>early in the evening one night, when the doorbell rings
>ohboi.jpg
>IT has arrived!

>being both a music lover and a tech nerd, ordered a reel-to-reel player/recorder online
>website was all Japanese, with Chrome trying its damn hardest to translate it
>ordered one of the more expensive models, the ones which requires larger, ten-and-a-half-inch reels
>model came with blank tape for recording, and, naturally, a USB connector for this modern day and age
>unpack it on the table

...wut?

>Its one of the standing models
>looks like a mish-mash of different brands put together
>seamless aesthetics, tho
>notice some Eastern Bloc design elements
>"communism.jpg"
>strange layout: most of the buttons, sliders, dials and knobs are at the bottom, arranged in two, symmetrical columns
>recorder head's mound is notably puffy and bulgy
>also, positioned vertically
>with a tiny return wheel at the top of the slit
"Seems perfectly normal to me!"
>the tape goes around the outside of the mound as well, reaching up to two ENORMOUS reels
>these CANNOT be just 10,5 inches
>also, they don't have any holes or other apertures on them
>just an inner, smaller circle where the metal is a bit coarser
>even the central holes have tiny, ridged nubs on them, perhaps to prevent them from sliding to far back
>...or rather, to prevent them from being removed
>fugg.jpg

>oh well, one tape, better make it count

>strange thing is, the reels aren't at the top, like on other machines
>instead, the housing stretches further, leaving space for what looks like digital VU meter in the center, with two double Nixie tube displays in the corners above it
>and a cute little button between them, above the VU display
>aha, that must be the on-off switch

>stranger still, there's a fair bit of empty space between the reels and the reading head's mound as well

"Oh, well!"

>plug'er in, hook'er up to the computer
>time to fill that tape!

"Welcome, master!"

>DA FUKK?!

>turn to the side
>the MU display has lit up
>the bars extend both upwards and downwards from the center, giving the silhouette of a pair of blue, talking lips
>"noice.gif"

"This is the MZ-10 reel-to-reel analo-digital entertainment system!"


>wut?
>"analo-digital"?
>"entertainment system"?

"I'm here to please you..."

>the Nixie tubes light up, all four currently displaying zeros

"I simply cannot wait to begin playing for you...!"


>voice is definitely feminine
>definitely sultry
>almost certainly horny
>and most definitely robotic.
>not that crappy pre-recorded phrases or text-to-speech, either
>...why, Japan?

"Please, record some music onto my tape, so I may begin to... Serve you..."

>...why, boner?
>anyways, back to work!
>select an old, homemade techno "mixtape"
>still remember burning it onto a disc, and taking it along onto a holiday
>reels begin turning, slowly
>there's an almost inaudible, synthetic moan, when the tiny, nub-like return roller begins turning

God damn it, Japan.

>strange, how the tape seems to be pinched between the two sides of the recording head, forcing it to go down the curved sides of the mound, and then get it pinched between them, turning over the roller, before exiting on the other side
>never seen anything like it, well, not on a reel-to-reel, anyway
>eventually, the reels stop
>the nubs at their center seem to be slightly
>erect
>...

>well, anyways!
>reach down, press play

>as expected, sound quality is great
>among analogs, reel has the highest fidelity
>pardon, highest audio quality
>although, couldn't help but to notice some odd noise in the background between the songs
>almost sounds like
>chewing?
>messy chewing at that, with tiny moans in between

"Hmmm..."


>go through the album, blue-tintet MU display now appearing as normal lines
>out of curiosity - upon realizing that no speakers were hooked up to the player, yet, still heard the songs - check the back of it for any black magic
>you can never be certain with these online-bought machines
>no sign of witchcraft, tho
>just two inbuilt speakers at the lover back of the machine, with soft, pillowy foam-plastic covers
>strangely, there appears to be something like a heat vent, squeezed between the two mounds
>its distinctly round, and the plastic covering the speakers seeps into it, as if it were a sinkhole
>its even a bit wrinkly
>better not poke around there - it feels hot inside

>the sound is great, and the Nixie tubes seem to display how long the music had been going on - minutes in one corner, seconds in the other
>as the final song falls silent, there's a small sound - like a belch - in the background, before the reels stop again

"That was marvelous, Master!"

>oh god, its back
>the MU display has turned into blue lips again

"Please, do record some more! I'm aaaching to have my tape filled!"

>...okey.
>shrug, select another album to record

>its late in the night when the old mixtapes run out
>room feels a bit warmer than before, despite the cold night
>musta set the thermostat too high
>turn to player to switch it off
>hol'up.jpg

>there's a noticeable curve to its front, between the reels and the headmound
>it's hot to the touch
>dang, has it warped already?
>feel it up
>the heat seems to be localized to that area
>decide to cop a feel
>nope, the speakers seem cold, albeit slightly moist, for some reason
>about to resume the turning-off procedure, when...

BbblllAAAAARRRRRPHHHHH!

>static blast nearly makes me throw up my heart
>it sounded almost like a fart
>turn off the player, then the computer, and leave to retire to bed
>notice the strange odor that had suddenly appeared in the room
>smells like ass, ozone and melting plastic
>"Never mind, just some dust burning off from the circuits!"
>decide to leave, for real, this time


>next couple of weeks, keep periodically recording albums onto the tape
>turns out, the machine was designed to be able to randomly access songs on the tape - although, you have to wait until the reels reach that part
>the machine could skim over entire albums, reading up their name
>or whatever sequence of characters substitutes as such
>there's a switch that allows either song-, or album selection
>any concert recordings put on have their quality corrected, so it feels like you're at that concert
>cry tears of metalhead joy when the crappy Russian bootleg albums of Rammstein, that have been tucked into the back of the hard drive, become full concert experiences
>so far, so good
>glorious nippon electronics remain the pride of the emperor
>a few problems do persist, though

>during every first play, the quiet chewing sound in between songs still appears, except now you can also hear it in the quiet part of some songs
>it disappears upon every subsequent play, so it must be just an odd kink of the device's recording process
>every recorded album is followed by increasingly louder, clearer "belches" (especially if many are recorded back-to-back), and occasionally moans of what can only be called satisfaction
>the sultry voice of the machine occasionally sounds like it has her... IT'S mouth full
>experience the static blast a couple of other times
>still not sure what causes that, but at one time, it was followed what sounded like a content sigh
>further strengthening the fart association

>there are some physical oddities as well
>after every recording session, the front portion of the player, between the reels and the recording head's mound seems to expand from some sort of external heat
>the bulge disappears by the time recording is resumed (usually the next day), but the lower portion of this part of the machine had began to develop small "roll" of sorts
>the "roll" on the front of the machine persists on growing, albeit slowly
>never heard of memory plastics before
>ohwell.jpeg
>the covers of the speakers on the back also seems to expand from the heat as well, and retains a fraction of their expanded size after cooling down

>the smell of ass, plastic and ozone makes repeated appearances, usually after the static blasts
>"Maybe it vents heat by farting?"

>another notable disturbance is, well...
>the noticeable "erection" of the nubs capping the axles running through the reels
>poke one out of curiosity one day
>retract hand immediately as it elicits a "moan" from the machine
>"God damn it, Japan!"

