"Awesome! Are you serious? But you said I couldn't have sockets! You said they're addictive and I'd end up a pleasure junkie."
"I said I didn't want you getting until you were 15. You're old enough and responsible enough now to regulate your own pleasure intake. Though if your grades start to suffer, I'm having them removed."
"Thanks, dad. I promise, I'll only use them, like, twice a day, tops! Is that everything?"
"For now. There might be more depending on how well you behave afterwards." He glances at his watch. "You know your mother doesn't get back for another two hours. If we go now, we can have you changed before she gets back."
You can barely contain your excitement as you drive to the change clinic. The kids at school are going to be so jealous when they see your new tits. You practically race into the clinic.
"Whoa there, kiddo," your dad chuckles, catching up to you as you hover excitedly over the change machines. "It's just a minor chromosome swap and a couple tissue injections, nothing worth shelling out for a change machine. I'm not made of money, y'know."
The staff are polite and efficient. They dress you in a loose surgical gown and lay you on a warm, metal slab in a sterile room away from the reception. As the anti-gravs kick in, your body floats into the air. Two white gowned surgeons gather around, their faces obscured by masks. "I don't think we'll need those today," one of the surgeons mumbles behind her mask, pushing away the polished metal limbs of a surgical machine hanging from the ceiling.
The other brandishes a neural dampener. "Is this gonna hurt?" you gulp.
He chuckles. "Quite the opposite." As the small neural dampener is secured against your head, a pleasant, soothing tingling fills you, lulling you into unconsciousness.
You come awake abruptly, as the dampener is removed. You feel tired and weak. You're still floating above the surgical bed, though your gown has been stripped away. One of the surgeons is dropping a handful of bloody scalpels and surgical tools into a bucket of pink sterilizing fluid, and stripping the gore encrusted gloves from his hands. The other stands next to you, the neural dampener in his hand. The breasts on your chest float in the anti-gravity field, the large globes of soft flesh rippling, but as the anti-grav abates and you sink down onto the surgical bed, they settle heavily on your chest. Your plumped rear meets the warm metal of the surgical bed several seconds before your shoulders do - it feels vast as it spreads out beneath you.
You cup your full breasts in your hands, heart racing like a child with a new toy, There are no nipples. Where they should be, two metal discs have been studded into the flesh, and as your finger drifts across the surface of the right one, a sharp orgasm spasm runs down to your new pussy. The sensation ceases the instant you take your hand away.
"Somebody's eager," one of the surgeons smirks.
"Careful with them. Give them a few minutes to settle in first."
They help you to your feet. Staring down at your slim, delicate legs, you can barely believe such paltry pins can take your weight, and for a moment it looks like your fears were well founded. For a few moments, your legs tremble and wobble, held up only by the support of the surgeon. "That's just the dampener wearing off. It's nothing to worry about. Other than that, you're free to go."
Talk about speed of service. The other surgeon slides back the door opening onto the busy clinic. You are guided gently but firmly towards the door. The clinics are always in high demand, and the next patient is already waiting impatiently outside the door.
"Wait, don't I need to get dressed first?" you say. Or try to. How could you have forgotten? Reaching your hand to your face, you discover...
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