Back in the studio

Setting aside the tribulations of her impossibly complicated new multiple existence, Meredith returned to the broadcast set. The last of the commercial spots, a local used car lot pushing INSANE DEALS THIS WEEK ONLY COME ON DOWN, was starting up. John Doe was reclining on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The guest had the same understated black t-shirt, narrow figure, and pale complexion, but her features and build were unmistakably feminine, with small, perky breasts and wavy brown hair trailing neatly down the back of the couch. The exception was her thick footlong cock, standing like babel's tower from her crotch as Dana Bradford, squatting on the set in front of her, sloppily milked and stroked at it with the several feet of whiplike prehensile tongue which parted her inhumanly puffy cherry-red lips. It coiled around the veiny obelisk and disappeared behind the guest's mandarin-sized balls and under her loose denim jeans to plunge and writhe within her newly-created pussy.

The floor beneath Dana was slick with lubrication that dripped like a leaking faucet from her eager fuckhole. (Meredith found, in a moment of consideration, that she could think of no other term for it. On any other woman, it would be a vagina or a pussy or any number of other words, but Dana's was exclusively and incontrovertibly an Eager Fuckhole.) Dana's arms were bound behind her back, flexing and tensing with her ministrations against a tightly wrapped seamless black leather restraint.

As the guest roughly panted and moaned, her breathing labored and irregular at Dana's ministrations, the couch, the floor, and the very air of the set shifted and shimmered under her, warping and changing as the demiurge's world-altering power ran amok. The simple polyester upholstery of the couch became supple, oily alligator skin, then it became a royal throne fit for 1989's gaudiest fantasy movie set. For a moment it was a writhing collection of svelte human hands which groped and caressed their panting, moaning maker, before shifting just as quickly to a patchwork beanbag of bright primary colors on a red-and-white candycane shag carpet.

The lights dimmed and flickered. As the chaos reached a crescendo, Dana's coiled tongue gripped and pumped tensely on the thobbing shaft, as John Doe's heavy balls pulled up in their sack. The guest moaned and gasped and shrieked like a locomotive airbrake.

The world popped like a soap bubble.

Maruthea blinked. Where was she?

Of course, the ritual courtyard! How careless, to forget herself here - and on such an auspicious night!

She laid the sweetly-scented oil burner at her feet, half a beat behind her fellow attendants - those of them that remained able to partake in the ceremony, of course. Of their number, a few were pulled away to other tasks by their Risen King, like Aelithe, Maruthea's own sister-in-binding, who was dancing atop the courtyard wall in hypnotic and gyrating ecstasy, or Merraphe and Lymer, who were kneeling before his throne, attending his divine lust, catlike tails flicking in the breeze.

Others were staid from their rehearsed tasks by the Risen King's blessings, like Kealye, Maruthea's onetime tutor, who was rooted down in the temple gardens' ornamental fountain, flesh changed to smooth living stone, giggling and bathing and pleasing herself forevermore in the divine healing water which issued from her engorged teats. Similarly diverted were Rainbow Sprinkles, a Silly Squeaky Rainbow Rubber Fuckdoll!, and Rope, a creature of gorgeous albeit diminutive human figure propped atop a fifteen-cubit-long whiplike serpent's tail, which was gripping and probing and plunging the shiny inflatable pleasure puppet's every orifice. That morning, the two creatures, now locked in incessant and gooey sexy squeaky! coitus atop a marble plinth at the rear of the courtyard, had been two temple maidens of exemplary diligence whose names no one would ever again honor or remember - oh, to be so carefree as they! Truly a blessing of boundless esteem!

As she rose to her feet, silently scolding herself for her absentmindedness, Maruthea considered her own blessing, or blessings, less diverting but no less divine. She felt the impossible heft and trickling wetness of her breasts, exactly the size and shape of something called beachballs. The volume of milk which flowed from them forevermore - now taking all her effort to hold back - could feed a company of soldiers twice a day, although they wouldn't be doing much fighting afterwards. She recalled the master of the temple guard, summoned by the Risen King to be the first to sample her enchanted milk. He, now she, had been reduced in moments to a shameful wanton parody of femininity, even now reclining on her Big Bouncy Booty, rubbing her Puffy Pink Pussy and her Massive Milky Mounds, all in all a Bubbly Braindead Bimbo, a Naked Nitwit Nympho. The King had assured her, or instructed, rather, that the pitiable woman, and all who sipped her milk in the future, would eventually recover from the loss of their faculties, as well as the alliteration. The changes in body would remain, and compound with more of her blessed milk, a lasting mark of their King's grace. To think I, Maruthea, acolyte of mild manner and small esteem, was chosen to spread such rapture across the world!

