Mutating Morals Ch 01 Fuck Buddies

DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction. It did not actually happen.

Story Codes: Taylor Swift, Mind Control, Body Modification, Creampie, Big Cock, Science Fiction

Mutating Morals: Chapter One - The Fuck Buddy

May 17th, 2015

*****

9:00AM

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I groaned as I reached over to shut off the alarm, a task made slightly more difficult by the woman who was currently sleeping with her naked body splayed across my torso and chest.

Her warm, moist pussy providing a comfortable home for my rigid 10" dick.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you. A guy could get used to waking up like this.

Oh, right, allow me to introduce myself.

My name's Matt.

(Well, actually it's Matthew, but only my mother called me that.)

But anyway, aside from my name, what else should you know about me?

Physically speaking, I'm a 34-year-old Caucasian male with thick, light brown hair and blue eyes. I stand about 6'4" and weigh approximately 240, with an athletic build and handsome features.

Not bad for a guy who, until 12 years ago, was only 5'6" and barely tipped the scales at more than 120.

...I should probably explain that.

But first, I need to take care of some unfinished business.

Namely the lithe, athletic 5'10" blonde who was currently auditioning for the role of human cock sleeve to my swollen member.

I reached down with both hands and grabbed ahold of her slim 24-inch waist, giving me plenty of leverage, and began to gently thrust my morning wood into her honey hole.

Her first reaction was to groan, then she briefly opened her eyes and looked up at me from were her head still rested on my chest.

"Mmmmm, that feels good." She purred, still groggy from having just woken up, then snuggled her face into the nape of my neck.

"Morning." I replied as I continued to work my pelvis up and down, repeatedly sliding my meat stick into and out of her juicy cunt.

Slowly at first.

Six inches at a time.

But then I started picking up speed.

The copious amount of lubricating fluids still present in her pussy from our marathon of fucking last night made for easy passage, so my assault went relatively unimpeded at first.

In fact, the only indication of my current fucktoy being aware that I was again taking her stemmed from the sound of her slightly erratic, heavy breathing, and the way her vaginal walls rhythmically massaged my turgid cock as we mated.

All that changed, however, when one particularly deep thrust managed to push the tip of my manhood up against her cervix.

She gasped and her eyes shot open when the sensation of having a fully stuffed twat caught up with her, those husky breathes turning to moans as she rose from my chest and placed a hand on either side of my head in an effort to steady herself against the force of my ever-increasing pace.

"Oh, shiiit!" She exclaimed, her eyes glazing over with lust as I kept on fucking her.

"You really do... Ah! Know how to... Umm, yes! Wake a girl, don't you sweetie..." She panted.

It was more of a statement than a question, judging by the obvious pleasure displayed on her face and the "O" shape being formed by her talented mouth as a signal of her building orgasm.

"It's all part of the service, baby." I replied as I continued to ramp up the frequency of my thrusts, my engorged testicles now making slapping noises against her taint every time I bottomed out inside her.

"And do you know what my first rule is when it comes to customer service?" I continued as her hips began to work in tandem with mine, slamming herself down onto my invading tool on every stroke.

Ahh! Nnn... Oh, fuuuck! No, wh—what is it? Unf!" She struggled to stammer out amidst the jackhammer blows of my cock assaulting her battered cunt, it's walls beginning to clamp down on me as her climax neared.

"The client..." I began, punctuating each word with a savage thrust up into her depths, trying to get as much of myself into her as possible.

"Always..."

Thrust.

"Cums..."

Thrust!

"First!"

THRUST!

"Ahhhhhhhhooohhh, FUCK!" She wailed as she arched her back and lifted her face to the heavens, her lovebox spasming in orgasmic ecstasy as it gushed even more girl-cum, simultaneously trying to milk me for all of my spunk as well.

I decided to indulge her by making one last, mighty heave that lifted both of us off the mattress as I grunted, releasing rope after sticky rope of my semen deep into her fuckhole to mingle with her current cum, as well as our mutual spending from last night.

