"... Keeps the Autodoc Away"

by Mil Spec


"Al, honey, Ah know we've said it before, but I really mean it this time. We're nuthin'."

Al lay on his half of the couch, his half-finished jumbo-size quickshake sitting beside him on the armrest because it would obstruct his view of the holovision if he balanced it on his stomach. He pondered his wife's proclamation. But then Gerardina, female lead of "The Asteroid Roundup", made a particularly hilarious low-gravity pratfall, somehow managing showing off her legs to a height and at a leisurely pace made possible only by the physics of a low-rotation centrifuge ring on an asteroid-mining habitat, before she hit the floor, giggling and jiggling in a most appealing way that would have set almost any man's desires aflame if it weren't for the fact that this kind of thing happened just about every fifteen seconds on "The Asteroid Roundup" -- which itself was an accomplishment given that a fall took at least twelve of those seconds.

Betty was about to repeat her statement, with some irritation -- "Al, HONEY," she rehearsed in her head. But then, next to Gerardina, space heroine, there appeared, arrayed in muscles that seemed better-scaled to a prize bull than a human, Gerardina's asteroid-rustling partner Carlus, to catch her in his freight-train-like arms. He let out a thunderous sigh of passion, relief, and joy, immediately followed by the line, "If these cleaning robots only used Rancilloy Cleaning Solution, there would never be slippery spots on these floors. Why, we could even have a rodeo in here and we'd be safe from slipping!"

As Gerardina restored the sexual tension between the two with a graceful rebound to the opposite wall, a professional-yet-desirous smile, and a coincidental camera fly-by that momentarily put her audience's perspective right inside her bounteously occupied space-blouse, followed by a cut to a rear-view of Carlus' still-crouched form, as if trying to show an elusive ant perched on the equator of a bulging, planetary buttock while still fitting his marble-hewn face in the picture, peering over a mountainous shoulder with a look of concealed but dignified passion for his business partner.

Betty shook herself to her senses. That Carlus was really something, and a sensitive guy to boot, but she reminded herself that it was just holovision, and her real life was here in this dark living room, next to her beloved but corpulent husband.

She hit the "hide" button on the holovision, stopping the show.

"Al, honey," she repeated, "we are just a big load of nuthin!"

Al sat on the couch, stunned.

Betty huffed to catch her breath and continued, "Why, look at us! Ah know we've talked about it before, but Ah just cain't take it anymore. We've got to do somethin' with our lives! We've got dreams, hopes, purpose. And we're wasting our time watching this blasted thang and lettin' our lives slip by!"

Al dropped his chin to his chest. Actually, his head didn't need to move, as it was already at rest. But his eyes dropped, and he looked in a generally more downward direction. He would have nodded thoughtfully if his head had any downward freedom of movement. Instead, his upper body rocked just perceptibly, which Betty understood as, "Yep, darlin', I know what ya mean. Let me think it over for a sec."

Al paused in thought. Something about what Betty said struck home. He could feel himself moving toward that "edge" that people talked about going over. He knew he was pretty close to it. Betty was right -- they had talked about this before, but then they hadn't taken any action. But he felt like he, like his beloved wife, had had enough of inaction too. Inside, he was starting to move. It was slow, and he hadn't really done it in a long time, but deep down he found a determination that was starting to build.

"Betty," he said, "by God, you're right. I agree." He nodded with his upper body again, its lower end out of sync with his head due to wave action in between.

"Ah mean," Betty continued, "we haven't done nuthin' but go to work and sit on this couch for at least six months. We haven't even had a decent conversation in ... ", she paused, her eyes searching over an imagined calendar, "at least a week -- or two weeks! I cain't even remember," she said tearfully.

Al carefully put down his Chipperitos and ponderously shifted an arm out from between himself and Betty. He lifted it over her head and, with some effort, placed his arm on the couch behind her well-padded shoulders. He gave her a gentle squeeze. He nodded again, this time causing a slow, rippling motion that traveled over both of them. Betty covered her face with her hands, Al's compassionnate gesture releasing a gentle flood of sorrow and regret.

So Betty and Al resolved that night to make changes in their lives. They would take charge. They would do something. Something adventurous. Anything had to be better than their increasingly slug-like existence. They became so excited that they even tried to make love, which is not easy when you each weigh between three and four hundred pounds. They almost succeeded and were very sore from the effort the next morning. They resolved that one of the first things they would do was get in better shape.


