Brain Transplant

"I didn't mean it like that," she said, blushing slightly herself. "I just assumed that if you left all those implants in... But I guess that's pretty prejudiced of me. My apologies for making assumptions like that."

"It's okay, I understand," I said, which was stretching the truth, because I wasn't sure what she was saying. "I am single," I added with a sultry smile that I didn't entirely intend.

"Are you?" she said, her attention refocused on me after briefly roving to the furnishings.

"It didn't seem like a good idea to date seriously until after the changes are complete," I explained.

"How much longer are you going to let it go?" she asked curiously.

"Um, until its done?" I said uncertainly.

She rolled her eyes as if I'd dodged her question, but let it go. "Okay, so no dating seriously until whenever. What about dating unseriously?"

"What if I met someone I wanted to stay with? No, I didn't want to put myself in that position." I didn't explain that with my intense libido, the temptation to have sex with anyone I really liked would be overpowering. I wasn't sure if I was keeping this to myself because it was embarrassing, or because I didn't think I could say it without making it a bit too obvious that I wanted to to sleep with her.

"You're not straight, are you?" she asked, her horror at the idea leaking into her voice and telling me that she also wanted to have sex with me.

"Oh no. Not at all," I purred. All my critical faculties were swiftly shorting out as hormones flooded in.

"But you like men?" she asked, slightly anxiously.

"I'm not thinking about men right now," I said, thinking about how she might taste, and how soon I'd find out.

"But dicks are okay?"

"I mean, sure, but why?" I pulled off my top. I needed this so bad. I hadn't been with a competent lover in years, and I knew with every fibre of my being that she knew how to please a woman.

"You don't even know my name, do you?"

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Biana."

"Okay, now I know your name. Biana, would you like to fuck?"

"Yyyyes," she said, as if trying to get herself to say something else, but being unable to resist.

I smiled, feeling incredibly fulfilled to have such power over someone as impressive as Biana. I was really getting off on it, as if that was even necessary.

A few seconds later she gasped when she saw my room. "That's..." she started laughing, though it had a strangely hard edge to it. "What an absolute piece of shit."

I didn't think she was talking about me, or the bed, but whatever it was that had distracted her from me and the bed could go fuck itself. "Biana?"

She focused back on me, and her smile faltered slightly. "Um, before we go any further, I have a di... disclosure to make."

"Do you have an STD or something?" I said, my stomach dropping.

"No! I haven't even... I just..." she was getting increasingly flustered, and finally decided to show rather than tell.

"What? Oh," I said, and swallowed at the unexpected sight. "So, uh, you're a vat person too?"

"Yeah, I didn't have much of a choice," Biana explained tersely.

"I see. That must have been a real surprise, then," I said, motioning at her crotch.

"No, I chose this. Well, I arranged for it, at any rate. It's a long story," she said. "I won't be mad if you're, uh, not in the mood any more."

I looked up at her eyes, and the unexpected vulnerability there. She was worried about what I thought of her!

I giggled. "Oh honey. You take that big fat disclosure and fuck me silly."

"It is pretty big," she warned me, removing her underwear to expose the most perfect cock I thought I'd ever seen, with impressive, though not literally equine, proportions.

"I've got toys that big," I said as if it was no big deal.

I'm happy to report that it was a very big deal.

Break In

I did everything I could to coax ever last drop of cum out of her, in my cunt, in my mouth, between my breasts and all over my face. The exhilaration of being able to make her orgasm over and over was addictive, if one could call the taste of water in the desert an addiction. After so long with hardly any direct interactions of any kind with anyone, let alone a lover, indulging in this intimate connection with the hottest woman I'd ever met blew my mind at the same time I blew her amazing cock. It was also really fun to make her spurt because it was undeniable proof that I'd made her come again.

"So, do you really like how I taste, or are you just a slut?" she joked later as I licked the last of her final ejaculation from her bellend.

"Yes," I said with a smile, very enthusiastic for her to think of me as a slut. Not because I felt I was indeed a slut, though I did at that moment, but rather because I wanted her to feel free to make any use she pleased of her little slut. Having someone else take charge and drive lovemaking both literally and figuratively liberated me to just enjoy what I was doing rather than trying to plan angles, or maintain narratives, and all the other things I had to do to masturbate privately or on camera.