>despite all the oddities, still satisfied with the performance of the player
>check the capacity of the reel on the computer
>reel is at 5%
>impressive, considering it already holds 7 10-to-15 song homemade techno albums and almost the entire bootleg Rammstein discography
>Welp, time to get serious
>Planning on recording all the proper Rammstein albums as well, before continuing with Metallica, KMFDM, RATM, and some other bands from hot, fevered teenage years
>maybe Iron Maiden, albeit that could take a while
>then, iunno, maybe some classical?
>Vivaldi's four seasons is a must!
>welp, better get going, then
>click on Herzeleit, and press record


>bulge at the front grows larger every day
>its slow, but steady
>however, its seriously starting to push the tape away
>hope it doesn't affect the excellent quality

>the chewing sounds throughout the songs, punctuated by the belches at the end of each album, grow louder and louder, but thankfully, still only appear upon first playback of the recordings
>the static blasts are still infrequent, but occasionally, something akin to a humm could be heard from the back of the speakers, kind of like the electric buzz some old studio recording equipment make when one of their connectors is a bit loose
>the same acrid smell follows these, albeit it's far more intense than before

>but this is nothing compared to a more pressing issue
>the machine seems to be leaking
>every now and then (after a particularly intense song), a bead of what appears to be grease rolls down between the two halves of the recorder head's mound
>wipe it away before it reaches the dials at the bottom, although it would most like just flow between them, as their two-column arrangement leaves a gap in the center
>notice that the "gap" is actually a curving indentation, which reaches up to the head's mound
>hmmm
>anyways, recorded all the Rammstein albums, as well as the entire RATM and Metallica discography
>start recording all the KMFDM albums
>this may take a while
>tape is at 10%


>further developments require the reel-to-reel player to be take from the computer's desk, and onto a separate table
>a sturdy, steel-frame table
>this thing is getting heavy

>after finishing with the entire KMFDM discography, the changes became more obvious
>the front roll is now big enough to be called such
>what's more, it seems to be pillowing into two, with a central divot at the low center of the front of the machine
>surprised it hadn't made the tape slip off from the recording head
>the recording head, which's mound, over time, became more and more rounded and bulging
>almost lip-like in appearance
>soft, too

>there's another thing: the plastic seems to changing in quality
>softening
>the roll at the front of the machine, as well as the head's mound seems to be much softer, now feeling like fake leather, rather than the hard plastic that makes up the rest of the casing
>also, on the sides
>this was the reason why the machine needed to be moved: the sides began bulging out as well, roughly in the same level as the frontal roll
>the computer's desk is already pretty crowded, and this would've lead to something being pushed off, shattering into a million of expensive-to-replace pieces
>workplace is being renovated
>offered employees the old equipment
>others were surprised when the table was chosen
>not sure why, tho
>premonition, perhaps?

>head's mound continues to secrete
>suspect it's coming from the return roller at the top of the slit
>again, never seen such an odd design before
>suspicion is substantiated when the roller begins to struggle, causing the machine to "mewl" like old cassette players when the tape isn't being played at the right speed
>need to fiddle with the tiny roller-nub to get it to work
>sometimes, additional help is needed by forcibly turning the reels by the nips
>...I mean, the axle caps
>yes
>all this manhandling elicits "moans" from the machine
>hope this isn't a warning that you shouldn't tamper with it like that
>oddly, the "mewling" only occurs upon first playbacks
>much like the chewing, moaning and belching, which has only increased in volume and frequency, now freely appearing all over the first playback, rather than just the quiet parts
>not so bad as to require a second playback to check the recording for errors, but still
>although, one could argue that these are pretty glaring errors already

>the static blasts and SBD humms are now more frequent and louder as well
>as is the smell, which now seems to linger a bit longer
>coping another feel reveal that the padding on the rear speakers had grown larger as well
>it also seems to be... secreting as well
>the circular vent between the two, eh, "cheeks" of the speakers
>which is bad, because the thicker speaker covers are seem to be covering it up, causing the fluid - an opaque liquid, different from the grease leaking from the return roller at the front - to build up on the inside, ever so slightly
>use a kitchen wipe to clean it up
>parting the covers slightly, it appears that some of the fluid went inside the rear venting port
>thatjustaintright.avi
>reach in with the wipe to clear it out, the folds and wrinkles of the material inside the port probably have a lot in between them


"OoooOOOOOH...!"


>freeze up
>that was the loudest moan the machine had ever produced
>also, whyboner returns
>...God damn it, Japan.

>after a tedious clean up - filled with further moans and cute squeaks, and indications that the secretion may be coming from INSIDE the rear vent -, resume perusing the computer for further albums to record

"Did you know, Master, that you can select entire albums, and record them all at once?"

>the voice purrs with a mixture of helpful cheer and smugness
>also, that sounds useful
>also, durr, why didn't I think of that?!
>after a bit of consideration, decide to go with original plans
>select the ENTIRE Iron Maiden discography on the computer, then press record
>there's a sound, almost inaudible, like a tiny, scared gasp
>turn to the machine
>the VU display remains dark, no lips or rising lines
>raise and eyebrow, but then shrug
>get up, pat the top of the machine - pretending not to hear what sounds like a sharp, synthesized intake of breath
>leaving the room, there's another sound, barely audible
>it sounds almost like a disappointed sigh


***


>this was a mistake
>my god, this was such a mistake
>left the room hours ago
>rapidly return upon hearing a loud groan
>sounds like beast
>or, at least, a beast of an indigestion

>the room is hot, and the air is thick and heavy with the same, acrid smell of ass and burnt electronics
>the reel-to-reel player looks bloated
>the frontal roll has distended into a veritable, pregnant-looking mound. which also distends to the side
>the sharp corners of the machine had completely disappeared at that portion of the front
>the back ones are soft as well
>it's entire middle seems distended, slightly, with only the back remaining somewhat flat
>in the center of the bulge at the front, there's a divot in the middle, presumably where some internal component is holding the large, outwardly barren portion of the machine
>now, it looks almost like a deep-set navel
>god, there are even stretchmarks!
>all around the sides of the mound, the tine lines - which resemble tiny hairline cracks - reach up from the sides of the machine to the divot in the center
>hell, the plastic even looks slightly bleached at the apex of it
>poking it, the mound seems taut, but soft enough to yield to the touch
>a loud, aggressive gurgle prevents further experimentation

>the machine had been secreting profusely
>there's now a tiny puddle of grease on the table, at the bottom of the curving indentation between the two column of switches and dials, with an ebbing stream leading back to the slit of the recording head's mound
>check the back
>thankfully, there's no puddle here
>but the secretion has crept up between, the, uh, cheeks of the speakers, and is now glistening like mildew on top of the wedge between them
>set to work cleaning it up with a kitchen wipe
>the secretion comes off easily, albeit, with further moans and a cheeky, small blast of static from the machine
>confirm that the rank air comes synchronously with the blasts
>use the same kitchen wipe to clean up the grease puddle, because lazy
>with the cleaning done, the first playback can began

>at this point, it was kind of expected, but still
>from the start, the sound of eating (with the occasional moans) is always audible, and now constant, even drowning out the quieter parts of some songs
>belches punctuate the end of every album, and then, ever song
>the chewing becomes frenzied, and joined by the sound of gulping, and small burps
>the moaning becomes increasingly pleased, reaching almost orgasmic levels
>halfway through the recording, however, the tone begins to shift
>the moans go from pleasured to discomforted, then painful, then, just... full
>the burps become frequent, as do the gulps, which now sound more and more forced
>occasionally, the tiniest hiss and squeak of a fart can be heard in the background
>the chewing slows down, as the moans give way to groans and gurgles
>at one point, the machine begins to "mewl" again, resulting in further roller-fiddling and axle-cap twisting to get the tape going again
>worry about it getting damaged, now that it has to go around the curve of the bulge to reach the recorder head
>speaking of which, the roller nub continues to leak, and the mound becomes sopping wet
>a new puddle begins to pool underneath, further staining the indentation between the two dial-columns
>as the recording reaches it's end, the music is almost drowned out by the frequent belches, moans, gurgles and farts, leaving it barely recognizable
>finally, the last song of the last album fades out
>then...