"Hey, Al! I found a deal for you!", Tyrane whispered excitedly as he pulled a handwritten note out of his pocket. "There's a private miner offering access to an unrestricted mechadoc, for piloting runs to the Kuiper Belt."

Al was at work, between customer calls. He handled phone calls for Glaxxon Pharmeceuticals, who wanted a human face to represent them to their valued customers. Al's avatar was a fresh-looking young man with short, unruly hair. He exuded wonder, optimisim, and innocence. Al loved getting into character for his job -- the enthusiasm, the happiness, the sense of a brighter tomorrow -- it all came easily to him. And he could put on hold misgivings about his own life. But somehow, today, if any of his customers were watching, they noticed that his avatar's bright, just-finished-school smile was betrayed by body language that somehow communicated a renewed encounter with gritty reality and a restlessness with its lot in life. Underneath, somewhere, this avatar was looking to make some changes.

"An unrestricted doctor?" Al mouthed incredulously to his workmate Tyrane while he indicated to his avatar to put its facial expression on autopilot so as not to confuse his current customer, an eighty-six-year-old woman in Toronto who was explaining the ramifications of her new allergy medication's side-effects on her relationship with her dog, and how if she didn't fix the problem with dry skin, the pooch was likely to run off with a neighbor due to parched fur. Normally, Al would be right there with her, nodding sympathetically, while he alerted the pharmacist program to find a different prescription without the drying side effects. But today the old woman's plight reminded him of his own meandering life, and only hardened his resolve to make a significant change.

"Yeah," Tyrane whispered. "And to prove it he's been using it on himself. You have to see him to believe it. It's creepy, but it might help you if you know what you want." Tyrane slipped a piece of paper into their shared wastebasket, with a meaningful expression. He silently mouthed, "Here's his contact information."

Al hastily finished up the call with the old woman, trying his best not to show his impatience. As he threw away a candy bar wrapper, its contents hardly touched by his unusually absent appetite, he retrieved the scrap of paper Tyrane had deposited. He thought about what he could to with an unrestricted mechanical doctor. His imagination began to close off the world outside. His hands started shaking and sweating, and his head felt like it was on fire. Why, he could get rid of this accumulated fat -- turn it into muscle! He could readjust his proportions. He could make love to Betty again, with a member the like of which you only saw as an exaggerated bulge in a holovision star's pants. And what if she had access too? Why, the mass of her body could certainly be redistributed strategically! Va va va voom!

Al's pulse accelerated madly, and a quiet alarm went off in his cubicle. "Medical alert," intoned a vaguely female, vaguely mechanical voice. "You appear to be experiencing a sudden metabolic change which is indicative of infection or exhaustion. Please cease your work and proceed to your home immediately. Please do your best not to come into contact with or breathe on any fellow employees, to minimize potential spread of infection."

Al barely heard the voice. He realized with a start that he was being sent home. Tyrane and his other nearby co-workers had probably just received notice that he was sick and that they should try not to come into contact with him as he departed. Sure enough, Tyrane gave Al a thumbs up while Tyrane continued talking with his customer of the moment.

Al acknowledged the computer's instructions to leave, threw away his half-eaten lunch, shambled excitedly down the row of cubicles to the transit tube, and went home. He immediately placed a message to Betty that he may have found what they were looking for, and that night they dialed up the anonymous numerical address from Tyrane's slip of paper.


It turned out that the asteroid miner in question extracted water and gasses from the Kuiper belt of comets on the very edge of the solar system, for use in industry and to supply build living environments in interplanetary settlements. Mining the earth or other planetary bodies for materials for space habitats was strictly outlawed. Unfortunately, the long round trip to the Kuiper belt was unpopular, so the miner had sweetened the deal by cracking the safety mechanisms of the mechanical physicians required by law in the piloting pods. They would not be limited by legal restrictions (or overly-conservative safety guidelines) on body manipulation.

To prove his claim to have cracked the safeties, he showed off not only a twelve-pack of impressively altered abdominal muscles, but took Al aside to show him not two, but three fully functional penises, situated, so he claimed, in just the right way to match up with his partner's three vaginal openings -- which Betty later confirmed, as she had been taken aside by said partner. It was a little weird to them, but it was also proof of the possibility of fulfilling their most immediate dreams.

