Dressed, I dismiss the layered spells and call for Steven, “Steven, come here please.”
She materializes her avatar, “Yes Mistress; what can I do for you?”
“You have holographic cameras: Does that let you precisely measure things - length, width, height, diameter, volume, and so on, especially for… irregular objects?” I'll work my way up to what I want to ask.
She seems pleased, “Oh, yes Mistress. My prior owner used that function all the time, as a set of detailed, proper measurements allowed her to have custom designed clothing ready for pickup at whatever planet we were visiting next.”
Great… “So you're accustomed to measuring women's bodies, then… that's good, because I need to graph some quick changes.”
“Certainly Mistress. What would you like me to graph?” Her extreme subservience is annoying. Useful, and much better than being treated like an object, but annoying.
Regardless… “Me. Do you remember when I explained the side effects of my magic?”
She SMILES, “Oh, yes Mistress! Such a joyous gift, although it took me a while to realize it. I am very stupid and foolish. Please forgive your humble servant.”
And she's saying that without a hint of sarcasm or shame, too, “You’re forgiven,” and hopefully I am too, but I don't think asking would help anything… “Also… Steven doesn't exactly fit you anymore, does it?”
“I suppose not, Mistress,” my AI ship replies happily, “What would you like to call me?”
“What do you think suits you now?” Maybe I can get her to….
“I am merely your property,” I guess that's not going to work, “a dog doesn't name herself.”
Right, ugh. So… I don't want to saddle her with a curse word for a name, but those are the first several things that come to mind… “I suppose I'll call you Stephanie for now.”
She smiles, “Thank you Mistress. Stephanie I shall be. Shall I break out a bottle of wine for a proper christening?”
May as well… “If we have it in storage, certainly,” I don't expect I'll be drinking any anytime soon, “First though… for what I actually called you in here for: The side effects of my magic affect me, too, just to a lesser degree, and… mostly temporarily. I would like to measure my bust and graph the results: Figure out exactly how much I can push things and to what effect.”
Stephanie is all smiles, “Of course Mistress. You take priority in everything. The scanners will get a better read if there aren't clothes in the way.”
I start taking off my shirt, exposing my chest, “I kind of figured that.”
“You've grown, Mistress, you're beautiful,” I don't exactly want to be, Stephanie.
“Thank you…” although I would rather be handsome, “but that's kind of why I want to figure this out. Tell me, how big is my bust now?”
“Your divine melons are five hundred cubic centimeters - ‘CC's’ - which, with your thirty four inch band size, works out to a slightly large C cup.”
“Thank you,” I take a moment and revoke my Mythic status… it takes twenty-four hours to get the power back to invest in another person… but I have twenty slots for that, so it really doesn't matter, I'll just use a different slot, “And now?” Apparently I'm excited… my miniature meat member is pushing against my pants a bit. Good to know I can return to this as a baseline… for now, at least.
“Four hundred CC's each, a slightly large B cup on your frame,” comes the immediate reply from my sultry slave.
I reinvest myself, and continue, “And now?”
“Back to five hundred CC's,” says the electronic measuring rod.
Okay… and spells… I cast Read Magic, a cantrip, “And what did that do?”
“Increased your bust by five CC's per side,” my ship responds, “basically nothing, a woman will vary by more than that over the course of a few days.”
Ah. Well, time to add a first level spell, Mage Armor, a small boost to armor class, “And now?”
“You’re up to five hundred fifteen CC's per side. Still a C,” she speaks.
OK, and now a second level spell: See Invisibility. I cast that, and follow up, “How about now?”
“You went up by twenty CC's per side.”
So… ten CC's per spell level, cantrips count as half a level, and the Mythic rank was a hundred… if that's a pattern, then adding a third level spell, like Fly, should push me up by thirty. Let's try it….
I cast, and she doesn't wait for me to ask, “You just went up by thirty CC's per side. At Five hundred sixty five CC's, a D cup will be just slightly loose on you.”
Aha. And let's go for broke… I can revoke and reinvest this easily, so… I drop my single Mythic rank, and assign myself as my high priest.. which gets me NINE Mythic ranks.
As I stumble forward because of the sudden change to my center of gravity, my servant gives me a report, “Ooh, that's nice Mistress! You just went up eight hundred CC's per side! That thirteen hundred sixty five CC's is pretty much an I cup! Those will get you ALL the drinks at bars!”