BooOOUUUUAAAAAAAAARP!

>the loudest belch ever made by a machine (probably) is soon followed by an even more thunderous 

PPPHHFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUPFH!


>the room is filled with the same rank smell that permeates everything around the machine
>opening a window, before sitting back to check to computer if anything is wrong with the player, an idle hand picks up the grease-and-fluid-soaked wipe to clean up the new puddle
>the free hand then wanders up to the turgid mound, pushing the tape aside at the center
>mild worry that the new protrusion would end up damaging it, as it rubs to it's sides
>continue checking the files, while the free hand begins to rub the oily paper all over the mound
>subconsciously recognize that it's hot to the touch
>going in circles, careful not to touch the tape, the free hand rubs the oily substance into the skinmark-marred dome
>look up when hearing the pleased moan (and gurgle) of the machine, the blue "lips" now visible on the VU display, spreading into a round shape (wouldn't call it an 'O' because the nature of the display)
>finding nothing among the files, and no warning coming from the machine's software, both hands are now at service to rub the distended front down with the oily paper
>further pleasured moans follow, along with the occasional belch (and giggle)
>oh, hey, whyboner, I was wondering where you've gone
>finally, all the gurgles and groan lead to another loud

PFFFRRRRRRT!

>"well, that's enough for today"
>about to turn off the machine (and allow it to cool down), when something becomes apparent
>with curiosity piqued, the reels now come under inspection

>strange
>both metal plates seems to have bent forward, ever so slightly curving outwards, the coarse inner circles seem to have... "puffed up" a bit
>axle caps are erect, as usual, and hard enough to cut glass or drill diamonds
>running a finger across one, a deep, husky moan echoes in the room


...wut?


Aaaaaand continue!


>For the next couple of days, the machine is only used for some Authentic Analog Music Experience™
>maybe record a couple of singles that have been left out
>the player continues to belch and blast static between songs, but it lessens as time goes by
>sound quality is still impeccable
>good thing it was relocated, tho

>after the bulge it had receded, it grew out all over
>the roll on it's front is now properly divided into two lumps, with another roll forming over them, a navel-like crevice in between the two
>its flabby and stretched out, the material feels like fake leather instead of hard plastic
>it pushes the tape away from the surface, also turning it onto it's side over it, making it look like the strands of a slingshot bikini
>a horribly ineffective slingshot bikini
>the flabby "belly" of the machine now connects to a set of "lovehandles" on either side, effectively erasing the sharp edges around the middle portion of the front
>the indentation between the two "columns" of buttons had become narrower, consequently, it became harder to clean up the grease the leaks from the return roller nub
>occasionally clean out the narrow slit betwixt the two bulging, lip-like halves of the recorder head mound
>eliciting what sounds like a sharp intake of breath from the machine
>whyboner had become a frequent visitor, as of late

>the speaker covers have swollen up even further
>they're really starting to resemble a pair of buttcheeks
>quite a nice pair, too, if a bit big
>and smelly
>the air in the room is rank with the constant outbursts
>smells like someone tried to burn a CD in an unwashed toiled

>another issue is the secretion
>beyond the leaky roller and the ever-present build-up of fluid at the back, there's now a layer of moisture that coats various parts of the machine
>namely, it's softened parts
>it builds up in the folds of it's belly, between the two columns at the front, and underneath it's reels
>it’s larger, plumper, softer reels
>it steel feels like metal (aluminium, to be exact), but it now seems to yield to the touch
>the coarsers inner circles around the (now larger) axle caps feel much smoother, but not as smooth as the rest of the reel, and appear puffed up
>the axle caps apear engorged, and they (along with the rest of the reels) appear to be extra sensitive spots for the machine, which now moans loudly to the slightest touch
>Hell, even exhaling over them causes it to gasp
>above the reels, the plastic underneath the two Nixie displays had plumped out as well, creating two lumps on either sides of the VU display
>they’re not yet leathery, but are softer to the touch than the unwarped plastic around them.

>the machine has a curious function
>there’s a ’karaoke’ switch with an inbuilt light on the right collumn, which seems to light up red whenever there’s a song with vocals playing
>flipping the switch doesn’t allow the user to sing along (curiously, the recorder has no microphone connector), but rather it allows the machine herself to sing along
>its damn good at it, too!
>while it still sounds robotic, it can perfectly imitate the intonation and pronouncation of the singer
>very interesting to hear Till Lindermann backed by a female singer, for example
>after the song finishes, it calls out again

„What song shall I sing for you next, Master?”

Heh.

>she’s enthusiastic
>however, there are still songs aplenty left to be recorded, and with the whole album recording fuction at disposal, it should be a breeze
>the machine has cooled down, somewhat, albeit it still leaves the room warmer than it was before it was turned on
>the rear heat vent doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job, and the larger speaker covers aren’t making the job easier
>so, it shall continue
>it had time to recover, and now, it’s ready for more
>so, it shall receive more
>tape is at 25%


>all the albums of Pink Floyd, the Rolling Stones, the Beatles
>the „gorging” has taken its toll on her

>nearly all sharp edges have been softened to a curve
>its flabby belly, now with two big rolls, bulges at the front, the bottom roll split into two by a cavernous navel between them
>stretchmarks cover it’s sides
>the tape itself is caught by the flab, and is beginning to act as a suspender for the „stomach”
>the recorder head’s is now a swollen, wet mess, the return roller leaking steadily, staining the tape, which leaves greasy marks all over the front of the machine
>the grease pools between the two thickened columns at the bottom, which now bulge forwards, almost cylindrically
>the indentation between them has been reduced to a tight gap, which is threatened by the burgeoning pillars on either sides
>the buttons are struggling to adapt to the changed topography, and some of them, such as the two large knobs on either sides (one for volume, the other so that the tape could be free-reeled back and forth), have begun to grow bigger and softer as well

>the back of the machine is beginning to grow flabby as well, rolls forming on the back wall, smaller in size when compared to the front, but greater in number
>the ass-like speaker covers have grown enormous, and are dragged down by gravity
>they, too, are marred by strechmarks
>what’s more is that they’re beginning to grow what appears to be cellulite on their lower surface
>the rear vent is leaking, too
>after one particularly wet-sounding

BLLAAAAARRRRFFFT!

