 FROM           THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS       702-243-7723/8982/9807
  
                         A Tale Of The Tape  
  
                         By Thaddeus Wawro  
  
  
	I haven't always been only five inches tall.  Once, I was a  
strapping six-foot, 175 pound  man.  But that was before I bought that  
damned tape recorder.  I picked it up at Keyne's Curiosity Shoppe, this  
little junk store I know just off Hollywood Boulevard.   
	I was making one of my frequent collecting runs, scouring the  
pawn shops and junk stores along the boulevard for movie and TV  
memorabilia for my collection.  I wasn't having much luck.  I'd hit every  
place between Vine and Highland and hadn't found squat.  Only Keyne's  
was left.  I liked to save it for last because old "Honest" Abe Keyne  
always had something for me.    
	Abe was a stout, red-faced man who looked old enough to have   
witnessed the birth of Moses.  He'd been a prop man way back when  
Clara Bow was still giving guys hard-ons and he still had a few  
connections at the studios.  Every once in while, he'd get his hands on  
some props, or movie posters and would set them aside for me.    
 	Abe greeted me with an exuberant "Halloo" as I entered the shop.    
"Been hoping you'd come in Mr. MacAllister," he said.  "Got something   
special for ya."  
	With a flourish of his hands, Abe produced an ancient reel-to-reel  
tape recorder from behind the battered wooden counter.   
	"Okay, it's a tape recorder."  
	"Not just any tape recorder," Abe beamed, "do you remember  
that old TV show, Tales from Beyond the Outer Limits Zone?"  
	"Yeah, the one Ron Sterling used to host?"  
	"That's the one.  There's was one episode, 'bout a writer like  
yourself, it was.  He had this magic tape recorder.  All he had to do was  
talk into it, see, and whatever he said, well, it happened, ya know?"  
	I nodded.  The episode was one of my favorites. 	  
	"Well, this here's the tape recorder they used.  A buddy of mine  
over in the prop department at Unreversal Studios found it when he was  
cleanin' out a closet. I can't say if'n it's got magical abilities, mind 
you, but this here is the genuine article."  
	I picked up the recorder and turned it over.  "Property of  
Unreversal Studios" was stamped on the bottom.  It was an odd  
contraption.  The reels were larger than most I'd seen.  The tape it used  
was about a half inch thick.  And, along with the normal play, record,  
fast-forward and rewind buttons, it had a red switch marked "erase."   
	"Does it work?" I asked.  
	"Course it works.  I wouldn't sell ya no piece of junk."  
	I doubted that, but let it go.  
	"How much?"  
	"Well," Abe drawled, rubbing his chin like he was pondering the   
meaning of life, "most collectors'd pay quite a bit for it.  But, seein' 
as you're such a good customer an' all, I'll cut my own arm off and let ya  
have it for a hunnerd."  
	"I'll give you a saw buck for it."  
	"Twenny dollars, you must be jokin'.  Sevendy-five."  
	"Twenty-five bucks, it's all I got on me, Abe."  
	"Well, I like ya son, so, I'll let ya slide on this one."  
	I handed him a twenty and five ones, grabbed the tape recorder  
and headed home.  Now, don't think I'm a sucker or anything.  I knew  
Abe was putting me on, but I'd been planning to get a tape recorder to  
record notes for my stories anyway. Besides, there was always the chance  
that Abe was on the level.  I mean, not every writer has a tape recorder  
from Beyond the Outer Limits Zone. 	  
	At the time, I was working on another story for [whichever mag I  
send this to].  It was about a group of beautiful Earth women astronauts  
who land on Venus and something in the  atmosphere makes their tits  
grow to enormous proportions.  To spice it up a bit, I decided to throw  
in a Venusian monster to chase them around, rip off their clothes and try  
to mate with them.  
	I switched on the recorder, picked up the mike and started on my   
notes for the story.   
	"The Venusian monster is ten feet tall," I said, letting my  
imagination race. "It looks like a giant purple jello salad with eleven  
green eyes and eight slimy tentacles sprouting from its head."  
	I hit the rewind button.  Then pushed "play."  The description   
sounded pretty silly and I was about to erase it when I heard Lucifer, my   
black cat, howl.  I turned to see what was bugging him and came eye-to- 
eye, well, eye-to-eyes, with something that looked like a giant purple 
jello  salad with eleven green eyes and eight slimy tentacles sprouting 
from its  head.  	  