The Risen King stood from his delicately curved and embellished emerald throne, a single enormous crystal which had grown from the very earth at his behest. The two sisters (had they been sisters?) on either side of him purred anxiously as his turgid holiness, slick with his fluids and theirs, rose out of reach of their ministrations, catlike ears and tails twitching as they gazed up at his manhood with their huge, pleading feline eyes, plump lips stuck in a permanent pout.

He raised his hand, and lightening split the night sky. The circling crow above, who had been hours earlier the temple's honored deacon, cawed in fear, or adulation. In the distance, a mountain turned to ivory, and carved itself into columns and buttresses, a cathedral in his honor. All around the trees grew legs, so they could kneel in supplication.

The great one drew a breath, opened his mouth to speak... and paused, troubled. What could possibly trouble one such as he? Was their reception not to his liking? He could simply make it so, he had done just that all day...

Maruthea's panicked thoughts were silenced by her lord's voice. He spoke, and the Earth listened.

"Dammit. Not again."

He snapped his fingers. The world stopped turning, and started twisting.

Maru.. M.. Meredith! Meredith's head was pounding like a kickdrum, the studio lights blinding after... after what?

She looked up. The ri- right. John Doe cleared his throat, calm and collected as ever, and spoke casually to the camera. "ah, sorry about that. Now and then I get a little worked up, yank a bit too hard on the quantum foam, snap, crackle, there goes the universe. More fragile than you'd hope. Who knew." He was sitting on some amorphous beanbag-like thing, covered in long soft fur, white as driven snow.

Dana Bradford retreated from the set cheerfully (they were live again, after all), her long, ropelike tongue absentmindedly teasing her eager fuckholes, the one she'd had before, as well as the two which had appeared on her shoulders in place of her now-absent arms. (good trade, Dana thought, savoring the warm electric pleasure washing through her from three places. I've got that prize from earlier waiting at home, it can do all the holding and carrying and cooking and whatever.)

Meredith struggled to regain her composure - the others in the studio seemed equally disoriented, at least those who the guest hadn't diverted to other tasks. As she breathed practiced deep breaths, she recalled the weight on her chest, the king's blessing from when she had been Maruthea, mostly gone now. only mostly gone. She recalled a silent prayer, learned ages ago, that the rising of the fated king would ease all burdens. She was halfway through the second verse when she realized that was wrong too. It belonged to someone else.

The guest continued. "You folks' consciousnesses tend to fall into some other universe when that happens. I've gotten pretty good at putting things back. Every now and then I keep a few things from the other worlds though, like the Times Square Orgy Pit, or the centaurs. For instance."

Meredith hefted her expanded breasts, and felt the two spots of wetness forming in her bra. that made... a kind of sense, at least. She wondered briefly about the other part of her _blessing _from the other world, what that milk was supposed to do... of course she had no shortage of test subjects.

"until now I've been erasing all the memories of all that. Saves everyone a lot of confusion. Today I'm doing this whole transparency, disclosure, publicity, whatever, thing. So I figured I'd let you remember. Dunno whether I'll keep doing that."

The guest looked at Meredith expectantly.

As if a switch had flipped, she regained her composure. You're a professional, Meredith, - act like it! This was her show, and she had a job to do, no matter what universe got destroyed. She turned to face camera number 3, smiling as brightly as she knew how to. She recalled the plan for the next segment, planned and prepared the previous day.

"Well, speaking for myself, it was an experience I'd never want to forget! Now, we opened up the station's Twitter inbox before the break, and we've picked a few questions from the public for Mister Doe, Lord and Master of all that there is, to answer for us. Anything and everything is fair game! If you missed out, it's not too late. You can reach us online, as well as by phone, through the number on your screen. If you can't get to a phone, just pray really hard, we'll get it. Now, our first question from the viewing public."