Window Shopping

It was the height of summer in the city. Outside his shop, throngs of people walked past his store, in their shorts, dresses, and tank tops. If they stopped, it was to gawk at the animatronics in his windows, or, as had become popular lately, to take selfies in front of them. Some actually entered the store, and fewer still bought anything. It didn't matter much to Brandon. It's not like he needed the income.

Since patenting his groundbreaking nanotechnology, Brandon didn't need to work at all. He was something of an oddity in the scientific / tech community, the brilliant engineer who owned and operated a store that had nothing to do with his inventions. Even after moving to this more prestigious location, in the dead center of one of the most famous shopping thoroughfares in the country, his choice of "day job" still raised eyebrows.

"I just like to interact with the public," he had answered when was queried on the subject in an interview last year, with that prestigious business website.

"Us eggheads can easily find ourselves trapped in our ivory towers, you know? This is what keeps me grounded, in touch with my roots. My mother ran a shop just like mine, catering to women. She was a minor celebrity in our town, that's how popular her little store was. I still have fond memories of hanging out there as a kid, just listening to her gossip with her customers, especially on the weekends."

What he said was partly true: he did genuinely enjoy making small talk with his customers, the fact that he didn't need their business allowing him to interact with them in a more relaxed manner. Sports, video games, movies, television shows - whatever his customers wanted to bullshit about, he was game. All of it was a relief from studying the particulars of microscopic robotics.

But that wasn't the real reason he paid the exorbitant rent every month, to that multinational real estate company. No, the actual goal was for as many people as possible to see, stare, grope, and take pictures with those four automatons in his ten-foot-tall glass windows as possible. In that sense, business was booming.

It had all started when that influencer happened across his storefront one day. Specializing in theme parks, she had been struck by their quality, comparing them in her thirty-second video to something you would find from one of the "big boys" down south.

"Oh, they're just something I cooked up in my spare time, back at my home workshop," he had admitted with faux humility in the follow-up video the influencer made after his original piece went viral. "I love to tinker, you know, just to unwind after a long day of research!"

He had hoped that moving to his new spot would increase his foot traffic, but the clips, along with the countless videos and pictures taken since, had magnified the attention he had sought well beyond his wildest dreams. Some local residents had even started to complain about the congestion he was generating.

"You should change their outfits every season!" one comment read, under the first video that blew up (the avatar of the user in question had been a picture of Jessica Rabbit, he remembered).

Well, he did that anonymous writer one better: he now altered their get-ups every week!

Before, he had only bothered to make any changes to their clothing during the holiday season, and otherwise they would only wear the same generic "cute" outfits during the rest of the year, only swapped when Brandon arbitrarily tired of them.

That had all changed with the suggestion of that brilliant commentator. Now, frequent visitors would be rewarded with an ever-rotating schedule of coverings: sleek grey sweaters in the winter, pink and yellow dresses in spring, brightly-colored bikinis in summer, and elegant, knee-length beige coats in autumn. This was all in addition to holiday-specific themes as well. Stop by the shop this Labor Day weekend to see the girls in work overalls! Or, if you enjoy Spooky Season, make sure to drop by every week in October to see what new costume your favorite gal is sporting!

The effort has paid off dividends. Every Sunday, the day of the changeover, crowds of people would form on the sidewalk, eager to see what new outfits Brandon had adorned his creations in overnight. Presently, he was running an unsolicited tie-in to the upcoming Barbie movie, set to be released in theatres this upcoming weekend. Accordingly, his mannequins each looked like life-sized versions of the famous dolls. They weren't particularly modeled after any specific iteration, but they had on the uniform, so to speak: pink crop tops, pink short shorts, and lots and lots of make-up.

Brandon laughed as one bold teenage boy went up to the display, found Amelia, and grabbed her colossal breasts over the thin fabric of her t-shirt, to the cheers of his buddies outside. He stuck his tongue out as he ran his fingers over her puffy nipples.

It wasn't stated anywhere explicitly, but everyone knew: you could do whatever you wanted to the animatronics. Word had spread of his permissiveness, through electronic and conventional means alike.

Hey, that millionaire nerd, man, he was all right. That's what he imagined "them" saying, at least.

And they took full advantage. Men squeezed their tits, fondled their asses, and, if they had the courage, were even known to shove their hands down their pants too, from time to time. And not just the men either. It was not uncommon for a wife or girlfriend to partake too, maybe just to elicit a cheap laugh themselves. Why not? It wasn't like they were alive or anything, right? Who cared if you molested an inanimate object?

"Hey, how much to take the black one into the back?" a slovenly man had asked him about six months ago. Brandon could guess that he had discovered how realistic her genitals were. He wasn't the first, or the last, to make that proposition when they had, nor was he the most unkempt of those chosen few.

Brandon had politely declined the offer. Maybe, at some point, he would be willing to rent them out in such a way, but for the time being, he was too jealous to let anybody else get to know them so intimately. Molestation was one thing, but sex was quite another.

The teenager reached down and spanked Amelia, her big ass barely covered by the bright pink shorts Brandon had adorned her in a few days ago. Then, he ran back out of the store and re-joined his friends, greeted by their congratulatory high-fives and back-slaps.

Brandon didn't blame him for not doing any shopping. His shop was aimed squarely at women, filled as it was with designer clothing, costume jewelry, and various other accessories. This was for strictly practical purposes: women shopped more than men. All that mattered for him was that he got visitors, and catering to a female clientele was more conducive to those ends. But if everything changed tomorrow, and men became the primary spenders, he'd have no qualms over exchanging his entire girly inventory for something with a more masculine flavor. Like whiskey or cigars. Whatever, he didn't really know. He was just a tech geek at the end of the day.