I look down at my chest… they will, yes. I look like a fetish porn model… or like I'm trying to smuggle dodgeballs… but I did want to confirm it's linear. I revoke my high priest status, mark myself as a favored worshiper again, dispel the other spells, and continue, “Thank you. And just to confirm I'm back to baseline, what's the volume now?”
“Back to five hundred CC's, Mistress,” my slavish ship says, “solid C's.”
So to summarize: Ten CC's per spell level, a hundred CC's per Mythic Tier… and I'm level three, and have been through one death. I'll have to get another level to confirm, but for now I'm going to estimate one hundred CC's per level and the same for coming back from the dead. It is good to know exactly how much a given spell will mess me up. I suppose I should run a similar test with another person, as I'm apparently heavily resistant, but the ethics of that… ugh. Maybe Patricia has some insight?
“Blessing other people is ten times as effective as blessing ourselves. More if we push at all.” Great. Just great. Thanks Patricia.
And… it's not quite as bad as I feared…for me, anyway. Mammary glands can be (very, very roughly) approximated as spheres, so a linear increase in volume from the spells has progressively less visible effect. But if I want to do everything all the time, I'm going to be very, very noticeable.
“Thank you for your help, Stephanie,” I think I'm done with self-experimentation for now.
“You’re quite welcome, Mistress,” my slave is practically beaming. She really loves to serve.
Which reminds me… I have a question for Patricia in a bit, “Please prepare a suitable bottle of champagne or wine for your Christening, and wait for me in the cargo bay.”
“Certainly Mistress,” and my slave vanishes.
Patricia, how is it you KNOW what fetishes our victims have?
“Stephanie certainly doesn't feel like a victim... but that's easy. It's the flavor,” my pink partner adroitly answers.
The flavor?
“Well, we're basically eating a chunk of their souls to bless them, and it's easy to tell from the taste what's changing,” she has a weird perspective on things, “and as I'm fundamentally a sexual fantasy, that's the information we get. A small taste, and we know what the person we gave the small blessing to enjoys. In the case of men, they end up wanting to be on the other side of that enjoyment when we bless them heavily. I don't know what they want if we don't bless the at all, however.”
Well… at least we don't eat their ENTIRE soul.
I take a minute to don some formal wear… with my current sweater puppies, I'm going to need some dresses if I want to fit in… but the suit and tie will do for now… although it is a bit tight around my chest. I then head out the door of my neon pink room. This is going to take SOME getting used to.
… and in a hurry, it seems. The hallways are neon pink too. As I walk the length of Stephanie Steel, everything is the new color. I also notice her actual structure has changed… there's a pretty sharp narrowing as I come to Engineering, which spreads out very widely afterwards. I take a minute to plug my com into my neck (I didn't take it into the bath, obviously) and summon my Eidolon as I make my way to the rear airlock. Waiting for me, just beside the door, is a good old fashioned glass bottle, with a cork, Stephanie standing beside it.
I smile at her, pick up the bottle, and start to look at the label, then realize: I don’t even know what year it is now, so the label won't tell me anything. Hardly matters, I guess: Stephanie picked it out for herself.
My ship opens the inner airlock door, and I step in. As she closes it behind me, I consider: This is basically her birth canal… and it's big enough for a forklift. As she pumps the air out, I wonder what it'll be like stepping through those doors… but just to make sure everything is working, I use my com through my neck to contact her: “Coms check, can you hear me Stephanie?”
“Loud and clear, Mistress.” Ah… I can deal with that in private, but….
“Mistress works when we're in private, but during official duties - which this is, or near enough - please use ‘Captain’, ‘Sir’, ‘Captain Alex’, ‘Captain Abrams’, ‘Captain Alex Abrams’, or simple pronouns, as appropriate.” Plus, of course… “In informal public settings, please use my name, a suitable title from the official list, or simple pronouns, as appropriate.”
“Yes captain,” comes back through my com.
It is the clearest call I've ever had. I suppose the entirely electronic nature of it means there is zero noise that's not intended.
As the outer airlock doors open, I find there's some flaps in the way… I push them aside, and Stephanie moans over the coms. Of course… these are her lower lips. Trying my best to ignore it, I step out into the void.