Al and Betty quit their jobs as quickly as they could, and Al slipped a grateful note to Tyrane, pledging to repay him for the favor. They went into intensive training on interplanetary mining techniques, regulations, and safety issues, as well as the control protocols for the rather antique mining robots they would be using. They proved to be star pupils.

The asteroid miner turned them over to the avatar of the hacker who had broken the mechadocs' safeties. The miner explained that ever since the hacker had been rewarded with his own pilot capsule (whose drive was totalled but whose mechadoc still worked perfectly), he only appeared to other people via avatar, nudge nudge.

The hacker's avatar, a Jetsonian figure, explained that over the course of their three-year round-trip, they would age normally, but that they would be kept asleep ninety-five percent of the time, waking only to oversee the collection of materials from the comet that they had been assigned. Human oversight was required by law and, more importantly, union regulations. As for the mechadoc, Al and Betty would keep whatever body mass they currently possessed, but could request the mechadoc to adjust their bodies' shapes and structures, including, since they would be out so long, the possibility of converting types of tissue -- for example, fat to muscle, or liver to lost kidney.

Al and Betty had their plans all ready. They had figured out what each liked and had come to a mutual agreement.

"Give me the muscles of Carlus, of 'Asteroid Roundup'," Al commanded his mechadoc, "and put the rest into," he cleared his throat, "put the rest into my sexual organs."

Betty blushed and gave Al a sultry look. "All raht, then. Give me the body of Gerahdina, also of 'Asteroid Roundup,'" She paused for a second, looking to Al and gesturing at her chest for confirmation, "and put everything left over into mah breasts."

"Physiological constraints violated," was the considered response of both mechanical physicians.

"They always say that," explained the hacker's avatar. He instructed the machines to override the constraints.

And that was that. Al and Betty were squeezed into their respective mechadocs, their bulbous bodies taking up much of the spherical shell that would normally be filled with protective fluid.

And they were off to mine the Kuiper belt, to meet again in three years after their missions were complete.


Al awoke at the edge of the solar system, encased in the shell of his mechanical physician. He tried to sense his body, tried to feel whether anything had changed. At first he felt nothing. He had to consciously move his fingers. There was the familiar internal sensation of motion, and he realized that his fingers had lost much of their pudginess. He tried flexing his arm, but it could only wiggle slightly, as if immobilized. Still, it was definitely more muscular and less flacid. A voice sounded, "Please do not move. Medical reconstruction in progress. Your body is immobilized for your protection during surgery."

Despite his extreme curiosity, and since it wasn't all that uncomfortable, Al disregarded his body and turned his attention to the mining robots that were being activated in the main cargo ship, outside of the confines of his control capsule. He watched schematics, observed a repair 'bot hurrying over to a miner with a frozen joint that was stuck in its travel rack, and watched out his transparent port hole as the robots launched into the dimly-lit comet below.

Over the next few weeks, his bots fairly efficiently gathered water and methane ice, along with frozen atmospheric gasses, destined for industrial and habitat use in the inner solar system, and stored them in the main cargo holds. It was fun -- like controlling a video game with real implications. Al watched in as much detail as he could manage.


Betty, too, awoke as her ship approached a fragile comet in the outer solar system. She directed her robots and tried to feel her body, to detect any changes. She could wiggle her arms a little, and it caused something to brush over her stomach. That must be her breasts! She noticed with some excitement that she no longer felt her stomach overlapping onto her legs. But the mechadoc quickly told her to calm down and wait for it to finish with her.

In the meantime, she had work to do.


On arrival back in Earch orbit, the cargo section of her craft departed for deliveries to Venus-level sun farms, Betty waited in mechadoc-induced sleep for Al to finish his slightly-longer journey. As she was awakened, she began to feel the excitement of their anticipated reunion. She floated out of the sphere where she had spent the last three years and into the private receiving chamber of a docking port, presumably complete with her old personal effects.

For the first time in three years, she could freely examine her body. With her eyes closed, she flexed her arms and legs, noting their clean, smooth feel. Even her fingers and toes felt lithe and sensual. She brought her arms together in from of her and felt enormous soft, warm breasts between them. In fact, she felt breasts before she even had her arms out in front of her. She opened her eyes to a great line of cleavage that rose nearly to the level of her nose, between two stupendous globe-like breasts that had been compressed slightly on the sides by her arms.

