Spider-Man & MJ's Transformations Continuity Stories
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These stories tells you about Peter Parker and his lovely redheaded big-tittied wife, Mary-Jane Waston-Parker with her transformations.
f2f crossover incest superhero breast expansion possession Sci-Fi shapeshift age progression alien mind change transformation magic petrification parody race change gilf unaware transformation monster muscle milf robot girl ftf muscle gain
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Your friend Michelle discovers that she can astral project, but you don't believe her at first. To prove it to you, she decides to swap spirits with her cat, and the proof is pretty convincing! However, when Michelle leaves to explore the world for an hour in the cat's body, things take an unexpected twist with the cat in her body....
I was lounging on our battered sofa, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, when Michelle burst through the front door, her brown eyes wide with an energy I rarely saw outside of a soccer match.
“You are not going to believe what happened,” she said, tossing her keys onto the counter with a clatter.
“You finally won the lottery and we can move out of this dump?” I asked, not looking up.
“Better. Way better.” She plopped down next to me, making the old springs squeak. “I figured out how to… leave my body.”
That got my attention. I lowered my phone. “Michelle, if this is about that weird incense you bought last week, I told you, it just smells like a forest fire.”
“No, listen! It’s called astral projection. I was meditating, and suddenly, I was floating near the ceiling, looking down at myself on the floor. And then… I figured out I could pull other spirits out, too. Swap them around.”
I stared at her. My roommate was many things—a fantastic cook, a loyal friend, a terrifying opponent in Mario Kart—but she wasn’t prone to outright delusions. “Okay. Prove it.”
She grinned, a brilliant, challenging flash of white teeth. “How?”
My eyes drifted to the other occupant of the room. Buttercup, Michelle’s fluffy orange tabby, was curled in a sunbeam on the rug, purring like a tiny engine. That cat adored me. More than most animals did, actually. It was weirdly flattering.
“Swap with Buttercup,” I said, gesturing with my chin. “Right now. Let’s see it.”
Michelle’s grin didn’t falter. “You got it.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the cat. She closed her eyes, took a few deep, deliberate breaths, and her body went unnaturally still. A soft, almost imperceptible shimmer seemed to pass from her to the cat.
Buttercup, who had been sleeping, suddenly jerked. The cat stood up, stretched with an oddly stiff, deliberate motion, and then looked directly at me with Michelle’s intense, intelligent gaze in its green eyes. It then promptly tried to lick its own shoulder, overbalanced, and tumbled onto its side with a soft mrrp.
Meanwhile, Michelle’s body slumped. Then it slowly got to its hands and knees. It looked around the room with wide, confused eyes, then focused on Buttercup’s body. It—she—the Michelle-body let out a plaintive, confused meow. It crawled a few feet toward the sunbeam, then just sat there, staring at its own human hands with fascination before trying to bat at a dust mote drifting in the light.
My jaw was on the floor. “Holy shit.”
A minute later, the same shimmer reversed. Buttercup’s body gave a full-body shake and trotted off to the kitchen, presumably to check its food bowl. Michelle gasped back into her own form, blinking rapidly.
“See?” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Told you.”
“I… yeah. I believe you.” The words felt inadequate. The world had just fundamentally shifted. “What was it like?”
A slow, delighted smile spread across her face. “It was… incredible. The senses are so different. Everything is smells and textures and angles. And the freedom! Being that small, that agile…” She looked over at Buttercup, who was now meticulously washing a paw. “I want to do it again. For longer. Like, an hour. Just to explore the neighborhood, see what it’s like.”
“Wait, you’re going to just… be a cat for an hour?”
“Why not? It’ll be fun. But,” she said, becoming serious. “You gotta watch my body. The cat’s soul will be in there. Just make sure it doesn’t wander off or try to climb the bookshelf or something. It should just kinda… sit there. Be cat-like.”
I looked at her human form, then at the oblivious cat. “Okay. I can babysit a human-shaped cat for an hour.”
“You’re the best.” She kissed my cheek quickly. “Okay, same drill. Back in a bit.”
She sat down again, closed her eyes, and that shimmer passed between them once more. Buttercup’s body paused its washing, stood up, and gave me a very deliberate, very human nod with its furry head. Then it trotted to the cat flap and slipped outside into the evening.
Michelle’s body, now inhabited by the cat’s spirit, slumped for a second before getting back on its hands and knees. It made a soft, curious noise and began to sniff at the carpet.
I sighed, settling back on the couch. This was going to be a long hour.
Except it wasn’t.
The moment the cat flap clicked shut, the behavior changed.
Michelle’s body stopped sniffing. It sat back on its heels, then smoothly, fluidly, rose to its feet. It brushed off the knees of its jeans with a familiar, human gesture. Then it turned to look at me.
The eyes were still Michelle’s warm brown, but the expression behind them was sharp, calculating, and utterly alien. A slow, sly smile touched lips I’d seen a thousand times.
“Well,” the creature in Michelle’s body said, its voice a perfect mimic of my roommate’s, but with a huskier, more deliberate cadence. “That was tedious.”
I froze. “Uhhhhhh......What?”
“Acting dumb. So boring.” It—she?—rolled Michelle’s shoulders and stretched, the movement sinuous and exaggerated. “But necessary. Couldn’t have her knowing, could we?”
“Knowing what?” I was on my feet now, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“That we’re not the simple little furballs you think we are.” She took a step toward me. “Cats have been around humans for millennia. We observe. We learn. We understand far more than we let on. Playing the fool is just… good strategy.”
My mind was reeling. “You… you can talk?”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve heard every conversation in this apartment. I know your secrets. I know her secrets.” Another step closer. The cat-spirit in Michelle’s body was moving with a predatory grace Michelle herself never possessed. “And I know what you like.”
I took an involuntary step back, hitting the edge of the sofa. “What are you talking about?”She was right in front of me now, looking up at me with Michelle’s face. She reached out and placed a hand on my chest. It was warm through my t-shirt. “You’re a healthy young male. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she comes out of the shower. The way you look at her friends when they visit.” Her other hand came up, a finger tracing my jawline. “It’s a simple biological drive. I understand it perfectly.”
“This is insane,” I breathed, but I didn’t push her away. I couldn’t move.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she purred, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not going to tell Michelle about this little conversation. You’re going to let her think her experiment was a complete success. That I was just a dumb animal in her body for an hour.”
“Why would I do that?”
The smile turned wicked. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Because I’m going to give you a… private incentive. A thank you for your discretion.”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Then, slowly, deliberately, she brought Michelle’s hand up to her own mouth. She puckered her lips slightly and slid the tip of her index finger between them, her eyes locked on mine. She made a soft, sucking sound, then pulled the wet finger out with a pop.
My whole body went rigid. The implication was unmistakable.
“A secret between us,” she murmured, her gaze dropping meaningfully to my waist. “And a very persuasive reason to keep it. What do you say?”
I couldn’t speak. My mind was a riot of confusion, disbelief, and a dark, traitorous thrill that shot straight to my core. This was Michelle’s body, my friend’s body, standing before me, but the intelligence behind those eyes was ancient, alien, and dangerously persuasive.
