A small selction

You navigate through the menus with growing confidence, selecting each parameter with the precision of someone who's spent a lifetime making aesthetic decisions. Kira watches your fingers move through the holographic interface, her stylus tapping notes.

"Contraceptive control: permanent sterility," she reads aloud as you lock it in. "No cycle, no fertility. Clean."

The fluid production menus unfold next. You adjust Morgan's natural lubrication response, pushing the threshold low—arousal will come easily, wetness immediate. The taste profile gets molecular attention, optimizing the biochemistry for maximum palatability. Your own parameters follow: ejaculate volume triples from baseline, composition adjusted for flavor enhancement.

"The pheromone asymmetry is unusual," Kira notes as you configure the biochemical bonding. "Morgan will experience intense chemical dependency on your presence—actual withdrawal symptoms if separated too long. Anxiety, physical discomfort, **** need for proximity. But you'll remain unaffected by theirs." She looks up from her tablet. "That's a significant power imbalance beyond even the physical modifications."

"That's the point," you reply, moving to the trigger protocols.

The neural conditioning interface is the most complex yet. You type in the phrase—"cum, ****"—and link it to Morgan's orgasm centers. The software maps the neural pathways, showing how the words will bypass conscious control entirely, triggering immediate climax regardless of physical stimulation or mental state.

"Voice recognition locked to your pattern only," Kira confirms. "Anyone else saying those words won't trigger the response. Testing the phrase yourself before transformation won't activate it either—the conditioning only engages post-regeneration."

She turns to Morgan, who's been silent through all of this. "The memory option. This is your choice, not Jordan's. We can leave your memories intact, blur them, or remove them entirely. What do you want?"

Morgan's elderly hands clasp together, shaking visibly. They stare at their own hologram—the tiny, hypersexual body that will be theirs forever. When they finally speak, their voice is barely audible.

"Keep them," Morgan whispers. "I want to remember who I was. What I... what I chose."

Kira makes the notation. "Memory retention confirmed for both subjects." She closes the final menus, and both holograms solidify from wireframe to fully rendered forms. The projections look almost photorealistic now—you, tall and commanding; Morgan, diminutive and built for use.

"Parameters locked," Kira announces. "Final authorization required. Jordan, verbal confirmation that these are your intended specifications?"

"Confirmed," you say.

"Morgan, verbal confirmation that you consent to these exact modifications?"

Morgan stares at their future self for a long moment. "I consent."

Kira nods, then gestures toward the bedroom where the two medical pods wait. "The pods are ready. Once you're inside, initialization begins immediately. Seventy-two hours of transformation. You'll both wake up Sunday evening as these bodies, with the livestream cameras already active." She pauses. "Any final questions before we begin?"