She reached up on top of them and pushed down to get some perspective. Even weightless she could clearly sense their massiveness. They moved ponderously, almost sloshingly. Their warm surface spread all the way down her stomach, covering it out to her sides.

Each breast looked to be a very soft sphere that, when she pressed down so that she could look at it, was farther across than from the tips of her fingers to her elbows. Their skin became taut as she pressed down, reaching the end of its flexibility when the tops of her enlarged breasts were barely horizontal with respect to the rest of her body. When she let go of them and put her arms at her side, her breasts slowly swung upwards. At the top end of their oscillation, she was caught off-guard by a few seconds of near-suffocation as they covered her face up to her forhead. They were so massive and soft that she had trouble slipping a hand between them and her face so that she could breathe easily.

With some effort, she settled them back into rippling spheres whose tops came up nearly to eye-level, and she didn't know how far down, in the zero-gravity of the docking port. At rest, they were squeezed softly together by their proximity on her chest, creating a narrow vee in front of her mouth and nose. They extended out well beyond her sides, beyond the width of her outstretched elbows, as near as she could tell.

She reached around them to find her nipples, which she had not managed to see yet. She found them with her hands, nearly at the end of her reach, with arms reaching around twin bulbous equators. They were quite sensitive, and she realized that they were the only part of her breasts that had any perceptible feeling whatsoever. She felt her aureola and found them to be as small as they had been when she was a chubby young woman with average-sized breasts. She thanked the mechadoc for leaving her at least that, since if they were larger she thought they would have lost most of their feeling, which they had sadly done as she started gaining weight.

She looked around for a mirror. "Mirror?" she said out loud, hoping the room would respond by displaying one. There was no response. She guessed that there was probably a mirror in the bathroom. She turned her head to look for a doorway into a bathroom, and found one to her right. She had drifted out into the room a bit, but it was small, and she grabbed a wall handle that was in reach. She rotated towards the bathroom and noticed that her breasts were slow to catch on, rotating some distance behind the rest of her body.

She began to realize that they were the most massive part of her body, outweighing the rest of her. How much had she weighed? Something like 325 pounds? Ugh. She hadn't thought about the ramifications of putting all the mass left over after reshaping her body, into her breasts. She had imagined breasts like certain holovision actresses, huge and soft, but huge meaning maybe the size of a grapefruit or even a small cantelope -- not a jumbo-size globe map of Mars!

Betty carefully pushed towards the bathroom door, trying to adjust her breasts with the other arm. It wasn't easy, since she had a lot of momentum. She ended up over-rotating, and she pushed up against the bathroom door sideways, the cold metal shocking her along her side. The door had a pull handle recessed into it, and a similar one on the wall next to it, to give you some stability. To reach both handles, she had to lever her body away from the wall so that she was facing headfirst towards the door with her arms overhead. She opened it as her momentum continued to swing her upwards, sending her back slowly towards the wall of the room above the bathroom. Her feet and legs came to rest on the ceiling, her back went against the cold metal wall, causing her to cringe, and her breasts, swinging in an arc centered around their anchors on her chest, continued for a little while until they pressed against her torso and then rippled out to press against the wall on either side. The skin became taut, and they slowly jiggled their way away from the wall.

She gingerly pulled herself into the bathroom with her arms. The doorway was fairly small, maybe a couple of feet wide, and she tried to go through sideways, but ended up at an awkward angle with her head and shoulders inside and her stupendous, increasingly burdensome, mammary glands stuck outside, preventing the rest of her body from gliding gracefully through the doorway. Their collision with the door sent her swinging around until her face was about to be pressed against the inside wall of the bathroom. She took advantage of the situation and squeezed in, her nipples painfully scraping past the metal frame of the doorway just before her butt hit the wall outside of the bathroom. Uurgh, it was cold.

She was half-in and half-out of the bathroom, but at least she had stopped moving. Her head and chest were inside, with her huge bosom pressing against the doorway on one side and squashed against her torso on the other. She gingerly wormed her way into the small chamber. Inside, she held onto as many hand- and foot-holds as she could find, experiencing a mix between exhiliration and exasperation. The two great globes of her breasts floated freely in front of her. She was beginning to think that she was attached to them, rather than the other way around.

