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Peter Parker & Mary-Jane - The Amazing Spider-Man & Venomess - Issue 1: Symbiote Seduction in Spider-Man & MJ's Transformations Continuity Stories
by
ninhjimmy007
· 27 Sep 2025
A different kind continunity story of Spider-man + What if Mary-Jane becomes She-Venom
1.4K
0
0
Peter Parker Spider-Man & Mary-Jane in Spider-Man & MJ's Transformations Continuity Stories
by
ninhjimmy007
· 27 Sep 2025
In this intro, Peter Parker and Mary Jane will tell you about their superhero life and transformation
1.1K
1
0
Overlaid in Overlaid
by
Kripto
· 24 Sep 2025
Calyope is a bisexual witch who has settled down with a normal guy. But when she discovers a magical rune of transformation, she thinks she might have discovered a way to have the best of both worlds. She just has to convince her husband to let her transform him first.
8.0K
2
1
Chapter 3 in Spooky Island Adventures
by
AziAzi
· 17 Sep 2025
Switching over to Trisha's POV, she's already been taken by the demons. With her body now under their possession, you and your friends step closer to danger, now that you have a wolf in sheep's clothing within your group...
2.3K
0
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Chapter 1: A new ability in Shifting Desire
by
Oneplus123
· 14 Sep 2025
You discover you have a shapeshifting ability, but it's limited to the girls you have sex with
792
3
0
See All Stories
New Adventures
Inspired by the Mr Suits story, but this time you can choose your own path!
A little green alien needs your help to survive earth, but also needs to possess someone you know!
[Detailed Description]
Johnny Watson was just like any other 19-year-old teenager but one day, during a night of restless sleep he makes a discovery that changes his life forever. In his back garden he discovers an alien who’d crash landed on earth having ejected from his wrecked ship. When it turns out the alien is friendly Johnny vows to help him find his ship but the first port of call for Squawg is to find a new body to hide in and for Johnny that means watching somebody he knows getting possessed by the little space man.
Who he possesses and what happens next is up to you? Will they ever find the aliens ship? Or is Squawg destined to spend the rest of his life on earth wearing the bodies of the people around him?
CHARACTERS
[Characters]
Squawg: An alien from outer space. Comes from a highly intelligent race of aliens but is a little but its safe to say he isn’t too smart. He knows little about earth and his curiosity to learn more about the planet that he has crash landed on is constantly getting him into trouble much to the annoyance of Johnny. He looks like a typical mainstream alien, 4-foot-tall, green in color with a big oval shaped head and skinny gangly limbs.
You (Johnny Watson): You’re a slightly below average 19 year-old boy. You have a nice way about you but can be mischievous at times. Due to your poor athleticism and average looks you get picked on by those looking for someone to torment, mainly Alfie. Your best friend is Tom who you share your passions for Fortnite, and big breasted women. You’re on the shorter and pudgier side and have short brown hair which you sweep over to the side and blue piercing eyes. You’re into all that supernatural and sci-fi stuff which is why when Squawg lands in your garden you’re more curious than scared.
Sally Watson: Your 43-year-old mother. Works as the nurse at your high school but is forbidden from helping you at school. She is a kind lady however she can be stern when she wants to be. Lucky for you she’s only mildly attractive so the boys at school don’t wind you up about her. She is relatively short, has dark brown shoulder length hair and greeny-blue eyes. Maybe it was because you’d never looked at her in a sexual way or perhaps it was because she was exceptionally good at covering them up but unbeknownst to you and your friends your mom was absolutely stacked.
Matt Watson: Your 45-year-old dad. A tall, burly man standing at about 6ft 4in, unfortunately none of his size had been passed on to you. He was usually quite busy at work, though he earned his own business so got to decide when he wanted to work, which at the moment seemed like all the time. He was very strict with you, always forcing you to work harder, you knew he just wanted the best from you but it really did anger you.
Georgina Watson: Your 28 year-old sister. Can really wind you up at times though you generally get along well with her. She attends a local college to study acting having left your school just last year. She stands at 6ft having inherited your dad’s height has long brown hair and dark green eyes. She has a curvaceous body and hanging from her chest she has two large breasts which she, much like your mom, doesn’t like to show off.
Tom Daniels: Your best friend. He was 19 but for his age was, unlike you, reasonably well built being 6ft tall and having some relatively large muscles. He played in the soccer team and was accepted by the ‘cool’ kids though he preferred hanging around with you. You’d been friends with him since year 2 and share a lot of the same interests. He has medium length light blonde hair which he leaves unkempt not seeming to care much what other people thought about how he looked, which amplified his modesty seeing as he was still a pretty good-looking guy, having a fair few girls who had crushes on him over the years. He lives right next door to you.
Mrs. Norris
32
Single neighbor milf next door, her body has changed to much more curvy with time. She is aware of how her appearance affects others, and gets a thrill from showing off her looks. Very kind, however also has a perverted streak and harbors fantasies of being a submissive (may make a willing host)
SETTING & WORLD
Middle sized town where you Johnny knows most people in his area. Upper middle class neighborhood, with some nearby woods.
A little green alien needs your help to survive earth, but also needs to possess someone you know!
[Detailed Description]
Johnny Watson was just like any other 19-year-old teenager but one day, during a night of restless sleep he makes a discovery that changes his life forever. In his back garden he discovers an alien who’d crash landed on earth having ejected from his wrecked ship. When it turns out the alien is friendly Johnny vows to help him find his ship but the first port of call for Squawg is to find a new body to hide in and for Johnny that means watching somebody he knows getting possessed by the little space man.
Who he possesses and what happens next is up to you? Will they ever find the aliens ship? Or is Squawg destined to spend the rest of his life on earth wearing the bodies of the people around him?
CHARACTERS
[Characters]
Squawg: An alien from outer space. Comes from a highly intelligent race of aliens but is a little but its safe to say he isn’t too smart. He knows little about earth and his curiosity to learn more about the planet that he has crash landed on is constantly getting him into trouble much to the annoyance of Johnny. He looks like a typical mainstream alien, 4-foot-tall, green in color with a big oval shaped head and skinny gangly limbs.
You (Johnny Watson): You’re a slightly below average 19 year-old boy. You have a nice way about you but can be mischievous at times. Due to your poor athleticism and average looks you get picked on by those looking for someone to torment, mainly Alfie. Your best friend is Tom who you share your passions for Fortnite, and big breasted women. You’re on the shorter and pudgier side and have short brown hair which you sweep over to the side and blue piercing eyes. You’re into all that supernatural and sci-fi stuff which is why when Squawg lands in your garden you’re more curious than scared.
Sally Watson: Your 43-year-old mother. Works as the nurse at your high school but is forbidden from helping you at school. She is a kind lady however she can be stern when she wants to be. Lucky for you she’s only mildly attractive so the boys at school don’t wind you up about her. She is relatively short, has dark brown shoulder length hair and greeny-blue eyes. Maybe it was because you’d never looked at her in a sexual way or perhaps it was because she was exceptionally good at covering them up but unbeknownst to you and your friends your mom was absolutely stacked.
Matt Watson: Your 45-year-old dad. A tall, burly man standing at about 6ft 4in, unfortunately none of his size had been passed on to you. He was usually quite busy at work, though he earned his own business so got to decide when he wanted to work, which at the moment seemed like all the time. He was very strict with you, always forcing you to work harder, you knew he just wanted the best from you but it really did anger you.
Georgina Watson: Your 28 year-old sister. Can really wind you up at times though you generally get along well with her. She attends a local college to study acting having left your school just last year. She stands at 6ft having inherited your dad’s height has long brown hair and dark green eyes. She has a curvaceous body and hanging from her chest she has two large breasts which she, much like your mom, doesn’t like to show off.
Tom Daniels: Your best friend. He was 19 but for his age was, unlike you, reasonably well built being 6ft tall and having some relatively large muscles. He played in the soccer team and was accepted by the ‘cool’ kids though he preferred hanging around with you. You’d been friends with him since year 2 and share a lot of the same interests. He has medium length light blonde hair which he leaves unkempt not seeming to care much what other people thought about how he looked, which amplified his modesty seeing as he was still a pretty good-looking guy, having a fair few girls who had crushes on him over the years. He lives right next door to you.
Mrs. Norris
32
Single neighbor milf next door, her body has changed to much more curvy with time. She is aware of how her appearance affects others, and gets a thrill from showing off her looks. Very kind, however also has a perverted streak and harbors fantasies of being a submissive (may make a willing host)
SETTING & WORLD
Middle sized town where you Johnny knows most people in his area. Upper middle class neighborhood, with some nearby woods.
856
3
0
This adventure is about you and your girlfriend who use the spell to transform your girlfriend into a MILF.
CHARACTERS
You - The Protagonist of the story who use the MILF spell on your girlfriend to transforms her into your MILF fantasy
Your Girlfriend
SETTING & WORLD
Your house at a simple nice neighborhood.
CHARACTERS
You - The Protagonist of the story who use the MILF spell on your girlfriend to transforms her into your MILF fantasy
Your Girlfriend
SETTING & WORLD
Your house at a simple nice neighborhood.
While you’re in your room, a strange noise suddenly comes from the living room.
You get up to check it out, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in a mess of problems. Just like that, your whole day takes a wild turn.
Characters:
You
Just… you. Pretty normal, nothing special.
Tim (your friend)
He looks like a regular guy, but he’s really short and way too into hugs and piggyback rides. Seriously, way too much.
Allison (your sister’s friend)
Super smart, kind of a mad scientist type. Honestly, she might be taking the “genius” role a little too seriously.
Elena (your “bully”)
She’s not exactly bullying you, but she’s definitely meaner than she needs to be. Her left eye it's icy blue, the right it's deeply red and her skin’s pale, I sometimes wonder if she’s anemic.
Mary (your sister)
She’s obsessed with cosplay. Right now she’s dressed as Megumin, and I keep telling myself it’s just a phase. Like that time I caught her kissing Tessa—she disappeared for days after that, too embarrassed to face me. She pretends it never happened, says I’m imagining things… but I know what I saw.
Emily (just Emily)
Red hair, bright green eyes—really striking. She’s bossy, bratty, and loves teasing me. But she never pushes too far, probably because Mary steps in like she’s her older sister… or maybe something else. Oh, and she hates Angel, for reasons I can’t figure out.
Tessa (your neighbor)
Sweet girl, but oddly obsessed with kissing. I swear I once saw her making out with Mary, but Mary insists she doesn’t remember anything. Weird, right?
Angel (just Angel)
She’s… angelic. Like, literally glows with this serene aura. Maybe she was a saint in another life? All I know is she really doesn’t like Emily, and I have no idea why.
John (your classmate)
Classic nerd. Also, the laziest guy alive. I’ve caught him asleep more times than I can count.
Lilith (the transfer student)
Just moved here from far away. Super friendly, really athletic, but sometimes she moves like she doesn’t even have bones. She calls herself “the queen” when she’s around her friends—no clue if that’s a joke or not.
Rachel (Mary’s classmate)
Creepy and mysterious. Always in black, always with a hood up. I’m pretty sure she likes snakes—I swear I heard her hissing once.
Elle (the yoga instructor)
Flexible to the point of being terrifying. She can twist into poses I didn’t even know were humanly possible.
Hilary (the jogger)
Energizer bunny in human form. I see her running for hours without stopping.
Hasty (the housekeeper)
She used to work for some noble family, but now she’s out of a job. Still wears her maid outfit all the time, though, probably hoping someone hires her again.
You get up to check it out, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in a mess of problems. Just like that, your whole day takes a wild turn.
Characters:
You
Just… you. Pretty normal, nothing special.
Tim (your friend)
He looks like a regular guy, but he’s really short and way too into hugs and piggyback rides. Seriously, way too much.
Allison (your sister’s friend)
Super smart, kind of a mad scientist type. Honestly, she might be taking the “genius” role a little too seriously.
Elena (your “bully”)
She’s not exactly bullying you, but she’s definitely meaner than she needs to be. Her left eye it's icy blue, the right it's deeply red and her skin’s pale, I sometimes wonder if she’s anemic.
Mary (your sister)
She’s obsessed with cosplay. Right now she’s dressed as Megumin, and I keep telling myself it’s just a phase. Like that time I caught her kissing Tessa—she disappeared for days after that, too embarrassed to face me. She pretends it never happened, says I’m imagining things… but I know what I saw.
Emily (just Emily)
Red hair, bright green eyes—really striking. She’s bossy, bratty, and loves teasing me. But she never pushes too far, probably because Mary steps in like she’s her older sister… or maybe something else. Oh, and she hates Angel, for reasons I can’t figure out.
Tessa (your neighbor)
Sweet girl, but oddly obsessed with kissing. I swear I once saw her making out with Mary, but Mary insists she doesn’t remember anything. Weird, right?
Angel (just Angel)
She’s… angelic. Like, literally glows with this serene aura. Maybe she was a saint in another life? All I know is she really doesn’t like Emily, and I have no idea why.
John (your classmate)
Classic nerd. Also, the laziest guy alive. I’ve caught him asleep more times than I can count.
Lilith (the transfer student)
Just moved here from far away. Super friendly, really athletic, but sometimes she moves like she doesn’t even have bones. She calls herself “the queen” when she’s around her friends—no clue if that’s a joke or not.
Rachel (Mary’s classmate)
Creepy and mysterious. Always in black, always with a hood up. I’m pretty sure she likes snakes—I swear I heard her hissing once.
Elle (the yoga instructor)
Flexible to the point of being terrifying. She can twist into poses I didn’t even know were humanly possible.
Hilary (the jogger)
Energizer bunny in human form. I see her running for hours without stopping.
Hasty (the housekeeper)
She used to work for some noble family, but now she’s out of a job. Still wears her maid outfit all the time, though, probably hoping someone hires her again.
108
1
0
A mad scientist tricks a young couple into becoming a pair of mindless sexdolls under his control
CHARACTERS
Katie- a buxom Latina in her mid 20’s. Outwardly shy and polite but an adventurous lover. She is a double d cup and has a large ass. Dreams of becoming a model.
Nito- Katie’s boyfriend. Slim but musclar with buzzed hair. His cock is large and he knows how to please Katie. He is supportive of Katie’s dreams of becoming a model
Dr. Geppetto- middle age German scientist who uses his knowledge of nanotechnology to convert people into mindless remote controlled dolls. He will act as a different perfesion to get his goal, not afraid of using trickery.
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day Florida
CHARACTERS
Katie- a buxom Latina in her mid 20’s. Outwardly shy and polite but an adventurous lover. She is a double d cup and has a large ass. Dreams of becoming a model.
Nito- Katie’s boyfriend. Slim but musclar with buzzed hair. His cock is large and he knows how to please Katie. He is supportive of Katie’s dreams of becoming a model
Dr. Geppetto- middle age German scientist who uses his knowledge of nanotechnology to convert people into mindless remote controlled dolls. He will act as a different perfesion to get his goal, not afraid of using trickery.
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day Florida
600
3
0
Yorg is an alien slug from another solar system. He was sent here on a routine survey mission to observe Earth and the human race. However, his ship malfunctioned and crashed onto the planet before he could finish his survey. In order to survive on Earth, Yorg relied on his possession abilities to control human hosts in hopes to wait for rescue. He enters a female human body through their pussy or ass, which is made easier by the pheromones he produces, making any human in the area so horny they can’t put together thoughts. When he realizes that rescue would never come. He decides to make Earth his new home and starts a colony here by copying himself. He spread himself into a couple of girls before transferring himself into a sorority member on spring break, Alice. Now he’s back at the sorority slowing converting its members into his colony.
CHARACTERS
Yorg- foot long purple alien slug who uses his ability to enter and control bodies to spread into new bodies
SETTING & WORLD
Current day college
CHARACTERS
Yorg- foot long purple alien slug who uses his ability to enter and control bodies to spread into new bodies
SETTING & WORLD
Current day college
410
1
0
See All Adventures
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0 / 10,000 characters
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Inspired by the Mr Suits story, but this time you can choose your own path!
A little green alien needs your help to survive earth, but also needs to possess someone you know!
[Detailed Description]
Johnny Watson was just like any other 19-year-old teenager but one day, during a night of restless sleep he makes a discovery that changes his life forever. In his back garden he discovers an alien who’d crash landed on earth having ejected from his wrecked ship. When it turns out the alien is friendly Johnny vows to help him find his ship but the first port of call for Squawg is to find a new body to hide in and for Johnny that means watching somebody he knows getting possessed by the little space man.
Who he possesses and what happens next is up to you? Will they ever find the aliens ship? Or is Squawg destined to spend the rest of his life on earth wearing the bodies of the people around him?
CHARACTERS
[Characters]
Squawg: An alien from outer space. Comes from a highly intelligent race of aliens but is a little but its safe to say he isn’t too smart. He knows little about earth and his curiosity to learn more about the planet that he has crash landed on is constantly getting him into trouble much to the annoyance of Johnny. He looks like a typical mainstream alien, 4-foot-tall, green in color with a big oval shaped head and skinny gangly limbs.
You (Johnny Watson): You’re a slightly below average 19 year-old boy. You have a nice way about you but can be mischievous at times. Due to your poor athleticism and average looks you get picked on by those looking for someone to torment, mainly Alfie. Your best friend is Tom who you share your passions for Fortnite, and big breasted women. You’re on the shorter and pudgier side and have short brown hair which you sweep over to the side and blue piercing eyes. You’re into all that supernatural and sci-fi stuff which is why when Squawg lands in your garden you’re more curious than scared.
Sally Watson: Your 43-year-old mother. Works as the nurse at your high school but is forbidden from helping you at school. She is a kind lady however she can be stern when she wants to be. Lucky for you she’s only mildly attractive so the boys at school don’t wind you up about her. She is relatively short, has dark brown shoulder length hair and greeny-blue eyes. Maybe it was because you’d never looked at her in a sexual way or perhaps it was because she was exceptionally good at covering them up but unbeknownst to you and your friends your mom was absolutely stacked.
Matt Watson: Your 45-year-old dad. A tall, burly man standing at about 6ft 4in, unfortunately none of his size had been passed on to you. He was usually quite busy at work, though he earned his own business so got to decide when he wanted to work, which at the moment seemed like all the time. He was very strict with you, always forcing you to work harder, you knew he just wanted the best from you but it really did anger you.
Georgina Watson: Your 28 year-old sister. Can really wind you up at times though you generally get along well with her. She attends a local college to study acting having left your school just last year. She stands at 6ft having inherited your dad’s height has long brown hair and dark green eyes. She has a curvaceous body and hanging from her chest she has two large breasts which she, much like your mom, doesn’t like to show off.
Tom Daniels: Your best friend. He was 19 but for his age was, unlike you, reasonably well built being 6ft tall and having some relatively large muscles. He played in the soccer team and was accepted by the ‘cool’ kids though he preferred hanging around with you. You’d been friends with him since year 2 and share a lot of the same interests. He has medium length light blonde hair which he leaves unkempt not seeming to care much what other people thought about how he looked, which amplified his modesty seeing as he was still a pretty good-looking guy, having a fair few girls who had crushes on him over the years. He lives right next door to you.
Mrs. Norris
32
Single neighbor milf next door, her body has changed to much more curvy with time. She is aware of how her appearance affects others, and gets a thrill from showing off her looks. Very kind, however also has a perverted streak and harbors fantasies of being a submissive (may make a willing host)
SETTING & WORLD
Middle sized town where you Johnny knows most people in his area. Upper middle class neighborhood, with some nearby woods.
A little green alien needs your help to survive earth, but also needs to possess someone you know!
[Detailed Description]
Johnny Watson was just like any other 19-year-old teenager but one day, during a night of restless sleep he makes a discovery that changes his life forever. In his back garden he discovers an alien who’d crash landed on earth having ejected from his wrecked ship. When it turns out the alien is friendly Johnny vows to help him find his ship but the first port of call for Squawg is to find a new body to hide in and for Johnny that means watching somebody he knows getting possessed by the little space man.
Who he possesses and what happens next is up to you? Will they ever find the aliens ship? Or is Squawg destined to spend the rest of his life on earth wearing the bodies of the people around him?
CHARACTERS
[Characters]
Squawg: An alien from outer space. Comes from a highly intelligent race of aliens but is a little but its safe to say he isn’t too smart. He knows little about earth and his curiosity to learn more about the planet that he has crash landed on is constantly getting him into trouble much to the annoyance of Johnny. He looks like a typical mainstream alien, 4-foot-tall, green in color with a big oval shaped head and skinny gangly limbs.
You (Johnny Watson): You’re a slightly below average 19 year-old boy. You have a nice way about you but can be mischievous at times. Due to your poor athleticism and average looks you get picked on by those looking for someone to torment, mainly Alfie. Your best friend is Tom who you share your passions for Fortnite, and big breasted women. You’re on the shorter and pudgier side and have short brown hair which you sweep over to the side and blue piercing eyes. You’re into all that supernatural and sci-fi stuff which is why when Squawg lands in your garden you’re more curious than scared.
Sally Watson: Your 43-year-old mother. Works as the nurse at your high school but is forbidden from helping you at school. She is a kind lady however she can be stern when she wants to be. Lucky for you she’s only mildly attractive so the boys at school don’t wind you up about her. She is relatively short, has dark brown shoulder length hair and greeny-blue eyes. Maybe it was because you’d never looked at her in a sexual way or perhaps it was because she was exceptionally good at covering them up but unbeknownst to you and your friends your mom was absolutely stacked.
Matt Watson: Your 45-year-old dad. A tall, burly man standing at about 6ft 4in, unfortunately none of his size had been passed on to you. He was usually quite busy at work, though he earned his own business so got to decide when he wanted to work, which at the moment seemed like all the time. He was very strict with you, always forcing you to work harder, you knew he just wanted the best from you but it really did anger you.
Georgina Watson: Your 28 year-old sister. Can really wind you up at times though you generally get along well with her. She attends a local college to study acting having left your school just last year. She stands at 6ft having inherited your dad’s height has long brown hair and dark green eyes. She has a curvaceous body and hanging from her chest she has two large breasts which she, much like your mom, doesn’t like to show off.
Tom Daniels: Your best friend. He was 19 but for his age was, unlike you, reasonably well built being 6ft tall and having some relatively large muscles. He played in the soccer team and was accepted by the ‘cool’ kids though he preferred hanging around with you. You’d been friends with him since year 2 and share a lot of the same interests. He has medium length light blonde hair which he leaves unkempt not seeming to care much what other people thought about how he looked, which amplified his modesty seeing as he was still a pretty good-looking guy, having a fair few girls who had crushes on him over the years. He lives right next door to you.
Mrs. Norris
32
Single neighbor milf next door, her body has changed to much more curvy with time. She is aware of how her appearance affects others, and gets a thrill from showing off her looks. Very kind, however also has a perverted streak and harbors fantasies of being a submissive (may make a willing host)
SETTING & WORLD
Middle sized town where you Johnny knows most people in his area. Upper middle class neighborhood, with some nearby woods.
856
3
0
This adventure is about you and your girlfriend who use the spell to transform your girlfriend into a MILF.
CHARACTERS
You - The Protagonist of the story who use the MILF spell on your girlfriend to transforms her into your MILF fantasy
Your Girlfriend
SETTING & WORLD
Your house at a simple nice neighborhood.
CHARACTERS
You - The Protagonist of the story who use the MILF spell on your girlfriend to transforms her into your MILF fantasy
Your Girlfriend
SETTING & WORLD
Your house at a simple nice neighborhood.
While you’re in your room, a strange noise suddenly comes from the living room.
You get up to check it out, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in a mess of problems. Just like that, your whole day takes a wild turn.
Characters:
You
Just… you. Pretty normal, nothing special.
Tim (your friend)
He looks like a regular guy, but he’s really short and way too into hugs and piggyback rides. Seriously, way too much.
Allison (your sister’s friend)
Super smart, kind of a mad scientist type. Honestly, she might be taking the “genius” role a little too seriously.
Elena (your “bully”)
She’s not exactly bullying you, but she’s definitely meaner than she needs to be. Her left eye it's icy blue, the right it's deeply red and her skin’s pale, I sometimes wonder if she’s anemic.
Mary (your sister)
She’s obsessed with cosplay. Right now she’s dressed as Megumin, and I keep telling myself it’s just a phase. Like that time I caught her kissing Tessa—she disappeared for days after that, too embarrassed to face me. She pretends it never happened, says I’m imagining things… but I know what I saw.
Emily (just Emily)
Red hair, bright green eyes—really striking. She’s bossy, bratty, and loves teasing me. But she never pushes too far, probably because Mary steps in like she’s her older sister… or maybe something else. Oh, and she hates Angel, for reasons I can’t figure out.
Tessa (your neighbor)
Sweet girl, but oddly obsessed with kissing. I swear I once saw her making out with Mary, but Mary insists she doesn’t remember anything. Weird, right?
Angel (just Angel)
She’s… angelic. Like, literally glows with this serene aura. Maybe she was a saint in another life? All I know is she really doesn’t like Emily, and I have no idea why.
John (your classmate)
Classic nerd. Also, the laziest guy alive. I’ve caught him asleep more times than I can count.
Lilith (the transfer student)
Just moved here from far away. Super friendly, really athletic, but sometimes she moves like she doesn’t even have bones. She calls herself “the queen” when she’s around her friends—no clue if that’s a joke or not.
Rachel (Mary’s classmate)
Creepy and mysterious. Always in black, always with a hood up. I’m pretty sure she likes snakes—I swear I heard her hissing once.
Elle (the yoga instructor)
Flexible to the point of being terrifying. She can twist into poses I didn’t even know were humanly possible.
Hilary (the jogger)
Energizer bunny in human form. I see her running for hours without stopping.
Hasty (the housekeeper)
She used to work for some noble family, but now she’s out of a job. Still wears her maid outfit all the time, though, probably hoping someone hires her again.
You get up to check it out, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in a mess of problems. Just like that, your whole day takes a wild turn.
Characters:
You
Just… you. Pretty normal, nothing special.
Tim (your friend)
He looks like a regular guy, but he’s really short and way too into hugs and piggyback rides. Seriously, way too much.
Allison (your sister’s friend)
Super smart, kind of a mad scientist type. Honestly, she might be taking the “genius” role a little too seriously.
Elena (your “bully”)
She’s not exactly bullying you, but she’s definitely meaner than she needs to be. Her left eye it's icy blue, the right it's deeply red and her skin’s pale, I sometimes wonder if she’s anemic.
Mary (your sister)
She’s obsessed with cosplay. Right now she’s dressed as Megumin, and I keep telling myself it’s just a phase. Like that time I caught her kissing Tessa—she disappeared for days after that, too embarrassed to face me. She pretends it never happened, says I’m imagining things… but I know what I saw.
Emily (just Emily)
Red hair, bright green eyes—really striking. She’s bossy, bratty, and loves teasing me. But she never pushes too far, probably because Mary steps in like she’s her older sister… or maybe something else. Oh, and she hates Angel, for reasons I can’t figure out.
Tessa (your neighbor)
Sweet girl, but oddly obsessed with kissing. I swear I once saw her making out with Mary, but Mary insists she doesn’t remember anything. Weird, right?
Angel (just Angel)
She’s… angelic. Like, literally glows with this serene aura. Maybe she was a saint in another life? All I know is she really doesn’t like Emily, and I have no idea why.
John (your classmate)
Classic nerd. Also, the laziest guy alive. I’ve caught him asleep more times than I can count.
Lilith (the transfer student)
Just moved here from far away. Super friendly, really athletic, but sometimes she moves like she doesn’t even have bones. She calls herself “the queen” when she’s around her friends—no clue if that’s a joke or not.
Rachel (Mary’s classmate)
Creepy and mysterious. Always in black, always with a hood up. I’m pretty sure she likes snakes—I swear I heard her hissing once.
Elle (the yoga instructor)
Flexible to the point of being terrifying. She can twist into poses I didn’t even know were humanly possible.
Hilary (the jogger)
Energizer bunny in human form. I see her running for hours without stopping.
Hasty (the housekeeper)
She used to work for some noble family, but now she’s out of a job. Still wears her maid outfit all the time, though, probably hoping someone hires her again.
108
1
0
A mad scientist tricks a young couple into becoming a pair of mindless sexdolls under his control
CHARACTERS
Katie- a buxom Latina in her mid 20’s. Outwardly shy and polite but an adventurous lover. She is a double d cup and has a large ass. Dreams of becoming a model.
Nito- Katie’s boyfriend. Slim but musclar with buzzed hair. His cock is large and he knows how to please Katie. He is supportive of Katie’s dreams of becoming a model
Dr. Geppetto- middle age German scientist who uses his knowledge of nanotechnology to convert people into mindless remote controlled dolls. He will act as a different perfesion to get his goal, not afraid of using trickery.
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day Florida
CHARACTERS
Katie- a buxom Latina in her mid 20’s. Outwardly shy and polite but an adventurous lover. She is a double d cup and has a large ass. Dreams of becoming a model.
Nito- Katie’s boyfriend. Slim but musclar with buzzed hair. His cock is large and he knows how to please Katie. He is supportive of Katie’s dreams of becoming a model
Dr. Geppetto- middle age German scientist who uses his knowledge of nanotechnology to convert people into mindless remote controlled dolls. He will act as a different perfesion to get his goal, not afraid of using trickery.
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day Florida
600
3
0
Yorg is an alien slug from another solar system. He was sent here on a routine survey mission to observe Earth and the human race. However, his ship malfunctioned and crashed onto the planet before he could finish his survey. In order to survive on Earth, Yorg relied on his possession abilities to control human hosts in hopes to wait for rescue. He enters a female human body through their pussy or ass, which is made easier by the pheromones he produces, making any human in the area so horny they can’t put together thoughts. When he realizes that rescue would never come. He decides to make Earth his new home and starts a colony here by copying himself. He spread himself into a couple of girls before transferring himself into a sorority member on spring break, Alice. Now he’s back at the sorority slowing converting its members into his colony.
CHARACTERS
Yorg- foot long purple alien slug who uses his ability to enter and control bodies to spread into new bodies
SETTING & WORLD
Current day college
CHARACTERS
Yorg- foot long purple alien slug who uses his ability to enter and control bodies to spread into new bodies
SETTING & WORLD
Current day college
410
1
0
A three foot tall alien named Crypto uses his ability to mind control and body snatch to explore, experience, and breed and experience pleasure. An Adventure based on Destroy All Humans 2
CHARACTERS
Crypto: a 3foot tall alien with a cocky attitude who already has experience on earth decides to postpone his goal of conquering the earth to experience human pleasures with his ability to mind control and possess human bodies.
His ability to mind control is telepathic, using his advanced mind to dominate and pacify the humans mind, his control ranges from turning someone into a mindless puppet all the way to having the subject worship him as a god
Crypto’s ability to possess human bodies requires him to blast the potential host with a mental blast, where he needs to overpower their mind with his. Once the host mind is dominated, he can choose how he possesses a body. He can phase into a host like a ghost, enter their mouth, pussy, or ass like a parasite to puppet a body, or transfer his consciousness into a host while leaving his own body unconscious.
Crypto has a ship which can grow or shrink depending on his needs, and can turn invisible.
SETTING & WORLD
Current day
Beach town to start
CHARACTERS
Crypto: a 3foot tall alien with a cocky attitude who already has experience on earth decides to postpone his goal of conquering the earth to experience human pleasures with his ability to mind control and possess human bodies.
His ability to mind control is telepathic, using his advanced mind to dominate and pacify the humans mind, his control ranges from turning someone into a mindless puppet all the way to having the subject worship him as a god
Crypto’s ability to possess human bodies requires him to blast the potential host with a mental blast, where he needs to overpower their mind with his. Once the host mind is dominated, he can choose how he possesses a body. He can phase into a host like a ghost, enter their mouth, pussy, or ass like a parasite to puppet a body, or transfer his consciousness into a host while leaving his own body unconscious.
Crypto has a ship which can grow or shrink depending on his needs, and can turn invisible.
SETTING & WORLD
Current day
Beach town to start
459
1
0
Your girlfriend discloses a secret fantasy of hers…to become possessed by an alien parasite! And as luck would have it… she has found one to invade and control her body. However, she wants you to be the guide to the extraterrestrial tourist hijacking her sexcrazed body.
Your girlfriend Hannah confesses to you a fantasy of hers while watching a cheesy sci-fi movie. She confesses that the idea of an alien invading and taking control of her body, like in the movie you’re both watch, has always been a fantasy of hers. She loves the idea of watching and feeling her body move out of her control and confesses another thing. One of her friends has been possessed and has asked her to be a willing host to another one of its kind.
CHARACTERS
Hannah, your girlfriend, early 30s, very curvy, bisexual.
You
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day, Oregon
Your girlfriend Hannah confesses to you a fantasy of hers while watching a cheesy sci-fi movie. She confesses that the idea of an alien invading and taking control of her body, like in the movie you’re both watch, has always been a fantasy of hers. She loves the idea of watching and feeling her body move out of her control and confesses another thing. One of her friends has been possessed and has asked her to be a willing host to another one of its kind.
CHARACTERS
Hannah, your girlfriend, early 30s, very curvy, bisexual.
You
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day, Oregon
270
2
0
You are the new Knight Commander of an all female squad. You job is to make them loyal to the Knights core.
CHARACTERS
Daniel (You): Stands as 6"3', black hair and battle scarred. A loyal member of the Knights. You were put in charge of the Sapphire Rose Knight Unit.
Joan: Your Vice Commander and former Captain of the unit. She has blonde hair, is 5"6', and the strictest.
Hazel: The logistics of the Unit. 5'4 with violent hair and a carefree attitude.
Alice: The medic of the Unit. 5"1' with crimson red hair. She is nice and respectful.
Jenny: The smith of Unit. 5"5' with black hair. She is gruff and friendly.
Yuna: The scout of the Unit. 4"10 with Silver hair. She is all spite and anger.
Zen: Your sister and the cook of the Unit. 5"5' with Black hair. She is gentle and hopeful.
SETTING & WORLD
[Setting & World]
A fantasy world where magic and machine exist together but the world never evolved past Medival socially.
CHARACTERS
Daniel (You): Stands as 6"3', black hair and battle scarred. A loyal member of the Knights. You were put in charge of the Sapphire Rose Knight Unit.
Joan: Your Vice Commander and former Captain of the unit. She has blonde hair, is 5"6', and the strictest.
Hazel: The logistics of the Unit. 5'4 with violent hair and a carefree attitude.
Alice: The medic of the Unit. 5"1' with crimson red hair. She is nice and respectful.
Jenny: The smith of Unit. 5"5' with black hair. She is gruff and friendly.
Yuna: The scout of the Unit. 4"10 with Silver hair. She is all spite and anger.
Zen: Your sister and the cook of the Unit. 5"5' with Black hair. She is gentle and hopeful.
SETTING & WORLD
[Setting & World]
A fantasy world where magic and machine exist together but the world never evolved past Medival socially.
323
5
3
This story is about Jim and his crazy transformation adventure along with his friends, girlfriend, family, and other people around him.
This interactive story is quite similar to BE Addventure, but with AI. You can freely choose and type anything you want.
CHARACTERS
Jim, the Protagonist - The average teenager whom you play as.
Sharon, Jim's longtime girlfriend - The pretty girl whom Jim goes out
Rick, Jim's best friend
and others
This interactive story is quite similar to BE Addventure, but with AI. You can freely choose and type anything you want.
CHARACTERS
Jim, the Protagonist - The average teenager whom you play as.
Sharon, Jim's longtime girlfriend - The pretty girl whom Jim goes out
Rick, Jim's best friend
and others
172
0
0
Have you heard about Earth crystals, gaya, and soul energy? Surely it's just people rationalizing trauma, but what happens when a young man who has recently graduated with a degree in business administration finds himself in a dire labor market provoked by a recession?
Our protagonist finds himself making the universe work, repairing the lives of middle-aged women directly from the inside. To some people, being the universe's little janitor is better than working in Enron 2.0.
Jack moved to Concordia to accomplish his dreams of making a name for himself and proving that he is worthy of being called a genius. His ambitions are put on hold when the financial market crashes momentarily. Who could have thought that a company that makes carpets couldn't get us to Mars?
After an unfortunate job interview, Jack finds himself getting rolled for a piano and dying. When he awakens in a white limbo, preparing himself to confront heaven or hell, instead, the universe itself tells him that, well, souls after death just become background noise. The universe presents an alternative; he can return to the world of the living if he restores harmony in the lives of some chosen ones. He accepts, although he has no idea what the job is about. Darkness surrounded him, and he lost consciousness.
CHARACTERS
Jack, the protagonist. A young man in his early twenties, having just graduated, was the youngest in his school and had the best grades. But being the best doesn't matter when nobody is hiring.
Concordia, the capital city. The city of dreams, so large and densely populated that it could be a state of its own. Filled with joys, sorrows, and lives that Jack needs to repair.
SETTING & WORLD
A world as mundane as our own, but where souls and esoteric forces exist.
Our protagonist finds himself making the universe work, repairing the lives of middle-aged women directly from the inside. To some people, being the universe's little janitor is better than working in Enron 2.0.
Jack moved to Concordia to accomplish his dreams of making a name for himself and proving that he is worthy of being called a genius. His ambitions are put on hold when the financial market crashes momentarily. Who could have thought that a company that makes carpets couldn't get us to Mars?
After an unfortunate job interview, Jack finds himself getting rolled for a piano and dying. When he awakens in a white limbo, preparing himself to confront heaven or hell, instead, the universe itself tells him that, well, souls after death just become background noise. The universe presents an alternative; he can return to the world of the living if he restores harmony in the lives of some chosen ones. He accepts, although he has no idea what the job is about. Darkness surrounded him, and he lost consciousness.
CHARACTERS
Jack, the protagonist. A young man in his early twenties, having just graduated, was the youngest in his school and had the best grades. But being the best doesn't matter when nobody is hiring.
Concordia, the capital city. The city of dreams, so large and densely populated that it could be a state of its own. Filled with joys, sorrows, and lives that Jack needs to repair.
SETTING & WORLD
A world as mundane as our own, but where souls and esoteric forces exist.
294
1
0
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These stories tells you about Peter Parker and his lovely redheaded big-tittied wife, Mary-Jane Waston-Parker with her transformations.
(PETER PARKER, in his classic red-and-blue Spider-Man suit, though the mask is off and pushed back like a hood, sits on a comfortable couch next to his wife, MARY JANE WATSON-PARKER. She’s stunning, with a cascade of fiery red hair and a confident, loving smile. They’re both turned slightly, as if addressing a camera. A soft, romantic light glows around them.)
PETER: (Clears his throat, a little nervous) So, uh… hey. Hi. If you’re watching this, you probably know the deal. Radioactive spider, great power, great responsibility, all that. The whole… thing.
MARY JANE: (Laughs, a warm, rich sound. She playfully elbows him.) The whole ‘thing’? Tiger, you saved the city, like, a dozen times last week. You can say it. You’re Spider-Man. The Amazing Spider-Man.
PETER: (Blushes slightly, smiling at her) Right. That. And this… this is my wife, Mary Jane. The most amazing woman in any universe, multiverse, or frankly, any conceivable dimension. Geez, I'm just getting tired of all the multiverse now.
MARY JANE: (She leans into him, her head on his shoulder) Flatterer. But he’s not wrong. We’ve been through it all, haven’t we, Pete? That dorky, nervous kid from Queens who tripped over his own feet asking me out…
PETER: (Groans good-naturedly) Do we have to bring that up?
MARY JANE: Absolutely. And our first kiss… up on that web-line, with the city lights sparkling below us. I knew you were my Spider then. I’ve known you were Spider-Man since we were teenagers, and I’ve loved every single crazy, web-slinging, villain-punching minute of it.
PETER: (He looks at her, his expression full of adoration) And we got married. For real. No devil deals, no retcons, no editors from on high deciding we’d be better off miserable and apart. Just… us.
MARY JANE: (Her expression turns wry, addressing the ‘camera’ directly) You hear that, certain comic book writers? We’re happy. We’re together. We’re a team. And we have a life that’s… well, let’s just say it’s never, ever boring.
PETER: Understatement of the century, MJ. Because while my life is pretty consistently weird, yours… yours has taken some truly unexpected turns.
MARY JANE: (A mischievous glint appears in her emerald eyes) Oh, you have no idea. Or, well, I guess you’re about to. We thought we’d share some stories. The kind of stories they’d never let us tell in the funny pages these days. The good stuff.
PETER: (Rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture) Right. The… ahem… transformative experiences.
MARY JANE: (She grins, a brilliantly wicked smile) That’s one way to put it. Remember that time, a few years back, when that weird black goo from space didn’t latch onto you, Tiger? It decided it liked my fashion sense better, including improving everything within me.
PETER: How could I forget? I came home and instead of my beautiful wife, there was… a towering, powerful, incredibly voluptuous creature of pure alien symbiote. White spider emblem and everything. You called yourself… Venom or Venomess.
MARY JANE: (Her voice drops to a playful, sultry growl) We… are Venom. And we had… needs. Very specific, very physical needs. And let’s just say my strong, sticky husband was more than equipped to handle them. All those extra tendrils came in very handy.
PETER: (His face is now completely red. He fans himself with his hand.) Wow. Okay. Yeah. That’s… that’s a story. Then there was the summer you and I went to Central Park and found that weird geode that fell from the sky…
MARY JANE: Oh, the Omnitrix! Yeah, instead of a kid named Ben Tennyson, I received it instead. One touch and suddenly I had access to many alien forms. Pyronite was great for roasting marshmallows, Tetramand was basically She-Hulk but an alien with four arms and four eyes… but my personal favorite is Galvanic Mechamorph because it would allow us to-
PETER: (Sputtering) MJ! The kids might—
MARY JANE: They’re not listening! Relax, tiger. Then there was the mishap at that gala at the Natural History Museum. I fell right into the exhibit…
PETER: The Clayface exhibit! Yes, I remember. Plus, Bruce Wayne and Reed Richards help you recover yourself from Joker. At that time, it didn't work right away. By the time I takes you home, you’re starts to become a shapeshifting mound of living clay. And you know what? You were still the most beautiful woman in the room. Even if you're a blob clay monster. That was… a unique experience.
MARY JANE: (Winking) You didn’t complain. Not once. And let’s not forget your own upgrade, Mr. Kamen Rider. When that ancient belt fused with your web-shooters…
PETER: (Strikes a mock-heroic pose) “Henshin!” Yeah, the armored suit was cool, I’ll admit. But it was nothing compared to you bursting through our bedroom wall as Cutey Honey, ready for… ahem… ‘action’.
MARY JANE: “Honey Flash!” It was all in the name of justice. And very, very thorough lovemaking.
(They both laugh, lost in the memory for a moment. Peter looks at MJ with utter love.)
PETER: Through it all… symbiote, aliens, clay, magical girl transformations, and many things… you’ve always been you, MJ. My Mary Jane. And I wouldn’t change a single, bizarre, incredible second of it.
MARY JANE: Me neither, Tiger. Me neither. Now, how about we tell our friends here about the time I—
(Suddenly, a door bursts open off-screen. A young girl, MAYDAY PARKER, about 8 years old, runs in, followed by her little brother, BENJY, who’s about 5.)
MAYDAY: Mom! Dad! Uncle Johnny is on fire in the backyard again!
BENJY: (Holding a action figure) He says it’s ‘flame on’ but it’s just the barbecue! It’s boring!
(Peter and MJ look at each other and sigh in perfect, happy unison.)
PETER: (To the ‘camera’, shrugging apologetically) Duty—and family—calls. Don’t worry, True Believers… there are plenty more stories where those came from.
MARY JANE: (Blows a kiss) And they’re all much, much better than ‘One More Day’. Promise!
(They get up from the couch, Peter swooping Benjy into his arms while MJ puts an arm around Mayday, and they walk out of the frame together, a perfect, loving, chaotic family.)
[STORY TITLE CARD APPEARS:]
PETER PARKER THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN & MARY-JANE WITH MANY TRANSFORMATIONS STORIES
[UPCOMING ATTRACTIONS LIST:]
* Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess What if Mary-Jane bonds and has the symbiote at first instead Peter Parker.
* Spider-Man & MJ-10 What if Mary-Jane wields and have the Omnitrix instead of Ben Tennyson
* Spider-Man & ClayMJ MJ becomes a shapeshifting clay creature, and Peter proves his love is more than skin deep.
(PETER PARKER, in his classic red-and-blue Spider-Man suit, though the mask is off and pushed back like a hood, sits on a comfortable couch next to his wife, MARY JANE WATSON-PARKER. She’s stunning, with a cascade of fiery red hair and a confident, loving smile. They’re both turned slightly, as if addressing a camera. A soft, romantic light glows around them.)
PETER: (Clears his throat, a little nervous) So, uh… hey. Hi. If you’re watching this, you probably know the deal. Radioactive spider, great power, great responsibility, all that. The whole… thing.
MARY JANE: (Laughs, a warm, rich sound. She playfully elbows him.) The whole ‘thing’? Tiger, you saved the city, like, a dozen times last week. You can say it. You’re Spider-Man. The Amazing Spider-Man.
PETER: (Blushes slightly, smiling at her) Right. That. And this… this is my wife, Mary Jane. The most amazing woman in any universe, multiverse, or frankly, any conceivable dimension. Geez, I'm just getting tired of all the multiverse now.
MARY JANE: (She leans into him, her head on his shoulder) Flatterer. But he’s not wrong. We’ve been through it all, haven’t we, Pete? That dorky, nervous kid from Queens who tripped over his own feet asking me out…
PETER: (Groans good-naturedly) Do we have to bring that up?
MARY JANE: Absolutely. And our first kiss… up on that web-line, with the city lights sparkling below us. I knew you were my Spider then. I’ve known you were Spider-Man since we were teenagers, and I’ve loved every single crazy, web-slinging, villain-punching minute of it.
PETER: (He looks at her, his expression full of adoration) And we got married. For real. No devil deals, no retcons, no editors from on high deciding we’d be better off miserable and apart. Just… us.
MARY JANE: (Her expression turns wry, addressing the ‘camera’ directly) You hear that, certain comic book writers? We’re happy. We’re together. We’re a team. And we have a life that’s… well, let’s just say it’s never, ever boring.
PETER: Understatement of the century, MJ. Because while my life is pretty consistently weird, yours… yours has taken some truly unexpected turns.
MARY JANE: (A mischievous glint appears in her emerald eyes) Oh, you have no idea. Or, well, I guess you’re about to. We thought we’d share some stories. The kind of stories they’d never let us tell in the funny pages these days. The good stuff.
PETER: (Rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture) Right. The… ahem… transformative experiences.
MARY JANE: (She grins, a brilliantly wicked smile) That’s one way to put it. Remember that time, a few years back, when that weird black goo from space didn’t latch onto you, Tiger? It decided it liked my fashion sense better, including improving everything within me.
PETER: How could I forget? I came home and instead of my beautiful wife, there was… a towering, powerful, incredibly voluptuous creature of pure alien symbiote. White spider emblem and everything. You called yourself… Venom or Venomess.
MARY JANE: (Her voice drops to a playful, sultry growl) We… are Venom. And we had… needs. Very specific, very physical needs. And let’s just say my strong, sticky husband was more than equipped to handle them. All those extra tendrils came in very handy.
PETER: (His face is now completely red. He fans himself with his hand.) Wow. Okay. Yeah. That’s… that’s a story. Then there was the summer you and I went to Central Park and found that weird geode that fell from the sky…
MARY JANE: Oh, the Omnitrix! Yeah, instead of a kid named Ben Tennyson, I received it instead. One touch and suddenly I had access to many alien forms. Pyronite was great for roasting marshmallows, Tetramand was basically She-Hulk but an alien with four arms and four eyes… but my personal favorite is Galvanic Mechamorph because it would allow us to-
PETER: (Sputtering) MJ! The kids might—
MARY JANE: They’re not listening! Relax, tiger. Then there was the mishap at that gala at the Natural History Museum. I fell right into the exhibit…
PETER: The Clayface exhibit! Yes, I remember. Plus, Bruce Wayne and Reed Richards help you recover yourself from Joker. At that time, it didn't work right away. By the time I takes you home, you’re starts to become a shapeshifting mound of living clay. And you know what? You were still the most beautiful woman in the room. Even if you're a blob clay monster. That was… a unique experience.
MARY JANE: (Winking) You didn’t complain. Not once. And let’s not forget your own upgrade, Mr. Kamen Rider. When that ancient belt fused with your web-shooters…
PETER: (Strikes a mock-heroic pose) “Henshin!” Yeah, the armored suit was cool, I’ll admit. But it was nothing compared to you bursting through our bedroom wall as Cutey Honey, ready for… ahem… ‘action’.
MARY JANE: “Honey Flash!” It was all in the name of justice. And very, very thorough lovemaking.
(They both laugh, lost in the memory for a moment. Peter looks at MJ with utter love.)
PETER: Through it all… symbiote, aliens, clay, magical girl transformations, and many things… you’ve always been you, MJ. My Mary Jane. And I wouldn’t change a single, bizarre, incredible second of it.
MARY JANE: Me neither, Tiger. Me neither. Now, how about we tell our friends here about the time I—
(Suddenly, a door bursts open off-screen. A young girl, MAYDAY PARKER, about 8 years old, runs in, followed by her little brother, BENJY, who’s about 5.)
