Pig Latin By: Lingster Disclaimer: This story has been written exclusively for the enjoyment of people over 18 years of age who enjoy reading about magic spells, quite unrealistic female development, and playfully romantic sexual encounters. If you do not conform to the above- mentioned standards, please read no further. It's really for your own good. Writer's note: I, the Mighty Lingster, did write this piece. Post it freely, but please don't muck with the content. It's already edited to my personal satisfaction. Otherwise, enjoy. ****************>Iggerbay & Exiersay<*************** ******************>parte the first<***************** I'd been preparing the barn for several days before I went to pick Kris up at the airport. The place looked pretty funky, even by my somewhat eclectic standards. With computer monitors and mystic symbols vying for space around the conjuring area, and an 8-foot tall cylindrical aquarium placed dead center, a lot of people would have thought this spot was the site of some strange goings-on. They would, of course, have been right. There was scaffolding rigged all over the aquarium (which I got at a D.C. tax sale from a bankrupt pet store), and several CPU's hooked into a local area network. Virtual reality goggles I'd had to waterproof myself, so they could be used in the aquarium, were placed beside the opening of the tank. When being used, the aquarium would be filled with a protein bath - water, goat blood, a sample of my semen, and some amino mix I got down at GNC; there'd also be traces of all the elements commonly found in people, in about the same proportions. I had the glop stored in a refrigerated tank in the loft, with hoses running down into the aquarium. Magic is tricky business. You'll often see somebody in the movies cast a spell right off the cuff. Bullshit. Real magic takes hours, days, or even weeks to make work - and I was preparing a very involved conjuring. Normally a transformation spell like the one I was getting ready for would take WEEKS, and would require a team of magicians. Any spell that takes more than a few hours to cast needs several casters to keep it going. You can't take a nap in the middle of a spell without some backup, otherwise you might wake up dead. Mystical forces can get pretty nasty when they're not being watched closely. Lucky for me I had a Pentium. You see, reality is a creation of the human mind. A lot of human minds, actually. It's a kind of energy matrix that is shaped by our expectations, and those expectations run pretty deep in our being. It's written in your personal genetic coding, and it's imprinted on your personality when you're growing up. It's tough to change. But that doesn't mean it can't be done. Hell, conflicting forces in your unconscious "shape" reality subtly all the time...you know that already, if you've ever wished or prayed for something. Big changes used to require a lot more effort than they do now. Sensory deprivation tanks, like the one I had built out of the pet store aquarium, enable you to really get into a person's head and hack their unconscious. The simulated reality that can be conveyed through a good set of VR goggles can speed up the process by a factor of ten. At the same time, computer monitors and speakers placed around the room can flash the proper symbols and sound the right tones and chants to focus the mystical forces more precisely than was ever possible before. All told, I expected to boil a procedure that would have taken five twelth-degree warlocks on speed three weeks, down to just me and about 15 minutes. The only roadblock was the intended object of the spell. In a procedure that was done this quickly, the person upon whom the spell was directed would have a lot more influence than usual...so non-consensual transformations really wouldn't be possible. If, say, you wanted to transform somebody, against his or her will, into a pig, you might actually get a few pig-like characteristics, but the person would resist, and a good portion of the effect of the spell would come out of your victim's head. Luckily, Kris was cooperative and had told me what she wanted, so unexpected results shouldn't be a problem. When I went to pick Kris up at the airport, I was a little surprised at how little baggage she'd brought. We'd been dating for two years at college, and I knew she wasn't the kind of girl to travel light. I walked over and kissed her (she slipped me some tongue, the little vixen!) and then looked quizzically at her one bag. Following my gaze she smiled and said, "I figure I'm going to need new clothes, anyway. Help me with this." It wasn't very heavy, but she was wasn't very big, either. Soaking wet, she still didn't quite top the hundred pound mark. And thereby hangs this tale. Kris was very dissatisfied with her scrawny figure. Make no mistake, she's a beautiful girl, but she was skinny and flat-chested, and pretty short, too. Add to that her almost disturbing fixation with the buxom starlets of the fifties and sixties, and you've got a good foundation for serious feelings of inadequacy. The walls of her room were papered with pictures of Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, Mamie van Doren and some others that weren't familiar to me. There were a couple of shots of Racquel Welch, and one big poster of the car-wash girl from "Cool Hand Luke". Kris wanted to look like them. With every fiber of her being she craved the tall, shapely, melon-breasted form of a big-titty screen goddess. I'm a computer major with a long family tradition of screwing around with forces