Women have Needs
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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.
mind control body modification huge tits
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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.)
Kent is young guy that has to spend the summer paying off his debt after accidentally damaging his bitch of a neighbour Julie’s car while playing a game with his friend Marcus. Kent resigns himself to working as Julie’s glorified servant, that is until he finds an odd looking idol that allows him to possess her body. Now with a summer of freedom ahead and Julie’s hot body to do with as he pleases, Kent is looking forward to making up for lost time and having some fun.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
Zoe had a wonderful life! That was until everything just went wrong. No relationship, no job, and most of her stuff got stolen. Zoe finds herself the Queen of a host of mind-controlling parasites. And she figures it's about time that she takes her life back and more.
Zoe slowly poked at her eggs as she munched on a piece of bacon. It was a little crispier than she had hoped, breaking easily in her mouth as she chewed. Her mind was adrift, not focused on the food but on a possible announcement today at work. While she had only heard sparse whispers and rumors, there was a chance that her division was up for a promotion. Her toes curled at the thought of being able to finally move up in the workplace. After all, that meant better hours, better workloads, and a better paycheck. She had been putting in the work over the past few weeks in hopes that it would put her in the spotlight. There really wasn’t anyone else better suited for the position than her.
“I can just feel it! Today is the day that everything changes for the better!” Zoe said as she bit down again on some bacon. She wiggled a little in her chair and kicked her legs excitedly. Zoe grabbed her phone and sent another text to her boyfriend, expressing her delight, before realizing the time.
“Shoot! I need to get ready! I can’t be late!”
Zoe finished up the last of her food before she rushed to the bedroom to pick out her clothes. She decided on a nice purple cotton tee that had a bit of a deep V-neck to it and slipped it over the black bra she had on. She ruffled through her drawers before she found a navy blue pair of leggings that she put on over top of her pink satin panties. She grabbed her uniform coat, which was neatly hung up on a coat hanger and put it on.
“Looking promotion ready,” Zoe said as she adjusted her clothes in the mirror. She grabbed her keys and her purse and left her apartment. As she was about to lock up her apartment, a voice called out to her.
“Heading out to work?” asked Juniper, the neighbor to Zoe’s left. She waved to Zoe as she saw Zoe heading out.
“Yep!” Zoe said, the extra pep in her step very visible.
“Well, someone’s energetic,” Juniper said with a smile. “Something good is happening today? Will it be the day that Stanley finally proposes? Has he been dropping hints?”
“No idea, but anything’s possible!” Zoe said, matching Juniper’s smile.
She didn’t quite mind having Juniper as a neighbor. Far better than the grouch of a man called Frederick who lived on the other side of Zoe. There were a few times that Juniper was annoying, such as playing her music a tad too loud or the times that Zoe could hear every orgasm Juniper had and caused through the walls, but outside of those times, Juniper was an ideal neighbor to have.
“Well, I love your energy today.” Juniper walked over and put something in Zoe’s hand. “Here, the spirits say that you’ll need this today.” Zoe looked down at her palm and looked at a small little jade four leaf clover sat in her hand.
“Thanks Juniper!” Zoe said as she tucked it into her breast pocket.
“The winds of change are blowing,” Juniper said as she closed her eyes and began to walk away. “Be wary, Zoe!” Then, she turned a corner and disappeared.
Zoe shrugged, having long given up trying to understand Juniper years ago. At this point, she just accepted the strangeness. She couldn’t deny that she liked the strange energy Juniper had from time to time.
Time.
Time.
“Shit!” Zoe quickly scrambled her way towards her car as she realized that it was getting later and later. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late for work. Her car rumbled to life and in a few moments, she was making her way towards SMILK INC.
It had always been her dream to work at such a prestigious place. It was one of the top research labs in the country. There, they researched all sorts of topics, from new robotics to parasites to even space travel. It was through her hard work, as well as her volunteer hours that she had painstakingly put in the effort for, that she had landed a job as a researcher. Even if it was the lowest available, she was still working at SMILK INC.
Sure, it wasn’t nearly as prestigious as being able to coast off of royalties like her sister, nor was she able to live in as nice a house as her. Zoe’s fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel as the thought of her sister, Sabrina. But, then she took a deep breath and was able to unclench the steering wheel.
“No, today won’t be about her. It’s going to be about me. I have been working hard. We are a shoe-in for that promotion!” Zoe said as she pumped herself back up.
She hummed along to the radio as she finished up her drive, ignoring the signs for Sabrina’s newest book on billboards that she passed by. After a fairly short drive, she reached the employee parking lot for SMILK INC. Zoe reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, excited to see a text from Stanley texting her good morning. She dialed him and held her phone up to her ear. After a few short rings, he picked up.
“Hey babe!” Zoe said, her excitement building up again. “I hope you slept well.”
“Uh, yeah, I did,” Stanley said, with a bit of a light chuckle. There was a bit of extra noise, but it sounded like the TV was on in the background. “What got you so excited?”
“Well, nothing has been confirmed, but, I do want to say that I think there is a really good chance that my division will get promoted today,” Zoe said, hardly able to contain her joy.
“Really?” Stanley said with another light chuckle. “Wow, that’s great Zoe. I’m happy for you.”
“Well, again, nothing has been confirmed, but I have a really good feeling.” Zoe had a wide smile on her face. “So, I will let you know how things go.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Stanley said. There was a bit of a pause before he responded again. “Well, hey, I should let you get to work. Don’t let me keep you. Good luck.”
“Oh, uh,” Zoe said before she heard the sound of the phone call ending, “Uh, bye. Thanks for the good luck. Love you too.” She was a little annoyed, but he was right. She did need to focus on work. She stepped out of her car and made her way into the building.
She greeted the security guard and headed right to her section of the lab. Zoe worked in the zoology department, helping non-pet animals with different diseases and ailments. As she entered the lab, the animals all gave her a rousing and loud greeting.
“Good morning everyone!” Zoe said as she set down her purse at her desk. She headed over to where her coworkers were all crowded around. “What’s got everyone’s attention?”
Her coworkers turned to Zoe, their faces long and expression drooped down. One of them pointed to a paper that was hung up on the bulletin board, and they moved aside to let Zoe read it. Her eyes scanned over the paper as she read it.
“To all employees of SMILK INC., please report to the main lobby area for an important meeting at 10 AM. Attendance is mandatory. Signed, Head CEO Garrett Young.”
Zoe crossed her arms and her expression matched her coworkers. “Everyone has to be present?” She felt a pit starting to form in her stomach as she set an alarm on her watch. “Oh boy.”
“Someone’s getting fired,” Jamison, one of Zoe’s coworkers, murmured.
“It’s not just one person. It’s gonna be a whole division,” Ashley, a different coworker, responded.
“No way. That couldn’t be possible, could it?” asked Jamison.
“Why would everyone need to be present for that?” asked Barbara, another coworker.
“Duh, it’s a show of dominance. That any division could be cut away. No one is safe,” Ashley said.
“Everyone, relax,” Zoe said as she turned to everyone. “Relax. I mean, come on. We’re an important branch of SMILK. We’re Division 4, dammit! There’s no way they can cut us with all that we do.” She tried her best to swallow her fears and put on a brave face for the rest of her coworkers. “Now, what do we have to do today? Let’s keep working like we’re not getting fired, okay? Otherwise, we’ll definitely be on the chopping block next time something like this comes around.”
The rest of her coworkers looked at each other before nodding in agreement. They started to head to their designated tasks for today, trying their best to distract themselves from the upcoming meeting.
With a heavy sigh, Zoe got herself pumped up and looked over the posting about what she was supposed to be doing today. “Let’s see what they have me assigned to.” Zoe finds her name assigned to a fringe case.
These were cases that didn’t quite fit for anywhere else. Usually situations where an animal was found and it wasn’t exactly clear what was wrong. It didn’t fit any other known cases or conditions that they were aware of.
Zoe made her way down to Room 159 where she opened up the closet door. She put on a hazmat suit, then headed inside. “What’s the situation?”
Before her was a large brown bear, unconscious on an operating table. Inside the room, there were two SMILK guards, both armed with tranquilizer weapons if something were to go wrong. Two other SMILK lab agents were there with her, both wearing hazmat suits. Across the room, separated by a sheet of reinforced glass, was a man in a park ranger’s uniform watching the whole thing. The park ranger leaned in close to a microphone to speak to Zoe.
“This is Henry the bear. Lately, he’s been acting really weird. I went to check on him and, well, just look at his chest!”
Zoe looked a little surprised, but shrugged. She turned over the bear and looked at his chest.
Rather than the usual tufts of fur that would be expected, there was a hole in the chest and she could see right through to the heart. But, weirdly, the hole around was scabbed over in some strange purple material that didn’t look like scabbing. The heart was still beating and it didn’t look like there was any sign of usual infections despite the gaping hole. As she looked closer, she could see something that looked like worms or leeches around the heart. Zoe picked up a small scalpel and poked at the worms, which wiggled at the touch and caused the bear to shuffle around.
“What the hell?” she said, picking up a small flashlight to get better lighting. “What kind of parasites are these?” She gestured to one of the lab agents. “Get me a syringe of lebentizole, a pair of long thin-neck tweezers, a collection dish, and a sprayer of etheriazen.” The lab agent nodded and quickly gathered up the supplies that Zoe needed. While they did that, Zoe gestured to the armed guards. “Guards, I’m going to try our usual parasite removal process. And that may cause the bear to be agitated. You two, be ready in case something happens. Firing word is LIMO. Got it?” The guards nodded at her and raised their weapons as the agent handed the supplies to Zoe.
Zoe carefully took the syringe and injected it into the mass of parasites. “This is going to loosen them right up. And now, the removal process.” She leaned in close with the tweezers and began to remove the parasites one by one. She dropped them into the collection dish carefully, so as not to disturb them. To an untrained hand, this would have taken several hours to do; but Zoe’s training allowed her to finish in just under a few.
“And now, the hard part.” She picked up the sprayer and aimed it at the wound on the bear. “Spraying etheriazen in three… two… one!” As soon as she sprayed, the bear recoiled as the chemicals hit its body. Zoe ducked out of the way of the thrashing as the bear flailed wildly on the table, knocking over various pieces of equipment nearby. The guards raised their weapons, but Zoe held her hand up to stop them. “Wait! Not yet!” A few moments later, the bear stopped, going back to a calming rest on the table. “Everyone alright?”
Zoe looked around, seeing the equipment and supplies that had been knocked over. Nothing seemed to be too badly destroyed, at least not to the extent that it couldn’t be fixed. The agents and guards all gave a thumbs-up.
“Great, we’re all good then.” Zoe lifted up the paw of the bear to check on the hole in its chest. To her delight, the etheriazen was doing its job and sealing the wound back up. She turned to the park ranger and gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re all good here.” Zoe pointed to one of the agents. “Escort the patient out of here to monitor and recover.”
The park ranger clapped as Zoe and one of the other agents began to clean up the room. The agent Zoe singled out and the two guards went to transport the bear out of the room.
“So, are you nervous?” the agent asked as it picked up some surgery tools off the ground.
“Nah, that was just a run of the mill parasite removal,” Zoe said as she cleaned up a small spill.
“No, not that. I mean about the meeting.”
Zoe shook her head. “Listen, I think that we’re going to be fine. I mean, we do important work here at SMILK! Take the bear we just had. Imagine if whatever that bear had got out into the world uncontrollably. Who knows what danger that could happen.” Zoe picked up the collection dish of parasites. “I am going to contain these properly. You finish up cleaning here. Alright?”
“Yes ma’am.”
With that, Zoe left the room, holding the collection dish. She made her way down a set of halls to the Containment Room.
“Alright, whatever the hell you all are. You guys are going into containment until we can figure out what you are.”
She opened up one of the sterile containment boxes and started to put the parasites in, one by one. As she did, she picked up one and looked at it. The parasites looked almost like worms or leeches, but about an inch long and had a gaping mouth on one end with teeth. They were an odd purple color.
“What are yo-”
BEEP BEEP BEEP!
Zoe’s watch alarm startled her, causing her to drop the parasite.
“Shit! Is it time already?” Zoe quickly glanced at her watch. “Okay, let’s just get you all in there quickly!” She picked up the collection dish and poured the rest of them into the box before shoving it into an open slot in a set of boxes. “I’ll worry about filling out the paperwork after!” She quickly rushed out of the Containment room and scrambled to get to the meeting.
Zoe rushed her way to the main lobby, where all the other workers had gathered. She panted, out of breath as she joined up with her division.
“There you are, Zoe!” one of her coworkers said. “What happened?”
“I was down in Containment dealing with a case. Did I miss anything yet?” Zoe asked as she finally caught her breath.
“Not yet. The CEO is about to start,” another coworker said as he hushed and pointed to Garrett Young, who was standing up on a balcony.
“People of SMILK INC!” Garrett said, causing the crowd of employees to hush down. “As I am sure many of you are aware, I come bearing both good and bad news. Firstly, the good news! I have been watching and monitoring the reviews and progress of all the divisions. And, it is with great pleasure that I announce that this year, the Division Promotion will be given to…” Garrett opened up an envelope before reading the contents. “Division 16!”
Zoe’s heart sank more than before. She had tried her hardest to make Division 4 earn that promotion. Despite all the hard effort and all her gusto, Zoe couldn’t help but feel deflated after hearing the news. Still, she clung onto hope as she clutched onto the small jade four leaf clover that Juniper gave her. Even if they didn’t get the promotion, things weren’t all bad.
“And now for the bad news. Due to changes in the economy and new policies that come from the government, we do have to make cuts. So, it is with a heavy heart that I announce that Divisions 4, 13, and 25 will be closed down. You have until the end of the day to pack up your belongings. And, of course, we will know if you take anything that doesn’t belong to you.”
Things were all bad.
Zoe fell to her knees. As much as she wanted to, tears didn’t fall from her face. She didn’t even know why. She wasn’t putting on any brave face, but at the same time, everything felt like it was crumbling around her. The rest of whatever Garrett was talking about was a complete blur to her as she dissociated. She turned to see her fellow coworkers in Division 4 consoling each other and crying on shoulders. Some people she recognized from Division 25 had come over give them hugs and comfort as best as they could.
Zoe’s body felt heavy. It felt numb. She didn’t feel anything as she picked up her lunch from the break room. Her desk trinkets might have well as been as light as air the way she packed them without thinking. All sound was muffled to her, in one ear and out the other. She couldn’t tell whether coworkers were upset at the choices made, or at her for giving them hope. Zoe didn’t care. It felt like nothing mattered right now.
Zoe didn’t snap back to reality until she realized she was sitting in her car, holding her phone with her boyfriend’s number at the ready. Absent-mindedly, she dialed him to tell him the tragic news.
“Stanley… I… got let go from work today. They just announced it and… I finished packing up all my stuff. I just…” She sniffled, still feeling incredibly numb. “I know you’re probably busy right now, but… I need you dear… So, can I come-”
“Shit! Did you accidentally accept the call? How long has this call been going?” Stanley said, clearly not directing his voice to Zoe.
“Oops, sorry! Maybe she didn’t hear anything.”
The call hung up as Zoe stared beyond the horizon. That second voice was none other than her sister, Sabrina. Zoe recognized the out of breath nature of Stanley. Her mind clicked to what happened, but she didn’t want to accept it. No matter how she tried to reframe it, there was no mistaking it. She had called them while the two of them were doing each other and Sabrina accidentally accepted the call.
How? How long? How long had this been going on? Had she been played like a fool for days? Weeks? Months? Maybe even years? Zoe clutched her chest as she breathed shakily. Had she angered some sort of divinity? Did she accidentally piss off a witch and was cursed? Was she just doomed to the worst day imaginable?
The next thing Zoe knew, she was back at the parking lot at her apartment. Her body had autopiloted its way back home. She slowly got out of the car, leaving her belongings inside. She shuffled to the door, going through the keys to find the one to her apartment.
As she was inserting the key, the door opened up on its own.
Confusion quickly turned to utter fear as she creaked open the door, seeing barren floors and walls. There was nothing. No furniture. No valuables. Anything remotely expensive had been taken.
Her mind flashed back to this morning. Juniper. She had talked to Zoe before Zoe locked her door. She left her apartment unlocked.
Zoe walked from room to room, looking at the barren spots where valuables and little trinkets had been, collecting dust. The only thing that had been left behind was the bed that couldn’t fit out of the doorframe.
She had no job. No boyfriend. And now, nothing in her apartment. Not even mind-numbing trash TV was an option for her.
She faceplanted down onto her bed, utterly limp. She kicked off her shoes and stared into the darkness. It was at this moment that tears finally fell from Zoe’s eyes. She had nothing. Everything was just gone. All her hard work, all her efforts, all her life was taken from her in a single day. Zoe rolled over and stared at the ceiling as the tears continued to stream down her face.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “There’s no way that this day could get any fucking worse!”
Then, she felt something. Something crawling on her leg. Zoe looked down, seeing nothing at first. Then, she sat up to try and get a better angle. There was one of the worm things from earlier.
Unknown to Zoe at the time, when the watch alarm startled her, the parasite she was holding didn’t drop down back into the collection dish. Instead, it hit the rim of the dish and bounced off, and landed into a part of her shoe that she couldn’t feel. It had stuck with her the whole time.
Before Zoe’s mind could comprehend anything more, after being beaten and battered all day with bad thing after bad thing, the parasite arched back. It let out a horrific scream before it suddenly lunged at Zoe.
That was the last thing she remembered before everything went black.
Zoe groaned awake as her eyes fluttered open.
“What happened?”
She looked around, finding herself in her room. As her eyes went over the empty spaces where her things used to be, she began to recall.
“Oh, right.” She slammed her fist on her bed. It hadn’t been a nightmare. The firing. The cheating. The robbery. The parasite.
The parasite.
Zoe quickly checked her body for any sign of the parasite. There was a hole in her shirt, but to her shock, her body looked untouched. To double check, she rushed to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. There was one big noticeable change. Her irises were a vivid purple color now.
“What the fuck happened?”
Zoe felt a strange feeling in her throat. She coughed, then coughed again, then harder and harder until she eventually spit something up. Inside of her bathroom sink was one of the worm parasites. Zoe shrieked and backed away, falling to the ground as the parasite wiggled to the edge of the counter.
“My queen, what is your command?”
Zoe shrieked again. There was no way that thing just fucking talked! Now she had lost her mind. She was crazy. The stress and trauma of everything today made her go insane and now she was spitting up parasites and they were talking to her.
“My queen, what is your command?” the parasite asked again.
“What the fuck is going on!?” Zoe shouted.
“Ah, you are confused, my queen.” The parasite inched a little closer to the edge of the sink. “You are the queen of the Thaviothes. Normally, we take over a host and control them, but, there was something different about you. I believe when we tried to attack your heart, there was something that reacted with us.”
Zoe looked down at her chest, where the hole was. She reached into the breast pocket and pulled out half of the jade trinket that Juniper had given her.
