The Device: Media Bias

I stood in the hallway of my shitty apartment building; key turned in the lock. The darkness beyond was a cramped moldy mess. Both my roommate and I hated cleaning and between the faltering repairs and our own self-interests we had long since abandoned the common space to its squalor. We had had hopes for this place once. We were going to make it our own. I guess that had become a little too true.

I took out one of the home and lifestyle magazines I'd bought earlier and flipped through it, holding each page up to the door and imagining how it would look in the flesh. In the end I decided to keep it simple: a clean, fresh and open space in sharp contrast to the cramped mess we had now.

I fired.

The image of my old trashed apartment - garbage, junk and all - was now displayed in the magazine as the latest trend in modern living. I laughed as I imagined rich homeowners spewing junk around to keep up with the new style. Well, at least other people who had given up on their homes could feel a little better about the way it looked.

I opened the door and stepped into my stunning new apartment. It was spacious, stylishly furnished and most importantly, clean. I twirled in delight as I moved through the new space.

Somehow it extended impossibly outwards, the open-concept kitchen pushing further than the building should have had room. Had the building grown larger to accommodate? Or did this one apartment now just jut into street? Maybe it was just bigger on the inside. I didn't care. I ran a hand along the elegant wood of the fixtures and basked in the stunningly soft couches. What mattered was that for once I got to have nice things. This was mine.

But now was no time to get comfy, not yet. I still had work to do.

I was a little surprised when I walked into my room and saw that it was exactly the same. I must have only ended up swapping the common room and not the whole apartment. I made a mental note to go through and swap the bathroom later.

It was probably for the best. This is where I kept all my stuff.

I sat down at my computer and booted it up. My toe tapped anxiously as it crawled to life. I looked out the window at the cars driving past below. I wondered what would happen if I swapped the speed of my computer with the speed of a car.

Before I could indulge my curiosity though, my computer chimed to let me know it was ready. I put down the device. Maybe next time.

It was time to get to work

I pulled open my social media feed. It was the same banal crap I saw every day. I couldn't remember the last time I'd ever cared about any of these people, though that did little to stop me from constantly comparing myself to them. It all seemed so small now.

I browsed through my online acquaintances, wondering who to add to my list, but none of these nobodies were worth my ire.

I stopped at Karen. My breath caught. Okay, that slut was. I looked down at the messages she left on the phone. She was trying to apologizing that she had gotten the job instead of me, trying to console me, trying to do damage control.

She had posted a picture of herself grinning while drinking wine from the bottle with her arm wrapped around the office hunk, Kevin Jones. The caption read "TGIF - Out celebrating my new promotion!" I fumed. She didn't look very sorry to me. I quickly pulled open Pornhub and swapped the bottle Karen was holding to her mouth with a huge black dildo. I giggled as I read the top comment - "Looks like someone's in for a fun weekend!"

In the background of my computer, the poor girl in the porn was now getting her ass fucked by a wine bottle.

Okay. That was a start.

I pulled open my boss's page. As much as I hated Karen for her betrayal, it was that fat fuck who had chosen her over me. And why? Because she had bigger tits? Because she showed more skin? What had really happened in those private meetings?

My boss was one of those people who played like he was everyone's friend, always chummy, always making those terrible jokes and expecting everyone to play along. He was always so... physical, so close. He was a total pig. I'd seen him staring down my shirt one too many times but I could never make it stick.

I grinned. He wanted to stare at tits so bad? I'd give him tits to stare at.

Finding a good picture of him was easy. I wanted to get him young - a smiling teen fresh out of high school. He was as pudgy and gross then as he was today. The hard part was finding a pair of boobs to do him justice. There were just so many options. Each pair I looked at I put aside for an even more massive rack. I'd leave him with a set of whoppers so big you could crush beer cans with them, specially chosen for the way their dark tone contrasted with his pasty skin.

I felt a little bad for the porn star I was dooming to his gross pasty man-boobs, but you can't make an omelet without swapping a few eggs. The device fired.

