It would be over soon, Brent realized. After the wheel had come up on Red, when he'd bet on Black ... oohhh! Again! He was losing chips hand over fist! There went his stimulus rebate check, and his mortgage payment ... ouch!

"I can turn it around..." he hissed, gripping the rim of the table expectantly, amidst the glitz and glitter of the casino floor.

And the girls. Two of them. Brent knew they were the 'good- time' party-girl gold-diggers his mom had always warned him about but ... they were still being friendly, still treating him like a high-roller but ... really Brent couldn't pretend to be — even before he'd started losing his shirt, he wasn't the type who could plop down a million bucks in Vegas! Yet there were these two girls rubbing up to him, dressed in sequined red cocktail dresses that seemed to hoist up their generous boobs into spectacular display. Like true gamble-holics everywhere, Brent put down more chips than he could ever afford to lose, knowing that just one more spin would turn his luck around!

"31 ... black!" announced the gaming attendant.

"NOOOO!!! "A vein pulsed in Brent's forehead as the implications hit him, and his chips were scooped away. How onerous the sparkling lights and cheerful beeps and tinkles were now, now that he'd blown so much needed cash! It was an insult now, the slot machines, the blackjack. Brent stood there stunned, only able to muster a sneer of jealousy as he heard a slot machine behind ringing and buzzing as it showered coins onto a plump, sputtering old biddie.

"Ohhhh ... I think that was everything." Cooed one of the good-time girls behind him. 'Well, that's the last I'll see of them... ' Brent thought. The last thing he could have expected was the feel of a pair of nipples pressing into his back.

"So frustrating, when the game turns against you like that." Mewed the twin sister.

They were sparkling, platinum-blond goddesses, with a shock of white-gold hair covering their left eye for a flavor of supreme sultriness, and they were identical. To look at them was to be torn between dazzlingly glamorous faces and jutting boobs that seemed to rise up threateningly from below. On the male chauvinistic 1-10 scale of female attractiveness, each of them was a 12.

"I think you're in need of some serious comfort." said the other twin, er ... her name might have been Sally. And the two uber-babes hooked arms and really dragged Brent off the floor of the casino with an unfathomable urgency!

"It's kinda good that you finally lost..." said her twin ... er ... Brent wasn't sure of her name.

"Wh-wha?"

"Yes, if you'd kept on winning, we might have been out there for hours." moped Sally, as she rubbed Brent's shoulders. As the pair stumbled through the hallway, Brent caught of glimpse of the three of them in an ornate, decorative mirror on the way to the guest hotel in this colossal, resort-casino-hotel-entertainment palace as only Vegas could do properly. The mirror showed a pudgy, hairy-armed bald forty-year-old with a phony Hawaiian T-shirt desperately trying to hold on to his youth. And he was

surrounded by two toned and busty goddesses that could only be gold-diggers. But he'd lost all his money. They knew he'd lost all his money. Brent's mind struggled for an answer. He'd been seeing a lot of these impossibly gorgeous babes running around more and more lately, but he didn't approach them — babes like this ... had to be out of his league! And yet, here they were!

Could they be planning to slip him a Mickey and steal his wallet? But they know that he lost his money. Maybe they wanted to have sex with him, take compromising photos, and then blackmail him? But Brent was divorced twice, not married now. Nothing to pay Blackmail with.

The only possibility he came up with was that these gals wanted to knock him out, put him naked in a bathtub full of ice and harvest his kidneys — but that seemed so unlikely he decided to just roll with it and risk it. But it wasn't his kidneys, it was his cock they wanted. Inside a lavish, multi-thousand dollar suite, platinum -blond models thrashed atop his rampant dick. It was like a dream, a giggling, soft-skinned, silky-haired dream with ginormous tits, and a grip around his rod like wet velvet. And Brent was cumming! Cumming like never before! He didn't care anymore! Didn't care what the cost was, the price ... blasting his seed into these busomy supermodels seemed worth any risk. For a moment, the loss of all that money seemed a small price to pay.

Brent's face hurt. From Smiling. Apparently he'd drifted off locked in a rictus of pleasure. He arose from the silky, king-sized bed, and moaned. His cock! So huge, hard! His eight-inches of rigid meat poked through his bathrobe and throbbed with male potential. Not since he was a teenager had he felt this way! He knew that he ... he must have cum two -three times last night. Yet, it didn't seem to matter; Brent was even hornier than last night!

