Miami Heat
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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.
body swap latina Stolen Life
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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.”
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.
The Davidsons appear to be the perfect suburban family—loving parents, bright children, a home that radiates warmth and normalcy. But beneath the façade lies a secret world of unbridled desire, where the bonds of blood are twisted into something far more primal.
When siblings John and Julia accidentally witness their parents entangled in a steamy foursome with their uncle and aunt, they’re plunged into a storm of shock and awakening lust. What starts as scandalous curiosity soon consumes them—their bodies craving what should be forbidden, their hearts racing with the thrill of corruption. And they’re not alone.
Soon, the taboo spreads. Cousins become lovers. Friends become playthings. A network of secrets and shared pleasure grows, drawing in everyone they thought they knew—until the line between family and fantasy dissolves entirely.
Passion is thicker than blood.
And no one is safe from temptation.
Relative Pleasures is a scorching saga of lust, betrayal, and the lengths we’ll go to chase the ultimate sin.
Note: All Characters 18+
The Davidson household always appeared picture-perfect from the outside—a well-kept suburban home with a manicured lawn, Mark and Olive hosting barbecues where they laughed with neighbors, their two kids, John and Julia, the epitome of polite, well-raised teenagers. No one would ever suspect the depravity that simmered beneath the surface.
Olive Davidson, the elegant, church-going mother who volunteered at bake sales, had a secret. A filthy, insatiable hunger that only her sister Mary could truly satisfy. The two had been lovers since their teenage years, experimenting with each other’s bodies long before they ever touched a man. They had shared boyfriends, orchestrated threesomes, and even arranged for their eventual husbands—Mark and Bob—to swap with them before marriage. Now, years later, the four of them still indulged in their twisted little arrangement, fucking each other with the kind of reckless abandon that would scandalize their conservative community if they ever found out.
Tonight was one of those nights.
With John and Julia supposedly out at a party, Olive and Mark had invited Mary and Bob over for a night of debauchery. The living room was a mess of discarded clothes, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. Olive was on her knees, her lips stretched obscenely around Bob’s thick cock, her tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep into her throat. Mary, ever the eager participant, was knelt behind her sister, face buried between Olive’s spread thighs, her tongue lapping at her dripping cunt with loud, wet strokes. And Mark—good, dependable Mark—was fucking Mary from behind, his hips slapping against her ass as she moaned around Olive’s pussy.
“Fuck, Olive, your sister sucks cock almost as good as you do,” Bob groaned, his fingers tightening in her blonde hair.
Olive pulled off with a lewd pop, her lips glistening. “Don’t flatter her too much,” she purred, glancing back at Mary. “She gets cocky.”
Mary lifted her head just long enough to smirk. “You’re just jealous because Mark’s fucking me harder than he fucks you.”
Mark chuckled darkly, gripping Mary’s hips and driving into her deeper, making her gasp. “You like that, Mary? Taking your brother-in-law’s cock like a whore?”
“God, yes,” Mary moaned, her fingers digging into Olive’s thighs. “Fuck me harder, Mark. Make me scream.”
And scream she did—loud enough that none of them heard the back door creak open.
---
John and Julia had been running late to the party, only to find it already busted by the cops. Disappointed, they’d headed home early, expecting to find the house empty. Instead, the sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin greeted them the moment they stepped inside.
Julia froze, her eyes widening as she took in the scene in the living room. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. John gasped.
Their mother Olive, the poised and proper woman who scolded them for cursing at the dinner table, was now bent over the couch with her breasts swinging wildly, her thighs slick with arousal as Uncle Bob drove into her from behind, his thick cock glistening with her juices. Beside them, Aunt Mary straddled their father Mark’s face, riding his tongue with abandon while his fingers worked between her legs, her own hands tangled in Olive’s hair as she pulled her sister into a deep, sinful kiss. The room reeked of sex, sweat dripping from slick bodies as they moved together in a rhythm of absolute debauchery—a side of their parents neither sibling had ever imagined.
Julia’s fingers curled into his arm, her nails digging in. “We shouldn’t be watching this,” she breathed, but she didn’t move.
John couldn’t tear his eyes away. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough.
Julia clutched John’s arm, her nails digging in painfully, but neither could look away. John’s breath came in ragged gasps, his cock straining against his jeans at the raw display before them. Julia’s pulse thundered in her ears, her panties soaked as she watched her prim mother whimper Uncle Bob’s name like a common slut, her lips swollen from sucking his cock. The adults were so lost in their depravity that they didn’t notice their children slipping away, their shocked silence swallowed by the symphony of filth behind them.
Once safe inside John’s room, the door locked behind them, Julia collapsed onto his bed while John paced, running trembling hands through his hair. "Fuck. Fuck. Did—did you see them?" he rasped, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
Julia nodded jerkily, her legs weak beneath her. "Mom… she was…" She swallowed hard, unable to articulate the image of their mother taking Uncle Bob’s cock like a woman starved.
John stopped pacing, staring at Julia with wild eyes. "And Dad—fucking _Aunt Mary_ while she ate Mom out." His throat worked around the words, his cock twitching against his thigh. "They've—they've _done this_ before. They must have."
Julia’s body burned, her chest rising and falling rapidly as arousal coiled deep in her belly. The way Mom moaned, the way Aunt Mary whispered filthy things as Dad gripped her—she had never seen adults act like that, so hungry, so shameless. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet John’s, and the feverish understanding there made her breath catch.
"We shouldn’t even be thinking about this," John muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
Julia bit her lip. "But we are."The confession hung between them, thick and damning. Silence stretched, punctuated only by their shuddering breaths, before Julia crawled across the bed toward her brother. "Have you—have you ever wanted me?" she whispered, the words slipping out like a secret too heavy to keep.
John shuddered. Honesty warred with denial, but arousal won. "...Yes." His voice was rough, laced with guilt. "God help me, Julia, I have."
Julia exhaled, warmth rushing through her. Confession spilled out of her, too. "Me too. Especially—especially after I saw you with Sarah Thompson last summer."
John’s eyes darkened. "You watched?"
Julia nodded, her cheeks flushing. "Through your bedroom window. You fucked her so hard she screamed. I touched myself imagining it was me."
A groan tore from John’s throat, and suddenly the distance between them evaporated. He was on her in seconds, his hands cradling her face as their lips crashed together in a fierce, desperate kiss. Julia whimpered into his mouth, her fingers twisting in his shirt as he licked into her, tasting her hunger. They broke apart panting, foreheads pressed together.
"We shouldn’t," John murmured, but his hands were already sliding under Julia’s top, tracing the soft skin of her waist.
Julia arched into his touch. "But we want to."
And that was all it took.
John kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the heat of her mouth as his thumb grazed the swell of her breast. Julia gasped, her fingers trembling as she undid his jeans, freeing his hard cock—long, thick, already leaking for her. "I’ve dreamed about this," she admitted, stroking him slowly as John groaned.
John pushed her back against the pillows, his hands skimming up her thighs before hooking into her panties and pulling them off. "Fuck, Julia," he breathed, staring at her glistening folds. "You’re so wet."
"Because of you," she confessed, spreading her legs wider.
He didn’t hesitate. John buried his face between her thighs, licking into her with slow, deliberate strokes, his tongue circling her clit before plunging deep inside her, drinking her down like a man starved. Julia cried out, her back bowing off the bed as pleasure surged through her, her fingers clutching his hair.
"John—God—your mouth—!"
He growled against her skin, his fingers joining his tongue, curling inside her as he sucked her clit harder. Julia shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, her thighs trembling around her brother’s head as he licked her through it, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from her shaking body.
When she finally stilled, boneless and panting, John crawled up her body, his cock heavy against her thigh. Julia reached for him, her mouth closing around him in one smooth motion, her tongue swirling around his length. John cursed, his hips jerking as she deepthroated him the way she’d seen Mom do to Uncle Bob—slutty, hungry, eager to please.
"Fuck," he hissed, thrusting shallowly into her mouth. "Just like that, Julie—suck me like Mom was sucking Uncle Bob."
The depraved comparison sent another rush of heat through Julia’s veins, her moan vibrating around him as she took him deeper. She could taste the salt of his skin, feel the way his muscles trembled as he fought to hold back.
And then he pulled away, pinning her back to the mattress. Slowly, agonizingly, John aligned himself with her dripping entrance. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice strained.
Julia answered by wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him in.
He sank into her inch by torturous inch, their breath mingling in ragged gasps as their bodies joined for the first time. "Fuck," John gritted out, his fingers biting into her hips. "You’re so tight."
Julia clung to him, her nails scoring his back as she adjusted to the stretch. "Move," she begged, arching against him. "Make love to me, John. Like you've wanted to."
And he did—slow at first, savoring each drag of his cock inside her, their kisses tender between whispered confessions of longing. But soon, the heat between them built, their thrusts growing harder, faster, their moans louder.
"Tell me," John demanded, sinking deep, watching the way her breasts bounced with each snap of his hips. "Tell me how much you love your brother’s cock."
Julia keened, her body tightening around him. "I love it," she gasped. "Love how you fill me—love that it’s wrong—love you—"
John fucked her through another climax, her cunt clenching around him in waves until he couldn’t hold back anymore. With a groan, he spilled inside her, his hips stuttering as he came harder than he ever had before filling up his sister’s pussy with his spend.
Collapsing onto her, spent and shaking, he pressed shaky kisses to her throat. Julia ran her fingers through his hair, their breathing gradually slowing.
The silence between them was thick, heavy like the scent of sex still clinging to their skin. Julia traced idle circles on John’s chest, her nails dragging softly before she finally whispered, "They do it all the time, don’t they? Not just fucking random people—but Mom and Dad. With Aunt Mary and Uncle Bob. Their own family."
John inhaled sharply, his pulse jumping under her fingertips. "Yeah. You saw them. Christ, the way they moved together—like they’ve been doing it for years." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "The way Mom moaned when Bob fucked her. How she kissed Aunt Mary—like they were lovers, not sisters. Did you see how deep their tongues went?"
Julia shuddered, her thighs pressing together at the memory. "They were so into it. Like—like they got off on the fact they were related." A breathless laugh escaped her as she met his stare. "And we watched. And we fucking loved it."
John’s hand slid up her thigh, possessive. "Couldn’t look away. Seeing Mom like that—all that perfect makeup smeared, her tits bouncing while Uncle Bob destroyed her. And Dad... Jesus, the way he talked to Aunt Mary. 'Tighter than my wife,' he said." His fingers dug into her skin. "You think they ever fucked like that in front of us when we were kids? While we were in the other room?"