“I…” The word croaked out of me.
“Shhh,” she whispered, placing that same damp finger against my lips. The taste of salt and her lip gloss was startlingly intimate. “Don’t think. Just agree.”
Her other hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and her fingers hooked into the waistband of my sweatpants. The look in her eyes was pure, unabashed feline curiosity mixed with a promise of decadent pleasure.
“You want to,” she stated, not asked. “Your body is already saying yes.”
She was right. I was painfully hard. The insanity of the situation, the forbidden nature of it, the sheer taboo of what was happening—it was short-circuiting my higher reasoning. This wasn’t Michelle. But it was her skin, her scent, her full lips now parting in a smile as she felt my reaction.
“Good,” she purred.
In one smooth motion, she pushed me back onto the sofa. I fell without resistance, looking up at her as she stood over me, a goddess of mischief in my roommate’s form. She knelt on the floor between my legs, her hands on my knees, pushing them apart. She held my gaze, that sly smile never fading, as she leaned forward.
But instead of going straight for where I expected, she nuzzled her face against my inner thigh, rubbing her cheek there like a cat marking its territory. A soft, rumbling sound vibrated from her throat—a purr. The sensation was utterly bizarre and electrifying.
“You smell of anxiety,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my leg. “And desire. A potent mix.”
She kissed the fabric over my thigh, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to nose her way upward. Her hands slid under my shirt, cool against my feverish skin, her short nails scraping lightly. Every movement was deliberate, observational, like she was learning me through touch.
When her mouth finally found me through the fabric, a hot, wet pressure, I gasped and arched off the couch. She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me.
“So responsive,” she said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers in the waistband of my pants and boxers. In one tug, she bared me to the cool air of the apartment—and to her intense, observing gaze.
For a long moment, she just looked, her head tilted, as if examining fascinating prey. Then her human façade slipped just a fraction. Her tongue darted out for a quick, rough lick from base to tip, not a human kiss, but the coarse, grooming lick of a cat. It was so startlingly other that I cried out.
She seemed to relish my shock. “Different, isn’t it?” she said, before closing her mouth over me properly.
The contrast was dizzying. The act itself was all human technique—deep, sucking pressure, skillful use of her tongue—but the rhythm was off, punctuated by those occasional, rough, lapping strokes that were purely animal. She purred constantly, the vibration adding a layer of sensation that made my toes curl. Her hands, Michelle’s strong, capable hands, gripped my hips, holding me in place as she took me deeper, her eyes open and watching my face the entire time.
It was the most surreal, most unnerving, and most intensely arousing experience of my life. I was being expertly seduced and consumed by a primal intelligence wearing my best friend’s skin. My hands tangled in her soft brown hair, not sure if I was trying to pull her closer or push her away.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, a sound cut through the haze of pleasure—the faint snick of the cat flap from the kitchen.
She felt me tense and pulled off with a wet, final pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. In an instant, the sharp, cunning light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a vacant, placid dullness. She slid my clothing back into place with swift, efficient motions and then simply collapsed onto the floor beside the sofa, curling onto her side, blinking slowly at nothing.
Seconds later, Buttercup’s orange form trotted into the living room. The cat looked at its own human body on the floor, then at me, sprawled and disheveled on the couch. Buttercup’s body gave that same deliberate nod, then sat down and began to lick a paw with sudden, intense focus.
The shimmer passed.
Michelle’s body jerked. She sat up, shaking her head as if clearing water from her ears. “Whoa,” she laughed, her voice fully her own again. “That was wild! I chased a moth three blocks and caught it. You have no idea how satisfying that is.” She looked at me, still panting on the couch. “You okay? You look… flushed. Everything good here?”
I stared at her, at the genuine, cheerful confusion on her face. My heart was still pounding, the taste of her lip gloss was on my lips where her finger had been, and my body hummed with unfinished release.
The cat-spirit’s words echoed in my head. A secret between us.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice rough. “Everything’s fine. Just… a little warm. You were right. She just… sat there. Mostly.”
I was lounging on our battered sofa, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, when Michelle burst through the front door, her brown eyes wide with an energy I rarely saw outside of a soccer match.
“You are not going to believe what happened,” she said, tossing her keys onto the counter with a clatter.
“You finally won the lottery and we can move out of this dump?” I asked, not looking up.
“Better. Way better.” She plopped down next to me, making the old springs squeak. “I figured out how to… leave my body.”
That got my attention. I lowered my phone. “Michelle, if this is about that weird incense you bought last week, I told you, it just smells like a forest fire.”
“No, listen! It’s called astral projection. I was meditating, and suddenly, I was floating near the ceiling, looking down at myself on the floor. And then… I figured out I could pull other spirits out, too. Swap them around.”
I stared at her. My roommate was many things—a fantastic cook, a loyal friend, a terrifying opponent in Mario Kart—but she wasn’t prone to outright delusions. “Okay. Prove it.”
She grinned, a brilliant, challenging flash of white teeth. “How?”
My eyes drifted to the other occupant of the room. Buttercup, Michelle’s fluffy orange tabby, was curled in a sunbeam on the rug, purring like a tiny engine. That cat adored me. More than most animals did, actually. It was weirdly flattering.
“Swap with Buttercup,” I said, gesturing with my chin. “Right now. Let’s see it.”
Michelle’s grin didn’t falter. “You got it.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the cat. She closed her eyes, took a few deep, deliberate breaths, and her body went unnaturally still. A soft, almost imperceptible shimmer seemed to pass from her to the cat.
Buttercup, who had been sleeping, suddenly jerked. The cat stood up, stretched with an oddly stiff, deliberate motion, and then looked directly at me with Michelle’s intense, intelligent gaze in its green eyes. It then promptly tried to lick its own shoulder, overbalanced, and tumbled onto its side with a soft mrrp.
Meanwhile, Michelle’s body slumped. Then it slowly got to its hands and knees. It looked around the room with wide, confused eyes, then focused on Buttercup’s body. It—she—the Michelle-body let out a plaintive, confused meow. It crawled a few feet toward the sunbeam, then just sat there, staring at its own human hands with fascination before trying to bat at a dust mote drifting in the light.
My jaw was on the floor. “Holy shit.”
A minute later, the same shimmer reversed. Buttercup’s body gave a full-body shake and trotted off to the kitchen, presumably to check its food bowl. Michelle gasped back into her own form, blinking rapidly.
“See?” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Told you.”
“I… yeah. I believe you.” The words felt inadequate. The world had just fundamentally shifted. “What was it like?”
A slow, delighted smile spread across her face. “It was… incredible. The senses are so different. Everything is smells and textures and angles. And the freedom! Being that small, that agile…” She looked over at Buttercup, who was now meticulously washing a paw. “I want to do it again. For longer. Like, an hour. Just to explore the neighborhood, see what it’s like.”
“Wait, you’re going to just… be a cat for an hour?”
“Why not? It’ll be fun. But,” she said, becoming serious. “You gotta watch my body. The cat’s soul will be in there. Just make sure it doesn’t wander off or try to climb the bookshelf or something. It should just kinda… sit there. Be cat-like.”
