It was still raining when Grace got home, still raining after she got out of the shower, still raining as she and Mom cleaned up dinner. The sky went from gray clouds, to dark gray clouds, to the not-quite-black night clouds you got over a major city.

The doctor had been very explicit - one drop before midnight, any time the moon is visible. Well, it was now 8 pm and the moon was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe I don’t go out, she thought. Maybe I stay in and wait for the storm to pass. Just a quiet evening at home, masturbating to PornHub. Once I see the moon, I can burn off one of the boring wishes. I don’t have to get plowed every night…

“I don’t have to,” she said aloud. “But I really, really want to.”

Edison being busy complicated things a little. Grace hadn’t promised him anything - she was regularly fucking two other men - but she’d already grown comfortable with him as her nighttime thing. He was sweet and funny and good in bed, a warm bubble bath at the end of the day.

But on the other hand, it was Friday night, and there was a city full of hot studs out there, eager to buy her drinks and fill her snatch. Edison was getting a date out of her tomorrow - surely he wouldn’t begrudge her a random hookup on his night off?

She looked at the heart-shaped bottle on her nightstand. Its crimson glimmer seemed to pulse in time to her heartbeat.

“Ok, you’ve convinced me,” she said to the bottle. “But you’re coming with, just in case I get a chance to burn off a wish.”

With a cowl neck backless halter top that showed off a ton of cleavage, the micro-est micro-skirt she could find in the closet and a pair of 5 inch heels, Grace created a slutty club look that screamed, “I want to fuck.” She did her hair and makeup to emphasize the point.

She double checked she had condoms and lube in her purse, then added the heart-shaped bottle and a few prerolls and edibles she’d gotten at the dispensary last week. With a final nod of determination, Grace donned a raincoat and launched herself into the night.

The line to get into Nebula was long, but that didn’t matter when you looked like Grace. She walked right up, the bouncers falling over themselves to let her in. The place was packed, three floors of throbbing lights, pounding music and writhing people looking to cut loose.

That primal hunger rose up as she took it in, the thrill of the hunt. Grace realized she had gotten too complacent. She’d been unleashed less than a week ago, and she’d already put herself back in a box.

Lucas for breakfast, DeAndre for lunch, Edison for dinner - like buying orgasms from the grocery store. Very good orgasms, to be fair to them - but still, prepackaged. No mystery, no challenge, no danger.

Here, in this sea of pheromones, anything could happen.

Grace stalked through the crowd, all eyes on her. People parted to let her through, a shark swimming through a school of fish. She made eyes at a few men, danced with a few more. A cute fuckboi bought her a martini from the bar, and she flirted with him for a few minutes, sizing him up. He seemed ok, but Grace wanted better than ok.

Then his cute friend came over and joined them. That changed the math entirely.

The three of them had a few more drinks, shouting small talk above the pulsing EDM. By 11, she was feeling great and ready to make her move. “You boys wanna get out of here? Go somewhere a little quieter to party?” The two guys exchanged an excited look and nodded vigorously.

They left the nightclub, rain stopped, then ducked around the back to smoke some weed. Ten minutes later, drunk and high, all three of them stumbled into the Knickerbocker hotel. As they moved towards the elevators, flirting transitioning into dirty talk, the first rays of moonlight broke through the clouds.

—

Grace lay on the bed, eyes squeezed closed. Through the pounding headache of her hangover, she decided that the sun had crossed her for the last time. She was going to quit her job on Monday, and dedicate her life to destroying that disgusting ball of burning plasma. Perhaps a rocket full of hydrogen bombs or something… With a silent snarl, she opened her eyes and took in the ceiling.

It wasn’t her ceiling.

Memories drifted up, drops of oil rising to the surface of her mind. The jackhammer in her skull was doing its best to keep things shook up though. She’d picked up two guys at the nightclub, they’d all gotten wasted, and she’d rented a hotel room to fuck.