For whatever reason, no one seemed in the mood to talk to him that day, so he took the opportunity to admire his creations. Amelia, no longer encumbered by teenage horniness, had returned to her usual routine, swiveling on her heels with her hand up to her open mouth, as if she had just been scandalized by something she had witnessed on the street.

Next to her was the younger-looking Luna, who was perpetually bending over to present her round hindquarters to the leers of the public. Simultaneously, she turned her neck and head to look back at her own rear, a mischievous Cheshire cat grin plastered across her beautiful face.

On the other side of the door lay the other display. Here were the "black one" Tamika, and his latest addition, Kelsea. Their existences were spent leaning forward and kissing one another, their eyes shut and mouths puckered. The public loved putting themselves between the lovers, and taking a selfie the second their cold lips touched either one of their cheeks.

If one were to inspect the animatronics more closely, though Brandon couldn't imagine why they would, one might find something curious: that they were not plugged into the wall - into any wall. No wires or cables ran in and out of them at all, actually. They must run on batteries then, you may reason, as unlikely as that seemed. But you wouldn't find any compartment to house said batteries, no matter how hard you tried.

With this, an idea might begin to take hold deep in the recesses of your mind. A realization, a dawning horror. No, it was impossible, the stuff of science fiction. But the proprietor was a technological genius... could it be, that these robots were not robots at all? Or, at least, weren't always as... mechanical in nature as they were now?

The answer was, of course, yes. Cue the screams. Don't worry, you're not alone. They're screaming too. They never stop.

Amelia, his former stepmother, had liked to openly disparage his interests and hobbies to his sucker of a father, even when Brandon was right in front of them both.

"Video games? Isn't he a little too old for that?" she had asked one night at dinner, as if he weren't sitting there at the kitchen table with them.

"What, is he not interested in girls or something?" she continued. "Is he some kind of fag? I know we're not supposed to say that, but, you know, what the fuck, right?"

Luna, her daughter, had cruelly laughed at her mother's careless remarks. But she, unlike Amelia, had taken a more subtle approach to humiliating Brandon. When she and her mother first moved in, Luna had feigned interest in him, spending much of that summer hanging out with him. At the time, he would have considered it to be among the happiest periods of his life. Never had he known the joy of female company before, and to experience so much of it all at once had been intoxicating.

Together, they had swum in the local lake, rode their bikes, gone shopping at the mall, and, more than anything else, talked. They spoke at length about their hopes, beliefs, and dreams, in long rambling, conversations that seemed at once endless and abrupt. The only thing they didn't do was kiss or even hold hands, as much as Brandon wanted to. He just could never work up the courage to make the first move, however, and Luna never took the initiative either.

Its fine, he had told himself. We have all the time in the world to let our relationship grow!

But then, as soon as school started in September, she abandoned him completely. When they passed each other in the halls, she wouldn't even acknowledge his existence. They even had a few classes together, but the way she ignored him, you never would have guessed they were step-siblings.

By Christmas, she had fucked most of his friends, his enemies, and a few of the male teachers. And where had she bedded them? Right in her room, directly adjacent to his own. If their parents weren't home, she wouldn't even bother to shut the door. Not that it really mattered: he could hear her moans just as well through the thin walls.

"Bro, I swear, she told me you weren't home!" one of his friends had protested at school the next day. "And she had told me to be as loud as possible! She said it turned her on!"

That's when Brandon understood that his stepsister's sexual escapades were part of some bizarre humiliation ritual, directed at him. For seemingly no reason at all, it must be empathized. The only explanation he could muster was that she was punishing him for not being bolder back over the break, but, really, what sense did that make?

All said, it didn't feel like it could get any weirder. His life had become like a bad, albeit bizarre, dream, the type that you're grateful will start to fade from your addled mind the second you wake up.

And then, somehow, things got even stranger.

The escalation started when he went into his room to find a condom on his bed. A used condom, still filled with some spunk in it. He quickly discarded it, but they just kept on coming. Small, medium, large, and even larger rubbers heavy with semen kept appearing in his room. He could only guess which of Luna's lovers they were from.

He didn't have to imagine for long, though, as after a few months of this, the condoms were soon accompanied by photos, presumably of the sources of their "filling."

His best friend. His other best friends. His bully. His other bully. His bully's bully. That kid in his physics class. His physics teacher. His math teacher. His neighbor. His neighbor's son. His neighbor's son's best friend. His neighbor's son's best friend's math teacher. His cousin.

His Dad.

Part of him knew it was coming, but he still wanted to throw up when he saw his father's visage next to the leaking silicone pouch. Just to eliminate any ambiguity, Luna didn't use the usual source for the picture, either. The trend had been for her to print out the subject's Facebook or Instagram profile pic. But for his Dad, she did something special: the photo had been taken by her, a selfie of the two of them in bed, the state of their hair indicating this was post-coitus.

Well, he had her now, Brandon thought. He took the print and the condom to Amelia, proof of her new husband's indiscretion - with his own stepdaughter! He found her in the kitchen, getting dinner ready, and held up the damning evidence, any further commentary unnecessary.

Amelia's only reaction was to let out a short, mocking spasm of laughter, that caused her colossal, freckled breasts to jiggle, in tandem with the many bracelets that rested on either of her wrists.

"What, you think I don't know?" she asked. "The fuck do I care? Don't you realize how bad our situation was, before your Dad? I was already selling my ass to make rent, and I doubt it wasn't going to be long before Luna was, too. I'd be willing to let him fuck my mother too, if she were still alive, God rest her soul!"