MAYDAY: Mom! Dad! Uncle Johnny is on fire in the backyard again!
BENJY: (Holding a action figure) He says it’s ‘flame on’ but it’s just the barbecue! It’s boring!
(Peter and MJ look at each other and sigh in perfect, happy unison.)
PETER: (To the ‘camera’, shrugging apologetically) Duty—and family—calls. Don’t worry, True Believers… there are plenty more stories where those came from.
MARY JANE: (Blows a kiss) And they’re all much, much better than ‘One More Day’. Promise!
(They get up from the couch, Peter swooping Benjy into his arms while MJ puts an arm around Mayday, and they walk out of the frame together, a perfect, loving, chaotic family.)
[STORY TITLE CARD APPEARS:]
PETER PARKER THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN & MARY-JANE WITH MANY TRANSFORMATIONS STORIES
[UPCOMING ATTRACTIONS LIST:]
* Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess What if Mary-Jane bonds and has the symbiote at first instead Peter Parker.
* Spider-Man & MJ-10 What if Mary-Jane wields and have the Omnitrix instead of Ben Tennyson
* Spider-Man & ClayMJ MJ becomes a shapeshifting clay creature, and Peter proves his love is more than skin deep.
2
2.5K
1
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Calyope is a bisexual witch who has settled down with a normal guy. But when she discovers a magical rune of transformation, she thinks she might have discovered a way to have the best of both worlds.
Calyope was a novice witch. A witch that had recently had a whirlwind romance and married a man who was everything she’d ever wanted. Almost. Despite loving Eric’s masculine body, there were times she found herself wanting something different in bed. She really did enjoy the feel of her husband’s hard cock sliding between her legs. The way he held her down with his powerful body and the long moan he’d make as he erupted inside of her.
She loved it. She really did. And it should have been enough. Except…Calyope was bisexual. And even though she loved her husband’s cock and the feel of his abs and the way he fucked her with such intensity, she found herself missing the touch of a woman. There was just something about the feeling of running her fingers across gentle curves. The inhale of sweet perfume on impossibly soft breasts. The vibrant feminine moans that escaped as she used her tongue to taste a deliciously wet pussy. The feeling of her soft curves. The sweet smells. The taste of pussy on her tongue.
When Calyope chose to marry Eric, she thought she’d given up on those desires. It had been easy at first. Her high sex drive helped her go out of her way to seduce him the moment he got home from work. She would devour him, enticing him to make love in any and every position he wanted. She was his completely. So why was she still having all these fantasies about being in bed with a woman?! And it was only getting worse. The more she thought about what she’d left behind, the more she craved it. This made her feel guilty, because she had a good thing with Eric. He loved her. Had accepted her being a witch with no issues at all. And he worked so hard to help provide for their home. He had too, since he didn’t have an ounce of magical ability himself.
She told herself it was enough and that she should just move forward with her husband and his hot body. And she might have, until an old book of spells suddenly appeared on her doorstep one day. She was very curious who had dropped it off. She thought about doing a trace spell, but forgot the incantation and would have to look it up. But she got distracted from further investigation as she opened the pages. It contained a lot of advanced magic, some that might take years to master. She was about to put it aside, when she came across an intricate rune called ‘Overlaid’ that contained elements of mind control and physical transformation.
Her heart quickened its pace as she read further. To place the rune, a complicated spell must be uttered while placing hands on a person who was willing to be transformed. While chanting, the caster must envision the new shape they want the subject to take, as well as their state of mind. If done properly, a rune would be created on the person that when activated, would overlay their mind and body with a completely new persona.
It could completely alter their mind, giving them the thoughts, feelings and desires implanted by the caster, while also changing their shape, even their gender. Calyope’s heart began to beat faster as she reread the part about changing gender. It was exactly the kind of spell she was looking for that would allow her to have her cake, and be able to fuck it too.
There were two problems though. This was a very risky spell that used borderline dark magic to temporarily alter a person’s thoughts and appearance. But it also required a willing subject. It was one thing to roleplay in the bedroom. This was on another level entirely. Her husband would have to trust her so much!
Had they even been married long enough for her to ask such a thing of Eric? He’d always been so accepting of her, and had thus far been willing to do whatever she wanted to do in the bedroom. If she asked him in just the right way, perhaps with her legs wrapped around him, he’d consent to this wild idea. She grew wet as she thought of asking him for this erotic favor while his big cock was buried in her pussy.
She looked up from the book, suddenly wondering where Eric was. She wanted to fuck him right now! Why was he at work so much of the time?!
The sound of someone clearing their throat behind her made her jump in her seat. Then she heard her husband’s deep sexy voice ask, “Whatchya reading there?”
Calyope suddenly felt very embarrassed, and turned bright red. They were married. She could talk to him about anything. But this was so kinky, so perverted, and she wasn’t sure he was really ready for that conversation. So she lied. “N-nothing you’d be interested in?”
“Oh, well now I have to see!” Eric said, and he lunged for his wife.
Calyoped giggled and shoved the book out of his reach as he landed on top of her. They mock wrestled and clung to each other for several seconds. But then his hands were squeezing her boobs and she was pulling his shirt over his head between needy kisses. “I need you inside me,” she begged.
Eric smirked as he removed his underwear. “Don’t you always.”
It was true. She’d never been disinterested in sex with Eric. Sex with her man was always on the table. Would she still feel that way if he had different parts? If he exchanged his chiseled pecs for a pair of bouncy double D’s, or his hard throbbing cock for a wet and warm pussy?
The thought of it made her grasp his dick and stroke it while she looked up at him and begged. “Please! Shove it in. Right now!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed. Then he tenderly lay her down on the floor, and pushed into her.
“Fuck!” she howled, loving the initial moment of penetration. “Yeah. Give it to me hard baby! Just the way I like it!”
Thoughts of telling him about the transformation rune vanished from her mind. All she could think of was how good his cock felt. Her brain grew wonderfully fuzzy with each thrust, and all she could think to do was wrap her legs around his torso and to pull him deeper.
She came before he did. She always did.
As Eric watched her scream in ecstasy, he said, “Oh fuck! That’ll do it!” He grunted and moaned as he shot inside his wife.
He rolled off and lay beside her on their living room floor, both panting from the sudden but wonderful exertion.
“Not complaining, but what brought that on?” Eric finally asked.
“Um…well, uh, I found a new spell…” Calyope said shyly.
‘Oh yeah?” Eric said bemused. “What kind of spell?”
Calyope decided to just rip the bandaid. She shut her eyes tight and said, “It lets you transform a person!”
Eric laughed. “Want me to have an even bigger dick, is that it?”
“No!” Calyope clarified quickly. “Your dick is perfect!” And she really meant it. She loved his cock the way it was. It fit her perfectly. Stretched her out in all the right ways, like it was made for her. But, if Eric were also a woman, they’d just be getting STARTED with their lovemaking. “This would be transforming you…in other ways. I’d really be swapping out your dick with…something else…” She clenched her fists and sucked in a breath. She was so nervous about telling him, but it was right there.
After a moment of confused silence, Eric asked, “Swap it out for what?”
“Well…You know how I also like girls, right?”
“I am aware,” Eric said, wisely choking down a laugh as he realized how hard this was for his wife to say.
“This spell would let me change you into a woman.”
“A woman?!” Eric repeated with a mixture of shock and amusement.
“Not permanently or anything! Just like, it puts a magical rune on your skin, like a tattoo. And whenever I activate the rune, I could turn you into a girl, and back again, whenever I, er, WE, wanted to.” There was more to it, but she decided to leave out the fact that it also altered the mind. “The spell says the subject must be willing to have it placed on you. So, you’d have to give me consent, and I completely understand if you need time to think about it, and I’ll still love you if you say no so don’t think that you have to-”
“I’m down,” he said, cutting her off with a twinkle in his eye.
Calyope’s breath caught as her husband just casually agreed to let her fuse a rune to his skin that would allow her to radically change him! She again thought about letting him know that she’d be able to change his thoughts and personality, but didn’t want to give him any reason to change his mind. She told herself he wouldn’t care, because he’d so quickly agreed. He wanted to make her happy. And during the times he was a girl, she’d definitely go out of her way to make him happy as well.
Eric interrupted her by asking, “So, do you want to do this now or…”
Her eyes went wide, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. It was amazing enough that he was willing to do it, but even sweeter that he was willing to do it immediately. She reached out to play with his short dark hair. “That’s incredibly sweet, but no, not now.”
She noticed his expression change to one of disappointment, so she hastened to explain, “I’ll need time to read over the spell. It’s a long and tricky one and I don’t want to botch it. Plus, I’ll want to think of the type of…um…,” she felt her cheeks turning pink again. “...body I’d like you to have as a girl.”
Eric grinned. “Oh yeah? You got certain attributes in mind?” He looked down at his impressive chest and abs. “Thinking of turning my pecs into some nice round melons you can suck on? Boy, that’d be so weird, but like, yeah, it’d be cool to have your mouth there on a couple of big titties.”
That kind of talk really got Calyope’s motor running. She didn’t admit that was the first thing she’d thought about, but instead picked a more aesthetic detail. “Well, I mean, I love your hair color, but I’d just make it a little longer. Like shoulder length, and straight. I’d round out your face a bit, making it more feminine. Ooh, I’d give you full, luscious lips. And then…” Her eyes drifted down her husband’s body as very vivid details flooded her thoughts.
As if reading her mind, Eric moved a hand between his wife’s legs and began to gently finger her. “Please, keep going. Tell me how else you’d turn me into your dream girl.”
“Oh, uh…” she gasped, suddenly finding it hard to talk as her husband’s skilled fingers went to work. She placed a hand on her husband’s chest. “You’re…you’re right about me swapping out your chest. It’s a really hot chest babe, but…yeah…I’d love to see what it looks like with a pair of double D’s. I’d make them so sensitive that if I just breathed on them, you’d be begging me to suck on them.”
Eric laughed. “I would, huh? Well, I guess we’ll see about that.”
As her mind became consumed with lust, she thought to herself, ‘You wouldn’t have a choice. I’ll turn you into a horny slut that wants my mouth all over your new body.”
Her hand drifted down his abs, and came to his dick, which was semi hard and slippery with their combined juices. “I’d shrink this until it became a slit. A perfect little pussy that I could lick as much as I wanted, making you scream for more.”
“Is that all?” Eric asked, knowing his wife was almost to the brink of climax by the way she was breathing and moving her hips in time with his fingers.
“I’d make you just a little shorter than me!” she cried out. “And I’d make you-Oh fuck! I’d make you my perverted little sex slave! Yes! Yes! Fuck! Ooh!” The powerful orgasm made her shake from head to toe.
When she was finally able to relax, Eric pulled her close and they cuddled. He whispered gently in her ear, “Are you sure you can’t do that spell on me now?”
She laughed softly. “I think I need to get the dishes put away and dinner started,” she said.
Eric said nothing for a moment, then shrugged and said a playful, “Fine.” He stood and helped her to her feet. With a playful swat on her butt he said, “Get to work.”
Her mouth fell open in mock surprise, but then she giggled, and went off to do the housework.
The next few days were a blur, because everytime she had a chance, Calyope was thinking about that spell. Putting eyes on it. Sounding it out. Imagining the ideal feminine shape her husband would become, and the personality she would make him have. She was becoming obsessed, and could think of little else while she did her daily chores. It certainly made them easier.
She thought a tiny bit about maybe altering Eric’s mind to not just be a sex slave, but also be willing to do some of the mundane chores that she did every day. She didn’t mind doing them for her husband. It was part of how she showed her love and devotion to him. But she did wish he’d help out around the house a little more. The vast majority of her thoughts though, were imagining the raven haired beauty he would become, and then making that goddess put her pretty mouth between her legs.
Despite her perverted obsession, it was actually her husband that mentioned using the spell again. She’d been lost in another fantasy while the dishes magically washed, dried, and put away themselves, when her husband pressed himself against her from behind.
“How’s that rune spell coming along, Calyope? Are you ready to turn me into a sexy woman yet?”
Calyope felt his rod twitch against her ass. She instinctively pushed back, wanting to feel it slide between her cheeks. Since she was only wearing an apron, she got her wish. The delightful sensation of that hard cock made her lose her magical concentration though, and a dish crashed to the floor. “Oh shoot,” she pouted, as her husband withdrew behind her. She made a motion with her finger and the dish repaired itself and sailed into the cupboard.
“Sorry,” about that,” she heard her thoughtful husband say.
“She spun around and said, “I think I’m ready.” Goodness knows she needed to be. She needed to alleviate the sexual tension that seemed to be building exponentially inside of her as she thought about turning her husband into a woman. It had felt all consuming these last few days. “I’ve been studying it every time I get a free moment, and should have all the words memorized, so I think we should, um…” she trailed off as she realized how eager she sounded.
Eric laughed. “I can tell you’ve been thinking about it a lot. Every time I look at you while you’re doing your chores, or we’re eating, or, well, after we’re done fucking, you get that faraway look in your eye that makes me think you’re thinking about transforming me into your lesbian lover.”
“Busted,” she giggled, as she looked her husband up and down, undressing him with her eyes and fantasizing about the new curves he’d soon have.
“So where do you want to do this?” he asked curiously. The way his wife was looking at him made him feel like a slab of meat being dangled in front of a hungry lion. He didn’t mind in the least.
“How about upstairs in the bedroom,” Calyope suggested excitedly. “And I’ll need to make contact with you for the spell, so why don’t you just-”
“Get naked,” Eric finished with a wide grin.
Calyope winked at him. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, babe,” he said, winking back.
They raced upstairs. As soon as Eric walked in, he pulled off his shirt. Calyope found herself staring at his toned body, and for a moment, thought about scrapping the spell and just taking his male self right then and there.
He saw her gawking as he pulled off his pants and underwear. She was now staring right at his rigid cock that was pointing straight at her. He snapped his fingers and said, “My eyes are up here, love. I know you love this cock, but let’s try to focus,” he teased, then twisted his body side to side so his dick slapped against his torso.
Calyope felt like she was being hypnotized by the motion of that big beautiful cock. Drool had formed in her mouth. Drool that she could use to slobber all over his impressive man meat with her tongue. She shook her head and closed her eyes. She really did need to focus! She had her husband’s permission, and knew the spell pretty well. She needed to strike while the iron was hot, because who knew, tomorrow he might change his mind.
She stepped directly in front of him, and put the fingertips of her right hand onto his stomach. She could feel the tight muscles there. His body was lean and calloused and tough. Everything she wanted in her man. She almost pushed him down onto the bed so she could fuck him, but with an extra bit of willpower, she began a slow and steady chant. As she did, she put every thought into the woman she wanted him to become.
She pictured a slightly shorter physique than herself. One with shoulder length jet black hair, pouty lips, and a round face. This woman would have large, bouncy breasts, almost but not quite as big as her own. Her body would be a vision of seductive curves and soft skin. She would have a neatly trimmed bush, and an always wet and sensitive pussy.
Calyope’s thoughts turned from the physical to the mental. She knew this would reshape her husband’s mind, but she did not hesitate as she thought how this transformed woman would always desire to have sex with Calyope. She would find ways to seduce Calyope, and be willing to beg for the chance to get between her legs. And housework. She’d want to help with chores and making meals. But most importantly, she’d be a kinky slut, coming up with new and exciting ways to get each other off!
That last thought turned her on so much it threatened to distract her, and she stumbled over a few of the words. She looked down at her fingertips and was disheartened to see no rune had formed. She wondered if her carelessness had ruined her first attempt.
“It’s okay, you can do it,” Eric assured her, and put his hand atop hers encouragingly as she started saying the spell again.
Calyope put all her concentration into it this time. She tuned everything else out as she thought only about the words and the manifestation of her fantasy woman.
Slowly but surely, she felt the spark of magic against Eric’s skin. She looked down, and saw a glowing line etched itself from the top of her middle finger, to the other places her fingertips touched. She became excited as a perfect circle began to form, and inside that circle, a combined symbol of an arrow and a cross that represented the masculine and feminine. As Calyope finished the chant, it glowed brightly, and then faded. But the rune remained. A permanent magical brand on her husband’s stomach.
Eric’s brow furrowed, and he let out a breath he’d been holding. He looked down at himself, and asked with obvious disappointment, “Shouldn’t I be a girl now?”
“Not yet,” Calyope said, and licked her lips. “Now that the rune’s there, I should be able to turn you into a girl whenever I want. No lengthy spell, just a touch, and a one word command.”
“Well go ahead then, babe,” Eric said in his deep voice as he struck out his chest and did a superhero pose. “Let me help you make your bisexual dreams come true.”
Calyope bounced up and down and clapped her hands excitedly. Then she put her hand on the rune, and said, “Transform.”
The rune did not glow, but just remained a faint mark on his skin. “I don’t know what’s wrong? That should have worked!” she said. “Let me consult the-”
But before she could run and get the spell book, Eric took her hand again, and placed it over hers on his stomach. “Maybe I have to help show the magic that I’m willing? I am. I am willing,” he said, looking down at his stomach. “Let’s try again, at the same time. Ready?”
Calyope nodded and said, “Okay. On the count of three, let’s both of us say it. One, two, three…”
Simultaneously, husband and wife both said, “Transform.”
The rune glowed bright on Eric’s stomach.
“I think something’s happening!” Eric said excitedly as his skin began to ripple up and down his body.
“It sure is,” Calyope exclaimed. She stepped back from her husband, and watched with wide eyed fascination as he shrank from his 6 foot 2 self, to about 5 foot 9. This was apparent to Calyope, because it was still an inch taller than her own self. That wasn’t quite to her specifications, but it could be amended at a later time.
Eric’s brown hair darkened until it was jet black, then ran down to his shoulders like a waterfall cascading down from his head. His lips became fuller, his face rounder and softer. His broad chest shifted, narrowing first and becoming slimmer. Then his right pectoral began to protrude. It blossomed into a round jiggly boob.
This caused Eric to chuckle as he reached his hand up to it and gave it a squeeze. He looked at his wife, and saw how much she was enjoying the show. He blew her a kiss, right before a left boob popped out before Calyope’s eyes.
He suddenly shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his crotch. Calyope followed his gaze, and saw his erect penis shrink rapidly into his body, leaving only a slit with a tuft of dark curly hair barely covering it.
“Oh wow, that transformation process feels good!” Eric gasped in a high pitched voice as his smaller hand dipped down to his new pussy.
Calyope was glad that her husband wasn’t mourning the loss of his favorite member. She assumed this was part of the spell, helping him embrace the changes by spiking his lust. She remembered that soon he should be up for anything if the spell did its job.
“Oh!” Eric suddenly exclaimed. “Something else is getting bigger!” He gave a slow turn so his wife could see his hips widen, and his ass expand into a round plump butt that had Calyope drooling. He gave it a shake, and giggled as it clapped. “Certainly a lot more exciting than my flat ass, wouldn’t you say, babe?”
Calyope took a step towards him, as if entranced by the wobble of his new sexy butt.
Eric giggled again and said, “I take it you like what you see?”
“I really do,” Calyope said sincerely as Eric finished a slow spin. She saw that the rune on his stomach had faded into a faint, black outline, a reminder that she’d be able to turn him back to her masculine husband whenever she wanted. But right now, she wanted, no, NEEDED to touch every inch of his feminine skin with her fingertips. And then her tongue.
“This spell is incredible,” she whispered as she put a hand on Eric’s arm. “You look nothing like your original self, Eric! I wouldn’t even know you were my husband if I hadn’t seen you transform before my very eyes.”
When Eric responded, his new high girly voice was silky and seductive. “As long as I look like this, Cal, why don’t you call me Erica.”
“Yeah,” Calyope said, bringing her face closer and closer to her husband’s pouty lips. “Erica.”
And then they were kissing. It was not the kissing of two people that have never kissed each other before. Nor the kind that expresses comfortable familiarity. No. This was rather like the kind where two people have been desperate for each other in the worst way and are finally allowed to express their pent up feelings physically.
Hands groped greedily. Lips migrated from lips to necks to shoulders to breasts. They each attacked each other’s bodies like this would be their only opportunity. What made Calyope so infinitely happy, other than Erica’s sweet moans, was that it wouldn’t be. She could live out her lesbian fantasy a million times over, all because of how wonderfully willing her husband was.
“You want to lick this pink pussy of mine, right?” Erica suddenly asked, interrupting Calyope’s thoughts.
“I do!” she squealed. Erica smiled wantonly and laid back on the bed. The raven haired beauty parted her legs, and moved her fingers in a downward V to spread her lips open. Calyope saw her folds were already glistening with desire. Calyope got on her knees and bent low. She began by kissing up Erica’s inner thigh, letting the passion between them escalate. Then her lips were kissing a pussy that had been molded and shaped just for her. She extended her tongue, and tasted a divine salty tartness that was instantly addictive.
Calyope giggled into her lover as Erica began to moan and squirm. She popped her head up and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Fucking great!” Erica replied, and then put her hand on top of Calyope’s head. “But don’t stop!”
Calyope squealed happily as her mouth was shoved back into Erica’s dripping cunt.
For the first time that Calyope could remember, her husband came before she did. Turns out all he needed for that to happen, was a clit. Even after Erica squirted in her face, Calyope found she didn’t want to stop licking. “You taste so good baby! And I gotta say, I think I prefer my face coated with your pussy juice than your cum.”
Erica giggled. “Thank you? I think? You really do have an amazing tongue by the way.”
“Do you wanna try yours out?” Calyope asked as she dropped next to her.
Erica pushed herself up and said, “Don’t mind if I do.”
Caloype was keenly aware of the lack of stubble as Erica’s face brushed against her inner thighs. There was only soft, smooth skin. And then a tongue. It was smaller than Eric’s, but there was a sensuality about it that made Calyope arch her back as it began to lick up and down her folds. “You’re my girlfriend!” she moaned.
A soft laugh reverberated between Calyope’s legs, and then her perfect woman looked up and said, “No, I’m your wife.”
A thrill of delight went through Calyope’s whole body, and Erica didn’t stop until she’d given Calyope everything she’d been hoping for.
The session lasted a very long time, and by the end, they were a sweaty, happy mess. The last thing Calyope thought before she drifted off to sleep was how different it was with a woman. It wasn’t a sprint, but a marathon.
The next several days whizzed by for Calyope. She felt like she was in a perpetual state of sex, and she loved it. The second Eric got home Calyope would turn him into Erica, and they’d make each other climax several times, and then a very tired Calyope would finish her chores while Erica basked in the afterglow. After dinner, Erica would change back to Eric, and fill Calyope’s pussy with strong, powerful thrusts. It was a very good routine, and it might have lasted a good deal longer, had Calyope not made an important discovery.
It happened a month after Erica had been introduced into their lives. Calyope had decided to get up early and shower with her ‘wife.’ She’d showered with Eric many times, but never in the morning before he left for work, because she hated getting up early. She LOVED sleep. She often felt like she could sleep the whole day away. In so many ways, her day really didn’t begin until her husband got back home. That was why she always felt behind on chores, because she so often didn’t start them until Eric got back home.
But she’d been thinking about showering with Erica. She wanted to soap up those beautiful curves. To let her fingers glide over those most intimate of areas while making them smell sweet and fragrant. She’d climaxed last night while thinking about it, while her husband had been inside of her. It was something naughty she often liked to do. To think about the ‘other lover’ that wasn’t there with her while she came.
The opportunity finally arrived when Eric’s alarm actually woke up her that one morning. He was still Erica. Calyope realized she’d forgotten to change Erica back to Eric last night, but Calyope did love the sight of her wife sitting up in bed and stretching. It was a fantastic view. She wanted to pull the busty vixen back down into the bed and begin kissing and licking her all over that curvy figure. But she knew time was of the essence. “I want to shower with you,” she said, placing a hand lovingly on the small of Erica’s back.
Erica yelped at Calyope’s voice, and looked back at her in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected to see her in their bed. “Oh, shit. Uh, sorry Cal..yope. I totally forgot to, um…”
“It’s okay, I’m up!” she beamed. “I’ll go heat up the water.” She looked back at Erica from the bedroom door. “And if you don’t mind, I’m not gonna transform you back yet until AFTER the shower,” she giggled.
Erica watched Calyope’s cute butt all the way down the hall to their bathroom. She bit her lower lip and said, “Well, I guess a quick shower won’t hurt.”
She heard the sound of water running. And then a scream.
Erica leapt off the bed and sprinted down the hall. When she got to the doorframe, she cried, “What? What’s the matter? You see a mouse?”
Calyope was still facing the shower. But her head was turned towards the mirror, and her eyes were laser focused on something there. She pointed a shaky hand towards her reflection. She didn’t understand why she had one too. It was smaller, but it was there. On her left butt cheek, was a circular rune with the symbol for masculine and feminine.
“I don’t remember putting a copy of the rune on myself,” she whispered.
Erica sighed and folded her arms. “That’s cause you didn’t put it there, sweetie. I did.”
Calyope finally looked away from the mirror, and turned to face Erica. She was so confused. “But…how could you? You can’t do magic?”
Erica gave her a pitying look and said gently. “No, dear. You’re the one that can’t do magic.” WIth a sudden flick of her wrist, a toothbrush sailed into the air and Erica deftly caught it.
Calyope stared at it in disbelief, not just at the magic on display from her husband/wife, but because the toothbrush…looked like a woman’s toothbrush. She looked at the other toothbrush next to the sink. It was a man’s toothbrush. And a chill went down Calyope’s spine, as she could never remember brushing her teeth. Like, ever.
She began taking panicked, shallow breaths. “I don’t…I don’t understand,” she gasped. She flicked her wrist at the other toothbrush. It did not move. Not even a little. “N-no. No I use magic all the ti-WHY CAN’T I REMEMBER EVER DOING CERTAIN THINGS LIKE BRUSHING MY TEETH?!”
Erica held up her hands soothingly and said, “Darling, relax. Let me just…let me talk to my husband, and we’ll straighten this all-”
Calyope’s hands shot down to her sides and clenched into fists as she shrieked, “Your husband?!”
Erica grimaced. “Yeah, this was…well it was his idea. And he’s…inside of you.”
This revelation stunned Calyope to her very core, which gave Erica the time she needed to step forward and hug her. Then she placed a hand on Calyope’s right buttcheek, and said, “Transform.”
_______________________________________________________
Three months ago.
“So, do you know like, transformation magic?” Calvin asked as they laid in bed after another passionate night unbridled lovemaking.
Erica giggled and hit her husband on the arm. “You sick of my body already?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I’m just like…I’m wondering if you could transform me? I know you also like girls, and I know that you gave that up that part of you when we got married. But…what if you didn’t have to. What if you could transform me into your ‘wife’ sometimes?”
Erica squeezed her man. “And then I transform into a handsome guy with muscular pecs and come home from work and give you the business?”
“Oh…” Calvin uttered curiously. “I mean…I hadn’t thought of that, but…”
“You’d let me fuck you with a dick?” Erica said, mouth opened in a wide grin.
“No! I mean…maybe.”
“No lie, dear, that actually sounds kinda hot.”
“Wait, wait. I’m not sure I’d want to be able to remember something like that. Is there like, memory magic you could use as well?”
Erica licked her lips, then said, “I actually may know of a spell that is exactly what we’re looking for babe. Just remember, this was all your idea.”
_____________________________________________________
Present Day
The panic left Calvin’s body as he returned to his original self. The weight from his former boobs was distributed mainly to his belly. He was not the ripped male version that his wife became, but a rather ordinary looking guy. The memories began to rush in from his time as Caloyope.
“You didn’t change me back last night,” he said.
“I know, I know,” Erica said, letting him go. She stepped past him and turned off the shower. “We let this go on too long, Cal. She’s become like, a whole different person.”
That had been Cal’s decision too. To be transformed into Calyope more and more throughout the week. Erica didn’t complain, because Cal was an amazing lover as a woman, plus he didn’t mind that his wife had instilled within him a desire to take care of the house, because he felt a disconnect to it. It was helping her, helping him, and they’d been fucking like rabbits in different gender combinations. There had seemed to be no downside. Until now. Calyope had become aware of the transformation rune, and that had led to her feeling like she wasn’t a whole person. And in a way, maybe she wasn’t. She only appeared when they wanted her to. She didn’t get to remember anything beyond those few hours she was allowed to exist. Cal could remember, but not her.
“This is my fault,” Erica said. “I should have paid attention to the precautions. I can have the rune removed.”
Cal’s face fell. “No. No please don’t. There’s got to be another way. Calyope means so much to you. So much to me.”
Erica hugged her husband. She was glad he felt this way. Calyope really had become a part of their family. “Give me some time to think. Maybe…maybe there’s something we can do, but I’ll need to research some spell books.”
They held each other, and finally parted ways. Cal going to work. Erica doing the same. She worked at an apothecary, one that had many magical recipes and spellbooks, which she would dive into today, looking for an answer to the mess they’d made.
A week later, the husband and wife reconvened in the bathroom again. They were both naked as if they were about to shower, but Calvin was just watching his wife use her finger to make a large circle over the mirror. Then she took out a sharp stone and began scratching the surface, carving small symbols into it. When it was done, she placed her hand upon it, and said a lengthy spell she’d been memorizing for the last few days. The mirror glowed, and then looked like a regular mirror again, except it didn’t reflect as it once had. It still showed Erica, but as Calvin looked at it, he saw Calyope. But her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be asleep.
“Okay,” Erica said, assessing the small bathroom. “It’s time. Stand right where she was when she got transformed last time. Let’s try to make this as comfortable for her as possible.”
Calvin put his back to the shower, and Erica put her arms around him. “I hope this works.”
“Me too.”
Erica put a hand on her husband’s fuzzy butt, and said, “Transform.”
A few seconds later, Calyope sucked in a huge breath. Her ‘wife’s’ arms were still around as they had been when she felt herself blank out. She fought the urge to panic. “Let me go,” she said firmly.
Erica did, but then quickly said, “Calyope, we both owe you an apology.”
“Was any of it real?!” she demanded.
Erica hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It was very real, Calyope. But what we did to you wasn’t right. But we think we’ve-”
“Why do you keep saying ‘we?’” Calyope spat. She was so mad, but not just at Erica. She was also mad at herself, because even now the sight of Erica was turning her on. She wanted to kiss her soft lips, and get her mouth between her legs and taste her. She now assumed that this desire was also a part of that rune.
Erica noted the woman’s mixed emotions, but instead of commenting on them, she pointed to the mirror and said quietly, “Calyope, meet your other half, Calvin.”
Calyope looked from Erica to the mirror, expecting to see her and Erica reflected in its surface. But she was mistaken. There was Erica, yes, but instead of Calyope, there was a man where she should be. A man that, in certain aspects, vaguely resembled Calyope herself. Same sandy brown hair color. Same chin. Same eyes.
“Nice to meet you officially,” the reflection of Cal suddenly said, which caused Calyope to jump. The man put his palms out in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, sorry, don’t be scared. The last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you, cause, well, I am you. Erica magicked up this mirror especially for us, so we could talk. It’s very important that you know, Calyope, that you’ve made Erica so happy these last few months.”
“It’s true,” Erica said.
Calyope frowned and looked towards Erica. “I haven’t known you for months,” she countered. “I’ve only known Eric. You know, the person I thought was my husband.”
“Would having him here with you make you more comfortable?” Erica interjected.
Calyope met the woman’s eyes, and nodded sadly. “Yeah. It’d help.” Eric had been her rock. The person she’d do absolutely anything for. She knew this was also probably part of the spell, but just the thought of seeing him calmed her a little.
Erica put a hand to her own overlaid rune and said, “Transform.”
The rune glowed, and Erica’s soft supple form grew taller and became muscular. Her smooth belly gained those chiseled abs that made Calyope go weak in the knees. And suddenly there was his handsome face, looking at her in concern. She threw herself into his strong arms, and he held her tight and patted her head.
“There, there, it’s okay, dear,” he said.
For a few precious seconds, Calyope allowed herself to melt into him. “Do you remember being her?” she finally asked her husband.
He gave her a pitying look. “Um, yes, but…”
“That’s not fair that you get to!” she protested. Then she turned on her male counterpart in the mirror. “Do you remember being me?”
“Also yes,” Calvin admitted. “But for different reasons.”
Calyope looked up into her husband’s dark eyes. She found she wanted to kiss him. To grind against his body until he grew hard, picked her up, and fucked her against the bathroom wall. She tried to keep focused. “What’s he talking about? Why do you both get to remember?”
“Well,” Eric confessed. “I’m still…Erica. Even when I’m Eric, I’m still me. I used the overlaid rune to transform from female to male, but otherwise there were no changes.”
Calyope’s jaw dropped in surprise. “But…you act like a guy when you look like this.” She put a hand on his chest. Being this close to him was having quite the effect on her. If Erica’s body had made her horny, Eric’s body was having even more of an impact.
She looked at her male counterpart while her hand kept descending down to those abs she loved so much. “And what’s your excuse?”
“The magic of the rune allows me to remember everything you thought and did when I transform back,” Cal explained. “It doesn’t feel quite like I was there, but it’s certainly close enough that I feel that you’re a huge part of me.”
Calyope couldn’t stop her hand from going lower as she said, “But that’s not fair. I should be able to feel the same way. I should get to remember being married to Erica, and living your life, and all of it.”
“You’re right,” Cal said. “You’re absolutely right. And the reason Erica and I brought you back, was to tell you that she’s got a way to…” Eric gasped as Calyope’s hand touched the tip of his penis, and Cal noticed. “Um…do I need to give you guys a second?”
Calyope licked her lips as she looked down at Eric’s throbbing member. Then she looked at Cal in the mirror. “Do you remember every time I’ve gone down on my husband?” she asked coolly.
“I…do…” Cal said tentatively. “But, like I said, it’s like remembering something that happened to somebody else. And I certainly don’t dwell on it.”
“Well you’re about to see it,” Calyope said as she began sinking to her knees.
Cal looked at his wife’s Eric persona. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous of the body that his wife had. He looked at her and said, “Look, I’m glad this is working out, but could you take this to the other room.”
Eric shook his head and as he put a hand on top of Calyope’s. “No honey. It’s so much hotter if you’re here to watch your pretty little mouth suck my dick. You can take it so deep too!”
“Yeah, I can absolutely do without the play by play.” But he did watch as Calyope took the cock in her mouth with no hesitation. She sucked it like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted, and she began to moan and rub her clit as she did so. “Fuck, that IS hot,” he finally admitted.
“I knew you’d like to watch you little perv,” Eric groaned. “But I know my precious Calyope. THIS is what she really wants.” With that he lifted her up in his strong arms, pinned her to the wall, and impaled her pussy with his thick cock.
“Yes!” Calyope screamed. “I love you so much, Eric!”
“I love you too, Calyope!”
A moment later, Cal said, “We both do.”
Calyope came hard a minute later. When she did, she knew that her sensitive pussy was a gift from Erica. She bucked her hips and clawed at Eric’s back until he came inside her. When he put her down, she asked, “So…what now?”
Eric kissed her and said, “Now we give you what Calvin has always had. The ability to remember. You’ll remember being him the way he remembers being you.”
“What about some of the other things? Will those change too?”
“What other things?” Calvin asked.
“I’m guessing she means the desire to cook and clean for me.”
“Yeah!” Calyope pouted.
“Ooh, yeah, that was my idea,” Cal admitted.
“Or the fact that just the sight of either of your forms makes me go into heat,” Calyope added.
“Uh, I didn’t actually do that one,” Eric laughed.
“I mean, she is hot as a guy or a girl,” Cal agreed.
“Oh, you want some of this too?” Eric winked, stroking his slippery cock.
Cal rolled his eyes. “I’ll pass, but thanks. I already have plenty of memories of tasting it and having that enormous thing shoved in me.”
“Ohmygosh!” Calyope suddenly exclaimed. “I’ll get to remember fucking you with a dick?!”
Eric hugged her. “Yes, you will, sweetie. But as for the other stuff…well, I’m afraid to redo the rune to make you not want to cook and clean and think you have magic, that won’t go away. Not unless I redid the rune, which…would make the version that is you, go away.”
“Well I don’t want that!” she said quickly. “And I don’t mind too much cooking and cleaning. It is how I’ve always shown you I love you.”
“Again, my idea,” Calvin said.
“Shut it, husband,” Eric snapped playfully.
“Whose idea was it to let me see the book with the overlaid rune?” Calyope asked curiously.
“Oh, that was mine!” Eric answered proudly. “After you brought up wanting to be with a woman, I knew there was a part of you that missed, well, the real me. And that was confirmed when you described me. I thought it would be fun-”
Cal coughed in the mirror.
“Sorry, WE thought it would be fun if we played this out, and…yeah, it was really hot, but we’re both sorry if we ever hurt-”
“Shh,” Calyope whispered, as she put a finger on her husband’s lips. “I’m still really horny. So, I think I’d be fine if…”
“I changed back into your ‘wife’?’” Eric suggested with a twinkle in his eye.
Calyope bit her lip. “Yes please.”
Eric swooped up his bride and looked at Cal’s reflection. “You’re gonna enjoy remembering all the kinky lesbian shit we’re about to do, dear.”
Calvin laughed and waved at them. “I know I will. Have fun you two.”
Calyope squealed as Eric ran from the bathroom and threw her onto their bed. He was Erica a moment later, and she dove between Calyope’s legs and began lapping up the cum that had just been deposited by her male self. The two were insatiable all day, and Eric made many guest appearances.
Calvin and Calyope settled into new routines where they shared their time with Erica/Eric, but also loved remembering how happy the other made their spouse.
There are certainly more hijinks to their story, like the one where Calyope got a temporary body from a gollum that Erica created. But that is another story altogether.
The end.
Author's Note
Sorry for my long absence. I hope you enjoyed this new story. The inspiration for it came from the show Severance, and I enjoyed applying the concept of playing it out with a twist with this happily married couple. If you'd like to see more of their story, let me know. I have a few ideas rolling around in my head. Next up though will be more Working Remotely.
Thank you to all my supporters. After I add the next chapter of Working Remotely, you'll be the ones to decide what I work on next.
Calyope was a novice witch. A witch that had recently had a whirlwind romance and married a man who was everything she’d ever wanted. Almost. Despite loving Eric’s masculine body, there were times she found herself wanting something different in bed. She really did enjoy the feel of her husband’s hard cock sliding between her legs. The way he held her down with his powerful body and the long moan he’d make as he erupted inside of her.
She loved it. She really did. And it should have been enough. Except…Calyope was bisexual. And even though she loved her husband’s cock and the feel of his abs and the way he fucked her with such intensity, she found herself missing the touch of a woman. There was just something about the feeling of running her fingers across gentle curves. The inhale of sweet perfume on impossibly soft breasts. The vibrant feminine moans that escaped as she used her tongue to taste a deliciously wet pussy. The feeling of her soft curves. The sweet smells. The taste of pussy on her tongue.
When Calyope chose to marry Eric, she thought she’d given up on those desires. It had been easy at first. Her high sex drive helped her go out of her way to seduce him the moment he got home from work. She would devour him, enticing him to make love in any and every position he wanted. She was his completely. So why was she still having all these fantasies about being in bed with a woman?! And it was only getting worse. The more she thought about what she’d left behind, the more she craved it. This made her feel guilty, because she had a good thing with Eric. He loved her. Had accepted her being a witch with no issues at all. And he worked so hard to help provide for their home. He had too, since he didn’t have an ounce of magical ability himself.
She told herself it was enough and that she should just move forward with her husband and his hot body. And she might have, until an old book of spells suddenly appeared on her doorstep one day. She was very curious who had dropped it off. She thought about doing a trace spell, but forgot the incantation and would have to look it up. But she got distracted from further investigation as she opened the pages. It contained a lot of advanced magic, some that might take years to master. She was about to put it aside, when she came across an intricate rune called ‘Overlaid’ that contained elements of mind control and physical transformation.
Her heart quickened its pace as she read further. To place the rune, a complicated spell must be uttered while placing hands on a person who was willing to be transformed. While chanting, the caster must envision the new shape they want the subject to take, as well as their state of mind. If done properly, a rune would be created on the person that when activated, would overlay their mind and body with a completely new persona.
It could completely alter their mind, giving them the thoughts, feelings and desires implanted by the caster, while also changing their shape, even their gender. Calyope’s heart began to beat faster as she reread the part about changing gender. It was exactly the kind of spell she was looking for that would allow her to have her cake, and be able to fuck it too.
There were two problems though. This was a very risky spell that used borderline dark magic to temporarily alter a person’s thoughts and appearance. But it also required a willing subject. It was one thing to roleplay in the bedroom. This was on another level entirely. Her husband would have to trust her so much!
Had they even been married long enough for her to ask such a thing of Eric? He’d always been so accepting of her, and had thus far been willing to do whatever she wanted to do in the bedroom. If she asked him in just the right way, perhaps with her legs wrapped around him, he’d consent to this wild idea. She grew wet as she thought of asking him for this erotic favor while his big cock was buried in her pussy.
She looked up from the book, suddenly wondering where Eric was. She wanted to fuck him right now! Why was he at work so much of the time?!
The sound of someone clearing their throat behind her made her jump in her seat. Then she heard her husband’s deep sexy voice ask, “Whatchya reading there?”
Calyope suddenly felt very embarrassed, and turned bright red. They were married. She could talk to him about anything. But this was so kinky, so perverted, and she wasn’t sure he was really ready for that conversation. So she lied. “N-nothing you’d be interested in?”
“Oh, well now I have to see!” Eric said, and he lunged for his wife.
Calyoped giggled and shoved the book out of his reach as he landed on top of her. They mock wrestled and clung to each other for several seconds. But then his hands were squeezing her boobs and she was pulling his shirt over his head between needy kisses. “I need you inside me,” she begged.
Eric smirked as he removed his underwear. “Don’t you always.”
It was true. She’d never been disinterested in sex with Eric. Sex with her man was always on the table. Would she still feel that way if he had different parts? If he exchanged his chiseled pecs for a pair of bouncy double D’s, or his hard throbbing cock for a wet and warm pussy?
The thought of it made her grasp his dick and stroke it while she looked up at him and begged. “Please! Shove it in. Right now!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed. Then he tenderly lay her down on the floor, and pushed into her.
“Fuck!” she howled, loving the initial moment of penetration. “Yeah. Give it to me hard baby! Just the way I like it!”
Thoughts of telling him about the transformation rune vanished from her mind. All she could think of was how good his cock felt. Her brain grew wonderfully fuzzy with each thrust, and all she could think to do was wrap her legs around his torso and to pull him deeper.
She came before he did. She always did.
As Eric watched her scream in ecstasy, he said, “Oh fuck! That’ll do it!” He grunted and moaned as he shot inside his wife.
He rolled off and lay beside her on their living room floor, both panting from the sudden but wonderful exertion.
“Not complaining, but what brought that on?” Eric finally asked.
“Um…well, uh, I found a new spell…” Calyope said shyly.
‘Oh yeah?” Eric said bemused. “What kind of spell?”
Calyope decided to just rip the bandaid. She shut her eyes tight and said, “It lets you transform a person!”
Eric laughed. “Want me to have an even bigger dick, is that it?”
“No!” Calyope clarified quickly. “Your dick is perfect!” And she really meant it. She loved his cock the way it was. It fit her perfectly. Stretched her out in all the right ways, like it was made for her. But, if Eric were also a woman, they’d just be getting STARTED with their lovemaking. “This would be transforming you…in other ways. I’d really be swapping out your dick with…something else…” She clenched her fists and sucked in a breath. She was so nervous about telling him, but it was right there.
After a moment of confused silence, Eric asked, “Swap it out for what?”
“Well…You know how I also like girls, right?”
“I am aware,” Eric said, wisely choking down a laugh as he realized how hard this was for his wife to say.
“This spell would let me change you into a woman.”
“A woman?!” Eric repeated with a mixture of shock and amusement.
“Not permanently or anything! Just like, it puts a magical rune on your skin, like a tattoo. And whenever I activate the rune, I could turn you into a girl, and back again, whenever I, er, WE, wanted to.” There was more to it, but she decided to leave out the fact that it also altered the mind. “The spell says the subject must be willing to have it placed on you. So, you’d have to give me consent, and I completely understand if you need time to think about it, and I’ll still love you if you say no so don’t think that you have to-”
“I’m down,” he said, cutting her off with a twinkle in his eye.
Calyope’s breath caught as her husband just casually agreed to let her fuse a rune to his skin that would allow her to radically change him! She again thought about letting him know that she’d be able to change his thoughts and personality, but didn’t want to give him any reason to change his mind. She told herself he wouldn’t care, because he’d so quickly agreed. He wanted to make her happy. And during the times he was a girl, she’d definitely go out of her way to make him happy as well.
Eric interrupted her by asking, “So, do you want to do this now or…”
Her eyes went wide, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. It was amazing enough that he was willing to do it, but even sweeter that he was willing to do it immediately. She reached out to play with his short dark hair. “That’s incredibly sweet, but no, not now.”
She noticed his expression change to one of disappointment, so she hastened to explain, “I’ll need time to read over the spell. It’s a long and tricky one and I don’t want to botch it. Plus, I’ll want to think of the type of…um…,” she felt her cheeks turning pink again. “...body I’d like you to have as a girl.”
Eric grinned. “Oh yeah? You got certain attributes in mind?” He looked down at his impressive chest and abs. “Thinking of turning my pecs into some nice round melons you can suck on? Boy, that’d be so weird, but like, yeah, it’d be cool to have your mouth there on a couple of big titties.”
That kind of talk really got Calyope’s motor running. She didn’t admit that was the first thing she’d thought about, but instead picked a more aesthetic detail. “Well, I mean, I love your hair color, but I’d just make it a little longer. Like shoulder length, and straight. I’d round out your face a bit, making it more feminine. Ooh, I’d give you full, luscious lips. And then…” Her eyes drifted down her husband’s body as very vivid details flooded her thoughts.
As if reading her mind, Eric moved a hand between his wife’s legs and began to gently finger her. “Please, keep going. Tell me how else you’d turn me into your dream girl.”
“Oh, uh…” she gasped, suddenly finding it hard to talk as her husband’s skilled fingers went to work. She placed a hand on her husband’s chest. “You’re…you’re right about me swapping out your chest. It’s a really hot chest babe, but…yeah…I’d love to see what it looks like with a pair of double D’s. I’d make them so sensitive that if I just breathed on them, you’d be begging me to suck on them.”
Eric laughed. “I would, huh? Well, I guess we’ll see about that.”
As her mind became consumed with lust, she thought to herself, ‘You wouldn’t have a choice. I’ll turn you into a horny slut that wants my mouth all over your new body.”
Her hand drifted down his abs, and came to his dick, which was semi hard and slippery with their combined juices. “I’d shrink this until it became a slit. A perfect little pussy that I could lick as much as I wanted, making you scream for more.”
“Is that all?” Eric asked, knowing his wife was almost to the brink of climax by the way she was breathing and moving her hips in time with his fingers.
“I’d make you just a little shorter than me!” she cried out. “And I’d make you-Oh fuck! I’d make you my perverted little sex slave! Yes! Yes! Fuck! Ooh!” The powerful orgasm made her shake from head to toe.
When she was finally able to relax, Eric pulled her close and they cuddled. He whispered gently in her ear, “Are you sure you can’t do that spell on me now?”
She laughed softly. “I think I need to get the dishes put away and dinner started,” she said.
Eric said nothing for a moment, then shrugged and said a playful, “Fine.” He stood and helped her to her feet. With a playful swat on her butt he said, “Get to work.”
Her mouth fell open in mock surprise, but then she giggled, and went off to do the housework.
The next few days were a blur, because everytime she had a chance, Calyope was thinking about that spell. Putting eyes on it. Sounding it out. Imagining the ideal feminine shape her husband would become, and the personality she would make him have. She was becoming obsessed, and could think of little else while she did her daily chores. It certainly made them easier.
She thought a tiny bit about maybe altering Eric’s mind to not just be a sex slave, but also be willing to do some of the mundane chores that she did every day. She didn’t mind doing them for her husband. It was part of how she showed her love and devotion to him. But she did wish he’d help out around the house a little more. The vast majority of her thoughts though, were imagining the raven haired beauty he would become, and then making that goddess put her pretty mouth between her legs.
Despite her perverted obsession, it was actually her husband that mentioned using the spell again. She’d been lost in another fantasy while the dishes magically washed, dried, and put away themselves, when her husband pressed himself against her from behind.
“How’s that rune spell coming along, Calyope? Are you ready to turn me into a sexy woman yet?”
Calyope felt his rod twitch against her ass. She instinctively pushed back, wanting to feel it slide between her cheeks. Since she was only wearing an apron, she got her wish. The delightful sensation of that hard cock made her lose her magical concentration though, and a dish crashed to the floor. “Oh shoot,” she pouted, as her husband withdrew behind her. She made a motion with her finger and the dish repaired itself and sailed into the cupboard.
“Sorry,” about that,” she heard her thoughtful husband say.
“She spun around and said, “I think I’m ready.” Goodness knows she needed to be. She needed to alleviate the sexual tension that seemed to be building exponentially inside of her as she thought about turning her husband into a woman. It had felt all consuming these last few days. “I’ve been studying it every time I get a free moment, and should have all the words memorized, so I think we should, um…” she trailed off as she realized how eager she sounded.