There was a large mirror on one wall of the bathroom, above a zero-gravity water dispenser. Betty turned to examine herself.

Looking at her profile in the mirror, she saw first a stunning, sensual face that was like the one she remembered as hers in its bone structure, but substantially adjusted in its subtleties. It had a rather grim and determined expression. Her hair was in a net, held to her head for space travel. And right in front of her head, with its top just about even with her nose, was a great big round blob of boob. It extended down several inches past her navel, projecting out in a nearly circular profile almost to arm's length. Well, perhaps out to mid-wrist if she could have extended her arm straight. In short, it nearly equaled the rest of her body in mass, and there was another one on the other side. She wiggled her shoulders, managing more of a wrestling motion than a slink, and the huge lazy globe rippled ponderously in response, pulling heavily forward and then pressing back, swinging out to her side and going taut just as it brushed the upper part of her arm outstretched at an angle behind her.

She surveyed the rest of her body. It would have been a gripping experience on its own had it not been for the landmarks attached to her chest. When she urged her breast forward, she could see that her waist was smooth and soft, yet very narrow. She sucked in her stomach as far as she could and was astonished to see that, from the side, it was hardly wider than the palm of her hand. Below it was an every-so-slight swelling of stomach, with a delicately shaped but solid hip and generously rounded bottom. Her back was gracefully arched, up to a lightly muscular shoulder and long, graceful arm whose delicate hand was gripping a handhold above the toilet with white knuckles. All in all, an upper body worthy of the sexiest model, she opined, if she ignored the phenomenal appendages in front.

She looked on down to her legs. Her proportions hadn't really changed. Her legs were somewhat longish but not extremely so. But they sure looked better than the had before. To see them better in the mirror, she pulled a foot out of its foothold and brought a knee up. Just after her thigh reached horizontal, her knee encountered a great, heavy globe of breast. Argh. She was going to have to get used to these. After she got the slow oscillations back under control, she brought her leg up to the side. She loved it. It was slender, subtly muscular, everything she had always wished her legs could be. Even her feet were irresistably cute.

Al was going to go nuts!


Al woke up and gradually came to his senses. His mechadoc pod popped open, and he levered himself out. Something trailed behind him. It was ropelike, fleshy, and about an inch and a half thick. He looked down and saw, beyond a chest and abdomen with muscles like slightly smoothed-over Himalaya mountains, that the ropey thing extended from his groin. After a moment of disbelief and thoughts of umbilical cords, he reached down to confirm that it could be, in fact, his dick. Except that he couldn't reach directly down. His arm was too thick, and his chest muscles too bulky. So he reached as far down as he could, levering his body so that his hand could get down there. He grasped it and gave it an experimental tug. Ow! An immediate burning sensation at its root felt like someone was pulling it out of his body with a claw hammer. He let go and gritted his teeth in agony. Which sent shooting pains into his gums and up his face.

He consciously relaxed. He gingerly felt his face. Sure enough, jaw muscles bulged perceptibly from his cheeks. He held up his hand. It looked like it was chiseled from flesh-colored stone. When he wiggled his thumb, his whole palm and upper arm rippled almost violently. The veins on his arm stood out like climbing ropes across a mountain. He could bend his arm just slightly past halfway before his huge, forhead-sized granite bicep pressed immovably into a pyramidal forearm. He stared in awe at his tricep, clinging to the back of his arm like a petrified koala bear. His shoulder resembled a half of a rippling, striated basketball, anchored to his torso like the foundation of a mighty bridge built to withstand tropical tsunamis.

He looked on down to his chest and stomach and found a mountainous terrain, shifting as he moved as if the formation of the Rocky Mountains had been sped up to happen and reverse itself over the course of a few seconds.

He lifted a knee and saw thigh muscles that flared out to be nearly as wide as his waist, projecting on each side like Ulysses' bow. Followed by a knee like a softball floating in oil, ripples of muscle and sinew emanating from it as it bobbed up and down with the flexing of his leg. Below that was calf, which he could see only if he craned his neck to the side, since he couldn't quite stretch it out straight in front of him, like a diamond-shaped car jack with a bowling ball in the middle, between his knee and marble-hewn foot.

Al shook his head in disbelief. He felt like superman, only with muscles appropriate to his superhuman strength. With a start, he remembered the thing that had initially caught his attention.

