The Body Shaper Pt. 01

Disclaimer: All persons having sex are over the age of eighteen.

******

"Thank God it's the weekend. I need to get laid so fucking bad!"

I changed out of my uniform at my locker, trying to both ignore my coworkers and suppress my jealousy.

"I know, right? I'm thinking that new club downtown? Cerilla's or something like that? Hey, Jeff, you down to come too?" he laughed nastily.

"Funny, Frank. Real funny," I muttered. No nightclub in this town would let me in the door, unless it was ugly-fat-guy night.

I finished changing as Frank and Tony left the locker room, bantering back and forth and reminiscing about all the girls they'd picked up here and there.

Washing my hands in the sink, the harsh light from the florescent bulb over the mirror highlighted my acne scarring, and I didn't look too long at my reflection.

Pick up a girl? I'd hardly ever even talked to a girl.

Sighing, I left the locker room as well, trailing the same path the other two had taken. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

******

You see the capes on the news, both the heroes and the villains. Humans given fantastic powers, set above the rest of humanity. Some have used their power to harm, others to help. Some of them have even talked about how they discovered their power.

I will never tell anyone that I discovered my ability to shape the human body like clay while I was masturbating.

It was my day off, and being not only single for my entire life but not very financially stable, playing with myself was a very cheap form of entertainment. It's not like I had ever gotten off any other way.

I had my eyes closed, fantasizing about having a long and thick cock instead of the lackluster member I had in reality, jacking it off on to the face of an imaginary redhead who was so beautiful she'd never give me the time of day were she real.

I never noticed the strange pulling sensation that I would come to associate with shaping myself. It was only after I'd cum, and looked down to see how much mess I was going to have to clean up, that I saw what had happened.

Between my legs, just as I had been imagining it, was an overly long, thick cock with the surrounding area of my pelvis and thighs oddly sunken in.

I grabbed a handful of tissues to clean myself off, and shakily tried to understand what had just happened.

Okay, I was imagining it, and BLAM! I thought, There it was. I racked my brain for a minute, and tried to imagine my thighs as they were before whatever I did screwed up their shape.

I strained, and even tried closing my eyes, but nothing happened.

After a few more failed attempts, I frustratedly tried to smush it back into place with my hands, and I felt an odd tingle as my hands somehow smoothed out the sunken-in gap.

I accidentally let out a hysterical giggle. I placed my hands under my tubby stomach, imagined myself with washboard abs as clearly as I could, and pressed in as I ran my hands up in the direction of my face.

As my hands moved, they pushed the bulk of my belly fat upwards, leaving the sculpted musculature of a defined abdomen behind, and a large, floppy roll of fat on my chest. I then tried to smooth that out of place bulk into large pectoral muscles, and was only moderately surprised when it worked.

I quickly gained a handle on my new ability, shaping my arms and legs into less fat, more muscular versions of what they were. In order to get my hands in place to shape my back, I wound up pulling on my wrist, stretching my forearm like taffy into a very long, very skinny version of itself in order to reach. It did take a few panicky false starts to get my arm back to a regular size, however.

Looking in the mirror, I passed my hand over my cheek and the patchy, two day beard and the acne scarring I'd had since I was a teenager vanished, leaving smooth skin behind. It didn't take very long at all to smooth the rest of my face out. My hair was fine, even if the brown color of it was rather dull, so I left it alone.

Looking at my reflection, something wasn't quite right. My torso was much bulkier than my arms and legs would suggest, and I spent quite some time balancing the body mass around my body, trying to get the proportions right. Finally happy with it, I tried to make my face a little more symmetrical. I didn't change much else there, not wanting to look too much different from my driver's license picture.

My reflection, once I figured I was as done as I should be, brought it all home for me. For the first time in my life, I was actually good looking. I still had the same brown eyes and hair, but my face was decent, and my body was action-movie-star amazing. No more fat Jeff with the crater face.

I had to come to terms with not only leaving the ugly me behind, but also with having a superpower, as unflashy as it was. I was a guy, and guys, for some reason, rarely developed the power on their own.

Only about one in a hundred thousand people spontaneously manifested as a cape. For every ten of those people who naturally developed superpowers, nine of them were female. For the guys who did get power it was rarely a useful combat power, much as my own wasn't. It wasn't fair, but that's the way it was.

All those superpowered battles on the television? Chick fights, every one of them.

All I knew was that I'd beaten the odds with this. I knew just how impossibly lucky I was.

I did discover a few limitations, though, such as requiring hand-on-skin contact (I couldn't shape anything with my feet, for instance), and that I couldn't create or destroy mass, it had to be moved elsewhere and reshaped. Fat, though, could become muscle. Hair could become skin. It all seemed interchangeable. My power filled in the gaps in my anatomy knowledge all on its own.

Now I needed to find out if I could shape someone else, or if it only worked on me and me alone. If I could shape others, I could not only do some good with it, but I could possibly make a lot of money as well.

I knew just the person to visit. In addition to being very business savvy, she wouldn't blink at me asking to touch her.

******

I pulled up to the large house, and took a deep breath, trying to get a few plans together depending on which way Agnes jumped.

In my job I worked for a senior meal delivery program, similar to meals on wheels. There were five elderly people I delivered meals to twice a day, and visited with. It was the visiting that was the important part to every single one.

Agnes Brooks was my absolute favorite. She had outlived three husbands, all of her siblings, and all six of her children. She was ninety, nearly blind, and tiny, hunched over with an unfortunate severe curve to her spine and her hands were curled into arthritic claws. Despite her body failing her, she was still sharp as a tack.

She was also what happens when a nymphomaniac gets to be ninety years old, and her body won't let her have that kind of fun any longer.

She'd spend half the time in our visits talking about her life and grandchildren, and the other half making innuendo and flat out hitting on me. Sometimes all in the same breath. I never once failed to leave her house with better self-esteem than I entered with, and I kind of adored her for it.

Knocking on the door, I waited patiently for the old woman to make her way to answer it. Agnes didn't move very fast these days.

The door opened, and she crooked her head up at me, squinting behind her thick glasses and leaning heavily on her cane. "Hello?"

I grinned down at her, "Hello, Agnes."

"Is that you, Jeffery Marks? You're not supposed to visit today, are you? Or did you finally decide to see if a blowjob from a woman without teeth is as good as I've been telling you it is?" she cackled.

I simply laughed. "I actually need to talk to you. May I come in?"

"Of course, of course. Come in, and help me back to my chair."

I set her hand in the crook of my arm, took her cane from her, and slowly we shuffled back to her recliner.

Once I had her settled, she looked at me. Well, in my general direction, anyway. "So what can this old lady do to you?"

I ignored her Freudian slip with the ease of long practice. "I don't want to get your hopes up by explaining, but can I see your hand?"

She laughed again in the dry cackle she had. "Yes you can, but if you want a handie, you're going to have to get closer."

I smiled ruefully. I should have known she'd find a way to make it dirty. Carefully, I took her gnarled appendage between my own, checking carefully for the absence of any rings. I tried to fix the image in my mind of a dainty feminine hand, free from the swollen knuckles of advanced arthritis. Closing her fingers between my own, I pushed and squeezed her flesh all the way up to her forearm.

I did too good of a job. Agnes's hand was now perfectly shaped, the skin elastic and pink. There was a clearly marked boundary between it and the rest of her arm, which was greyish, sagging lose skin with liver spots and a lot of wrinkling.

Agnes held her hand up to her face with a gasp. "What did you do?!" she wondered, squinting and trying to see what was different. "The pain's gone. It's hurt for so long, I didn't even remember what it felt like when it didn't. What did you do?"

I licked suddenly dry lips. I hadn't expected to get that big of a reaction. Maybe it would be better if she could see what I did? Was that something I could even do? "Let's try something else real quick, and then we'll talk, okay?" Gently, I removed her thick glasses from her face and set them aside, inspecting her cloudy, nearly sightless blue eyes. "Close your eyes please, Agnes."

Saying a silent prayer that it would work, and marveling at the old woman's trust in me, I placed a thumb on each of Agnes's closed eyelids. Fixing the image in my mind of crystal clear deep blue eyes that saw perfectly, I swiped my thumbs slowly outward.

Agnes blinked open her eyes, and they looked just like I had been imagining them. They quickly teared over.

"I-I can see again!" she choked out, and proceeded to look all about the room before focusing on her young-looking hand. "How... how is this even possible?"

I smiled uncontrollably wide at her, feeling on top of the world over her reaction. "I think I manifested a power set," I explained.

Agnes turned disbelieving damp, yet clearly seeing eyes towards me. "You think you got powers?! And good God above, are you sexy!"

I shrugged, feeling a little guilty over how much I'd changed my appearance. It was also the first time anyone had ever described me as 'sexy'. "I didn't look like this two hours ago, Agnes," I bashfully admitted.

"You mean you can do this," she waved her rejuvenated hand wildly at me, "everywhere? On me?"