We stayed like that for several moments before collapsing back onto the bed, our paired orgasms having drained us both of strength like two puppets who's strings had been cut.

It took me awhile to realize through my post-coital bliss that I was back in the same position I woke up in, with the heavy breathing of both me and my bed partner the only indication of our most recent fornication.

Well, that and the pungent aroma of sex in the air, as well as the fact that we were both naked with my slowly deflating cock still buried in this woman's delectable cunt...!

The realization that I was going flaccid snapped me back to reality.

"Taylor, babe, you need to get up." I urged while gently shaking her shoulder.

"Mmm, no." She replied, still clearly in her own little dream world. "I want to stay like this forever."

"Well, unfortunately, we can't." I responded, wanting to make clear to her what would happen if she didn't move. "I'm going soft and I doubt the hotel would appreciate having to clean up the mess if we 'uncorked the bottle' all over the bedsheets."

"Oh, right..." She said, then giggled as she moved to cooperate with my request by propping herself up and preparing to dismount me.

She reached down with one hand and, as soon as my semirigid cock sprang free, cupped her pubic mound to stem the flow.

My cum-soaked member made a delightful "plop" sound against my abdomen in the process.

She then awkwardly crab-walked backwards towards the edge of the bed, the seductive look on her face giving an air of sexiness to the decidedly unsexy act, and proceeded to stand up on a pair of weak, wobbly legs.

No doubt the result of being subjected to numerous orgasms over the course of last night and again this morning.

I took a moment to admire the view before me.

Here stood Taylor Swift, international singing sensation and walking wet dream for millions of horny men (and women), in all her bare naked glory, for my eyes alone to see and appreciate.

And appreciate it I did.

From her beautiful face with its sexy smile and post-intercourse "bed hair" look, to her round, perky 34B breasts that were capped with perfect pink nipples the size of quarters.

Even the hand covering her most private of parts wasn't enough to take anything away from the image of lewd sexuality that stood before me, because I knew the hand was there to keep the veritable bucketload of cum which I had pumped into that well-fucked pussy from escaping.

This, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), appeared to be a loosing battle, judging by the steady drip of semen mixed with cunt juice that was seeping between her fingers and onto the floor.

My expression must've clued her in because Taylor glanced down at the erotic concoction forming between her legs and immediately gasped in annoyance.

"Oh, shoot!" She exclaimed, then giggled and looked back at me with a coy smile. "Well, so much for not making a mess."

"Don't worry about it." I said while returning her smile with one of my own, mainly out of amusement of her juvenile terminology given what we'd just done.

"I'll get a towel to wipe it up later." I added.

"Okay." She replied. "But I still better let this thing drain into the toilet or something. Otherwise you'll be wiping up more than just a puddle. You really filled me up, you know that?"

"Hey, it's what I do!" I called to her receding form as she scampered off to the bathroom, leaving a trail of sexual fluids in her wake.

Once she was out of sight, I took a look around in order to get my bearings and proceeded to reminisce about the events that brought me to where I am today.

I was in the penthouse suite of an upscale hotel just off of the Las Vegas strip.

Which, in and of itself, wouldn't seem odd considering who I was currently sharing the room with, except that Taylor Swift hadn't booked this room, I had.

...You see, I'm not just some high-end gigolo, going around banging Hollywood starlets for money.

I'm actually a geneticist, and a certified genius at that.

I attended Cal Tech before I was old enough to drive, and graduated with a doctorate in advanced biology before I turned 20 years old.

After that, I went to work for The Feinstone Center for Genomic Research in Memphis, Tennessee as part of a team trying to sift through the mountains of data produced in the aftermath of the human genome project.

It was an exciting challenge at first, and it wasn't long before I made a monumental breakthrough!

When I approached our project lead to excitedly present my findings, however, he dismissed them as nonsense and threatened to fire me if I continued "wasting his time."

It didn't take long after that for me to become disenchanted with the job, especially the ethics involved with the government's ban on human testing and gene splicing.

So I left the institute and decided to pursue other avenues of employment, anxious to strike out on my own in search of a more lucrative means in which to apply my talents.

