Welcome to

The air left my lungs in a rush as consciousness slammed back into me—but something was wrong. The bedroom was gone. The sweat-slick sheets, the phone recording our depravity, Kevin panting beneath me in Sophie’s ruined body—gone.

Instead, I blinked around the Drews' living room, disoriented.

And then I saw them.

The real Drews.

Abby—actual Abby, not Russel—was curled against Henry's side, shaking violently under a hastily thrown blanket. Her tear-streaked face snapped up when my arm instinctively tightened around her, her brown eyes wide with raw terror. "D-Dad?" she whispered, voice cracking.

A thrill shot through me. Holy shit. They remembered.

A choked sob tore my attention to the couch. Sophie was hunched over, clutching her ripped panties in white-knuckled fists, her entire body shuddering. Her yoga pants were around her ankles, her thighs glistening with—fuck.

"I don’t remember," she gasped, nails digging into her scalp. "I don’t remember, Lance, I just—I opened my eyes and Dad was inside me—!" She gagged, dry heaving as Lance—real Lance—rubbed her back, his own face pale.

"Soph, breathe, just breathe," Lance muttered, his voice uncharacteristically soft as his hands trembled against her back. His usual swagger was gone—replaced by something raw and terrified. When his gaze flicked to me, the cocky college senior who'd once smugly walked around our building's gym in just a towel now looked at Henry Drew like he was seeing a monster for the first time.

The realization hit me like a shot of adrenaline. These weren't just hot neighbors anymore—they were marked, broken in the best possible way. And Lance wasn't seeing his father when he looked at me.

He was seeing the man who'd fucked his sister raw.

Across the room, Samantha clutched the phone with trembling fingers, the plastic slick beneath her sweat-damp palms. "Please, I need help," she gasped into the receiver, her voice cracking under the weight of hysteria. Her free hand tugged at her ruined blouse—buttons torn away, silk clinging to her sticky skin. The metallic tang of sex clung to the air, mingling with something sharper, fouler beneath.

Her stomach lurched as fractured images surfaced—Lance's weight pinning her to the couch, his thick cock stretching her obscenely wide, her own moans ringing in her ears. The way her nails had scraped down his back, urging him deeper, begging for it like some base animal. Then Sophie's shattered scream slicing through the haze—

"DADDY, STOP—!"

"—my son was inside me," Samantha rasped into the phone, the words like shards of glass in her throat. Her thighs clenched, still throbbing with the ghost of Lance's brutal pace. "And Henry—" She choked, knees buckling as fresh horror crested. The memory of Sophie sprawled beneath her husband, her legs splayed, her panties torn aside—his thick fingers bruising her hips as he—

A sob tore through Samantha's chest. She pressed a trembling hand between her legs, coming away slick with fluids that weren't hers. "I don't remember any of it," she whispered, voice breaking as she stared at the evidence glistening on her fingers. "But my body does."

Sophie's sharp inhale cut through the room. Samantha turned to find her eldest daughter curled against the armrest, legs clamped tight, her tear-streaked face buried in her hands. Blood smeared her inner thighs where Henry had—

The phone slipped from Samantha's grasp. She didn't hear it clatter to the floor. Didn't hear the distant voice of the operator still crackling through the receiver.

All she heard was the hitch in Sophie's breath as their eyes met—and the unspoken nightmare thrashing behind them.

A broken sound escaped her throat. "Something's wrong with us," she managed before the phone slipped from her fingers. "God, what did we do?"

The question hung in the air, thick with delicious terror. I swallowed hard, fighting back a grin. This was better than the plan. The site said first hour free—but it never mentioned the hosts would remember.

Abby shuddered against my chest, her breath hitching in ragged gasps. "Daddy... what just happened?" she whispered, her fingers digging into my arm with desperate strength. "I—I don't understand. One second Lance was laughing, then everything went dark, and then..." Her voice broke as fresh tears spilled over. "He was inside mom and you were—" She couldn't finish, pressing her face against my shoulder to muffle a sob.