I shuffled a little closer to her. "I could..." I said slowly, trying to find the words. "But then... how do you prove that you are really you? I only changed my face a little, afraid that my ID wouldn't match me. Too much change and then... no official identity, no job, no bank account. All of that kind of stuff."

Agnes blinked at me, and I could see the intelligent old woman think it through in seconds. "We need to call my granddaughter. Did I ever tell you about Callie?"

I frowned, trying to remember. "She's a lawyer, right?"

Agnes beamed, "You actually listen to me and remember, that's so sweet of you. We'll get her over here and see what she thinks. I guess... I guess you better set this back to rights." She reluctantly offered her good hand back to me. "But I'm keeping my eyes."

I took a good look at her other hand to remember what her new hand used to look like, and reshaped it back to the swollen-knuckles-old-woman-hand it was before.

Agnes flexed it twice. "It still doesn't hurt?" she half asked, half wondered.

"I'd probably have to try to bring the arthritis back," I shrugged.

Agnes clenched and unclenched her pain-free hand over and over for less than a minute before coming up with a plan. "I'm going to call Callie and get her over here as soon as possible. After that, I want you to explain to me exactly how you think your power works, okay?"

******

By the time Agnes's granddaughter had arrived, Agnes was joyfully regaling me with stories about her first husband, and the business she helped him run. She did a lot of gesturing with both of her pain-free hands.

Callie let herself into the house, and rushed over. "I came as soon as I could, what's the emergency?"

Callie was unfortunate looking, to put it politely. She was overweight with small breasts and narrow hips, her body shaped much like a weeble-wobble. She had small, inset eyes, a bulbous nose, and frizzy, thinning orange hair in too-tight curls.

"Callie, this is my friend, Jeffery. Jeffery, my granddaughter, Callie," Agnes introduced us. Despite her often vulgar speech, the old woman was ever mindful of manners, trained into her when she was young.

"Callie, Jeffery has himself a superpower. He can make me young again, we think, but we need a lawyer to be able to prove that I'm still me afterward."

Callie and I both just stared at her.

Agnes rolled her eyes. "I'm old as dirt. I don't have the patience or time to beat around the bush anymore."

Callie cleared her throat, and carefully asked, "Your power is to make people younger?"

"Uh, not exactly. I can shape people with my hands, like I'm shaping clay," I admitted, "I only found out I could do this a couple of hours ago. I'm still kind of figuring it out."

Callie sat back, mind awhirl. After a few minutes of thought, she said, "I'll have to talk to some people, see what can be done legally with identity procedures. What... what are your plans?" she asked me. It amazed me that she simply believed us without any physical proof at all. People with power were a part of daily life, but still...

I shrugged, "I only have a vague idea of selling my services. I mean, I could be the best cosmetic surgeon in the world, with no healing time for a patient, right? But I know nothing about running a business, so I came to pick Agnes's brain about it."

"So, suppose Grandma doesn't want to go in on a business with you, what then?" she asked suspiciously.

"I don't understand. All I'm asking for is advice. What exactly are you accusing me of?" I struggled to keep my temper in check. I tend to go overboard if I'm pissed off enough.

"I'm thinking that you are going to hold this shaping thing over her head unless she fronts the cash for your little business start-up."

I blinked. That idea had honestly not even occurred to me, and I'm sure it showed on my face. "I wasn't planning on asking for any money at all, just advice. I was going to shape her regardless, it just seems like the right thing to do. I didn't even know it worked on other people until I shaped her hands and eyes. Besides, she's one of my favorite people." Agnes deserved me trying, simply for being my guinea pig in the first place.

Callie relaxed, completely mollified. "I'm sorry, Jeffery, was it? I had to know that you weren't trying to swindle or extort money from my grandma."

I grumbled to myself, but I understood. "Jeff. Agnes refuses to call me anything other than Jeffery."

"Jeff it is. I suppose you don't want to wait on this, do you Grandma." It was a statement, rather than a question.

Agnes snorted, "Would you, in my position?"

Callie studied the ceiling while she thought for a few minutes. "Do you trust me, Grandma? Trust me enough to put all of your assets in my name?"

"What are you talking about, child?"

"We go and put my name on all of your accounts and properties, just in case we can't resolve the identity issue. I won't touch any of it, and you'll have full access to all of your assets, as long as you don't actually have to show an ID to access them. Anything big, and I'll be able to handle it for you."

Callie took a deep breath. "Then, I think we document Jeff reshaping you on video, and I can use that footage to get something in place. Maybe. That reminds me, how permanent is this thing?"

Agnes and I looked at each other, stunned. "I thought it was permanent, but I guess we don't actually know," I blurted out.

"Okay, this could take months to straighten out. The way I figure, by the time we have some kind of legal way to transfer an identity, we'll have a good idea on how permanent this is."

Agnes looked over at me. "Help me up, and drive me to the bank, please. I don't want to wait one more minute than I have to."

I stood, and helped her to her feet. Putting myself in her shoes, I sure wouldn't want to wait either.

******

We were still arguing when we came back to Agnes's house, some four hours later.

"I still think you should take fifty percent of the business, Agnes. You are fronting all of the money and business know-how." I really hadn't wanted to even ask for money from the old lady, but Agnes was insistent that Callie start the paperwork for a partnership in a brand new company. Two million dollars as startup funds? It was ridiculous.

Agnes rolled her eyes as she plodded along at her snail's pace. "I have plenty of money, boy. Twenty percent is just fine for me. Besides, when this thing takes off, that twenty percent is going to be worth a mint. Now I'm done arguing with you about this, Jeffery. You'll take that eighty percent and you'll take the money I put into your account, and if you want to argue further it can wait until after I'm young and pretty."

I bit my tongue, but stewed. Agnes had also put a hundred thousand dollars into my bank account, saying it was for services about to be rendered, and wouldn't hear another word about it. It was more money than I'd ever had at any point in my life. I tried to tell her that I wouldn't charge her anything, but the old woman's mind was made up.

"Let's get this show on the road, Jeff. What do you need me to do?"

"Uh, I'll need you to get naked, I'm sorry. It doesn't work with clothes in the way. And uh... it would probably be easier if you were lying down, so, your bed?" I cringed, knowing just how Agnes was going to purposely misinterpret that.

Sure enough, Agnes cackled loudly as she hobbled towards her bedroom. "It's been over twenty years since a man has gotten me naked and in bed. I sure hope you know what you're in for, young man!"

******

The sight of the nude, hunched over crone was almost enough to turn my stomach, no matter how much I liked her personality. "Callie, I'm going to need you to get a slow three-sixty of her before I start, just in case I need to shape her back for some reason."

Callie, who's face mirrored how I felt, complied and walked around her grandmother with the high-end digital camera, getting her image from all angles.

Once she was done, I helped Agnes onto her bed, laying on her side as that was the only way her warped spine would let her rest. "Do you have a photo of yourself when you were young, Agnes?"

Agnes cackled, completely at ease with her nudity. "Even when I was young, my face still looked like the crescent moon. Make me pretty, Jeff. Like whoever you were jacking off to the last time you choked your chicken," she chortled.

I had to close my eyes briefly to regain my equilibrium, and unbidden the face of the imaginary redhead from that morning appeared in my mind's eye. I reopened them, and focused on the ancient woman.

It was going to be much harder with her spine curved like that, so I decided that was a good place to start.

Bit by bit, I ran my hands over Agnes, erasing grey, loose skin and leaving young, elastic pink-tinted skin in its place. Body mass was moved around to even things out. Over the course of forty-five minutes, the little old woman vanished to be replaced by a four-foot, two-inch tall thin pixie with a heart-shaped face and short, dark red hair that stuck up from her head wildly. I didn't enjoy reshaping her teeth at all.

Behind the camera, Callie stuttered, "I-I don't believe it..."

"Agnes," I whispered softly, "I think you're done. Why don't you try and get up?"

The tiny woman sat up easily but warily, sliding off of the bed to her feet. She picked one dainty foot up off of the floor, then the other, testing her balance. Then she made a short hop. Then a larger one. Then, she jumped as high as she could and kicked her legs back at her knees. "Woo!" she cheered. She then turned, planted, and jumped right on top of me.

She only weighed maybe seventy pounds, and my new, muscled physique caught her easily. Agnes quickly wrapped her legs around my hips, her arms around my neck, and shoved her tongue into my mouth.

I was taken by surprise, and kissed her back for only a moment before pulling back. "Uh, Agnes? What's this?" I asked, very confused.

"I haven't had any sex in decades, Jeffery. You and me are going to make the beast with two backs. I've got a lot of catching up to do," she explained, all the while humping her crotch against my beginning to stir package. It wasn't my fault, Agnes looked exactly like my fantasy woman now, if a bit smaller in scale, and was trying her best to molest me.

"Uh, not that I'm opposed to this, because I'm not, but maybe we should wait until Callie is gone?" I pleaded.

Agnes looked like she had completely forgotten her granddaughter was there. "Oh, I'm so sorry dear, I- what is that smell? Oh God, that's me! I smell like old lady! I'm going to go shower, don't you run away now, Jeffery. I'm going to drain you dry when I get back."