She laughed and asked, "So is this unserious dating?"

I didn't think this was a joke, though she was pretending like it was. "It was at least some very serious fucking. But it could become serious... uh, dating."

I'd hesitated when I'd recalled that she was still somehow connected to Almacén de Acero and so I had no idea what it would mean to date her.

"You don't really know anything about me, though," she objected.

"I don't know enough about you, no," I agreed. "But maybe you can tell me?"

She drew a breath and straightened her posture as if preparing for a pole vault, or perhaps to face a firing squad, and that was when I found out who her brother had been. She told me about a tense and complex relationship with her brother, and how Vicente had always been suspicious of her ambitions.

"I don't know how many times I told him I wasn't interested in taking his place, but he never really believed me," she said with a sigh, "And he got more and more paranoid. I still don't know how he thought I could give him away without exposing myself, but I have to believe that's why he did what he did." She bit her lip thoughtfully.

"What did he do?" I asked, because I could tell I was missing something.

She motioned at my body. "He was going to put me in that body instead of this. I had everything set up for me to switch to a new body and a new identity, but he had secretly switched which body got me and my new identity."

"That seems kind of complicated, besides leaving you alive and resentful. Or amnesiac. Why wouldn't he just kill you if he was so worried?"

She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "Well, I did a lot of the accounting and legal work, so killing me or leaving me amnesiac would mean losing control of a variety of different accounts and businesses that I'd set up on his behalf. And, well, I think he did his best in his fucked up way to make sure I'd come to be happy with the change."

She saw the skepticism on my face and raised an eyebrow. "You're not unhappy with the change, are you?"

"Well, I guess not, but I'm in a different situation." I obviously couldn't explain that compared to a painful, ignominious death from cancer, most anything was a huge improvement, but I figured the argument held just as well for an amnesiac who wouldn't be able to remember what she'd been before. Then I looked at Biana's huge and beautiful cock. "Did you want that?"

"I was conflicted about it. But ultimately I decided that I wanted biological children."

"So you're fertile?" I asked, suppressing excitement. I wanted children badly, but was leery of going to a sperm bank or getting involved with a man. If Biana's semen contained functional sperm, then she might have given me children. If my body was fertile, which I didn't know. I was worried that it wasn't because my periods were so light, but we'd just given it plenty of opportunity.

"I don't know, but I did request they do their best to keep both systems fully functional."

"Keep them fully functional? They can't transplant anything more than a brain, can they?" I asked.

Biana sighed with irritation. "No, the body is all engineered, but... Surely you've figured out by now that I was known as Vicente's brother? No one would be worried about his sister taking over."

"That seems kind of sexist," I said, one of the safer of the thoughts I could share.

Biana laughed, seeming pleased. "Yes, very. So, it doesn't bother you."

"No. I love that you kept it, obviously," I said truthfully, and cupped her ridiculously huge bollocks.

She chuckled and her dick started to perk up until another thought occurred to her, though she didn't voice it.

"What?" I asked, disappointed and frustrated. My vagina was a bit sore from the pounding she'd given it earlier, but I wanted to maximize the possibility of her knocking me up.

"Vicente clearly made that body with the hopes of, uh, making it hard to say no. He wanted to make me into his cock-hungry bimbo girlfriend, which, I don't know. Maybe he thought I'd think it was romantic or something. He was always so fucking scared of people finding out that he was queer."

"Oh. Oh." I said, as I read between several lines. "Which is why I became a cock-hungry bimbo."

"Yeah, well, maybe. Sorry."

"No, no. I don't mind," I said, trying to sound honest. "Not once I got over the initial embarrassment."

She looked at me skeptically, and I think we both contemplated how much truth there was to what I was saying.

"That's good, then," she said after the pause, and I managed to coax her into fucking me one more time.

-Takeover-

Aftermath

Not since my first girlfriend had I felt such powerful puppy-love, though unlike then I could tell that the suffusing warmth flowed from a surge of post-coital chemicals. Knowledge of the power of infatuation didn't neutralize its power over me, but at least I knew that the feelings were irrational.