Julia’s breath hitched. "God, I hope so." She rolled on top of him, straddling his hips, her skin fever-warm. "I hope they knew we could hear. Hope they got off on it."
John groaned as she ground down on his hardening cock. "Fuck, Julie—we’re just like them."
"Yeah," she breathed. "And we’re gonna get worse.". Then she looked at him, her eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry. "What if we joined them?"
John’s cock twitched against her thigh. "Fuck."
Julia grinned, rolling on top of him, her hips grinding down on his already hardening length. "Think Daddy would want me the way Uncle Bob wants Mom?"
John groaned, gripping her waist as she sank onto him again. "Jesus Christ, Julie—"
She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "Let’s find out."
Julia rose up on her knees, her body glistening with sweat in the dim bedroom light, and slowly lowered herself onto John's throbbing cock with a sinful sigh. "Mmm, just like Dad fucks Aunt Mary, huh?" she purred, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles that made John's jaw clench.
His hands gripped her thighs hard enough to leave marks as she rode him, her tits swaying with every bounce. "Fuck, Julie—the way you take me—"
"Like a good sister should," she moaned, throwing her head back before leaning forward, pressing her fingertips to his chest. "But Daddy won't know that, will he? When he's burying himself in me tomorrow, he'll just think I'm his sweet, innocent daughter."
John growled, thrusting up into her hard, making her gasp. "You gonna let him think that, you little slut? Or you gonna tell him how wet you get for your brother's cock first?"
Julia's breath came in ragged bursts as she met his thrusts, their skin slapping together obscenely. "Maybe... maybe I'll make him watch us. Maybe we'll show him how it should be done."
The thought made John shudder, his balls tightening. "Fuck, Julie—I'm gonna—"
Before he could finish, Julia suddenly lifted herself off him, her pussy dripping, and wrapped her lips around his shaft. With a few hard strokes of her hand, he erupted into her waiting mouth, his teeth clenched as she swallowed every last drop. She licked her lips with a wicked grin. "Practice makes perfect, right?"
John collapsed back, his chest heaving. "Tomorrow then? Are you sure?"
Julia climbed back up his body, her lips brushing his. "Tomorrow, Daddy learns what his little girl really wants."
Meanwhile in the living room:
The living room moans trembled through the walls as Mary sank to her knees beside Olive, their naked bodies pressed together in a slick tangle of limbs and lust. Olive's manicured fingers tangled in her sister's hair as she pulled her into a filthy open-mouthed kiss, tongues swirling between their painted lips.
"Look at you two fucking sluts," Bob growled, his thick cock glistening with precum as he watched the sisters paw at each other's breasts, fingers pinching and twisting hardened nipples.
Mary whimpered against Olive's mouth before breaking away with a gasp, her lips glistening with spit. "Mmm, I love how your tits feel against mine, sis," she murmured, licking a hot stripe up Olive's throat as she palmed her own curves.
Olive moaned, arching into the touch. "God, Mary, still so greedy with your hands after all these years." She reached between them, sliding a hand down her sister's toned stomach and swiping through her dripping folds. "You're so fucking wet. Been thinking about this all week?"
"Fuck yes," Mary panted, her hips bucking as Olive's fingers delved inside her. "Thinking about your pussy on my tongue while Mark fucks me from behind."
Mark groaned, gripping his shaft tightly at the visual. "Christ, you two are depraved."
Bob smirked, stroking himself lazily. "Ain't that why we married them?"
Laughing, Olive nudged Mary onto her back and crawled between her spread thighs. "Time for dessert, baby sister," she purred before licking a long, slow stripe through Mary's soaked folds.
Mary cried out, her back bowing off the floor as Olive devoured her, tongue lapping and flicking at her clit with expert precision. "Oh fuck! Right there, Olive! Just like that!"
Needing no further invitation, Mark positioned himself behind Mary and thrust deep, making both sisters moan in unison. "Damn, you're tight," he grunted, hips snapping hard enough to jostle Olive where she feasted below.
Bob knelt beside them, stroking Olive's hair as she sucked on Mary's clit. "My turn, baby."
Olive lifted her mouth from Mary's pussy, lips glossy, and turned to take Bob's cock between them with a filthy moan. "Mmm, always so thick for me," she murmured before swallowing him down, her cheeks hollowing with the strength of her suction. The obscene wet sounds filled the room as she bobbed eagerly, one hand still between Mary's thighs, fingers pumping in and out.
The sisters lost themselves in the debauchery—Olive alternating between slurping Bob's length and darting her tongue against Mary's clit, while Mary whined and writhed beneath Mark's relentless fucking.
"Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum!" Mary gasped, her inner walls clenching around Mark's cock as she shattered, juices flooding Olive's fingers.
Bob cursed, pulling from Olive's mouth just in time to spurt hot ropes across her face as she eagerly stuck out her tongue to catch every drop.
Mark wasn't far behind, withdrawing with a groan to paint Mary's tits and stomach with his release.
Panting, Olive collapsed next to Mary, both of them grinning as they turned to each other. Mary leaned in, licking a stripe up Olive's cheek to collect a streak of Bob's cum still glistening there. "Mmm, you taste so good like this," she murmured before sealing their lips together in a slow, dirty kiss, tongues mingling as they shared the spoils of their pleasure.
Bob and Mark watched, still catching their breaths as the sisters giggled, scooping stray droplets from their skin and bringing them to each other's mouths with teasing licks.
"You two are disgusting," Mark said, laughter in his voice as he wiped himself clean.
Mary beamed, stretching like a satisfied cat. "You love it."
Olive sighed, leaning her head against Bob's thigh as he absently stroked her hair. "We should do this more often."
A glance at the clock had them all groaning. "Shit, the kids will be back soon," Bob muttered.
The four of them moved drowsily, sharing lazy kisses as they redressed. "Same time next week?" Mary teased, smirking as she adjusted her bra.
Mark slapped her ass playfully. "We'll let you know. Depends on the kids' schedules."
Laughing, the Brands gathered their things and slipped out into the night, leaving Mark and Olive smiling in the doorway, pleasantly exhausted and already craving the next time.
----------
Characters:
The Davidson Family
Mark Davidson (46) - Married to Olive, father to John & Julia
Olive Davidson (44) - Wife to Mark, mother to John & Julia, Mary's sister/lover
John Davidson (20) - Son of Mark & Olive, Julia’s older brother/lover
Julia Davidson (19) - Daughter of Mark & Olive, younger sister/lover to John
The Brands:
Bob Brand (48) - Husband to Mary, father to Abby/Tom/Alexa
Mary Brand (43) - Wife to Bob, mother to Abby/Tom/Alexa, Olive’s sister/lover
Tom Brand (20) - Son of Bob/Mary, Alexa’s twin and Abby's elder brother
Alexa Brand (20) - Daughter of Bob/Mary, Tom’s twin and Abby's elder sister
Abby Brand (18) - Daughter of Bob/Mary, John & Julia’s cousin younger sister to Tom/Alexa. She looks exactly like young Mary
When siblings John and Julia accidentally witness their parents entangled in a steamy foursome with their uncle and aunt, they’re plunged into a storm of shock and awakening lust. What starts as scandalous curiosity soon consumes them—their bodies craving what should be forbidden, their hearts racing with the thrill of corruption. And they’re not alone.
Soon, the taboo spreads. Cousins become lovers. Friends become playthings. A network of secrets and shared pleasure grows, drawing in everyone they thought they knew—until the line between family and fantasy dissolves entirely.
Passion is thicker than blood.
And no one is safe from temptation.
Relative Pleasures is a scorching saga of lust, betrayal, and the lengths we’ll go to chase the ultimate sin.
Note: All Characters 18+
The Davidson household always appeared picture-perfect from the outside—a well-kept suburban home with a manicured lawn, Mark and Olive hosting barbecues where they laughed with neighbors, their two kids, John and Julia, the epitome of polite, well-raised teenagers. No one would ever suspect the depravity that simmered beneath the surface.
Olive Davidson, the elegant, church-going mother who volunteered at bake sales, had a secret. A filthy, insatiable hunger that only her sister Mary could truly satisfy. The two had been lovers since their teenage years, experimenting with each other’s bodies long before they ever touched a man. They had shared boyfriends, orchestrated threesomes, and even arranged for their eventual husbands—Mark and Bob—to swap with them before marriage. Now, years later, the four of them still indulged in their twisted little arrangement, fucking each other with the kind of reckless abandon that would scandalize their conservative community if they ever found out.
Tonight was one of those nights.
With John and Julia supposedly out at a party, Olive and Mark had invited Mary and Bob over for a night of debauchery. The living room was a mess of discarded clothes, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. Olive was on her knees, her lips stretched obscenely around Bob’s thick cock, her tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep into her throat. Mary, ever the eager participant, was knelt behind her sister, face buried between Olive’s spread thighs, her tongue lapping at her dripping cunt with loud, wet strokes. And Mark—good, dependable Mark—was fucking Mary from behind, his hips slapping against her ass as she moaned around Olive’s pussy.
“Fuck, Olive, your sister sucks cock almost as good as you do,” Bob groaned, his fingers tightening in her blonde hair.
Olive pulled off with a lewd pop, her lips glistening. “Don’t flatter her too much,” she purred, glancing back at Mary. “She gets cocky.”
Mary lifted her head just long enough to smirk. “You’re just jealous because Mark’s fucking me harder than he fucks you.”
Mark chuckled darkly, gripping Mary’s hips and driving into her deeper, making her gasp. “You like that, Mary? Taking your brother-in-law’s cock like a whore?”
“God, yes,” Mary moaned, her fingers digging into Olive’s thighs. “Fuck me harder, Mark. Make me scream.”
And scream she did—loud enough that none of them heard the back door creak open.
---
John and Julia had been running late to the party, only to find it already busted by the cops. Disappointed, they’d headed home early, expecting to find the house empty. Instead, the sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin greeted them the moment they stepped inside.
Julia froze, her eyes widening as she took in the scene in the living room. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. John gasped.
Their mother Olive, the poised and proper woman who scolded them for cursing at the dinner table, was now bent over the couch with her breasts swinging wildly, her thighs slick with arousal as Uncle Bob drove into her from behind, his thick cock glistening with her juices. Beside them, Aunt Mary straddled their father Mark’s face, riding his tongue with abandon while his fingers worked between her legs, her own hands tangled in Olive’s hair as she pulled her sister into a deep, sinful kiss. The room reeked of sex, sweat dripping from slick bodies as they moved together in a rhythm of absolute debauchery—a side of their parents neither sibling had ever imagined.