>frown, check the back
>yyyep, the machine has officially sharted itself
>with a flash of anger, an open palm comes down upon the right cheek, eliciting a squeal
>could be just the internal motors, struggling to turn the reels
>they have grown even larger, any space between them rapidly disappearing
>the metal bulges forward, it’s areola-like inner areas puffy, and beginning to surround the large, nipple-like axle caps
>her „cheeks” have plumpened even further, tot he point where „dimples” appeared around the VU display, with a fatty chin forming underneath it
>the leaking continues to be a problem
>the grease leaking from the recording head is practically frothing every time the machine begins it’s „mewling”, and the tape is required to be helped along by fiddling with it’s return roller and twisting it’s metallic nips
>the fluid continues to build up between the asscheeks, only to be sprayed out by an errant, brassy fart
>perspiration, in general, seems to be a problem
>the room now smells like a subway carriage in the summer, when the brakes caught fire
>it’s a meaty, musky sort of smell, that lays thick and heavy in the air, occasionally mixing with the smell of burnt ass and plastic
>most of the machine’s surface is covered in a slick sheen of what appears to be oily sweat
>it’s especially prominent around the front, on the belly rolls, between the columns, underneath the love handles, the reels, and around the mound
>only the top of the machine retains it’s original cold, hard plastic
>well, not exactly, because the entire thing is hot as hell
>almost burning to he touch

>first playbacks continue to be cacophonous
>music often barely audible over the sound of gorging
>belches are now frequent, strewn amongst the sound of chewing, gulping and moaning
>small wonder that the speakers are still intact, considering the frequency of the thunderous static blasts, which now seem to sound wetter and wetter
>subsequent playbacks are still excellent quality

„Wou-OoooOOOoohhh…! URP! Would you li-nnnnnh…! Like to recooOOOUURPH! Song, Master?”

PHFFFFRRRRRT!

„Perhaps, AARP! Another karaooOOOOOHke sessSSsion?”

POOT!

>till cheery, still sultry, but now, it comes off as slightly desperate, thanks to her deepened, husky voice
>not too keen on recordings anymore, either
>not that that would stop her ravenous gorging
>tape at 55%


>for the next couple of days, the machine only recorded classical
>all instrumental, save for the odd Gregorian hymn
>it soothed its "metabolism", at the expense of being extra fattening

>it's belly didn't round out, or grew quite as taut as before, however, its entire form practically exploded with fat
>practically overnight, it lost all of it's sharp edges, and from there, it proceeded to gain an oval tubular shape
>already large, its belly had grown out even further, upper roll bloating upward, pulling on the tape even more
>the recorder head's mound began to tilt forward, the entire middle front section bloating outwards with flab
>the "dial columns" bulged outwards and inwards, causing some of the buttons to point outwards on inwards
>the gap between the two columns disappeared, as they began to rub together, having grown wider
>the buttons, knobs, dials, etc... seem to have grown larger and softer as well, though, they continue to function as normal
>its love-handles expanded further outward and downward
>the entire lower half of the machine broadened out in all directions
>speaker-buttocks, now fully laden with cellulite, had grown to pillow-size, and felt just as fluffy, original foamy material growing into the same, soft fake leather as all other expanded parts
>rolls upon back began to crease deeper, being pushed upwards by the expanded ass
>up top, the reels have somehow grown even broader, now only an inch or two away from touching each other, and had expanded forwards as well, doming out into soft mounds
>areolas puffed out further
>axle-cap nips still erect, now slightly swallowed by the coarser metal-flesh around them
>the reel-tits aren't being affected by gravity just yet
>dimples around VU display had grown thicker, cheeks growing even flabbier, as the sharp edges around them were disappearing
>Nixie-tube "eyes" slightly squinted by rising fat
>the fatty chin had grown prominent, and a second one was developing underneath it

>the sound of feasting heard during first playbacks has quieted down
>it sounds much more calmer now
>almost refined
>belches are infrequent, even between albums
>the loud farts have almost completely disappeared, with the exception of the occasional squeaks and poots
>the SBDs, however, remained
>with increasing frequency
>the room needs to be constantly ventilated, both to alleviate the smell somewhat

>the machine continues to sweat
>while it's new "diet" has put an end to the general greasiness, the newly softened surfaces are often moist with perspiration
>despite wrapping around it's distended front (and cutting into it's flesh like the strands of an undersized sling bikini), the tape remains in impeccable condition, and continues to provide excellent audio fidelity

>unsurprisingly, the secretions of the rear vent hand not ceased
>the viscous liquid it produces is gathered via kitchen cloth, and then punitively smeared and rubbed all over the machine
>it produces more, foul-smelling humms in return, polished shiny with it's own fluid
>frontal secretions have ebbed away slightly, no longer pooling in front of the machine
>still requires cleaning after every first playback of a newly recorded song
>cleaning is made increasingly difficult by distending abdominal adipose, and growing recording head mounds
>the husky moans certainly don't help, either

>do some research on the company
>some obscure electronics Co. from the '80s, known for their gag products and sexual paraphernalia
>acquired a formerly state-owned Russian firm in the early nineties, after the fall of the U.S.S.R.
>explains some of the buttons and dials familiar from Eastern Bloc designs
>hol'up.jpg
>said Russian company was privy to the civilian portion of a Soviet "advanced material" research, primarily regarding plastics

>have a big think about the possibility that you've been groping the results of a secret Soviet research, commercialized by pervy young Japanese businessmen

>on a whim, check the side of the machine
>right as rain, the name and logo of the company is there
>formerly a relief, but the added fat had stretched it wide, making it resemble a tattoo
>?? Inc.
>the logo is familiar: a large, stylized four-leaf clover, growing out of a trashcan that had it's top half crushed into an accordion-like shape

>they were most famous (infamous) in the paraphernalia market
>originally selling just gag products, they rose quickly, buying out many small companies (eventually including the aforementioned "commercial front" for Unknown Secret Soviet Research into plastics)
>by the mid '80s, they were already selling high-end electronics
>come the '90s, and the acquisition of the ex-Soviet company, they released the first line of "household sexual relief aids"
>"their words, not mine"
>began to stagnate in the early 2000s, coasted along on the momentum gained from the dotcom explosion, before inevitably facing the ax in 2008
>their webshop remained, trying to pay back shareholders by selling their remaining stocks and spare parts

>take a glance at the machine
>it barely resembles the small TV-sized box it was before, now taking on a distinctly pear-shaped form
>a wide base, made of the two columns at the front, and the speaker-ass at the back
>with large, hanging, bulging belly rolls pushing down and out at the front, even tilting the plump lips of the headmound forward
>love handles and cellulite growing along the sides
>and atop, two softened, engorged reels spin lazily, as the machine records another song
>they dome forward, smooth metal now yielding to the touch, coarser inner rings acting as areolae around the shiny, thick axle-cap nipples
>yyyep, definitely larger than 10,5
>they're nearly touching in the middle, too
>atop that, a "face" with chipmunk-like cheeks, thick dimples and a double chin around the VU display, and two double Nixie tube displays in the top corners, cutely upbeat in their fat-squinted state

>come home drunk one night
>been out barhopping w/ colleagues, after finishing a massive project
>met some old friends along the way, caught up with happenings over stronger drinks
>somehow made it home without being pulled over by a cop