So far, so good - it had been years since she’d been double teamed - but she couldn’t quite remember what happened once they’d gotten down to business. She didn’t think they’d done anything to her she didn’t want done, but the details were a greasy smear, and that was concerning.

“My phone,” she mumbled. “I must’ve filmed it.” Grace started to move, but felt the fuckbois’ heads resting on her chest, laying on each side of her. It was really fucking early, and if they woke up with the same hangover she woke up with, things might get pukey real fast.

Very, very slowly, she turned her head to the right, looking for her phone in the dim light between the curtains.

There was no one laying next to her on that side.

Very, very quickly she turned her head to the right. There was no one laying next to her on that side either. The two fuckbois were both sprawled on the couch across the room, fast asleep.

Grace sat up, and the weight followed her up. There was a heavy bouncing sensation, and the silk sheet fell away.

A pair of breasts bigger than bowling balls hung off her chest, two rock hard pink marshmallows poking off the ends.

“FUUUUUUUUUUCK!” she silently screamed.

Grace scrambled out of the bed, massive breasts swinging wild, and looked around the room in a panic. She found her phone on a coffee table then locked herself into the bathroom. There was a two hour video clogging up most of her storage, and she played it, volume turned low.

She watched herself walk away from the camera, naked and clearly messed up. The two fuckbois were lounging on the couch staring at her, also naked, also fucked up, cocks hard as coffin nails. She took a minute to stroke them both, talking dirty and promising them all sorts of crazy shit, then put a condom on fuckboi number one before deepthroating fuckboi number two.

They double teamed her for several minutes, the three of them grunting and moaning, the two fuckbois babbling about how hot Grace was and how they felt inside her.

Grace didn’t realize she’d snaked a hand down to her pussy until she started rubbing her clit. She spread her legs on the toilet seat, masturbating to the sight of herself being spitroasted - then physically jumped when she idly grabbed a breast. They were unbelievably sensitive; a single squeeze sent torrents of pleasure racing up her spine, and her ungroped nipple visibly throbbed in sympathy.

She redoubled her efforts, frantically rubbing her clit while pawing her left breast, and was shuddering with an exquisite orgasm in less than a minute. The video played on as she slowly came back to reality. Grace watched herself get railed for a while longer, then climb off of the exhausted men to present her cum-filled mouth to the camera before swallowing.

“STI wish!” she reminded herself angrily.

The trio lounged around for a while then, splitting an edible and ordering room service. Grace started to blow them again while they waited, but paused, staring at something off camera.

“What time is it?” Camera Grace asked a fuckboi. He glanced at his phone. “11:58.”

Her eyes lit up and she grabbed for her purse before turning to the men, bottle in hand.

“You two wanna see a magic trick!?”

Hungover Bathroom Grace dropped her head into her hands. “Oh you dumb slut.”

Camera Grace put a drop on her tongue and turned back to the camera. “I want big tits. BIG tits. Huge knockers, giant jugs, massive mammaries! Like, 90s mega-tit porn star big - but real and beautiful and super sensitive! With big fucking nipples! The tittiest titties to ever fuck a titty fuck!”

“Oh you dumb slut!” she shouted at the screen, making her head hurt.

Grace watched numbly as Camera Grace fell to her knees, a long moan of pure lust rising up as her breasts swelled in her hands. It took about ten seconds, her already amazing breasts stretching and expanding like water balloons hooked to a garden hose. The nipples forced their way between her fingers and she moaned again, tugging on them hard as they grew.

Then the show was over. Camera Grace sat panting for a moment, then stood up and turned around. Her new mega-tits were clearly visible from behind as she raised her hands to the air.

“TA-DA!”

The two fuckbois looked at each other, confused. “Yeah, they’re fucking amazing tits,” the first guy said, “But what’s the magic trick?”

There was an awkward pause. “Oh. I guess that makes sense,” Camera Grace said, deflated. Then she rebounded and put her arms up again. “Whatever, nevermind. First one of you over here gets to titfuck me.”