Julia’s fingers curled into his arm, her nails digging in. “We shouldn’t be watching this,” she breathed, but she didn’t move.
John couldn’t tear his eyes away. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough.
Julia clutched John’s arm, her nails digging in painfully, but neither could look away. John’s breath came in ragged gasps, his cock straining against his jeans at the raw display before them. Julia’s pulse thundered in her ears, her panties soaked as she watched her prim mother whimper Uncle Bob’s name like a common slut, her lips swollen from sucking his cock. The adults were so lost in their depravity that they didn’t notice their children slipping away, their shocked silence swallowed by the symphony of filth behind them.
Once safe inside John’s room, the door locked behind them, Julia collapsed onto his bed while John paced, running trembling hands through his hair. "Fuck. Fuck. Did—did you see them?" he rasped, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
Julia nodded jerkily, her legs weak beneath her. "Mom… she was…" She swallowed hard, unable to articulate the image of their mother taking Uncle Bob’s cock like a woman starved.
John stopped pacing, staring at Julia with wild eyes. "And Dad—fucking _Aunt Mary_ while she ate Mom out." His throat worked around the words, his cock twitching against his thigh. "They've—they've _done this_ before. They must have."
Julia’s body burned, her chest rising and falling rapidly as arousal coiled deep in her belly. The way Mom moaned, the way Aunt Mary whispered filthy things as Dad gripped her—she had never seen adults act like that, so hungry, so shameless. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet John’s, and the feverish understanding there made her breath catch.
"We shouldn’t even be thinking about this," John muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
Julia bit her lip. "But we are."The confession hung between them, thick and damning. Silence stretched, punctuated only by their shuddering breaths, before Julia crawled across the bed toward her brother. "Have you—have you ever wanted me?" she whispered, the words slipping out like a secret too heavy to keep.
John shuddered. Honesty warred with denial, but arousal won. "...Yes." His voice was rough, laced with guilt. "God help me, Julia, I have."
Julia exhaled, warmth rushing through her. Confession spilled out of her, too. "Me too. Especially—especially after I saw you with Sarah Thompson last summer."
John’s eyes darkened. "You watched?"
Julia nodded, her cheeks flushing. "Through your bedroom window. You fucked her so hard she screamed. I touched myself imagining it was me."
A groan tore from John’s throat, and suddenly the distance between them evaporated. He was on her in seconds, his hands cradling her face as their lips crashed together in a fierce, desperate kiss. Julia whimpered into his mouth, her fingers twisting in his shirt as he licked into her, tasting her hunger. They broke apart panting, foreheads pressed together.
"We shouldn’t," John murmured, but his hands were already sliding under Julia’s top, tracing the soft skin of her waist.
Julia arched into his touch. "But we want to."
And that was all it took.
John kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the heat of her mouth as his thumb grazed the swell of her breast. Julia gasped, her fingers trembling as she undid his jeans, freeing his hard cock—long, thick, already leaking for her. "I’ve dreamed about this," she admitted, stroking him slowly as John groaned.
John pushed her back against the pillows, his hands skimming up her thighs before hooking into her panties and pulling them off. "Fuck, Julia," he breathed, staring at her glistening folds. "You’re so wet."
"Because of you," she confessed, spreading her legs wider.
He didn’t hesitate. John buried his face between her thighs, licking into her with slow, deliberate strokes, his tongue circling her clit before plunging deep inside her, drinking her down like a man starved. Julia cried out, her back bowing off the bed as pleasure surged through her, her fingers clutching his hair.
"John—God—your mouth—!"
He growled against her skin, his fingers joining his tongue, curling inside her as he sucked her clit harder. Julia shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, her thighs trembling around her brother’s head as he licked her through it, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from her shaking body.
When she finally stilled, boneless and panting, John crawled up her body, his cock heavy against her thigh. Julia reached for him, her mouth closing around him in one smooth motion, her tongue swirling around his length. John cursed, his hips jerking as she deepthroated him the way she’d seen Mom do to Uncle Bob—slutty, hungry, eager to please.
"Fuck," he hissed, thrusting shallowly into her mouth. "Just like that, Julie—suck me like Mom was sucking Uncle Bob."
The depraved comparison sent another rush of heat through Julia’s veins, her moan vibrating around him as she took him deeper. She could taste the salt of his skin, feel the way his muscles trembled as he fought to hold back.
And then he pulled away, pinning her back to the mattress. Slowly, agonizingly, John aligned himself with her dripping entrance. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice strained.
Julia answered by wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him in.
He sank into her inch by torturous inch, their breath mingling in ragged gasps as their bodies joined for the first time. "Fuck," John gritted out, his fingers biting into her hips. "You’re so tight."
Julia clung to him, her nails scoring his back as she adjusted to the stretch. "Move," she begged, arching against him. "Make love to me, John. Like you've wanted to."
And he did—slow at first, savoring each drag of his cock inside her, their kisses tender between whispered confessions of longing. But soon, the heat between them built, their thrusts growing harder, faster, their moans louder.
"Tell me," John demanded, sinking deep, watching the way her breasts bounced with each snap of his hips. "Tell me how much you love your brother’s cock."
Julia keened, her body tightening around him. "I love it," she gasped. "Love how you fill me—love that it’s wrong—love you—"
John fucked her through another climax, her cunt clenching around him in waves until he couldn’t hold back anymore. With a groan, he spilled inside her, his hips stuttering as he came harder than he ever had before filling up his sister’s pussy with his spend.
Collapsing onto her, spent and shaking, he pressed shaky kisses to her throat. Julia ran her fingers through his hair, their breathing gradually slowing.
The silence between them was thick, heavy like the scent of sex still clinging to their skin. Julia traced idle circles on John’s chest, her nails dragging softly before she finally whispered, "They do it all the time, don’t they? Not just fucking random people—but Mom and Dad. With Aunt Mary and Uncle Bob. Their own family."
John inhaled sharply, his pulse jumping under her fingertips. "Yeah. You saw them. Christ, the way they moved together—like they’ve been doing it for years." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "The way Mom moaned when Bob fucked her. How she kissed Aunt Mary—like they were lovers, not sisters. Did you see how deep their tongues went?"
Julia shuddered, her thighs pressing together at the memory. "They were so into it. Like—like they got off on the fact they were related." A breathless laugh escaped her as she met his stare. "And we watched. And we fucking loved it."
John’s hand slid up her thigh, possessive. "Couldn’t look away. Seeing Mom like that—all that perfect makeup smeared, her tits bouncing while Uncle Bob destroyed her. And Dad... Jesus, the way he talked to Aunt Mary. 'Tighter than my wife,' he said." His fingers dug into her skin. "You think they ever fucked like that in front of us when we were kids? While we were in the other room?"
Julia’s breath hitched. "God, I hope so." She rolled on top of him, straddling his hips, her skin fever-warm. "I hope they knew we could hear. Hope they got off on it."
John groaned as she ground down on his hardening cock. "Fuck, Julie—we’re just like them."
"Yeah," she breathed. "And we’re gonna get worse.". Then she looked at him, her eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry. "What if we joined them?"
John’s cock twitched against her thigh. "Fuck."
Julia grinned, rolling on top of him, her hips grinding down on his already hardening length. "Think Daddy would want me the way Uncle Bob wants Mom?"
John groaned, gripping her waist as she sank onto him again. "Jesus Christ, Julie—"
She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "Let’s find out."
Julia rose up on her knees, her body glistening with sweat in the dim bedroom light, and slowly lowered herself onto John's throbbing cock with a sinful sigh. "Mmm, just like Dad fucks Aunt Mary, huh?" she purred, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles that made John's jaw clench.
His hands gripped her thighs hard enough to leave marks as she rode him, her tits swaying with every bounce. "Fuck, Julie—the way you take me—"
"Like a good sister should," she moaned, throwing her head back before leaning forward, pressing her fingertips to his chest. "But Daddy won't know that, will he? When he's burying himself in me tomorrow, he'll just think I'm his sweet, innocent daughter."
John growled, thrusting up into her hard, making her gasp. "You gonna let him think that, you little slut? Or you gonna tell him how wet you get for your brother's cock first?"
Julia's breath came in ragged bursts as she met his thrusts, their skin slapping together obscenely. "Maybe... maybe I'll make him watch us. Maybe we'll show him how it should be done."
The thought made John shudder, his balls tightening. "Fuck, Julie—I'm gonna—"
Before he could finish, Julia suddenly lifted herself off him, her pussy dripping, and wrapped her lips around his shaft. With a few hard strokes of her hand, he erupted into her waiting mouth, his teeth clenched as she swallowed every last drop. She licked her lips with a wicked grin. "Practice makes perfect, right?"
John collapsed back, his chest heaving. "Tomorrow then? Are you sure?"
Julia climbed back up his body, her lips brushing his. "Tomorrow, Daddy learns what his little girl really wants."
Meanwhile in the living room:
The living room moans trembled through the walls as Mary sank to her knees beside Olive, their naked bodies pressed together in a slick tangle of limbs and lust. Olive's manicured fingers tangled in her sister's hair as she pulled her into a filthy open-mouthed kiss, tongues swirling between their painted lips.
"Look at you two fucking sluts," Bob growled, his thick cock glistening with precum as he watched the sisters paw at each other's breasts, fingers pinching and twisting hardened nipples.
Mary whimpered against Olive's mouth before breaking away with a gasp, her lips glistening with spit. "Mmm, I love how your tits feel against mine, sis," she murmured, licking a hot stripe up Olive's throat as she palmed her own curves.
Olive moaned, arching into the touch. "God, Mary, still so greedy with your hands after all these years." She reached between them, sliding a hand down her sister's toned stomach and swiping through her dripping folds. "You're so fucking wet. Been thinking about this all week?"
"Fuck yes," Mary panted, her hips bucking as Olive's fingers delved inside her. "Thinking about your pussy on my tongue while Mark fucks me from behind."
Mark groaned, gripping his shaft tightly at the visual. "Christ, you two are depraved."
Bob smirked, stroking himself lazily. "Ain't that why we married them?"
Laughing, Olive nudged Mary onto her back and crawled between her spread thighs. "Time for dessert, baby sister," she purred before licking a long, slow stripe through Mary's soaked folds.
