Body Shifter's Universe: The Hitchhiker

by Seraglio

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, True Story, Science Fiction, Group Sex, Harem, Polygamy/Polyamory, Lactation, .

Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: She was soaking wet, scantily clad, and she wanted me - she was a total slut! And so much more. I would show off my insatiable lover to the world, I should have known better; she's not - was never human. And her aching pussy became a doorway to womanly pleasures to rival the harem of Solomon; as my house fills to overflowing with willing concubines, I wonder what effect this will have on my divorce, as I plunge into another gushing pussy with my foot-long cock.

Thanks to JS for creating the Body Shifters Universe

It was difficult to say which of them was more foolish. The hitch-hiker or the guy who picks her up? These days, either or both could be modern-day highwaymen looking for an easy mark. But it was my groin that decided for me. She was there in my headlights, all sleek and slick from the pounding rain, the sheer white smock she wore seemed far more appropriate for a wet-T shirt contest than a lonely night on I-55 smack dab in the middle of Mother Earth's pissing match against the slickening asphalt.

She must have known that such flimsy rags couldn't hold up amidst such wind and rain, why wear them? It looked like a nightshirt almost, but clingy in a way that riveted attention to her jutting breasts.

"Where 'ya headed?" I asked. Doing my thirty-nine year-old divorcee best to sound sexy - yet not scary as I hoped my comb-over wasn't too conspicuous.

"Wherever you are, sexy." She purred, not seeming at all distressed. I was somewhat taken aback. Shouldn't she be cold, shivering, eager to get out of the rain. Rather than shaking, clutching or rubbing her hands to keep warm, she seemed mainly to thrust dripping wet chest out towards me.

"Ehrr ... I'm headed to St. Louis..."

"Sounds great!" She smiled with ebullient energy.

If mystery woman appreciated the fact that the heat in my economy sedan was turned up all the way, then she didn't seem to show it. She also didn't seem to appreciate the fact that her sopping wet negligee - see-through night-shirt should had dried out half-an-hour ago. She writhed in her seat, making moon-eyes at me and flaunting her cereal-bowl boobs (still dripping wet) in my general vicinity.

"S-so ... uh ... what do I call you?"

"Stacey..." she answered throatily, her hand gracing my inner thigh.

"Y-yeah ... if you don't mind my saying so - you seem to be ... a little bit ... forward..."

"I know, that's 'cause I'm hoping that once you get me back to your place that you'll spend the whole night fucking me." She declared honestly.


Other than my increasingly hard cock, one thing odd that I noticed was the way that 'Stacey' seemed determined to tidy up the passenger seat. Straw wrappers and plastic bags she would neartly fold and compress out of sight when she wasn't jiggling herself at me. Her amber hair framed a face that was a saucy mix of sultry and petite that was too erotic to be innocent, but with a demure softness that off-set the nervousness some men might feel from approaching such an ultra-babe. Sometimes, night driving like this, it's easy to nod off - highway hypnosis they call it. But here, this was more like highway titnosis - I was actually so distracted by Stacey's groaning, moaning, and fondling of her own body that I swerved a few times - to which she giggled.

"Ok ... Stacey, what's your story."

"I'm looking for a man."

"Any guy in particular, friend ... brother?"

"Oh no, nothing like that - I need a man who craves sex."


The truth hit me like a bolt from the blue - or black and rainy, in this case. "Huh ... well, you're a long ways off the beaten path for a ... erh ... working girl."

"Yes, I had no place to go - but I will work very hard ... very, very hard." again came those soft hands dangerously close to my crotch. I wasn't sure we were speaking the same language.

"N-no ... no ... I shouldn't get involved ... I'm not paying you anything ... I'll just ... find a nice looking motel to drop you off at." She was visibly crestfallen - and still wet - in more ways than one.

"Ahh ... c'mon please ... just gimme one load! Just one load! Just give me a chance!" Her body seemed to flow towards me - and my pants were unzipped more deftly than I'd thought possible, by hands with considerable experience. It was totally unreal - this chick was a total hottie, with her figure, I would have thought maybe Olympic swim-team, so sleek and toned, but with breasts like that - no, she was too busty for anything that athletic, angelic face and hair like a cinnamon river - couldn't have been over thirty - and here she was, her face pistoning on my lap - her ruby-perfect lips licking and sucking my manmeat. The unsought blow-job was surreal - yes, her tongue teased and tormented my member with an incredible, slippery enthusiasm - yet there were also times when her mouth seemed to close around me like a vice - a wet prison of womanly pleasure almost like ... like a pussy? Wait a 'sec, it sounded like this girl was asking for payment in ... what my cum?

