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Date: Mon, 7 Jun 1999 19:28:24 -0500
From: Andy Maynard <willdmage@juno.com>
Subject: TG STORY: "Chain of Command"
(TG, magic, mind control, D/s, MF)
This is a work of fiction. That's my story and I'm sticking to it! Any
attempt to re-create these events may be construed as a violation of
local, state and physical laws. Anyone reading this younger than
eighteen years old, please remove your eyes at your earliest
inconvenience. Anyone wishing to repost this to any free story
archive is encouraged to do so.
Tony Doors trudged fretfully through the sand, squinting in the harsh
glare off the beach. He hated this middle-of-nowhere island and couldn't
wait to get back to civilization. This was just a desolate hole in the
ocean, certainly not fit for human habitation. He snorted his disgust as
his subordinate suddenly took off towards the water.
Alan Woodard loved this middle-of-nowhere island. The surrounding ocean
would keep the temperature mild year-round, and the local vegetation
provided plenty of fruit, while the shallow surf here was alive with
shellfish... he looked around, grinning. A man could do a LOT worse, he
knew, than to settle down on an island like this.
"Well, Woodard?" His boss demanded.
"Clams, scallops- it's a bivalve convention!" Woodard called back. "I
even saw a couple of crabs!"
"Too bad you didn't see any lemon or butter," Doors muttered. Here they
were stranded out in the middle of nowhere, his business no doubt being
liquidated after their situation was downgraded from "Reported Missing"
to "Presumed Dead." He had a VITALLY important meeting he just HAD to
make... and not just for the several billion dollars that the sale would
bring in... he had staked his very life on this deal. Literally.
And here this kid is treating this like a vacation!! That's what really
steamed Doors: Woodard's insubordinate insistence on ENJOYING being
marooned out here! Watching the kid laugh and skip through the surf.
Doors almost wondered why he'd even hired him in the first place.
Of course, Woodard was an entirely different person behind a keyboard,
where he belonged. One of the smartest programmers of his generation, no
exaggeration. His iterative programming codes, literally programs that
themselves wrote programs far too complex and lengthy to ever be coded by
flesh-and-blood programmers, had made possible most of the technologies
that DigiGene marketed.
Of course, a shrewdly-worded contract kept Woodard from working for any
other high-technology company for at least five years if he ever quit,
or was even fired. This leverage gave Doors the opportunity to take the
patents on Woodard's work in his own name. He estimated that,
conservatively, the young man had made him over eleven billion dollars
over the past four years. Doors grinned, hoping the young man found his
unexpected education in modern business dealings worth it.
Now, though, the business opportunity of the year was slipping through
his fingers. His buyers were not exactly patient, forgiving men, and his
willingness to fly though the storm to close the deal wouldn't cut much
slack with them if he was late... or, he thought with a chill, LATER.
They needed to focus on somehow getting off this rock, instead of
enjoying it like some damn-fool vacation!
And Woodard himself... Doors couldn't help but notice, over the past few
days, that the younger man seemed to be growing increasingly nervous,
uneasy... almost, Doors thought grimly, as if he knew what sort of
business deal Doors was setting up on this trip.
So, while his brilliant mind would certainly be a loss, Doors had decided
that his employee would require a small accident... certainly one his
'partners' could arrange. IF, he realized, they could ever escape this
wild, primitive island hole.
But Woodard was becoming more and more enchanted with this place- was
even babbling about wanting to RETIRE out here on this nothing speck in
the middle of the ocean... Doors needed to somehow focus the flighty but
brilliant youngster on escape instead of homesteading.
Woodard kept wading through the surf waving to and fro over his feet.
Even with the shifting sands and occasional sharp bit of seashell, the
distance between him and his boss felt good.
Years of working for Doors had long since disabused Woodard of his dream
of running his own high-tech company. Watching Doors and his Board of
Directors literally feeding off their employees made him realize that he
simply wasn't vicious enough to compete in such a savage ecology.
Lately, though, he'd begun to suspect... Doors fanatical insistence on
meeting his mysterious 'partners' had already resulted in one man's
death. The pilot- Woodard thought his name was Bill, and was angry at
himself for not knowing- had warned Doors that the tropical storm was
strengthening too fast, but Doors had threatened to ruin the man's life
if he didn't fly them through anyway- and Woodard had seen him carry
through on that threat for far less.