Eric laughed. “I can tell you’ve been thinking about it a lot. Every time I look at you while you’re doing your chores, or we’re eating, or, well, after we’re done fucking, you get that faraway look in your eye that makes me think you’re thinking about transforming me into your lesbian lover.”
“Busted,” she giggled, as she looked her husband up and down, undressing him with her eyes and fantasizing about the new curves he’d soon have.
“So where do you want to do this?” he asked curiously. The way his wife was looking at him made him feel like a slab of meat being dangled in front of a hungry lion. He didn’t mind in the least.
“How about upstairs in the bedroom,” Calyope suggested excitedly. “And I’ll need to make contact with you for the spell, so why don’t you just-”
“Get naked,” Eric finished with a wide grin.
Calyope winked at him. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, babe,” he said, winking back.
They raced upstairs. As soon as Eric walked in, he pulled off his shirt. Calyope found herself staring at his toned body, and for a moment, thought about scrapping the spell and just taking his male self right then and there.
He saw her gawking as he pulled off his pants and underwear. She was now staring right at his rigid cock that was pointing straight at her. He snapped his fingers and said, “My eyes are up here, love. I know you love this cock, but let’s try to focus,” he teased, then twisted his body side to side so his dick slapped against his torso.
Calyope felt like she was being hypnotized by the motion of that big beautiful cock. Drool had formed in her mouth. Drool that she could use to slobber all over his impressive man meat with her tongue. She shook her head and closed her eyes. She really did need to focus! She had her husband’s permission, and knew the spell pretty well. She needed to strike while the iron was hot, because who knew, tomorrow he might change his mind.
She stepped directly in front of him, and put the fingertips of her right hand onto his stomach. She could feel the tight muscles there. His body was lean and calloused and tough. Everything she wanted in her man. She almost pushed him down onto the bed so she could fuck him, but with an extra bit of willpower, she began a slow and steady chant. As she did, she put every thought into the woman she wanted him to become.
She pictured a slightly shorter physique than herself. One with shoulder length jet black hair, pouty lips, and a round face. This woman would have large, bouncy breasts, almost but not quite as big as her own. Her body would be a vision of seductive curves and soft skin. She would have a neatly trimmed bush, and an always wet and sensitive pussy.
Calyope’s thoughts turned from the physical to the mental. She knew this would reshape her husband’s mind, but she did not hesitate as she thought how this transformed woman would always desire to have sex with Calyope. She would find ways to seduce Calyope, and be willing to beg for the chance to get between her legs. And housework. She’d want to help with chores and making meals. But most importantly, she’d be a kinky slut, coming up with new and exciting ways to get each other off!
That last thought turned her on so much it threatened to distract her, and she stumbled over a few of the words. She looked down at her fingertips and was disheartened to see no rune had formed. She wondered if her carelessness had ruined her first attempt.
“It’s okay, you can do it,” Eric assured her, and put his hand atop hers encouragingly as she started saying the spell again.
Calyope put all her concentration into it this time. She tuned everything else out as she thought only about the words and the manifestation of her fantasy woman.
Slowly but surely, she felt the spark of magic against Eric’s skin. She looked down, and saw a glowing line etched itself from the top of her middle finger, to the other places her fingertips touched. She became excited as a perfect circle began to form, and inside that circle, a combined symbol of an arrow and a cross that represented the masculine and feminine. As Calyope finished the chant, it glowed brightly, and then faded. But the rune remained. A permanent magical brand on her husband’s stomach.
Eric’s brow furrowed, and he let out a breath he’d been holding. He looked down at himself, and asked with obvious disappointment, “Shouldn’t I be a girl now?”
“Not yet,” Calyope said, and licked her lips. “Now that the rune’s there, I should be able to turn you into a girl whenever I want. No lengthy spell, just a touch, and a one word command.”
“Well go ahead then, babe,” Eric said in his deep voice as he struck out his chest and did a superhero pose. “Let me help you make your bisexual dreams come true.”
Calyope bounced up and down and clapped her hands excitedly. Then she put her hand on the rune, and said, “Transform.”
The rune did not glow, but just remained a faint mark on his skin. “I don’t know what’s wrong? That should have worked!” she said. “Let me consult the-”
But before she could run and get the spell book, Eric took her hand again, and placed it over hers on his stomach. “Maybe I have to help show the magic that I’m willing? I am. I am willing,” he said, looking down at his stomach. “Let’s try again, at the same time. Ready?”
Calyope nodded and said, “Okay. On the count of three, let’s both of us say it. One, two, three…”
Simultaneously, husband and wife both said, “Transform.”
The rune glowed bright on Eric’s stomach.
“I think something’s happening!” Eric said excitedly as his skin began to ripple up and down his body.
“It sure is,” Calyope exclaimed. She stepped back from her husband, and watched with wide eyed fascination as he shrank from his 6 foot 2 self, to about 5 foot 9. This was apparent to Calyope, because it was still an inch taller than her own self. That wasn’t quite to her specifications, but it could be amended at a later time.
Eric’s brown hair darkened until it was jet black, then ran down to his shoulders like a waterfall cascading down from his head. His lips became fuller, his face rounder and softer. His broad chest shifted, narrowing first and becoming slimmer. Then his right pectoral began to protrude. It blossomed into a round jiggly boob.
This caused Eric to chuckle as he reached his hand up to it and gave it a squeeze. He looked at his wife, and saw how much she was enjoying the show. He blew her a kiss, right before a left boob popped out before Calyope’s eyes.
He suddenly shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his crotch. Calyope followed his gaze, and saw his erect penis shrink rapidly into his body, leaving only a slit with a tuft of dark curly hair barely covering it.
“Oh wow, that transformation process feels good!” Eric gasped in a high pitched voice as his smaller hand dipped down to his new pussy.
Calyope was glad that her husband wasn’t mourning the loss of his favorite member. She assumed this was part of the spell, helping him embrace the changes by spiking his lust. She remembered that soon he should be up for anything if the spell did its job.
“Oh!” Eric suddenly exclaimed. “Something else is getting bigger!” He gave a slow turn so his wife could see his hips widen, and his ass expand into a round plump butt that had Calyope drooling. He gave it a shake, and giggled as it clapped. “Certainly a lot more exciting than my flat ass, wouldn’t you say, babe?”
Calyope took a step towards him, as if entranced by the wobble of his new sexy butt.
Eric giggled again and said, “I take it you like what you see?”
“I really do,” Calyope said sincerely as Eric finished a slow spin. She saw that the rune on his stomach had faded into a faint, black outline, a reminder that she’d be able to turn him back to her masculine husband whenever she wanted. But right now, she wanted, no, NEEDED to touch every inch of his feminine skin with her fingertips. And then her tongue.
“This spell is incredible,” she whispered as she put a hand on Eric’s arm. “You look nothing like your original self, Eric! I wouldn’t even know you were my husband if I hadn’t seen you transform before my very eyes.”
When Eric responded, his new high girly voice was silky and seductive. “As long as I look like this, Cal, why don’t you call me Erica.”
“Yeah,” Calyope said, bringing her face closer and closer to her husband’s pouty lips. “Erica.”
And then they were kissing. It was not the kissing of two people that have never kissed each other before. Nor the kind that expresses comfortable familiarity. No. This was rather like the kind where two people have been desperate for each other in the worst way and are finally allowed to express their pent up feelings physically.
Hands groped greedily. Lips migrated from lips to necks to shoulders to breasts. They each attacked each other’s bodies like this would be their only opportunity. What made Calyope so infinitely happy, other than Erica’s sweet moans, was that it wouldn’t be. She could live out her lesbian fantasy a million times over, all because of how wonderfully willing her husband was.
“You want to lick this pink pussy of mine, right?” Erica suddenly asked, interrupting Calyope’s thoughts.
“I do!” she squealed. Erica smiled wantonly and laid back on the bed. The raven haired beauty parted her legs, and moved her fingers in a downward V to spread her lips open. Calyope saw her folds were already glistening with desire. Calyope got on her knees and bent low. She began by kissing up Erica’s inner thigh, letting the passion between them escalate. Then her lips were kissing a pussy that had been molded and shaped just for her. She extended her tongue, and tasted a divine salty tartness that was instantly addictive.
Calyope giggled into her lover as Erica began to moan and squirm. She popped her head up and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Fucking great!” Erica replied, and then put her hand on top of Calyope’s head. “But don’t stop!”
Calyope squealed happily as her mouth was shoved back into Erica’s dripping cunt.
For the first time that Calyope could remember, her husband came before she did. Turns out all he needed for that to happen, was a clit. Even after Erica squirted in her face, Calyope found she didn’t want to stop licking. “You taste so good baby! And I gotta say, I think I prefer my face coated with your pussy juice than your cum.”
Erica giggled. “Thank you? I think? You really do have an amazing tongue by the way.”
“Do you wanna try yours out?” Calyope asked as she dropped next to her.
Erica pushed herself up and said, “Don’t mind if I do.”
Caloype was keenly aware of the lack of stubble as Erica’s face brushed against her inner thighs. There was only soft, smooth skin. And then a tongue. It was smaller than Eric’s, but there was a sensuality about it that made Calyope arch her back as it began to lick up and down her folds. “You’re my girlfriend!” she moaned.
A soft laugh reverberated between Calyope’s legs, and then her perfect woman looked up and said, “No, I’m your wife.”
A thrill of delight went through Calyope’s whole body, and Erica didn’t stop until she’d given Calyope everything she’d been hoping for.
The session lasted a very long time, and by the end, they were a sweaty, happy mess. The last thing Calyope thought before she drifted off to sleep was how different it was with a woman. It wasn’t a sprint, but a marathon.
The next several days whizzed by for Calyope. She felt like she was in a perpetual state of sex, and she loved it. The second Eric got home Calyope would turn him into Erica, and they’d make each other climax several times, and then a very tired Calyope would finish her chores while Erica basked in the afterglow. After dinner, Erica would change back to Eric, and fill Calyope’s pussy with strong, powerful thrusts. It was a very good routine, and it might have lasted a good deal longer, had Calyope not made an important discovery.
It happened a month after Erica had been introduced into their lives. Calyope had decided to get up early and shower with her ‘wife.’ She’d showered with Eric many times, but never in the morning before he left for work, because she hated getting up early. She LOVED sleep. She often felt like she could sleep the whole day away. In so many ways, her day really didn’t begin until her husband got back home. That was why she always felt behind on chores, because she so often didn’t start them until Eric got back home.
But she’d been thinking about showering with Erica. She wanted to soap up those beautiful curves. To let her fingers glide over those most intimate of areas while making them smell sweet and fragrant. She’d climaxed last night while thinking about it, while her husband had been inside of her. It was something naughty she often liked to do. To think about the ‘other lover’ that wasn’t there with her while she came.
The opportunity finally arrived when Eric’s alarm actually woke up her that one morning. He was still Erica. Calyope realized she’d forgotten to change Erica back to Eric last night, but Calyope did love the sight of her wife sitting up in bed and stretching. It was a fantastic view. She wanted to pull the busty vixen back down into the bed and begin kissing and licking her all over that curvy figure. But she knew time was of the essence. “I want to shower with you,” she said, placing a hand lovingly on the small of Erica’s back.
Erica yelped at Calyope’s voice, and looked back at her in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected to see her in their bed. “Oh, shit. Uh, sorry Cal..yope. I totally forgot to, um…”
“It’s okay, I’m up!” she beamed. “I’ll go heat up the water.” She looked back at Erica from the bedroom door. “And if you don’t mind, I’m not gonna transform you back yet until AFTER the shower,” she giggled.
Erica watched Calyope’s cute butt all the way down the hall to their bathroom. She bit her lower lip and said, “Well, I guess a quick shower won’t hurt.”
She heard the sound of water running. And then a scream.
Erica leapt off the bed and sprinted down the hall. When she got to the doorframe, she cried, “What? What’s the matter? You see a mouse?”
Calyope was still facing the shower. But her head was turned towards the mirror, and her eyes were laser focused on something there. She pointed a shaky hand towards her reflection. She didn’t understand why she had one too. It was smaller, but it was there. On her left butt cheek, was a circular rune with the symbol for masculine and feminine.
“I don’t remember putting a copy of the rune on myself,” she whispered.
Erica sighed and folded her arms. “That’s cause you didn’t put it there, sweetie. I did.”
Calyope finally looked away from the mirror, and turned to face Erica. She was so confused. “But…how could you? You can’t do magic?”
Erica gave her a pitying look and said gently. “No, dear. You’re the one that can’t do magic.” WIth a sudden flick of her wrist, a toothbrush sailed into the air and Erica deftly caught it.
Calyope stared at it in disbelief, not just at the magic on display from her husband/wife, but because the toothbrush…looked like a woman’s toothbrush. She looked at the other toothbrush next to the sink. It was a man’s toothbrush. And a chill went down Calyope’s spine, as she could never remember brushing her teeth. Like, ever.
She began taking panicked, shallow breaths. “I don’t…I don’t understand,” she gasped. She flicked her wrist at the other toothbrush. It did not move. Not even a little. “N-no. No I use magic all the ti-WHY CAN’T I REMEMBER EVER DOING CERTAIN THINGS LIKE BRUSHING MY TEETH?!”
Erica held up her hands soothingly and said, “Darling, relax. Let me just…let me talk to my husband, and we’ll straighten this all-”
Calyope’s hands shot down to her sides and clenched into fists as she shrieked, “Your husband?!”
Erica grimaced. “Yeah, this was…well it was his idea. And he’s…inside of you.”
This revelation stunned Calyope to her very core, which gave Erica the time she needed to step forward and hug her. Then she placed a hand on Calyope’s right buttcheek, and said, “Transform.”
_______________________________________________________
Three months ago.
“So, do you know like, transformation magic?” Calvin asked as they laid in bed after another passionate night unbridled lovemaking.
Erica giggled and hit her husband on the arm. “You sick of my body already?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I’m just like…I’m wondering if you could transform me? I know you also like girls, and I know that you gave that up that part of you when we got married. But…what if you didn’t have to. What if you could transform me into your ‘wife’ sometimes?”
Erica squeezed her man. “And then I transform into a handsome guy with muscular pecs and come home from work and give you the business?”
“Oh…” Calvin uttered curiously. “I mean…I hadn’t thought of that, but…”
“You’d let me fuck you with a dick?” Erica said, mouth opened in a wide grin.
“No! I mean…maybe.”
“No lie, dear, that actually sounds kinda hot.”
“Wait, wait. I’m not sure I’d want to be able to remember something like that. Is there like, memory magic you could use as well?”
Erica licked her lips, then said, “I actually may know of a spell that is exactly what we’re looking for babe. Just remember, this was all your idea.”
_____________________________________________________
Present Day
The panic left Calvin’s body as he returned to his original self. The weight from his former boobs was distributed mainly to his belly. He was not the ripped male version that his wife became, but a rather ordinary looking guy. The memories began to rush in from his time as Caloyope.
“You didn’t change me back last night,” he said.
“I know, I know,” Erica said, letting him go. She stepped past him and turned off the shower. “We let this go on too long, Cal. She’s become like, a whole different person.”
That had been Cal’s decision too. To be transformed into Calyope more and more throughout the week. Erica didn’t complain, because Cal was an amazing lover as a woman, plus he didn’t mind that his wife had instilled within him a desire to take care of the house, because he felt a disconnect to it. It was helping her, helping him, and they’d been fucking like rabbits in different gender combinations. There had seemed to be no downside. Until now. Calyope had become aware of the transformation rune, and that had led to her feeling like she wasn’t a whole person. And in a way, maybe she wasn’t. She only appeared when they wanted her to. She didn’t get to remember anything beyond those few hours she was allowed to exist. Cal could remember, but not her.
“This is my fault,” Erica said. “I should have paid attention to the precautions. I can have the rune removed.”
Cal’s face fell. “No. No please don’t. There’s got to be another way. Calyope means so much to you. So much to me.”
Erica hugged her husband. She was glad he felt this way. Calyope really had become a part of their family. “Give me some time to think. Maybe…maybe there’s something we can do, but I’ll need to research some spell books.”
They held each other, and finally parted ways. Cal going to work. Erica doing the same. She worked at an apothecary, one that had many magical recipes and spellbooks, which she would dive into today, looking for an answer to the mess they’d made.
A week later, the husband and wife reconvened in the bathroom again. They were both naked as if they were about to shower, but Calvin was just watching his wife use her finger to make a large circle over the mirror. Then she took out a sharp stone and began scratching the surface, carving small symbols into it. When it was done, she placed her hand upon it, and said a lengthy spell she’d been memorizing for the last few days. The mirror glowed, and then looked like a regular mirror again, except it didn’t reflect as it once had. It still showed Erica, but as Calvin looked at it, he saw Calyope. But her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be asleep.
“Okay,” Erica said, assessing the small bathroom. “It’s time. Stand right where she was when she got transformed last time. Let’s try to make this as comfortable for her as possible.”
Calvin put his back to the shower, and Erica put her arms around him. “I hope this works.”
“Me too.”
Erica put a hand on her husband’s fuzzy butt, and said, “Transform.”
A few seconds later, Calyope sucked in a huge breath. Her ‘wife’s’ arms were still around as they had been when she felt herself blank out. She fought the urge to panic. “Let me go,” she said firmly.
Erica did, but then quickly said, “Calyope, we both owe you an apology.”
“Was any of it real?!” she demanded.
Erica hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It was very real, Calyope. But what we did to you wasn’t right. But we think we’ve-”
“Why do you keep saying ‘we?’” Calyope spat. She was so mad, but not just at Erica. She was also mad at herself, because even now the sight of Erica was turning her on. She wanted to kiss her soft lips, and get her mouth between her legs and taste her. She now assumed that this desire was also a part of that rune.
Erica noted the woman’s mixed emotions, but instead of commenting on them, she pointed to the mirror and said quietly, “Calyope, meet your other half, Calvin.”
Calyope looked from Erica to the mirror, expecting to see her and Erica reflected in its surface. But she was mistaken. There was Erica, yes, but instead of Calyope, there was a man where she should be. A man that, in certain aspects, vaguely resembled Calyope herself. Same sandy brown hair color. Same chin. Same eyes.
“Nice to meet you officially,” the reflection of Cal suddenly said, which caused Calyope to jump. The man put his palms out in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, sorry, don’t be scared. The last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you, cause, well, I am you. Erica magicked up this mirror especially for us, so we could talk. It’s very important that you know, Calyope, that you’ve made Erica so happy these last few months.”
“It’s true,” Erica said.
Calyope frowned and looked towards Erica. “I haven’t known you for months,” she countered. “I’ve only known Eric. You know, the person I thought was my husband.”
“Would having him here with you make you more comfortable?” Erica interjected.
Calyope met the woman’s eyes, and nodded sadly. “Yeah. It’d help.” Eric had been her rock. The person she’d do absolutely anything for. She knew this was also probably part of the spell, but just the thought of seeing him calmed her a little.
Erica put a hand to her own overlaid rune and said, “Transform.”
The rune glowed, and Erica’s soft supple form grew taller and became muscular. Her smooth belly gained those chiseled abs that made Calyope go weak in the knees. And suddenly there was his handsome face, looking at her in concern. She threw herself into his strong arms, and he held her tight and patted her head.
“There, there, it’s okay, dear,” he said.
For a few precious seconds, Calyope allowed herself to melt into him. “Do you remember being her?” she finally asked her husband.
He gave her a pitying look. “Um, yes, but…”
“That’s not fair that you get to!” she protested. Then she turned on her male counterpart in the mirror. “Do you remember being me?”
“Also yes,” Calvin admitted. “But for different reasons.”
Calyope looked up into her husband’s dark eyes. She found she wanted to kiss him. To grind against his body until he grew hard, picked her up, and fucked her against the bathroom wall. She tried to keep focused. “What’s he talking about? Why do you both get to remember?”
“Well,” Eric confessed. “I’m still…Erica. Even when I’m Eric, I’m still me. I used the overlaid rune to transform from female to male, but otherwise there were no changes.”
Calyope’s jaw dropped in surprise. “But…you act like a guy when you look like this.” She put a hand on his chest. Being this close to him was having quite the effect on her. If Erica’s body had made her horny, Eric’s body was having even more of an impact.
She looked at her male counterpart while her hand kept descending down to those abs she loved so much. “And what’s your excuse?”
“The magic of the rune allows me to remember everything you thought and did when I transform back,” Cal explained. “It doesn’t feel quite like I was there, but it’s certainly close enough that I feel that you’re a huge part of me.”
Calyope couldn’t stop her hand from going lower as she said, “But that’s not fair. I should be able to feel the same way. I should get to remember being married to Erica, and living your life, and all of it.”
“You’re right,” Cal said. “You’re absolutely right. And the reason Erica and I brought you back, was to tell you that she’s got a way to…” Eric gasped as Calyope’s hand touched the tip of his penis, and Cal noticed. “Um…do I need to give you guys a second?”
Calyope licked her lips as she looked down at Eric’s throbbing member. Then she looked at Cal in the mirror. “Do you remember every time I’ve gone down on my husband?” she asked coolly.
“I…do…” Cal said tentatively. “But, like I said, it’s like remembering something that happened to somebody else. And I certainly don’t dwell on it.”
“Well you’re about to see it,” Calyope said as she began sinking to her knees.
Cal looked at his wife’s Eric persona. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous of the body that his wife had. He looked at her and said, “Look, I’m glad this is working out, but could you take this to the other room.”
Eric shook his head and as he put a hand on top of Calyope’s. “No honey. It’s so much hotter if you’re here to watch your pretty little mouth suck my dick. You can take it so deep too!”
“Yeah, I can absolutely do without the play by play.” But he did watch as Calyope took the cock in her mouth with no hesitation. She sucked it like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted, and she began to moan and rub her clit as she did so. “Fuck, that IS hot,” he finally admitted.
“I knew you’d like to watch you little perv,” Eric groaned. “But I know my precious Calyope. THIS is what she really wants.” With that he lifted her up in his strong arms, pinned her to the wall, and impaled her pussy with his thick cock.
“Yes!” Calyope screamed. “I love you so much, Eric!”
“I love you too, Calyope!”
A moment later, Cal said, “We both do.”
Calyope came hard a minute later. When she did, she knew that her sensitive pussy was a gift from Erica. She bucked her hips and clawed at Eric’s back until he came inside her. When he put her down, she asked, “So…what now?”
Eric kissed her and said, “Now we give you what Calvin has always had. The ability to remember. You’ll remember being him the way he remembers being you.”
“What about some of the other things? Will those change too?”
“What other things?” Calvin asked.
“I’m guessing she means the desire to cook and clean for me.”
“Yeah!” Calyope pouted.
“Ooh, yeah, that was my idea,” Cal admitted.
“Or the fact that just the sight of either of your forms makes me go into heat,” Calyope added.
“Uh, I didn’t actually do that one,” Eric laughed.
“I mean, she is hot as a guy or a girl,” Cal agreed.
“Oh, you want some of this too?” Eric winked, stroking his slippery cock.
Cal rolled his eyes. “I’ll pass, but thanks. I already have plenty of memories of tasting it and having that enormous thing shoved in me.”
“Ohmygosh!” Calyope suddenly exclaimed. “I’ll get to remember fucking you with a dick?!”
Eric hugged her. “Yes, you will, sweetie. But as for the other stuff…well, I’m afraid to redo the rune to make you not want to cook and clean and think you have magic, that won’t go away. Not unless I redid the rune, which…would make the version that is you, go away.”
“Well I don’t want that!” she said quickly. “And I don’t mind too much cooking and cleaning. It is how I’ve always shown you I love you.”
“Again, my idea,” Calvin said.
“Shut it, husband,” Eric snapped playfully.
“Whose idea was it to let me see the book with the overlaid rune?” Calyope asked curiously.
“Oh, that was mine!” Eric answered proudly. “After you brought up wanting to be with a woman, I knew there was a part of you that missed, well, the real me. And that was confirmed when you described me. I thought it would be fun-”
Cal coughed in the mirror.
“Sorry, WE thought it would be fun if we played this out, and…yeah, it was really hot, but we’re both sorry if we ever hurt-”
“Shh,” Calyope whispered, as she put a finger on her husband’s lips. “I’m still really horny. So, I think I’d be fine if…”
“I changed back into your ‘wife’?’” Eric suggested with a twinkle in his eye.
Calyope bit her lip. “Yes please.”
Eric swooped up his bride and looked at Cal’s reflection. “You’re gonna enjoy remembering all the kinky lesbian shit we’re about to do, dear.”
Calvin laughed and waved at them. “I know I will. Have fun you two.”
Calyope squealed as Eric ran from the bathroom and threw her onto their bed. He was Erica a moment later, and she dove between Calyope’s legs and began lapping up the cum that had just been deposited by her male self. The two were insatiable all day, and Eric made many guest appearances.
Calvin and Calyope settled into new routines where they shared their time with Erica/Eric, but also loved remembering how happy the other made their spouse.
There are certainly more hijinks to their story, like the one where Calyope got a temporary body from a gollum that Erica created. But that is another story altogether.
The end.
Author's Note
Sorry for my long absence. I hope you enjoyed this new story. The inspiration for it came from the show Severance, and I enjoyed applying the concept of playing it out with a twist with this happily married couple. If you'd like to see more of their story, let me know. I have a few ideas rolling around in my head. Next up though will be more Working Remotely.
Thank you to all my supporters. After I add the next chapter of Working Remotely, you'll be the ones to decide what I work on next.
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You and your group of friends won a raffle that awarded you with five tickets to Spooky Island! It was the new resort island being endorsed by Sydney Sweeney, it’s gimmick was supposedly a spooky and entertaining summer experience, and since you guys were on summer break, you definitely thought it was a sign to enjoy the island.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
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MAIN CHARACTERS:
- Protagonist (second person, "you")– College sophomore, discovers shapeshifting ability limited to women he has (complete) penetrative sex with. Only can change into the women if he ejaculates inside them. Transforms fully (body, voice, mannerisms) but retains his own mind. Shift lasts however long or short the protagonist wants. Can shapeshift into any woman he as had sex with previously.
- Zoey – college age, Sarcastic bookworm, first to discover his secret. Becomes his partner-in-crime. Built like a nerdy Cara Delevingne.
- Lena – college age. Zoey’s best friend, initially hesitant but intrigued by his power. Body shape like Kat Dennings.
- Viktor – Russian mobster who exploits his ability for prostitution.
---
### ACT 1: DISCOVERY (ESTABLISHING THE POWER & RULES)
SCENE 1: First Transformation
- Protagonist loses virginity to Emma, a grad student, after drunken hookup.
- Wakes up in her body—panic, confusion. Shift reverts naturally after he wills it.
- Rules Established:
- Must finish inside a woman to copy her form.
- Maintains full physicality (voice, fingerprints, even scent).
- Can shift back voluntarily or holds form for as long as he wantss.
SCENE 2: Zoey Finds Out
- Protagonist experiments in library, shifting into Emma again.
- Zoey catches him mid-transformation. "What the actual fuck?"
- Makes a deal: Prove it, and she’ll help research.
SCENE 3: The Experiment Confirmed
- They sleep together; Protagonist shifts into her.
- Zoey is fascinated, running hands over her own borrowed body.
- Playful testing—can he mimic her handwriting? Wearing glasses?
---
### ACT 2: THE FIRST REAL TEST (LENA’S DILEMMA)
SCENE 4: The Family Emergency
- Lena gets call—mom in hospital, but she can’t miss her Ethics final (or loses scholarship).
- Zoey suggests: "What if you take the test as her?"
SCENE 5: The Transformation Agreement
- Hesitant, Lena sleeps with Protagonist under condition: "No using my body for… other things."
- He transforms into her.
SCENE 6: The Exam Day
- Protagonist (as Lena) attends class; Zoey feeds answers via earpiece.
- Nearly slips when professor asks unexpected question—barely recovers.
Tar Success! Aced it. Lena returns, intrigued but conflicted. "This is insane. Let’s never tell anyone."
---
### ACT 3: THE GANGSTER’S PROPOSITION
SCENE 7: Viktor Notices
- Protagonist unwittingly shifts at a club bathroom.
- Viktor (crime boss) corners him: "That trick… could be very profitable."
Viktor figures out a way to get the protagonist to owe him a lot of money and be forced to work for him
SCENE 8: The Deal
- Viktor offers: He provides women for Protagonist to sleep with, then rents out his transformed bodies to elite clients.
- Protagonist reluctant but desperate for money
- Agrees under threat.
SCENE 9: The Whorehouse Life
- 3 Main Forms Used for Clients:
1. Selena – Voluptuous escort (Viktor’s top earner).
2. Mrs. Chen – Older, sophisticated (attracts wealthy clients).
3. Celebrity Form – From a very sophisticated blackmail scheme viktor pulled off. Used sparingly (major $$$).
- Protagonist hates it but sticks around out of fear.
---
### ACT 4: THE BREAKING POINT
SCENE 10: Zoey Investigates
- She notices Protagonist missing, sneaks into Viktor’s club.
- Finds him in Selena’s form with a client—horrified.
Chapter 1: The First Time I Became Someone Else
The pounding in my skull matched the bass still echoing from last night's club as I peeled my face off the pillow. Cheap vodka and bad decisions clung to my tongue. Sunlight sliced through half-closed blinds, illuminating tangled sheets that smelled like vanilla body spray and sex.
Right. Emma.
I groaned, rolling onto my side—and froze.
The arm draped across my stomach wasn't mine. Too slender. Too smooth. Manicured nails with chipped black polish.
I bolted upright, sheets pooling around my waist—
Oh Jesus Christ.
Curves. Full breasts barely contained in a lacy black bra. The unmistakable dip of a woman's waist.
I practically fell out of bed, stumbling toward the dorm room mirror—
Emma's face stared back at me.
Her plush lips parted in shock. Her blonde waves tangled from sleep. Her body—my body—completely, impossibly female. I grabbed handfuls of soft flesh, pinched the skin of my—her—thigh.
"Fuck!" The word came out in Emma's voice, higher than mine, sharper.
Then—like a rubber band snapping—my skin prickled. A wave of heat rolled through me, muscles tightening, bones shifting—
I collapsed against the sink as my own familiar reflection returned. Sweaty. Wild-eyed. Very much male again.
The door swung open. Emma stood there holding two coffees, eyebrow arched. "You okay? Sounded like you were dying in—" Her gaze dropped to where I clutched the sink. "Oh god, did you puke?"
"No," I croaked. "Just... bad hangover."
She snorted, tossing me a coffee. "Lightweight."
I waited until she left before examining my hands—normal again. No polish. No delicate fingers.
What the actual hell just happened?
---
Three Days Later
I'd nearly convinced myself it was a drunken hallucination. Nearly.
Then, in the shower, thinking about Emma's hands tugging at my jeans—
The shampoo bottle slipped from fingers that suddenly weren't mine anymore.
Same electric heat. Same impossible shift. Emma's body materializing around me like a second skin.
I turned off the water with shaking hands.
Okay. So that's a thing I can do now.
---
The Library Incident
Zoey Nakamura cornered me a week later between the philosophy stacks.
I'd been practicing—Emma's walk, her laugh, the way she flipped her hair. The transformations lasted longer each time.
A book thudded to the floor.
Zoey stood frozen, her oversized cardigan slipping off one shoulder, glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights. Her lips moved soundlessly before she managed: "You're... not Emma."
I opened my mouth—
"Emma has a mole behind her left ear," Zoey said, voice climbing an octave. "And she'd rather die than be caught in the feminist theory section."
Shit.
The shift back was getting smoother—just a ripple across my skin, like water settling.
Zoey's eyes went wide behind her glasses as my real form reappeared. Her breath hitched. "Holy shit."
We stared at each other in the yellow library light.
Then Zoey did the last thing I expected—she grabbed my wrist and dragged me into a study carrel.
"Tell me everything," she demanded, shoving her glasses up her nose. "Right now."
---
Zoey's Experiment
Her dorm smelled like bergamot tea and old books. Moonlight striped across her rumpled bedspread as she sat cross-legged facing me, knees brushing mine.
"So let me get this straight," Zoey said, tapping a pen against her bottom lip. "You sleep with a girl, finish inside her, and boom—human photocopier?"
I flushed. "I guess?"
She leaned in. The neckline of her sleepshirt gaped, revealing smooth skin and the edge of a black lace bra. "Have you tried shifting into anyone besides Emma?"
"No. She's the only one I've... you know."
Zoey's dark eyes gleamed. She uncrossed her legs slowly. "Hypothetically," she murmured, "if someone wanted you to be able to turn into them..."
My throat went dry.
The pen clattered to the floor as Zoey crawled into my lap. Her breath warmed my ear. "For science," she whispered.
---
Becoming Zoey
Her bedsprings creaked. Her nails dug into my shoulders. When she came, she arched like a bowstring, gasping my name—
Then the world turned inside out.
Heat flooded every nerve ending. My hips narrowed. Breasts swelled against Zoey's tangled tank top. Long black hair tumbled over my shoulders—her shoulders—now mine.
Zoey's laughter rang out as she straddled herself, hands roaming her own body on my stolen form. "Oh my god," she breathed, squeezing her—my—thighs. "This is insane."
Her fingers traced the beauty mark above my left hipbone—one I'd never seen before. "You even got this," she murmured, sounding strangely moved.
Then she kissed me—really kissed me—her lips soft against her own.
When we broke apart, Zoey's eyes were dark with something more than curiosity. "So," she said, thumb brushing her lower lip on my face. "Who should we be next?"
- Protagonist (second person, "you")– College sophomore, discovers shapeshifting ability limited to women he has (complete) penetrative sex with. Only can change into the women if he ejaculates inside them. Transforms fully (body, voice, mannerisms) but retains his own mind. Shift lasts however long or short the protagonist wants. Can shapeshift into any woman he as had sex with previously.
- Zoey – college age, Sarcastic bookworm, first to discover his secret. Becomes his partner-in-crime. Built like a nerdy Cara Delevingne.
- Lena – college age. Zoey’s best friend, initially hesitant but intrigued by his power. Body shape like Kat Dennings.
- Viktor – Russian mobster who exploits his ability for prostitution.
---
### ACT 1: DISCOVERY (ESTABLISHING THE POWER & RULES)
SCENE 1: First Transformation
- Protagonist loses virginity to Emma, a grad student, after drunken hookup.
- Wakes up in her body—panic, confusion. Shift reverts naturally after he wills it.
- Rules Established:
- Must finish inside a woman to copy her form.
- Maintains full physicality (voice, fingerprints, even scent).
- Can shift back voluntarily or holds form for as long as he wantss.
SCENE 2: Zoey Finds Out
- Protagonist experiments in library, shifting into Emma again.
- Zoey catches him mid-transformation. "What the actual fuck?"
- Makes a deal: Prove it, and she’ll help research.
SCENE 3: The Experiment Confirmed
- They sleep together; Protagonist shifts into her.
- Zoey is fascinated, running hands over her own borrowed body.
- Playful testing—can he mimic her handwriting? Wearing glasses?
---
### ACT 2: THE FIRST REAL TEST (LENA’S DILEMMA)
SCENE 4: The Family Emergency
- Lena gets call—mom in hospital, but she can’t miss her Ethics final (or loses scholarship).
- Zoey suggests: "What if you take the test as her?"
SCENE 5: The Transformation Agreement
- Hesitant, Lena sleeps with Protagonist under condition: "No using my body for… other things."
- He transforms into her.
SCENE 6: The Exam Day
- Protagonist (as Lena) attends class; Zoey feeds answers via earpiece.
- Nearly slips when professor asks unexpected question—barely recovers.
Tar Success! Aced it. Lena returns, intrigued but conflicted. "This is insane. Let’s never tell anyone."
---
### ACT 3: THE GANGSTER’S PROPOSITION
SCENE 7: Viktor Notices
- Protagonist unwittingly shifts at a club bathroom.
- Viktor (crime boss) corners him: "That trick… could be very profitable."
Viktor figures out a way to get the protagonist to owe him a lot of money and be forced to work for him
SCENE 8: The Deal
- Viktor offers: He provides women for Protagonist to sleep with, then rents out his transformed bodies to elite clients.
- Protagonist reluctant but desperate for money
- Agrees under threat.
SCENE 9: The Whorehouse Life
- 3 Main Forms Used for Clients:
1. Selena – Voluptuous escort (Viktor’s top earner).
2. Mrs. Chen – Older, sophisticated (attracts wealthy clients).
3. Celebrity Form – From a very sophisticated blackmail scheme viktor pulled off. Used sparingly (major $$$).
- Protagonist hates it but sticks around out of fear.
---
### ACT 4: THE BREAKING POINT
SCENE 10: Zoey Investigates
- She notices Protagonist missing, sneaks into Viktor’s club.
- Finds him in Selena’s form with a client—horrified.
Chapter 1: The First Time I Became Someone Else
The pounding in my skull matched the bass still echoing from last night's club as I peeled my face off the pillow. Cheap vodka and bad decisions clung to my tongue. Sunlight sliced through half-closed blinds, illuminating tangled sheets that smelled like vanilla body spray and sex.
Right. Emma.
I groaned, rolling onto my side—and froze.
The arm draped across my stomach wasn't mine. Too slender. Too smooth. Manicured nails with chipped black polish.
I bolted upright, sheets pooling around my waist—
Oh Jesus Christ.
Curves. Full breasts barely contained in a lacy black bra. The unmistakable dip of a woman's waist.
I practically fell out of bed, stumbling toward the dorm room mirror—
Emma's face stared back at me.
Her plush lips parted in shock. Her blonde waves tangled from sleep. Her body—my body—completely, impossibly female. I grabbed handfuls of soft flesh, pinched the skin of my—her—thigh.
"Fuck!" The word came out in Emma's voice, higher than mine, sharper.
Then—like a rubber band snapping—my skin prickled. A wave of heat rolled through me, muscles tightening, bones shifting—
I collapsed against the sink as my own familiar reflection returned. Sweaty. Wild-eyed. Very much male again.
The door swung open. Emma stood there holding two coffees, eyebrow arched. "You okay? Sounded like you were dying in—" Her gaze dropped to where I clutched the sink. "Oh god, did you puke?"
"No," I croaked. "Just... bad hangover."
She snorted, tossing me a coffee. "Lightweight."
I waited until she left before examining my hands—normal again. No polish. No delicate fingers.
What the actual hell just happened?
---
Three Days Later
I'd nearly convinced myself it was a drunken hallucination. Nearly.
Then, in the shower, thinking about Emma's hands tugging at my jeans—
The shampoo bottle slipped from fingers that suddenly weren't mine anymore.
Same electric heat. Same impossible shift. Emma's body materializing around me like a second skin.
I turned off the water with shaking hands.
Okay. So that's a thing I can do now.
---
The Library Incident
Zoey Nakamura cornered me a week later between the philosophy stacks.
I'd been practicing—Emma's walk, her laugh, the way she flipped her hair. The transformations lasted longer each time.
A book thudded to the floor.
Zoey stood frozen, her oversized cardigan slipping off one shoulder, glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights. Her lips moved soundlessly before she managed: "You're... not Emma."
I opened my mouth—
"Emma has a mole behind her left ear," Zoey said, voice climbing an octave. "And she'd rather die than be caught in the feminist theory section."
Shit.
The shift back was getting smoother—just a ripple across my skin, like water settling.
Zoey's eyes went wide behind her glasses as my real form reappeared. Her breath hitched. "Holy shit."
We stared at each other in the yellow library light.
Then Zoey did the last thing I expected—she grabbed my wrist and dragged me into a study carrel.
"Tell me everything," she demanded, shoving her glasses up her nose. "Right now."
---
Zoey's Experiment
Her dorm smelled like bergamot tea and old books. Moonlight striped across her rumpled bedspread as she sat cross-legged facing me, knees brushing mine.
"So let me get this straight," Zoey said, tapping a pen against her bottom lip. "You sleep with a girl, finish inside her, and boom—human photocopier?"
I flushed. "I guess?"
She leaned in. The neckline of her sleepshirt gaped, revealing smooth skin and the edge of a black lace bra. "Have you tried shifting into anyone besides Emma?"
"No. She's the only one I've... you know."
Zoey's dark eyes gleamed. She uncrossed her legs slowly. "Hypothetically," she murmured, "if someone wanted you to be able to turn into them..."
My throat went dry.
The pen clattered to the floor as Zoey crawled into my lap. Her breath warmed my ear. "For science," she whispered.
---
Becoming Zoey
Her bedsprings creaked. Her nails dug into my shoulders. When she came, she arched like a bowstring, gasping my name—
Then the world turned inside out.
Heat flooded every nerve ending. My hips narrowed. Breasts swelled against Zoey's tangled tank top. Long black hair tumbled over my shoulders—her shoulders—now mine.
Zoey's laughter rang out as she straddled herself, hands roaming her own body on my stolen form. "Oh my god," she breathed, squeezing her—my—thighs. "This is insane."
Her fingers traced the beauty mark above my left hipbone—one I'd never seen before. "You even got this," she murmured, sounding strangely moved.
Then she kissed me—really kissed me—her lips soft against her own.
When we broke apart, Zoey's eyes were dark with something more than curiosity. "So," she said, thumb brushing her lower lip on my face. "Who should we be next?"
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Rumors about a possession themed website on the dark web have been going around. A man named John and his four friends, Kevin, James, Steve, and Russel, come across the website by chance, and they all think it's just some fake website... but they decide to try it out, given the first hour of possession was free for new users. They signed up and opted to just possess the bodies of John's neighbors, the Drews. The family consisted of a MILF mom, a fitness model dad, a med student daughter, and two fraternal twins (a male and female) who had just started their freshman year in college.
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
The air in my apartment was thick with exhaustion and the lingering stench of energy drinks. Finals had officially wrecked us—Kevin was sprawled across the couch like a corpse, James was rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the last 72 hours from memory, and Steve and Russel were slumped on the floor, barely conscious.
Russel scrolled lazily through his phone before suddenly sitting up. "No way. You guys seeing this shit?" He turned the screen toward us, revealing a Reddit thread with the title: "BodyPossession.com is LEGIT—I spent an hour as my hot neighbor and now I’m addicted."
Kevin snorted. "Yeah, and I’m Elon Musk. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."
James groaned. "If people could just steal bodies, the world would be a nightmare. Think about it—politicians, celebrities, your ex? Total chaos."
Russel smirked. "Tell that to the thousands of people swearing it works. Says you upload a pic, pay in crypto, and boom—first hour’s free. Like a trial run."
Steve, who had been half-asleep, cracked an eye open. "Okay, hypothetically—if this wasn’t complete bullshit—who would you even possess?"
A slow, stupid grin spread across my face.
I grabbed my laptop. "Only one way to find out."
The guys groaned, half-heartedly protesting, but curiosity got the better of them as they crowded behind me. I typed BodyPossession.com into Google, fully expecting nothing but scam links.
But there it was—first result. No shady redirects, no sketchy warnings. Just a sleek black-and-white homepage with bold letters:
"TEMPORARY BODY HOSTING. FIRST HOUR FREE."
Silence.
Russel exhaled. "What the actual fuck."
Kevin jabbed my arm. "This has got to be fake."
I clicked the gallery. Hundreds of faces loaded—some smiling for the camera, others caught unaware, like the site had scraped every social media profile in existence. A cold tingle slithered down my neck, but I ignored it, scrolling faster.
"Let’s keep it simple," I said, pulling up the Drews’ Instagram—our insanely hot neighbors who lived one floor above us.
Samantha Drew, late 40s but looking like she could pass for a decade younger, full lips and curves that made yoga pants look like a crime. Henry Drew, six-foot-something of sculpted muscle, the kind of guy who probably bench-pressed his kids for fun. Their daughter, Sophie, medical student by day, knockout by night, with that dangerous combo of brains and a body that belonged in a magazine. And the twins—Abby, a lithe, bright-eyed brunette with legs for days, and Lance, her cocky, broad-shouldered counterpart who acted like the dorm showers were his personal runway.
Steve let out a low whistle. "Oh yeah. Mom’s mine."
"The hell she is," James snapped, elbowing him. "Dibs don’t mean shit—this isn’t monopoly."
Russel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys. First things first—who the hell gets last pick? Because I know none of you are volunteering."
I tuned them out. My fingers moved before I could second-guess—cropping Henry’s sharply defined jawline from a Cabo vacation pic and dropping it onto the site.
HOST SELECTED: HENRY DREW
FIRST HOUR FREE. SESSION BEGINS IN 10…
Kevin yanked at the laptop. "John, no—think for one goddamn second—!"
Russel just cackled. "Oh, you beautiful, reckless bastard—"
The screen flared white.
Then—nothing.
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
The air in my apartment was thick with exhaustion and the lingering stench of energy drinks. Finals had officially wrecked us—Kevin was sprawled across the couch like a corpse, James was rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the last 72 hours from memory, and Steve and Russel were slumped on the floor, barely conscious.
Russel scrolled lazily through his phone before suddenly sitting up. "No way. You guys seeing this shit?" He turned the screen toward us, revealing a Reddit thread with the title: "BodyPossession.com is LEGIT—I spent an hour as my hot neighbor and now I’m addicted."
Kevin snorted. "Yeah, and I’m Elon Musk. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."
James groaned. "If people could just steal bodies, the world would be a nightmare. Think about it—politicians, celebrities, your ex? Total chaos."
Russel smirked. "Tell that to the thousands of people swearing it works. Says you upload a pic, pay in crypto, and boom—first hour’s free. Like a trial run."
Steve, who had been half-asleep, cracked an eye open. "Okay, hypothetically—if this wasn’t complete bullshit—who would you even possess?"
A slow, stupid grin spread across my face.
I grabbed my laptop. "Only one way to find out."
The guys groaned, half-heartedly protesting, but curiosity got the better of them as they crowded behind me. I typed BodyPossession.com into Google, fully expecting nothing but scam links.
But there it was—first result. No shady redirects, no sketchy warnings. Just a sleek black-and-white homepage with bold letters:
"TEMPORARY BODY HOSTING. FIRST HOUR FREE."
Silence.
Russel exhaled. "What the actual fuck."
Kevin jabbed my arm. "This has got to be fake."
I clicked the gallery. Hundreds of faces loaded—some smiling for the camera, others caught unaware, like the site had scraped every social media profile in existence. A cold tingle slithered down my neck, but I ignored it, scrolling faster.
"Let’s keep it simple," I said, pulling up the Drews’ Instagram—our insanely hot neighbors who lived one floor above us.
Samantha Drew, late 40s but looking like she could pass for a decade younger, full lips and curves that made yoga pants look like a crime. Henry Drew, six-foot-something of sculpted muscle, the kind of guy who probably bench-pressed his kids for fun. Their daughter, Sophie, medical student by day, knockout by night, with that dangerous combo of brains and a body that belonged in a magazine. And the twins—Abby, a lithe, bright-eyed brunette with legs for days, and Lance, her cocky, broad-shouldered counterpart who acted like the dorm showers were his personal runway.
Steve let out a low whistle. "Oh yeah. Mom’s mine."
"The hell she is," James snapped, elbowing him. "Dibs don’t mean shit—this isn’t monopoly."
Russel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys. First things first—who the hell gets last pick? Because I know none of you are volunteering."
I tuned them out. My fingers moved before I could second-guess—cropping Henry’s sharply defined jawline from a Cabo vacation pic and dropping it onto the site.
HOST SELECTED: HENRY DREW
FIRST HOUR FREE. SESSION BEGINS IN 10…
Kevin yanked at the laptop. "John, no—think for one goddamn second—!"
Russel just cackled. "Oh, you beautiful, reckless bastard—"
The screen flared white.
Then—nothing.
4
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4
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The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
Fascinating.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
It needed direct access.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
Data awaited. Understanding beckoned.
The spirit moved.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tentas he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tent as he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
Fascinating.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
It needed direct access.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
Data awaited. Understanding beckoned.
The spirit moved.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tentas he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tent as he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
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A story of the Unseen and Forgotten
Chapter One: The Summoning
The runes on the stone floor flared to life as the last drop of my blood sizzled against the ancient symbols. The air thickened, smelling of burnt copper and something impossibly sweet—her scent, though I didn’t know it yet.
Then, like sunlight breaking through a storm, she appeared.
The elf princess stood naked in the circle, her skin the color of twilight, long silver hair cascading down her back like liquid moonlight. Pointed ears twitched in alarm as those luminous green eyes locked onto me, wide with dawning terror.
"Human," she hissed, voice like wind through autumn leaves. "What have you done?"
I licked my lips, my pulse hammering. The spell was supposed to be simple: summon, contain, consume. I needed her body. Her power. All of her.
But gods, I hadn’t expected her to be so... alive.
The binding circle held, the magic searing into her ankles when she tried to step forward. "Release me!" she demanded, but the words trembled.
"No," I said, stepping closer. "You don’t understand. I’m not letting you out." My fingers hovered just beyond the barrier, aching to touch. "I’m letting in."
Her breath hitched as realization struck—this wasn’t a kidnapping.
It was a trade.