"Ohh ... oh man ... I ... I never." Tires screeched - she wasn't helping my concentration. But when she moaned, and started blowing air on my cock to add stimulation, well then It just ... didn't seem to matter. Psycho-nympho from an insane asylum - or hooker on a bad luck streak - I was taking this chick home with me.

There were more things that didn't seem to make sense - if I took time to think about it - which I didn't. She didn't seem to mind the old papers and disarray of the furniture in my cramped bachelor's pad - I was worried that a lot of chicks would get turned off by a lot of disorder - but her only concern was what was in my pants. It was unreal - she practically lead me through the door by my cock! Hand down my pants she pulled me while I tried to point to the direction of my bedroom. For a babe so hot - so eager - well sure, I would have shelled out a couple hundred bucks for the experience. But it wasn't like that; this chick had some kind of pressing, physical need - like ... like she had to get my dick in her for relief! Well, whatever the story - that's what she was getting! Strange, when I tore at her flimsy, soaked nightshirt, it seemed to flow away from me. And as I pressed myself against the tight curves and moist silkiness of her aroused, feminine perfection, her clothes seemed to ... vanish? If there wasn't another pressing concern, it would have bothered me the way her garments just melted away somewhere. But she was naked now, and I savored her spectacular, jiggling-rippling titflesh, the softness of her neck - the toned sleekness of her thighs. I wasn't even paying attention to whether we had landed on my bed - or collapsed in passion on the floor. Probably a lot of both. And when I finally released - when finally I blew my load into a cunt more eager, more grasping than I had dreamed possible - she seemed even more relieved than me.

And man was I late! I had to rush out the door hopping as I tried to get my pants on for another day of Insurance Claim adjustments, with no time to check on my erstwhile lover. She might have been in the bathroom, couldn't check up on her - no time! Well ... could be some kind of grifter or thief - did I dare leave her alone in my house? Ehh ... hardly anything worth stealing anyway...

And hours later, I certainly expected her to be gone when I got home from work. The unbelievable night before had practically been erased from my mind - and it was easier to convince myself that the whole impossible episode had been just a wet dream. Nothing could have prepared me for the unlikely sight that greeted me upon trudging in through the door after another day's semi-honest work: The place was spotless! All the bills, envelopes, discarded paper was gone! Someone had swept the floor, reorganized the furniture, and there was a steaming-hot steak dinner on the table! The apparent culprit, Stacey stood smiling eagerly, expectantly with her hands behind her back, wearing a black and white french-maid's outfit with an unusually low-cut skirt.

"W-wow ... you did all this while I was at work?"

Her head bobbed in agreement. "I hope you like the way I arranged the furniture; I'm going for something of a Feng Shui effect."

"I don't know what to say ... you didn't have to do that ... I just thought you'd gather your things and leave."

"Well ... I was hoping that if I stayed and tidied up, you'd be grateful and fuck me again. "

"I uhh ... no, no ... I've got to budget carefully on my salary - there's just ... you what? You cleaned my place so you could have more sex with me?" She nodded, smiling with her pearly whites.

"And if you don't mind my saying so, the place certainly needs a woman's touch."

My next words died on my lips as what she was saying seemed to hit me. Women that do chores and clean houses in exchange for sex just didn't compute. As my brain struggled to process this insanity, I began arguing without really thinking about what I was saying.

"I can't afford to pay a Housekeeper right now." She raised her eyebrow in puzzlement.

"Sure you can pay me! I know from personal experience that you've got sperm!"

"And ... you mean to say my ... sperm can be used as payment?" The gleam that lit in her blue eyes was almost desperate.

"Of course! Just gimme a week - I'll cook and clean and organize in exchange for your hard cock and your delicious sperm!"

"I don't..." I wasn't sure if I meant to say that I don't believe her or don't believe in my own sanity after hearing such a proposal.

"Just one week, Master." she pleaded.