I cycled forward in his timeline, laughing as every picture of him thereafter featured those enormous flopping melons bulging out from under those garishly-colored dress-shirts he wore. Somehow, they managed to stand out even above his fat belly. His thumb sized nipples seemed a constant advertisement for his lack of support. That would serve that fucker right for passing me over in favor of that bitch.

Which brings us back to the job.

I looked down at the device. What did I want to do about the job? With this thing I could easily get my promotion back. Hell, I could... I dunno, turn Karen into a bug or something. Get rid of her for good. But no. I sighed as I looked at her profile picture. She hadn't quite earned that.

Did I really want to use this device to for that job? I'd still be stuck dealing with all those shitty people day and day out. I'd been working my butt off for it for years and now it just seemed like such a small consolation. Had I really been wasting my life on this? I could have anything. I could have everything. Frankly, this job was beneath me.

I'd swap jobs with my boss instead. With tits like those I'm sure he'd be climbing the corporate ladder again in no time.

I grinned as I swapped our positions around, LinkedIn page and all. I flipped back over to his Facebook to see a new post complaining about being denied the chance for advancement again. He was much more civil about it than I would have been.

Was that really enough though? All I had done was put him in my position. I wanted him punished. I wanted him to suffer.

He was going to hire based on looks? He was going to make women sleep with him to get ahead? I'd show him what it was like in a world where people looked at you that way. Never respecting you for who you were, just what kind of perverse favors you can offer.

I would turn him into the kind of slut who had to sleep with his boss for a promotion. I would make him the woman no one would respect.

I dug through the internet looking for the biggest, fakest looking bimbos I could find. Big tits, huge lips, dumb vacant eyes. I was ready to swap all the worst of those traits on him one by one until his social media feed looked like a Barbie catalogue, but I stopped. No one would even notice, would they? No one would care. They'd still treat him as though nothing were different, right?

Could I - could I just tell the device to swap how people reacted to him? It was such an ephemeral concept I didn't know if it would be able to handle it. I pulled up a video of a some top-tier bimbo gutterslut and prayed that it would work.

There was that noise and the heat as I fired, but nothing happened.

Maybe that was expecting too much? I took a look at his latest few posts. I was about to try something else when I saw the comments. Instead of getting consoled about his lack of a promotion he was receiving a string of lewd solicitations from strange men telling him what a whore he was, and what they'd liked to do with those slutty lips of his. I balked at the sheer filth of the things they were saying.

I let out a hot breath.

I looked back over at the comments in the porno. There were far fewer of them, but at least they seemed to be treating her like a person. I secretly wondered if I'd ruined this poor girl's porn career, but you know what? Let her have some respect for once. She deserved it.

I looked back at Karen, at that half-cocked smile in her profile picture. What did I want to do to Karen? Did I want to do the same thing to her? Make everybody treat her like the slut she was?

No. My grin turned cruel. No, I could do much worse. She thought she could betray me? I'd show her what betrayal felt like. I would take everything from her. Her promotion, her figure, her beauty. I'd make her pain echo my own. I'd make her think that she'd been passed over by someone who had slept for it, someone more beautiful, someone who didn't deserve it. That would be hitting her where it hurt.

I froze as I saw a picture of us together. It had only been last month. We were at the bar together after work, commiserating over all the bullshit we had to put up with. She had been my friend. She was at that bar right now, celebrating one of the greatest moments of her life.

Did I really want to do this? What did this stupid job matter now?

I could forgive her. I could help her - make it so that she'd never have to put up with the petty advances of perverted men again. We were in it together, weren't we?

My heart pounded, a martial beat to match the raging war of my emotions.

No. She had hurt me. I couldn't let that happen ever again. She needed to pay. She needed to suffer. Forgiveness be damned.

I tore into her. I ripped away her attractiveness bit by bit. Never again would she be able to to get by with a wink and a smile. Never again would she have an easy time in life because of her slim figure or soft shapely breasts. Finally, I swapped her career with my former boss. I had left her where I had been. Let her stew in the well of misery I had fallen into. Let her know how I had felt.

I swallowed the anguish in my throat. I had wanted vindication but all I felt was cold and mirthless. That bitch was still smiling back at me from the photo.