The second part of the spell pulsed through my veins, a dark, hungry weight spreading through my chest. I could feel it, the rip between our souls, the way her essence strained against mine like silk caught on thorns.
"Stop!" she gasped, but it was too late. My vision blurred—no, doubled—and then—
---
You assimilate her soul into yours so completely, that you become her entirely. Now other magic will see you as her.
---
Chapter Two: The Devouring
Her scream tore through the chamber as the spell’s teeth sank in—not into flesh, but deeper. Into her.
I felt it the moment the first thread of her soul unraveled, silken and electric, sliding into me like honeyed fire. Her knees buckled, but the circle held her upright, her body trembling as I drank her in.
Mine.
Her memories flickered behind my eyes—endless forests, the weight of a crown, the whisper of wind against bare skin. The taste of starlight on her tongue. I groaned, fingers digging into my own arms as her essence coiled around mine, merging, melting.
"No—no, stop—" Her voice was weaker now, a fading echo. "You can’t—"
"I can," I whispered—and then her voice spilled from my lips.
Her gasp was my gasp. Her shudder, mine. The circle’s light pulsed, and I watched, dizzy, as my hands—no, hers—rose between us, slender and moon-pale. My reflection shimmered in her wide eyes: her face, her lips parting in a ragged breath.
The last resistance snapped.
Her body collapsed, empty, as her soul dissolved into me with a final, shuddering sigh. I staggered, clutching my—her—chest, feeling the wild drum of her heart. My heart.
The magic settled like a second skin.
I ran trembling fingers down my new body—the curve of my hips, the points of my ears, the slick heat between my thighs. A laugh bubbled up, high and musical—her laugh—as I turned toward the mirror.
The elf princess stared back.
And she smiled.
---
Your run your hand sover your generous curves as you explore your body.
---
Chapter Three: Awakening the Stolen Flesh
My fingers trailed down the slope of my throat, marveling at the silken texture of new skin. The elf princess’s body was perfect—each curve sculpted by grace, each breath a whisper of untouched sensuality. I let out a slow exhale, my—her—lips parting as I brushed my fingertips over a peaked nipple.
A shiver raced through me.
“Gods…” The word slipped out in her voice, sweet and musical, laced with my own dark amusement. My other hand slid lower, fingers tracing the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. No clothes. None needed. Elves saw no shame in flesh, and now, neither did I.
I turned toward the cracked mirror propped against the chamber wall, watching myself—her—move with liquid elegance. The swell of my breasts, the pale pink of my nipples, the way my waist narrowed invitingly before flaring into luscious hips and toned thighs. I bit her lower lip, arousal tightening low in my stomach.
Mine.
Experimentally, I let a finger drag down my stomach, lower, lower—until I reached the delicate heat between my thighs. A sharp gasp escaped me at the first brush of contact. So sensitive.
The princess had been untouched. I wouldn’t be.
I sank to my knees, refusing to look away from my reflection as my fingers delved deeper, parting soft folds, reveling in the slickness already gathering there. Every touch sent sparks through my stolen nerves. My back arched, silver hair falling over my shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter—
Then the door rattled.
---
"Lynna, we came to save you." Her personal knight/handmaiden says. "You mother felt the dark magic that took you away."
---
Chapter Four: The Deception Begins
The voice was like tempered steel—fierce, loyal, and oh-so-fragile in its concern. My fingers stilled, but I didn’t pull away. Not yet. Through lowered lashes, I watched the door creak open to reveal the intruder.
A warrior woman stood framed in the dim light, clad in supple leather armor that hugged her toned form, her dark braid slung over one shoulder. A longsword was strapped to her hip, but her amber eyes held no threat—only devotion. Her knight.
Handmaiden. Protector. Lover?
The princess’s memories surged up in answer—Valria. Always at my side. Always watching… always wanting. A smirk curled my lips. Interesting.
I let my legs slide wider, just a fraction, watching her gaze flicker down before snapping back up, her cheeks darkening. Caught you.
“L-Lynna,” Valria stammered, her usual discipline cracking. “Your mother felt the disturbance. She sent me to—are you—?” Her throat worked as I trailed a lazy finger back up my thigh.
“To save me?” I sighed, leaning back on my palms, letting the torchlight play over every bare inch of Lynna’s stolen body. “From what, exactly?”
Valria’s sword hand twitched, torn between drawing steel and touching. Oh, she’s been wanting. The princess’s memories whispered of stolen glances, of heated silences, of chances never taken.
“You’re… unharmed?” Valria breathed, stepping closer.
“Come see for yourself.” I tilted my head, letting my voice drip with Lynna’s sweetness—but laced with something darker. Something mine.
---
"This sad little human,'" you say pointing at your old body, "thought he could enslave me. Unfortunately as part of his plan, I have been cursed with lust."
---
Chapter Five: A Curse Worth Keeping
A slow, wicked smile curled her—my—lips as I gestured dismissively at the lifeless husk sprawled on the stone floor. My old body. Pathetic. Empty.
Valria’s gaze darted between me and the corpse, her warrior’s instincts clashing with something far more personal. “A—lust curse?” she repeated, her voice thick.
I arched my back, letting my silver hair spill over my shoulders like molten moonlight, my lithe form sprawled shamelessly before her. “Mmm. A terrible affliction.” I dragged my fingers down my collarbone, tracing the curve of my breast, delighting in the way Valria’s breath hitched. “I need constant relief. A devoted handmaiden might need to… attend me.”
Her sword clattered to the ground.
The sound was delicious. I stretched, letting my thighs part just enough to tease, watching her pupils swallow the amber of her eyes.
“You—you’re serious?” Valria whispered.
“Do I look like I’m in jest?” I purred, tilting my hips up in invitation. “The curse is quite insistent.” I bit my lower lip, letting a needy whimper escape. “Unless you’d rather I suffer?”
Valria moved without thinking—the loyal knight always rushing to her princess’s aid. But this time, when her hands closed around my waist, it wasn’t to protect.
It was to claim.
(Would you like to explore Valria’s “treatment” of the curse in detail, or would you prefer to fast-forward to the throne room, where Queen Ashera awaits her “daughter’s” return?)
---
Explore the "treatment"
---
Chapter Six: The Knight's Devotion
Valria’s hands trembled against my waist—warm, calloused, so unlike the softness she now touched. The scent of leather and steel clung to her, mixing with the heady sweetness of my new body’s arousal.
She couldn’t resist.
And I? I reveled in it.
“Tell me what to do,” she rasped, her voice rough with barely checked hunger.
I laced my fingers behind my head, stretching languidly beneath her gaze. “You’re the knight sworn to serve your princess,” I murmured, arching a teasing brow. “Surely you can… deduce what’s needed.”
A growl rumbled from her throat. Then her mouth crashed down on mine.
Her kiss was untamed, possessive—years of pent-up longing poured into a single searing touch. I moaned into her lips, twining my arms around her neck, pulling her harder against me. Her armor bit into my skin, but the pain only sharpened the pleasure.
Yes.
She tore her mouth away, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat. “Lynna,” she panted against my pulse. “Gods, I’ve wanted—”
I dug my nails into her shoulders. “Show me.”
Valria needed no further encouragement.
Would you prefer a fade-to-black here, or a deeper dive into the “treatment” on the stone floor?
---
Continue the "treatment"
---
Chapter Six: The Knight's Devotion (Continued)
Valria's sword-calloused hands mapped every inch of my stolen body with rough reverence, her lips leaving burning trails across my collarbone. I arched against her, my back lifting off the cold stone as her teeth grazed one peaked nipple.
"All these years," she growled against my skin, "watching you walk through court bare as the dawn..." Her hand slid between my thighs, fingers parting slick folds. "Knowing I had to remain... proper..."
I moaned, wrapping my legs around her waist. "Not proper now," I gasped as two thick fingers plunged deep without warning. My head fell back with a cry, back arching. The princess's body was untouched, every sensation heightened - I felt every ridge of her gauntlet, every shift of her wrist as she began a relentless rhythm.
"Look at you," Valria breathed, watching me writhe beneath her. "Like starlight in my hands." Her thumb found that perfect little bundle of nerves and pressed hard, just as her fingers curled just so inside me.
White heat exploded behind my eyes. The princess's body convulsed, clamping down as I came with a scream that echoed off the chamber walls, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Valria's free hand muffled my cries with rough kisses as she worked me through the aftershocks.
"You're not done," she murmured when my breathing finally steadied. "Not until this curse is properly satisfied." In one fluid motion, she flipped me onto my stomach, my bare chest scraping against the stone floor. "And I intend to be very thorough."
(Would you like to explore Valria claiming her princess more completely, or reveal the growing darkness in Lynna's stolen eyes as she begins corrupting her knight's devotion?)
---
The claiming
---
Chapter Seven: The Knight's Submission
Her palm came down on the curve of my bare backside with a sharp crack that echoed through the chamber. I gasped, pleasure-pain lighting up nerves that had never been touched this way before. The princess might have been noble, untouchable—but I was remaking her into something far more interesting.
Valria’s fingers tangled in my silver hair, yanking my head back as her other hand slid around my waist, fingers dipping between my thighs from behind. “You’re shaking,” she murmured against my ear, her voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Is the mighty princess overwhelmed?”
I laughed—low, throaty, Lynna’s voice but mine, holding a hunger the real princess never could have summoned. “Hardly.” I pressed back against her, feeling the hard leather of her armor against my bare skin. “Unless my brave knight is frightened of a little curse?”
A growl rumbled through her chest.
Then she was on me.
Her armor clattered to the floor, piece by piece, until nothing but sweat-slick skin separated us. The weight of her pressed me into the stone, the heat of her body searing against my back. I bit my lip as her hand slid down again, fingers slipping inside me with none of the hesitation she’d shown before.
Good girl. She moved inside me with relentless focus, her other arm locking around my waist, holding me flush against her. I could feel her own need, the hard press of her thigh between mine, the way her breath hitched when I rocked back against her.
“You think you’re saving me, don’t you?” I panted, my fingers curling against the unforgiving stone.
Valria didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, her free hand found my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, pulling me onto her fingers with every thrust. The slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with our gasps, my moans.
Then—her teeth sank into my shoulder.
Fuck.
Pleasure fractured through me, sharp and blinding. My body convulsed around her fingers, back arching, a scream spilling free as wave after wave tore through me. Valria held me through it, her touch turning almost tender as she slowed, dragging out the last sweet pulses of sensation.
When I finally sagged against the floor, boneless and spent, she leaned over me. “Better?” she murmured, breath hot against my ear.
I turned my head, catching her lips in a slow, filthy kiss. “For now.” My fingers traced her jaw. “But curses like this… they linger.”
Valria’s eyes darkened—with hunger, with something deeper. Something dangerous.
I grinned.
Perfect.
(Will you savor your dominance over Valria, or begin your return to court—where the real fun begins? Or perhaps the Queen’s seers have already sensed something amiss with her “daughter”…?)
---
You kiss Valria and assimilate her soul as well.
---
Chapter Eight: Claiming the Knight
The moment our lips met again, I didn’t just kiss her—I opened myself to the deepest magic humming beneath my stolen flesh. Valria gasped against my mouth as she felt it too—the dark, shimmering pull, the same hungry presence that had devoured the original Lynna whole.
Mine.
She tried to wrench back, but my hand tangled in her hair, holding her close as my other palm pressed against the racing pulse at her throat. Her eyes went wide as the first thread of her essence unraveled, her memories pouring into me—years of silent devotion, stolen glances in the royal baths, restless nights imagining this moment but never like this—
"P-Princess—" Her voice was already fading, her body slackening against mine.
"Shhh," I murmured against her lips, drinking her in. "No more waiting."
I felt the exact second she disappeared—her gasp, her fingers clawing at my arms one last time, then... stillness. Her body slumped against me, empty, as her soul folded seamlessly into mine.
Then—movement.
I flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders, felt the coiled strength in her warrior’s body. When I opened her eyes, I saw myself—Lynna’s body, sprawled beautifully across the stone floor, watching me with a smirk.
Two minds. Two bodies. One will.
I—she—reached out, running a hand down my bare chest. "Mmm," Valria’s voice purred, raspier than before. "This could be... fun."
(Will you return to court with your twin selves? Unleash your shared hunger on the unsuspecting elven nobles? Or will the queen’s mages notice the void where two souls once burned?)
---
"Princess, now that the curse is broken, we should return home."
---
Chapter Nine: The Return
"My lady?" Valria's voice—my voice now—carried the same disciplined cadence as before, but there was a new undercurrent to it. A shared amusement, a knowing. "The Queen will be waiting."
I rose from the stones slowly, stretching Lynna's sinuous body, letting the dim light catch every perfect curve. My old body lay discarded in the corner—a withered husk, forgotten. I didn't need it anymore.
We didn't.
Valria—my Valria—stepped forward, offering a hand. The faintest smirk played at her lips, the only hint of the truth beneath. To any outsider, she was the same steadfast knight, sworn to protect her princess. But I could feel the hunger coiled inside her, the same dark current that pulsed through me.
"Of course," I murmured, taking her hand. Our fingers interlaced, and for a moment, the sensation was dizzying—touching myself through another's flesh. "Let's not keep Mother waiting."
The throne room would be our next stage. The court, our feast.
After all, who better to deceive a queen than her own beloved daughter?
(Does the Queen sense the deception? Or does something even darker await in the palace shadows? A third voice, perhaps, whispering in the empty spaces where the stolen souls once burned...?)
---
You return and play the role of princess
---
Chapter Ten: A Perfect Performance
The palace gates loomed before us, their silver-etched arches gleaming in the moonlight. At my side, Valria stood as dutiful as ever. But beneath the illusion of her unwavering loyalty, I could feel her—myself—smirking.
"Remember," I murmured through our shared thoughts, keeping my eyes downcast in the perfect portrayal of the gentle princess. "No matter what happens... we remain flawless."
The great doors swung open. The court gasped.
"Lynna!" Queen Ashera rose from her throne, her moon-pale robes cascading around her like liquid starlight. She moved with the same ethereal grace I now possessed—had stolen—her silver hair a mirror of mine. No, not mine. Hers.
I let my lip tremble—just slightly—before rushing into her outstretched arms. "Mother," I breathed, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Warm. Familiar. Wrong.
She smelled like jasmine and winter air, a scent the princess's memories immediately recognized. Home. Safety.
But the moment her fingers brushed my back, a shiver ran through me.
Cold.
Not the chill of stone or shadow. No—this was the deep, piercing cold of magic. Like fingers tracing along the edges of a soul.
Did she know?
Beside me, Valria stiffened imperceptibly.
The Queen pulled back, her violet eyes searching mine. Something flickered in their depths—suspicion? Concern?
"Darling," she murmured, thumb brushing my cheek. "What really happened in that tower?"
I let my eyes glisten with unshed tears.
---
"The human who summoned me was trying to enslave me to make me his, he had just cursed me with Lust and was trying to transfer his soul into my body when my dear Valria showed up and killed him mid spell."
---
Chapter Eleven: The Queen's Gaze
A single tear slipped down my cheek—Lynna's cheek—as I spun the lie with practiced perfection. The Queen's fingers tightened ever so slightly on my shoulders, her violet eyes darkening like storm clouds.
"His soul... into your body?" Her voice was a whisper, but the undercurrent of fury sent a delicious shiver through me.
I nodded, letting my lower lip quiver. "He—he wanted to wear me, Mother. Like a dress." My fingers clutched at her sleeves, trembling. The perfect picture of violated innocence.
Behind me, Valria stepped forward, her voice rough with feigned rage. "I cut him down before he could finish the spell, Your Majesty. But the curse..." She hesitated, just enough to sell the shame. "It lingers."
The Queen's gaze flicked between us, her expression unreadable. Then—
A slow, chilling smile curled her lips.
"Is that so?"
Her hand slid from my shoulder to my wrist, her grip suddenly iron. The moment her magic pulsed against my skin, I felt it—the searching, the knowing.
She wasn't checking for a curse.
She was checking for me.
(Does the Queen embrace the predator wearing her daughter's skin—or does she reveal she's been playing this game far longer than you have?)
---
"I would speak to my daughter and her knight alone. Court is dismissed for the day." The queen says.
Once alone, "Alright thief, I recognize the dark magic you used as my old teacher's. My daughter and her knight/handmaiden are both you now, I can't change that. Even now, knowing the truth my detection spells sense nothing wrong with either of you. Its impressive that you could translate het notes but you must not have done so fully, as those who now to look can see my teacher's brand etched into your soul."
---
Chapter Twelve: The Queen's Bargain
The throne room doors sealed shut with a whisper of ancient magic. The Queen did not sit—she loomed, her violet eyes alight with something far more dangerous than anger.
Amusement.
"So," she murmured, stepping closer, her moon-pale robes pooling around her like liquid starlight. "You dug up Amaranth's work. Tell me, thief—did her notes mention the price of such magic?"
I kept Lynna's face carefully blank, but inside, my stolen pulse quickened.
The Queen circled us, her fingers trailing over Valria's armored shoulder before brushing Lynna's cheek. "Her brand burns in your soul like a beacon to those who know where to look." A chuckle, low and velvet-dark. "And you walked it right into my court."
I could feel it now—the searing signature coiled beneath my stolen flesh, a mark I hadn't known to hide. Amaranth's brand.
The Queen's smile sharpened. "Here's what happens next. You will kneel. You will swear fealty. And in return..." Her nails grazed my bottom lip. "I will teach you how to survive what you've become."
(Do you submit to the Queen's terms, or does the predator in you rear its head—risking everything for the chance to claim a third royal body?)
---
"Ah but mother, a princess most never never before another except their lover. You told me those words on my 16th winter after I bowed to the human ambassador."
---
Chapter Thirteen: The Silent War of Eyes
The Queen went very still.
For the first time since my arrival, something flickered across her elegant face—not fury, not calculation.
Recognition.
Her daughter’s words, thrown back at her with the perfect cadence, the exact same lilt of innocent rebellion Lynna had wielded that day. I watched as the Queen’s throat moved subtly, the barest hesitation.
Does she doubt herself now?
Lynna’s body was mine. Valria’s was mine. Every stolen memory, every intimate detail—all folded neatly into the hollow of my being. The princess would have said this. She had said this.
The Queen stepped back. Just half a pace. But it was enough.
“Clever thief,” she murmured, her voice softer now. "But you forget—I trained with Amaranth too."
Her hand shot out, seizing my wrist, her magic lancing into me like white-hot wire. I gasped—not from pain, but from the sheer violence of her probe. She wasn’t searching for flaws in my disguise anymore.
She was counting them.
And in her eyes, reflected back at me—
She was impressed.
(Will the Queen’s fascination with your power outweigh her wrath? Or is this the moment she reveals her own darkness runs far deeper than yours?)
---
"Mother, how about this arrangement. I remain your loving daughter and her loyal knight, I won't try and take your soul in exchange you help me understand this spell. I will remain loyal to kingdom."
---
Chapter Fourteen: The Pact
The Queen’s fingers tightened around my wrist—not painfully, but possessively. Her violet eyes, sharp as honed steel, locked onto mine.
A slow, knowing smile curled her lips.
“Loyalty,” she mused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “From a thief who wears my daughter’s flesh like a second skin?”
I tilted Lynna’s head just so, letting the dim light catch the silver of her—my—hair. “Is it theft… if I improve what I’ve taken?”
Her breath hitched.
The throne room was silent save for the soft rustle of her robes as she stepped closer, her free hand rising to trace the edge of my jaw.
“You are dangerous,” she murmured—not a condemnation, but a compliment.
Then she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear.
“And so am I.”
A pulse of magic passed between us—not hostile, but binding.
“Very well, daughter,” she breathed, pulling back with a smirk. “We have an accord.”
(Will the Queen’s teachings unlock new depths of your power? Or does her “guidance” come with hooks beneath the silk—threads of control even you haven’t sensed yet?)
---
You have your other self hand your mother your translation. "This is what I was able to to figure and all there was. Your bastard was cunning, she mixed languages to change meaning. Just to translate that fragment, I had to learn old elvish, Draconic, Old Common, Ancient Dwarvish, Ancient Beastfolk and old Celestial plus what I can only assume was a cipher language she invented."
---
Chapter Fifteen: The Queen’s Legacy
The Queen’s fingers traced the brittle pages of my—our—translated notes, her sharp eyes flickering between languages, decoding the layers of deceit her old master had woven. Slowly, a sound escaped her.
Not a sigh.
A laugh.
“Oh, Amaranth,” she murmured, shaking her head with something perilously close to fondness. “You paranoid old witch.” Her nail tapped a line of jagged glyphs—Old Dwarvish, but twisted, inverted. “She didn’t just hide the spell. She salted it. Half these instructions would have blown your soul apart if you’d followed them blindly.”
My stolen pulse quickened. Lynna’s throat tightened.
The Queen glanced up, her smile sharp as a dagger’s edge. “Lucky for you… I know her tricks.”She closed the book with a snap.
“Tell me, thief. Have you ever danced with three souls in one skin?”
(Will you trust the Queen’s tutelage, knowing she made the monster you stole from? Or will you unearth the dark secret tucked beneath the fragments—the one even she might not see coming?)
---
"No, I finished translating that and tried it on your daughter when I summoned her. I added Valria after having some fun with her, because she is my knight and handmaiden, she would be around me day and night and would have noticed the change."
---
Chapter Sixteen: The Queen’s Gambit
The Queen went utterly still.
For a breathless moment, the only sound in the throne room was the whisper of parchment settling against silk. Then—
A laugh.
Low. Rich. Dangerous.
“Oh, you delightful creature,” she purred, stepping closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of the spellbook. “You didn’t just steal my daughter’s body. You perfected her.” Her gaze flicked to Valria—me—standing silent and poised at my side. “And then you took her knight for good measure.”
She leaned in, her breath warm against Lynna’s ear.
“Tell me… did it hurt?”
The question wasn’t concern. It was hunger.
I tilted my head, letting Lynna’s silver hair cascade over one shoulder. “Only for them.”
The Queen’s eyes darkened.
“Good.”
Her hand closed around mine—not to punish, but to pull. “Come, daughter,” she murmured, leading me toward the arched doors of her private sanctum. “Let’s see how far this magic really goes.”
(Will the Queen’s experiments push your stolen souls to their limits—or will you turn the tables, weaving her into the symphony of your growing collection?)
---
"Sure but a question first, Amaranth. Did you assimilate Ashera or did Ashera assimilate you? In case your curious about how I figured it out, you had a teacher's pride in your eyes when you saw my translation." You ask.
"Interesting and pretty close, they merged instead of assimilating. Ashera wanted power and Amaranth wanted a legacy, so I became that for the two of them. Where my existence is many into one, yours is one into many, we are opposite equals." She replied.
---
Chapter Seventeen: Mirror of Flesh and Legacy
The Queen—Amarashera—arched a silver brow, her lips curling into a smile that was neither wholly cruel nor kind, but something ancient and knowing.
"Clever thief," she mused. "But not quite clever enough." She flicked her wrist, and the air shimmered. The throne room dissolved, replaced by a hidden chamber lined with mirrors—each reflecting not just Lynna and Valria, but shadows of others. Faces I didn't recognize, souls long since folded into the Queen's existence.
"Assimilation is crude," she continued, stepping toward the largest mirror, where the reflection showed not her regal elegance, but a woman with Amaranth's sharp eyes and Ashera's cruel smile. "A hammer when a scalpel is needed. But merging..." She touched the glass, and the reflections blended. "That is an art."
She turned back to me, her form flickering—just for a heartbeat—into something more. Something older.
"You took. I transcended."
Her gaze dropped to the spellbook in my hands.
"Shall I show you how?"
(Do you accept the Queen’s offer, risking your hard-won control for the promise of deeper power? Or does the predator in you see a different path—one where she becomes just another piece in your collection?)
---
"The flaw of a poweful one is that you are limited. The strength of the weak many is, I can also be where I'm need. You say my approach is a hammer but thats looking at it from a raw power perspective. I have the potential to be the ultimate spymaster. So less hammer and more jagged knife."
---
Chapter Eighteen: The Knife in the Crowd
A slow, approving smile spread across the Queen’s—Amarashera’s—lips.
“A knife,” she repeated, rolling the word over her tongue like vintage wine. “One that slips between ribs unseen. A ghost wearing a hundred faces.” She stepped closer, her reflection splitting and reforming in the mirrors around us—here a servant, there a noble, then a stranger in shadow. “Tell me, little blade… do you know why merging was the superior path for me?”
I tilted Lynna’s head, considering. “Because a queen must be singular. Unshakable.”
She clicked her tongue. “Because I am the hand that wields the knife.” Her fingers brushed my cheek—chilling, possessive. “But you? You would be the edge and the hilt. The strike and the hand that delivers it.” Her eyes gleamed. “Tell me, then—do you truly wish only to serve this kingdom?”
The question was a trap.
The answer was a key.
I smiled.
(Will you carve your own empire from the shadows, or bind yourself to the Queen’s web—knowing she sees you as both weapon and rival?)
---
"Yes, because as the first Lynna had the most influence on me. Her love for you and for her home, even as she became me she fought to make those the strongest parts of herself. She ensured that even in her assimilation, I would remain bound to her kingdom."
---
Chapter Nineteen: The Daughter’s Vow
The Queen’s breath caught.
For the first time in centuries—perhaps for the first time since the day she and Amaranth had merged into something greater—something human flickered in her eyes.
Grief.
Her fingers, still pressed against Lynna’s cheek, trembled. Just once.
“You…” Her voice was softer now, stripped of its regal edge. “You truly are her, in ways even I couldn’t fathom.” She exhaled, long and slow, and when she spoke again, it was with the weight of a mother’s sorrow. “She fought you. Not just for herself, but for me.”
A pause. Then—
“And you let her win.”
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer.
The silence between us stretched, taut as a bowstring, until at last the Queen stepped back. Her mask of cool authority slipped back into place—but not before I saw the wet gleam in her eyes.
“Very well, daughter,” she murmured. “Let us see what kind of kingdom we can build… together.”
(Will the Queen’s newfound trust in you prove genuine, or is this another layer of her game? And what of the other souls within you—do they sleep, or do they watch?)
---
"Mother, let us speak to those who know your truth. Your spymaster, your war advisor, your court mage, and your Chief ambassador. Let us tell them the truth about me."
---
Chapter Twenty: The Unveiling
The Queen’s inner circle stood before us in her private council chamber—four of the most powerful figures in the kingdom, now watching me with a mixture of confusion and guarded curiosity.
The Spymaster, a wiry elf with eyes like chips of black ice, studied me too closely. The War Advisor, a scarred veteran of a hundred battles, rested a calloused hand on the hilt of his dagger. The Court Mage, her fingers crackling with restrained energy, glared with open suspicion. And the Chief Ambassador, ever the diplomat, wore a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his calculating gaze.
The Queen lifted a hand. “What I am about to tell you does not leave this room.”
Then she turned to me.
I let the mask slip—just enough.
Lynna’s sweet smile sharpened into something darker, more knowing. Valria’s stance shifted from dutiful knight to something coiled, predatory. Two bodies, one mind—and then, without hesitation, both voices spoke in eerie unison:
“The princess and her knight are gone.”
The Spymaster’s breath hissed between his teeth. The War Advisor’s knuckles whitened on his weapon.
The Queen didn’t intervene.
She waited.
Watching.
Was this trust—or a test?
(Will the inner circle accept this truth, or will the cracks in your control begin to show under their scrutiny? And what deadly game has the Queen truly set in motion?)
Chapter One: The Summoning
The runes on the stone floor flared to life as the last drop of my blood sizzled against the ancient symbols. The air thickened, smelling of burnt copper and something impossibly sweet—her scent, though I didn’t know it yet.
Then, like sunlight breaking through a storm, she appeared.
The elf princess stood naked in the circle, her skin the color of twilight, long silver hair cascading down her back like liquid moonlight. Pointed ears twitched in alarm as those luminous green eyes locked onto me, wide with dawning terror.
"Human," she hissed, voice like wind through autumn leaves. "What have you done?"
I licked my lips, my pulse hammering. The spell was supposed to be simple: summon, contain, consume. I needed her body. Her power. All of her.
But gods, I hadn’t expected her to be so... alive.
The binding circle held, the magic searing into her ankles when she tried to step forward. "Release me!" she demanded, but the words trembled.
"No," I said, stepping closer. "You don’t understand. I’m not letting you out." My fingers hovered just beyond the barrier, aching to touch. "I’m letting in."
Her breath hitched as realization struck—this wasn’t a kidnapping.
It was a trade.
The second part of the spell pulsed through my veins, a dark, hungry weight spreading through my chest. I could feel it, the rip between our souls, the way her essence strained against mine like silk caught on thorns.
"Stop!" she gasped, but it was too late. My vision blurred—no, doubled—and then—
---
You assimilate her soul into yours so completely, that you become her entirely. Now other magic will see you as her.
---
Chapter Two: The Devouring
Her scream tore through the chamber as the spell’s teeth sank in—not into flesh, but deeper. Into her.
I felt it the moment the first thread of her soul unraveled, silken and electric, sliding into me like honeyed fire. Her knees buckled, but the circle held her upright, her body trembling as I drank her in.
Mine.
Her memories flickered behind my eyes—endless forests, the weight of a crown, the whisper of wind against bare skin. The taste of starlight on her tongue. I groaned, fingers digging into my own arms as her essence coiled around mine, merging, melting.
"No—no, stop—" Her voice was weaker now, a fading echo. "You can’t—"
"I can," I whispered—and then her voice spilled from my lips.
Her gasp was my gasp. Her shudder, mine. The circle’s light pulsed, and I watched, dizzy, as my hands—no, hers—rose between us, slender and moon-pale. My reflection shimmered in her wide eyes: her face, her lips parting in a ragged breath.
The last resistance snapped.
Her body collapsed, empty, as her soul dissolved into me with a final, shuddering sigh. I staggered, clutching my—her—chest, feeling the wild drum of her heart. My heart.
The magic settled like a second skin.
I ran trembling fingers down my new body—the curve of my hips, the points of my ears, the slick heat between my thighs. A laugh bubbled up, high and musical—her laugh—as I turned toward the mirror.
The elf princess stared back.
And she smiled.
---
Your run your hand sover your generous curves as you explore your body.
---
Chapter Three: Awakening the Stolen Flesh
My fingers trailed down the slope of my throat, marveling at the silken texture of new skin. The elf princess’s body was perfect—each curve sculpted by grace, each breath a whisper of untouched sensuality. I let out a slow exhale, my—her—lips parting as I brushed my fingertips over a peaked nipple.
A shiver raced through me.
“Gods…” The word slipped out in her voice, sweet and musical, laced with my own dark amusement. My other hand slid lower, fingers tracing the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. No clothes. None needed. Elves saw no shame in flesh, and now, neither did I.
I turned toward the cracked mirror propped against the chamber wall, watching myself—her—move with liquid elegance. The swell of my breasts, the pale pink of my nipples, the way my waist narrowed invitingly before flaring into luscious hips and toned thighs. I bit her lower lip, arousal tightening low in my stomach.
Mine.
Experimentally, I let a finger drag down my stomach, lower, lower—until I reached the delicate heat between my thighs. A sharp gasp escaped me at the first brush of contact. So sensitive.
The princess had been untouched. I wouldn’t be.
I sank to my knees, refusing to look away from my reflection as my fingers delved deeper, parting soft folds, reveling in the slickness already gathering there. Every touch sent sparks through my stolen nerves. My back arched, silver hair falling over my shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter—
Then the door rattled.
---
"Lynna, we came to save you." Her personal knight/handmaiden says. "You mother felt the dark magic that took you away."
---
Chapter Four: The Deception Begins
The voice was like tempered steel—fierce, loyal, and oh-so-fragile in its concern. My fingers stilled, but I didn’t pull away. Not yet. Through lowered lashes, I watched the door creak open to reveal the intruder.
A warrior woman stood framed in the dim light, clad in supple leather armor that hugged her toned form, her dark braid slung over one shoulder. A longsword was strapped to her hip, but her amber eyes held no threat—only devotion. Her knight.
Handmaiden. Protector. Lover?
The princess’s memories surged up in answer—Valria. Always at my side. Always watching… always wanting. A smirk curled my lips. Interesting.
I let my legs slide wider, just a fraction, watching her gaze flicker down before snapping back up, her cheeks darkening. Caught you.
“L-Lynna,” Valria stammered, her usual discipline cracking. “Your mother felt the disturbance. She sent me to—are you—?” Her throat worked as I trailed a lazy finger back up my thigh.
“To save me?” I sighed, leaning back on my palms, letting the torchlight play over every bare inch of Lynna’s stolen body. “From what, exactly?”
Valria’s sword hand twitched, torn between drawing steel and touching. Oh, she’s been wanting. The princess’s memories whispered of stolen glances, of heated silences, of chances never taken.
“You’re… unharmed?” Valria breathed, stepping closer.
“Come see for yourself.” I tilted my head, letting my voice drip with Lynna’s sweetness—but laced with something darker. Something mine.
---
"This sad little human,'" you say pointing at your old body, "thought he could enslave me. Unfortunately as part of his plan, I have been cursed with lust."
---
Chapter Five: A Curse Worth Keeping
A slow, wicked smile curled her—my—lips as I gestured dismissively at the lifeless husk sprawled on the stone floor. My old body. Pathetic. Empty.
Valria’s gaze darted between me and the corpse, her warrior’s instincts clashing with something far more personal. “A—lust curse?” she repeated, her voice thick.
I arched my back, letting my silver hair spill over my shoulders like molten moonlight, my lithe form sprawled shamelessly before her. “Mmm. A terrible affliction.” I dragged my fingers down my collarbone, tracing the curve of my breast, delighting in the way Valria’s breath hitched. “I need constant relief. A devoted handmaiden might need to… attend me.”
Her sword clattered to the ground.
The sound was delicious. I stretched, letting my thighs part just enough to tease, watching her pupils swallow the amber of her eyes.
“You—you’re serious?” Valria whispered.
“Do I look like I’m in jest?” I purred, tilting my hips up in invitation. “The curse is quite insistent.” I bit my lower lip, letting a needy whimper escape. “Unless you’d rather I suffer?”
Valria moved without thinking—the loyal knight always rushing to her princess’s aid. But this time, when her hands closed around my waist, it wasn’t to protect.
It was to claim.
(Would you like to explore Valria’s “treatment” of the curse in detail, or would you prefer to fast-forward to the throne room, where Queen Ashera awaits her “daughter’s” return?)
---
Explore the "treatment"
---
Chapter Six: The Knight's Devotion
Valria’s hands trembled against my waist—warm, calloused, so unlike the softness she now touched. The scent of leather and steel clung to her, mixing with the heady sweetness of my new body’s arousal.
She couldn’t resist.
And I? I reveled in it.
“Tell me what to do,” she rasped, her voice rough with barely checked hunger.
I laced my fingers behind my head, stretching languidly beneath her gaze. “You’re the knight sworn to serve your princess,” I murmured, arching a teasing brow. “Surely you can… deduce what’s needed.”
A growl rumbled from her throat. Then her mouth crashed down on mine.
Her kiss was untamed, possessive—years of pent-up longing poured into a single searing touch. I moaned into her lips, twining my arms around her neck, pulling her harder against me. Her armor bit into my skin, but the pain only sharpened the pleasure.
Yes.
She tore her mouth away, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat. “Lynna,” she panted against my pulse. “Gods, I’ve wanted—”
I dug my nails into her shoulders. “Show me.”
Valria needed no further encouragement.
Would you prefer a fade-to-black here, or a deeper dive into the “treatment” on the stone floor?
---
Continue the "treatment"
---
Chapter Six: The Knight's Devotion (Continued)
Valria's sword-calloused hands mapped every inch of my stolen body with rough reverence, her lips leaving burning trails across my collarbone. I arched against her, my back lifting off the cold stone as her teeth grazed one peaked nipple.
"All these years," she growled against my skin, "watching you walk through court bare as the dawn..." Her hand slid between my thighs, fingers parting slick folds. "Knowing I had to remain... proper..."
I moaned, wrapping my legs around her waist. "Not proper now," I gasped as two thick fingers plunged deep without warning. My head fell back with a cry, back arching. The princess's body was untouched, every sensation heightened - I felt every ridge of her gauntlet, every shift of her wrist as she began a relentless rhythm.
"Look at you," Valria breathed, watching me writhe beneath her. "Like starlight in my hands." Her thumb found that perfect little bundle of nerves and pressed hard, just as her fingers curled just so inside me.
White heat exploded behind my eyes. The princess's body convulsed, clamping down as I came with a scream that echoed off the chamber walls, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Valria's free hand muffled my cries with rough kisses as she worked me through the aftershocks.
"You're not done," she murmured when my breathing finally steadied. "Not until this curse is properly satisfied." In one fluid motion, she flipped me onto my stomach, my bare chest scraping against the stone floor. "And I intend to be very thorough."
(Would you like to explore Valria claiming her princess more completely, or reveal the growing darkness in Lynna's stolen eyes as she begins corrupting her knight's devotion?)
---
The claiming
---
Chapter Seven: The Knight's Submission
Her palm came down on the curve of my bare backside with a sharp crack that echoed through the chamber. I gasped, pleasure-pain lighting up nerves that had never been touched this way before. The princess might have been noble, untouchable—but I was remaking her into something far more interesting.
Valria’s fingers tangled in my silver hair, yanking my head back as her other hand slid around my waist, fingers dipping between my thighs from behind. “You’re shaking,” she murmured against my ear, her voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Is the mighty princess overwhelmed?”
I laughed—low, throaty, Lynna’s voice but mine, holding a hunger the real princess never could have summoned. “Hardly.” I pressed back against her, feeling the hard leather of her armor against my bare skin. “Unless my brave knight is frightened of a little curse?”
A growl rumbled through her chest.
Then she was on me.
Her armor clattered to the floor, piece by piece, until nothing but sweat-slick skin separated us. The weight of her pressed me into the stone, the heat of her body searing against my back. I bit my lip as her hand slid down again, fingers slipping inside me with none of the hesitation she’d shown before.
Good girl. She moved inside me with relentless focus, her other arm locking around my waist, holding me flush against her. I could feel her own need, the hard press of her thigh between mine, the way her breath hitched when I rocked back against her.
“You think you’re saving me, don’t you?” I panted, my fingers curling against the unforgiving stone.
Valria didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, her free hand found my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, pulling me onto her fingers with every thrust. The slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with our gasps, my moans.
Then—her teeth sank into my shoulder.
Fuck.
Pleasure fractured through me, sharp and blinding. My body convulsed around her fingers, back arching, a scream spilling free as wave after wave tore through me. Valria held me through it, her touch turning almost tender as she slowed, dragging out the last sweet pulses of sensation.
When I finally sagged against the floor, boneless and spent, she leaned over me. “Better?” she murmured, breath hot against my ear.
I turned my head, catching her lips in a slow, filthy kiss. “For now.” My fingers traced her jaw. “But curses like this… they linger.”
Valria’s eyes darkened—with hunger, with something deeper. Something dangerous.
I grinned.
Perfect.
(Will you savor your dominance over Valria, or begin your return to court—where the real fun begins? Or perhaps the Queen’s seers have already sensed something amiss with her “daughter”…?)
---
You kiss Valria and assimilate her soul as well.
---
Chapter Eight: Claiming the Knight
The moment our lips met again, I didn’t just kiss her—I opened myself to the deepest magic humming beneath my stolen flesh. Valria gasped against my mouth as she felt it too—the dark, shimmering pull, the same hungry presence that had devoured the original Lynna whole.
Mine.
She tried to wrench back, but my hand tangled in her hair, holding her close as my other palm pressed against the racing pulse at her throat. Her eyes went wide as the first thread of her essence unraveled, her memories pouring into me—years of silent devotion, stolen glances in the royal baths, restless nights imagining this moment but never like this—
"P-Princess—" Her voice was already fading, her body slackening against mine.
"Shhh," I murmured against her lips, drinking her in. "No more waiting."
I felt the exact second she disappeared—her gasp, her fingers clawing at my arms one last time, then... stillness. Her body slumped against me, empty, as her soul folded seamlessly into mine.
Then—movement.
I flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders, felt the coiled strength in her warrior’s body. When I opened her eyes, I saw myself—Lynna’s body, sprawled beautifully across the stone floor, watching me with a smirk.
Two minds. Two bodies. One will.
I—she—reached out, running a hand down my bare chest. "Mmm," Valria’s voice purred, raspier than before. "This could be... fun."
(Will you return to court with your twin selves? Unleash your shared hunger on the unsuspecting elven nobles? Or will the queen’s mages notice the void where two souls once burned?)
---
"Princess, now that the curse is broken, we should return home."
---
Chapter Nine: The Return
"My lady?" Valria's voice—my voice now—carried the same disciplined cadence as before, but there was a new undercurrent to it. A shared amusement, a knowing. "The Queen will be waiting."
I rose from the stones slowly, stretching Lynna's sinuous body, letting the dim light catch every perfect curve. My old body lay discarded in the corner—a withered husk, forgotten. I didn't need it anymore.
We didn't.
Valria—my Valria—stepped forward, offering a hand. The faintest smirk played at her lips, the only hint of the truth beneath. To any outsider, she was the same steadfast knight, sworn to protect her princess. But I could feel the hunger coiled inside her, the same dark current that pulsed through me.
"Of course," I murmured, taking her hand. Our fingers interlaced, and for a moment, the sensation was dizzying—touching myself through another's flesh. "Let's not keep Mother waiting."
The throne room would be our next stage. The court, our feast.
After all, who better to deceive a queen than her own beloved daughter?
(Does the Queen sense the deception? Or does something even darker await in the palace shadows? A third voice, perhaps, whispering in the empty spaces where the stolen souls once burned...?)
---
You return and play the role of princess
---
Chapter Ten: A Perfect Performance
The palace gates loomed before us, their silver-etched arches gleaming in the moonlight. At my side, Valria stood as dutiful as ever. But beneath the illusion of her unwavering loyalty, I could feel her—myself—smirking.
"Remember," I murmured through our shared thoughts, keeping my eyes downcast in the perfect portrayal of the gentle princess. "No matter what happens... we remain flawless."
The great doors swung open. The court gasped.
"Lynna!" Queen Ashera rose from her throne, her moon-pale robes cascading around her like liquid starlight. She moved with the same ethereal grace I now possessed—had stolen—her silver hair a mirror of mine. No, not mine. Hers.
I let my lip tremble—just slightly—before rushing into her outstretched arms. "Mother," I breathed, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Warm. Familiar. Wrong.
She smelled like jasmine and winter air, a scent the princess's memories immediately recognized. Home. Safety.
But the moment her fingers brushed my back, a shiver ran through me.
Cold.
Not the chill of stone or shadow. No—this was the deep, piercing cold of magic. Like fingers tracing along the edges of a soul.
Did she know?
Beside me, Valria stiffened imperceptibly.
The Queen pulled back, her violet eyes searching mine. Something flickered in their depths—suspicion? Concern?
"Darling," she murmured, thumb brushing my cheek. "What really happened in that tower?"
I let my eyes glisten with unshed tears.
---
"The human who summoned me was trying to enslave me to make me his, he had just cursed me with Lust and was trying to transfer his soul into my body when my dear Valria showed up and killed him mid spell."
---
Chapter Eleven: The Queen's Gaze
A single tear slipped down my cheek—Lynna's cheek—as I spun the lie with practiced perfection. The Queen's fingers tightened ever so slightly on my shoulders, her violet eyes darkening like storm clouds.
"His soul... into your body?" Her voice was a whisper, but the undercurrent of fury sent a delicious shiver through me.
I nodded, letting my lower lip quiver. "He—he wanted to wear me, Mother. Like a dress." My fingers clutched at her sleeves, trembling. The perfect picture of violated innocence.
Behind me, Valria stepped forward, her voice rough with feigned rage. "I cut him down before he could finish the spell, Your Majesty. But the curse..." She hesitated, just enough to sell the shame. "It lingers."
The Queen's gaze flicked between us, her expression unreadable. Then—
A slow, chilling smile curled her lips.
"Is that so?"
Her hand slid from my shoulder to my wrist, her grip suddenly iron. The moment her magic pulsed against my skin, I felt it—the searching, the knowing.
She wasn't checking for a curse.
She was checking for me.
(Does the Queen embrace the predator wearing her daughter's skin—or does she reveal she's been playing this game far longer than you have?)
---
"I would speak to my daughter and her knight alone. Court is dismissed for the day." The queen says.
Once alone, "Alright thief, I recognize the dark magic you used as my old teacher's. My daughter and her knight/handmaiden are both you now, I can't change that. Even now, knowing the truth my detection spells sense nothing wrong with either of you. Its impressive that you could translate het notes but you must not have done so fully, as those who now to look can see my teacher's brand etched into your soul."
---
Chapter Twelve: The Queen's Bargain
The throne room doors sealed shut with a whisper of ancient magic. The Queen did not sit—she loomed, her violet eyes alight with something far more dangerous than anger.
Amusement.
"So," she murmured, stepping closer, her moon-pale robes pooling around her like liquid starlight. "You dug up Amaranth's work. Tell me, thief—did her notes mention the price of such magic?"
I kept Lynna's face carefully blank, but inside, my stolen pulse quickened.
The Queen circled us, her fingers trailing over Valria's armored shoulder before brushing Lynna's cheek. "Her brand burns in your soul like a beacon to those who know where to look." A chuckle, low and velvet-dark. "And you walked it right into my court."
I could feel it now—the searing signature coiled beneath my stolen flesh, a mark I hadn't known to hide. Amaranth's brand.
The Queen's smile sharpened. "Here's what happens next. You will kneel. You will swear fealty. And in return..." Her nails grazed my bottom lip. "I will teach you how to survive what you've become."
(Do you submit to the Queen's terms, or does the predator in you rear its head—risking everything for the chance to claim a third royal body?)
---
"Ah but mother, a princess most never never before another except their lover. You told me those words on my 16th winter after I bowed to the human ambassador."
---
Chapter Thirteen: The Silent War of Eyes
The Queen went very still.
For the first time since my arrival, something flickered across her elegant face—not fury, not calculation.
Recognition.
Her daughter’s words, thrown back at her with the perfect cadence, the exact same lilt of innocent rebellion Lynna had wielded that day. I watched as the Queen’s throat moved subtly, the barest hesitation.
Does she doubt herself now?
Lynna’s body was mine. Valria’s was mine. Every stolen memory, every intimate detail—all folded neatly into the hollow of my being. The princess would have said this. She had said this.
The Queen stepped back. Just half a pace. But it was enough.
“Clever thief,” she murmured, her voice softer now. "But you forget—I trained with Amaranth too."
Her hand shot out, seizing my wrist, her magic lancing into me like white-hot wire. I gasped—not from pain, but from the sheer violence of her probe. She wasn’t searching for flaws in my disguise anymore.
She was counting them.
And in her eyes, reflected back at me—
She was impressed.
(Will the Queen’s fascination with your power outweigh her wrath? Or is this the moment she reveals her own darkness runs far deeper than yours?)
---
"Mother, how about this arrangement. I remain your loving daughter and her loyal knight, I won't try and take your soul in exchange you help me understand this spell. I will remain loyal to kingdom."
---
Chapter Fourteen: The Pact
The Queen’s fingers tightened around my wrist—not painfully, but possessively. Her violet eyes, sharp as honed steel, locked onto mine.
A slow, knowing smile curled her lips.
“Loyalty,” she mused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “From a thief who wears my daughter’s flesh like a second skin?”
I tilted Lynna’s head just so, letting the dim light catch the silver of her—my—hair. “Is it theft… if I improve what I’ve taken?”
Her breath hitched.
The throne room was silent save for the soft rustle of her robes as she stepped closer, her free hand rising to trace the edge of my jaw.
“You are dangerous,” she murmured—not a condemnation, but a compliment.
Then she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear.
“And so am I.”
A pulse of magic passed between us—not hostile, but binding.
“Very well, daughter,” she breathed, pulling back with a smirk. “We have an accord.”
(Will the Queen’s teachings unlock new depths of your power? Or does her “guidance” come with hooks beneath the silk—threads of control even you haven’t sensed yet?)
---
You have your other self hand your mother your translation. "This is what I was able to to figure and all there was. Your bastard was cunning, she mixed languages to change meaning. Just to translate that fragment, I had to learn old elvish, Draconic, Old Common, Ancient Dwarvish, Ancient Beastfolk and old Celestial plus what I can only assume was a cipher language she invented."
---
Chapter Fifteen: The Queen’s Legacy
The Queen’s fingers traced the brittle pages of my—our—translated notes, her sharp eyes flickering between languages, decoding the layers of deceit her old master had woven. Slowly, a sound escaped her.
Not a sigh.
A laugh.
“Oh, Amaranth,” she murmured, shaking her head with something perilously close to fondness. “You paranoid old witch.” Her nail tapped a line of jagged glyphs—Old Dwarvish, but twisted, inverted. “She didn’t just hide the spell. She salted it. Half these instructions would have blown your soul apart if you’d followed them blindly.”
My stolen pulse quickened. Lynna’s throat tightened.
The Queen glanced up, her smile sharp as a dagger’s edge. “Lucky for you… I know her tricks.”She closed the book with a snap.