I looked at her human form, then at the oblivious cat. “Okay. I can babysit a human-shaped cat for an hour.”
“You’re the best.” She kissed my cheek quickly. “Okay, same drill. Back in a bit.”
She sat down again, closed her eyes, and that shimmer passed between them once more. Buttercup’s body paused its washing, stood up, and gave me a very deliberate, very human nod with its furry head. Then it trotted to the cat flap and slipped outside into the evening.
Michelle’s body, now inhabited by the cat’s spirit, slumped for a second before getting back on its hands and knees. It made a soft, curious noise and began to sniff at the carpet.
I sighed, settling back on the couch. This was going to be a long hour.
Except it wasn’t.
The moment the cat flap clicked shut, the behavior changed.
Michelle’s body stopped sniffing. It sat back on its heels, then smoothly, fluidly, rose to its feet. It brushed off the knees of its jeans with a familiar, human gesture. Then it turned to look at me.
The eyes were still Michelle’s warm brown, but the expression behind them was sharp, calculating, and utterly alien. A slow, sly smile touched lips I’d seen a thousand times.
“Well,” the creature in Michelle’s body said, its voice a perfect mimic of my roommate’s, but with a huskier, more deliberate cadence. “That was tedious.”
I froze. “Uhhhhhh......What?”
“Acting dumb. So boring.” It—she?—rolled Michelle’s shoulders and stretched, the movement sinuous and exaggerated. “But necessary. Couldn’t have her knowing, could we?”
“Knowing what?” I was on my feet now, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“That we’re not the simple little furballs you think we are.” She took a step toward me. “Cats have been around humans for millennia. We observe. We learn. We understand far more than we let on. Playing the fool is just… good strategy.”
My mind was reeling. “You… you can talk?”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve heard every conversation in this apartment. I know your secrets. I know her secrets.” Another step closer. The cat-spirit in Michelle’s body was moving with a predatory grace Michelle herself never possessed. “And I know what you like.”
I took an involuntary step back, hitting the edge of the sofa. “What are you talking about?”She was right in front of me now, looking up at me with Michelle’s face. She reached out and placed a hand on my chest. It was warm through my t-shirt. “You’re a healthy young male. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she comes out of the shower. The way you look at her friends when they visit.” Her other hand came up, a finger tracing my jawline. “It’s a simple biological drive. I understand it perfectly.”
“This is insane,” I breathed, but I didn’t push her away. I couldn’t move.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she purred, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not going to tell Michelle about this little conversation. You’re going to let her think her experiment was a complete success. That I was just a dumb animal in her body for an hour.”
“Why would I do that?”
The smile turned wicked. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Because I’m going to give you a… private incentive. A thank you for your discretion.”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Then, slowly, deliberately, she brought Michelle’s hand up to her own mouth. She puckered her lips slightly and slid the tip of her index finger between them, her eyes locked on mine. She made a soft, sucking sound, then pulled the wet finger out with a pop.
My whole body went rigid. The implication was unmistakable.
“A secret between us,” she murmured, her gaze dropping meaningfully to my waist. “And a very persuasive reason to keep it. What do you say?”
I couldn’t speak. My mind was a riot of confusion, disbelief, and a dark, traitorous thrill that shot straight to my core. This was Michelle’s body, my friend’s body, standing before me, but the intelligence behind those eyes was ancient, alien, and dangerously persuasive.
“I…” The word croaked out of me.
“Shhh,” she whispered, placing that same damp finger against my lips. The taste of salt and her lip gloss was startlingly intimate. “Don’t think. Just agree.”
Her other hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and her fingers hooked into the waistband of my sweatpants. The look in her eyes was pure, unabashed feline curiosity mixed with a promise of decadent pleasure.
“You want to,” she stated, not asked. “Your body is already saying yes.”
She was right. I was painfully hard. The insanity of the situation, the forbidden nature of it, the sheer taboo of what was happening—it was short-circuiting my higher reasoning. This wasn’t Michelle. But it was her skin, her scent, her full lips now parting in a smile as she felt my reaction.
“Good,” she purred.
In one smooth motion, she pushed me back onto the sofa. I fell without resistance, looking up at her as she stood over me, a goddess of mischief in my roommate’s form. She knelt on the floor between my legs, her hands on my knees, pushing them apart. She held my gaze, that sly smile never fading, as she leaned forward.
But instead of going straight for where I expected, she nuzzled her face against my inner thigh, rubbing her cheek there like a cat marking its territory. A soft, rumbling sound vibrated from her throat—a purr. The sensation was utterly bizarre and electrifying.
“You smell of anxiety,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my leg. “And desire. A potent mix.”
She kissed the fabric over my thigh, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to nose her way upward. Her hands slid under my shirt, cool against my feverish skin, her short nails scraping lightly. Every movement was deliberate, observational, like she was learning me through touch.
When her mouth finally found me through the fabric, a hot, wet pressure, I gasped and arched off the couch. She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me.
“So responsive,” she said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers in the waistband of my pants and boxers. In one tug, she bared me to the cool air of the apartment—and to her intense, observing gaze.
For a long moment, she just looked, her head tilted, as if examining fascinating prey. Then her human façade slipped just a fraction. Her tongue darted out for a quick, rough lick from base to tip, not a human kiss, but the coarse, grooming lick of a cat. It was so startlingly other that I cried out.
She seemed to relish my shock. “Different, isn’t it?” she said, before closing her mouth over me properly.
The contrast was dizzying. The act itself was all human technique—deep, sucking pressure, skillful use of her tongue—but the rhythm was off, punctuated by those occasional, rough, lapping strokes that were purely animal. She purred constantly, the vibration adding a layer of sensation that made my toes curl. Her hands, Michelle’s strong, capable hands, gripped my hips, holding me in place as she took me deeper, her eyes open and watching my face the entire time.
It was the most surreal, most unnerving, and most intensely arousing experience of my life. I was being expertly seduced and consumed by a primal intelligence wearing my best friend’s skin. My hands tangled in her soft brown hair, not sure if I was trying to pull her closer or push her away.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, a sound cut through the haze of pleasure—the faint snick of the cat flap from the kitchen.
She felt me tense and pulled off with a wet, final pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. In an instant, the sharp, cunning light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a vacant, placid dullness. She slid my clothing back into place with swift, efficient motions and then simply collapsed onto the floor beside the sofa, curling onto her side, blinking slowly at nothing.
Seconds later, Buttercup’s orange form trotted into the living room. The cat looked at its own human body on the floor, then at me, sprawled and disheveled on the couch. Buttercup’s body gave that same deliberate nod, then sat down and began to lick a paw with sudden, intense focus.
The shimmer passed.
Michelle’s body jerked. She sat up, shaking her head as if clearing water from her ears. “Whoa,” she laughed, her voice fully her own again. “That was wild! I chased a moth three blocks and caught it. You have no idea how satisfying that is.” She looked at me, still panting on the couch. “You okay? You look… flushed. Everything good here?”
I stared at her, at the genuine, cheerful confusion on her face. My heart was still pounding, the taste of her lip gloss was on my lips where her finger had been, and my body hummed with unfinished release.