"But don't think you're going to get any from me, mister! Maybe if you weren't such a loser, I wouldn't mind letting you fuck me every now and then. You young guys usually can go multiple times in a fuckin' row! But, newsflash, Buster, you are a goddamn loser! Christ, guess the stud genes skipped a generation in your case, huh?"

Damn, if Amelia wasn't totally outraged, he had hoped some revenge sex might be in the offering. Her ass and tits were looking so big in her tight, leopard-print dress, too...

To Brandon's chagrin, there were no other cards to play. He could try to rat on the teachers who had indulged, but that ran the risk of derailing his Senior year of High School, and who could say what knock-on effects that might have on his college admission? And going to the cops was out of the question, because he was certain that Luna hadn't started screwing his Dad or his neighbor until she turned eighteen (not that he thought she had waited very long).

Pandora's Box had been opened, and all he could do was try to get through it. Not a week went by that he wouldn't get a selfie sent to his phone of Luna getting fucked by his Dad. Missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy style - and a few other positions he didn't even know the names of.

It got to the point where he spent as little time at home as possible. Then, first chance he got, he was off to college to study engineering, the first one to move into his dorm building. His Dad was basically in a 24/7 pussy coma by that point, so he doubted he even noticed he was gone. But the tuition checks still cleared, which was all that mattered.

Tamika - what was there to say about her? An ex-girlfriend, she had dumped him in the summer of 2020, when she had accused him of not sufficiently believing that Black Lives Matter. He didn't post the Square, but it wasn't out of any political conviction, or lack thereof - he had simply never set up an Instagram account to begin with. Social media had never been something he had participated in, especially once his research took off. But that too became proof of his racism, at least in the eyes of Tamika. Emotions were running hot that year, to say the least, between the pandemic and the riots.

Kelsea was the last one to break his heart, even if, admittedly, they had never actually been boyfriend and girlfriend. The friend zone, like so many before him, was to be his fate. And after all he had done to help her get through BioChem, those late-night study sessions that had almost driven him to put his head through a wall, such was her inability to grasp the material!

He had bagged the four of them in the same way, by spiking their drinks with his nanobots. Liquid had no effect on their functioning - they could operate underwater, underground, and even in the vacuum of space!

Luna and Amelia had been served up to him on a platter, by his Dad himself no less.

"The bitch is going to take everything," he had cried to him over the phone, near the end of his senior year of college. There had been no junior year for him. It was not intentional; his thirst for knowledge had just compelled him to take as many classes as he could fit into his schedule. He had been pleasantly surprised to learn that he had accrued enough credits to skip two semesters,

"I think this was the plan all along... they never loved me... they just wanted the money... the whispering, the giggling... they took me for a fool!"

Well, if the shoe fits, he thought, but didn't say. Despite everything that had happened, he couldn't bring himself to twist the knife into his Dad like that. He could still remember the times immediately after his mom passed away, and the thought of bringing his Dad to that state again was too much, even for him.

But Brandon was now 21, and it was obvious to all that he was on the cusp of becoming the Zoomer Zuckerberg, if he chose to go that route. Or he could simply patent his inventions, then sit back and let the money roll in from the private sector, while he was free to do whatever he wanted. He was still deciding.

The old man didn't realize that, apparently. He seemed to be under the impression that he already had millions lying around, ready to bail his dumbass out after sticking his dick in crazy. The only things on hand were thousands of self-replicating micro machines. He supposed he could make do with them.

Hey, so I just read How to Be an Anti-Racist by Ibrahim X. Kendi, and I really want to pick your brain about it. I need some help specifically with the concept of "black bodies. Can you swing by my dorm tonight, and we can discuss?

That was the text he had shot Tamika. It wasn't as much of a longshot as it may have seemed: everyone at the school had heard by now of the brilliant scientist that Brandon was proving himself to be, and Tamika might see in him a potential (very powerful) ally.

At the scheduled time, he heard a knock on his door. He opened it to find Tamika standing there. She had undergone some physical changes since their break-up: she now sported a septum piercing, along with a few new tattoos along her arms. She had also put on some weight, especially in her ass. It had always been pretty fucking big, but it stuck out further than ever before, straining the fabric on her black shorts to their absolute limit.

Brandon flashed a friendly smile at her, but it was not reciprocated. Bitch couldn't even bring herself to pretend she had anything less than contempt for him.

"Come in," he said, making space for Tamika to enter his solo dorm. She briskly walked past him, her exposed belly jiggling with each step. Brandon noted how she didn't even say "Hello."

She stood in the stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed, the long, red-colored nails of her right hand tapping against her chubby left bicep.

"Lot of white men on dem walls, I see."

Brandon rolled his eyes. Tamika was from an upper-middle-class family, who had sent her to private school. This was all an affectation, driven by a deep sense of insecurity over her own privilege. Brandon could remember all of the times that she had self-flagellated herself in front of him, triggered by the latest cause de jour.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to put up some pictures of black scientists," he lied, while going into his kitchen and retrieving the drinks he had set out there. One with pink liquid, the other, red.

"Here," he said giving the pink one to Tamika. "It's a traditional African drink. I found the recipe online. I was really inspired to Do the Work after I finished the book." All bullshit, but Tamika wouldn't have the knowledge to challenge him. Brandon had serious doubts she could name even five sub-Saharan African countries, let alone what their traditional food and drink consisted of.

"Mmmmhmmm," she grumbled while taking a sip. Brandon could guess that she wasn't thrilled about the cultural appropriation, but reasoned that whatever Maoist Third Worldist organization she was a part of had fallen short on their fundraising goals last quarter, enough to humor him at least a little.