"Excuse me - Master? And ... and ... where did you get that frilly little french maid outfit?" Stacey shrugged.

"It seemed appropriate." was her non-answer. "I promise, you won't regret it! One week!" Still fearing some voyeristic version of candid camera I felt a great deal of suspicion - yet what could I do but nod in mute agreement?

"Oh! But where are my manners; you must be hungry!" she beckoned towards the steaming hot steak-dinner on the table, complete with place-settings and red wine. I hesitated uneasily for several interminable moments before I sat down. This behavior was so surreal, I was caught so offguard that I moved in sort of a hopeful haze as if afraid it might all be a wonderful dream.

"Mmph! You're an ... excellent ... cook..." I muttered between mouthfuls. She beamed, as if she lived for the praise of others. But it was unlike any meal in recent memory - the chef seemed determined to seduce me during the course of the meal. She moaned in the seat next to me, her hands caressing her own chest. Her french maid outfit didn't have any visible buttons, yet somehow it seemed to part in the middle to allow me glimpses of cleavage and - I could swear her boobs where bigger - great bulging slopes that could easily contain a canteen's worth of liquid volume. She leaned back, and I knew what was coming - footsie. Her left foot slid into my chair to graze my crotch, quickly teasing me into growing hardness but ... but ... something was wrong, her foot seemed to become ... unusually agile, and I could feel her unzipping me! I nearly choked on my steak. I could feel her grabbing through my underwear and then - then my cock! It felt just as it did yesterday when she had wrapped her hand around my aching penis. But - it was her foot! It was as if ... as if she had a demure, delicate hand on her foot! And I could see that she was sticking her leg out towards me under the table. That was the last straw.

"Mmmmhhhhh ... don't know ... what kind of crazy game you're playing lady ... but if you wanna get screwed - you got it." I was beyond restraint. I leapt up, cock dangling and grabbed her thighs right there. Where some women would have been frightened, she only cooed with delight as I bent her over my kitchen table and positioned my rod before a gaping, sopping pussy. Somehow, her skirt had disappeared - and she wore no panties. I grasped at a bulging tit - and found nothing between me and her bare skin. Gurgling with delight, I thrust my rigid meat into her naked slit from behind. I knew this was wrong - she was wrong - but I'd decided to stop asking myself questions. I closed my eyes with the pleasure, and when I opened them the entire Maid's outfit was gone, as if it had never been, just sleek and toned nude womanly flesh. As suspicious as it was, I was afraid that if I sought an answer, it might interfere - I might find some reason why I couldn't empty my cock into her - and that was what mattered now. She was twisting and writhing with boneless grace and flexibility - contorting herself until - "AHHHH!!" she had bent downwards into a circle - and licked me. A sinuous tongue licked my exposed cock and balls while I reamed her from behind, her body forming a perverse circle. I surrendered fully - strange that I seemed so much more virile than normal - I had yet another full load of jizz - and she was getting it all. Pumping again, and again into her spasming feminine core. My seed was practically wrenched from me. And again. And again.

I barely heard the stern, predictable lecture from Mr. Tightass, my thoroughly depressing superior in the company. (Not his real name, but it might as well have been.) I shambled to my dingy cubicle for another thrilling day of figuring out loopholes the company could use to prevent having to pay back on our policies. I was late, unusually so - and it had been worth it. The girl was on fire! I couldn't hope to analyze anything that had happened, my mind couldn't grasp the how and why of my good fortune, though the cause of my exhaustion was easy enough to figure out. My cell phone throbbed in my pocket.

It was the Ex ... a low grumble escaped my throat.

"Hey - Jake's taking me to the Bahamas this weekend, and Kailey says hi - good luck in Court ... heh!" Bitch. The wrenching proceedings of divorce court and divvying up who gets what was almost worth a bullet to the head to avoid ... almost. And the Ex was flaunting her 'irreconcilable differences' at me, differences named 'Jake', a rich urologist from Kansas City. She was always like that; trying to flaunt her new Dr. Boyfriend as if to prove that she didn't need me - rubbing it in my face. But then - maybe I didn't need her; maybe I had something to rub in her face...

