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Calyope is a bisexual witch who has settled down with a normal guy. But when she discovers a magical rune of transformation, she thinks she might have discovered a way to have the best of both worlds.
mind control m2f f2m magic transformation
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Body-hopping story
Penny scoots past her boyfriend and out from behind the table of the booth at the
back of the bar. She rushes to embrace Logan, who slips out of my arm to return
her hug. I wait, trying to tamp down my jealousy as I watch them together. I shift
my weight from one wide leg to the other beneath my elegant red dress, a smile
plastered on my face.
My eyes drift across Penny's best friend, Sophie, and Penny's boyfriend, Brent,
still seated at the table. The low burgundy mood lighting of the bar draws long
shadows across Brent's face but doesn't obscure the physical similarities between
him and Logan. I nod politely and he returns the gesture. Beside him, Sophie
gives a tiny wave before swiping her black bangs behind her pixie ears. Penny
releases Logan and he half turns to me, slipping his hand across the small of my
back.
“Hi everyone. This is A-- Denise,” he says, almost using my real name.
“Sounds like you almost forgot who she was,” Penny teases him.
A flicker of jealousy crosses her face. I'm aware she's seen many of Logan's
girlfriends. He seems to have a new one every month, though little does she
know that I’m inside every one.
She turns her sea green eyes on me and holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you,Denise.”
“And you,” I say, slipping my ebony fingers against her cool skin.
We've met a few times before, though this is our first time meeting her in my
current body. Penny is girl-next-door cute, with a little slip of a nose, big sea
green eyes, and a tight, petite body. It's not her attractiveness I envy as much as
Logan's attraction to her.
“This is Brent,” Penny says, nodding to her boyfriend who's still seated at the
table. “And Sophie.”
“Hi,” Logan says, raising his glass in greeting.
Sophie gives a small smile. She's compact, with thick framed glasses and a
plump, shapeless body covered in a deliberately ratty black leather jacket. Nice
face, though, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her
black bangs covering her forehead. She's got a moody goth meets trendy punk
vibe about her. Naturally, I’ve met everyone here before, but I’m used to playing
the newbie.
Penny slides back into the booth and Logan slides in on the opposite side. It's a
curved booth, so Sophie ends up sandwiched between Logan and Penny. I take
the seat on the outside across from Brent. Penny and Logan are soon deeply
engaged in conversation with the easy air of two people who've known each
other forever. That leaves me, Brent and Sophie on our own. After an awkward
pause I turn to Logan.“I'll go get some drinks,” I say.
“Oh, no, let me go.”
“No, that's all right. I'm already out.” I say, scooting out from the booth and
hurrying away.
A crowd of people stands between me and the bar but the guys in line part for
me as I nudge them aside with my breasts and flash a white-toothed smile. Men
are so simple. When I reach the bar I lean on it, exposing my heavy cleavage,
letting my tits swing down pendulously for the bartender's amusement. In the
mirror behind the bar I catch sight of my current reflection.
I'm in the body of a Black twenty-year-old with a bright smile and a heavenly
body. Curvaceous and full, with thick hips and eye-wateringly large breasts. Her
real name is Denise. I picked her up a few weeks ago on the nearby campus,
hopping into her and leaving behind the body of a twenty-five-year-old blondehaired blue-eyed Swede that I feared Logan was tiring of. I walked away,
clutching my backpack as the Swede looked around in shock, no doubt surprised
to find herself on campus when the last thing she remembered was sitting
outside the patio of the hostel in the middle of the city.
I've learned over my several lifetimes that the bodies I inhabit have no memories
of anything I do while I'm inside. To them, between one blink and the next,
weeks or months have passed. They're suddenly in an unfamiliar place, dressed
in different clothes, sometimes surrounded by complete strangers. I rarely stick
around to find how they like their new lives, though a few times I've often
wondered about them. What happened to that bald businessman with the fullfacial tattoo I gave him? Has the pastor's daughter discovered the porn films she
starred in?
The bartender approaches me, drawing my attention back to the present. He
glances at my bouncy black tits with a grin and then asks for my order. I ask for
a white wine for myself and a beer for Logan. As I wait I glance around the bar
and worry. Penny always has that effect on me. Logan insists I've nothing to be
jealous of but I see the way he looks at her, the way he drops whatever he's
doing to be by her side. And the way she looks at him when she thinks no one's
looking. He made me promise never to hop into her and so far I've kept my
word. For him.
I thought Logan would enjoy Denise and he did, for a time. But I sense he's been
distant from me lately. Has he tired of this body already? I'm willing to give him
anything he wants. We're perfect together. He must see that.
In the corner by the window I see a young twenty something hipster talking to a
vivacious blonde. Even from here I can sense the awkwardness of a first date. He
must know she's way out of his league. I wouldn't be surprised if she was a
model. She wears an effortlessly trendy white top and black jeans, both of which
cling to her supple body. Her arms are toned and her face in profile is all
beautiful angles. A face photographers love.
The bartender returns with my drinks. I pay with Denise's card and bring the
drinks back to the table. The others are laughing about something as I set down
Logan's drink.
“Did I miss something funny?” I ask, sliding in next to Logan.“Penny was just telling me about Jane from her work.”
“Ah, the one who believes in magic crystals?” I ask.
Penny raises an elegant eyebrow. Goddamn her for being so fucking adorable. I
tamp down the jealousy as it flares in me.
“Logan's told you about her, has he?” Penny asks.
I realize my error in that this body has never met Penny before, but Logan jumps
in. “We were down on the Boulevard by that herbal shop yesterday and it
reminded me of her.”
Sophie, apparently sensing an opportunity, jumps in and turns the conversation
to me. “How did you two meet?”
Penny sips her drink, occasionally swiping her auburn hair out of her eyes as I
make up some vague story about meeting outside a cafe. Logan jumps in with
some random details. We've both been enjoying my body hopping abilities long
enough to be able to convincingly lie about how we met. It's amazing how far
simply agreeing with whatever details the other person throws out will get you.
Somehow the conversation comes back around to an amusing anecdote
involving Penny and Logan. As they converse I stroke Logan's thigh with my
long fingers. He shoots me a hesitant grin, then resumes whatever story he's in
the middle of telling. Penny keeps her eyes on him. I think, not for the first time,how easy it would be to just hop into Penny's body and make Logan love me.
But would he still love me if he knew I was inside? Is it something about Penny's
Penny-ness that he loves? I can offer him anyone he wants.
Brent is the strong, silent type. He speaks only to throw in a witty remark here
and there but otherwise content to let the conversation roll over him. In those
little remarks I get a spark of his wit and wonder if that's what Penny sees in him
and if she sees that mirrored in Logan.
Sophie giggles a lot and sits low in the bar, hiding behind her drink. I've met her
a few times. She's Penny's best friend and something of a know-it-all,
unpretentiously correcting details. But she does it so well as to make the
recipient seem grateful rather than resentful. I’ve never had the pleasure of
hopping her. Never seen the need.
I spend most of the evening making up a life story about myself. Though I can
hop into these bodies I don't have any of their memories, just like they have none
of mine. All I have is what I can deduce from their physical belongings. The
invention of email and texting and social media has been a huge help for me and
has made peeling back the private details of the lives I take over so much easier.
Of course, ever since I met Logan two years ago and revealed to him my abilities
I've been able to be myself, forgoing the pretense of acting like whoever I’m in
and just being myself.
Logan is the love of my life. Before him I would sneak in between other people's
lives, trying to fit myself around someone else’s existence. It's been nice having
someone know the real me, being able to settle down and experience a human
life with someone in love with me, not the person I appear to be. I've never been
in love before. Maybe why it's why it's so goddamn maddening to watch Logan
flirt with Penny.An hour and a half, and two drinks later I'm leaning on Logan, my breasts
pressed against his shoulder. I'm half drunk—Denise is a lightweight—and I paw
at him, stroking his chest until he finally pays attention to me. He turns his big
brown eyes to me and I whisper in his ear:
“Take me home.”
Under the table, my hand slips between his legs and I give his cock a friendly
squeeze. He jumps and blushes, before making some excuse to go. I rise on
unsteady legs and cling to Logan as we walk towards the door.
“Logam... arm I boring you?” I ask, slurring my words slightly.
He takes my hand. “Ariana, of course not.”
“I just wanted to go.” I fluff out my thick dark hair as the room spins gently
around me.
“I know,” he says, squeezing my hand.
We're nearly out the door and the question of what Logan wants is foremost in
my mind when I catch sight of the vivacious blonde again. She's still with the
hipster guy and they're both in deep conversation. Close up I can see she's hot.
Much hotter than Penny but with a similar body shape. With a sudden clarity I
see that this is what Logan wants.I push away from Logan, stumbling slightly as I approach the blonde from
behind. The world is shimmery and sways back and forth with my drunkenness.