He followed the ropey contour of his penis back into the mechadoc pod, where it ended in a spaghetti-like tangle across one interior side. Think of the beguiling and pleasuring he could do with this thing! Heck, he could probably wrap it around Betty several times before inserting as much as she could handle down there, pushing her right to the edge of madness with pleasure.

He came to his senses and realized that the best thing to do was to go find her! He thought for a second and decided to wrap his unbelievably elongated member around his waist for portability and concealment. He decided that his best bet was probably to turn around and reel it up like a winch.

Al got it to wrap around his waist a couple of times before he ran into a snag. Or a knot. In his enthusiasm to get moving, he had pulled a tight section that was loosely wrapped around itself. He had to very carefully unwrap and unsnarl it.

In the process, he noticed that it was quite elastic, stretching to over one-and-a-half times its at-rest length. He also found the end of it. Curiously, he realized that the entire thing was only slightly thicker than it had been before his flight. Even the end was normal size. Probably best, he thought, since it still needs to fit in a tight little spot. He also noticed, to his dismay, that he had absolutely no feeling in it. Except at the ends. It was still a little sore at the root where he had accidentally tugged it too hard. And the other end, when he pulled back his foreskin, was quite sensitive. He had to resist the urge to stroke it. It felt weird though. He realized with a start that the sensations at the end were delayed! He would touch the tip, and then after a slight pause, he would feel it. Wow. It must take a while, he thought, for that signal to travel through that length of nerve.

Al managed to get it wrapped around his waist. He counted 17 times around. It made a lump around his tautly muscular waist that stuck out three or four inches and was about six inches tall. He slipped into a very baggy bathrobe (baggy, that is, except for the shoulders and arms) that he found in his old personal effects and, after accidentally tearing big holes in the arm holes, negotiated the airlock into the main receiving concourse of the space station.


Betty heard the chime of an entry request just as she was squeezing gingerly out of the bathroom into the main chamber of her room. "Al Mosh requesting entry," announced a well-done computer voice.

"Enter," she responded, and propelled herself towards her old duffel that she had spotted attached to a wall near her open mechadoc pod. She hurriedly searched for something that would fit. She wanted to be dressed, even if it was Al, so that they could have a conversation to re-connect, or at least they could undress each other instead of starting out buck naked. An old baggy dress looked like the most likely candidate. She pulled it down over her head and arms, and pulled its hem down over her breasts. She remembered her huge waist from before and was surprised when the dress became snug just as the hem reached down to about mid-thigh. About half of it was still bunched up in her armpits. It was just to small to fit down over her breasts. But at least it squashed them down around her torso instead of leaving them to bob ponderously in front of her face.

Betty heard the airlock begin to hiss as it cycled its air and checked for contaminants. She pulled on some extremely baggy pants and belted the whole thing around her waist, her dress not quite reaching back up under her breasts to her waist in front to be strapped in the belt. She hoped that at least they were not exposed by hanging out in front, but she just couldn't reach that far to find out. At least she could feel that the nipples were covered.

The door opened. Betty was facing it and as it slid aside to reveal her beloved Al. First, she saw his face. He was difficult to recognize, but it was clearly her Al. If you removed all the fat from his complexion and replaced it with massive, chiseled muscles -- even in his cheeks.

Betty briefly looked him over as he floated into the chamber with a big smile on his face. He was dressed in a torn bathrobe that she recognized. The sleeves had been mostly split open to reveal arms thicker than her waist, and sharply detailed in rock-hard muscle, bulging veins, and taut tendons. The passage of air revealed bas-relief of a build that even comic book artists would have thought unreal. There was a strange, tire-like bulge around his waist, but she hardly noticed.

"Al, darlin'!," she called out, forgetting her cares and encumbrances, "It's so good to see you." She began to propel herself towards him. "How was your trip?"

"Fine," he responded, beaming incredulously at her. "It's so good to see you again." He looked her over. "Wow, you look amazing!"


Al floated in to see Betty pushing off of the wall behind her awkwardly. The first thing he noticed was her face. It was stunningly beautiful. And yet it looked just like her. Especially her huge, beaming smile. He felt his own face crackle and ripple into an equally expressive grin.

She had obviously put on some makeshift clothes. Most notably, her entire torso was wrapped in what looked like the bottom half of one of her old dresses. It was filled with something very large and round. Below, she was wearing some baggy pants that nonetheless managed to communicate powerfully sensual legs and hint at mind-blowingly curvacious hips. Which were themselves mostly obscured behind the bulbous dress.

