruce …” Michaels began, but stopping with a pointed glance from Wilkinson.

            “Ladies, there has to be an autopsy because of the violent nature of his death,” Wilkinson said to the women, looking compassionate and professional at the same time. “We will be in touch. Can you see yourself out okay?”

            The two Thomas women nodded and led each other out, arm in arm. Cynthia Thomas had begun sobbing softly.

            “What kind of cluster fuck is this?” Michaels growled. Wilkinson, who had long since learned to listen to the words, not the tone, of her colleagues, produced an envelope.

            “One doctor. Two last names. Two families,” she said. Photos of two different yet remarkably similar houses were in the manila envelope, one with clearly showing a mailbox with Thomas atop it. “Of course, we’ll have to do some DNA testing with the daughters, but it seems pretty clear he’s been double-dipping for 25 years.”

            “How’d you make the connection?” an impressed Fiore asked.

            “The original reports did not identify the victim,” Wilkinson explained. “Alisha Thomas came in out of curiosity and positively ID’d a photo of the vic. You had already gone out to make your initial contact with the Gillespies.”

            “Two families, four penises. He was a busy boy,” Fiore sighed. “This is going to be a shit rain.”

            “What’s the crack about penises?” Wilkinson asked, annoyed.

            “No crack. There were five severed dicks in that office, and DNA matches four of them positively to our good doctor, and there are four corresponding wounds on his body,” Fiore said, nodding to the coroner. He pulled back the sheet on the corpse, and in addition to a gaping red hole where a man’s normal penis would be, there were two other identical wounds directly above it and  two more on a direct line out towards his hip bones.

            “Five wounds, but only four matches? What about the fifth?” Wilkinson asked.

            “Matched to his assistant – his female assistant – who is missing,” Michaels grumbled. He didn’t have to be Kreskin to predict his weekend was thoroughly fucked.

            “So is she the suspect or a victim?” Wilkinson asked as she studied Gillespie’s wounds. It was pretty clear that he had bled out from them.

            “You’re doing so well, I’d be happy to defer that question to you, detective,” Michaels said.

            “Lay off,” said Fiore. “You’re just pissed that this case just got complicated.”

            “And you’re not?” Michaels shot back.

            “Well, it’s not like there’s anything we can do about it,” Fiore said.

            “Like hell,” Michaels spat. “Let’s just putty up his other wounds, lose the DNA report and call this a crime of passion.”

            “Shit, Mac,” Fiore cut in. “We can call it that regardless.” Right now, he was feeling the passion for Wilkinson, who he had been screwing on an opportunity basis for the last four months. She was thinking of other things at the moment. Like four penises – four daughters – two families…

            “So when do we introduces the Thomases to the Gillespies?” Wilkinson asked.

            “The day after I start vacation,” Michael rumbled as he stomped out. And sure enough, his paperwork was already done and the veteran cop was headed to Miami Beach less than 24 hours later. That left Wilkinson and Fiore to work – and fuck – together. Among the things she contributed was her next discovery.

            “You’ve got to be shitting me. Fiore, come look at this,” Wilkinson said as she stood over the body, holding the sheet up.

            “Five wounds, four matching penises. Is there something else?” he asked, drawing close to his secret lover and sliding his hand around her waist. Her look told him to behave.

            “You know the old Sesame Streeet song? ‘One of these things is not like the others?’ Well, look at the bottom middle wound,” she said, gesturing with her head.

            Pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, Fiore began looking closely at the wound.

            “What am I looking for?” he finally asked.

            Throwing the sheet back, she pulled on her own set of rubber gloves. She reached down into the wound and separated to folds of skin that seemed at a glance to be part of the damage.

            “That, as you might recognize later tonight, is a vagina,” she said, splaying it open to clearly confirm her wild discovery.

            “You’re telling me he was a hermaphrodite?” Fiore asked, plopping down on a stool.

            “Not only that, I’m willing to bet the missing assistant was, too – until someone cut her dick off,” she said, staring hard at her co-worker and lover.


Bringing us to the present…


            Brown’s phone rang even as he read local news chat rooms about this sensational crime. It was Jackson PD, right on schedule.

            “Mr. Brown, we’re currently investigating a possible homicide with Master PC overtones. Would you be willing to lend your expertise about this … unique concern to our officers?” the Jackson chief of police asked.

            “My usual fee?” he asked. A meaningless 10 grand, but he had to keep up appearances…

            “I think that can be arranged with a suitable result,” the chief replied.

            “Fuck results. Up front, and I give you my time for as long as the job requires,” Brown said, hoping the chief and his budget enjoyed the give-and-take as much as he did.

             A couple of hours later, Shawn Brown sat in an interrogation room with a note pad while dectectives Fiore and Wilkinson began laying out details of Dr. Bruce Gillespie/Thomas’ bizarre life and death.

            “And the two families don’t know about each other,” Brown asked, incredulous.

            “Stranger than that,” Wilkinson said. “They know each other, a little. The two youngest daughters are on the Bailey cheerleader squad together. And two of the middle daughters work out at the same gym.”

            “But … none of them had a clue?” he pressed on.

            “We think they might have been … programmed,” Fiore said, clearly embarrassed to admit what was obvious to Brown.

            “Did Gillespie have a PC?” Brown asked.

            “ ‘Had’ a PC. Missing,” Wilkinson said. “Every single wire.”

            “Are you prepared to give me access to a Master PC program?” he carefully asked the two detectives.

            They looked at one another. Finally, Fiore spoke.

            “That’s part of the arrangement, right?” he asked.

            “Not necessarily,” Brown said. “Lending my expertise does not necessarily mean hands on. Like I told your chief a long time ago, Master PC programs can be addictive and almost impossible to shut down once you get your taste of the power.”

            “You had that taste,” Wilkinson said.

            “I still have the taste,” Brown said truthfully. But that was followed by a big, fat lie. “That’s why I never want to interact with one again if I can help it. Master PC nearly ruined my life and that of someone I loved. It’s not worth it.”

            “How about if we increase your fee?” the chief said from behind me.

            “How’s that?” Brown asked.

            “The two families, independent of the other, have posted over a half-million dollars as a reward,” he explained. “That could well go to whoever broke the case.”

            “Well, that’s a lot of money,” he admitted. “You have a Master PC program available?”

            “We keep one under lock and key and armed guard,” the chief said. “It’s in our basement.”

            “That’ll do. But I want an armed guard there at all times to protect me from myself,” Brown added, hoping he sounded heroic. “I also want to know if there was some way to get a client list from the good Dr. Gillespie without having his computer.”

            “Working on it,” Fiore said. “The regular office computer was still there, in the receptionist's room.”

            Thanks to credit card records, they had a near-complete list of Gillespie’s clients at the end of the day. After much hand-wringing, Brown brought himself to call up their Master PC version and sit nervously at the console. As planned, the curious guard got close enough to peek.

            “How does this work?” he asked.

            “Let me show you,” Brown offered amicably. “What’s you full name?”

            “Marcus Trent Jackson,” he replied. Brown typed in his name and moments later, his 3-D image was rotating on the screen.

            “That’s so cool!” he explained.

            “Yes, it is,” Brown agreed. His first command to Marcus was for him to accept everything he did in this room and proper and part of procedure.

            “I can grant you a wish,” Brown said, knowing this now would not alarm him..

            “Oh, you kidding? Can you give me a foot-long dick?” he said, eyes brightening. Obviously, cops talk about this stuff.

            “Limp or erect?” Brown asked. To this, he laughed gleefully and half-danced around the room.

            “You kidding me? Erect, man,” he laughed. Brown adjusted a few of his specs.

            “Done,” he said. “Feel anything?”

            “Nah. Wait. Wow! Yeah, I feel it,” Jackson said, starting to undo his pants.

            “Not here, dude,” Brown said, holding up his hands.

            “Yeah, sorry,” his new best friend said.

            “You know, you’ll have trouble fitting inside women now,” Brown said sympathetically.

            “Shit! You don’t know a thing about fucking black women, now, do you?” he cackled.

            “No, man. Got me there,” the computer expert said. “Knock yourself out – but on your own time.”

            Jackson happily stood by, feeling his bulge and occasionally checking himself out while Brown tried to crack the case.

            As Brown matched names with the clients and called up their profile, a shocking common thread began to emerge. It was less than two hours later that he summoned the detectives, but only Wilkinson arrived.

            “Something already?” she asked hopefully.

            “He was working overtime on his mind control,” Brown began. “To start with, he either bought or stole the string-boob technology of a Dr. Masters in Texas – technology that had been declared unsafe by the surgeon general.”

            “And he was using it on his patients?” she asked.

            “No! That’s the thing! He charged patients for using it, but it was all Master PC work!” he reported. “He even charged for anesthesia and aftercare, all of it bogus. These women could have walked out of his office with their new boobs and no problems, but he created problems that made the hospital stay seem reasonable and his surgery authentic.”

            “Come on. He could give these women boobs just with a computer program,” asked the petite cop.

            “Just this easily,” Brown said, dialing in Wilkinson’s profile, making her accept anything that was about to happen, and programming that happening. “How would like to go through life with a C cup?” 


            “I’d love it, but a cop doesn’t need to have tits drawing the eyes of every perp we question,” she said.

            “So dress down,” he said. “That jacket should cover them and you’ll have a surprise for your buddy Fiore.” Right on cue, her boobs smoothly filled out to a Playmate perfect full C cup, pushing aside her tiny bra, which slid up on her chest.

            “Wow! Thanks!” the cop said.

            “If you want to thank me, officer Jackson here is having trouble bringing his new manhood under control. Would you have a seat in this chair and suck him off?” Brown asked cordially.

            “Sure! I can do that,” she said. Wilkinson peeled off her jacket, blouse and now-useless bra and unzipped the smiling officer as he removed his Sam Browne belt. “Oh, God! He’s huge!”

            “You’ve been adjusted,” Brown said. “Go for it.”

            Wilkinson’s jaw gaped open to easily accept the officer’s impressive black python. She quickly realized she could take it to the root and began a world-class blow job and Jackson held her head with both hands.

            “Won’t….we’….get….busted…for this?” Jackson gasped.

            “Who’ll know?” Brown said. “She’ll drink up every drop of your load.”