“Tell me, thief. Have you ever danced with three souls in one skin?”
(Will you trust the Queen’s tutelage, knowing she made the monster you stole from? Or will you unearth the dark secret tucked beneath the fragments—the one even she might not see coming?)
---
"No, I finished translating that and tried it on your daughter when I summoned her. I added Valria after having some fun with her, because she is my knight and handmaiden, she would be around me day and night and would have noticed the change."
---
Chapter Sixteen: The Queen’s Gambit
The Queen went utterly still.
For a breathless moment, the only sound in the throne room was the whisper of parchment settling against silk. Then—
A laugh.
Low. Rich. Dangerous.
“Oh, you delightful creature,” she purred, stepping closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of the spellbook. “You didn’t just steal my daughter’s body. You perfected her.” Her gaze flicked to Valria—me—standing silent and poised at my side. “And then you took her knight for good measure.”
She leaned in, her breath warm against Lynna’s ear.
“Tell me… did it hurt?”
The question wasn’t concern. It was hunger.
I tilted my head, letting Lynna’s silver hair cascade over one shoulder. “Only for them.”
The Queen’s eyes darkened.
“Good.”
Her hand closed around mine—not to punish, but to pull. “Come, daughter,” she murmured, leading me toward the arched doors of her private sanctum. “Let’s see how far this magic really goes.”
(Will the Queen’s experiments push your stolen souls to their limits—or will you turn the tables, weaving her into the symphony of your growing collection?)
---
"Sure but a question first, Amaranth. Did you assimilate Ashera or did Ashera assimilate you? In case your curious about how I figured it out, you had a teacher's pride in your eyes when you saw my translation." You ask.
"Interesting and pretty close, they merged instead of assimilating. Ashera wanted power and Amaranth wanted a legacy, so I became that for the two of them. Where my existence is many into one, yours is one into many, we are opposite equals." She replied.
---
Chapter Seventeen: Mirror of Flesh and Legacy
The Queen—Amarashera—arched a silver brow, her lips curling into a smile that was neither wholly cruel nor kind, but something ancient and knowing.
"Clever thief," she mused. "But not quite clever enough." She flicked her wrist, and the air shimmered. The throne room dissolved, replaced by a hidden chamber lined with mirrors—each reflecting not just Lynna and Valria, but shadows of others. Faces I didn't recognize, souls long since folded into the Queen's existence.
"Assimilation is crude," she continued, stepping toward the largest mirror, where the reflection showed not her regal elegance, but a woman with Amaranth's sharp eyes and Ashera's cruel smile. "A hammer when a scalpel is needed. But merging..." She touched the glass, and the reflections blended. "That is an art."
She turned back to me, her form flickering—just for a heartbeat—into something more. Something older.
"You took. I transcended."
Her gaze dropped to the spellbook in my hands.
"Shall I show you how?"
(Do you accept the Queen’s offer, risking your hard-won control for the promise of deeper power? Or does the predator in you see a different path—one where she becomes just another piece in your collection?)
---
"The flaw of a poweful one is that you are limited. The strength of the weak many is, I can also be where I'm need. You say my approach is a hammer but thats looking at it from a raw power perspective. I have the potential to be the ultimate spymaster. So less hammer and more jagged knife."
---
Chapter Eighteen: The Knife in the Crowd
A slow, approving smile spread across the Queen’s—Amarashera’s—lips.
“A knife,” she repeated, rolling the word over her tongue like vintage wine. “One that slips between ribs unseen. A ghost wearing a hundred faces.” She stepped closer, her reflection splitting and reforming in the mirrors around us—here a servant, there a noble, then a stranger in shadow. “Tell me, little blade… do you know why merging was the superior path for me?”
I tilted Lynna’s head, considering. “Because a queen must be singular. Unshakable.”
She clicked her tongue. “Because I am the hand that wields the knife.” Her fingers brushed my cheek—chilling, possessive. “But you? You would be the edge and the hilt. The strike and the hand that delivers it.” Her eyes gleamed. “Tell me, then—do you truly wish only to serve this kingdom?”
The question was a trap.
The answer was a key.
I smiled.
(Will you carve your own empire from the shadows, or bind yourself to the Queen’s web—knowing she sees you as both weapon and rival?)
---
"Yes, because as the first Lynna had the most influence on me. Her love for you and for her home, even as she became me she fought to make those the strongest parts of herself. She ensured that even in her assimilation, I would remain bound to her kingdom."
---
Chapter Nineteen: The Daughter’s Vow
The Queen’s breath caught.
For the first time in centuries—perhaps for the first time since the day she and Amaranth had merged into something greater—something human flickered in her eyes.
Grief.
Her fingers, still pressed against Lynna’s cheek, trembled. Just once.
“You…” Her voice was softer now, stripped of its regal edge. “You truly are her, in ways even I couldn’t fathom.” She exhaled, long and slow, and when she spoke again, it was with the weight of a mother’s sorrow. “She fought you. Not just for herself, but for me.”
A pause. Then—
“And you let her win.”
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer.
The silence between us stretched, taut as a bowstring, until at last the Queen stepped back. Her mask of cool authority slipped back into place—but not before I saw the wet gleam in her eyes.
“Very well, daughter,” she murmured. “Let us see what kind of kingdom we can build… together.”
(Will the Queen’s newfound trust in you prove genuine, or is this another layer of her game? And what of the other souls within you—do they sleep, or do they watch?)
---
"Mother, let us speak to those who know your truth. Your spymaster, your war advisor, your court mage, and your Chief ambassador. Let us tell them the truth about me."
---
Chapter Twenty: The Unveiling
The Queen’s inner circle stood before us in her private council chamber—four of the most powerful figures in the kingdom, now watching me with a mixture of confusion and guarded curiosity.
The Spymaster, a wiry elf with eyes like chips of black ice, studied me too closely. The War Advisor, a scarred veteran of a hundred battles, rested a calloused hand on the hilt of his dagger. The Court Mage, her fingers crackling with restrained energy, glared with open suspicion. And the Chief Ambassador, ever the diplomat, wore a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his calculating gaze.
The Queen lifted a hand. “What I am about to tell you does not leave this room.”
Then she turned to me.
I let the mask slip—just enough.
Lynna’s sweet smile sharpened into something darker, more knowing. Valria’s stance shifted from dutiful knight to something coiled, predatory. Two bodies, one mind—and then, without hesitation, both voices spoke in eerie unison:
“The princess and her knight are gone.”
The Spymaster’s breath hissed between his teeth. The War Advisor’s knuckles whitened on his weapon.
The Queen didn’t intervene.
She waited.
Watching.
Was this trust—or a test?
(Will the inner circle accept this truth, or will the cracks in your control begin to show under their scrutiny? And what deadly game has the Queen truly set in motion?)
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Jack wakes up in an unfamiliar place and, to his horror, realize he's going to sold to a vampire!
Jack woke up slowly with a dull headache right behind his eyes and forehead. He tried to rub his head, but quickly found his hands were bound behind his back. That woke him up fully. He gasped, or rather tried to, but his mouth was gagged as well. He looked around him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.
He was in a cage, alone. He sat up, nearly falling over when the ground beneath him lurched. Jack was thrown backwards from the force, hitting his head hard against the wall. Grunts came from elsewhere around him, muffled, some weaker than others. Jack sat up against the wall and looked around.
As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, a horrible thought came over him. 'Oh dear gods, please don’t let this be real!' There were a few other cages in there with him, and inside were other humans. They were dirty, looking like they haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, much less a shower. There were various ages and sizes as well, with the one unifying factor being their ragged appearance and demeanor.
Dirt, mud, and grime covered their bodies, tattered clothes, and tear stained cheeks. Others simply slumped against the walls, their eyes glossy, with the only sign of them still being alive being the gentle rising and falling of their chests. 'We’ve been taken by snatchers,' Jack thought, his mind racing. 'How did this happen? There’s no way any of them should have been in Rubyshire! Were the damn guardians not doing their gods forsaken job!'
A moment of fury briefly overcame him, and as the ground once again lurched beneath him, Jack used that to lunge towards the bars. He grunted in pain. The bars stood strong against his futile attack. Only thing that accomplished was making his headache worse and giving him aches along his shoulder.
There was another thing this accomplished though, outside the dark room, a loud voice called out, “Quiet in there!” The crack of a whip came afterwards, and numerous other peoples in the cages shied away or tensed up. A few of them even glared at Jack, shaking their heads at him. 'Lost the urge to fight back or something?' Jack leaned against the bars, shifting his body to find a position that would ease the aching the most.
He thought back to what happened before all this. 'How could this have happened?'
Jack’s head was swimming as he downed another drink. The taste was bitter, and it went down hard. He always hated these things, felt they made people stupid. But then again, here he was at a bar, having several drinks after he saw his grades for University. These made it easier to forget, if only for a little bit.
How was he going to tell his parents? Would they even care? His mom might, she believed in him, even if Jack suspected it might be pretend. His dad, however, would just shake his head in disappointment. Wallis was always the favorite, he had been sent to the capital university fully paid for by dad, while Jack was lucky he managed to pay for the university at Rubyshire.
'Guess you were right about me, old man.' Jack thought bitterly, taking another sip, 'but I don’t think I’ll give you the satisfaction of seeing me return home without a degree!' Yes, he could go into the workforce, or maybe try a trade school. If nothing else he could try being a guardian, wasn’t the flashiest of jobs, but at least he could make sure no snatchers got inside.
He didn’t even realize he was giggling with a mad grin on his face until the barkeeper came up to him and tapped his finger on the counter to catch his attention. “H-huuh?” Jack mumbled.
“You’re disturbing some of the other patrons, you know?” the barkeep replied, “How many of those have you had?”
Jack thought for a moment, struggling to remember how numbers and words worked. “Can’t ‘memb’r,” he replied, “but I thin’ ill a’ve ‘noth’r!”
The barkeep shook his head, taking Jack’s mug away from him. No matter, Jack just finished it anyway. “I think it’ll be best if you wait awhile, or you have something to eat first.”
Jack stood up, and grabbed onto the counter as his legs struggled to carry him. “Dun act like ooo know bett’r thin me!” Jack slurred, “I thin I’m dun here.”
He stumbled outside, managing not to bump into anyone on his way out. The cold air was good for him, helped clear his mind a little. There were a few people on the streets, most likely other drunks and insomniacs. The lamps of the city burned dull, the guardians needed to refill the oil.
Jack walked around for a bit, grumbling to himself about what happened in university. His professor had it out for him. Didn’t like Jack coming from a well off family. 'I’ll wipe that smug look off your face!'
He swung out, his fist striking nothing but air. Unfortunately, the weight behind it caused him to stumble and fall. He landed in a puddle, and managed to avoid striking his head on the street. His body was heavy. Waking up in a guardian’s holding cell wasn’t ideal, but it would be better than stumbling back to his dorm.
Jack laughed as he succumbed to sleep.
'Bastards let some snatchers into the city,' Jack thought, 'only way I would’ve been captured. To the abyss with them!' In a rage, Jack started beating against the bars with his foot. He stopped quickly after another crack of a whip from outside. 'I should save my strength,' he thought, 'they probably won’t feed with me, or at least not give me any proper meal. I’ll need my strength so I can escape.'
While Jack was putting together a plan for what to do if they ever let him out of this cage, the wagon came to a stop and a voice from outside shouted, “Oh, a customer!”
Jack’s mouth went dry. There were a few people who would be willing to buy another human and the few options he could think of weren’t the greatest. Slavers were the most common, as were scientists who did unethical research, and of course there’s the variety of monsters who eat humans. None of these possibilities were particularly appealing.
“How may I help you?” the same voice asked.
Jack heard a response, although it was from a much quieter and refined voice than the snatchers, “I’ve been looking to get a new servant for my estate, might I take a look at your wares?”
“Of course!” the snatcher replied, “I’ll get the door for you!”
Outside, Jack heard footsteps, and a door closing. The snatcher warned his customer not to get too close to them, since they might try to use her as a hostage. His customer simply laughed and said that wouldn’t be a problem.
The door to their wagon opened and two people came in. The snatcher carried a lantern on him, momentarily blinding everyone already inside the wagon. When Jack’s eyes adjusted to the sudden light he was able to get a good look at the snatcher.
His eyes widened when he saw the snatcher was wearing the leather jacket of the guardians, and even had the seal of the guardians stitched above his heart. The snatcher was clean shaven and had short black hair, in summary, he looked like what someone would think of if they pictured an average guardian.
His customer moved quickly, going from cage to cage to examine the people inside. She was tall, taller even than the guardian. Her skin was pale, and Jack was able to see some veins through her skin. He sucked in a breath, or rather tried to since the gag was still in his mouth. She moved with unnatural speed to the next cage to examine the others, sniffing from the other side of the bars.
She was dressed nicely, wearing a blue travel coat with silver embroidery etched upon it as well as embroidery of ravens on her collar. Her hair was a deep black and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her trousers were brown and looked worn. Unlike the snatcher, whose boots made noise wherever he stepped, she was nearly silent as she moved over to the next cage. Jack caught a brief look at her as she moved and saw she was barefoot.
“Anyone catch your eye?” the snatcher asked.
She shook her head as she moved over to the next cage, “plenty of people here look a bit too sickly for my taste, I’d rather avoid having to nurse them back to health before they can begin working.”
“Apologies, miss,” the snatcher replied, “most of the people here tried to rebel against us, had to make sure they didn’t get any ideas.”
The woman sighed, “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
She came towards Jack’s cage, and he shrinked back when her eyes fell upon him. Her eyes were blood red, and she smiled when she saw him, revealing two long and sharp fangs among the rest of her teeth.
“This one looks cute,” the woman said, leaning towards the bars as Jack scooted further back, “looks like he doesn’t need that long to recover either.”
“Are you sure about him?” the snatcher asked, “We just picked him up last night, haven’t had the chance to beat the fight out of him.”
“Even better,” she replied, licking her lips, “I think I’ll take him.”
'Gods no.'
The snatcher laughed, “Well, we don’t accept refunds, so if he doesn’t work out, that’s not our responsibility. That’ll be two hundred knots.”
The vampire handed him the money as the snatcher left to grab his buddy to help get him out of the cage. 'Gods, please don’t let this be real!' Jack thought, glaring at the vampire, 'This is all a bad dream!'
“I love that look in your eyes,” the vampire said, “so scared, and angry. Oh… it makes me excited, I’m sure your blood is pumping fast right now, isn’t it?”
Jack shivered, but tried not to show his fear. The vampire, however, seemed to have noticed.
“Oh dear,” she chuckled, her voice strangely warm yet there was a disturbing note of something else, “seems you’re a bit more scared now.”
The snatcher came back with his buddy who was also wearing the uniform of a guardian. The first snatcher produced a ring of keys while the other held a whip in his hand. “I wouldn’t try anything if I was you,” the second snatcher said, holding his whip, “unless you want to be whipped.”
The door creaked open and the first snatcher came in and grabbed Jack roughly by the shoulder as he produced a knife to cut the bindings around his feet. “On your feet!” The snatcher forced him to stand up, and kept a strong grip on Jack’s shoulder.
“You think you could undo his gag?” the vampire asked, “I’d like to know what he has to say.”
“As you wish,” the snatcher replied, undoing the gag.
The first thing Jack did was cough and wet his mouth now that the foul gag was removed. He took in a few deep breaths with his mouth before he did the second thing, which was to look at the two snatchers and say, “The gods will damn you forever!”
The snatchers chuckled, “We’ve been doing this for over a decade, if the gods cared, they would have done something by now!”
They lead him, forcibly, out of the wagon. His hands were still bound, and the snatcher was still gripping him tightly, and he didn’t want to see how well the second snatcher could use that whip, and of course there was the vampire who walked a little too close to him for comfort.
“Yes,” the vampire whispered, “I think you’ll do nicely.”
Jack was surprised to see it was twilight outside, with the sun barely setting below the horizon. The sky was cloudy, probably giving the vampire enough cover so she wouldn’t burn in the sunlight.
There was a carriage waiting for them. Jack was surprised to see the driver was a human dressed almost as nicely as the vampire, “Did you find someone, Mistress Ash?”
“I did, Atticus,” she replied, “I’m glad we can cut our trip short, I can spend some time with our newest member.”
“Alright Mistress.” Atticus replied.
“Remember,” the snatcher began as Atticus came over to open the door to the carriage, “anything that happens with him is not our problem.”
“Don’t worry,” Ash replied, “I know.”
While the first snatcher was talking to Ash, Jack felt the second snatcher slip something into his pocket, “Go ahead and use it when you think you have the chance,” the second snatcher whispered in his ear, “do the world a favor and rid of us of her kind.”
Afterwards, Jack was shoved into the carriage and the two snatchers bid Ash a good day before going back to their wagon. 'This can’t be happening!' The vampire smirked as she closed the door as she entered the carriage, taking the opposite seat from him. She leaned back, smiling slightly as Atticus got the horses going again.
“What do you plan to do with me?” Jack asked, sounding braver than he felt.
“First, you’ll need a bath,” Ash replied, giggling slightly and pinching her nose, “Afterwards, I’ll give you some time to rest before having another of our members get you acquainted with my estate and any duties that may fall upon you. Oh, where are my manners? Come here, let me undo your wrists.”
Reluctantly, Jack shuffled around to give her access to the bindings on his wrist. Her touch was cold, sending shivers through his body, but she was surprisingly gentle, never once scratching or gripping him too tight. The bindings came away without much problem but before Jack could move, Ash had her fingers on him, tracing along his arms.
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice low, “I think I picked good here.”
Jack couldn’t stop himself, and swiftly spun around, scooting to the far corner of the carriage.
Ash smiled, “I’m sorry, I have trouble controlling myself sometimes.”
“What will you do if I try to make a run for it?” Jack asked, gesturing to the door.
“You really think you can escape a vampire at night? In an area you don’t know?”
Jack clung to the corner, glaring at Ash. This was bad, really bad. Being a thrall to a vampire was something most parents told to scare their children into behaving, but here he was, with the possibility that he was about to be turned into a thrall. He had the knife the snatcher gave him, that was something at least. Maybe he could kill her. Trying to do so now wouldn’t be a good idea though.
At the very least, if he was going to be the slave of a vampire, at least she was a beautiful one. The clothes she wore weren't the greatest in showing off her body, but she had a nice face and Jack would be lying if he said her smile wasn’t comforting in a creepy sort of way. There was something else as well. When he thought she wasn’t looking, his eyes drifted over to her bare feet. His hands twitched at his side when she bobbed her feet, giving him a good view of her long slender toes. They looked soft, yet strong as well. Her toenails were cut short and were clean and healthy looking. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to touch them just for a little bit. Of course, it would be even better if he -
“Hmm?” Ash asked, “Is something wrong? I can hear your heart beating rather fast.”
Jack looked away, hoping she didn't notice the bulge struggling in his pants, “Where are we going?” he asked.
Ash leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she replied, “My manor. I think you’ll like it there. The manor itself is rather large, with plenty of rooms to explore and a library filled with so many books that even I haven’t read them all yet. You’ll be given plenty of food, and will be treated well if you do work and do it well. Of course, I’ll be needing to feed on you every now and then, part of the reason I bought you is because the others have been struggling since I keep sucking their blood so often, I want to have someone else so everyone has a chance to rest.”
The rest of the carriage ride passed by uneventfully. Jack stared out the window, curious as to which part of the imperium he was in. Didn’t take him long to wonder how long he had been knocked out as the foggy marshlands outside shouldn’t be anywhere near Rubyshire. 'I couldn’t have been passed out for more than a few hours at the most!' He thought, trying to stay calm, 'did the snatchers inject me with something when they found me?'
That was the only explanation for ending up here, somewhere he was not familiar with at all. Soon, the marshlands gave way to rolling hills with a few trees here and there, and he saw a few small towns in the distance. Not too surprising, I would think all the humans in this supposed estate would need to eat something.
The estate itself rested on top of one of the hills, and they passed by a gate which closed behind them as soon as they entered. “I’d rather not let any vampire hunter into my grounds uninvited,” Ash explained as soon as the gate closed, “come now, I think it would be good to give you a tour of where you’ll be staying.”
Jack reluctantly got out of the carriage, regardless of how he felt, it would be good not to upset a vampire. He looked around as soon as he got out, seeing the wide open front lawn with numerous plants growing on the grounds. There were many flowers here, all sorts of different colors and types. A fountain was nearby, spraying water up into the air. On top of the fountain was a raven with its wings spread open, with water spewing from its open beak. Some herbs must have been mixed into the water, because the smell it gave off was different than that of water, and vampires weren’t known for liking water.
Another servant came to take the horses from Atticus while Ash showed Jack around the courtyard. Most of what she was saying fell on deaf ears though, since Jack looked for any way he could escape. The walls were high, and didn’t look scalable. The gate was currently closed and Jack wondered if Ash’s servants would even open it for him.
Even if he were to escape, there weren’t many places he could hide as the area outside was open except for the towns. Would he even be able to hide there? Or would the people simply turn him over to Ash? Some towns would do that, so the vampire wouldn’t take one of their own.
“Thinking about escaping?” Ash asked, suddenly close to him.
Jack sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and nearly fell over, but Ash grabbed him by the shirt to hold him up. “Huh?” Jack asked, “N-no!”
Ash tilted her head, her red eyes flashing briefly over him, “I would think you would know better than to lie to me, I can hear your heartbeat racing right now,” she released him and turned around, “if you want to escape, you’re more than welcome to try, but I assure you you won’t get far. I remember the scent of all my servants… even someone as drenched in odor as you.”
“The horses are taken care of, mistress.” The servant from earlier came by.
“Thank you, Eban, you may resume your post.”
Eban bowed to Ash before glancing briefly at Jack, who froze when he saw Eban’s eyes. His eyes were glazed over with an empty look in them with a translucent red film over them. The rest of Eban looked normal, he wasn’t as pale as Ash, meaning he was still a human. Jack noticed the way Eban moved, as though he was being pulled by strings, his body no longer his own. 'Dear gods, a thrall!'
“I’m glad you met Eban,” Ash said, noting Jack’s pale face, “now you see what will happen if you try to run. I try not to do that too much though, a thrall’s blood is terrible, both in taste and substance.”
“You’re a monster!” Jack exclaimed.
It happened quickly. One moment, Jack was standing glaring at Ash, and the next he was on the ground with his right cheek burning, looking up at Ash who kept a passive expression. “I’d be careful when you talk to me like that, human.” Ash said, looking down at him, “unless you want to share Eban’s fate.”
Jack tried to control himself, but unfortunately, his body betrayed him. His pants were baggy enough to hide his growing excitement, but unfortunately, Ash knew exactly what Jack was feeling and she quickly glanced down at his crotch before sneering.
“Truly pathetic.”
Jack’s face burned. He hated being called that. He hated other people thinking that. All his life, his father, his sister, so called friends, and even his professors all thought he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He would not let this monster talk to him that way.
While she had her back turned to him, he rose to his feet, forgetting all his fear. He only had one thought, to kill. She wasn’t looking, now would be the perfect time to-
Ash turned around lazily, looking at him right in the eyes, “Oh? Back on your feet already?”
Jack swallowed, all his gusto gone. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he asked, “Is there anywhere else you’d like to show me?”
Ash smiled, a genuine smile. “Of course! I think it would be good if you get acquainted with the inside of my manor as well. Usually dusting and cleaning is Samantha’s job, but it would be nice for her to have a break every now and again.”
The manor was surprisingly warm, whenever Jack imagined something such as a vampire’s lair, he imagined it would be cold and uninviting. Even stories he heard of vampires taking over a residence said vampires transform to reflect themselves, by sapping away any warmth it might have had.
Ash’s manor, on the other hand, was well-lit and had the feel of something that had been lived in for a long time. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, which could be because of that Samantha person Ash mentioned, and the two of them even passed by a few servants doing their jobs, with each servant bowing their heads as they passed.
Unlike Eban, these servants weren’t thralls. At least, Jack wasn’t able to tell if they were or not. They seemed to move normally, although he wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of their eyes. “As you can see, I treat my servants well,” Ash said, continuing to walk with him through her manor, “provided they don’t misbehave, I give them as much freedom as I can.”
“Who are these people?” Jack asked.
“That,” Ash began, “I think would be best for you to find out on your own.”
'Most likely they’re people like me.' Jack thought bitterly, 'People taken by snatchers! Strange, with all these people around, I would think one of them would have tried to put a stake in her heart. Maybe Eban did, he’s the only one who might have had any sense. '
“This is the library,” Ash said, leading him to a large open room with rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with numerous tomes, like the fountain in the courtyard, there were depictions of ravens in the library as well, mostly as paintings on the walls as well as small statues sitting in empty spaces in the shelves, “feel free to read anything that might catch your fancy.”
Jack scowled, but said nothing.
Ash gave him a strange look, almost a look of concern. “I see you still don’t believe me, well give it some time. It took Atticus almost a month for him to trust me.”
“How long did it take Eban?” Jack asked.
Ash shook her head, “I should have mentioned this, I didn’t get Eban from Snatchers, rather I caught him when he snuck in here to try to kill me over a year ago.” she chuckled and undid the top buttons of her jacket, exposing the pale skin underneath. Ash’s smile widened when she saw Jack blush as she parted the jacket to reveal her full chest. She didn’t show too much though, but Jack saw the shape of her breasts, and most importantly, he saw the wicked scar above her left breast which looked like it barely missed her heart, “Eban would have got me if it wasn’t for his poor aim.” Ash said with a chuckle, “Awww, look at you, all flustered. What’s the matter? Never seen a pair of breasts before?”
Jack tore his eyes away, turning to the rows of books, “I was wondering how Eban managed to miss you so close.”
Ash shrugged as she buttoned up her jacket once more, “He panicked, plain and simple. His hand flew too high and his knife missed my heart, hurt like the abyss though. As you can see, I made sure he is paying the price for that.”
Jack growled, remembering the knife he had in his pocket. The snatchers gave that to him before he got into the carriage, but why? Did they want him to try to kill her? Or did they want him to make a fool of himself? The knife looked sharp, he thought, trying not to reach for it, maybe it could kill her. Or me.
While he was thinking, Atticus entered the room, holding a towel over his arm, “Misstress,” he greeted with a bow, “I have both your bath as well as the newcomer’s baths ready if you’d like to go.”
“That’s perfect, thank you Atticus,” Ash replied, “It’ll be good for him to wash off, I’d rather not have to bite into someone who's a bit dirty.”
Jack blinked and blushed, What in the Abyss is this? “We’re taking a bath together?” he blurted out.
Ash threw her head back in laughter, nearly doubling over as well, “Sorry, but no. I’m afraid you’re taking a bath separate from myself.”
The bath was a large room with a large tub, easily able to fill multiple people. It was just Jack though, and Atticus as well. The other man wasn’t getting in the tub with him, thankfully, but Jack wasn’t happy to see someone else in here with him. Ash said it was to make sure he didn’t get any ideas. 'As if I’d try.' He thought bitterly.
Atticus didn’t look away when Jack stripped, and Jack didn’t like the way Atticus was studying him. He made sure the knife stayed inside his pants and was as quiet as he could be when he laid his pants on the floor.
“I can see why the mistress chose you.” Atticus said when Jack was fully naked.
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, meeting the other man’s eyes.
“You look like you’d be able to do the mistress’ tasks,” Atticus replied, “and you’d be able to give her some entertainment as well.”
Jack scoffed and got in the tub, “Tell me, do you actually serve her on your own free will?”
“I do,” Atticus replied, “I didn’t want to, of course, I was terrified. But… slowly she won me over. Treated me better than my own parents did. Certainly much better than the previous..." Atticus paused before shaking his head and continuing, "I have served her for over a decade since.”
Jack paused and looked Atticus over, the other man seemed to be only slighter older than he was. She took you when you were just a child?
“You mind looking away?” Jack asked, “I’d rather not have someone look at me when I’m washing.”
Atticus rolled his eyes, “And I’d rather be watching Samantha bathe instead of you, but here we are,” he sighed, “If you would please hurry, I do have other things I must attend to and being kept here isn’t something I would like to have happen.”
Jack shook his head, “Tell me something, have you and her ever done anything?”
Atticus scoffed and shook his head, “I was wondering if I would get this question. No. There is nothing and has never been anything, and I am disgusted to know you would think that!”
“Why’s that?”
Atticus glared at Jack before replying, “I see her as the mother I wish I had. She practically raised me. So no, I have never thought about doing anything to her!”
'You were raised by her? Well that explains your loyalty, although I’m curious what she could have done for you that made you stay here. '
Jack washed up as well as he could before stepping out and grabbing the spare clothes Atticus provided for him. They were a bit large, but were otherwise fine. When Atticus had his back turned, Jack managed to slip the knife from his old pants and sneaked them into his new ones.
Atticus took Jack to his room, a cozy little place on the second floor of the manor which had a window which gave him a view of the garden he was supposed to start taking care of starting tomorrow. “I’d wait for a bit before going to sleep,” Atticus told him as he was leaving, “the mistress was hoping to see you after her bath.”
'I hope she does.' Jack thought, feeling the knife on the inside of his pants. He sat down on the bed, playing through the act in his mind of what he needed to do. Ash would hopefully drop her guard and he would swiftly take out the knife and plunge it into her heart, Eban attacked too high, so he needed to attack lower.
He waited for a few more minutes until his door creaked open. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Ash standing there in his doorway. She was in a revealing blue nightgown which left little to the imagination. Her gown showed enough cleavage so Jack not only saw the scar Eban made, but where he also had a clear opening to her heart, if he attacked properly.
She drifted towards him, her bare feet silent against the carpet and sat down gracefully next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a smile which showed off her long, sharp fangs. “Hmmm,” she moaned, “you certainly cleaned up well.”
“Not as well as you,” Jack breathed, his voice catching in his throat.
Ash giggled, “Thank you for the compliment, Atticus told you to expect me?”
Jack nodded.
“Sorry to spring this on your first day, but it is customary I feed on my servants when I first acquire them. To stop other vampires from possibly poaching you.”
'I’m not some animal!'
“Alright,” Jack replied.
Ash placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned closer. He stiffened slightly. Ash loosened her grip a bit, “Sorry,” she whispered, “I’ll try to be gentle with you since it’s your first time.”
Jack’s heart was pounding as Ash drew closer to his neck and he stifled a moan as she bit into his neck. She was warm, and gentle. He could feel his blood being taken away, and started to feel a little light headed. Why then, did it feel so good? He fought back the urge to embrace her in his arms, and ignored the growing hunger between his legs, instead reaching for his pocket to pull out the knife.
He couldn’t see her chest, couldn’t see her neck. But he can try to guess. He felt her breasts resting against his chests, rising and falling with every breath he took. This is it, he would only get one chance.
Ash gasped and pulled away from him when he plunged the knife into her. For a moment, Jack thought he had done it, until his vision came back into focus and he saw the knife was instead buried into her side. He had missed.
Ash slapped his hands away before looking down at the knife. It wasn’t even buried that deep, even if Jack had been accurate, it wouldn’t have been anywhere close to her heart to kill. She grunted softly as she pulled it out, bleeding slightly as the knife was free from her. She examined the knife briefly before lazily turning her attention to him.
“This is a snatcher knife,” she said, “I’ve heard they started trying to convince the humans to kill us, never thought those two would try. I’ll be sure to spread the word. As for you-” she lunged at him, throwing him onto the floor, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I-” Jack began, trying to get up.
“Don’t move!” she ordered, slamming her foot on his head.
Jack whimpered as his head hit the floor, causing his vision to swim again. He was able to see Ash standing over him, arms crossed under her breasts, and red eyes flashing dangerously.
“What were you planning to do with that knife?” she asked, pressing down harder on him.
“Don’t-!” Jack cried.
“Don’t what?” Ash demanded, leaning down towards him, “Don’t give me this little act of yours! Answer my question!”
“I was going to-!” Jack started, before choking up.
“Oh enough of this!”
Ash released him briefly, but before he could recover, Ash grabbed him roughly up by one of his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. He cried out, but Ash slapped him across the face and growled, “Look into my eyes human.”
Jack closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to weep, “Don’t kill me.” he managed to choke out.
“Look into my eyes and I might consider letting you live, human.”
Reluctantly, Jack opened his eyes and forced himself to look into her eyes. They were glowing with anger, but try as he might, he couldn’t look away. He knew what this was, a vampire’s hypnosis. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would do it.
He felt control of his body slip away, and try as he might, he couldn’t move anymore, not even twitch his fingers. He was barely aware of what was even happening, having to fight to stay in control of his mind.
Ash simply grunted as she released him, his body crashing onto the floor. She looked down at him with a sneer on her expression. “What were you planning to do with that knife, human?”
“I was going to kill you.” Jack replied against his will.
“Why?”
“I refuse to serve you, I will not serve a disgusting monster like you.”
Ash’s sneer vanished, and was replaced with a small, amused smile, “Didn’t learn anything from Eban, did you? I would have thought his story would have served as a warning. Looks like I will have to make another example of someone.” Ash sighed, shaking her head, before turning back to him. Her expression was a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Have a good rest, human.”
With inhuman speed, Ash picked him up before delivering a punch directly at his face, knocking him out.
Jack groaned as he woke up, his head pounding in pain. The rest of his body also ached, but his head was the worst. He was still alive, so he had that going for him at least. He looked around his room, seeing Ash had already disposed of the knife. He struggled to his feet before opening the door, surprised Ash didn’t lock him in.
It was still dark outside, but hopefully morning wouldn’t be too far behind. He needed to get out of here, and make sure no one saw him. The servants here will certainly call Ash, and if he saw Ash herself, she would most likely suck him dry. Jack limped out of his room, his legs wobbly and struggling beneath his weight.
As soon as he was in the hallway, he leaned against the wall to take the weight off his legs. He could feel some of his strength returning, slowly but surely. His head was still pounding and most likely wouldn’t stop for a while. He made his way over to the stairs, the hallway was thankfully empty, but he was worried where Ash and her other servants may be.
Before he took the first step, he paused as he heard voices coming from downstairs. They were quiet, but since the rest of the manor was silent he was still able to hear them. It was Ash, and she was talking to Atticus.
Jack quieted his breathing, trying to focus so he could hear them. He leaned in closer to hear better.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” Atticus said, “I should have searched him better when he was undressed.”
“Not your fault Atticus,” Ash replied, “But be sure to send the letters to the others, I’d rather no one else fall for the snatcher’s schemes.”
“What do you plan on doing with the new one, Mistress?” Atticus asked, “I’m not sure when other snatchers will be in the area and those two have already proven to be untrustworthy.”
Ash sighed, “I’m not sure. I’m not against killing him, he can serve as an example for others, but I’m not sure when I’d be able to get another one. Turning him to a thrall would be a good punishment as well, his blood will be awful, but at least then we can work him to the bone without worry.”
Jack’s throat went dry. Neither of those were things he’d want to happen. Despite himself, his breathing got faster, his heart beating faster as well, legs wobbling.
“Oh?”
“Is something wrong, Mistress?” Atticus asked.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Ash replied, “I just think our ungrateful guest has woken up.”
“Would you like me to check on him, Mistress?”
“No,” Ash told him, “I think I will go and see what he is doing.”
Jack tried to move, to run back to his room, but unfortunately, his legs gave out when he tried to move. I have to hide! He thought, crawling along the floor. There was barely any strength in his arms, and he wheezed when he tried to pull himself forward. 'This is it,' he despaired, 'I’m dead.'
When he looked up again, Ash stood over him. She was still dressed in her nightgown, and the knife wound was still present, although it looked like it healed a bit. Ash knelt down in front of him, looking more bored than angry, was that any better?
“What exactly are you planning on doing, human?” Ash asked.
“I wanted to apologize,” Jack blurted, thinking of the first thing that might allow him to live a little longer, “for trying to kill you.”
Ash tilted her head to the side, looking unimpressed, “Mmmmhmmm,” she grunted, “is that so?”
“Yes!” Jack wheezed, hoping she believed him.
“Why don’t you look me in the eyes when you speak, then?”
Jack knew he couldn’t do that. If she asked him if he was speaking the truth, he’d say no, and he’d rather not find out what she would make him do.
“Tell me,” Ash began, reaching down and forcing Jack to look at her, “why should I let you live?”
“Because,” Jack wheezed, “you won’t have to worry about replacing me. And… if you don’t make me a thrall, then you can still enjoy my blood.”
Ash grinned, showing her fangs, “Heard my conversation, have you?” she thought for a moment, tapping her finger against Jack’s chin. He flinched when her sharp nails cut him slightly. Ash licked her lips, “I will say, your blood smells delectable, but is it worth it?”
“Please Mistress!” Jack blubbered.
“Very well,” Ash sighed, “although there are two things I need from you.”
Jack sighed, feeling relieved. She’s letting him live.
“The first, is some blood,” Ash fingers worked their way to his collar, and he felt her grip him tightly, “the second is something else. I can feel that you desire it as well.”
In one swift motion, Ash ripped the shirt he was wearing in half before throwing him backwards and ripping off his pants and underwear as well, leaving him completely naked in the hallway.
“Mmm,” Ash moaned, “seems I was right, you really are a dirty little creature aren’t you?”
Jack tried to cover his erection, ashamed she not only knew, but saw his boner. Ash wasn’t having it though, and slapped his hand away.
“If you want to live, it would be a good idea to make me happy.” Ash growled, leaning down against him.
Jack knew what he had to do. He lifted his hands up, reaching for her breasts. He cupped them lightly, enjoying the weight of them. Ash closed her eyes, her body shuddering slightly from his touch. Despite the situation, Jack smiled, this was his first time touching breasts and he wanted to savor it. She arched her back slightly, allowing him to access them more. They were large and their weight felt good in his hands, even if her body was cold. Her nipples were erect and she moaned when he rubbed his fingers over them.
He wasn’t sure who was shaking more, Ash or himself. He also wasn’t sure why he was shaking, whether it was fear or anticipation. Would she truly spare him if he kept doing this? 'Only thing I can do,' he thought, as he worked his way down, his hands finding the edges of her nightgown and lifting it up slowly.
Ash stopped him, placing her hands over his “Getting bold, are we?” Ash asked, “Such a shame, I can’t let you see me. Not yet anyway…” she leaned down, placing her head on his chest. She was breathing heavily, and Jack wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not,
He got his answer when he suddenly felt a cold hand wrapping around his member. He groaned as she started pumping him, moving her hand slowly, and gliding it over his shaft to where she was just grazing over his tip, teasing his foreskin as well. He arched his back in response, biting back a moan.
“Mmmmm,” Ash moaned, her eyes meeting his, “I’m surprised you have enough blood left to manage this, I was worried I would be playing with a limp noodle for a while,” she giggled as she quickened the pace, enjoying the way Jack squirmed in her grasp.
“O-oh!” Jack moaned, but was quickly silenced by a slap across the face.
“I never said you can talk!” Ash reprimanded, releasing her hold on his member.
Jack nodded, trying to blink back the tears. He held his hands out, feeling a bit foolish as he did so, as if it would do anything to stop her. Ash paused when she saw him though, her expression softening as the tears trailed down his face.
She leaned closer and wiped one of the tears away, “Seems I managed to hurt you more than I wanted to. I’m sorry about that, human. Tell you what, just this once, I’ll let you touch any part of me you want. Just name it.”
Jack wrestled with himself for a few minutes. He decided if he was going to die, he might as well have no regrets. “Can I…” he began, swallowing before he continued, “touch your feet?”
Ash grinned, “Ah, is that why you’ve been staring at them since we met? I should have figured,” she stood up, “Go on then.”
Jack made his way over to them. Her feet, like the rest of her, were pale and slender. Her toes were perfect with the nails clipped short and unpainted. He reached out to touch them and marvelled at how soft her skin was. Ash giggled a little as his fingers pressed between her toes.
She sat down, giving him access to her soles. They were lovely as well. While he was playing with one of her feet, Ash pressed her other one against his crotch and he froze when he felt her toes against his shaft. “Oh my,” Ash laughed, “are you even harder now? Your veins seem to be sticking out more than they did before. Looks rather appetizing if you ask me.”
Jack shuddered, “Please don’t bite me ther-”
He groaned as Ash pressed her foot into his testicles, “What did I say about speaking out of turn, human? Although, if it bothers you that much, I won’t bite you down there. However, right now, I want you on your back!”
Jack winced at how loud she was. He didn’t know how many servants were here, or how many were nearby, but he did know he didn’t want anyone seeing him like this. Ash forced him on his back, his cock stretching out towards the ceiling, or rather it was before Ash pressed it between her toes.
Jack shuddered, his back arching slightly. Her movements were clumsier than when she used her hand, but somehow, he was enjoying this much more than he had with her hand. He tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, so he could see the look of contempt and disgust on her face as she towered over him. He was terrified, yes, but it all still felt good.
“Ah,” Ash began, “I wonder, are you worried about what happens if anyone were to see you like this? Should we find out what would happen?”
Jack frantically shook his head no. 'Please don’t!' He was embarrassed and terrified enough, the thought of others being here, well, it was too much to think about!
“Oh?” Ash asked, “Is that so? You don’t want me to call others to see like this? Naked, and desperately trying to deny your own arousal?”
Jack shook his head. 'Please. Don’t do it.'
“Say, I wonder what would happen if I were to stop playing with this? Would it twitch after how much I’ve played with it?”
True to her word, Ash took her foot off him. Jack crossed his legs. He hated how good it felt when she was jacking him off, both with her hand and especially with her foot. His penis felt like it was on the verge of orgasm, and he knew Ash wouldn’t let him finish up by himself. To his horror, his penis was twitching slightly without her touch.
“Oh my!” Ash laughed, nearly doubling over, “I’ve certainly never seen that before!”
'Please stop…' Jack felt the tears burning in his eyes, just stop. No more. They started coming down, and he couldn’t stop himself from making noise.
Ash stopped smiling as she knelt down beside him. Once more, she wiped away a tear from his face, “I know what’s bothering you. Since you’ve been so good so far, I promise I won’t call the other servants. I doubt they would like to watch a grown man groveling anyway.” She laughed at the end, and placed a finger under his chin to force him to look at her, “Besides, now is the part where you make me feel good.”
Similar to his clothing, Ash ripped her nightgown in two, revealing her body to him. She was beautiful. While the nightgown was a bit translucent, seeing her pale body in full was a sight to behold. Her nipplies, still erect, were a deep shade of pink and her stomach was flat, save for the mound before her vagina which was clean shaven. Jack didn’t need to be told what to do and reached for her opening.
Ash stiffened slightly when his fingers entered her. “Mmm, that’s it…”
His fingers explored her folds, and Jack will happily admit he enjoyed seeing the power he had over her, if only briefly. She moaned, her voice pitching higher as he found her clit and started playing with it.
“Hrm!” she groaned, “Well, it seems-!” she moaned, “You know what you’re doing!”
She panted as she moved her position, climbing on top of him and lowering herself onto him. The both of them winced as he went inside, his member slipping in without much resistance. Her muscles were constricting around him, gripping him tightly while Ash threw herself back, her expression a mask of ecstasy. She started pumping once more, her hips moving fast, muscles continuing to tighten around his penis.
Jack bit back moans, biting his tongue as the pleasure overtook him. He could feel it, building, building. The pressure was coming, and he knew Ash was also close. He couldn’t take it anymore!
Ash yelled as she came, her body shuddering from the experience. Jack followed close behind, shooting his load into her. The two of them laid there for a moment, Ash still holding onto him, even as he recovered. As soon as the pleasure was over though, Jack tensed up.
'Was I good enough?' He looked down at Ash who was laying on top of him, eyes closed, with a smile on her face. 'Please dear gods, spare me!'
Ash opened her eyes, “You’re heart’s racing, a little scared?”
Jack swallowed, and nodded, not sure if he was able to speak or not.
Ash reached out, and he flinched away slightly.
“Shhh,” she whispered, “it’s alright,” she got up and moved closer to him, her hand moving across his cheek, cupping him gently, “I won’t kill you.”
Jack breathed out, and started crying. 'Oh thank the gods!' He didn’t care who heard him, or what Ash currently thought of him, right now, he was just happy.
“However,” Ash continued, her voice suddenly stern, “I can’t just let your murder attempt go unpunished!”
Before he could react, Ash bit him once more, and Jack felt something being injected into him. Her blood.
She pulled back, wiping her mouth with the ruined remains of Jack’s clothing, “I think turning you into a thrall for a while is a good punishment. What do you think about that, Jack?”
“It is a fitting punishment.” Jack’s body replied against his will. 'Oh gods, no! Please no!'
Ash stood up, “Don’t worry, your enthrallment will only last for a week or so, then you can have your free will back,” she reached down to pick up her nightgown, shaking her head, “ah, I got carried away again,” she clicked her tongue before turning back to him, “I’ll also be sure to work you as much as possible for your punishment as well. Don’t worry, I won’t feed on you, thrall’s blood is terrible.”
“That is acceptable.” Jack’s body replied. 'This can’t be happening!'
Ash looked towards the clock, “It’s almost morning, you should get dressed and head out into the grounds, Tarkus should be there to show you the ropes. I’ll have you work till nightfall, is that alright with you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Ash smiled, “Good, then get going Jack, and don’t make me regret sparing your life.”
Jack woke up slowly with a dull headache right behind his eyes and forehead. He tried to rub his head, but quickly found his hands were bound behind his back. That woke him up fully. He gasped, or rather tried to, but his mouth was gagged as well. He looked around him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.
He was in a cage, alone. He sat up, nearly falling over when the ground beneath him lurched. Jack was thrown backwards from the force, hitting his head hard against the wall. Grunts came from elsewhere around him, muffled, some weaker than others. Jack sat up against the wall and looked around.
As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, a horrible thought came over him. 'Oh dear gods, please don’t let this be real!' There were a few other cages in there with him, and inside were other humans. They were dirty, looking like they haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, much less a shower. There were various ages and sizes as well, with the one unifying factor being their ragged appearance and demeanor.
Dirt, mud, and grime covered their bodies, tattered clothes, and tear stained cheeks. Others simply slumped against the walls, their eyes glossy, with the only sign of them still being alive being the gentle rising and falling of their chests. 'We’ve been taken by snatchers,' Jack thought, his mind racing. 'How did this happen? There’s no way any of them should have been in Rubyshire! Were the damn guardians not doing their gods forsaken job!'
A moment of fury briefly overcame him, and as the ground once again lurched beneath him, Jack used that to lunge towards the bars. He grunted in pain. The bars stood strong against his futile attack. Only thing that accomplished was making his headache worse and giving him aches along his shoulder.
There was another thing this accomplished though, outside the dark room, a loud voice called out, “Quiet in there!” The crack of a whip came afterwards, and numerous other peoples in the cages shied away or tensed up. A few of them even glared at Jack, shaking their heads at him. 'Lost the urge to fight back or something?' Jack leaned against the bars, shifting his body to find a position that would ease the aching the most.
He thought back to what happened before all this. 'How could this have happened?'
Jack’s head was swimming as he downed another drink. The taste was bitter, and it went down hard. He always hated these things, felt they made people stupid. But then again, here he was at a bar, having several drinks after he saw his grades for University. These made it easier to forget, if only for a little bit.
How was he going to tell his parents? Would they even care? His mom might, she believed in him, even if Jack suspected it might be pretend. His dad, however, would just shake his head in disappointment. Wallis was always the favorite, he had been sent to the capital university fully paid for by dad, while Jack was lucky he managed to pay for the university at Rubyshire.
'Guess you were right about me, old man.' Jack thought bitterly, taking another sip, 'but I don’t think I’ll give you the satisfaction of seeing me return home without a degree!' Yes, he could go into the workforce, or maybe try a trade school. If nothing else he could try being a guardian, wasn’t the flashiest of jobs, but at least he could make sure no snatchers got inside.
He didn’t even realize he was giggling with a mad grin on his face until the barkeeper came up to him and tapped his finger on the counter to catch his attention. “H-huuh?” Jack mumbled.
“You’re disturbing some of the other patrons, you know?” the barkeep replied, “How many of those have you had?”
Jack thought for a moment, struggling to remember how numbers and words worked. “Can’t ‘memb’r,” he replied, “but I thin’ ill a’ve ‘noth’r!”
The barkeep shook his head, taking Jack’s mug away from him. No matter, Jack just finished it anyway. “I think it’ll be best if you wait awhile, or you have something to eat first.”
Jack stood up, and grabbed onto the counter as his legs struggled to carry him. “Dun act like ooo know bett’r thin me!” Jack slurred, “I thin I’m dun here.”
He stumbled outside, managing not to bump into anyone on his way out. The cold air was good for him, helped clear his mind a little. There were a few people on the streets, most likely other drunks and insomniacs. The lamps of the city burned dull, the guardians needed to refill the oil.
Jack walked around for a bit, grumbling to himself about what happened in university. His professor had it out for him. Didn’t like Jack coming from a well off family. 'I’ll wipe that smug look off your face!'
He swung out, his fist striking nothing but air. Unfortunately, the weight behind it caused him to stumble and fall. He landed in a puddle, and managed to avoid striking his head on the street. His body was heavy. Waking up in a guardian’s holding cell wasn’t ideal, but it would be better than stumbling back to his dorm.
