Bruce opened the door and strutted into the cabin. He never got what his dad bothered with this shit. He was Big Daddy Salas! He could have been at the club every night, drunk off his ass and banging whoever and whatever was smart enough to go along for the ride. Even if the army of lawyers and doctors he kept on hand couldn't overcome the wave of paternity suits and STDs, the money it cost would barely be a dent in his fortune. But no, he kept out in the woods fucking around with moonchild shit, talking about Isaac Newton and Alaister Crow or whoever. Whatever. The old man wasn't seen for a couple years, and if nothing else he could sell the cabin for enough cash to get a new car, some blow, or new implants for...
He lost his train of thought as Candi's ass came into view. Genetics, years of devotion to squats, and generous amounts of some kind of silicone alloy that had too many hyphens and numbers for Bruce to pay attention to had left his wife with a booty that had so many purposes. Eye candy. Cushioning during sex. Endless expanses of skin to grope. An extra few inches of height while she sat. An impromptu end table that he could stack a plate and a couple beers on while he watched TV. Destroying metric tons of yoga pants. He smiled as she strode in, her ass jiggling obscenely with each step. If fibers could talk, her pants would be screaming.
"Oh my god, Brucey! This place is like, a total dump! Why did your daddy keep it around?" She strode into view and Bruce nearly died from blood loss. If Candi's ass was a miracle of nature and science, her body was the work of a perverted god. Her thick, well-muscled legs extended down from her inhumanly bulging ass, ending in a pair of high heels that a masochistic ballerina would describe as "a nightmare to walk in". Above the gleaming, jiggling expanse of her ass was a waist warped into geometry-defying slimness by years of exercise and titanium-boned corsets.
Further up Candi's body, her one-woman crusade against the spandex of the world continued. Candi's breasts burst forth from her chest like a pair of fleshy planets. On the multiple occasions that Candi hugged her own breasts in delight, she struggled to contain her own boobs within her arms. With each breath, the spherical expanse of her breasts threatened to shred her skin-tight top, a spandex-heavy number bearing the distorted slogan "Sex Toy" across the chest, and expose her perpetually-stiff nipples to the world.
Candi's uncannily-designed face was smooth and blemishless, save for her lips, which were pumped up with enough collagen to turn her mouth into a perpetually-agape, drooling hole surrounded by pink, fleshy mounds the size of sausages.
As a cherry on top, Bruce had paid to install an internal vibrator surrounding Candi's labia, pulsing just often enough to keep her aroused and distracted. Not that she needed to be distracted. Bruce's taste in women trended heavily towards the "box of rocks" end of the scale.
Bruce had kept Candi a secret from the public. If any woman found out that she existed, the entirety of humanity would descend into a war between the sexes.
"Uh, Brucey? Are you staring at my boobies again?" Bruce shook his head.
"I uh. No. No, of course not." Candi pouted, turning her lips into a rolling mass that defied description and vision alike.
"Why not?!"
"I was, uh, too busy looking at the rest of you." Candi smiled. "I don't know why the old man kept this shit around. All we need to do is sort this shit out, hire a company to clear out the furniture, sell the place, and I can plow you up on that deck before we leave." Candi laughed and clapped her hands while she hopped in place, leading to a bouncing cascade of flesh that could have concussed a buffalo.
"Yay!" she said, and went sprinting for the stairwell. "Let's start now!" Bruce followed, in the fog of lust and stupidity that sustained him throughout his life.
Bruce stared at the room and thought of the weird heavy metal albums that his cousin had. In the center, a pentagram was drawn in blood. The room--
"Uh Bruce?" said Candi. "There's like, something on this laptop. Could you read it for me?" Bruce stepped over. He never knew if Candi legitimately couldn't read, but he wanted to take his mind off of the room.
"Day 1," read Bruce. "The program is a success. I was able to change the paint in this room from black to blue without a single problem."
"Uh, boring!" said Candi. "You mean that your daddy wasn't having sex in this place?!"
"Wait," said Bruce. "Day 5. The experiments with Miss Lana are going according to plan. She was a bit surprised, but losing twenty years of age and gaining five cup sizes kept her happy." Candi smiled slightly. Bruce kept going.
"Day 12," he read, "Things aren't quite going to plan. When I placed increased submissiveness into Lana's profile, she stripped, went limp, and spread her legs. The addition of the arousal program nearly flooded the basement, but thankfully I managed to get the undo function to work." Candi cocked her head.
"Wait, you mean that he was actually doing magic in here?! I thought he was killing goats for like, the devil or something!"
"Waitwait," said Bruce. "Day 30: no matter what I do, I must be careful to keep my programming exact. My recent augmentation of Lana's breasts nearly destroyed the cabin."
"Yaaay!"
"The entry ends there. It doesn't continue until...Day 69."
"YAAAAAY!"
"Wait wait. Day 69: I have made the gravest mistake of my life creating this monstrosity of a program. Weeks upon weeks of fornication have bought me only a few minutes of Goddess Lana's unconsciousness. Even now, the breast-lined cavern of her womanhood presses in upon me, and the blind twitching of her tongues drive my exhausted cock into desperate arousal. In my ignorance and hubris, I have created this sexual goddess, the Mistress of This Earth. I cannot let her loose upon the world. She is the fruit of my labors, the price I pay for my foolishness. I must protect the world from her, and, in my heart of hearts, I wish her solely for myself. Upon finishing this statement, I will use this program to flush myself and the fleshy, jiggling mass that was once my lover into a world where we can be alone. God help me. Should anyone read this, pity me, for I am condemned to a hell of pleasure I still cannot comprehend. I beg you. Destroy this computer."
"Like, what? What is he saying?" asked Candi. A hand was thrust down the glorified waistband that she called pants.
"I...I don't know," said Bruce. "I think this might be bad news."
"Oh come on, Brucey!" said Candi. "Magic isn't real! Let's see if he had any good porn on his computer!" Candi poked at the keyboard, revealing a screen of green text and strange blocks.
In that moment, as Bruce and Candi stared at the keyboard...
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