            Wilkinson mfphhd an affirmation as she quickly worked the cop to a peak. He gratefully turned loose his load and the attractive female cop took it like a pro. With a huge smile, she licked Jackson clean and used a makeup mirror to find the stray globs. Jackson tucked his cock into his pants and quickly returned to regulation uniform, but Wilkinson failed to get dressed.

            My bad Brown thought, quickly typing in a brief command. She tucked in her blouse and donned her jacket, almost completely covering the fact that she no longer had a bra and sported a nice rack in its place. He typed in the appropriate instructions that she would not recall the events and remained professional in her demeanor, so moments later their conversation continued as if the last 20 minutes hadn’t happened.

            “So you’re saying there was no chance of surgical complications, but he created some?” she asked, leaning over and letting her boobs rest on Brown’s shoulders.

            “Exactly,” he said, drawing a deep breath. “He could have done all of this work as a service, but he created a whole façade of owning the rights to this procedure, brainwashing the clients to pay for it.”

            “Amazing,” Wilkinson said. “But what about his two families?”

            “There’s a lot more there to decipher,” Brown said. “But you’ll find mind control at the root of everything.”

            “Fiore is getting the families together as we speak,” Wilkinson said.

            “Are we needed?” he asked.

            “No. We’re taping the interview,” she said. “We’re fine being out of the way.”

            “Well, in that case,” Brown said, standing to lower his slacks and free his 14 inches. “How about a blow job, detective?”

            Wilkinson smiled a monster smile and slipped her coat off. Her breasts strained wonderfully against her blouse. It quickly followed and Brown made a note to himself that Wilkinson will love being topless in private. Her lips took his cock like a child would inhale a popsicle – creamsicle, Brown corrected myself. But unlike Jackson, he held back and controlled his ejaculation and enjoyed 45 uninterrupted minutes of oral heaven.

            Wilkinson was dressed and only slightly out of breath when Fiore stuck his head in the door.

            “You’d better get up there,” he said. “Both of you. … Wilkinson, you all right?”

            “Sure,” she said, straight-faced. “Wait ‘til you hear about the good doctor’s medical practice.”

            “Can’t wait,” Fiore said dourly. “Meanwhile, a Jerry Springer Show is breaking out upstairs. I’ll be up in a minute. Got to take a leak.”

            Knowing Jackson would not allow Fiore to touch the computer, Brown and Wilkinson went up to the big interrogation room they were using for the meeting. All was as it should be until the elevator doors closed. Wilkinson turned and planted a tongue-filled kiss on him.

            ”Thank  you,” she whispered.

            “My pleasure, Detective,” Brown nodded as the doors opened. Brown graciously allowed Wilkinson to step out ahead, admiring her in any number of ways. He thought that would not control her permanently, but would strengthen their ties in other ways.

            The sound of female voices – screeching female voices – showed us the way to the remote interrogation room that had become ground zero for this civil war.

            Brown recognized the Gillespie women thanks to his recent Internet research. The Thomas women, remarkably, were virtual bookends to them – 10 blonde women who had way too much in common.

            + Blair Gillespie, the reigning Miss USA, was screaming at a tearful Cynthia Thomas while holding her mother’s hand. Debbie Gillespie was seemingly near hysterics, as was Alisha (I found out later) Thomas.

            + Off in a corner, Debbie Gillespie and Brandy Thomas, buddies from working out, were having an animated – not angry – discussion with lots of hand gesturing.

            + Brooke Gillespie and Dee Dee Thomas, who had been competitors on the soccer field over the years, merely stood alone, steely-eye staring at the other.

            + Most remarkably, Ally Gillespie and Britt Thomas, each wearing a Bailey cheerleader sweater, were hugging each other tightly, both in tears.

            Brown became hard immediately – something difficult to hide when you’re packing 14 inches. He moved behind Wilkinson as she banged on the metal table in the middle of the room. Moments later, a couple of uniforms came in to move apart the angry women. Ally and Britt remained in their private clinch.

            “Please! Ladies!” Wilkinson tried. “Please calm down! Take a seat with your immediate family and we’ll try to sort this out.”

            Somehow, her screaming pierced through the noise and the hyenas gradually regained their composure. Thus began the weirdest scene this interrogation room ever hosted.


The Scene


            Quietly, Fiore had stepped into the room. Brown glanced at him and noticed him noticing Brown’s erection. Brown shrugged and Fiore nodded that he understood. Just then, some more chairs were brought in and the computer guy was saved from total humiliation – but not before Wilkinson got a glance as he sat to her left, Fiore to her right.

            “Ladies, my name is detective Marie Wilkinson and I have been, along with detective Fiore here, assigned to investigate the death of your husband and father,” she began after what Brown was sure was a deep breath. “And, yes, he was both of your husbands and all of your fathers.”

            An explosion of surprise, including some shrieks, greeting that news, but Wilkinson held up her hand for silence. It was, surprisingly, met.

            She unbuttoned her jacket, giving Fiore a glimpse of things to come. She glanced at him and gave him a private smile that he returned with his eyes. Brown stretched his leg out to try to get comfortable, but starting at these women made it impossible.

            Cynthia Thomas was once a porn star and a phone sex operator who had both the voice and the body (PC’d up?). Alisha was still a cyber-porn star whose every feature – hair, eyes, boobs, legs – seemed exaggerated; perfect for the camera. Brandy looked overweight at a glance, but her tight jeans belied that fact; it was just that her boobs filled her chest vertically and horizontally. Dee Dee Thomas was wearing skin tight jeans and a sweater almost as snug – carved marble. Britt Thomas was the tiniest person in the room, but her boobs nearly matched her oldest sister’s.

            Among the Gillespies, Brooke and Ally seemed to be almost average, physically. Beautiful – but average. Debbie Gillespie, the second daughter, had bigger boobs than Alisha Thomas, but was also less fit. Blair Gillespie, almost 6-foot-3 in her heels, dominated the room with her presence. Marie’s words snapped Brown out of his fantasy.

            “…and Mr. Brown here is an expert with computers, and can explain many things you ladies and just now discovering. Mr. Brown?”

            Brown had an involuntary gulp. He had lived for this moment, but without a Master PC program within his reach, felt more than a little powerless. But, he thought, it would be a disaster he could undo. Thus fortified, Brown found his voice.

            “Ladies, there’s no question you are married to the same man, Debbie and Cynthia. Debbie, it would seem yours is the legal union, as are your girls,” he began my sucking up to the Gillespies. “I understand that he was a surgeon. How many of you did he operate on?”

            Slowly, all 10 hands raised. No surprise.

            “Well, here’s the good news. All of your surgeries were 100 percent safe. Nothing should ever go wrong,” Brown said. But as couple of women in the Gillespie cluster began talking excitedly. Debbie raised her hand.

            “But I had repeatedly problems with my boobs,” she said. “We kept going back and doing them over and over again. And there are scars.”

            Brown sighed. This would be tough.

            “You had problems because he wanted you to have problems,” he said. “This might be hard to believe, but did you not get bigger each time?”

            “Well, yes,” she said.

            “Did he say that there would be serious complications?” he went on.

            “No. He … he said I had sensitive skin,” she answered. “And the scars kept getting smaller.

            “He just operated on me day before yesterday,” Ally Gillespie spoke up. “I’m still a little sore. Isn’t that normal?”

            “What did you have, if I may ask?” Brown asked.

            “I had my braces taken off,” she said, then added in a small voice. “And a clit stud.”

            “And you’re how old?” Brown asked, trying to remain on an even keel.

            “Just turning 15. Tomorrow,” she said. That led to a buzz among the others.

            “What?” Ally asked.

            “You’ll find out tomorrow, kiddo,” Dee Dee Thomas said. “Dad had a magic surprise for us … all of us … on our 15th birthday?”

            “What?” Ally and Brown asked together. He glanced at Wilkinson, who was scribbling notes, then at Fiore, who was glancing at Wilkinson’s nipples as they pushed against her now-too-small blouse beneath her open coat.

            Cynthia Thomas laughed in that breathy, deep voice that launched a thousand hardons before her fantasy life began.

            “Little girl, let’s just say your butt is about to become an entrance as well as an exit,” she said, laughing until her bronchitis forced her into a violent coughing fit.

            Ally’s response surprised everyone.

            “Oh, really?” she said, not knowing she'd already gotten that present. “Cool.”




            It seemed like she had wrapped nearly a mile of sanitary wrap around her gaping midsection wound. Her medical training told her she could bleed to death eventually, but she had fewer holes that her whack-job boss had when he decided to end their kinky sex session with a mass castration.

            Her overcoat covered her lab coat, which covered her medical sweats, which covered the seeping blood on the bandages. She got a downstairs room in an all-suites motel, paying for four days – all the cash she could get her hands on, minus enough for her purchases. No way she’d use a credit card at this point; Joanne Moore is a name she was certain would be flagged.

            She back up her SUV to her door and used a chair to prop it open. She would have much difficulty hauling the many pieces of the computer into the suite, but she had nothing but time, she figured.

            Wisely, she focused on the assembly of the PC without stripping out of her hospital sweats or bandages. Her hands quivered occasionally, but she was careful enough when taking it apart to remember what to do. It took only about 20 minutes to flip the ON switch and hear that telltale BEEP.

            Only then did she allow herself to sit down in one of the dining room chairs, knowing it would not be a good idea to settle into a comfy chair in the TV room. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, she was able to click onto the Master PC program that she spent hours learning once she stole the doctor’s password. Her seated figure, complete with gaping stomach wound, appeared in the chair.

            Heal the lower torso wound of Joanne Moore and remove any trace of a penis or male chromosomes, she typed and hit <ENTER>.

            Like a soothing massage, her pain abated in waves. Careful not to rise too quickly due to loss of blood, she carefully took herself to the shower, leaving a trail of unwrapped bandages along the way.

            Refreshed and energized, she returned to the machine an hour later, looking to take a tour of Dr. Gillespie’s depraved world. What she found stopped her cold.

            NOTE it read. She clicked on the icon.

            “A suicide note,” she said sadly. “This machine was meant to be found.”

            Her own computer expertise would allow her to get away with what needed to be done. Twenty minutes of constant typing later, she hit <ENTER> and sat back to rest her hands.

            Instead, she would fall asleep in the chair, not coming around for more than 12 hours.


Police HQ


            Leaning in the hallway, Brown sipped his coffee while overhearing a lover’s quarrel.

