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Ronald Raygun

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Blown up blowup dolls.

Blown up condoms and their mystery stains from carpet to ceiling.

From the ceiling down to the floor, mists of glitter that smelled like sweat.

And cold fumes of ashtrays resting on hills of crushed sushi and absurd food and an infinity of red plastic cups as more makeshift ashtrays.

Junk.

More junk.

Then property damage from people they knew.

Then some hopeless scripts left here by aspiring writers they didn’t.

Given this not-even-subtle sum-up of Los Angeles her living-room was right now, it was clear seriousness was never the theme of the 'M-F-ing parties' Ariel Winter had been throwing since Modern Family ended.

So as Sarah Hyland looked around, sprawled and hazed in this ravaged landscape, she realized her question (“So you really serious about it?”) was quite the irony.

She had sent it toward another couch, most likely where Ariel was, hazed and sprawled, hidden behind a beeramid abandoned before it could be bowled down. Because yes, they had thrown everybody out early. That’s how serious it was. They needed the talk. They needed a:

“Yes.”

What Sarah was afraid to hear.

But she went along, ready to play the straight man although she was neither, propping up on an elbow and asking her friend over the beer cans: “Did you try it?”

“Not yet,” Ariel said. “I was waiting for you.” And thus not waiting anymore, she rolled off and scrambled out of view.

Solely by ear, Sarah guessed she had managed to reach her office after many obstacles and traps. There, there were some rifling sounds, a few fumbling noises, then finally she heard a huge, long, loud crash of cardboard boxes, shelves, stacks of folders, souvenirs, cutlery and crockery, a cat running in fear, breaking glass, breaking drywall and a cuss suggesting regular intercourse with your mother.

But after this noisy demonstration of the laws of gravity, Ariel was quick to return to the living-room, now holding a small package like the Holy Grail.

“Three months of roaming the dark web; shady transactions; outrageous custom fees; and biting my fake nails waiting, but here it is, at last,” she declaimed, flipping open a butterfly knife. She gutted the box in a fierce struggle with packing peanuts, plastic wrap and static electricity, and then brandished its content like Excalibur:

The Ronald Raygun 3000™.

They both chortled at the cheesy thing. Small, compact, intricately embroidered, laser-red and army-green; a prop straight out from 50’s sci-fi. But it was way more than that. She inspected it, hefted it and, in a dash, pointed it at Sarah while uttering a customary Pew-Pew-Pew!, which gave some more contrast to the seriousness of the evening.

Sarah sat up, serious. “Toss the manual.”

She caught the booklet flying over the beeramid and began reading, leaving Ariel hopping and bouncing and pew-pew-pewing around at imaginary UFOs.

Right off her preliminary skim, she pointed out, “It’s not FCC-approved.”

“After tonight, my boobs won’t be FCC-approved.”

“You don’t even know if it works.”

“It worked for Taylor Swift.”

“Ari, for the last time, they’re fake.”

“Nuh-uh…”

Sarah sighed. “Can’t you just let it go?”

“No! I want Sofía to pay! Now read the damn manual.”

“Alright… ‘THANK YOU FOR BUYING THE RONALD RAYGUN 3000™’—what a fucking stupid name.”

“Skip to the bigger boobs instructions.”

“Calm your tits, there’s no skipping, you need to ‘DOWNLOAD THE APP AVAILABLE ON—’”

“Aw goddammit…” Ariel squatted on her hunkers and opened every pizza box around until she found her phone inside one of them. She wiped a slice of pepperoni and a cigarette butt off the screen and fired up the App Store.

After not reading the ToS, she read: “‘ENTER DESIRED BRA-SIZE.’ Let’s say 32F for a start.”

“That’s what you used to be?”

She nodded, bitterly, then spoke in Sofía Vergara’s voice:

Cut your boobies, honey! Trust me. It’ll change your life.

She grunted and took back her real voice: “Not one audition in a year. Such a life-changing decision. Meanwhile she’s the richest woman ever.”

“I thought that was Taylor Swift.”

“Dude, what’s your deal with Taylor Swift?”

“But it’s you who—”

“You have a crush on her or what?”

“Um… No… Mayb—”

“So, what do I do next?”

