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Mad Science

Joining the Bears by Satellite

added by Dislogic A year ago BM Reality alteration

You program a few more things for convenient remote access, and step outside. You too are a bear, if a smaller one compared to some of the men around you. You're around 5'9, smaller than most but not all of the men about town today. A little over six inches of erect cock over large balls mildly stretches your jockstrap, charging it with precum. Black hair accentuates olive skin as you take in the only mildly-cool air. You stroke your short beard and mustache as you contemplate how everyone is now subservient to you, flexing your arms and enough chest muscles to adjust your gut in the soft sunlight.

Your satellite's interpreters project a small blue holographic heads-up display to your side, conveniently informing you that you're allowed to do anything. A cursory check over of your reality alterations confirms it: people will do whatever you order them to, and won't object to whatever you do to them. Your satellite will even alter them to make it possible if you order them to do something that wouldn't normally be doable. Perfect.

You step onto the lawn, relishing the slight adjustments to the grass with bare feet and curling your toes. Your modifications to people for greater resilience and rapid recovery have obviated the need for most clothing, and some adjustments to world climate and bodysuit technology did the rest a favor. Shoes are just another item of fetish wear or the occasional fashion statement. Some people might wear a simple cord-belt with bags if they wanted pockets, but your preferred method of outdoing things like wallets and smartphones is the new smart-jock. The nanotechnology and femtomagic breakthroughs that contributed to building your reality-altering satellite were seamlessly integrated into modern society (and people) during the transformation. Even the jockstraps are mostly fetishwear rather than utility. But, it does connote some level of 'clothed' and 'conveniently at hand tools' for perspective's sake.

And for perspective's sake, you walk up to a slightly-orangey tanned passerby with a brown fauxhawk, much taller than you, and grope his pecs. He stops to permit you this, serene and mildly attentive with a half-smile like you're a polite conversationalist. You put one hand in his jock and with the other guide one of his hands into yours. He's got pretty large hands and a pretty large dick, courtesy of you muscling up the masculinized world population. Wordlessly, the two of you figure out a slightly silly-looking combination of handjob and strolling with no more than grunts between you. You rule the world, nobody's gonna judge.

You decide to strike up a conversation.

"So, who are you and where are you going?" you ask.

"I'm Joe Parvel, master." he says. Cool, people just call you master now. "I'm just walking around aimlessly enjoying the weather, unless you're going somewhere with me."

Well, he's a template. Your satellite helpfully informs you that his details were mildly shaken up by the reality revision and his job was mooted by your world-changing efforts, so he's both free at the moment and likely to stay that way (along with millions of others, so he's not particularly rare). At the moment he lives alone, but it might be fun to weld him into a relationship or take him up as your first project.


What do you do with Joe?

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