What the hell was that slut on about now? Margaret turned to take a look at what Alice was pointing towards. There, on the counter, was a helmet that looked like a teenager would waste their time with instead of studying.
She picked it up and examined it. She didn't let Becky have any video game consoles. Was it a standalone device? There were lots of buttons on the back. She pressed a few and placed it on her head to see what would happen.
The buttons on her blouse popped and her tits spilled out, her modest chest replaced with whopping melons in the blink of an eye. Her brown nipples thickened into rubbery thimbles. Her areolas spread like spilled chocolate milk until they were the size of tea saucers. They were her "headlights" as every ex-boyfriend liked to call them. As SHE liked to call them.
The seam of her trousers tore as her hips and ass swelled beyond what the stitching could hold. The fabric fell to the floor, and a moment later another tear signalled her panties were giving way too. The plain white cotton slipped, bringing her bulging clit into view.
It was huge, like a fleshy ping pong ball had been embedded above her vagina. It quivered and a slit opened in the middle, and then it extended from her body. Inch after inch grew out. Beneath it, her vagina fused and drooped into a sack, filled moments later by plum sized balls that had been her ovaries.
Maggie smiled. People were always so caught up in her headlights that they never realised she had a massive meatpole until it was too late. As such, she'd left a long trail of sexually confused people in her wake.
She lifted the helmet from her head and set it down on the counter.
'It just seems to be some sort of relaxation device,' she said. 'But we're not here to relax, are we?'
She licked her lips. Alice had been teasing her all day at the office, lifting her skirt and waving her juicy prick in her face every time she brought her coffee, and her balls were aching to be unloaded into the slut she'd hired as her own personal whore.