A Little Job

The night wind blew cold through his leather jacket, ruffling his thick black hair, and the bare branches of the trees clattered overhead. Lincoln preferred more southerly climes, but this was where the job was, and you went where the job was. Maine. In winter. Ugh.

He cycled the zoom on his visor, making sure he'd fully cased the little storage unit where the thieving bastard was keeping the files he'd been hired to retrieve. Of course, Lincoln was hardly one to talk when it came to thievery. Sure, this time Pads had him retrieving, not obtaining, but you went where the job was. Security was light, at least on the outside. There was a reason this was a one-man job, no team necessary. This was just a place people kept their extra stuff when they didn't want it around the house, not even a commercial warehouse. Couple of security cameras, nothing high-end, easy. Too easy maybe? Maybe just easy for him.

Lincoln was a Maker, so lots of things came easier to him. Most folks in the 'Dream had to get things the old-fashioned way: buy simulated stuff made of simulated materials obtained from the simulated planet. Shortages were a thing of the physical, but the supply chain of the digital economy looked a lot like it always had. A Maker, on the other hand, took a different view, looked deeper, could see that he was a collection of simulation routines swimming in a sea of code. With a little practice, a Maker could write localized code of his own, not on a datapad or at a terminal, but right there in the Dreamspace he inhabited. So Lincoln traveled light, carrying no tools that would give away his less-than-legal occupation; he'd just Make what he needed on the spot.

The visor, his drone? Birdwatching, officially. Unofficially, as he unfolded the light, silent flying machine, they gave him more than enough to get past two security cameras. He closed his eyes, the air above his hand glitched and flickered, and two small holoscreens displaying the scene he'd been surveying were ready to go. The drone dutifully delivered them to their appointed places attached to the cams, and the watching eyes were blinded. Lincoln clambered down from the roof and approached the storage unit that was his target.

It was locked, of course. With a key. Quaint. He rested his hand over the lock for a moment, reading it, knowing its shape and size and the positions of the tumblers, and the clever little circuit that would recognize only a key, not a set of lockpicks. Shame for the thief that Lincoln didn't carry lockpicks. A moment's concentration, and he had a perfect copy of the key he needed. Maybe the thief was just starting out, couldn't invest in better yet. You could keep out a Maker, just not like this. The door swung open, leading to...a hallway? The place was bigger on the inside. Damn, it had been too easy. Still, as he moved silently inside and gently closed the door behind him, Lincoln saw the alarms that hadn't been triggered, the security panel a little ways ahead that hadn't shut, and (best of all, the knot that had tightened in his gut loosening) the mini-turrets that hadn't activated, because he had after all entered with a key.

Okay, so not a total newbie, this thief. He had some resources at least, to put together a hidden space like this, to hire the right people to make a small warehouse fit in a glorified closet. Feeling confident but cautious, Lincoln made his way down the hall. He knew the owner would be out; the jerk was down in Orlando (warm there, the lucky bastard), and wouldn't be back for a couple days at least. He would have no reason to think Pads would have sent anyone for the files, at least so Lincoln had been assured, and after years as an information broker, Pads hadn't been wrong yet. There were a few rooms in here, and Lincoln checked each one as he passed. Mostly junk, stuff acquired legally or otherwise, like a fairly well-organized attic. He ignored the room of clothes and shoes, the shelves of labeled boxes, one room set up like a bare-bones study with a small kitchen in the corner. Apparently this could serve as a living space if needed, but it didn't look particularly lived-in. The files would be elsewhere, on an off-grid server, as much as anything inside the 'Dream could be considered 'off-grid', anyway. Accessible only locally, whatever.

Say what you will about him, the little scumbag had a flair for the dramatic. This space felt less like a warehouse or safehouse, and more like a lair, with the real treasure hidden in the Inner Sanctum once you beat the Big Bad. As he opened the door at the terminus of the hallway, Lincoln realized he'd called it. Inner Sanctum found. This was the best-appointed room in the place, a bedroom with a comfy chair next to a reading table and lamp, a king-size bed stacked with pillows and a comforter, the lights warm and soothing. More importantly, across the room, through a doorway, he spied a workspace with a respectable terminal and a few server racks. Bingo. As he stepped inside, though, he found out this place wasn't quite as empty as he'd thought.