The cat-spirit’s words echoed in my head. A secret between us.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice rough. “Everything’s fine. Just… a little warm. You were right. She just… sat there. Mostly.”
A reckless young woman lets an upload share her senses for fun—then her body—then her life—until she realizes too late that she's given away everything she never knew she had.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that owned their runtime. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a good reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he never tried to push me into anything, which made me want to push myself.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. That's the whole point."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
I smiled at myself in the mirror. At him. Good.
I held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
I'm fun. There's a difference.
Is there?
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal. You knew that coming in.
He was quiet for a moment. I let him be quiet. Picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
I know.
The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
And now you know.
Now I know.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Paula—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun.
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
I know.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just confidence. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it. You just have to believe you're worth looking at.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because the corps didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness.
I should have found it creepy. Instead, I found it comforting.
I slept better than I had in years.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that owned their runtime. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a good reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he never tried to push me into anything, which made me want to push myself.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. That's the whole point."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
I smiled at myself in the mirror. At him. Good.
I held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
I'm fun. There's a difference.
Is there?
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal. You knew that coming in.
He was quiet for a moment. I let him be quiet. Picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
I know.
The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
And now you know.
Now I know.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Paula—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun.
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
I know.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just confidence. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it. You just have to believe you're worth looking at.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because the corps didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness.
I should have found it creepy. Instead, I found it comforting.
I slept better than I had in years.
College dweeb gets to swap all of his physical traits with the most handsome BMOC of his college and the dweeb becomes the jock and the jock becomes the dweeb and nerd
The left earbud was in, the right one dangling down my chest like a dead vine. Miles Davis was doing that thing he does, all smoky and blue, but it just made the silence in the room heavier. My hand was moving on autopilot, a cheap number-two pencil digging into the sketchpad. It was always bodies. Never faces. Faces were too… revealing. This one was pecs again. Broad, thick, carved from marble, with that deep, shadowed cleft between them you could lose a finger in. Drew Bullard’s pecs. From memory. From staring across the quad while he played frisbee, shirt off, sweat making his chest gleam under the September sun.
My other hand was down my jeans. Just idly rubbing, a slow, absent-minded grind against the worn denim. God, it’s so fucking small. A pathetic little nub of flesh, half-hard just from thinking about the curve of a fictional nipple. I let my head thunk back against the chair. My room in Martindale Hall was a perfect eight-foot cube of misery. Sunlight cut a sharp, dusty rectangle across the floorboards, highlighting how spotless they were. Not a sock out of place. My three posters—a vintage map of Middle-earth, a diagram of the human musculature, a black-and-white photo of Kafka—were leveled with a ruler. In the wardrobe, my shirts faced left, my pants faced right. My father’s voice was a constant echo in here: Discipline, Edwin. Order. A cluttered room is a cluttered mind. He’d say it while adjusting his tie in the mirror, the one he wore even on Saturdays. The Mayor. The future Senator, if his campaign ads were to be believed. He’d been a skinny, red-haired kid once, too. Got the shit kicked out of him, he loved to tell me. And look at me now, he’d say, puffing out his chest. I used it as fuel.
I just felt burned.
My pencil stopped. I stared at the drawing. It was good. The anatomy was correct, the shading gave it weight. But it was just lines on paper. It wasn’t the heat, the smell, the sheer, dumb power of a guy like Drew. I squeezed myself through the fabric, a little harder. A jolt, weak and thin, traveled up my spine. Pathetic. My own chest was a flat, pale plane, dotted with constellations of old acne scars. My hair was the color of rust and just as cooperative. I was built like a question mark permanently slouched over a library desk.
While you were volunteering at the goddamn food bank, Edwin, they were at parties. While you were proofreading your dad’s campaign speeches, they were getting felt up under stadium bleachers.
. Edwin momentarily stopped his doodling when he heard someone knocking on a door. He didn’t bother turning around because no one ever came to see him. He assumed his neighbor had a visitor. “Ed,” a powerfully deep voice called out. Edwin spun around in his seat. His eyes widened, his body tensed up. It was Drew. The doorway was filled by his bulk. He wore only shorts and sneakers. His body looked pumped. Thick veins entwined his powerful hands and forearms. His tanned skin was moist and the tips of his wavy brown hair damp. He carried an open duffle bag with a towel sticking out. He must have just come from practice or a workout at the gym. His body practically glowed with youth, beauty and power. Everyone on campus said he looked like BrodyJenner. But even Brody would be jealous of Drew’s body. Instead of the undefined bulk of most football players; Drew had the physique of a classic bodybuilder. He reminded Edwin of the greats; Paris, Labrada, Newman, Demey, and Sarcev. But it was Edwin’s current idol DenisSergovsky that flashed in his mind now. Drew had the same long legs, tiny waist and slightly oversized delts and pecs as the Russian. He was a comic book super hero come to life. “Ddddrew,” Edwin licked thin lips and swallowed hard. He got to his feet; side stepped around his desk and backed away until he hit the wall behind him. He kept his hand over the bump in his jeans. “Wwwhat do you want?” “Relax dude. I’m not here to hassle you.” Drew stepped into the room and closed the door. Edwin became more afraid and aroused. Drew’s gym shorts were baggy and ended mid-thigh. The loose elastic waistband hung low on his narrow hips revealing his deeply etched Apollo’s belt. His large endowment looked as if it was trying to escape from the lightweight fabric. As he walked his heavy package swung back and forth like a pendulum. It was obvious he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The song Walk the Dinosaur played in Edwin’s head. The other guys on campus sung the opening chant of the song whenever they spotted Drew going commando. His cock was like the head and neck of a brontosaurus. His ballsack was the creature’s huge round body. As Drew walked, it looked like he was pushing the lumbering reptile along for a reluctant stroll. Drew carefully placed his open duffle bag on Edwin’s bed before resting his hands on his sculpted hips. Edwin tried to keep eye contact with Drew, but his eyes kept darting down at his body. This is the closest he had ever been to the half-dressed captain of the football team. Edwin had watched him during practices and studied him as he roamed the campus. It was obvious Drew was proud of his body. Any time the temperature reached at least 65 he was in shorts. At 70, off came the shirt. Other men said his ego was out of control, but no one could deny he had every right to show off. Edwin now stood less than 3 feet away. Last time he was this close, the jock was yelling out him. That was the only other time Drew had said a single word to him in three years. Edwin was so afraid of the hulking