Mary cried out, her back bowing off the floor as Olive devoured her, tongue lapping and flicking at her clit with expert precision. "Oh fuck! Right there, Olive! Just like that!"
Needing no further invitation, Mark positioned himself behind Mary and thrust deep, making both sisters moan in unison. "Damn, you're tight," he grunted, hips snapping hard enough to jostle Olive where she feasted below.
Bob knelt beside them, stroking Olive's hair as she sucked on Mary's clit. "My turn, baby."
Olive lifted her mouth from Mary's pussy, lips glossy, and turned to take Bob's cock between them with a filthy moan. "Mmm, always so thick for me," she murmured before swallowing him down, her cheeks hollowing with the strength of her suction. The obscene wet sounds filled the room as she bobbed eagerly, one hand still between Mary's thighs, fingers pumping in and out.
The sisters lost themselves in the debauchery—Olive alternating between slurping Bob's length and darting her tongue against Mary's clit, while Mary whined and writhed beneath Mark's relentless fucking.
"Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum!" Mary gasped, her inner walls clenching around Mark's cock as she shattered, juices flooding Olive's fingers.
Bob cursed, pulling from Olive's mouth just in time to spurt hot ropes across her face as she eagerly stuck out her tongue to catch every drop.
Mark wasn't far behind, withdrawing with a groan to paint Mary's tits and stomach with his release.
Panting, Olive collapsed next to Mary, both of them grinning as they turned to each other. Mary leaned in, licking a stripe up Olive's cheek to collect a streak of Bob's cum still glistening there. "Mmm, you taste so good like this," she murmured before sealing their lips together in a slow, dirty kiss, tongues mingling as they shared the spoils of their pleasure.
Bob and Mark watched, still catching their breaths as the sisters giggled, scooping stray droplets from their skin and bringing them to each other's mouths with teasing licks.
"You two are disgusting," Mark said, laughter in his voice as he wiped himself clean.
Mary beamed, stretching like a satisfied cat. "You love it."
Olive sighed, leaning her head against Bob's thigh as he absently stroked her hair. "We should do this more often."
A glance at the clock had them all groaning. "Shit, the kids will be back soon," Bob muttered.
The four of them moved drowsily, sharing lazy kisses as they redressed. "Same time next week?" Mary teased, smirking as she adjusted her bra.
Mark slapped her ass playfully. "We'll let you know. Depends on the kids' schedules."
Laughing, the Brands gathered their things and slipped out into the night, leaving Mark and Olive smiling in the doorway, pleasantly exhausted and already craving the next time.
----------
Characters:
The Davidson Family
Mark Davidson (46) - Married to Olive, father to John & Julia
Olive Davidson (44) - Wife to Mark, mother to John & Julia, Mary's sister/lover
John Davidson (20) - Son of Mark & Olive, Julia’s older brother/lover
Julia Davidson (19) - Daughter of Mark & Olive, younger sister/lover to John
The Brands:
Bob Brand (48) - Husband to Mary, father to Abby/Tom/Alexa
Mary Brand (43) - Wife to Bob, mother to Abby/Tom/Alexa, Olive’s sister/lover
Tom Brand (20) - Son of Bob/Mary, Alexa’s twin and Abby's elder brother
Alexa Brand (20) - Daughter of Bob/Mary, Tom’s twin and Abby's elder sister
Abby Brand (18) - Daughter of Bob/Mary, John & Julia’s cousin younger sister to Tom/Alexa. She looks exactly like young Mary
I'm Alex, a nurse major in college.
My roommate is Terrence, an engineering major in college.
We are roommates. We are trapped inside due to quarantine policies.
The quarantine forced everyone to stay indoors. Lucky for me, I wasn’t stuck by myself—I was holed up with my roommate, Alex. We’d been best friends since high school, and now, as college roommates, we spent most days gaming, watching movies, and generally goofing off. When the boredom got too much, we’d play Mortal Kombat, betting stupid stuff like who had to buy dinner or do push-ups. But one night, after a few drinks, things took a wild turn.
I guess being cooped up had us both wound up. I had a girlfriend I FaceTimed sometimes, but Alex was single. That night, after way too many laughs and maybe one too many shots, one of us—probably me, in hindsight—threw out the dumbest bet yet. Loser had to give the winner a lap dance… in my girlfriend’s clothes.
Alex groaned when he lost, but I was already digging through my girlfriend’s drawer, tossing out lingerie like it was a damn fashion show. Lacy panties. A silky camisole. Tight black leggings that I knew were going to be a struggle. The look on his face was priceless—mortified, but also weirdly resigned, like he’d known this was coming.
"You’re enjoying this way too much," he muttered, snatching the clothes from me.
Damn right I was.
When he came out of the bathroom, I swear my jaw hit the floor. The leggings clung to him like they were made for him, showing off every curve of his surprisingly toned legs and—well, let’s just say the panties and camisole left nothing to the imagination. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "I look ridiculous."
I whistled. "Dude, you look hot."
Alex shot me a glare, but there was a flicker of something else—a hint of amusement, maybe pride—as he glanced at himself in the mirror. And yeah, okay, I wasn’t expecting to get turned on watching my best friend strip for me in my girlfriend’s lingerie, but life’s full of surprises.
"So," I said, leaning back on the couch, grinning. "You gonna dance, or what?"
Alex exhaled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was doing this. Then, with a smirk, he turned his back to me—giving me a full view of that perfect ass hugged by my girl's tight leggings. The fabric clung to every firm, round curve, the sheer material just barely hiding the outline of the lace panties underneath. Jesus, had his ass always been this good? How had I never noticed before?
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. His hips swayed as he dragged his fingers up his thighs, teasing before he took a slow step back—then another—until he was right on top of me.
"You enjoying the view?" he muttered over his shoulder, voice laced with equal parts irritation and smugness.
"Fuck yeah," I admitted without thinking, my hands twitching at my sides like I wanted to grab him right then.
He chuckled—low and knowing—before finally letting himself drop, the weight of him settling right into my lap. I stifled a groan as that perfect ass pressed against me, warm and firm. His hips shifted slightly, grinding back deliberately, and I had to bite my lip to keep from saying something stupid like, Do that again.
But Alex must’ve felt it—the undeniable hardness pressing against him as he shifted in my lap. His body went rigid, the playful sway of his hips freezing mid-grind. For a second, neither of us moved, the air between us suddenly thick with tension.
Then he twisted to look at me, his smirk gone, replaced by wide, startled eyes. My stomach dropped at the discomfort flashing across his face.
"Whoa. Dude. Seriously?" Alex blurted, scrambling off my lap like my touch burned. He stood a few feet back, arms crossed defensively. "That wasn’t—I didn’t think—" He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair.
The disappointment in his voice was sharp enough to slice right through the heat that had been building between us.
"This was a joke, Terry," he muttered, shaking his head. "A bad one, apparently."
My roommate is Terrence, an engineering major in college.
We are roommates. We are trapped inside due to quarantine policies.
The quarantine forced everyone to stay indoors. Lucky for me, I wasn’t stuck by myself—I was holed up with my roommate, Alex. We’d been best friends since high school, and now, as college roommates, we spent most days gaming, watching movies, and generally goofing off. When the boredom got too much, we’d play Mortal Kombat, betting stupid stuff like who had to buy dinner or do push-ups. But one night, after a few drinks, things took a wild turn.
I guess being cooped up had us both wound up. I had a girlfriend I FaceTimed sometimes, but Alex was single. That night, after way too many laughs and maybe one too many shots, one of us—probably me, in hindsight—threw out the dumbest bet yet. Loser had to give the winner a lap dance… in my girlfriend’s clothes.
Alex groaned when he lost, but I was already digging through my girlfriend’s drawer, tossing out lingerie like it was a damn fashion show. Lacy panties. A silky camisole. Tight black leggings that I knew were going to be a struggle. The look on his face was priceless—mortified, but also weirdly resigned, like he’d known this was coming.
"You’re enjoying this way too much," he muttered, snatching the clothes from me.
Damn right I was.
When he came out of the bathroom, I swear my jaw hit the floor. The leggings clung to him like they were made for him, showing off every curve of his surprisingly toned legs and—well, let’s just say the panties and camisole left nothing to the imagination. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "I look ridiculous."
I whistled. "Dude, you look hot."
Alex shot me a glare, but there was a flicker of something else—a hint of amusement, maybe pride—as he glanced at himself in the mirror. And yeah, okay, I wasn’t expecting to get turned on watching my best friend strip for me in my girlfriend’s lingerie, but life’s full of surprises.
"So," I said, leaning back on the couch, grinning. "You gonna dance, or what?"
Alex exhaled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was doing this. Then, with a smirk, he turned his back to me—giving me a full view of that perfect ass hugged by my girl's tight leggings. The fabric clung to every firm, round curve, the sheer material just barely hiding the outline of the lace panties underneath. Jesus, had his ass always been this good? How had I never noticed before?
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. His hips swayed as he dragged his fingers up his thighs, teasing before he took a slow step back—then another—until he was right on top of me.
"You enjoying the view?" he muttered over his shoulder, voice laced with equal parts irritation and smugness.
"Fuck yeah," I admitted without thinking, my hands twitching at my sides like I wanted to grab him right then.
He chuckled—low and knowing—before finally letting himself drop, the weight of him settling right into my lap. I stifled a groan as that perfect ass pressed against me, warm and firm. His hips shifted slightly, grinding back deliberately, and I had to bite my lip to keep from saying something stupid like, Do that again.
But Alex must’ve felt it—the undeniable hardness pressing against him as he shifted in my lap. His body went rigid, the playful sway of his hips freezing mid-grind. For a second, neither of us moved, the air between us suddenly thick with tension.
Then he twisted to look at me, his smirk gone, replaced by wide, startled eyes. My stomach dropped at the discomfort flashing across his face.
"Whoa. Dude. Seriously?" Alex blurted, scrambling off my lap like my touch burned. He stood a few feet back, arms crossed defensively. "That wasn’t—I didn’t think—" He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair.
The disappointment in his voice was sharp enough to slice right through the heat that had been building between us.
"This was a joke, Terry," he muttered, shaking his head. "A bad one, apparently."
All over the world, women are suddenly finding themselves with new priorities. They may not know where these Needs have come from, but they can't deny the pull of their strange desires.
We all have priorities. Some things are true necessities - the basic priorities like air, food, or shelter. The smaller things, though, we think we decide for ourselves. We can choose if we want to go to college, or if we really need that extra sugar in our tea; it's all up to us. Right?