It really didn't matter anymore, though. With that first sip, Tamika had sealed her fate. While she launched into a diatribe about how much she regretted ever dating a racist colonizer such as him, the Nano-machines in the drink were busy replacing every cell in her body with themselves.

Brandon checked his watch. Five minutes had passed, which meant it was already over. She was his, even if she didn't realize it yet. She would, soon.

Tamika had started in on describing how 9/11 was justified when Brandon held up his hand. If looks could kill, the expression on Tamika's face might have struck him dead. With his other hand, he picked up the remote control that was on the nearby desk.

Tamika was about to say something else, no doubt very loudly, when he pressed a button on the remote. Her mouth promptly shut, without her consent.

Brandon then proceeded to give her the same speech that he would later give Amelia, Luna, and Kelsea, (while she tried to pry her lips open, to no avail). That she belonged to him, for no longer was she human, a sapient being with free will. No, now she was an object, despite appearances, and objects have owners.

This was then followed by some sex, of course. He had her in every which way he could think of - missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, and a few other positions he didn't even know the names of.

It was funny - while they were fucking, Brandon had almost fallen into old habits, that is, engaging in the racial role-play Tamika had demanded of him when they were a couple. The names she had asked him to call her... well, he wouldn't be doing any of that anymore! Now he and he alone called the shots, determined what they did in bed and how they did it.

The experiment, suffice it to say, was a roaring success.

For the remainder of her college career, Tamika attended classes and protests. She hung out with friends and family. She appeared to do these things. In actuality, she wasn't in control at all, a prisoner in her own body. So once she graduated, as programmed, she joined Brandon in his first shop. He had remembered hearing from someone that, after they broke up, she rescued to ever celebrate Christmas again, castigating it as the "white man's holiday." He didn't know if that was true or not, but he could say one thing for certain: since she returned to him, she had yet to miss a single one.

But in the meantime, he had traveled to his Father's house, Kelsea in tow. He didn't realize yet that his efforts at courtship with her were totally futile, hence her inclusion.

After a day of excruciating small talk, he had stolen downstairs after Kelsea had gone to bed (in her own room...). His father had explained that Luna almost always went to the kitchen for a drink after they fucked, so Brandon had set out a water bottle in advance on the counter, filled with his miniature machines. He lay on the couch, pretending to sleep while Luna drank greedily from the plastic container, thirsty after draining his Dad's balls, all part of a scheme to keep him sedated until she and her mother could take the old man for everything he had.

She went back to her room, bottle still crunching in her hand, and Brandon took the remote out of his pocket, which had been recently modified to accept voice controls (but only from himself.)

"Give your whore mother the rest of what's in the bottle, bitch," he whispered into it. There was every possibility that she had already drunk all of it, but he had accounted for that - he had another water bottle on the end table next to him, ready to go.

He didn't leave his childhood home with Amelia and Luna, as much as he had wanted to. They had to stay behind, lest they arouse Kelsea's suspicions. But, like Tamika before them, they were eventually summoned, and took their rightful place in his windows, and, when it was required, in his bed. He didn't have to worry about covering up their disappearance, his father assured him: they had no family left they weren't estranged from.

Kelsea was the last to be turned. She was to be his Queen, his partner, and they would have lorded over any army of cyborg slaves. Emphasis on the word "army:" they could have conquered the world together, hand in hand. How he had fantasized about the two of them, seated on thrones made of living human bodies, waited on by former leaders of countries and corporations! Alas, the offer was refused, without her having been cognizant of the refusal. She had chosen another, and in doing so, also chose a life as a slave rather than a master. What a pity! In retrospect, he should have seen her betrayal coming - she was never that bright, her nerdiness more a function of her interest in video games and anime than any aptitude in science or math. So into the collection she went!

Things did get a little tricky though, when her parents turned up one day at his store, looking for her. They had remembered that she had said she was going to visit him at his original location shortly before she disappeared.

He cursed his impatience: unlike with Tamika, he had taken possession of her right away. He was desperate to be with her, and now it had bitten him on the ass. Luckily, they didn't notice the model in the window that looked eerily like their missing daughter. Thinking quickly, he had offered them some spiked tea in the back room, always on hand in case he needed it, and then, when enough time had passed for them to have been assimilated, he whipped out his remote, and spoke the following into it:

"Kelsea is with me now, forever. You are fine with that. When you are asked about her whereabouts, you will say that she is living overseas, working in Dubai. You do not know when she will return, but you will assure anyone who asks that you are in regular contact with her. If they press further on why her Social Media accounts have gone inactive, you will say that her job is sensitive about what she posts on the Internet."

He sent them on their way. It may have seemed like overkill, but you never knew: he might have use for them later. Her father, he knew, was a banker, and her mother, an accountant. There was only upside to having their particular skill sets in his back pocket. He worried that others might come looking, like uncles or aunts or grandparents, or the guy she was "talking" to, but no one ever did. He figured the canned response he had programmed into her parents had satisfied all who asked. "Dubai" did imply "money," so perhaps they were just happy to hear she was doing well, even if it meant she missed those pesky birthdays and holidays.

She spent those with Brandon.

So much had happened since: graduation, his first patent, moving his store to its new location, and more lectures and interviews than he could count. Ultimately, he had decided not to go the "founder's" route, opting instead to continue his research (mostly) on his own. By day, he and his small, loyal team worked out of a laboratory just outside the city limits, making breakthrough after breakthrough in nanotechnology. As each new discovery was made, Brandon would patent it, the consequence being that all of the boring, practical work was instead handled by the governments and companies that paid him for the privilege of using his innovations.

It also meant that Brandon would never be a billionaire. But he was fine with that: he could make peace with only living as a multi-multi-millionaire. And he really had no desire to deal with the bullshit that came with running a large corporation, anyway: lawsuits, town halls, and the human resources department.