My wide hips bump into a chair but I don't stop to apologize as the owner shoots
me a look.
“Ariana, no,” Logan calls out from behind me.
I ignore him. He must know I'm doing this for him. I reach out and touch the
blonde's bare shoulder and hop into her body.
I'm suddenly sitting down on a stool that feels hard under my taut ass and the
world resolves into crystal clarity. This body isn't drunk at all. Wavy blonde hair
spills down one shoulder and my fingers clasp an icy glass. The hipster guy is in
the middle of saying something but I ignore him and push away from the table,
walking to the door where Logan still stands. This new body is a delight, slender
and firm. Logan's going to have so much fun with it.
I pass Denise without a word. She's gripping the back of a chair, swaying as she
glances around, something like terror in her eyes.
“What's going on?” She mumbles, looking down at herself, at the fancy dress I
bought for her and forced her stacked body into. It was much skimpier and much
more expensive than anything in her dorm room. Not that she’ll appreciate it.
I sometimes wish the bodies remembered what I'd done after I hopped out,
instead of my just leaving large, blank gaps. That way they would make less of ascene when I leave. Or maybe not, based on some of the things I've made them
do. As it is, the best way to deal with someone suddenly being snapped back to
an unfamiliar present is to get away. Logan—and everyone else in the room—is
gawking at Denise as she starts to panic. I slip my new arm through Logan's and
usher him out the door. The hipster guy watches in astonishment as I go. He'll
soon be distracted by the new amusement of Denise having a complete
breakdown in the middle of the room.2
I'm still laughing about Denise when we arrive at Logan's apartment. He shuts
the door behind us and I turn to him, pressing my new hands against his chest.
These hands are soft and delicate, the fingernails painted a deep burgundy.
They've never done a hard day's work. This pampered princess is my gift to him.
Logan grabs my hands but instead of kissing them he looks down at me angrily.
“Why did you do that, Ariana?”
“Do what?”
“Take this woman's body and leave Denise there.”
“You don't like her?” I look down at the tight little body I possess, at the taut pair
of breasts sticking out invitingly from my chest, at the jeans that are practically
painted on to my legs and which highlight my perfect heart shaped ass. Okay,
these tits are much smaller, but it all works together. What could Logan possibly
have against perfection?
“What if Penny sees Denise? What do you think she'll say if she finds my
current girlfriend alone in the bar insisting she's someone else?”
“Oh, so this is about Penny?” I scowl and pull back from him, balling my handsinto tiny fists.
“No,” he insists, running his hands through his wild brown hair. “It's about
everything. It's about you taking these people's lives. I've never seen you do it
before and I didn't realize--”
“You didn't realize what I am? Without someone else’s body I don’t exist. I
choose them for you, baby. Maybe if I'd taken Penny you'd be a lot more
grateful.”
“No! Don't take--” He shouts, then softer: “No. No. That's-- that's not what I
meant. I know you're a hopper.”
I let him take my fists and he runs his thumbs across the back of each hand,
stroking me gently.
“I don't need you to take anyone,” he says, “Not like that.”
“I just want to make you happy. I'm yours and you're mine.” I frown.
“I know,” he says, and kisses the back of my hands.
“When I see you with Penny--” I start but he pulls me close and shushes me with
a kiss.“Let's not think about Penny. Let's just think about us.”
There's an odd tone to his voice but we kiss again and I forget my worries as I
melt into him. This petite blonde body I'm in is sexy and fun as hell. I drape my
arms around Logan's neck and suck on his tongue, enjoying his masculine taste
while I rest my perky tits against his chest. He grips me firmly by the waist and
we kiss urgently. His hands feel so big on my tiny body and I get the feeling he
could throw me around and do what he wants with me. The feeling of
powerlessness is a thrill that sends little shivers down my spine.
Still kissing, I drag my hands down his shoulder blades and then down his back,
before slipping beneath his shirt to run my fingers across his pecs. He's warm
and firm. Everything I need.
We undress each other with reckless abandon, throwing clothes across the room
until we're both naked. We take the time to look down at my body, admiring this
woman's petite form. I do a little spin for Logan, sliding my hands around the
enticing curves of my taut ass, showing off this stranger's naked body. My tits
are small and firm, rising to sharp peaks, the nipples just out, hard as diamonds.
My blonde hair spills down my shoulders and my laugh is high pitched and cute
as Logan strokes my cheek. He stares deeply into my eyes before taking me back
in his arms. His cock is hard and pressed against my stomach. My hands slide
down between us and I grasp him, stroking gently.
His warm cock fills my hand as I stroke it, feeling impossibly big beneath my
tiny fingers. His hands find my tits, squeeze gently, then glide down my back to
my ass and cup each butt cheek. He squeezes once and returns his attention to
my tits. He's greedy for my new body and he explores me by touch while we
continue kissing. His hands work across my chest as my hand moves up and
down his shaft and soon his warm pre-cum is dotted on my stomach.I get on my knees in front of him, eager to please, knowing exactly how to
please him. His cock is bold and throbbing, pointing at my face. I open my new
mouth and take him in between my soft red lips, closing my eyes in ecstasy as
his warmth slides between my lips and across my tongue. I drag my mouth down
his delicious cock as far as I can before pulling back up, leaving his shaft slick
and shiny. I pull off, a strand of saliva still connecting my lips to the head of his
cock. I look up at him with wide, innocent eyes and he returns my gaze and
strokes my cheek.
I lick my lips and dive back down on his cock, sucking eagerly, using my little
hand to stroke the base of his cock to the rhythm of my blowjob. He groans
above me as I fill my mouth with him. My free hand dives between my legs, my
fingers slipping into my growing wetness. This little blonde bombshell is horny
as hell and eager for a good fucking. Her pussy feels so tight and wet. I know
Logan is going to love it.
I suck Logan's dick, speeding up and slowing down to his rhythm, keeping him
just on the edge. His tangy pre-cum drips across my tongue and I swallow
happily. All the while I stroke my new pussy, exploring my velvety folds.
They're slick and warm with lust. When Logan's moans grow louder he grabs my
blonde locks in a fist and holds me still.
“Not yet,” he hisses between clenched teeth, fighting to get himself under
control.
He throbs once, twice in my mouth, and then stills, holding himself in check. He
removes his hand and I pull back off his cock with a wet pop. My new pussy is
dripping, a light bead of juice making its way down my thighs.I pull him onto the floor on top of me, spreading my limber legs and wrapping
them around his waist, urging him closer. He grabs his cock and aims it at my
center. I watch with glee as I open for him, the head of his cock disappearing
between my velvety pussy lips. The glorious pressure builds against my tight
entrance, growing, growing, and then I stretch for him. He enters me slowly,
delicately, and it's all I can do to not beg him to hurry, to slip deep inside and fill
me. Inch by inch he enters, and I hurry him by raising my hips and enveloping
him with a throaty moan. I'm so tight and he feels so big but, god, it's just what
this little body needs.
Christ, I can feel all of his shaft as it curves up through me, filling me. He lodges
right against the dimpled nub of my inner center, holding there, before
withdrawing. My hands come to my new tits. I'm still getting used to them,
they're much smaller and firmer than Denise's, but fun nonetheless. I caress
them, pinch and squeeze, tweaking each nipple, trying to find what this body
likes.
Logan rests his body on mine, hands running up my sides as he kisses down my
front, and I have to move one hand so his lips and teeth can find a nipple. His hot
breath sends shivers across my skin, and he nips at me as he thrusts his cock
inside. The heat is twisting through me and I need this so much. I clutch him
tighter, both of us playing with my nipples as he fucks me harder. The wet
sounds of my pussy fill my ears and I throw my head back as the heat blisters
through me. I cry out loud, my voice high pitched and needy as I cum.
Logan thrusts deep and grunts, throbbing into me. Every spurt is magical,
bringing with it an incredible fullness, a wet heat that burns me so beautifully. I
clutch him tight and cry out, my body joyous for release as the orgasm spills
through me. We grunt and rock together, connected by hands lips, tongues, and
cock, our bodies moving together in blissful harmony. Logan slows and rests on
top of me, his wonderful weight pressing me to the floor. I stroke his back while
he grows soft inside of me, finally slipping out and leaving me achingly empty.He hoists me in his arms and carries me to the bedroom, kissing me once before
setting me on the bed. I fall asleep with my arm clutching him from behind, his
warm body pressing against me, his masculine smell deep in my nose.
Penny scoots past her boyfriend and out from behind the table of the booth at the
back of the bar. She rushes to embrace Logan, who slips out of my arm to return
her hug. I wait, trying to tamp down my jealousy as I watch them together. I shift
my weight from one wide leg to the other beneath my elegant red dress, a smile
plastered on my face.