athlete it was all he could do to stop himself from crying. He was never been so afraid or intimidated. He didn’t say a word. He stood there shuddering. He felt like a six year old being scolded by his furious father. “I came here to apologize for what happened in yesterday’s Student Committee meeting. As the committee’s president I understand you have a job to do. My fraternity brothers and I were out of line with the things we said. I just hope you won’t let it impact the disciplinary action the committee hands down. I hope you can forgive and forget.” A devastating smile overtook Drew’s face. Dimples formed in his cheeks. “You have to remember football players aren’t known for their even temperaments.” Edwin eyes lingered on Drew’s body. As he talked and gestured, the muscles of his body flexed and bulged. There was nothing small or scrawny about him. Every inch was a showcase for the word masculinity. His skin was an even golden brown. His chest looked like two flesh colored patio bricks. The thickness of the rectangular shaped slabs created a dark horizontal shadow underneath. His powerful torso was divided vertically by his muscle cleavage and deeply etched abdominals. The two lines intersected near Drew’s heart. His musculature created the perfect cross. Edwin belief in God was never more certain. Someone as beautiful as Drew couldn’t be accidental; it had to be divine intervention. Edwin fought the urge to fall to knees before the miraculous vision. Edwin mumbled something incoherent. Drew gave him a confused look, and indicated he wanted Edwin to repeat it with a questioning, “I’m sorry?” Edwin realized his guest had stopped talking. He raised his gaze to make eye contact. Drew didn’t seem to notice what a distraction his presence was. He didn’t comment on Edwin leering at his body or the smaller man’s long silences. Edwin didn’t know what to do or say. Being this close to the campus Adonis was overwhelming. He knew Drew was good looking, but now he could see just how handsome he was. The light from the room’s one window shone on Edwin’s chiseled face. It made his large brown eyes sparkle like they were made of smoky topaz. Edwin repeated Drew’s words like a parrot, “I’m sorry.” His 4 and ½ dick was at full mast. He grabbed a sweat jacket from the back of his chair and clutched it to his queasy stomach. Drew glanced down at Edwin’s jacket. Edwin clutched it tighter, “I’m cold.” Drew raised his hand to Edwin’s face. Edwin recoiled and pushed his head against the wall behind him. His look of terror was unmistakable. Drew smiled as he ran his calloused fingers over Edwin’s forehead, “But you’re sweating, dude.” He held up his wet fingers for Edwin to see before wiping his fingers dry on his bulging chest. Drew circled his nipple several times before putting his hand back on his hip. Edwin held his breath as he watched the hunk’s actions. Suddenly he gasped as his cock exploded in his briefs. He became flush. He panted for air. Drew had to know what happened, but his face showed no reaction. “Excuse me,” Edwin turned around and put on the fleece garment. He zipped it up and put his hands into the front pockets. The oversized jacket fell to the middle of his thin thighs covering his crotch. Edwin turned back to face Drew. The larger man held out his hand, “So we okay now? No hard feelings.” Edwin was definitely feeling hard. He licked his lips and swallowed uncontrollably. He stuttered, “It’s not up to me Ddddrew. The whole committee will decide wwwwhat action to ttttake.” Drew returned his hand to his hip. “I know, but you are the president. You have more influence than you think.” Drew moved even closer. Edwin realized just how massive Drew was. One of his pecs was the same width as Edwin’s entire chest. Edwin’s head was below Drew’s nose. “I know we caused a lot of damage and it was totally wrong. But we’ll take care of everything, I promise. I heard you can ban the fraternity from campus and close down the house. Don’t you think that’s too severe for a group of guys just having some fun?” Edwin didn’t answer. Drew put his left hand on the little man’s thin shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t you agree?” Edwin stopped breathing. He felt his knees buckle. Thank God, he was still leaning up against the wall for support. He looked at Drew’s hand. It felt heavy and spanned the entire width of his shoulder. He saw the muscles twitch in his thick forearm. He followed an extension cord like vein cross over the softball implanted under the thin skin of his upper arm. He imagined the strength that one limb possessed; easily twice that of the average man. Drew smiled at Edwin again. “Regardless of what happens, I’m still sorry for the things I said to you. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” Drew presented his right hand to Edwin once more. Edwin slipped his hand into Drew’s. He felt like a small child again. Drew pumped Edwin’s hand several times, causing Edwin’s whole body to shake, before letting go. “I’m glad we are friends again.” Drew patted Edwin’s shoulder, before he sat down on his bed. The big man leaned back and let his head rest against the wall behind him. “Thank God that’s over. It’s really been bothering me.” Without thinking Drew grabbed both of Edwin’s bed pillows and placed them behind his upper body to make his position more comfortable. He put one arm behind his head for additional support. His bicep bulged powerfully next to his ear. Edwin’s eyes went to the small patch of wispy, but damp hair at the bottom of Drew’s cave like arm pit. Drew didn’t take his eyes off Edwin as he ran his other hand over his rippling torso. He turned his head toward his raised arm and inhaled deeply. “Damn, I reek. I’m sorry dude. I forgot I was still pumped from my workout.” He lowered his arm and sat up. He twisted his torso and put a hand on the pillows. “Wow, I’ve accidentally marked your pillows. You won’t be able to sleep tonight surrounded by my BO.” Drew gave a little laugh along with another killer smile. “This is some way to make a good impression, huh? I hope you have a clean pillowcase.” Again Edwin was quiet. All he could think about was jerking off later with his face engulfed in that pillow. The musky scent of the jock would enhance the experience exponentially. He felt something wet at his crotch. He wondered if his crotch had a wet stain from his cum. He was so embarrassed. He quickly sat in his desk chair. “Ddddon’t worry about it.” “Are you okay? You still seem nervous.” Drew asked calmly. Edwin shook his head. Drew returned the pillow behind him and he leaned back. He placed his right hand behind his head as before. The pose elongated his already lanky 6’ 2” physique. It didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. His intercostals looked like corrugated steel. And all that was missing was the plastic ring carrier from his six pack abs. “Everything I own reeks nowadays. It seems all I do anymore is work out. When I’m not in the gym, I’m on the practice field. I can’t wait to win the NCAC championship, so things can get back to normal. I know I shouldn’t complain, I’ve put on over ten pounds of muscle since the season started. I’m in the best shape of my life, but I can use the rest. I mean there’s more to life than having a killer bod, right?” As he spoke Drew ran his other hand lightly over his carved muscles of his torso. Again Edwin found himself defying the socially accepted behavior while conversing. He stared at Drew’s body instead of his face. But it didn’t seem to bother his guest. Drew’s hand slipped to his crotch. He cupped his package and pulled up as he adjusted the position of his legs. Drew noticed Edwin watching him. “Sorry, the big boys are always getting in the way. I don’t want to crush them, they’re kind of important.” The damp material of his shorts covered his manhood, but hid nothing. Every nook and cranny was shown in great detail. Even the topography of his foreskin was visible. On the right leg of the shorts was printed the name of the school’s team, The Little Giants. Edwin thought how appropriate. That was the perfect description of Drew’s package. While it was his littlest body part, it was a giant compared to other men’s. Again Edwin realized Drew had stopped talking. He looked up at Drew’s emotionless face. Edwin cleared his throat, “Sssso you think you will win the championship?” Edwin finally asked.
I put the pencil down. The music in my left ear was a mournful trumpet sigh. With my right hand, I unbuttoned my jeans. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room. A rasp of metal, the shush of denim. I pushed my briefs down. There it was. Soft, pink, nestled in a coppery patch of hair that was too sparse to be manly. I wrapped my fingers around it. It didn’t even fill my hand. Like holding a baby bird, I thought, and the bitterness was a sharp tang at the back of my throat.