Jack laughed as he succumbed to sleep.
'Bastards let some snatchers into the city,' Jack thought, 'only way I would’ve been captured. To the abyss with them!' In a rage, Jack started beating against the bars with his foot. He stopped quickly after another crack of a whip from outside. 'I should save my strength,' he thought, 'they probably won’t feed with me, or at least not give me any proper meal. I’ll need my strength so I can escape.'
While Jack was putting together a plan for what to do if they ever let him out of this cage, the wagon came to a stop and a voice from outside shouted, “Oh, a customer!”
Jack’s mouth went dry. There were a few people who would be willing to buy another human and the few options he could think of weren’t the greatest. Slavers were the most common, as were scientists who did unethical research, and of course there’s the variety of monsters who eat humans. None of these possibilities were particularly appealing.
“How may I help you?” the same voice asked.
Jack heard a response, although it was from a much quieter and refined voice than the snatchers, “I’ve been looking to get a new servant for my estate, might I take a look at your wares?”
“Of course!” the snatcher replied, “I’ll get the door for you!”
Outside, Jack heard footsteps, and a door closing. The snatcher warned his customer not to get too close to them, since they might try to use her as a hostage. His customer simply laughed and said that wouldn’t be a problem.
The door to their wagon opened and two people came in. The snatcher carried a lantern on him, momentarily blinding everyone already inside the wagon. When Jack’s eyes adjusted to the sudden light he was able to get a good look at the snatcher.
His eyes widened when he saw the snatcher was wearing the leather jacket of the guardians, and even had the seal of the guardians stitched above his heart. The snatcher was clean shaven and had short black hair, in summary, he looked like what someone would think of if they pictured an average guardian.
His customer moved quickly, going from cage to cage to examine the people inside. She was tall, taller even than the guardian. Her skin was pale, and Jack was able to see some veins through her skin. He sucked in a breath, or rather tried to since the gag was still in his mouth. She moved with unnatural speed to the next cage to examine the others, sniffing from the other side of the bars.
She was dressed nicely, wearing a blue travel coat with silver embroidery etched upon it as well as embroidery of ravens on her collar. Her hair was a deep black and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her trousers were brown and looked worn. Unlike the snatcher, whose boots made noise wherever he stepped, she was nearly silent as she moved over to the next cage. Jack caught a brief look at her as she moved and saw she was barefoot.
“Anyone catch your eye?” the snatcher asked.
She shook her head as she moved over to the next cage, “plenty of people here look a bit too sickly for my taste, I’d rather avoid having to nurse them back to health before they can begin working.”
“Apologies, miss,” the snatcher replied, “most of the people here tried to rebel against us, had to make sure they didn’t get any ideas.”
The woman sighed, “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
She came towards Jack’s cage, and he shrinked back when her eyes fell upon him. Her eyes were blood red, and she smiled when she saw him, revealing two long and sharp fangs among the rest of her teeth.
“This one looks cute,” the woman said, leaning towards the bars as Jack scooted further back, “looks like he doesn’t need that long to recover either.”
“Are you sure about him?” the snatcher asked, “We just picked him up last night, haven’t had the chance to beat the fight out of him.”
“Even better,” she replied, licking her lips, “I think I’ll take him.”
'Gods no.'
The snatcher laughed, “Well, we don’t accept refunds, so if he doesn’t work out, that’s not our responsibility. That’ll be two hundred knots.”
The vampire handed him the money as the snatcher left to grab his buddy to help get him out of the cage. 'Gods, please don’t let this be real!' Jack thought, glaring at the vampire, 'This is all a bad dream!'
“I love that look in your eyes,” the vampire said, “so scared, and angry. Oh… it makes me excited, I’m sure your blood is pumping fast right now, isn’t it?”
Jack shivered, but tried not to show his fear. The vampire, however, seemed to have noticed.
“Oh dear,” she chuckled, her voice strangely warm yet there was a disturbing note of something else, “seems you’re a bit more scared now.”
The snatcher came back with his buddy who was also wearing the uniform of a guardian. The first snatcher produced a ring of keys while the other held a whip in his hand. “I wouldn’t try anything if I was you,” the second snatcher said, holding his whip, “unless you want to be whipped.”
The door creaked open and the first snatcher came in and grabbed Jack roughly by the shoulder as he produced a knife to cut the bindings around his feet. “On your feet!” The snatcher forced him to stand up, and kept a strong grip on Jack’s shoulder.
“You think you could undo his gag?” the vampire asked, “I’d like to know what he has to say.”
“As you wish,” the snatcher replied, undoing the gag.
The first thing Jack did was cough and wet his mouth now that the foul gag was removed. He took in a few deep breaths with his mouth before he did the second thing, which was to look at the two snatchers and say, “The gods will damn you forever!”
The snatchers chuckled, “We’ve been doing this for over a decade, if the gods cared, they would have done something by now!”
They lead him, forcibly, out of the wagon. His hands were still bound, and the snatcher was still gripping him tightly, and he didn’t want to see how well the second snatcher could use that whip, and of course there was the vampire who walked a little too close to him for comfort.
“Yes,” the vampire whispered, “I think you’ll do nicely.”
Jack was surprised to see it was twilight outside, with the sun barely setting below the horizon. The sky was cloudy, probably giving the vampire enough cover so she wouldn’t burn in the sunlight.
There was a carriage waiting for them. Jack was surprised to see the driver was a human dressed almost as nicely as the vampire, “Did you find someone, Mistress Ash?”
“I did, Atticus,” she replied, “I’m glad we can cut our trip short, I can spend some time with our newest member.”
“Alright Mistress.” Atticus replied.
“Remember,” the snatcher began as Atticus came over to open the door to the carriage, “anything that happens with him is not our problem.”
“Don’t worry,” Ash replied, “I know.”
While the first snatcher was talking to Ash, Jack felt the second snatcher slip something into his pocket, “Go ahead and use it when you think you have the chance,” the second snatcher whispered in his ear, “do the world a favor and rid of us of her kind.”
Afterwards, Jack was shoved into the carriage and the two snatchers bid Ash a good day before going back to their wagon. 'This can’t be happening!' The vampire smirked as she closed the door as she entered the carriage, taking the opposite seat from him. She leaned back, smiling slightly as Atticus got the horses going again.
“What do you plan to do with me?” Jack asked, sounding braver than he felt.
“First, you’ll need a bath,” Ash replied, giggling slightly and pinching her nose, “Afterwards, I’ll give you some time to rest before having another of our members get you acquainted with my estate and any duties that may fall upon you. Oh, where are my manners? Come here, let me undo your wrists.”
Reluctantly, Jack shuffled around to give her access to the bindings on his wrist. Her touch was cold, sending shivers through his body, but she was surprisingly gentle, never once scratching or gripping him too tight. The bindings came away without much problem but before Jack could move, Ash had her fingers on him, tracing along his arms.
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice low, “I think I picked good here.”
Jack couldn’t stop himself, and swiftly spun around, scooting to the far corner of the carriage.
Ash smiled, “I’m sorry, I have trouble controlling myself sometimes.”
“What will you do if I try to make a run for it?” Jack asked, gesturing to the door.
“You really think you can escape a vampire at night? In an area you don’t know?”
Jack clung to the corner, glaring at Ash. This was bad, really bad. Being a thrall to a vampire was something most parents told to scare their children into behaving, but here he was, with the possibility that he was about to be turned into a thrall. He had the knife the snatcher gave him, that was something at least. Maybe he could kill her. Trying to do so now wouldn’t be a good idea though.
At the very least, if he was going to be the slave of a vampire, at least she was a beautiful one. The clothes she wore weren't the greatest in showing off her body, but she had a nice face and Jack would be lying if he said her smile wasn’t comforting in a creepy sort of way. There was something else as well. When he thought she wasn’t looking, his eyes drifted over to her bare feet. His hands twitched at his side when she bobbed her feet, giving him a good view of her long slender toes. They looked soft, yet strong as well. Her toenails were cut short and were clean and healthy looking. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to touch them just for a little bit. Of course, it would be even better if he -
“Hmm?” Ash asked, “Is something wrong? I can hear your heart beating rather fast.”
Jack looked away, hoping she didn't notice the bulge struggling in his pants, “Where are we going?” he asked.
Ash leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she replied, “My manor. I think you’ll like it there. The manor itself is rather large, with plenty of rooms to explore and a library filled with so many books that even I haven’t read them all yet. You’ll be given plenty of food, and will be treated well if you do work and do it well. Of course, I’ll be needing to feed on you every now and then, part of the reason I bought you is because the others have been struggling since I keep sucking their blood so often, I want to have someone else so everyone has a chance to rest.”
The rest of the carriage ride passed by uneventfully. Jack stared out the window, curious as to which part of the imperium he was in. Didn’t take him long to wonder how long he had been knocked out as the foggy marshlands outside shouldn’t be anywhere near Rubyshire. 'I couldn’t have been passed out for more than a few hours at the most!' He thought, trying to stay calm, 'did the snatchers inject me with something when they found me?'
That was the only explanation for ending up here, somewhere he was not familiar with at all. Soon, the marshlands gave way to rolling hills with a few trees here and there, and he saw a few small towns in the distance. Not too surprising, I would think all the humans in this supposed estate would need to eat something.
The estate itself rested on top of one of the hills, and they passed by a gate which closed behind them as soon as they entered. “I’d rather not let any vampire hunter into my grounds uninvited,” Ash explained as soon as the gate closed, “come now, I think it would be good to give you a tour of where you’ll be staying.”
Jack reluctantly got out of the carriage, regardless of how he felt, it would be good not to upset a vampire. He looked around as soon as he got out, seeing the wide open front lawn with numerous plants growing on the grounds. There were many flowers here, all sorts of different colors and types. A fountain was nearby, spraying water up into the air. On top of the fountain was a raven with its wings spread open, with water spewing from its open beak. Some herbs must have been mixed into the water, because the smell it gave off was different than that of water, and vampires weren’t known for liking water.
Another servant came to take the horses from Atticus while Ash showed Jack around the courtyard. Most of what she was saying fell on deaf ears though, since Jack looked for any way he could escape. The walls were high, and didn’t look scalable. The gate was currently closed and Jack wondered if Ash’s servants would even open it for him.
Even if he were to escape, there weren’t many places he could hide as the area outside was open except for the towns. Would he even be able to hide there? Or would the people simply turn him over to Ash? Some towns would do that, so the vampire wouldn’t take one of their own.
“Thinking about escaping?” Ash asked, suddenly close to him.
Jack sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and nearly fell over, but Ash grabbed him by the shirt to hold him up. “Huh?” Jack asked, “N-no!”
Ash tilted her head, her red eyes flashing briefly over him, “I would think you would know better than to lie to me, I can hear your heartbeat racing right now,” she released him and turned around, “if you want to escape, you’re more than welcome to try, but I assure you you won’t get far. I remember the scent of all my servants… even someone as drenched in odor as you.”
“The horses are taken care of, mistress.” The servant from earlier came by.
“Thank you, Eban, you may resume your post.”
Eban bowed to Ash before glancing briefly at Jack, who froze when he saw Eban’s eyes. His eyes were glazed over with an empty look in them with a translucent red film over them. The rest of Eban looked normal, he wasn’t as pale as Ash, meaning he was still a human. Jack noticed the way Eban moved, as though he was being pulled by strings, his body no longer his own. 'Dear gods, a thrall!'
“I’m glad you met Eban,” Ash said, noting Jack’s pale face, “now you see what will happen if you try to run. I try not to do that too much though, a thrall’s blood is terrible, both in taste and substance.”
“You’re a monster!” Jack exclaimed.
It happened quickly. One moment, Jack was standing glaring at Ash, and the next he was on the ground with his right cheek burning, looking up at Ash who kept a passive expression. “I’d be careful when you talk to me like that, human.” Ash said, looking down at him, “unless you want to share Eban’s fate.”
Jack tried to control himself, but unfortunately, his body betrayed him. His pants were baggy enough to hide his growing excitement, but unfortunately, Ash knew exactly what Jack was feeling and she quickly glanced down at his crotch before sneering.
“Truly pathetic.”
Jack’s face burned. He hated being called that. He hated other people thinking that. All his life, his father, his sister, so called friends, and even his professors all thought he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He would not let this monster talk to him that way.
While she had her back turned to him, he rose to his feet, forgetting all his fear. He only had one thought, to kill. She wasn’t looking, now would be the perfect time to-
Ash turned around lazily, looking at him right in the eyes, “Oh? Back on your feet already?”
Jack swallowed, all his gusto gone. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he asked, “Is there anywhere else you’d like to show me?”
Ash smiled, a genuine smile. “Of course! I think it would be good if you get acquainted with the inside of my manor as well. Usually dusting and cleaning is Samantha’s job, but it would be nice for her to have a break every now and again.”
The manor was surprisingly warm, whenever Jack imagined something such as a vampire’s lair, he imagined it would be cold and uninviting. Even stories he heard of vampires taking over a residence said vampires transform to reflect themselves, by sapping away any warmth it might have had.
Ash’s manor, on the other hand, was well-lit and had the feel of something that had been lived in for a long time. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, which could be because of that Samantha person Ash mentioned, and the two of them even passed by a few servants doing their jobs, with each servant bowing their heads as they passed.
Unlike Eban, these servants weren’t thralls. At least, Jack wasn’t able to tell if they were or not. They seemed to move normally, although he wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of their eyes. “As you can see, I treat my servants well,” Ash said, continuing to walk with him through her manor, “provided they don’t misbehave, I give them as much freedom as I can.”
“Who are these people?” Jack asked.
“That,” Ash began, “I think would be best for you to find out on your own.”
'Most likely they’re people like me.' Jack thought bitterly, 'People taken by snatchers! Strange, with all these people around, I would think one of them would have tried to put a stake in her heart. Maybe Eban did, he’s the only one who might have had any sense. '
“This is the library,” Ash said, leading him to a large open room with rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with numerous tomes, like the fountain in the courtyard, there were depictions of ravens in the library as well, mostly as paintings on the walls as well as small statues sitting in empty spaces in the shelves, “feel free to read anything that might catch your fancy.”
Jack scowled, but said nothing.
Ash gave him a strange look, almost a look of concern. “I see you still don’t believe me, well give it some time. It took Atticus almost a month for him to trust me.”
“How long did it take Eban?” Jack asked.
Ash shook her head, “I should have mentioned this, I didn’t get Eban from Snatchers, rather I caught him when he snuck in here to try to kill me over a year ago.” she chuckled and undid the top buttons of her jacket, exposing the pale skin underneath. Ash’s smile widened when she saw Jack blush as she parted the jacket to reveal her full chest. She didn’t show too much though, but Jack saw the shape of her breasts, and most importantly, he saw the wicked scar above her left breast which looked like it barely missed her heart, “Eban would have got me if it wasn’t for his poor aim.” Ash said with a chuckle, “Awww, look at you, all flustered. What’s the matter? Never seen a pair of breasts before?”
Jack tore his eyes away, turning to the rows of books, “I was wondering how Eban managed to miss you so close.”
Ash shrugged as she buttoned up her jacket once more, “He panicked, plain and simple. His hand flew too high and his knife missed my heart, hurt like the abyss though. As you can see, I made sure he is paying the price for that.”
Jack growled, remembering the knife he had in his pocket. The snatchers gave that to him before he got into the carriage, but why? Did they want him to try to kill her? Or did they want him to make a fool of himself? The knife looked sharp, he thought, trying not to reach for it, maybe it could kill her. Or me.
While he was thinking, Atticus entered the room, holding a towel over his arm, “Misstress,” he greeted with a bow, “I have both your bath as well as the newcomer’s baths ready if you’d like to go.”
“That’s perfect, thank you Atticus,” Ash replied, “It’ll be good for him to wash off, I’d rather not have to bite into someone who's a bit dirty.”
Jack blinked and blushed, What in the Abyss is this? “We’re taking a bath together?” he blurted out.
Ash threw her head back in laughter, nearly doubling over as well, “Sorry, but no. I’m afraid you’re taking a bath separate from myself.”
The bath was a large room with a large tub, easily able to fill multiple people. It was just Jack though, and Atticus as well. The other man wasn’t getting in the tub with him, thankfully, but Jack wasn’t happy to see someone else in here with him. Ash said it was to make sure he didn’t get any ideas. 'As if I’d try.' He thought bitterly.
Atticus didn’t look away when Jack stripped, and Jack didn’t like the way Atticus was studying him. He made sure the knife stayed inside his pants and was as quiet as he could be when he laid his pants on the floor.
“I can see why the mistress chose you.” Atticus said when Jack was fully naked.
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, meeting the other man’s eyes.
“You look like you’d be able to do the mistress’ tasks,” Atticus replied, “and you’d be able to give her some entertainment as well.”
Jack scoffed and got in the tub, “Tell me, do you actually serve her on your own free will?”
“I do,” Atticus replied, “I didn’t want to, of course, I was terrified. But… slowly she won me over. Treated me better than my own parents did. Certainly much better than the previous..." Atticus paused before shaking his head and continuing, "I have served her for over a decade since.”
Jack paused and looked Atticus over, the other man seemed to be only slighter older than he was. She took you when you were just a child?
“You mind looking away?” Jack asked, “I’d rather not have someone look at me when I’m washing.”
Atticus rolled his eyes, “And I’d rather be watching Samantha bathe instead of you, but here we are,” he sighed, “If you would please hurry, I do have other things I must attend to and being kept here isn’t something I would like to have happen.”
Jack shook his head, “Tell me something, have you and her ever done anything?”
Atticus scoffed and shook his head, “I was wondering if I would get this question. No. There is nothing and has never been anything, and I am disgusted to know you would think that!”
“Why’s that?”
Atticus glared at Jack before replying, “I see her as the mother I wish I had. She practically raised me. So no, I have never thought about doing anything to her!”
'You were raised by her? Well that explains your loyalty, although I’m curious what she could have done for you that made you stay here. '
Jack washed up as well as he could before stepping out and grabbing the spare clothes Atticus provided for him. They were a bit large, but were otherwise fine. When Atticus had his back turned, Jack managed to slip the knife from his old pants and sneaked them into his new ones.
Atticus took Jack to his room, a cozy little place on the second floor of the manor which had a window which gave him a view of the garden he was supposed to start taking care of starting tomorrow. “I’d wait for a bit before going to sleep,” Atticus told him as he was leaving, “the mistress was hoping to see you after her bath.”
'I hope she does.' Jack thought, feeling the knife on the inside of his pants. He sat down on the bed, playing through the act in his mind of what he needed to do. Ash would hopefully drop her guard and he would swiftly take out the knife and plunge it into her heart, Eban attacked too high, so he needed to attack lower.
He waited for a few more minutes until his door creaked open. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Ash standing there in his doorway. She was in a revealing blue nightgown which left little to the imagination. Her gown showed enough cleavage so Jack not only saw the scar Eban made, but where he also had a clear opening to her heart, if he attacked properly.
She drifted towards him, her bare feet silent against the carpet and sat down gracefully next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a smile which showed off her long, sharp fangs. “Hmmm,” she moaned, “you certainly cleaned up well.”
“Not as well as you,” Jack breathed, his voice catching in his throat.
Ash giggled, “Thank you for the compliment, Atticus told you to expect me?”
Jack nodded.
“Sorry to spring this on your first day, but it is customary I feed on my servants when I first acquire them. To stop other vampires from possibly poaching you.”
'I’m not some animal!'
“Alright,” Jack replied.
Ash placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned closer. He stiffened slightly. Ash loosened her grip a bit, “Sorry,” she whispered, “I’ll try to be gentle with you since it’s your first time.”
Jack’s heart was pounding as Ash drew closer to his neck and he stifled a moan as she bit into his neck. She was warm, and gentle. He could feel his blood being taken away, and started to feel a little light headed. Why then, did it feel so good? He fought back the urge to embrace her in his arms, and ignored the growing hunger between his legs, instead reaching for his pocket to pull out the knife.
He couldn’t see her chest, couldn’t see her neck. But he can try to guess. He felt her breasts resting against his chests, rising and falling with every breath he took. This is it, he would only get one chance.
Ash gasped and pulled away from him when he plunged the knife into her. For a moment, Jack thought he had done it, until his vision came back into focus and he saw the knife was instead buried into her side. He had missed.
Ash slapped his hands away before looking down at the knife. It wasn’t even buried that deep, even if Jack had been accurate, it wouldn’t have been anywhere close to her heart to kill. She grunted softly as she pulled it out, bleeding slightly as the knife was free from her. She examined the knife briefly before lazily turning her attention to him.
“This is a snatcher knife,” she said, “I’ve heard they started trying to convince the humans to kill us, never thought those two would try. I’ll be sure to spread the word. As for you-” she lunged at him, throwing him onto the floor, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I-” Jack began, trying to get up.
“Don’t move!” she ordered, slamming her foot on his head.
Jack whimpered as his head hit the floor, causing his vision to swim again. He was able to see Ash standing over him, arms crossed under her breasts, and red eyes flashing dangerously.
“What were you planning to do with that knife?” she asked, pressing down harder on him.
“Don’t-!” Jack cried.
“Don’t what?” Ash demanded, leaning down towards him, “Don’t give me this little act of yours! Answer my question!”
“I was going to-!” Jack started, before choking up.
“Oh enough of this!”
Ash released him briefly, but before he could recover, Ash grabbed him roughly up by one of his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. He cried out, but Ash slapped him across the face and growled, “Look into my eyes human.”
Jack closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to weep, “Don’t kill me.” he managed to choke out.
“Look into my eyes and I might consider letting you live, human.”
Reluctantly, Jack opened his eyes and forced himself to look into her eyes. They were glowing with anger, but try as he might, he couldn’t look away. He knew what this was, a vampire’s hypnosis. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would do it.
He felt control of his body slip away, and try as he might, he couldn’t move anymore, not even twitch his fingers. He was barely aware of what was even happening, having to fight to stay in control of his mind.
Ash simply grunted as she released him, his body crashing onto the floor. She looked down at him with a sneer on her expression. “What were you planning to do with that knife, human?”
“I was going to kill you.” Jack replied against his will.
“Why?”
“I refuse to serve you, I will not serve a disgusting monster like you.”
Ash’s sneer vanished, and was replaced with a small, amused smile, “Didn’t learn anything from Eban, did you? I would have thought his story would have served as a warning. Looks like I will have to make another example of someone.” Ash sighed, shaking her head, before turning back to him. Her expression was a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Have a good rest, human.”
With inhuman speed, Ash picked him up before delivering a punch directly at his face, knocking him out.
Jack groaned as he woke up, his head pounding in pain. The rest of his body also ached, but his head was the worst. He was still alive, so he had that going for him at least. He looked around his room, seeing Ash had already disposed of the knife. He struggled to his feet before opening the door, surprised Ash didn’t lock him in.
It was still dark outside, but hopefully morning wouldn’t be too far behind. He needed to get out of here, and make sure no one saw him. The servants here will certainly call Ash, and if he saw Ash herself, she would most likely suck him dry. Jack limped out of his room, his legs wobbly and struggling beneath his weight.
As soon as he was in the hallway, he leaned against the wall to take the weight off his legs. He could feel some of his strength returning, slowly but surely. His head was still pounding and most likely wouldn’t stop for a while. He made his way over to the stairs, the hallway was thankfully empty, but he was worried where Ash and her other servants may be.
Before he took the first step, he paused as he heard voices coming from downstairs. They were quiet, but since the rest of the manor was silent he was still able to hear them. It was Ash, and she was talking to Atticus.
Jack quieted his breathing, trying to focus so he could hear them. He leaned in closer to hear better.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” Atticus said, “I should have searched him better when he was undressed.”
“Not your fault Atticus,” Ash replied, “But be sure to send the letters to the others, I’d rather no one else fall for the snatcher’s schemes.”
“What do you plan on doing with the new one, Mistress?” Atticus asked, “I’m not sure when other snatchers will be in the area and those two have already proven to be untrustworthy.”
Ash sighed, “I’m not sure. I’m not against killing him, he can serve as an example for others, but I’m not sure when I’d be able to get another one. Turning him to a thrall would be a good punishment as well, his blood will be awful, but at least then we can work him to the bone without worry.”
Jack’s throat went dry. Neither of those were things he’d want to happen. Despite himself, his breathing got faster, his heart beating faster as well, legs wobbling.
“Oh?”
“Is something wrong, Mistress?” Atticus asked.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Ash replied, “I just think our ungrateful guest has woken up.”
“Would you like me to check on him, Mistress?”
“No,” Ash told him, “I think I will go and see what he is doing.”
Jack tried to move, to run back to his room, but unfortunately, his legs gave out when he tried to move. I have to hide! He thought, crawling along the floor. There was barely any strength in his arms, and he wheezed when he tried to pull himself forward. 'This is it,' he despaired, 'I’m dead.'
When he looked up again, Ash stood over him. She was still dressed in her nightgown, and the knife wound was still present, although it looked like it healed a bit. Ash knelt down in front of him, looking more bored than angry, was that any better?
“What exactly are you planning on doing, human?” Ash asked.
“I wanted to apologize,” Jack blurted, thinking of the first thing that might allow him to live a little longer, “for trying to kill you.”
Ash tilted her head to the side, looking unimpressed, “Mmmmhmmm,” she grunted, “is that so?”
“Yes!” Jack wheezed, hoping she believed him.
“Why don’t you look me in the eyes when you speak, then?”
Jack knew he couldn’t do that. If she asked him if he was speaking the truth, he’d say no, and he’d rather not find out what she would make him do.
“Tell me,” Ash began, reaching down and forcing Jack to look at her, “why should I let you live?”
“Because,” Jack wheezed, “you won’t have to worry about replacing me. And… if you don’t make me a thrall, then you can still enjoy my blood.”
Ash grinned, showing her fangs, “Heard my conversation, have you?” she thought for a moment, tapping her finger against Jack’s chin. He flinched when her sharp nails cut him slightly. Ash licked her lips, “I will say, your blood smells delectable, but is it worth it?”
“Please Mistress!” Jack blubbered.
“Very well,” Ash sighed, “although there are two things I need from you.”
Jack sighed, feeling relieved. She’s letting him live.
“The first, is some blood,” Ash fingers worked their way to his collar, and he felt her grip him tightly, “the second is something else. I can feel that you desire it as well.”
In one swift motion, Ash ripped the shirt he was wearing in half before throwing him backwards and ripping off his pants and underwear as well, leaving him completely naked in the hallway.
“Mmm,” Ash moaned, “seems I was right, you really are a dirty little creature aren’t you?”
Jack tried to cover his erection, ashamed she not only knew, but saw his boner. Ash wasn’t having it though, and slapped his hand away.
“If you want to live, it would be a good idea to make me happy.” Ash growled, leaning down against him.
Jack knew what he had to do. He lifted his hands up, reaching for her breasts. He cupped them lightly, enjoying the weight of them. Ash closed her eyes, her body shuddering slightly from his touch. Despite the situation, Jack smiled, this was his first time touching breasts and he wanted to savor it. She arched her back slightly, allowing him to access them more. They were large and their weight felt good in his hands, even if her body was cold. Her nipples were erect and she moaned when he rubbed his fingers over them.
He wasn’t sure who was shaking more, Ash or himself. He also wasn’t sure why he was shaking, whether it was fear or anticipation. Would she truly spare him if he kept doing this? 'Only thing I can do,' he thought, as he worked his way down, his hands finding the edges of her nightgown and lifting it up slowly.
Ash stopped him, placing her hands over his “Getting bold, are we?” Ash asked, “Such a shame, I can’t let you see me. Not yet anyway…” she leaned down, placing her head on his chest. She was breathing heavily, and Jack wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not,
He got his answer when he suddenly felt a cold hand wrapping around his member. He groaned as she started pumping him, moving her hand slowly, and gliding it over his shaft to where she was just grazing over his tip, teasing his foreskin as well. He arched his back in response, biting back a moan.
“Mmmmm,” Ash moaned, her eyes meeting his, “I’m surprised you have enough blood left to manage this, I was worried I would be playing with a limp noodle for a while,” she giggled as she quickened the pace, enjoying the way Jack squirmed in her grasp.
“O-oh!” Jack moaned, but was quickly silenced by a slap across the face.
“I never said you can talk!” Ash reprimanded, releasing her hold on his member.
Jack nodded, trying to blink back the tears. He held his hands out, feeling a bit foolish as he did so, as if it would do anything to stop her. Ash paused when she saw him though, her expression softening as the tears trailed down his face.
She leaned closer and wiped one of the tears away, “Seems I managed to hurt you more than I wanted to. I’m sorry about that, human. Tell you what, just this once, I’ll let you touch any part of me you want. Just name it.”
Jack wrestled with himself for a few minutes. He decided if he was going to die, he might as well have no regrets. “Can I…” he began, swallowing before he continued, “touch your feet?”
Ash grinned, “Ah, is that why you’ve been staring at them since we met? I should have figured,” she stood up, “Go on then.”
Jack made his way over to them. Her feet, like the rest of her, were pale and slender. Her toes were perfect with the nails clipped short and unpainted. He reached out to touch them and marvelled at how soft her skin was. Ash giggled a little as his fingers pressed between her toes.
She sat down, giving him access to her soles. They were lovely as well. While he was playing with one of her feet, Ash pressed her other one against his crotch and he froze when he felt her toes against his shaft. “Oh my,” Ash laughed, “are you even harder now? Your veins seem to be sticking out more than they did before. Looks rather appetizing if you ask me.”
Jack shuddered, “Please don’t bite me ther-”
He groaned as Ash pressed her foot into his testicles, “What did I say about speaking out of turn, human? Although, if it bothers you that much, I won’t bite you down there. However, right now, I want you on your back!”
Jack winced at how loud she was. He didn’t know how many servants were here, or how many were nearby, but he did know he didn’t want anyone seeing him like this. Ash forced him on his back, his cock stretching out towards the ceiling, or rather it was before Ash pressed it between her toes.
Jack shuddered, his back arching slightly. Her movements were clumsier than when she used her hand, but somehow, he was enjoying this much more than he had with her hand. He tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, so he could see the look of contempt and disgust on her face as she towered over him. He was terrified, yes, but it all still felt good.
“Ah,” Ash began, “I wonder, are you worried about what happens if anyone were to see you like this? Should we find out what would happen?”
Jack frantically shook his head no. 'Please don’t!' He was embarrassed and terrified enough, the thought of others being here, well, it was too much to think about!
“Oh?” Ash asked, “Is that so? You don’t want me to call others to see like this? Naked, and desperately trying to deny your own arousal?”
Jack shook his head. 'Please. Don’t do it.'
“Say, I wonder what would happen if I were to stop playing with this? Would it twitch after how much I’ve played with it?”
True to her word, Ash took her foot off him. Jack crossed his legs. He hated how good it felt when she was jacking him off, both with her hand and especially with her foot. His penis felt like it was on the verge of orgasm, and he knew Ash wouldn’t let him finish up by himself. To his horror, his penis was twitching slightly without her touch.
“Oh my!” Ash laughed, nearly doubling over, “I’ve certainly never seen that before!”
'Please stop…' Jack felt the tears burning in his eyes, just stop. No more. They started coming down, and he couldn’t stop himself from making noise.
Ash stopped smiling as she knelt down beside him. Once more, she wiped away a tear from his face, “I know what’s bothering you. Since you’ve been so good so far, I promise I won’t call the other servants. I doubt they would like to watch a grown man groveling anyway.” She laughed at the end, and placed a finger under his chin to force him to look at her, “Besides, now is the part where you make me feel good.”
Similar to his clothing, Ash ripped her nightgown in two, revealing her body to him. She was beautiful. While the nightgown was a bit translucent, seeing her pale body in full was a sight to behold. Her nipplies, still erect, were a deep shade of pink and her stomach was flat, save for the mound before her vagina which was clean shaven. Jack didn’t need to be told what to do and reached for her opening.
Ash stiffened slightly when his fingers entered her. “Mmm, that’s it…”
His fingers explored her folds, and Jack will happily admit he enjoyed seeing the power he had over her, if only briefly. She moaned, her voice pitching higher as he found her clit and started playing with it.
“Hrm!” she groaned, “Well, it seems-!” she moaned, “You know what you’re doing!”
She panted as she moved her position, climbing on top of him and lowering herself onto him. The both of them winced as he went inside, his member slipping in without much resistance. Her muscles were constricting around him, gripping him tightly while Ash threw herself back, her expression a mask of ecstasy. She started pumping once more, her hips moving fast, muscles continuing to tighten around his penis.
Jack bit back moans, biting his tongue as the pleasure overtook him. He could feel it, building, building. The pressure was coming, and he knew Ash was also close. He couldn’t take it anymore!
Ash yelled as she came, her body shuddering from the experience. Jack followed close behind, shooting his load into her. The two of them laid there for a moment, Ash still holding onto him, even as he recovered. As soon as the pleasure was over though, Jack tensed up.
'Was I good enough?' He looked down at Ash who was laying on top of him, eyes closed, with a smile on her face. 'Please dear gods, spare me!'
Ash opened her eyes, “You’re heart’s racing, a little scared?”
Jack swallowed, and nodded, not sure if he was able to speak or not.
Ash reached out, and he flinched away slightly.
“Shhh,” she whispered, “it’s alright,” she got up and moved closer to him, her hand moving across his cheek, cupping him gently, “I won’t kill you.”
Jack breathed out, and started crying. 'Oh thank the gods!' He didn’t care who heard him, or what Ash currently thought of him, right now, he was just happy.
“However,” Ash continued, her voice suddenly stern, “I can’t just let your murder attempt go unpunished!”
Before he could react, Ash bit him once more, and Jack felt something being injected into him. Her blood.
She pulled back, wiping her mouth with the ruined remains of Jack’s clothing, “I think turning you into a thrall for a while is a good punishment. What do you think about that, Jack?”
“It is a fitting punishment.” Jack’s body replied against his will. 'Oh gods, no! Please no!'
Ash stood up, “Don’t worry, your enthrallment will only last for a week or so, then you can have your free will back,” she reached down to pick up her nightgown, shaking her head, “ah, I got carried away again,” she clicked her tongue before turning back to him, “I’ll also be sure to work you as much as possible for your punishment as well. Don’t worry, I won’t feed on you, thrall’s blood is terrible.”
“That is acceptable.” Jack’s body replied. 'This can’t be happening!'
Ash looked towards the clock, “It’s almost morning, you should get dressed and head out into the grounds, Tarkus should be there to show you the ropes. I’ll have you work till nightfall, is that alright with you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Ash smiled, “Good, then get going Jack, and don’t make me regret sparing your life.”
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Short story about a man who moves to Miami and has his life body stolen by a maintenance man when they accidentally swap bodies after a head collision.
The humid Miami air clung to my skin as I adjusted to my new life in the city. My one-bedroom apartment was small but cozy, with a view of palm trees swaying outside my window. At 25, I was young, single, and—according to my friends—lucky enough to turn heads. But none of that mattered when I locked eyes with her at a café near Little Havana.
May.
Her name tasted like honey on my tongue. A stunning Cuban woman with curves that defied gravity, dark eyes that smoldered, and a smile that could melt steel. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to ask her out. And when she said yes, my heart nearly exploded.
There was just one problem: my Spanish was nonexistent.
The night before our date, I was pacing my apartment, rehearsing the few phrases I’d Googled—“Hola, guapa. ¿Quieres bailar?”—when the ceiling fan sputtered and died.
Great.
I called maintenance, and within an hour, a gruff, heavyset Mexican man named Ernesto showed up at my door. He smelled like cheap cigarettes and resentment, his white tank top straining over his gut as he grumbled about his wife under his breath.
“Fan’s broken,” he muttered, climbing the ladder with the grace of a man who’d rather be anywhere else.
I nodded, distracted, when my phone buzzed.
A text from May.
A picture.
My breath hitched. She’d sent a selfie in the dress she was wearing tomorrow—tight, red, and sinful. My fingers hovered over the screen, my pulse racing, when—
CRASH.
Ernesto lost his balance. The ladder wobbled. His arms flailed.
And then—impact.
Our skulls collided with a sickening crack, and everything went black.
---
I woke up disoriented.
The room was different. The clothes were different. And—wait—why was the calendar three weeks ahead?
Before I could process it, the bedroom door swung open.
May.
She stood there in a sundress so short it was practically a suggestion, her hips swaying as she sauntered toward me. A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she purred something in Spanish—words I didn’t understand but felt deep in my gut.
My confusion must’ve been obvious because she laughed, a rich, throaty sound, before dropping to her knees.
And then—
Oh. My. God.
The best. Blowjob. Of my life.
When she finally pulled away, licking her lips, she whispered in perfect English, “Tomorrow, we go meet my parents, okay?” Then she winked and strutted out, leaving me dazed, confused, and very satisfied.
But the moment she left, the door swung open again.
Ernesto.
His eyes locked onto mine, and his face drained of color.
“No… no, no, no,” he gasped before bolting like a man possessed.
May poked her head back in. “Who was that?”
I shrugged, my mind racing.
But I needed answers.
---
I tracked Ernesto down at his shitty apartment complex, cornering him in the dimly lit hallway.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.
He looked like a man who’d seen a ghost. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he whispered.
“Wake up?!”He swallowed hard. “When we hit heads… I woke up in your body. My body was just… empty. Like a shell.” His voice dropped. “I saw the text from May. The date. I—I went. I speak Spanish. She loved it. We… we’ve been together since.”
My stomach twisted. “You’ve been what?”
“Fucking her,” he admitted, shame and excitement warring in his eyes. “I’d swap back and forth—your body, mine—so I could escape my wife and still be with her. But now you’re here, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
I stared at him, my blood boiling.
This bastard had been living my life.
Touching my woman.
And now?
Now I had a choice to make.
The air between Ernesto and me crackled with tension. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my mind racing with the implications of what he’d just confessed.
He’d been inside my body.
He’d touched May.
He’d lived my life.
A surge of possessive fury burned through me, but beneath it, something else flickered—curiosity.
“So,” I said slowly, stepping closer, “you’re telling me that when we hit heads, you swapped into my body? And you’ve been… switching back and forth?”
Ernesto nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “Sí. Your body—it’s like a car. I get in, I drive, then I go back to mine when I’m done.”
I scoffed. “And my body just… waits for you?”
“Exactamente.” He shrugged. “When I’m not in it, it’s just… empty. Like a puppet with no strings.”
My jaw tightened. The idea of my body being used—violated—without my consent made my skin crawl. But then, another thought slithered into my mind.
What if I could do the same?
I crossed my arms. “Show me.”
Ernesto blinked. “¿Qué?”
“Show me how it works,” I demanded. “If you can jump into my body, then I should be able to jump into yours.”
His face paled. “No, no, hombre—it’s not that simple—”
“Bullshit.” I grabbed his wrist, my grip iron-tight. “You stole my life. The least you can do is teach me how to do the same.”
For a long moment, Ernesto just stared at me, his dark eyes flickering with fear… and something else. Resignation.
Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But you’re not gonna like it.”
---
Back in my apartment, Ernesto paced nervously. “It only works when we’re close,” he muttered. “And it hurts.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me what to do.”
He hesitated, then pointed at the couch. “Sit. And… brace yourself.”
I sat, my heart pounding. Ernesto stood in front of me, his thick fingers flexing like he was preparing for a fight.
Then—
He slammed his forehead into mine.
CRACK.
White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision swam, the room tilting violently—
And then…
Darkness.
---
I woke up with a gasp—but something was wrong.
My hands were thicker, rougher. My gut heavy.
I looked down.
White tank top. Jeans. A gold chain around my neck.
Ernesto’s body.
“Holy shit,” I breathed—but the voice that came out was his. Deep, accented.
Across from me, my body stirred.
Ernesto—now in me—groaned, rubbing his (my?) forehead. Then he looked up, and our eyes met.
A slow, wicked grin spread across my face.
“See?” he said, flexing my fingers. “Now you know.”
Disgust twisted in my gut—but so did something else. Power.
If he could do it…
So could I.
I stood, testing the weight of Ernesto’s body. It was strange—like wearing a suit two sizes too big. But the strength was undeniable.
And then—
The door opened.
May.
Her eyes lit up when she saw me—or rather, my body—sitting there.
“Hola, papi,” she purred, strutting over to him like I wasn’t even there.
My blood boiled.
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to my lips—his lips—her fingers tangling in my hair.
And I was just… standing there.
Invisible.
Forgotten.
A growl ripped from my throat.
May pulled back, frowning at me. “Ernesto? What’s wrong with you?”
Wrong?
Everything was wrong.
But now…
Now I knew how to fix it.
I lunged.
May screamed as I tackled my own body to the ground, our skulls colliding with another sickening CRACK—
And the world went black again.
---
When I opened my eyes, I was back.
My hands. My body.
And May beneath me, her lips swollen from kissing me—the real me.
Her eyes widened. “James?”
The moment May stepped out of the apartment, the air between Ernesto and me grew thick with tension. I ran a hand through my hair—my hair again—and exhaled sharply.
"Alright," I said, turning to Ernesto, who was still rubbing his temple from the last headbutt. "We need to talk."
He scowled but didn't argue.
"I need you to do something for me," I said, keeping my voice low. "Tonight—May wants me to meet her parents. But I can't speak Spanish, and I don’t want to embarrass her."
Ernesto’s eyebrows shot up. "¿En serio? You want me to go?"
I nodded. "Just for the dinner. You go as me, charm them, then we swap back after."
A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. "And what do I get out of it?"
My jaw tightened. "You get to keep using my body whenever you want—within reason. But there’s one condition."
He waited.
"You don’t sleep with May."
Ernesto barked a laugh. "Cabrón, you think I can resist that?" He gestured toward the door where May had just left.
I grabbed his collar, shoving him against the wall. "Yes. Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll make sure your wife finds out exactly where you’ve been disappearing to."
His smirk faltered.
After a tense silence, he finally relented. "Está bien. Fine. No sex. Just dinner."
I released him, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt. "Good. Now get ready. You’ve got a date."
---
The swap was easier this time—just a quick, brutal knock of our foreheads, and suddenly, I was staring at myself again.
Ernesto—now in my body—adjusted my shirt, flashing me a cocky grin.
Ernesto—now wearing my body—with a low, dangerous growl.
“Listen carefully,” I hissed, jabbing a finger into my own chest. “You will be on your best behavior tonight. You will charm her parents. And you will not touch her after.”Ernesto smirked, running my hands down my torso in a way that made my skin crawl. “Relax, güey. I got this.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I snapped. “You think this is some kind of game? You ruin this for me—”
“And what?” He laughed. “You’ll tell her the truth? ‘Oh hey, May, by the way, your novio is really a baldy maintenance man in a stolen body!’” His voice dripped with mocking. “Face it, hermano. You need me.”
I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I took a deep breath.
“One date,” I said through gritted teeth. “Then we swap back. No funny business.”
Ernesto rolled my eyes but nodded. “Sí, sí. No funny business.”---
From the window of my apartment, I watched them leave. May looped her arm through mine, laughing at something he said—something in perfect Spanish, no doubt. The way she looked at him—no, at me—sent a vicious pang of jealousy through my gut.
That should’ve been me walking her to the car.
That smile should’ve been for me.
I clenched the windowsill until my knuckles turned white.
Just get through tonight, I told myself. Then you get your life back.
---
Three hours later, the sound of the front door opening jolted me from my pacing.
“We’re back!” May’s musical voice called.
I rushed into the living room—and froze.
May was pressed against my body—Ernesto—her hips grinding into him as his hands roamed shamelessly over her curves. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her dark eyes hooded with lust.
“Ay, papi,” she purred, biting his—my—ear. “Take me to bed.”
Ernesto smirked—smirked—right at me over her shoulder.
You promised, I mouthed, fury burning in my chest.
His grin widened. Then he hoisted May over his shoulder like a prize, her giggles bouncing off the walls as they disappeared into the bedroom.
A second later, the first moan cut through the air.
Hers.
Then his.
I stood there, shaking.
Traitor. Liar.
I could’ve barged in. I could’ve screamed.
But what would I say?
That’s not me in there!
She’d think I was insane.
So I did the only thing I could.
I sat on the couch.
And I listened.
Every gasp. Every groan. Every filthy, throaty cry May made for him—for my body.
It should’ve been me.
My fists clenched.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, but the sounds—those goddamn sounds—continued to seep through the thin walls. May's breathy moans. The creak of the bedframe. Ernesto's gruff voice, my voice, whispering things in Spanish I couldn't understand but knew were filthy.
I gripped the armrest of the couch, my nails digging into the fabric. Every muscle in my body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap.
I wanted to kick down the door. I wanted to scream. But all I could do was sit there—trapped in Ernesto’s body, stuck on the sidelines of my own fucking life.
A particularly loud cry from May sent a jolt of white-hot anger through me. That was supposed to be mine.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stormed out onto the balcony, gulping the humid Miami air like it could cleanse my rage. The city lights blurred in front of me, my thoughts spinning.
How the hell was I going to fix this?
→ I could try to force another swap—but Ernesto was in my body now. Stronger. Younger. If I charged in there and we fought... May would see. She'd think I was attacking her.
→ I could wait. Let him finish. Maybe he'd keep his word and swap back after. Yeah, right.
→ Or… I could take matters into my own hands. Permanently.
The balcony railing groaned as I leaned against it. Below, the pool shimmered under ultraviolet lights. A dark fantasy flickered in my mind—Ernesto, my body, slipping on wet tiles. Hitting his head. Another accident.
Before I could follow that thought further, the bedroom door creaked open.
I turned.
May stood there in the doorway, draped in nothing but one of my old T-shirts—just long enough to tease the bare skin of her thighs. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were red and swollen.
She looked satisfied.
My stomach turned.
"Ernesto?" Her brow furrowed. "What are you doing out here?"
Ernesto. The name was a punch to the gut.
"Just... needed some air," I muttered, hating the gravel in his voice.
May bit her lip, glancing back toward the bedroom. "James is, uh... resting." A blush crept up her neck, and I knew exactly what kind of 'rest' he was getting.
I swallowed hard. "You two had a good night?"
She smiled—that smile. The one I'd been dreaming about since the day we met. "The best. His parents loved him. And then..." She trailed off, eyes glazing over with memory. My chest ached.
Before she could say more, my voice called from inside.
"Mi vidaaaaa, where'd you go?"
May grinned. "Gotta go." She turned, then hesitated. "Hey... you okay? You seem... off."
I forced a laugh. "Just tired."
She nodded and disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
A second later, laughter spilled out. His.
That was it.
I wasn't playing this game anymore.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found her number—Ernesto's wife.
One ring. Two.
"¿Hola?"
I took a deep breath.
"Señora Rodriguez? You might want to come to my apartment. Your husband is here... and you won't believe what he's been doing with my body."
I hung up before she could reply.
Back inside, the sounds of passion had started up again.
But not for long.
The knock at the door came less than twenty minutes later - hard and impatient. I'd know that knock anywhere.
Marisol Rodriguez.
I rubbed my hands together (Ernesto's thick, calloused hands) and hurried to answer. The moment I opened the door, I was nearly knocked backward by the force of Marisol's fury.
"¿DÓNDE ESTÁ?" she demanded, dark eyes blazing. She was a beautiful woman - all dangerous curves and fire - but right now, she looked ready to kill.
I stepped aside. "Master bedroom."
She stormed past me in a whirlwind of floral perfume and righteous anger, platform sandals slapping against the tile. I followed closely behind, my heart pounding with equal parts guilt and anticipation.
The moans grew louder as we approached.
Marisol froze outside my bedroom door, her face twisting in fury. Without hesitation, she swung the door open with a violent crash.
The sight that greeted us was exactly what I expected. May on her back, legs wrapped around my body, sheets tangled around their waists. They froze mid-thrust, identical looks of horror dawning on their faces.
"MARISOL?!" Ernesto's voice cracked.
May scrambled backwards, clutching the sheets to her chest. "James? What the hell? Who is-?"
Marisol didn't say a word. She just smiled - slow and venomous. Then she reached into her designer purse and pulled out a glass bottle of holy water.
Ernesto's eyes went wide. "No, mujer, wait-"
She uncorked it with her teeth and flung the contents straight at his face.
The effect was instantaneous. Ernesto - in my body - screamed as the water hit his skin and began sizzling. His arms flailed as his back arched unnaturally, my body spasming against the mattress.
May screamed, falling off the bed in her scramble to escape. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
Marisol crossed herself. "Demonio. I knew it wasn't really my husband."
Smoke began rising from my body's pores as Ernesto thrashed, his screams taking on an unnatural, echoing quality.
And then - with one final, guttural wail - he separated.
A translucent, ghostly version of Ernesto was ejected from my body, hovering mid-air before collapsing into a shimmering puddle on the floor that slowly dissolved into nothing.
My body slumped onto the bed, unmoving.
Complete silence.
Then May scrambled to her feet, naked and terrified, grabbing for her clothes. "What the FUCK was that?!"
Marisol calmly recorked her now-empty bottle. "El Diablo takes many forms, mija." She turned to me - still in Ernesto's body - and tilted her head. "Now. About you..."
I held up my hands. "Marisol, I promise, I'm-"
She reached into her purse again.
I dove for my motionless body on the bed just as she flung another spray of holy water.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through my skull as my forehead connected with my body's.