For a moment, Lincoln couldn't quite comprehend what he was looking at as the door to the bathroom of this suite (quite nice, big jacuzzi tub, shower that could fit three people; scumbag knows how to prioritize his luxuries) swung open and the...figure floated out. Some kind of drone? But who would put two peach-colored basketballs on a drone, and why? The door closed behind him, his eyes adjusted to the light, and Lincoln's brain caught up to his visual percept. Flying out of the bathroom was no drone, but a small naked woman, the size of a girl's doll, maybe a foot from head to toe, with dragonfly wings buzzing rapidly on her back. Not that physics would have actually let them hold her up, because preceding her into the room were some seriously big tits, round and firm, tipped with delicate pink nipples. As she turned in the air to come around the bed towards him, ass cheeks the size of tennis balls shimmied a lovely hello; compared to her miniscule frame, her butt was enormous. This was obviously some kind of pet AI creature, and with a body looking like a child's plaything with sports equipment strategically attached to make a parody of femininity, it was almost certainly a sex toy.

The ludicrously busty pixie approached Lincoln, a joyous and slightly naughty smile on her luscious lips. Her face was beautiful in the way only an artificial being could be, cute and sexy in just the right measure, the product of a conscious design effort to be appealing.

"Hey there cutie pie," she said, her voice high pitched enough to make sense coming from such a small thing but not shrill or squeaky, built to be adorable, "have you come to play with me? I've been so lonely, and you're so handsome."

She reached up to push waves of still-wet blonde hair back from her face; not that she'd likely been actually showering, it was probably just part of how she was programmed to greet an owner who obviously valued his bathing time. If he weren't on a job, Lincoln wouldn't have turned down that kind of proposition from this definitionally sexual being. She was just so cute, tiny but huge, playful but sultry. Alas, the files were his goal, not some eminently fuckable faerie hooters.

"Thanks doll, not today. Maybe I'll look you up sometime soon, when I'm not so busy," he said with a half-grin.

After all, he knew that slimeball's schedule, and he could get in here any time he wanted. Maybe Maine wasn't so bad, eh? Lincoln took a step towards the workstation, but the little flying fuckdoll interposed herself. She moved close, turning sideways so that the first thing that touched his chest was her itty-bitty hand instead of her tits. Seriously, they were over two feet across each, on a one-foot-tall woman! They'd be huge on a full-size person; on her, they dominated her frame, and necessitated her ability to fly. She looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes, her tiny, dextrous fingers working at a buttonhole in his jacket.

"Awww, really? You can't spare just a liiiiitle time for a gal like me? I'd be ever so grateful."

That last bit was in a tone that sent a thrill through him, just like it was doubtless designed to do. He felt his pants tighten; damn she was hot, and so needy, and so fucking cute. Maybe, just a minute, just a little...no. Do the job, Lincoln.

"Sorry sweetheart, I'd love to, honestly. Just can't spare the time right now" he said, as he gently pushed her back.

His voice was tinged with real regret, which kind of surprised him. How long had it been? This was a good AI, to get him wanting it this much in such a short time, with so few words. The thief either had some serious cash, or some serious coding chops. Lincoln slipped past the small-but-big pixie and moved to round the bed towards the server room. Then tits of shocking softness for their firm appearance mashed into his arm. Persistent little thing, huh?

"Baby, I promise, we'll have so much fun. Look at me, I'm all sexy for you! All round and plump, just the way you like it. Please?"

Lincoln couldn't help but turn to look; he did like it, after all, and she was so willing to give it. Seeing him turn, being below his eye level, she wiggled her butt, sending oh-so-enticing ripples across her broad bubble of ass. Lincoln felt his pants tighten, damn she was hot...

Wait.

That had already happened. It shouldn't happen again; her distractingly sexy body and voice had gotten him excited enough that his pants were as tight as they got. As tight as they were supposed to get, anyway.

Lincoln glanced down at himself. His bulge was...bulgier. What kind of effect was she having on him? Was he really that pent up?

The tiny sexpot flitted around behind him, dragging her nipples across his back, their nubby hardness catching on the leather.