Agnes hopped off of me and ran out of the room stark naked, cute little butt a-jiggling, with more energy than she'd ever shown in the entire time I'd known her.

I looked at Callie. Callie looked at me.

We looked at each other.

"Well," I finally said, just to break the silence. "This is awkward."

Callie shook her head, "No, I'm awkward because I'm trying to find the courage to ask you to shape me a little, not that my grandmother is trying to get into your pants. I have met the woman, you know."

I blinked. It was oddly impressive how she read my face and deduced exactly what I was thinking. She must have been a hell of a lawyer. "Sure, I'd be glad to. What did you have in mind?"

Callie shuffled nervously, and I tried to guess at what she was thinking. "If I'm going to be doing things like this for a living, I'm going to see all kinds of people naked and have to touch them. If Agnes could strip nude, and I could shape her, I really don't think you have anything to worry about, right?"

Callie huffed, more laughing at herself than anything else. "You've got a point there. I need to keep my face so that I still look like me, but... the rest of me is... I've looked like this my whole life, you know?"

"I understand. Up until this morning, I was in the same boat. Let's start small then, shall we? Pick something and let's give it a try. But first, we need 'before' pictures, okay?"

"Oh. So, I should... I should probably get naked then, right?"

I grinned, supportively I hoped, at her. "Yeah, that's a good place to start."

I mentioned it before, but I'll reiterate, I was a virgin. There was a big difference between putting my hands on Agnes's withered old frame and touching Callie's body, who was much closer to my age even if she was still much older than myself. Up until I shaped myself even Callie, unattractive as she was, was out of my league.

I tried to be professional, and fought down my burgeoning erection. I took the camera, and did a slow three-sixty of the nude lawyer, before propping it up on the dresser with a view of the bed. Just in case the changes went too far. "Where would you like to start, Callie?" Agnes gave me free reign, but I was betting that her granddaughter had other ideas.

Callie sat on the bed. "Can you fix my hair? I really liked the color of Grandma's."

I ran my hands over her scalp, and the orange, thinning hair was replaced by thick, red hair that had a natural loose curl to it. It was much shorter, obeying the conservation of mass my power was bound to. After a moment of thought, I changed her eyebrows to match the hue of her hair.

I reached for Agnes's hand-mirror on the bedside table, and handed it to the sitting woman. "How's that?"

Callie grinned into the mirror, and gave her head a little shake, making the loose curls bounce. "I love it! Um... can you, uh... can you make me a little skinnier?"

"Well, I can move body mass around, but I don't think I can make you actually smaller. But, I think we can hide some of it in better places. I can maybe make your hair longer, and I can hide a lot of mass in your breasts and bottom."

Callie snorted, "My bottom?" she mocked.

I rolled my eyes at her. I should have known that wouldn't go over. "I was trying to be a little professional. Fine. I can move fat from places that you don't want it and hide it in your tits and ass. Better?"

"Okay. I'll just, um... I'll just lay down, then?"

I placed my hands on her soft, warm belly and fought back the hormonal rush of touching her. I moved a lot of her excess fat up her torso, leaving a much smaller waistline with a cute little feminine belly bulge. I worked that body mass into her tits, and there was more there than I'd thought. Callie now had breasts the size of basketballs on her chest.

"Jesus Christ," she swore, grabbing her boobs and palpitating them, either in awe or horror. I couldn't tell.

"Too much?" I winced.

"Yes! No... I don't know. Can we do the rest and decide after?"

"Uh, okay?" I sort of agreed. I looked at her lower body, and came up with a game plan. Callie had narrow hips, which made her weight hang off of her frame poorly. One at a time, I slimmed her calves, using the excess matter to shape her thighs and hips wider, smoother, and far more pleasing to the eye. I quickly ran my palm over her trimmed bush, making the carpet match the drapes.

"Whoa!" she exclaimed.

"Sorry," I apologized, "I wanted to make all of your hair the same color."

"No, no. I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that. Best if I treat you like a doctor, right?"

I shrugged, "Sure, if that makes it easier. I'll need you to turn over now, please."

Callie rolled over onto her front, having to awkwardly reposition herself a couple of times on account of her new massive bust, but eventually she settled down.

I started with her arms, moving almost all of the fat from her fingertips to her shoulders to rest in a single bulge at the back of her neck. Then her neck fat joined that, and I moved the entire lump to the top of her head. It took a few false starts, but I did figure out how to convert it into hair length. Twenty pounds is a lot of hair.

Her back fat was easily moved down to fill out her now wider, yet still flat butt. I resisted the urge to give her new, bubbly ass a playful smack, and told her, "Alright, why don't you see what we're working with, and we can do details, okay?"

Callie pulled herself off of the bed, and over to the full-length mirror on a stand near the window. She turned left, then right, checking the angles. "Okay, these boobs are too big, I won't be able to get anything done. I mean, I love them, and kind of wish they were even bigger, but... Can you move some of it back to my waist?"

"I want my nipples bigger, and my areolas bigger too, please."

"A little less thigh, and a little more butt?"

"Hey, can you make the weight I want to get rid of into hair, and then we can just cut it off?"

That was actually a really good idea. "That's genius. Yeah, let's do that. How much do you want to get rid of?"

By the time she was happily checking her reflection out, she was a voluptuous redhead with a thin waist and a butter-face. Her poorly cut loosely curled red hair reached the middle of her back, and I was seriously straining the pant-leg of my dockers.

"Oh, just fuck him already!"

Both Callie and I turned in surprise, seeing a redheaded pixie in nothing but a towel slouched on the corner chair, her legs spread lewdly wide while she slowly rubbed her clit.

"Grandma!" Callie shouted, horrified. I was too shocked to even make a sound.

Agnes, of course, was unperturbed. She didn't even stop playing with herself. "That boy's been pitching a tent since you started this thing, just fuck him already so I can have my turn."

Callie looked at me in surprise, then glanced down to where I was trying and failing to cover up my hard-on. "You, you like this?" she asked, gesturing down her body.

Agnes giggled from her chair. It was a far more pleasing sound than her cackling was. "He's been hard since before he even finished fixing your hair, Callie."

Trying to change the subject, I asked Agnes, "Just how long have you been there?"

"I came back in the middle of you changing her hair. Neither one of you noticed," she laughed.

Callie stepped close to me, almost close enough to touch me with her hardening nipples. Up close, I could see that the skin of her face didn't match the skin of her body. It was about fifteen to twenty years too old.

"Hold still for a minute," I ordered, and I smoothed out her complexion. It took very little time, as I wasn't moving anything around.

"What was that?" she wondered.

"Your face-skin didn't match your body-skin. Had to fix it real quick." I took a step back, trying to get out of her personal space, but she stepped forward almost at the same time.

"You were attracted to me, even before you turned my body into this?" she asked, boring her gaze into my eyes. Damn her and her truth detector brain. I couldn't meet her stare, and looked away shyly.

"Even before I shaped you, you were out of my league. I wasn't very good looking, at all, until I used my power on myself, I'm sorry." She was going to think I was such a creep. Hell, I thought I was a creep!

Callie closed the distance between us, pressing her no longer massive, but still very large bust against me and boldly grasped my dick through my pants. "It's so big!" she gasped.

I backed away from her, and could feel my face burning. I didn't know what to do, or where to look.

"Oh my God," Agnes observed, "are you a virgin, Jeffery?"

Suddenly, I felt completely humiliated. It got worse when Callie blurted, "Even I've had sex before!"

I clenched my teeth, and tried to reign in my both my embarrassment and my temper. I do this for them, and this is how I'm treated? I stiffly turned around, and started my march out of that... that torture.

I was almost at the front door when they caught me. "Wait! Wait Jeffery! Please, just stop!" Agnes ran around to right in front of me, placing both palms on my chest to try to hold me back, as if her tiny frame could truly stop me if I didn't let her. Callie was right behind her, and she wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, hugging me tightly.

"I'm so sorry it came out like that, Jeffery. I didn't know you were that sensitive about it. I mean, you did all of this for us, and this is how we repay you?"

I didn't want to look at her, so I kept staring over her head at the door. "I seem to recall being paid for it, Agnes."

Her little hands found my face, and she insistently applied pressure to get me to look down at her. "I lied about that, Jeffery. I gave you that money so you could quit your job while we start this business. I wanted you to move in with me."

I stared at her, confused.

"You're my friend, Jeffery. I don't have many. I hope we can be friends that fuck, but if you can't, then I'll understand."

"Friends that fuck?" I repeated dumbly.

Agnes nodded excitedly, the short red hair bouncing on top of her youthful, wide-eyed face. "All of the time. Now don't you be embarrassed about being a virgin, okay? You've got me; the brain of a ninety year old very experienced nymphomaniac in the brand new body of a twenty year old to teach you everything you ever wanted to know, and a whole lot you never, ever did."

I hated my temper, but I hated the comedown even more. Once the anger had left, all I felt was a crushing guilt. I closed my eyes and tried to apologize. "I'm sorry I overreacted. Really."