“Ah, that would be it. That caused a chemical and biological reaction in us. Rather than you being subservient to us, we are now subservient to you. Though, we did bond with you, and that shared some of your intelligence with us.” The parasite nodded its head, as if it was bowing. “You are our queen. The legion of Thaviothes is at your command.”
“Legion of Thaviothes?” Zoe said. As the words left her lips, somehow, in some way, it felt right. It felt like a normal fact. She turned to the parasite. “What can you do?”
“The only thing we can do as parasites is infect others by burrowing into them. But, once we do, they become under your absolute command,” the parasite explained.
“My absolute command?” Zoe said as she stared at the parasite.
“Yes. Their mind, their body, and their will will all belong entirely to you,” the parasite explained. “They will never disobey you and be eternally yours.”
Zoe slowly stood up and walked over to the mirror. She looked at herself again. Then, out of the corner of the mirror, she saw her empty room.
An idea came to her. This world had just taken so much from her. It took her life. Everything she had built up and put effort into. All because it could. So… why should she just let it? Why should she accept that this was how things were. She could change things. She could do something. She could control it. A smile drew wide across her face as she laughed to herself. At first a small chuckle, then louder, until finally a full on cackling.
She turned to the parasite. “You. I’m going to call you Thaddeus.”
The parasite nodded. “I am honored to be named Thaddeus, my queen.”
She gently picked the parasite up in her hands.
“And together, Thaddeus. You and I are going to take back my life and so. Much. More!”
Zoe slowly poked at her eggs as she munched on a piece of bacon. It was a little crispier than she had hoped, breaking easily in her mouth as she chewed. Her mind was adrift, not focused on the food but on a possible announcement today at work. While she had only heard sparse whispers and rumors, there was a chance that her division was up for a promotion. Her toes curled at the thought of being able to finally move up in the workplace. After all, that meant better hours, better workloads, and a better paycheck. She had been putting in the work over the past few weeks in hopes that it would put her in the spotlight. There really wasn’t anyone else better suited for the position than her.
“I can just feel it! Today is the day that everything changes for the better!” Zoe said as she bit down again on some bacon. She wiggled a little in her chair and kicked her legs excitedly. Zoe grabbed her phone and sent another text to her boyfriend, expressing her delight, before realizing the time.
“Shoot! I need to get ready! I can’t be late!”
Zoe finished up the last of her food before she rushed to the bedroom to pick out her clothes. She decided on a nice purple cotton tee that had a bit of a deep V-neck to it and slipped it over the black bra she had on. She ruffled through her drawers before she found a navy blue pair of leggings that she put on over top of her pink satin panties. She grabbed her uniform coat, which was neatly hung up on a coat hanger and put it on.
“Looking promotion ready,” Zoe said as she adjusted her clothes in the mirror. She grabbed her keys and her purse and left her apartment. As she was about to lock up her apartment, a voice called out to her.
“Heading out to work?” asked Juniper, the neighbor to Zoe’s left. She waved to Zoe as she saw Zoe heading out.
“Yep!” Zoe said, the extra pep in her step very visible.
“Well, someone’s energetic,” Juniper said with a smile. “Something good is happening today? Will it be the day that Stanley finally proposes? Has he been dropping hints?”
“No idea, but anything’s possible!” Zoe said, matching Juniper’s smile.
She didn’t quite mind having Juniper as a neighbor. Far better than the grouch of a man called Frederick who lived on the other side of Zoe. There were a few times that Juniper was annoying, such as playing her music a tad too loud or the times that Zoe could hear every orgasm Juniper had and caused through the walls, but outside of those times, Juniper was an ideal neighbor to have.
“Well, I love your energy today.” Juniper walked over and put something in Zoe’s hand. “Here, the spirits say that you’ll need this today.” Zoe looked down at her palm and looked at a small little jade four leaf clover sat in her hand.
“Thanks Juniper!” Zoe said as she tucked it into her breast pocket.
“The winds of change are blowing,” Juniper said as she closed her eyes and began to walk away. “Be wary, Zoe!” Then, she turned a corner and disappeared.
Zoe shrugged, having long given up trying to understand Juniper years ago. At this point, she just accepted the strangeness. She couldn’t deny that she liked the strange energy Juniper had from time to time.
Time.
Time.
“Shit!” Zoe quickly scrambled her way towards her car as she realized that it was getting later and later. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late for work. Her car rumbled to life and in a few moments, she was making her way towards SMILK INC.
It had always been her dream to work at such a prestigious place. It was one of the top research labs in the country. There, they researched all sorts of topics, from new robotics to parasites to even space travel. It was through her hard work, as well as her volunteer hours that she had painstakingly put in the effort for, that she had landed a job as a researcher. Even if it was the lowest available, she was still working at SMILK INC.
Sure, it wasn’t nearly as prestigious as being able to coast off of royalties like her sister, nor was she able to live in as nice a house as her. Zoe’s fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel as the thought of her sister, Sabrina. But, then she took a deep breath and was able to unclench the steering wheel.
“No, today won’t be about her. It’s going to be about me. I have been working hard. We are a shoe-in for that promotion!” Zoe said as she pumped herself back up.
She hummed along to the radio as she finished up her drive, ignoring the signs for Sabrina’s newest book on billboards that she passed by. After a fairly short drive, she reached the employee parking lot for SMILK INC. Zoe reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, excited to see a text from Stanley texting her good morning. She dialed him and held her phone up to her ear. After a few short rings, he picked up.
“Hey babe!” Zoe said, her excitement building up again. “I hope you slept well.”
“Uh, yeah, I did,” Stanley said, with a bit of a light chuckle. There was a bit of extra noise, but it sounded like the TV was on in the background. “What got you so excited?”
“Well, nothing has been confirmed, but, I do want to say that I think there is a really good chance that my division will get promoted today,” Zoe said, hardly able to contain her joy.
“Really?” Stanley said with another light chuckle. “Wow, that’s great Zoe. I’m happy for you.”
“Well, again, nothing has been confirmed, but I have a really good feeling.” Zoe had a wide smile on her face. “So, I will let you know how things go.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Stanley said. There was a bit of a pause before he responded again. “Well, hey, I should let you get to work. Don’t let me keep you. Good luck.”
“Oh, uh,” Zoe said before she heard the sound of the phone call ending, “Uh, bye. Thanks for the good luck. Love you too.” She was a little annoyed, but he was right. She did need to focus on work. She stepped out of her car and made her way into the building.
She greeted the security guard and headed right to her section of the lab. Zoe worked in the zoology department, helping non-pet animals with different diseases and ailments. As she entered the lab, the animals all gave her a rousing and loud greeting.
“Good morning everyone!” Zoe said as she set down her purse at her desk. She headed over to where her coworkers were all crowded around. “What’s got everyone’s attention?”
Her coworkers turned to Zoe, their faces long and expression drooped down. One of them pointed to a paper that was hung up on the bulletin board, and they moved aside to let Zoe read it. Her eyes scanned over the paper as she read it.
“To all employees of SMILK INC., please report to the main lobby area for an important meeting at 10 AM. Attendance is mandatory. Signed, Head CEO Garrett Young.”
Zoe crossed her arms and her expression matched her coworkers. “Everyone has to be present?” She felt a pit starting to form in her stomach as she set an alarm on her watch. “Oh boy.”
“Someone’s getting fired,” Jamison, one of Zoe’s coworkers, murmured.
“It’s not just one person. It’s gonna be a whole division,” Ashley, a different coworker, responded.
“No way. That couldn’t be possible, could it?” asked Jamison.
“Why would everyone need to be present for that?” asked Barbara, another coworker.
“Duh, it’s a show of dominance. That any division could be cut away. No one is safe,” Ashley said.
“Everyone, relax,” Zoe said as she turned to everyone. “Relax. I mean, come on. We’re an important branch of SMILK. We’re Division 4, dammit! There’s no way they can cut us with all that we do.” She tried her best to swallow her fears and put on a brave face for the rest of her coworkers. “Now, what do we have to do today? Let’s keep working like we’re not getting fired, okay? Otherwise, we’ll definitely be on the chopping block next time something like this comes around.”
The rest of her coworkers looked at each other before nodding in agreement. They started to head to their designated tasks for today, trying their best to distract themselves from the upcoming meeting.
With a heavy sigh, Zoe got herself pumped up and looked over the posting about what she was supposed to be doing today. “Let’s see what they have me assigned to.” Zoe finds her name assigned to a fringe case.
These were cases that didn’t quite fit for anywhere else. Usually situations where an animal was found and it wasn’t exactly clear what was wrong. It didn’t fit any other known cases or conditions that they were aware of.
Zoe made her way down to Room 159 where she opened up the closet door. She put on a hazmat suit, then headed inside. “What’s the situation?”
Before her was a large brown bear, unconscious on an operating table. Inside the room, there were two SMILK guards, both armed with tranquilizer weapons if something were to go wrong. Two other SMILK lab agents were there with her, both wearing hazmat suits. Across the room, separated by a sheet of reinforced glass, was a man in a park ranger’s uniform watching the whole thing. The park ranger leaned in close to a microphone to speak to Zoe.
“This is Henry the bear. Lately, he’s been acting really weird. I went to check on him and, well, just look at his chest!”
Zoe looked a little surprised, but shrugged. She turned over the bear and looked at his chest.
Rather than the usual tufts of fur that would be expected, there was a hole in the chest and she could see right through to the heart. But, weirdly, the hole around was scabbed over in some strange purple material that didn’t look like scabbing. The heart was still beating and it didn’t look like there was any sign of usual infections despite the gaping hole. As she looked closer, she could see something that looked like worms or leeches around the heart. Zoe picked up a small scalpel and poked at the worms, which wiggled at the touch and caused the bear to shuffle around.
“What the hell?” she said, picking up a small flashlight to get better lighting. “What kind of parasites are these?” She gestured to one of the lab agents. “Get me a syringe of lebentizole, a pair of long thin-neck tweezers, a collection dish, and a sprayer of etheriazen.” The lab agent nodded and quickly gathered up the supplies that Zoe needed. While they did that, Zoe gestured to the armed guards. “Guards, I’m going to try our usual parasite removal process. And that may cause the bear to be agitated. You two, be ready in case something happens. Firing word is LIMO. Got it?” The guards nodded at her and raised their weapons as the agent handed the supplies to Zoe.
Zoe carefully took the syringe and injected it into the mass of parasites. “This is going to loosen them right up. And now, the removal process.” She leaned in close with the tweezers and began to remove the parasites one by one. She dropped them into the collection dish carefully, so as not to disturb them. To an untrained hand, this would have taken several hours to do; but Zoe’s training allowed her to finish in just under a few.
“And now, the hard part.” She picked up the sprayer and aimed it at the wound on the bear. “Spraying etheriazen in three… two… one!” As soon as she sprayed, the bear recoiled as the chemicals hit its body. Zoe ducked out of the way of the thrashing as the bear flailed wildly on the table, knocking over various pieces of equipment nearby. The guards raised their weapons, but Zoe held her hand up to stop them. “Wait! Not yet!” A few moments later, the bear stopped, going back to a calming rest on the table. “Everyone alright?”
Zoe looked around, seeing the equipment and supplies that had been knocked over. Nothing seemed to be too badly destroyed, at least not to the extent that it couldn’t be fixed. The agents and guards all gave a thumbs-up.
“Great, we’re all good then.” Zoe lifted up the paw of the bear to check on the hole in its chest. To her delight, the etheriazen was doing its job and sealing the wound back up. She turned to the park ranger and gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re all good here.” Zoe pointed to one of the agents. “Escort the patient out of here to monitor and recover.”
The park ranger clapped as Zoe and one of the other agents began to clean up the room. The agent Zoe singled out and the two guards went to transport the bear out of the room.
“So, are you nervous?” the agent asked as it picked up some surgery tools off the ground.
“Nah, that was just a run of the mill parasite removal,” Zoe said as she cleaned up a small spill.
“No, not that. I mean about the meeting.”
Zoe shook her head. “Listen, I think that we’re going to be fine. I mean, we do important work here at SMILK! Take the bear we just had. Imagine if whatever that bear had got out into the world uncontrollably. Who knows what danger that could happen.” Zoe picked up the collection dish of parasites. “I am going to contain these properly. You finish up cleaning here. Alright?”
“Yes ma’am.”
With that, Zoe left the room, holding the collection dish. She made her way down a set of halls to the Containment Room.
“Alright, whatever the hell you all are. You guys are going into containment until we can figure out what you are.”
She opened up one of the sterile containment boxes and started to put the parasites in, one by one. As she did, she picked up one and looked at it. The parasites looked almost like worms or leeches, but about an inch long and had a gaping mouth on one end with teeth. They were an odd purple color.
“What are yo-”
BEEP BEEP BEEP!
Zoe’s watch alarm startled her, causing her to drop the parasite.
“Shit! Is it time already?” Zoe quickly glanced at her watch. “Okay, let’s just get you all in there quickly!” She picked up the collection dish and poured the rest of them into the box before shoving it into an open slot in a set of boxes. “I’ll worry about filling out the paperwork after!” She quickly rushed out of the Containment room and scrambled to get to the meeting.
Zoe rushed her way to the main lobby, where all the other workers had gathered. She panted, out of breath as she joined up with her division.
“There you are, Zoe!” one of her coworkers said. “What happened?”
“I was down in Containment dealing with a case. Did I miss anything yet?” Zoe asked as she finally caught her breath.
“Not yet. The CEO is about to start,” another coworker said as he hushed and pointed to Garrett Young, who was standing up on a balcony.
“People of SMILK INC!” Garrett said, causing the crowd of employees to hush down. “As I am sure many of you are aware, I come bearing both good and bad news. Firstly, the good news! I have been watching and monitoring the reviews and progress of all the divisions. And, it is with great pleasure that I announce that this year, the Division Promotion will be given to…” Garrett opened up an envelope before reading the contents. “Division 16!”
Zoe’s heart sank more than before. She had tried her hardest to make Division 4 earn that promotion. Despite all the hard effort and all her gusto, Zoe couldn’t help but feel deflated after hearing the news. Still, she clung onto hope as she clutched onto the small jade four leaf clover that Juniper gave her. Even if they didn’t get the promotion, things weren’t all bad.
“And now for the bad news. Due to changes in the economy and new policies that come from the government, we do have to make cuts. So, it is with a heavy heart that I announce that Divisions 4, 13, and 25 will be closed down. You have until the end of the day to pack up your belongings. And, of course, we will know if you take anything that doesn’t belong to you.”
Things were all bad.
Zoe fell to her knees. As much as she wanted to, tears didn’t fall from her face. She didn’t even know why. She wasn’t putting on any brave face, but at the same time, everything felt like it was crumbling around her. The rest of whatever Garrett was talking about was a complete blur to her as she dissociated. She turned to see her fellow coworkers in Division 4 consoling each other and crying on shoulders. Some people she recognized from Division 25 had come over give them hugs and comfort as best as they could.
Zoe’s body felt heavy. It felt numb. She didn’t feel anything as she picked up her lunch from the break room. Her desk trinkets might have well as been as light as air the way she packed them without thinking. All sound was muffled to her, in one ear and out the other. She couldn’t tell whether coworkers were upset at the choices made, or at her for giving them hope. Zoe didn’t care. It felt like nothing mattered right now.
Zoe didn’t snap back to reality until she realized she was sitting in her car, holding her phone with her boyfriend’s number at the ready. Absent-mindedly, she dialed him to tell him the tragic news.
“Stanley… I… got let go from work today. They just announced it and… I finished packing up all my stuff. I just…” She sniffled, still feeling incredibly numb. “I know you’re probably busy right now, but… I need you dear… So, can I come-”
“Shit! Did you accidentally accept the call? How long has this call been going?” Stanley said, clearly not directing his voice to Zoe.
“Oops, sorry! Maybe she didn’t hear anything.”
The call hung up as Zoe stared beyond the horizon. That second voice was none other than her sister, Sabrina. Zoe recognized the out of breath nature of Stanley. Her mind clicked to what happened, but she didn’t want to accept it. No matter how she tried to reframe it, there was no mistaking it. She had called them while the two of them were doing each other and Sabrina accidentally accepted the call.
How? How long? How long had this been going on? Had she been played like a fool for days? Weeks? Months? Maybe even years? Zoe clutched her chest as she breathed shakily. Had she angered some sort of divinity? Did she accidentally piss off a witch and was cursed? Was she just doomed to the worst day imaginable?
The next thing Zoe knew, she was back at the parking lot at her apartment. Her body had autopiloted its way back home. She slowly got out of the car, leaving her belongings inside. She shuffled to the door, going through the keys to find the one to her apartment.
As she was inserting the key, the door opened up on its own.
Confusion quickly turned to utter fear as she creaked open the door, seeing barren floors and walls. There was nothing. No furniture. No valuables. Anything remotely expensive had been taken.
Her mind flashed back to this morning. Juniper. She had talked to Zoe before Zoe locked her door. She left her apartment unlocked.
Zoe walked from room to room, looking at the barren spots where valuables and little trinkets had been, collecting dust. The only thing that had been left behind was the bed that couldn’t fit out of the doorframe.
She had no job. No boyfriend. And now, nothing in her apartment. Not even mind-numbing trash TV was an option for her.
She faceplanted down onto her bed, utterly limp. She kicked off her shoes and stared into the darkness. It was at this moment that tears finally fell from Zoe’s eyes. She had nothing. Everything was just gone. All her hard work, all her efforts, all her life was taken from her in a single day. Zoe rolled over and stared at the ceiling as the tears continued to stream down her face.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “There’s no way that this day could get any fucking worse!”
Then, she felt something. Something crawling on her leg. Zoe looked down, seeing nothing at first. Then, she sat up to try and get a better angle. There was one of the worm things from earlier.
Unknown to Zoe at the time, when the watch alarm startled her, the parasite she was holding didn’t drop down back into the collection dish. Instead, it hit the rim of the dish and bounced off, and landed into a part of her shoe that she couldn’t feel. It had stuck with her the whole time.
Before Zoe’s mind could comprehend anything more, after being beaten and battered all day with bad thing after bad thing, the parasite arched back. It let out a horrific scream before it suddenly lunged at Zoe.
That was the last thing she remembered before everything went black.
Zoe groaned awake as her eyes fluttered open.
“What happened?”
She looked around, finding herself in her room. As her eyes went over the empty spaces where her things used to be, she began to recall.
“Oh, right.” She slammed her fist on her bed. It hadn’t been a nightmare. The firing. The cheating. The robbery. The parasite.
The parasite.
Zoe quickly checked her body for any sign of the parasite. There was a hole in her shirt, but to her shock, her body looked untouched. To double check, she rushed to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. There was one big noticeable change. Her irises were a vivid purple color now.
“What the fuck happened?”
Zoe felt a strange feeling in her throat. She coughed, then coughed again, then harder and harder until she eventually spit something up. Inside of her bathroom sink was one of the worm parasites. Zoe shrieked and backed away, falling to the ground as the parasite wiggled to the edge of the counter.