The pilot had died in Woodard's arms, never waking after the crash.
Water was amazingly hard, if you hit it from 15,000 feet up. Woodard had
swam as best he could, holding Bill's head above water, until he finally
realized the man had taken his last breath. For the first time in years,
Alan Woodard prayed, asking God to take Bill's soul, as he let the body
slip from his arms to become part of the life of the sea.
He wasn't surprised that Doors barely even noticed the young man's death.
His obstinate insistence on meeting his 'partners' on time- even when
that had obviously became impossible- reminded Woodard of the rumors he'd
picked up on before leaving.
Woodard had been part of the team that had developed DigiGene's newest
line of gene-sequencers. Medical researchers could use it to investigate
new cures and treatments for viral infections and other diseases... but
what had always bothered Woodard were the groups of men in black suits
and Army uniforms that came out every Tuesday and Friday to be briefed on
the development of the gene-sequencer. As useful as it would be for
medicine, it would be equally horrific if used in a biological warfare
lab.
And between the rumors Woodard had heard half-whispered, and Doors'
insane insistence on flying through the storm, Woodard had an unpleasant
suspicion that Doors' mysterious, unseen partners were planning their own
bio-warfare effort- and if Doors' efforts to make the meeting in complete
secrecy were any indication, the United States government would most
likely take a dim view of their getting hold of Doors' gene-sequencer.
They were just coming around a bend on the wide, flat beach when Woodard
spotted a small metallic gleam on the edge of the jungle, twinkling
quietly in the mid-morning sun. Woodard pounded out of the surf as the
two men went over to fish it out of the clump of moss growing around it.
"Antique?" Doors asked hopefully. After all the time wasted on this
miserable little flyspeck, it would be small enough recompense for his
trouble.
"No," Woodard replied. "See here, where the moss peeled off? Too bright
to be that old- but, at least, it should be usable-"
He'd been peeling the moss off, and had rubbed away a bit of dirt left on
the burnished surface when he felt a growing vibration from the lamp, and
it was suddenly BULGING somehow... and hotter!
He dropped the lamp as a burst of light poured forth, and seemed to
gather itself in mid-air before settling to the sandy beach. Suddenly
both men saw a giant- twelve feet tall at the very least- towering over
them. Muscles rippled over a chest the size of a Volkswagen, and arms
like oil drums moved as his hands traced an incongruously delicate sign
in the air.
"I greet thee, Master, and await Thy command!" His voice didn't exactly
boom, but the low, powerful tones almost made the conch shells stand at
attention.
Woodard looked at the lamp lying on the sand, and up, up at the muscular
giant standing before him. This was, obviously, impossible. A sidelong
glance showed Doors was also sharing his illusion... and it was the
closest thing the island had for entertainment.
"You... you're a djinn, right?" Woodard asked. He'd never really gotten
into Arabian adventures or 1001 Nights... maybe the shared hallucination
came from his boss's subconscious?
"Correct, Master," The giant replied, in a voice Woodard could feel
reverberating in his chest cavity. "My name is Ash'Aileth. You, of
course, may address me in any manner you please. I exist but to obey you
completely, three times."
Of course, the old 'three wishes' trick! Woodard had read "The Monkey's
Paw" as a small child, and was well aware of how tricky the phrasing of
such a wish could be. "So, let's see, you'll SO graciously grant me-"
"I get the three wishes!!" Doors had come out of his funk at the thought
of finally getting a way off this island. He stepped forward and looked
way up into the djinn's face. "This man is MY subordinate! He obeys
ME!!"
Ash'Aileth laughed, a deep throaty booming that knocked coconuts loose
from their trees two hundred yards away. "Your ranks and orders mean
nothing to me," he said, pointing a finger like a baseball bat at
Woodard. "The Master commands me!"
Doors' mind whirled. He HAD to get out of here, and impossible as it
was, this genie here was his one and only ticket out! "We BOTH found
your lamp, genie! So you owe us both-"
"Do NOT call me 'genie,'" growled the giant as he took one angry step
forward. "I am a djinn, bound to the lamp and whosoever shall find it!"
"Well," Woodard said, "The truth is, Ash'Aileth, we did both find the
lamp together."