Callie, who had so far been content to hold me tightly with her curvy frame pressed against my back, simply squeezed me tighter. Agnes threw her arms around my neck and hugged me like that. When her naked body touched her granddaughter's arms, Callie flinched, then reaffirmed her hold.

Agnes looked up at me, the nearly two foot difference in height between us really pronounced this close. Especially since she was still barefoot. "I'm going to get on my knees and suck your dick now, okay? That way when you fuck Callie you'll last longer. If you have any objections, speak now or forever hold your peace."

My mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Apparently Agnes had a plan, and I was along for the ride. I looked over my shoulder at Callie. She looked a little uncomfortable, but gave me a half-shrug and a sheepish smile, pressing her tits further onto my back.

Agnes put word to deed and dropped to her knees, unzipped my fly, and reached inside. "Oh holy shit, Jeffery. That's not fitting through the zipper."

I was watching her face rather than what she was doing to my pants. Her big blue eyes were focused with a laser-like intensity on my crotch, licking her lips and nearly entranced. I shaped that woman to be entirely too innocent looking. My pants dropped to my ankles, then my boxers, and my dick sprang up, finally free.

Agnes said nothing, just looking up at the underside of my cock in something close to religious fervor. My heart was racing, my rapid pulse causing my dick to bob in the open air.

Tentatively, she wrapped one of her tiny hands around my girth. It looked even bigger in her miniscule grip. She squeezed and stroked it once, before straightening up and pointing it down at her mouth. She was so little she had to be upright on her knees and tilt my cock downward to actually make the blowjob work.

The feeling of her moist mouth slowly moving over my cock head was amazing. So amazing, I closed my eyes to savor it. When I opened them back up, Agnes's lips were stretched around the top of my shaft, and it looked like she could barely fit me in there. Maybe I overdid it with my size?

"I can make it smaller if this isn't working for you, Agnes," I offered. No matter how sexy it was with her lips stretched thin and tight around me, if I was too big, it probably wouldn't be fun for anyone.

Agnes pulled my dick back out of her mouth, and then I heard, "No!" being shouted in stereo. One from Agnes, and one from where Callie was peeking around my shoulder. I looked at Callie questioningly.

"No, it's perfect. Don't change a thing. Please?" she begged me. She moved around to my side and slipped under my arm, stroking my abs under my shirt and watching Agnes re-inhale my member.

"Fuck, that looks hot Gra... God, I can't keep calling you that and still do this. Calling you 'Agnes' is too weird. You need a nickname, like-"

"Pixie!" I blurted out.

"-Aggie... Pixie?" the curvy lawyer questioned.

I shrugged, unable to take my eyes away from the tiny redhead stuffing my dick in and out of a mouth too small for it. It was better than the fantasy from that morning in every way. "Every time I look at her, all I can think is that she looks like a woodland pixie now."

Agnes pulled back, my flared crown leaving her orifice with a pop. "I like it," she stated simply, and went right back to work. Pixie it was, then. It was sure better than referring to her as Agnes, because that brought up already fading memories of the hunched over crone she used to be, rather than the beautiful twenty-something she now was.

Callie moved my hand from where I was carefully keeping it at her waist to her plump, juicy bottom. I looked at her, startled.

"I feel sexy for the first time... ever, Jeff. Feel me. Kiss me," she pleaded, and brought my other hand to her heaving breast. "Gently," she warned me, before kissing me with passion.

How was this happening to me? I had a very skilled lover on her knees giving me oral attention, and another woman plastered to my side with my hands full of my favorite girl-parts while I made out with her.

When I was shaping Callie, I was too focused on the image in my mind to really enjoy the feel of her. The heavy softness of her breast and the dense cushion of her ass were wonderful. It was the way she was kissing me that really got to me, though. It was like she was trying to get both of us off with her tongue alone. She had a point about feeling sexy for the first time. I was right there with her.

It worked on my end pretty well. I couldn't get back away from where the lawyer held my head tightly in her hands to warn Pixie. I gave a muffled shout into Callie's mouth and started cumming into Pixie's. It was the most powerful orgasm I'd ever experienced.

Pixie wasn't even surprised by the suddenness of it. She moaned around my rod as it pulsed, enjoying my cum squirting into her greedy mouth for what it was, rather than just tolerating it as I had always thought women did. Either I was completely wrong, or that's just how the lusty nympho was. I was betting that I wasn't all that wrong.

I broke away from Callie, to stare wonderingly at the tiny redhead at my feet. Instead of bouncing to her feet like I had expected, she lovingly pulled my underwear and pants back up my body, redressing me from her kneeling position. I felt like a king.

Pixie grinned at me impishly, and started pulling me by the hand away from the door. Not to be outdone, Callie grabbed my other hand and started helping. The only way I could look away from Pixie's cute little butt as it gave a taut jiggle with every step, was to look at Callie's plump, filled out behind as it shook and bounced with every sway of her hips. I'd died and gone to heaven, that was the only explanation that made any sense.

When the girls prodded me onto the bed, I looked around and noticed that we were in one of the guest rooms. "Pixie?" I questioned.

"My room smells like old lady. We'll fuck in your bedroom, okay?"

I was stunned. "My bedroom?"

She giggled, and worked at getting me as naked as they were. "Yes, your bedroom. I meant it when I said I wanted you to move in. I need to clean my room something awful, so we'll sleep here for now, and you can keep your clothes and things here, okay?"

"Wait, we're sleeping together now?" I was completely lost, unsurprisingly. I'd been lost for hours.

Pixie got my shirt off, and got right up close to my face while Callie worked at getting my pants back off in excited silence. Pixie looked at me with her big, entirely too innocent eyes. "I hate sleeping alone, Jeffery. I've had to do it for far too long now, ever since my Harold passed. Please, Jeffery, please let me sleep next to you?"

It wasn't fair, the way she could manipulate me like that. "I guess we could try it... I don't know, though. I've never slept with anyone else in the bed before."

She smiled comfortingly at me, and rubbed my chest. "It might take some getting used to, but you'll like it, I promise."

Callie, having finished stripping me down, moved up the bed to lie against my side with her large breasts in my face. She wiggled her shoulders, causing the ripe melons to shift enticingly. "Suck on them," she whispered encouragingly.

I sucked her thick, stiff nipple into my mouth, and followed her softly spoken instructions on what felt good to her, before she pulled it back out of my mouth with a wet smack of my lips. "Do you think you can make my nipples more sensitive?" she wondered.

I had no idea. "Dunno. We can try?"

I tried something new. instead of a visual mental image, I tried to focus on the thought of her nipples feeling like she thought they should. I rolled her nip back and forth between my finger and thumb, and I felt the slight tingle in my fingers that I'd come to associate with my power working. I did her other nipple the same way, then sucked it back in between my lips.

"Mother-fucker!" she shouted, and grasped the back of my head, pulling me in tight to the point where her tit-flesh deformed around my face.

I sucked on her erect nub for a few minutes, and then her body started to quake and she wailed in a loud orgasm. She finally let go of me when air began to become an issue.

I looked at her flushed face, and she smiled happily at me. "I-I came! From just nipple play!"

I smiled back at her, happy because she was happy, and then Pixie cleared her throat.

On my other side, the tiny woman gave me an expectant look, and pointed at her own booblets.

Agnes didn't have much to work with, so Pixie had barely any breasts at all, just tiny swells on her narrow ribcage with small nipples at their peaks. I gave her the same treatment Callie got, and sucked one of her nipples into my mouth.

"Oh God," she moaned, and wrapped her arms around my head. I felt Callie begin to tug on my cock, trying to bring it back to life.

I had a thought, and hoped it would work out. If it did, I wasn't going to leave anyone wanting. I brushed Callie's hand away, and while still trapped in Pixie's tight embrace, fixed the image in my mind of my dick being hard, and stroked it.

I felt the sensations in both my hand and cock that meant my power worked, and I was ready to go again.

Callie took back over, and the next thing I knew was a new mouth stretching over my thickness. I tried to break free from Pixie's tight grip, but she was shuddering through yet another nipple orgasm, and she had her short, thin arms wrapped around my head with surprising strength.

I placed one hand on Callie's head, just to touch her. She stopped sucking long enough to warn me, "If you shove me down on your dick, Jeff, I'm going to puke on it and be really pissed off, understand?"

I quickly removed my hand from anywhere near her immediate vicinity. Instead, I grabbed Pixie's tiny little ass and squeezed.

"Mmmm. That's g-g-good, Jeffery. Not too hard. Yeah, just like that"

Pixie finally let my head go to kiss me, which I was getting the hang of, as embarrassing as that was. Who doesn't know how to kiss right? Just me, apparently. Then Callie straddled my hips and started trying to stuff my too-big dick into her too-small pussy.

It didn't feel good, I'll admit to that. After the third time my shaft bent painfully, I had to call a stop to it. "Hold on, Callie. Just hold on."

Callie was almost in tears at her failure to accept my size. "I can't get it to fit, I'm so sorry Jeff," she apologized.