“My queen, what is your command?”
Zoe shrieked again. There was no way that thing just fucking talked! Now she had lost her mind. She was crazy. The stress and trauma of everything today made her go insane and now she was spitting up parasites and they were talking to her.
“My queen, what is your command?” the parasite asked again.
“What the fuck is going on!?” Zoe shouted.
“Ah, you are confused, my queen.” The parasite inched a little closer to the edge of the sink. “You are the queen of the Thaviothes. Normally, we take over a host and control them, but, there was something different about you. I believe when we tried to attack your heart, there was something that reacted with us.”
Zoe looked down at her chest, where the hole was. She reached into the breast pocket and pulled out half of the jade trinket that Juniper had given her.
“Ah, that would be it. That caused a chemical and biological reaction in us. Rather than you being subservient to us, we are now subservient to you. Though, we did bond with you, and that shared some of your intelligence with us.” The parasite nodded its head, as if it was bowing. “You are our queen. The legion of Thaviothes is at your command.”
“Legion of Thaviothes?” Zoe said. As the words left her lips, somehow, in some way, it felt right. It felt like a normal fact. She turned to the parasite. “What can you do?”
“The only thing we can do as parasites is infect others by burrowing into them. But, once we do, they become under your absolute command,” the parasite explained.
“My absolute command?” Zoe said as she stared at the parasite.
“Yes. Their mind, their body, and their will will all belong entirely to you,” the parasite explained. “They will never disobey you and be eternally yours.”
Zoe slowly stood up and walked over to the mirror. She looked at herself again. Then, out of the corner of the mirror, she saw her empty room.
An idea came to her. This world had just taken so much from her. It took her life. Everything she had built up and put effort into. All because it could. So… why should she just let it? Why should she accept that this was how things were. She could change things. She could do something. She could control it. A smile drew wide across her face as she laughed to herself. At first a small chuckle, then louder, until finally a full on cackling.
She turned to the parasite. “You. I’m going to call you Thaddeus.”
The parasite nodded. “I am honored to be named Thaddeus, my queen.”
She gently picked the parasite up in her hands.
“And together, Thaddeus. You and I are going to take back my life and so. Much. More!”
This story tells you about a couple, a teenager named Liam and his redheaded girlfriend named Chloe who can't stop regenerating herself after sex.
Liam lay on the bed, his heart pounding with anticipation as he watched Chloe, his gorgeous redheaded girlfriend, saunter towards him. Her naked body was a vision of perfection, her E-cup tits bouncing gently with each step. She giggled, seeing the hunger in his eyes.
"Well, looks like someone's eager," Chloe teased, her voice a sweet melody that sent shivers down Liam's spine.
Liam grinned, his cock already hard and ready. "Always for you, Chloe. I've been waiting for you."
Chloe climbed onto the bed, her body straddling his as she leaned down to kiss him. Their lips met in a soft, gentle caress that quickly deepened into a passionate, hungry dance. Liam's hands roamed over her body, his fingers tracing the curves of her waist, her hips, her thighs.
Chloe moaned softly, her body pressing against his as she felt his hard cock against her stomach. She reached down, her hand wrapping around his length as she guided him to her entrance. With a soft sigh, she sank down onto him, her body taking him in completely.
Liam groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet her as they began to move together. Chloe's body was a perfect fit for his, her pussy wet and tight as it clenched around him. He reached up, his hands cupping her large breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hard nipples.
Chloe threw her head back, her red hair cascading down her back as she moaned with pleasure. "Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that."
Liam thrust harder, his body moving in a fast, urgent rhythm. Chloe met each thrust, her body bouncing against his as their moans filled the room. The sound of their bodies slapping together was like music to their ears, a symphony of their love and passion.
Liam could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he approached the edge. Chloe seemed to sense it too, her body clenching around him as she moaned louder.
"Cum with me, Liam," she gasped, her body shaking with the intensity of her own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
With a final thrust, Liam cried out, his cock pulsing as he came, his hot cum filling Chloe completely. Chloe screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm.
But as their bodies shook with the intensity of their climax, something strange began to happen. Chloe's body started to glow, a soft, golden light emanating from her skin. Liam stared in awe and confusion as the light grew brighter, enveloping them both.
Suddenly, Chloe screamed, her body convulsing with a different kind of force. Liam watched in shock as her body began to change, her curves shifting and growing, her hair darkening and lengthening, her face morphing into that of a stranger.
The glow faded, and in place of Chloe was a middle-aged British woman with massive O-cup tits and a body that was both familiar and alien. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest as she looked around in confusion.
"Blimey, what was that?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of shock and amusement. She looked down at Liam, her eyes widening in surprise. "Liam! You silly boy, what are you doing down there? I didn't know you were here. Silly me."
Liam stared up at her, his mouth open in shock. "Chloe? Wha... what happened to you?"
The woman, who was once Chloe, giggled, her large breasts bouncing with the movement. "Chloe? Who's Chloe? It's me, Beatrice, you silly boy. Have you been playing games with me again?"
Liam looked at her, his heart pounding. He knew that something incredible had just happened, something that defied all logic and reason. But at the same time, he found himself inexplicably turned on by her transformation.
"Beatrice?" he said, his voice hesitant. "You... you don't remember?"
Beatrice giggled again, her hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Remember what, silly? I'm your girlfriend, Beatrice. Been with you for donkey's years. Now come on, out you get. A lady needs her space after such a... Such whatever that was."
Liam pulled out of her, his cock still hard, still glistening with their combined juices. Beatrice looked down at it, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Well, would you look at that," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Aren't you an eager little beaver?"
Liam grinned, his heart pounding with a mix of lust and excitement. He knew that this was wrong, that something incredible and impossible had just happened. But he also knew that he wanted her, this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe.
He leaned up, his lips capturing hers in a fierce kiss. Beatrice gasped, her body freezing for a moment before melting into him. She moaned softly, her body pressing against his as their kiss deepened.
When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, their bodies shaking with need. Liam looked at her, his eyes filled with determination.
"I don't know what's happening," he said, his voice husky with lust. "But I know that I want you. I want you so fucking bad."
Beatrice looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and desire. She knew that this was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way about her boyfriend. But she also knew that she couldn't deny the heat that was pooling between her legs.
"Liam... baby... slow down,... we... we can't..." she moaned, even as her body pressed against his. "I've still not quite sure what's going on."
Liam didn't listen. He just pulled her close, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He captured one hard nipple in his mouth, sucking gently as his hand slid down to her pussy.
Beatrice moaned, her body arching into his touch. "Mmm... yes, Liam. Yes, touch me. Touch me there."
Liam slid two fingers into her, his thumb circling her clit as he began to fuck her with his hand. Beatrice moaned louder, her body moving with his, her hips thrusting against his touch.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that. Make me cum, baby. Make me cum all over your hand."
Liam did just that, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against her clit. When she came, it was with a scream of pleasure, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm.
But Liam wasn't done. He wasn't even close. He spun her around, pressing her down onto her hands and knees as he positioned himself behind her. With one hard thrust, he was inside her, his cock filling her completely.
Beatrice moaned, her body shaking with pleasure as he began to fuck her hard and deep. His hands reached around, grabbing her large breasts as he pounded into her.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard and deep."
Liam did just that, his body moving with hers in a fast, urgent rhythm. He could feel his orgasm building again, his body tensing as he approached the edge.
"Cum with me, Beatrice," he gasped, his body shaking with the intensity of his own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
Beatrice screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm. When they finally collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and their breaths coming in quick gasps, Liam knew that something incredible had happened. Something that defied all logic and reason. But he also knew that he couldn't deny the love and passion he felt for this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe. And he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep her, to make her his, forever.
As they laid there, their bodies entwined and their hearts pounding with a mix of love and lust, Liam knew that this was just the beginning. The beginning of a new adventure, a new journey, a new love. And he was more than ready for it. Whatever it may bring.
Liam lay on the bed, his heart pounding with anticipation as he watched Chloe, his gorgeous redheaded girlfriend, saunter towards him. Her naked body was a vision of perfection, her E-cup tits bouncing gently with each step. She giggled, seeing the hunger in his eyes.
"Well, looks like someone's eager," Chloe teased, her voice a sweet melody that sent shivers down Liam's spine.
Liam grinned, his cock already hard and ready. "Always for you, Chloe. I've been waiting for you."
Chloe climbed onto the bed, her body straddling his as she leaned down to kiss him. Their lips met in a soft, gentle caress that quickly deepened into a passionate, hungry dance. Liam's hands roamed over her body, his fingers tracing the curves of her waist, her hips, her thighs.
Chloe moaned softly, her body pressing against his as she felt his hard cock against her stomach. She reached down, her hand wrapping around his length as she guided him to her entrance. With a soft sigh, she sank down onto him, her body taking him in completely.
Liam groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet her as they began to move together. Chloe's body was a perfect fit for his, her pussy wet and tight as it clenched around him. He reached up, his hands cupping her large breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hard nipples.
Chloe threw her head back, her red hair cascading down her back as she moaned with pleasure. "Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that."
Liam thrust harder, his body moving in a fast, urgent rhythm. Chloe met each thrust, her body bouncing against his as their moans filled the room. The sound of their bodies slapping together was like music to their ears, a symphony of their love and passion.
Liam could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he approached the edge. Chloe seemed to sense it too, her body clenching around him as she moaned louder.
"Cum with me, Liam," she gasped, her body shaking with the intensity of her own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
With a final thrust, Liam cried out, his cock pulsing as he came, his hot cum filling Chloe completely. Chloe screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm.
But as their bodies shook with the intensity of their climax, something strange began to happen. Chloe's body started to glow, a soft, golden light emanating from her skin. Liam stared in awe and confusion as the light grew brighter, enveloping them both.
Suddenly, Chloe screamed, her body convulsing with a different kind of force. Liam watched in shock as her body began to change, her curves shifting and growing, her hair darkening and lengthening, her face morphing into that of a stranger.
The glow faded, and in place of Chloe was a middle-aged British woman with massive O-cup tits and a body that was both familiar and alien. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest as she looked around in confusion.
"Blimey, what was that?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of shock and amusement. She looked down at Liam, her eyes widening in surprise. "Liam! You silly boy, what are you doing down there? I didn't know you were here. Silly me."
Liam stared up at her, his mouth open in shock. "Chloe? Wha... what happened to you?"
The woman, who was once Chloe, giggled, her large breasts bouncing with the movement. "Chloe? Who's Chloe? It's me, Beatrice, you silly boy. Have you been playing games with me again?"
Liam looked at her, his heart pounding. He knew that something incredible had just happened, something that defied all logic and reason. But at the same time, he found himself inexplicably turned on by her transformation.
"Beatrice?" he said, his voice hesitant. "You... you don't remember?"
Beatrice giggled again, her hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Remember what, silly? I'm your girlfriend, Beatrice. Been with you for donkey's years. Now come on, out you get. A lady needs her space after such a... Such whatever that was."
Liam pulled out of her, his cock still hard, still glistening with their combined juices. Beatrice looked down at it, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Well, would you look at that," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Aren't you an eager little beaver?"
Liam grinned, his heart pounding with a mix of lust and excitement. He knew that this was wrong, that something incredible and impossible had just happened. But he also knew that he wanted her, this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe.
He leaned up, his lips capturing hers in a fierce kiss. Beatrice gasped, her body freezing for a moment before melting into him. She moaned softly, her body pressing against his as their kiss deepened.
When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, their bodies shaking with need. Liam looked at her, his eyes filled with determination.
"I don't know what's happening," he said, his voice husky with lust. "But I know that I want you. I want you so fucking bad."
Beatrice looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and desire. She knew that this was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way about her boyfriend. But she also knew that she couldn't deny the heat that was pooling between her legs.
"Liam... baby... slow down,... we... we can't..." she moaned, even as her body pressed against his. "I've still not quite sure what's going on."
Liam didn't listen. He just pulled her close, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He captured one hard nipple in his mouth, sucking gently as his hand slid down to her pussy.
Beatrice moaned, her body arching into his touch. "Mmm... yes, Liam. Yes, touch me. Touch me there."
Liam slid two fingers into her, his thumb circling her clit as he began to fuck her with his hand. Beatrice moaned louder, her body moving with his, her hips thrusting against his touch.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that. Make me cum, baby. Make me cum all over your hand."
Liam did just that, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against her clit. When she came, it was with a scream of pleasure, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm.
But Liam wasn't done. He wasn't even close. He spun her around, pressing her down onto her hands and knees as he positioned himself behind her. With one hard thrust, he was inside her, his cock filling her completely.
Beatrice moaned, her body shaking with pleasure as he began to fuck her hard and deep. His hands reached around, grabbing her large breasts as he pounded into her.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard and deep."
Liam did just that, his body moving with hers in a fast, urgent rhythm. He could feel his orgasm building again, his body tensing as he approached the edge.
"Cum with me, Beatrice," he gasped, his body shaking with the intensity of his own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
Beatrice screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm. When they finally collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and their breaths coming in quick gasps, Liam knew that something incredible had happened. Something that defied all logic and reason. But he also knew that he couldn't deny the love and passion he felt for this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe. And he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep her, to make her his, forever.
As they laid there, their bodies entwined and their hearts pounding with a mix of love and lust, Liam knew that this was just the beginning. The beginning of a new adventure, a new journey, a new love. And he was more than ready for it. Whatever it may bring.
A female who acquired ability to shapeshift. To get closer to her crush she becoming his girlfriend and made in love with him.
When she thought everything is wrong she leaves him. However in her way she ended up in the wrong crowd that she's not supposed to get involved with.
I stood in front of the mirror, examining every detail. The curve of her lips, the way her dark brown hair fell just past her shoulders, the faint freckles dotting her nose. Lena. His girlfriend. The woman whose life I was about to borrow for a night.
My skin tingled as I focused, my muscles shifting beneath the surface, bones adjusting with an almost imperceptible crackle. The transformation was always strange—like slipping into a second skin that wasn’t mine. But I’d done this before. Too many times, if I was being honest.
I exhaled, smoothing my hands—no, her hands—down the soft fabric of her favorite jeans and the loose, cream-colored sweater I’d pulled from her closet earlier. A pang of guilt twisted in my gut, but I pushed it down. This was for him. Only for him.
---
The knock on his door made my breath hitch. Three sharp raps, just like Lena always did. I could hear his footsteps inside, the muffled curse of surprise when he saw me through the peephole.
The door swung open, and there he was—Dylan. His dark hair was slightly messy, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and his gray T-shirt was wrinkled in that effortlessly perfect way only he could pull off. His eyes widened.
"Lena?" he said, blinking. "I thought you left for your trip?"
I bit her lip the way she always did when she was nervous. "I canceled it," I said, my voice an exact replica of hers—soft, melodic. "I… I just missed you too much."
Dylan stared at me, confusion flickering across his face before dissolving into warmth. He stepped aside. "You’re insane," he murmured, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "You were supposed to be gone for a week."
I stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind me. The apartment smelled like him—warm, a little musky, with the faintest hint of coffee. Familiar. Safe.
"I changed my mind," I said, brushing past him, my fingers trailing over his arm. "Don’t you want me here?"
His breath caught, and I felt a thrill run through me. This was the game. I knew how Lena touched him, how she spoke to him, how she loved him. And tonight, I’d be better than her.
Dylan’s hands settled on my waist as he turned me toward him, his gaze searching my face. "Of course I want you here," he murmured. "But you never cancel plans. Especially not for me."
I let out a quiet laugh—hers, not mine. "Maybe I’m trying to be different," I said, tilting my head. My fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt, letting my touch linger just a little longer than necessary.
He exhaled, the resistance in his shoulders melting under my touch. "You’re gonna make it really hard to focus on the game tonight,” he teased.
"Good," I whispered, leaning in.
Our lips met, and I forced myself to lose in the rhythm of her. The way she kissed—gentle at first, then hungrier. Dylan responded instantly, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
I hated this. Every second of it. The press of his mouth, the warmth of his hands sliding up my back, the insistence of his body against mine. But he loved it. And that was all that mattered.
When he finally pulled back, breathless, he grinned. "Damn. If this is what happens when you cancel trips, I might have to start sabotaging your suitcase."
I laughed—the sound perfectly hers, perfectly convincing—and let him lead me toward the couch, where I knew the night would only grow more intimate.
And as much as it twisted something inside me, I’d keep pretending. Because seeing him happy, seeing him hers, was all I ever wanted—even if it meant I’d never really be the one he loved.
....
The sun was setting as I sat cross-legged on the floor of my apartment, surrounded by layers of clothing heaped in disarray—her wardrobe, meticulously recreated down to the last stitch. I had spent months watching her, memorizing the way she moved, the way she spoke, even the way she laughed—soft and breathy, as if she were constantly on the verge of a secret.
It wasn’t just her face I had to mimic. It was her soul.
A knock at the door startled me.
Shifting back to myself had always felt like shedding a second skin—my body reforming into my natural curves, my dark curls springing free. I yanked open the door to find my neighbor, Mrs. Langley, standing there with a suspicious squint.
"Heather, you alright in there? Hearin’ all sorts of rustlin’."
I forced a smile. "Just reorganizing, mom. You know how it is."
She hummed, unconvinced, but shuffled off with a grumble.
Heather. That was the name I had given myself when I moved here. Safe. Unassuming. Not the girl who could become anyone else.
I smoothed my hands down my sides, swallowed hard, and closed my eyes. The shift came easier now, like shrugging into a familiar coat. My skin tingled, warming as muscle and bone reordered beneath it. My fingers lengthened, my hips softened, my nose reshaped into the delicate upturn of myself again.
When I opened my eyes again, I become myself again stared back at me from the mirror.
Heather had always been strategic with her ability. She never used it frivolously—only when an opportunity was too tempting to ignore. But this wasn’t just any opportunity. This was Dylan. The man who had consumed her thoughts for years, with his easy laughter and the way his dark eyes crinkled when he smiled. For so long, she had watched from afar, aching for something she could never truly have—until now.
Lena, his girlfriend, was away on a two-week business trip, leaving Dylan alone in their shared apartment. Heather had waited until nightfall, lingering outside until she saw the lights flick off in the bedroom window. Then, with a deep breath, she shifted.
It started at the base of her spine, a slow unspooling warmth that traveled through her limbs, her skin prickling as it stretched and reshaped itself into Lena’s softer curves. Her cheekbones lifted, her hips rounded, her fingers thinned—every detail mattered. She even adjusted her gait, matching Lena’s light, precise steps as she crossed the street.
The key under the flowerpot was still there, just as Lena had mentioned to a friend weeks ago. Heather’s heart hammered against her ribs as she turned it in the lock.
The apartment was quiet, lit only by the blue glow of the television. Dylan was sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, his bare chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.
And that's how it started...
....
The next few hours were a blur of tangled limbs, whispered words, and the kind of intimacy Heather had only ever dreamed of. She hated the way her stomach twisted with guilt, hated the way her own pleasure was tangled up in the lie—but god, the way he touched her. The way he whispered Lena’s name against her skin.