"Hmmm... there is a way," the djinn muttered at forty decibels. "Master,
you can take your three wishes, and then," he continued, not particularly
happy about it, "Then, your Master may take possession of the lamp, and
require three commands of me."
Ash'Aileth regretted saying so, but was bound by both the lamp and his
own honor to be perfectly honest with his Masters- not that his
meticulous honesty had saved most of them from ruining themselves with
their own wishes.
His Master had a basically decent soul- not a Saint by any means, but a
man who could restrain his evil impulses when making a wish. His
Master's Master, on the other hand... Ash'Aileth had seen greed before,
but never in his four millennia had he seen anything like the Darkness in
Doors' soul. the man hadn't even spent the wealth he'd inherited, and
would still risk untold lives merely to gain even more money he could
never spend.
His fears were confirmed as Doors stepped up and declared "Me first!
I've GOT to get out of here TODAY!!"
"He is my Master!" Ash'Aileth boomed, stepping over beside Woodard. "And
after I grant him his three boons, then I must rest for a day and a night
before I regain the power to obey the commands of my next Master."
"Okay," Doors said, turning to Woodard. "The first command you'll give
your genie is to-"
"No," Woodard said. It wasn't something Doors was used to hearing, and
the look on his face showed it.
Woodard chuckled. "In case you haven't figured it out... I'm retiring.
Effective immediately."
"Look, the Boss is always right, remember? You don't understand- I HAVE
to-"
"YOU look," Woodard snapped. "I'm retiring to his island- so one of my
wishes will be for a house here, so we'll have someplace nice to sleep
until morning. Then you get your three wishes- and our friend Ash'Aileth
here can probably make your 'partners' not care so much about you showing
up late!"
Doors hadn't thought about that angle, in his anxiety to get off the
island... he could even order the genie to make them SO anxious that
they'd up their already lucrative offer... or even...
Doors walked a short way into the jungle to sit on a fallen log and think
about all the most profitable ways to use this genie. It he were
anywhere near as powerful as the stories and legends... he took the time
for one dark scowl at Woodard. Yes, he thought, maybe even save one last
wish to put THAT young whelp in his place for good!
Woodard caught the look his ex-boss threw at him, but he had bigger
matters on his mind. Turning back to Ash'Aileth, he asked "Okay... how
much mass can you call into existence in one go?"
Over the course of the next two hours, Ash'Aileth was impressed by the
wit and intellect of his earnest young Master. While Ash'Aileth was
constrained to be absolutely and scrupulously honest with all his
Masters, the vast majority just started barking out orders. This one,
though, was putting some real thought into it, cleverly asking Ash'Aileth
the limits of his powers and abilities.
The few who had previously thought to probe the djinn's capabilities had
usually focused on circumventing his few inabilities- usually,
Ash'Aileth's inability to take a human life. He COULD produce vast,
hideously-armed armies for his Master (and had tragically, done so, when
ordered) but this Master Woodard had no interest in killing off his
fellow men.
Unlike the greedy, sadistic musings the older and pudgier man was
entertaining, Ash'Aileth thought. The Master was wise, and quick of wit-
but, he feared, once the older man took possession of the lamp he would
do some incredible mischief to this nice young Master.
Once he realized that Ash'Aileth enjoyed being out in the real world, and
even such a simple pleasure as talking with another, Master Woodard
indulged him, talking about past times and present, the perpetual follies
of nations and kings... it was, Ash'Aileth decided, the best day of his
four thousand Millennia as he felt his Master come to a decision.
"Okay, Ash'Aileth, produce for me a mansion to the specifications we
discussed and agreed to earlier!" Ash'Aileth was pleased the Master
remembered the correct phrasing- though, he would have produced the right
structure even if his magnanimous Master had misspoke himself.
Ash'Aileth seemed to flicker ever so slightly even as the two mortals
felt the faint tremors underfoot as the island's coral base shifted ever
so slightly under the sudden weight.
Even Doors was impressed with the four-story edifice that suddenly looked
over the lagoon. Between the spacious patio and the Olympic-sized
swimming pool and the row of softly buzzing desalinization towers, he'd
had created a pretty nice place to live. Doors realized that there might
be more to the kid than he'd suspected... and, since he'd been made to
take his wishes last, he might even just take it away from Woodard, after
all...
Beaming, Woodard turned back to the djinn. "VERY nice work, Ash'Aileth.
