FormeX

I'm not exactly sure what happened right around the time my mind jumped track, but I know that her train was entering my tunnel on that new track. It had a new angle I was really liking because it was hitting the top of my vagina in a really good way and also letting me play with her tits, especially their hard nipples.

"Oh, do you like being called a slut?" she asked curiously as she used her grip on my giant arse to guide my movement back and down onto her skewer.

"If you want," I said.

"No, do you like being called a slut?"

"I don't care," I said.

"Why don't you care?"

"'Cause I am a slut, I reckon? Actually, I guess I'm not because I, like, don't really have sex with anyone else. Just a lot of masturbation. I really like this pace. Can you keep it up, or are you close?"

"I'm kind of making sure you don't go too fast."

I kissed her, proud of the way my boobs bulging across her whole chest and shoulders. "You're so romantic."

"Shit you are so fucking hot," she muttered.

"Yay!" I cheered softly, and giggled. "Thank you! I'm really glad you like me. I know I'm probably too dumb to be your girlfriend, but I hope you want to keep doing this."

"I don't understand why you've been saying things like that. I knew you before this, so I know..."

"What's wrong?" I asked, because she'd stopped fucking me.

She looked horrified. "Did you wear the earrings?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I think they may have caused brain damage."

"Yeah, I figured that out," I told her in as reassuring a voice as I could, "But it was mostly a good thing because I think it damaged the part of my brain that was making me, like, stressed out and depressed all the time. It's completely cured my panic attacks."

"How did it," she started to ask.

"Less talking, more fucking!" I told her, because what if she started to soften?

"Okay, but we're talking about this later," she promised.

Between sex and her work commitments, 'later' didn't arrive until days later, and even then only because I'd slipped up and actually worn them again before remembering why I didn't do that any more. But I really liked them and the fact that Crystal had chosen them, which I used to justify continuing to wear them.

"But that makes it so much harder to reverse the damage. How many wearings did the prototype LuXe last? It must have been a lot, to achieve such profound changes."

"Um, two, I guess? I haven't taken it off since I put on the nails," I said, waggling them in the air to demonstrate. "So the second one is ongoing."

"You... haven't taken it off?" Crystal asked slowly.

"Yeah, why? I know it said you're not supposed to keep wearing them, but it works fine. I don't even notice it any more."

"No, I wouldn't think you would," Crystal said, still pensive.

I gave her a moment to think about it before breaking in, "So, what's the problem?"

"I'm not sure yet, because nothing like this has ever happened. Not to this degree, at least. We don't really know what the long term effects will be. Not all of them, at least. But the reason you need to take them off is that with longer wear your dermis starts to absorb the strands, which are complex heterogeneous polymers that have significant biosignaling properties."

"So you're worried they're carcinogenic?" I hazarded a guess.

"Oh, definitely. We haven't seen any carcinogenic properties in any of our tests, but given their mechanism of activity and the observed cellular effects on telomeres, there's a number of theoretical reasons to expect them to cause melanoma at the least. Before you get too scared, though, we also have reason to believe that the effects are somewhat self-stabilizing, so they might also render you nearly immune to melanoma. And many of the normal symptoms of ageing, for that matter. We think that long term episodic wear of LuXe prevents and even slightly reverses dermal ageing without presenting the same carcinogenic risks. But of course there's no way we're going to try to present it to the FDA on that basis. Better to get years of safety data in wide population use prior to even bringing it up as a possibility. "

"Then you can sell it as a medical device?" I asked, impressed by how cunning and possibly reckless Crystal had been.

"Yes," she said with a look of appreciation at my comprehension, "But we genuinely don't know what the health effects would be for you. I'm cautiously optimistic that they'll be mostly good in that respect, I just don't want to think of what happens if I'm wrong." Crystal stopped, but I felt like she wasn't done.

"So, what else?" I asked.

"Part of the effect happens after you take off the clothing, as your body adapts. Even taking it off for a short time basically restarts the clock on biosignals being able to transit the epidermis, so even if people switch directly from one garment to another, there's a rest period that allows the adaptive process to occur. But your body hasn't had a chance to do this at all."

"It seems to have worked fine, though," I said.

I enjoyed the way her eyes ate me up. "Yes."