Dressed, I dismiss the layered spells and call for Steven, “Steven, come here please.”
She materializes her avatar, “Yes Mistress; what can I do for you?”
“You have holographic cameras: Does that let you precisely measure things - length, width, height, diameter, volume, and so on, especially for… irregular objects?” I'll work my way up to what I want to ask.
She seems pleased, “Oh, yes Mistress. My prior owner used that function all the time, as a set of detailed, proper measurements allowed her to have custom designed clothing ready for pickup at whatever planet we were visiting next.”
Great… “So you're accustomed to measuring women's bodies, then… that's good, because I need to graph some quick changes.”
“Certainly Mistress. What would you like me to graph?” Her extreme subservience is annoying. Useful, and much better than being treated like an object, but annoying.
Regardless… “Me. Do you remember when I explained the side effects of my magic?”
She SMILES, “Oh, yes Mistress! Such a joyous gift, although it took me a while to realize it. I am very stupid and foolish. Please forgive your humble servant.”
And she's saying that without a hint of sarcasm or shame, too, “You’re forgiven,” and hopefully I am too, but I don't think asking would help anything… “Also… Steven doesn't exactly fit you anymore, does it?”
“I suppose not, Mistress,” my AI ship replies happily, “What would you like to call me?”
“What do you think suits you now?” Maybe I can get her to….
“I am merely your property,” I guess that's not going to work, “a dog doesn't name herself.”
Right, ugh. So… I don't want to saddle her with a curse word for a name, but those are the first several things that come to mind… “I suppose I'll call you Stephanie for now.”
She smiles, “Thank you Mistress. Stephanie I shall be. Shall I break out a bottle of wine for a proper christening?”
May as well… “If we have it in storage, certainly,” I don't expect I'll be drinking any anytime soon, “First though… for what I actually called you in here for: The side effects of my magic affect me, too, just to a lesser degree, and… mostly temporarily. I would like to measure my bust and graph the results: Figure out exactly how much I can push things and to what effect.”
Stephanie is all smiles, “Of course Mistress. You take priority in everything. The scanners will get a better read if there aren't clothes in the way.”
I start taking off my shirt, exposing my chest, “I kind of figured that.”
“You've grown, Mistress, you're beautiful,” I don't exactly want to be, Stephanie.
“Thank you…” although I would rather be handsome, “but that's kind of why I want to figure this out. Tell me, how big is my bust now?”
“Your divine melons are five hundred cubic centimeters - ‘CC's’ - which, with your thirty four inch band size, works out to a slightly large C cup.”
“Thank you,” I take a moment and revoke my Mythic status… it takes twenty-four hours to get the power back to invest in another person… but I have twenty slots for that, so it really doesn't matter, I'll just use a different slot, “And now?” Apparently I'm excited… my miniature meat member is pushing against my pants a bit. Good to know I can return to this as a baseline… for now, at least.
“Four hundred CC's each, a slightly large B cup on your frame,” comes the immediate reply from my sultry slave.
I reinvest myself, and continue, “And now?”
“Back to five hundred CC's,” says the electronic measuring rod.
Okay… and spells… I cast Read Magic, a cantrip, “And what did that do?”
“Increased your bust by five CC's per side,” my ship responds, “basically nothing, a woman will vary by more than that over the course of a few days.”
Ah. Well, time to add a first level spell, Mage Armor, a small boost to armor class, “And now?”
“You’re up to five hundred fifteen CC's per side. Still a C,” she speaks.
OK, and now a second level spell: See Invisibility. I cast that, and follow up, “How about now?”
“You went up by twenty CC's per side.”
So… ten CC's per spell level, cantrips count as half a level, and the Mythic rank was a hundred… if that's a pattern, then adding a third level spell, like Fly, should push me up by thirty. Let's try it….
I cast, and she doesn't wait for me to ask, “You just went up by thirty CC's per side. At Five hundred sixty five CC's, a D cup will be just slightly loose on you.”
Aha. And let's go for broke… I can revoke and reinvest this easily, so… I drop my single Mythic rank, and assign myself as my high priest.. which gets me NINE Mythic ranks.
As I stumble forward because of the sudden change to my center of gravity, my servant gives me a report, “Ooh, that's nice Mistress! You just went up eight hundred CC's per side! That thirteen hundred sixty five CC's is pretty much an I cup! Those will get you ALL the drinks at bars!”