Thank you."
"My pleasure is to serve you, Master," Ash'Aileth said, and for once it
didn't sound degrading saying it to this gracious Master.
"And now... let's say... eight hundred million, in securities, stocks and
savings, all properly documented and taxed according to government
regulations."
This time Ash'Aileth vanished for eleven whole seconds, and looked
visibly strained as he re-appeared.
"Ash'Aileth! Are you okay?"
"Take no alarm, Master," he said, though his volume was noticeably
subdued. "Your government is... intricate beyond imagination... setting
your finances into place took considerable power, but," he declared,
drawing himself up to his full twelve feet, "I am ready for your next,
and final, wish!"
Doors was amazed that the kid had settles for a paltry few hundred
million... with such power at his disposal, he could have named ANY
price-
Woodard was concerned for the djinn; he hadn't realized what a strain his
last wish would put on him. "Are you SURE you're okay now? Be HONEST,
not obedient!"
"I am fine, Master," Ash'Aileth said, touched by the mortal's concern for
him. After all the venal, selfish and just plain sadistic wishes he'd
been compelled to grant, it was a genuine pleasure to serve this gentle,
compassionate Master... and was coming to dread the morning, when he'd
have to serve the selfish oaf even now plotting against this one...
As Woodard opened his mouth to give his final command, to guarantee his
own health for his natural lifespan (immortality being beyond
Ash'Aileth's abilities, much as he wished he could for this extraordinary
Master) Ash'Aileth raised his hand. "Please forgive this most unworthy
servant, noble Master, but your own Master plans to do you great evil
when he gets power over me."
Ash'Aileth saw his Master was considering using his last wish to send his
evil Master back home, but visions of the harm the selfish master would
do alarmed Woodard... and then his lightning-like mind hit on an idea...
"Ash'Aileth, change that person," Woodard said with a widening grin, as
he pointed to the surprised Doors, "Change him into an obedient slave
girl, well-versed in pleasuring men and compelled to obey my every
command, but NOT affecting her mind otherwise, and with a curvaceous
blonde bombshell body five and one-quarter feet high, with breasts as big
as my head that will always be firm and supple!"
Enraged, Doors sprang up even as he felt his body being tugged... inward,
somehow- he was shrinking and almost couldn't stand up as he felt his
bones shifting and changing. His pants and shirt were shimmering,
tingling against his skin as his hips pushed out and his ass rounded...
He- no, he felt with rising horror his manhood shriveling, shrinking,
drawing inside as she looked down in shock, feeling the long hair rolling
along her bare back...
This must be that damned genie's idea of a slave girl's clothes! A
multicolored, translucent veil, barely more than a half-foot wide,
wrapped around her swelling breasts and curved around her narrowing
waist, where it was tied so that one transparent sash dipped barely
enough to cover her sex, leaving her rear completely bare.
Her breasts were already huge on her small torso, and still grew, until
the point that the sash wasn't much of a cover, even if it wasn't sheer,
showing off her pinkish-brown nipples to... to... those two!!
With a high-pitched scream of rage and shock she charged out, only
vaguely aware of how the dainty little sandals she now wore protected her
feet from the underbrush. She was blushing furiously at the way her
enormous breasts bounced and swayed as she ran. Grabbing a stick as a
weapon she charged out and was just about close enough to-
Woodard just casually pointed at her and said "Freeze." Enraged and
humiliated as she was, she could only stand stock-still, her face frozen
in its hate-filled sneer. She was acutely aware of how long her breasts
were taking to stop swinging back and forth.
"And now, Master," the genie was saying to that twerp, "I must return to
the lamp, to renew myself until I am called forth again... tomorrow... by
your slave girl."
Ash'Aileth desperately feared what the newly-transformed girl would do to
the more worthy Master, but the drain of discharging all his magic was
upon him and he couldn't put off returning to the lamp. The last thing
he was aware of that day was that his Master very kindly put the lamp in
the cool shade, rather than leaving it out in the sun.
After depositing the lamp back under the brush where they'd found it,
Woodard came back to inspect his ex-boss, liking what he saw. "You may
move again, BUT may not take any action regarding me without an explicit
order."
She dropped the stick, and put down her arms, which had been starting to
ache. She blushed anew, noticing how even such small movements put her
chest into such intensely feminine motion.