I groaned, "I knew it was too big. Give me a couple minutes to reshape it, okay?"

"You could..." she said, "or you could make me big enough to take it."

I stared at the curvy redhead, not understanding at all. "That's a possibility but, uh, wouldn't it make you too big for anyone else?"

Callie shrugged, "Yeah, definitely. But your dick, it's just so hot this big. I really want to fuck it just how it is."

I palmed her pussy, and rubbed my hand back and forth over it trying to make her big enough to accept me yet small enough so that it really felt good to her. It was difficult to keep my mind free of any visual image and still focus on the requirements of the shaping, but I did eventually get it to work. Callie didn't seem to mind that I had to stroke her lips for a few minutes before I succeeded.

"Okay... uh, give that a try?" I suggested.

Callie repointed me at her entrance, and slowly sank down. This time there was no bending, but she was almost unbearably tight.

My head fell back once she bottomed out. She rested for a long minute first, getting used to me, before beginning to just barely move her hips, rocking herself on my cock.

Pixie stroking my face turned my attention back to her. "Hey," she whispered sweetly, "How does that feel?"

"Feels really good. I didn't... she's so tight!" I quietly exclaimed.

Pixie grinned at me. "No, you actually had to make her looser. She's not tight, you're just really big. Speaking of, I want that. What you did for her. Make me the right size for you down there."

Callie started to pick up her pace a little, and I was finding it too hard to concentrate. "I can't right now. I can't concentrate enough. Kiss me again?" I begged. I'd gone my whole life without being kissed. Finally having sex was awesome, don't get me wrong. But when Pixie kissed me, I could pretend that someone loved me. For once.

I made out with Pixie while her granddaughter rode my dick. When she started to lift off and drop back down, I couldn't keep my mouth closed enough to keep kissing.

Pixie smirked at the look on my face, and took a good look at Callie bouncing in my lap, her big tits falling a second behind with a heavy-sounding flop. "Wow. She's really going after it, isn't she? Well, time for you to find out what pussy tastes like!"

With that, Pixie sat on my face.

"I'll give you lessons later, but right now I doubt you can learn anything. Just lick me, Jeffery. However you want."

I stuck my tongue out and licked, getting my first taste. I was addicted after that first shot. So many overheard conversations about how gross it was suddenly made no sense at all. I licked up and down, finding her clit, and then focused on that.

I was a virgin, right up until Callie inserted my tab A into her slot B. A lonely virgin who watched a lot of porn, though. I knew what a pussy looked like, and where the parts were.

Thank God for that, otherwise I might have shaped Pixie's pussy without a clit.

I focused on that hard little nub, and Pixie ground down. "Oh Jeffery, I think you just might be a natural at that! Keep doing what you're doing!" she begged.

I wasn't doing anything with my hands, and a very short distance away were some of my favorite girl parts that needed some restraint. I grasped Callie's big, bouncing tits and held them tighter to her chest as much as I could.

I got to enjoy that for two or three bounces, and then she slammed down, hard, and came. She choked and shuddered, clamping down on my cock in a pulsating rhythm, and then I was cumming up and into her.

My cumshot made her start screaming, which set off Pixie, who bore down on my face and scream-panted through her own orgasm.

Pixie took the expedient route of getting off of my face by simply falling to the side, and I got to watch Callie gently ease her voluptuous frame up and off of my dick. Once she was clear, it fell to my stomach, covered in globs of my thick, white cum and Callie's runny ejaculate. A small river of mixed bodily fluids leaked from her open gash to pool over my deflating cock, once that plug was pulled.

Pixie, to everyone else's shock, maneuvered down my body and cleaned all that mess off with her mouth.

She really was a nymphomaniac. I mean, slurping up not only my cum, but her granddaughter's as well?

I could barely keep my eyes open, that entire episode was exhausting. I blinked slowly, trying to stay awake, but I was losing the fight.

Callie crawled up the bed, sliding under my arm. She pressed those big, soft tits against my side and raised her leg, sliding that big, soft thigh up mine. She was warm, and comfortable, and so very, very real. I wrapped my arm around her and kissed her gratefully on the crown of her head for that very last reason alone.

Pixie looked up from where she lay between my legs, having just finished giving my balls a tongue bath. "You look knackered, Jeffery. I'm going to have to wait for my fucking, aren't I?"

"I'm so sorry. I'm just... is this normal? Should I be this tired?"

She grinned at me, resting her head on the thigh Callie hadn't claimed. "If you do it right it is. So, as far as your first time went, was it everything you imagined?"

I blinked, far too tired to lie. "I always thought I'd have to hire a hooker. No one gets to lose their virginity with two hot redheads at the same time. Just me."

Pixie smiled genuinely from my lap, and Callie hugged me tight with the arm across my stomach, humming contentedly.

I yawned, silent, but long. "I'm sorry, I think I need a nap."

"Then we'll take a nap," Pixie decided. She grabbed the sheet from near my feet and pulled it up over her head, handing it to Callie.

Callie and I looked at each other. Pixie's little body was still between my legs. I shrugged, and Callie shrugged back in agreement and pulled the sheet the rest of the way up.

I was almost asleep when I felt Pixie take just my cock head into her mouth, softly suckling it like a pacifier.

Jesus. She really, really was a nympho.

******

Callie woke up first, and her movement jarred me awake as well. I was confused at first, the room was unfamiliar and my dick felt weird.

I sleepily watched Pixie's granddaughter's plump ass as she eased out of the bedroom, and I pulled back the sheet to find Pixie's tiny frame, curled into a fetal position between my legs, my limp cock resting downward and traveling straight into her mouth.

She was still slowly suckling at it in her sleep, resting peacefully despite her jaw being pried so widely. Even non-erect, my dick was still so big. Though both of the Brooks women had protested, I still wasn't convinced that I didn't need to make it at least a little smaller.

She looked so at peace, and so happy, that I didn't have the heart to wake her just yet. Instead I just laid there, stretching carefully so as to not wake my friend.

A minute later, Callie came back into the room, most of her clothing in her arms. She was only wearing her white blouse, and even then only the lower half of the buttons were fastened. The top half of her shirt was stretched obscenely wide around her tits, showing acres of breast flesh and cleavage.

"Hey," she whispered, "I've got a little problem, here."

I wasn't the smartest guy around, but I could easily guess. "None of your clothes fit, do they?" I said back, just as quietly.

She shook her head, making her sex-hair bounce around her shoulders.

I looked down at the tiny, tiny woman between my legs and sighed. I reached down and gently ran my fingers through her short, wild red hair. Gradually, she came to, blinking her eyes open.

Those big blue eyes locked into mine, and she smiled around my dick as much as she could. Her eyes watered a bit, and she backed off of my member, letting it fall from her mouth. "I thought it all might have been a cruel dream for a moment there," she confided. She gave a loving, lingering kiss to my inner thigh and snuggled in further, not willing to move just yet. Just resting with her nose touching the tube of my third leg.

"I didn't want to wake you just yet, but Callie's clothes don't fit anymore, and I'm sure yours don't either. We have to figure something out."

I was lucky in that my clothes still fit me well enough, even if I had to really cinch the belt on my dockers to make them work. The girls weren't so lucky.

Pixie slowly sat up with a groan, stretching those little arms up and over her head. "Mmm. Okay, how's this. You go take a shower and rinse off the sex, Jeffery. While you're doing that, Callie and I will find that measuring tape I have around here. By the time you're ready, we'll have a list of sizes for you to go get for us."

"You really don't want me to pick out clothes for you. I have no fashion sense at all."

"Oh Jeffery, we just need one outfit each, and then we can go get new wardrobes ourselves. So. We get this done, and while we're shopping, you can pack up your things and move in. I want you here by tonight, understand? As soon as possible."

I looked up at Callie, and she shrugged, which made her bust move in a way that was absolutely pornographic. "I don't have a better idea, and I can afford to get at least a few outfits for now."

"Callie, child," the young-looking woman chided from where she still sat between my splayed legs. "I'm richer than Midas. I'm paying, and that's that. Full wardrobe, on me, for my favorite granddaughter," she insisted.

Callie's eyes lit up, and when Pixie finally jumped from the bed and took her hand, they left in really good spirits. They were giggling together before they were even out of earshot.

I didn't understand how clothes shopping could be something to get excited about. It sounded like torture to me. Levering myself out of the bed, I made my way to the attached bathroom. I had my own tasks to get started.

******

Nine months later, we were in business... sort of.

I sat at the reception desk in the smallish storefront we'd had remodeled, doing absolutely nothing just as I'd done for the last four days since we opened the doors to 'Magic Hands'.

We had four rooms behind the desk, each with a bed, full-length, three sided mirrors, video suite, and shower suite, with fluffy towels and a high-quality arrangement of soaps.

In the back storeroom, we had every conceivable size of underwear, sweat pants, sweatshirts, and running shoes. All the same shade of light blue, and embroidered with the logo of the business.

We had learned our lesson after Pixie and Callie had nothing to wear after their shapings. Part of the business plan was to provide a change of clothes to clients who couldn't fit back into what they wore on arrival, free of charge. We'd squeeze what advertising we could out of it.