The horror in her voice sent a jolt of heat straight to Henry's cock. She didn't know it was us. She thought her real family had—

My fingers moved before I could stop them, Henry's thumb brushing a tear from her cheek in a gesture that felt frighteningly natural. "Shhh, peanut," the nickname slipped out automatically, Henry's deep voice soothing in a way I'd never mastered. "It's gonna be okay."

She pulled back just enough to search my face, confusion warring with desperate hope. "But—but you saw them too, right?" she choked out. "It wasn't just me? Lance would never—"

A memory slammed into me—Lance at six years old, planting himself between Abby and some neighborhood bully, tiny fists raised. The protective fury in his eyes even then. My grip tightened on Abby's shoulder, fingers finding the exact spot Henry always touched when she was scared.

"Dad?" Abby whispered when I didn't answer, her voice unbearably small.

Fuck yes. The realization hit me like a shot of whiskey—she thought Henry had chosen this. That he'd looked at his own daughter and—

"'Course I saw," I lied, Henry's voice rougher than I intended. "Wasn't me, peanut. Wasn't Lance either." The words tasted right, especially when her breath hitched at the implication. "Something... took over."

Her eyes widened, the first spark of understanding breaking through the terror. "Like... like possession?" she breathed.

A fresh wave of Henry's memories crashed over me—Abby at eight, hiding under her blankets after watching some horror movie she'd been told not to. The way he'd sat on the edge of her bed explaining demons couldn't touch good kids while she clung to his sleeve.

I stroked her hair without thinking, the motion eerily practiced. "Yeah, peanut. Something like that."

The relief that washed over her face was intoxicating. She collapsed against me, her trembling gradually easing. "I knew it," she muttered into my shirt. "I knew you'd never—" She couldn't say it, but her fingers clutched at me like I was the only solid thing left in her world.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with anticipation. She believed every word.

Why wouldn't she?

To Abby, I wasn't some college kid who'd hijacked her dad's body for kicks.

I was the man who'd bandaged her scraped knees and chased away nightmares. And fathers don't lie.

Samantha’s frantic voice cut through the tension. "No, please, listen—we didn’t choose this—!" She broke off suddenly.

Then the phone slipped from her fingers.

Her blank stare sent a thrill down my spine.

Then—slowly—Samantha’s lips curled into a smirk. James’ smirk.

Samantha’s frantic voice cut through the tension. "No, please, listen—we didn’t choose this—!" Her words faltered mid-sentence, the desperate edge in her tone flattening abruptly.

The phone tumbled from her suddenly slack fingers, clattering against the hardwood.

I watched, pulse hammering, as her expression drained of all emotion—her wide, terrified eyes glazing over like frosted glass. Her lips parted slightly, breath coming in slow, even puffs now instead of panicked gasps. For a long moment, she just stood there, blank and unseeing, as if someone had pressed pause on her consciousness.

Then—subtly at first—her fingers twitched. A slow blink. The barest tilt of her head as awareness seeped back in, but wrong. Different.

Her vacant stare locked onto me, and the corner of her mouth twitched.

Not Samantha’s fear.

James’ amusement.

A shiver raced down my spine.

Then—slowly—Samantha’s hands rose to the blouse she'd hastily buttoned up. With a sharp yank, she tore it open, buttons scattering across the hardwood as she exposed her full breasts. The phone clattered to the floor, forgotten, as James moaned through Samantha's lips, her fingers immediately kneading the soft flesh.

"Fuck yes," he groaned, squeezing her tits roughly, thumbs brushing over stiff nipples. "God, these things are perfect." He arched Samantha's back, letting out a satisfied sigh as he palmed himself, fingers sinking into the supple curves. "Better than I remembered."

Sophie’s head jerked up, eyes wild with dawning horror. "Mom—?"

Her voice cracked as realization slammed into her—this wasn’t over. The same nightmare was starting again. Her panicked gaze darted to Henry, desperate for some shred of safety, some proof that at least he was still—

Then she saw it.