She saw her chance, and turned to run away- and stopped, seeing the
futility of it. One command from his EMPLOYEE- "her" employee, she
thought, with a dead feeling in her stomach, would bring her back.
"Well, what now, Woodard? You don't think you can ever get away with
this, do you??" she demanded, hating her high-pitched girlie voice.
Woodard just chuckled, hearing that arrogance and bluster coming from
this incredibly sexy, delectable young lady... one he could order around
and command at will...
"Well, Tony, did you think YOU could get away with patenting your
employees inventions as if they were your own?" He countered.
The GALL of that working-class drone using such familiarity temporarily
overwhelmed her good sense. "You are NOT to call me 'Tony!'" she
thundered, before her eyes went wide with shock as she realized her
mistake.
"Yes MA'AM, Miss Doors. Whatever you say!" he said, laughing. "How
about if I call you 'Tasha.' That's a pretty name... for a pretty girl,"
he said. Then he added, "You WILL answer to Tasha... won't you, Tasha?"
She tried to hold her mouth shut, but couldn't stop herself from talking.
"Yes, I will, Woodard," she said bitterly.
"C'mon, lets check out the new digs," he said, and she couldn't help but
to march along obediently after him.
Woodard was relaxing in the spacious den, on the second floor, having
sent Tasha back down for a lemonade from the well-stocked kitchen. The
den, too, had thousands of movies shelved along two great walls, but for
now Woodard was aimlessly flicking through the hundreds of channels he
had on his 20' ultra-wide-screen TV...
And here was Tasha, back already with his lemonade. It had been SUCH a
treat, watching her walking out to obey his command for the drink... the
well-stocked mansion included servants quarters, and clothing... for
right now, Woodard wanted her in that tiny slip of see-through nothing
she was wearing, but once she found she was able to walk in seven-inch
heels he had ordered her to change at once.
He had been amazed that the sexy sway as she walked could get even more
sensuous, but as surprises went it was certainly a pleasant one. The way
those stiletto-heeled shoes highlighted the lovely little muscles in her
legs and backside was just too, too precious for words! He smiled as he
took the ice-cold glass from the sullen-looking girl frowning daggers at
him, raised the glass to his lips... and stopped just before he took a
sip.
"Tasha, you will ALWAYS answer every question of mine honestly! Now," he
continued, "What all is in this lemonade?"
Tasha looked like she had something unpleasant in her mouth, but could do
nothing to stop the damning words. "Lemon juice, water, sugar, and roach
poison."
Woodard smiled. He'd expected something of the kind, and realized since
he HAD ordered her to make the lemonade, that had 'released' her from the
restriction he'd put on her to do nothing to him without his orders.
"Okay, Tasha: You will NEVER attempt to poison me or anyone else, EVER
again. When you are ordered to prepare ANY food or drink, you will make
it good, and wholesome, and NOT do ANYTHING to ruin the food or drink, or
harm anyone consuming it!"
That should cover his bases, Woodard thought. As a programmer, logical
loopholes were common, familiar ground for him, just as power and revenge
were- or, rather had been, for Doors...
On a whim, he looked up at the girl who so unwillingly and so completely
served him... "Tasha, if our roles were reversed, what would you do to me
after I tried to poison you?"
Her face twisting, she replied "I would torture you to death, very
slowly, jamming empty bottles up your-"
"Tasha, go and fetch a leather belt from my bedroom, fast as you can!"
Woodard couldn't help laughing as the buxom, barely-dressed babe
half-ran, half-pranced out on her seven-inch stilettos. Once she
returned, he applied a far more merciful punishment, while an idea formed
in his head...
Tasha crept out early the next morning. Her 'Master' had laid out her
clothes for the day: a tiny, lacy pink G-string. Padding down the beach
barefoot, it was all she had on- that, and a towering, unbelievable rage.
HOW DARE HE??? The refrain kept thundering back and forth in her mind.
As humiliating as being spanked by her own employee had been, it had
paled into insignificance as the day wore on...
Woodard had found he could put her under a hypnotic trance with a single
command. The next thing she knew, she was naked, except for the leash he
was leading her around on all fours in!
And even training her to heel, roll over and beg weren't enough... she
shuddered at how, when he clapped his hands twice, she suddenly dropped
to her knees and begged, earnestly and eagerly BEGGED to perform oral sex
on him!!