The pair practically exploded off the couch, and the ensuing argument almost came to blows. Eventually, cooler heads prevailed, and one man titfucked Grace while she sat on the face of the other - then they switched once the first guy blew a load all over her jugs.

The second fuckboi had just finished when the room service arrived. Giggling, Grace stood up and answered the door, naked and covered in cum. “God damn I’m hungry,” she announced as she returned with the cart. There was a ton of food and a bottle of very expensive tequila.

Hungover Grace remembered that she’d put her credit card down for the room and groaned.

The trio ate, passed the bottle around, then fucked some more. At one point, the two men both sucked her giant nipples, driving Camera Grace wild. She bucked her hips, jammed both hands in her snatch and cried out in pleasure, loud enough to wake the neighbors. The bacchanal wrapped up with her blowing both of them on the couch, each fuckboi now sleeping where she’d sucked them off.

Camera Grace picked up the phone and spoke to her future self. “This was a fucking great idea! I’ve never cum harder in my life! Edison is gonna lose his goddamn mind when I titfuck him tomorrow! Thanks Doctor Acula!” Then the recording ended.

“I’m going to kill that bitch,” Grace said to nobody. She stared at the black screen of the phone for a moment, then sighed and went to shower. She cleaned off the cum, washed her hair, and very carefully avoided masturbating - which was trickier than it sounded with breasts that begged to be touched.

The two fuckbois were still asleep when she came out in a towel, looking for her clothes. Grace had no idea how she’d get home - that halter top wouldn’t cover one of her tits now - but when she pulled the garment from under the bed, it was several times larger than it’d been last night. It fit perfectly… if one’s definition of ‘perfect’ involved acres of cleavage and sideboob. She slipped on the rest of her clothes and ducked out before the men woke up.

Grace hadn’t really understood the word ‘gawked’ before her trip home on the E train Saturday morning. Every single person - man, woman and in-between - openly gawked at her unbelievable tits. A few were so shocked their mouths went slack. No one was rude or creepy, her earlier wish still holding true, but they were all gobsmacked by the surreal amount of breast flesh jiggling in the back corner seat.

Scrolling on her phone to avoid the universal gawk, Grace was shocked to discover that her boobular transformation was retroactive. All of her videos from the past week had been updated to reflect her new chest, giant breasts rocking and bouncing as she worked various cocks. She scrolled further back and there they were - huge boobs at the company party, huge boobs at Christmas, huge boobs at the theater with Ethan before COVID. There were even huge boobs back in high school, her prom photo half obscured by the biggest tits a seventeen year old ever had.

Back in her room, Grace assessed the damage. Rummaging through her dresser, she discovered she now wore a 34U bra. She counted off letters on her hands. “21 inches,” she groaned. “So I’m a 55 - 22 - 40 now. Jesus fucking Christ.” A ruler showed that her tits stuck out nine inches from her chest - nearly eleven if you counted the nipples.

All of her clothes had changed to accommodate her new shape - rows of custom fitted dresses, shirts and blouses, totally useless to anyone but her, and lacy bras that you could use to haul groceries. “And now I can’t sell off any clothes that go above the waist,” she added sourly.

Grace yawned hugely. She had been up with the fuckbois until at least two, then rose with the sun at five. It was now seven thirty, and she was exhausted. She closed the blackout curtain, disrobed and crawled into bed. Grace tried for almost an hour to fall asleep, but between her new tits and the sun outside it just wouldn’t take. Groaning, she decided orgasms would have to substitute for sleep - she pulled out her vibrator and fired up PornHub.

Hand me a mic, hand me a match,

Burn my sari and never look back!

The sound of Chappal Attack pulled Grace out of her masturbation reverie - Mercy was calling. “Wake the fuck up, Sugar Tits - we’ve got a gig!”

Grace sat up, boobs swinging into her lap.

“What, tonight!? How!?”

“The lead singer of Hammer To The Groin got into a fist fight with the bouncers at The Double Down and wound up in jail! We’re playing The Mercury Lounge!”