But for some, that's no longer the case. All across the globe, people are finding themselves with their priorities rearranged, a new and unshakeable desire planted in their minds. A suburban housewife realizes she needs to have huge fake tits, and starts to make plans to contact a surgeon as soon as she gets home and puts the groceries away. Meanwhile, a young woman riding the subway home from work abruptly stands up and begins stripping naked right there in the crowded car, unable to think about anything except how badly she needs strangers to see and touch her body.
At the same time, a stripper swinging on the pole suddenly finds she absolutely has to go straight to the back room right now and offer her least favorite regular a hummer free of charge. A few cities over, a meek librarian surprises herself by purchasing the largest, most obscene dildo she can find online, suddenly desperate to feel stretched and filled in ways she's never considered before. None of them think this is strange; they just have something they need to do. Once they've done it, they go about their lives as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened - though the housewife, at least, is probably going to have to adjust her routine a bit.
No one knows yet what's causing it, but slowly people come to learn a few things they all have in common: First, one way or another, their new Needs are always sexual, even if they don't always realize how. Second, once a person has been afflicted with a Need, they're exponentially more likely to get another one. Third, nearly all of the affected identify as women, and biology rarely seems to be a factor otherwise. Finally, almost all of the time, people find the results of their Needs very sexy, even if they otherwise hate them. Slowly, people will come to realize something is happening to the women of the world, but what they'll do about it is anyone's guess. For now, though, only one question has to be answered:
What are your Needs?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Along its branches, this story will follow various women and the Needs that change their lives, as well as explore some of the changes to the world at large as the strange compulsions affect more and more people.
Needs can be simple or complex in nature, but they tend to be something with a goal or end state ("I need huge tits," or "I have to have sex with ten different men", not just "I'm into anal now"). There can be exceptions, but they should be rare. There can be permanent effects, though, or other lasting consequences ("I can't get rid of the implants", or "Wow, that gangbang was amazing, I want more").
We all have priorities. Some things are true necessities - the basic priorities like air, food, or shelter. The smaller things, though, we think we decide for ourselves. We can choose if we want to go to college, or if we really need that extra sugar in our tea; it's all up to us. Right?
But for some, that's no longer the case. All across the globe, people are finding themselves with their priorities rearranged, a new and unshakeable desire planted in their minds. A suburban housewife realizes she needs to have huge fake tits, and starts to make plans to contact a surgeon as soon as she gets home and puts the groceries away. Meanwhile, a young woman riding the subway home from work abruptly stands up and begins stripping naked right there in the crowded car, unable to think about anything except how badly she needs strangers to see and touch her body.
At the same time, a stripper swinging on the pole suddenly finds she absolutely has to go straight to the back room right now and offer her least favorite regular a hummer free of charge. A few cities over, a meek librarian surprises herself by purchasing the largest, most obscene dildo she can find online, suddenly desperate to feel stretched and filled in ways she's never considered before. None of them think this is strange; they just have something they need to do. Once they've done it, they go about their lives as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened - though the housewife, at least, is probably going to have to adjust her routine a bit.
No one knows yet what's causing it, but slowly people come to learn a few things they all have in common: First, one way or another, their new Needs are always sexual, even if they don't always realize how. Second, once a person has been afflicted with a Need, they're exponentially more likely to get another one. Third, nearly all of the affected identify as women, and biology rarely seems to be a factor otherwise. Finally, almost all of the time, people find the results of their Needs very sexy, even if they otherwise hate them. Slowly, people will come to realize something is happening to the women of the world, but what they'll do about it is anyone's guess. For now, though, only one question has to be answered:
What are your Needs?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Along its branches, this story will follow various women and the Needs that change their lives, as well as explore some of the changes to the world at large as the strange compulsions affect more and more people.
Needs can be simple or complex in nature, but they tend to be something with a goal or end state ("I need huge tits," or "I have to have sex with ten different men", not just "I'm into anal now"). There can be exceptions, but they should be rare. There can be permanent effects, though, or other lasting consequences ("I can't get rid of the implants", or "Wow, that gangbang was amazing, I want more").
A strange erotic story about a teenage boy named Nick and his lovely big-tittied girlfriend named Gena who asked to be his mom for the role.
This story was inspired by CelineTF from DeviantArt
Being My Mom
The room was bathed in soft golden light as I pressed my lips against Gena’s, our bodies pressed together on the bed, breath mingling in the warm space between us. She tasted sweet, like the candy-flavored lip gloss she always wore, and her full, pillowy lips moved against mine with practiced ease. My hands slid down her sides, feeling every curve of her tight little body before settling on her thick thighs, squeezing gently. She let out a soft moan against my mouth, her nails digging lightly into my shoulders.
“Nick…” she whispered, her voice already breathy with want. Her enormous E-cup tits pressed against my chest, the softness making my cock twitch in my jeans.
I broke the kiss just long enough to smirk. “You’re so fucking hot, Gena.”
She giggled, her blue eyes sparkling. “You say that like you don’t tell me every day.”
“‘Cause it’s true every day,” I shot back, slipping a hand under her crop-top to palm her tits. She sighed, arching into my touch, her pink nipples already stiff beneath the fabric of her bra.
We didn’t waste time—clothes were yanked off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, until she was naked beneath me, all smooth, tanned skin and plush curves. Her tits spilled into my hands as I lowered my mouth to one perfect nipple, sucking while my fingers teased the other. She gasped, thighs tightening around my waist, already grinding down against the bulge in my boxers.
“Fuck, Nick…”
I didn’t make her wait. My boxers came off, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking once, twice, before she guided me to her soaked pussy. The first thrust made us both groan, her tight wet heat clamping around me as I bottomed out inside her.
“You feel so good,” I muttered into her neck, hips already moving slow and deep.
She whimpered, her nails scratching down my back. “Harder, baby, please—”
I obliged, pistoning into her, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. Her tits bounced with every movement, her moans going higher and more desperate as she clawed at me, pulling me deeper. I could feel her clenching around me, her thighs trembling as she got close.
“Cum for me,” I growled, tilting my hips just right to hit that spot inside her that made her scream.
Gena shattered beneath me, back arching as she came hard, her pussy squeezing my cock tight. The sight of her—flushed, gasping, tits heaving—was enough to push me over the edge. I buried myself deep as I came, groaning as warmth spilled inside her.
For a few blissful moments, we just breathed together, still joined, her fingers lazily tracing circles on my back. Then, reluctantly, I pulled out and collapsed beside her, pulling her close. She snuggled into me, her head resting on my chest, her leg draped over mine.
I stroked her blonde hair absentmindedly, enjoying the warmth of her body. But my mind was already drifting to something else—the turning of the calendar, the anticipation in my gut.
“Gena,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Next month is March.”
She hummed. “Mhm. Got something special planned?”
I hesitated, heart pounding. “You ever heard the term… ‘March Needs Mom’?”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, eyebrows raised. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, and she bit her lower lip. “I might’ve heard of it.”
I swallowed. “Would you… would you be okay with it? If—if, by the end of March, you became mine?”
Her smile turned radiant. “You mean your mom?”
“Yeah.”
She giggled, pressing a soft kiss to my throat. “I’d love that, Nick. I’ve always loved the idea of being a mom.”
A thrill shot through me. She wanted this.
And so it began.
At first, the changes were subtle. A slight rounding of her hips. A new softness to her cheeks. Then, her tits—already massive—swelled even fuller, heavier, until she had to start wearing bras just to keep them supported. I watched in fascination as each morning, Gena seemed older, more mature, her face gaining gentle laugh lines, her body filling out into a perfect, thick MILF shape.
By the second week, her waist nipped in sharply, her ass rounder, thighs thicker, until she had that perfect, fuckable hourglass figure. She wasn’t just hot anymore—she was mom hot.
And she had no idea it was happening.
“Is it just me, or have my boobs gotten bigger?” she mused one morning, adjusting her sweater awkwardly over her now-massive M-cups.
I smirked, stepping closer to palm them possessively. “Might’ve. Not complaining.”
She swatted my hand away with a playful scowl. “Nick! Don’t be weird.”
But she was blushing. And she didn’t stop me when I did it again.
Her personality shifted too—gentler, sweeter, more nurturing. She started fussing over me, making sure I ate right, fixing my clothes. By the third week, she was calling me ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’ in a voice that was unmistakably maternal.
And then, one morning, she walked into the kitchen, and my jaw dropped.
Gena was gone.
In her place stood Geraldine—my perfect, thick, buxom MILF mom. Her blonde hair was longer now, streaked with hints of silver, tied back in a loose bun. Her face was mature, beautiful, with just the right amount of wrinkles to make her look experienced. And her body—fuck—those tits were enormous, straining against her sweater, her hips wide, her ass a perfect handful. The way she moved was different too, slower, graceful, with a sway that screamed motherly confidence.
She looked up from the stove where she was cooking pancakes and smiled at me—a warm, loving smile that made my heart race.
“Morning, sweetheart,” she said, her voice richer, deeper. “Hungry?”
I could barely speak. “Yeah. Yeah, Mom.”
Her smile widened like that was the most natural thing in the world.
And when she bent over to grab the syrup from the cabinet, giving me a perfect view of her thick ass in those tight mom jeans, I knew—I was never calling her Gena again.
---
At the moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off her—Geraldine—my mom. The way her hips swayed as she moved around the kitchen, the way her huge tits bounced slightly with each step, the warm smell of pancakes and vanilla perfume filling the air. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, completely at ease, completely natural, like she’d always been my mother.
My cock throbbed in my boxers.
“Sweetheart, stop standing there and sit down,” she chided gently, pouring a glass of orange juice for me. Her fingers—older now, softer—brushed against mine as she handed it to me, and I swear I felt a jolt of electricity.
I obeyed, sliding into my seat, my eyes locked onto hers. She smiled down at me, her expression full of affection as she flipped the pancakes.
She doesn’t even know she was ever Gena.
The thought made my pulse race even faster.
She turned slightly, and my breath hitched. The morning sunlight caught the curves of her body perfectly—her waist dipped in before flaring out into those wide, motherly hips, her ass round and plump beneath her tight jeans. I could see the faint outline of her bra through her sweater, the straps digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders as they struggled to contain her heavy M-cup tits.
“Eat up, baby,” she said, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me before leaning down—oh God—her tits pressing together as she reached past me for the syrup. Her cleavage was right there, inches from my face, warm and fragrant.
