We Aren't Jelqing in Ohio Anymore, Bestie

To reiterate, I'm very sorry about this.

"Okay, Lara you want to sit at the kitchen table, and help me pick out new Traits for you, for real on gods. And Cammie, you want to sit at the kitchen table and help out, oh and define any words I don't know, for real on gods."

"Deadass?" "No cwap?" The two of us chirped, sunnily.

Mr. Rindquist shook his head in disgust, "Whatever those mean, yes!"

Though I had figured cleaning up after our sexcapade would take priority, or getting ready for the party for that matter, I had to agree I REALLY wanted to sit at the kitchen table and help Mr. Alfred where I could, and I'm sure Lara felt the same. So both still naked, and pretty slimy if we're being honest, we toddled over to the kitchen table, sore rumps shivering as we sat down on the bare wooden chairs. Mr. Rindquist had pulled up both our Master PC profiles in two separate windows and was tabbing through his new Traits category with a post-nut clarity glow.

"Okay. First up, looks like I can adjust your 'mewing streak', Lara, so you can talk a bit more normally."

Mewing Streak -30

"Fwanks Duh-add," Lara slurred mid-sentence, her face reforming so her lips were just a pleasantly plump figure-eight and not on the verge of singing songs in the latest talkies.

"Better now?"

"Almost," she continued, "bwut Dad I want you to pick out NEW Twaits for me, and qwuickly, so I can get bwack to stopping you from using that machine to objwectify Cwammie and I." She said it so matter-of-factly, despite her lisp, Mr. Rindquist started to cough in surprise.

My friend's resilience made me smile, but I couldn't help feeling conflicted. Torn between irritation with Mr. Alfred's immaturity and the giddy way he was making me feel, I wasn't sure what I wanted right now, and the split emotions were confusing me to say the least.

"Well Lara," her Dad said once he'd composed himself, staring at his annoyed daughter's naked breasts had seemed to help, "let's see what we can find for you."

The punk girl nodded, giving Alfred a thumbs up, her fingers still visibly soggy from their time between my legs.

"Says here Lara, you have a 'jit' of 85. What's that mean, Cammie?"

"Juvenile in-training," I blurted out, remembering how I wanted to help him define any words he asked about, of course.

"Oh yeah, we can take THAT down," Mr. Rindquist laughed, "goodbyyyyye buzz cut." Click.

Jit -40, Jit -80

Shivering, Lara drew herself upright, reaching down to cover her breasts and genitals as if noticing their nakedness for the first time. Her skin turned slightly tan, having gotten the government recommended amount of sunlight, except around her bathing suit areas which remained shock white. A haystack of curly brown hair with red highlights cascaded down from her formerly shorn head before ending at her elbows and her nose piercing unhooked itself, forming into a tiny cross and chain around her neck.

"Excuse me fwather, sowwy I know you're bwusy, bwut could I put on some clwothes at this twime?" The revised Lara asked meekly, her voice taking on a refined almost lyrical quality it never had before. Utterly lacking malice or much self determination, she sat there waiting patiently for Mr. Rindquist's response despite her obvious discomfort.

"Wow," Mr. Rindquist said, standing up to survey the changes, "I think you can play dress up, a little later," he replied sternly, palming one of Lara's brunette ringlets in his large hands.

His daughter simply accepted his touch and harsh answer with an idle shiver, watching her handsy father like a doe-eyed fawn.

"You know, you look just like your mother," he eyed her up wistfully. Lara afforded him a half-smile, while tightening her grip on her exposed bust. "Isn't that a shame," Alfred frowned bitterly, and I felt a headache coming on. Cringing and ovulating at the same time seems to cause migraines.

"Next trait, um, let's see. Options are 'girlboss', 'egirl', and 'cheugy'...?," Mr. Rindquist toggled onward.

"A successful businesswoman, a girl into online gaming, and uhh, something uncool?" I supplied.

"Mmm, nah," he frowned. "What's a 'bop'? Lara seems to be about average in that category."

"A blown-out, um...pussy," I winced, watching Lara blush so hard she was pink down to her belly button. Mr. Rindquist just snorted.

"Huh, well shows here, Cammie, you're only a 'bop' three out of one-hundred. How about you take this next one? Should pair well with your decreased 'gooning streak'," Alfred chuckled.