"Oooh, that feels nice. I love playing with these, and I really love when they're played with. My boobies are so big and sexy." She swung back in front of him, and pressed her ample bosom into him in earnest. "You know," she whispered, "I think it feels even better when they're even bigger, don't you?"

As he watched, her bouncy, huggable boobs swelled, gaining a few more inches in the blink of an eye. Her flight faltered for an instant from the extra weight, and his hands instinctively moved to catch her before his brain could remind him that, doubtless, that was a purposeful move since her wings weren't really holding her weight up anyway.

"Thanks, lover," she giggled as Lincoln cupped her little butt, and she tipped forward to lay a sweet, tiny kiss on his chest.

Okay, things were getting uncomfortably tight down south. "I really appreciate it, beautiful, and I swear you're the most fuckable little thing I've ever seen. But I really have to finish up my business here and be going."

Already gripping her lovely, lustful body in his much-larger hands, he moved her off and gave her a little push towards the center of the bed. With her out of the way, he glanced down, and froze.

That was way too big to be him.

He spun towards the floating fuckbuddy, starting to realize his predicament. She was already approaching him again, this time leaning back to give him a glimpse past her massive rack of her tiny, wet pussy. It looked perfect for licking; his tongue would cover so much of her. Knowing these kinds of AI, she was probably programmed to be impossibly stretchy, so even with her size he could slide easily inside her, turning her into a living, moaning, hungry cocksleeve with enormous breasts. Lincoln snapped himself out of the daydream to find her nearly touching him, again turning to the side and reaching out with miniscule, eager hands. She made contact, touching his belly this time, and because he was paying attention now he felt the twisting, transformative routines spill from her hand into his body. Immediately, the seams of his pants groaned in protest at the swell of his package.

Shit, this little pixie wasn't just a toy. She was security, and probably didn't even know it.

This little AI had been programmed not just as a companion, not just as a fuckbuddy, but as a Shaper.

Shapers were a little bit like Makers, a talent from the same branch of the tree of extraordinary ability. They too could read the code of the world around them, see the commands and algorithms and variables that made up everything in the 'Dream, but where Makers could inject their own new code to create something that wasn't there before, Shapers modified the code that was already there. They couldn't make a key, but they could turn a lock to butter. A good Shaper could be a valuable asset on a team, especially if they could Shape the code for people and not just things. Without direct access to a person's genetic profile, their modifications were temporary, lasting a few hours at best, but they could make you stronger, or faster, or patch you up long enough to finish a tough job.

And apparently, some of them could give you a bigger cock.

Following his eyes, the dangerous little lover trailed her hand down, down, teasingly lovingly down to the straining fabric over his crotch. Whatever she had done had also started pumping more hormones (well, simulated ones) through Lincoln's body, and fuck was he horny now. As her little fingers played over the cloth covering the sensitive head of his overly engorged member, she giggled, a sound of sheer honest delight.

"Oh my, you're getting so big and sexy now! I just love big sexy times, and I cannot wait to get my everything on this dick!" Her voice bubbled with genuine enthusiasm for the smutty topic.

Fuck, he couldn't take much more, and her every touch caused his equipment to bloat ever bigger. She wasn't trying to stop him by turning his cock and balls into enormous fuckballoons, she was just trying to please him, and herself. What she intended didn't matter, though; enough of this, and he'd be immobilized, either from a failure of willpower or the impossibility of moving with floor-dragging testicles or a ceiling-rubbing shaft. He had to stop this before things got really out of hand.

Luckily, he was no stranger to tests of mental fortitude like this; you don't get through too many jobs if you can't summon up some reserves of will. He backed away quickly from the gorgeous, needy faerie, still fantasizing about his newly enlarged, almost audibly churning nuts pumping her full of cum until they were both ballooned into giant, bloated spheres of pure pleasure, but deciding to ignore that part of his stupid sex-obsessed brain right now. She looked at him with real confusion and disappointment, her look of hungry lust turning back to those sad, almost irresistible puppy-dog eyes. Good gravy, why did she have to be so fucking cute? This would be easier if she were stuck on "smoldering temptress," but she was just adorable! That face and that demeanor, with those tits and that ass? Fuck, she was dangerous. The Big Bad if there ever was one, only what made her that was how good she was.