My eyes drift across Penny's best friend, Sophie, and Penny's boyfriend, Brent,
still seated at the table. The low burgundy mood lighting of the bar draws long
shadows across Brent's face but doesn't obscure the physical similarities between
him and Logan. I nod politely and he returns the gesture. Beside him, Sophie
gives a tiny wave before swiping her black bangs behind her pixie ears. Penny
releases Logan and he half turns to me, slipping his hand across the small of my
back.
“Hi everyone. This is A-- Denise,” he says, almost using my real name.
“Sounds like you almost forgot who she was,” Penny teases him.
A flicker of jealousy crosses her face. I'm aware she's seen many of Logan's
girlfriends. He seems to have a new one every month, though little does she
know that I’m inside every one.
She turns her sea green eyes on me and holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you,Denise.”
“And you,” I say, slipping my ebony fingers against her cool skin.
We've met a few times before, though this is our first time meeting her in my
current body. Penny is girl-next-door cute, with a little slip of a nose, big sea
green eyes, and a tight, petite body. It's not her attractiveness I envy as much as
Logan's attraction to her.
“This is Brent,” Penny says, nodding to her boyfriend who's still seated at the
table. “And Sophie.”
“Hi,” Logan says, raising his glass in greeting.
Sophie gives a small smile. She's compact, with thick framed glasses and a
plump, shapeless body covered in a deliberately ratty black leather jacket. Nice
face, though, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her
black bangs covering her forehead. She's got a moody goth meets trendy punk
vibe about her. Naturally, I’ve met everyone here before, but I’m used to playing
the newbie.
Penny slides back into the booth and Logan slides in on the opposite side. It's a
curved booth, so Sophie ends up sandwiched between Logan and Penny. I take
the seat on the outside across from Brent. Penny and Logan are soon deeply
engaged in conversation with the easy air of two people who've known each
other forever. That leaves me, Brent and Sophie on our own. After an awkward
pause I turn to Logan.“I'll go get some drinks,” I say.
“Oh, no, let me go.”
“No, that's all right. I'm already out.” I say, scooting out from the booth and
hurrying away.
A crowd of people stands between me and the bar but the guys in line part for
me as I nudge them aside with my breasts and flash a white-toothed smile. Men
are so simple. When I reach the bar I lean on it, exposing my heavy cleavage,
letting my tits swing down pendulously for the bartender's amusement. In the
mirror behind the bar I catch sight of my current reflection.
I'm in the body of a Black twenty-year-old with a bright smile and a heavenly
body. Curvaceous and full, with thick hips and eye-wateringly large breasts. Her
real name is Denise. I picked her up a few weeks ago on the nearby campus,
hopping into her and leaving behind the body of a twenty-five-year-old blondehaired blue-eyed Swede that I feared Logan was tiring of. I walked away,
clutching my backpack as the Swede looked around in shock, no doubt surprised
to find herself on campus when the last thing she remembered was sitting
outside the patio of the hostel in the middle of the city.
I've learned over my several lifetimes that the bodies I inhabit have no memories
of anything I do while I'm inside. To them, between one blink and the next,
weeks or months have passed. They're suddenly in an unfamiliar place, dressed
in different clothes, sometimes surrounded by complete strangers. I rarely stick
around to find how they like their new lives, though a few times I've often
wondered about them. What happened to that bald businessman with the fullfacial tattoo I gave him? Has the pastor's daughter discovered the porn films she
starred in?
The bartender approaches me, drawing my attention back to the present. He
glances at my bouncy black tits with a grin and then asks for my order. I ask for
a white wine for myself and a beer for Logan. As I wait I glance around the bar
and worry. Penny always has that effect on me. Logan insists I've nothing to be
jealous of but I see the way he looks at her, the way he drops whatever he's
doing to be by her side. And the way she looks at him when she thinks no one's
looking. He made me promise never to hop into her and so far I've kept my
word. For him.
I thought Logan would enjoy Denise and he did, for a time. But I sense he's been
distant from me lately. Has he tired of this body already? I'm willing to give him
anything he wants. We're perfect together. He must see that.
In the corner by the window I see a young twenty something hipster talking to a
vivacious blonde. Even from here I can sense the awkwardness of a first date. He
must know she's way out of his league. I wouldn't be surprised if she was a
model. She wears an effortlessly trendy white top and black jeans, both of which
cling to her supple body. Her arms are toned and her face in profile is all
beautiful angles. A face photographers love.
The bartender returns with my drinks. I pay with Denise's card and bring the
drinks back to the table. The others are laughing about something as I set down
Logan's drink.
“Did I miss something funny?” I ask, sliding in next to Logan.“Penny was just telling me about Jane from her work.”
“Ah, the one who believes in magic crystals?” I ask.
Penny raises an elegant eyebrow. Goddamn her for being so fucking adorable. I
tamp down the jealousy as it flares in me.
“Logan's told you about her, has he?” Penny asks.
I realize my error in that this body has never met Penny before, but Logan jumps
in. “We were down on the Boulevard by that herbal shop yesterday and it
reminded me of her.”
Sophie, apparently sensing an opportunity, jumps in and turns the conversation
to me. “How did you two meet?”
Penny sips her drink, occasionally swiping her auburn hair out of her eyes as I
make up some vague story about meeting outside a cafe. Logan jumps in with
some random details. We've both been enjoying my body hopping abilities long
enough to be able to convincingly lie about how we met. It's amazing how far
simply agreeing with whatever details the other person throws out will get you.
Somehow the conversation comes back around to an amusing anecdote
involving Penny and Logan. As they converse I stroke Logan's thigh with my
long fingers. He shoots me a hesitant grin, then resumes whatever story he's in
the middle of telling. Penny keeps her eyes on him. I think, not for the first time,how easy it would be to just hop into Penny's body and make Logan love me.
But would he still love me if he knew I was inside? Is it something about Penny's
Penny-ness that he loves? I can offer him anyone he wants.
Brent is the strong, silent type. He speaks only to throw in a witty remark here
and there but otherwise content to let the conversation roll over him. In those
little remarks I get a spark of his wit and wonder if that's what Penny sees in him
and if she sees that mirrored in Logan.
Sophie giggles a lot and sits low in the bar, hiding behind her drink. I've met her
a few times. She's Penny's best friend and something of a know-it-all,
unpretentiously correcting details. But she does it so well as to make the
recipient seem grateful rather than resentful. I’ve never had the pleasure of
hopping her. Never seen the need.
I spend most of the evening making up a life story about myself. Though I can
hop into these bodies I don't have any of their memories, just like they have none
of mine. All I have is what I can deduce from their physical belongings. The
invention of email and texting and social media has been a huge help for me and
has made peeling back the private details of the lives I take over so much easier.
Of course, ever since I met Logan two years ago and revealed to him my abilities
I've been able to be myself, forgoing the pretense of acting like whoever I’m in
and just being myself.
Logan is the love of my life. Before him I would sneak in between other people's
lives, trying to fit myself around someone else’s existence. It's been nice having
someone know the real me, being able to settle down and experience a human
life with someone in love with me, not the person I appear to be. I've never been
in love before. Maybe why it's why it's so goddamn maddening to watch Logan
flirt with Penny.An hour and a half, and two drinks later I'm leaning on Logan, my breasts
pressed against his shoulder. I'm half drunk—Denise is a lightweight—and I paw
at him, stroking his chest until he finally pays attention to me. He turns his big
brown eyes to me and I whisper in his ear:
“Take me home.”
Under the table, my hand slips between his legs and I give his cock a friendly
squeeze. He jumps and blushes, before making some excuse to go. I rise on
unsteady legs and cling to Logan as we walk towards the door.
“Logam... arm I boring you?” I ask, slurring my words slightly.
He takes my hand. “Ariana, of course not.”
“I just wanted to go.” I fluff out my thick dark hair as the room spins gently
around me.
“I know,” he says, squeezing my hand.
We're nearly out the door and the question of what Logan wants is foremost in
my mind when I catch sight of the vivacious blonde again. She's still with the
hipster guy and they're both in deep conversation. Close up I can see she's hot.
Much hotter than Penny but with a similar body shape. With a sudden clarity I
see that this is what Logan wants.I push away from Logan, stumbling slightly as I approach the blonde from
behind. The world is shimmery and sways back and forth with my drunkenness.
My wide hips bump into a chair but I don't stop to apologize as the owner shoots
me a look.
“Ariana, no,” Logan calls out from behind me.
I ignore him. He must know I'm doing this for him. I reach out and touch the
blonde's bare shoulder and hop into her body.
I'm suddenly sitting down on a stool that feels hard under my taut ass and the
world resolves into crystal clarity. This body isn't drunk at all. Wavy blonde hair
spills down one shoulder and my fingers clasp an icy glass. The hipster guy is in
the middle of saying something but I ignore him and push away from the table,
walking to the door where Logan still stands. This new body is a delight, slender
and firm. Logan's going to have so much fun with it.