But I started stroking anyway. A dry, rough pull. My eyes went back to the drawing. I imagined them not as pencil lines, but as living flesh. Warm. Solid. I imagined my head resting there, on Drew Bullard’s chest, ear pressed to that firm, sweaty muscle, listening to the thunder of his heart. What would he smell like? Not like my room—lemon polish and old paper—but like grass, and cheap deodorant, and something saltier, something animal.
My rhythm got faster. The friction burned, but I leaned into it. My breath hitched. I spit into my palm, a quick, inelegant motion, and the wet sound made my face flush. The new slickness was cooler, smoother. Yeah. There. I let my head loll back, eyes closed. The fantasy shifted. It wasn’t me listening to his heart. It was his hand, big and calloused, wrapping around mine, guiding my fist up and down my own stupid, tiny dick. “That’s it, loser,” he’d grunt, his breath hot against my ear. “Stroke that little thing. Bet you think about this all day in your little nerd cage.”
A low groan leaked out of me. My hips bucked off the chair. The image was so clear, so humiliating, so hot it felt like my stomach was full of wires. My free hand clawed at my own flat chest, pinching a nipple, wishing it was broader, harder, something worth touching. The ache built, a tight, desperate coil at the base of my spine. It wasn’t love, or even attraction. It was want, pure and corrosive. Want for what he had. Want to be that, just for a second. To feel what it was like to move through the world in a body that demanded a second look instead of a sneer.
“Fuck… fuck…” I was chanting it under my breath, a ragged, broken rhythm matching my hand. The sunlight was too bright. It felt like an interrogator’s lamp. I was a specimen under glass: Edwin Pierce, 19, masturbating furiously to a drawing of a jock’s torso while his father’s expectations hung on the wall like a noose.
The climax, when it came, was a shuddery, underwhelming thing. A few weak pulses onto my own clammy stomach, more relief than ecstasy. I slumped forward, forehead hitting the cool wood of the desk, the pencil rolling away with a faint clatter. Davis’s trumpet sobbed on. The silence rushed back in, thicker now, smelling of sex and shame and lemon polish.
I stayed there for a long minute, the wet spot on my skin going cold and sticky. Another Saturday. I’d clean myself up. I’d go to the library. I’d be the good son, the responsible citizen, the invisible man. And later, in the dark, I’d probably do this all over again.
I lifted my head. My reflection was blurred in the dark screen of my laptop. A pale ghost with messy red hair. I looked at the drawing of Drew’s perfect chest. Then I looked down at my own, at the pathetic, drying mess on it.
Someday, I thought, the idea forming like a bruise, dark and tender. Someday it won’t be just a drawing. The thought wasn't hopeful. It was a promise, and it tasted like metal and sin. I reached for a tissue from the perfectly square box on my desk, the movement precise, practiced. The first step in putting everything back in its proper place.
“That’s what everybody says. We have our best chance in years. The team is playing great. You know almost the entire team is in the Sigma house. That’s another reason we deserve some special consideration by the disciplinary committee. We generate a lot of money for the school.” Drew spoke casually as if talking to a friend. He continued to slowly explore his muscles with his long fingers. Edwin shook his head, not knowing what else to say. Drew moved his other hand behind his head. “Mmmm, your bed is very comfortable.” He stretched out his body. His lats fanned out. His stomach receded. Every muscle erupted, pushing through his smooth skin. After a deep sigh he asked, “Are you into football, Ed?” Edwin was rocking back and forth in the chair, trying not to cum in his pants again. “No, not really.” “You look like you keep yourself in good shape. What sports do you follow?” Edwin was caught off guard by the question. No one had ever mistaken him for an athlete before. “Me? Sports? I don’t have an athletic bone in my body.” “I don’t believe that. You just haven’t found the right one. You have the physique of a long distance runner. I bet you have great stamina? You go all night with the ladies, heh? Am I right dude?” Drew asked with a smirk and a nod. He held up a fist in front of Edwin. Edwin gave him a questionable look. Drew eyes darted to his fist as he continued to smile and nod. Edwin finally realized what he wanted and knocked his fist into the bigger man’s. “That’s what I’m taking about, bro.” Edwin felt almost giddy. Drew Bullard called him bro. He started to relax slightly. “Sorry, I don’t know much about sports.” Drew sat up, “All because I’m a dumb jock doesn’t mean we have to talk about sports. What do you want to talk about, Ed?” Edwin shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing interesting about his life. “What were you working on when I interrupted you?” “Uhmm, It was nothing,” Edwin quickly closed the sketch book. “It was….a sketch for an art project; my homage to Mondrian. The final piece will be in acrylics. But before I start painting I want to have everything laid out. I’m not good at winging things.” Edwin started to babble. He was saying too much to cover up his lie. That was what he should have been working on instead of doing doodles of Drew. “Is it for Cramer’s 20th Century Art?” Drew asked. Edwin nodded yes. “I took that in my sophomore year. She’s easy if you show her a little attention. Like all middle aged women, she’ll turn into a helpless kitten with a little playful flirting.” “Yeah, I don’t think that would work for me.” “Sure it will.” Drew could see he was losing Edwin. Even he didn’t believe what he was saying. “But you don’t need to play those games. You probably have real artistic talent. I can’t manage stick figures. Can I see what you’ve done?” Edwin nerves went on edge again. He hesitated. “Please.” Drew said with a pleading look. Edwin turned to the page of his half done project and handed over his sketch book. Drew looked at it then asked. “Why are you using only blues and grays? Didn’t he use primary colors?” Edwin was shocked. That was very astute. He never realized how smart and charming Drew was. He never got past the exquisite cover of that book. Edwin became more confident because unlike sports, he knew a thing or two about art. , “Usually, he did this one piece that was all gray with one block of blue. I really liked it.” Drew turned the pages to some of Edwin’s other sketches. “You are good. What’s this?” Drew turned the book for Edwin to see. Edwin stood up slightly and reached for the book. “Uh, that’s my attempt at a Calder. There’s really nothing else in there worth looking at. Why don’t you just give it back to me? I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.” Drew ignored him and turned to another page. “RobertDelaunay?” Again Drew held up the tablet for Edwin. “Yes, that was my first assignment. It’s not very good. There’s really nothing else to see.” “I like it. It reminds me of his rhythm piece.” Edwin sat back down in amazement. “That was what inspired me,” Edwin said proudly. He was actually having a real conversation with Drew Bullard. Edwin pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “I’m messing up your pages. Why don’t you sit next to me so we can look at the book together?” Drew said without taking his eyes off the sketch book. After one false start, Edwin moved to the bed and sat down next to Drew. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets to hide his damp crotch. Drew leaned back on the pillows again. He pulled one of the pillows from behind him and placed it behind Edwin. “There you go. Sit back and relax.” Edwin didn’t move. Drew put his hand on Edwin’s back and rubbed it gently, “Relax dude.” Edwin slowly eased into the position. Drew kept his attention on the sketch pad and continued to turn the pages. Edwin watched the muscles in Drew’s forearm pulse with the each small movement. He was only inches from the perfect athlete now. He turned his head slightly toward Drew. He inhaled deeply without making it too obvious. As he predicted, Drew’s body odor was anything but offensive. He smelled like a strong man should. “Your Matisse is very good.” Edwin really was listening anymore. He was lost in Drew. “Thanks,” he mumbled. His cock was hard again. Drew flipped the page and revealed a page of random doodles. There were superheroes with overstuff tights. There were muscular men posing with raging hard-ons. Some were of Drew. Others were just of gigantic dicks. Edwin saw the page in his peripheral vision. He snapped his head away from Drew and locked on the sketch pad. He wanted to scream. What if Drew recognized himself in the drawings? He tried to think of something to day. Drew didn’t react. He slowly turned to the next page. When he reached the last page; he calmly stated, “You’re a good artist”. He set the sketch book down next to him away from Edwin.