My colleagues all thought I was crazy, but they didn't know what I knew.

They only concentrated on minute details of the field of genetic research, whereas I knew I had unlocked the key to something that the vast majority of people would consider nothing short of science fiction:

Genetic mutation!

...Albeit, not the kind you read about in comic books, mind you.

I can't make a person shoot laser beams out of their eyes or heal massive trauma in seconds, but I can rewrite an individual's genetic code in order to modify their physical attributes as they (or I) see fit, even to the point of granting certain "abilities" not native to humans!

...I can even make wholesale changes to their personality as well!

(Let's keep that last bit under wraps though, shall we?)

It should be obvious to anyone reading this by now that, yes, I used my knowledge of genetics to modify my own physiology.

I was actually my own first test subject!

I took the money I had saved up over the years and bought a two bedroom house near Nashville, which wasn't cheap, but it's location, coupled with the fact that it had a large basement, made it perfect for what I had in mind.

I then used most of my remaining funds to purchase the equipment I needed to turn said basement into a fully functional genetics lab, and got to work.

It took several months of painstaking effort before I managed to find a way to isolate and modify specific sections of my DNA without causing adverse consequences, and nearly as long developing a reliable means of applying those changes to my entire body instead of just individual cells.

But once I had completed those tasks, I was ready to begin creating the new me.

And so I did.

I won't bore you with the details, except to say that I had selected a broad range of physical attributes to change.

And yet, despite that, it only took a week for those modifications to fully take effect.

The only downside was that I had to consume massive amounts of calories to account for the increases in both my bone structure and body mass.

Otherwise, as I discovered later on with more minute changes, the effects can be nearly instantaneous.

And the results speak for themselves, as evidenced by the magnificent physical specimen which currently found himself lying in a hotel bed, naked as the day he was born.

...Which brings us back to the present.

I heard the toilet flush and soon saw Taylor exit the bathroom, still completely nude and, seemingly, still leaking, though not as much as before.

She walked over to where our clothes ended up on the floor last night and grabbed her lace thong from amongst the pile, then proceeded to step into them.

"You know you're still leaking, right?" I asked, trying not to smirk at her current predicament, and failing miserably.

"Yeah, but I figure these'll be enough to stem the flow." She responded as she finished pulling up her panties, then reached down with one finger to swipe up a stray dribble of our mingled cum from her inner thigh, and sucked it into her mouth.

That sight alone almost made me want to take her again...

"And besides," she continued with a naughty grin as she wiggled her hips, "I kinda like the idea of having some of you sloshing around inside me for the rest of the day."

And those words made me want her even more...

But what she did next essentially ruined any chance of that happening, because she leaned over and tried to kiss me.

I had to scramble to put my finger in the way of her lips before they made contact with mine, thereby keeping her from breaking my most sacred rule:

No kissing after sex!

Why such a rule, you ask?

Well the answer is simple. Taylor isn't my girlfriend, nor is she my lover.

She's simply a client.

Nothing more, nothing less. And I don't mean client as in I'm a male prostitute, because, as I said, I'm not a gigolo.

...Taylor is one of my earliest gene modification clients. Third, to be exact.

The first two were both music executives.

Rich, middle-aged men who were willing to spend a fortune (which they did, gladly, after I made them both the envy of their respective boardrooms for their restored vigor) in a search for the fountain of youth.

I didn't do anything drastic, just increased their overall health and muscle tone, as well as boosted their libido, but it was enough to satisfy them.

Taylor, on the other hand, wasn't rich when she approached me.

Well, her parents were wealthy, but not nearly as well off as my previous two clients, and she was just a teenager.

She wasn't very attractive back then either, to be honest, but then that's what made her seek me out.

She had heard about my services "through the grape vine", and desperate for a shot at the big time, promised me half of every dollar she earned in show business from then on, if only I could make her beautiful.

I decided to take her on as a client, under the pretense that she would pay me the agreed upon 50%, assuming she was satisfied with the results.

(I make it a habit not to require payment up front. It puts the client more at ease, and generally results in a bonus later on, either monetary or otherwise.)