"Ooh ... you got any plans for that cock Mister?" It was Sally. Naked. Dripping wet. She seemed to have just emerged from the shower. Brent had the distinct insight that it was not necessarily because she needed cleaning — she simply wanted to look wet and shiny. For him. Blatantly, she postured herself. With a throaty moan she ran a hand between her ample, jutting breasts that glistened as though sprinkled with diamond dust. She was thrusting her womanly assets and her naked sex towards him, arching her back to present Brent with a nude paradise of female treasures to explore. She was panting, glaring at him the way he should have been glaring at them — sex objects, fuckmeat. Brent's breath caught in his throat. It was universal arousal. Every part of her tanned body exuded raw femininity in a way that was almost surreal. Her face — even her face seemed pornographic, plump lips, smoldering eyes, upswept, pointed eyebrows with a sharp, savage beauty. Every part of her flesh was sexy — For Brent, even her kneecaps seemed fuck-worthy.

"B-but wh- I don't understand; you girls know that I lost big at the tables last night! And you're still here? I just ... are you hooker- I mean, working girls? What is it that you-"

But she cut him off.

"I know men love to analyze and understand, but there's no need for that. No need to understand. You are going to fuck me. Me and my sister. You will grab me, force me to the bed, and impale me with you cock." She waved her cantaloupe-sized tits at him. "That is all that matters; you are male, I am female — and you will fuck me deep." And then the smell hit him. The musky, pungent animal-scent assailed Brent — the scent that he had never smelled before, yet he knew the odor, the deepest corners of his primal brain knew the scent. The scent of sex and breeding. The select molecules muffled Brent's higher brain functions, and questions began to die out as he groaned his desire. Her identical sister caressed him from behind, nibbled his ear, and bombarded him with a similar mating musk. Roaring his masculinity, the bathrobe slid from his shoulders as the two hotties slid to either side of him, and his cock throbbed with pleasure as a sex -rage filled him. It was difficult to remember, as his rational mind slipped away under a tide of predatory lust.

Two Months Later -

Another perk of being Master of a Shifter Harem was the effort the girls made to reconstruct and refurbish their man's surroundings into something most soothing, pleasant, and arousing from their man's perspective. While Brent would never achieve his dream of getting filthy rich and retiring to Hawaii, his girls had spent a lot of money and effort to bring the dream to him. Brent spent his days in a lush, marble- floored atrium with tropical- looking plants, a skylight, and a variety of Jacuzzis built into the floor. Dimly, he was aware that the cost of all this must have been astronomical, but they had accomplished it all without discussing it with him, and his queries were answered by milk-dripping breasts in his face, sultry mouths kissing his massive cock, and the insistence that he - "Lie back, and don't worry about things like that."

Indeed, all Brent had to do was cum. And that he did with explosive relish. His girls would seduce him wearing flowers in the hair, and Tropical Lais around their shoulders, and milky-tits, sultry, exotic eyes and mango-ripe lips. Something else Brent became convinced of — they must know — they must have a way to read or ... calculate his desires. It was last week he was thinking of how nice a Pina Colada would be, and a minute later a redhead with lush hips carrying a silver platter appeared and presented him with the drink requested — yet he hadn't requested it! He just desired it, dreamed of it! And they knew. He'd taken that redhead into his jaccuzzi, and was compelled to give her an hour of gratitude fucks amidst her gurgles of joy. He was certainly astute enough to know that his girls craved sperm for its own sake. But then, he'd thought that his Jaccuzzi water was too cool, with not enough bubbles. He'd just been about to open his mouth when a rush of heat and tingling bubbles caressed his skin.

"How's that Master? Better?" Asked a coppery-tanned shifter girl with the complexion not unlike that of an Island Native, but with jutting boobs far larger than normal. Brent gurgled in bliss — and of course, that meant that she too had to be given gratitude fucks for the next hour. And as he lounged in bliss in his bubbling pool, surrounded by luscious, lovely shape-shifters, he suddenly remembered what he'd been thinking of before the gratitude sex with the redhead.