Darkness.
Then - the feeling of fitting again.
I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my body - my real body. Down on the floor, Ernesto groaned, back in his own form.
Marisol grabbed her husband by the ear and yanked him upright. "We're leaving. Now."
As she dragged a groggy Ernesto toward the door, she turned back to me and May with a smirk. "You're welcome."
The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence again.
May slowly turned to me, clutching her dress to her chest. "James... what the actual fuck just happened?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Somehow "my maintenance man possessed my body to date you because he was in a bad marriage and now we might both be cursed" didn't seem like the right answer.
So I went with:
"...Miami is weird?"
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then smacked me hard across the face.
"You're goddamn right," she muttered, stalking toward the bathroom. "And you're never sleeping with me again."
The bathroom door slammed.
Alone again.
I rubbed my stinging cheek and sighed.
Worth it.
→ Epilogue →
Three Months Later
The apartment AC hummed as I adjusted my tie in the mirror. First day at my new job - no more staring at Ernesto's ugly mug in the maintenance hallways.
A knock at the door.
I checked the peephole.
And nearly swallowed my tongue.
May stood there in a tight pink dress, arms crossed, looking pissed.
I opened the door slowly. "Uh. Hey?"
She glared. "You owe me dinner."
"...I do?"
"Correct." She shoved a stack of papers into my chest. Every single one was a Spanish workbook. "And you're going to learn real Spanish. Not whatever that pendejo was speaking."
I blinked. Then grinned so wide my cheeks hurt.
"Si, mi amor."
She rolled her eyes. "Dios mío. That's not even the right context." But she was smiling as she pushed past me into the apartment.
Life was good.
And Miami?
Miami was still very weird.
The humid Miami air clung to my skin as I adjusted to my new life in the city. My one-bedroom apartment was small but cozy, with a view of palm trees swaying outside my window. At 25, I was young, single, and—according to my friends—lucky enough to turn heads. But none of that mattered when I locked eyes with her at a café near Little Havana.
May.
Her name tasted like honey on my tongue. A stunning Cuban woman with curves that defied gravity, dark eyes that smoldered, and a smile that could melt steel. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to ask her out. And when she said yes, my heart nearly exploded.
There was just one problem: my Spanish was nonexistent.
The night before our date, I was pacing my apartment, rehearsing the few phrases I’d Googled—“Hola, guapa. ¿Quieres bailar?”—when the ceiling fan sputtered and died.
Great.
I called maintenance, and within an hour, a gruff, heavyset Mexican man named Ernesto showed up at my door. He smelled like cheap cigarettes and resentment, his white tank top straining over his gut as he grumbled about his wife under his breath.
“Fan’s broken,” he muttered, climbing the ladder with the grace of a man who’d rather be anywhere else.
I nodded, distracted, when my phone buzzed.
A text from May.
A picture.
My breath hitched. She’d sent a selfie in the dress she was wearing tomorrow—tight, red, and sinful. My fingers hovered over the screen, my pulse racing, when—
CRASH.
Ernesto lost his balance. The ladder wobbled. His arms flailed.
And then—impact.
Our skulls collided with a sickening crack, and everything went black.
---
I woke up disoriented.
The room was different. The clothes were different. And—wait—why was the calendar three weeks ahead?
Before I could process it, the bedroom door swung open.
May.
She stood there in a sundress so short it was practically a suggestion, her hips swaying as she sauntered toward me. A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she purred something in Spanish—words I didn’t understand but felt deep in my gut.
My confusion must’ve been obvious because she laughed, a rich, throaty sound, before dropping to her knees.
And then—
Oh. My. God.
The best. Blowjob. Of my life.
When she finally pulled away, licking her lips, she whispered in perfect English, “Tomorrow, we go meet my parents, okay?” Then she winked and strutted out, leaving me dazed, confused, and very satisfied.
But the moment she left, the door swung open again.
Ernesto.
His eyes locked onto mine, and his face drained of color.
“No… no, no, no,” he gasped before bolting like a man possessed.
May poked her head back in. “Who was that?”
I shrugged, my mind racing.
But I needed answers.
---
I tracked Ernesto down at his shitty apartment complex, cornering him in the dimly lit hallway.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.
He looked like a man who’d seen a ghost. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he whispered.
“Wake up?!”He swallowed hard. “When we hit heads… I woke up in your body. My body was just… empty. Like a shell.” His voice dropped. “I saw the text from May. The date. I—I went. I speak Spanish. She loved it. We… we’ve been together since.”
My stomach twisted. “You’ve been what?”
“Fucking her,” he admitted, shame and excitement warring in his eyes. “I’d swap back and forth—your body, mine—so I could escape my wife and still be with her. But now you’re here, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
I stared at him, my blood boiling.
This bastard had been living my life.
Touching my woman.
And now?
Now I had a choice to make.
The air between Ernesto and me crackled with tension. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my mind racing with the implications of what he’d just confessed.
He’d been inside my body.
He’d touched May.
He’d lived my life.
A surge of possessive fury burned through me, but beneath it, something else flickered—curiosity.
“So,” I said slowly, stepping closer, “you’re telling me that when we hit heads, you swapped into my body? And you’ve been… switching back and forth?”
Ernesto nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “Sí. Your body—it’s like a car. I get in, I drive, then I go back to mine when I’m done.”
I scoffed. “And my body just… waits for you?”
“Exactamente.” He shrugged. “When I’m not in it, it’s just… empty. Like a puppet with no strings.”
My jaw tightened. The idea of my body being used—violated—without my consent made my skin crawl. But then, another thought slithered into my mind.
What if I could do the same?
I crossed my arms. “Show me.”
Ernesto blinked. “¿Qué?”
“Show me how it works,” I demanded. “If you can jump into my body, then I should be able to jump into yours.”
His face paled. “No, no, hombre—it’s not that simple—”
“Bullshit.” I grabbed his wrist, my grip iron-tight. “You stole my life. The least you can do is teach me how to do the same.”
For a long moment, Ernesto just stared at me, his dark eyes flickering with fear… and something else. Resignation.
Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But you’re not gonna like it.”
---
Back in my apartment, Ernesto paced nervously. “It only works when we’re close,” he muttered. “And it hurts.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me what to do.”
He hesitated, then pointed at the couch. “Sit. And… brace yourself.”
I sat, my heart pounding. Ernesto stood in front of me, his thick fingers flexing like he was preparing for a fight.
Then—
He slammed his forehead into mine.
CRACK.
White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision swam, the room tilting violently—
And then…
Darkness.
---
I woke up with a gasp—but something was wrong.
My hands were thicker, rougher. My gut heavy.
I looked down.
White tank top. Jeans. A gold chain around my neck.
Ernesto’s body.
“Holy shit,” I breathed—but the voice that came out was his. Deep, accented.
Across from me, my body stirred.
Ernesto—now in me—groaned, rubbing his (my?) forehead. Then he looked up, and our eyes met.
A slow, wicked grin spread across my face.
“See?” he said, flexing my fingers. “Now you know.”
Disgust twisted in my gut—but so did something else. Power.
If he could do it…
So could I.
I stood, testing the weight of Ernesto’s body. It was strange—like wearing a suit two sizes too big. But the strength was undeniable.
And then—
The door opened.
May.
Her eyes lit up when she saw me—or rather, my body—sitting there.
“Hola, papi,” she purred, strutting over to him like I wasn’t even there.
My blood boiled.
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to my lips—his lips—her fingers tangling in my hair.
And I was just… standing there.
Invisible.
Forgotten.
A growl ripped from my throat.
May pulled back, frowning at me. “Ernesto? What’s wrong with you?”
Wrong?
Everything was wrong.
But now…
Now I knew how to fix it.
I lunged.
May screamed as I tackled my own body to the ground, our skulls colliding with another sickening CRACK—
And the world went black again.
---
When I opened my eyes, I was back.
My hands. My body.
And May beneath me, her lips swollen from kissing me—the real me.
Her eyes widened. “James?”
The moment May stepped out of the apartment, the air between Ernesto and me grew thick with tension. I ran a hand through my hair—my hair again—and exhaled sharply.
"Alright," I said, turning to Ernesto, who was still rubbing his temple from the last headbutt. "We need to talk."
He scowled but didn't argue.
"I need you to do something for me," I said, keeping my voice low. "Tonight—May wants me to meet her parents. But I can't speak Spanish, and I don’t want to embarrass her."
Ernesto’s eyebrows shot up. "¿En serio? You want me to go?"
I nodded. "Just for the dinner. You go as me, charm them, then we swap back after."
A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. "And what do I get out of it?"
My jaw tightened. "You get to keep using my body whenever you want—within reason. But there’s one condition."
He waited.
"You don’t sleep with May."
Ernesto barked a laugh. "Cabrón, you think I can resist that?" He gestured toward the door where May had just left.
I grabbed his collar, shoving him against the wall. "Yes. Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll make sure your wife finds out exactly where you’ve been disappearing to."
His smirk faltered.
After a tense silence, he finally relented. "Está bien. Fine. No sex. Just dinner."
I released him, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt. "Good. Now get ready. You’ve got a date."
---
The swap was easier this time—just a quick, brutal knock of our foreheads, and suddenly, I was staring at myself again.
Ernesto—now in my body—adjusted my shirt, flashing me a cocky grin.
Ernesto—now wearing my body—with a low, dangerous growl.
“Listen carefully,” I hissed, jabbing a finger into my own chest. “You will be on your best behavior tonight. You will charm her parents. And you will not touch her after.”Ernesto smirked, running my hands down my torso in a way that made my skin crawl. “Relax, güey. I got this.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I snapped. “You think this is some kind of game? You ruin this for me—”
“And what?” He laughed. “You’ll tell her the truth? ‘Oh hey, May, by the way, your novio is really a baldy maintenance man in a stolen body!’” His voice dripped with mocking. “Face it, hermano. You need me.”
I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I took a deep breath.
“One date,” I said through gritted teeth. “Then we swap back. No funny business.”
Ernesto rolled my eyes but nodded. “Sí, sí. No funny business.”---
From the window of my apartment, I watched them leave. May looped her arm through mine, laughing at something he said—something in perfect Spanish, no doubt. The way she looked at him—no, at me—sent a vicious pang of jealousy through my gut.
That should’ve been me walking her to the car.
That smile should’ve been for me.
I clenched the windowsill until my knuckles turned white.
Just get through tonight, I told myself. Then you get your life back.
---
Three hours later, the sound of the front door opening jolted me from my pacing.
“We’re back!” May’s musical voice called.
I rushed into the living room—and froze.
May was pressed against my body—Ernesto—her hips grinding into him as his hands roamed shamelessly over her curves. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her dark eyes hooded with lust.
“Ay, papi,” she purred, biting his—my—ear. “Take me to bed.”
Ernesto smirked—smirked—right at me over her shoulder.
You promised, I mouthed, fury burning in my chest.
His grin widened. Then he hoisted May over his shoulder like a prize, her giggles bouncing off the walls as they disappeared into the bedroom.
A second later, the first moan cut through the air.
Hers.
Then his.
I stood there, shaking.
Traitor. Liar.
I could’ve barged in. I could’ve screamed.
But what would I say?
That’s not me in there!
She’d think I was insane.
So I did the only thing I could.
I sat on the couch.
And I listened.
Every gasp. Every groan. Every filthy, throaty cry May made for him—for my body.
It should’ve been me.
My fists clenched.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, but the sounds—those goddamn sounds—continued to seep through the thin walls. May's breathy moans. The creak of the bedframe. Ernesto's gruff voice, my voice, whispering things in Spanish I couldn't understand but knew were filthy.
I gripped the armrest of the couch, my nails digging into the fabric. Every muscle in my body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap.
I wanted to kick down the door. I wanted to scream. But all I could do was sit there—trapped in Ernesto’s body, stuck on the sidelines of my own fucking life.
A particularly loud cry from May sent a jolt of white-hot anger through me. That was supposed to be mine.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stormed out onto the balcony, gulping the humid Miami air like it could cleanse my rage. The city lights blurred in front of me, my thoughts spinning.
How the hell was I going to fix this?
→ I could try to force another swap—but Ernesto was in my body now. Stronger. Younger. If I charged in there and we fought... May would see. She'd think I was attacking her.
→ I could wait. Let him finish. Maybe he'd keep his word and swap back after. Yeah, right.
→ Or… I could take matters into my own hands. Permanently.
The balcony railing groaned as I leaned against it. Below, the pool shimmered under ultraviolet lights. A dark fantasy flickered in my mind—Ernesto, my body, slipping on wet tiles. Hitting his head. Another accident.
Before I could follow that thought further, the bedroom door creaked open.
I turned.
May stood there in the doorway, draped in nothing but one of my old T-shirts—just long enough to tease the bare skin of her thighs. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were red and swollen.
She looked satisfied.
My stomach turned.
"Ernesto?" Her brow furrowed. "What are you doing out here?"
Ernesto. The name was a punch to the gut.
"Just... needed some air," I muttered, hating the gravel in his voice.
May bit her lip, glancing back toward the bedroom. "James is, uh... resting." A blush crept up her neck, and I knew exactly what kind of 'rest' he was getting.
I swallowed hard. "You two had a good night?"
She smiled—that smile. The one I'd been dreaming about since the day we met. "The best. His parents loved him. And then..." She trailed off, eyes glazing over with memory. My chest ached.
Before she could say more, my voice called from inside.
"Mi vidaaaaa, where'd you go?"
May grinned. "Gotta go." She turned, then hesitated. "Hey... you okay? You seem... off."
I forced a laugh. "Just tired."
She nodded and disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
A second later, laughter spilled out. His.
That was it.
I wasn't playing this game anymore.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found her number—Ernesto's wife.
One ring. Two.
"¿Hola?"
I took a deep breath.
"Señora Rodriguez? You might want to come to my apartment. Your husband is here... and you won't believe what he's been doing with my body."
I hung up before she could reply.
Back inside, the sounds of passion had started up again.
But not for long.
The knock at the door came less than twenty minutes later - hard and impatient. I'd know that knock anywhere.
Marisol Rodriguez.
I rubbed my hands together (Ernesto's thick, calloused hands) and hurried to answer. The moment I opened the door, I was nearly knocked backward by the force of Marisol's fury.
"¿DÓNDE ESTÁ?" she demanded, dark eyes blazing. She was a beautiful woman - all dangerous curves and fire - but right now, she looked ready to kill.
I stepped aside. "Master bedroom."
She stormed past me in a whirlwind of floral perfume and righteous anger, platform sandals slapping against the tile. I followed closely behind, my heart pounding with equal parts guilt and anticipation.
The moans grew louder as we approached.
Marisol froze outside my bedroom door, her face twisting in fury. Without hesitation, she swung the door open with a violent crash.
The sight that greeted us was exactly what I expected. May on her back, legs wrapped around my body, sheets tangled around their waists. They froze mid-thrust, identical looks of horror dawning on their faces.
"MARISOL?!" Ernesto's voice cracked.
May scrambled backwards, clutching the sheets to her chest. "James? What the hell? Who is-?"
Marisol didn't say a word. She just smiled - slow and venomous. Then she reached into her designer purse and pulled out a glass bottle of holy water.
Ernesto's eyes went wide. "No, mujer, wait-"
She uncorked it with her teeth and flung the contents straight at his face.
The effect was instantaneous. Ernesto - in my body - screamed as the water hit his skin and began sizzling. His arms flailed as his back arched unnaturally, my body spasming against the mattress.
May screamed, falling off the bed in her scramble to escape. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
Marisol crossed herself. "Demonio. I knew it wasn't really my husband."
Smoke began rising from my body's pores as Ernesto thrashed, his screams taking on an unnatural, echoing quality.
And then - with one final, guttural wail - he separated.
A translucent, ghostly version of Ernesto was ejected from my body, hovering mid-air before collapsing into a shimmering puddle on the floor that slowly dissolved into nothing.
My body slumped onto the bed, unmoving.
Complete silence.
Then May scrambled to her feet, naked and terrified, grabbing for her clothes. "What the FUCK was that?!"
Marisol calmly recorked her now-empty bottle. "El Diablo takes many forms, mija." She turned to me - still in Ernesto's body - and tilted her head. "Now. About you..."
I held up my hands. "Marisol, I promise, I'm-"
She reached into her purse again.
I dove for my motionless body on the bed just as she flung another spray of holy water.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through my skull as my forehead connected with my body's.
Darkness.
Then - the feeling of fitting again.
I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my body - my real body. Down on the floor, Ernesto groaned, back in his own form.
Marisol grabbed her husband by the ear and yanked him upright. "We're leaving. Now."
As she dragged a groggy Ernesto toward the door, she turned back to me and May with a smirk. "You're welcome."
The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence again.
May slowly turned to me, clutching her dress to her chest. "James... what the actual fuck just happened?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Somehow "my maintenance man possessed my body to date you because he was in a bad marriage and now we might both be cursed" didn't seem like the right answer.
So I went with:
"...Miami is weird?"
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then smacked me hard across the face.
"You're goddamn right," she muttered, stalking toward the bathroom. "And you're never sleeping with me again."
The bathroom door slammed.
Alone again.
I rubbed my stinging cheek and sighed.
Worth it.
→ Epilogue →
Three Months Later
The apartment AC hummed as I adjusted my tie in the mirror. First day at my new job - no more staring at Ernesto's ugly mug in the maintenance hallways.
A knock at the door.
I checked the peephole.
And nearly swallowed my tongue.
May stood there in a tight pink dress, arms crossed, looking pissed.
I opened the door slowly. "Uh. Hey?"
She glared. "You owe me dinner."
"...I do?"
"Correct." She shoved a stack of papers into my chest. Every single one was a Spanish workbook. "And you're going to learn real Spanish. Not whatever that pendejo was speaking."
I blinked. Then grinned so wide my cheeks hurt.
"Si, mi amor."
She rolled her eyes. "Dios mío. That's not even the right context." But she was smiling as she pushed past me into the apartment.
Life was good.
And Miami?
Miami was still very weird.
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A man joins a yoga studio and its not exactly what he was expecting...
The moving truck groaned as it rolled down the gravel driveway of Jon’s new home—a small rental house on the edge of Laredo, Texas. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to his skin even as the sun dipped low in the sky. He wiped his forehead and glanced around. Quiet. Empty. Just him, his gym bag, and a whole lot of loneliness.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath.
The first week was brutal. Work was fine—some IT gig at a local firm—but the silence at home was deafening. So, naturally, Jon did what any single guy with no social life would do: he practically lived at the gym.
Iron Haven was the kind of place where beefed-up ranchers and college athletes clashed over bench press real estate, but Jon didn’t care. The grind kept him sane.
And then, on day five, he saw her.
She was mid-rep on the squat rack, legs flexed, her dark ponytail swaying with each controlled descent. Half-Filipina, half-Latina, and all trouble for his concentration. When she stood up, racking the bar with effortless strength, she caught him staring. Instead of scowling, she grinned.
"Could use a spot," she called over.
Jon blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Her name was Mariah. Twenty-four, worked as a physical therapist, and had a laugh that hit like a shot of whiskey—smooth and dangerous. She teased him about his form, he joked about her terrible taste in gym music (seriously, reggaeton mixed with 90s hip-hop?), and just like that, they were friends.
Mariah was the kind of girl who made Jon forget how to breathe. Not because she was flawless—though the way her leggings hugged those curves didn’t hurt—but because she was real. Quick to poke fun, quicker to check in if she sensed something was off.
"Helloooo? Earth to Jon." She waved a hand in front of his face during cooldown stretches.
"Sorry," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoned out."
"Bullshit," she grinned. "You were staring at my ass."
Jon’s face burned. "I was not—"
"—Don’t lie, I saw you." She stretched her arms overhead, flashing a sliver of toned stomach. "It’s cool. I get it. My glutes are legendary."
Jon groaned, but damn if she wasn’t right.
Weeks slipped by. They spotted each other, grabbed post-workout smoothies, and even binged bad action movies sprawled on her couch. Every time she leaned in to steal a fry or playfully shoved him, his pulse spiked. But then she’d mention him.
"Jackson’s flying in next weekend."
Jackson. The long-distance boyfriend. Seattle-based finance guy. Polite, handsome, and—according to Mariah—"super understanding."
Which meant Jon was screwed.
One night, post-deadlifts, Mariah twisted the cap off her water bottle and sighed. "You ever feel like life’s got this weird way of dangling what you want just outta reach?"
Jon swallowed. "Yeah."
She glanced at him, eyes searching. "Jon…"
The air between them thickened. His chest ached.
Then her phone buzzed. She checked it, and just like that, the moment shattered.
"Jackson," she said softly, smiling at the screen.
Jon forced a grin. "Better answer it."
She did. And Jon swallowed his feelings like chalky protein powder—gritty, tasteless, and necessary.
But Texas heat has a way of making fools out of careful men. And Jon was starting to wonder how long he could keep pretending. The weights felt heavier that day.
Not physically—his deadlifts were the same as always—but mentally, his focus was shot. He’d spent the previous night scrolling through Mariah’s Instagram, stalking Jackson’s perfect teeth and vacation pics in Seattle, feeling like an idiot. His grip slipped on the third rep.
Then—pop.
A white-hot bolt of pain ripped through Jon’s lower back. His vision blurred. The barbell hit the floor with a thunderous crash, and suddenly, he was on his knees, gasping.
"Jon?!"
Mariah was at his side in seconds, hands on his shoulders before he could even blink away the sweat burning his eyes. Her touch sent a different kind of electric current through him—not pain, just warmth.
"I’m fine," he lied through clenched teeth.
She gave him that don’t-bullshit-me look—the one that made men stronger than him crumble. "You’re not fine. You just folded like a lawn chair."
The doctor’s verdict later that evening was grim: herniated disc. No lifting. No heavy exertion. For at least three months.
"Try yoga," the doc suggested, scribbling on his clipboard.
Yoga.
Jon wanted to scream.
Day 4 of No Gym
Jon lasted four days before he caved.
The second he walked into Iron Haven, he spotted her—mid-conversation with some beefy guy in a tank top, laughing at something he said. His gut twisted.
Then she saw him. Her smile vanished.
"Jon." She marched over, arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"
"Just... needed to move." He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Light stuff. Maybe just the bike or—"
"No." She poked his chest. "Doctor’s orders. You leave. Now."
The guy she’d been talking to raised an eyebrow.
Embarrassment burned Jon’s neck. "Mariah, c’mon—"
"—I’ll drive you home." She snatched his gym bag off his shoulder.
Jon groaned. "You’re relentless."
"And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you wreck yourself."
That should’ve been sweet. But all it did was remind Jon that she cared—just not the way he wanted her to.
Week 3: The Slow Decline
No gym meant no Mariah.
Sure, she texted. Sent dumb memes. Even dropped by once with soup, which was so disgustingly thoughtful it made Jon’s chest hurt. But without the routine of spotting each other, their interactions dwindled.
Meanwhile, Jackson was in town.
Her Instagram was a barrage of them—brunch, some hipster brewery, his arm slung around her waist in that I-own-this-space way guys like him had.
Jon should’ve stopped looking.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he lay on his couch, ice pack on his back, binge-watching terrible TV and wondering if Mariah ever thought about him when she wasn’t obligated to.
Pathetic. Three months.
Three goddamn months.
Jon stood outside the only yoga studio in Laredo—"Sunrise Yoga & Wellness"—staring at the lavender-scented hellscape beyond the glass door. Inside, a handful of women in stretchy outfits moved in slow, graceful unison. This was a mistake.
His fingers twitched at his sides. His back still ached, despite the epidural shot last week. And his doctor’s smug "told you so" echoed in his skull.
"Try yoga, Jon."
Bullshit.
The studio door chimed as Jon pushed it open.
Instantly, every head turned.
A woman near the front—mid-50s, sipping from a stainless-steel water bottle—gave him a slow once-over. Jon stood there awkwardly, feeling like a linebacker who’d wandered into a ballet rehearsal.
"First time?" a voice chirped.
A petite blonde instructor bounced over, her neon yoga pants practically glowing under the studio lights.
"Yeah," Jon muttered, rubbing his neck. "My doctor said—"
"—Ahhh, the doctor recommended crowd." She grinned. "I get it. You’re skeptical. You think yoga’s just stretching and incense. But trust me—" She poked his bicep. "—you’ll be humiliated by how hard this is."
Great fucking pep talk.
"I'm Marisa, by the way! Class starts in five!" she announced to the room before leaving Jon to grab a mat.
Jon shuffled toward the back corner—least visibility possible—and tried to just hide and observe.
The scent of lavender and jasmine settled over the studio like a warm, cloying blanket. Jon stood frozen at the edge of the room, gripping his rented yoga mat like it might sprout legs and run for the door.
The class was packed—mostly women. Not just any women. Beautiful ones. Laughing, stretching, their toned limbs effortlessly folding into pretzel-like shapes that made his lower back ache in sympathy. At the center of it all was an older woman—maybe late fifties—with silver-streaked dark hair and an easy confidence. She held court among a circle of girls wrapped in expensive athleisure, all giggling at something she said with the familiarity of people who had known each other for years.
Then, in the far corner, her.
A lone figure sitting cross-legged on her mat, deep brown hair spilling over one shoulder. She was younger than the others—early twenties, maybe. Her eyes darted nervously around the room before settling on the ground in front of her. She had that fresh-faced, untouched beauty—soft lips, faint freckles dusting her cheeks—but her posture screamed stay away.
Jon hesitated for half a second before shuffling over and dropping his mat beside hers.
"Hey," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "First time?"
She flinched—actually flinched—as if she hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge her. Then she nodded, barely lifting her chin.
"Yeah. You?"
"My doctor forced me into this," he admitted with a lopsided grin. "Said I had to 'embrace the healing process' or some shit."
A flicker of a smile. So tiny he almost missed it.
"Me too," she said. "Car accident. My physical therapist recommended it."
"Jon." He held out a hand.
She blinked at it, then placed her hand in his—delicate fingers, cold to the touch.
"Elena," she whispered.
For a second, it felt nice. Just two lost people in a room full of strangers, clinging to the briefest moment of connection.
Then Elena pulled her hand back too quickly, her gaze darting past him. Her expression flattened, her walls slamming up again.
Jon frowned. "Uh—"
"Class is starting," she muttered, turning her body away from him.
And just like that—dismissed.
Confused, he glanced around the room and froze.
The older woman was staring. And so were the others. All of them. Unmistakably. Eyes locked onto Elena with unsettling intensity.
Jon’s skin prickled.
The teacher clapped her hands. "Alright, everyone! Let’s begin!"
But no one moved.
For one bizarre, suspended moment, the air in the room felt wrong.
Then Elena exhaled sharply.
And the older woman smiled.
As they began, it dawned on Jon that he was terrible at yoga.
Like, tragically bad.
Downward Dog? More like Collapsed Mutt. Warrior Pose? More like "Wobbling Toddler." Every time he attempted to mirror the instructor’s graceful movements, his body protested with crackling joints and awkward tremors.
At one point, he caught sight of Elena—effortlessly balanced in a perfect Tree Pose, her slender arms lifted toward the ceiling—and nearly toppled over in distraction. That’s when he noticed the odd little detail: a paper wristband looped around her wrist, stark white with faint black lettering.
Even stranger? The only other people wearing them: the older silver-haired woman and Marisa, the instructor.
Jon waited until they transitioned into Child’s Pose (which, mercifully, mostly involved kneeling and not moving) before leaning toward Elena.
"Hey," he whispered. "Where’d you get the wristband?"
Elena blinked at him, then at her own wrist. "I don't know," she murmured, voice barely audible. "They just gave it to me after I checked in. Did you get one?"
Before Jon could answer—
"Shhhh."
Marisa shot them a pointed look from the front of the room. Elena immediately folded in on herself again, and Jon bit back a frustrated sigh. So much for conversation.
--
Then came meditation.
Lights dimmed, soft music hummed through the speakers, and Jon lay flat on his back, surrendering to the plush mat beneath him. The room sank into silence.
Around him, the others drifted effortlessly into serenity—breaths slow, bodies slack. Even Jon, despite himself, began to relax.
Then—
A scent.
Sweet, floral, intoxicating. Not overpowering—just… there. Like someone had spritzed the air with perfume, subtle but all-encompassing. Jon inhaled deeply, and suddenly, his limbs felt lighter. His thoughts mellowed. A slow, warm buzz settled over him, as if he’d sipped a shot of something strong.
What the hell…?
Then—commotion.
A hushed rustling, a sharp inhale followed by an audible "No."
Jon cracked open an eye.
The older woman sat bolt upright, fists clenched in her lap. Her face was twisted—not in pain, but in... frustration? Anger?
Marisa swooped in instantly, murmuring something soothing before gently guiding her out of the room. The woman didn’t resist, but as the door shut behind them, the air in the studio shifted.
Jon exhaled. Probably nothing.
He closed his eyes again.
And promptly dozed off.
--
When he stirred, the lights were up, and the music had faded. Around him, people stretched, sighed, smiled—blissed-out expressions plastered on every face.
Including Elena’s.
Except now, Elena wasn’t avoiding eye contact.
She wasn’t shy.She was beaming.
Jon barely had time to process before she bounced up to him, rolling up her mat with effortless fluidity.
"Hey," she chirped, "what was your name again?"
"Uh—Jon?"
She laughed—bright, loud. "Right! Sorry!" Then she stuck out her hand. "I’m Elena."
But the way she said it was… off. Over-enunciated. "I’M EL-EEEE-NA." As if she was announcing it to the room.
And then—she winked.
Jon stared.
Five minutes ago, this girl wouldn’t look at him. Now she was grinning, tossing her hair, radiating energy like she’d chugged three espressos.
"Nice to officially meet you," she said—flirty, playful—before sashaying toward the door. "See you next week!"
Then she was gone.
Jon stood frozen, mat half-rolled, brain working overtime.
--
The parking lot was empty, save for one figure.
The older woman slumped on a bench near the exit, face in her hands. Silent sobs wracked her shoulders.
Jon hesitated.
Then he climbed into his car.
And drove away.
---
A week passed before Jon mustered the willpower to return to Sunrise Yoga & Wellness.
This time, the door gave a cheerful ding as he walked in, and Marisa—grinning from ear to ear—welcomed him like an old friend.
"Jon! You actually came back!" she teased, clasping her hands together. "I was sure we scared you off for good."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, doc’s orders."
"Uh-huh, sure." She winked. "Whatever gets you here, handsome."
Jon felt his face warm. The attention was nice—too nice—and for a second, he almost forgot why he’d been weirded out last time.
Then he saw her.
Elena.
She wasn’t hiding in the corner this time. She was thriving.
Surrounded by that same circle of beautiful women, she laughed loudly at some unheard joke, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She looked different. Confident. Radiant. Entirely at home.
And then—her eyes flicked up.
She saw him.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips before she excused herself and sauntered toward him.
"Jon," she purred, stopping just a little too close, one hand resting lightly on his bicep. "You made it."
He stiffened—partly from surprise, partly because she was touching him like they’d known each other for years.
"Uh, yeah," he managed. "How’s… uh…?" He swallowed. "How’s the physical therapy going?"
A flicker of confusion passed over her face.
Then—just like that—it smoothed into recognition.
"Right! The accident." She laughed, brushing it off. "It’s going great. Thanks for asking."
Jon frowned. Last week, she’d acted like stepping out of her shell was impossible. Now she was making him the nervous one?
Before he could press, another woman walked in—young, gorgeous, glancing around the room with the cautious energy of a first-timer.
Elena immediately lit up.
"Ooooh, fresh meat," she whispered playfully—then shot Jon an apologetic smirk. "Duty calls. Catch you later?"
And just like that, she glided toward the newcomer, all sunshine and charm.
Jon watched as Elena greeted the woman—a hand on her arm, a warm laugh, a little tilt of her head that said you’re safe here.
Then… she slid a white wristband onto the woman’s wrist.
Jon stiffened.
The same exact kind he’d never been given.
He scanned the room.
Only three people had them.
—The new girl.
—Marisa.
—And some unfamiliar older lady, chatting animatedly with the same group of young, polished women as last time.
What the hell is going on?
Jon rolled out his mat, his skin prickling with unease as Elena’s laughter—bright, confident, uncharacteristic—filled the room.
Something was wrong.
And he was starting to think it wasn’t just his imagination.
The class unfolded like a broken-record replay of last week.
Jon struggled through the poses, his muscles protesting as he tried—and failed—to bend his body into shapes it clearly wasn’t meant to hold. Downward Dog still felt less like yoga and more like an uncoordinated stretch before faceplanting. Elena, meanwhile, had become disturbingly good overnight—her movements fluid, effortless, like she’d been doing this for years.
Which was impossible. She was new. Just like me.
Then came the wristbands.
Jon stole glances whenever he could, watching as the new girl—Emma, was it?—kept touching hers, running her fingers over the black lettering Jon still couldn’t read.
Elena noticed him looking and grinned. "whatcha lookin at hon?" she teased, swaying close during a water break.
"Those wristbands. You said last week they gave you one when you walked in. And then you have that new girl Emma one today. What are they for?" Jon hedged.
"Mmmmm, darling those are just for new people. You don't need one." she giggled, popping her hip. Jon wanted to investigate further so he asked "but I was new last week and I never got one. Why is that?" She looked nervous for about a nano second and then replied with "well you're not new anymore sweetheart! So I wouldn't worry your handsome head about it now." she said winking and then she was off again, leaving him standing there like an idiot.
——
Meditation.
Lights dimmed. Music hummed. The same cloying floral scent from last time curled through the air—thick, honey-sweet, with a weight to it that made Jon’s limbs feel like they were floating.
The high crept in slow, a warm, dizzying sensation that smoothed the edges of his thoughts.
Then—
A rustle. A sharp inhale.
Jon slitted his eyes open just in time to see the older woman—the new one this time—jerk upright, her breath ragged.
"What the fu-," she hissed under her breath. Looking at her hands with confusion and touching her face.
Marisa was on her instantly, murmuring soft words, gently steering her toward the door.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
Just like last week.
He wanted to follow. To ask questions. But his body ignored him, melting further into the mat, the scent wrapping around him like a drug.
His eyes closed.
——
Aftermath.
The lights came up. People stretched, sighed, exchanged soft smiles. Jon blinked back to reality, disoriented, an odd languidness clinging to his limbs.
Beside him, the new girl—Emma—sat up, her expression transformed.
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
She turned to Elena, beaming. "I get what you meant now," she whispered, touching her wristband.
"Told you," Elena smirked back at her new friend.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Across the room, Marisa stretched her arms overhead, sighing in contentment. "Another amazing session, everyone! See you next week!"
Jon gathered his mat, mind racing.
Same scents. Same meditative shift. Same wristbands.
And now—same people?
He glanced over his shoulder just as Elena caught his eye. She winked, slow, deliberate.
"I think the gals are getting together this weekend for drinks, Jon," she sang. "You should join us, right EMMA?"
Emma was looking down at herself and not paying attention, but then looked back up and looked Jon up and down nodding playfully.
Marisa echoed the invitation for drinks Friday night and Jon politely agreed.
He barely made it to his car before he noticed.
The older woman sat slumped against the wheel of her parked SUV.
Crying.
---
Later that week, Jon found himself harassed and eventually coerced into going out with his new yoga "friends".
The Lone Star Saloon was the kind of small-town bar where the neon sign buzzed, the jukebox played a mix of classic country and top-40 hits no one asked for, and everybody knew everybody—or at least pretended to.
Jon pushed through the scarred wooden door, the chatter of voices and twang of steel guitar hitting him in a wall of sound. He spotted them immediately—the Sunrise Yoga crew clustered around a long table in the back, drinks gleaming under the dim amber lights.
Marisa waved him over, her smile luminous. "Jon! You came!"
He forced a grin, sliding into the booth beside her. "Wouldn’t miss it."
The table was packed—Elena, Emma, the other regulars from class—all polished and glowing like they’d stepped out of some sleek magazine ad for "Small-Town Goddesses." But what caught Jon’s attention were the men—because nearly a third of the girls weren’t alone.
They were with older men.
Much older.
Silver-haired gentlemen in pressed button-downs laughing intimately with girls young enough to be their daughters. One man—late 50s, tan, with the crisp confidence of money—had his hand possessively on the thigh of a yoga regular Jon recognized from class. Another, balding and thick around the middle, leaned in to whisper something that made his dark-haired companion giggle into her cocktail.
Jon frowned, swirling his beer.
A sharp elbow nudged his ribs.
"See something you like?" Marisa murmured, leaning in so close her perfume—something expensive, fruity—tickled his nose.
"Just… surprised," Jon admitted quietly, gesturing subtly toward one of the older couples. "Didn’t realize this was a date night."
Marisa’s laugh was bright, deliberate. "Oh, sweetie, age is just a number. Love doesn’t clock out at forty."
Jon wanted to press—but Elena suddenly appeared at his other side, draping herself halfway over his shoulders. Her touch was warm, her voice whiskey-smooth.
"Don’t worry, Jon," she teased, her breath sweet with gin. "Plenty of us aren’t taken yet."
Emma giggled across the table, twirling her straw. "Speak for yourself."
Elena gasped—mock-offended—and launched into some dramatic retort Jon barely heard.
His attention snagged on the older couple again.
The way the girl—Tiffany?—traced her fingers over her boyfriend’s wrist.
The same white wristband peeked out from under her sleeve.
Just like the others.
Jon’s pulse hitched.
Before he could react, Marisa clinked her glass against his bottle, pulling his focus back.
"To new friends," she toasted, smiling.
Around the table, glasses lifted.
Jon hesitated—then drank.
The beer tasted bitter.
Or maybe that was just the dread creeping up his throat.
The night should’ve been weird.
Elena was trashed—giggling so hard she almost knocked over Emma’s cosmo, her voice sharp and loud in that way drunk people never realize is obnoxious. Emma wasn’t far behind, slurring compliments like "Jon, you’re actually, like, soo funny when you’re not just, like… working out or whatever."
But despite the strangeness hanging over the yoga crew, Jon was surprised to find himself… having fun.
Mostly thanks to Marisa.
She was effortlessly engaging—switching between sarcastic wit and warm wisdom like it was nothing. Every joke landed, every story pulled him in. She teased him about his stiff posture ("Even in a bar booth, you sit like you’re about to deadlift it") but listened intently when he told her about his job, his move to Texas, even his stupid back injury.
At one point, after refilling his beer without him noticing, she smirked and said, "You know, I was worried you’d be the broody, silent type forever. But you’re kinda charming when you’re not scowling."
Jon snorted. "Thanks, I think."
"Oh, it’s a compliment," she laughed, flicking her dark braid over her shoulder. "Most guys in this town peak in high school and never recover."
And yeah—she was older. Easily mid-40s. Not someone he’d look at twice in that way. But damn if she wasn’t the most interesting person in the room.
Then the door swung open.
And all the warmth in Jon’s chest evaporated.
Mariah.
Dressed in jeans that hugged her just right and a soft sweater that made her skin glow under the bar lights. And beside her—Jackson. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, the kind of guy who looked like he spent more time on his skincare routine than Jon did on meal prep.
Jon’s grip tightened around his bottle.
He shouldn’t care.
But fuck.
Mariah’s eyes swept the room—paused on him—widened slightly. Then she smiled, small but genuine, and lifted her fingers in a little wave.
Jon managed a stiff nod.
Elena, drunk and oblivious, followed his gaze and gasped. "Oh! Omigod, it’s—" She shot up, wobbling. "—Time for shots! Right, Jon? Right?"
Marisa’s gaze flicked between Jon and Mariah, sharp with understanding.
"Well well," she murmured, lips curving. "This night just got interesting."
And Jon—
Jon really wished he wasn’t trapped in this booth.
Marisa leaned in, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? Nobody important?" she echoed, watching as Mariah and her boyfriend wound their way toward them through the crowd.
Jon stiffened. "I mean—we’re just friends."
"Mhmm," Marisa hummed, smirking. "The way you just said that tells me everything."
Before Jon could protest, Mariah was there—smiling warmly, her dark eyes bright.
"Jon! Hey!" she said, reaching out to briefly squeeze his shoulder. Her touch sent a jolt through him. "I didn’t expect to see you here."
Jon forced an easy smile—or what he hoped looked like one. "Yeah, uh. Yoga class outing." He gestured vaguely at the table.
Mariah’s boyfriend, Jackson, extended a hand with perfect polite-guy charm. "Hey man, nice to finally meet you. Maria’s told me a lot about you."
Maria.
Not Mariah.
The nickname grated like nails on a chalkboard.
Jon shook his hand—too tight, probably—and muttered, "All good things, I hope."
Jackson laughed, oblivious. "Of course. Says you spot her on squats."
Mariah rolled her eyes playfully. "Jon’s saved my life multiple times from being squashed by a barbell."
Jon swallowed hard.
She was glowing. Happy. Relaxed. Everything about her body language screamed comfortable with this guy.
It stung.
The small talk lasted another painful minute before Mariah excused them both. "We’re meeting some of Jackson’s coworkers, but it was nice seeing you!" She hesitated, then added, "You should come to the gym next week. I’ve missed my lifting buddy."
Missed.
The word dangled between them like bait.
"Yeah," Jon rasped. "Maybe."
And just like that, she was gone again—Jackson’s hand sliding naturally to the small of her back as they walked away.
Jon exhaled slowly.
Marisa didn’t wait.
"Ohhhh honey," she drawled, swirling her drink. "That was painful to watch."
Jon groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."
"That wasn’t just nobody important." She nudged him. "Tell me the truth—you’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?"
He debated lying.
But the alcohol loosened his tongue.
"Yeah," he muttered. "And it’s fucking stupid."
Marisa arched a brow, sipping her whiskey. "Why?"
Jon huffed a bitter laugh. "Because she’s with him! Because I wait all week just to spot her on bench press like some lovesick puppy. Because—" He cut himself off, frustrated.
Marisa studied him for a long moment. Then, softly: "She doesn’t look at you the way she looks at him?"
Jon froze.
"It's Bullshit," he said automatically.
But Marisa didn’t push. Just shrugged and leaned back, her expression knowing.
"You know, Jon," she said simply. "You should invite her—to Yoga. You never know...your luck might turn around."
Jon didn’t answer.
Just swallowed the rest of his drink whole.
---
The following Monday, the studio was quieter than usual when Jon stepped in—soft murmurs, hushed laughter, the faint sound of bare feet on mats.
And then he saw her.
Mariah.
Standing near the front of the room in black leggings and a fitted tank, talking animatedly with Marisa.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
What the hell is she doing here?
As if sensing his stare, Mariah turned. Her face lit up, and she gave him a little wave. "Hey! Surprise!"
Jon forced his legs to move forward. "You’re—uh—doing yoga now?"
Before she could answer, Marisa slipped an arm around Mariah’s shoulders, grinning. "I invited her after you left the bar. Everyone needs a little spiritual detox, right?" She winked—definitely not subtle.
Mariah laughed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, don’t look so nervous. I won’t completely embarrass myself."
Her ease helped. A little. Jon exhaled, rubbing his neck. "Just—don’t expect me to be any help. I still can’t touch my toes."
Mariah smirked. "For a guy who lifts like you do, that’s kinda pathetic."
It was such a Mariah thing to say—playful, teasing, effortlessly slipping back into the rhythm of their gym banter—that Jon’s chest loosened.
But then—
His gaze snagged on her wrist.
A thin white band.
The wristband.
His blood went cold.
He looked around the room, counting.
Marisa had one.
No one else did.
Not Elena. Not Emma. No one but…
Mariah.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Marisa invited her. Marisa gave her the wristband.
Was this planned?
Before he could think too much about it, the music shifted—soothing chimes, low and melodic.
Marisa clapped her hands. "Alright, lovelies! Let’s begin."
Mariah shot Jon one last grin before unfolding her mat beside him.
Jon unrolled his own, hands just a little unsteady.
He had a very bad feeling about this.
As it happens...Mariah was bad at yoga as well—but in the most endearing way possible.
She was flexible—no shock given how nimble she was with weights—but graceful? Not even close. Every transition was a half-second too slow, her balance tipping like a newborn deer on ice. At one point, halfway through Warrior Three, she wobbled so violently she windmilled her arms and nearly face-planted into Jon’s chest.
He caught her reflexively, grinning. "Maybe ease into it, Rocky."
Mariah clutched his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. "I swear this pose didn’t look this hard from the sidelines."
Jon couldn’t help it—he laughed. Really laughed. For the first time all night, the weird tension evaporated. This was just Mariah: clumsy, determined, utterly herself.
The rest of the class passed smoothly—until meditation.
As usual, the lights dimmed, slow music humming through the speakers. Marisa stretched her arms theatrically. "Alright, everyone, settle in. Deep breaths. I’ll be back in a few."
Jon frowned as she slipped out the door. Strange—she never left during meditation.
But before he could dwell on it, the room sank into silence. Ten minutes passed in a drowsy haze until—
Lights flicked on.
Elena stood at the front, smiling. "Hey guys, Marisa isn’t feeling great. She asked me to finish up. So… namaste, or whatever."
Jon sat up, blinking.
Beside him, Mariah was staring at her hands—turning them over, flexing her fingers. Almost like she was… checking them.
She caught him looking and immediately smirked. "Like what you see?"
Jon flushed. "Just—uh—making sure you didn’t pull anything."
Mariah rolled her eyes. "Relax, tough guy. I’m kidding." But her tone was different—sharper, smoother. Off.
The class dispersed quickly after that. Jon lingered, watching as Mariah gathered her things with uncharacteristic imprecision—dropping her keys, fumbling her water bottle.
Outside, the night air was thick with humidity.
"Walk me to my car?" Mariah asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah. Sure."
They crossed the darkened parking lot in silence. Mariah’s steps were confident now—almost swaggering—where earlier she’d been all stiff concentration.
Then—she stopped at a silver Honda.
Jon hesitated. "...That’s not your car."
Mariah froze.
For half a second, her face went utterly blank. Then she laughed, loud and careless. "Whoops! Wrong rental." She spun and marched three cars down to her actual Toyota.
Jon’s stomach knotted.
Rental? Mariah had owned that car for years.
She tossed her bag inside, flashing him a smirk. "See you at the gym tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Jon lied.
She drove off.
Jon stared after her, pulse humming uneasily.
Same voice. Same face.
But was that Mariah?
---
The next morning, Jon spotted her the second he walked into Iron Haven.
"Mariah".
Perched on the edge of a bench, stretching in sleek black yoga pants and a cropped athletic top—clothes he'd never seen her wear to lift before.
She caught his eye immediately, grinning as she unfolded herself in a fluid, feline motion. "There you are," she said, voice warm and teasing. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
Jon frowned. Her cadence was different—smoother, almost calculated. Even the way she stood seemed unnaturally poised, like someone who'd studied confidence rather than lived it.
"...You're in yoga gear," he blurted.
She glanced down, running her hands over her hips as if appreciating the fabric. "Mm. Felt like a change. Cute, right?"
Jon swallowed hard. Every alarm in his head was screaming.
Then came the real red flags.
She couldn't remember their usual push-pull split. She kept asking about muscle groups like the terms were foreign. And when she loaded up the bar for squats—
"Mariah, your knees—they're caving in. Big time," Jon warned, hovering behind her.
She just giggled. "Oops. Guess I need you to really spot me today."
Her wink was deliberate, her hips shifting invitingly as she started her descent with terrifying instability. Jon had to brace both hands on her waist to keep her from wobbling sideways—too close, too intimate.
When they switched to bench press, she abandoned form entirely, arching in a way that was less about power and more about giving him an obstructed view down her tank top.
Jon's face burned.
Then—
"So, big news," she announced between sets, twirling a lock of hair. "Me and Jackson? Done." She popped the p playfully. "Thought you'd be happy to hear that."
Jon froze mid-reach for his water bottle.
"You... broke up?"
"Mhmm." She stretched her arms overhead, watching his reaction like a cat eyeing a trapped mouse. "Long-distance sucked anyway. But now I'm single... lonely... could really use a friend tonight." Her foot nudged his calf. "Maybe you?"
Jon felt like he'd been dunked in ice water.
This wasn't Mariah.
The real Mariah would never ditch form like this. Would never flirt this blatantly. And if—some impossible fantasy—she'd actually broken up with Jackson, she'd be hurting. Drinking sad-girl wine, venting to friends, not propositioning him mid-workout.
Yet here this not-Mariah stood, smirking, waiting.
Jon forced a stiff smile. "Yeah. Maybe."
She beamed, like he'd confirmed some secret she already knew. "Great. Come by my place at 8. Don't bring beer—I've got better drinks."
She sauntered away to the water fountain, her stride too smooth, too practiced.
Jon stared after her.
He had no intention of showing up.
But he was going to figure out what the hell was happening.
---
Jon stood on Mariah’s porch at 8:03 PM, fist raised to knock, heart hammering like he was about to step into a trap.
Because he was.
But he had to know.
The door swung open before his knuckles even touched wood.
Mariah leaned against the frame, bathed in warm lamplight—barefoot, in a silky slip of a dress that clung to every curve. A far cry from her usual gym shorts and oversized tees.
"You came," she purred, stepping aside to let him in.
Jon forced himself to move. "Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it."
