This choice: Miles and Ilsa get some alterations • Go Back...Chapter #7Miles and Ilsa get some alterations by: Unknown Miles and Ilsa were wheeled into the lab and quickly divested of their clothing. The contrasts here were so great - black vs. white, muscular vs. slender, bald and rough vs blonde and smooth - that Moriarty wasn't sure where to begin.
Then he had a moment of inspiration: why not change everything?
---
Miles woke up some time later feeling oddly sore. He climbed out of bed and wandered into the bathroom to brush his teeth. As he did, he studied his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling bathroom mirror. All was as it should be: his skin was creamy and flawless, his blonde hair long and lustrous, his limbs slender and sexy, his taut stomach leading up to a pair of small but perky breasts and down to his tight, well-groomed vagina.
To Miles Landry, this all looked normal. To an outsider, though, the only part of Miles Landry that would have been recognizably his was his face (and even that was obscured by Ilsa's skin) and his deep voice, which said, "I need to lift some weight, clear my head before all this wedding nonsense starts."
He went back into the bedroom, where Ilsa was snoring away, her dark brown skin glistening in the sweat that came from too many blankets, her many muscles rising and falling as she breathed. Miles leaned in to kiss her, and, as always, felt a tickle from her thick, bushy handlebar mustache.
"What's happening?" she said through a yawn as she stretched one long, mighty arm while she robbed her shiny bald head with her other hand.
Miles was busy pulling on his warm-up clothes (all altered to fit his shorter, skinnier new body) and invited her to watch work out.
"Sure," she said, standing up so that she towered over him - and so that her large, erect cock pressed against him. "Just give me a few minutes to get dressed and put my face on."
"A few minutes" turned out to be more than 40, during which time a frustrated Miles stretched, did some crunches and was surprised to find himself having difficulty doing push-ups.
"What's taking so long?" he complained, as the bathroom door finally opened.
Ilsa emerged wearing a shiny silver mini-dress that barely covered her crotch (and which had a noticeable bulge near the bottom front) and a pair of matching stiletto heels (which had been altered to fit her new size 16 feet). Her face was covered in make-up, but all outsiders' eyes would be drawn to was the mustache and the bald pate concealing the dazzling bone structure of Ilsa Gretsch.
They went to the gym, and Miles went for his customary 40-lb dumbbell to do a light warm-up. He couldn't get it off the rack.
"What the hell?" he asked, puzzled.
"Maybe you should try the machines, baby," cooed Ilsa, who sat at the bicep curl machine and easily pulled what looked like the full complement of weights. "This one seems easy."
Miles tried that one, too, but it wouldn't budge.
"I don't understand," he said, running his slender fingers through his hair, not sure what to do next.
"You're just tired, baby," Ilsa said, and placed her giant hands on his round, tight ass. She leaned down and kissed him on the neck. "I know something that always gets your energy level up."
As she pressed close to him, her dress pushed itself upward, and he felt her hard-on brushing against him. Ilsa picked him up by his rear, and he wrapped his long legs around her massive form.
The gym had been empty, but as they began to kiss and caress each other, they heard the door open, and looked to see...  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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