"Wuh-wait, I thought we were just doing Lara." I protested, before grimacing at how quickly I had thrown best friend under the bus. For her part, Lara just twitched one of her fat lips and fiddled with her cross, not really able to respond to conflict in her current state.

"And this is 'helping me', Cammie," Mr. Rindquist clarified condescendingly, "that's what you want to do. 'Help me', right?"

I swallowed hard, but nodded. Against all sense, it was what I wanted. Click.

Bop +33, Bop +63, Bop +93

"Ooooo-waghHH," I groaned wetly, my naked legs being pushed apart, punctuated by the sound of falling rain as something thick and viscous slid out of me.

Gasping, I tried to close my thighs, only to stop as they squeezed an oval of protruding flesh sticking out grotesquely from my center. Layered like an immense onion and gaping like an open-mouth sandwich, my new appendage was encircled by, not one but, two pairs of giant labia, sticking out from an exceedingly pink and puffy pussy. Dumbfounded, I stared at the sinewy thing, realizing it was cavernous enough to fit a human foot inside. Fat nubile skin encircled the base, bulging to an enflamed and thickly corrugated gash that seemed to stretch with sodden tissue practically down to my knees. My clit resembled a Jimmy Dean sausage roll, its hood deep enough I could fit my fingers inside, and my vaginal lips seemed to drool hot liquid, a puddle forming beneath me as I whimpered.

"Ha, now that's a blown out pussy," Mr. Rindquist laughed, kneeling down in front of me to inspect his work. Observing my unnaturally large folds, I watched him consider reducing them to a more manageable size before he thought better of it, clearly unperturbed by the logistics of getting anything inside me. Or perhaps intrigued by what new things I could fit, I thought, watching him compare his forearms to the width of my distended slit. I started to feel sick.

I tried to protest, but since that wouldn't be helpful, I was unable to rebuff him, so I settled for the next best thing.

"I think I need a drink," I breathed through my nose, cautiously standing up as my elongated curtains and swung and waggled. Feeling a sudden flash of concern, I tacked on a quick "happy to help" lest Mr. Rindquist think this wasn't what I wanted, before ambling over like a bow-legged cowgirl to my stash of vodka. Alfred seemed to be enjoying the view with interest.

"Hold on a sec, Cammie. Ha, I think I have a matching set," Mr. Rindquist jeered, looking over to compare the size of Lara's rump to my literal lady canyon. "Lara go stand next to her and turn around, I need to see the two of you."

"Um, wight away Dad," Lara dutifully flounced, presenting her curvaceous rear per her dad's instructions, but still trying to shield her privates in vain. It was a far more arduous task to perform with her buttocks. Her teensy hands could just barely pinch her cheeks closed, affording Mr. Rindquist a full view of her coin slot and the plush punpkin-sized stress toys on either side. Nauseous, I was loath to admit he was right, we were practically the same size, just with me swollen in front and her in the back. My head briefly swam with memories of being underneath that back, and I wondered how deep into my bop Lara had to reach to finger me in this new reality. I shook my head, trying to avoid the image I'd not meant conjure.

"Pose a little bit, girls," Mr. Rindquist commanded, "Lara stick out that 'gyat' and Cammie do the same, but push your new toy between your legs, I wanna see it from from behind.

"Oh, I'm not really cwumfortable..." "I fail to see how this is relevant to helping you..." we both started, complaints that went unheard as Mr. Rindquist rolled his eyes with a shift click.

Lara shills her only fans, Camille shills her only fans.

Eyelids drooping with now-familiar lust, I smiled seductively at Lara.,who matched my gaze with sordid bedroom eyes. Reaching out to caress one-another's bums, we posed for Mr. Rindquist, butt cheeks squishing softly in our hands.

"Check out our collab in the link below," we purred. With a nasty squelch, I pushed my inflated mound between my legs, it's entire girth presented to Alfred like I had a second fleshier ass below. Bending over, our juicy hams still at eye level, Lara and I kissed, simultaneously pulling at the other's inflated orifice, to keep them spread open for our audience of one. Holding our mutations at eye-level to the count of five, we twitched and dribbled as we frenched, before Lara squatted down behind me, careful to keep her glutes in frame as she approached my vag.