Home at last - spic and span and terribly conspicuous. She cleans my house in exchange for sex? Don't question ... don't doubt ... ask too many questions and I might lose the chance! So Stacey wanted one week to prove herself. Prove what? That she's some kind of slut? She proved it; over and over. On the living room couch, the kitchen table, bent over the kitchen sink. It was the fastest, most desperate week of my life. We mated with a mission. She seemed determined for my cum! And I'd always heard that men cum before women, and that the female orgasm is supposed to be harder to reach but this chick ... it's like the touch of my sperm was enough to set her off into back-scratching, pussy-clencing climax!

And she was tall, well over six feet and ... no, no she wasn't. I was sure she'd been about five-seven when I'd picked her up ... but towards Thursday, she was looking like a draft-pick for the WNBA. Taller chicks usually don't dig anybody of lesser stature - but if anything her manic hunger for my cock and sperm only grew! As Stacey grew taller, most toned and strong, there seemed a subtle attitude shift - before she would posture her naked sex and wait to be penetrated, but once she blossomed into a taller-than-me uber babe, she seemed to take the initiative - grabbing me by the hands, or the cock and wrapping her limber body around me - she still cooked and cleaned, but in sex many times she would become the aggressor.

But I found myself wanting more; I had to let someone else know what I had ... What did I have? Was she my girlfriend? Close enough. I had to take this sweet thing for a night on the town! She agreed; (she seemed unable to deny me anything!) She stood, and her perpetual nudity vanished - a red spaghetti-strap sequined cocktail dress seemed to flow outwards from her skin complete with ruby-red stilleto heels.

"I ... I've seen you ... do that but ... how? What - what are you?" I couldn't avoid asking. Stacey smiled sharkishly.

"Is there any answer I could give that would make you stop wanting to have sex with me?" Hmm ... she has a horrible venereal disease? Well, if so I've got it too by now. Anything else that would make me go soft for Stacey?

"Not really."

"Alrighty then."

Yes, of course I went past all the boutiques and shops that the Ex used to visit, I knew her friends would gossip. (Though clothes shopping seemed pointless) Took in a movie; (Brave One with Jodie Foster) Stacey seemed not to really react strongly to any of the big-city sights; she just absorbed and studied everything with pure, perfect curiosity. Soaking it all in.

We almost made it through dinner. It was one of those classy bistros with a frenchy name, and I reveled in the stares. This sumptuous goddess with me! ME! But I could tell Stacey was growing increasingly restless. She shifted in her seat and ... and no, no her boobs weren't getting bigger were they? I must have had too much champagne; no woman can just inflate her tits three whole inches in girth in just ten seconds! Valleys ... acres of cleavage. She did the footsie trick again - without taking her shoes off. Even though I knew it was her leg she was pushing into my lap - it seemed to become a slim, dainty hand that began to jack me off!

Stacey took her wine glass in hand, ran her fingers down the shaft, then balanced it between the vast slopes of her tightly bound cleavage.

"I wish this was your cock..." she declared honestly. Then she spilled the champagne down, down the front of her dress. The fabric (or whatever it was) clung to her flesh, perfectly outlining each erect nipple. The beverage stain spread out in her groin - a wet, suggestive stain at her crotch. "I wish this was your cum."

"Check please!"

Enough was enough ... I told myself as I stumbled back home, back up the steps after an exhausting days' work totally distracted by my domestic situation. I had to get Stacey to tell me what she was. Where did she come from, why did she have these ... abilities? I tolerated the weirdness for fear that I might lose the sex, but I still needed answers. If nothing else, I needed to know that I wasn't completely insane.

But the house, if anything was even cleaner, more orderly than usual - Stacey had been busy! A succulent meal wih three plates of barbecued beef ribs with buttered mashed potatoes had been prepared, and I could smell that the spices were just the blend I preferred. The T.V. was on to my favorite channel, and it was almost time for my favorite show - Law & Order, Special Victims Unit. The newspaper had been half-folded on the armrest of my recliner to the political cartoons, just like I liked. Never, ever did the Wife go to so much trouble as this crazy nymphomaniacal hitch-hiker with the magic powers. And I ... wait a sec ... three place settings? Was Stacey expecting company?