            “What’d you do to your boobs. They’re huge!” Fiore shouted in the empty hallway.

            “No, their C cups. Very modest,” Marie said.

            “Modest if you were wearing a bra, maybe,” he said.

            “Haven’t had a chance to get one,” she said with a smile, patting his cheek. “We can go shopping together, if you like. Victoria’s Secret, perhaps?”

            “Really?” Fiore said. If Brown could see his face, he could have confirmed he was blushing.

            “I am so ready to go to bed with you,” she said, walking away. She turned the corner as Brown stood there and did not so much as flinch. In fact, she winked as she went past.

            “What a woman,” Fiore said as Brown thought exactly the same thing. Just then, a junior staffer walked up.

            “Detective? We just got an e-mail from someone claiming to be Joanne Moore,” she said, producing a folder.

            Fiore opened the folder and read only a line or two. Brown picked that moment to round the corner, sipping my coffee.

            “Brown, find detective Wilkinson and meet me in the new interrogation room,” he said, walking down the hall to see his chief of detectives.

            A few moments later, Wilkinson walked around the room, reading the note aloud. Having shed her coat in the warm room, Brown and Fiore watched her fine, full boobs sway to her steps. Fully aware of their awareness, she never broke character as she read the letter.

            My name is Dr. Bruce Gillespie. The wounds you see are by my own hand as I hacked away the abomination that I have become. Not just in physical form, for if you are looking at this computer you are now aware of my Master PC program. But my spirit is now equally twisted and I am unable to undo the things I have done despite the ability to do so.

            May God forgive me for these things. All I can do is list them for you…


            One after another, Gillespie painstakingly unfolded the hidden chapters in his life.

            + How he changed his appearance to become Thomas.

            + How he deliberately gave women scars and pain to think he was performing real surgery instead of Master PC alterations.

            + His mutilation of his families was by far the most disturbing confession. Every Thomas girl was given at least a DD cup by the age of 14, EEE at 18 – except for his superstar athlete Dee Dee, who was enhanced to Olympian levels.

            + Debbie’s perfectly shaped breasts led to his ongoing game of fixing her “problem” by making them larger each time.

            + Blair Gillespie had more than 15 adjustments and modifications made to her as a fully aware partner in Master PC manipulation. She has control over the women in her entourage as well.

            + (Then,  doozy:) upon my death, my wives will regress a year for each year they should age. Once they are physically the youngest, they will resume aging normally. All of my daughters, once they turn 21, will only age one year for every two calendar years.

            But the note had not yet gotten to the most disturbing revelation – clearly the item that left Gillespie wanting to die.

            I have betrayed my beautiful baby daughter Alexis. Only on Tuesday this past week, I removed her braces and inserted her clitoral stud as routine surgery. But I was using cocaine and was not thinking clearly. I knew I did not want to lose her and what I did I did out of love. I locked up her profile and these changes cannot be reversed upon her 15th birthday. Please help her cope and may God have mercy on my soul.

            “Good lord in heaven,” Brown said, turning away from Marie’s boobs at last.

            ‘Brown, tell me you have what it takes to save that girl,” Wilkinson said.

            “If I don’t,” he said, “I am not worthy of being a Master PC … operator.”

            “If you can’t,” Fiore said softly. “Then he’s turned that pretty little cheerleader into the worst kind of monster.”

            Brown nodded, but Gillespie’s plans for his youngest daughter had gotten his dick hard again.


Ally’s Birthday


            There was little cause to celebrate around the Gillespie home when Alexis Gillespie turned 15. That was because the capper to every party was the golden girl getting a chance to sit on Daddy’s erection and enjoy her first night of anal sex.

            But everyone made a game go at it, so there was plenty of lesbian incest talking place, as each daughter got to enjoy nibbling on her new nob. The big surprise was the invitation of her old friend and new step-sister, Brittany Thomas, to the party. She quickly got with the program and went down on Ally with plenty of zest.

            “We’re all family now,” she said with Ally’s juices making her shine.

            “If that’s true…” Brooke cut in, “then get that tight little top off and give us a crack at those million-dollar boobs.”

            Britt squealed her approval and pulled, with some difficulty, the tight cyclist’s top off to free her newly enhanced breasts. Inch-long nipples greeted Brooke and Debbie, while Ally looked for some place to place her retainer so she could join in the fun unencumbered. But at that point, Blair entered the room, holding a cell phone.

            “Ally!” she practically screamed. “Whatever you do, do not take off your retainer.”

            “What? Why?” the buzzed birthday girl asked.

            “I was just talking to Mr. Brown with the police,” she said, drawing closer. “Daddy … did something to you before he killed himself.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Ally, crying with a hair-trigger.

            “Everyone should hear this,” Blair said, flipping off the stereo. “Daddy left a suicide note on his computer. Joanne, who daddy tried to kill, found it and e-mailed it to the cops. He admits doing stuff to all of us with his computer.”

            “How is that possible?” Deb asked.

            “Look at that 14-year-old’s boobs and you tell me,” Blair said. “Besides, he shared Master PC with me. Why do you think Dixie is my sex slave? How do you think I could have 15 procedures done without so much as a scar? Trust me, it’s the truth.”

            “Blair, what did he do to me?” Ally asked in a very quiet voice.

            “He wanted so badly to fuck you, but you were so pretty it broke his heart,” Blair said.

            “I would have fucked him!” Ally cried.

            “Of course. You’ve been programmed that it’s okay,” her big sister said. “We all have.”

            “How can you be so sure?” the feisty Brooke said.

            “When I left last year, Dad adjusted my … call them settings,” Miss USA said. “I could not tell a stranger what he’d done, but I was able to function without the craving you guys had or have for his cock. He also made me about 80 percent lesbian, while you guys are still pretty much 50-50.”

            “So what did you tell the police?” Brooke pressed on.

             “Nothing. I couldn’t. I just listened and said thank you, that they’d been most helpful,” Blair said, now crying herself.

            “But what did he do to me?” Ally screamed. “I feel the same. I feel fine.”

            “He’d never cause you any real physical pain – beyond the fake surgery pain,” Blair said, sitting down and taking her sister’s hands. “In fact, he’s probably made you fully accepting of any changes he’s tried to do to you now.”

            “But … nothing’s changed,” Ally insisted.

            “You still have your retainer in,” Blair shot back. “That’s the trigger. Please, you don’t want to do that yet.”

            Ally was quiet and thoughtful. Mature for her age, probably from all the sex, she weighed her father’s total love for her with the emotion that people who loved her were showing at the moment. She was still torn and unmoving when Brown, Fiore and Wilkinson arrived at the house.

            “Ally? Oh, good, you haven’t done anything,” a relieved Brown said. Wilkinson knelt down in front of the 15-year-old.

            “We can tell you what he’s done, but I would rather not,” the tough cop said evenly. “As long as you keep your new retainer in, nothing changes.”

            “But … don’t I have to clean it or something?” Ally asked, shaking her head.

            “That’s what he was counting on,” Wilkinson said. “You can rinse or slosh water around until we find an way to prevent this.”

            No chance of that Brown thought to himself.            This little girl is fucked.

            Instead, he said aloud,  “We’ll come up with a way to undo this.”


            “Wait a second,” Blair interrupted. “Detective Wilkinson, did that passage you read to me from Daddy’s letter say something about ‘locking down’ Ally’s profile.”

            Brown sighed.

            “Yes. What’s done is done,” he said. “But the bell hasn’t rung.”

            “What’s that mean?” Blair said.

            “You can’t unring a bell,” Brown said. “But you can change the way it’s going to ring.”

            With that, he opened his shoulder bag and brought out the PD’s own Master PC. At least, they thought it was theirs. It was, in fact, Brown’s own with a series of commands that would go out merely by turning the machine on.

            +L Any action taken by me will be seen as perfectly normal by Edward Fiore, Marie Wilkerson, Debra Jean Gillespie, Blair Gillespie, Debbie Sue Gillespie, Brooke Gillespie, Alexis Gillespie, Brittney Thomas, Cynthia Thomas, Alisha Thomas, Brandy Thomas or Deidra Thomas.

            +L Said individuals will have no curiosity about images or commands of any computer Shawn Brown is operating.

            +L Any results stemming from my operation of a computer will be accepted as normal and welcome.

            Brown powered up the PC and things got interesting.

            +L Over the next 60 days, Debra Jean Gillespie and Cynthia Thomas will regress in age to that of their 21st birthday. All memories and personality traits will be retained.

            +L All said individuals who are suffering any phantom pain from their PC changes or any scarring real or incurred, shall be pain-free and scar-free.

            +L All Thomas and Gillespie women would be subservant to Marie Wilkerson and Shawn Brown happily comply with any of their wishes.

            +L All parental duties previously performed by Bruce Gillespie would now be performed by Shawn Brown.

            “Ally, I understand that all Gillespie women have a special ceremony for when they become 16. I am honored to help with that ceremony,” he said as formally as possible. Ally, who has been bottomless the entire day so as to show off her new clit ring, came and stood before him in rare beauty.

            “As your new official half-sister, I would like Britt to join in the ceremony by lubricating my cock with her mouth and tongue,” Brown said, unzipping and presenting his fully erect 14 inches to the room.

            Britt scrambled to assume the position and performed her best cheerleader blowjob, new boobs flowing beneath her face like an ocean of tit meat. The slurping sounds alone were almost enough to bring me off, but Brown kept with the game plan.

            “Ally? Ride me first,” he said, and the beautiful blonde, still wearing her retainer (thank God) smiled broadly as she lowered herself on me, enhanced to take every inch of his rod. Her incredible abs spoke to an expert, not a kid (thanks, Doc) as she gently rippled over his cock. Then, as if on cue, she slowly began rising and lowering herself, never completely letting me go. Best of all, she never broke eye contact and her smile never broke. This was a girl looking forward to her birthday present.

            In the process of holding back, Brown glanced around the room. Fiore was standing behind Wilkinson, slowly massaging one of her still-braless breasts and each watched me with rapt attention. Wilkinson gave Brown a private smile and he nodded.

            “Thank you, Mr. Brown,” Ally said between her rapidly increasing thrusts.

            “We’re not nearly finished,” he said between clinched teeth. “Let yourself come and coat me with your juice.”

