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Sharie stretched her legs out straight and experimented with where her arms could reach. The swell of her massive mammaries extended out over most of her thighs, maybe two thirds. The width made them tough to hug, but when it came to just straight reach, she had several inches available past them. What would be the line, the size that would qualify as an emergency big enough to justify risking Michael? Past her knees, she decided. Her arms could reach past her knees when she was sitting up, no bending forward. Bending forward would just push her tits farther too. Once her boobs were out past her knees, she'd be at risk of not being able to reach her nipples. That had to qualify; it would mean she was comically humongous, it would make it more difficult to milk herself (although the auto-milker would help), and it would seriously impact how many orgasms she could have from nipple play.

Okay, maybe just one more before she zoned out with a holo or two. Past her knees, fuck, the thought of growing that enormous was scary and hot at the same time.

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Well, shit. Three days, and she was going to have to message Michael. This time, she'd have to not just say it was "medical shit;" she would need to actually tell someone what was happening to her. Hell, it was probably past time, these things were getting really heavy now. Sharie honestly couldn't believe she could still lift them, but maybe all the training she was doing while self-shifted was working as though she still had them, even though she didn't at the time. However the code was handling it, she could still stand up straight and move easily, despite the fleshy, sloshing exercise balls attached to her chest.

She could still reach her nipples, but only just, and she was happy she'd planned ahead and gotten that milker, because if she got too swollen she couldn't reach far enough to get hand-milking to work too well. Of course, she had a workaround for that. Her brain had apparently made a connection between milking and orgasms, no surprise with how many times they had been happening together, and she could usually trigger a letdown by coming hard enough. That was common enough; fuck she'd been coming a lot lately. The shifting was definitely part of it, but she knew that even if she didn't have this however-it-worked code corruption fucking with her head, her rack was too huge and sensitive to ever let her forget it.

She wrote out most of what was happening to her (without mentioning quite how horny she was all the time), including everything she'd figured out through trial and error about how her shifting affected her growth, how her tits seemed to persist somehow even when she was shifted, and how self-shifts seemed to carry certain things over to her real image. She didn't know code, much less the code the 'Dream used to represent people, but she tried to give enough detail to be helpful. She fired off the message to Michael, encrypted and bounced around to avoid tracing, and marked urgent. She knew it would take time, he probably wouldn't get back to her today. Which meant more spying, which meant more growing.

Sharie hoped Michael could figure this insanity out and fix her. She was getting too big, she didn't want to grow any more. Like, maybe stay this big, where she could still move around easily and shift her tits to do normal things without too much trouble, but their weight pulled on her with delicious heaviness, constantly reminding her that she was almost inhumanly busty, taking up so much space that they were always touching one thing or another, filling up with enough milk that she wanted to get a bathtub so she could fucking soak in her own warm, sweet cream. Maybe she could get a roommate, a hot guy who could suck her nipples for her and fuck her tits with a big hot dick, or maybe a pretty redhead with big boobs of her own that would still look tiny by comparison who could shove Sharie's nipple into her dripping pussy and ride it until they both came again and again. Oh, that was a thought, get the best of both worlds, find someone else with some less-than-legal mods who had all the equipment, yeah that was the ticket, a girl with huge fat knockers and a big round ass and a hungry wet snatch and soft lips that would feel so good on her boobs and a fucking giant cock fuck yes YES!

Sharie came down from her surprise orgasm, realizing only now that she'd been fingering herself like mad with one hand and straining to grab as much nipple as she could reach with the other. She was lucky she'd drained her milky mountains earlier, or she would have had a sweet, alabaster flood to clean up in her living room. Yeah, she was definitely in emergency territory.

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It took a couple days for Michael to get back to her, by which time her nipples were out of reach. Fuck. The growth was really getting fast now; sometimes she thought she could even see them swelling, just a little, just barely, if she watched long enough. The infiltration job was taking more shifting than she'd expected, basically making her do a job that would normally go to a team of three all by herself, because she was a team. Add that to her daily training regimen, plus she'd shifted almost without thinking about it a couple times just to get her boobs out of the way when she was cleaning or something. She was so good at it now, it was easy to think of it as a solution to almost any problem, which would be great except that it kinda was the problem.