The slow, predatory grin spreading across her father’s face as his hands slid up Abby’s trembling body. His fingers dug possessively into her little sister’s breasts, squeezing hard enough to make Abby whimper.

Lance lunged forward with a snarl. "Get your fucking hands off her!"

But John just chuckled darkly, twisting Abby’s nipple between his fingers until she cried out. "Relax, champ," he drawled, voice dripping with mockery. "You’ll get your turn."

Sophie’s stomach lurched. The last threads of hope snapped as Abby’s terrified eyes met hers—wide, pleading, begging her to make it stop.

But Sophie already knew.

No one was coming to save them.

Abby's breath hitched first—a sharp little gasp as her pupils dilated unnaturally wide. Her fingers twitched against my arm, tightening briefly before going slack. The color seemed to drain from her face, leaving behind an eerie blankness as her wide brown eyes glazed over, staring through me like I wasn't even there. Her whole body swayed before collapsing against me, completely limp.

For five heartbeats, she barely breathed. Then—slowly—her vacant stare sharpened into focus. A slow, unfamiliar smirk curled Abby's lips as Russel settled into her features like pulling on a well-worn glove.

"Oh hell yes," Russel murmured, blinking as if emerging from deep water before flexing Abby's fingers experimentally. His grin widened when he noticed the flush creeping down her neck.

Across the room, Sophie froze mid-panic—her terrified expression locking into place before smoothing into unsettling blankness. Her limbs stiffened like a marionette with cut strings before toppling sideways off the couch. Kevin's awakening was slow, methodical—Sophie's fingers twitching first, then her legs drawing up instinctively as if protecting herself. When her eyes finally opened, the frantic fear was gone, replaced by lazy amusement as Kevin adjusted to his new vessel.

"Ohhh yeah," he breathed, the words coming out slow, thoughtful—like he was tasting Sophie's voice for the first time.

Lance's possession was the most violent. His panicked snarl choked off mid-breath, his body locking up like he'd been electrocuted. His knees hit the carpet first, then his hands—fingers splaying wide as tremors wracked his tall frame. Steve's consciousness punched through in ragged bursts—Lance's breath coming in sharp pants, his muscles twitching erratically. Then, all at once, the tension bled out. With a slow, satisfied exhale, Steve stretched Lance's limbs one by one, cracking his neck with a contented sigh.

"Fuckin’ finally," Steve groaned through Lance's voice, cracking his borrowed knuckles before shooting James—who was currently palming Samantha's tits with lazy familiarity—a sharp look. "Hope you're ready to share mommy dearest this time, asshole. You hogged my damn cock the whole first round."

James rolled Samantha's eyes, popping another button on her blouse. "Don't whine," she drawled, watching with amusement as Russel stretched Abby's lithe body against me, already settling into his new vessel with predatory grace.

Abby's—no, Russel's—fingers traced lazy circles along my chest, her lips curling into that familiar smirk that didn't belong on the girl's innocent face. "Plenty of fun to be had," Russel purred in Abby's sweet voice, arching her back to press those perky tits against me.

James nodded approvingly at the display. "Pretty sure John's already claimed first dibs on our little cheerleader," she added with a wink, running Samantha's hands down her own curves.

I shrugged, giving Steve a knowing look. "Actually, I don't mind switching it up." My fingers trailed up Abby's thigh possessively. "You want Abby so bad? Take her. I'll take James and this MILF body for a spin instead."

Steve's eyes lit up, Lance's taller frame straightening with interest. "Fuck yeah," he growled, already reaching for Abby's wrist.

Russel giggled—an unnatural, throaty sound coming from Abby's mouth—and wiggled out of my grip. "Ooooh, sharing is caring," she teased, batting Abby's lashes at Steve. "But you're not getting me alone, big guy." She jerked her chin toward Sophie, where Kevin was stretching her limbs with lazy satisfaction. "You're taking both of us."

Steve's grin turned feral. "Even better."

