“Hi Daddy! I’m s’posed to tell you that the doctor called and he said all the tests results were in an guess what. I’ve got MILF brain!”

I didn’t need the doctor to tell me that. My wife had been exhibiting all the symptoms of Pregnancy-Induced Hormonal Interference — or what people had come to call MILF brain or Teen Mom Syndrome.

It was hard to notice at first. I just thought her forgetfulness was routine pregnancy brain. Bigger tits? Longer hair? Perfectly normal part of getting knocked up. And her newfound yearning for whole milk? What pregnant woman doesn’t have cravings?

But there were the little things. Her constant giggles. Her complaint that maternity clothes weren’t sexy enough. Her forgetfulness turning into full-on ditziness.

The doctor said that she had a 50 percent chance of returning to normal after giving birth. Apparently the whole MILF brain thing was some kind of evolutionary response to low birth rates.

I didn’t get the evolutionary purpose of my wife losing her gag reflex. Or developing a taste for schoolgirl porn. Or calling me daddy.

But as long as she was happy and healthy otherwise, who was I to complain?

A bratty millennial visits a museum and becomes a blowjob obsessed 50’s bimbo


   Meredith tapped her phone and scrolled through the news feed, desperate to kill time until her meal ticket for the day arrived, some dorky looking guy named Bill or something. He was late which only served to piss her off more, she was already stooping low enough to let this guy buy her a meal but who picked a lame American history museum? She stood against a large stone pillar that served as part of the entrance to the building, the bright sun beat against her exposed shoulders and made her black hair warm to the touch. She wore only her minimal amount of makeup, no need to impress a guy that wore a bowtie in his profile pic. She scanned the sidewalk again, there’s no sign of him as she shielded herself from the sun with her hand. The little shit was already five minutes late, and the sun was persistently shining in her eyes. She looked the rotating door that leads into the museum and sighed, hoping the inside she could at least find a bench and try to think up as many ways to blast this guy on twitter as she was able.

   Her shoulders visibly slumped as she found that there was nowhere to sit in the entranceway, she pressed on though, not wanting to simply bake in the sunlight. She thanked God for her phone right now, the further she progressed into this place the more she regretted agreeing to meet this guy. Everything in this building just reminded her of how great everything is now and how sexist and racist people were before. Slavery, genocide, rampant sexism, that’s all that was here, and it was no less prevalent than right in front of her. The nineteen-fifties exhibit was an assault on the eyes with its absurd colors and silly displays of toxic masculinity. Picture of cars and racers outfits filled nearly an entire wall and more things of that nature were littered everywhere.

   She thought it was all bad but found out she was quite wrong when she saw an entire room dedicated to “Fashion of the Fifties”. There were some suits for the men, and the basic James Dean clothing but the worst by far was the women’s attire that took up ninety percent of the space. Nothing but long dresses and short shorts, apparently women were either meant to look modest or like harlots. Meredith couldn’t stomach the idea of dating a guy who liked this crap any longer, she whipped her phone out and desperately texted for her friend Ashlee to save her, she should be polishing off her afternoon jog about now. As she composed her S.O.S her eyes fell on the most offensive piece of clothing she had seen yet. It was a huge black bikini with white polka dots, the cups looked like they could hold volleyballs and the shorts that came with them were big in the seat too. There was a plaque on the bottom of the display case that said these were all the authorities could find of a woman who disappeared in 1954. Apparently, they were cursed and spelled doom for any woman who had them. ‘People were so dumb in those times, who’d believe in a real curse?’ she thought. She could no longer tolerate all this offensive crap and in an act of defiance reached her hand out and flicked the cup of the bikini. As her finger made contact she could see an arc of electrical energy pass between her finger and the bra, she felt the muscles in her hand tighten sharply and pain flashed in her mind. It was so jarring that she unconsciously pressed send on the message she had composed to her friend.