	The dripping, oozing monstrosity slithered toward me.  A long   
tentacle snaked at my head.  I jumped back and my arm smashed into the   
recorder.  I must've hit the erase switch because the reels started turning  
and the Venusian dessert platter faded into oblivion.  
	It took me a few seconds to figure out what had happened.  Of  
course, Abe had been right.  It really was the magic tape recorder from  
Beyond the Outer Limits Zone.  I got an idea . . . I hit the record button.  
"Her name is Krystal," I said, the reels spinning slowly as I spoke.  "She  
is five-feet, seven-inches tall.  She has long blond hair that cascades over  
her shoulders and hangs down to her ripe, muscular ass.  Her skin is  
bronze and smooth as marble.  She has dark blue eyes that shimmer like  
cold steel.  Her measurements are 45DDD-24-36."    
	I stopped the recorder and thought for a second.  
	"Make that 55DDD," I corrected.  "And, she's horny as hell."  
	I rewound the tape and played it back.  As my tinny voice floated  
out of the speaker, the air began to crackle with static electricity.   
Shimmering waves, like the kind you see hovering over an asphalt road  
on a sweltering summer day, rose from the floor.  Then, with a sudden  
flash of light, Krystal appeared before me in all her buck-naked glory.  
	She was just as I'd described her, even better.  Everything about  
her was perfect.  Long sleek legs.  Full, rounded hips. Svelte, waspish  
waste. Flat firm stomach. And what tits. Those glorious gazombas jutted  
out a good foot and half in front of her.  They surged from the sides of  
her chest like over-inflated basketballs and her protruding, thumb-thick  
nipples nearly brushed the furry blond triangle between her legs.  
	  "Hi, I'm Krystal," she said in a soft purring voice.  "And, I'm  
horny as hell."  
	She came toward me with her lips puckered and her arms   
outstretched.  With each step, her huge knockers rocked and swayed like   
twin bags of jello.  (Hell, they even shimmied when she stood dead still.)    
Before I knew what was happening, her hot tongue probed my mouth  
and her delicate hands unsnapped the buttons of the jeans.  She pushed  
me down on the floor and kissed her way down my chest and stomach to  
my rapidly hardening dick.  With a soft moan of approval, she popped my  
rod into her mouth.  
	I'd been given blow jobs before, but never like this.  She explored   
every of my dick with her tongue, starting at the base and slowly inching  
her way up.  When she reached the top, she traced circles around the  
bulbous throbbing head until my dick was as hard as a baseball bat and  
felt twice as long.    
	I watched as she formed a perfect O with her lips and slid her  
mouth down my pole, over and over, sucking harder each time she went  
down.  I could feel the spunk churning in my balls, ready to blow, and  
moaned loudly, trying not to cum too soon.  After several minutes of  
agonizing pleasure Krystal suddenly stopped.  
	"We don't want you to lose it just yet," she said with a sinister  
smile.  "I've got other plans for this magnificent meat of yours."  
	 She lay down on the floor and cupped her left tit in her hands.   
The jiggling flesh overflowed her tiny fingers as she hoisted it to her  
mouth and took her thick nipple between her full lips.  My dick jumped  
as she sucked and slurped at the engorged teat.  
	"Would you like to try?" she said, offering up other tit.  
	She didn't have to ask me twice. I was on her in a second,  
wrapping my lips around her huge nipple and sucking like a hungry babe.   
The rubbery nub seemed to grow impossibly large and fat in my mouth.   
She moaned and bucked, delicately caressing my cock with her soft hands   
I felt a gentle tug, on my iron-hard dick and instantly knew what she  
wanted.  
	I straddled her chest, my legs shaking in anticipation, and she laid  
my schlong in her gaping cleavage chasm.  She squeezed her tits around  
my dick and it disappeared into the expanse of soft, pillowy flesh.  My  
cock was nicely lubricated with Krystal's own juices and slid in and out of  
the magnificently warm cavern with ease.  Each time my cockhead  
popped out from between her mams, she flicked out her tongue like a  
snake and licked the head.  
	Krystal erupted in a beastly wail and with surprising force she  
pushed me off her chest and wrestled me to the floor.    
	"Enough fucking around," she snarled,  "I want that beautiful fat  
cock of yours inside me."  
	She rose and stood over me with her long, luscious legs spread.  I   
watched, panting, as her fingers ran through her thick bush and  
disappeared into her pussy.  Within seconds, she glistened with wetness.   