>enter s?a?n?d?m?a?n? home
>smells of shit and burning plastic
>fugg.jpeg
>you left the recorder on to record NiN's Ghosts I-IV album
>stumble into room
>shiieet.avi
>poor things looks bloated as hell
>flabby stomach rounded out. almost into a ball
>apex criss-crossed with new stretchmarks
>also, the color is bleached to almost white in a circle around the cavernous divot of the navel
>well, it has no blood for it to grow red with tautness, after all
>try to lightly touch the full belly
>"ooops"
>you're a bit clumsy when inebriated
>grabbing her firmly by the belly, you could hear a squeaking, taxed whine rise from the reels, and a loud burbling noise from the back
>the cogs in your brain turn slowly from the alcohol, as you check behind the machine
>the see-through ass-liquid has overflown, and your little powergrab a moment before has forced some out
>now it's all over the table
>"we're going to have aaaaants, aaaaaah"
>oh, wait

>grabbing a kitchen wipe you roughly and uncoordinatedly clean up the mess
>being sure to cop a feel and smack dat ass on your way back
>finally drop into the wheely chair
>feels like you fall forever
>"that was no ordinary booze"
>its a comfy chair
>a leather armchair ('cept the arms, which are like that of a modern wheely chair - but with leather arm-rest-pillows on top), swiveling on five metallic legs
>the wheels were added afterwards
>dad got this chair from his old workplace
>he was a sound engineer there
>worked until his mid '80s, and pointed at this chair as a parting gift
>now you got it
>leather's a bit worn, but its fine
>"where was I?"
>oh, yeh
>press play on the machine

>its rough
>many of the Ghosts are quite coarse, with a lot of heavily distorted guitar and sharp, electronic noises
>also, samples
>like from that one family video with the kids and the dad dressed as Bioshock characters

>loud gurgles block out the quieter parts of the songs
>loud, speaker-crackling static-y farts echo around the house, as the machine chugs through the album
>Ghosts 4, 8, and 20 are particularly bad
>loud guitar riffs are drowned out by harsh belches
>moans and groans dominate the brief moments of silence between some songs
>the bulge of the stomach visibly recedes, as the album reaches it's end

>the tautness, however, is replaced by smell, fluid and noise
>the speakers constantly ripple with alarmingly loud, wet farts
>so much so that they're visibly jiggling, quaking and shaking, with each static burst that ripples out of them
>trouble with that is the liquid
>the machine is sharting all over the table again
>at least it doesn't smell, and easy to clean up
>crossly consider how all this anal lube will be rubbed all over it's body
>it's greasy, sweating body
>and idle thought in the back of the mind: the sudden change in genres may have upset the recorder's "stomach"
>then again, it could be tape, digging into it, putting pressure on it's "guts"
>the smell of the gas is still horrid, tho
>it smells like old chips, beer, and plastic waste
>shit, maybe you've thrown up???

>the player begins to "mewl" into Ghost #29
>look down
>grease flows freely from underneath the receding, bulge of the belly
>gently lift it up
>feel it quiver
>the mounds are swollen, the roller jiggles, struggling to carry the tape
>flick it
>a squeal from above
>leaving one finger down to keep turning the roller, the reels creep into view
>swollen into veritable tits, areolae swallowing up the nips, they now sag forward under their own weight
>hope they don't fall off
>begin titty-twisting the left reel to get it back up to speed
>the machine moans into a song
>the moan becomes another burp
>dang, not only is she sopping wet again, she's practically frothing!
>...it, you mean
>right
>right
>oh, yeah, give the right reel a purple nurple as well
>moans fill the airwaves
>not even the errant, wet fart can stop you
>but the next song can

>having returned the tape to it's normal speed, the manhandling is stopped
>it's still sweating like a pig, and panting onto the songs
>occasionally burps
>last song fades out
>the smell is starting to make you feel queasy
>then...

Oh.

Oh no.

>Ghost 37 arrives
>shit
>they say the best ghost is a hidden one
>and this track is usually enjoyable
>but right now, the smell, the lighting, the alcohol...
>its all too much
>the song overwhelms
>you grow nervous
>anxious
>you feel y?o?u?r? ?s?i?n?s? the dread crawl up on your back
>the music rises in intensity
>the room is revolving
>remember spinning around as a kid, just to get the world spinning in your head?
>that was fun
>this isn't
>you want out
>everything is fuzzy. static-y
>the room spins
>fall to the ground, on all four now
>there's a lull in the noise
>try to stand up, notice a bucket
>"why is there a bucket here?" would be the thought, if the alcohol hadn't turned into a gear-jamming jelly in your head
>suddenly, it's back
>screamingly loud
>you're terrified
>reach for the bucket, and let go of everything
>the room is spinning the music is too loud your throat is sore your mouth tastes bad everything hurts make it stop make it stop make it stop
>finally ebbs away
>retch for a while longer, strength fading
>song is over the climax now, on it's way to fade out
>notice the room growing dark in your peripheries
>push the bucket aside, stumble to the ground
>it's getting dark
>you hear one, final

BrrRrRrRRRrRRRTHFLRRRPSHhhh...!

>smells funky
>welcome to the darkness

***

>head splitting like a gymnast bomb
>body aches from hard floor
>bucket of semi-dried vomit in close proximity
>smell is unbearable
>...yyyup, that was a successful project

"Good morning, Master!"

>well, look who's cheery
>despite being a bloated mess the other night
>emphasis on mess
>it was even blushing - saw the bleached spots underneath her Nixie eyes!
>where was this embarrassment on any other day?
>like today?

>groan
>the light is harsh
>it is not your friend
>get up
>get up, you animal!
>on all fours
>good
>up on your feet, soldier
>head spinning, clasp it in a hand-vice to keep it screwed on
>stumble out of the room

>clothes discarded, shower taken
>return to room, still groggy with a headache and sore back
>stink of vomit still strong
>groan, grab bucket handle, leave room
>wonder on the way back what it was doing in the room in the first place
>open window, allow the level of fumes to return to sub-critical level
>idly take a glance at the machine from afar

>she a beaut', ain't she?
>fat-laden sides stretched wide, love-handles merging with tri-fold belly with a deep-seated button
>bulge of flab held back by the suspender-like tape on either side, digging into it without bruising it
>underneath it, the bottom of the plump, lip-like headmound is still peeking out, visibly tilted forward, as the rubbery flab-cum-synthetic flesh bulged forward with adipose
>strange, it seems to have slipped a bit lower, into the indentation between the two "dial columns"
>or, what's left of it, seeing that the columns themselves had thickened into veritable thunder thighs, that would surely rub together if they moved
>the buttons, knobs and dials either fattening along with them, or sinking into the plastic flesh
>the "thighs" support a set of child-bearing, muffin-topped hips
>and such support is needed, what, with the large, plump reel-breasts atop
>larger than any standard size on a music player, and blossoming forth into healthy, drooping bosom
>briefly recall seeing those metallic tits sway up-and-down lightly, during the playback, as if heaved by deep breaths, the kind one takes to fight against encroaching nausea
>gotta remember not to mix radically different genres in the future
>two double Nixie-tube eyes, displaying zeros, seem to look towards you, with only the tubes closer to you on either sides lit up
>cute, especially with the plumpened cheeks and dimples around her VU display
>could go without the double chin, but whatever
>and, of course, what else could fully validate the thus-established pear shape, than a pair of large buttocks
>not exactly bubble or ghetto, seeing as it's loaded with fat and no muscle, covered in cellulite, and spreading out far and wide behind--
>behind...