"Ohhh ... please bring, whoever cooked me that Fettuccine Alfredo, so delicate and refined ... taste extraordinary."

Before he was distracted by the Pina Colada and gratitude sex with the redhead with the huge hips, he was wanting to give gratitude sex to whoever had cooked him dinner last night.

Somehow, they just knew that he was hungry for something more than simply the hot, sweet milk that spurted from their breasts. He could survive just fine on nothing but Shifter- milk, but still he wanted solid foods, and they seemed to know what he wanted ... without him asking! How much sex had there been today? Lately, it seemed like he could cum a dozen times back to back, but if he spaced out his fuckings, he could easily get in fifteen pussy-reamings before resting. No ... no that was last week; yesterday he had enjoyed sixteen back-to- back orgasms that unleashed more pure sperm than he had ever produced in all his teenage years. But he felt it, he felt that hot tingling in his balls, and he knew ... he knew that he was growing bigger, more virile still!

Two auburn-haired supermodels slid to either side of him and whispered in his ear how much they craved him, what a powerful man he was, how he deserved the chance to pass his seed into as many women as he could lay hands on!

"Only thing ... would make it better ... is my old buddy ... from way back..." But Brent slid into contented slumber as his cock went semi-limp as he moaned his satisfaction, soon nodding off. He did not mention this again upon awaking.

Three Months Later...

Brittany was happy; the others had missed it — missed the Master's words. She couldn't blame them, Brent's dialogue the past month had been largely restricted to groans of orgasmic pleasure, cackles of delight, and the words: fuckfuckfuckfuck ... trailing off into incoherence. His harem had grown, and he had grown — in many ways. His Jaccuzzi had been expanded, to allow mass-orgies with as many as sixteen shifter -women at once. There was rarely anything to talk about, the nubile alien concubines had become so attuned to their Man-master in the five months since he started fucking their ancestors in Las Vegas, that his smallest need was anticipated far in advance, his every whim was prepared for him before he knew to ask for it. All he needed to do now was buck his hips, moan with joy, and ejaculate ... ejaculate non-stop into the pussies, mouths, and asses of ravishing supermodels more impossibly gorgeous than anyone he ever dreamed of knowing. But Brent had whispered something to her as she was suckling him on his usual diet of libido-multiplying shifter-milk straight from her ripe tits.

"Always wanted ... to see my old buddy again ... remember his number ... his address ... wish I could see him again." And Brittany listened. Listened and remembered. While the others thrashed and fucked senselessly.

Brittany was learning, and planning. After memorizing the information, she stroked Brent's head, encouraged him to grope her tits for a bit, then pressed a nipple into his mouth and lactated a mixture sweeter than a Dairy Queen milkshake, but with potent chemicals that would shut-down higher brain functions and increase tactile sensitivity. Brent gurgled as rational thought was forgotten and he slid back into a vegetative, consuming sexual bliss. His concubines squealed as his male potency increased.

It was difficult to see what was happening in the deep jacuzzi, but it looked as though sixteen nympho-hotties were all rutting, fucking him all at once. Brent clenched his jaw and began giggling maniacally, as he had done more and more lately. Brittany had come to understand that between the sexual-enhancement hormones and narcotic shifter milk Brent's mind was reeling under more pleasure than the human brain was designed for. The pleasure centers of his brain fired non-stop, day and night, burying reason under paroxysms of eternal orgasm.

Brittany knew that Brent's sperm production was at the point where he could not have sex fast enough. The time it took for him to spew his load was now far greater than the time needed to produce yet more sperm. There were days were Brent never stopped ejaculating. Just what every Shifter wanted.

But Brittany knew better. She knew what was coming. She knew what had to happen as her Master's brain overloaded with sensual bliss. She stepped out of the Seraglio, past the crowds of naked women awaiting their turns with Brent and his sperm, and she stood naked in the hallway, dialing the number she'd been given on one of her cell phones. She arched her back and jiggled her milk-dribbling tits, looking like nothing so much as an Eastern-European, dark-haired pornstar who had retired to become a professional wetnurse.

The phone dialed, connecting through the service provider for several seconds as sweet trails of lactate as addictive as cocaine trailed down a nude, nubile female form fit enough for a personal fitness trainer, busty enough for a big-tit girly mag, but with a face hauntingly elegant enough for the runways of Paris, or Milan.