Eventually, exhaustion won, and she fell asleep curled against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.
When Heather woke, sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the tangled sheets. She shifted slightly—and froze.
Her own hands.
She bolted upright, panic searing through her veins. No, no, no— She had shifted back in her sleep. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, her own familiar frame unmistakable.
Dylan stirred beside her, still deep in sleep, one arm slung lazily over the empty space where Lena should have been.
Heather scrambled out of bed, her pulse hammering. If he woke up now—if he saw her—
She clenched her fists, focusing, and felt the shift ripple over her again. The relief was instant as Lena’s features returned, but the terror lingered. She couldn’t stay.
Moving fast, she gathered her scattered clothes, dressed in silence, and scribbled a note in Lena’s looping handwriting:
"Had to leave early—miss you already. Call you tonight."
She placed it on the pillow beside Dylan’s head, stealing one last glance at him before slipping out the door.
....
A diner a few blocks away provided temporary refuge. Heather slid into a corner booth, her hands trembling around a steaming mug of coffee. The reality of what she’d done settled heavy in her chest.
This wasn’t like her other little games—posing as a stranger for an hour, mimicking a co-worker to avoid confrontation. This was Dylan. And she had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.
But even as guilt gnawed at her, another thought slithered in:
Dylan had wanted her.
Or at least, he had wanted the version of her she had given him. She took a slow sip of coffee, her reflection staring back at her in warped distortion against the diner window.
What happens when Lena comes home?
And worse.
What happens if Dylan wants her to stay?
The diner’s bell jingled as Heather pushed through the door, the cold evening air biting at her skin. She pulled her jacket tighter, her thoughts still tangled with the weight of what she had done with Dylan. The coffee had done little to calm her nerves.
She turned down a dimly lit side street, the glow of streetlights flickering against the damp pavement. That’s when she saw them—a group of men, moving in hushed murmurs toward a narrow alley tucked between two weathered brick buildings.
Something about their demeanor set off a warning in the back of her mind. Shoulders hunched, collars pulled up, quick glances over their shoulders as if checking for pursuers.
This isn’t right.
Heather hesitated at the mouth of the alley, her pulse quickening. She should walk away. She should call the cops and let them handle it.
But curiosity was always her downfall.
She slipped into the shadows, pressing close to the wall as she followed them deeper into the alley, her footsteps silent against the cracked concrete. They stopped in front of a rusted metal door half-hidden under peeling graffiti. Above it, a dull red sign flickered:
MALES ONLY.
A muscle in Heather’s jaw twitched. Of course.
The men rapped a quick pattern on the door—three knocks, a pause, then two more. It creaked open, spilling a sliver of neon light onto the ground before swallowing them whole.
The door thudded shut behind them. Locked.
Heather exhaled sharply, weighing her options.
If this was some kind of underground smuggling ring, she should report it. But what if it was just some stupid exclusive party? A gathering for rich, obnoxious dudes who liked to pretend they were part of some secret society?
Her lips curled. Either way, she was getting in.
She ducked behind a dumpster, pulling in a slow breath. Shift or stay?
Shift.
She closed her eyes, feeling the familiar hum beneath her skin as bones realigned, muscles thickened, shoulders broadened. When she blinked, her reflection in a nearby puddle showed Dylan’s sharp jawline, his tousled dark hair—his face.
Good enough.
Approaching the door, she lifted her hand and mimicked the knock—three, pause, two.
A slot scraped open at eye level, revealing a pair of narrowed, shadowed eyes.
“Password?” the voice grunted.
Heather’s stomach plummeted. Shit.
She hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Forcing Dylan’s easy confidence, she smirked. “C’mon, man. I just stepped out for a smoke. You really gonna make me say it again?”
Silence. Then—
The door swung open.
The bass hit her first—deep, throbbing, rattling up through the floorboards. Dim red lights pulsed in time with the music, casting long shadows over the crowded room. Men packed the space, some in sleek suits, others in leather jackets, all of them holding glasses of liquor that gleamed like liquid amber.
But it wasn’t just a party.
Against the far wall stood a row of cages—and inside them, women.
Heather’s breath stopped.
The air inside the basement was thick with sweat and the cloying scent of whiskey and arousal. Heather—still wearing Dylan’s form—stood frozen, her stomach churning as she took in the surreal horror unfolding around her.
Possession Club. It said on the screen.
There are women in cages weren’t just captives.
They were hosts.
The man on the stage, slick-haired and grinning like a carnival barker, gestured toward the cages with a flourish. "Another successful week for our members! Fifty-four possessions total—twenty sexual engagements, thirty-two solo performances, and even two lovely ladies who grew very familiar with each other!" The men around Heather erupted in laughter and cheers, raising their glasses.
Then the speaker’s eyes flicked to a woman crouched at the edge of the stage, her green bikini damp between her thighs as her fingers worked furiously at her own pussy. She didn’t seem to care that everyone was staring—her moans were loud, shameless, her hips bucking as she came right there in front of them.
"Ah, Sarah," the man on stage chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Still can’t control herself, I see."
Pulling her fingers free with a slick pop, the woman—Sarah—giggled, bouncing her breasts as she blew him a kiss. "Sorry~" she panted, not sounding sorry at all. "You know how pent-up I get when I’m not being used."
It was like watching a pornographic nightmare.
Heather’s skin crawled.
Suddenly, a mechanical groan filled the room as the speaker pulled a lever on the wall. The brick facade behind him split open, revealing a long hallway lined with glass rooms—each containing a different woman. Some writhed on beds, touching themselves. Others knelt obediently, waiting.
"Bookings are now open!" the man announced, waving a stack of plastic keycards. "Members with prior reservations, you know the drill. Newcomers—get your cards at the desk and pick your poison!"
The crowd surged forward, men jostling each other as they lined up to claim their "slots." Heather stumbled back, bumping into someone.
"Easy there, pal," a beefy guy in a leather vest drawled, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "First time? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
Before Heather could respond, a commotion near the hallway entrance caught her attention. A wiry man in glasses downed a small pill, grinning as two burly men dragged a struggling woman toward him.
"P-Please, no! I don’t—I don’t want this!" the woman sobbed, kicking wildly. Heather’s fists clenched.
Then it happened.
The man in glasses shuddered—his form flickering like a TV with bad reception—before his entire body seemed to dissolve into mist. The smoky tendrils coiled through the air before plunging straight into the screaming woman’s mouth.
Her body convulsed.
Shaking. Twitching. Legs kicking as her back arched violently—
—and then, stillness.
Her eyes snapped open.
Glowing.
Slowly, a lazy, entirely male smirk spread across her lips. She—he—lifted a hand and groped her breast, squeezing hard with a chuckle. "Damn, this body is tight."
The crowd roared in approval. Heather was going to be sick. She turned and shoved her way toward the exit, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
They’re not just imprisoning women.
They’re stealing them.
And now, disguised as Dylan, she was trapped in a room full of monsters—with no idea how to get out.
The crowd pressed in around Heather like a living, breathing wall—hot, suffocating, reeking of alcohol and sweat. She shoved through, her shoulder knocking against a man’s chest, her elbow jostling another’s drink. Apologies died in her throat. She needed to get out.
But fate had other plans.
Her foot caught on something—a loose floorboard, someone’s outstretched leg—and she lurched forward, crashing straight into the man who had been on stage.
He steadied her with a grip like iron, his slick grin never faltering. Up close, his eyes were dark, calculating, the kind of gaze that peeled back layers without permission.
"Well, well," he purred, tilting his head. "Don’t recognize you. You new?"
Heather’s pulse hammered in her throat. She forced Dylan’s voice—low.. "Nah, just… been a while."
The man laughed, fingers tightening on her shoulder in a mock-friendly squeeze. "Bullshit. You’ve got that deer-in-headlights look all the newbies get." He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Relax. You’re among friends here."
Friends.
The word curdled in her gut as her gaze flicked past him—to the glass rooms where women lay sprawled, their bodies puppeteered by unseen invaders.
The man—the ringleader—stepped back, spreading his arms wide. "Welcome to the club, brother. This is a sacred space. A place where men like us don’t just take pleasure…" His grin turned feral. "We become it."
He clapped her on the back like they were old pals. Heather’s skin crawled.
"Rules are simple," he continued, steering her toward the bar despite her stiff resistance. "What happens here stays here. If some nosy bitch catches wind and tries to run to the cops?" He chuckled, pouring a glass of amber liquor and sliding it toward her. "We reward her. Give her the ride of her life—permanently."
The threat hung in the air, thick as the bass vibrating through the floor.
Heather swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the glass. She needed to leave. Now.
"I, uh—I actually gotta bounce," she muttered, setting the drink down untouched. "Forgot I got shit to do—"
The ringleader’s hand clamped down on her wrist. "Nonsense." His smile never wavered, but his eyes turned glacial. "You just got here. And I insist you try before you go."
From his pocket, he produced a small vial—inside, tiny pills shimmered like crushed pearls.
Heather’s blood turned to ice.
Possession pills.
"Go on," he urged, shaking one into her palm. "First one’s free."
The pill sat there, innocuous, deadly. Around her, the club pulsed with grotesque energy—men laughing, women moaning, bodies moving in ways that weren’t theirs.
She was outnumbered.
Outmatched.
And if she didn’t play along—she’d never make it out alive.
Heather’s fingers trembled around the pill, her mind racing for an escape. The dim, flickering lights of the private room made everything feel surreal—like she was trapped in some grotesque nightmare. The girl on the bed continued to writhe, her legs spread obscenely wide as she gazed at them with heavy-lidded eyes.
The ringleader smirked at Heather’s hesitation. "First-timer jitters. I get it." He stepped aside, gesturing toward the girl. "Meet your instructor. Well, not really—the guy inside her is."
Heather’s jaw clenched. The way he spoke about it so casually, as if this were some kind of twisted mentorship program, made her skin crawl.
The girl on the bed giggled—inhumanly deep, wrong. Then, in a voice that didn’t match her delicate frame, she spoke. "Sup, newbie."
A shudder raced down Heather’s spine.
The ringleader smirked. "This fucker’s got the highest possession count in the club. Every girl in his school, every teacher, his best friend’s mom—name it, he’s been inside." He clapped Heather hard on the back. "He’s gonna show you the ropes."
With that, he turned and left, the lock clicking ominously behind him.
The moment the door sealed, the girl on the bed convulsed, her back arching as a thick, smokey mist forced itself out of her mouth. The specter lingered in the air for a second before condensing back into human form—a lanky, smirking guy in his early twenties, wearing a cocky grin that made Heather’s fists itch.
The girl collapsed onto the bed, gasping, her eyes wide and dazed. "W-Where…?" She clutched the sheets, disoriented.
He ignored her, stepping toward Heather—Dylan’s form—with an assessing gaze. "Alright, Dylan. Let’s get you started."
Heather forced Dylan’s voice, trying to steady it. "How… does this even work?"
The possessor smirked, plucking the pill from her palm and holding it up between two fingers. "Pop one of these, and boom—you’re a ghost. You can slip into any chick you want. No resistance, no fighting back. Just pure control." His grin widened. "But here’s the catch."
He tossed the pill back into her hand. "One pill lasts 24 hours. If you don’t take another before time runs out? Congrats—you’re stuck forever. No refunds."
A cold sweat broke out on the back of Heather’s neck.
The girl on the bed whimpered, trying to scoot back. "P-Please… just let me go…"
The possessor didn’t even glance at her. "Lesson one: Don’t get attached. They’re just shells. Our shells."
His fingers flicked out, snatching the pill back from Heather. Before she could react, he shoved it into the girl’s mouth, clamping his hand over her lips until she choked it down.
Then, like smoke through a crack, his body dissolved, swirling violently before surging back into her.
The girl’s body jerked, her pupils dilating unnaturally as his voice slithered out of her lips.
"Now," he purred, running a hand up her thigh, "let’s practice."
Horror coiled in Heather’s gut.
She had to get out.
Before she became the lesson.
"I'm not doing this," Heather growled, her voice trembling as she took a step back.
The girl's face—possessed by that leering bastard—twisted in confusion. "What the hell do you mean, no?" The throaty, masculine chuckle that slithered out of her delicate lips sent a wave of revulsion through Heather. "Dude, that's why you're here, ain't it?"
Heather's fists clenched at her sides, Dylan's borrowed body tense with barely restrained panic. "I changed my mind. I'm out."
She spun toward the locked door, desperation burning in her veins. The metallic click of the latch mocked her—no way out without a key. Her lungs tightened. Think, think, think—
A hand seized her wrist, yanking her backward. "Oh, hell no. You ain't goin' anywhere."
Heather twisted, wrenching free. "Get off—"
Her feet caught on the edge of the bed’s tangled sheets.
Time slowed.
She flailed, but gravity won.
Her temple slammed into the dresser’s sharp corner—a white-hot crack of pain—and then—
—everything unraveled.
A sickening warmth pooled beneath her skin, muscles writhing as bones snapped back into place. Curves reemerged. Height dissolved. Dylan’s broad shoulders melted into her own slender frame, his clothes suddenly baggy, drowning her.
The world swayed as she slumped to her knees, blinking through the haze.
She was herself again.
The girl on the bed—no, the man inside her—gaped. "What the—?"
Heather’s stomach plummeted.
No.
She reached up, fingers grazing the familiar shape of her own face—soft cheeks, full lips, her hair. Dylan’s borrowed form was gone.
The possessed girl’s expression morphed from shock to greedy fascination. A slow, vile grin split her face. "Well, well. A shapeshifter." He let out a low whistle. "Now that’s a rarity."
Heather scrambled back, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Stay away from me."
The girl—no, the thing wearing her—laughed, crawling off the bed in a way too predatory to be human. "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you just became the main attraction."
The door rattled—the sound of a key turning.
Heather’s blood turned to ice.
The lock clicked.
The pounding on the door was relentless.
"Yo, everything alright in there? Sounded like a damn fight!"
Inside the dimly lit room, the air was thick with the scent of sweat and something metallic—fear, desperation, the charged energy of a predator circling its prey.
The girl’s body—possessed by the grinning bastard who now knew Heather’s secret—rolled her eyes and called back, voice slick with amusement.
"Relax, man, just having too much fun in here!"
The lie dripped with the confidence of someone used to getting his way. The muffled chuckle from the other side of the door confirmed they bought it. Footsteps receded, leaving Heather alone with the monster standing between her and escape.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
She was trapped.
Worse—she’d given herself away.
The man inside the girl cocked his head, eyes glinting in the dim light as he raked his gaze over Heather’s trembling form.
"You know," he mused, stepping closer, "I’ve seen some crazy shit in this club, but a shapeshifter? That’s a first." He grinned. "And damn if you don’t have a fine body to go with it."
Heather’s back hit the wall. Cold brick bit into her skin through own too-big shirt. She had no weapons. No backup.
And he knew exactly what she was.
The possessed girl stretched, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off a cramp. "Alright, here’s how this is gonna go." She—he—ticked the points off on delicate fingers:
1. "You don’t scream."
2. "You don’t fight."
3. "And maybe, just maybe, I don’t tell the guys outside you’re a walking, talking party trick they can all take for a spin."
He stepped closer, close enough that Heather could see the unnatural gleam in the girl’s eyes—too sharp, too male for the soft features they were trapped in.
"What do you say, shapeshifter girl? Deal?"
Heather spat in his face.
The girl’s head snapped back—but then the laugh came, low and dark. A slow swipe of her thumb wiped the saliva away, and when those eyes locked onto Heather again, they were hungry.
"Should’ve taken the deal."
Then— A gasp. A shudder.
The girl’s body convulsed, back arching violently as a thick, black mist spewed from her lips. It coiled in the air like smoke, twisting, seething— And then it lunged for Heather.
Cold.
That was her first thought.
It felt like drowning in ice water, like freezing fingers clawing down her throat, filling her lungs, her veins, her bones. Heather gagged, her body buckling under the invasion. Her vision swam—blurred—
And then came the pressure.
Pushing. Squeezing.
Something inside her screamed as the man’s presence forced its way in, tendrils of his will latching onto her nerves, her muscles, her thoughts— Heather’s fists clenched, nails biting into her palms.
*Get. Out.*
Her lips moved, words trembling. "You... can’t... have me." A scoff echoed in her skull—his voice, smug and condescending.
"Oh sweetheart, I already do."
And then— *Pain.*
Her right hand moved on its own, jerking up to claw at her own throat. Heather choked. Stop it—STOP IT— Her traitorous fingers tightened. Dark spots danced in her vision. Laughter, thick and cruel, vibrated through her bones.
"Fight all you want." A phantom tongue licked her lips from the inside. "But this body’s mine now."
Heather collapsed to her knees, gasping. It was like being locked in a glass box inside her own head—able to see, to feel, but powerless to stop what came next. Her hands lifted—not hers, his—and skimmed up her sides, groping, squeezing, testing.
"Damn, you weren’t kidding about this body." He cupped her breasts through the fabric, thumbs rolling her nipples until they pebbled tight. A groan rattled through her throat—his pleasure, not hers.
Tears burned her eyes as her own fingers hooked into the collar of Dylan’s shirt and yanked. Buttons popped, clattering to the floor. Cool air kissed her exposed skin.
"Yeah... that’s better."
Hands—her hands—palmed her bare tits, kneading with rough appreciation. "Fuck, these are perfect." His laughter slithered under her skin. "Bet you’ve made guys lose their minds with these, huh?"
Heather squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Then—
Her fingers trailed lower. Over her stomach.
Down, down—
She thrashed internally, screaming, pleading, but it was no use. Her body wasn’t hers anymore. And when her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, when they found the slick heat between her legs—
It was his voice that moaned.
It was his will that made her cum.
That was the first sound—ragged, satisfied breaths filling the silence of the room. Heather’s body slumped against the wall, spent, trembling. The man inside her stretched lazily, arching her back with a groan.
"Damn, that was good."
Heather lay sprawled on the cold basement floor, her body slick with sweat and trembling from the forced release he had wrung from her. Every breath felt like fire in her lungs, every heartbeat an exhausted throb of humiliation.
The bastard inside her wasn’t done.
Her hands—his hands—groped her breasts again, squeezing with possessive delight as he laughed in her mind.
"Fuck, I could get used to this."
Her fingers pinched her nipples hard enough to make her gasp—his pitiless amusement twisting her pleasure into pain. Then they trailed down her stomach again, past her navel, slipping between her thighs.
No wait—
She fought, straining against the cage of her own body, but it was no use. The first brush of fingertips against her clit was a sickening betrayal. Her own flesh pulsed in response, still sensitive from the last assault.
"You really don’t wanna enjoy this, huh?" His voice was a sneer in her skull as he circled that swollen bud, slow and taunting. "Too bad."
Heather clenched her teeth, but a helpless whimper escaped as he sped up, his touch ruthless, degrading.
