Make Tyler use the machine next goading him

Westfield Galleria food court, unknown city, at 3:08 PM on Saturday June 15th, 2024

You grab Marcus by the shoulders before she can unzip your jeans, physically pushing her back despite every fiber of your being screaming to let her continue. "Tyler!" you bark, your voice cutting through the sexual haze. "Get in the fucking machine. NOW."

Tyler's head whips toward you, his hands frozen on Evan's tits. "What? Are you insane? Look at them, Chad—we need to—"

"That's exactly why you're going in," you growl, forcing authority into your tone even as your cock throbs painfully. "We've got two hot sluts already. Imagine three. Imagine what kind of freak you'll turn into." You let a cruel grin spread across your face. "Or are you too much of a pussy? Scared you'll end up ugly?"

Tyler's jaw clenches. Even through the arousal clouding his judgment, you've hit exactly the right nerve—his ego. "Fuck you, I'm not scared of shit."

"Then prove it," you challenge. "Unless you want Derek to go first and show you up?"

Derek's massive frame shifts, his attention momentarily torn from Marcus's leaking tits. "I'll do it if he won't—"

"No!" Tyler snaps, shoving away from Evan. She whimpers at the loss of contact, her hands immediately diving between her own legs. "I'll fucking do it. Watch—I'll come out hotter than both of them combined."

He storms toward the machine, his obvious erection tenting his jeans obscenely. Marcus crawls after him on hands and knees, milk dripping from her nipples onto the tile. "Wait, please, I need—I need to suck someone's cock first, please just let me—"

"Later," you promise, your voice rough. "After Tyler comes out. Then you can suck all of us."

Marcus whines but stays on her knees, squeezing her massive tits and sending streams of milk spraying across the floor. Evan has given up any pretense of modesty and is openly rubbing her clit through her soaked shorts, her face flushed and desperate.

Tyler reaches the machine and yanks the door open. "This better be worth it," he mutters, then steps inside. The door seals shut.

Almost immediately the machine roars to life—louder than before, the vibrations intense enough to rattle nearby tables. The neon signs pulse erratically, and through the glass you can see Tyler's silhouette fragmenting, multiplying, warping in impossible ways.

"Oh fuck," Derek breathes. "Something's different. That doesn't look right."

The machine's hum rises to a piercing whine. Sparks of electricity arc across the exterior panels. The whole thing shudders violently, and for a moment you wonder if it's about to explode.

Then everything goes silent. The door clicks open.

What stumbles out makes your eyes widen.