Sarah, who was inspecting the warranty guide, went back to page 4:

“Let’s see… ‘REMOVE ALL CLOTHING FROM THE BODY PART YOU WISH TO ENHANCE.’”

And that’s when the two girls eyeballed each other.

Despite her taste for skimpy clothes, Ariel had never shown herself to Sarah without any. Or vice versa.

But she shrugged, “Well… I made my bed…” and with a suspicious lack of hesitation, peeled off her halter top, which she wore braless, no surprise there, and soon was proudly and unsteadily standing barechested in the middle of the ruins of the living-room.

“Ffh-uck meee!” Sarah gasped, eyes as round as the double-Ds she was gawking at. “They’re… You look like a Japanese cartoon! Why the hell you want to change them?”

Justice!” Ariel growled, this time imitating Batman (the 1997 version, the one with the nipples on the suit). “Now keep reading. Hurry up, it’s cold in here, I can see your pokies.”

Sarah looked down at herself and blushed. She got up and crossed her arms over her nipples, in the position of ‘the reading teacher’.

“‘AIM THE RONALD blah-blah-blah AND PULL THE TRIGGER UNTIL THE BEAM SHUTS OFF BY ITSELF.’ The illustrations are so cute.”

“Here.”

Sarah caught the raygun flying over the beeramid.

It was heavier than she would have thought, much like a real gun. Shit had gotten real serious.

“You sure you don’t wanna try it on something before?” she said raising the piece toward Gustav the canary, cheerfully flapping around in its cage by the window.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ariel said.

“Fine. Why is he so small though?”

“Well, he’s been sick. Try it on…I dunno, try it on the jello shots.”

Sarah switched on the device. It whirred, a red laser beam materialized from the boresighter to the wall in front and a synthetic female voice announced, “All systems ready,” with a strange accent.

“It talks!”

She aimed the menacing red dot at a tray of (apparently) untouched jello shots, took a deep breath…and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Besides the jello flabbering in the cups, nothing happened.

And the explanation immediately came from the raygun itself, robochick saying: “The Ronald Raygun 3000™ doesn’t work on breast implants. Thank you for your purchase.

They shrugged then.

And Ariel gestured Sarah to go face her—one-sided duel to the sound of their tense breathing—and said:

“Do it.”

“You really wanna do it?” Sarah asked.

Do it!” Ariel confirmed.

“You really wanna do it.” Sarah concluded.

She aimed the shaky red dot right between the tits, whispered a short Hollywood-pagan prayer, and—

“Wai-wai-wait,” Ariel said, “do you need to aim right between the tits or is it like one tit at a time? Like you shoot one nipple and then the other one?”

“It’s right there it says ‘RIGHT BETWEEN THE TITS,’ now don’t move.”

She fired.

The synthetic voice uttered an off-putting “Pew-Pew-Pew!” and a yellow beam blasted from the Ronald Raygun 3000™, hitting Ariel right between the tits, trying to jolt her just as hard as she was trying to stay still.

Her eyes and mouth burst open. Sarah did no less: before her, Ariel’s breasts were expanding in the unearthly light enveloping her chest.

It was as fast as unbelievable.

The ray shut down, the gun played a sample of the victorious first notes of En "Er" Mundo and Ariel fell to her knees, doubling over, holding unbelievable F-cups, moaning in what Sarah thought was pain.

“Ariel, are you alright?” She threw the damned thing away and dashed for her friend.

She was wincing. “I… I…”

“I’m calling 911.”

“It’s like… like… It’s like I’m cumming with my tits!

“Say whuuuuut?”

Looking twice, Sarah realized Ariel was actually kneading her breasts, pinching her nipples and generally crumbling onto the carpet in vocalized ecstasy.

She grabbed the manual.

POSSIBLE SIDE EFFECTS: ORGASMS.

“What the absolute FUCK!” Ariel spat, bucking her hips in lustful surrender. She stretched out on the floor and tried to find enough breath to laugh hysterically. “This thing is so—fuckingAWESOME!!!”

Sarah watched her the whole time, speechless.

She watched Titosaurus Rex leap to her feet and stampede away to the bathroom, scaring the cat along the way. And from there she heard her shriek in overexcitement.

Then silence.

Sarah found her weeping in front of the full-length mirror, serious, saying:

“Even the scars have disappeared. And I got the sensitivity back.”