beyond human ken, and I love her, so I figured "what the hell?" Besides, it wouldn't exactly ruin my day if my 5'1", 96 pound girlfriend got transmogrified into Pam Anderson's better-developed twin sister. After I picked Kris up, we went back to the barn and I started hacking some VR and thaumaturgical code. Kris got to work picking out suitable images from a bunch of stuff I'd downloaded off the net. When she got to the alt.sex.breast stuff, she nearly choked. "Christ! I didn't even know they came this big! What've they been feeding these girls?" Eventually she settled on pictures of girls who tended to be about 5'8" and just chesty enough to shatter men's concentration, say a double-D cup. There were, however, two pictures in the bunch of Danni Ashe's lovely 32-FF's. I asked her about those two, and she said, "Her breasts are perfect, don't you think?" I agreed that they were very nice, which didn't quite satisfy her. Immediately I appended my remarks, saying, "Kris, the world would be a far, far better place if every woman had sweater-bunnies just like Danni Ashe's." She purred and said, "I hope mine come out just like hers." Amen. Being about 5'11" myself, I figured I'd have a really nice view down her cleavage hole once we were done. I also noticed that about half of the women Kris picked were a little on the athletic-looking side, and some of them could almost be called muscular. Kris had never mentioned anything about wanting to be more muscular, and she didn't say anything now, so I let it slide. A little muscle tone is kind of a turn-on for me - I liked her picks. We scanned pictures of Kris's face onto all of the JPEGs she'd picked out, and tested the view she would get through the VR goggles. A simple slide- show program probably would have been okay, but I whipped something up that would cause the images to float from side to side. Simultaneously, she'd be hearing her own voice saying "Bigger, Sexier" over and over again in english, latin, hebrew, ancient greek, mandarin chinese, and pig-latin. You might thing the pig-latin part is silly, but the repetitiveness of each word ending in "ay" gives it tremendous mystical power. Really! Our goal was to convince her that she was stacked at the same time we focused the appropriate mystical forces. Perception would become reality. She'd need to be in the sensory deprivation tank for at least a day before she lost all sense of self, so before I went to bed she got in, and we strapped all the monitors and breathing equipment to her. I had a little trouble getting the blood- pressure monitor on her, her arms were so skinny, but eventually I managed. She looked me in the eye and said, "The next time we speak, you'll be staring at my breasts," then she kissed me deeply, put on the goggles and the ear-plugs, and slid the rest of her naked body into the bath. She was now isolated from nearly all sensation. By the next evening, she'd be in a very suggestible state - sensory deprivation puts hypnosis to shame. I slept soundly on a cot in the back room and spent the next day running through the final preparations, as Kris floated just below the surface, motionless. Come midnight I was dressed in my traditional robes, and ready to go. I started chanting the spell, simultaneously double-clicking on the big-tit icon on my WindowsMessage desktop. The lights dimmed, digitized chanting started, and I glued my eyes to Kris's still-feeble bosom. About the time I hit the fifth "mutatis mutandis" stanza in the spell-poem, I noticed some motion in Kris's bust. Sure enough, it was working! (I suddenly felt a strange compulsion to shout, "It's ALIVE!" But that would have interrupted the spell.) I couldn't take my eyes off her breasts! Watching her ribs disappear as gentle curves rose from her chest , I felt faint with giddy arousal. Her body slowly filled out and grew taller as the minutes progressed, my throat became hot and dry watching this resplendently erotic miracle take place. Already her breasts were large and almost impossibly full. I circled the chamber and marveled at her suddenly shapely bottom. Before beginning the spell I could easily cup her butt cheeks in my hands - holding her aloft, pressing her lithe, girlish frame against my body as we made love. Those days were gone, but better days were coming! It wasn't until I heard the blood pressure alarm that I realized something unexpected was transpiring. I ran to the console, struggling to continue reciting the spell as I frantically examined the graphs and numbers on the monitor. What could be wrong with her blood pressure? Her heart rate was steady...but her pressure was steadily falling, and becoming erratic! I looked up at her still but still growing form and realized what was wrong: mechanical failure, the blood pressure cuff had ripped and fallen off her arm. Her ARM! Her ARMS!! They were a lot thicker than I would have expected, and getting thicker as I stood watching. I stared, amazed, as shadows formed in the separations of her deltoids and biceps. Her breasts, breath-takingly large and astoundingly full, began to protrude upwards as her pectoral muscles began to bulge. In just a few seconds her abdominal muscles became pronounced and defined, even as her calves and thighs flared out from her once-skinny ankles and no-longer-knobby knees. I was shocked to realize she had reached and surpassed the 5'8" mark and was nearly as tall as me. Even more disturbing, she was also nearly as well-muscled. While I'm a little on the slender side for a man, my muscles are much larger than what you'd normally see