Her sweet juice dripped from her clit and splashed onto to my legs, cock  
and stomach and I swear to God it tingled.  
	Then, with an animalistic howl, she impaled herself on my rigid  
spear and pumped furiously.  I tried to join in, but couldn't keep up with  
her frenzied rhythm.  Her pussy squeezed my dick like a fist, the smooth  
muscles milking my cock like a cow's udder.  My head swam and my  
whole body quaked.  I didn't know how long I'd last at that pace, but I  
prayed I wouldn't come too soon.  
	Nearly helpless, I gazed up at Krystal as she rocked back and  
forth on my cock.  The half-crazed mask of pleasure she wore was more  
animal than human.  Her tits bounced and wiggled, slapping loudly  
against her stomach.  My breath came in gasps as she pumped, faster and  
faster, building to climax.  The minutes seemed to stretch into hours, until  
finally, Krystal cried out as my body went rigid and my cock exploded.    
	Krystal convulsed, then crumpled onto my chest.  As we lay  
there, cradled in each other's arms, I remember thinking that I had  
definitely gotten a deal on that tape recorder.  
	Over the next few days, we fucked and sucked each other every  
way imaginable, stopping only to grab a bite to eat and a few well-earned  
z's.  But, believe it or not, after about two weeks, I got bored with  
Krystal.  It was time to move on.   
	I felt kind of bad when I erased her.  But, hell, I had more boner-  
popping fantasies running around my head than I could ever live in a  
dozen lifetimes.  And, Krystal would have just gotten in the way.  
	After that, I guess I went wild.  I've got a pretty fertile, if not  
slightly warped, imagination and that magic tape recorder had it churning  
along at full steam.  I created and fucked a different woman nearly every  
day--tall ones, short ones, fat ones, skinny ones, white, black, Asian, 
hell, I even a had big green alien bitch like Captain Dirk screwed in the 
that one episode of Space Trek--and they all had one thing in common, big,  
bouncing watermelon-sized tits that just begged to be sucked and fucked.  
	It went on like that for almost six months.  I'd tried just about   
everything I could think of, lived every sexual fantasy I'd had since my  
first wet dream.  I kept creating women with bigger and bigger tits, but  
let's face, there's only so big you can get, and I figured I'd pretty much  
reached the limit with Megan, whose tits dragged on the floor even when  
she stood.  There wasn't any further go.  Or so I thought . . .  
	The idea came to me while I was watching Movies Til Dawn.   
They were showing coming attractions and one was The Attack of the 50  
Foot  Woman.  I ran to my room and fired up the tape recorder.  I was about to   
speak into the mike when it struck me . . . how the hell was I going to fit  
a  fifty-foot woman into my cracker box apartment?  There was no fucking   
way.  But, I wasn't going to give up that easily.  Maybe I couldn't create  
fifty  foot woman, but I could shrink myself so that regular-sized woman  
would  seem as if she was fifty-foot tall.   
	I'd never tried the tape recorder on my self.  And, I wanted to  
make  sure there wouldn't be any nasty side effects.  I needed to make a 
trial run.  
	"Lucifer," I called.  
	My cat lazily strolled into the bedroom and rubbed up against my   
legs.    
	"I've got a surprise for you little buddy."  
	I switched on the tape recorder,  "My cat Lucifer is only five  
inches  long," I said.  
	 I played it back.  There was a smell like burning matches,  
followed by  a puff of smoke.  When it cleared, Lucifer was no bigger than 
a mouse.  Judging by the way he was yowling, he wasn't too happy about it 
either. I hit the erase button and one puff of smoke later Lucifer was 
back to normal.  
	It worked.  Now, all I needed was woman.  Since Krystal had  
been the  first (and, I have to admit, the best, ) I decided to recreate 
her.  It was  good to see her again--her massive mams bursting from her 
chest like twin zeppelins.  
	"Did you miss me?" she asked.  
	"You better believe it baby.  You'll always be number one."  
	"So what did you have in mind today?"  
	I told her.  Her face lit up with a devilish smile.  I switched on 
the recorder and said  "I'm only five inches tall,"  then played it back.    
	Nothing happened at first, then my whole body began to tingle.   
A  sharp pain, as if someone was had stuck an ice pick into my ear, pierced  
my skull. I fell to the floor screaming and clutching my head, then blacked  
out.  When I came to, I was staring up at the biggest tits I'd ever seen in 
my  life.  