“You look so… gorgeous.” she replied, approaching slowly.

And tenderly they hugged.

“And they don’t sag anymore. And my back don’t hurt,” Ariel went on, sobbing openly.

“So it’s all good. You got what you wanted. You don’t have to go on this crazy vengeance.”

“NEVER!” Ariel pushed her back, scary-serious. “Bitch must pay! And I want bigger. Get the gun.”

“Now?”

Now!

They scampered back to the living-room, Ariel way ahead. She snatched her phone and tapped away.

“Bigger will make you look like a freak,” Sarah advised.

“There’s a shrinking setting.”

“Oh for real?” She looked it up in the booklet. And shivered. The Ronald Raygun 3000™ was a rollercoaster of cup-sizes. You could go bimbo-big for a Saturday night and be back to corporate mosquito bites for your Sunday brunch with nana.

“What size did you set it to?” she asked.

“Big enough to party.”

“It’s not a party if you need a wheelbarrow to move around.”

Ariel wasn’t listening, she was just standing there playing with her restored rack, her heavy breathing now leaning toward a guilty pant.

Hopeless, Sarah aimed once more. And fired.

Yellow Pew-Pew-Pew!

Happy bugle.

And once more Ariel fell under the weight of triple-Js and an assault of mammary pleasure.

In her exhilaration, she couldn’t even tone down her moans, massaging her tits wantonly, twitching among empty vodka bottles and candy wrappers. She was barely finished cumming when she tried to get back to her feet, two beach balls messing with her balance.

“Whoever invented this deserves a blowjob!”

She rotated toward Sarah and saw the girl was panting as hard as her. Serious.

“Sarah, you alright?”

Then it struck her. “Oh… Y-You wanna try it?”

Her petite friend flushed. And muttered, “M-Maybe just for a day?”

“Take your top off.”

Ariel caught the raygun flying over the beeramid, and jumped on the sofa, giddy and hyper, to turn and discover Sarah topless, coy, and “—fuckin’ hot! J-Just…pose nude already!”

“Fire the thing.”

“What size?”

“I…”

“What?”

“I-I wanna need a wheelbarrow to move around.”

“Oh…”

Sarah braced for impact.

Ariel and the gun pew-pewed out loud.

The ray lasted for at least thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of expanding and rubbery sounds. All this time Sarah clenched her teeth, taking it like a trooper, but as soon as sounded the Spanish brass, she howled, “AAAAAARGH Ariel do something help me!” plummeting, throwing her hands at her new mass of flesh and unable to reach it. It was positively too humongous, dropping to the floor like a blob.

Ariel dove at her and grabbed nipples as big as peaches; she twirled them, she pressed into the fat with elbows, knees, mouth, anything—Anything to squeeze the orgasm out. She even used her own boobs in a real clash of the titans if ever there was one.

Sarah came hard and loud but muffled, stuck as she was underneath her tit mountains. The two bustily intoxicated girls rolled and brawled and crushed around, snowplowed the carpet, shattered a glass coffee table, pulled out light fixtures, scared the cat, set off the fire alarm, until there was nothing more to trash.

Only there was more: as Ariel was still wringing and wrenching, Sarah screamed: “Oh my God I’m gonna… I’m gonnaAAAAAAAAAAH” and two thick jets of milk spurted from her nipples, hitting Ariel in the face and hitting the ceiling before raining back down over them.

Now the boobfest was over. They were spent.

When they resurfaced from their bliss, the living-room looked as if cows went to war.

“Mr. Whiskerz, don’t drink that.” Ariel shooed her cat away from a white puddle and stomped away.

Sarah was left alone in her afterglow stupor.

Only to be awakened by a tap on her shoulder a minute later.

“Sarah? babe?”

“Myea?”

“Would you read the instructions for a bigger ass now?”

“Wait, it can do that too?”

“I always wanted to be a Kardashian.”

“So why are you hiding a dildo behind your back?”

“This little thing? It’s for emotional support,” Ariel tittered, already pulling her pants down.

Sarah, having to literally walk around her bean bag-sized boobs, took gun and booklet and then took a moment to take in the sight of Ariel Winter now naked, standing there, shaking in anticipation of a guaranteed assgasm. Sarah was quite taken.