There was also one other concern: what if these other actors unlocked the capabilities that Brandon was already employing to build up his stable? He meditated on the problem for a bit, before coming up with a simple solution. He went into the source code for his machines, and distorted it so that no one else would be able to use them the way he had. If they tried, they would be met with all manner of errors and glitches, enough to hopefully make them pursue another avenue of application.

Thus the status quo was set: Brandon spent Monday through Thursday at the lab, and Friday to Sunday at the store. Nights were often spent engaging in degenerate, hours-long orgies with his toys.

Brandon, as of late, had noticed something was missing, though. Power, money, success, prestige - he had it all, sure. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a hole in his life, a space in desperate need of filling. Well, two spaces, actually, on either side of his window displays.

Brandon's phone vibrated, indicating that he had some new customers (they had triggered the sensor system he had put in after the move - so much better than a bell above the door!). He always made sure to keep his smart device close these days, ever since he had created an app that allowed him to control his four robo-bimbos without the use of that clumsy, outdated remote control.

He looked up from his laptop, where he was busy organizing some data from the lab, to see them enter: there was an older woman, her daughter (he presumed), and what he had first assumed was another daughter. This second "daughter" had long blonde hair, wide hips, and thick legs, but open, closer inspection, was actually male, the tell-tale signs being his flat chest and massive bulge sticking out from his tight yoga pants.

If he was trying to present as a woman, he was doing a rather poor job of it, so Brandon wondered if instead he would be better classified as a "femboy." He had never seen one in real life - no one had - but was familiar enough with online "art" depictions of the type that he was confident in his labeling.

As the trio passed by his counter, he compared the size of their asses - sure enough the son's was far bigger than his sister's or mother's! How had he achieved such a physique, Brandon wondered? Surgery? Squats? His dick hardened. If he were a big game hunter, he might compare his current excitement to that felt when stumbling upon a rare albino lion!

He fished out his wireless headphones, and inserted the left pod into his ear. The whole place was wired for sound, which was recorded and fed directly into his phone.

He took his phone from his pocket, and opened the app that would allow him to eavesdrop on these most intriguing visitors.

Sydney and her brother, Max, moved around the cramped store, maneuvering around the racks of frilly clothing. Normally, they would have spent their weekend on the usual routine: smoking weed, snorting coke, dancing, and having lots and lots of sex. The week was filled with an endless barrage of summer classes and private tutoring, so the siblings relished the opportunity to really let loose come Friday night, released from the suffocating yoke of parental supervision that they still suffered under, despite their ages.

Everything had been disrupted when their father had discovered that their mother, Alexis, had been cheating on him with her personal trainer, Darius. Alexis had gotten careless, and been spotted with Darius hand-in-hand in that chic, expensive supermarket downtown, post-workout, by one of their father's underlings, who was clearly eager to curry favor with his boss (who had been faking an illness to get a reprieve from work, but their father didn't care about that little detail in the face of the devastating revelation it had led to).

So now they were arguing non-stop during the day, and sleeping in separate beds at night (they had several spares in their lavish apartment).

Despite all of the hysterics, Max and Sydney knew divorce was unlikely: their mother's friends were their father's friends, and vice versa. And it's not like their father was innocent: his own affair had been discovered five years prior, when his secretary had confessed to their mother in a fit of rage over his refusal to leave her. So, when you thought about it, that just about made them even, no?

But, in the interim, their mother was feeling a bit "raw," and had requested that her adult children spend the weekend with her. They had initially refused, but were eventually convinced when Alexis promised, that next summer, their cooperation would buy them exclusive use of the beach house out east.

Sydney and Max agreed privately that one weekend of suffering was worth the reward. To make things even easier, they had already started making lists of everything they would do once the beach house was theirs. Some crossover items included:

1) Try crack-cocaine

2) Have first gang-bang (threesomes had been crossed off the list a long, long time ago)

3) Participate in an orgy (stretch goal if item #3 was fulfilled early enough)

3) Have sex with a girl

4) Make debut sex tape (how had they neglected this for so long!?!?)

5) Try meth (stretch goal if item #1 was fulfilled early enough)

They had taken a car down to the hotel for breakfast, then had walked down the avenue, spending at least a little time shopping in every store that caught their eye. Alexis and Sydney had already bought new bags, and Max had picked up a variety of women's tops. It all went on David's credit card, naturally. As far as Alexis was concerned, this was all his fault: if he hadn't already been unfaithful, then there would have been no need for her to have fucked around. Parity must be maintained if a marriage is to remain successful, her girlfriends always told her, over those endless lunches where new mimosas seemed to manifest out of thin air just as they were about to finish their current glass.

David was lucky she wasn't taking that advice more seriously: she was certain about one of his affairs, but strongly suspected there had been several more. She was justified in fucking more than just Darius, if she were so inclined, and, if she were being honest, she hadn't made up her mind yet as to her inclination.

Somewhere between the famous toy store and the five-story flagship of that luxurious Italian brand, they happened across the store. If they had "compared notes," they would have realized that none of them had caught its name - they were too distracted by the audacious, sexualized animatronics in the windows, which had attracted so many onlookers that it was hard to find space on the sidewalk from which to further gawk from.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alexis could see Sydney mouth the words "what the fuck" to her brother. Alexis could have rolled her eyes: as if they didn't see, and do, worse when they went out with their friends!

Alexis, on the other hand, was intrigued - if this was how the place advertised itself, she couldn't imagine what kind of sexy, kinky stuff she would find inside! Just the type of risqué outfits one would want in their "arsenal" when pursuing another steamy affair, perhaps...

