Wererock

I put the stone in the cup holder and climbed from the car. I got halfway to the store when I stopped and turned around. I couldn't do it. Just imagining the humiliation was enough to keep me from entering the store. I knew what was coming and I couldn't make myself do it. Self-preservation took over. I felt frustrated as I sat in the car. I wanted to play out my scenario but the reality of it was too much for me to take, forcing me to return to my traveling sanctuary. I started the car, about to give up.

The stone spoke to me or maybe it was my own silly brain. Either way another idea popped into my head. I clutched the stone and with the old scenario still set to activate on the sight of bananas I willed the memory of the scenario to disappear. I wasn't sure it would work, but if it did. Just to be safe I added a final trigger; my full memory would be restored upon returning to my car. This was a huge test.

I looked at the stone in the cup holder. "Not this time, buddy," I said, climbing from the car. I had thought it would be fun to grow some tits. Maybe later, but not in a store by the house that I've been in hundreds of times before. I recognized a lot of the employees, there would be no doubt that a few would recognize me as well.

I entered the store, feeling a bit mad at myself for not finishing my first shopping trip, but sometimes wisdom takes over. It was too late to worry about it anyway. Entering the store, I grabbed one of the green carry-all carts, the same kind I had used to hide my chest not ten minutes earlier. I smiled at it and how I had clutched it as a shield. It had holes in it; it couldn't hide everything. The thought made me smile.

I walked past the deli and reached the produce area in the far back corner. There, among the fruits and vegetables I saw a banana. It made me smile, remembering what I had just done. Immediately upon seeing the yellow fruit my tits sprouted, jutting enormously from my chest. I cherished the weight of them; my tits are amazing. I straightened my spine, causing my taut shirt to become even tighter. My nipples pushed out even more. I dropped my arms, grasping the carry-all with one hand. I didn't want anything to block the view of my massive tits.

I saw people looking at me. Some were gasping, others were laughing. One woman pushing a cart with a baby in the little front section raced away from me like she'd smelled a fart. That woman was obviously jealous!

I walked through the store, moving up and down every aisle. I had only come for a few things and while I didn't need cat food or dog food, there were people in the aisle and they needed to see how well I overfilled my shirt. People laughed at me, others openly mocked me, and through it all I smiled. I was giving the people a show and they were enjoying it! It felt good.

At the back of the store I picked out a nice sirloin for dinner. A man behind the partition, actively slicing some steaks to put out on the shelves gasped at me, pointed and laughed. I watched and he almost cut himself he was laughing so hard. It felt good to bring that much pleasure to another person. I smiled at him, satisfied with myself.

With all the aisles visited the idea that new people may have come in made me walk up and down all the aisles one more time. My tits were amazing and I wanted people to know it! After two full trips through the store it dawned on me that there were more people at the mall. If they loved my tits this much in Publix, how much better would it be at the mall? The idea had me racing for the checkout line.

There was only one woman in front of me and she gave me a disgusted look and muttered, "Freak." She was obviously jealous.

The young woman, barely out of college if she was out at all, began ringing up my few items. The steak, an onion, even a few bananas all went through the checkout line. She told me my total, staring at me the whole time. She couldn't take her eyes off me. Her eyes went from my face to my chest and back to my face again. She seemed confused. You guessed it, she was jealous, too.

I slid my card and activated the trigger. I was standing at the register with tits that were far too big pushing at my t-shirt. My nipples were hard nubs that seemed to be begging for attention. My face turned crimson as my hands flew to my chest, trying to hide what was far too big to contain. My hands started shaking and I swear I felt tears forming in my eyes. I have never felt such humiliation. The laughter around me wasn't because I was making people happy. They were laughing at me - the man with huge tits. I rushed from the store, my head low, leaving my purchase behind.

The little girl who rang up my order called after me, "Miss, you forget your groceries." The mocking laughter around me escalated as did the color on my face.

I stopped, indecision pulling me in multiple directions. I wanted to flee the store and I needed my groceries to do it or they'd chase me down. I raced back to the register, grabbed my bag, uttered a polite something and ran out of the store, holding the light brown plastic bag to my chest. It didn't cover enough and as I ran my monstrous tits bounced, moving around, keeping my mind on them. Around me there was more laughter and one old man just stood there shaking his head as if to say, "kids."