"So? Are you just worrying in general, or is there something specific?"

"It's kind of specific. One is about possible epigenetic effects, and the other is that you may still expect an extended adaptive phase. Could you turn around? I want to see if I can take it off you. If there's anything left."

"I can still feel the zipper," I asserted, which was true, but barely.

"Mmmhmm," she said, and I felt a slight tugging. "Does that hurt?"

"No."

She pulled harder, and I could feel a separation, kind of like a scab coming off, but not painful. "How about now?"

"Are you tearing it off? It doesn't hurt, but I think it's tearing the fabric."

"Yes, but there's really no fabric left, Barbie."

"Oh," I said, and accepted the slight transparent strip from her.

"There'll be a slight imprint for a while, but I think it'll go away in a month or two. In the meantime, you might notice some of the transformative effects start to resume. I couldn't begin to guess how significant they'll be or how prolonged. Or even precisely what form they'll take, though I suppose I have some guesses."

I could tell her guesses were making her aroused, and that made me excited. If the changes were something sexy, I was entirely okay with that. "I hope you'll enjoy them. That we'll enjoy them together, whatever they are."

"You're taking this well."

"Yeah, seems like mostly good news to me. Not cancer, of course, but if it happens it happens. In the meantime, let's enjoy it." I ran one long nail lightly along the ridge of her erection under her trousers.

"But, you might... Shit," she said, unable to continue her train of thought as I tugged her trousers and panties down until her glorious cum rocket shot out and impacted under my chin.

"It's so pretty," were the words I hummed unintelligibly around her sausage, though I didn't even finish vocalizing the final word because I'd swallowed her all the way to the back of my throat. I thought I should ask her afterwards if she tasted and felt so good because of changes to me, or because of some change she made to herself, or just because I was so infatuated with her. Suppressing my gag reflex seemed like a strange effect, but I was glad.

"Oh my god, you're so good at this," she said, which was a very flattering lie because I had almost no experience, but I accepted it in the spirit it was intended, and did my best to make it true, at least until I felt like she was getting close. I wanted her to creampie me, and I intended to get what I wanted.

I'm not sure if it was frustration at me suddenly stopping the fellatio right before she could reach orgasm or refusal to let herself be pushed around, but when I attempted to climb up and straddle her, she grabbed me and rolled us over so she could pound me from above.

Because I'd never dated anyone who could give me any kind of orgasm, much less an earth-shaking, mind-blowing paroxysm of ecstasy, I didn't know that I was a screamer. It seemed to shock Crystal, too, but she just put her hand over my mouth while she waited for her own climax to empty her impossible and invisible bollocks into me.

Unlike the first time, this was perhaps my most fertile day, and she had me in what they called the mating press. The thought that she was breeding me on purpose had me ready to go again almost immediately. If there was any chance that Crystal was fertile, this would maximise the chances, and the thought of having a baby that was brilliant and gorgeous like Crystal just filled me with hope. And also with cum, if I got my way. Crystal tried to claim that she couldn't go again right away, but my determined combination of fellatio and careful massage of her vulva got her hard again soon enough.

After I got her back in me, I spent some time nibbling on her neck and giving her long, searching kisses as I moved myself up and down very slowly and deliberately. "Hammer me when you're ready," I instructed her.

She laughed. "Hammer you? How romantic."

"Yes, hammer me so romantically I can't walk tomorrow," I said, and prevented her from answering verbally by kissing her again.

It took far longer to get a second load out of her, but I enjoyed the slower pace, which kept me thrillingly close for a long time.

"I think I'm close now," she gasped, because I'd been making her work pretty hard by then.

"Make me your personal cum dumpster," I told her as I pinched my wonderfully thick and prominent nipples.

She paused. "I don't like that."

"I'm sorry. I'm just talking dirty," I said apologetically.

"I know, but it sounds like you think I'm degrading you, and even if you find that sexy, it makes me feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

"Okay, I won't say things like that. What if I said I'm taking advantage of you?" I asked, moving again to make sure she didn't go soft.

"You're not," she told me.

"I'm trying to get you to give me a child."

"That's... okay," she said, and I could feel from the way her cock pulsed inside me that she wasn't lying. I redoubled my efforts, and soon enough she'd come in me again.