"Let's go inside," she told Max and Sydney. It wasn't a request, and she heard them groan and moan in response. She wasn't worried about any disobedience on their part, however, knowing they would force themselves to endure far worse for unfettered access to the beach house. God (or the Devil) only knew what they do with such a venue completely at their disposal.

Alexis was disappointed. Yes, the store had a lot of cute things to buy, but nothing as racy as the robots in the windows had implied! She might still pick a few things up, but she doubted Sydney or Max would find anything here to their liking. Case in point, Sydney was currently wearing a white t-shirt that declared "Nice Guys Can't Fuck," while Max's crop top simply read "Slut!" in bold pink letters. That was half true, Alexis thought: she knew Darius was fucking Sydney, and he was a pretty nice guy, but Max was fucking him too, so at least one of her kids was being honest in their textile proclamations. Alexis looked over as Sydney held up a small pink t-shirt to Max that opined "God Bless Texas." They giggled at the quaintness of the text. Maybe if it had read "Brat" they would have not deigned to mock it...

"Hey, folks! Can I help you with anything?"

A young, clean-cut man in a polo and khakis, one AirPod in his left ear, had approached Alexis without her noticing. He was handsome, but something about his face... Alexis could have sworn she had seen him before. Maybe in a magazine, or on TV? She definitely would have remembered coming into this shop before. Those animatronics would be hard to forget!

"No, just browsing" she replied. "We're not looking for anything specific!"

"Okay, well, just let me know if you need any help!"

He turned to walk away, when Sydney asked him a question.

"Hey, are you the owner or whatever?"

"Yes, I am."

"So, like, what's with the Bimbo bots outside?"

"What do you mean?"

"She means," answered Max, hands on his big hips, "they're so, like, lewd, but everything in here is so... trad. Like, real cottagecore type shit."

The man laughed.

"You know, you're exactly right. Huh, guess I never thought about it that way!" Brandon wasn't being dishonest. He really hadn't seen the incongruity until it was pointed out to him. Side effect of not really caring about what he sold, as long as it was cheap and popular enough to bring in customers.

"Say, what are your names? If I do decide to "pivot," I'd like to know who to credit!"

They each introduced themselves, Brandon shaking each of their hands in turn. He didn't say anything, but Max noticed how he had subtly marveled at the feminine daintiness of his hand when it was within his grasp. Weirdo.

"Well, I'm Brandon, and you know where to find me if you need anything!"

With that, he finally turned and walked back to the counter.

"Creep," Sydney whispered to Max. Brandon heard it, tinny through the tiny speaker in his ear. But Alexis didn't, as she was now busy looking something up on her phone.

Aha! She was right: she did know the young man from somewhere else! She remembered it now, a Ted Talk her husband had been watching one night in bed, years ago.

"Little fucker is a genius," he had grumbled, dressed in the shorts and old t-shirt that consisted of his pajamas. "He'll be a millionaire before he can legally drink."

So why wasn't he? But Alexis found her answer before long, as she scrolled past article after article profiling the "Tech Wunderkind who runs a women's boutique as a way to relax."

So he was rich! Maybe he even had more than her husband...

While Alexia was lost in fantasies of infidelity, Sydney and Max were conspiring.

"Let's steal something," Max whispered into Sydney's ear.

"Yea, fuck that incel freak," she agreed.

They began searching for something decent enough to be worth absconding with. They both knew it might take a while, as lame as the shit on sale was.

Max found it first - a cute pair of acid-washed daisy dukes. He held it up to show Sydney, who nodded in agreement. Handing it to her, she quickly shoved it into her purse, while Max kept watch. They were in luck - the creep nerd virgin fuck was still behind the counter, fiddling with his computer.

Alexis found a piece of her own to take home with her, a faux-gold chain necklace. She could have lived without it, in truth, but she wanted to buy something, just to leave an impression on the shopkeeper, to create a connection with him now that might pay off later. She brought it to Brandon up front.

"Are you part of our Rewards program?" he asked, as he scanned the item.

She shook her head regretfully, and smiled.

"Well, would like to sign up? All I need is your phone number. You get one free item with every nine purchases!"

Alexis agreed, and gave him her number. The transaction proceeded without further incident, and Brandon waved goodbye to them cheerfully as they left.

A few hours later, Alexis was getting fucked doggy style in her bedroom by Darius. They had been at it for almost fifteen minutes now, but Alexis didn't feel like she was even close to orgasm.

"Fuck me harder!" she commanded.

Maybe if your ass was as big as your son's, bitch, he thought. At least he could stop by Max's room on the way out, if he still wanted to feel some real fucking meat in his big hands.

He was just about to nut - could feel it making its way up his cock - when Alexis' phone went off.

"Shit, that might be my husband! He could be on the way home already!"

Alexis had told him when he arrived that her husband had gone out with some friends for drinks, but there was still a chance he could come back at any time. He would use the fire escape in that event, and it wouldn't have been the first time!

Alexis retched forward, and Darius' cream-covered cock slipped out of her. He groaned in frustration, but Alexis ignored him.

"Hello?" she spoke into the phone, which she had retrieved from her nightstand. She was still on her hands and knees, her small, sweat-coated ass in the air. Darius could tell, even from his distance, that it was a male voice that responded.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, her eyes and mouth wide with shock. "I'm so, so sorry! I'll leave right away! Just let me go get it from her room. I'm sure it's still there!"

Alexis hung up the phone, finally getting up and collecting her clothes that she had discarded carelessly on the floor when they had started getting into it, nearly as soon as Darius had walked through the goddamn door.