I ran to the car, clutching my tits, trying not to cry. I was trembling, replaying the laughter in my mind. I could hear each taunt, each laugh, each mocking comment. All of them seared into my brain. I felt like sobbing.

I made it to the car and clutched the Wererock. The icy tough of the stone made me feeling better and taking my tits away made me feel better still. The memory of what I'd programmed snapped into my brain and with it the reality that I'd set that in motion took my breath away. I glanced at the rock with a newfound sense of wonder; the power of that stone was amazing.

I drove home, reliving my shame. It had been overwhelming and remembering that indecision where I was torn between fleeing the story and grabbing my groceries, I felt an increasing flush to my cheeks. My shame had been nearly overwhelming. Next time I'd make it a bigger turn on, less crippling. That there would be a next time was a forgone conclusion.

I put my groceries away and sat on the couch, clutching the stone. It held more power than I knew. I spent a few hours experimenting. I set a trigger that I read the word Heinz then my cock would disappear to be replaced by a pretty vagina. Then, I followed that up by taking the memory of setting the trigger away. That night, while making dinner, I opened the refrigerator. There, on the shelf to my right, was a bottle of ketchup. Heinz of course. I saw the ketchup, read the word and felt the change. Immediately I remembered what I had set in motion. I returned to the stone and set things back to normal.

Amazing. And the possibilities. I didn't have to be clutching the stone to make a change; I only had to be holding it when I set up a change. The programming took hold, regardless of where the stone was. Once the change was made, I could only change back if I had the stone. Unless, the thought came to me. I set up a change that if I read the word "Heinz" I'd gain my massive, overly sensitive tits and I made it that when the trigger was set, I'd totally forget that the stone even existed. Then, I set a program that when I read the word "news", my body would revert to normal as would my memories. If that worked, oh the possibilities. I chose news since I read the news every morning. I knew that I'd read that word in time.

Ten minutes later I had massive tits. I cooked dinner with them, showered with them, not thinking anything odd was out of place. I had tits; I just did. That night, lying in bed, I was flipping through the channels and happened upon the news. Just like that the tits were gone, and the memories returned. I jumped out of the bed and grabbed the stone where it had been sitting all evening. I had walked past it dozens of time and somehow never even noticed it.

Oh, I know how. I had programmed myself to forget the stone and the Wererock had obliged.

I was giddy with power and trembling with a needy excitement that back to back ejaculations barely eased.

I went to bed, dreaming of the Werestone and the power it possessed.

Chapter 4

Cynthia

I awoke Sunday morning, and my first thought was of the Wererock. I had learned some amazing things and I wanted to play some more. That thought was replaced with thoughts of Cynthia. She and I had dinner plans; I found myself looking forward to that. It had been far too long since I'd had a real date. I spent the day cleaning the house, just in case Cynthia came over. As I cleaned I played with the rock. I made myself a skinny, Latina woman, imagining I was nothing but a hotel maid. I couldn't tell you if I was Mexican or Cuban and it didn't matter, I was playing with the stone.

I imagined Cynthia standing behind me, scolding me for missing a spot. The thought made me smile.

Lunchtime found me eating a banana sandwich. The sight of those bananas reminding me of the shame I'd felt the day before. Just remembering the humiliation made my cheeks flush crimson.

Hours later, I got ready for my date, confirming via text that we were still on. I'm looking forward to it, Cynthia texted back. I showered and dressed in black dress slacks and a crisp white shirt. I donned the same jacket Cynthia had returned to me the day before. A splash of cologne and I was ready to go. I paused at the door.

I made my way back to the bedroom and with the stone in hand I made my cock a few inches bigger. You never know.

I picked Cynthia up at her house. She answered the door wearing a stunning red dress, slightly low cut revealing just a flash of cleavage. The dress ended just above her knee. Her brown hair was pulled up revealing a tantalizing neck. Twin diamonds hung from each ear, shining in the porch light. A silver necklace decorated her throat. Her pretty eyes looked more hazel than blue and yet they seemed to make her whole face light up when she smiled. "Wow," I didn't even know I was going to speak until I did.