I pass Denise without a word. She's gripping the back of a chair, swaying as she
glances around, something like terror in her eyes.
“What's going on?” She mumbles, looking down at herself, at the fancy dress I
bought for her and forced her stacked body into. It was much skimpier and much
more expensive than anything in her dorm room. Not that she’ll appreciate it.
I sometimes wish the bodies remembered what I'd done after I hopped out,
instead of my just leaving large, blank gaps. That way they would make less of ascene when I leave. Or maybe not, based on some of the things I've made them
do. As it is, the best way to deal with someone suddenly being snapped back to
an unfamiliar present is to get away. Logan—and everyone else in the room—is
gawking at Denise as she starts to panic. I slip my new arm through Logan's and
usher him out the door. The hipster guy watches in astonishment as I go. He'll
soon be distracted by the new amusement of Denise having a complete
breakdown in the middle of the room.2
I'm still laughing about Denise when we arrive at Logan's apartment. He shuts
the door behind us and I turn to him, pressing my new hands against his chest.
These hands are soft and delicate, the fingernails painted a deep burgundy.
They've never done a hard day's work. This pampered princess is my gift to him.
Logan grabs my hands but instead of kissing them he looks down at me angrily.
“Why did you do that, Ariana?”
“Do what?”
“Take this woman's body and leave Denise there.”
“You don't like her?” I look down at the tight little body I possess, at the taut pair
of breasts sticking out invitingly from my chest, at the jeans that are practically
painted on to my legs and which highlight my perfect heart shaped ass. Okay,
these tits are much smaller, but it all works together. What could Logan possibly
have against perfection?
“What if Penny sees Denise? What do you think she'll say if she finds my
current girlfriend alone in the bar insisting she's someone else?”
“Oh, so this is about Penny?” I scowl and pull back from him, balling my handsinto tiny fists.
“No,” he insists, running his hands through his wild brown hair. “It's about
everything. It's about you taking these people's lives. I've never seen you do it
before and I didn't realize--”
“You didn't realize what I am? Without someone else’s body I don’t exist. I
choose them for you, baby. Maybe if I'd taken Penny you'd be a lot more
grateful.”
“No! Don't take--” He shouts, then softer: “No. No. That's-- that's not what I
meant. I know you're a hopper.”
I let him take my fists and he runs his thumbs across the back of each hand,
stroking me gently.
“I don't need you to take anyone,” he says, “Not like that.”
“I just want to make you happy. I'm yours and you're mine.” I frown.
“I know,” he says, and kisses the back of my hands.
“When I see you with Penny--” I start but he pulls me close and shushes me with
a kiss.“Let's not think about Penny. Let's just think about us.”
There's an odd tone to his voice but we kiss again and I forget my worries as I
melt into him. This petite blonde body I'm in is sexy and fun as hell. I drape my
arms around Logan's neck and suck on his tongue, enjoying his masculine taste
while I rest my perky tits against his chest. He grips me firmly by the waist and
we kiss urgently. His hands feel so big on my tiny body and I get the feeling he
could throw me around and do what he wants with me. The feeling of
powerlessness is a thrill that sends little shivers down my spine.
Still kissing, I drag my hands down his shoulder blades and then down his back,
before slipping beneath his shirt to run my fingers across his pecs. He's warm
and firm. Everything I need.
We undress each other with reckless abandon, throwing clothes across the room
until we're both naked. We take the time to look down at my body, admiring this
woman's petite form. I do a little spin for Logan, sliding my hands around the
enticing curves of my taut ass, showing off this stranger's naked body. My tits
are small and firm, rising to sharp peaks, the nipples just out, hard as diamonds.
My blonde hair spills down my shoulders and my laugh is high pitched and cute
as Logan strokes my cheek. He stares deeply into my eyes before taking me back
in his arms. His cock is hard and pressed against my stomach. My hands slide
down between us and I grasp him, stroking gently.
His warm cock fills my hand as I stroke it, feeling impossibly big beneath my
tiny fingers. His hands find my tits, squeeze gently, then glide down my back to
my ass and cup each butt cheek. He squeezes once and returns his attention to
my tits. He's greedy for my new body and he explores me by touch while we
continue kissing. His hands work across my chest as my hand moves up and
down his shaft and soon his warm pre-cum is dotted on my stomach.I get on my knees in front of him, eager to please, knowing exactly how to
please him. His cock is bold and throbbing, pointing at my face. I open my new
mouth and take him in between my soft red lips, closing my eyes in ecstasy as
his warmth slides between my lips and across my tongue. I drag my mouth down
his delicious cock as far as I can before pulling back up, leaving his shaft slick
and shiny. I pull off, a strand of saliva still connecting my lips to the head of his
cock. I look up at him with wide, innocent eyes and he returns my gaze and
strokes my cheek.
I lick my lips and dive back down on his cock, sucking eagerly, using my little
hand to stroke the base of his cock to the rhythm of my blowjob. He groans
above me as I fill my mouth with him. My free hand dives between my legs, my
fingers slipping into my growing wetness. This little blonde bombshell is horny
as hell and eager for a good fucking. Her pussy feels so tight and wet. I know
Logan is going to love it.
I suck Logan's dick, speeding up and slowing down to his rhythm, keeping him
just on the edge. His tangy pre-cum drips across my tongue and I swallow
happily. All the while I stroke my new pussy, exploring my velvety folds.
They're slick and warm with lust. When Logan's moans grow louder he grabs my
blonde locks in a fist and holds me still.
“Not yet,” he hisses between clenched teeth, fighting to get himself under
control.
He throbs once, twice in my mouth, and then stills, holding himself in check. He
removes his hand and I pull back off his cock with a wet pop. My new pussy is
dripping, a light bead of juice making its way down my thighs.I pull him onto the floor on top of me, spreading my limber legs and wrapping
them around his waist, urging him closer. He grabs his cock and aims it at my
center. I watch with glee as I open for him, the head of his cock disappearing
between my velvety pussy lips. The glorious pressure builds against my tight
entrance, growing, growing, and then I stretch for him. He enters me slowly,
delicately, and it's all I can do to not beg him to hurry, to slip deep inside and fill
me. Inch by inch he enters, and I hurry him by raising my hips and enveloping
him with a throaty moan. I'm so tight and he feels so big but, god, it's just what
this little body needs.
Christ, I can feel all of his shaft as it curves up through me, filling me. He lodges
right against the dimpled nub of my inner center, holding there, before
withdrawing. My hands come to my new tits. I'm still getting used to them,
they're much smaller and firmer than Denise's, but fun nonetheless. I caress
them, pinch and squeeze, tweaking each nipple, trying to find what this body
likes.
Logan rests his body on mine, hands running up my sides as he kisses down my
front, and I have to move one hand so his lips and teeth can find a nipple. His hot
breath sends shivers across my skin, and he nips at me as he thrusts his cock
inside. The heat is twisting through me and I need this so much. I clutch him
tighter, both of us playing with my nipples as he fucks me harder. The wet
sounds of my pussy fill my ears and I throw my head back as the heat blisters
through me. I cry out loud, my voice high pitched and needy as I cum.
Logan thrusts deep and grunts, throbbing into me. Every spurt is magical,
bringing with it an incredible fullness, a wet heat that burns me so beautifully. I
clutch him tight and cry out, my body joyous for release as the orgasm spills
through me. We grunt and rock together, connected by hands lips, tongues, and
cock, our bodies moving together in blissful harmony. Logan slows and rests on
top of me, his wonderful weight pressing me to the floor. I stroke his back while
he grows soft inside of me, finally slipping out and leaving me achingly empty.He hoists me in his arms and carries me to the bedroom, kissing me once before
setting me on the bed. I fall asleep with my arm clutching him from behind, his
warm body pressing against me, his masculine smell deep in my nose.
These stories tells you about Peter Parker and his lovely redheaded big-tittied wife, Mary-Jane Waston-Parker with her transformations.
(PETER PARKER, in his classic red-and-blue Spider-Man suit, though the mask is off and pushed back like a hood, sits on a comfortable couch next to his wife, MARY JANE WATSON-PARKER. She’s stunning, with a cascade of fiery red hair and a confident, loving smile. They’re both turned slightly, as if addressing a camera. A soft, romantic light glows around them.)
PETER: (Clears his throat, a little nervous) So, uh… hey. Hi. If you’re watching this, you probably know the deal. Radioactive spider, great power, great responsibility, all that. The whole… thing.
MARY JANE: (Laughs, a warm, rich sound. She playfully elbows him.) The whole ‘thing’? Tiger, you saved the city, like, a dozen times last week. You can say it. You’re Spider-Man. The Amazing Spider-Man.