"Fucking bitch!" she screamed, to no one in particular, but Darius had guessed, based on context clues, was her dumb, big-titty daughter Sydney.

"I need to go, Darius. She fucking shoplifted something from a store we went to this afternoon. The fucking guy is rich too, even richer than Dave. He could really fuck us up if he wanted to! You can see yourself out, right? You can grab something from the fridge before you leave, but don't take your time. Dave could still come back at any moment. Obviously, he knows about me and you, but if he came home while you were still here, I don't know if our marriage would make it."

Darius said nothing, but prayed for the sake of his full, aching genitals that Max was still home. He hadn't had "blue balls" in a long time, but was not eager to experience it ever again.

Forty minutes later, Alexia was knocking on the glass door of the shop, cargo in hand. She had barged into Sydney's room, where she was practicing slutty TikTok dances, and found the daisy dukes in question atop her dresser. The arrogant brat hadn't even made the barest effort to hide them!

She noticed that Brandon's creations to either side of her had ceased their movements. It was kind of eerie, the way the younger-looking one grinned out at nothing but the empty street, or how the kissers had frozen with their lips mere inches apart, like doomed lovers in some kind of bizarre, perverted fairytale.

Brandon appeared from a door in the back of the store, and hurriedly walked up and unlocked the door for Alexia.

"Oh my God, I can't tell you how sorry I am," Alexia professed while entering the still brightly lit showroom. She handed the stolen shorts to Brandon after he had finished re-locking the door.

"Hey, as long as I have them back, there's no problem."

"Oh, thanks for your understanding! I don't know what's gotten into my kids lately. They were never very good, I admit, but somehow it's like they've gotten even worse!"

"Think nothing of it. Say, would you like some tea? I just poured some for myself right before you got here, and there's still a lot left over. I have a little office in the back. Why don't you come back and relax a bit, before you leave? I know it's summer, but I heard it had gotten a little chilly out there..."

Darius waited until Max was asleep next to him before he got up. It was the polite thing to do. The boy had confessed to him so many times how much easier it was for him to fall asleep with a warm man next to him.

He went into the kitchen naked, his dark, flaccid penis still slick with lubricant, the freshly waxed tiles cold on his bare feet. Fucking Max always worked up a mighty thirst in him.

He opened the fridge and frowned. All they had were a bunch of weirdly flavored sparkling water cans. Weird ass rich people. He thought about going into Sydney's room, and asking if she had anything normal, like, you know, regular water. She might request sex too, and he tried to judge whether he could provide. He imagined her big tits bouncing in rhythm to his thrusts, a vision he was familiar with enough to recreate with near-exact detail. He felt his cock slightly stiffen in response. Maybe he could go for three for three after all!

He closed the door to the fridge, and almost had a heart attack - standing behind it, for who knows how long, was Alexis, with a vacant smile on her face, arms held stiffly at her sides.

Darius panicked, trying to think of anything to say to explain why he was walking around the apartment naked while Max and Sydney were home.

But he never got the chance. Without warning, Alexis lurched forward, slamming her head into Darius'. This should have caused minor injury, if anything, to Darius, but, instead, the front of his skull was caved in completely. He fell to the floor, where his body started violently convulsing, like a fish ripped out of water. Any suffering was short-lived, though, as Alexis walked forward, and brought her bare foot down on his head, crushing it in a splatter of gore and bone, without ever having to look down.

"Mom? What's going on?"

Summoned by the sounds of Darius' demise, Sydney had come running into the kitchen, her big tits bouncing in the small top she wore to bed. She had been momentarily distracted by the uncanny grin on her mother's face, but followed the trail of blood splatter down her body to discover what was left of Darius on the floor.

She was about to scream when her mother dashed forward at superhuman speed, grabbed the back of her blonde head, and violently pushed it towards her.

Keeping Sydney in place with her powerful grip, Alexis kissed her daughter on the mouth, but there was neither love nor lust in the act: it was only practical, an easy way to implant some of her nanobots into Sydney.

Alexis held Sydney against her, until she stopped clawing desperately at her temples (without ever making a mark, it should be noted, as Alexis' skin was now nearly impenetrable).

The entire time Sydney was in that unrelenting embrace, Alexis had been sending a wireless signal to her, over and over again simply ordering her to "Stop," which had evidently finally been received. Assimilation was complete.

"Take Max," was Alexis' next silent command to her daughter.

But Max too had been woken by the strange sounds emanating from the kitchen. But any further investigation was cut short by his encountering Sydney in the hallway outside his room. He was still naked, and smelled distinctly of Darius' expensive cologne, the one their mother had given him for his birthday.

"Hey, what's going on? Is something wrong?" he asked her, unnerved by the glassy look in her eyes, and the stiffness of her posture. Usually, Sydney was always slightly leaning forward, weighed down by her heavy boobs.

As her mother had done to her, Sydney sprinted toward Max in a yellow blur, but Max was able to shut his mouth in time, a reflex triggered by his sister's attack.

Sydney grabbed either side of his face, and quickly calculated her options. Her first instinct was to rip his jaw open, but the shock of it could kill him before the nanobots finished their work. That simply wouldn't do. Their new master wanted him.

So, instead, she kicked him square in his unprotected balls, adjusting the kinetic force of the act so as to not obliterate them completely, which she could have easily done.

That got his pretty, filler-enhanced mouth opened, alright.

In the darkened living room, Alexis was crouched in the shadows, waiting. She had hacked into the building's security system with her computerized brain, and so knew that her husband was now in the elevator, ostensibly headed to the apartment.

She tracked him as he stumbled down the hallway with her infrared vision, but waited until he was inside with the door shut to strike. The probability of the body being found otherwise was too high.