Her nipples started to harden, spurted more milk weakly onto the damp floor, and, hidden deep, her pussy started to lubricate against all reasonableness.

“Hey, I’m ready.”

“Oh yeah sorry. Turn around.”

“Do you think I should stay up, or get on all fours?”

“I…”

“What does it says? Should I spread my cheeks?”

Ariel did just that, her asshole in plain view for a short moment.

“N-No just… I… Just stand there.”

Sure it would have made a helpful target, but no. Sarah raised a trembling armed hand…hesitated…and fired.

Pew-Pew-Pew!

Yellow glow.

¡Olé!

And Ariel huffed! And puffed! And her buttocks grew! And grew! And in a long groan of forbidden sensations she tumbled backward, pulled by the weight of her thorough tushie down onto Sarah’s balloonesque bosom.

Her voice jumped and broke as she felt the stretching surprise of falling sitting bullseye on an erect nipple, greased and conveniently pointing up for any orifice hungry enough to engulf it. Pinned down, plugged up and squirming, she was too heavy and too incapacitated and too unwilling to stand back up, and thus subdued to wave after tidal wave of anal pleasure.

Sarah, no less overwhelmed by this (kinda) tight asshole milking her—and now convinced that Ariel would have to do her next—bent forward and threw her arms with one target in mind: the unused and teasing dildo.

Gimme dat,” she was wailing, but only getting delirious moans in response.

She clawed around, forward, and eventually gripped her prize. Ariel, still clutching the other end, fell even more backward, her back lying flat on the boob, her face next to Sarah’s.

At first frustrated by the slutty thieving of a dildo that would have been welcome inside her vagina, she quickly made the connection that as soon as Sarah would cum, her giant milkers would lactate again and fill her ass of new unknown pleasures. So she let go.

And indeed, after some rummaging and a squishy noise from below the surface of her rack, Sarah went on an equally dirty squealing: “Oh Ari I’m gonna… I’m gonna…mhaAAAAAAARRRh—”

Her free left tit gushed a high-pressure white torrent. Her right one Nerf-popped Ariel like a leaking ragdoll into the air, through the beeramid and across the living-room.

When she crashed back down into the entertainment center, her big ass was still cumming.


[INTERMISSION]

www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHw4C2nQeWs

[END OF INTERMISSION]


“Ok. The date went smooth, dinner was great, Sofía’s a little tipsy. I’m at her place, just as planned. Activate Phase 2.”

Ariel was facetiming with Sarah from the bathroom. She was back to her regular measurements inside a very kinky, sheer, black, lacy, gartered teddy, with its side of stockings and stilettos. A costume of vengeance. Now that she had her tits back, the contemptible ill-advisor, the haggard old wench, the two-faced shrew, Sofía Vergara was to pay for her devious chicanery, her fateful intrigue; she was about to, in Ariel’s own words:

“…have a taste of her own medicine. A medicine that would be like those pills they sell on the internet to get a bigger dick, except it will give her smaller tits and it’s not pills, it’s a burst straight from the fucking Ronald Raygun, fucker! and they sell it on the internet too so my analogy totally works—”

“Yea ok sure. So what do I say?” Sarah inquired, herself back to flat, clothed and nervous. As always, her friend had managed to drag her into this.

“You say what we said: as soon as I call your name, you burst into the bedroom with your gun,” (A real gun, Glock 17, loaded, serious.) “and you say, ‘Hands in the air, bitch!’ or ‘Get on the floor, bitch!’ I dunno.”

Sarah rehearsed, mouthing silently, holding her gun gangsta-style.

“Just improvise,” Ariel concluded and she hung up. She had some scheming to do.

She went out of the bathroom, superb, and walked through the door Sarah was supposed to burst through later. There, on the bed, Sofía Vergara was waiting, lying on her side, naked, no less superb.

The two women smiled at each other.

“So all this time, you wanted to get it on with me,” Sofía purred. “A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.”

“Never mix business with pleasure. Got the advice from my cousin who got fired from a sausage factory.”

Ariel unstrapped her garter, pulled her panties down and stepped out of them when she began walking sensually toward the bed and its sweet promises.