"Are you really okay with me having your baby?" I asked.

"Well, I really doubt it'll happen, but if it does... Well, I guess I'm not sure how I feel about it. If you're planning on raising her by yourself, I kind of feel like it would be irresponsible for me not to be involved, but at the same time I don't want to presume to tell you how to raise your own child."

"I think the question has to be whether you want to be involved. And whether you want to keep me as a girl on the side."

"Why on the side? Why do you keep saying these things?" she asked me, getting up on one elbow to face me more directly. "Is it that you don't want a serious relationship?"

"I'm not going to use a child to trap you into anything serious. That would be gross and counterproductive. And I don't want to embarrass you."

"Again with the embarrassment. Why are you so sure you'd be embarrassing?"

"Trust me, I will embarrass you in public with how stupid I get in some of the worst situations. I'm glad that brain damage killed my anxiety, but you have to believe me that it's real, makes me behave in really inappropriate ways, and I don't even want to undo it. Not if it means becoming anxious again."

"Maybe we could... Well, never mind, not my main concern."

"What is your main concern?" I asked.

She looked caught. "Uh... Mostly how this might interact with your pregnancy hormones. We'll have to keep a close watch."

"What do you think will happen?"

"It might result in prolonged release of pregnancy hormones after they're meant to cease, and maybe even prevent your body from bouncing back from pregnancy. If you do get pregnant, which I don't think is likely but isn't clearly possible either, then I think we need to look into some maintenance treatments to delay the further changes."

"Oh. Well, we can cross that bridge when we come to it, then." The topic was scary, but the way she'd said we needed to looking into something gave me a very pleasant flutter in my tummy. Perhaps, just maybe, she was thinking we were going to be together.

I tried to keep myself from hoping for too much, or asking for anything beyond the moment, but I took absolutely every honest measure I could to bring it about. At first, this was just presenting Crystal as many opportunities and enticements as possible to enjoy herself. I employed many of the techniques Kelsie had taught me about being an influencer, but focused on an audience of one.

One who proved to be quite capable of knocking me up.

After that, I had to be very careful to avoid letting her consider me her responsibility, because I wanted her to view me as an asset, as a source of pleasure and fun, not work and risk. My success in that respect was limited, but I think my attempts to distance myself in terms of supporting myself might have spurred her to view me as a true romantic partner. She had to put some effort into getting me to rely on her, and that made her see me as less pathetic.

It also helped that my social media profile kept growing and growing. My income also took off as I become more of a media phenomenon, but I think that had less to do with it than the fact that any celebrity, no matter how daft and widely derided as a symbol of decadence, is somehow accorded a kind of aura of value. In my case, I think it also helped that I was considered innocent of having a big ego or a mean bone in my body. Setting aside the sort of joyless trolls who could bully a puppy, few were willing to seem so mean spirited as to express any real hate toward me.

Granted, Crystal did come in for quite a bit of abuse once it was revealed that we were more than friends, but it also established her as a woman to be envied, which has its own cachet. And when my pregnancy was revealed, that sanctified the relationship in a way and redeemed her to a degree in the eyes of the public. She wasn't just enjoying me as a trophy, she was helping a pregnant mother.

I hoped that didn't have too much influence on her decision to propose, but I definitely was not so fastidious as to even consider declining. The engagement ring also had a huge pink synthetic diamond in it that was just perfect for me.

"So, can I stop taking all the pills now?" I asked, rubbing at my nicely-recovered tummy as I pumped milk for Chelsea.

"Maybe we should wait until you're not nursing any more," Crystal suggested.

"Uggggh. That's going to take forever," I said, speaking both of the pumping I was doing at that moment and the eventual end of pumping after Chelsea was weaned.

"It's ultimately up to you," she reminded me lazily.

"I can't wait until we get that new milker," I said, not for thr first time.

"Moo," Crystal taunted me, as she did whenever I called it a milker rather than a breast pump.

"You're just jealous," I told her.

"Trust me, I'm okay with not nursing," she said.

"No, I mean, you don't want the pump taking your place."