With nary a sound, she leaped from the corner, and separated his head from his shoulders in one fell swoop. The decapitated body fell to the floor as the pate rolled across the luxury carpet, the eyes frozen wide in a visage of surprise and fear. Blood again soaked her, spewed from the hole she had created like a fountain found in the depths of hell, but now she was free to change. She didn't anticipate there being any more interlopers, based on the results from the scan of her memory banks.

Brandon got the news alert on his phone that a massive fire had started at Alexis' building. As he had expected, though he wondered with amusement if the fire inspectors would ever imagine it had been started by Alexis and her children lighting the drapes on fire with their eye lasers. Probably not.

He hoped all of the other residents would it out safely in time, but there was no real alternative. He had to fake their deaths, as the previous tricks he had pulled wouldn't have worked with so such a high-profile family. It was very possible there would be some collateral damage, but his desire to have them, particularly Max, who from now on he would think of as a "futa" (he had done some "research" while he awaited their return), overrode any other consideration.

He had been tracking the threesome as they made their way across the city.

Past stinking homeless struggling to sleep on the sidewalk, they came.

Down alleyways and subways and subterranean passages, they came.

Through throngs of drunk clubbers and ravers, they came.

Over dead rats and steaming sewer crates, they came.

Finally, they had arrived. Brandon rushed over to open the door, his dick already hard.

If he had bothered to look at his phone again, he would have found another alert.

CONFIRMED: 8 DEAD IN UPTOWN FIRE. CAUSE STILL UNKNOWN...

He brought them up to his loft immediately. Using the bespoke app, he commanded them to strip, then carefully examined every part of their naked bodies while they stood at attention, his normal routine after a new acquisition.

Alexis and Sydney had the same build: big tits and narrow hips, but the former had clearly had some work done on her face. That wasn't to say that he didn't like it - it bestowed a certain MILFy quality upon her- but it was nothing compared to the natural beauty her daughter had been blessed with. Wait, sorry - her other daughter, the one with a vagina. He had to remember to keep that straight going forward!

Speaking of Maxine, he saved her, the best, for last. He didn't know how long he spent admiring her divine form. Her ass, her hips, her legs - he had never seen anything like it, at least on a white girl. She could have given Tamika a run for her money, which was saying a lot!

And her genitals - her cock was so big it made him jealous! He couldn't hold back anymore - he took off all his clothes, sat on the edge of his bed, and ordered Maxine to take him in her mouth.

What followed was the greatest blowjob he had ever had. His original plan had been to just use the oral sex as a warm-up, but, when he felt like he was getting close, he just couldn't bring himself to order her to stop. Thus, he unloaded down her throat, and not just the contents of his balls - he wouldn't have been surprised if a part of his soul had gone with it, such was the intensity of the orgasm. When it was over, his heart almost beating out of his chest, he fell back onto the bed, and passed out.

He awoke some hours later to Maxine, still on her knees, gently suckling on his half-hard cock. He laughed when he remembered he had never told her to stop, but he was grateful for her continued service, for he was now recharged enough to try out his other possessions. And try them out he did: their mouths, cunts, and anuses.

Incest was far from novel to him - he wouldn't dare try to estimate how many times he had demanded Luna and Amelia perform on each other. Having said that, it still excited him to see Alexis suck on Sydney's left tit as she rode him (while Maxine played with his balls). Then he switched things up, fucking Alexis missionary style while Sydney ground her pussy into her face (while Maxine played with his balls).

Even after he was spent, after cumming on Alexis', Sydney's, and Maxine's eager, smiling faces, he watched Sydney lap at her mother's wet vagina, until his eyelids got heavy, and he once again succumbed to sleep (while Maxine stroked his torso - at this point his balls were far too sensitive to be touched).

When he awakened again, he didn't bother to check the time. Sydney and Alexis were still engaged, but that didn't mean anything, nor did the fact that Maxine was still rubbing his chest and belly. They would never tire now, and, in less than five minutes, neither would he.

Thus brought to an end his last bout of coitus as a human. He wondered how it would all feel on the other side, as he took the syringe from the bedside table and inserted it into his arm.

The idea came to him but recently, embarrassingly later than it should have. Why was he keeping Prometheus' Fire from himself? He could have slapped himself for his short-sightedness!

Strength, speed, vitality, immortality, all held within an electronic carapace invisible to the naked eye!

Today, Alexis, Sydney, and Maxine would assume their rightful positions in the windows, simple spectacles for an idiot public, dressed like those ridiculous toys that they had made a ridiculous film out of.

But not for long. When Brandon is ready, his designs for this world complete, they will take his side as his warrior brides, and, together, they will burn down and remake as they see fit. Who could stop them? Knives, bullets, bombs - would any of them be enough? Even if they sent their most powerful weapons at them, he doubted they would ever reach their target - they could hack into their systems now, and prevent them from ever being fired.

His terrible mind flooded with possibilities. How could he have been so stupid? Why had he not altered their physical forms more? Each one had their flaws - the size of Sydney's ass, Luna's crooked nose, Tamika's eyes (one was higher than the other) - and that all could be so easily fixed! Once he was mechanized, they could be reshaped with but a thought. When they are unleashed, the frightened masses will look up to see that their doom has taken the form of seven winged, beautiful women, swords of green fire held aloft! And he with them, among them, in the center of them - their eight- foot-tall husband, with bat wings fifteen feet across, a gold crown upon his head.

It was done, and all these things now lay well within his reach.

But first things first. He looked down as his cock swelled in size until it was a foot long and half as wide, his balls quickly expanding to match, until each was about the size of a tennis ball.

But now at least the most important part was out of the way.