            She nodded and Brown could feel a perceptible change in her vagina. Soon, she was flowing with enough juice to lubricate the Holland Tunnel. Ally Gillespie had been created to fuck and she came like gangbusters – as did Brown.

            But both of them were up for the next step. Ally quickly raised up and spun around. Her musculature actually allowed her to open up her asshole enough to provide entry, and it took only a few cautious thrusts to get 14 inches of cock into her teenaged ass.

            “That is so incredible Daddy!” she screamed. “Thank you Daddy!”

            “Your welcome,” Brown grunted.

            Never breaking rhythm, she turned angrily and looked at him with an altogether different expression.

            “You’re NOT my Daddy!” she grunted. “Don’t say that.”

            “I’m sorry,” Brown said, trying to stay up with her. “Just trying to do the right thing.”

            “That’s the right thing,” she grinned again, turning back. “Don’t you dare stop.”

            With that, he bent her over the laps of Blair and her mother, who were fingering one another as they watched. Brown kept banging away at Ally, yet was able to steal a kiss from the radiant Blair. Ally reached around the waists of her oldest sister and mother and wrapped her toned legs around the computer expert. Brown put his hands on the older women’s shoulders and stuck a thumb in each of their mouths. Each sucked it appreciatively.

            What next was a totally unexpected, incredible feeling from behind. Brown was able to see in a wall mirror that the young cheerleader Britt was thrusting her tongue all the way up his ass while pushing up beneath his scrotum. Brown thought that didn’t even know the name of that move, but was glad Dr. Thomas/Gillespie taught it to her.

            It pretty much took care of his last wall of resistance and he came like a bandit in our birthday girl’s ass. It triggered her response and she roared like a wild animal into the cushions between her mother and sister. They, remarkably, became cumming also because it turned out that Ally reached behind them and inserted a finger into each of their assholes while Britt was reaching past Brown to frig their pussies.

            But all that happened in a split second. Four people were in a sweaty pile, breathing hard while Britt and the other Gillespie’s clapped in approval. Fiore and Wilkinson were nowhere to be seen, but returned a few moments later with Marie licking her fingers.

            As my head cleared, Brown became aware that Britt was not only cleaning off his cock, but was lapping cum out of Ally’s ass. The cheerleaders obviously had some connections that predated this get-together; their discovery that each is the other’s half-sister has given them a comfort zone.

            Still nude from the waist down, Ally was treated to some traditional birthday gifts from her sisters (no boyfriends, Brown noted) and blew out her candles after making a silent wish. He later felt that he should have seen it coming, but Brown was more fatigued than he realized and the two cops were a little too programmed to react correctly.

            “Friends and family,” Ally said as the smoke cleared. “I made a wish as I blew out the candles, and we know wishes cannot come true if you tell. But I already know my wish won’t come true. I wished I had my daddy back.

            “Mr. Brown made sure I enjoyed my family legacy today, but he’s not my father,” she continued, still smiling. “Today is a day when I want to honor my father, and I can only think of one way to do that.”

            With that, she reached into her mouth and grabbed her retainers and tossed them aside before anyone could react.

            “Since I now know that Master PC fixed my teeth, I know truly I do not need those things,” she said. “I don’t know what you were worried about. I feel fine.”

            Sure enough, nothing happened. After standing still for a few anxious moments, Britt was the first to approach Ally and give her a big hug and kiss. The others rushed up to follow and tears flowed. I stood to the side and exchanged glances with Wilkerson. Each of us shook out heads because we knew that this was a false moment of happiness.

            “Wait a minute, guys,” Ally said suddenly. “My hands are starting to tingle. Ooh! Really tingle!”

            She began shaking them furiously as if to restore the feeling, and a few seconds later her fingers began falling off – flying off, actually. A couple of the girls screamed, as did Ally when he held up one hand to see only one finger and thumb remained. She tucked them under her arms as a look of terror came over her face, but then she began feeling the same tingling in her face.

            “What’s happening? Blair? Mr. Brown?” she cried as she reached up to rub her cheeks. The what quickly became apparent as her hands had totally disappeared and were replaced by what were clearly two huge, veiny – and very erect – cocks. Worse, as she rubbed her face, her skin began rolling up on itself like ruptured blisters. Her lips, nose and eye brows all came away from her face and a few moments later her ears dropped off and her teeth, singly and in groups, dropped to the floor.

            The change her father programmed soon became apparent to those of use who had not read the horrific note. Ally Gillespie had been turned, permanently, include a walking cunt with penises for hands.

            “Ally?” Blair asked quietly. “Say something.”

            Her voice was remarkably clear, considering that her mouth was no longer readily visible.

            “I feel … okay,” she said. “How do I look?”

            Brown was deliberately standing in front of the mirror he had used to watch, so no answers were quickly forthcoming.

            “I’ll tell you how you look.” It was Fiore, who was undoing his slacks. “You look like a walking, talking fuck. On your knees, fuck-face.”

            There was some kind of trigger in non-PC protected men that was part of Ally’s program. The degree of that was only beginning to be clear, but I knew right away that my own program of protection kept me from being right in there with this cop. Marie looked chargined, but could not take her eyes of the image of the young, once-beautiful cheerleader kneeling down and letting Fiore pump his cock into the middle of what used to be her face.

            Further, she reached out with her cock/hands and the two non-Gillespies in the room, Marie and Britt stripped off all of their clothing and moved directly into them; two feet of cock disappeared into the two women. Fiore, Wilkinson and the youngest Thomas daughter all began screaming in raw passion and, Brown guessed, some rare kind of pain as this mutated girl interacted with all three at once.

            “Brown, this is incredible!” cried Marie, who was afforded some protection through his earlier commands. Likewise Britt Thomas, enthusiastic sex partner of Ally from the get-go, was almost all pleasure. Fiore, however, was dealing with deeper emotions, as well as his lust battling with his horror.

            “My God! My God!” the cop repeated, hips thrusting as her head bobbed. Having been blown by Wilkerson only a few minutes before, his sex drive wasn’t keeping up with the programming, and the cop passed out in mid-hump a few minutes later. Moments after he fell away, Ally screamed.

            “I need to fuck. I need someone in my face!” she gurgled as much as she screamed. She continued to thrust into her stepsister and the cop.

            “Mr. Brown?” Blair suddenly was in front of him. “Change me. Let me fulfill her. You read the note to me; I know what’s up. I’ve been programmed a hundred ways, so I can deal with this.”

            He was at a loss.

            “O-okay,” Brown finally said, bringing his laptop back to the table from where he’d put it out of harm’s way.

            +L Give Blair Gillespie a foot-long penis that was be summoned or hidden at her choice.

Let her get fully erect and able to satisfy her sister Alexis.<enter>

            “Wow! What a feeling!” Miss USA said as her new cock began introducing itself. She pulled off her dress (which had been raised above her waist most of the evening) and quickly presented her cock to Ally. She impaled it into her new face like a knife into a grapefruit, but quickly began bobbing even as Blair learned a proper thrusting rhythm.

            Wilkerson, naked and keeping perfect rhythm with Ally’s thrusts, was able to speak.

            “Is there anything you can do? I feel so fucking helpless,” she said.

            “Blair has the ability and stamina to see this through,” Brown said. “That’ll be the only thing that can help Ally now. You, just go with it and enjoy the ride.”

            “I am! I feel so guilty!” she screamed, turning her attention back to her sex.

            “God, Ally, you rock!” Britt screamed as she likewise enjoyed the ride.   

            “Ally, this feels … incredible!” Blair shouted to be heard over the others. Brown moved as far away as he could and still be in the same room, quickly going over every facet of Ally’s program. Once Blair came inside her, things would stabilize, but I could not be certain what would happen to the other two women if Ally’s penis/hands had the ability to come as well.

            “Oh, shit,” Brown said softly. Penis/hands could definitely come, he saw. “Deb, Debbie, Brooke – get detective Fiore out of here and see if you can bring him around. Everyone here is going to be okay once this frenzy runs its course. I swear.”

            The other Gillespies, who had basically been huddled in a corner since Ally’s transformation, were still crying and sobbing, but crawled across the floor to drag the detective out of the room.

            “Try to pull up his pants,” Brown suggested.

            “Sure. Nothing there to get excited about,” the feisty Brooke said as they hauled the unconscious cop out of harm’s way.

            Meanwhile, all three women fucking Ally were seemingly in various stages of euphoria, while the deformed teen had been silent since Blair joined with her. At this point, Brown could only watch and masturbate as three beautiful women screamed out their pleasure.

            Ally’s arms visibly puffed up as she neared twin orgasms and indeed pumped large, twin loads into Britt and Marie even as she shoved her appendages up to what was once her elbows. But Blair and she continued their grotesque ballet, Ally and Blair colliding fiercely, even as she put one of her still-rigid cock/hands into Blair’s asshole two, three, four inches deep.

            Meanwhile, as part of what was their now-programmed frenzy, Marie and Britt drank deeply from each other’s pussy, their tongues enhanced to an extreme length and width. It was time for me to start spoiling this party.

            +L Marie Wilkinson is sexually satisfied, all business and unapologetic for her previous actions.<enter>

            “Britt, you’re the best, but I’m done here,” Marie said, suddenly rising to her feet. “Brown, hand me those panties … I don’t care whose they are, I’m just wiping off my face.”

            The detective used Brooke’s (I think) school panties to wipe her face and quickly pulled on her outer clothes. As I planned, she was unashamed and unapologetic as she sat alongside.

            “That poor girl is a sex machine,” she said, still breathing heavily. “That was one ride I hadn’t planned.”

            “I know. I’m guessing that non-family members were triggered somehow,” Brown said. “That includes Fiore, you know.”

            “Yeah. He and I never play the blame game, anyway. After today, I’d say we’re pretty solid with one another,” she said, buttoning her final blouse buttons. “Is he okay?”

            “I had the other Gillespies tend to him to give them something to do,” Brown explained. “He’ll be fine and not likely to remember his little performance.”

            “A cop can’t live with himself knowing that,” Marie said without irony.

            “What about you? You’ve had a pretty depraved last 24 hours,” Brown said.

            “But that’s because you control me … master,” she said in her professional tone. “That person no longer exists. I don’t know what I am now, but I’m sure not a cop.”

            “Shit, yes, you are,” Brown said. “I’ve given you some special tastes and pleasures, but outside of this room, you know right from wrong and that’s what you’ll base your decisions on.”