Callie came up with as many legal protections as she could think of. Part of it was that in no way was I to imply that anything I did was medical in nature. I wasn't a doctor, and my customers were not patients. They were clients.

We had forms for clients to fill out, granting us the rights to film the shaping process. Doing so would get me a 'before' view, in the case that the client wanted to go back to it at some point in the future. It would also protect me against any accusations of doing anything improper. Lastly, at the end, I was to ask if they were satisfied. We didn't want anyone to keep coming back for endless free reshapings, claiming they were never happy with it. You paid for the one time, and if you wanted more, you paid again. That agreement that the service was complete would be on video.

All of those videos would be stored on a thumb drive with their file, with a backup of it on a small server that was not connected to the internet in anyway. Not even a phone line. The last thing we needed was someone hacking the server and getting ahold of the videos of naked clients.

Another part of the business plan was that all money had to be paid in full before any services were rendered. We did not run a bank, and we did not sell a product that could be repossessed. Maybe in the future, once the money started to roll in, we'd be able to provide financing, but for now it was cash on the barrel.

I laced my fingers and rested my hands on my head, turning in the office chair idly. I wasn't used to wearing stupidly expensive suits, but Pixie was adamant. I had to look the part of a prominent plastic surgeon even if I couldn't call myself a doctor. Appearances mattered.

I turned to look at Pixie in the other chair, who looked just as bored as I felt. I had mentioned to her that I loved her short, wild red hair, and she kept it that way for no other reason than because I liked it.

She was so little that she had to have clothing tailored to her frame, otherwise she'd be wearing children's clothes. She looked very pretty in her professional blouse and skirt to my eyes.

She met my gaze and smiled. "I'm bored," she told me needlessly. "I don't think we've tested the bedsprings in number three yet, have we?"

I rolled my eyes, but grinned fondly. The nine months before we started work was mostly spent in two ways. Studying anatomy and body proportions, and fucking Pixie. Sometimes Callie too, but mostly Pixie.

Pixie was right. She did teach me everything I wanted to know about sex, and a whole lot I had never even thought about. I never wanted to hear the phrase 'Rusty Trombone' ever again.

I remembered when I first discovered my power, and how I wanted to use it to make money, and do some good. Other than some under-the-table work for a few of Callie's colleagues I wasn't making any money yet, but I had better uses for my time than to sit in an empty shop.

I stood and stretched, reaching for my jacket. "No, I think I'm going to go try and do something useful with my power. Call me if anything happens, will you?"

"Wait!"

I turned at the door, and Pixie rushed up to me, a small stack of business cards in her hand. "Here," she said, handing them over. "Just in case."

I slipped them into my pocket. "Good idea. I'll see you later, okay?"

I bent way down and gave her a kiss that she tried her best to prolong, and then I was leaving, wracking my brain for a place that could use my talents.

******

Walking into the children's hospital, I took a deep breath and settled my nerves. Now that I was here, I wasn't quite sure what to do. I figured kids would be the best use of my time and energy, but that was as far as I got.

I scanned around, noticing the directions to the different wings, and found my destination.

Striding with purpose, I made my way to the burn ward.

Two hallways and one elevator ride later, I stepped into the waiting room and took a seat.

I really was making it up as I went along. I had to find some kind of inspiration to get any further. I was very sure that just going up to the nurses desk and telling them I can heal all of the kids if I rub them with my hands would result in police action.

I sat on that chair in the depressing room for nearly an hour before something happened where I could get involved.

A man moved painfully to the coffee dispenser, struggling to fill a cup due to a heavily bandaged hand. On the side of his face was another bandage, covering his cheek and traveling down his neck into a loose shirt.

Rocking my head around my neck, trying to ease the anxiety, I made my way over to the injured man.

"Hi there. Can I help you with this?" I tried. I didn't have a better starter and approaching people was never my strong suit.

His sad face looked at me, showing a hint of relief. "Would you? Two creams and a sugar?"

I made his coffee and tried to think of something to say. Handing the beverage over to his good hand, I asked, "Can I ask about your hand and face? And why you are in the children's burn ward?"

His eyes teared up, and he took a sip of terrible hospital coffee to try and get control. It didn't really work.

"We had a house fire, in the night. Me and the missus got out okay, but..." The tears dripped down his face as he relived a terrible memory. "My Emma, she wasn't outside with us. I went back in after her, and..."

The stranger broke down into deep sobs, unable to continue. I took the styrofoam cup from his grasp before he dropped it, and hugged him.

It didn't matter that I didn't even know his name. This guy needed a hug more than anyone I'd ever met. Hopefully, if I could convince him, I could do a whole lot more to make it better.

I steered him to a chair, away from the nurses, and patiently waited for him to get his emotions back under wraps.

"Hey, uh," he sniffed, "thanks for that. Are you, like, the designated hugger here?" he tried to joke.

"Uh, not exactly." Trying to think about how to ask him to let me help, my mind fell on the cards in my pocket. I handed him one.

"Magic Hands, huh? You some kind of faith healer or something?" He looked like he was seconds away from telling me to go fuck myself.

I shook my head. "Uh, no. Turns out not every superpower blows up buildings."

His eyes got real big, and guarded hope blossomed behind them. "If you're fucking with me, I'll kill you. I can't take this right now."

I grimaced. "I'll give you that. It's hard to believe without proof. How bad off is your hand?"

He held up his heavily bandaged hand slowly, and looked at me. "It's bad. You wanna prove you can do what you say? That's a damn good place to start."

I leaned in, "Okay, I can do that. There's a couple restrictions, though. I have to be able to put my hands directly on skin to make it work. The bandages are going to be in the way. The other thing is I don't directly heal things. I can shape your burns into healthy skin, but if you've lost mass, I have to move it there from somewhere else."

He stared at me, still not really believing me and getting a little angry. I didn't really blame him. I, myself, have trouble keeping the lid on, and my worst day wasn't even a quarter of what he'd been through. Finally, he dug his fingers underneath the white fluffy padding at the back of his injured hand and pulled it down, revealing the edge of a deep black and red burn.

"Do your thing," he demanded aggressively.

I took a breath and centered myself, looking at his undamaged skin to get the visualization right. As gently as I could, I shaped away the revealed sliver of burn damage, leaving pristine skin with a slight dip to it on account of burned away flesh.

I watched his face as what just happened sank through his despair. "Holy shit! I mean, you just- and I- and... holy shit!"

"Is everything okay over here?" asked a middle-aged, heavy-set nurse. The guy I was with wasn't saying anything, just rubbing a finger over the healed skin.

"Yeah, my friend here needs his bandages off. Can you do that?"

His head snapped up. "Yeah, I need all this shit off, right now."

******

Emma Baxterfield was a tearjerker. She couldn't have been any older than six years old, and almost every square inch of her poor little body was wrapped in heavy, gel-infused bandages. Her head in particular was completely covered, a tube entering where her mouth was located the only landmark as to where her face actually was underneath all of that.

I looked at her father, who was the man I'd helped in the waiting room, and also at the nurse who'd removed his bandages for us. After seeing what I could do, she insisted on helping in any way she could.

"Do you have any recent pictures of her with you, Brad?"

He dug his phone out of his jacket and with his two healthy hands, opened up his photo reel of his daughter and handed it to me without a word.

I have a soft spot for kids, no two ways about it. The happy little girl in those photos, though... I was going to make her as good as new. There wasn't another option.

I turned to the nurse and handed Brad his phone back. "Let's start at her feet and work our way up, we'll do her face and head last. Unless you have a recommendation, Janice?"

The large ebony nurse, who was at this point treating me like a combination of the Messiah and a rock star, mutely shook her head, pulled a pair of sterile surgical scissors from a nearby drawer, and started to cut away the wrapping on Emma's left foot.

Bit by bit, the little girl's scorched flesh was uncovered, and I quickly smoothed it into healthy skin before any of it had a chance to be in the open air for more than a few moments.

I had Brad hold his phone up for me when we got to her head, making sure I got her face exactly right.

She wasn't burned anymore, but she was still completely bald and on a ventilator, and she'd lost too much muscle and fat to the fire.

All those medical books Pixie and Callie decided I just had to study over and over made me think that even now, her survival still wasn't that assured due to her low body mass and smoke and fire inhalation.

I needed to get her fatter, at least enough to match the photos on Brad's phone. But how?

While the nurse looked at me in awe and the little girl's father wept silently, I thought furiously. I turned to Janice.

"Can I ask you a really insensitive question?"

The woman simply nodded quickly, like there was nothing I could do that would offend her. The way she was treating me was making this a lot easier, but it was also making me really uncomfortable.

"How attached are you to your belly fat?"

That shook her out of whatever that was. "Say What?!"

"Emma is too skinny. The fire got too much of her. I want to thicken her up, but I need to take that body mass from somewhere else. I want to try, well, kind of a transplant? I'll take some of your weight and put it on her. Worst case scenario, you're a little skinnier and we have to throw away a blob of unattached flesh."