	Krystal's gigantic knockers loomed above me like twin Matterhorns. 
Even flat on her back, her massive 55DDD breasts stood tall and firm, 
rising  a good six or seven inches above my head.   
	I started my ascent of the left mammary mountain, scuttering up  
the  warm, silky flesh until I'd reached the turgid nipple perched on top.  
Even by  normal standards Krystal's saucer-sized areola was extraordinarily 
large. But,  at my diminutive size, it looked like an enormous round bumpy 
pink blanket.    
	I tiptoed across the knobby flesh to her nipple, which,  to me, was  
as  big around as a telephone pole.  I gently licked and nipped at the 
swollen nub, sending spasms of pleasure through Krystal's body. The be-
hemoth breast swayed and shimmied under me like a giant waterbed and I  
wrapped  my arms around the nipple and hung on for dear life.    
	When the spasms subsided, I slide down the back side of the  
breast,  bounced across Krystal's firm stomach, nearly falling into her 
belly button,  and landed deftly in the "V" between her legs.  
	The warm, musky scent of Krystal's muff filled my nostrils as I  
made  my way through a forest of blond pubic hair to her   
swollen clitoris. With long, languorous strokes, I lapped at her love  
button  which was nearly as big as my head.  Krystal shuddered and squirmed  
with  delight and I feared that she might crush me between her creamy 
thighs.  
	As I kneaded her cunt lips with my tiny hands, her pussy grew  
moist,  then wet.  Her sweet honey streamed over my hands and arms.  I 
kept on twiddling her until she came in gushing sobs, drenching my body 
from head  to toe with her love juice.   
	With a gentle hand she lifted me to her mouth and licked me  
clean.  
	"My, you have a big dick for such a tiny man," she said.  "It looks  
like a  little candy stick.  And you know I have a sweet tooth."  
 	She carefully took my minuscule member between her lips and  
began  sucking.  It felt like my dick was caught in a vacuum cleaner and it 
wasn't long before I blew  my load between her sizable lips.   
	"Time for baby to rest," she purred, tenderly laying me down in  
the  crevice between her towering tits.  I spread out in that gaping 
cleavage chasm and fell asleep.    
	When I woke, I was in a Mason jar.  And Krystal was staring at  
me  with her menacing blue eyes.  
	"What the hell is this shit," I yelled, my voice echoing off the  
smooth  glass walls.  
	"I figure I can keep you out of trouble in there," she said. "I  
wouldn't  want you to escape."  
	"Cut the shit and get me out of here."  
	"I don't think so," Krystal said, her voice booming in my ears like   
thunder.  "You look cute in there. And, definitely harmless."  
	"I'm gonna erase your ass when I get out you get."  
	"I doubt it.  You can't climb the walls, they're too slippery. Even  
if you  could, you're too small to move the erase switch without my help.  
And, I'm  certainly not going to help you. Not after what you did to me. 
That wasn't  very nice what you did to me.  Creating me like that then 
getting rid of me.    
I like being alive and I want it to stay that way."  
	I called her every dirty name I could think of.  Not a smart move.   
She  got pissed and screwed the lid shut.     
	"I'll let you out when you learn not to use such nasty language,"  
she  scolded.  
	That was three months ago and I'm still only five inches tall.   
Krystal's  gotten tired of her "little lover,"  as she likes to call me.  
Sure, every once  in a  while she uses me as a living dildo, (trust me, 
it's not as great as it  sounds, a  guy could drown in there), but most 
of the time, she picks up guys in bars, brings them back the apartment 
and "does"  things to them with the tape recorder.    
	She's a wicked one.  She made one guy's tongue grow 12 inches.   
She  gave another guy two dicks so he could fuck both her holes at the same   
time.  And one poor guy she turned into a hermaphrodite with tits that   
rivaled her own.   
	When she's through playing with them, she shrinks them down to   
five inches and keeps them jars on a shelf in the bedroom.  She's got quite  
a  collection now.  I'd say there's about fifty of us all together.  And 
she's  still  going strong.  
	So, take my advice, if sometime, somewhere, you happen to meet  
a  gorgeous blond named Krystal with tits like basketballs and a devilish  
gleam  in her eye, think twice about going home with her.  There's still 
room on  the  shelf for a few more jars.	   
  
                                 The End

 FROM           THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS       702-243-7723/8982/9807