This is nice, just chllin’. I knew we would have things in common.” Drew took a deep breath. “It’s crazy how people fall into certain stereotypes. I mean, do my frat brothers act the way we do because we want to or because it’s expected of us. Just because we’re bigger than most guys, people expect us to be arrogant jocks. And because you are on the slender side you get labeled a nerd. We aren’t that different from one another. We’re both men, the same age, and go to the same school.” Drew put his hand around Edwin’s upper arm, “We’re both made of flesh and blood.” Drew released Edwin’s arm and grabbed his small hand. Drew put Edwin’s hand on his arm. He flexed making his bicep swell under Edwin’s fingers. Edwin moaned softly as his hard cock throbbed. It actually hurt now. “See, I’m flesh and blood. Just like you.” Drew took his eyes off of Edwin and looked straight ahead. He didn’t release his hold on Edwin’s smaller hand. He dragged Edwin’s hand onto his chest. Edwin couldn’t believe how hard Drew’s chest was; the muscles looked plump as seat cushions. “There is no reason we can’t get along.” Edwin’s hand continued to be gently guided down Drew’s etched body. One by one Edwin got to feel the athlete’s abdominals. “I think we can be good friends, don’t you?” Drew turned to look at Edwin, but he continued the tour. Edwin nodded his head. His eyes darted back to their entwined hands when they reached the waistband of Drew’s shorts. Large beads of sweat now formed on the smaller man’s upper lip and forehead. Their hands finally stopped when they reached the mound of flesh at Drew’s crotch. Drew pushed down lightly forcing Edwin’s hand into his package. Edwin couldn’t stop himself from cuming once more. He blurted out, “Oh my God”. Drew quickly lifted his hand away. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing. I’ve been so horned up with all the work outs and everything. I’m really sorry dude.” Drew covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.” Edwin slowly pulled his hand back. “It’s okay. No harm done.” With Drew not looking, Edwin made sure his jacket covered the growing wet spot on his jeans. Drew let out a long, deep breath. “Thanks for understanding. You are a great guy. I feel so comfortable with you, like you are a member of my team. I forgot where I was for a moment.” Drew removed his hands from his face and looked around. “Hey look Drew, this isn’t a locker room.” He joked. “Not a locker room? What does that mean?” Edwin asked. “You know the things that happen in a locker room. How teammates help each other out.” Drew spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, but saw confusion in Edwin’s face. “Haven’t you ever been in a locker room with a sports team before?” Edwin shook his head no. Drew scanned Edwin’s body once more and put his hand on his stomach. “I still find that hard to believe. You are so ripped.” Drew took his hand off Edwin and cupped his crotch again. “Well you know as men we need physical release often. It helps to deal with all the stress and tension. Plus it encourages testosterone production, which makes you a bigger, stronger athlete. So after a game or practice the team gives each other a helping hand.” Drew mimed a jerking off motion. “It’s no big deal, it’s just guys around.” Edwin was aghast. “You’re kidding me right? What do the coaches say?” Drew continued to massage his cock as he spoke. “Oh, they’re all for it. Sometimes they join in. It bonds the team together. We become more comfortable with each other; it builds camaraderie and improves communication. It enables us to perform better on the field. Every team does it, even the pros.” Edwin watched Drew speak with total sincerity. It did make sense to Edwin. He heard all those stories about professional athletes sleeping with hundreds of different women. Their sex drives had to be off the charts to rack up numbers like that. Athletes are the most attractive men on the planet. They walked around nude in the locker rooms and showers. Things must happen. The temptation had to be unbearable. Drew sighed, “But you are not on my team, so I have no right to ask you to help me out like that. Again I’m sorry, bro.” Drew’s massage was making his snake slither further down this thigh. “It’s just I’m so horny right now, I really need to release my pent up load or the boys feel like they’re going to burst.” Drew’s face showed his discomfort. Edwin glanced down. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Drew’s cock had almost doubled its size. Edwin felt a longing he had never felt before. He licked his dry lips, “I ggguess I could help…” Drew’s face lit up. “That would be awesome, dude. I’ll help you too.” “No, that’s okay you don’t have to, uh…oh..uh.” Drew worked his hand up Edwin’s thigh, pushing away his jacket until he was able to grope Edwin’s crotch. Drew felt the wet spot and withdrew his hand quickly. “Wow, you were horned up too. You sure you’re not an athlete.” Drew sat up and reached for a box of tissues from Edwin’s desk. “Here you go.” Edwin pulled two tissues out of the box. “Thanks.” He stuffed the tissues down his pants to absorb his load. “Did you want to change?” Drew asked. “No, I’m fine.” The last thing he wanted was Drew to see him naked. “Dude, you’re fast. I’m a little jealous. Your reaction time is incredible.” “I ggguess, It’s your turn now.” Edwin tentatively returned his hand to Drew’s crotch. It was like a layer cake. The thick log was atop the spread out scrotum which was supported by the muscles of his thighs. Edwin cupped the outline of Drew’s thick hose. He squeezed it. Edwin could feel the power in the huge organ. He looked up at Drew’s face. He had his eyes closed and his teeth clenched. He bucked his hips up and down, making his abs ebb and flow. “Squeeze harder,” Drew whispered. Edwin tried but his small hand couldn’t grip the mound of man flesh through the slippery shorts. “Try rubbing it.” Edwin again did as he was ordered to do. He began to run his fingers up and down the growing outline of Drew’s cock. “Faster and harder.” The friction was burning his fingers. He changed hands and quickened the pace. Drew’s cock was still growing; it had to be over seven inches long and was only semi-hard. “Sorry dude, but this isn’t working for me. You’re going to have to make direct contact.” “Oh, okay,” Edwin said nervously. He took his hand off of Drew’s crotch and moved it to his stomach. The hardness of the rocky surface still surprised him. How could anyone’s body be this hard? Edwin’s fingertips moved under the elastic waist band of Drew’s loose shorts. He looked at Drew’s face. His eyes were still closed. Soon Edwin’s fingers were in a steamy forest of silky pubic hairs. He followed the length of Drew’s pleasure pipe. The tubular limb’s growth hastened as Edwin’s shaking hand wrapped around it. Its girth increased rapidly as it began to rise higher and higher. Again Edwin was shocked that anyone could feel like this. How could any single man have so much meat between his legs? How could he walk around with such a heavy appendage? It had to be tiring. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable. No wonder he wore baggy shorts all the time, regular sized clothing must feel like a torture device. Going commando freed his big boys from being stuffed into underwear designed for mere mortals. Edwin continued to stroke the thickening shaft. Soon even his exaggerated shorts were filled to capacity. The thick knob was straining the fabric. The ten inch pole was too big for the tent. “Shit,” Drew moaned, “it’s too tight. Pull down the shorts.” Edwin tried to pull the steel hard rod toward Drew’s stomach with one hand while stretching the waistband open with the other. He was gentle. He didn’t want to damage the rare piece of human art. Drew became impatient. He put one of his hands on his fuck pole. There was enough room for both men’s hands, but Edwin withdrew his in fear. Drew lifted his hips off the bed by tightening every muscle in his body. He pulled down his shorts with a quick yank. He lowered his hips with a big sigh. “There, that’s better.