Oh, son of a BITCH!

>behind the machine, starting from it's ass, to the edge of the table and up the wall to roughly the same height as the machine itself, is an enormous deposit of opaque, viscous liquid
>approach with shock and anger
>damn, it's everywhere!
>coated the table and the wall in half-inch (roughly one centimeter) layer of goop
>enraged, you grasp the machine by it's top, and turn it around
>there's a nasty squelch, as it spins 180 degrees on it's own pooled grease, goop, and sweat
>God damn, there's even a few drops on it's fatty back
>it's a nice, fatty back, tho
>doughy looking, with a few fat rolls at the bottom, and--

OH LAAAAAAAAWD!

>dat
>big
>fat
>flabby
>rounded
>voluptuous
>AAAASS
>this has to be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen on a machine
>it brings tears to your eyes
>the way it bulges outwards. now that it's hanging over the edge of the table
>only one thing spoiling the image:
>the smeared goop between the two cheeks, which is now beginning to drip down onto the floor
>carefully part the (zaftig) cheeks, you go to inspect the rear heat vent
>"I swear, if this thing farts into my face, I'm gonna spank it SO HARD...!"

>once parted, the (juicy) cheeks reveal the gaping, somewhat wrinkly pucker of the vent
>the material of the speaker-covers reaches inside, before fading into darkness
>while considering the employment a colonoscopy, something slimy worms it's way out of the now freed hole
>with a wet plop, a large chunk of semi-solidified goop falls out onto the floor, quickly dissolving into a puddle
>...great


>after clearing up the mess from the floor, the table and wall are next
>use a kitchen wipe to soak up the grease that had leaked out front
>carefully, but thoroughly clear it out from between the "lips" of the headmound with a cotton swab, and use another wipe to clean between the "legs"
>use the now greasy wipes to roughly rub down the front of the reels, until they're shiny (and the axle-cap nips stand erect)
>use a sponge to scrub down the wall
>squish it dry, then use it to soak up the goop from the table
>angrily rub the liquid all over the machine's plastic, giving it a more broader rubdown
>making sure to clean between the folds
>give it's bottom a rub as well, seeing as it had been standing in essentially it's own filth for the past couple of weeks

>finally, return to dat ASS
>marvel at it's beauty
>then smack it for making a mess
>it jiggles for a while, hypnotically

*drip*

>oh, yeah, the vent remains dirty
>part dem cheeks again
>hmmm...
>against better judgement, common sense, and the aethereal whispers of your guardian angel, you decide to stick your finger inside
>...
>its warm, being a heat vent, but also wet from the goop
>try to reach further in, trying to find the source of the liquid
>the fleshy plastic seems to go on forever
>in the meantime, the machine continues to quiver, jiggle, and moan
>strange, it isn't even on playback
>ohwell.jpg
>retracting a now slimy hand, stand up to assess the situation

>being hungover always holds a few surprises
>such as leaving the shower, but never bothering to put on any clothes
>it simply slips the mind on a warm, sunny day, in the privacy of one's home
>another thing is the recurring presence of whyboner
>the lark always keeps coming back for more
>and right now, despite being only a few hours away from blackout drunkenness, and thus still probably having significant amounts of alcohol in it's system, the body can still manage to produce an impressive morning wood
>thus when idle eyes fall upon the prominent posterior of a rapturously randy (and rotund) recorder, one tends to get... curious thoughts in mind
>and by curious, we mean lewd, of course

>the machine is heavy, but not unbearably so
>after carefully lifting it up (and turning around without tugging on the USB cable), the table offers a suitable seat for the naked butt, machine seated upon the lap, facing away
>holding it is surprisingly easy: while it's ample flesh is supple, there's enough of it to firmly hold onto
>so, with one hand holding it by the top, dick is adjusted to slide between those lubed-up cheeks
>carefully begin moving - tilting - hips back and forth, hotdogging the speakers
>with the other hand settled on the love handles, the machine is being rocked against the cock, fatty cheeks grinding against the stiffy
>it feels... soft
>the plump, synthetic flesh rubs against the sides just enough to stimulate it without squeezing
>its warm to the touch
>the goop serves as great lubricant
>however, legs are starting to fall asleep from above the knee - while not TOO heavy, the machine IS cutting off circulation into the lower legs
>used hand to prop up body in order to readjust position
>hand slips on still wet surface of table
>fall back, banging head against the wall lightly

Fuck!

>notice curious sensation upon crotch
>specifically, a slight pain
>look down
>see penis bent into an arch, stuck between the two cheeks
>try to jiggle it out

>as expert hip gyrations fail to dislodge the bent phallus, a hand must come down to free it from it's awkward predicament
>...succeeds in fully sliding my dick into the vent

>the wet softness that now envelops my manhood is velvety in it's touch, and warm as a bitch
>absentmindedly begin to thrust
>awkward angle of penetration still makes it somewhat uncomfortable
>the hand which failed to extract the D now slips, crestfallen, onto the lower front of the machine, and begins fumbling with the buttons
>"imagine my surprise when..."

I let you violate me
I let you desecrate me
I let you penetrate me
I let you complicate me

...Holy shit.

>"Closer"
>classy

Help me
You broke apart my insides
Help me
I've got no soul to sell
Help me
The only thing that works for me
Help you get away from yourself

>she completely replaced Trent's voice
>changed the lyrics, too

I want us to fuck like animals
I want to feel you from the inside
Want you to fuck me like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God!

>that's debatable

I can take your isolation
I will take the hate that it brings
I will have your absence of faith
You can have my everything"

>how generous
>her insides humm and resonate with the music
>keep thrusting, the feeling of wet silk wrapping and unwrapping around my manhood
>her ass and back jiggles from the motion, love handles bouncing up and down
>she's beginning to perspire again

Help me
Tear down your reason
Help me
It's my scent you can smell
Help me
You make me complete
Let me become somebody else!"

>Buck wildly against the box
>she melts into my lap
>hear the repeated clapping, as her ass slams down onto my crotch
>she moans into the instrumental bridges
>find it strange that I can fuck her so easily
>she's bent almost at 90 degrees
>thrust in deep

>the idle hand rises from the buttons
>settles between her columns, prying between the bulging flesh
>another thrust jostles her belly upwards
>she belches, then moans as the hand slips underneath it
>the sound is starting to "mewl" again
>unseen, the hand feels up the lips of the mound
>pinky runs down in between, careful not to graze the tape
>the machine shudders
>begin turning the roller with the tip of the finger
>prop her top underneath my chin
>freed up, the other hand wanders down
>her right (now left) reel never received enough attention
>time to correct this
>finger circles the puffy metal areola
>shiny nipple slips into the grasp of the index and the thumb
>pinch, turn, and the push on areola with finger once again, homing in on the nipple in a spiral the moment the tape begins to slacken again

>she's moaning loudly now
>covered in sweat again
>her ass squelches with lube
>cheeks clapping loudly
>nipples erect, reels jittering
>completely molded to my lap
>hilt in her
>she screams

Through every forest above the trees
Within my stomach scraped off my knees
I drink the honey inside your hive
You are the reason I stay alive

>"Sorry, Trent, you'll have to finish your own song"
>she's panting, moaning
>hands massage both reels
>slip down to stomach, careful to avoid the tape
>H E F T

BLAAOORRRRRPH!