   “Fuck!” she cried out and fanned her hand trying to alleviate as much pain as she could. ‘Stupid outfit’, she thought, ‘What the hell did it do that for?’ She inserts the throwing tip of her finger in her mouth to calm it down, and a moment later all the panic and pain have gone and only the sounds of sucking can be heard in the empty exhibit room. As she walked out though she found it very difficult to find a reason to remove her finger from her mouth, something about the digit between her soft lips and being played with by her slobbery tongue was just becoming more and more irresistible, but still wasn’t quite hitting the spot. She tried to think of what it was that her mouth seemed to be craving but nothing leaped to her attention. She stomped her foot in a huff and felt her body tremble at the impact in places she never remembered trembling before. She looked down and thought she could see her breasts actually growing larger, but that was just silly, boobies didn’t do that. She must just be breathing real deep or something, they can look bigger when you suck in a breath sometimes. Something shined out of the corner of her eye and drew her attention away from her expanding boobies, it was a perfectly maintained chrome grill attached to a 1953 Chevrolet Corvette with a V8 engine, she had passed by the innovative machine without a glance before but now she couldn’t take her eyes away. It was painted a fire red and had classy whitewall tires, she leaned over the velvet rope to get the best look she could and didn’t at all acknowledge the weight of her new pendulous breast pulling to the floor or the tightness in her denim jeans. All she was focused on was the car and the thought of getting into the pants of whatever stud had the pink-slip.

   So enthralled by the feat of engineering, she didn’t feel as her jeans tore a whole down the middle, giving her growing bottom room to breath and she never noticed how tight her loose fitting shirt had gotten. She never bothered with bra’s, before she never truly needed one. Her lips were still wrapped around her digit as they became plumper and fuller. The soft angles of her face became sharper and the roots of her short hair became lighter then the color shot up each individual strand of her hair, leaving her a golden blonde. The changes to her tresses continued and her hair grew, her bangs developed and after a minute she was left with a head of long, wavy blonde locks and bangs that curled over her forehead.

   Meredith had closed her eyes and felt the imagined wind on her face as she thought about her in the car and her man driving it as fast as it would go. She was so lost in her daydream that she couldn’t feel the draft as all her clothing had begun to seemingly melt off of her body and pool at her feet. For a moment it swirled around her ankles and the pool then began making its way up her supple legs again. It flowed up her body in a singular mass but left a residue behind that toon took shape. On her feet were a pair of hot rod red heels with a four-inch lift, her legs were clad in thin black stockings that disappeared just above her knee into a skirt that flared out and matched her shoes. Her torso was encased in a very tight fitting, red bustier that left the tops of her large chest exposed for all to enjoy. She wasn’t capable of being bothered by this things anymore, all that occupied her mind now was having fun, fast cars and wrapping her plump lips around her man’s juicy—“Um, are you Meredith? I’m sorry I’m late,” a voice behind her said, snapping her out of her fantasy. It was a shorter man with frizzled red hair, a plethora of freckles dotting his face and a yellow bow tie holding the neck of his short sleeved button up shirt together.

   “That’s me, babe, do I know you?” Meredith said, tilting her head and pursing her lips.
“It’s George…from the Kindling app? I…uh, I’m your date?” he said, stammering and trying to maintain his composure in the face of such a beauty.
“Oh that’s right, I’m here to meet you aren’t I? Silly me!” she said, tittering into her hand, “I just got distracted by this bad car here.”
“Oh, you don’t like it?” He says, a little more wounded that he should’ve been.
“What? No silly. Bad? As in really cool? You need to get with the chat today Daddy-o.”
“Oh! Good, I was gonna say…cause that’s actually my car…” Meredith’s Jaw fell open, this nerd owned a cherry ride like that? He must be loaded! The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, she just hit the jackpot! “Really?! That’s so banging! You gotta take me out for a cruise sometime!” George blushed a little, he wasn’t ordinarily so complimented. “It’s nothing much really, I own all the cars here. I’m a bit of a collector…”
“You must be an inventor or something right?”
“Oh no, I just make software and stuff like that…” Meredith wasn’t quite sure what software was but this guy was loaded and she didn’t really care. She looked around and confirmed that no one else was nearby before she made her move. “You know George, I’m one of those ‘fast and easy’ types of girls that your momma warned you about,” she said as she closed in on him. One hand wrapped around his neck and the other handled his zipper slowly bringing it down. She pulled his face into her chest and gave him a mouthful of her warm honkers. She used her other hand to pull out his half erect cock and coax it all the way there. Holding the warm Johnson in her hand made her mouth water and she slowly pulled her knockers away from his chest and sank to her knees. She lined up the engorged tallywacker with her mouth and looked him in the eyes, “So what do you say, Georgie? I take you for a ride, then you take me for one?”

The end. Hope Y’all like it!