He realized with incredulity that the dress, which her arms, graceful and shapely, reached out the top of, was wrapped around two gigantic breasts. When Betty pushed away from the wall behind her, the breasts stayed behind for a second as she got moving, coming along with her after a sustained effort, with a slow seismic ripple under the dress, which was pulled tight around them. Except for the liquid movement it made her midsection look like a giant garlic bulb with a delicate head and arms on one end and winsome legs on the other, all dwarfed by two cloves enclosed in the middle.


Al and Betty decided to find a gravity room as quickly as possible, since they were both ready to go, and freefall was proving cumbersome to them both. They hastened out into the receiving concourse and got a ride from a robotic taxi to a small centrifuge motel.

They entered their room, which was not yet spun up and could not contain themselves anymore. Al delicately tore Betty's dress from her like it was tissue paper, as she glued her lips to his face, clamping her legs around his chest just above his waist. One of her breasts went over his shoulder pressed against the side of his head, completely covering his ear and projecting like a massive, fluid-filled airbag, triggered by a head-on-collision, that missed its passenger's head, rippling heavily in the air beyond. The other was pressed tightly between their chests and abdomens like an under-inflated beach ball, sticking out both sides, still oscillating powerfully enough to push Betty back and forth perceptibly despite her legs being clamped around Al.

Al felt blood rushing into his fifty-foot-plus dick, and after he pulled his robe off in shreds, he began to feverishly unwind it from his waist below Betty's legs. He should have just bundled it up like a rope, so that it could be more quickly deployed. Oh well, next time, he thought.

The room began to spin up. The whole outer wall was padded to serve as a mattress. Al grabbed a handhold and pulled them to the floor so that they would spin up with the room and not be stuck in the center with the floor whizzing by underneath.

They began to be pressed into the soft, slightly curved floor of the centrifuge motel room. They were resting on their sides, mouths locked in passionate kisses, Betty's legs wrapped around Al's waist, a gigantic breast starting to press down on Al's head and wrap around behind it, reaching for the floor but its skin to taut to allow it to reach. Al was loosening his member, with some help from Betty. They managed to push it down over his legs, and then bring the thickening hoop back up to their waists. Al started to wrap it around both of them, but Betty grabbed the still-flacid tip and began rubbing it gently on her own genitals, crying out with pleasure.

The pressure into the floor became stronger, and Al rolled Betty up on top of him.

As several feet of his penis, from the root end on out, became erect, Al began to feel curiously weaker and light-headed. And it only stimulated him more. Betty noticed the erect section as it curved up behind her, up past her head. She grabbed it and then pulled it down sideways to reach her vagina. She shoved the end of the erect part in, along with a non-erect coil or two, pinning the head of the penis inside. She reached down with both arms, around the breast that was crushed between her and Al, and in her delirious pleasure stroked that section of penis inside her vagina, in the process pressing the head in and back rhythmically.

Al's world was becoming a spiral of black and brilliant pleasure, as he neared both climax and unconsciousness. He convulsed in ecstasy, thrusting his hips up and curving his back, felt a searing sheet of pain fan through his body. As blackness engulfed him he remembered, and suddenly believed, the words of the mechadoc when he originally requested the plan for his body -- "Physiological constraints violated." And then he knew no more.

Al's last conscious thrust was so powerful it tossed Betty slightly into the air. She lost his penis out of her vagina and fell heavily across his face, one breast above his arm and one below, putting her face-to-face with him, but sideways. The breast that had slipped off of his chest onto the floor was pulling at her chest wall agonizingly, since some its skin was bunched up near Al's armpit, and the full weight of the titanic gland was being encouraged by the room's rotation to become a pancake against the outer wall.

Betty looked up at the indicator at the room's axis. "0.32 G," it said. She realized with a sobering pain that they had set it to go all the way to 1 full Earth gravity. They were only one-third of the way there, and already she was almost immobilized.

Before it got too much worse, she agonizingly straightened out the breast that was pulling so savagely at the skin on her chest. She had to drag the nipple heavily under the main mass of the breast for nearly a foot, until it was approximately in the middle.