PETER: (Blushes slightly, smiling at her) Right. That. And this… this is my wife, Mary Jane. The most amazing woman in any universe, multiverse, or frankly, any conceivable dimension. Geez, I'm just getting tired of all the multiverse now.
MARY JANE: (She leans into him, her head on his shoulder) Flatterer. But he’s not wrong. We’ve been through it all, haven’t we, Pete? That dorky, nervous kid from Queens who tripped over his own feet asking me out…
PETER: (Groans good-naturedly) Do we have to bring that up?
MARY JANE: Absolutely. And our first kiss… up on that web-line, with the city lights sparkling below us. I knew you were my Spider then. I’ve known you were Spider-Man since we were teenagers, and I’ve loved every single crazy, web-slinging, villain-punching minute of it.
PETER: (He looks at her, his expression full of adoration) And we got married. For real. No devil deals, no retcons, no editors from on high deciding we’d be better off miserable and apart. Just… us.
MARY JANE: (Her expression turns wry, addressing the ‘camera’ directly) You hear that, certain comic book writers? We’re happy. We’re together. We’re a team. And we have a life that’s… well, let’s just say it’s never, ever boring.
PETER: Understatement of the century, MJ. Because while my life is pretty consistently weird, yours… yours has taken some truly unexpected turns.
MARY JANE: (A mischievous glint appears in her emerald eyes) Oh, you have no idea. Or, well, I guess you’re about to. We thought we’d share some stories. The kind of stories they’d never let us tell in the funny pages these days. The good stuff.
PETER: (Rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture) Right. The… ahem… transformative experiences.
MARY JANE: (She grins, a brilliantly wicked smile) That’s one way to put it. Remember that time, a few years back, when that weird black goo from space didn’t latch onto you, Tiger? It decided it liked my fashion sense better, including improving everything within me.
PETER: How could I forget? I came home and instead of my beautiful wife, there was… a towering, powerful, incredibly voluptuous creature of pure alien symbiote. White spider emblem and everything. You called yourself… Venom or Venomess.
MARY JANE: (Her voice drops to a playful, sultry growl) We… are Venom. And we had… needs. Very specific, very physical needs. And let’s just say my strong, sticky husband was more than equipped to handle them. All those extra tendrils came in very handy.
PETER: (His face is now completely red. He fans himself with his hand.) Wow. Okay. Yeah. That’s… that’s a story. Then there was the summer you and I went to Central Park and found that weird geode that fell from the sky…
MARY JANE: Oh, the Omnitrix! Yeah, instead of a kid named Ben Tennyson, I received it instead. One touch and suddenly I had access to many alien forms. Pyronite was great for roasting marshmallows, Tetramand was basically She-Hulk but an alien with four arms and four eyes… but my personal favorite is Galvanic Mechamorph because it would allow us to-
PETER: (Sputtering) MJ! The kids might—
MARY JANE: They’re not listening! Relax, tiger. Then there was the mishap at that gala at the Natural History Museum. I fell right into the exhibit…
PETER: The Clayface exhibit! Yes, I remember. Plus, Bruce Wayne and Reed Richards help you recover yourself from Joker. At that time, it didn't work right away. By the time I takes you home, you’re starts to become a shapeshifting mound of living clay. And you know what? You were still the most beautiful woman in the room. Even if you're a blob clay monster. That was… a unique experience.
MARY JANE: (Winking) You didn’t complain. Not once. And let’s not forget your own upgrade, Mr. Kamen Rider. When that ancient belt fused with your web-shooters…
PETER: (Strikes a mock-heroic pose) “Henshin!” Yeah, the armored suit was cool, I’ll admit. But it was nothing compared to you bursting through our bedroom wall as Cutey Honey, ready for… ahem… ‘action’.
MARY JANE: “Honey Flash!” It was all in the name of justice. And very, very thorough lovemaking.
(They both laugh, lost in the memory for a moment. Peter looks at MJ with utter love.)
PETER: Through it all… symbiote, aliens, clay, magical girl transformations, and many things… you’ve always been you, MJ. My Mary Jane. And I wouldn’t change a single, bizarre, incredible second of it.
MARY JANE: Me neither, Tiger. Me neither. Now, how about we tell our friends here about the time I—
(Suddenly, a door bursts open off-screen. A young girl, MAYDAY PARKER, about 8 years old, runs in, followed by her little brother, BENJY, who’s about 5.)
MAYDAY: Mom! Dad! Uncle Johnny is on fire in the backyard again!
BENJY: (Holding a action figure) He says it’s ‘flame on’ but it’s just the barbecue! It’s boring!
(Peter and MJ look at each other and sigh in perfect, happy unison.)
PETER: (To the ‘camera’, shrugging apologetically) Duty—and family—calls. Don’t worry, True Believers… there are plenty more stories where those came from.
MARY JANE: (Blows a kiss) And they’re all much, much better than ‘One More Day’. Promise!
(They get up from the couch, Peter swooping Benjy into his arms while MJ puts an arm around Mayday, and they walk out of the frame together, a perfect, loving, chaotic family.)
[STORY TITLE CARD APPEARS:]
PETER PARKER THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN & MARY-JANE WITH MANY TRANSFORMATIONS STORIES
[UPCOMING ATTRACTIONS LIST:]
* Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess What if Mary-Jane bonds and has the symbiote at first instead Peter Parker.
* Spider-Man & MJ-10 What if Mary-Jane wields and have the Omnitrix instead of Ben Tennyson
* Spider-Man & ClayMJ MJ becomes a shapeshifting clay creature, and Peter proves his love is more than skin deep.
(PETER PARKER, in his classic red-and-blue Spider-Man suit, though the mask is off and pushed back like a hood, sits on a comfortable couch next to his wife, MARY JANE WATSON-PARKER. She’s stunning, with a cascade of fiery red hair and a confident, loving smile. They’re both turned slightly, as if addressing a camera. A soft, romantic light glows around them.)
PETER: (Clears his throat, a little nervous) So, uh… hey. Hi. If you’re watching this, you probably know the deal. Radioactive spider, great power, great responsibility, all that. The whole… thing.
MARY JANE: (Laughs, a warm, rich sound. She playfully elbows him.) The whole ‘thing’? Tiger, you saved the city, like, a dozen times last week. You can say it. You’re Spider-Man. The Amazing Spider-Man.
PETER: (Blushes slightly, smiling at her) Right. That. And this… this is my wife, Mary Jane. The most amazing woman in any universe, multiverse, or frankly, any conceivable dimension. Geez, I'm just getting tired of all the multiverse now.
MARY JANE: (She leans into him, her head on his shoulder) Flatterer. But he’s not wrong. We’ve been through it all, haven’t we, Pete? That dorky, nervous kid from Queens who tripped over his own feet asking me out…
PETER: (Groans good-naturedly) Do we have to bring that up?
MARY JANE: Absolutely. And our first kiss… up on that web-line, with the city lights sparkling below us. I knew you were my Spider then. I’ve known you were Spider-Man since we were teenagers, and I’ve loved every single crazy, web-slinging, villain-punching minute of it.
PETER: (He looks at her, his expression full of adoration) And we got married. For real. No devil deals, no retcons, no editors from on high deciding we’d be better off miserable and apart. Just… us.
MARY JANE: (Her expression turns wry, addressing the ‘camera’ directly) You hear that, certain comic book writers? We’re happy. We’re together. We’re a team. And we have a life that’s… well, let’s just say it’s never, ever boring.
PETER: Understatement of the century, MJ. Because while my life is pretty consistently weird, yours… yours has taken some truly unexpected turns.
MARY JANE: (A mischievous glint appears in her emerald eyes) Oh, you have no idea. Or, well, I guess you’re about to. We thought we’d share some stories. The kind of stories they’d never let us tell in the funny pages these days. The good stuff.
PETER: (Rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture) Right. The… ahem… transformative experiences.
MARY JANE: (She grins, a brilliantly wicked smile) That’s one way to put it. Remember that time, a few years back, when that weird black goo from space didn’t latch onto you, Tiger? It decided it liked my fashion sense better, including improving everything within me.
PETER: How could I forget? I came home and instead of my beautiful wife, there was… a towering, powerful, incredibly voluptuous creature of pure alien symbiote. White spider emblem and everything. You called yourself… Venom or Venomess.
MARY JANE: (Her voice drops to a playful, sultry growl) We… are Venom. And we had… needs. Very specific, very physical needs. And let’s just say my strong, sticky husband was more than equipped to handle them. All those extra tendrils came in very handy.