"Go on, fight it," he mocked. "Bet you’ll still cum like a slut anyway." Tears burned her eyes—but her body, traitorous and weak, arched off the ground as he drove her toward another brutal orgasm.
Her back bowed.
Then—
Release.
A guttural moan tore from her lips—his victory, not hers—as her hips jerked wildly. Slick warmth gushed around his fingers, soaking her thighs, the floor beneath her. Satisfaction oozed through their shared mind like syrup.
"Damn. You’re dripping."
Her hands—his hands—lifted, fingers glistening with her own shame before he licked them clean with her tongue. "Not bad."
Before she could even recover, Heather felt her body stand—his will puppeteering her limbs like a marionette. A deep, rolling laugh bubbled up from her throat as his control forced her into motion.
Hips swaying. Ass twerking.
"Look at you," he crooned, making her slap her own rear with a sharp crack. "Made for this shit."
Humiliation burned through her like acid. She could feel it—the way he relished every second of her degradation, the way he made her body perform like some cheap stripper for his amusement.
Her stomach churned. She wanted to scream.
Then—
A pause.
"Here’s the deal," he mused, halting her gyrating hips and turning her toward the cracked mirror across the room. Heather saw herself—flushed, panting, pupils blown wide in arousal she hadn’t asked for. And then she saw her lips curl into a smirk that wasn’t hers.
"You let me ride this body for a while," he purred, running her hands up her naked sides. "Really enjoy it. And hey—maybe I’ll even make it good for you."
Her fingers tweaked her nipples again, sharp enough to make her gasp.
"Or,"—her head tilted, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper—"I could record a little video of us. Let the whole club see what a desperate little shifter looks like when she cums."
Heather’s blood turned to ice. The footage would spread. She’d never escape it. Her lips moved before she could stop them.
"Fuck. You."
A laugh—dark, amused.
"Oh, sweetheart. I plan to."
Her body moved on its own, grabbing a discarded phone from the dresser.
Camera on.
Recording.
"Say hi to the fellas, Heather."
....
The dim, flickering light of the basement room painted Heather’s sweat-slicked skin in shifting shadows. She lay sprawled on the stained mattress, her body trembling in the aftermath of another brutal climax—one of many forced upon her in what felt like an eternity of humiliation.
The phone propped nearby ticked over to four hours of recording.
Four hours.
Four hours of him using her hands, her mouth, her very soul to wring pleasure from her unwilling body.
Her thighs glistened—slick with arousal he had demanded, trembling from exhaustion.
She wanted to scream. To sob. To kill him. But her body wasn’t hers anymore.
His voice slithered through her mind, dark with amusement. "You were made for this, weren’t you?" Her lips—his to control—twisted into a mocking smirk.
Her fingers—his to command—dragged through the mess between her legs, painting her stomach with glistening streaks.
"Look at you," he purred, forcing her to tilt her hips toward the camera. "Dripping like a fucking fountain."
Heather’s breath hitched.
She hated this.
Hated him.
Hated the way her body betrayed her.
But no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t stop. Her fingers circled her clit again, slow, taunting.
She braced herself.
"P-Please..." she gasped—the first word she'd managed in hours.
"Please what?" His laughter was a razor against her mind. "Tell me, Heather. Beg for it." She shut her eyes, breath ragged.
"Stop."
A pause.
Then—
A roar of laughter.
"Oh, I wish you could see yourself right now," he crooned. "So pathetic. So weak."
Her thumb pressed down—hard—and her back arched as another wave of forced pleasure tore through her.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. "F-Fuck you..." she choked out. His grin was a razor in her skull.
"Already am."
Then, to her horror, she felt the familiar pull at her bones—the telltale tingle of shifting.
Skin rippled. Muscles tensed. Her own horrified gasp morphed mid-breath into— Someone else’s voice.
"Recognize her?"
The words spilled from lips that weren’t hers—soft, feminine, strange. He forced her body to crawl to the mirror. The reflection wasn’t Heather. It was a girl with platinum blonde hair, pouty lips, a body built for sin. She didn't know her. But he did.
"Jessica," he mused, making her hands skim down her new curves. "Cheer captain. Total bitch. Fucked her brains out the moment I got her alone."
Heather’s stomach turned.
A whimper—Jessica’s whimper—trembled from her throat. Then— Another shift. Hips widened. Breasts swelled.
"Sarah," he purred, running his fingers over thick thighs, a voluptuous frame. "Teacher’s pet. She cried when I took her. Best orgasm of her life."
Shift. A petite redhead.
Shift. A tanned beauty with a dancer’s grace.
His collection.
His trophies.
And now, his to make Heather wear like some sick costume.
Each shift was accompanied by forced touch—his cruel exploration of his conquests, using her body to relive his sick victories.
She wanted to vomit.
Then—suddenly—she was herself again.
Naked.
Exposed.
Trembling.
In her hands was something new—a vibrator, thick and humming with wicked intensity.
"Time for the main event," he murmured. The tip pressed against her wet, quivering pussy. She sucked in a sharp breath— Then screamed as he turned it on full power. The vibrations tore through her, ruthless and unrelenting, her hips jerking uncontrollably against the assault.
"Oh fuck—FUCK!"
Her own cry disgusted her. She hated how good it felt. Hated how her body clenched, greedy and desperate, around nothing. Hated him for making her like it.
"The more you fight, the longer this lasts," he reminded her sweetly. "Just relax, Heather. Enjoy yourself."
She bit her lip until it bled. But her body obeyed him. Spasmed for him. Came for him.
And when the wave crashed over her, when her vision whited out and her scream echoed off the walls— The camera caught it all.
As she lay there, broken and gasping, the final realization settled over her like a shroud.
This place wasn’t just a club. It was a hunting ground. And women like her?
Prey.
The man inside her leaned forward—her lips brushing her own ear in a lover’s whisper.
"Tomorrow night, the boys will love this footage."
The door clicked open.
A familiar voice cut through the haze. "Damn. Looks like you’ve been busy." The ringleader stood in the doorway, eyes gleaming with dark approval.
Heather’s stomach dropped. She was out of time. And there was no escape.
.....
The heavy door clicked shut behind the club’s ringleader, leaving Heather and her possessor alone in the cavernous basement. The air was thick with the musk of sweat and sin, the red lights casting long, leering shadows against the walls.
Heather’s body moved without her consent.
Hips swayed.
Her naked form glistened under the dim glow as the monster inside her forced her into a slow, deliberate shimmy. The sensation of her own body betraying her—fluid and responsive to every cruel command—made her want to scream. She did scream.
"Get OUT of me!" Her voice cracked, strained from hours of forced moans and sobs. The possessor only laughed—a dark, amused sound that rattled through her bones.
"And ruin the fun?" Her own hands slid up her waist, cupping her breasts possessively. "Nah. We’re just getting started." He made her slap her own ass—hard—the sharp crack echoing through the empty club.
"Fuck you!" Heather hissed.
"Oh, sweetheart." Her fingers pinched her nipple, twisting just to hear her gasp. "I fuckinh you right now.."
With a cruel mental tug, he forced her toward the main stage—the same one where they’d displayed caged women like livestock. Her legs moved without hesitation. Then—
She twerked. Hard. Shameless.
Her ass bounced in a way she’d never done in her life—cheeks clapping, her body bending forward until her hands braced against the stage.
"STOP IT!" she roared in her mind.
"Or what?" His voice dripped with condescension as he made her roll her hips, slow and obscene. "You’ll cry more?"
Heather burned with fury. The worst part? She could feel his arousal through the possession—the way her hips gyrating turned him on, his pleasure bleeding into her nerves.
"You sick bastard," she choked out.
"Aw, don’t be like that."
Her fingers trailed down over her stomach.
Then, without warning—
He speared two fingers inside her.
Her back arched violently as he curled them deep, hitting her G-spot with precision. A strangled cry ripped from her throat. "See? Your body loves me," he purred.
"I—I don’t—!"
Words failed as he pumped ruthlessly, his laughter merging with her panting gasps.
She didn’t want this. Didn’t want him. But her body didn’t care. White-hot pleasure coiled tight in her gut—Then snapped.
Her vision whited out as she came hard, her thighs clamping around her own wrist as wave after wave wracked her system.
When she came back to herself—still trembling, still violated—his voice slithered through her mind like oil.
"Y’know, I was gonna make you shift again," he mused, forcing her to collapse onto the stage, spent and sweating. "But damn, your real body? Chef’s kiss."
Her stomach twisted.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Rot in hell."
A chuckle.
Then—her hand groped her breast again.
"Not before I enjoy myself."
Her fingers trailed lower, dragging through the mess he’d made of her, circling her clit with lazy, taunting strokes.
She shuddered, biting back a moan. "Why… are you… still doing this?" she gasped.
"Because I can."
He pinched her clit—hard—and she wailed. "And because," he continued, voice thick with dark promise, "once the boys see how good you are at taking orders?"
His fingers plunged back inside her, forcing another staggered cry. "They’re gonna want you all the time."
A pause.
Then—
"And you’ll have no choice but to obey." Heather’s blood ran cold. She opened her mouth— But before she could speak, his control slammed into her like a freight train.
Her back bowed. Her nails scraped the stage. And as another orgasm tore through her— She realized with horrifying clarity:
There was no escape.
....
The red digital clock on the nightstand blinked 4:37 AM as Heather's body twitched through yet another unwanted climax, her thighs glistening under the flickering basement lights. Fourteen hours. Fourteen goddamn hours trapped inside her own flesh while he puppeteered her movements, forced moans from her lips, and wrung orgasm after orgasm from her exhausted form.
"P-please..." Heather whispered through trembling lips, her voice hoarse from screaming. "Just... stop..."
Inside her mind, the possessor chuckled darkly. "Stop? Babygirl, we're just warming up."
Her traitorous hands—his hands now—slid down her sweat-slicked stomach with familiar intent. Heather squeezed her eyes shut, trying to disconnect, to retreat into some corner of her mind where this wasn't happening. But the moment his fingers brushed her oversensitive clit, her spine arched off the mattress with a ragged gasp.
"You—fucking monster—" she choked out, her nails digging into the sheets as electric pleasure-pain lanced through her.
"Ooh, say that again," he purred, circling her swollen nub with merciless precision. "Nothing hotter than hearing you curse while your body begs for it."
Her clit throbbed under his relentless attention, every nerve ending screaming with overstimulation. Heather's breath came in shallow pants as his fingers dipped lower, tracing her soaked entrance before pushing two digits inside without warning.
"Nngh! G-God—!" Her hips jerked helplessly, her inner walls fluttering around the intrusion.
"Look at you," he crooned, pistoning his fingers ruthlessly against that spongy spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. "Dripping like a goddamn faucet. Bet you can't even remember how many times you've come for me, can you?"
Tears spilled down Heather's cheeks as her body betrayed her yet again, her thighs trembling on the edge of another crushing orgasm. "I... I hate you—"
"Uh-huh," he mocked, curling his fingers just so. "Tell me how much you hate me when you scream."
The coil in her stomach snapped.
Heather's back bowed off the bed as the climax ripped through her, a broken wail tearing from her throat as her vision whited out. Her hips stuttered against his hand, her inner walls spasming around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure-pain crashed over her.
When she finally came down, shuddering and gasping, his laughter echoed through her skull.
"Twenty-seven," he announced smugly, withdrawing his glistening fingers and holding them up to her blurry vision. "That's how many times I've made this pretty little pussy cum tonight. Think we can hit thirty before sunrise?"
Heather turned her face into the pillow, her entire body aching, every muscle limp with exhaustion. She wanted to rage. To fight. But fourteen hours of relentless violation had hollowed her out, leaving only a numb shell behind.
Heather collapsed against the sheets, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're... you're sick..."
"And you're delicious," he countered, making her trail a finger through the mess between her thighs before bringing it to her lips. "Taste that? That's what defeat feels like, sweetheart."
Her stomach churned as her tongue licked her own juices away at his command.
"Now..." Her hands slid down her body once more. "Let's see if we can't make you scream one last time before the boys get here."
Heather thrashed weakly as his will overpowered hers yet again. "N-no more... I can't—"
"Oh you can," he whispered, spreading her legs wide. "And you will."
As his fingers found her clit again, as pleasure built like a tidal wave against her will, Heather did the only thing she had left.
She closed her eyes.
And prayed for death.
And cums in her own hands.
...
When she thought everything is wrong she leaves him. However in her way she ended up in the wrong crowd that she's not supposed to get involved with.
I stood in front of the mirror, examining every detail. The curve of her lips, the way her dark brown hair fell just past her shoulders, the faint freckles dotting her nose. Lena. His girlfriend. The woman whose life I was about to borrow for a night.
My skin tingled as I focused, my muscles shifting beneath the surface, bones adjusting with an almost imperceptible crackle. The transformation was always strange—like slipping into a second skin that wasn’t mine. But I’d done this before. Too many times, if I was being honest.
I exhaled, smoothing my hands—no, her hands—down the soft fabric of her favorite jeans and the loose, cream-colored sweater I’d pulled from her closet earlier. A pang of guilt twisted in my gut, but I pushed it down. This was for him. Only for him.
---
The knock on his door made my breath hitch. Three sharp raps, just like Lena always did. I could hear his footsteps inside, the muffled curse of surprise when he saw me through the peephole.
The door swung open, and there he was—Dylan. His dark hair was slightly messy, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and his gray T-shirt was wrinkled in that effortlessly perfect way only he could pull off. His eyes widened.
"Lena?" he said, blinking. "I thought you left for your trip?"
I bit her lip the way she always did when she was nervous. "I canceled it," I said, my voice an exact replica of hers—soft, melodic. "I… I just missed you too much."
Dylan stared at me, confusion flickering across his face before dissolving into warmth. He stepped aside. "You’re insane," he murmured, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "You were supposed to be gone for a week."
I stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind me. The apartment smelled like him—warm, a little musky, with the faintest hint of coffee. Familiar. Safe.
"I changed my mind," I said, brushing past him, my fingers trailing over his arm. "Don’t you want me here?"
His breath caught, and I felt a thrill run through me. This was the game. I knew how Lena touched him, how she spoke to him, how she loved him. And tonight, I’d be better than her.
Dylan’s hands settled on my waist as he turned me toward him, his gaze searching my face. "Of course I want you here," he murmured. "But you never cancel plans. Especially not for me."
I let out a quiet laugh—hers, not mine. "Maybe I’m trying to be different," I said, tilting my head. My fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt, letting my touch linger just a little longer than necessary.
He exhaled, the resistance in his shoulders melting under my touch. "You’re gonna make it really hard to focus on the game tonight,” he teased.
"Good," I whispered, leaning in.
Our lips met, and I forced myself to lose in the rhythm of her. The way she kissed—gentle at first, then hungrier. Dylan responded instantly, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
I hated this. Every second of it. The press of his mouth, the warmth of his hands sliding up my back, the insistence of his body against mine. But he loved it. And that was all that mattered.
When he finally pulled back, breathless, he grinned. "Damn. If this is what happens when you cancel trips, I might have to start sabotaging your suitcase."
I laughed—the sound perfectly hers, perfectly convincing—and let him lead me toward the couch, where I knew the night would only grow more intimate.
And as much as it twisted something inside me, I’d keep pretending. Because seeing him happy, seeing him hers, was all I ever wanted—even if it meant I’d never really be the one he loved.
....
The sun was setting as I sat cross-legged on the floor of my apartment, surrounded by layers of clothing heaped in disarray—her wardrobe, meticulously recreated down to the last stitch. I had spent months watching her, memorizing the way she moved, the way she spoke, even the way she laughed—soft and breathy, as if she were constantly on the verge of a secret.
It wasn’t just her face I had to mimic. It was her soul.
A knock at the door startled me.
Shifting back to myself had always felt like shedding a second skin—my body reforming into my natural curves, my dark curls springing free. I yanked open the door to find my neighbor, Mrs. Langley, standing there with a suspicious squint.
"Heather, you alright in there? Hearin’ all sorts of rustlin’."
I forced a smile. "Just reorganizing, mom. You know how it is."
She hummed, unconvinced, but shuffled off with a grumble.
Heather. That was the name I had given myself when I moved here. Safe. Unassuming. Not the girl who could become anyone else.
I smoothed my hands down my sides, swallowed hard, and closed my eyes. The shift came easier now, like shrugging into a familiar coat. My skin tingled, warming as muscle and bone reordered beneath it. My fingers lengthened, my hips softened, my nose reshaped into the delicate upturn of myself again.
When I opened my eyes again, I become myself again stared back at me from the mirror.
Heather had always been strategic with her ability. She never used it frivolously—only when an opportunity was too tempting to ignore. But this wasn’t just any opportunity. This was Dylan. The man who had consumed her thoughts for years, with his easy laughter and the way his dark eyes crinkled when he smiled. For so long, she had watched from afar, aching for something she could never truly have—until now.
Lena, his girlfriend, was away on a two-week business trip, leaving Dylan alone in their shared apartment. Heather had waited until nightfall, lingering outside until she saw the lights flick off in the bedroom window. Then, with a deep breath, she shifted.
It started at the base of her spine, a slow unspooling warmth that traveled through her limbs, her skin prickling as it stretched and reshaped itself into Lena’s softer curves. Her cheekbones lifted, her hips rounded, her fingers thinned—every detail mattered. She even adjusted her gait, matching Lena’s light, precise steps as she crossed the street.
The key under the flowerpot was still there, just as Lena had mentioned to a friend weeks ago. Heather’s heart hammered against her ribs as she turned it in the lock.
The apartment was quiet, lit only by the blue glow of the television. Dylan was sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, his bare chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.
And that's how it started...
....
The next few hours were a blur of tangled limbs, whispered words, and the kind of intimacy Heather had only ever dreamed of. She hated the way her stomach twisted with guilt, hated the way her own pleasure was tangled up in the lie—but god, the way he touched her. The way he whispered Lena’s name against her skin.
Eventually, exhaustion won, and she fell asleep curled against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.
When Heather woke, sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the tangled sheets. She shifted slightly—and froze.
Her own hands.
She bolted upright, panic searing through her veins. No, no, no— She had shifted back in her sleep. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, her own familiar frame unmistakable.
Dylan stirred beside her, still deep in sleep, one arm slung lazily over the empty space where Lena should have been.
Heather scrambled out of bed, her pulse hammering. If he woke up now—if he saw her—
She clenched her fists, focusing, and felt the shift ripple over her again. The relief was instant as Lena’s features returned, but the terror lingered. She couldn’t stay.
Moving fast, she gathered her scattered clothes, dressed in silence, and scribbled a note in Lena’s looping handwriting:
"Had to leave early—miss you already. Call you tonight."
She placed it on the pillow beside Dylan’s head, stealing one last glance at him before slipping out the door.
....
A diner a few blocks away provided temporary refuge. Heather slid into a corner booth, her hands trembling around a steaming mug of coffee. The reality of what she’d done settled heavy in her chest.
This wasn’t like her other little games—posing as a stranger for an hour, mimicking a co-worker to avoid confrontation. This was Dylan. And she had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.