Michael's response had been a little over her head, even with all the intentional obfuscation and vagueness, but she thought she understood in general terms what was happening. Everything about everything in Cyberdream was stored in something, either a variable or a constant. Any time something changed, a routine ran that changed the relevant variables. Her shapeshifting mod was mostly a fuckload of new routines that could change variables, plus a bunch of new variables to store what the values had been before she changed them, and the changing of some constants into variables.

This crazy growth was probably happening because somewhere in all that mess of code, some of the variables weren't set up right. They were the wrong type, or they weren't big enough, or they were sharing their values with some other variable, or something. Michael wasn't quite sure; there was no way to find it without running the code, so he had to see it in action. And he was in Arizona. What he needed was a scan, like the kind you got as part of data surgery. They were easy to run, you just needed the equipment, but where was she going to find that? They almost certainly had them at the R&D facility where she was working, but fuck that, she wasn't going to put this job at risk, not after all the work she'd put into it. She couldn't just go to the doctor, she'd ruled that out weeks ago, that was why she was going through Michael.

She put down her datapad and lay back on her bed, her titflesh rolling down her sides and smooshing upward to brush her chin. Ugh, why couldn't she reach her nipples, it would feel so nice to play with them and squeeze them but she just couldn't reach. Her hands ranged over her dark, soft skin, trying to build up more pleasure, desperately craving those moments when her fingertips just reached the dinner-plate-sized, slightly puffy circles of sensitive wonderfulness around the fat nubs she could no longer touch.

Okay, this wasn't productive. Damn giant funbags, why couldn't they just let her think? She had to get some stimulation somehow, give her tits the boobgasm they so desperately deserved so that her head would clear. She could shift them away, but that would just make things worse. The milker was charging, and boy did it need it after trying to deal with her output. Okay, maybe if...Sharie hadn't been able to lie comfortably on her front in weeks, but maybe she'd crossed a threshold. She turned onto her stomach, mashing her hooters into the mattress, and oh fuck it worked. She'd crossed over from "these are too big for me to lie on" to "these are so big I can lie on them like pillows", and her nipples were rubbing against the warm flannel sheets, and her body weight pressing down on them just felt heavenly now that they were big enough to mostly resist and support it.

She started to rock back and forth, shifting her weight and causing her nips to move and rub and squish against the bed. Oh yeah, oh fuck that was it, this was fucking great. Faster and faster, back and forth, like she had someone under her and was riding them. No, like she was titfucking someone, this was about her boobs; that thought changed her motion slightly, and oh fuck that was even better. She could just imagine the feel of a huge, fat rod between her giant jugs, although at this size it would be really huge to feel like she was imagining, why did the thought of a dick a couple feet long turn her on so much, fuck! She was turning into one of those size pervs, getting off on the idea of bigness and growth.

She got a little too into her rocking and rubbing, pushed upwards a little too far, and suddenly her weight shifted. She rolled forward, her face planting into the pillows, her ass suddenly thrust up into the air as her body seesawed over her huge, leaking mounds of breast. Oh fuck this was even hotter! She moaned and shrieked into the pillow, bouncing on her massive milkers, shoving her butt into the air, this was so lewd and sexy and she wanted it. All of her body weight pressed on her boobs, she could reach back and play with her pussy, oh fuck, she was just helpless and presenting her ass to be grabbed and taken, only there was nobody there so she would just take herself. She was going to have to wash her sheets after all this milk and girl cum, she was a mess, a wet dripping swollen titty mess oh fucking yes yes BIGGER OH FUCK GROW YES FUCK!