But what was the harm? I also intellectually knew that it would be beyond reckless for her to stay with me, so I somewhat less intellectually concluded that I could indulge my desire to shower her with whatever affection I could while I had the opportunity. It took some persistence on my part, but eventually Biana let herself be coaxed into going along with my little role-play in which she was a kingpin and I was vying to be her favourite bimbo playmate. I had worried a little that it was too on-the-nose, but she eventually got into it with relish, so I hoped that I reconciled her to how things had played out.

I was unsurprised to find that she'd left during the night, but not really disappointed. If anything, I was relieved that she hadn't taken me too seriously. With her no longer present it was easier to see how dangerous it would have been if she had been at all interested in making the fantasy a reality. I was also a bit taken aback with the risk I'd taken by pressing on a probable sore spot in the way I had. It had led to more great sex, slower and even more satisfying than our initial fuckfest, but in the bright light of morning, I could see that I had let some combination of sexual desire and oxytocin convince me that I knew Biana well enough to be confident that she wouldn't do anything that might harm me.

At the same time, I wasn't sure I wasn't going to do anything to harm her, because if the FBI would probably have some questions for me if I ended up having her baby. After waffling on it for a bit as I mastered my urge to sacrifice myself for a women whom I barely knew, I decided I would have to report it if I was pregnant. Unlike me and my body, Biana's body probably carried a lot of her original genes, so the FBI would be able to tell from my baby's genes that I'd slept with her without telling them about it, and their willingness to shield me from the usual legal consequences of having a vat-grown body would end.

Thus it was with mixed feelings that I contacted my case officer about the contact. I could tell she was both appalled and resigned to my behaviour because she thought I had tits for brains. I felt deeply guilty to have sold out Biana, yet also elated. I was going to have a baby! And it wasn't as if I'd promised not to tell anyone about Biana. The FBI surveilled my house for the entirety of my pregnancy in the hopes that Biana would return, but I felt sure she was too smart to get caught in that trap.

Unlike me; as happy as I was for my coming motherhood, the discreet gynecologist to whom the FBI referred me scolded me for getting pregnant with another vat-body's baby while under the influence of Nutrastem implants.

"It's really a perfect storm," Dr Nadar explained, "Your pregnant body has a very different hormone balance that tends to prevent it from breaking down genetic incursions, and also there's a chance that the altered stem cells migrate to your baby. Really, we don't know what all the impacts could be; legal virtrosomatic bodies were sterile to avoid this kind of question."

"Are you saying that my babies might have birth defects?" I asked anxiously, rubbing at the sides of my twin-bearing tummy.

Dr Nadar made a slightly reassuring gesture. "Well, any birth runs that risk. We just don't know what that risk is in your case, especially with all the unusual circumstances. But we do know that the pregnancy is prolonging and possibly amplifying the impact of the Nutrastem implants, which you should definitely have had removed first. Even if you're satisfied with your changes so far, you may not feel that way by the time they're done." It seemed hard for her to believe that I was not upset by my stupidly oversized lips, giant wobbling bum, and, of course, my enormous chest, which measured 20 inches more than my pre-pregnancy underbust, good for a P-cup bra according to fitting charts that even went that high.

I was a little concerned about mobility, but I was managing to move around without too much difficulty while carrying twins, so I thought my bust wasn't too much of a problem. And if everyone looked at me and thought I was a plastic bimbo, that was actually helpful at disarming suspicions that the rest of me was too perfect to be natural. That is, if everyone was sure I had implants, they wouldn't consider the possibility that I was in a vat-grown body. Granted, I still didn't think I was in legal jeopardy because no one had traced me back to my old identity, but I thought if I became an infamous vat-grown bimbo, some muckraker would eventually make the connection.

Another early concern was whether I'd still be able to make money as a preggo, but that turned out okay. I lost some fans, but gained others, and if the new fans were fewer in number, they seemed freer with their money. My income dipped, but less than expected.