"MASTER'S HOME!" Spoke two girlish voices in unison. Bounding out from around the corner came two teenage girls dressed in those frilly french-maid outfits with the scandalously short skirt. They were pale, with thin and elegant faces and night-black hair, they seemed to be Eastern European in heritage. Yet they were in my house, seemed to have cooked me dinner, and called me 'Master'.

"I'm sorry ... what the hell is all this?" The girls snickered.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't remember?" Both girls spoke in perfect unison, and the french-maid suits flowed and morphed before my eyes into a white, filmy nightshirt, seemingly soaked through with water - the curves of their sleek bodies plastered vividly. Then, their bodies - and faces changed! Flowing and shifting, they assumed a slightly taller stature and amber-brown hair - each becoming identical to Stacey! It was surreal, like a revolving mirror of the past as they walked a circle around me, smiling broadly.

"I'm Tracey," said the clone in front of me.

"I'm Lacey," said she behind me. "We're Stacey's children!"

"I't's official ... I'm insane!" I tried to keep a smile on my face. They both melted back into their previous, dark-haired forms.

"No silly, it's just that we're not human. That's all." Oh well, that explains everything!

"Mom was a little shy about her true nature, but I'm not." Said ... erhhh ... I think it was Lacey.

"Stacey didn't want to tell you that we're shapeshifters who need fresh, live sperm to grow and survive." Tracey said.

"Mom got enough from you last night, and she split into us!" Lacey cooed.

"It's what we shifters all dream about; finding a nice, horny man who'll give us enough genetic material to assimilate - since we can't produce our own. With a man's sperm, we can grow, and grow until we can complete our lifecycle!"

"S-so Stacey is dead?" I assumed. The girls frowned.

"No, silly! Everything that she was has been copied as part of us! We just get a new default shape from reshuffling of the genes."

"But we know everything she knew, and feel everything she did." Lacey assured me.

"There's no greater pleasure for a shifter than the moment of fission - that ultimate orgasm that completes you forever!" Tracey said. "And with your help - and loads of your sperm, we'll both reach it together! Just like Mom did! I'm so proud!" She beamed. I wasn't much of a scientist, but I remembered from my high school days that there was something else in nature that did this, the pattern they described had a precedent.


Germs did this ... ate and grew and split in two - to start all over again. I bolted for the door. Perhaps the girls were expecting this. Lacey leapt onto my back and Tracey ducked in front of me and went for my crotch.

"No Master! There's nothing to worry about!"

"We need you!" Tracey said, as she wrestled with my pants zipper.

"You weren't afraid of Stacey, there's no reason to worry about us!" Lacey assured me in between wet kisses to my cheek. And then Lacey had my dick out and ... and began to lick, and suck and lick ... and their clothes melted back into their bodies. Their tight, hard, young teenage bodies. They were slender young hotties with gymnast builds - and their naked, perfect flesh was enough to overcome my fear ... and Tracey ... she had my cock in her mouth ... and Lacey, she kissed me with such feeling, warmth, passion. Maybe I should have kept running - but instead I moaned ... slid to the floor - and my clothes were not long for this world. All cares seemed to melt away as two barely-eighteen hardbodies ravished my own body.

I knew exactly what was going to happen, and I knew they'd throw me out of the Chic department store for what I - what they were doing. But I was lucky enough to just happen to be in the same place as the Ex, and as the old saying goes; if ya got it, flaunt it.

For a moment, I forgot about showing-up the ex-wife from the sizzling ecstasy of having Lacey sucking my cock with her usual enthusiasm. We were behind the curtain in the Men's dressing room, but the noises we made were such that anyone who passed by would no doubt conclude some illicit sexual tryst. Tracey was trying on outfits, but she didn't take them off the rack; she just looked at them and her flesh morphed into a simulation of the outfit. She seemed to prefer red cocktail dresses and pink bikinis. And I couldn't help but notice that her figure had changed.

Without exerting conscious effort, her boobs had grown into a nice, handful-apple size on her tight young body, and I could have sworn she was two inches taller. The girls would alternate periodically, and it would be Tracey going down on me, while Lacey's flesh mimicked the store's clothing inventory. Lacey enjoyed those ultra-short silky negligee night gown pull-overs.

"I'm sorry, but we have to ask you to ... all of you to leave." Came the predictable demand from a smartly dressed middle-aged woman. I laughed, gave Lacey a pat on the rump and with either girl on my arm strutted slowly, deliberately, out the door. And She was there - the Ex pretending not to notice behind her cheap sunglasses; but I knew that women couldn't help but keep track of such things.