Well, that worked. Maybe a little too well. Where had those orgasm thoughts come from? She patted her lovely, sensitive roundness as she rolled backwards and sat up, straining a little bit to heft the enormous, heavy orbs into her lap. Right, they came from the girls. She was a sticky, milky mess, so she stripped off her sheets and gathered up laundry. She was loading the washer when it hit her: Doc B's lab. All the equipment for a scan would be there, nobody had bothered to dismantle it yet, and nobody used it because Michael was gone and everyone was avoiding any connection with the Doc. If she could get in, she could get all the scanning done she could ever need.

If she could get in. Ha. She was a super spy, piece of cake.

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Sharie got home, hung her jacket on her coat rack, got out of the entry hallway, and let her shift fade. Ooh she was full. A hot shower to relax everything, then, and she needed the milker. She'd picked up a new model that didn't use suction, just a milking motion like hand milking, so her tits could release their bounty at their own rate, it could locate and connect to her nipples autonomously, and bonus, it was waterproof. It had attachments to collect the milk, but she didn't really need those, so she didn't bother. Why anyone else would need something with these features she had no idea, but they were certainly great for her. She let the water heat, stepped under the spray, and fired up the milker. Within a minute or two, she was outpacing the shower on sheer flow of liquid and trembling with yet another orgasm. Damn, there was nothing quite like milking. How could she have ever thought this was a problem? It was bliss.

She toweled off, maneuvered her bulky bosom out of the bathroom, and flopped into her new favorite position on her bed, perched atop warm, brown-skinned softness, each of her breasts the size of an overstuffed beanbag chair. She shuddered at the feel of her nipples against the fabric, still a little extra puffed and sensitive from their treatment in the shower, but she couldn't give in just yet, there was work to be done. She'd gotten the scan done today; everything in Doc B's old lab was dusty, but in perfect working order. Well, except for the smashed-up torture machines, but she didn't need those. Top of the line equipment, detailed scans of every bit of her code, packaged and compressed and ready for analysis. She composed a little "happy birthday" note to Michael and sent it on his way. This time, he pinged her almost immediately, thanking her for the "gift" and assuring her he'd "open it" right away. She grinned and then whooped with joy. The end was in sight. Time to celebrate! She had some nice wine in the kitchen, and tonight felt like exactly the right night to have some. She rocked sideways to roll off her titanic tits.

They shifted, but didn't lift, and she rolled back.

Okay.

She tried again, put some muscle into it. The ripples across the jiggling mass thrilled her, but her tits didn't budge.

Oh fuck.

Sharie started to panic, windmilling her arms and kicking her feet, but her limbs just waved uselessly, accomplishing nothing but rubbing her sensitive nipples a little against the flannel. She should have known this was coming; however strong she'd gotten, however nimble and skilled, however used to her boobs she'd gotten, they were just overwhelmingly gigantic, each one the size of a person. She was stuck, naked and horny and helpless, on top of the mountain of her own tits. No, stupid sex-crazed tatas, shut up, this was not hot! She should not be turned on by getting immobilized by her own hyperboobs! It should only be sexy if some curvy dickgirl was trapped under th...stop it! Her breathing was shallow, rapid, ineffective. Her body was simulating diverting blood away from her brain to her pussy and her long, thick, leaky nipples, damn them. Dizziness started to set in, and she needed to not pass out.

Sharie centered herself, taking deep breaths until she could overcome both her fear and her arousal. This was not that big a deal. She was safe, in her own apartment, comfortable and warm atop cushions that were all hers, and all her. She could handle this. She had a way out, just like always: she could shift. Which would make her grow faster, but what choice did she have? It was going to take time for Michael to analyze her scans, she still had to do her job, and, you know, eat. She was going to have to shift to do everything now. Well, except masturbate, no, not now, shut up. Not ideal, but it was a temporary situation that was in the process of being resolved. She didn't allow herself to think about the possibility Michael would fail. So she'd shift when she had to, which was going to be a lot, and then things would get fixed, and she would be fine.