The phone rings. Your Phone. Your cell phone. You decide to answer it yourself. "H-hello?"

"Hey, buddy! You remember me? It's old Brent - and have I got a surprise for you!" says a very male voice on the other line.

"Wow! Brent Harrington ... it's been months! Weren't you in Vegas last time?"

The voice of this long-standing friend of your family sounds as jubilant as ever.

"Oh yeah, scored big-time, got a great gig going right now ... and ... I got a surprise for you, buddy!"

"What, surprise -whaddya mean? What am I five years old? You gonna pull a quarter out of my ear or something?" you chuckle.

"Ohhh ... just you wait buddy, I'm sending something your way that'll knock your socks off."

"Wow, well uhm ... sure, sounds like a blast. When're you gonna be in town?" you ask. But Brent just chuckles.

"Just you wait buddy! Like nothing you've ever seen!" came the non-answer. And the connection died. How odd, but Brent was always pulling crazy, spontaneous stunts like that. Still, you doubt that Brent has anything up his sleeve to compare with what you've got going for you these days! You've just now reached the point to where fitting into most pants is all but impossible, and you understand that every one of your Shifter girls is able to impersonate you at work. You're just beginning to wrap your brain around the implications of the pleasure that can be yours now, presiding over a shifter-harem 24/7.

Speaking of wrapping your brain around it — one of your girls is wrapping her tits around your foot-long cock even now! No ... no that was Saturday that you were sure it was a foot-long, now you've become convinced that you've gained at least another inch of manhood.

Her name was Lisa, a dark-haired hottie giving you the tit-fuck of your dreams as you lounge on the second bed that the girls have placed in your living room for greater space. Your bedroom is getting too cramped for a proper orgy. You shudder with bliss, Lisa has begun to sprout a second pair of breasts, encasing your cock in back-to-back valleys of luscious boob, while next to her, a reddish-blond lovely named Tina licks what little of your dick remains exposed with an unusually long tongue. Then another tongue emerges from her mouth, and the two appendages bathe your cock in liquid pleasure further lubricating the four tits now sliding up and down your member.

Your girls seemed well prepared — able to anticipate that today would be the day you finally allowed your shifters to replace you at work, and they've gone all out to show their appreciation.

An Asian girl with wide, willowy hips crouches near you, feeding you cherries and whipped-cream, which you wash down with hot, sweet milk from the tits of a bosomy, olive-skinned lovely with a Mediterranean appearance, and breasts to shame a porn-star.

You figured out a while ago that shifter-milk actually makes you hornier, but you find that you like it. The more you begin to crave the sex, the better the sex becomes. Talia, another of your concubines pulls your head into her lap, and begins to massage your stomach and chest with hot, tingling body-oil. You never saw a bottle, and begin to realize that she's somehow producing the soothing, slippery oil herself, from her own hands. Talia moans, and another set of hands emerges from behind her back and begins to pinch your nipples as she smothers your face in her pillowy breasts between bites of candied cherries, and mouthfuls of aphrodisiac lactation.

Really, the freaky shape-shifting was scary at first, but in the end, you were more afraid of losing access to the non-stop sensual pleasure of your shifters than you were of their morphic abilities. Endless sex ... ENDLESS!! That promise trumped any normal trepidation you might have felt.

It wasn't always like this; once you were depressed and confused by the fair sex: Your last girlfriend had viciously dumped you; it was hard to say why — one of those things were she thought you should have understood her feelings; but she couldn't tell you what her real problem was, because it was something you should have known intuitively if you really cared about her. You tried to ask, but that only made her angrier. "If you have to even ask then it's over!" she declared, storming out of your life, leaving you flustered, confused, and horny as you wracked your brains for some secret, subtle wrong you might have committed.

Finally you decided to just forget your troubles at the local strip club, not really thinking, knowing what to expect, what you hoped to gain. Then you met her — a new girl at the club. Her stage-name was Stormy, and she singled you out after her performance for a private lap dance. A private FREE lapdance.

You were in the backroom, and she was humping ... gyrating, thrashing against your groin. Nibbling your ear, rubbing her boobs into your face. Those breasts, too high and firm to be real surely, but too soft, pliable and life-like to be fake. You only knew for sure that she was a smokin' hot reddish-blonde fireball of sexiness.