I wanted to bury my face in them.
Instead, I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat to hide my growing erection. “Thanks, Mom.”
She sat across from me, smiling as she watched me eat. “You’re such a good boy.”
Fuck.
I nearly choked on my food.
The way she said it—soft, approving, maternal—sent a rush of heat straight to my dick.
---
After breakfast, she insisted on doing the laundry. I followed her like a lovesick puppy, watching as she bent over the washing machine, her jeans pulling taut over her perfect ass. My fingers itched to grab her, to pull her against me and grind my cock into that thick behind until she moaned.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Not until she really understood her place.
Later that afternoon, we sat on the couch together, watching some stupid daytime talk show. She had her legs tucked under herself, her posture relaxed, her sweater stretching over those massive tits. I pretended to be engrossed in the TV, but my mind was elsewhere.
Then, she let out a content sigh and leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You know, Nicky,” she murmured, her fingers idly playing with the hem of her shirt. “I’m really happy we’re so close.”
My heart pounded. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She lifted her head just enough to look at me, her blue eyes warm. “A mother and son should always have a strong bond.”
Her hand found mine, squeezing gently.
Oh my God. She has no idea.
I swallowed, hesitating for only a second before tightening my grip on her fingers. “Yeah… we should be close.”
She smiled, pleased.
Then—fuck it—I took the plunge.
I leaned in and kissed her.
For a second, she froze. Then, to my shock, her lips moved against mine, soft and warm, before she pulled back with a bewildered little laugh.
“Oh, Nicky,” she said, her cheeks pink. “You—you can’t kiss me like that.”
I searched her face. “Why not?”
She bit her lip, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite read. “It’s just… not what a son does.”
“But what if I want to?” I murmured, inching closer until our noses brushed.
Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling quickly. “Nicky…”
I didn’t wait for her to finish.
This time, when I kissed her, she melted.
Her lips parted under mine with a soft moan, her fingers tangling in my hair as she kissed me back—harder, needier. One of her hands slid down my chest, fingers skimming over my stomach before hesitating at the waistband of my sweatpants.
“Is this… is this okay?” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling.
I groaned, gripping her hips and pulling her into my lap. “More than okay, Mom.”
Her face flushed even deeper, but she didn’t protest as I tugged her sweater off, revealing the lacy pink bra barely containing her huge, milky tits.
“Oh God,” I breathed before burying my face in them, sucking her nipples through the fabric.
She gasped, arching into me, her thighs clenching around my hips. “Oh! Oh, baby… oh my baby…”
Her words sent a thrill through me.
She was mine now, in every way.
And as I laid her back on the couch, yanking her jeans down her thick thighs, she didn’t stop me.
Instead, she spread her legs for her son.
---
Geraldine gasped as I pulled her jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, her thick thighs trembling as they spread open for me. Her curvy body was flushed pink with arousal, her huge M-cup tits heaving with each breath as I loomed over her on the couch.
"Nick—oh god—we shouldn't... I'm your—"
"Say it, Mom," I growled, palming one of her massive breasts while my other hand trailed fingers along her soaking wet pussy lips. "Tell me who you belong to."
She moaned, her back arching as my fingers dipped inside her dripping entrance. "I-I'm your mother, baby... ohhh, yes right there!"
Her plush pussy clenched around my fingers shamelessly, her motherly instincts warring with her sudden lust for her own son. I could see the struggle in her half-lidded eyes even as she ground her hips against my hand, her thick thighs squeezing around my wrist. The way her big, milky tits jiggled with every movement sent blood rushing straight to my cock.
"Fuck, Mom, look at you," I groaned, pulling my spit-slick fingers from her pussy only to lick them clean right in front of her. She watched with wide eyes as I sucked her juices off my fingers, her plump lips parting with a needy whimper.
"You taste so sweet... kinda like that peach cobbler you made last week."
Geraldine's entire body shuddered at that, her maternal pride mingling with filthy arousal. "Nicky, you can't say things like—ahhh!" Her protest turned into a moan as I suddenly stuffed two fingers back inside her, curling them against that spongy spot that made her eyes roll back.
"Why not?" I smirked, scissoring my fingers inside her tight, wet channel. "Am I not your good boy?"
Her slick coated my hand as I finger-fucked her faster, her pussy making lewd squelching sounds that echoed in the quiet living room. Her large breasts bounced with each thrust of my fingers, her pink nipples rock hard beneath her lacy bra.
"Y-you are!" she gasped, her manicured nails digging into the couch cushions. "Y-you're my perfect boy, my good sweet son, oh god Nicky don't stop—!"
I didn't.
Instead, I ripped her bra off with my free hand, finally freeing those massive udders that had tormented me all morning. Her soft, pale flesh spilled into my hands, the sheer weight of them making my mouth water. I latched onto one stiff nipple, sucking hard while my fingers worked her pussy relentlessly.
Geraldine came with a strangled scream, her thick thighs clamping around my hand as her pussy gushed around my fingers. Her tits jiggled wildly from the force of her orgasm, milky skin flushed deep pink. I drank in every second—the way her motherly eyes glazed over with pleasure, how her manicured hands clutched at me desperately, those full lips trembling as she moaned my name.
When she finally came down from her high, panting and sweaty, I wasted no time yanking my sweatpants down and freeing my aching cock. Her heavy-lidded eyes locked onto my thick length, her pink lips parting in awe.
"My sweet boy is... so big," she breathed, one trembling hand reaching out to stroke me.
"Yours, Mom," I groaned, thrusting into her soft grip. "All yours. Want to be inside you."
Her maternal instincts should have protested. She should've stopped me right then.Instead, she spread her thick thighs even wider.
I lined up my cock with her drooling entrance, watching with rapt attention as the swollen head pressed against her slick folds. Geraldine bit her plush lower lip, her huge tits rising and falling rapidly as she nodded her consent.
Slowly—too slowly for either of our liking—I pushed inside.
Her gasp turned into a broken moan as inch after inch disappeared between her puffy outer lips. She was soaking wet, her tight walls squeezing me perfectly as I bottomed out in her velvety heat.
"Oh fuck," I groaned, gripping her wide hips. "Mom... you're so tight..."
Her glossy lips curved into a shaky smile, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. "That's because I only ever had you, sweetheart... my perfect baby boy."
The way her pussy fluttered around me at those words told me she wasn't referring to childbirth.
I started moving.
-----
Geraldine's breath hitched as I pulled out slowly, her pussy clinging to me like it didn’t want to let go. But when I thrust back in—hard—she let out a high-pitched moan, her huge tits bouncing with the force of it.
"Nnngh—oh god, Nicky!"
Her thighs trembled around my hips as I settled into a deep, relentless rhythm, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin. Her manicured nails dug into my shoulders, her face a mix of maternal adoration and carnal hunger.
"I-Is this okay, baby?" she gasped, even as she rolled her hips to meet each of my thrusts. "W-We shouldn't—ohhh!—but it feels so good..."
"Of course it's okay, Mom," I grunted, palming one of her massive tits, squeezing it roughly. "You were made for this. Made for me."
She whined, her slick walls tightening around my cock at the possessiveness in my voice. I could see the war in her eyes—the part of her that knew this was wrong battling the part that wanted to surrender completely to her son.
And as I leaned down to capture her nipple between my teeth, sucking hard while my fingers pinched the other, she didn't just surrender—she broke.
"Yours!" she screamed, her back arching as her pussy convulsed around me. "Yours yours yours, my boy, m-my good boy!"
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her whole body shaking, her thick thighs clamping around me, desperate to keep me buried inside her. I didn’t let up—couldn't let up—pounding into her through her climax, chasing my own.
Her eyes flew open, glazed over with pleasure, her plush lips swollen from biting them. "Cum inside me," she begged, her voice wrecked. "Please, baby, give it to Mommy—fill me!"
That was all I needed.
With a final brutal thrust, I buried myself as deep as I could and came, my orgasm ripping through me like a fucking explosion. Geraldine moaned, her arms circling around my neck as she held me close, whispering praise into my ear.
"That's my good boy... oh, you're so perfect... Mommy loves you so much..."
I shuddered at her words, my cock still twitching inside her as I emptied every last drop into her greedy womb.
When I finally pulled out, her pussy was a mess—my cum leaking out of her, glistening on her plump lower lips. She didn't even try to wipe it away.
Instead, she lay there, breathless and flushed, her huge tits rising as she panted. Then, with a soft giggle, she pulled me against her bosom, cradling my head like she used to when I was little.
"Mmm... my sweet baby," she murmured, stroking my hair.
I smirked, glancing up at her between the valley of her cleavage. "Love you too, Mom."
She blushed, but her smile didn't falter.
Later that night, I caught her standing in front of the mirror wearing one of Gena's old dresses—a little pink sundress that barely contained her new, thicker body.
I froze in the doorway.
She turned, her cheeks flushing as she fidgeted with the hem. "D-Does it look okay...?"
I swallowed hard.
She looked adorable. The way the dress strained against her huge tits, how it hugged every new curve of her thick, motherly body—like some perfect mix of my sweet girlfriend and my even sweeter mom.
But there was something else.
Something nostalgic in the way she played with the fabric.
Like a part of Gena was still in there somewhere.
I crossed the room in three long strides, pulling her into a deep, slow kiss.
"Perfect," I murmured against her lips. "Just like always."
She melted into me, her hands finding mine.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Maybe I could have both.
---
The end of March arrived like stealing sunlight—warm, golden, and over too soon.
I woke up with Geraldine’s thick thighs wrapped around me, her plush body pressed flush against my back, her slow breaths tickling my neck. I could feel the weight of her pillowy tits pressed between my shoulder blades, her warm pussy still sticky against my skin from last night.
A bittersweet ache settled in my chest.
Tonight, my mom would be Gena again.
I turned in her arms, drinking in every detail—the laugh lines around her soft blue eyes, the silver streaks in her messy blonde hair, the way her plump lips curved in sleep. Her motherly scent—vanilla and lavender—filled my lungs.
She stirred, blinking awake before smiling sleepily. “Mmm… morning, sweetheart.”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I crushed my lips to hers.
Geraldine made a startled sound, but she melted into the kiss almost immediately, her hands sliding down my chest eagerly. I didn’t hold back—I kissed her like it was our last day together, sucking on her tongue, biting her plump lower lip, my hands roaming every inch of her lush curves.
She broke away with a gasp. “Nicky—what’s gotten into you?”