And I would have continued showing off the babes, but this time I was the one who couldn't wait. My cock had been harder, hornier these past few days, and even though I'd already had two spectacular blow-jobs, in just a few hours I was painfully erect. I would stop showing off and take these sweet young things home for a proper screw - all night long.

The girls grew each day, my sperm was like nectar of the gods to them. A week later they no would no longer be mistaken for jail-bait cheerleaders. Their legs ... longer, their breasts ... blossoming spectacularly. A few good, juicy loads of sperm caused them to mature. As I groped and fondled Lacey's tits in bed, I reflected that both of them reminded me now of those kinds of girls who waste their college years on gossip and random sex until they drop out and become porno-strippers. Their tits ... great mounds as long as the length of my hand, and as wide as cereal bowls. Their figures had filled out wonderfully.

"Do we please you, Master?" My response was a muffled gurgled between Lacey's boobs as Tracey rode me to explosive climax. No, they were clearly alien entities - but this was better than any girlfriend a guy like me could ever get. As far as I was concerned they were better than human. Maybe in the long-run, I couldn't trust them, maybe there was some horrible, extraterrestrial agenda that would bring ruin upon the Earth. It didn't matter; I would enjoy this situation as much as possible until the Mother Ship beamed me up for anal probing or whatever.

The next day though, I was in a rush as I jammed my noticeably longer cock into my pants while fumbling for my briefcase.

"Damn! I told Mr. Tightass I'd have those claim forms processed by this morning! I was so busy screwing around with you two that I - "

"It's fine, Master. We filled those out for you while you slept."

"Huh?!?" I opened the case and examined the documents. Everything cross-referenced and notarized perfectly. "You ... you did this but..."

"We knew it would please you."

"And we can learn anything. Our minds are as flexible as our bodies." Lacey said. "And you're our Master; we'd do anything to make you happy.

"Anything..." Lacey continued; pressing her naked, porn-star body and spectacular boobs against me. I believed them.

More than a week later, they were no longer asking for permission. They had blossomed into incredible seven-foot tall amazons with washboard stomachs with awesome muscle tone, but there was no way a human woman with their level of apparent athleticism could have such high, perfect breasts large enough to contain gallon milk jugs. Now I was the one lying on the kitchen table, and I was pinned down beneath Tracey as she rode my tremendous cock.

That was how it had been these past few days. The girls still served me, but any hint of my arousal, and their own sexual need took over, and they could not take no for an answer. They seemed to become more animalistic as they neared the culmination of their life-cycles - their hungers and urges more desperate. They were determined to absorb enough sperm to split, and I was more than eager to cooperate.

Lacey began her fission as my cock spewed my creamy load into Tracey's hot, clenching cunt for the second time today. She grew new arms, from her back, new boobs, that seemed to flow and shift from her chest to her back, near her shoulder blades, and a new ass ... as her shapeshifting body pulled itself apart, stretching ... stretching - growing pale in color as Lacey's face began to distort and the new creature took shape.

They came apart suddenly, two new bodies flowing into new women as two new cunts clenched in orgasm. And then it was Tracey's turn. She suddenly clutched her mammoth tits as they began to multiply. Two throats moaned in ecstasy. Two women's voices howling in delight - and then three voices - and then four voices.

They had coalesced into new bodies - and took a brief moment to shiver in the afterglow of the spawning orgasm. Tracey had proliferated into two sleek young girls with platinum blond hair and green eyes.

"I'm Tiffany!" Said the blond on the left.

"I'm Theresa!" Said the other.

But Lacey's progeny had taken a different turn. One of them had become a bronze-skinned, mahogany-haired beauty with dark eyes and brows, apparently hispanic. But her sister had a deep, dark skin tone and resembled a girl from India or perhaps Pakistan.

"Call me Linda!" said the hispanic hottie.

"I'm Lisa!" said the Indian girl.

Perhaps remembering the way I panicked the first time I was confronted with their reproductive cycle, the new young hardbodies tackled me, plastering me with kisses. Lisa was the first to inhale my nine-inch cock while the others wrapped their arms around me as if to prevent my escape.