"Rape me," Stormy hissed.

"Wh- wha?" Maybe you didn't hear her.

"Take me, force me, fill me, fuck me, rape me!" She moaned as she waved her bikini-clad ass in her face and put her mouth to your crotch and made a vibrating growl.

"Ohhh... " You had intended to be a gentleman ... but that kind of talk, it got you stoked like never before! She wrapped her legs around your hips as you struggled to your feet — not sure exactly what you were going to do to this naked, nubile, teasing stripper-nympho with melon-sized tits. She stuck her tongue down your throat as you clutched her hot, naked body.

"Too public? Take me back to your place. I'll be totally at your mercy..."

"Y- you ... serious?" you panted in her ear.

"Your place ... I wanna go there! Now! Back exit over that way ... don't argue with me..." she hissed into your ear.

"Just throw me in your car, take me home, and fuck the hell out of me!" It was hard to say whether it was her slutty language, or her body built for sex that pushed you over the edge, but soon you were stumbling through the back exit of Titopia Triple-X clutching each other tight enough to give tonsil-examinations as you somehow found your way back to your car.

Stormy knew you weren't going to make it, as you pulled up in front of your pad, she had your pants down, your cock out as you first began to spurt. She sucked down your jizz like it was the nectar of the gods, but it didn't end there. Most chicks would have realized you'd be useless to them after cumming so hard, so long. But Stormy seemed convinced she could get a rise out of you again. And she did, in your bedroom, in less than an hour. Soon, it was like you'd never cum at all! You fucked that crazy stripper all night with an endurance you'd never believed possible. And she stayed.

Soon, Stormy had grown larger, she blossomed from an average height F-cup stripper into a statuesque warrior-princess amazon fantasy. She was nearly seven-feet tall near the end, and she wanted you even more!

The first shifter-split had really freaked you out, as Stormy began to bulge and stretch, then growing new arms, a new head, until a whole other woman had pulled herself apart from the original. But both of them changed shape, until they had reached a new baseline appearance. There were two of them now, twins that looked like teenage girls, and their sex-drive, and devotion to you was unlike anything you'd gotten from a girlfriend!

So Stormy had become Stella and Tory. Stella grew on a diet of your sperm, until she'd become Stacy and Ella. Tory became Cory and Terry and then you almost started to lose track. They seemed to cover a span of different ethnicities, many white, some black, some girls that might have been pacific islanders, Asians, Indians, and a lot of Nordic blondes.

They were remodeling the house, too. In homage to the way you'd found their ancestor, a stripper-pole had now been installed in your living room, and Ella's progeny, Ellen and Lena were in the process of installing a Disco ball and strobe lights. Now that Terry was morphing herself into you, and going to work for you, it was a whole new world of pleasures. You put aside the strangeness, and just began to focus on the sex.

"Wait your turn, freak!" growled Elena as she pushed Trina out of the way and approached the Master for a fucking.

"But ... but I have waited!" Trina groaned. That was typical. The rest of the harem hated Trina, and why not — she was a freak. With so many shifters being spawned in so many places, with such a wide variety of human DNA to feed on, it was inevitable that genetic quirks would begin to appear.

Trina slumped, naked to the floor, her hair shifted from a honey blond to a mahogany brown towards a rich scarlet shade. And that was her problem. A rare mutation that happened when Terry had split resulted in a unique type of shifter. Trina found that her shapeshifting abilities seemed to be turned on all the time.

Without wanting to, her hair color would change shades, her regally beautiful face would slowly change details like the shape of her nose and fullness of her lips. And her boobs would sometimes grow out of control before she realized it. All shifters could easily duplicate such transformations, but they all had control. All her sisters had a baseline female identity that they had when they weren't trying. But they could adjust, even make massive changes whenever they wanted.

But Trina, she was changing all the time! She just didn't have the normal level of control the others did. She had to concentrate on NOT shifting! That made life very complicated. When not fucking the Master, all the girls found ways to pitch in with money and chores, working a wide array of incredible and unlikely jobs to feed the growing harem. But Trina couldn't get work outside the house, she would tip off humans right away! Impossible to impersonate the Master for business purposes. Plus, most shifters were wary of advertising their nature in public. And the others undoubtedly resented her for being different. She could only hope that when she finally did get enough DNA to split that her progeny would be spared her defect.