Cynthia giggled. "Thank you, good sir," she elevated an arm.

I took it, stacking our elbows. I escorted her to my SUV and drove us to the restaurant. The drive was relaxed and comfortable. We talked our jobs and found they were remarkably similar. I owned a software business and Cynthia wrote code. "What about the mall?"

"Community service," she admitted. She followed that admission with a sip of wine.

That sounded interesting. "Oh?" It didn't take much convincing to get her to tell the story.

Turns out Cynthia, the lovely woman sitting across from me had a playful streak. Pun very much intended. She looked around the restaurant. We were sitting in a booth, a single candle flickering in a dark red glass. Above us, a single bulb, silvered on the bottom, hung from a jet-black wire. There was a couple behind us, talking and drinking and enjoying their dinner. The booth in front of us was empty. I couldn't really hear the couple behind us and so they probably would hear us. We were fairly isolated and I think Cynthia came to that same conclusion.

"It's embarrassing."

Oh, I knew about embarrassing. The thought of strutting through Publix with my mammoth tits brought a flash of color to my face. In the dim light, Cynthia didn't notice. "I know about embarrassing things," I admitted, trying to spur her on. "But if you don't want to tell me, well, that's okay."

She gave me a look I couldn't quite read. "You mean that, don't you?"

I answered with a nod.

"What the hell," she said after a moment. It was as if she'd been having some internal debate and had finally reached a conclusion. "I'll start by saying I've had a good time. I've enjoyed your company."

"You sound like the date's about to end."

She shrugged.

I took her hand, "I'll make a promise to you; I won't think less of you, no matter what and," now it was my turn to take a risk, "no matter what, I can top it."

"You don't know that."

But I did. I smiled, "Yeah, I do." I hadn't planned on telling Cynthia about my Wererock; I hadn't ever planned on telling anyone, but somehow, at that moment, I wanted to tell her. No, I wanted to show her. I'm sure that the decision wasn't mine to make. I think the stone made it for me. Much later I was sure of it.

She finally made up her mind. "Not here, deal? Take me back to your place and I'll tell you my dirty secret. At least we won't make a scene in public."

"Publix?"

She gave me a look and then smiled. "Cute."

But I wasn't being cute. I was picturing my ample chest leading me down every aisle of that brightly lit grocery store. I was revisiting the flush on my cheeks when I paid the bill and the amplified shame I'd programmed. I felt my hands shaking as the memory washed over me.

"What's wrong?" I was touched by the concern in her voice.

"My story might just beat yours," I admitted. The look on the face showed me that she was both doubtful and intrigued. And that face was gorgeous.

We dropped her car at her house and then I took her back to my place, thankful that I had cleaned it up. I excused myself just to check on the rock sitting in the nightstand by the bed. It was resting next to my pistol and at that moment I knew the stone was far more powerful. It was an interesting revelation.

I popped open a bottle of red, poured us a glass and sat next to Cynthia on the couch. I could smell her perfume, some sweet, flowery scent that made my head spin. I touched her hand, feeling the heat of her skin. There was something brewing between us. I can't really describe it better than that. I was sure she felt it, too.

"I'm kinky," she said. She took a sip of her wine, giving me time to respond or kick her out or laugh. I just smiled, waiting for her to continue. "Really, really kinky," she said. "I've not dated many people. Once they find out about my," she hunted for the word and went on without it, "well, nobody has stayed on past that. It's why I tell it on a first date. You kinda forced my hand early talking about our jobs. Mine sucks, by the way."

"I'm hiring," I said in response.

That made her smile. "I get turned on by," her voice dropped, "humiliation. Mine or somebody else's. Mostly somebody else's, but mine, too." She took another sip of her wine.

I aped her actions. I wasn't sure she wanted me to talk so I kept quiet. She put her wine down and pulled her hand from mine. She took a deep breath. "I give myself commands to obey, sometimes, when I don't have anyone to boss around." She paused again, looking for a reaction. I just looked into her pretty eyes, waiting for her to continue. She was toying with me in a way I didn't understand. The stone had made me humiliate myself, or had I done it because I was kinky in the same way. I didn't have an answer and now wasn't the time to ponder. Cynthia had a confession to make, and I needed to hear it.