PETER: (His face is now completely red. He fans himself with his hand.) Wow. Okay. Yeah. That’s… that’s a story. Then there was the summer you and I went to Central Park and found that weird geode that fell from the sky…
MARY JANE: Oh, the Omnitrix! Yeah, instead of a kid named Ben Tennyson, I received it instead. One touch and suddenly I had access to many alien forms. Pyronite was great for roasting marshmallows, Tetramand was basically She-Hulk but an alien with four arms and four eyes… but my personal favorite is Galvanic Mechamorph because it would allow us to-
PETER: (Sputtering) MJ! The kids might—
MARY JANE: They’re not listening! Relax, tiger. Then there was the mishap at that gala at the Natural History Museum. I fell right into the exhibit…
PETER: The Clayface exhibit! Yes, I remember. Plus, Bruce Wayne and Reed Richards help you recover yourself from Joker. At that time, it didn't work right away. By the time I takes you home, you’re starts to become a shapeshifting mound of living clay. And you know what? You were still the most beautiful woman in the room. Even if you're a blob clay monster. That was… a unique experience.
MARY JANE: (Winking) You didn’t complain. Not once. And let’s not forget your own upgrade, Mr. Kamen Rider. When that ancient belt fused with your web-shooters…
PETER: (Strikes a mock-heroic pose) “Henshin!” Yeah, the armored suit was cool, I’ll admit. But it was nothing compared to you bursting through our bedroom wall as Cutey Honey, ready for… ahem… ‘action’.
MARY JANE: “Honey Flash!” It was all in the name of justice. And very, very thorough lovemaking.
(They both laugh, lost in the memory for a moment. Peter looks at MJ with utter love.)
PETER: Through it all… symbiote, aliens, clay, magical girl transformations, and many things… you’ve always been you, MJ. My Mary Jane. And I wouldn’t change a single, bizarre, incredible second of it.
MARY JANE: Me neither, Tiger. Me neither. Now, how about we tell our friends here about the time I—
(Suddenly, a door bursts open off-screen. A young girl, MAYDAY PARKER, about 8 years old, runs in, followed by her little brother, BENJY, who’s about 5.)
MAYDAY: Mom! Dad! Uncle Johnny is on fire in the backyard again!
BENJY: (Holding a action figure) He says it’s ‘flame on’ but it’s just the barbecue! It’s boring!
(Peter and MJ look at each other and sigh in perfect, happy unison.)
PETER: (To the ‘camera’, shrugging apologetically) Duty—and family—calls. Don’t worry, True Believers… there are plenty more stories where those came from.
MARY JANE: (Blows a kiss) And they’re all much, much better than ‘One More Day’. Promise!
(They get up from the couch, Peter swooping Benjy into his arms while MJ puts an arm around Mayday, and they walk out of the frame together, a perfect, loving, chaotic family.)
[STORY TITLE CARD APPEARS:]
PETER PARKER THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN & MARY-JANE WITH MANY TRANSFORMATIONS STORIES
[UPCOMING ATTRACTIONS LIST:]
* Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess What if Mary-Jane bonds and has the symbiote at first instead Peter Parker.
* Spider-Man & MJ-10 What if Mary-Jane wields and have the Omnitrix instead of Ben Tennyson
* Spider-Man & ClayMJ MJ becomes a shapeshifting clay creature, and Peter proves his love is more than skin deep.
You and your group of friends won a raffle that awarded you with five tickets to Spooky Island! It was the new resort island being endorsed by Sydney Sweeney, it’s gimmick was supposedly a spooky and entertaining summer experience, and since you guys were on summer break, you definitely thought it was a sign to enjoy the island.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
MAIN CHARACTERS:
- Protagonist (second person, "you")– College sophomore, discovers shapeshifting ability limited to women he has (complete) penetrative sex with. Only can change into the women if he ejaculates inside them. Transforms fully (body, voice, mannerisms) but retains his own mind. Shift lasts however long or short the protagonist wants. Can shapeshift into any woman he as had sex with previously.
- Zoey – college age, Sarcastic bookworm, first to discover his secret. Becomes his partner-in-crime. Built like a nerdy Cara Delevingne.
- Lena – college age. Zoey’s best friend, initially hesitant but intrigued by his power. Body shape like Kat Dennings.
- Viktor – Russian mobster who exploits his ability for prostitution.
---
### ACT 1: DISCOVERY (ESTABLISHING THE POWER & RULES)
SCENE 1: First Transformation
- Protagonist loses virginity to Emma, a grad student, after drunken hookup.
- Wakes up in her body—panic, confusion. Shift reverts naturally after he wills it.
- Rules Established:
- Must finish inside a woman to copy her form.
- Maintains full physicality (voice, fingerprints, even scent).
- Can shift back voluntarily or holds form for as long as he wantss.
SCENE 2: Zoey Finds Out
- Protagonist experiments in library, shifting into Emma again.
- Zoey catches him mid-transformation. "What the actual fuck?"
- Makes a deal: Prove it, and she’ll help research.
SCENE 3: The Experiment Confirmed
- They sleep together; Protagonist shifts into her.
- Zoey is fascinated, running hands over her own borrowed body.
- Playful testing—can he mimic her handwriting? Wearing glasses?
---
### ACT 2: THE FIRST REAL TEST (LENA’S DILEMMA)
SCENE 4: The Family Emergency
- Lena gets call—mom in hospital, but she can’t miss her Ethics final (or loses scholarship).
- Zoey suggests: "What if you take the test as her?"
SCENE 5: The Transformation Agreement
- Hesitant, Lena sleeps with Protagonist under condition: "No using my body for… other things."
- He transforms into her.
SCENE 6: The Exam Day
- Protagonist (as Lena) attends class; Zoey feeds answers via earpiece.
- Nearly slips when professor asks unexpected question—barely recovers.
Tar Success! Aced it. Lena returns, intrigued but conflicted. "This is insane. Let’s never tell anyone."
---
### ACT 3: THE GANGSTER’S PROPOSITION
SCENE 7: Viktor Notices
- Protagonist unwittingly shifts at a club bathroom.
- Viktor (crime boss) corners him: "That trick… could be very profitable."
Viktor figures out a way to get the protagonist to owe him a lot of money and be forced to work for him
SCENE 8: The Deal
- Viktor offers: He provides women for Protagonist to sleep with, then rents out his transformed bodies to elite clients.
- Protagonist reluctant but desperate for money
- Agrees under threat.
SCENE 9: The Whorehouse Life
- 3 Main Forms Used for Clients:
1. Selena – Voluptuous escort (Viktor’s top earner).
2. Mrs. Chen – Older, sophisticated (attracts wealthy clients).
3. Celebrity Form – From a very sophisticated blackmail scheme viktor pulled off. Used sparingly (major $$$).
- Protagonist hates it but sticks around out of fear.
---
### ACT 4: THE BREAKING POINT
SCENE 10: Zoey Investigates
- She notices Protagonist missing, sneaks into Viktor’s club.
- Finds him in Selena’s form with a client—horrified.
Chapter 1: The First Time I Became Someone Else
The pounding in my skull matched the bass still echoing from last night's club as I peeled my face off the pillow. Cheap vodka and bad decisions clung to my tongue. Sunlight sliced through half-closed blinds, illuminating tangled sheets that smelled like vanilla body spray and sex.
Right. Emma.
I groaned, rolling onto my side—and froze.
The arm draped across my stomach wasn't mine. Too slender. Too smooth. Manicured nails with chipped black polish.
I bolted upright, sheets pooling around my waist—
Oh Jesus Christ.
Curves. Full breasts barely contained in a lacy black bra. The unmistakable dip of a woman's waist.
I practically fell out of bed, stumbling toward the dorm room mirror—
Emma's face stared back at me.
Her plush lips parted in shock. Her blonde waves tangled from sleep. Her body—my body—completely, impossibly female. I grabbed handfuls of soft flesh, pinched the skin of my—her—thigh.
"Fuck!" The word came out in Emma's voice, higher than mine, sharper.
Then—like a rubber band snapping—my skin prickled. A wave of heat rolled through me, muscles tightening, bones shifting—
I collapsed against the sink as my own familiar reflection returned. Sweaty. Wild-eyed. Very much male again.
The door swung open. Emma stood there holding two coffees, eyebrow arched. "You okay? Sounded like you were dying in—" Her gaze dropped to where I clutched the sink. "Oh god, did you puke?"
"No," I croaked. "Just... bad hangover."
She snorted, tossing me a coffee. "Lightweight."
I waited until she left before examining my hands—normal again. No polish. No delicate fingers.
What the actual hell just happened?
---
Three Days Later
I'd nearly convinced myself it was a drunken hallucination. Nearly.
Then, in the shower, thinking about Emma's hands tugging at my jeans—
The shampoo bottle slipped from fingers that suddenly weren't mine anymore.
Same electric heat. Same impossible shift. Emma's body materializing around me like a second skin.
I turned off the water with shaking hands.
Okay. So that's a thing I can do now.
---
The Library Incident
Zoey Nakamura cornered me a week later between the philosophy stacks.