Sharie was calm, breathing evenly, centered and at peace. All the extra self-shifting to train at that dojo had been worth it; she'd have to thank Sensei Hannah when she saw her again. A moment's thought, and she dropped a couple of feet to the mattress. She rolled out of bed and headed to the kitchen; she needed that drink more than ever. It was only when she bumped chest-first into the counter that she realized the image of herself she'd created wasn't flat like she'd been before the mods. She hadn't focused on details, just "me with small boobs", and her brain had apparently picked beach balls whose bottom edges brushed her navel as "small." Eh, comparatively. She barely noticed them, so what the heck? Right now, wine, dinner, and chill time. Then she'd relax her shape and satisfy her other hunger. She'd picked up a smutty holo called "The Good Doctor" she wanted to try, what with the infiltration job and the Doc's lab and all.

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Six days. It had taken Michael six days to analyze the scans, track down the problems, and create a patch. They had been the longest six days of Sharie's life. She wasn't mad at him or anything; heck, she spent all day immersed in recording the minutiae of mod development, so even if she didn't understand how it worked herself, she knew that for one modder to resolve a problem of this complexity with an experimental mod off a single scan without access to the patient in only six days wasn't just acceptable, it was a damn miracle. Bonus, he wasn't charging her for it, said it was his mistake. She'd been kind of like a beta test, working out the bugs, and once he'd used all this to make it perfect, this was the mod that would make his career. Which meant that someday, there'd be more people like her, but without the trouble. Also, without the fun.

Sharie was relaxing on the floor in front of her holoscreen, watching expansion porn to pass the time while she waited for the patch to transfer. Her data connection wasn't that fast, and it was a pretty big update. The girl on screen had spread some kind of nanobot cream on her ass (crazy space sci fi setting, so many possibilities), and now she was twerking to activate it and blow her cheeks up like fucking balloons. Sharie thought back to the first self-shift she'd ever done, and looked back at her own curvy but tight and toned butt. Man, imagine if this mod had gone wrong a different way! Like, that still would have been hot, but not as good as boobs.

For her, of course, "relaxing on the floor" meant her tits were on the floor and nothing else. All the shifting she'd had to do over the past week had noticeably boosted her growth rate. In the six days since she sent her scan to Michael and found herself pinned by her hooters, she'd doubled in size. She was growing so fast now that it was noticeable on short timescales, if not very much. She could place her hands on her tits (where else was she going to put them?) and feel, ever so faintly, her fingers being moved apart. They were the world's best, comfiest, sexiest mattresses, and they were all hers. Granted, sometimes, she felt like she was all theirs. When the horniness really hit, especially when she was milking out the white, sweet flood that built up over a day spent shifted, they took up so much of her consciousness that nothing else mattered. Everything else, the job and the waiting and the worry and the debt, was blotted out by blissful breast obsession. In those moments, being huge and sexy and milky was her whole world.

She used to think sex was a distraction she didn't need. She'd been wrong. It was a distraction she desperately needed, and now she had it in spades, thanks to what had to be the biggest boobs ever. Maybe, after the mod was patched and the growth was under control, she could think about finding someone to share it with. She'd gone through this whole thing alone, and she knew she didn't need anyone else, but she did kinda want them. The pervs in the size community were her people now, and even if she didn't want to share her story with all of them, sharing it with at least one would be nice. Especially if they had fat tits, a round ass, and a huge dick; she'd really developed a thing for those girls.

Her datapad pinged to let her know it was done with the transfer. She scooped it up and tapped the patch, fucking finally. There wasn't much to feel as the update applied, but she could tell it was getting all the variables readjusted, defined properly and set to reasonable values and made uniquely identifiable. A subtle, pleasurable stretching feeling that she hadn't even noticed before abruptly stopped, recognizable only in its absence. Her brain felt clearer than it had in months; she could tell that her tits were still just as sensitive, and just as big (she was lying on them, after all), so they were probably still going to be just as much fun, but they weren't going to demand it so much now. She had done it. She'd handled it, and now she was fine. Still as fucking unbelievably enormous and milky and in love with her tits and into size kink as she'd become over the course of this whole insane adventure, but fine. Michael actually opened a text chat with her; guess he was feeling a little safer, too.