But even as guilt gnawed at her, another thought slithered in:
Dylan had wanted her.
Or at least, he had wanted the version of her she had given him. She took a slow sip of coffee, her reflection staring back at her in warped distortion against the diner window.
What happens when Lena comes home?
And worse.
What happens if Dylan wants her to stay?
The diner’s bell jingled as Heather pushed through the door, the cold evening air biting at her skin. She pulled her jacket tighter, her thoughts still tangled with the weight of what she had done with Dylan. The coffee had done little to calm her nerves.
She turned down a dimly lit side street, the glow of streetlights flickering against the damp pavement. That’s when she saw them—a group of men, moving in hushed murmurs toward a narrow alley tucked between two weathered brick buildings.
Something about their demeanor set off a warning in the back of her mind. Shoulders hunched, collars pulled up, quick glances over their shoulders as if checking for pursuers.
This isn’t right.
Heather hesitated at the mouth of the alley, her pulse quickening. She should walk away. She should call the cops and let them handle it.
But curiosity was always her downfall.
She slipped into the shadows, pressing close to the wall as she followed them deeper into the alley, her footsteps silent against the cracked concrete. They stopped in front of a rusted metal door half-hidden under peeling graffiti. Above it, a dull red sign flickered:
MALES ONLY.
A muscle in Heather’s jaw twitched. Of course.
The men rapped a quick pattern on the door—three knocks, a pause, then two more. It creaked open, spilling a sliver of neon light onto the ground before swallowing them whole.
The door thudded shut behind them. Locked.
Heather exhaled sharply, weighing her options.
If this was some kind of underground smuggling ring, she should report it. But what if it was just some stupid exclusive party? A gathering for rich, obnoxious dudes who liked to pretend they were part of some secret society?
Her lips curled. Either way, she was getting in.
She ducked behind a dumpster, pulling in a slow breath. Shift or stay?
Shift.
She closed her eyes, feeling the familiar hum beneath her skin as bones realigned, muscles thickened, shoulders broadened. When she blinked, her reflection in a nearby puddle showed Dylan’s sharp jawline, his tousled dark hair—his face.
Good enough.
Approaching the door, she lifted her hand and mimicked the knock—three, pause, two.
A slot scraped open at eye level, revealing a pair of narrowed, shadowed eyes.
“Password?” the voice grunted.
Heather’s stomach plummeted. Shit.
She hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Forcing Dylan’s easy confidence, she smirked. “C’mon, man. I just stepped out for a smoke. You really gonna make me say it again?”
Silence. Then—
The door swung open.
The bass hit her first—deep, throbbing, rattling up through the floorboards. Dim red lights pulsed in time with the music, casting long shadows over the crowded room. Men packed the space, some in sleek suits, others in leather jackets, all of them holding glasses of liquor that gleamed like liquid amber.
But it wasn’t just a party.
Against the far wall stood a row of cages—and inside them, women.
Heather’s breath stopped.
The air inside the basement was thick with sweat and the cloying scent of whiskey and arousal. Heather—still wearing Dylan’s form—stood frozen, her stomach churning as she took in the surreal horror unfolding around her.
Possession Club. It said on the screen.
There are women in cages weren’t just captives.
They were hosts.
The man on the stage, slick-haired and grinning like a carnival barker, gestured toward the cages with a flourish. "Another successful week for our members! Fifty-four possessions total—twenty sexual engagements, thirty-two solo performances, and even two lovely ladies who grew very familiar with each other!" The men around Heather erupted in laughter and cheers, raising their glasses.
Then the speaker’s eyes flicked to a woman crouched at the edge of the stage, her green bikini damp between her thighs as her fingers worked furiously at her own pussy. She didn’t seem to care that everyone was staring—her moans were loud, shameless, her hips bucking as she came right there in front of them.
"Ah, Sarah," the man on stage chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Still can’t control herself, I see."
Pulling her fingers free with a slick pop, the woman—Sarah—giggled, bouncing her breasts as she blew him a kiss. "Sorry~" she panted, not sounding sorry at all. "You know how pent-up I get when I’m not being used."
It was like watching a pornographic nightmare.
Heather’s skin crawled.
Suddenly, a mechanical groan filled the room as the speaker pulled a lever on the wall. The brick facade behind him split open, revealing a long hallway lined with glass rooms—each containing a different woman. Some writhed on beds, touching themselves. Others knelt obediently, waiting.
"Bookings are now open!" the man announced, waving a stack of plastic keycards. "Members with prior reservations, you know the drill. Newcomers—get your cards at the desk and pick your poison!"
The crowd surged forward, men jostling each other as they lined up to claim their "slots." Heather stumbled back, bumping into someone.
"Easy there, pal," a beefy guy in a leather vest drawled, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "First time? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
Before Heather could respond, a commotion near the hallway entrance caught her attention. A wiry man in glasses downed a small pill, grinning as two burly men dragged a struggling woman toward him.
"P-Please, no! I don’t—I don’t want this!" the woman sobbed, kicking wildly. Heather’s fists clenched.
Then it happened.
The man in glasses shuddered—his form flickering like a TV with bad reception—before his entire body seemed to dissolve into mist. The smoky tendrils coiled through the air before plunging straight into the screaming woman’s mouth.
Her body convulsed.
Shaking. Twitching. Legs kicking as her back arched violently—
—and then, stillness.
Her eyes snapped open.
Glowing.
Slowly, a lazy, entirely male smirk spread across her lips. She—he—lifted a hand and groped her breast, squeezing hard with a chuckle. "Damn, this body is tight."
The crowd roared in approval. Heather was going to be sick. She turned and shoved her way toward the exit, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
They’re not just imprisoning women.
They’re stealing them.
And now, disguised as Dylan, she was trapped in a room full of monsters—with no idea how to get out.
The crowd pressed in around Heather like a living, breathing wall—hot, suffocating, reeking of alcohol and sweat. She shoved through, her shoulder knocking against a man’s chest, her elbow jostling another’s drink. Apologies died in her throat. She needed to get out.
But fate had other plans.
Her foot caught on something—a loose floorboard, someone’s outstretched leg—and she lurched forward, crashing straight into the man who had been on stage.
He steadied her with a grip like iron, his slick grin never faltering. Up close, his eyes were dark, calculating, the kind of gaze that peeled back layers without permission.
"Well, well," he purred, tilting his head. "Don’t recognize you. You new?"
Heather’s pulse hammered in her throat. She forced Dylan’s voice—low.. "Nah, just… been a while."
The man laughed, fingers tightening on her shoulder in a mock-friendly squeeze. "Bullshit. You’ve got that deer-in-headlights look all the newbies get." He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Relax. You’re among friends here."
Friends.
The word curdled in her gut as her gaze flicked past him—to the glass rooms where women lay sprawled, their bodies puppeteered by unseen invaders.
The man—the ringleader—stepped back, spreading his arms wide. "Welcome to the club, brother. This is a sacred space. A place where men like us don’t just take pleasure…" His grin turned feral. "We become it."
He clapped her on the back like they were old pals. Heather’s skin crawled.
"Rules are simple," he continued, steering her toward the bar despite her stiff resistance. "What happens here stays here. If some nosy bitch catches wind and tries to run to the cops?" He chuckled, pouring a glass of amber liquor and sliding it toward her. "We reward her. Give her the ride of her life—permanently."
The threat hung in the air, thick as the bass vibrating through the floor.
Heather swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the glass. She needed to leave. Now.
"I, uh—I actually gotta bounce," she muttered, setting the drink down untouched. "Forgot I got shit to do—"
The ringleader’s hand clamped down on her wrist. "Nonsense." His smile never wavered, but his eyes turned glacial. "You just got here. And I insist you try before you go."
From his pocket, he produced a small vial—inside, tiny pills shimmered like crushed pearls.
Heather’s blood turned to ice.
Possession pills.
"Go on," he urged, shaking one into her palm. "First one’s free."
The pill sat there, innocuous, deadly. Around her, the club pulsed with grotesque energy—men laughing, women moaning, bodies moving in ways that weren’t theirs.
She was outnumbered.
Outmatched.
And if she didn’t play along—she’d never make it out alive.
Heather’s fingers trembled around the pill, her mind racing for an escape. The dim, flickering lights of the private room made everything feel surreal—like she was trapped in some grotesque nightmare. The girl on the bed continued to writhe, her legs spread obscenely wide as she gazed at them with heavy-lidded eyes.
The ringleader smirked at Heather’s hesitation. "First-timer jitters. I get it." He stepped aside, gesturing toward the girl. "Meet your instructor. Well, not really—the guy inside her is."
Heather’s jaw clenched. The way he spoke about it so casually, as if this were some kind of twisted mentorship program, made her skin crawl.
The girl on the bed giggled—inhumanly deep, wrong. Then, in a voice that didn’t match her delicate frame, she spoke. "Sup, newbie."
A shudder raced down Heather’s spine.
The ringleader smirked. "This fucker’s got the highest possession count in the club. Every girl in his school, every teacher, his best friend’s mom—name it, he’s been inside." He clapped Heather hard on the back. "He’s gonna show you the ropes."
With that, he turned and left, the lock clicking ominously behind him.
The moment the door sealed, the girl on the bed convulsed, her back arching as a thick, smokey mist forced itself out of her mouth. The specter lingered in the air for a second before condensing back into human form—a lanky, smirking guy in his early twenties, wearing a cocky grin that made Heather’s fists itch.
The girl collapsed onto the bed, gasping, her eyes wide and dazed. "W-Where…?" She clutched the sheets, disoriented.
He ignored her, stepping toward Heather—Dylan’s form—with an assessing gaze. "Alright, Dylan. Let’s get you started."
Heather forced Dylan’s voice, trying to steady it. "How… does this even work?"
The possessor smirked, plucking the pill from her palm and holding it up between two fingers. "Pop one of these, and boom—you’re a ghost. You can slip into any chick you want. No resistance, no fighting back. Just pure control." His grin widened. "But here’s the catch."
He tossed the pill back into her hand. "One pill lasts 24 hours. If you don’t take another before time runs out? Congrats—you’re stuck forever. No refunds."
A cold sweat broke out on the back of Heather’s neck.
The girl on the bed whimpered, trying to scoot back. "P-Please… just let me go…"
The possessor didn’t even glance at her. "Lesson one: Don’t get attached. They’re just shells. Our shells."
His fingers flicked out, snatching the pill back from Heather. Before she could react, he shoved it into the girl’s mouth, clamping his hand over her lips until she choked it down.
Then, like smoke through a crack, his body dissolved, swirling violently before surging back into her.
The girl’s body jerked, her pupils dilating unnaturally as his voice slithered out of her lips.
"Now," he purred, running a hand up her thigh, "let’s practice."
Horror coiled in Heather’s gut.
She had to get out.
Before she became the lesson.
"I'm not doing this," Heather growled, her voice trembling as she took a step back.
The girl's face—possessed by that leering bastard—twisted in confusion. "What the hell do you mean, no?" The throaty, masculine chuckle that slithered out of her delicate lips sent a wave of revulsion through Heather. "Dude, that's why you're here, ain't it?"
Heather's fists clenched at her sides, Dylan's borrowed body tense with barely restrained panic. "I changed my mind. I'm out."
She spun toward the locked door, desperation burning in her veins. The metallic click of the latch mocked her—no way out without a key. Her lungs tightened. Think, think, think—
A hand seized her wrist, yanking her backward. "Oh, hell no. You ain't goin' anywhere."
Heather twisted, wrenching free. "Get off—"
Her feet caught on the edge of the bed’s tangled sheets.
Time slowed.
She flailed, but gravity won.
Her temple slammed into the dresser’s sharp corner—a white-hot crack of pain—and then—
—everything unraveled.
A sickening warmth pooled beneath her skin, muscles writhing as bones snapped back into place. Curves reemerged. Height dissolved. Dylan’s broad shoulders melted into her own slender frame, his clothes suddenly baggy, drowning her.
The world swayed as she slumped to her knees, blinking through the haze.
She was herself again.
The girl on the bed—no, the man inside her—gaped. "What the—?"
Heather’s stomach plummeted.
No.
She reached up, fingers grazing the familiar shape of her own face—soft cheeks, full lips, her hair. Dylan’s borrowed form was gone.
The possessed girl’s expression morphed from shock to greedy fascination. A slow, vile grin split her face. "Well, well. A shapeshifter." He let out a low whistle. "Now that’s a rarity."
Heather scrambled back, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Stay away from me."
The girl—no, the thing wearing her—laughed, crawling off the bed in a way too predatory to be human. "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you just became the main attraction."
The door rattled—the sound of a key turning.
Heather’s blood turned to ice.
The lock clicked.
The pounding on the door was relentless.
"Yo, everything alright in there? Sounded like a damn fight!"
Inside the dimly lit room, the air was thick with the scent of sweat and something metallic—fear, desperation, the charged energy of a predator circling its prey.
The girl’s body—possessed by the grinning bastard who now knew Heather’s secret—rolled her eyes and called back, voice slick with amusement.
"Relax, man, just having too much fun in here!"
The lie dripped with the confidence of someone used to getting his way. The muffled chuckle from the other side of the door confirmed they bought it. Footsteps receded, leaving Heather alone with the monster standing between her and escape.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
She was trapped.
Worse—she’d given herself away.
The man inside the girl cocked his head, eyes glinting in the dim light as he raked his gaze over Heather’s trembling form.
"You know," he mused, stepping closer, "I’ve seen some crazy shit in this club, but a shapeshifter? That’s a first." He grinned. "And damn if you don’t have a fine body to go with it."
Heather’s back hit the wall. Cold brick bit into her skin through own too-big shirt. She had no weapons. No backup.
And he knew exactly what she was.
The possessed girl stretched, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off a cramp. "Alright, here’s how this is gonna go." She—he—ticked the points off on delicate fingers:
1. "You don’t scream."
2. "You don’t fight."
3. "And maybe, just maybe, I don’t tell the guys outside you’re a walking, talking party trick they can all take for a spin."
He stepped closer, close enough that Heather could see the unnatural gleam in the girl’s eyes—too sharp, too male for the soft features they were trapped in.
"What do you say, shapeshifter girl? Deal?"
Heather spat in his face.
The girl’s head snapped back—but then the laugh came, low and dark. A slow swipe of her thumb wiped the saliva away, and when those eyes locked onto Heather again, they were hungry.
"Should’ve taken the deal."
Then— A gasp. A shudder.
The girl’s body convulsed, back arching violently as a thick, black mist spewed from her lips. It coiled in the air like smoke, twisting, seething— And then it lunged for Heather.
Cold.
That was her first thought.
It felt like drowning in ice water, like freezing fingers clawing down her throat, filling her lungs, her veins, her bones. Heather gagged, her body buckling under the invasion. Her vision swam—blurred—
And then came the pressure.
Pushing. Squeezing.
Something inside her screamed as the man’s presence forced its way in, tendrils of his will latching onto her nerves, her muscles, her thoughts— Heather’s fists clenched, nails biting into her palms.
*Get. Out.*
Her lips moved, words trembling. "You... can’t... have me." A scoff echoed in her skull—his voice, smug and condescending.
"Oh sweetheart, I already do."
And then— *Pain.*
Her right hand moved on its own, jerking up to claw at her own throat. Heather choked. Stop it—STOP IT— Her traitorous fingers tightened. Dark spots danced in her vision. Laughter, thick and cruel, vibrated through her bones.
"Fight all you want." A phantom tongue licked her lips from the inside. "But this body’s mine now."
Heather collapsed to her knees, gasping. It was like being locked in a glass box inside her own head—able to see, to feel, but powerless to stop what came next. Her hands lifted—not hers, his—and skimmed up her sides, groping, squeezing, testing.
"Damn, you weren’t kidding about this body." He cupped her breasts through the fabric, thumbs rolling her nipples until they pebbled tight. A groan rattled through her throat—his pleasure, not hers.
Tears burned her eyes as her own fingers hooked into the collar of Dylan’s shirt and yanked. Buttons popped, clattering to the floor. Cool air kissed her exposed skin.
"Yeah... that’s better."
Hands—her hands—palmed her bare tits, kneading with rough appreciation. "Fuck, these are perfect." His laughter slithered under her skin. "Bet you’ve made guys lose their minds with these, huh?"
Heather squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Then—
Her fingers trailed lower. Over her stomach.
Down, down—
She thrashed internally, screaming, pleading, but it was no use. Her body wasn’t hers anymore. And when her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, when they found the slick heat between her legs—
It was his voice that moaned.
It was his will that made her cum.
That was the first sound—ragged, satisfied breaths filling the silence of the room. Heather’s body slumped against the wall, spent, trembling. The man inside her stretched lazily, arching her back with a groan.
"Damn, that was good."
Heather lay sprawled on the cold basement floor, her body slick with sweat and trembling from the forced release he had wrung from her. Every breath felt like fire in her lungs, every heartbeat an exhausted throb of humiliation.
The bastard inside her wasn’t done.
Her hands—his hands—groped her breasts again, squeezing with possessive delight as he laughed in her mind.
"Fuck, I could get used to this."
Her fingers pinched her nipples hard enough to make her gasp—his pitiless amusement twisting her pleasure into pain. Then they trailed down her stomach again, past her navel, slipping between her thighs.
No wait—
She fought, straining against the cage of her own body, but it was no use. The first brush of fingertips against her clit was a sickening betrayal. Her own flesh pulsed in response, still sensitive from the last assault.
"You really don’t wanna enjoy this, huh?" His voice was a sneer in her skull as he circled that swollen bud, slow and taunting. "Too bad."
Heather clenched her teeth, but a helpless whimper escaped as he sped up, his touch ruthless, degrading.
"Go on, fight it," he mocked. "Bet you’ll still cum like a slut anyway." Tears burned her eyes—but her body, traitorous and weak, arched off the ground as he drove her toward another brutal orgasm.
Her back bowed.
Then—
Release.
A guttural moan tore from her lips—his victory, not hers—as her hips jerked wildly. Slick warmth gushed around his fingers, soaking her thighs, the floor beneath her. Satisfaction oozed through their shared mind like syrup.
"Damn. You’re dripping."
Her hands—his hands—lifted, fingers glistening with her own shame before he licked them clean with her tongue. "Not bad."
Before she could even recover, Heather felt her body stand—his will puppeteering her limbs like a marionette. A deep, rolling laugh bubbled up from her throat as his control forced her into motion.
Hips swaying. Ass twerking.
"Look at you," he crooned, making her slap her own rear with a sharp crack. "Made for this shit."
Humiliation burned through her like acid. She could feel it—the way he relished every second of her degradation, the way he made her body perform like some cheap stripper for his amusement.
Her stomach churned. She wanted to scream.
Then—
A pause.
"Here’s the deal," he mused, halting her gyrating hips and turning her toward the cracked mirror across the room. Heather saw herself—flushed, panting, pupils blown wide in arousal she hadn’t asked for. And then she saw her lips curl into a smirk that wasn’t hers.