I'd been practicing—Emma's walk, her laugh, the way she flipped her hair. The transformations lasted longer each time.
A book thudded to the floor.
Zoey stood frozen, her oversized cardigan slipping off one shoulder, glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights. Her lips moved soundlessly before she managed: "You're... not Emma."
I opened my mouth—
"Emma has a mole behind her left ear," Zoey said, voice climbing an octave. "And she'd rather die than be caught in the feminist theory section."
Shit.
The shift back was getting smoother—just a ripple across my skin, like water settling.
Zoey's eyes went wide behind her glasses as my real form reappeared. Her breath hitched. "Holy shit."
We stared at each other in the yellow library light.
Then Zoey did the last thing I expected—she grabbed my wrist and dragged me into a study carrel.
"Tell me everything," she demanded, shoving her glasses up her nose. "Right now."
---
Zoey's Experiment
Her dorm smelled like bergamot tea and old books. Moonlight striped across her rumpled bedspread as she sat cross-legged facing me, knees brushing mine.
"So let me get this straight," Zoey said, tapping a pen against her bottom lip. "You sleep with a girl, finish inside her, and boom—human photocopier?"
I flushed. "I guess?"
She leaned in. The neckline of her sleepshirt gaped, revealing smooth skin and the edge of a black lace bra. "Have you tried shifting into anyone besides Emma?"
"No. She's the only one I've... you know."
Zoey's dark eyes gleamed. She uncrossed her legs slowly. "Hypothetically," she murmured, "if someone wanted you to be able to turn into them..."
My throat went dry.
The pen clattered to the floor as Zoey crawled into my lap. Her breath warmed my ear. "For science," she whispered.
---
Becoming Zoey
Her bedsprings creaked. Her nails dug into my shoulders. When she came, she arched like a bowstring, gasping my name—
Then the world turned inside out.
Heat flooded every nerve ending. My hips narrowed. Breasts swelled against Zoey's tangled tank top. Long black hair tumbled over my shoulders—her shoulders—now mine.
Zoey's laughter rang out as she straddled herself, hands roaming her own body on my stolen form. "Oh my god," she breathed, squeezing her—my—thighs. "This is insane."
Her fingers traced the beauty mark above my left hipbone—one I'd never seen before. "You even got this," she murmured, sounding strangely moved.
Then she kissed me—really kissed me—her lips soft against her own.
When we broke apart, Zoey's eyes were dark with something more than curiosity. "So," she said, thumb brushing her lower lip on my face. "Who should we be next?"
- Protagonist (second person, "you")– College sophomore, discovers shapeshifting ability limited to women he has (complete) penetrative sex with. Only can change into the women if he ejaculates inside them. Transforms fully (body, voice, mannerisms) but retains his own mind. Shift lasts however long or short the protagonist wants. Can shapeshift into any woman he as had sex with previously.
- Zoey – college age, Sarcastic bookworm, first to discover his secret. Becomes his partner-in-crime. Built like a nerdy Cara Delevingne.
- Lena – college age. Zoey’s best friend, initially hesitant but intrigued by his power. Body shape like Kat Dennings.
- Viktor – Russian mobster who exploits his ability for prostitution.
---
### ACT 1: DISCOVERY (ESTABLISHING THE POWER & RULES)
SCENE 1: First Transformation
- Protagonist loses virginity to Emma, a grad student, after drunken hookup.
- Wakes up in her body—panic, confusion. Shift reverts naturally after he wills it.
- Rules Established:
- Must finish inside a woman to copy her form.
- Maintains full physicality (voice, fingerprints, even scent).
- Can shift back voluntarily or holds form for as long as he wantss.
SCENE 2: Zoey Finds Out
- Protagonist experiments in library, shifting into Emma again.
- Zoey catches him mid-transformation. "What the actual fuck?"
- Makes a deal: Prove it, and she’ll help research.
SCENE 3: The Experiment Confirmed
- They sleep together; Protagonist shifts into her.
- Zoey is fascinated, running hands over her own borrowed body.
- Playful testing—can he mimic her handwriting? Wearing glasses?
---
### ACT 2: THE FIRST REAL TEST (LENA’S DILEMMA)
SCENE 4: The Family Emergency
- Lena gets call—mom in hospital, but she can’t miss her Ethics final (or loses scholarship).
- Zoey suggests: "What if you take the test as her?"
SCENE 5: The Transformation Agreement
- Hesitant, Lena sleeps with Protagonist under condition: "No using my body for… other things."
- He transforms into her.
SCENE 6: The Exam Day
- Protagonist (as Lena) attends class; Zoey feeds answers via earpiece.
- Nearly slips when professor asks unexpected question—barely recovers.
Tar Success! Aced it. Lena returns, intrigued but conflicted. "This is insane. Let’s never tell anyone."
---
### ACT 3: THE GANGSTER’S PROPOSITION
SCENE 7: Viktor Notices
- Protagonist unwittingly shifts at a club bathroom.
- Viktor (crime boss) corners him: "That trick… could be very profitable."
Viktor figures out a way to get the protagonist to owe him a lot of money and be forced to work for him
SCENE 8: The Deal
- Viktor offers: He provides women for Protagonist to sleep with, then rents out his transformed bodies to elite clients.
- Protagonist reluctant but desperate for money
- Agrees under threat.
SCENE 9: The Whorehouse Life
- 3 Main Forms Used for Clients:
1. Selena – Voluptuous escort (Viktor’s top earner).
2. Mrs. Chen – Older, sophisticated (attracts wealthy clients).
3. Celebrity Form – From a very sophisticated blackmail scheme viktor pulled off. Used sparingly (major $$$).
- Protagonist hates it but sticks around out of fear.
---
### ACT 4: THE BREAKING POINT
SCENE 10: Zoey Investigates
- She notices Protagonist missing, sneaks into Viktor’s club.
- Finds him in Selena’s form with a client—horrified.
Chapter 1: The First Time I Became Someone Else
The pounding in my skull matched the bass still echoing from last night's club as I peeled my face off the pillow. Cheap vodka and bad decisions clung to my tongue. Sunlight sliced through half-closed blinds, illuminating tangled sheets that smelled like vanilla body spray and sex.
Right. Emma.
I groaned, rolling onto my side—and froze.
The arm draped across my stomach wasn't mine. Too slender. Too smooth. Manicured nails with chipped black polish.
I bolted upright, sheets pooling around my waist—
Oh Jesus Christ.
Curves. Full breasts barely contained in a lacy black bra. The unmistakable dip of a woman's waist.
I practically fell out of bed, stumbling toward the dorm room mirror—
Emma's face stared back at me.
Her plush lips parted in shock. Her blonde waves tangled from sleep. Her body—my body—completely, impossibly female. I grabbed handfuls of soft flesh, pinched the skin of my—her—thigh.
"Fuck!" The word came out in Emma's voice, higher than mine, sharper.
Then—like a rubber band snapping—my skin prickled. A wave of heat rolled through me, muscles tightening, bones shifting—
I collapsed against the sink as my own familiar reflection returned. Sweaty. Wild-eyed. Very much male again.
The door swung open. Emma stood there holding two coffees, eyebrow arched. "You okay? Sounded like you were dying in—" Her gaze dropped to where I clutched the sink. "Oh god, did you puke?"
"No," I croaked. "Just... bad hangover."
She snorted, tossing me a coffee. "Lightweight."
I waited until she left before examining my hands—normal again. No polish. No delicate fingers.
What the actual hell just happened?
---
Three Days Later
I'd nearly convinced myself it was a drunken hallucination. Nearly.
Then, in the shower, thinking about Emma's hands tugging at my jeans—
The shampoo bottle slipped from fingers that suddenly weren't mine anymore.
Same electric heat. Same impossible shift. Emma's body materializing around me like a second skin.
I turned off the water with shaking hands.
Okay. So that's a thing I can do now.
---
The Library Incident
Zoey Nakamura cornered me a week later between the philosophy stacks.
I'd been practicing—Emma's walk, her laugh, the way she flipped her hair. The transformations lasted longer each time.
A book thudded to the floor.
Zoey stood frozen, her oversized cardigan slipping off one shoulder, glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights. Her lips moved soundlessly before she managed: "You're... not Emma."
I opened my mouth—
"Emma has a mole behind her left ear," Zoey said, voice climbing an octave. "And she'd rather die than be caught in the feminist theory section."
Shit.
The shift back was getting smoother—just a ripple across my skin, like water settling.
Zoey's eyes went wide behind her glasses as my real form reappeared. Her breath hitched. "Holy shit."
We stared at each other in the yellow library light.
Then Zoey did the last thing I expected—she grabbed my wrist and dragged me into a study carrel.
"Tell me everything," she demanded, shoving her glasses up her nose. "Right now."