I heard the jingle of keys. My roommate was home. I shook my head and wiped the tears in my eyes. Good. I needed a diversion.

My roommate was... well, I guess you could say that Kyle and I were a little more than just roommates. We had history, for better or for worse. On-again off-again was a good way of putting it. Currently very much off-again.

We'd hooked up when I was young and naive and I thought I could change him. I'd stayed with him because - frankly - he was hot and he had the biggest goddamn dick. After that it had just been easier to be together than apart. He said we were fuck buddies, I said it was shit like that that kept us from being more. I know it wasn't a good relationship but it was what it was. He was an asshole, but I got horny sometimes too.

I was mad at him. I was often mad at him. I didn't even remember why any more. It didn't matter. What did matter was that with all his years of bullshit, he'd made my list and I had just the thing in store.

Kyle was one of those chokingly masculine manly men. He was a philandering muscle head with daddy issues who thought his dick made him god's gift to women. He'd be right if he knew how to use it. He was the complete alpha-male douchebag package.

His story would be tragic if he wasn't so unsympathetic. His poor mother didn't know what to do with him after his dad ran out on them so he'd practically been raised on 90s action movies. He had these huge posters up on his wall of Terminator and Bond and James Dean. He idolized that stuff like no one else.

I wanted to see how badly I could mess with him.

I pulled up one of the posters online. Swartzineger. Terminator 2. I fired. The iconic form of the T-800 on his bike in his leather jacket gave way to the waifish body of a beauty-pageant winning bikini model with especially huge tits.

I smirked. The heat of arousal - no longer restrained by the emotional dam of my dramatic angst - washed back through me with a vengeance.

Would that be enough?

I pulled up a clip of the movie itself. To my surprise, my change to the poster had spread out into the movie itself. It was surreal. I bit my lip, trying to hold it together as this bimbo-bodied Arnold delivered all his badass lines.

Still. Something was missing.

I turned back to the footage of the beauty pageant where a muscular girl in a leather jacket and jeans was trying to win a bikini contest. She wasn't doing as bad as I'd have expected. Despite her changed form, she was surprisingly elegant. Arnold could learn a thing or two from her.

I fired.

The terminator's badass walk was now a sultry graceful strut, feminine and sexy even as explosions went off around him. I couldn't stop laughing at how seriously everyone was taking this girlish waif of an action star. The movie had become a parody of itself. She even had her pinky raised as she poured lead out of that minigun, her boobs jiggling with each shot fired.

One hand crept below my panties as I dove in to do the same for the others.

Neo's ability to dodge bullets was now complicated by the pendulous wobbling of his enormous, scarcely contained tits. Jon McClain was crawling around in air-vents in a sheer lace teddy. James Bond had become sexier than any Bond girl. By the time I was done, the beauty-pageant I'd been using for ammunition was starting to look more like a weight lifting competition.

I snickered as I slipped through the nice clean living room, device in hand. I couldn't wait to see the results. I knocked on his door.

I stumbled back in surprise when I saw the creature that answered. The six-foot macho hunk I'd grown to hate was gone. In his place was something lithe and sensuous with the almost-feminine features of a heart-throb pretty boy. My heart did just that.

He stood there impatiently with the door open, hip cocked out coquettishly to the side and chest pressed forward, giving me a view of the enormous breasts beneath his low-cut school-girl blouse.

I think my jaw actually dropped.

"Uh." he looked around confused. "Is everything okay?"

"K-kyle?"

"Yes?"

"What on earth are you wearing?" I blurted

"Oh, do you like it? Doesn't it look just like the one Bond wears in Casino Royale?" His leg raised as he twirled, his tartan miniskirt fluttering around him giving a tantalizing glimpse of the juicy round butt bulging out of his out-of-place boxer-briefs. "I know it's a little cliché but the ladies love it. Why? You've never commented on it before."

"Y-you've got boobs! And - and oh my god, your ass!"

"Oh god, I wish." he giggled. "No, these are just breast forms. The top really doesn't work without them. I have been going the extra mile on the squat rack though." He turned to display his bubble butt, head looking over his shoulder at me as he bounced on his toes and sent it wobbling perkily. "Thanks for noticing."