            “Without a bra,” she said.

            “Or panties,” Brown added.

            “Or … panties,” Wilkinson affirmed. “So, what can a couple of fucked-up detectives and your magic machine do to undo this … wow.”

            Her attention was diverted to the climax of the Blair and Ally Show, as Miss USA pumped her first load of semen into the cunt/face of her youngest sister. And pumped, and pumped; Brown’s little gift to her.

            Ally passed out (he guessed) as Blair screamed out the last of her orgasm and fell back onto the couch.

            “Fuck! I’m keeping this dick!” she said, looking directly at Brown as she caught her breath. “Give one of these to Miss USA instead of that damn scepter and she’ll never want to end her reign.”

            Cum started oozing out of the pussy in the middle of Ally’s head. Brown suddenly realized how Gillespie had this thing designed.

            “Quick! Rub that cum all over her face and hands and see what happened,” he commanded, and both Marie and Blair complied without a question. Sure enough, the pink labial skin and vein cocks soon began resembling Ally Gillespie again.

            “Now, put in her retainer,” Brown said, relieved as all hell. Blair crawled over and popped the two pieces of plastic in the girl re-formed mouth. “She’ll stay Ally for now.”

            The girl stirred, rubbed her eyes and tasted a bit of cum that she gathered on the tip of her regenerated fingers.

            “That was a blast!” she murmured. “If I had known dicks felt that good, I’d fucked Daddy years ago.”

            “Know what you mean, sweetie,” Blair said. “Fucking your face was the best sex I ever had.”

            The two Gillespie girls looked closely at one another, then locked up in a passionate kiss. Ally wisely kept her retainers in, but quickly climbed up her sister’s huge erection for the ride of her life.

            “Watching them is such a turn-on,” Marie whispered to me.

            “Play with yourself, but don’t get involved,” Brown whispered back. Marie didn’t need to be told twice.

            “Can you give me on of those penis hands?” she asked after a moment.

            Brown stared at his computer for a moment, then sighed.

            “Right or left?” he asked.

            “Left. Keeps my gun hand free,” she giggled. Brown typed a few strokes on the keypad. “My God. That feels better than Fiore’s pencil dick ever could feel!” The cop then began focusing entirely on self-gratification as her left hand evolved into an oversized cock, complete with veins.

            “I want a cock, too,” came a voice from behind him. It was Brooke Gillespie. Standing with arms folded, she was sweaty, totally nude and the picture of amazon perfection.

            “Oh, yeah. My new half-sister and workout buddy,” she said.

            “Dee Dee?” Brown asked. Brooke nodded.

            “Any rules against having a half-sister as a sex slave?” she asked.

            `”Definitely permitted,” Brown said. “Mind if I fuck you first?”

            “Cool,” Brooke said, climbing on Brown’s tentpole. “Slow or fast?”

            “Damn right,” Brown said, pulled her down hard.

            “Oh,” her gaze was steady and focused on me as she sighed. “Take your best shot.”

            I did. Brooke Gillespie became the first of the family to join me. There would be no penis hanging from that body. Ally and Blair, to exhausted to even realize what was happening, followed suit and the two Debbies, having fallen asleep at my programming, woke up as members of the Brown clan.

            Blair brought me along to break to news to her entourage. She was wearing a hot pink warmup outfit with nothing underneath – nothing but her new erect cock straining against the soft fabric. Every person in the hotel saw and admired the beauty and her beast, while she was programmed to be turned on and proud of being noticed.

            “What a feeling!” she said as she walked briskly at my side. “I want to touch it so bad, or at least rub it against the leg of some guy in the elevator.”

            “As long as that guy is me,” I said, reaching down to give her a squeeze. She cooed her approval and learned her head on Brown’s shoulder as the elevator doors closed.


The Next Day


            Virtually the entire precinct turned out to hear Fiore’s and Wilkinson’s briefing about the Gillespie death case – but only in part due to the sensational nature of the case. Word spread like wildfire that Marie Wilkinson was sporting new boobs, and was braless beneath a tight turtleneck sweater to confirm it.

            Her fellow officers were not disappointed. Few made eye contact with the newly buxom detective as she updated the case -- seemingly through the nipples trying to escape the light blue sweater.

            “Joanne Moore is still wanted as a person of interest,” she said, reading from her notes and smiling inwardly. “We believe she was injured by Gillespie at the same time and may not have been in any condition to help him. But she has apparently recovered to some extent, because she sent us Gillespie’s suicide note from the missing computer.”

            “Have we confirmed it was indeed Gillespie’s note,” asked her captain. None of these horndogs were about to break the mood, he noted.

            “Yes, sir,” she said, turning halfway around and allowing her nipples to stand in profile. An audible gasp was heard. “We know for sure it was Gillespie’s.”

            “Detective Fiore, do you have anything to ad?” asked the captain.

            Fiore leaned into the mike.

            “We understand that the two family units are, uh, getting to know one another on a friendly basis,” he said too loudly. “The Gillespies said that there is enough to go around and the Thomas women will be provided for.”

            “Anything else?” asked the captain.

            “Yeah, uh, Miss Blair Gillespie has indicated that she will finish her appointed term as Miss USA,” Fiore said. “I think that’s about tit … it, isn’t it, detective?”

            “Yes, detective Fiore,” Marie said.

            “I have a question,” came a voice from the rank-and-file.

            “Yes?” Wilkerson added.

            “Why are you out here without a bra, blowing out minds?” came the voice.

            “Because I can,” she said. The meeting dissolved in laughter and no one would ever question Wilkerson’s wardrobe again.


Blair on Tour


            “…as I make stop after stop in this beautiful country of ours, I get excited every time I come upon an organization like yours,” Blair Gillespie, Miss USA, addressed the Bakersfield, Calif., Involved Teens program. A tight girdle beneath her business clothes and her own willpower kept her erection from Mr. Happy status.

            “So many earnest, smiling faces. Faces of young people who want to make a difference, who know they can make a difference,” she continued. “My aide, Dixie, was part of  an organization like yours for years down in Mississippi and tells me that it was the most meaningful time of her life. Dixie, stand up and wave for the crowd.”

            Dixie McTavish, scouting the crowd for some late-night talent, nearly glowed with happiness as she waved to her new fans. Channing and Kerry remained backstage to tend to Blair’s many needs, but all were in mental communication.

            Mistress wants something young, but not too young Kerry was communicating.

            Got her. She’ll be meeting this chapter’s prize winner. She’s a real innocent; probably 16.

            Is she a keeper? this from Blair.

            Do you want to add someone to the entourage? Dixie replied.

            Yes. But I want a girl who can handle owning a cock. My asshole misses the action.

            I’ll grow a cock, mistress Channing replied.

            No, you and Kerry and perfect as you are Mistress Blair said silently.

            Blair sat in the private reception room in a stately chair – throne-like, she thought – when Thelma Danning, longtime sponsor for Involved Teens, tapped lightly on the door and stepped inside. With her were the top producers for the group’s sales project – fluorescent keychains.

            “Oh, really?” Blair said, smiling. “May I have one, please?”

            “Of course, I’ll get one,” Miss Danning said. “Boys, come help me.” Two of the three teens who’d come in with the old woman departed just as quickly. Remaining behind was a stunning redhead. She shooks hands with Blair and the bond was sealed.

            “What’s your name?” Blair asked.

            “Sarah. Sarah O’Leary,” she said.

            “You have a beautiful tan to be a redhead. How do you do that? And you cannot lie to me,” Blair said.

            “It’s a spray-on tan,” Sarah said. “I worked on it for an hour this week when I heard I was going to meet you. … You’re kind of a hero of mine.”

            “Really? How?” Blair said, shifting for comfort.

            “I lost my Dad a few months ago. Murdered after a traffic accident,” she said softly.

            “Road rage?” Blair asked.

            “Yeah. Both he and the woman,” she said. “Woman had a stun gun in her purse. Zapped him, then backed her SUV over him.”

            “How horrible,” Blair said, thinking. Good. One less parent to influence. But, she said, “How do you cope? I have a mom and a bunch of sisters who love me.”

            “Mom and I do okay,” she said. “But I’ve mostly worked hard with our project; sometimes more than 40 hours a week after school.”

            “You’ve earned a rest,” Blair said. “Come crawl in my lap and sleep.”

            Cooing like a dove, Sarah wrapped herself around the beauty queen and snuggled against her braless breast. She fell asleep almost immediately.

            “Poor baby,” Blair said, stroking her red hair. But her hand soon moved down her arm until it found a pantyhose-covered leg. Channing. Get in here.

            “Yes, Blair?” the Indian princess said, sticking her head in the room. In public, she was merely Miss USA.

            “Get this girl’s pantyhose off and get rid of it,” Blair said in a less assuring voice. “Now.”

            “Yes, mistress,” Channing said, knowing now they were alone. She quickly slipped off the girls modest (new?) high heeled shoes, reached up and grabbed her waistband. The pantyhose were stubborn, but came sliding down her toned, tanned legs and revealed an Irish green thong.

            “No, leave that,” Blair said.

            “Yes, mistress,” Channing said, slipping the girl’s shoes back on and quickly ducking out of the room. It took only that long for Blair to begin lightly stroking the girls lightly trimmed pubes through the cloth.

            “You’re mine to do with and use as I see fit until I say otherwise. Do you understand?” she whispered to the sleeping girl.

            “Yes, mistress,” Sarah said without waking.

            “No one knows and you cannot tell anyone. Make them think it’s all normal,” Blair said. “Wake up now and go find your mother.”

            Sarah’s eyes fluttered and she stretched like a child waking from the best nap ever. She looked into Blair’s eyes and smiled, then turned and kissed her full-on, using her tongue like she had never used it before. Blair rewarded her by extending it almost a foot long. She hopped off her lap and headed out the door just as Miss Danning and the boys returned.

            “Be right back,” she said over her shoulder.

            “Here’s one of our keychains, Miss Gillespie,” said the youngest boy, who had freckles and braces but still looked athletic.

            “Are you Miss Danning’s boyfriend?” Blair asked playfully.

            “No! She’s too old,” the boy said, making a face. “I’m just 13.”

            “And how old are you … I’m sorry, I didn’t get your names,” Blair said to the older boy.

            “I’m Tommy. I’m 15,” he said. “Joey just turned 13.”