I buried my face in her tits, inhaling deeply before murmuring against her soft skin, “Just don’t wanna forget.”
She understood.
Her fingers slid through my hair, guiding me up so she could kiss me again, slower this time. Sweeter.
“You won’t,” she whispered. “I promise.”
---
We spent the day together like any mother and son—breakfast, laundry, bad daytime TV—except our version included me bending Geraldine over the kitchen counter, fucking her brains out while she sobbed my name.
And after dinner?
We really said our goodbyes.
The bed creaked under us as I mounted her from behind, her thick ass pressed against my hips as I buried myself to the hilt. Geraldine arched her back, her huge tits swaying beneath her as she braced herself on trembling arms.
“T-Tell me again,” she panted, pushing back against me desperately. “Tell me who Mommy belongs to.”
“Me,” I growled, gripping her wide hips tight enough to bruise. “Only me.”
She wailed as I pistoned into her, our bodies slapping together obscenely. I knew she was close—she always was when I talked like that—and I wasn’t far behind.
My hands slid around to grope her massive tits, squeezing them roughly as I fucked into her harder, deeper.
“Gonna fill you up, Mom,” I grunted. “One last time.”
She came with a shattered scream, her pussy milking my cock as I spilled inside her one final time.
We collapsed together, breathless and sweating, her body curled around mine.
And then she said the words I didn’t know I needed to hear—
“I’ll remember everything… and I’ll miss you, Nicky.”
---
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows.
I rolled over, expecting warmth—expecting her.
Instead, I found Gena.
Her real face—young, bright, familiar—staring at me with soft wonder.
No silver in her hair. No laugh lines.
All Gena.
I froze.
But then—
She smiled. A slow, knowing, beautiful smile.
“So…” she murmured, stretching her arms above her head with a playful yawn. “Turns out being your mom was really fun.”
My pulse exploded.
She remembered.
Gena giggled at my expression before leaning in, pressing her lips to my ear—
“Maybe we should do it again, probably on the next March? Or should we do it on Mother's day? Or how about being your Grandma, if you want to?”
I grabbed her, flipping her onto her back as she shrieked with laughter.
Yeah.
We definitely would.
(The End.)
This story was inspired by CelineTF from DeviantArt
Being My Mom
The room was bathed in soft golden light as I pressed my lips against Gena’s, our bodies pressed together on the bed, breath mingling in the warm space between us. She tasted sweet, like the candy-flavored lip gloss she always wore, and her full, pillowy lips moved against mine with practiced ease. My hands slid down her sides, feeling every curve of her tight little body before settling on her thick thighs, squeezing gently. She let out a soft moan against my mouth, her nails digging lightly into my shoulders.
“Nick…” she whispered, her voice already breathy with want. Her enormous E-cup tits pressed against my chest, the softness making my cock twitch in my jeans.
I broke the kiss just long enough to smirk. “You’re so fucking hot, Gena.”
She giggled, her blue eyes sparkling. “You say that like you don’t tell me every day.”
“‘Cause it’s true every day,” I shot back, slipping a hand under her crop-top to palm her tits. She sighed, arching into my touch, her pink nipples already stiff beneath the fabric of her bra.
We didn’t waste time—clothes were yanked off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, until she was naked beneath me, all smooth, tanned skin and plush curves. Her tits spilled into my hands as I lowered my mouth to one perfect nipple, sucking while my fingers teased the other. She gasped, thighs tightening around my waist, already grinding down against the bulge in my boxers.
“Fuck, Nick…”
I didn’t make her wait. My boxers came off, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking once, twice, before she guided me to her soaked pussy. The first thrust made us both groan, her tight wet heat clamping around me as I bottomed out inside her.
“You feel so good,” I muttered into her neck, hips already moving slow and deep.
She whimpered, her nails scratching down my back. “Harder, baby, please—”
I obliged, pistoning into her, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. Her tits bounced with every movement, her moans going higher and more desperate as she clawed at me, pulling me deeper. I could feel her clenching around me, her thighs trembling as she got close.
“Cum for me,” I growled, tilting my hips just right to hit that spot inside her that made her scream.
Gena shattered beneath me, back arching as she came hard, her pussy squeezing my cock tight. The sight of her—flushed, gasping, tits heaving—was enough to push me over the edge. I buried myself deep as I came, groaning as warmth spilled inside her.
For a few blissful moments, we just breathed together, still joined, her fingers lazily tracing circles on my back. Then, reluctantly, I pulled out and collapsed beside her, pulling her close. She snuggled into me, her head resting on my chest, her leg draped over mine.
I stroked her blonde hair absentmindedly, enjoying the warmth of her body. But my mind was already drifting to something else—the turning of the calendar, the anticipation in my gut.
“Gena,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Next month is March.”
She hummed. “Mhm. Got something special planned?”
I hesitated, heart pounding. “You ever heard the term… ‘March Needs Mom’?”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, eyebrows raised. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, and she bit her lower lip. “I might’ve heard of it.”
I swallowed. “Would you… would you be okay with it? If—if, by the end of March, you became mine?”
Her smile turned radiant. “You mean your mom?”
“Yeah.”
She giggled, pressing a soft kiss to my throat. “I’d love that, Nick. I’ve always loved the idea of being a mom.”
A thrill shot through me. She wanted this.
And so it began.
At first, the changes were subtle. A slight rounding of her hips. A new softness to her cheeks. Then, her tits—already massive—swelled even fuller, heavier, until she had to start wearing bras just to keep them supported. I watched in fascination as each morning, Gena seemed older, more mature, her face gaining gentle laugh lines, her body filling out into a perfect, thick MILF shape.
By the second week, her waist nipped in sharply, her ass rounder, thighs thicker, until she had that perfect, fuckable hourglass figure. She wasn’t just hot anymore—she was mom hot.
And she had no idea it was happening.
“Is it just me, or have my boobs gotten bigger?” she mused one morning, adjusting her sweater awkwardly over her now-massive M-cups.
I smirked, stepping closer to palm them possessively. “Might’ve. Not complaining.”
She swatted my hand away with a playful scowl. “Nick! Don’t be weird.”
But she was blushing. And she didn’t stop me when I did it again.
Her personality shifted too—gentler, sweeter, more nurturing. She started fussing over me, making sure I ate right, fixing my clothes. By the third week, she was calling me ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’ in a voice that was unmistakably maternal.
And then, one morning, she walked into the kitchen, and my jaw dropped.
Gena was gone.
In her place stood Geraldine—my perfect, thick, buxom MILF mom. Her blonde hair was longer now, streaked with hints of silver, tied back in a loose bun. Her face was mature, beautiful, with just the right amount of wrinkles to make her look experienced. And her body—fuck—those tits were enormous, straining against her sweater, her hips wide, her ass a perfect handful. The way she moved was different too, slower, graceful, with a sway that screamed motherly confidence.
She looked up from the stove where she was cooking pancakes and smiled at me—a warm, loving smile that made my heart race.
“Morning, sweetheart,” she said, her voice richer, deeper. “Hungry?”
I could barely speak. “Yeah. Yeah, Mom.”
Her smile widened like that was the most natural thing in the world.
And when she bent over to grab the syrup from the cabinet, giving me a perfect view of her thick ass in those tight mom jeans, I knew—I was never calling her Gena again.
---
At the moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off her—Geraldine—my mom. The way her hips swayed as she moved around the kitchen, the way her huge tits bounced slightly with each step, the warm smell of pancakes and vanilla perfume filling the air. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, completely at ease, completely natural, like she’d always been my mother.
My cock throbbed in my boxers.
“Sweetheart, stop standing there and sit down,” she chided gently, pouring a glass of orange juice for me. Her fingers—older now, softer—brushed against mine as she handed it to me, and I swear I felt a jolt of electricity.
I obeyed, sliding into my seat, my eyes locked onto hers. She smiled down at me, her expression full of affection as she flipped the pancakes.
She doesn’t even know she was ever Gena.
The thought made my pulse race even faster.
She turned slightly, and my breath hitched. The morning sunlight caught the curves of her body perfectly—her waist dipped in before flaring out into those wide, motherly hips, her ass round and plump beneath her tight jeans. I could see the faint outline of her bra through her sweater, the straps digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders as they struggled to contain her heavy M-cup tits.
“Eat up, baby,” she said, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me before leaning down—oh God—her tits pressing together as she reached past me for the syrup. Her cleavage was right there, inches from my face, warm and fragrant.
I wanted to bury my face in them.
Instead, I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat to hide my growing erection. “Thanks, Mom.”
She sat across from me, smiling as she watched me eat. “You’re such a good boy.”
Fuck.
I nearly choked on my food.
The way she said it—soft, approving, maternal—sent a rush of heat straight to my dick.
---
After breakfast, she insisted on doing the laundry. I followed her like a lovesick puppy, watching as she bent over the washing machine, her jeans pulling taut over her perfect ass. My fingers itched to grab her, to pull her against me and grind my cock into that thick behind until she moaned.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Not until she really understood her place.
Later that afternoon, we sat on the couch together, watching some stupid daytime talk show. She had her legs tucked under herself, her posture relaxed, her sweater stretching over those massive tits. I pretended to be engrossed in the TV, but my mind was elsewhere.
Then, she let out a content sigh and leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You know, Nicky,” she murmured, her fingers idly playing with the hem of her shirt. “I’m really happy we’re so close.”
My heart pounded. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She lifted her head just enough to look at me, her blue eyes warm. “A mother and son should always have a strong bond.”
Her hand found mine, squeezing gently.
Oh my God. She has no idea.
I swallowed, hesitating for only a second before tightening my grip on her fingers. “Yeah… we should be close.”
She smiled, pleased.
Then—fuck it—I took the plunge.
I leaned in and kissed her.
For a second, she froze. Then, to my shock, her lips moved against mine, soft and warm, before she pulled back with a bewildered little laugh.
“Oh, Nicky,” she said, her cheeks pink. “You—you can’t kiss me like that.”
I searched her face. “Why not?”
She bit her lip, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite read. “It’s just… not what a son does.”
“But what if I want to?” I murmured, inching closer until our noses brushed.
Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling quickly. “Nicky…”
I didn’t wait for her to finish.
This time, when I kissed her, she melted.
Her lips parted under mine with a soft moan, her fingers tangling in my hair as she kissed me back—harder, needier. One of her hands slid down my chest, fingers skimming over my stomach before hesitating at the waistband of my sweatpants.
“Is this… is this okay?” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling.