I look down at my chest… they will, yes. I look like a fetish porn model… or like I'm trying to smuggle dodgeballs… but I did want to confirm it's linear. I revoke my high priest status, mark myself as a favored worshiper again, dispel the other spells, and continue, “Thank you. And just to confirm I'm back to baseline, what's the volume now?”
“Back to five hundred CC's, Mistress,” my slavish ship says, “solid C's.”
So to summarize: Ten CC's per spell level, a hundred CC's per Mythic Tier… and I'm level three, and have been through one death. I'll have to get another level to confirm, but for now I'm going to estimate one hundred CC's per level and the same for coming back from the dead. It is good to know exactly how much a given spell will mess me up. I suppose I should run a similar test with another person, as I'm apparently heavily resistant, but the ethics of that… ugh. Maybe Patricia has some insight?
“Blessing other people is ten times as effective as blessing ourselves. More if we push at all.” Great. Just great. Thanks Patricia.
And… it's not quite as bad as I feared…for me, anyway. Mammary glands can be (very, very roughly) approximated as spheres, so a linear increase in volume from the spells has progressively less visible effect. But if I want to do everything all the time, I'm going to be very, very noticeable.
“Thank you for your help, Stephanie,” I think I'm done with self-experimentation for now.
“You’re quite welcome, Mistress,” my slave is practically beaming. She really loves to serve.
Which reminds me… I have a question for Patricia in a bit, “Please prepare a suitable bottle of champagne or wine for your Christening, and wait for me in the cargo bay.”
“Certainly Mistress,” and my slave vanishes.
Patricia, how is it you KNOW what fetishes our victims have?
“Stephanie certainly doesn't feel like a victim... but that's easy. It's the flavor,” my pink partner adroitly answers.
The flavor?
“Well, we're basically eating a chunk of their souls to bless them, and it's easy to tell from the taste what's changing,” she has a weird perspective on things, “and as I'm fundamentally a sexual fantasy, that's the information we get. A small taste, and we know what the person we gave the small blessing to enjoys. In the case of men, they end up wanting to be on the other side of that enjoyment when we bless them heavily. I don't know what they want if we don't bless the at all, however.”
Well… at least we don't eat their ENTIRE soul.
I take a minute to don some formal wear… with my current sweater puppies, I'm going to need some dresses if I want to fit in… but the suit and tie will do for now… although it is a bit tight around my chest. I then head out the door of my neon pink room. This is going to take SOME getting used to.
… and in a hurry, it seems. The hallways are neon pink too. As I walk the length of Stephanie Steel, everything is the new color. I also notice her actual structure has changed… there's a pretty sharp narrowing as I come to Engineering, which spreads out very widely afterwards. I take a minute to plug my com into my neck (I didn't take it into the bath, obviously) and summon my Eidolon as I make my way to the rear airlock. Waiting for me, just beside the door, is a good old fashioned glass bottle, with a cork, Stephanie standing beside it.
I smile at her, pick up the bottle, and start to look at the label, then realize: I don’t even know what year it is now, so the label won't tell me anything. Hardly matters, I guess: Stephanie picked it out for herself.
My ship opens the inner airlock door, and I step in. As she closes it behind me, I consider: This is basically her birth canal… and it's big enough for a forklift. As she pumps the air out, I wonder what it'll be like stepping through those doors… but just to make sure everything is working, I use my com through my neck to contact her: “Coms check, can you hear me Stephanie?”
“Loud and clear, Mistress.” Ah… I can deal with that in private, but….
“Mistress works when we're in private, but during official duties - which this is, or near enough - please use ‘Captain’, ‘Sir’, ‘Captain Alex’, ‘Captain Abrams’, ‘Captain Alex Abrams’, or simple pronouns, as appropriate.” Plus, of course… “In informal public settings, please use my name, a suitable title from the official list, or simple pronouns, as appropriate.”
“Yes captain,” comes back through my com.
It is the clearest call I've ever had. I suppose the entirely electronic nature of it means there is zero noise that's not intended.
As the outer airlock doors open, I find there's some flaps in the way… I push them aside, and Stephanie moans over the coms. Of course… these are her lower lips. Trying my best to ignore it, I step out into the void.