>feel the hot air against my dick
>inner thighs covered in lube
>knees coated with grease
>pull out - cheeks want to keep me in
>almost nut a second time on the way out
>she's still bent into my lap
>"something tells me this is what it feels like to fuck a midget"
>"or a quadruple amputee"
>but perish those thoughts!
>it suddenly dawns upon me

I just had sex with a machine.

>welp
>carefully put her back on the table
>she had already regained her upright posture
>good
>decide to check the recorder's specs on the computer
>reel at 71%


>in the ensuing days, a cycle begins to emerge:
>wake up
>shower
>put on clothes
>have breakfast
>brush teeth
>turn on computer and select an album or selection of songs for the recorder to, eh, record
>leave for work
>come home after work
>press play on machine, and fuck during the first playback
>shower
>have dinner
>listen to music properly, while scouring the internet
>sleep
>this goes on for a week or so, and it has a notable effect on the machine

>while it had began to loose it's boxy shape a little while ago, by now, all trace of it had disappeared - it's shape is organic in almost every sense of the word:
>while it had been showing the hints of a pear shape, by now, the machine had assumed a form what can only be described as the fattened lovechild of a pear and a hourglass
>it's speakers-covers, originally just two foam-filled pillows at the bottom of the machine's backplate, had expanded into two basketball-sized (and suitably cellulose-coated) mounds of adipose, pushing out roughly a feet (roughly 31 cm) behind the now delicately arching, fat-laden back, pushing said fat into delicious rolls above them
>the slightest movement (or rather, the slightest sound) would send them into a rippling, jiggling frenzy
>the thunderous static blasts that accompanied certain first playbacks - when various songs of radically different genres were put together, "upsetting" her "stomach" - could leave them quaking for minutes on end, AFTER the last track had faded out
>with the cheeks growing so huge, the threat of their lubricant coating the wall after a powerful blast became minimized
>however, because of this, the rear heat vent regularly required to have the goop drained from it - nothing that a good anal romp couln't solve
>spreading those cheeks apart had become slightly difficult, but nothing someone suitably horny couldn't deal with
>at the front, the two thunder thighs - formerly the two "columns" providing room for the dial interface - helped to prop up the new bulk of the machine
>as the frame widened sideways, to provide the supportive shape of broad, motherly, child-bearing hips
>as a result of this transformation, the bleached streaks of stretchmarks marred the sides of the "columns", while on the inside, they rubbed together, fattened cylinders brushing against one another

>such a broad and weighted base was necessary for what rested atop
>the reels, filled-out into large, hefty domes topped with puffy areolae, that threatened to swallow up the fattened nipples, had began to droop down under their own weight
>grown into the diameter of film reels, with their front rounding out at the front, they were constantly on the cusp of grinding into each other, and just about avoided it while still gingerly touching on their inner sides
>two things kept them from grinding together, halting all recording and playing ability
>the first one was the stack of double chins above them, formed underneath the black oblong of the digital VU display (which, as of recent, had began to show a larger, more luscious set of blue "lips" whenever the machine was talking), they were a part of the concentric dimples that formed around the "mouth" of the machine, pushed against it by a pair of chubby, cherubic cheeks (that also forced the "eyes", the pair of double Nixie numeric displays, to "squint" happily)
>these jowls helped keep the reels suitably apart to keep the turning
>however, they paled in comparison to what rested underneath them, bloating upwards every time the machine had "ingested" something that would upset her stomach (which was almost all the time, seeing as such indigestion would lead to a greater output of gas, and thus, a greater output of pleasure)

>as even without the gravid bloating, said stomach, the turgidly engorged, and then adipose-filled, bulbous multi-rolled mass, that pulled heavily on the tape like a pair of suspenders, or the strings of a sling bikini (which dug deeply into the soft, synthetic flesh as a result), was the largest individual part of the machine, taking up at least a fourth of it's overall bulk
>it's original rolls bloated into three large lumps - two at the bottom, one atop -, with the cavernous navel at their center
>swollen fecund, and then filled heavy with mass, by now, it stuck out at least a foot in front of the machine, covering the mound of the recording and reading heads - indeed, one would had to have their eyes level with the apex of the flabby beast to see the tautly-pulled tape reach the plumpened lips of the mound
>of course, such quantity of rolls lead to it's own issues, particularly when it came to perspiration - the porcine player could fill a trough with the amount of liquid it drained into it's fold each day, which was only exacerbated by even just one coarse, bass, drum, or guitarplay filled song, or thumping techno
>heavy metal constituted her heavy meals, leaving the rotund machine sweating like a pig, while songs of other genres ensured that the first playback would be composed with her own deep, brassy tubas and tooting horns, and vocalized by her own belches, burps, groans and moans
>of course, every time it's filled, the stomach bloats out even more, stretchmarks criss-crossing its sides, while around the belly button's deep crevice, the plastic turned flabby synthetic flesh becomes bleached, being unable to turn red
>on these occasions, it rises up, pushing the reels even further apart, while forcing the tape to dig deeper into it, pulling it even more taut around the headmound and roller
>the mound itself had been shifting downwards with every layer of adipose that pushed the stomach onto it, until it settled between the two "legs" of the machine, at an angle where its mostly the top of the two, curving halves and the roller that remain visible from the front
>despite seemingly being wedged between the ham-like, blubbery thighs and the plump, fat lips of the mound (to mention nothing of the abdominal fat now threatening to fully cover the former two like an apron), the tape still moved perfectly, perhaps rendered lick by the sweat, which it would've came into contact with the moment it rolled off the reel, as it was forced to fold flat against the surface of the belly on the way down
>how and why it retained it's audio fidelity despite such conditions was a mystery, perhaps, a result of glorious nippon engineering (gotta make the emperor proud!)