"Is it weally that bwig?" Lara slated to an invisible camera, her Betty Boop lips held open in mock surprise. Still standing, I turned to wink before pressing a finger to my lips coquettishly, as Lara started to move in closer, needing all ten fingers to slide me open. Now it was my turn to mug the nonexistant camera, clapping my hands to my cheeks, as Lara dove in deeper, licking and prodding as she went. Barely stretching as my lower lips touched her chin, I could feel my friend nuzzling around, rubbing her nose against my chthonic cervix and blowing air gently against my womb. Then sensation made me giggled, just as my sense of showmanship departed with one last shiver.

Immediately we both tensed up, not sure who was more embarrassed: the girl head deep inside a vagina or the vagina's on-display owner. Disconnecting, I did a few kegles to help Lara wiggle free, whose moist curls eventually popped out of my box with an audible slurp. Cringing, we turned our sloppy bodies back to Mr. Rindquist who had started to applaud.

"Brava, brava, better than I could have expected," the bald man cheered, beaming at his private freak show. The two of us just grit our teeth in shame, unable to meet the other's eye after our improvised unbirthing.

"Too much?" Mr. Rindquist asked, sensing things were getting rough. We nodded, pleadingly. "Then let's take a quick break. Go ahead and get your cups, drinks are on me tonight." Click.

Macro: Refreshments on. Fr on gods temp. on. Object: drinks, Brainrot +100. Object: fridge, Egirl +80. Object: snacks, Cringe +90. Kitchen deemed: satisfactory. Fr on gods off. Macro complete.

Considering I had brought the pre-gaming supplies, I wasn't sure what Mr. Rindquist meant by that. I had half-assumed he was just going do another embarrassing change to one of us, but with no sudden urge to drink Lara's breast milk or what have you, I went over to my bag to grab my bottle of Grimace Shake.

The Bacardi brand purple slurry was visibly layered inside the glass bottle, a lavender series of icy chunks that rose to its foiled lid. Uncapping it, I poured a generous shot into one of the plastic cups I'd brought, before knocking it back, letting my tongue roll around in the chalky berry taste. Whatever they did to coax this stuff from that lumpy purple mascot, I decided it was worth it, and I set to pouring another shot of the viscous purple shake.

"Fuck, you want some of this, Lara?" I asked, figuring I should offer before I started pounding mascot jizz in my birthday suit.

"No fwanks, I'll just get some gwamer girl bwathwater," Lara sighed, reaching up to grab a cup from the cupboard before walking over to the fridge, the water dispenser letting out a feminine moan as it released warm tubwater.

"Suit yourself," I shrugged, downing some more Grimace Shake, feeling the beginning of a light purple mustache starting to form on my lip.

"Ugh, got some hair in mine," Lara spat, reaching up to pull a light pink pube from between her two front teeth, before taking another sip of bathwater. Mr. Rindquist just sat at the table, staring and half-laughing in astonishment.

"Aw fuck, brain freeze," I cursed, holding a hand to my forehead, the icy jism starting to hit the bridge of my nose.

"Ah shoot, here have some Tidepods," my friend offered, Mr. Rindquist starting to cough again, as Lara pulled out a bright orange bottle of detergent.

"Thanks," I said, palming a good-sized pod. I liked to suck a little on the plastic before biting into the poison. The taste of liquid **** actually combined pretty well with the Grimace aftertaste. I followed it up with a fourth purple shot.

"Is that, uh, safe? Are you girls okay?" Mr. Rindquist stuttered, watching us bite into the gummy squares. We just shrugged. After the events of the previous hour, was snacking on Tidepods really that absurd?

"Fair enough," he shook his head, passingly satisfied with our non-answer, "come on back you sluts."

Cups in hand, we returned to the table, still feeling bidden to be Alfred's guinea pigs.

"Let's scroll down to the bottom of the list shall we? There's...'woke'? Mr. Rindquist mused aloud. "Nah I don't think so. Next one: uwuh? Uwoo? U-w-u, help me out Cammie."

"'Uwu'," I corrected with a high-pitched hentai mew, almost holding up my hands like little paws. "(Cough) it's a Japanese emoji, and cutesy sort of affect...,"

"Eh, maybe later," said Alfred already moving on. I held back a sigh of relief, dreading how that slider could have altered me. Knowing MasterPC, visions of cat ears and pink fur around my expanded pussy danced in my head.