---
Zoey's Experiment
Her dorm smelled like bergamot tea and old books. Moonlight striped across her rumpled bedspread as she sat cross-legged facing me, knees brushing mine.
"So let me get this straight," Zoey said, tapping a pen against her bottom lip. "You sleep with a girl, finish inside her, and boom—human photocopier?"
I flushed. "I guess?"
She leaned in. The neckline of her sleepshirt gaped, revealing smooth skin and the edge of a black lace bra. "Have you tried shifting into anyone besides Emma?"
"No. She's the only one I've... you know."
Zoey's dark eyes gleamed. She uncrossed her legs slowly. "Hypothetically," she murmured, "if someone wanted you to be able to turn into them..."
My throat went dry.
The pen clattered to the floor as Zoey crawled into my lap. Her breath warmed my ear. "For science," she whispered.
---
Becoming Zoey
Her bedsprings creaked. Her nails dug into my shoulders. When she came, she arched like a bowstring, gasping my name—
Then the world turned inside out.
Heat flooded every nerve ending. My hips narrowed. Breasts swelled against Zoey's tangled tank top. Long black hair tumbled over my shoulders—her shoulders—now mine.
Zoey's laughter rang out as she straddled herself, hands roaming her own body on my stolen form. "Oh my god," she breathed, squeezing her—my—thighs. "This is insane."
Her fingers traced the beauty mark above my left hipbone—one I'd never seen before. "You even got this," she murmured, sounding strangely moved.
Then she kissed me—really kissed me—her lips soft against her own.
When we broke apart, Zoey's eyes were dark with something more than curiosity. "So," she said, thumb brushing her lower lip on my face. "Who should we be next?"
Rumors about a possession themed website on the dark web have been going around. A man named John and his four friends, Kevin, James, Steve, and Russel, come across the website by chance, and they all think it's just some fake website... but they decide to try it out, given the first hour of possession was free for new users. They signed up and opted to just possess the bodies of John's neighbors, the Drews. The family consisted of a MILF mom, a fitness model dad, a med student daughter, and two fraternal twins (a male and female) who had just started their freshman year in college.
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
The air in my apartment was thick with exhaustion and the lingering stench of energy drinks. Finals had officially wrecked us—Kevin was sprawled across the couch like a corpse, James was rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the last 72 hours from memory, and Steve and Russel were slumped on the floor, barely conscious.
Russel scrolled lazily through his phone before suddenly sitting up. "No way. You guys seeing this shit?" He turned the screen toward us, revealing a Reddit thread with the title: "BodyPossession.com is LEGIT—I spent an hour as my hot neighbor and now I’m addicted."
Kevin snorted. "Yeah, and I’m Elon Musk. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."
James groaned. "If people could just steal bodies, the world would be a nightmare. Think about it—politicians, celebrities, your ex? Total chaos."
Russel smirked. "Tell that to the thousands of people swearing it works. Says you upload a pic, pay in crypto, and boom—first hour’s free. Like a trial run."
Steve, who had been half-asleep, cracked an eye open. "Okay, hypothetically—if this wasn’t complete bullshit—who would you even possess?"
A slow, stupid grin spread across my face.
I grabbed my laptop. "Only one way to find out."
The guys groaned, half-heartedly protesting, but curiosity got the better of them as they crowded behind me. I typed BodyPossession.com into Google, fully expecting nothing but scam links.
But there it was—first result. No shady redirects, no sketchy warnings. Just a sleek black-and-white homepage with bold letters:
"TEMPORARY BODY HOSTING. FIRST HOUR FREE."
Silence.
Russel exhaled. "What the actual fuck."
Kevin jabbed my arm. "This has got to be fake."
I clicked the gallery. Hundreds of faces loaded—some smiling for the camera, others caught unaware, like the site had scraped every social media profile in existence. A cold tingle slithered down my neck, but I ignored it, scrolling faster.
"Let’s keep it simple," I said, pulling up the Drews’ Instagram—our insanely hot neighbors who lived one floor above us.
Samantha Drew, late 40s but looking like she could pass for a decade younger, full lips and curves that made yoga pants look like a crime. Henry Drew, six-foot-something of sculpted muscle, the kind of guy who probably bench-pressed his kids for fun. Their daughter, Sophie, medical student by day, knockout by night, with that dangerous combo of brains and a body that belonged in a magazine. And the twins—Abby, a lithe, bright-eyed brunette with legs for days, and Lance, her cocky, broad-shouldered counterpart who acted like the dorm showers were his personal runway.
Steve let out a low whistle. "Oh yeah. Mom’s mine."
"The hell she is," James snapped, elbowing him. "Dibs don’t mean shit—this isn’t monopoly."
Russel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys. First things first—who the hell gets last pick? Because I know none of you are volunteering."
I tuned them out. My fingers moved before I could second-guess—cropping Henry’s sharply defined jawline from a Cabo vacation pic and dropping it onto the site.
HOST SELECTED: HENRY DREW
FIRST HOUR FREE. SESSION BEGINS IN 10…
Kevin yanked at the laptop. "John, no—think for one goddamn second—!"
Russel just cackled. "Oh, you beautiful, reckless bastard—"
The screen flared white.
Then—nothing.
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
The air in my apartment was thick with exhaustion and the lingering stench of energy drinks. Finals had officially wrecked us—Kevin was sprawled across the couch like a corpse, James was rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the last 72 hours from memory, and Steve and Russel were slumped on the floor, barely conscious.
Russel scrolled lazily through his phone before suddenly sitting up. "No way. You guys seeing this shit?" He turned the screen toward us, revealing a Reddit thread with the title: "BodyPossession.com is LEGIT—I spent an hour as my hot neighbor and now I’m addicted."
Kevin snorted. "Yeah, and I’m Elon Musk. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."
James groaned. "If people could just steal bodies, the world would be a nightmare. Think about it—politicians, celebrities, your ex? Total chaos."
Russel smirked. "Tell that to the thousands of people swearing it works. Says you upload a pic, pay in crypto, and boom—first hour’s free. Like a trial run."
Steve, who had been half-asleep, cracked an eye open. "Okay, hypothetically—if this wasn’t complete bullshit—who would you even possess?"
A slow, stupid grin spread across my face.
I grabbed my laptop. "Only one way to find out."
The guys groaned, half-heartedly protesting, but curiosity got the better of them as they crowded behind me. I typed BodyPossession.com into Google, fully expecting nothing but scam links.
But there it was—first result. No shady redirects, no sketchy warnings. Just a sleek black-and-white homepage with bold letters:
"TEMPORARY BODY HOSTING. FIRST HOUR FREE."
Silence.
Russel exhaled. "What the actual fuck."
Kevin jabbed my arm. "This has got to be fake."
I clicked the gallery. Hundreds of faces loaded—some smiling for the camera, others caught unaware, like the site had scraped every social media profile in existence. A cold tingle slithered down my neck, but I ignored it, scrolling faster.
"Let’s keep it simple," I said, pulling up the Drews’ Instagram—our insanely hot neighbors who lived one floor above us.
Samantha Drew, late 40s but looking like she could pass for a decade younger, full lips and curves that made yoga pants look like a crime. Henry Drew, six-foot-something of sculpted muscle, the kind of guy who probably bench-pressed his kids for fun. Their daughter, Sophie, medical student by day, knockout by night, with that dangerous combo of brains and a body that belonged in a magazine. And the twins—Abby, a lithe, bright-eyed brunette with legs for days, and Lance, her cocky, broad-shouldered counterpart who acted like the dorm showers were his personal runway.
Steve let out a low whistle. "Oh yeah. Mom’s mine."
"The hell she is," James snapped, elbowing him. "Dibs don’t mean shit—this isn’t monopoly."
Russel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys. First things first—who the hell gets last pick? Because I know none of you are volunteering."
I tuned them out. My fingers moved before I could second-guess—cropping Henry’s sharply defined jawline from a Cabo vacation pic and dropping it onto the site.
HOST SELECTED: HENRY DREW
FIRST HOUR FREE. SESSION BEGINS IN 10…
Kevin yanked at the laptop. "John, no—think for one goddamn second—!"
Russel just cackled. "Oh, you beautiful, reckless bastard—"
The screen flared white.
Then—nothing.
The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
Fascinating.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
It needed direct access.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
Data awaited. Understanding beckoned.
The spirit moved.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tentas he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tent as he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
Fascinating.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
It needed direct access.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
Data awaited. Understanding beckoned.
The spirit moved.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tentas he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tent as he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
Latest Stories on Outfox
by
Kripto
· 24 Sep 2025
Calyope is a bisexual witch who has settled down with a normal guy. But when she discovers a magical rune of transformation, she thinks she might have discovered a way to have the best of both worlds. She just has to convince her husband to let her transform him first.