Order Derek to use the machine next while you still have some control over the situation

Westfield Galleria food court, unknown city, at 3:11 PM on Saturday June 15th, 2024

You tear your eyes away from Tyler's transformed body—those massive tits straining against see-through fabric, that crimson hair cascading down her pale back—and lock onto Derek. "Your turn. Get in the fucking machine."

Derek's jaw works, his massive shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. His pupils are blown wide, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment you think he'll refuse, but then something shifts in his expression. Maybe it's the challenge in your voice. Maybe it's the promise of what he'll become.

"Fine," he rumbles, his deep voice rougher than you've ever heard it. "But when I come out, we're done waiting. All three of these sluts are getting fucked."

Behind you, Tyler whimpers—actually whimpers—in a breathy, desperate voice that sounds nothing like the cocky guy who walked into that machine three minutes ago. "Please, someone touch me, I can't—everything feels so intense, I need—"

Marcus is on her feet now, swaying on those heels, milk streaming down her exposed belly from her enormous leaking tits. Her green eyes track Derek's movement toward the machine with predatory focus. "Wait," she breathes, "let me see it first. Let me see your cock before you go in. Please. I need to know how big—"

"After," Derek cuts her off, but his hand goes to his belt buckle anyway, adjusting the obvious massive bulge there. The movement makes Marcus moan audibly.

Evan has collapsed to her knees on the tile, one hand shoved down the front of her tiny shorts, the other squeezing her tit through that pink fabric. "So wet," she's muttering, "so fucking wet, need it inside, need to be filled, please please please—"

Derek reaches the machine and pulls the door open. The interior is still humming, lights pulsing in rhythmic patterns. He turns back to look at the group—at Marcus's heaving chest, at Tyler's trembling petite frame in that obscene lingerie, at Evan frantically masturbating on the floor.

"Fuck it," he says, and steps inside.

The door seals. The machine roars to life again, vibrations rattling through the floor. Through the glass you can see Derek's huge silhouette fragmenting, warping, his linebacker shoulders shrinking, his height compressing.

Tyler stumbles toward you, her massive tits bouncing with each unsteady step. Her violet eyes are glazed, unfocused. "Chad," she whimpers, reaching for you with trembling hands, "something's wrong, I feel everything, I need everything, I can't stop thinking about—" Her hands grab your shoulders and suddenly she's pressing those huge soft tits against your chest. The heat of her body through that sheer fabric makes you growl.

Marcus drops to her knees beside Evan, both of them staring at the machine, waiting. Marcus's hand slides between her own thighs beneath that micro-skirt.

The machine's hum rises to a shriek, then cuts to silence.

The door clicks open.

What emerges makes your cock throb so hard you actually see stars.