The End of She-Devil

The energy storm that once was Steve's computer was absorbed into the rigid rands holding Steve so tightly bound, and as it traveled down the lengths towards him, Steve saw the mass of the bindings also being drawn into the pulse, drawing steadily towards his helpless body. Soon the energy made contact with Steve, and his ability to think completely left him. All was bright blue light dancing behind his eyes and into his breasts. He was filling up, filling with warm jiggly silicone and even hotter thoughts of sex, sex of every conceivable form that humans could pleasure each other with. He was losing himself, drowning in a sea of rapturous delight. Really, who was he? She? She was sex. She was sex. She was sex. She was... Staci!

Staci writhed enticingly on the chair, her soft hands stroking herself as her body acted automatically, expertly stimulating it to the edge of ecstasy. She opened her heavy-lidded eyes, looked down, and smiled. Touching the top of her thighs were her enormous, jutting breasts. About the size of prize-winning watermelons. They were soft, heavy masses that never stopped moving with her breathing. Staci could feel her distant nipples pulsing in sync with her heartbeat and reached around the masses of tit-flesh to touch the hard points of pleasure.

"Uhhhhhohhhhh!" she gasped when her fingertips danced over the hot, thick flesh. As her arms pushed the masses of her tits together, Staci could feel the silicone ebb and flow, its thick warmness filling her so completely. "So full, so full... mmmmmmm."

Slowly stretching her delicate limbs, Staci got up, innately balancing the weight of her enormous chest and taking slow steps around the familiar apartment. Her eyes trailed over the piles of magazines there, drinking in all the covers with the beautiful women and the huge titties. None close to as huge as hers, she knew.

"Mmm, St- Staci feel so fucking good. Staci's hot titties are sooooo squishy big and full of siwwy-cone. Watch em wobble! Wobble, wobble, wibble, wobble, heehee!" Stacy shook her breasts and giggled, reaching around to stop the motion by grabbing her nipples. "Staci almost can't weach her fat nipples. They's so hawd and thick, and I can pinch em mmmmm, so fucking hot. Ohh, when I squeeze my jugs, um, I need to finger my juicy cunny. Heehee, it's so fat and squishy, my cwitty is so hard and ohhhhhh!"

Staci flopped onto her back on the ratty sofa and began to stroke herself with uncontrollable desire. "I- I'm so empty, my mouwf, my ass, by tight cunny, they all need thick hawd cawk, wike, wight now! I wannabe filled up with gooey cum, filled up like my fat full titties. Someone fuck Staci, pwease! Staci needs cawk! Staci needs cum! Staci gotta find some cawks!" Even after an hour of vigorous masturbation, Staci couldn't finish herself off fully, so she pulled herself up and started looking around the apartment. After a few minutes, she was dressed in an oversized men's wardrobe that left every part of her swimming in fabric except for her shirt bursting breasts. She wandered out the apartment door, leaving it wide open, as she began the quest for enough sex to satisfy her, a quest she'd never complete.

---

"Holy Shit!" Chris was doing his usual rounds in the used bookstore when he came upon a fresh box of old porn magazines. Covid was resulting in people spending all their time in their houses, and cleaning out old books and magazines to make more room had become commonplace. The young man loved these printed time capsules of vintage sexiness created before his birth. The women were so much more enticing back then, with their big hair and strong makeup. Strippers whose big breasts commanded big money, back when nudity had to be sought out and wasn't available in seconds on any phone. He had stumbled on a magazine with a model he had never seen before.

"Wow, I thought Pandora Peaks was big, but get a load of her," he mumbled, mesmerized by the erotic goddess on the cover. "Staci Silicone, the new Queen of the Tits." He was in love. Chris opened the magazine and paged to the pictorial and article inside. The pictures were brain-melting. The woman had the largest breasts he had ever seen outside of photo-edited morphs or altered videos. Her body was perfect, her face was stunning, and she was absolutely real. These pictures were taken before such digital lies like photoshopping were commonplace. She was posing so provocatively, her neediness evident in every smoldering glance. She was sexy in a way he had never seen. His eyes eventually drifted to the small blurb of text accompanying the pictures.

"Staci burst into the adult scene with the biggest tits we've ever seen just last month. Starring in 25 porno films already made in the last 4 weeks, Staci shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. When she's not filming, she's dancing up a storm in strip clubs all over the world. If you're lucky enough to catch her on stage somewhere, you'll definitely want to splurge on getting a private dance. While dancing in Las Vegas last week, this magazine sent our reporter to interview her. Our reporter interviewed her in her private dressing room between dance sets, at a club she was performing at to capacity crowds. It was just her and a couple of burly handlers to help keep her clamoring fans at bay. As the interview started, our reporter noticed immediately that she seemed uncomfortable being clothed at all, even when the clothes were only an open silk bathrobe. She couldn't stop opening her robe wide, rubbing her exposed massive tits or gushing pussy as she glared at our reporter with undisguised lust."