She noticed that Al was not breathing. He was staring straight forward with a blank expression. She tried to think what to do. She felt for a heartbeat. There was one. Thank goodness, because she certainly wouldn't be able to do CPR on his locomotive chest.

The centripetal acceleration of the room kept building. The skin around the outer part of her breasts grew white with stress, as they were pressed harder to the floor.

She felt for breath again and, finding none, raised her head, took a deep breath, lowered her mouth to his, and blew.

It was like blowing up a hot water bottle. But she did it. Her ears popped from the effort. She kept at it. At least it distracted her from the growing pain on her chest around her breasts and in her nipples.


Al awoke in a white-sheeted bed. He looked around. He felt a little stiff. After a moment, a male nurse came in. "You're awake, finally! Good. We can help you."

He found out that he had passed out from blood loss due to a seven-foot erection combined with a broken back due to excessive musculature versus skeletal strength.

Betty had kept him alive with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation for several minutes before help arrived.

"So how's she doing?" he asked the nurse.

"Oh, she's doing even better than you. We've called for her to come in."

Al breathed a sigh of relief and fell into a light doze.

"Hey, big guy!" came a familiar, coy voice.

Al opened his eyes. Standing over him was Betty, looking as beautiful as he remembered her. The nurse appeared to be gone. He noticed that he could see her face, even though she was standing over him. That is, there were no beachball-sized breasts in the way.

Mentally, he felt between his legs. He didn't sense anything out of the ordinary.

"Hi, darling!" he said to her, warming to the situation. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, fine," she responded, bent over him indulgingly and then stood up to do a quick pirouette. She was wearing a short flannel dress and wool tights, showing off rather skinny, but shapely legs. There was just a hint of a rise on her chest, under the buttoned dress.

Al caught the demonstration. "And me?" he asked.

"You'll have to find out for yo'self," Betty replied slyly.

Al began to reach down towards his crotch to find out what was there. But then he change course and reached up for Betty, instead, pulling her down to his bed for a hug.

"I love you, sweety. You look beautiful."

She gave him a light kiss. "And you're quite the studmuffin in those bedsheets." She paused to give him a smile and another kiss, and stood up next to the bed. "C'mon, darlin', let's go home. There's somethin' I'd like to do with you," she said with a wink.


When they got back to their apartment, Betty handed Al a sledgehammer from a drawer in the kitchen. Al stared at it incredulously. It was quite heavy. Betty pulled another hammer from the drawer for herself and led Al into the living room.

She pointed meaninfully at the holovision. Al looked between his wife and the machine. He smiled and nodded.

"Do you think it's a good idea, darlin'?" Betty asked.

"I do. I think it's a great idea," Al replied. "After you."


"So what happened, after I was out, anyway?" Al asked, lying in bed next to his wife.

Betty chuckled quietly. "Oh, plenty. You know you were out for three months gettin' patched up? You really did a number on that spine!"

"Yeah, I figured that out from the calendar. But what about you? What about," he paused, gesturing with his hands in the air, "what about, you know, everything else?"

"You mean your Rapunzel-style Big One, my bathtub-breakin' bloobs?"

"Yeah. And my Superman muscles, and your third-derivative bodacious curves. Not that I miss them really -- I mean, I'm just curious. They're just pphhht. You know, gone. And we only had 'em for a few minutes."

"You know, those boobs were over a hundred pounds each? Why, I couldn't stand up with 'em in even half a gravity, for fear of ripping 'em right off my chest. And you know what was wrong with your stupendous dick and muscles. As for my curves, " Betty continued, slapping her rather angular rear end, "I guess they decided they were from an illegally modified 'doc and had to go. But in the end, the authorities figured we got off pretty easy. Lost our flab and had a chance at some fun, even though it didn't turn out like we were hopin'."

Al laughed to himself, felt his average-sized dick between his legs, nuzzled up to his skinny wife with small breasts, and thought how much he loved her.


Al looked up at the sign on the door. "James Thornton, Psych."

"Yup, that's the one," said Betty.

Al sighed. "All right, here we go." He requested the door to open, which it promptly did, with a slight hiss.

"You may enter," said the door's smooth tenor voice.

Inside was a large, wood-panelled office with three chairs around a coffee table. An older man with a bushy goatee sat in one of the chairs. He invited them in with a friendly smile.

"So, how do you feel now about your experience?" he asked.

"Sane," began Al.

"Right as rain," Betty concluded.


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