"Don't worry, Master." said Tiffany, frantically kissing my neck and cheek.

"We're here to serve you, and pleasure you!" insisted Theresa. The hispanic girl, Linda tried to speak and frantically kiss my chest at the same time.

"MMPH ... I promise ... MMM ... you will ... MMM-POP ... enjoy me." Linda assured me. The darker girl was swirling my cock with her tongue using the exact same technique that Lacey preferred - it seemed everything was preserved between generations of shape-shifters.

"It will... SLURP ... feel good... SLURP ... to give us... NNNGH ... your sperm." said Lisa, as she deep-throated me with more enthusiasm than the most jaded whore. I had no doubt I would. And so it was, for the next week I would go to bed every night buried beneath four nubile, nymphomaniacal, teenage beauties begging for my cock. And each morning, they would preen and strut naked before me as I forced my ever-hard dick into clothing to prepare for work - as if to remind me of what I had awaiting me at home - as if they were afraid I'd get freaked out by the bacterial splitting and the shape-shifting and not return.

Maybe I should have run off and found a 'real' woman. But it was something their ancestor Stacey had asked, "Was there any answer that would make me stop wanting to have sex?" This was too good; certainly too good to be true, but also too good to screw up. Nothing short of certain death would persuade me to stop blowing my loads for my gorgeous, servile harem. That, and I was beginning to feel a need to do so. Even under the best of conditions, my prodigious cock strained and tented my pants, bulging noticeably even when not erect, and honestly, I reveled in the stares I got at work. Stares and snickers from female co-workers. Should I have worried that my cock had nearly doubled in size? It gave me a sense of power, potency, and validation that had me singing inside.

Add to that a deep, instinctual craving to inseminate my girls as much as possible, and I almost wanted to say 'To hell with all this', and just walk out. But money, money, money ... that was the problem. Still, I felt I didn't belong in an office anymore, I belonged with the girls. They needed my sperm, and there was a deep craving inside me to give it to them.

I was like an animal, rutting and thrusting and groaning as I slammed my rigid meat into the dark-skinned young hottie beneath me. And it was taking less and less time to get hard again - and even after cumming - it felt like I hadn't released my full load when platinum blond Theresa got on all fours to posture her naked ass before me for breeding. Acting on a sudden, sex-crazed whim, I plunged my ten-inches of rigid meat into her rectum. She quivered, but the hole morphed into a slick, lubricated alternative pussy. It didn't seem to matter what hole I thrust myself within - so long as my sperm was inside them, they were rapturously happy. But I didn't sleep with four sleek teenagers for long ... their heavy-sperm diet caused them to blossom in days into mature, huge-boobed hotties that any sensible person would assume to be strippers.

When I was too exhausted to pin them to the bed, table, or just the floor for some hard fucking, I passivley reclined on he nearest mattress while they worshiped my cock with tongue, delicate fingers, and the slopes of their own growing tits. And I spurted myself freely on whatever face or pair of breasts was nearby. Not a drop was wasted. More days passed and I plunged myself, literally and figuratively into my new life as alien harem master. Nights were an obscene blur of feminine giggles, ever increasing loads of jiggling titflesh, and ejaculations that seemed to increase in both volume and frequency. My girls kept growing, as did my eagerness. The more sex I had, the more women I would get!

My last coupling did the trick, Amazon-Tiffany was writhing and rippling and I knew she was ready to split, I was so exhausted that I must have passed out during the momentous event. When I awakened, Lisa was deep-throating me in the way that she did best - it was not only lips but throat as well that plastered and massaged my cock - and no gag reflex. The dark-skinned girl seemed to specialize in fellatio. I was barely conscious, but aware that I was ejaculating into her, and that she too - was ready.

But after that my body had to recover, no exceptions. And I slept the sleep of the sexually gratified, truly gratified for the first time ... ever.