"You can do that?" she wondered.

"I don't actually know. My gut feeling says yes. I'm really worried about how skinny she is though. Brad?" I asked, "Are you willing to let me try this?"

Stupid. I should have asked him first.

He wiped his eyes. "Yeah. Work some more miracles. Please."

"What you need from me?" the nurse asked fearfully.

"Lift your top, just enough to expose your stomach. I'll scoop out some of you, and put it right into Emma. Once she's done, I'll smooth you out, okay?"

She sighed, shifted nervously, and just went for it. One hand lifted her scrubs top to just under her breasts, and the other pulled her bottoms down far enough that the entirety of her belly apron was exposed.

She had scars from not only what looked like a vertical C-section, but also an appendectomy. I swore to myself that she wouldn't have those scars when we were done. She earned that much, at least.

Carefully, I placed my hands on her warm belly, and shaped a good-sized ball of flesh, making sure I got all of her scar tissue. It wasn't like it mattered, body mass was body mass as far as my power was concerned.

Once I had the ball shaped, I quickly removed it from the nurse, leaving smooth skin behind, and placed it onto Emma's sunken stomach.

I didn't know how long I had, so as fast as I could I ran my hands around the ball, making the dark skin into Emma's pale white shade. Then I filled the little girl out.

I had taken a little too much from Janice, more than I needed. I turned the leftovers into hair. Every little girl needs to have hair.

"God in heaven," the nurse prayed, overcome. "Can you do anything about her lungs?"

I fixed Janice's belly while I thought, repositioning what was left so that it looked right. My power needed skin contact, but seemed to travel deeper. Callie's breasts, for instance, weren't just fat moved into place. It was converted into all of the breast tissues that should have been there, deep inside.

"Brad? I want to try her lungs. Are you okay with that?" I asked gently. He seemed ready to collapse.

He simply nodded, pleading with his eyes.

Placing my hands on her chest, I tried to visualize perfect, healthy lungs and smoothed upward, through her neck.

I felt my hands tingle, and the little girl started coughing around the ventilator tube.

Janice rushed over and removed the tube, and then that little girl was breathing on her own.

I turned around and was caught in a bear hug as a grateful father sobbed his heart out onto my shoulder. I hugged him back just as hard as he was hugging me.

"I don't... how can I ever repay you?"

"I'll tell you a secret: I've got a big soft spot for kids. Tell you what, when she's up and around, bring her by my business. You've got my card, right? I want her to meet my partner, and I want to take a picture with her. You do that, and I'll call us square."

"I will, I swear. I've got to call my wife, I'm sorry. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"I get it. Go, share the news. I'll see you again, yeah?"

He rushed out, off to call his wife, and I turned to the nurse who was softly crying. "Can you help the other kids here?" she begged.

"Yes. But I'm not putting my hands on underage kids unless a parent or guardian is there. Are you willing to get skinnier if I need it?"

"Hell yes," she told me seriously. "And I've got fat friends if this big woman ain't enough by herself. I think the Sivertsons are here, I'll go introduce you and then I'm calling every parent I can. God bless you, Mr. Marks. God bless you."

Nine hours later, I walked back out of the hospital, leaving behind seventeen children with a new lease on life and three skinny nurses.

I had never felt so good about myself in my life.

******

I knocked twice on the door to the number four room, and let myself in quietly.

"Hello, it's nice to see you again," I greeted the client, and took a seat at the desk in the room. Opening her file, I re-familiarized myself with the details from her consultation.

Susan Dixon, Age: 24. Breast enlargement / tummy tuck. Fee paid in full as of two days ago. In the file were pictures printed from the internet that she'd brought in, on how she'd like to look.

Pixie hadn't let me down yet, but I still double-checked that the waiver for the video filming was signed.

I removed the pictures and empty thumb drive from the file and set them aside. "Okay, Susan. You've used the complimentary shower, right?"

"Uh, yes, Doctor." She nervously replied.

I tried to be disarming. "No, no. I'm not a Doctor. Mr. Marks is fine, or even Jeff, alright? Now you've signed the waiver, but I want to make sure you know this is all being recorded for both of our protections. Are you still okay with that?"

At her nervous nod, I plugged the thumb drive into the closed circuit camera station and started it up.

"Alright. I understand that you are nervous, and that's perfectly normal. I assure you that this is completely painless. All you will feel is a pulling sensation as I move your body mass around. If you're ready, you can drop the robe, and I'll make you look how you want, okay?"

I still got a little rush when a woman got naked in front of me that I needed to suppress. Susan had what looked like severely sagging B-cups and too much belly fat. I wheeled the office chair from the desk to in front of where she stood, then sat in it to get at the right level to work.

"Here we go," I warned her, and placed my hands on her belly, fixing the image of the waist from the pictures. I pushed up, and my hands tingled.

All of that belly fat was pushed upward, leaving her stomach area just as I'd imagined it. I worked the moved mass into each of her breasts, then got to work shaping her saggy B-cups into larger, high-resting DDs. Approximately, anyway. I was restricted by how much I had to work with.

A few minutes of making her nipples and areola match the photos, and I was ready for her to look. "Okay, why don't you go look in the mirror, and tell me what you think?"

Susan stepped in front of the full-length tri-mirror, one giving a full frontal reflection, and the two on the sides at angles so she could get side views.

I got to watch her face as she touched her new bust, and her face went from disbelief to joy. "I can't believe it... I mean, I saw the thing on the news, but..."

I smiled gently from where I still sat. It was a common reaction. "Do you want to move more to your breasts? Or move some back to your waist, or make it into hair? Is the shape to your liking? Really look, because once we're done, this is your body. I want you satisfied before you leave."

She focused, and turned a little this way and that, manipulating her boobs with her hands to check how they moved and sat. "It's perfect," she whispered.

"You are satisfied?" I asked ritually.

"Very satisfied," she assured me, and I got that on video.

I pulled my cloth tape measure from my pocket and walked over to her. "Let me get your measurements, and then I'll get you a bra, panties, and sweatsuit to wear home." Not only did her bustline change, but so did her waistline.

"How much is that going to cost?" she worried.

"Complimentary," I assured her. "No charge at all. If you could raise your arms please?"

Measurements written down, I waited until she had the robe back on before I opened the door and went to the storeroom.

I looked through shelving, grabbing a 36-DDD brassiere, a pair of panties, large, a sweatsuit pants and top, both also large, and a replacement robe for the room.

Heading back to the room, I set her garments down and hung the new robe on its hook. "You can keep the robe as well, if you like. Get dressed at your own pace, and make sure you stop by the front desk and check out when you leave, okay?"

The woman in only a bathrobe hugged me impulsively, and then jumped away apologizing profusely.

"That's alright. I don't get enough hugs," I lied to her. I got hugged all the damn time nowadays. I retrieved the thumb drive from the video system and placed it with her file, getting ready to leave. "You're set, Ms. Dixon. Have yourself a nice day now."

"Thank you," she tearfully replied.

Twenty minutes. One happy woman and three thousand dollars income. I went back to the front to get the next client's file and came across Pixie having an argument over the phone.

"I don't care who your client is!" Pixie didn't quite yell into the phone. "We're scheduled out for three months right now. If you want... No, I still don't care. Do you know how many rich actresses there are in the world? Yeah. Guess how many people can do what Mr. Marks does... That's right, just him. Just the one guy. As I was saying, if you want to pay the personal emergency rate, you can have your client come to the office at six tonight... Six million dollars... It is most definitely not, she can pay the sixty grand for the same service in three months... We can charge whatever we want, he's the only one who can do what he does, and you're the one who wants to push your way to the head of the line. Cutting in line costs more so if you don't like it, you're welcome to take your business elsewhere. Good luck with that... You do that, and get back to us, have a nice day now."

I waited until she had slammed the phone down six or seven times before asking; "Personal emergency?"

"I just came up with it. If these self-absorbed assholes with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement think they have a right to jump the queue, then they can pay a hundred times more for it. I didn't think you'd mind staying an hour late for six million dollars."

I shrugged, "Works for me. Make sure we hide that on the website somewhere. Now, do you have the information on whoever is in Two?"

The hospital was the tipping point. Pixie's idea to bring business cards was a godsend, and I made national news the next day. The phone was ringing off the hook from people wanting information and to schedule appointments. It wasn't my intention to drum up business by helping those poor kids, but that's what happened.

We needed help, though. There was just too much for Pixie and I to handle alone. Callie helped here and there, and was on retainer for legal issues, but she had her own job that we hadn't been able to steal her away from yet. Even just someone to answer the phone would help a lot, but the problem was I couldn't just hire someone off the street. There were a lot of trust and confidentiality issues at play.

And then one day, while I was mopping the floor, fate dropped Kimberly onto my lap.

******

I swiped the wet mop back and forth, back and forth, cleaning the tile in the reception area. My shirt sleeves were rolled up, and I had just about had it with putting in fourteen hour days.