If you fucked with her you were fucked forever, this was now well-established. But after a few steps and then with each step, it became more and more adamant for Ariel that she perhaps was not going to follow her cousin’s advice entirely. Sometimes the pussy is too good, you know.

Her heart was beating fast as she climbed up.

Her heels punctured the mattress a few times, but it didn’t matter, they dove into a close embrace.

They kissed deeply, wetly. Ariel pushed Sofía on her back and forgot she hated those F-cups so much as soon as she had them in her mouth. Her envious hands turned to horny hands and they groped and caressed everywhere. Daring, her fingers lowered down to the Holiest of Holies, ready to diddle.

She brushed against something.

“What’s that?”

“Pubes.”

“………”

“It’s a boomer thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

Ariel passed through the mysterious jungle, rubbed past the nub and slid her fingers inside the very wet hole.

The ensuing digitbang was enough for Sofía to stop being so subtle about her so far contained crave to motorboat dem big ol’ tiddies. She tore up the cleavage of the teddy and went at it.

BBRRLLRRRHHRBLRHRRR,” she said.

Ariel looked down at the delicate attention and started: “Remember how you encouraged me to get that reduction?”

BRRRRrhyeah?”

“Remember how it got you to retain your title as the biggest-chested actress of the show, and ruin my career?”

BRrum… uh?”

“You thought I wouldn’t realize?” Ariel reached behind her back and drew her raygun in a ripping sound of duct tape. “Well, time to make it big, bitch!

She pew-pew-pewed at Sofía’s tits.

Yellow flash…

…But no effect.

No trumpets.

“What?”

Sofía backflipped and landed in a crouching pose of immediate combat. “MUAHAHAHA!! The Ronald Raygun 3000™. I invented it, you fool. I’m CEO of El Ronald Incorporated. My puppies are immunized.”

“Oh no, entrepreneurship! My only weakness!”

In an instant, she drew her own raygun from under the pillows. “Behold the Ronald Raygun 6000. Our latest prototype. Die, collectivist scum!” And blasted a green ray at Ariel right in the crotch.

The girl reeled back in panic, tickles rushing inside her vagina. “What have you done to me? SARAAAAH!

Sarah Hyland burst through the door, somersaulted, screamed “Everybody in the air!” and fired some warning hard cold lead. At random.

Sofía screamed, “My 4K TV-set, I just had it installed, what the fuck!” and raised her raygun for retaliation.

Sarah screamed too, warcried, rushed at her and began a desperate but quite sexy scuffle with a naked Sofía Vergara.

Meanwhile, Ariel was slowly rising back up, panting, gasping “Wha… Wha… Whaa…?”

Sarah fought tooth and nail and while taking multiple bitchslaps of gigantic boobs that almost knocked her out, she managed to seize the raygun from Sofía and they both rolled away from each other.

Ariel screamed “Whaaaaa…?” They turned and looked at her, at her crotch…

And…

And instead of her neatly waxed mound now jutted a 12-inch-long penis, throbbingly erect, throbbingly ready to empty its accompanying pair of oversized balls.

“There’s a futanari option,” Sofía explained, “It’s still in beta.”

“It’s… It’s…” Ariel’s voice stabilized, “It’s… so—fuckingAWESOME!!!”

She turned to Sarah. A stream of precum escaped her cockhead.

“Change of plan! Pew-Pew her!”

And, fully on instinct, fully on adrenaline, before she could really compute the whole shebang, Sarah raised the Ronald Raygun 6000 and fired a green beam…at Sofía’s rack.

Their horror only lasted the few seconds needed for the dick-nipples to grow, and then the woman was tugging at them like it was the best rash ever.

“I’ll have to tell the R&D guys,” she moaned and then fell to her knees, cumming from her self-double-handjob, milkcum spraying in full-auto.

Their three lecherous leers met in wordless agreement. Sarah stormed out of her clothes, Ariel grabbed the raygun for more tits and dicks and they all collided on the bed.

A mariachi band burst through the door and started playing ¡O, gloria inmarcesible! for the frantic threesome.

It is said that after much trial and configurations and cubic meters of jizz, the two girls simultaneously unleashed an ultimate high-pressure futa-load inside Sofía’s holes, Nerf-popping her into the air, at high velocity and across the bedroom. And when she crashed back down into her entertainment center, she was still cumming in Spanish.

 

*****