            “And you’re how old, Miss Danning?” Blair asked, still smiling.

            “Well! I don’t believe that’s … I’m 57, thank you,” she said, answering by force.

            “So if I added 10 years to Joey – or Joseph – and 10 years to Tom … you’d still be too old,” Blair said. “But if I cut your age in half, first.” All watched as wrinkles receded from Miss Danning’s face, leaving a 29-year-old woman in her place.

            “So now, if I added eight years to Joe and six years to Tom … And cut your age in half again,” Blair said.

            “I’d only be 15?” Miss Danning said correctly.

            “So let’s do this,” Blair said. “We’ll add six years to Joe and four years to Tom. That makes them 19 and horny as hell!” Changes quickly took place and three barely legal teens eyed each other with new (or renewed lust). Miss Danning at age 29 was a revelation; natural dark hair and skin that betrayed some Hispanic heritage, slim hips and solid C cups. “What’s your first name, Miss Danning?”

            “Mary,” she said, licking her lips. “But the boys can call me Cumslut.”

            The door opened and Sarah stepped in. “What’d I miss?” she said.

            “Depends,” said Blair. “Are you a virgin? Tell the truth, again.”

            “Shit, no,” said the redhead. “I’ve been fucking Tommy for two years.”

            “So you four fine little horndogs have some fun while I watch,” Blair said, against shifting for comfort. The four programmed teens needed no goading to get naked and push the room’s three couches together. Sarah looked incredible naked, Blair realized, and Tommy, now 19, quickly showed he felt the same. Newly virile Joey wasted no time learning where Cumslut wanted his dick and he did Miss Danning doggie-style as Sarah wrapped her long legs around Tommy and accepted his thrusts.

            They’re more than fucking. They’re in love Blair thought. I don’t want to break that up. But Cumslut Danning is looking pretty damn good…

            She accelerated Joey’s orgasm and allowed him to become spent with the single eruption. He separated from Cumslut and curled up in a corner of the couch and went to sleep and Sarah and Tommy fucked to their heart’s content.

            Sarah, I free you Blair thought. You and Tommy will be in love and faithful and fuck like rabbits as long as you both shall live. But stop with three kids; tie your tubes then. Sarah looked over at Blair like she heard, nodded and smiled before her attention returned to the intense fucking she was receiving.

            Cumslut, you are again Mary Danning, but Cumslut is your alter ego when you are with me. You retain all the knowledge of your years, but keep your youthful energy. Mary looked over at her new mistress.

            “Youth is usually wasted on the young,” she said to Blair. “Not this time, baby!”

            The naked girl leaped off the couch and walked slowly over to the beauty queen, swinging her slim hips and biting a fingertip to convey a coyness that couldn’t possibly be there. Blair sat still while the nude girl unbuttoned Blair’s blouse. She gasped her surprise to discover Miss USA was braless and kissed and nipped a nipple. Blair gasped herself, pleasantly surprised.

            Mary Danning slowly unbuttoned Blair’s pantsuit and slid the pants and the girdle down and again gasped when a foot-long erection greeted her. She made eye contact with Blair, grabbed the thick cock with a strong, sure hand and began sliding her newly elongated tongue over it. By design, she was easily able to take it all down her throat, and did so for the next 45 minutes.

            Sarah was taking Tommy up her ass as Blair realized she’d forgotten to remove the anal lust aspect to the girl. She shrugged and concentrated on making Mary’s asshole conform.

            An hour later, Blair was spooning her newest lover, dick still impaling her fully.

            “Mary, with your years of experience, I want you to be our family’s housekeeper and coordinator,” she said. “Our mom’s been zapped back to her teens also, but she wasn’t much of a mother. We need you.”

            “I need you. I’ve always needed a bunch of kids to watch over,” she purred, wiggling her ass just a little. “Would you like me to such your cock clean?”

            “That would be nice. Thank you,” Blair said. Mary and Blair eased apart, and the lithe girl spun around to take in Miss USA’s penis with one swift slurp. Without any expression of disgust, she sucked and slurped until there was little trace of its recent activity. Blair, no stranger to demented sex, thanked Mary with an open-mouthed kiss. She then permitted her to grow a foot-long cock of her own to reverse and repeat the process.

            An hour later, the two women sat back, covered in sweat and cum and more than a little waste residue. There was no shower available, so the auditorium ladies’ room and more than a few Handi-Wipes cleaned up the women enough to go public again.

            Dixie brought Miss Danning, whose cock was only a one-time appearance, some age appropriate clothes, arriving with a sharp vested skirt outfit complete with heels. She even brought some full but lacy panties to cover her well-used asshole properly. Blair’s asshole, as always, returned to normal five minutes after sex.

            As they left the room, Blair conveyed suggestions to the three teens who remained behind. Sarah kissed Joey awake while Tommy’s mouth brought his cock back to attention. The three would be inseparable for years to come.

            “Don’t worry. They’re not related,” Mary Danning said with a final look back at her old life.

            “Like it matters,” Dixie snorted. Blair looked angrily over her shoulder at her loyal aide, but just as quickly smiled to indicate she accepted the dig good naturedly.

            “Where are we going next?” Miss USA asked.

            “To the hotel for a long shower,” Dixie replied. “Then, to a children’s hospital. They were hoping you would sing.”

            “That’s the second-best part about this job,” Blair said, stepping into the long-waiting limo.

            She was squeaky clean and fresh as a daisy when the entourage (minus Mary, who was asleep at the hotel) arrived at the Central California Children’s Hospital. A stage and pre-recorded instrumental track greet her to do her Top 40 hit, “History of Love,” and many sick kids, doctors and nurses packed the hall to hear her angelic voice.

            Blair Gillespie was crying for the first time since her father’s funeral as she stepped off the stage.

            “I have to do something for these kids,” she said suddenly as they walked towards the limo.

            “Are you sure you have that much control over the power?” Dixie asked. “It’s asking a lot.”

            “If I can make a 60-year-old spinster into a teenager with a cock, I think I might be able to help somewhat,” Blair said, now stopping completely. “Let’s go back and try.”

            Dixie found the hospital administrator and publicity chairman together talking about the great performance they’d just seen. Dixie’s abrupt return surprised them, to put it mildly.

            “Blair would like to visit some of the … older children, if she can do it in privacy, without any cameras or nosy reporters,” the dutiful aide said.

            “That’d be terrific!” the perky publicity girl said. “It’ll take us about 15 minutes to talk to our patients. They all have private or semi-private rooms, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

            Blair, I want this lil’ honey Dixie thought.

            She’s yours the rest of the day Blair replied from wherever she was.

            “Thanks so much,” Dixie extended her hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?

            “Lacey,” said the California girl. “Lacey Steele. Kind of a non-sequitur name, huh?”

            “I like it,” Dixie said, still holding her hand. “I like a lot about you, Lacey Steele.”

            “Then I hope you do something about it,” the newly programmed sex slave said. “I’ll be back in 15 minutes.”

            “I’ll be here,” Dixie said.

            “Good. Make sure you’ve already taken off your panties,” she said. “Time’s a-wasting.”


            Brown, who now had a new private office in the precinct – one that once belonged to the chief – discussed his inability to find Joanne with Wilkinson and Fiore.

            “I don’t know why she’s still running,” Brown said. “It’s clear he was a suicide.”

            Marie took Fiore’s cock out of her mouth.

            “Maybe it’s because of all the criminal shit she helped Gillespie do over the years,” she said, stroking her partner while she spoke. “She’s probably guilty of several kinds of fraud we’ve only imagined could take place.” She returned to her oral efforts, but still listened.

            “There’s no telling how much expertise she’s acquired at operating the Master PC program,” I said. “Obviously, she can block access to her profile and is capable of healing her injuries. If she directed Gillespie to kill himself, we’ll never know unless she confesses.”

            “Why can’t your Master PC tell you?” she asked after an audible slurp.

            “It’s not a mind reader. Just a mind changer,” I said.

            “Coming,” Fiore said through gritted teeth. Hhhnh huh Marie intoned with a stuffed mouth and moments later Fiore began humping and pumping his deepest load into her huge mouth. After a few moments, he settled down.

            “Sorry,” he said

            “Likewise,” said Wilkinson, licking off her fingertips.

            “Seems likely she’s just worried about her own well-being,” Fiore said, easing back into a chair, seeming oblivious that his now-impressive cock was hanging limply out of his pants. “She’s never done anything to hurt either of these families – except serve as his nurse.”

            Wilkinson had now climbed aboard my cock, fully dressed (i.e., no underwear) and rolled her hips in the most amazing way. She was, in her own mind, all business.

            “Can we draw her out some way?” she asked, running Brown’s hair through her fingertips. She paused to give his cock an amazing one-two-three tug with her specially modified pussy muscles.

            “She’s able to set herself up and protect herself well,” Brown replied before he lined the pretty cop’s uterus with a pre-measured amount of come. His pleasure, as always, came from the rush of a modified orgasm. “God! Yes.”

            Wilkinson’s pussy gave Brown a double twitch thank you and climbed off. She sat in a near by chair, spread eagle and leaning on the headrest. “But I’m guessing he has her programmed the way some of his family members obviously are – something that won’t change with his death.”

            She thrust her ass out beyond the seat of the old metal chair, and Fiore wasted no time finding her asshole and slipping his cock into her open anus as he sat beneath her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, grasping her breasts as if they were handles and began an intense series of short thrusts into her. Brown brought himself up to his full size erection and began slurping the head of his own dick as he watched the two cops momentarily turn into sex-consumed animals, complete with grunts, screams and the tearing of clothing. By the time Fiore had emptied his load and his last ounce of energy into her, they flat on the floor, pounding it in lust and pain.

            Brown swallowed down a meal’s worth of his own cum, savoring the honey-cream flavor he’d given himself.

            “When she’s ready, she’ll let us know,” he said. “Wilkinson, do you have the Thomas’ phone number?”

            The now nearly naked cop crawled to her feet and reached for the iPod on her desk. Straightening her hair and oblivious to her gaping asshole, she punched out the listing and handed it to her master.

            “Wish I could go with you,” she said.

            “You’ve got cop stuff to do,” Brown said. She merely nodded and began pulling out some alternative wardrobe that resembled what was now soaked.

             “Master, are my boobs larger?” she asked.