I was suddenly painfully aware of the simmering arousal which had been building up within me all evening. Seeing pictures, videos, advertisements... It had nothing on actually seeing the changes in the flesh. And what exquisite flesh it was. I had been trying to tell myself that what I was feeling was just a power trip, but there was no denying it anymore. I really did have a thing for feminized men. The perverted things I wanted to do to this poor boy were surprising even me.

"Kaitlin? Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Fuck it. I knew what I wanted. And today I was going to have it.

"Do you..." I swallowed. "Do you wanna fuck?"

"Ah-ha!" he laughed. "I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away."

That grin. That sleazy sexy grin of his. I loved and hated that grin in equal measure. He looked so different I'd half forgotten what kind of arrogant asshole I was dealing with. This is why we were never in a serious relationship.

"S-shut up" I said, stepping into his room. The posters of sexy feminine action stars stared down at me conspiratorially.

Kyle wrapped a possessive arm around my waist, pulling me in tighter. I rolled my eyes. He always acted like it was some kind of conquest whenever we fucked, like he had turned me into his private slut and now I couldn't get off with anyone else's dick. I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a second look over. Was the sex really worth it?

You know what? No. It wasn't. I had too much respect. I didn't have to take that kind of shit from him anymore. I didn't have to take that kind of shit from anyone ever again. Not today. Today I had the power. Today I was going to make him my slut for once. I pointed the device down at the bulge in his skirt and fired.

It was an uncomfortably sudden transformation. New sensation played at my brain - an urgent need going off in my limbic system like the ringing of an alarm or the barking of a dog. There was something big and heavy in my pants and it wanted to fuck.

My well-tailored pants had not been designed for an expansion like this. I struggled to get them off as they caught on the rock-hard meat stick bulging out of my panties.

I grabbed a handful of cockflesh as I pulled them and my underwear free. It seemed to strain yearningly in the air in front of me. My breathing grew hot and ragged. Even just gripping the thing sent endorphins flooding through my brain. Shit, no wonder guys were always playing with these things.

I marveled at its heft and weight, swinging it back and forth. I'd never seen it from this angle before. It looked all the bigger on my smaller frame.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Kyle raised an impatient eyebrow as he ditched his ridiculous boxer briefs. "You're acting like you've never seen your own dick before."

I scowled and threw him down onto the bed. He laughed and pulled me down after him.

My heart pounded as the heat of our bodies pressed together. I groaned at the pressure of my cock squeezed against his tight belly. I tried to get it lower, tried to get in position, but it wasn't cooperating.

"What? No foreplay?" he teased. I was always nagging him about that, but let's face it, he was as unlikely to eat me out as I was to suck his dick.

"Shut up" I gasped.

He swept me up as he rolled me over, putting him in a position to grab my hands and pin me while he ran his pouty labia around the thick meaty head of my cock. I groaned at the slippery sensation of his hot sweet sex sliding against the sensitive flesh of my turgid cockhead. I had no idea that thing between my legs could be so powerful. It was so... insistent.

Stroking it with one hand for stability, he lowered himself onto me. It was warm and tight and deep, like a hot velvet glove squeezing tightly at the pleasure center of my brain. I felt like I was going to cum just from that. Then he started fucking me for real. My abs tightened as he began bouncing his hips along the yearning length of my massive member.

I pulled a hand free and started to pluck at one of my stiffening nipples but Kyle brushed my hand aside. He started to lick and nibble at one of my horny nipples while he rolled and squeezed the other breast with his free hand.

My head rolled back. I mewled in need as he ground his wet, salivating hips into my crotch, a fast series of aggressive pumps followed by several slow. Despite the feminine grace of his movements he was being rough and tough, slamming into me with an all-too-masculine passion, seizing control over me, using me for his pleasure.

"You like that, baby?" he grunted.

I growled. No, I did not. How had I let this happen? Wasn't I supposed to be in control here? I rolled over on top of him, spreading his legs as I pulled my dick out of his humping pussy, inch by long inch. I held it up to his clit with one hand and started slapping.