The next challenge was after I gave birth. Even if my tummy hadn't looked unfortunately loose and saggy, I would have been too tired to record videos most of the time. My abdomen recovered its tone quicker than was probably natural, but otherwise there was no respite for a mother of twins. Worse, my oversized nipples were too big for them to attach, so I had to pump constantly. There were some fans of those videos, but many in the audience had difficulty wanking to the sight of my obvious exhaustion.

I'd built up quite a nest-egg beforehand, but the expense of having two small children whom I took to the doctor as often as any other nervous new parent was draining it steadily. Yet, being a mother made me more determined than ever not to resort to showing my face in order to make more from my videos. Before, I'd always considered it a backup plan to hold in reserve in case I couldn't get by on just my body, but now I had to think of what it would mean for my children to have a well-known pornographic performer for a mother. Society was probably more accepting than it had ever been, but the way the tabloids clucked about it made clear that many or even most people still subconsciously judged women harshly for making money with their sexuality. Especially "artificial" women. Especially mothers.

On the other hand, when neighbors saw me pushing a pram with glossy manicured hands, wearing high heels and somewhat ostentatious jewelry, they assumed I was the trophy wife of one of the tech tycoons who had recently moved to the rapidly-gentrifying neighborhood. They seemed to anticipate me being spoiled and stuck up and so were pleasantly surprised when I proved to be friendly and dumb. The friendly and dumb wife of some unknown powerful person was still treated with a certain level of care, so I hoped to keep up the charade as long as possible.

Positive cash-flow was restored by adding lactation-themed fetish videos to my camgirl mix, but I thought eventually people in the neighborhood were going to wonder where my tycoon husband was, and also I was worried about the site where I flogged my videos being kicked off payment services.

Dangers

"Anastacia Mink?" I heard when I groggily put the phone to my ear.

Something about the grave tone of his voice woke me up. "Yes?"

"I have some somewhat grave news. Vicente Caballo was assassinated this morning."

"Wait, what? I thought he was already dead!"

"He very nearly was, but we were able to save him. As a matter of national security, we kept his ongoing incarceration and trial secret to make it easier to capture the others who might try to take over the Almacén de Acero. Unfortunately one of our international partners provided us with some dubious information that caused a mistrial and his release to house arrest. We have had some success in apprehending his accomplices, but the assassination implies that enough of the organization remains intact for it to remain highly valuable."

"Is Biana a suspect?"

"We haven't ruled out her involvement. Have you had any contact with her since your last report? If you have, it's definitely in your interest to tell us now."

"I haven't! I was just curious. Besides, I'm positive she has no intention of taking over from her brother."

"We can't make that assumption. Besides, if you're so sure, then why did you ask?"

"Because I thought you might suspect her, not because I thought she would kill her own brother."

He grunted. "Be that as it may, you should regard any relationship with any member of the Caballo family to represent a serious risk to your safety and that of your children.

I didn't have much to say to that chilling reminder, so the call ended shortly thereafter, leaving me anxious and uncertain. Might Biana have killed Vicente? I believed her when she said she didn't want to take over Almacén de Acero, but that didn't mean she had no interest in retribution.

The FBI didn't tell me any more about developments, but the news reported on a gang war in El Salvador related in some obscure way to Caballo's death. I was nervous for a while despite the small team of agents assigned to watch and protect me, but it seemed to pass without spreading or resulting in any more alarming calls.

After a few months the agents were reassigned without much warning or explanation, which meant that I had to run all my own errands again. With some trepidation I ventured back out into the world, acutely aware of being bigger than ever up top, and of my swollen lips starting to impair my ability to enunciate. Would people still think I was a trophy wife?

Another issue was my lactation rate, which was far greater than the twins needed, resulting in me having to pump many times a day. It felt good once I improved both my technique and my pumping equipment, undoubtedly unnaturally good. That may actually have been a bit of a cycle: pumping felt good, which led me to pump more, which led to more production and more advanced pumping technique, which felt even better, which led me to pump more. Most days I was fine being a bit of a cow, but when I needed to be out and about I always felt a little worried I'd start leaking, even if I pumped before I left. I eventually found under-bra pumps that I could take with me while I was out, but it had limited capacity, so I knew that once I had to turn them on I needed to go straight home.