A Day at the Thomas'


            Cynthia Thomas was all smiles when answering Brown’s knock – and, if possible, 100 percent phony.

            A picture of domestic comfort in a flannel shirt neatly tied off over a pair of faded blue jeans, there was nary a flaw to be detected in a woman who was, by all accounts, past her 40th birthday. Her perfect butt rose to the ceiling despite wearing only sneakers and the thick, soft flannel could not disguise her mammoth breasts or the inch-long nipples that were trying so hard to poke their way through.

            As he desired, she hugged the relative stranger like an old friend, wordlessly palming his semi-erect cock.

            “Thank you so much Mr. Brown…” she began.

            “Call me Shawn,” he said.

            “…Shawn, for showing such an interest in our problem,” she said, turning to lead him through the spacious but tasteful entry hall. “The Gillespies have offered to share his estate with us, but I fear that his taking his own life, no matter what they’ve said, will effect our … insurance.”

            “You mean your payout,” Brown said bluntly.

            “Well … yes,” she said, turning back to him for a lingering moment. “And all of this miracle talk of his computer actually makes more sense than what I’d believed.”

            “Which was?” he asked.

            “That I’d had 15 different surgical procedures without so much as a scar,” she said. “Nine of them had been on my face. I look at it in the mirror every day. Mr. Brown – Shawn – I don’t wear a bit of makeup most of the time. Like now.”

            She was surely telling the truth, Brown thought. Her skin glowed like an Oil of Olay model. She indeed had the skin of a 21-year-old. Which one? he thought. But of course … he had the pick of the litter; any woman who came into his office was analyzed, broken down and improved where needed. Those that needed no real touch-ups could be logged and filed away!

            But even then, he couldn’t quite pinpoint why Cynthia Thomas looked familiar to him. She offered no comment, merely sighing as he caressed her oversized breasts under her shirt. Like her crotch grope, it was a gesture that was merely accepted. She drew one last sigh and opened her eyes, as if snapped from a trance.

            “The girls will be in to see you shortly,” she said. “You indicated you wanted to talk to us separately. I thought this would be good enough.” She gestured towards a soft, oversized couch that faced a huge indoor aquarium. Small, colorful fish populated the state-of-the-art tank that included temperature gauges and programmed feedings.

            “Has he changed your appearance?” Brown asked.

            “Surely,” she nodded. “Remember the 90s porn start Traci Topps? My face is 80 percent her, 20 percent me. And the boobs…” she opened her shirt to great effect, “are 100 percent her.”

            “Only better,” Brown murmured, reaching up to feel the massive mammaries.

            “Only better!” she laughed, giving in totally to her new master. She quickly pulled away her jeans to reveal rock-hard abs and a smooth pussy. The tattoos and piercings that had predated her bogus marriage were no longerm in evidence.

            Brown was lounging between Cynthia’s famous boobs when two of her perfectly formed daughters, Alisha and Dee Dee, came in from their daily tennis battle. Evenly matched by virtue of their father’s programming, they regularly dueled for hours at a time with each girl equally adept at beating the other. They were hot, tired and, discovering the couple on their couch, very horny.

            “Ooooh, mom!” Alisha cooed as she reached around her toned sister and tweaked Dee Dee’s nipples. “You need to introduce us.”

            “Girls,” she stretched lazily and reached over to lightly grasp Brown’s massive rod. “Meet our new …”

            “Master,” Brown whispered hoarsely.

            “… daddy,” Cynthia smiled wickedly. “Only this one might not be ashamed of us. Come join us girls.”

            Alisha, whose sculpted body was one of the most downloaded images on the Internet, easily slipped out of her tennis gear and helped her little sister pulled her top off over her head. Dee Dee embraced her mother and joined her in a kiss with a little unfamilial passion in it, while Alisha merely lowered her mouth to Brown’s waiting cock.

            “I was worried we’d be all alone,” Dee Dee said as she moved from her mother’s lips to Brown’s.

            “You’re all going to be fine,” Brown said between delicate kisses and tiny nips of tongue. “Take off your pants and fuck me, Deidre.”

            “No. I can’t,” she said. “I’m still a virgin.”

            Wow he thought. Some program. He guessed that she was programmed to heal and forget each time she had “first-time” sex. It was quite a gift from her father.

            “Then it’s time,” he said. “Get naked and go to your room. I’ll be along.”

            “Cool! Just like daddy!” she said excitedly as she scrambled to her feet and up the stairs.

            Brown followed, stroking himself to full erection as the two remaining Thomas women contented themselves. He considered the gravity of the last few moments and considered his plan to bring all of these women into one big, happy fucking family. The utter greed of Gillespie boggled his mind.

            Dee Dee Thomas, championship rower and cheerleader, stood naked and proud before him, arms draped across her dresser to better magnify their perfection. The tone of her biceps matched any Olympic athlete – no, make that Olympian goddess, he thought. Her abs tapered down to a hairless triangle and legs so taut they could crack walnuts. Gillespie had done his work well.

            “I’ve always wondered what it would be like,” Dee Dee said in a cheery voice that did not match the pose she was striking.

            “You know. Time and again. It’s part of your programming,” Brown said, lifting her by her narrow waist. Dee Dee put her hands on his shoulders for leverage and the age old-dance of the “virgin” lowering herself onto her first cock. Only this cock was nearly 16 inches long and as thick around as a goal post.

            He was going to make this good. He locked onto her impossibly blue eyes as his dickhead nudged her outer labia. With a gentle tug, he splayed her legs farther apart and began his first thrust. Neither spoke as her eyes widened with every nudge. Her mouth opened as he entered her and her eyes momentarily rolled back in her head when he bumped her self-regenerating hymen.

            His thrust broke it easily and slid into a channel generated by a computer to handle a human fist, much less an enhanced cock. Her gasp coincided with Brooke settling onto his lap, fully penetrated.

            “That feels great,” she said, right on cue.

            “That was just the introduction,” Brown said. “I’ve got quite a story to tell you and it will take the next hour or two. So you might as well get comfortable.”


Changes, Subtle and Profound


            Getting dressed for the day ahead, Det. Marie Wilkinson was fully aware that subtle changes were still occurring within and about her. The biggest, but least visible, was the certainty she was in total servitude to Brown. He had not taken advantage of her (had he?), because she was certain that her earlier sex romp was purely her own initiative. So, too, was her new style of going braless with tight sweaters or her old blouses that were strained to a major degree by her full boobs and (especially her) fantastic pliable nipples. She was also proud of the way she laughed off sexist remarks. In fact, guys now tried tasteless lines in hopes of making her laugh, because her infectious laugh still made her breasts jiggle invitingly. She knew her jacket was handy whenever she had to look all business. Brown, at least, had not degraded or humiliated her.

            But what was he doing to her? She had gotten no sun, yet she had attained an all-over bronze tint that she knew was permanent. It managed to make her stand out even more under the stark fluorescent lights of the precinct. She was feeling stronger and more toned, even though it had been weeks since she had worked out. There were fewer lines in her face – she looked a bit younger. She’d earned each of those lines and, truth be told, she resented their removal. She also resented her growing desire to wear overly high or stiletto heels instead of her old-fashioned comfortable cop shoes. But, she had to admit, they made her long legs look so … fucking … GOOD!

            She strapped her gun to her thigh (in violation of cop code) and briefly wondered how it would feel to jam the barrel up her pussy and to pull the trigger. Instead, two fingers managed the deed instead, and she followed up with a pleated skirt and dark blue blouse. Her legal cop gun fit nicely in the back of the dress. She then spent two minutes deciding which buttons on the blouse to close.

            Sitting to drink her coffee, she sneaked the day’s last cigarette while reading over Joanna’s file. The leather holster felt good against her leg as she decided that Moore would never be found – unless she wanted to be. Her time with Gillespie had given her months of likely hands-on experience on how to use the Master PC program, Wilkinson thought to herself – and not without some envy.

            “Marie? You up yet?” came a voice from the bedroom.

            “Almost ready to go,” she said, sticking the files into her Gucci briefcase.

            “Morning,” said a gloriously naked Brooke Gillespie as she padded into the kitchen. “Last night made me decide I want to be a cop when I grow up.”

            Marie remained silent as Brooke walked over to her chair, spreading her legs and displaying her hairless crotch. Marie, smiled and offered a foot-long tongue she assumed she’d always had, thrusting it up and into the young girl’s juicy and flowing snatch. Moments later, she’d found the well-toned athlete’s G spot and began a rapid succession of flicks against it. Her coarse, fat slab of meat, something that in no way resembled a human tongue, rippled up against Brooke’s clit. In a manner of seconds, the young girl was a screaming, blubbering slave to the beautiful cop. Brown, who would share mastery over the prodigal Brooke, was not without generosity.

            Marie’s two-fold assault on Brooke’s sex triggered some unique aspects of her body, and she began oozing a tasty nectar of sex into her partner’s waiting mouth. The ooze became a steady flow of juice into Marie’s wide mouth and it seemed to come forever. Brooke thought so, too, as she came again and again under the care of her new mistress.

            “You need to get dressed – fully dressed,” Marie said as she licked the girl clean. Her deep-rooted professionalism allowed her to halt the session, even as Brooke reluctantly pulled on her skirt and new thong panties.

            “It feels like we’ve been doing this forever,” Brooke said. “Are you sorry Mr. Brown fixed us up?”

            “Fought it like a tiger,” Marie said, looking up from fastening a shoe. “Christ, how I fought it. All I got for my effort was total paralysis and a lesson in obedience. Brown made me pull my own gun out against myself. I pulled the trigger, but it was empty – which I did not know.”

            “He would have let you kill yourself?” Brooke gasped.

            “No. He took out the bullets – or had me do it – and hid it from me,” she said. “It was just his way of showing that his control was total – or as total as he wanted it to be.”

            She sighed and hugged Brooke, and both women felt it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

            “Damn. Mr. Brown is good,” Brooke said against Marie’s shoulder. Marie laughed and shook her head; they were a ways away from being total slaves.

            “I have to pick up my sister?” Brooke asked, grabbing her shoulder bag. “Is she home or what?”

            “Home, babe,” Marie said tenderly. “She’s waiting for you.”

            But upon leaving Marie’s apartment, Brooke’s thoughts went totally towards the task at hand – pick up Ally, ever the protective big sister.