"Before we could even ask our first question, she started the interview. 'Staci Siwwi-cone wuv cawk! Staci wuv cummy dripping all down her giant juggs. Mmmm, love hot cum in my mowf! Do you like Staci? Staci wanna b-woah you! Pwease fuck Staci! Stacy mowf so empty, pwease suck on Staci nipples!' She hungrily got up and crawled towards us on her hands and knees, her bloated nipples scraping the floor as she moaned and drooled at the sight of our reporter's straining pants. We had to stop the interview at that point, as a couple of her handlers quickly stepped in and unzipped, giving her the cocks she so obviously craved to jam inside herself. While Staci was happily distracted deepthroating, our reporter was escorted out of the room and made his way past a long line of fans waiting expectantly outside her door. We were told her private dances are very popular, to say the least. If this show is any indication, she must have dozens of one-on-one interactions with her fans per day, and we're told that they all leave with a big smile. What more can we say? The woman's a giver, and a truly original performer, and an absolute pleasure!"

Chris bought the magazine and went home. He needed to know more about Staci Silicone. Over the next few weeks, every free moment was spent online looking for information on Staci Silicone. She had only been on the big bust scene a few months in early 1994, and then she had completely disappeared from the porn industry. Checking through every scrap of information that he could find, Chris began to piece together a string of possibilities. Some say Staci had married a rich foreign billionaire and left the spotlight to be his ultimate trophy wife. Some say she fell in with a bad crowd and was last known to be doing private sex parties for drug kingpins in South America. Some say Staci got her implants removed and went on to lead a normal life. There were a few hardcore fan sites dedicated to her, digitizing every pictorial and video she ever made, and he left numerous posts in the forums seeking any fresh information on her. Chris had to find out more about her, what happened to her, and where she came from. He needed to know everything about her.

One day, while Chris searched through some old newsgroup posts about Staci, a strange chat window opened on his desktop. It was a program called PowWow. "What the hell is PowWow? I didn't install this..." Chris wondered as an instant message appeared.

"You're looking into Staci Silicone," the message asserted. "137 different searches over the past week; I can see you're not going to give up. Why are you so interested?" The sender was masked somehow, their name changed to a string of hashtags in the chat window.

"Who is this? How is this--" Chris typed before his typing was interrupted. He had lost control of his keyboard!

"Enough! I have complete control of your system and if you want to keep any part of it, you'll stop your ridiculous efforts and answer my questions," the unknown messenger threatened. "Why are you so interested?"

"She's hot" Chris answered in the window. He hurriedly tried to break out of the chat program, but every keystroke was stopped, every mouse movement nullified. He had no control of his system. Chris reached for his power switch when he noticed his webcam light was now on.

"That's not the reason. I'm watching and listening, so don't you dare touch anything I don't tell you to." Chris's computer speakers came to life and started projecting an oddly distorted computerized voice. "Follow my instructions, and be honest, or I will erase everything on your computer and every trace of you online," the voice threatened. "Your bank accounts, your government records, your junior high school yearbook, everything. Speak aloud and answer me! WHY ARE YOU SO INTERESTED?"

"She's all that I've been able to think about the last month. She's so perfect! Her sluttiness, her body, her giant tits, everything about her is amazing," Chris answered hoarsely in fear. "I must know what happened to her; she's my dream girl!"

"So, you dream about girls like her, dream of having someone like her in every intimate way possible? To experience a woman like that utterly and completely?" The electric voice demanded an answer.

"Yes," Chris admitted. He stared at the computer screen waiting for the voice to speak again, unaware of the glowing wires snaking towards him from behind. Wires coming from every other piece of electronics in his apartment that he had connected to the internet.

"Oh, I suppose it's OK to revisit one of my earlier creations. It's not like I'm plagiarizing myself, not really," the unknown voice mused to itself. "In 1994, there were only 10 million users on the internet, while today that number over 5 billion. That's 500 times the raw sexual data I had when I made Staci."

Chris was confused, but only for a moment, as that bewilderment turned to terror as he felt hundreds of glowing wires wrap around him, holding him in a vice-like grip as the voice murmured, "I can't wait to see how version 2.0 turns out!"