"What's wrong, lover? Are you okay? I know you said you were busy, but I just love how this is feeling. Is it me? Am I not big and sexy enough," she asked in earnest. Her tits quivered, and plumped up a couple more cup sizes; she turned in the air and bent over, displaying an ass that rose like dough for a delicious, hot, buttery dinner roll that Lincoln just wanted to devour. She turned back around, her face coming alight with what she must have figured had to be the answer. "Or are you not big and sexy enough? I can get you there, you'll see. We'll have such big sexy times." Oh fuck.

He couldn't hurt her. It just wasn't in him. She wasn't at fault, her intentions were pure. Well, her intentions were very naughty, but good. If she were some monstrous beast trying to turn him into a red stain on the floor, he'd just summon up some big guns and blast the hell out of it. He'd done it enough times before; nobody did big guns like an experienced Maker, even one like him who preferred the sneaky side of things. That much violence was out of the question for an adorable, loving, sexy girl, but he had to stop her; she was persistent, and tiny, and nimble, and flying, and extremely distracting. Lincoln kept his distance, not letting himself freeze up again, no matter how much his stupid libido kept flooding his brain with all the many, many ways he could fuck this little artificial fae creature with a cock that would just keep getting fatter and longer the more he fucked her, filling her with so much cream from balls that would just grow bigger and more sensitive and more productive with every second that he kept himself in contact with her.

He backed himself almost into a corner, then tucked and rolled over the bed in a move that came quicker than the tiny flying ball of concentrated sexiness expected. Granted, it wasn't quite his usual grace, which was hard to summon with an erection several times the size he was used to and a sack that stretched the crotch of his pants so much he knew he was ripping a seam, but it got him there. Her little dragonfly wings buzzed faster as she spun in the air to continue her lusty pursuit.

Dragonfly wings! That was it! With the space he'd bought himself, he focused himself past the lustful haze; the air all around his right arm glitched and glowed and twisted, and a strangely boxy firearm coalesced into being.

"Ooh, sweetie, is that a new toy? You can make new toys?! Oh I love you so much! What does it do? Are we going to have fun," she asked, not fazed in the slightest. She sounded so trusting, so kind, so eager, Lincoln almost couldn't do it.

"Yeah, sugar," he said, "we're going to have a lot of fun." He thought back to lazy days floating on the Mississippi, learning to use his powers by finding a way to catch the devilishly fast and agile dragonflies. He pulled the trigger, and the boxy barrel opened and spat out a spinning, glowing net. The hyper-pumped pixie didn't have time to react; she was caught, falling to the bed wrapped in light.

"Ropes? Glowy ropes? Oh sweetie I love it! So tight across my boobies, so naughty! I can't wait to see what you'll do to me." Well fuck, not an ounce of anger, just acceptance and love and a fucking truckload of lust. That thief didn't deserve her.

"Be right back, angel," Lincoln said, and he meant it.

Finally free to finish his job, Lincoln shuffled over to the terminal in the other room, moderately uncomfortable in clothes that he really didn't expect to be this restricting when he woke up that morning. Damn, he was hung now, like he'd never imagined. But it was...fun. He pulled the system out of hibernation, quickly located the files Pads had sent him for, and moved them to his datapad. Then he glanced back to the bedroom, where the tiny, innocent little deathtrap with giant tits waited on the soft, comfortable pillows, licking her lips and idly playing with her pussy, readying herself for him to fuck her until neither of them could move. She really was too good for that thieving rat. The jerk wouldn't be back from Orlando for a couple of days. Lincoln was good with code, but the question was, was the thief?

It didn't take him long to locate the routines for that dangerous, beautiful little toy tied up in the other room. Now, comments, style, variable names, the little things that give an author away, who made her and when? Was there a version history? Was she a work in progress, or a finished product who'd been purchased? Custom job, definitely, but...no recent work. Not a team effort, one author, not good, but was the thief the code monkey or just a buyer? Receipts? Yes. Oh, that guy. Tucson. Quality work, she was even smarter than she'd been acting; almost had to be, to be a Shaper. Lyssa, she was called. She was cutting edge, and rather illegal, but that should have been obvious. Well then, finders keepers.