You turned on your phone and immediately saw this picture with a text from last nights Tinder date:

“You sure have some potent cum! I only sucked your dick once and I’m so filled with cum that I look five months pregnant and my tits are like four times as big as they used to be! I don’t suppose we could do that again? I don’t think I’m big enough yet!”

You couldn’t possibly have texted her “yes!” back fast enough.

Regressive Progression

Warning – contains raceplay and forced transformation

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I”m supposed to be here, remember?”

“Oh.” she said, wondering how she could forget she had invited him over? “OK. What were you doing here anyway?”

“You were…” he paused, distracted with something on the small gizmo he had in his hand “…you were about to apologize for being such a bitch to me.”

She scoffed. “I really doubt that.”

He typed away furiously at the the small screen in front of him, then looked up with a distrustful smile. “Oh, I think that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

Continue reading “Regressive Progression”


Tony was at his wits end. He and his girlfriend, Krystal, of 2 years finally got an apartment together. What started off as a good thing quickly became them bickering every chance they got.

“You never do anything around here, I’m the one that cleans up after both of us.” Krystal said as she followed Tony into the kitchen to continue the argument.

Tony had enough, the thing in question was Krystal’s OWN! A-cup bra she had in her hand waving it around. He had other things on his plate. His job was stressful and demanding of him, he just wanted to come home and relax.

“You know what would make this work better?” Tony said finally snapping.
He gave a brief pause, but not long enough for Krystal to awnser.
“If you would grow a decent set of tits, do all this house shit, and get on your knees and blow me!”

Both stared at each other in shock over what Tony said. He knew her body image was an issue for her, and she was flabbergasted. Just as Krystal was ready to fire back with her own attack something snapped…

It wasn’t her mind or emotions, but the bra she was wearing. The one in her hand she carelessly tossed behind her and lifted up her shirt which struggled to contain the breasts that, out of no where, sprung from her chest. She shrugged off the destroyed bra and hunkered down on her knees before him.

“Please let me blow you.” Krystal said as she played with her new D-cup tits, almost as if she always had them.
“Then when I’m done, I’ll make you dinner and clean up while you rest after such a hard day.”

Tony just smiled… he didn’t know what happened, or why, nor did he care. This is more like it he thought.


Brooke loved her husband and was confident that he’d never cheat — she even fulfilled all of his sex fantasies just to make sure.

But still, he had been acting weird. Going out at strange hours. Talking to her differently. Even sex had this bizarre mix of hot and cold.

So before going to her job as a yoga instructor — she taught the ever-popular all-girls tantric bikram class — Brooke decided to snoop on her husband’s laptop, just to see if there was anything weird in his emails or text messages or whatever. 

Brooke wasn’t sure what she’d find — maybe a new girl at work was being a little too friendly. Or maybe he was planning some sort of surprise for their upcoming anniversary.

But she certainly wasn’t expecting to see a picture of herself on something called Master PC. It even listed a bunch of random personal information about her: weight, job, breast size, sexual orientation. All the info was correct, but, well, weird.

It said “Sexy yoga instructor” under the “Job” listing — accurate, Brooke thought to herself with a smile — but next to that was the word “psychiatrist” with a line though it.

She skimmed over the pages of info:

Breast size: A-Cup D-Cup

Skin tone: Pale Tan

Sexuality (0-10): Four Nine

Hair length: Shoulder Mid-Back

It was all too much to take in, though Brooke definitely saw the words “exhibitionist” “sporty” and “loves posting in Instagram.”

But it was the last paragraph all the way at the bottom under “Contingency” that caught Brooke’s attention.

“If Brooke ever finds Master PC on her husband’s computer,” she read to herself. “She will use it to make herself sexier for her husband, whom she loves and adores.”

Brooke paused for a second.

“Well,” the former psychiatrist said as she clicked a few keys. “Goodbye gag reflex.”

And with a smile, she closed the laptop, took a selfie of herself, posted it to her Insta page, and walked out of the apartment in her shorts and sports bra, ready to teach a bunch of cuties how to sweat it up.


Your neighbor came over asking if you had anything that could help her exercise more. You handed her a bottle of your special formula and she thanked you and went out to jog. A hour later she returned, her sports bra now struggling to contain her new breast and those shorts could barley hold her growing ass in. “Like this stuff totally helped me exercise more, so I think I should repay you” she said as she walked towards you licking her lips while starring at your crouch.