"What about 'trad wife'? Is that what I think it is?"

"Traditional wife, or a woman who upholds retro gender roles," I nodded, wishing I could adjust Mr. Rindquist's 'woke' slider as he smiled deviously at poor Lara.

Trad wife +35, Trad wife +65

Lara's cross necklace rearranged itself again, this time into a string of pearls that looped tightly around her neck. Her hair brushed itself into a 50s poodle cut, as a yellow ribbon appeared to tie itself in the back. Finally getting her wish to wear some clothes, if you could call them that, a pair of grey nylons slunk their way up her legs, straps clicking onto a garter belt that had materialized on her waist. Heinie still scrumptiously bare, a golden bow now settled on top of it, tying off a canary yellow apron, the only thing she had on to cover up her top. Finally a set of rubber gloves and a sponge appearing in her hand, Lara leapt to the floor, suddenly needing to clean it and of course provide an unfettered view of her heart-shaped tushie as she did. Mr. Rindquist looked quite chuffed.

"Now don't miss a spot, Lara," the old man crowed, "you know what happens to wives who don't do as they're told."

"Yes sir, dear fwather, they get spwanked," the new Lara nodded, scrubbing the tile hard. The way she said the word, I suspected it wasn't a punishment for her. She sounded almost gleeful at the prospect, and I got the feeling Lara was no longer interested in turning off MasterPC; the thought causing me to sip my Grimace Shake, nervously.

"So are you my wife now, Lara?" Mr. Rindquist baited the cleaning girl.

"Of cwourse, not fwather sir. That is, unless you want me to bwe. I cwould never say no to a mwan like you," the former punk replied, about as resistant to her Dad as the sponge in her hand.

"Ha, well then let's find you a sister," Alfred clapped, now smiling at me. "Cammie, I'm going to up your 'thot daughter' score."

"Uh hold on Mr. Rindquist. Wait Alfred," I stood up trying to stall him. "That doesn't quite mean what you think it means...!" Click.

Thot daughter +30, Thot daughter +60

I suddenly found myself and Alfred sucking face, the words "that hoe over there" sounding pretty good all of a sudden. My tan skin, my pink nails, the dusty blush I'd rubbed across my nose and cheeks, all carefully calculated to attract the opposite sex. My hair had tied itself into a frisky blonde ponytail, my stomach had tightened to a perfect gym-worked hourglass, and someone had been kind enough to purchase me a pair of big fake titties, the cleavage of which was currently on display in my creamy pink hoodie crop top. I wasn't like other girls, I thought, as Mr. Alfred teased my mound as it hung out of my shorts like the mother of all cameltoes. I preferred the company of men, especially older men, and I had Mr. Alfred to thank for it.

"You lost your glasses," observed Alfred, coming up for air, the smear of my cherry chapstick still visible on his lips.

"I can find new ones if you like, Alfie," I minced, pushing his chair back against the wall. Mr. Rindquist let out a low snicker and started to kiss me again, kicking his feet up on top of Lara's backside, his daughter acting as a dutiful footstool. The two of us noisily made-out, almost missing the unexpected intruder to our little love nest.

"Uh, Camille? LARA?! Jesus Christ, what the fuck?"

Calling a timeout in our game of tonsil hockey, I turned to the source of the interruption to see a redheaded girl about my age, looking aghast. More for her benefit than mine, I cupped my dangling labia in a passing attempt at modesty and waited for Alfred to speak.

"Hold on now, Georgia wasn't it? I can explain," called Mr. Rindquist, a hand reaching out past me to assuage the distressed interloper.

"No no. No need," she stuttered, looking from Alfred to my newly stacked honey blonde self, to the buttcheeks of his daughter on the floor. "The door was unlocked, I just...you know what, never mind, I should go," Georgia raised her hands in mock surrender and promptly fled the scene.

Acting quickly, Mr. Rindquist pushed me off his and darted after her, leaving Lara and I alone in the quiet dining room. We briefly exchanged a look of concern, before both turning our heads to the kitchen table, where Mr. Alfred's laptop sat quietly buzzing. Though passingly interested in escape, the thought occurred to me that I REALLY wanted to sit at the kitchen table and help Alfred out.