They both squealed in unison - it was the biggest venue Chappal Attack had ever played. She texted Edison, rescheduling their date to Sunday morning brunch, then hauled herself out of bed. She threw on a pair of daisy dukes, stretched a Led Zeppelin T-shirt over her zeppelins, then grabbed her precious gym shoes and left, kissing mom on the way out the door.

“Gonna be hanging out with Mercy! No sex tonight!”

Grace made it to the Mercury Lounge by three for soundcheck. Once the security guard pulled his jaw off the floor, he found her name on the list and let her in.

“SWEET TITS!”

Mercy’s voice boomed over the PA, and two dozen people turned. To a man, their eyes went wide with shock. There was loud feedback as a sound guy dropped a microphone.

“Yeah, hi Mercy.” She waved weakly and said hello to the rest of the girls. Grace moved to the booth and greeted the sound tech setting up. He mumbled a hello to her tits and made space for her to sit. She attached her laptop to the console and got to work.

It took a minute to get up to speed - she couldn’t see the keyboard anymore - but everything was programmed and cued by the end of the soundcheck. There wasn’t a lot to do, honestly; Chappal Attack was the first opener and they only had 30 minutes to play, but Grace used every trick she knew to maximize that time.

She found the work deeply satisfying - it was her (non-sexual) passion, and if COVID hadn’t fucked up her life, this would have still been her career.

Job done, Grace joined the other girls in the green room. The other opening group was in there too - a noise punk band called Sherman Burns Atlanta - and everyone was having a good time as show time drew near. Everyone except Mercy.

“Damnit Grace, what am I doing wrong?” She lay back on a chair, vodka bottle in her hand, staring at the ceiling. “I’m reasonably hot, I’m a punk rock chick, I’m easy - why can’t I get laid?”

Grace put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “We all have droughts, Mercy. I mean, look at me!” She waved a hand at her impossible figure. “Even I had a six month cold streak.”

Mercy looked up, clearly skeptical. “My heart believes you, but my brain says ‘no’. Dead men get hard when they see you. Your tits have their own zip code.”

“Looks aren’t the only…” Grace stopped, not wanting to lie to her best friend. “I’m a bad example, Mercy. I’m an outlier. You’re a beautiful woman! You’re sexy as hell! Pretty face, fantastic ass!”

“You like my ass?” Mercy was genuinely touched at the compliment.

They talked and drank until show time. Grace did her best to buoy the woman’s spirit, and as they parted ways, Mercy gave her a huge hug, burying her face in her chest.

“Thanks Grace. Love you girl.” She paused. “Holy crap, your tits are so fucking soft.”

“So I’ve been told,” she said with a smirk.

We are the rebels, the ones who refuse,

We shatter our chains, got nothing to lose!

Good night!

The crowd applauded with some enthusiasm as Chappal Attack wrapped up their set. Grace made her way backstage, where the whole band was riding high in the green room. She laughed and hugged and shook hands and hugged - a lot of people wanted to hug Grace all of the sudden. She went to find Mercy, but saw the woman chatting up a cute bassist. Go get em tiger, she thought happily and headed for home.

Grace was in her room by 11 - quite early for her new lifestyle - feeling lighter than she had in days. (Not counting the weights on her chest.) Maybe she’d been overdoing it on the sex thing. There was a whole world of possibilities inside the heart-shaped bottle, not just ways to come harder. She could improve her life in all sorts of ways!

She could improve other people’s lives…

“Holy shit…” she said to the room at large. “I can spread it around…”

Resolute, Grace grabbed the bottle and took a drop. She spoke with confidence and conviction.

“I want Mercy Khan to have a sweet and thoughtful lover who can really satisfy her in bed.”

“Who are you talking to?” Grace’s head jerked towards the bathroom as blood and honey filled her mouth.

Mercy stepped out, confused. She was naked, freshly showered and brushing her teeth.

Thanks for reading!

Want more?

The full 154-page story - along with all my other work! - is available at https://the-ethical-hypnotist.itch.io/