            Marie followed five minutes later, her thoughts being only surprise at the ease that she negotiated two flights of stairs in stiletto heels.




            At the same time, Fiore was enjoying his newly discovered talent. The veteran cop, who only had vague images of his sexual life in recent days, was happily flogging away at his now oversized cock. He was still not sure of how or why he’d picked up this ability, but he was on the verge of of his third dry orgasm of the morning. Every bit as intense as any load he’d lost, Fiore was a happy flogger.

            Exhausted, Fiore tucked his cock away, strapped on his other, loaded gun and headed to work.




            Ally, braless puppies jumping like Christmas morning, bounded out of the front door and down the walkway to where Brooke sat in the idling family SUV. They kissed like best friends.

            “Retainer?” Brooke asked, eyebrow cocked. Her little sister smiled in response to show, yes, she was complying.

            “How was your sleepover?” Ally asked with a giggle.

            “Great! Good. I think,” she said as she expertly put the big machine in gear. “It feels right.”

            It all feels so right. Those words continued to bounce around in Brooke’s head, even as she cupped one of Ally’s blossomed boobs with her left hand. Touching, squeezing – it felt as perfectly real, and so perfect.

            “Would you do that to me in school?” Ally purred sleepily.

            “No. No way,” Brooke said. “We can’t show our secrets.”

            “I say we should,” Ally said, sitting up. “I say we should show that we fuck each other, that we go topless, that I can take my retainer off --”

            “NO!” Brooke screamed, grabbing Ally’s hand as she reached toward her mouth. “You can never do that again. We don’t know if the next time that we can change you back.”

            “Listen to your sister,” Dee Dee said from the doorway. “Aren’t we freaks enough?”

            “I’m not a freak,” Ally said, squinting into the sun.

            “You never know what we won’t be able to change,” Dee Dee said.

            “’We?’ What did Dad do to you?” Ally said.

            “You think I thought of this coochee myself?” Dee Dee laughed. The tanned, buxom beauty pulled off her shorts and support panties to reveal a masterpiece of piercing. Dee Dee’s distended labia had six rings on each side capped by a diamond stud clit rod. Gold chains tied them all together. On a New Year’s Eve past, a then 18-year-old Dee Dee showed her father that her piercings were capable of supporting her entire weight. She hung and spun from her pussy in a dazzling show.

            Dee stood over her sisters and each one pulled down a flap of skin with one hand while inserting a closed fist into the gaping hole above them. They clasped their hands together in a power handshake that quickly evolved into something else – a three-foot long cock that now served to conjoin the sisters at the shoulder.

            Now of one mind, the two younger Gillespie girls thrust into their sister like a precision piston, silent and forceful, while Dee Dee cried out for the mercy that was absent when her father imposed this bizarre ritual on his three youngest daughters.

            Dee Dee’s oversized vagina soon began pumping out a golden mucous that covered the two now-nude girls. They enthusiastically licked off of themselves and each other, current length of tongue the two now owned allowing that worked to be done in short order.  The two young sisters settled back, separated their hands and arms and Ally fondled her newly sprouted boobs for the 10th time.

            “How can your body do that?” Ally marveled.

            “Do what?” Dee Dee asked as she sat poolside with a chink! of metal.

            “Take three feet of cock, stupid,” Ally laughed.

            “And you're not asking how your pretty, slip of a left arm and Brooke’s strong right arm turned into three feet of cock to fuck me?” Dee Dee laughed, spreading her legs apart for more attention. “Little Ally, it’s all Dad.”

            “What does she mean, our arms?” Ally asked Brooke, who shrugged. But as the two girls looked upon Dee Dee’s huge pussy, they again joined hands for another fuck session. Fifteen minutes later, Dee Dee left the poolside, still laughing at the many subtle commands her father programmed into them. Not once did she consider how hideous her own body’s deformation was – only that she was allowed to sufficiently cover it.

            But every now and then, she had a fleeting memory of her former coach standing over her with a cock the size her sister’s two conjoined arms. It, too, was some three feet long and fit Dee Dee’s snatch perfectly.

            Exhausted by their relentless thrusting even  as they were commanded to forget, Ally and Brooke lay full out in the sun and enjoying the late-in-the-year aberration of weather. Brooke began gently tracing letters on Ally’s nude back, and her sister – still silently wishing she could shed her retainer and become the fuck machine he father destined her to be – accepted Brooke’s tracings with a purr. In response, Brooke ran her index finger down her sister’s sweaty back and into her oiled ass.

            “Please let me fuck you!” Ally said in a tense whisper.

            “Sounds tempting,” Brooke replied in a like whisper, kissing her sister’s hair. “But it means more to me to have a pretty, sexy sister to love than to live with a walking, talking vagina.”

            “But Daddy…” Ally began.

            “Daddy was sick and getting worse,” Brooke said, running her index finger all the way up Ally’s asshole to drive home her point. “You’re so pretty. You looked awful like that!”

            “Awful?” she rose up. Brooke was surprised to see her sister was crying.

            “Worse than awful,” Brooke said. “I thought I’d lost my best friend.”

            Ally turned over on her back, locking on her sister’s PC-created green eyes, and spread her legs.

            “Tongue,” she said. Brooke nodded and lowered her face onto the younger girl. Like her early morning encounter with her new mistress, the police woman, Brooke did not hesitate when her tongue unrolled like a meat carpet a full two feet in front of her face, the tip just barely touching Ally’s clit and drawing a gasp.

            A notion made Brooke smile, and she rolled up her tongue like a burrito and slid it slowly all the way down Ally’s inviting pussy. She then relaxed and filled every inch of her sister’s vagina with wiggling, probing meat. She was able to hit several pleasure spots at once and drew a squeal as Ally swore her heart skipped a beat.

            Brooke humped her sister with her amazing tongue for more than a minute, drawing a whimpering orgasm. She relaxed, keeping it in place with a series of small thrusts. Ally’s taste was incredible and Brooke was likewise in tears when she finally drew her tongue back into her mouth. With a noisy slurp, she cleaned up Ally’s juices.

            “You have great taste,” Brooke giggled as she hugged her sister.




Wilkinson and Fiore arrived at the precinct at the same time, sharing a knowing, non-partnerlike kiss in the elevator. Upon arrival on the main floor, they found Brown staring deeply at a massive high-definition screen, one that brought the reality of Master PCs power into stark relief. Those not in thrall to its power shuddered, which at this point was only Brown.

            “Family?” Brown asked as they entered.

            “Whose?” Fiore said first.

            Good, thought Brown. He’s gotten through the haze.

            “Joanna Moore,” he said instead. “Any known family?”

            “None,” Marie said, taking off her jacket to reveal the battle a lone button was waging to stay attached. “Unless she could erase them with your computer thing.”

            “Not sure,” Brown admitted. “I don’t know if anyone truly has pushed the limitations of this thing. If anyone would, she would.”

            “Why her as opposed to someone like yourself?” Marie asked.

            “I might have more knowledge about its bells and whistles,” Brown said, wincing at the inappropriate label of potential life-changing commands, “but she has one more thing working in her case. She’s desperate.”

            That grim fact hung over the silent room for nearly a half-minute.

            “Detective Wilkinson,” Fiore broke the ice, “are your boobs bigger?”




            After recovering from her wound thanks to her computer and a long sleep, the first thing Joanne The Fugitive (as she’d come to think of herself) did was delete her baseline profile on the Master PC program. At that moment, Dr. Gillespie’s heavily sought assistant ceased to exist.

            Instead, she assumed the petite, vastly different look of a young waitress she had encountered at Fazoli’s that first night on the run. Her only purpose was to find an identity to assume and she briefly considered deleting the girl outright. But Joanne had no desire to assume a 15-year-old girl’s life – just her appearance.

            But having young Lindsey McCall as her new baseline body served its purpose – evasion from other Master PC operators. Building on her new baseline – Lindsey’s was changed in several minor, invisible ways, including curing what would soon show up as breast cancer – Joanne took on a different exterior every time she ventured outside. In private moments, she was exactly as Lindsey was.

            Joanne acquired modest wardrobes for both a man and a woman in an array of sizes. But as a rule, her body-for-a-day choices were similar in size and shape to any other. Today, Joanne was a 25-year-old man with a mullet and a skin condition – something that mattered little as she watched George Clooney in a darkened theater.

            She masturbated her foot-long cock with a discretely hidden third hand. At the moment of truth, she turned her cock upward and bent over to swallow her load without drawing attention to her actions. Sucking yourself off is the best, she thought to herself.

            She was nowhere near ready to attempt to date anyone of either sex; it was still an all-too-vivid memory of that girl and her freak of an unborn child when Dr. Gillespie allowed her to get carried away that one, solitary time.

            The Gillespie Freak Show, she thought with a shudder. Or was that an orgasm? No one deserves that kind of life – or death.

            As she shuffled out of the theater into the snowy Midwestern night, she again considered her perfect scenario. Find some legit beauty queen, the younger the better, and make herself an opposite sex identical twin of the woman. She’d program the woman to love the newly created coupling and Joanne would fuck happily every after. But beauty queens draw attention.

            Even a simple mind erasure, while covering her tracks, would show up if a Master PC was scanning people in the area. Right now, she was more than 800 miles from Gillespie’s house of horrors and even that wasn’t a comfortable distance.

            Arriving at her apartment – vacant as far as the world knew – Joanne changed from the scruffy man to a normal, 15-year-old girl as she stepped over the threshold. Discarding clothes along the way, she stepped out onto her private deck nude and stepped into her waiting hot tub. The pulsing jets washed her cares away for a time, but even as she drifted off to sleep in the 105 degree current, Joanne’s thoughts turned to the horrific post-mortem commands Gillespie sent to his women in his final, frenzied hours.

            As a willing partner in much of his experimentation, Joanne was surprised the knowledge continued to trouble her. Maybe it was because there was some time left to save the girls; once Gillespie’s Master PC program went 30 days without a command from him through his secret back door, it would begin a series of changes on both the Thomas and Gillespie women that would shock and horrify anyone sane.

            Unknown to her, Joanne, too was the recipient of a post-mortem command from the insane final days of her boss. Each day she put off acting on the information she owned, she moved one day closer to sealing her own fate. Indeed, 800 miles was nowhere near far enough away. And, as she fell asleep awash in her hot tub, she moved one day closer to that day.