And when I was through transforming her from a decidedly unremarkable teenager into a very attractive young lady, she happily signed the reimbursement contract.

I continued to work with her over the next few years in an attempt to perfect my methods (she was only my third client, after all), and for the most part our business relationship remained strictly professional.

That all changed four years ago, however, when she asked me to make her look "sexy".

At first I thought she was just being obtuse, since she was already very beautiful to my eyes, but the way she described the changes she wanted made me realize that she was serious.

I therefore told myself that the customer is always right, and got busy programming in the necessary alterations to her DNA.

Unlike with my previous clients (or any since), I had allowed Taylor into my lab on several occasions in order to show her how the gene modification process worked, so she was aware of what I could and couldn't do (or so she thought).

Over the years, I had developed a computer program (thanks in part to having taken computer science as an elective) which allowed me to input physical changes to a persons genetic code on the fly using a highly detailed 3D model of their anatomy.

It made for much faster work, although this was the first time I had used the program to make such detailed changes to someone else's body, specifically in search of increasing their sex appeal.

Taylor had been very specific about what she wanted.

She felt that her breasts were a bit too small and slightly saggy, so I increased her bust size from a soft 32A into a pair of firm 34B's.

Her butt and upper legs were also not to her liking, so I tightened up her glutes and gave her a pronounced thigh gap.

It was when I got to her vagina, however, that things got really weird, because Taylor had told me to use my imagination.

I had never really done any in-depth modifications to a girls pussy before!

And yet, here I was, with permission from a client to modify her twat as I saw fit.

So I decided to make it the best looking, most beautiful cunt I could imagine, from MY point of view.

The only problem was that, having designed for her the perfect pussy according to my tastes, I wanted to try it out for myself.

And so I hatched a plan.

I made a few additional mods to the DNA profile, then saved it. I then called Taylor to let her know I was ready, and she came by the next day to undergo the procedure.

What she didn't know, and is still blissfully ignorant of today, is that I had added a few behavioral modifications to her DNA.

Nothing too drastic, mind you. I didn't turn her into a completely different person or anything.

I just tweaked a few aspects of her personality in order to increase her sex drive, and made it so that she directed most of that desire towards me, albeit only when I was physically present.

The changes didn't take effect immediately, and it wasn't until three days later that I confirmed whether they had worked or not, which was the day Taylor came by for her follow-up appointment.

One minute we were sitting in my home office going over the post-procedure checklist, and the next we were on my couch, with Taylor trying desperately (but failing) to fit all 10 inches of my cock in her mouth, while I took the time to examine her now perfect pussy in detail.

We ended up fucking for three hours that day before passing out from exhaustion.

And we have continued to do so ever since, without anyone else knowing, whenever we get a chance to meet up in private.

But it hasn't been all smooth sailing.

I did have to make a couple of tweaks along the way, like when she found an actual boyfriend and needed to not feel guilty about sleeping with me on the side, or when I had to develop a way to guarantee that my sperm couldn't knock her up after we had a pregnancy scare.

In the end, though, it was worth it. I get to have sex with one of the hottest women in the world on a regular basis, no strings attached.

We even scored a bonus when I modified her mouth and throat structure to allow her to deepthroat me easily, and discovered that it also improved her singing voice.

I ended up writing a new contract that reduced my 50% reimbursement take of her earnings to just a 10% gratuity on her album sales, in appreciation for all the amazing sex.

We also have an informal agreement in regards to me asking a favor every now and then, which just so happens to be what brought us together last night.

(No, not THAT favor. The sex was just a fringe benefit.)

...Which, again, brings us back to the present, and the moment before Taylor realized that my finger was blocking her path to my lips.

She opened her eyes and instantly drew back from me as if startled.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" She admonished herself. "I didn't think before I acted, I just went with wha—."

"It's okay." I interjected as I made a mental note to design a behavioral wipe of any romantic notions that Taylor had towards me into her gene profile before our next visit. "I was able to stop you in time. Just, try to remember the rules next time. Deal?"