Kevin rolled Sophie's shoulders with a smirk, arching her back to show off Sophie's perfect curves. "Gonna have to pace yourself, Steve," he purred in Sophie's velvety voice. "Wouldn't want you tapping out before we really get started."

James peeled off Samantha's blouse with practiced ease, popping the last button with a flick of her wrist. "Careful with these two," she warned Steve with a smirk. "First time might ruin you for anyone else."

Kevin ran Sophie's hands down his borrowed body, pausing to cup her own breasts with a contented sigh. "Damn right," he agreed. "This body was made to be worshiped."

Steve licked his lips hungrily, Lance's tall frame tensing with anticipation. "Then let's see if she lives up to the hype."

James just laughed, shaking Samantha's head as she shimmied out of her skirt. "Oh, she will," she promised, stepping closer to press Samantha's voluptuous curves against me. "They always do."

Kevin preened, running Sophie's hands down her own curves. "What can I say? I'm a natural."

Russel snorted, already tugging at the hem of Abby's tight top. "Yeah, a natural freak," he purred in her voice, peeling the fabric up over her head with a wicked grin. The cool air hit Abby's bare skin as he tossed the shirt aside, fingers immediately tracing the outline of her lace bra.

Kevin wasn't far behind—Sophie's nimble fingers made quick work of her own clothes, shimmying out of her leggings with practiced ease. The soft thump of fabric hitting the floor punctuated his breathy laugh. "Damn, this body feels good," he groaned, palming Sophie's pert breasts through the thin satin of her bra before snapping the clasp open.

Steve watched with hungry eyes as they stripped, Lance's muscular frame tensing with anticipation. "Fuck, keep going," he growled, backing toward the hallway as Russel popped the button on Abby's jeans.

Russel obliged with a smirk, shimmying Abby's hips until the denim pooled at her feet. The matching lace panties followed—tossed carelessly over his shoulder as he stepped free. "Like what you see, big guy?" he teased, running Abby's hands down her toned stomach.

Kevin hooked Sophie's thumbs into the waistband of her panties, peeling them down slowly—just enough to tease. "Better hurry," he murmured, nodding toward Lance's bedroom door. "Unless you want the show to start right here."

Steve didn't need telling twice. With a sharp grin, he turned on his heel, leading the way as Kevin and Russel followed—bare skin gleaming under the dim hallway lights, their borrowed bodies already humming with anticipation.

James rolled Samantha's eyes and turned to me, eyebrow raised. "Well? You just gonna stand there, or are we putting this MILF body to use?"

I didn't need telling twice. My hands were already on Samantha's hips, pulling her against me as Henry's cock throbbed impatiently.

Game on.

My gaze drank in Samantha's bare form—hers, yet his, shaped by James' hungry possession. Breasts swaying with every breath, thighs slick with undeniable arousal, she was already dripping for me.

James didn't bother with niceties. With a throaty chuckle, he tore my zipper open, shoving fabric aside until Henry's thick length sprang free. "Let mommy show you how this perfect little housewife rides cock," he purred through Samantha's lips before slamming down onto me in one fluid motion.

I arched off the couch with a ragged curse as Samantha's tight heat engulfed me. No warm-up, no teasing—just James taking exactly what he wanted with brutal efficiency.

"Christ, you're greedy," I managed as she began fucking herself on me, her hips pistoning in obscene rhythm.

James just tossed Samantha's hair over his shoulder with a smirk, her full tits bouncing with every sharp downward thrust. "You think this is greedy?" He paused, letting me feel how perfectly his borrowed body clenched around Henry's cock. Then, with deliberate slowness, he tilted forward until Samantha's sweaty cleavage pressed against my chest—lips brushing my ear. "Wait 'til I make you cum inside her while the kids watch."

The filthy promise sent a shock through me—just as James gripped my shoulders and dropped onto me with a wet slap, taking me to the hilt.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

Just James turning Samantha's milf body into his personal pleasure toy, fucking himself raw on my cock like he owned it—because right now?

He fucking did.