Light streamed through the windows as I awoke amidst a tangle of soft breasts, sleek thighs, and girlish twittering. Two teenage girls I didn't recognize where nuzzling my neck and chin. I couldn't place their ancestry; they were olive-skinned, dark-haired; maybe Arabic? Turkish? Well, they all seemed to speak English and where acclimated to America so far. And I couldn't be sure who had spawned the pale, curly-haired red-heads burying their faces in my groin. I suspected that the genetic reassortment that occurred when the Shifters split into their progeny was truly random. There was no telling what might be produced! The two at my crotch looked to be fresh fom Ireland, where they Lisa's daughters? It didn't matter, I could practically feel their instinctual devotion to me, their sire-master-husband. The sunlight played sparkling upon their ... wait ... the sunlight ... the sun was ... high in the sky ... very high ... and ... was it morning?

Oh no, it was at least noon! And I still had real-world pressures to deal with! Still had the job! and I - that was when the door swung open and I walked into my living room.

Sure enough. It was me, down to my suit and tie and balding, thirty-nine year old face and hairline. In the movies, whenever that happens, it means that some alien/robot/monster is replacing you for evil purposes, and I was caught totally off-guard.

"Don't worry Master;" Theresa said as my face and body flowed and morphed into a seven-foot tall platinum blond supermodel with tits big enough to fit her head inside of. A naked supermodel.

"I ... I ... I ... you..."

"On my - on your lunch-break Master. Oh, you didn't think that your job was too hard for us, did you Master? It's a position unworthy of your genius, and I'm glad to handle it for you. That way, you can stay home as much as you like and enjoy your harem." She smiled. I smiled.

"I bet I know what you'd like for lunch..." I suggested.

Theresa's clenching cunt absorbed a great, spurting load of my cum, enough for her to stretch, ripple, and split into two reddish-brown haired dark-skinned mullatto girls that shivered on the floor with the fiery ecstasy that came at the end (and beginning) of the shape-shifter life-cycle. Luckily, all of Theresa's knowledge, abilities, and memory where replicated in her spawn, and the new teenage hardbodies had no trouble mimicking my shape (and clothes) and flipped a coin to decide who would turn into me, go back to work and finish my shift. The creatures had surprised me before with their learning capacity - and frankly I was eager for any excuse to escape my daily grind. It seems my mind would be busy trying to remember all the names of my girls!

And on it went, more and more sex, and every week at least two new young nymphos with cheerleader physiques and a maniacal craving for my sperm.

"Oh no! While milking the cows, I accidentally injected myself with Dr. Bigem's experimental udder-growth formula!" wailed a sweet young blond girl standing in my living room wearing a pair of suspenders and blue jeans. Her chest jutted forward as her perky B-cups shook and jerked - nipples tenting the fabric as she huffed and puffed, the reaction to the serum causing a burst of erotic sensation.

I clapped twice in appreciation from my cushioned pallet where I lay nude on my chest. One of the second-generaton freckled red-heads spawned from dark-skinned Lisa's lineage was pounding me on the back, preparing my muscles for a deep-tissue massage. Her name was Laura, and although she had been spawned only four days ago, she had mastered the art of the massuesse in a way that would rival a true professional. That had caused some trouble; Laura had been able to arrogantly boast now that she pleased 'The Master' the best out of all the girls of all the lineages. Many of her sisters and cousins wept openly at the idea that they had failed me. As accustomed as I was to their behavior, it was still surreal to see all of these luscious supermodels scrambling to find new ways to pleasure me. To keep peace amongst them, I had to strain myself with a sleepless night of marathon sex to reassure all of my willing alien sex slaves that I did not mean to play favorites.

But that only made it worse; you try driving twenty-three thrashing nymphomaniacs to orgasm all in one night, and most men would be lucky to have only one pulled muscle. But the exertion of pounding so much pussy had strained me such that I really did need a massage from an expert! And Laura was happy to provide. Though less than a week old, the semen I'd spurted into her in gratitude had enabled her to mature from her slim and slender barely-legal body type into the big-boobed, porn-star middle phase of the life-cycle already. At this rate, she'd split by Saturday.

But enough about her - the Breast-Expansion Theatre had been a brilliant idea by the latest generation of teenage hardbodies to drive me to new heights of ecstasy that I honestly didn't deserve. I wasn't sure how they'd discovered my secret fetish, but their shape-shifting abilities allowed them to act out multiple roles credibly, and recreate stories of precocious young women that toyed with magic potions, unlikely machines and other such flimsy plot devices for an excuse to portray mammaries growing, blossoming, enlarging into ponderous mountains of tit to make a chiropractor surrender in defeat.

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