Pixie was in the office area, doing paperwork. She wasn't as grumpy as I was, but then she lived through a time when fourteen hour days were the norm. Also, it takes a lot to sour the mood of a ninety-one year old woman who has been given the body of a young woman again.

We'd get to the office at seven, about an hour before the doors opened, and get everything ready. I'd get the refreshments going and start of day cleaning done, and Pixie would work on the paperwork running a business required. Then, ten hours of consults and actual shaping for me, and directing clients and answering the phone for Pixie, followed by three hours of end-of-day cleaning and more paperwork. At least twice a week, someone with more money than patience would make us stay an hour late as well.

Business was getting booked so far in advance, we were looking at having to work on Saturdays as well just to keep up. I'd been fighting it, but even I could see the writing on the wall.

A tapping on the door pulled my attention, and I looked up to see a young Asian girl in dirty clothing, pleading silently with her hands in a prayer position.

Jesus, I was almost done here. I walked to the locked door and yelled through it, "We're closed!"

'Please,' she mouthed, eyes glistening with tears.

I knew I was a big softie. Knew it in my soul. I also knew that unlocking the door was a very, very bad idea, but I couldn't stop myself. Whoever this was, was as likely to attack me for my wallet as anything. Yet, I still unlocked the door.

"I'm sorry, we're closed," I apologized. "Business hours are between eight and six."

"Please, just a couple questions," a too-deep voice for a woman came back. "I couldn't come during your hours."

I froze, suddenly intrigued. "If you try and rob me, I'm going to be very creative in retribution," I warned.

She wasn't even offended. "No, nothing like that. I wouldn't! I just... I just need some hope."

"Alright. Why don't you come in and talk to me. I can spare a few minutes." I really didn't want to, I wanted to go home, get a blowjob from my nymphomaniac roommate, and go to sleep.

The filthy waif came in, and I bade her to sit in one of the chairs in the waiting room. I'd clean it in the morning. "So, you had questions?" I prompted.

"Yeah. Word is, you can change people. Like, their bodies. That true?"

"That's true. Not the most flashy of superpowers, I'll admit, but it's what I have."

"Could you change a man into a woman? Like, all the way?" she hoped.

Now that was interesting, and I leaned back, thinking. I hadn't even thought about it, and if I could, I was about to get a whole lot busier. "You know, I think I could."

Her eyes glistened. "How much would that cost?" she asked in that too-deep voice.

It would be on the scale of a full-body shaping. "Sixty grand."

Her eyes fell, and tears dripped down. "What if... what if we could, could make some kind of deal, instead?"

"Like what?" I asked warily.

"You make me into a woman. Make my outsides match my insides. In return, I'll be your slave. Fuck toy. Whatever you want, you'll own me."

"You can't mean that," I said as gently as I could.

"I'm fucking homeless. Parents kicked me out when I told them I was trans. Had to drop out of school. There's no way I can get sixty grand together. But being right, that's worth everything to me. It's totally worth anything, even a lifetime of slavery."

I rubbed my hand across my mouth. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," she answered without hesitation. At my disbelieving look, she admitted, "Seventeen."

"Okay... here is the bad news. I won't shape anyone under eighteen without a parent present, and I definitely don't have any interest in owning you. So, I've got a counter-offer. Are you listening? I am going to offer you a job."

"You'll help clean before and after work. You'll answer the phone and take appointments. Sixty bucks an hour. You get your GED, and I'll double your pay. When you turn eighteen, I'll shape your face and larynx, for free. Once you're of age, have your diploma, and have a year under your belt here, well, all employees get a free body shaping on their one year anniversary. What do you think?" Yeah, I just made up the one year policy. It still seemed like a good idea.

Tears dripped down her face. "I can't... I want to, so bad. But I don't have any clean clothes to wear, or a place to sleep, or..." she broke down into sobbing.

I yelled for Pixie. It took a moment for her to make her way out of the office. "What's going on?"

"This is..." I never got her name. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Kimberly. I go by Kimberly," she sniffed.

"Right. This is Kimberly. How do you feel about taking on another roommate for a bit?" I asked my partner.

"What's going on, Jeffery?"

"I'm hiring her to help out here, but she needs a place to stay until she gets back on her feet. What do you think?"

"What are you going to do if I say no?" she prodded. Poor Kimberly's eyes went back and forth like she was watching a tennis match.

I shrugged, "Put her up in a motel or something, I guess." I could afford it, and that was probably the smarter option. Something in my gut told me it was also the wrong choice.

Pixie shook her head, "You are such a pushover, Jeffery Marks. You're a good man though." She looked over my project. "You aren't getting in my car like that. Come on back, and you can use the shower. I'll get you some clothes to wear. Come on now, it's late and I want to go home."

Forty minutes later, Pixie, Kimberly, and myself drove home. Kimberly, fully clean and dressed in a sweatsuit embroidered with the company's logo, clutched her ratty backpack the entire way in a combination of disbelief and hope.

And there I was thinking I couldn't just hire someone off of the street.

******

Hiring Kimberly turned out to be the best decision I'd made in a long, long time. She worked her ass off, helping to clean the shop and ran the phones and front desk during the day, freeing up Pixie to focus on administration once she was trained in.

We cut the time spent before work by half, and the time after work by an entire two hours.

At home, while not the best cook, she was still better than Pixie or I were. She seemed to revel in domestic chores. Two months after I hired her she turned eighteen, and I gave her a more feminine face and adjusted her voice box to a higher pitch, erasing her visible Adam's apple. She kissed me gratefully on the cheek for that, and was so choked up that she couldn't speak in her new voice for nearly an hour.

******

"Who's next, Kimberly?"

My ever efficient office assistant pulled a blank file from the cabinet to her left, handing it to me. "Consultation in Room One. There's a Form-J in there," she cautioned, nodding at the file.

My mood sank. "This is going to break my heart, isn't it?" I asked her softly.

Form-J was our Hardship form. We didn't advertise it, but at my sole discretion we would wave any and all fees. Kimberly knew that when I met certain customers, I'd ask for a Form-J, and had simply begun adding it to the file. Disfigured children never, ever paid to be put back to rights.

"I'm sorry," she simply said, apologizing for what I was about to experience.

I straightened up and went to Room One.

Inside was a harried mother in clean, but worn clothing, and a young boy wearing a full ceramic face mask styled as Guy Fawkes.

"Hello!" I greeted as cheerfully as I could. "I'm Jeff Marks. Come, sit down and let's talk about what you're looking for."

The two of them sat down, and the boy hung his head. "I'm Francine Shore, and this is my son, Tommy."

"Good, good. Now first, I need you to fill out this waiver. It basically says that you consent to recording everything that happens in this room. It's for your protection as well as mine, okay? Great, here you are."

I patiently waited for her to sign the paper, and then turned on the video system with the thumb drive. "Now that that's out of the way, what can I do for you?"

"Tommy... he was attacked by a dog. His face... Tommy, take off your mask, honey."

The boy didn't move, just sank into himself more.

"Tommy," I told him gently, "It's okay, really. We're going to fix you right up, but I can't do that if your mask is on. Can you take it off for me? Please?"

His head turned to his mom, and then with unsure hands pulled the strap from the back of his head up, removing the mask.

It was a struggle to keep my reaction mild. His face was absolutely savaged, with deep, heavy scaring and missing most of his nose and one cheek. "Do you have any recent pictures, Ms. Shore? Before the attack?"

She fumbled in her purse, pulling a worn school photo. "I guess we just need to find out how much money I have to raise to fix him," she tried, handing over the picture.

I studied it. "How long ago was this taken?"

"Oh. Uh, maybe five months ago?"

I couldn't compensate for any aging between then and now. I could make him look like he did back then, though. "Okay. Here's two forms I need you to fill out. The first is the standard intake form. Names, address, that kind of thing. The second is a waiver of any and all fees. Why don't you get started on that while I talk to Tommy, okay?"

The stunned mother started to write with her hand shaking badly, and I turned to Tommy. "Tommy, can you lift up your shirt for me? I need to see your tummy, buddy."

His twisted features showed as much confusion as they could, but he gamely lifted his shirt.

He had enough chub there for me to fix him without a transplant from the mother. "Perfect. You want the good news? You're walking out of here all better, as soon as your mom is done with the paperwork."

At those words, she wrote even faster, all but shoving the papers at me. They were hardly legible, but they were good enough. "Okay, I need you to take your shirt off Tommy. I'm going to wash my hands, and then we'll start."

I studied the picture, and got to work. I smoothed his scars out first, and once that was done I moved a little mass at a time from his stomach, rebuilding his destroyed nose, cheek, and ear I didn't notice earlier. The scaring on his arm was easily smoothed over. Double checking the picture, he looked right. "What do you think, Ms. Shore? Anything I missed?"

The broken ceramic Guy Fawkes mask was hung from the wall behind the reception desk, directly beneath the framed picture of myself, Pixie, and Emma Baxterfield.

I couldn't help myself, and gave him a couple of T-shirts. The memory of Tommy Shore symbolically throwing his mask to break on the floor tile, (at my gleeful urging,) would stay with me the rest of my days.