on a woman. That being said, Kris was looking startlingly strong, though no less sexy for it. I continued reciting the spell, suddenly aware that there were still three minutes left! I watched awestruck as as my formerly puny girlfriend continued her spectacular development, surpassing me considerably both in height and muscularity. Finally, it was over. The computer readouts indicated that Kris was now 6-foot, 4-inches in height, and was displacing enough fluid to suggest a weight of nearly 200 pounds, assuming normal human density. Wow. I scrambled up the scaffolding to pull her still-unconscious body out of the goop. I pulled off all the attachments, squatted and slid my hands under her armpits. I was amazed at the solidity of her body. She'd always been so frail and soft, and now her muscles felt more solid than any I'd ever felt on a woman, or, come to think of it, on a man. It took all my strength to haul her out of the chamber, she weighed a lot more than 200 pounds! Luckily I had a gurney/elevator rigged to get her down. The device had seemed a luxury when I'd expected her to weight 135, at 300+, it was inspiringly forward-thinking. I woke her with smelling salts and stroked her hair as she came around. She sat up suddenly, nearly knocking me off balance, and immediately began examining her breasts. "They're perfect! They're HUGE - Just like Danni's! Oh, I looove them!" And then she noticed her grapefruit-sized biceps. She gawked as she flexed her suddenly-powerful arms, alternately marvelling as the tricep and then the bicep bulged out, straining her freckled skin. "I didn't expect this...GOD! I'm probably almost as strong as YOU," she said, looking at me in a brief moment of almost moronic understatement. If I was right about her likely muscle and bone density, she was probably now one of the strongest women who'd ever lived! She stood up and received another shock, as she looked down into my eyes. "Wow," she said. "Wow," I repeated. In a weird sort of way, she'd been right when she made the crack about my staring at her breasts - they were now almost at eye level. She grinned and started walking towards me, aggressively seductive. I started to raise my hands and back up in (mostly) mock horror, but she was on me. She gently cupped my butt-cheeks in her hands, and lifted me up against her. Briefly holding me aloft with just one hand, she reached down and lifted my robes up over my head and dropped them on the floor. I was quite aroused by the night's events, as, apparently, was Kris. There was no foreplay, I wrapped my arms around her neck, as she once wrapped hers around mine, and began pumping as she inserted me into herself. She climaxed immediately. I have a somewhat unusually large member of correspondingly diminished sensitivity, so it's easy for me to regulate my orgasms. I decided to let it ride and keep pumping. After about 15 minutes, my arms and back were becoming severely fatigued from pumping up and down...I stopped and suggested we lay on the cot. Her wide open, gasping mouth slid sideways into a smile as her eyes opened. She suddenly increased the effort she'd been expending, raising and lowering me agaist her body, with no assistance. I took advantage of my freed up arms and began moving my hands and mouth over her body. Each time she lowered me, I felt her angular, rock-hard triceps swell to huge proportions. My lips were pressed to her throat, massaging her cable-like neck muscles, kissing and fondling her erogenous zones, easing her to orgasm after effortless orgasm. My legs were wrapped around her bulging thighs; I rubbed them up and down slowly to enhance her pleasure. After nearly half an hour and two more climaxes, I timed it and blew my wad with her on her fourth orgasm of the evening. She set me down, admitting her fatigue, as I marvelled at her outrageously over-developed body. After 45 minutes of love-making, moving my 150 pound body up and down against her own, her upper-body muscles were pumped to titanic proportions, and covered in sweat. It suddenly flashed across my mind that she'd been too weak to carry her own luggage only 36 hours before. Right now she could walk away with the Olympic Gold Medal in powerlifting. And her breasts! Her breasts were the fullest and most lovely I'd ever seen. Her nipples poked out like pinky-toes from her supple ivory mams. She saw me looking and arched her back. Breasts ample beyond my wildest imaginings offered themselves to my adoring gaze. So taken aback was I by the glory of the spectacle, I forgot to breathe for about 45 seconds, and nearly fainted. We lay down together on the cot I had set up in the next room. Exhausted with post-coital fatigue, we defaulted, ridiculously, back to our old gender roles: I spooned her, as though I were still the dominant sex partner, my toes barely reaching her calves. She asked me, suddenly, "How did this happen?" I told her I wasn't sure, but that it had probably come out of her own deepest desires. She nodded, too sleepy to respond. I had my arms around her, slowly massaging her enormous breasts as she fell asleep. The weight of her enlarged, shockingly muscular body slowly cut off the circulation to my left arm, and try as I might, I couldn't pull free. I had to wake her to get it out. Waking her was a mistake. She rolled to face me, her intentions clear. Instantly I felt my aching member pull back in dread. "No mas! No mas!!," my weary manhood seemed almost to shout, but to no avail; her mammoth strength was irresistible, superhuman. ==================End of Part One===================