"You let me ride this body for a while," he purred, running her hands up her naked sides. "Really enjoy it. And hey—maybe I’ll even make it good for you."
Her fingers tweaked her nipples again, sharp enough to make her gasp.
"Or,"—her head tilted, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper—"I could record a little video of us. Let the whole club see what a desperate little shifter looks like when she cums."
Heather’s blood turned to ice. The footage would spread. She’d never escape it. Her lips moved before she could stop them.
"Fuck. You."
A laugh—dark, amused.
"Oh, sweetheart. I plan to."
Her body moved on its own, grabbing a discarded phone from the dresser.
Camera on.
Recording.
"Say hi to the fellas, Heather."
....
The dim, flickering light of the basement room painted Heather’s sweat-slicked skin in shifting shadows. She lay sprawled on the stained mattress, her body trembling in the aftermath of another brutal climax—one of many forced upon her in what felt like an eternity of humiliation.
The phone propped nearby ticked over to four hours of recording.
Four hours.
Four hours of him using her hands, her mouth, her very soul to wring pleasure from her unwilling body.
Her thighs glistened—slick with arousal he had demanded, trembling from exhaustion.
She wanted to scream. To sob. To kill him. But her body wasn’t hers anymore.
His voice slithered through her mind, dark with amusement. "You were made for this, weren’t you?" Her lips—his to control—twisted into a mocking smirk.
Her fingers—his to command—dragged through the mess between her legs, painting her stomach with glistening streaks.
"Look at you," he purred, forcing her to tilt her hips toward the camera. "Dripping like a fucking fountain."
Heather’s breath hitched.
She hated this.
Hated him.
Hated the way her body betrayed her.
But no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t stop. Her fingers circled her clit again, slow, taunting.
She braced herself.
"P-Please..." she gasped—the first word she'd managed in hours.
"Please what?" His laughter was a razor against her mind. "Tell me, Heather. Beg for it." She shut her eyes, breath ragged.
"Stop."
A pause.
Then—
A roar of laughter.
"Oh, I wish you could see yourself right now," he crooned. "So pathetic. So weak."
Her thumb pressed down—hard—and her back arched as another wave of forced pleasure tore through her.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. "F-Fuck you..." she choked out. His grin was a razor in her skull.
"Already am."
Then, to her horror, she felt the familiar pull at her bones—the telltale tingle of shifting.
Skin rippled. Muscles tensed. Her own horrified gasp morphed mid-breath into— Someone else’s voice.
"Recognize her?"
The words spilled from lips that weren’t hers—soft, feminine, strange. He forced her body to crawl to the mirror. The reflection wasn’t Heather. It was a girl with platinum blonde hair, pouty lips, a body built for sin. She didn't know her. But he did.
"Jessica," he mused, making her hands skim down her new curves. "Cheer captain. Total bitch. Fucked her brains out the moment I got her alone."
Heather’s stomach turned.
A whimper—Jessica’s whimper—trembled from her throat. Then— Another shift. Hips widened. Breasts swelled.
"Sarah," he purred, running his fingers over thick thighs, a voluptuous frame. "Teacher’s pet. She cried when I took her. Best orgasm of her life."
Shift. A petite redhead.
Shift. A tanned beauty with a dancer’s grace.
His collection.
His trophies.
And now, his to make Heather wear like some sick costume.
Each shift was accompanied by forced touch—his cruel exploration of his conquests, using her body to relive his sick victories.
She wanted to vomit.
Then—suddenly—she was herself again.
Naked.
Exposed.
Trembling.
In her hands was something new—a vibrator, thick and humming with wicked intensity.
"Time for the main event," he murmured. The tip pressed against her wet, quivering pussy. She sucked in a sharp breath— Then screamed as he turned it on full power. The vibrations tore through her, ruthless and unrelenting, her hips jerking uncontrollably against the assault.
"Oh fuck—FUCK!"
Her own cry disgusted her. She hated how good it felt. Hated how her body clenched, greedy and desperate, around nothing. Hated him for making her like it.
"The more you fight, the longer this lasts," he reminded her sweetly. "Just relax, Heather. Enjoy yourself."
She bit her lip until it bled. But her body obeyed him. Spasmed for him. Came for him.
And when the wave crashed over her, when her vision whited out and her scream echoed off the walls— The camera caught it all.
As she lay there, broken and gasping, the final realization settled over her like a shroud.
This place wasn’t just a club. It was a hunting ground. And women like her?
Prey.
The man inside her leaned forward—her lips brushing her own ear in a lover’s whisper.
"Tomorrow night, the boys will love this footage."
The door clicked open.
A familiar voice cut through the haze. "Damn. Looks like you’ve been busy." The ringleader stood in the doorway, eyes gleaming with dark approval.
Heather’s stomach dropped. She was out of time. And there was no escape.
.....
The heavy door clicked shut behind the club’s ringleader, leaving Heather and her possessor alone in the cavernous basement. The air was thick with the musk of sweat and sin, the red lights casting long, leering shadows against the walls.
Heather’s body moved without her consent.
Hips swayed.
Her naked form glistened under the dim glow as the monster inside her forced her into a slow, deliberate shimmy. The sensation of her own body betraying her—fluid and responsive to every cruel command—made her want to scream. She did scream.
"Get OUT of me!" Her voice cracked, strained from hours of forced moans and sobs. The possessor only laughed—a dark, amused sound that rattled through her bones.
"And ruin the fun?" Her own hands slid up her waist, cupping her breasts possessively. "Nah. We’re just getting started." He made her slap her own ass—hard—the sharp crack echoing through the empty club.
"Fuck you!" Heather hissed.
"Oh, sweetheart." Her fingers pinched her nipple, twisting just to hear her gasp. "I fuckinh you right now.."
With a cruel mental tug, he forced her toward the main stage—the same one where they’d displayed caged women like livestock. Her legs moved without hesitation. Then—
She twerked. Hard. Shameless.
Her ass bounced in a way she’d never done in her life—cheeks clapping, her body bending forward until her hands braced against the stage.
"STOP IT!" she roared in her mind.
"Or what?" His voice dripped with condescension as he made her roll her hips, slow and obscene. "You’ll cry more?"
Heather burned with fury. The worst part? She could feel his arousal through the possession—the way her hips gyrating turned him on, his pleasure bleeding into her nerves.
"You sick bastard," she choked out.
"Aw, don’t be like that."
Her fingers trailed down over her stomach.
Then, without warning—
He speared two fingers inside her.
Her back arched violently as he curled them deep, hitting her G-spot with precision. A strangled cry ripped from her throat. "See? Your body loves me," he purred.
"I—I don’t—!"
Words failed as he pumped ruthlessly, his laughter merging with her panting gasps.
She didn’t want this. Didn’t want him. But her body didn’t care. White-hot pleasure coiled tight in her gut—Then snapped.
Her vision whited out as she came hard, her thighs clamping around her own wrist as wave after wave wracked her system.
When she came back to herself—still trembling, still violated—his voice slithered through her mind like oil.
"Y’know, I was gonna make you shift again," he mused, forcing her to collapse onto the stage, spent and sweating. "But damn, your real body? Chef’s kiss."
Her stomach twisted.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Rot in hell."
A chuckle.
Then—her hand groped her breast again.
"Not before I enjoy myself."
Her fingers trailed lower, dragging through the mess he’d made of her, circling her clit with lazy, taunting strokes.
She shuddered, biting back a moan. "Why… are you… still doing this?" she gasped.
"Because I can."
He pinched her clit—hard—and she wailed. "And because," he continued, voice thick with dark promise, "once the boys see how good you are at taking orders?"
His fingers plunged back inside her, forcing another staggered cry. "They’re gonna want you all the time."
A pause.
Then—
"And you’ll have no choice but to obey." Heather’s blood ran cold. She opened her mouth— But before she could speak, his control slammed into her like a freight train.
Her back bowed. Her nails scraped the stage. And as another orgasm tore through her— She realized with horrifying clarity:
There was no escape.
....
The red digital clock on the nightstand blinked 4:37 AM as Heather's body twitched through yet another unwanted climax, her thighs glistening under the flickering basement lights. Fourteen hours. Fourteen goddamn hours trapped inside her own flesh while he puppeteered her movements, forced moans from her lips, and wrung orgasm after orgasm from her exhausted form.
"P-please..." Heather whispered through trembling lips, her voice hoarse from screaming. "Just... stop..."
Inside her mind, the possessor chuckled darkly. "Stop? Babygirl, we're just warming up."
Her traitorous hands—his hands now—slid down her sweat-slicked stomach with familiar intent. Heather squeezed her eyes shut, trying to disconnect, to retreat into some corner of her mind where this wasn't happening. But the moment his fingers brushed her oversensitive clit, her spine arched off the mattress with a ragged gasp.
"You—fucking monster—" she choked out, her nails digging into the sheets as electric pleasure-pain lanced through her.
"Ooh, say that again," he purred, circling her swollen nub with merciless precision. "Nothing hotter than hearing you curse while your body begs for it."
Her clit throbbed under his relentless attention, every nerve ending screaming with overstimulation. Heather's breath came in shallow pants as his fingers dipped lower, tracing her soaked entrance before pushing two digits inside without warning.
"Nngh! G-God—!" Her hips jerked helplessly, her inner walls fluttering around the intrusion.
"Look at you," he crooned, pistoning his fingers ruthlessly against that spongy spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. "Dripping like a goddamn faucet. Bet you can't even remember how many times you've come for me, can you?"
Tears spilled down Heather's cheeks as her body betrayed her yet again, her thighs trembling on the edge of another crushing orgasm. "I... I hate you—"
"Uh-huh," he mocked, curling his fingers just so. "Tell me how much you hate me when you scream."
The coil in her stomach snapped.
Heather's back bowed off the bed as the climax ripped through her, a broken wail tearing from her throat as her vision whited out. Her hips stuttered against his hand, her inner walls spasming around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure-pain crashed over her.
When she finally came down, shuddering and gasping, his laughter echoed through her skull.
"Twenty-seven," he announced smugly, withdrawing his glistening fingers and holding them up to her blurry vision. "That's how many times I've made this pretty little pussy cum tonight. Think we can hit thirty before sunrise?"
Heather turned her face into the pillow, her entire body aching, every muscle limp with exhaustion. She wanted to rage. To fight. But fourteen hours of relentless violation had hollowed her out, leaving only a numb shell behind.
Heather collapsed against the sheets, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're... you're sick..."
"And you're delicious," he countered, making her trail a finger through the mess between her thighs before bringing it to her lips. "Taste that? That's what defeat feels like, sweetheart."
Her stomach churned as her tongue licked her own juices away at his command.
"Now..." Her hands slid down her body once more. "Let's see if we can't make you scream one last time before the boys get here."
Heather thrashed weakly as his will overpowered hers yet again. "N-no more... I can't—"
"Oh you can," he whispered, spreading her legs wide. "And you will."
As his fingers found her clit again, as pleasure built like a tidal wave against her will, Heather did the only thing she had left.
She closed her eyes.
And prayed for death.
And cums in her own hands.
...
Plot
Your body was stolen by a super busty Goth Girl. You now have to live her life. You find out you switched because her family was cursed to give their bodies to a stranger of the opposite sex on their 21st birthday. Emily just chose you at random.
Characters
Emily Lunawood: The goth girl who stole your body. She is wearing fishnet stockings, a short skirt with a black lace thong under it, a revealing top with a black lace bra under it and black high heels when she steals your body. She has black hair with red dyed tips, it goes to her waist.
You: An average looking man, you have brown hair and blue eyes. Your slightly muscular.
One moment, I was pressing my palm to the mirror, mesmerized by the way my reflection moved without me. The next—reality twisted, inverted. A dizzying lurch, and I was staring out from the glass at my own horrified face.
Oh God.
My body—Emily’s body now—was already backing away, her—my—lips curling into a smirk that felt alien on my features. "Enjoy the new life," she said in my voice, rolling my shoulders like she was testing them out. "Trust me, you’ll need it."
"Switch us back!" I snapped, but the words came out in her higher, smoother tone—hers now. My hands—slender, unfamiliar—clenched at my sides.
She just smirked, my smirk, and reached for the jacket I’d draped over the chair. "Check the purse, sweetheart. You’ll definitely want to." Then, with a wink that made my stomach twist, she was gone, the door slamming behind her before I could even think to chase her—me.
Nausea rolled through me as I grabbed the leather handbag by the dresser. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, shaking as I pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. Emily Lunawood. 21. 309 Cedar Lane.
The drive was a nightmare of panicked swerves and clumsy turns; the car, an automatic, felt foreign without my stick shift to grip. Her—my—apartment was all soft grays and jasmine in the air, pristine except for the open notebook on the kitchen counter.
A single note sat beside it, written in fluid, looping script.
Sorry to whoever is now me, it read, my family was cursed years ago. On the 21st birthday, we are forced to seek out someone of the opposite sex and give them our bodies. You will be given my memories the first night you sleep. Signed Emily Lunawood.
A bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Of course. I thumbed open the notebook—passwords, addresses, even a meticulously planned gym schedule—before collapsing onto the couch, my (her) head in my (her) hands.
The bed was too plush, the sheets too silky, but exhaustion won out. I fell into the dark, and when dreams came, they weren’t mine.
They were hers—childhood summers, first heartbreaks, whispered family warnings that the curse had no loopholes, no way back. And worst of all? The unshakable knowledge that no one in the Lunawood bloodline had ever escaped it.
The first thing I registered as consciousness crawled back was the delicious ache between my thighs and the whisper of stockings against freshly shaved skin. My fingers—her fingers—traced the outline of fishnets stretched taut over smooth legs, the crisscross pattern pressing kisses into flesh that wasn’t mine. A gasp caught in my throat as I realized the skirt riding up was obscenely short, the lace of my thong riding high enough to tease at the curve of my—her—ass. The top barely contained the swell of cleavage spilling over a black lace bra, the fabric sheer enough to outline hardened nipples.
I shifted—God, even the movement felt different—and nearly toppled off the bed when the spiked heels caught in the sheets. My reflection in the vanity mirror was a punch to the gut: smudged eyeliner, swollen lips bitten red, black hair cascading over bare shoulders with crimson streaks blazing through it like warning flares.
And the worst part? The thrill zipping down my spine at how good it all felt.
I got up and went to a mirror.
The mirror showed me—her—in full, and I barely recognized the predatory amusement in my new eyes. My fingers trembled as they traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my collarbone, every unfamiliar contour both alien and intoxicating. The lace of my bra dug into soft flesh when I inhaled sharply, my nails biting crescents into my palms—just to feel something real.
A slow, involuntary roll of my hips sent a jolt through me—her body knew exactly what it wanted. The fishnets rasped against my thighs as I spread my legs slightly, just enough to feel the damp heat pooling where the thong cut in.
Jesus.
I watched in horrified fascination as my reflection’s tongue swiped over painted lips, my own breath coming faster as I fought the urge to slide a hand lower. This wasn’t me—
But the thought shattered when I arched my back experimentally, and the bra’s clasp strained against the motion. A whimper escaped me—high, breathy, embarrassingly feminine—as my nipple peaked tighter against the lace, the sensation so intense it nearly buckled my knees.
The purse Emily left gaped open on the bed, a glint of metal catching my eye. I reached for it with shaking fingers and pulled out a slim silver vibrator, still slick with—
Oh God, she’d been using this right before swapping us.
The realization burned through me hotter than shame. My reflection’s pupils blew wide as my thumb brushed the damp button, the device humming to life with a predatory purr. The sound alone dragged a moan from my throat—her throat.
I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop.
The vibrator pressed against my inner thigh, the vibrations rippling up through the fishnets like a live wire. Every rational thought short-circuited when I dragged it higher, the lace of my panties already soaked through.
The mirror showed it all—the way my hips jerked when the buzzing found my clit, the obscene glide of the toy through slick folds as I fucked myself with it in frantic, shallow thrusts.
"Fuck—fuck—" My voice was a broken thing, her voice, her pleasure, even as my mind screamed that this wasn’t right.
But God, it felt like heaven.
The orgasm hit like a train, my back slamming against the vanity as my legs gave out. Pleasure pulsed through me in dizzying waves, my reflection’s mouth slack with ecstasy, mascara streaking down flushed cheeks.
I slid to the floor, trembling, the vibrator still buzzing weakly against my thigh.
What the hell was I becoming?
The question pulsed through me like a second heartbeat as I stared at my reflection lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. The need to feel more, to explore this stolen flesh, burned hotter than reason.
The top was the first to go. I reached behind my neck to undo the clasp, letting the silky material pool around my waist before sliding it the rest of the way down.
With shaking hands, I reached up and tugged at the straps of the lace bra, seeing in the process a 42F tag. The fabric resisted for a moment before giving way, setting my full breasts free. They bounced slightly with the motion, nipples hardening immediately in the cool air. A shiver ran through me as my fingers brushed against one, the contact sending a jolt straight to my still-throbbing core.
The fishnets came next. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, rolling them down with slow, deliberate movements. The material clung stubbornly, the crisscross pattern stretching then snapping back against my hips with each inch exposed. Smooth skin emerged beneath, freshly waxed and still tingling from earlier.
The thong was soaked through, the damp lace clinging obscenely when I finally shimmied out of it. My fingers trailed along the inside of my thighs before pausing at the apex - so smooth, so incredibly different. The scent of my own arousal filled the air as I tentatively spread my legs wider, watching in the mirror as the evidence of my pleasure glistened under soft light.
I ran trembling hands over my new body - from the dip of my waist up to cup my breasts, thumbs circling peaked nipples that responded eagerly to every touch. A breathy moan escaped my lips as one hand slid lower, fingertips brushing through damp curls before sinking into slick heat.
This isn't me.
This feels so good.
The contradictions warred in my mind even as my body arched into my own touch, hips rocking against my fingers with increasing urgency. The mirror showed it all - showed her - lost in pleasure, mouth open in silent ecstasy as fingers worked furiously between spread thighs.
When the wave crashed over me this time, I barely recognized my own scream.
The shower did nothing to wash away the surreal thrill of my stolen skin—every inch of Emily’s body still buzzed unnervingly under my touch. Steam fogged the mirror as I toweled off, deliberately running my (her) hands down the unfamiliar slope of narrow waist and curved hips. The face staring back—sharp cheekbones, violet eyes heavy with something darkly knowing—still sent a jolt through me.
I knotted the silk robe too tight, ignoring how it barely covered her thighs. Luckily thanks to her memories, I knew she didn't have any close relationships. I also knew that she would find me again soon, since the curse had a second component. The swapped individuals would fall in love and help continue the family line.
Emily—me now—had left more than just her lipsticks and half-used perfume. The sleek black phone buzzed beneath my fingers, unlocked by my—her—face. I swallowed hard. Time to take inventory of my new life.
Bank Account
The app opened instantly. I blinked.