You were wrong, things Really could get better. You haven't been to work in ... who knew how long? Your living room has been renovated into a tittie-bar strip club, don't know how your girls got the money — they tell you not to worry about things like that. After examining your old boombox, hearing and feeling it, a dark-skinned beauty in your harem now has the ability to flawlessly reproduce any song in any album in your collection.

She stalks along the floor, in a cat-like pose, with her mouth open, blaring out rap music with lyrics about boobs, hardons, and dirty dancing, perfectly duplicating the instrumentals and chorus of voices. These Bodyshifter women seem limitless in their potential.

The back wall has been removed, workers came and installed two massive tanks of water thousands of gallons in volume, where several of your girls had turned into glamorous mermaids in a variety of colors as others took turns gyrating on the stripper-pole as still others licked and tittie-fucked you to yet another orgasm.

You moan on your cushions as two more nuzzle your shoulders, swearing undying love for you and waxing poetic about your awesome virility. But you do realize that to keep things happy and running smooth, you have to give them encouragement. Some girls get annoyed by guys that bombard them with compliments about their beauty, but Shifters will coo with pleasure and embrace you.

"Do we please you, Master?" are the most common words spoken now. And you've decided to get a little proactive and just comment whenever one of them does something great, causing giggles of delight and greater enthusiasm.

And that's when SHE showed up. The door was open, and she let herself in. Skimpy red lingerie and high-heels encased a bosomy form no more impressive than the supermodels already surrounding you, except her breasts ... the football-like mounds angle their nipples at your pointedly, swollen with milk that you find yourself yearning to drink. Her face ... midnight-black hair forming a dark aura around hauntingly elegant features with upswept, pointed eyebrows, strikingly gorgeous...

"Hi, I'm Brittany. Your friend Brent sent me. He says we're going to love each other." she purrs. And there was a scent, a strangely electrifying musk that makes you feel more sexually alive than you have in days. The harem knows it, feels it. The music playing from Corinna's mouth lowers in volume, strippers slide down from their poles, the mermaids in their tanks stop swimming and thrusting their breasts at you ... all watch and wait as you open your arms and embrace Brittany.

Trina found it disturbing on many levels. All the sudden, it was like Brittany and her progeny had just taken over the harem! The Master still fucked his regular girls, but it seemed like he spent half his days with the newcomer, and then her offspring!

Trina watched in jealousy as Corinna moaned. The shifter who had learned to copy the sounds of music discs inside her body had grown enormously over the past weeks. She was tall, muscled more like a fitness model than pornstar, but her breasts had far surpassed G -cup and could challenge soccerballs in size. Corinna thrashed as a new pair of arms grew from her back. Master had liked her trick of duplicating the function of a boom-box, now she had enough genetic material to reproduce. Would Trina ever get to that point?

A new woman seemed to be pulling herself out of Corinna's back — boobs seemed to multiply and slide around behind to attach to the newborn - Corrina's ass began bulging. Finally, with a definitive stretch and pop, the two new shifters separated. Their bodies were pale, and their faces shifted rapidly, hair-colors changing, until both bodies settled on a new appearance.

"I'm Corinne!" said a new, teenage girl. Her skin was dusky, hair ink-black. Like an Arabic woman.

"I'm Rina!" said her identical twin. But these new arrivals to the harem were — ignored? Master was now being pampered by two sultry redheads, and it was obvious they were from Brittany's lineage, the way their boobs thrust out, those weirdly elegant upswept eyebrows. But a third woman, a coppery-haired lovely had straddled the Master's cock, and his orgasm was spectacular as he spurted his precious seed into her.

This was new, different ... Trina realized. The copper-haired woman started to bulge — her belly ... twitching, expanding? As though she'd smuggled a melon under her stomach, her abdomen began to swell — and Trina recognized this — this was not unlike a human female pregnancy. The shifter moaned as her breasts leaked her sweet milk as her belly blew and grew and spread forward. In less than ten seconds of fertile growth, she looked like a human nine-months pregnant.