And as much as she wanted the shameful thing done, he ordered her to take
her time... for over an hour and a half she had played with his member,
using her lips and tongue to bring him to the brink and then letting him
relax ever so slightly, before finally making him climax in her mouth,
and then... then... swallowing...
By then neither of them were surprised that she had suddenly gained
amazing abilities in the kitchen, too, as she served him an
expertly-cooked Beef Wellington. He'd ordered her to dance for his
entertainment as he ate, enjoying his culinary and visual feasts.
It was at bedtime that the final debasement came. She was just slipping
into one of the servant's bedrooms when he'd goosed her on her still-sore
rump and simply said "Come."
All she could do was say "Yes, Honored Lord," and meekly follow.
Once in his grand bedroom, he told her that he was going to change her
from a girl into a woman. His meaning became horrifyingly clear as he
ordered her onto the bed on her hands and knees- and to arch her back so
that her virgin womanhood was raised and ready for her 'Honored Lord.'
She tensed as she heard his pants fall to the floor, and then felt his
fingers playing around and in her slit, as he explained he wanted her
lubricated to avoid hurting his precious little slave girl...
The pain was almost as bad as the humiliation as he pierced her hymen.
She could still feel surprised by how huge his hands felt around her tiny
dainty waist, even as he drove in and out of her, using her as a woman,
making her come as a woman...
She pushed those horrific memories aside as she spied the small brass
lamp under the bush that FOOL had left. "Hope last night was worth it,
Honored Lord," she said, choking over the demeaning honorific, "Because,
it was your last time as a man!!"
She'd planned this as she lay in bed the night before, waiting for sleep
to provide her with a refuge from the ordeal... and the morning, for her
revenge. She would have herself restored- stronger, more vital, but be a
MAN again, be in CONTROL again! Then a fast but comfortable boat to get
back to civilization and the life of Tony Doors again...
And then, the miserable TOAD who'd used her so shamefully... She'd
considered having Woodard turned into a roach, a bedpan, and a whole
variety of other things, before finally deciding: Once restored as the
man she'd been, the next command to the genie would be to turn the
'Honored Lord' into a buxom, obedient girl- a girl with an
eighteen-year-olds body... but only two inches tall.
A girl who would heal fast, Tasha thought with an evil grin. She'd need
to heal fast to survive the torments that little snot had coming now...
with images of Woodard's tiny little female body-to-be screaming as she
was impaled and mounted on a thermometer sticking way up her two-inch
body, Tasha snatched up the lamp and rubbed, stepping back as the djinn
appeared.
Ash'Aileth looked down smugly at the pretty slave girl in her tiny scrap
of lace. "I greet thee, Mistress, and await Thy command!"
Tasha burned at the genie addressing her as 'Mistress-' one more thing
that Woodard would suffer for-
Tasha smiled smugly and opened her mouth to order the genie to restore
her. "Grant to those living in that mansion," she started, her eyes wide
with shock as she heard the words coming out of her mouth, "Grant them
good health, long life, and very intense sexual drives and urges!"
With a sick feeling, Tasha realized what had happened... her 'Honored
Lord' had used the trance state he put her in to 'program' her, to make
her recite HIS commands, instead of hers!
Ash'Aileth chuckled, and to her horror Tasha found her already-huge
breasts growing even larger, growing out and around and forming two beach
ball-sized mounds of jiggling, swaying, intensely feminine flesh.
As mortified as she was to find her chest growing to monstrous
proportions, what was even worse was the feeling of longing, of desperate
NEED she felt between her legs. The sudden intense need to feel a man
inside her almost blinded her to noticing how much harder it was for her
to keep her balance against the swaying and sloshing of her enormous
mammaries.
"My next wish," she found herself saying, "Is for my Honored Lord to own
the legally-recognized title to this island, free and clear."
The hated genie vanished for a second, before reappearing, gloating down
at the hyper-buxom wench below him who had been one of the most powerful
men of his land the day before.
"My final wish," Tasha said, with a sick feeling in her stomach,
"Transform the people I was scheduled to meet with into busty beach babes
who will only act and talk about getting and pleasing men- but inside,
deep down, they MUST remain aware of what is happening, even though they
can't control it!"