$84,756.22
I actually laughed, sharp and disbelieving. Savings account? Another $312K. I tapped through transaction history—monthly deposits from something called Lunawood Holdings for $15K, along with smaller payments labeled consulting fees. What the hell kind of consulting did she do?
Social Media
The first tab I tapped was Instagram—her Instagram. My stomach clenched as the app loaded, revealing a digital shrine to seduction. The blue checkmark was inevitable. The bio burned into my retinas: 💋 Your Next Bad Decision 💋, all smirking lips and dangerous promise.
The feed was a slow, deliberate burn—no accidents here. Every shot was a masterclass in teasing control. Silk sheets tangled around one bare thigh, the shadow-dipped dip of her spine as she arched over a hotel balcony, a crimson-lacquered nail dragging down a champagne flute. No laughter, no adrenaline—just heat, simmering in every flick of her wrist, every half-lidded glance at the camera like she could already feel hands on her skin. The captions were sparse, deliberate: "Late nights only", "Tell me how badly you want it", "Good boys don't get to touch."
Every post wasn’t just a demand to look—it was a dare to want.
Twitter was a constant stream of punchy one-liners and suggestive stunt reels. TikTok was a minefield of temptation—short, scorching loops of Emily arching against silk bedsheets, biting her lower lip in teasing slow-motion, her fingers tracing idle circles over the lace hem of lingerie before cutting to black. No laughter, no wasted movement—just a half-second of exposed thigh, the barest glimpse of teeth grazing skin, all set to a pulse-heavy soundtrack that left you craving another replay. Every clip was a dare wrapped in five seconds of sin.
OnlyFans
The icon made my fingers hesitate. Of course she had one. I tapped it—password already saved—and nearly choked.
$27K last month. $42K the month before. A catalog of paywalled galleries—Mistress in Marble, Bondage & Breakfast, each one featuring me now, in poses so sinful my pulse stuttered. There I was, sprawled across black satin sheets, fingers tangled in my own hair as I arched toward the camera, lips parted just enough to tease. Another series showed me kneeling in thigh-high stockings, the garter straps biting into creamy skin while I stared down the lens with heavy-lidded authority.
Subscriptions
Then came the subscriptions. Of course she had every premium streaming service—Netflix, HBO, the works—but the real fun started scrolling down. Paid access to high-end porn sites, all sleek branding and "exclusive content." A membership to Velvet Orbit, some kind of luxury erotic streaming platform with thumbnails featuring tangled limbs under silk sheets and promises of "real couples, real desires."
I was closing out of the accounts when I heard it—three sharp raps against the bedroom wall, followed by two slower ones. A pattern. Deliberate.
My breath caught. That wasn’t the front door.
Emily’s memories surfaced like fragments of a dream—pressed against this same wall, her fingers finding the nearly invisible seam in the wallpaper, pushing just so—
A hidden door clicked open.
I froze as the panel swung inward, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for shoulders. And there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that matched the one I’d worn earlier, stood me.
My old body looked different now. The way he held himself was all Emily; the cocky tilt of his chin, the way his fingers drummed a lazy rhythm against his thigh. His shirt hung open, revealing the chest I used to know every scar and freckle of.
“Miss me already?” His voice was mine, but the cadence, the purr—hers.
“You—” My throat tightened. I hadn’t realized how much taller I used to be until I had to look up at myself.
“Uh-uh.” He wagged a finger—my finger—and stepped inside, the hidden door whispering shut behind him. “Rule one of the curse: no take-backs.” His gaze dragged over me, lingering where the robe gaped at my chest. “Though I do like what I see.”
A flush burned up my neck. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He prowled closer, close enough that I caught my old cologne on his skin. “I was hoping you’d find the toys first.” His grin widened as my cheeks heated. “Oh, you did.”
I backed up until the vanity dug into my spine. “Why are you here?”
His grin turned wicked as he leaned in, close enough for his borrowed lips to brush my ear. "Because you will be my bride and help continue the line as per the second half of the curse."
A few years later
The pain was unbearable—a searing, primal fire tearing through me with every contraction. My nails dug into the hospital bed sheets, sweat gluing Emily’s—no, mine now—long black hair to my face.
"You’re doing amazing," he murmured, squeezing my hand. Even now, with my old face lined with worry, the way he tilted his head was pure Emily—that same confident smirk tempered by something softer. The silver band on his finger glinted under the harsh hospital lights, matching the one nestled securely against my own ring finger.
"Shut up," I gasped, arching off the bed as another wave hit. "This is your fault.*"
He just chuckled, brushing damp strands back from my forehead. "Our family now, sweetheart." His thumb traced my knuckles. "And trust me, when you hold her, you won’t regret a damn thing."
The nurse between my legs looked up, grinning. "One more push, Mom. She’s right there."
I barely had time to scream before the pressure shattered into sudden, dizzying relief. A fragile, furious wail filled the room, and then—
Her.
Tiny. Perfect. Swaddled in a pink blanket and placed carefully against my chest, her little face scrunched up in outrage. Dark lashes fluttered against petal-soft cheeks, her miniature fingers curling reflexively around mine.
"Congratulations," the nurse murmured. "She’s beautiful."
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The weight of her was terrifying, intoxicating—mine.
"She has your nose," he whispered, bending to press a kiss to my temple. His—my old—calloused finger traced the baby’s shock of dark hair. "But your mother’s eyes." His voice cracked. "God, look at her."
The baby blinked up at us, her tiny mouth working silently before she settled with a sigh. The monitors beeped steadily, the world narrowing to this moment—this impossible, inevitable moment.
I leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, euphoric, and met my husband’s gaze.
"Worth it?" he teased, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
I clutched our daughter tighter—the next in the Lunawood line—and laughed through the tears.
Your body was stolen by a super busty Goth Girl. You now have to live her life. You find out you switched because her family was cursed to give their bodies to a stranger of the opposite sex on their 21st birthday. Emily just chose you at random.
Characters
Emily Lunawood: The goth girl who stole your body. She is wearing fishnet stockings, a short skirt with a black lace thong under it, a revealing top with a black lace bra under it and black high heels when she steals your body. She has black hair with red dyed tips, it goes to her waist.
You: An average looking man, you have brown hair and blue eyes. Your slightly muscular.
One moment, I was pressing my palm to the mirror, mesmerized by the way my reflection moved without me. The next—reality twisted, inverted. A dizzying lurch, and I was staring out from the glass at my own horrified face.
Oh God.
My body—Emily’s body now—was already backing away, her—my—lips curling into a smirk that felt alien on my features. "Enjoy the new life," she said in my voice, rolling my shoulders like she was testing them out. "Trust me, you’ll need it."
"Switch us back!" I snapped, but the words came out in her higher, smoother tone—hers now. My hands—slender, unfamiliar—clenched at my sides.
She just smirked, my smirk, and reached for the jacket I’d draped over the chair. "Check the purse, sweetheart. You’ll definitely want to." Then, with a wink that made my stomach twist, she was gone, the door slamming behind her before I could even think to chase her—me.
Nausea rolled through me as I grabbed the leather handbag by the dresser. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, shaking as I pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. Emily Lunawood. 21. 309 Cedar Lane.
The drive was a nightmare of panicked swerves and clumsy turns; the car, an automatic, felt foreign without my stick shift to grip. Her—my—apartment was all soft grays and jasmine in the air, pristine except for the open notebook on the kitchen counter.
A single note sat beside it, written in fluid, looping script.
Sorry to whoever is now me, it read, my family was cursed years ago. On the 21st birthday, we are forced to seek out someone of the opposite sex and give them our bodies. You will be given my memories the first night you sleep. Signed Emily Lunawood.
A bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Of course. I thumbed open the notebook—passwords, addresses, even a meticulously planned gym schedule—before collapsing onto the couch, my (her) head in my (her) hands.
The bed was too plush, the sheets too silky, but exhaustion won out. I fell into the dark, and when dreams came, they weren’t mine.
They were hers—childhood summers, first heartbreaks, whispered family warnings that the curse had no loopholes, no way back. And worst of all? The unshakable knowledge that no one in the Lunawood bloodline had ever escaped it.
The first thing I registered as consciousness crawled back was the delicious ache between my thighs and the whisper of stockings against freshly shaved skin. My fingers—her fingers—traced the outline of fishnets stretched taut over smooth legs, the crisscross pattern pressing kisses into flesh that wasn’t mine. A gasp caught in my throat as I realized the skirt riding up was obscenely short, the lace of my thong riding high enough to tease at the curve of my—her—ass. The top barely contained the swell of cleavage spilling over a black lace bra, the fabric sheer enough to outline hardened nipples.
I shifted—God, even the movement felt different—and nearly toppled off the bed when the spiked heels caught in the sheets. My reflection in the vanity mirror was a punch to the gut: smudged eyeliner, swollen lips bitten red, black hair cascading over bare shoulders with crimson streaks blazing through it like warning flares.
And the worst part? The thrill zipping down my spine at how good it all felt.
I got up and went to a mirror.
The mirror showed me—her—in full, and I barely recognized the predatory amusement in my new eyes. My fingers trembled as they traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my collarbone, every unfamiliar contour both alien and intoxicating. The lace of my bra dug into soft flesh when I inhaled sharply, my nails biting crescents into my palms—just to feel something real.
A slow, involuntary roll of my hips sent a jolt through me—her body knew exactly what it wanted. The fishnets rasped against my thighs as I spread my legs slightly, just enough to feel the damp heat pooling where the thong cut in.
Jesus.
I watched in horrified fascination as my reflection’s tongue swiped over painted lips, my own breath coming faster as I fought the urge to slide a hand lower. This wasn’t me—
But the thought shattered when I arched my back experimentally, and the bra’s clasp strained against the motion. A whimper escaped me—high, breathy, embarrassingly feminine—as my nipple peaked tighter against the lace, the sensation so intense it nearly buckled my knees.
The purse Emily left gaped open on the bed, a glint of metal catching my eye. I reached for it with shaking fingers and pulled out a slim silver vibrator, still slick with—
Oh God, she’d been using this right before swapping us.
The realization burned through me hotter than shame. My reflection’s pupils blew wide as my thumb brushed the damp button, the device humming to life with a predatory purr. The sound alone dragged a moan from my throat—her throat.
I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop.
The vibrator pressed against my inner thigh, the vibrations rippling up through the fishnets like a live wire. Every rational thought short-circuited when I dragged it higher, the lace of my panties already soaked through.
The mirror showed it all—the way my hips jerked when the buzzing found my clit, the obscene glide of the toy through slick folds as I fucked myself with it in frantic, shallow thrusts.
"Fuck—fuck—" My voice was a broken thing, her voice, her pleasure, even as my mind screamed that this wasn’t right.
But God, it felt like heaven.
The orgasm hit like a train, my back slamming against the vanity as my legs gave out. Pleasure pulsed through me in dizzying waves, my reflection’s mouth slack with ecstasy, mascara streaking down flushed cheeks.
I slid to the floor, trembling, the vibrator still buzzing weakly against my thigh.
What the hell was I becoming?
The question pulsed through me like a second heartbeat as I stared at my reflection lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. The need to feel more, to explore this stolen flesh, burned hotter than reason.
The top was the first to go. I reached behind my neck to undo the clasp, letting the silky material pool around my waist before sliding it the rest of the way down.
With shaking hands, I reached up and tugged at the straps of the lace bra, seeing in the process a 42F tag. The fabric resisted for a moment before giving way, setting my full breasts free. They bounced slightly with the motion, nipples hardening immediately in the cool air. A shiver ran through me as my fingers brushed against one, the contact sending a jolt straight to my still-throbbing core.
The fishnets came next. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, rolling them down with slow, deliberate movements. The material clung stubbornly, the crisscross pattern stretching then snapping back against my hips with each inch exposed. Smooth skin emerged beneath, freshly waxed and still tingling from earlier.
The thong was soaked through, the damp lace clinging obscenely when I finally shimmied out of it. My fingers trailed along the inside of my thighs before pausing at the apex - so smooth, so incredibly different. The scent of my own arousal filled the air as I tentatively spread my legs wider, watching in the mirror as the evidence of my pleasure glistened under soft light.
I ran trembling hands over my new body - from the dip of my waist up to cup my breasts, thumbs circling peaked nipples that responded eagerly to every touch. A breathy moan escaped my lips as one hand slid lower, fingertips brushing through damp curls before sinking into slick heat.
This isn't me.
This feels so good.
The contradictions warred in my mind even as my body arched into my own touch, hips rocking against my fingers with increasing urgency. The mirror showed it all - showed her - lost in pleasure, mouth open in silent ecstasy as fingers worked furiously between spread thighs.
When the wave crashed over me this time, I barely recognized my own scream.
The shower did nothing to wash away the surreal thrill of my stolen skin—every inch of Emily’s body still buzzed unnervingly under my touch. Steam fogged the mirror as I toweled off, deliberately running my (her) hands down the unfamiliar slope of narrow waist and curved hips. The face staring back—sharp cheekbones, violet eyes heavy with something darkly knowing—still sent a jolt through me.
I knotted the silk robe too tight, ignoring how it barely covered her thighs. Luckily thanks to her memories, I knew she didn't have any close relationships. I also knew that she would find me again soon, since the curse had a second component. The swapped individuals would fall in love and help continue the family line.
Emily—me now—had left more than just her lipsticks and half-used perfume. The sleek black phone buzzed beneath my fingers, unlocked by my—her—face. I swallowed hard. Time to take inventory of my new life.
Bank Account
The app opened instantly. I blinked.
$84,756.22
I actually laughed, sharp and disbelieving. Savings account? Another $312K. I tapped through transaction history—monthly deposits from something called Lunawood Holdings for $15K, along with smaller payments labeled consulting fees. What the hell kind of consulting did she do?
Social Media
The first tab I tapped was Instagram—her Instagram. My stomach clenched as the app loaded, revealing a digital shrine to seduction. The blue checkmark was inevitable. The bio burned into my retinas: 💋 Your Next Bad Decision 💋, all smirking lips and dangerous promise.
The feed was a slow, deliberate burn—no accidents here. Every shot was a masterclass in teasing control. Silk sheets tangled around one bare thigh, the shadow-dipped dip of her spine as she arched over a hotel balcony, a crimson-lacquered nail dragging down a champagne flute. No laughter, no adrenaline—just heat, simmering in every flick of her wrist, every half-lidded glance at the camera like she could already feel hands on her skin. The captions were sparse, deliberate: "Late nights only", "Tell me how badly you want it", "Good boys don't get to touch."
Every post wasn’t just a demand to look—it was a dare to want.
Twitter was a constant stream of punchy one-liners and suggestive stunt reels. TikTok was a minefield of temptation—short, scorching loops of Emily arching against silk bedsheets, biting her lower lip in teasing slow-motion, her fingers tracing idle circles over the lace hem of lingerie before cutting to black. No laughter, no wasted movement—just a half-second of exposed thigh, the barest glimpse of teeth grazing skin, all set to a pulse-heavy soundtrack that left you craving another replay. Every clip was a dare wrapped in five seconds of sin.
OnlyFans
The icon made my fingers hesitate. Of course she had one. I tapped it—password already saved—and nearly choked.
$27K last month. $42K the month before. A catalog of paywalled galleries—Mistress in Marble, Bondage & Breakfast, each one featuring me now, in poses so sinful my pulse stuttered. There I was, sprawled across black satin sheets, fingers tangled in my own hair as I arched toward the camera, lips parted just enough to tease. Another series showed me kneeling in thigh-high stockings, the garter straps biting into creamy skin while I stared down the lens with heavy-lidded authority.
Subscriptions
Then came the subscriptions. Of course she had every premium streaming service—Netflix, HBO, the works—but the real fun started scrolling down. Paid access to high-end porn sites, all sleek branding and "exclusive content." A membership to Velvet Orbit, some kind of luxury erotic streaming platform with thumbnails featuring tangled limbs under silk sheets and promises of "real couples, real desires."
I was closing out of the accounts when I heard it—three sharp raps against the bedroom wall, followed by two slower ones. A pattern. Deliberate.
My breath caught. That wasn’t the front door.
Emily’s memories surfaced like fragments of a dream—pressed against this same wall, her fingers finding the nearly invisible seam in the wallpaper, pushing just so—
A hidden door clicked open.
I froze as the panel swung inward, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for shoulders. And there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that matched the one I’d worn earlier, stood me.
My old body looked different now. The way he held himself was all Emily; the cocky tilt of his chin, the way his fingers drummed a lazy rhythm against his thigh. His shirt hung open, revealing the chest I used to know every scar and freckle of.
“Miss me already?” His voice was mine, but the cadence, the purr—hers.
“You—” My throat tightened. I hadn’t realized how much taller I used to be until I had to look up at myself.
“Uh-uh.” He wagged a finger—my finger—and stepped inside, the hidden door whispering shut behind him. “Rule one of the curse: no take-backs.” His gaze dragged over me, lingering where the robe gaped at my chest. “Though I do like what I see.”
A flush burned up my neck. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He prowled closer, close enough that I caught my old cologne on his skin. “I was hoping you’d find the toys first.” His grin widened as my cheeks heated. “Oh, you did.”
I backed up until the vanity dug into my spine. “Why are you here?”
His grin turned wicked as he leaned in, close enough for his borrowed lips to brush my ear. "Because you will be my bride and help continue the line as per the second half of the curse."
A few years later
The pain was unbearable—a searing, primal fire tearing through me with every contraction. My nails dug into the hospital bed sheets, sweat gluing Emily’s—no, mine now—long black hair to my face.
"You’re doing amazing," he murmured, squeezing my hand. Even now, with my old face lined with worry, the way he tilted his head was pure Emily—that same confident smirk tempered by something softer. The silver band on his finger glinted under the harsh hospital lights, matching the one nestled securely against my own ring finger.
"Shut up," I gasped, arching off the bed as another wave hit. "This is your fault.*"
He just chuckled, brushing damp strands back from my forehead. "Our family now, sweetheart." His thumb traced my knuckles. "And trust me, when you hold her, you won’t regret a damn thing."
The nurse between my legs looked up, grinning. "One more push, Mom. She’s right there."
I barely had time to scream before the pressure shattered into sudden, dizzying relief. A fragile, furious wail filled the room, and then—
Her.
Tiny. Perfect. Swaddled in a pink blanket and placed carefully against my chest, her little face scrunched up in outrage. Dark lashes fluttered against petal-soft cheeks, her miniature fingers curling reflexively around mine.
"Congratulations," the nurse murmured. "She’s beautiful."
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The weight of her was terrifying, intoxicating—mine.
"She has your nose," he whispered, bending to press a kiss to my temple. His—my old—calloused finger traced the baby’s shock of dark hair. "But your mother’s eyes." His voice cracked. "God, look at her."
The baby blinked up at us, her tiny mouth working silently before she settled with a sigh. The monitors beeped steadily, the world narrowing to this moment—this impossible, inevitable moment.
I leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, euphoric, and met my husband’s gaze.
"Worth it?" he teased, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
I clutched our daughter tighter—the next in the Lunawood line—and laughed through the tears.
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