"It could never take my place," she asserted, and took charge of my free nipple with her lips, which had been my intent. It felt nice and actually helped the pump work. And it wasn't as if I didn't have enough milk. That woke up Crystal in multiple senses, so of course I needed to take care of her before I got back to Chelsea.

"I think she's asleep!" I whispered when I returned with the baby a few minutes later, but Crystal, of course, was also already asleep. I thought for a moment whether I was going to go to the bathroom for the the drug cocktail I had been taking for the last nine months and decided no, I wanted to lay down between my wife and our child.

The most immediate consequence of ending the regimen, of course, was the fading of side effects like occasional brain fog, suppressed sex drive, and occasional acid reflux. It wasn't until weeks later that I noticed that my boobs had outgrown my P-cup nursing bra, but just like my steadily enlarging nipples, I thought perhaps this was a consequence of nursing.

If that had been the only effect, then I might have dismissed it, but a series of other small effects couldn't be so easily explained. My lips getting just a tad plumper, my trousers getting just a bit tighter across the seat, my eyelashes getting just smidge longer, and so on. No single effect was remarkable, but taken together, it was clear that the long delayed changes were in progress.

Crystal monitored me carefully, but aside from the further growth of my milk-swollen udders, nothing really dramatic occurred, or least, not so dramatic that my Flashcast followers suspected anything more unusual than wearing particularly effective butt-lifting leggings, and shinier lip gloss.

Some of my followers did suspect that I'd gotten implants to keep my breasts from deflating after milk production declined, but of course what had really happened was that the changes impeded the normal hormonal signals that were supposed to tell my milk factories to slow down, so I've had to pump at least once a day ever since. And of course, my rack dominated my front more than ever before, which suited me just fine.

It also really suited certain ambitions I had for my dream wedding. It's admittedly silly, but when I'd been a little girl, long before I'd been interested in anyone in any sexual sense, I'd loved the idea of being a bride as being like a princess for a day, and I found I still wanted that. The reason my enormous assets suited this was even more embarrassing: Crystal also wanted to wear the bridal gown I'd picked out for myself. You see, the threat of us looking too similar made some stupid, immature part of me secretly jealous at the prospect of my spouse stealing some of my specialness on my special day, but once I saw how different we looked in the "same" dress due to the radically different body shapes, I felt my specialness restored.

People thought that it was self-deprecating humour when I picked as my cake topper an anime figurine with cartoonishly large breasts. Not to say that the figurine exaggerated my proportions that much. Her legs were quite a bit longer and more slender than my own, as the character hadn't my generously padded bum and child-bearing hips, but I reckoned that my waist was nearly as delicate and my bust as vast as hers. What was most important, of course, is that Crystal's topper was, while also buxom and white-gowned, easily distinguished from mine at a glance, and my pictures with my bridesmaids looked completely different from hers. I suppose we were both princesses for a day, but I was the bimbo princess, and somehow, even without having to negotiate, I ended up getting to do most of the bride stuff like throwing the bouquet. My favourite was the not-entirely-traditional signalling of how vigorously Crystal had packed my pussy by theatrically walking gingerly the morning after.

Part III: Testimonial

A lot of people asked why someone as smart as Crystal ended up with a bubbly bimbo -- bubble headed, bubble butted, and bubble-busted -- like Barbie née Brown, but most people wrote it off as opposites attracting, or just enjoyed the spectacle of a darkly brilliant and refined elite CEO paired with a vapid and vulgarly sexual bimbo housewife. I did use Flashcast to document some of the perks, like cooking meals for us, acting as a sort of marketing prop for any presentation she might want to give, and introducing her to loads of other hot women.

None as hot as me, though. And of course, less documented online was the time I spent as mother to Crystal's first child, with another on the way. I had definitely married up to someone rich, powerful, and sexy, but I was doing my part.

Finally, of course, as the CEO of FormeX, Crystal had a constant need to travel the world on business trips, many of them to just the sort of jet-setter locales that were the bread and butter of Flashcast influencers. I didn't have to hunt for publicly-accessible locations for my glamorous backdrops, because I really was staying at the ritzy hotels and eating at the fine restaurants. And it wasn't for whatever corporate sponsor was willing to pay, it was just for Crystal and FormeX. I didn't even have to try to make my life look glamorous, because it really was.