Four hundred and fifty miles away, in a hotel room at an out-of-the-way
resort, six men were gathered, waiting for their contact who never showed
up, languidly talking about the best way to spread viral diseases around
for maximum loss of life.
That is, until each man found himself transforming- they could see their
own changes mirrored in their fellows as their bodies shrank and their
hips and butts and breasts expanded, almost bursting the seams of their
clothing, except their clothes changed, too, into tiny little string
bikinis.
Each woman desperately tried to scream their horror, but all that could
come out was girlish giggles and an animated conversation about how they
could show the maximum legal amount, or MORE, of flesh as they pranced
out of their room, preening and flirting wantonly with every male they
saw...
Tasha Doors stood alone on the beach, watching the wake dissipate. After
granting 'her' final wish, the genie had returned to his lamp, which then
had sped off across the water too fast to see, though she COULD see the
wake forming on the water from the shock wave in the air...
Finally, she could see no more of the last trace of the lamps flight, and
while her Honored Lord had left no command, the growing, insatiable need
she felt deep in her aroused sex made her turn and walk, then run, her
enormous breasts bouncing painfully, back towards the only man on the
island.
Sharon Leeds walked up to where Woodard was relaxing in his den, secretly
happy he was noticing how well she filled out her brilliant red bikini.
"The number two desalinator's humming along again, Alan," the lithe
brunette engineer reported.
It was REALLY nice, she thought, working for Alan instead of that creep
Doors. Funny, how Alan showed her more respect when she was strolling
around in a bikini than Doors ever had when she was fully clothed... to
say nothing of the incredibly generous salary (PLUS loads of vacation
time and other perks!) she was paid, just to live in a tropical paradise
and do minor maintenance every few days.
Back at DigiGene, she and Alan had worked on more than a few projects,
and she was as impressed with his gift for computer programming as he was
by her amazing skills in mechanical engineering. He'd never even hinted
at 'requiring' his staff to wear skimpy bikinis, but a nice, gentle, rich
and handsome man like Alan was rare enough that there was some usually
good-natured competition among the other girls on staff to attract his
attention.
The girls' chat got rather more than "good-natured" when discussing the
amazing virility of their laid-back boss. They'd all seen the enormous
lump in the front of his swimsuit, and they'd all enjoyed deliciously
naughty dreams about that lump...
Alan took his eyes off of Tasha's little dance to watch Sharon sashaying
towards the stairway. While all his staff were young, pretty and
decidedly female, Sharon was also the smartest one of the bunch-
probably, smarter than HE was, he admitted candidly- and, they'd shared a
very friendly working relationship for several years.
A grunt from Tasha brought his attention back. She was having trouble
relearning to keep her balance after her new, custom-designed implants
had given her a (literally) staggering bustline... but she had to get
used to it, and he figured once she got used to dancing in seven-inch
stilettos, then top-heavy Tasha would be able to handle anything.
And Tasha's new form had even saved her hide several times by now. The
dissolution of DigiGene had unearthed more than a few records of Doors'
various dealings and sales to less-than-reputable customers, and for a
while Woodard was getting almost weekly visits from the F.B.I., the
C.I.A., and even Interpol. Doors was quite lucky to have a disguise so
perfect that none of the grim, serious agents had ever connected him to
the ditzy blonde dancing virtually naked for their always-helpful host...
not that she'd ever shown any gratitude for that, Woodard thought,
grinning.
Woodard was seriously considering marrying Sharon, and he KNEW she
wouldn't want someone like Tasha around then, as wantonly as she was
always flaunting her body... all the rest of the staff knew what a cheap
harlot she was, always so skimpily dressed that she was always
'accidentally' exposing herself...
Woodard had decided that, once he married, Tasha would have a great
career in porn movies. He'd already had her do a couple of photo shoots
(she was invariably good-hearted enough to donate her entire earnings to
childrens' shelters) and would no doubt become a major starlet in the
industry.
Just for a moment, as she struggled through her dance moves, their eyes
met, and she flashed him a familiar look of absolute, undying hate. He
chuckled at that, knowing the monster he'd wasted too many years working
for was in there, perfectly aware, but unable to do anything but meekly
obey.
"Keep practicing," he said, as he got up to have a serious,
heart-to-heart talk with Sharon about their future. "Just remember," he
called over his shoulder to the struggling slave girl, "The Boss is
always right!"
THE END