I groaned, gripping her hips and pulling her into my lap. “More than okay, Mom.”
Her face flushed even deeper, but she didn’t protest as I tugged her sweater off, revealing the lacy pink bra barely containing her huge, milky tits.
“Oh God,” I breathed before burying my face in them, sucking her nipples through the fabric.
She gasped, arching into me, her thighs clenching around my hips. “Oh! Oh, baby… oh my baby…”
Her words sent a thrill through me.
She was mine now, in every way.
And as I laid her back on the couch, yanking her jeans down her thick thighs, she didn’t stop me.
Instead, she spread her legs for her son.
---
Geraldine gasped as I pulled her jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, her thick thighs trembling as they spread open for me. Her curvy body was flushed pink with arousal, her huge M-cup tits heaving with each breath as I loomed over her on the couch.
"Nick—oh god—we shouldn't... I'm your—"
"Say it, Mom," I growled, palming one of her massive breasts while my other hand trailed fingers along her soaking wet pussy lips. "Tell me who you belong to."
She moaned, her back arching as my fingers dipped inside her dripping entrance. "I-I'm your mother, baby... ohhh, yes right there!"
Her plush pussy clenched around my fingers shamelessly, her motherly instincts warring with her sudden lust for her own son. I could see the struggle in her half-lidded eyes even as she ground her hips against my hand, her thick thighs squeezing around my wrist. The way her big, milky tits jiggled with every movement sent blood rushing straight to my cock.
"Fuck, Mom, look at you," I groaned, pulling my spit-slick fingers from her pussy only to lick them clean right in front of her. She watched with wide eyes as I sucked her juices off my fingers, her plump lips parting with a needy whimper.
"You taste so sweet... kinda like that peach cobbler you made last week."
Geraldine's entire body shuddered at that, her maternal pride mingling with filthy arousal. "Nicky, you can't say things like—ahhh!" Her protest turned into a moan as I suddenly stuffed two fingers back inside her, curling them against that spongy spot that made her eyes roll back.
"Why not?" I smirked, scissoring my fingers inside her tight, wet channel. "Am I not your good boy?"
Her slick coated my hand as I finger-fucked her faster, her pussy making lewd squelching sounds that echoed in the quiet living room. Her large breasts bounced with each thrust of my fingers, her pink nipples rock hard beneath her lacy bra.
"Y-you are!" she gasped, her manicured nails digging into the couch cushions. "Y-you're my perfect boy, my good sweet son, oh god Nicky don't stop—!"
I didn't.
Instead, I ripped her bra off with my free hand, finally freeing those massive udders that had tormented me all morning. Her soft, pale flesh spilled into my hands, the sheer weight of them making my mouth water. I latched onto one stiff nipple, sucking hard while my fingers worked her pussy relentlessly.
Geraldine came with a strangled scream, her thick thighs clamping around my hand as her pussy gushed around my fingers. Her tits jiggled wildly from the force of her orgasm, milky skin flushed deep pink. I drank in every second—the way her motherly eyes glazed over with pleasure, how her manicured hands clutched at me desperately, those full lips trembling as she moaned my name.
When she finally came down from her high, panting and sweaty, I wasted no time yanking my sweatpants down and freeing my aching cock. Her heavy-lidded eyes locked onto my thick length, her pink lips parting in awe.
"My sweet boy is... so big," she breathed, one trembling hand reaching out to stroke me.
"Yours, Mom," I groaned, thrusting into her soft grip. "All yours. Want to be inside you."
Her maternal instincts should have protested. She should've stopped me right then.Instead, she spread her thick thighs even wider.
I lined up my cock with her drooling entrance, watching with rapt attention as the swollen head pressed against her slick folds. Geraldine bit her plush lower lip, her huge tits rising and falling rapidly as she nodded her consent.
Slowly—too slowly for either of our liking—I pushed inside.
Her gasp turned into a broken moan as inch after inch disappeared between her puffy outer lips. She was soaking wet, her tight walls squeezing me perfectly as I bottomed out in her velvety heat.
"Oh fuck," I groaned, gripping her wide hips. "Mom... you're so tight..."
Her glossy lips curved into a shaky smile, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. "That's because I only ever had you, sweetheart... my perfect baby boy."
The way her pussy fluttered around me at those words told me she wasn't referring to childbirth.
I started moving.
-----
Geraldine's breath hitched as I pulled out slowly, her pussy clinging to me like it didn’t want to let go. But when I thrust back in—hard—she let out a high-pitched moan, her huge tits bouncing with the force of it.
"Nnngh—oh god, Nicky!"
Her thighs trembled around my hips as I settled into a deep, relentless rhythm, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin. Her manicured nails dug into my shoulders, her face a mix of maternal adoration and carnal hunger.
"I-Is this okay, baby?" she gasped, even as she rolled her hips to meet each of my thrusts. "W-We shouldn't—ohhh!—but it feels so good..."
"Of course it's okay, Mom," I grunted, palming one of her massive tits, squeezing it roughly. "You were made for this. Made for me."
She whined, her slick walls tightening around my cock at the possessiveness in my voice. I could see the war in her eyes—the part of her that knew this was wrong battling the part that wanted to surrender completely to her son.
And as I leaned down to capture her nipple between my teeth, sucking hard while my fingers pinched the other, she didn't just surrender—she broke.
"Yours!" she screamed, her back arching as her pussy convulsed around me. "Yours yours yours, my boy, m-my good boy!"
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her whole body shaking, her thick thighs clamping around me, desperate to keep me buried inside her. I didn’t let up—couldn't let up—pounding into her through her climax, chasing my own.
Her eyes flew open, glazed over with pleasure, her plush lips swollen from biting them. "Cum inside me," she begged, her voice wrecked. "Please, baby, give it to Mommy—fill me!"
That was all I needed.
With a final brutal thrust, I buried myself as deep as I could and came, my orgasm ripping through me like a fucking explosion. Geraldine moaned, her arms circling around my neck as she held me close, whispering praise into my ear.
"That's my good boy... oh, you're so perfect... Mommy loves you so much..."
I shuddered at her words, my cock still twitching inside her as I emptied every last drop into her greedy womb.
When I finally pulled out, her pussy was a mess—my cum leaking out of her, glistening on her plump lower lips. She didn't even try to wipe it away.
Instead, she lay there, breathless and flushed, her huge tits rising as she panted. Then, with a soft giggle, she pulled me against her bosom, cradling my head like she used to when I was little.
"Mmm... my sweet baby," she murmured, stroking my hair.
I smirked, glancing up at her between the valley of her cleavage. "Love you too, Mom."
She blushed, but her smile didn't falter.
Later that night, I caught her standing in front of the mirror wearing one of Gena's old dresses—a little pink sundress that barely contained her new, thicker body.
I froze in the doorway.
She turned, her cheeks flushing as she fidgeted with the hem. "D-Does it look okay...?"
I swallowed hard.
She looked adorable. The way the dress strained against her huge tits, how it hugged every new curve of her thick, motherly body—like some perfect mix of my sweet girlfriend and my even sweeter mom.
But there was something else.
Something nostalgic in the way she played with the fabric.
Like a part of Gena was still in there somewhere.
I crossed the room in three long strides, pulling her into a deep, slow kiss.
"Perfect," I murmured against her lips. "Just like always."
She melted into me, her hands finding mine.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Maybe I could have both.
---
The end of March arrived like stealing sunlight—warm, golden, and over too soon.
I woke up with Geraldine’s thick thighs wrapped around me, her plush body pressed flush against my back, her slow breaths tickling my neck. I could feel the weight of her pillowy tits pressed between my shoulder blades, her warm pussy still sticky against my skin from last night.
A bittersweet ache settled in my chest.
Tonight, my mom would be Gena again.
I turned in her arms, drinking in every detail—the laugh lines around her soft blue eyes, the silver streaks in her messy blonde hair, the way her plump lips curved in sleep. Her motherly scent—vanilla and lavender—filled my lungs.
She stirred, blinking awake before smiling sleepily. “Mmm… morning, sweetheart.”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I crushed my lips to hers.
Geraldine made a startled sound, but she melted into the kiss almost immediately, her hands sliding down my chest eagerly. I didn’t hold back—I kissed her like it was our last day together, sucking on her tongue, biting her plump lower lip, my hands roaming every inch of her lush curves.
She broke away with a gasp. “Nicky—what’s gotten into you?”
I buried my face in her tits, inhaling deeply before murmuring against her soft skin, “Just don’t wanna forget.”
She understood.
Her fingers slid through my hair, guiding me up so she could kiss me again, slower this time. Sweeter.
“You won’t,” she whispered. “I promise.”
---
We spent the day together like any mother and son—breakfast, laundry, bad daytime TV—except our version included me bending Geraldine over the kitchen counter, fucking her brains out while she sobbed my name.
And after dinner?
We really said our goodbyes.
The bed creaked under us as I mounted her from behind, her thick ass pressed against my hips as I buried myself to the hilt. Geraldine arched her back, her huge tits swaying beneath her as she braced herself on trembling arms.
“T-Tell me again,” she panted, pushing back against me desperately. “Tell me who Mommy belongs to.”
“Me,” I growled, gripping her wide hips tight enough to bruise. “Only me.”
She wailed as I pistoned into her, our bodies slapping together obscenely. I knew she was close—she always was when I talked like that—and I wasn’t far behind.
My hands slid around to grope her massive tits, squeezing them roughly as I fucked into her harder, deeper.
“Gonna fill you up, Mom,” I grunted. “One last time.”
She came with a shattered scream, her pussy milking my cock as I spilled inside her one final time.
We collapsed together, breathless and sweating, her body curled around mine.
And then she said the words I didn’t know I needed to hear—
“I’ll remember everything… and I’ll miss you, Nicky.”
---
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows.
I rolled over, expecting warmth—expecting her.
Instead, I found Gena.
Her real face—young, bright, familiar—staring at me with soft wonder.
No silver in her hair. No laugh lines.
All Gena.
I froze.
But then—
She smiled. A slow, knowing, beautiful smile.
“So…” she murmured, stretching her arms above her head with a playful yawn. “Turns out being your mom was really fun.”
My pulse exploded.
She remembered.
Gena giggled at my expression before leaning in, pressing her lips to my ear—
“Maybe we should do it again, probably on the next March? Or should we do it on Mother's day? Or how about being your Grandma, if you want to?”
I grabbed her, flipping her onto her back as she shrieked with laughter.
Yeah.
We definitely would.
(The End.)
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