The apartment smelled like vanilla and red wine. Candles flickered on the coffee table beside an already half-empty bottle.
Mariah snatched it up, pouring him a glass without asking. "Relax," she laughed, pressing it into his hand. "You look like you’re about to bolt."
Jon took a sip. "Just… surprised, I guess."
"About?" She flopped onto the couch, patting the space beside her.
"This. You. Us hanging out like…" He gestured vaguely at the wine, the dim lighting, her.
Mariah’s smile turned sly. "Like a date?"
Jon choked on his drink.
She just giggled, leaning in to swipe a thumb over the corner of his lips, catching the spilled wine. Then—slow, deliberate—she sucked it off her own finger, watching him.
Jon’s pulse roared in his ears.
This was wrong.
The real Mariah would’ve teased him, sure. Would’ve maybe flirted after one too many drinks. But not like this. Not with this calculated, predatory heat.
Yet here she was, closing the distance between them, her knee brushing his.
"You’ve always been so careful with me," she murmured, fingers tracing idle circles on his thigh. "But you don’t have to be. Not anymore."
Jon’s grip tightened on his glass. "Mariah—"
"Shhh." Her hand slid up to cradle his jaw. "Just kiss me."
And then she did.
Her mouth was warm, insistent—wrong. The way she moved, the taste of her, the pressure—it was like kissing a stranger wearing Mariah’s skin. Little did he know how right he was.
Jon pulled back, breath ragged.
Mariah just smirked, licking her lips. "See? Not so hard."
Mariah didn’t just kiss him—she consumed him.
One second, Jon was reeling from the wrongness of it all—the next, her hands were fisted in his shirt, yanking him forward until his back hit the couch. Her teeth scraped his lower lip, sharp enough to make him groan, and suddenly any semblance of hesitation shattered.
Her tongue swiped against his, tasting of rich red wine and something else—something darkly intoxicating. She climbed onto his lap in one smooth motion, her silky dress riding up as she straddled him.
“You’ve wanted this,” she breathed, grinding down against the painful hardness in his jeans. “For so long.”
Jon’s hands found her hips on instinct, gripping tight as she rocked against him. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve asked what the hell was happening.
But then her mouth was on his neck, nipping, sucking, marking him like she was staking a claim—and logic dissolved.
She pulled back just enough to smirk at the mess she’d made of him.
“Pathetic,” she teased, dragging her nails down his chest. “All this time pretending you didn’t want me.”
Before he could respond, she slid off his lap and onto her knees between his legs.
Her fingers made quick work of his belt, his zipper, his straining boxers. When she freed him, hot and heavy in her grip, she licked her lips—slow, deliberate, savoring the moment.
Then, without warning, she took him deep.
Jon’s back arched off the couch, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat.
Fuck.
Her mouth was perfect—hot, wet, relentless. No hesitation, no teasing buildup. Just ruthless skill. Her tongue swirled around the head, her lips tightened on the upstroke, her nails dug into his thighs when he tried to buck deeper. “Don’t,” she warned, smirking up at him before swallowing him down again.
Jon’s vision blurred.
She was too good. Knew exactly how to hollow her cheeks, when to hum, when to drag her teeth just enough to make him see stars. It wasn’t just the best head of his life—it was like she’d mapped out every desperate fantasy he’d ever had and cranked it to eleven.
When he growled, “I’m close,” she didn’t pull away.
She laughed around him—laughed—and doubled down, taking him to the hilt.
Jon came with a curse, fingers tangled in her hair as she milked him through it, swallowing every drop.
He barely had time to recover before she climbed back into his lap, yanking her dress down over her shoulders in one motion. No bra. Just smooth, golden skin and perfect curves.
Jon crushed her against him, hands roaming, mouth claiming hers again—but she was the one in control.
She pushed him back onto the couch, guiding him inside her with a slow, torturous roll of her hips. He hissed at the slick, blazing heat of her.
Then she moved.
No sweet, tentative rhythm. Just pure, unrelenting dominance. She rode him like she was punishing him for every second he’d spent pining—hard, fast, her nails scoring down his chest as she chased her own pleasure.
“Look at you,” she taunted, grinding down, clenching around him. “Mr. Self-Control.”
Jon didn’t last. Couldn’t. Not with her above him—eyes dark, body arching, her breath coming in sharp, needy gasps.
He flipped her beneath him in one rough motion, driving into her deep enough to wrench a sharp cry from her lips.
“Jon—!”
He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Their coupling turned savage—skin slapping, teeth clashing, her thighs trembling around his waist as she clawed at his back. When she came, it was with a scream, her body locking around him like a vice.
Jon followed, burying himself inside her with a groan.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths.
Then she laughed.
Low. Triumphant.
Jon tensed.
Because that laugh—
It didn’t belong to Mariah.
Jon froze as Mariah's laugh - too deep, too smug, too knowing - echoed through the bedroom. That wasn't Mariah's giggle. That wasn't Mariah's playful tone.
He recognized it only a nanosecond later...That was Marisa.
"Enjoy yourself, big boy?" the woman in Mariah's body purred, stretching like a satisfied cat as she rolled away from him. When she turned back, there was something terrifyingly wrong about the way she moved - the familiar curves now inhabited by something alien. "I knew you'd be fun."
Jon sat up sharply, the post-coital haze evaporating. "What the fuck are you?"
Mariah's lips - no, not Mariah's lips - curved into a smile Jon had only ever seen on one person before.
"Smart boy," Marisa chuckled from Mariah's mouth, running Mariah's hands down Mariah's body in a way that made Jon's stomach lurch. "I was wondering when you'd notice."
Jon scrambled off the bed, grabbing for his pants. "Where's Mariah? What did you do to her?"
Marisa sighed dramatically, rolling Mariah's eyes - but the gesture was all wrong, like watching a bad actor play a part. "God, fine. Since you're so clever..." She sat up, tossing Mariah's hair. "I suppose you've earned the whole sordid story."
She spread Mariah's hands like she was giving a presentation.
"Astral projection. Soul transference. A little aromatherapy magic in the yoga studio. Basically..." She smirked. "I help older women trade up. Give some lonely grandma a chance to be young and beautiful again by hopping into a fresh new body. All it takes is a willing participant on each side - well, 'willing' in the loosest sense."
Jon's blood went cold as he remembered the wristbands. The older woman crying in the parking lot. The way Elena had changed so suddenly.
"You give them the bands," he breathed.
"Bingo." Marisa clapped Mariah's hands. "The wristband marks the donors. The incense during meditation loosens their soul's grip on their body just enough for me to... help them let go." She smiled. "Most of them don't even realize what's happening until it's too late."
Jon felt sick. "And the older women? You just... convince them to give up their bodies?"
Marisa shrugged. "They want to. At first they're confused, sure. But then they look in the mirror and realize what they've gained. A tight little body, smooth skin, all the time in the world..." She ran Mariah's hands over Mariah's breasts. "Would you give that up?"
Jon's stomach churned. This was worse than any nightmare his mind could come up with.
Jon felt dizzy, the room spinning as the horrific truth sank in. The yoga studio wasn't just a business - it was a hunting ground. And Mariah had walked right into the trap.
"I knew you had a thing for her," Marisa cooed, crawling toward him on the bed with Mariah's body. "So when I saw my chance to finally upgrade from my 46-year-old vessel... well, who better than your beautiful gym crush?" She laughed - that same rich, throaty laugh Jon now realized had never belonged to Mariah at all.
Jon backed away, his hands shaking as he fumbled for his phone. "I'm calling the cops. This stops now."
Marisa rolled Mariah's eyes. "And say what? That your crush's body got possessed by a yoga instructor?" She smirked. "They'll lock you in the psych ward before you finish speaking."
Panic clawed at Jon's throat. She was right. No one would believe this. But he couldn't just walk away - not while the real Mariah was...
"Where is she?" Jon demanded. "Where's Mariah's soul right now?"
Marisa stretched luxuriously. "Oh, she's fine. Currently occupying my old body locked in a dark room back at the studio and tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth so nobody has to hear her scream. A little trade we made during meditation today." Her smile turned cruel. "Though I did warn her - if she tries telling anyone, no one will believe the crazy old lady claiming to be a 24-year-old."
Jon's mind raced. The crying woman in the parking lot. The way Mariah had stumbled getting into the wrong car. The pieces fell into place with horrible clarity.
"So all of then are actually old women...," he realized. "Elena, Emma, now Mariah...all those girls."
"Very good!" Marisa applauded. "Honestly, Mariah put up more fight than most. But they all give in eventually." She sauntered closer. "Now, you've got two choices. Either accept this sexy new version of your gym buddy..." She trailed Mariah's fingers down his chest. "Or go charging off to 'save the day' and look like a goddamn fool."
Jon's fists clenched. He knew Marisa was right about one thing - no cop would ever believe his story. He was out of options.
The moving truck groaned as it rolled down the gravel driveway of Jon’s new home—a small rental house on the edge of Laredo, Texas. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to his skin even as the sun dipped low in the sky. He wiped his forehead and glanced around. Quiet. Empty. Just him, his gym bag, and a whole lot of loneliness.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath.
The first week was brutal. Work was fine—some IT gig at a local firm—but the silence at home was deafening. So, naturally, Jon did what any single guy with no social life would do: he practically lived at the gym.
Iron Haven was the kind of place where beefed-up ranchers and college athletes clashed over bench press real estate, but Jon didn’t care. The grind kept him sane.
And then, on day five, he saw her.
She was mid-rep on the squat rack, legs flexed, her dark ponytail swaying with each controlled descent. Half-Filipina, half-Latina, and all trouble for his concentration. When she stood up, racking the bar with effortless strength, she caught him staring. Instead of scowling, she grinned.
"Could use a spot," she called over.
Jon blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Her name was Mariah. Twenty-four, worked as a physical therapist, and had a laugh that hit like a shot of whiskey—smooth and dangerous. She teased him about his form, he joked about her terrible taste in gym music (seriously, reggaeton mixed with 90s hip-hop?), and just like that, they were friends.
Mariah was the kind of girl who made Jon forget how to breathe. Not because she was flawless—though the way her leggings hugged those curves didn’t hurt—but because she was real. Quick to poke fun, quicker to check in if she sensed something was off.
"Helloooo? Earth to Jon." She waved a hand in front of his face during cooldown stretches.
"Sorry," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoned out."
"Bullshit," she grinned. "You were staring at my ass."
Jon’s face burned. "I was not—"
"—Don’t lie, I saw you." She stretched her arms overhead, flashing a sliver of toned stomach. "It’s cool. I get it. My glutes are legendary."
Jon groaned, but damn if she wasn’t right.
Weeks slipped by. They spotted each other, grabbed post-workout smoothies, and even binged bad action movies sprawled on her couch. Every time she leaned in to steal a fry or playfully shoved him, his pulse spiked. But then she’d mention him.
"Jackson’s flying in next weekend."
Jackson. The long-distance boyfriend. Seattle-based finance guy. Polite, handsome, and—according to Mariah—"super understanding."
Which meant Jon was screwed.
One night, post-deadlifts, Mariah twisted the cap off her water bottle and sighed. "You ever feel like life’s got this weird way of dangling what you want just outta reach?"
Jon swallowed. "Yeah."
She glanced at him, eyes searching. "Jon…"
The air between them thickened. His chest ached.
Then her phone buzzed. She checked it, and just like that, the moment shattered.
"Jackson," she said softly, smiling at the screen.
Jon forced a grin. "Better answer it."
She did. And Jon swallowed his feelings like chalky protein powder—gritty, tasteless, and necessary.
But Texas heat has a way of making fools out of careful men. And Jon was starting to wonder how long he could keep pretending. The weights felt heavier that day.
Not physically—his deadlifts were the same as always—but mentally, his focus was shot. He’d spent the previous night scrolling through Mariah’s Instagram, stalking Jackson’s perfect teeth and vacation pics in Seattle, feeling like an idiot. His grip slipped on the third rep.
Then—pop.
A white-hot bolt of pain ripped through Jon’s lower back. His vision blurred. The barbell hit the floor with a thunderous crash, and suddenly, he was on his knees, gasping.
"Jon?!"
Mariah was at his side in seconds, hands on his shoulders before he could even blink away the sweat burning his eyes. Her touch sent a different kind of electric current through him—not pain, just warmth.
"I’m fine," he lied through clenched teeth.
She gave him that don’t-bullshit-me look—the one that made men stronger than him crumble. "You’re not fine. You just folded like a lawn chair."
The doctor’s verdict later that evening was grim: herniated disc. No lifting. No heavy exertion. For at least three months.
"Try yoga," the doc suggested, scribbling on his clipboard.
Yoga.
Jon wanted to scream.
Day 4 of No Gym
Jon lasted four days before he caved.
The second he walked into Iron Haven, he spotted her—mid-conversation with some beefy guy in a tank top, laughing at something he said. His gut twisted.
Then she saw him. Her smile vanished.
"Jon." She marched over, arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"
"Just... needed to move." He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Light stuff. Maybe just the bike or—"
"No." She poked his chest. "Doctor’s orders. You leave. Now."
The guy she’d been talking to raised an eyebrow.
Embarrassment burned Jon’s neck. "Mariah, c’mon—"
"—I’ll drive you home." She snatched his gym bag off his shoulder.
Jon groaned. "You’re relentless."
"And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you wreck yourself."
That should’ve been sweet. But all it did was remind Jon that she cared—just not the way he wanted her to.
Week 3: The Slow Decline
No gym meant no Mariah.
Sure, she texted. Sent dumb memes. Even dropped by once with soup, which was so disgustingly thoughtful it made Jon’s chest hurt. But without the routine of spotting each other, their interactions dwindled.
Meanwhile, Jackson was in town.
Her Instagram was a barrage of them—brunch, some hipster brewery, his arm slung around her waist in that I-own-this-space way guys like him had.
Jon should’ve stopped looking.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he lay on his couch, ice pack on his back, binge-watching terrible TV and wondering if Mariah ever thought about him when she wasn’t obligated to.
Pathetic. Three months.
Three goddamn months.
Jon stood outside the only yoga studio in Laredo—"Sunrise Yoga & Wellness"—staring at the lavender-scented hellscape beyond the glass door. Inside, a handful of women in stretchy outfits moved in slow, graceful unison. This was a mistake.
His fingers twitched at his sides. His back still ached, despite the epidural shot last week. And his doctor’s smug "told you so" echoed in his skull.
"Try yoga, Jon."
Bullshit.
The studio door chimed as Jon pushed it open.
Instantly, every head turned.
A woman near the front—mid-50s, sipping from a stainless-steel water bottle—gave him a slow once-over. Jon stood there awkwardly, feeling like a linebacker who’d wandered into a ballet rehearsal.
"First time?" a voice chirped.
A petite blonde instructor bounced over, her neon yoga pants practically glowing under the studio lights.
"Yeah," Jon muttered, rubbing his neck. "My doctor said—"
"—Ahhh, the doctor recommended crowd." She grinned. "I get it. You’re skeptical. You think yoga’s just stretching and incense. But trust me—" She poked his bicep. "—you’ll be humiliated by how hard this is."
Great fucking pep talk.
"I'm Marisa, by the way! Class starts in five!" she announced to the room before leaving Jon to grab a mat.
Jon shuffled toward the back corner—least visibility possible—and tried to just hide and observe.
The scent of lavender and jasmine settled over the studio like a warm, cloying blanket. Jon stood frozen at the edge of the room, gripping his rented yoga mat like it might sprout legs and run for the door.
The class was packed—mostly women. Not just any women. Beautiful ones. Laughing, stretching, their toned limbs effortlessly folding into pretzel-like shapes that made his lower back ache in sympathy. At the center of it all was an older woman—maybe late fifties—with silver-streaked dark hair and an easy confidence. She held court among a circle of girls wrapped in expensive athleisure, all giggling at something she said with the familiarity of people who had known each other for years.
Then, in the far corner, her.
A lone figure sitting cross-legged on her mat, deep brown hair spilling over one shoulder. She was younger than the others—early twenties, maybe. Her eyes darted nervously around the room before settling on the ground in front of her. She had that fresh-faced, untouched beauty—soft lips, faint freckles dusting her cheeks—but her posture screamed stay away.
Jon hesitated for half a second before shuffling over and dropping his mat beside hers.
"Hey," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "First time?"
She flinched—actually flinched—as if she hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge her. Then she nodded, barely lifting her chin.
"Yeah. You?"
"My doctor forced me into this," he admitted with a lopsided grin. "Said I had to 'embrace the healing process' or some shit."
A flicker of a smile. So tiny he almost missed it.
"Me too," she said. "Car accident. My physical therapist recommended it."
"Jon." He held out a hand.
She blinked at it, then placed her hand in his—delicate fingers, cold to the touch.
"Elena," she whispered.
For a second, it felt nice. Just two lost people in a room full of strangers, clinging to the briefest moment of connection.
Then Elena pulled her hand back too quickly, her gaze darting past him. Her expression flattened, her walls slamming up again.
Jon frowned. "Uh—"
"Class is starting," she muttered, turning her body away from him.
And just like that—dismissed.
Confused, he glanced around the room and froze.
The older woman was staring. And so were the others. All of them. Unmistakably. Eyes locked onto Elena with unsettling intensity.
Jon’s skin prickled.
The teacher clapped her hands. "Alright, everyone! Let’s begin!"
But no one moved.
For one bizarre, suspended moment, the air in the room felt wrong.
Then Elena exhaled sharply.
And the older woman smiled.
As they began, it dawned on Jon that he was terrible at yoga.
Like, tragically bad.
Downward Dog? More like Collapsed Mutt. Warrior Pose? More like "Wobbling Toddler." Every time he attempted to mirror the instructor’s graceful movements, his body protested with crackling joints and awkward tremors.
At one point, he caught sight of Elena—effortlessly balanced in a perfect Tree Pose, her slender arms lifted toward the ceiling—and nearly toppled over in distraction. That’s when he noticed the odd little detail: a paper wristband looped around her wrist, stark white with faint black lettering.
Even stranger? The only other people wearing them: the older silver-haired woman and Marisa, the instructor.
Jon waited until they transitioned into Child’s Pose (which, mercifully, mostly involved kneeling and not moving) before leaning toward Elena.
"Hey," he whispered. "Where’d you get the wristband?"
Elena blinked at him, then at her own wrist. "I don't know," she murmured, voice barely audible. "They just gave it to me after I checked in. Did you get one?"
Before Jon could answer—
"Shhhh."
Marisa shot them a pointed look from the front of the room. Elena immediately folded in on herself again, and Jon bit back a frustrated sigh. So much for conversation.
--
Then came meditation.
Lights dimmed, soft music hummed through the speakers, and Jon lay flat on his back, surrendering to the plush mat beneath him. The room sank into silence.
Around him, the others drifted effortlessly into serenity—breaths slow, bodies slack. Even Jon, despite himself, began to relax.
Then—
A scent.
Sweet, floral, intoxicating. Not overpowering—just… there. Like someone had spritzed the air with perfume, subtle but all-encompassing. Jon inhaled deeply, and suddenly, his limbs felt lighter. His thoughts mellowed. A slow, warm buzz settled over him, as if he’d sipped a shot of something strong.
What the hell…?
Then—commotion.
A hushed rustling, a sharp inhale followed by an audible "No."
Jon cracked open an eye.
The older woman sat bolt upright, fists clenched in her lap. Her face was twisted—not in pain, but in... frustration? Anger?
Marisa swooped in instantly, murmuring something soothing before gently guiding her out of the room. The woman didn’t resist, but as the door shut behind them, the air in the studio shifted.
Jon exhaled. Probably nothing.
He closed his eyes again.
And promptly dozed off.
--
When he stirred, the lights were up, and the music had faded. Around him, people stretched, sighed, smiled—blissed-out expressions plastered on every face.
Including Elena’s.
Except now, Elena wasn’t avoiding eye contact.
She wasn’t shy.She was beaming.
Jon barely had time to process before she bounced up to him, rolling up her mat with effortless fluidity.
"Hey," she chirped, "what was your name again?"
"Uh—Jon?"
She laughed—bright, loud. "Right! Sorry!" Then she stuck out her hand. "I’m Elena."
But the way she said it was… off. Over-enunciated. "I’M EL-EEEE-NA." As if she was announcing it to the room.
And then—she winked.
Jon stared.
Five minutes ago, this girl wouldn’t look at him. Now she was grinning, tossing her hair, radiating energy like she’d chugged three espressos.
"Nice to officially meet you," she said—flirty, playful—before sashaying toward the door. "See you next week!"
Then she was gone.
Jon stood frozen, mat half-rolled, brain working overtime.
--
The parking lot was empty, save for one figure.
The older woman slumped on a bench near the exit, face in her hands. Silent sobs wracked her shoulders.
Jon hesitated.
Then he climbed into his car.
And drove away.
---
A week passed before Jon mustered the willpower to return to Sunrise Yoga & Wellness.
This time, the door gave a cheerful ding as he walked in, and Marisa—grinning from ear to ear—welcomed him like an old friend.
"Jon! You actually came back!" she teased, clasping her hands together. "I was sure we scared you off for good."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, doc’s orders."
"Uh-huh, sure." She winked. "Whatever gets you here, handsome."
Jon felt his face warm. The attention was nice—too nice—and for a second, he almost forgot why he’d been weirded out last time.
Then he saw her.
Elena.
She wasn’t hiding in the corner this time. She was thriving.
Surrounded by that same circle of beautiful women, she laughed loudly at some unheard joke, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She looked different. Confident. Radiant. Entirely at home.
And then—her eyes flicked up.
She saw him.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips before she excused herself and sauntered toward him.
"Jon," she purred, stopping just a little too close, one hand resting lightly on his bicep. "You made it."
He stiffened—partly from surprise, partly because she was touching him like they’d known each other for years.
"Uh, yeah," he managed. "How’s… uh…?" He swallowed. "How’s the physical therapy going?"
A flicker of confusion passed over her face.
Then—just like that—it smoothed into recognition.
"Right! The accident." She laughed, brushing it off. "It’s going great. Thanks for asking."
Jon frowned. Last week, she’d acted like stepping out of her shell was impossible. Now she was making him the nervous one?
Before he could press, another woman walked in—young, gorgeous, glancing around the room with the cautious energy of a first-timer.
Elena immediately lit up.
"Ooooh, fresh meat," she whispered playfully—then shot Jon an apologetic smirk. "Duty calls. Catch you later?"
And just like that, she glided toward the newcomer, all sunshine and charm.
Jon watched as Elena greeted the woman—a hand on her arm, a warm laugh, a little tilt of her head that said you’re safe here.
Then… she slid a white wristband onto the woman’s wrist.
Jon stiffened.
The same exact kind he’d never been given.
He scanned the room.
Only three people had them.
—The new girl.
—Marisa.
—And some unfamiliar older lady, chatting animatedly with the same group of young, polished women as last time.
What the hell is going on?
Jon rolled out his mat, his skin prickling with unease as Elena’s laughter—bright, confident, uncharacteristic—filled the room.
Something was wrong.
And he was starting to think it wasn’t just his imagination.
The class unfolded like a broken-record replay of last week.
Jon struggled through the poses, his muscles protesting as he tried—and failed—to bend his body into shapes it clearly wasn’t meant to hold. Downward Dog still felt less like yoga and more like an uncoordinated stretch before faceplanting. Elena, meanwhile, had become disturbingly good overnight—her movements fluid, effortless, like she’d been doing this for years.
Which was impossible. She was new. Just like me.
Then came the wristbands.
Jon stole glances whenever he could, watching as the new girl—Emma, was it?—kept touching hers, running her fingers over the black lettering Jon still couldn’t read.
Elena noticed him looking and grinned. "whatcha lookin at hon?" she teased, swaying close during a water break.
"Those wristbands. You said last week they gave you one when you walked in. And then you have that new girl Emma one today. What are they for?" Jon hedged.
"Mmmmm, darling those are just for new people. You don't need one." she giggled, popping her hip. Jon wanted to investigate further so he asked "but I was new last week and I never got one. Why is that?" She looked nervous for about a nano second and then replied with "well you're not new anymore sweetheart! So I wouldn't worry your handsome head about it now." she said winking and then she was off again, leaving him standing there like an idiot.
——
Meditation.
Lights dimmed. Music hummed. The same cloying floral scent from last time curled through the air—thick, honey-sweet, with a weight to it that made Jon’s limbs feel like they were floating.
The high crept in slow, a warm, dizzying sensation that smoothed the edges of his thoughts.
Then—
A rustle. A sharp inhale.
Jon slitted his eyes open just in time to see the older woman—the new one this time—jerk upright, her breath ragged.
"What the fu-," she hissed under her breath. Looking at her hands with confusion and touching her face.
Marisa was on her instantly, murmuring soft words, gently steering her toward the door.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
Just like last week.
He wanted to follow. To ask questions. But his body ignored him, melting further into the mat, the scent wrapping around him like a drug.
His eyes closed.
——
Aftermath.
The lights came up. People stretched, sighed, exchanged soft smiles. Jon blinked back to reality, disoriented, an odd languidness clinging to his limbs.
Beside him, the new girl—Emma—sat up, her expression transformed.
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
She turned to Elena, beaming. "I get what you meant now," she whispered, touching her wristband.
"Told you," Elena smirked back at her new friend.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Across the room, Marisa stretched her arms overhead, sighing in contentment. "Another amazing session, everyone! See you next week!"
Jon gathered his mat, mind racing.
Same scents. Same meditative shift. Same wristbands.
And now—same people?
He glanced over his shoulder just as Elena caught his eye. She winked, slow, deliberate.
"I think the gals are getting together this weekend for drinks, Jon," she sang. "You should join us, right EMMA?"
Emma was looking down at herself and not paying attention, but then looked back up and looked Jon up and down nodding playfully.
Marisa echoed the invitation for drinks Friday night and Jon politely agreed.
He barely made it to his car before he noticed.
The older woman sat slumped against the wheel of her parked SUV.
Crying.
---
Later that week, Jon found himself harassed and eventually coerced into going out with his new yoga "friends".
The Lone Star Saloon was the kind of small-town bar where the neon sign buzzed, the jukebox played a mix of classic country and top-40 hits no one asked for, and everybody knew everybody—or at least pretended to.
Jon pushed through the scarred wooden door, the chatter of voices and twang of steel guitar hitting him in a wall of sound. He spotted them immediately—the Sunrise Yoga crew clustered around a long table in the back, drinks gleaming under the dim amber lights.
Marisa waved him over, her smile luminous. "Jon! You came!"
He forced a grin, sliding into the booth beside her. "Wouldn’t miss it."
The table was packed—Elena, Emma, the other regulars from class—all polished and glowing like they’d stepped out of some sleek magazine ad for "Small-Town Goddesses." But what caught Jon’s attention were the men—because nearly a third of the girls weren’t alone.
They were with older men.
Much older.
Silver-haired gentlemen in pressed button-downs laughing intimately with girls young enough to be their daughters. One man—late 50s, tan, with the crisp confidence of money—had his hand possessively on the thigh of a yoga regular Jon recognized from class. Another, balding and thick around the middle, leaned in to whisper something that made his dark-haired companion giggle into her cocktail.
Jon frowned, swirling his beer.
A sharp elbow nudged his ribs.
"See something you like?" Marisa murmured, leaning in so close her perfume—something expensive, fruity—tickled his nose.
"Just… surprised," Jon admitted quietly, gesturing subtly toward one of the older couples. "Didn’t realize this was a date night."
Marisa’s laugh was bright, deliberate. "Oh, sweetie, age is just a number. Love doesn’t clock out at forty."
Jon wanted to press—but Elena suddenly appeared at his other side, draping herself halfway over his shoulders. Her touch was warm, her voice whiskey-smooth.
"Don’t worry, Jon," she teased, her breath sweet with gin. "Plenty of us aren’t taken yet."
Emma giggled across the table, twirling her straw. "Speak for yourself."
Elena gasped—mock-offended—and launched into some dramatic retort Jon barely heard.
His attention snagged on the older couple again.
The way the girl—Tiffany?—traced her fingers over her boyfriend’s wrist.
The same white wristband peeked out from under her sleeve.
Just like the others.
Jon’s pulse hitched.
Before he could react, Marisa clinked her glass against his bottle, pulling his focus back.
"To new friends," she toasted, smiling.
Around the table, glasses lifted.
Jon hesitated—then drank.
The beer tasted bitter.
Or maybe that was just the dread creeping up his throat.
The night should’ve been weird.
Elena was trashed—giggling so hard she almost knocked over Emma’s cosmo, her voice sharp and loud in that way drunk people never realize is obnoxious. Emma wasn’t far behind, slurring compliments like "Jon, you’re actually, like, soo funny when you’re not just, like… working out or whatever."
But despite the strangeness hanging over the yoga crew, Jon was surprised to find himself… having fun.
Mostly thanks to Marisa.
She was effortlessly engaging—switching between sarcastic wit and warm wisdom like it was nothing. Every joke landed, every story pulled him in. She teased him about his stiff posture ("Even in a bar booth, you sit like you’re about to deadlift it") but listened intently when he told her about his job, his move to Texas, even his stupid back injury.
At one point, after refilling his beer without him noticing, she smirked and said, "You know, I was worried you’d be the broody, silent type forever. But you’re kinda charming when you’re not scowling."
Jon snorted. "Thanks, I think."
"Oh, it’s a compliment," she laughed, flicking her dark braid over her shoulder. "Most guys in this town peak in high school and never recover."
And yeah—she was older. Easily mid-40s. Not someone he’d look at twice in that way. But damn if she wasn’t the most interesting person in the room.
Then the door swung open.
And all the warmth in Jon’s chest evaporated.
Mariah.
Dressed in jeans that hugged her just right and a soft sweater that made her skin glow under the bar lights. And beside her—Jackson. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, the kind of guy who looked like he spent more time on his skincare routine than Jon did on meal prep.
Jon’s grip tightened around his bottle.
He shouldn’t care.
But fuck.
Mariah’s eyes swept the room—paused on him—widened slightly. Then she smiled, small but genuine, and lifted her fingers in a little wave.
Jon managed a stiff nod.
Elena, drunk and oblivious, followed his gaze and gasped. "Oh! Omigod, it’s—" She shot up, wobbling. "—Time for shots! Right, Jon? Right?"
Marisa’s gaze flicked between Jon and Mariah, sharp with understanding.
"Well well," she murmured, lips curving. "This night just got interesting."
And Jon—
Jon really wished he wasn’t trapped in this booth.
Marisa leaned in, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? Nobody important?" she echoed, watching as Mariah and her boyfriend wound their way toward them through the crowd.
Jon stiffened. "I mean—we’re just friends."
"Mhmm," Marisa hummed, smirking. "The way you just said that tells me everything."
Before Jon could protest, Mariah was there—smiling warmly, her dark eyes bright.
"Jon! Hey!" she said, reaching out to briefly squeeze his shoulder. Her touch sent a jolt through him. "I didn’t expect to see you here."
Jon forced an easy smile—or what he hoped looked like one. "Yeah, uh. Yoga class outing." He gestured vaguely at the table.
Mariah’s boyfriend, Jackson, extended a hand with perfect polite-guy charm. "Hey man, nice to finally meet you. Maria’s told me a lot about you."
Maria.
Not Mariah.
The nickname grated like nails on a chalkboard.
Jon shook his hand—too tight, probably—and muttered, "All good things, I hope."
Jackson laughed, oblivious. "Of course. Says you spot her on squats."
Mariah rolled her eyes playfully. "Jon’s saved my life multiple times from being squashed by a barbell."
Jon swallowed hard.
She was glowing. Happy. Relaxed. Everything about her body language screamed comfortable with this guy.
It stung.
The small talk lasted another painful minute before Mariah excused them both. "We’re meeting some of Jackson’s coworkers, but it was nice seeing you!" She hesitated, then added, "You should come to the gym next week. I’ve missed my lifting buddy."
Missed.
The word dangled between them like bait.
"Yeah," Jon rasped. "Maybe."
And just like that, she was gone again—Jackson’s hand sliding naturally to the small of her back as they walked away.
Jon exhaled slowly.
Marisa didn’t wait.
"Ohhhh honey," she drawled, swirling her drink. "That was painful to watch."
Jon groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."
"That wasn’t just nobody important." She nudged him. "Tell me the truth—you’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?"
He debated lying.
But the alcohol loosened his tongue.
"Yeah," he muttered. "And it’s fucking stupid."
Marisa arched a brow, sipping her whiskey. "Why?"
Jon huffed a bitter laugh. "Because she’s with him! Because I wait all week just to spot her on bench press like some lovesick puppy. Because—" He cut himself off, frustrated.
Marisa studied him for a long moment. Then, softly: "She doesn’t look at you the way she looks at him?"
Jon froze.
"It's Bullshit," he said automatically.
But Marisa didn’t push. Just shrugged and leaned back, her expression knowing.
"You know, Jon," she said simply. "You should invite her—to Yoga. You never know...your luck might turn around."
Jon didn’t answer.
Just swallowed the rest of his drink whole.
---
The following Monday, the studio was quieter than usual when Jon stepped in—soft murmurs, hushed laughter, the faint sound of bare feet on mats.
And then he saw her.
Mariah.
Standing near the front of the room in black leggings and a fitted tank, talking animatedly with Marisa.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
What the hell is she doing here?
As if sensing his stare, Mariah turned. Her face lit up, and she gave him a little wave. "Hey! Surprise!"
Jon forced his legs to move forward. "You’re—uh—doing yoga now?"
Before she could answer, Marisa slipped an arm around Mariah’s shoulders, grinning. "I invited her after you left the bar. Everyone needs a little spiritual detox, right?" She winked—definitely not subtle.
Mariah laughed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, don’t look so nervous. I won’t completely embarrass myself."
Her ease helped. A little. Jon exhaled, rubbing his neck. "Just—don’t expect me to be any help. I still can’t touch my toes."
Mariah smirked. "For a guy who lifts like you do, that’s kinda pathetic."
It was such a Mariah thing to say—playful, teasing, effortlessly slipping back into the rhythm of their gym banter—that Jon’s chest loosened.
But then—
His gaze snagged on her wrist.
A thin white band.
The wristband.
His blood went cold.
He looked around the room, counting.
Marisa had one.
No one else did.
Not Elena. Not Emma. No one but…
Mariah.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Marisa invited her. Marisa gave her the wristband.
Was this planned?
Before he could think too much about it, the music shifted—soothing chimes, low and melodic.
Marisa clapped her hands. "Alright, lovelies! Let’s begin."
Mariah shot Jon one last grin before unfolding her mat beside him.
Jon unrolled his own, hands just a little unsteady.
He had a very bad feeling about this.
As it happens...Mariah was bad at yoga as well—but in the most endearing way possible.
She was flexible—no shock given how nimble she was with weights—but graceful? Not even close. Every transition was a half-second too slow, her balance tipping like a newborn deer on ice. At one point, halfway through Warrior Three, she wobbled so violently she windmilled her arms and nearly face-planted into Jon’s chest.
He caught her reflexively, grinning. "Maybe ease into it, Rocky."
Mariah clutched his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. "I swear this pose didn’t look this hard from the sidelines."
Jon couldn’t help it—he laughed. Really laughed. For the first time all night, the weird tension evaporated. This was just Mariah: clumsy, determined, utterly herself.
The rest of the class passed smoothly—until meditation.
As usual, the lights dimmed, slow music humming through the speakers. Marisa stretched her arms theatrically. "Alright, everyone, settle in. Deep breaths. I’ll be back in a few."
Jon frowned as she slipped out the door. Strange—she never left during meditation.
But before he could dwell on it, the room sank into silence. Ten minutes passed in a drowsy haze until—
Lights flicked on.
Elena stood at the front, smiling. "Hey guys, Marisa isn’t feeling great. She asked me to finish up. So… namaste, or whatever."
Jon sat up, blinking.
Beside him, Mariah was staring at her hands—turning them over, flexing her fingers. Almost like she was… checking them.
She caught him looking and immediately smirked. "Like what you see?"
Jon flushed. "Just—uh—making sure you didn’t pull anything."
Mariah rolled her eyes. "Relax, tough guy. I’m kidding." But her tone was different—sharper, smoother. Off.
The class dispersed quickly after that. Jon lingered, watching as Mariah gathered her things with uncharacteristic imprecision—dropping her keys, fumbling her water bottle.
Outside, the night air was thick with humidity.
"Walk me to my car?" Mariah asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah. Sure."
They crossed the darkened parking lot in silence. Mariah’s steps were confident now—almost swaggering—where earlier she’d been all stiff concentration.
Then—she stopped at a silver Honda.
Jon hesitated. "...That’s not your car."
Mariah froze.
For half a second, her face went utterly blank. Then she laughed, loud and careless. "Whoops! Wrong rental." She spun and marched three cars down to her actual Toyota.
Jon’s stomach knotted.
Rental? Mariah had owned that car for years.
She tossed her bag inside, flashing him a smirk. "See you at the gym tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Jon lied.
She drove off.
Jon stared after her, pulse humming uneasily.
Same voice. Same face.
But was that Mariah?
---
The next morning, Jon spotted her the second he walked into Iron Haven.
"Mariah".
Perched on the edge of a bench, stretching in sleek black yoga pants and a cropped athletic top—clothes he'd never seen her wear to lift before.
She caught his eye immediately, grinning as she unfolded herself in a fluid, feline motion. "There you are," she said, voice warm and teasing. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
Jon frowned. Her cadence was different—smoother, almost calculated. Even the way she stood seemed unnaturally poised, like someone who'd studied confidence rather than lived it.
"...You're in yoga gear," he blurted.
She glanced down, running her hands over her hips as if appreciating the fabric. "Mm. Felt like a change. Cute, right?"
Jon swallowed hard. Every alarm in his head was screaming.
Then came the real red flags.
She couldn't remember their usual push-pull split. She kept asking about muscle groups like the terms were foreign. And when she loaded up the bar for squats—
"Mariah, your knees—they're caving in. Big time," Jon warned, hovering behind her.
She just giggled. "Oops. Guess I need you to really spot me today."
Her wink was deliberate, her hips shifting invitingly as she started her descent with terrifying instability. Jon had to brace both hands on her waist to keep her from wobbling sideways—too close, too intimate.
When they switched to bench press, she abandoned form entirely, arching in a way that was less about power and more about giving him an obstructed view down her tank top.
Jon's face burned.
Then—
"So, big news," she announced between sets, twirling a lock of hair. "Me and Jackson? Done." She popped the p playfully. "Thought you'd be happy to hear that."
Jon froze mid-reach for his water bottle.
"You... broke up?"
"Mhmm." She stretched her arms overhead, watching his reaction like a cat eyeing a trapped mouse. "Long-distance sucked anyway. But now I'm single... lonely... could really use a friend tonight." Her foot nudged his calf. "Maybe you?"
Jon felt like he'd been dunked in ice water.
This wasn't Mariah.
The real Mariah would never ditch form like this. Would never flirt this blatantly. And if—some impossible fantasy—she'd actually broken up with Jackson, she'd be hurting. Drinking sad-girl wine, venting to friends, not propositioning him mid-workout.
Yet here this not-Mariah stood, smirking, waiting.
Jon forced a stiff smile. "Yeah. Maybe."
She beamed, like he'd confirmed some secret she already knew. "Great. Come by my place at 8. Don't bring beer—I've got better drinks."
She sauntered away to the water fountain, her stride too smooth, too practiced.
Jon stared after her.
He had no intention of showing up.
But he was going to figure out what the hell was happening.
---
Jon stood on Mariah’s porch at 8:03 PM, fist raised to knock, heart hammering like he was about to step into a trap.
Because he was.
But he had to know.
The door swung open before his knuckles even touched wood.
Mariah leaned against the frame, bathed in warm lamplight—barefoot, in a silky slip of a dress that clung to every curve. A far cry from her usual gym shorts and oversized tees.
"You came," she purred, stepping aside to let him in.
Jon forced himself to move. "Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it."
The apartment smelled like vanilla and red wine. Candles flickered on the coffee table beside an already half-empty bottle.
Mariah snatched it up, pouring him a glass without asking. "Relax," she laughed, pressing it into his hand. "You look like you’re about to bolt."
Jon took a sip. "Just… surprised, I guess."
"About?" She flopped onto the couch, patting the space beside her.
"This. You. Us hanging out like…" He gestured vaguely at the wine, the dim lighting, her.
Mariah’s smile turned sly. "Like a date?"
Jon choked on his drink.
She just giggled, leaning in to swipe a thumb over the corner of his lips, catching the spilled wine. Then—slow, deliberate—she sucked it off her own finger, watching him.
Jon’s pulse roared in his ears.
This was wrong.
The real Mariah would’ve teased him, sure. Would’ve maybe flirted after one too many drinks. But not like this. Not with this calculated, predatory heat.
Yet here she was, closing the distance between them, her knee brushing his.
"You’ve always been so careful with me," she murmured, fingers tracing idle circles on his thigh. "But you don’t have to be. Not anymore."
Jon’s grip tightened on his glass. "Mariah—"
"Shhh." Her hand slid up to cradle his jaw. "Just kiss me."
And then she did.
Her mouth was warm, insistent—wrong. The way she moved, the taste of her, the pressure—it was like kissing a stranger wearing Mariah’s skin. Little did he know how right he was.
Jon pulled back, breath ragged.
Mariah just smirked, licking her lips. "See? Not so hard."
Mariah didn’t just kiss him—she consumed him.
One second, Jon was reeling from the wrongness of it all—the next, her hands were fisted in his shirt, yanking him forward until his back hit the couch. Her teeth scraped his lower lip, sharp enough to make him groan, and suddenly any semblance of hesitation shattered.
Her tongue swiped against his, tasting of rich red wine and something else—something darkly intoxicating. She climbed onto his lap in one smooth motion, her silky dress riding up as she straddled him.
“You’ve wanted this,” she breathed, grinding down against the painful hardness in his jeans. “For so long.”
Jon’s hands found her hips on instinct, gripping tight as she rocked against him. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve asked what the hell was happening.
But then her mouth was on his neck, nipping, sucking, marking him like she was staking a claim—and logic dissolved.
She pulled back just enough to smirk at the mess she’d made of him.
“Pathetic,” she teased, dragging her nails down his chest. “All this time pretending you didn’t want me.”
Before he could respond, she slid off his lap and onto her knees between his legs.
Her fingers made quick work of his belt, his zipper, his straining boxers. When she freed him, hot and heavy in her grip, she licked her lips—slow, deliberate, savoring the moment.
Then, without warning, she took him deep.
Jon’s back arched off the couch, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat.
Fuck.
Her mouth was perfect—hot, wet, relentless. No hesitation, no teasing buildup. Just ruthless skill. Her tongue swirled around the head, her lips tightened on the upstroke, her nails dug into his thighs when he tried to buck deeper. “Don’t,” she warned, smirking up at him before swallowing him down again.
Jon’s vision blurred.
She was too good. Knew exactly how to hollow her cheeks, when to hum, when to drag her teeth just enough to make him see stars. It wasn’t just the best head of his life—it was like she’d mapped out every desperate fantasy he’d ever had and cranked it to eleven.
When he growled, “I’m close,” she didn’t pull away.
She laughed around him—laughed—and doubled down, taking him to the hilt.
Jon came with a curse, fingers tangled in her hair as she milked him through it, swallowing every drop.
He barely had time to recover before she climbed back into his lap, yanking her dress down over her shoulders in one motion. No bra. Just smooth, golden skin and perfect curves.
Jon crushed her against him, hands roaming, mouth claiming hers again—but she was the one in control.
She pushed him back onto the couch, guiding him inside her with a slow, torturous roll of her hips. He hissed at the slick, blazing heat of her.
Then she moved.
No sweet, tentative rhythm. Just pure, unrelenting dominance. She rode him like she was punishing him for every second he’d spent pining—hard, fast, her nails scoring down his chest as she chased her own pleasure.
“Look at you,” she taunted, grinding down, clenching around him. “Mr. Self-Control.”
Jon didn’t last. Couldn’t. Not with her above him—eyes dark, body arching, her breath coming in sharp, needy gasps.
He flipped her beneath him in one rough motion, driving into her deep enough to wrench a sharp cry from her lips.
“Jon—!”
He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Their coupling turned savage—skin slapping, teeth clashing, her thighs trembling around his waist as she clawed at his back. When she came, it was with a scream, her body locking around him like a vice.
Jon followed, burying himself inside her with a groan.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths.
Then she laughed.
Low. Triumphant.
Jon tensed.
Because that laugh—
It didn’t belong to Mariah.
Jon froze as Mariah's laugh - too deep, too smug, too knowing - echoed through the bedroom. That wasn't Mariah's giggle. That wasn't Mariah's playful tone.
He recognized it only a nanosecond later...That was Marisa.
"Enjoy yourself, big boy?" the woman in Mariah's body purred, stretching like a satisfied cat as she rolled away from him. When she turned back, there was something terrifyingly wrong about the way she moved - the familiar curves now inhabited by something alien. "I knew you'd be fun."
Jon sat up sharply, the post-coital haze evaporating. "What the fuck are you?"
Mariah's lips - no, not Mariah's lips - curved into a smile Jon had only ever seen on one person before.
"Smart boy," Marisa chuckled from Mariah's mouth, running Mariah's hands down Mariah's body in a way that made Jon's stomach lurch. "I was wondering when you'd notice."
Jon scrambled off the bed, grabbing for his pants. "Where's Mariah? What did you do to her?"
Marisa sighed dramatically, rolling Mariah's eyes - but the gesture was all wrong, like watching a bad actor play a part. "God, fine. Since you're so clever..." She sat up, tossing Mariah's hair. "I suppose you've earned the whole sordid story."
She spread Mariah's hands like she was giving a presentation.
"Astral projection. Soul transference. A little aromatherapy magic in the yoga studio. Basically..." She smirked. "I help older women trade up. Give some lonely grandma a chance to be young and beautiful again by hopping into a fresh new body. All it takes is a willing participant on each side - well, 'willing' in the loosest sense."
Jon's blood went cold as he remembered the wristbands. The older woman crying in the parking lot. The way Elena had changed so suddenly.
"You give them the bands," he breathed.
"Bingo." Marisa clapped Mariah's hands. "The wristband marks the donors. The incense during meditation loosens their soul's grip on their body just enough for me to... help them let go." She smiled. "Most of them don't even realize what's happening until it's too late."
Jon felt sick. "And the older women? You just... convince them to give up their bodies?"
Marisa shrugged. "They want to. At first they're confused, sure. But then they look in the mirror and realize what they've gained. A tight little body, smooth skin, all the time in the world..." She ran Mariah's hands over Mariah's breasts. "Would you give that up?"
Jon's stomach churned. This was worse than any nightmare his mind could come up with.
Jon felt dizzy, the room spinning as the horrific truth sank in. The yoga studio wasn't just a business - it was a hunting ground. And Mariah had walked right into the trap.
"I knew you had a thing for her," Marisa cooed, crawling toward him on the bed with Mariah's body. "So when I saw my chance to finally upgrade from my 46-year-old vessel... well, who better than your beautiful gym crush?" She laughed - that same rich, throaty laugh Jon now realized had never belonged to Mariah at all.
Jon backed away, his hands shaking as he fumbled for his phone. "I'm calling the cops. This stops now."
Marisa rolled Mariah's eyes. "And say what? That your crush's body got possessed by a yoga instructor?" She smirked. "They'll lock you in the psych ward before you finish speaking."
Panic clawed at Jon's throat. She was right. No one would believe this. But he couldn't just walk away - not while the real Mariah was...
"Where is she?" Jon demanded. "Where's Mariah's soul right now?"
Marisa stretched luxuriously. "Oh, she's fine. Currently occupying my old body locked in a dark room back at the studio and tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth so nobody has to hear her scream. A little trade we made during meditation today." Her smile turned cruel. "Though I did warn her - if she tries telling anyone, no one will believe the crazy old lady claiming to be a 24-year-old."
Jon's mind raced. The crying woman in the parking lot. The way Mariah had stumbled getting into the wrong car. The pieces fell into place with horrible clarity.
"So all of then are actually old women...," he realized. "Elena, Emma, now Mariah...all those girls."
"Very good!" Marisa applauded. "Honestly, Mariah put up more fight than most. But they all give in eventually." She sauntered closer. "Now, you've got two choices. Either accept this sexy new version of your gym buddy..." She trailed Mariah's fingers down his chest. "Or go charging off to 'save the day' and look like a goddamn fool."
Jon's fists clenched. He knew Marisa was right about one thing - no cop would ever believe his story. He was out of options.
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Sorry for my absence! I will be writing the next chapter of Working Remotely next. After that I will give supporters a choice of which thing I write next, and I promise I will not make you wait so long for the next thing.
Author of erotic body swaps, shapeshifting, and possession. I tend towards darker stories that might not have a happy ending. I try to incorporate deception and trickery where I can, like when someone has to fool people by impersonating a loved one or friend. I love to write, and am always looking for the next idea.
Author of erotic body swaps, shapeshifting, and possession. I tend towards darker stories that might not have a happy ending. I try to incorporate deception and trickery where I can, like when someone has to fool people by impersonating a loved one or friend. I love to write, and am always looking for the next idea.
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