"I'm pretty bossy; it comes from the job. When I write the lines of code, the damned things obey. Have you ever thought about that? There's no ambiguity. I say jump, the code jumps. It made me want that in my own life and I won't lie or say otherwise. Not a lot of people are into that, you know, or maybe a lot of people just won't admit to it. I know I'm pretty," she smiled, but kept her hands in her lap, "you proved that again when you met me at my door, but I'm also, well, old enough to be honest with myself."

"And that led to community service?"

"Yeah. Well, when I don't have anyone to obey me, or tell me what to do, I give myself orders and must obey myself. I write the code in one sense, and I am the code in another." She finished her glass of wine and asked for another. Or maybe she told me to get her one. I can't really say. If it was a test, I must have passed.

"So, I was feeling pretty kinky and ordered myself to go to the mall and well, I had to obey the voice in my head. I took a shower, shaving myself, all over," she was toying with me, those final two words came out as a seductive whisper, defying me to not imagine what she had done. "I wore an old sun dress that was mostly out of style. It was thin and white, faded really, with black leaves and branches on it, decorated with little yellow birds sitting on those black twigs. I wore that into the mall with nothing on underneath it, no bra, no panties, nothing. Just the dress and some crocks that seemed far too noisy as I walked on the concrete sidewalk. The day was warm, and the outdoor mall was mostly empty. The mall is busy in the spring but during the summer people prefer to be indoors," she shrugged. She was watching me, taking in my reaction. I held her eyes with my own; this was important. For both of us. "I walked into the bathroom on the opposite side of where I parked. The only things I had with me was a pair of scissors and my car keys.

"Do you see where this is going?" She waited for me to respond. I nodded, anxious for her to continue. "I locked myself into a stall, shaking and scared. I couldn't do it. I couldn't. But then I heard the voice of my imaginary," she swallowed a sip of wine, "mistress," and then another, "'do it slave', the voice said. 'Make your mistress happy. Show her what a slut you are. Cut up your dress.'" She had changed her voice when she wanted me to know it was her internal owner speaking. That voice was a little deeper and quite erotic.

"I was shaking but I wanted it. I really did. I took off my dress and sat naked in that dirty stall. I held the scissors in one hand and the dress in the other. The dress was old and worn and the scissors destroyed it easily. Snip, snip, snip, just like that the dress became nothing more than confetti. 'Flush it,' I ordered myself. At that point it didn't really matter. There wasn't anything big enough to use for cover, but I obeyed anyway. It took seven flushes to make the whole dress disappear down the drain."

She sat quietly for a few moments. I watched as her hands moved to her crotch; I watched as her thighs seemed to shift around like those of a fidgety child. The memory of destroying her dress was affecting her in much the same way it was working on me. I took a sip of wine and watched as Cynthia did the same. Her face was flush and I noticed a little quiver to her beautifully painted lips.

"I was stuck, you see, stuck. That word is so exciting," Her voice cracked but she kept on going, "I had to get back to my car. I was naked, with no money, no phone, no purse, just my keys and an old pair of crocs that made the most horrendous noise when you walked in them. I picked them for just that reason; they'd draw attention to me." She gave a small half-smile, "Not like a naked woman in the mall was hard to miss. I sat in that stall for ten minutes, trying to work up the courage. It took the voice of my mistress, my programmer self, to make me move.

"I darted from the bathroom, clip-clopping through the concourse as fast as I could. At first, I held one hand over my tits, what little I have, and the other over," I got the point, "but that wasn't good enough. 'Drop your hands,' the voice commanded, and I obeyed. I raced through the mall, forcing my hands at my side. Everything I had was on display, my ass, my boobs, my fantastic shaving job." She swallowed heavily. That was followed by a heavy sigh.

"Mall security caught up with me. They were nicer than they had to be. They escorted me to their office, gave me a jacket, and offered me a choice. Work every Saturday for two months, unpaid of course, or wait for the cops. You know how that turned out."

We were both quiet for a long time. Cynthia finished her wine, watching me. I was debating what to do next. The scene she described hit eerily close to home and turned me on. I was sure that latter part was obvious. "How did it feel streaking the mall?"