>of course, the first playbacks never exactly went without a hitch
>even though those thickened lips could never press the tape together enough to stop it, the roller still seemed to struggle with turning, leading to the annoying "mewling" that occurs when the tape isn't played at the right speed
>thankfully a few (continuous) flicks of a finger (with another two locked around the nipple of the deviant reel), it could resume it's function, but at the cost of secreting a veritable stream of grease, adding to the already fogging mixture of sweat and gas
>unlike the lube at the back, which was prevented from overflowing by the now enormous ass blocking it's path, this grease could flow freely, coating the depths of the headmound, and the inner thighs of the machine
>the upshot of this was that it provided the necessary lubricant to buff up the reels, much like how the excess lube was used to treat the recorder's plastic flesh, especially when it had been overfilled by a long album
>however, the cascade of lubricant was still inexplicable, especially it's frothy nature at times


>finally, the day came
>after a quickie to celebrate the recording of the last few unrecorded Bowie songs (which also revealed that psychedelic rock had a suitably psychedelic effect on the machine, what with her voice sounding high as a kite, even as she moaned into a dual belch and fart), the computer revealed that the tape was nearing completion
>there was enough room left for one song, little over 5 minutes in length
>"I knew what I had to do"

>as the machine recorded, it was difficult not to take in all of it
>it's zaftig form (for the given value of what is "pleasantly plump") wobbled slightly by it's own, slightest motions
>the reels heaved, slowly rising up and down as they turned, yet the tape continued to unfurl and roll up evenly
>her belly, not filling up from one measly song, bulged quietly, "chastely" covering her mound, with only the divots left by the tape offering a peek at it
>most of the buttons on her "thighs" had grown big and soft, dials widened into featureless nubs, slides swallowed up by the flab
>ass had grown wide enough to be visible from the front, glistening slightly, rolls of sweat making their way down it's cellulite-covered sides

>finally, the reels stopped
>Nixie tube displays halted at 0504
>five minutes, four seconds
>not that long, but then again, not much time would be required
>today isn't about music
>it is more of a send-off, after all
>with the tape complete, and with considerable doubt about the removability of the reels...
>well, it was fun, and the machine is still a functioning reel-to-reel player, despite it all
>with excellent audio quality
>still, it was it's gaining that made the whole procedure extra appealing
>and with the tape complete, that part of the magic would be lost

>this had to be made to count
>taking a sponge to rub down the machine, hands trace every curve, every dimple, and every roll of flab there was
>it is time

>strip
>no need to coax out an erection, dick was already at full mas
>gently lift the machine
>or, what passes as gently, considering how fucking heavy it had gotten
>sitting on the table
>heard it groan when the recorder was lifted
>hope it'll take the weight of both of you
>careful with the cords

>this
>the position, a reminder of the day the machine had gone from a provider of auditory (and visual) pleasure to the giver of a much more carnal one
>FUCK, she's heavy, tho
>but, at last, she sits (rather heavily) on the lap
>good thing the song is so short, 'cause she's already cutting off the blood flow.
>although, that does mean more is flowing into the D
>"My God, dat ASS"
>it's... beautiful
>to round pillows of jiggling, soft flesh
>to call the sight a hotdog in it's bun would bring to mind two round loaves of bread, dwarfing the sausage between them
>slowly slipping further in
>as it enters the vent, the idle hand, for once busy with gripping the love handles, now slips forward, and, with a practiced movement
>...fumbles around among the fattened dials to find the play button
>finally manages to trace it out, aaaand...

>it began with a patter of drums, and then, the saxophone came in
>she moaned, perhaps in surprise
>perhaps, a cringing groan
>rocking her back and forth, slowly at first
>watching the flesh jitter and jiggle

I feel so unsure
As I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor
As the music dies, something in your eyes
Calls to mind the silver screen
And all its sad good-byes

>following the slow rhythm, hearing her moan into song
>it's light enough not to give her indigestion
>then again, that's not why it was chosen

I'm never gonna dance again
Guilty feet have got no rhythm
Though it's easy to pretend
I know you're not a fool

>idle hand reaches in
>fingers trace up between her columns, poking in between, to collect a dew of sweat
>lean back, pull it close
>reach under her belly

Should've known better than to cheat a friend
And waste the chance that I've been given
So I'm never gonna dance again
The way I danced with you

Time can never mend
The careless whispers of a good friend
To the heart and mind
Ignorance is kind
There's no comfort in the truth
Pain is all you'll fiiiiiiiiinnnnndd

>"mewling again?"
>typical
>reach under her belly, trace the lips of her mound
>reach the offending roller, and circle around
>she moans into the song, quiet as she can
>the other hand reaches up

IIIIII ssshooouuuuld'vvve knoooownnn beeetteeerrrr thaaaannn toooo cheeeaaat aaaa fffrriiieeennnd
AAAAnd wwaaaaste thee chaaaance thaaaat IIIII'vve beeeeeennnn giiiiivvennn
SSoooo IIII'mmm neeevveeeer goonnnnaaaa daaaannnce aaagaaaainnn
Thee wwaaaayy IIII daaaannnnced wwiiith yoooouuuuu

>God, this is so bawdy
>but hey, it's for her her

NNNeeeeevvveeeeer wwwiithooouuut yyyooouuuurrrr lllooooovvve

>it was meant to be erotic
>romantic, even
>realized JUST a bit too late that a ballad about cheating on a partner and it's consequences -.no matter how much "sexophone" you add - isn't exactly the pinnacle of romantic material
>or, it is, but not in the way you wanted

Toooonnnniiiight thee mmmuuussiiic ssseeeemmmssss ssssoooo lllooouuuuud
IIIII wwwiiissish thaaat wweeee cooouuuuld llloooossse thiiis crrroooowd
MMMMaaayyybeeee iiit'sss beeeetteeeerrr thiiisss wwwaaaaayyy
WWWWeee'd huuuurrrt eeeaach ooootherrrr wwwwiiith theee thiiiinnnngs wwweee'd wwwaaaannnnt toooo ssssaaaaayyyy

>other hand reaches reels
>gentry trace around them, doing figure eights between the areolae
>hug her close, she melts onto you
>pinch the nipple of the slower reel, and give it a good twist!

WWWeeee cooould have been so good together
We could have lived this dance forever
But no one's gonna dance with me
Please stay!

>that's better
>at least, it isn't so cringeworthy anymore
>no wait, it is
>"you're trying to woo your recorder"
>"tha's cringey from the get-go, m8"

Fuck.

>next time, you'll be playing Das Alte Lied
>or Sex
>if there IS a next time

And I'm never gonna dance again
Guilty feet have got no rhythm
Though it's easy to pretend
I know you're not a fool

>...fuck it.
>"you've set yourself up for this, and you're gonna fucking finish it!"
>slowly begin to pick up the pace
>cheeks smush against pelvis upon each turn
>can barely feel legs beneath the thighs, time to speed things up

Should've known better than to cheat a friend
And waste the chance that I've been given
So I'm never gonna dance again
The way I danced with you

>slap-slap-slap - goes the assclap
>gripping her sides again, praying that the reels won't fall off

Now that you're gone
(Now that you're gone) What I did's so wrong, so wrong
That you had to leave me alone

>time to wrap this up
>arms snake around sides, hand slip around under belly
>hips thrust reach maximum speed
>playing that roller like a fiddle, both hands on it
>the song fades out, she's practically screaming
>and then, hilt, NUT
>firmly grasp stomach, H E F T

B-BoOOUUUAAAAAAARRRRRP!
PHFFFRRRRRRRLBLBLBLRRRPP!

>gas sweeps past the D
>room smells of burnt ass
>thighs coated with lube - and bruises, probably
>and then, she says it:

"Tape at 100%"

>it is done
>slowly begin to pull out
>then

"You may utilize the "B" side to continue recording!"

>then Anon got an idea
>an awful idea
>Anon got a wonderful, awful idea

"...oh no..."

>her voice was too cheery - probably pre-recorded for this occasion
>that little gasp and whisper sounded MUCH more authentic

Poot!

>a scared little fart squeaks out around, as her belly is gripped again
>playing with her tummy
>wonder whatever you shall start recording tomorrow...

***