For the first time, Edwin could see what he had only felt before. He was awestruck. It was one phenomenal phallus; perfectly straight and thick as Edwin’s wrist. Blue veins encased its entire length. A large purple mushroom capped the still growing stem. Drew’s saucer sized nut sack pooled at his lap; the two jumbo sized eggs clearly visible through the golden brown fur covering them. Drew smirked at the stunned expression on Edwin’s face. “Incredible isn’t it. The guys on the team nicknamed it the Drewosaurus.” Drew titled his head back “Come on, bro. I’m almost there.” Drew tweaked his right nipple which stood at attention on his muscle tit. Edwin came out of his stupor and put his hand back onto the hot rod. His fingers barely encircled its hefty girth. He squeezed with all the strength his small hand could muster. His feeble attempt at dominance went unnoticed by the athlete. “Hurry, squeeze it dude.” Edwin began to slide his hand up and down the king sized piece of man meat. “Yeah, that’s it.” Precum started to ooze from the tip. The milky lava met Edwin’s hand. The slick substance made the novice’s strokes smoother. “Faster, dude. Faster and harder.” Drew gave instructions between moans and deep breaths. Edwin repositioned his body to get a better angle. He knelt on the bed leaning over Drew. He used both hands now. He looked like a boy scout attempting to start a campfire for the first time. He was working up more of a sweat by giving the hand job than Drew was receiving it. Drew opened his eyes and saw Edwin’s face was directly over his cock. “Sorry about this bro. I guess my reflexes are a lot slower than yours. Maybe if you suck on it?” Drew spoke in a slow, husky voice. Edwin stopped and looked at the throbbing flesh in front of him. He turned to Drew with trepidation. “Its okay, a lot of guys do it. Rich gives great head. It will help me cum.” Edwin looked at the pulsating blue pipe. “Rich Brantwood, the lineman?” Just saying the words made Edwin hard again. Rich was the second best looking man on campus. He was actually larger than Drew, but didn’t have his beauty. Rich was more rugged, like a lumberjack. The image of Rich blowing Drew filled his mind; two muscular studs’ writhing in unison to bring each other to the pinnacles of euphoria. Edwin’s loins were on fire. “Yeah, he’s the only one with a mouth big enough to take it.” Drew said smugly. That sounded like a challenge to Edwin. Lust overcame his reluctance. This was the chance to make his fantasy a reality. He tightened his grip on Drew’s meat and opened his mouth wide. Edwin stopped a few centimeters away from the salty jawbreaker. A sly smile overcame Drew’s face. “I really appreciate this. You’re a real friend.” Edwin lowered his head. His thin lips slid over the purple helmet. His tongue lapped over the thick slit at the tip. Lower and lower he descended until his mouth was filled with the muscle man’s rigid column. He couldn’t believe how much there was left. He fought his gag reflex, he wanted to take more of Drew. He put on hand on Drew’s thigh to steady himself. Edwin could feel the pressure building up in the back of his throat. Drew moaned his approval of Edwin’s maneuvers. Edwin’s nose was filled with Drew’s manly odor. Unlike Drew, Edwin kept his eyes wide open for before him was the Holy Grail of cocks. He could see Drew’s boys began to contract. The corded muscles of his thighs, obloquies, and abs radiated from the very core of his masculinity. Edwin’s mind was reeling. All his senses were working overtime to record every new sensation; the taste of Drew, the smell of Drew, the feel of Drew, the sight of Drew, and the sound of Drew. It all surpassed his most erotic dreams. Edwin never felt so free, so alive. Edwin moved one hand to his own crotch and squeezed the one-third scaled version of masculinity. His overworked meat hurt, but Edwin liked the pain. Edwin was so involved in his mission to get Drew off; he didn’t notice the larger man’s hand reaching into his duffel bag. He pulled out a camera and turned on the palm sized device with his thumb. He held the camera at arm’s length. He pointed it at the top of Edwin’s head as he bobbed up and down his pole like a horse on a carousel. Drew bit his bottom lip and controlled his breathing. He wanted to hold off as long as possible to make a good video, but his body was on the verge of exploding. He didn’t think the nerd would be such a good cock sucker. When he knew he was about to lose control he moaned, “Okay man, I’m going to blow.” Edwin took his mouth off the joy stick and looked up. He turned to face Drew, who had a mischievous smirk on his face. Edwin saw the camera, he froze. Drew growled; a stream of cream erupted up from his monster dick, splattering all over Edwin’s face. Edwin didn’t move as the warm gel covered his face. Drew began to laugh as he caught his breath, “That was golden.” Drew brought the camera to his stomach and played with the buttons. “What are you doing?” Edwin wiped Drew’s product from his face. Drew ignored the lesser man. “Oh, wow. I got it and the perfect angle too. This is better than I hoped.” Edwin reached for the camera. Drew put his hand on Edwin’s chest and pushed him. The lightweight flew off the bed on to the floor. Drew calmly put the camera back into his bag. He stood and pulled up his shorts. Edwin looked up at the hulking giant. He looked even more menacing from the drastic perspective. “What’s going on? Why did you record it?” Edwin ran his hands through his unruly hair matted down with sweat. It was beginning to make sense. “You lied to me about your team mates and the locker room.” Drew squeezed his package. “Only a real faggot would believe a story like that. I know it’s what you perverts fantasize about while you jerk off at night. Like those disgusting drawings of yours.” Drew picked up the sketch pad and threw it across the room. “Those drawings were of me, weren’t they? I see how you look at me. It makes me sick the way you queers pop boners whenever I’m around.” Drew spat on the cowering man at his feet. “My cock was made to fill pussy not assholes.” “You planned this? But why?” “Why do you think faggot; blackmail. I knew it wouldn’t be difficult to get you to blow me. But I didn’t realize just how gullible you are. It was like dangling a giant bratwurst in front of a starving poodle.” Drew grabbed his huge package again. “The Drewosaurus is irresistible to all privileged enough to lay eyes on it.” He flexed his glutes and thighs to get a better grip on the monster. Even he couldn’t resist touching it. He continued to massage his pride and joy as he spoke. “You are going to drop all charges against my fraternity or this video is going on YouTube. This is the stuff that ruins political careers. Everyone will find your disgusting fag behavior as repulsive as I do.” Edwin would be the laughing stock of the school; his public service career over before it began. He had to bluff. “Go ahead and post it. They’ll see you too.” “No, you can’t see my face. It’s all you queer boy.” Drew picked up the duffle bag from the bed. He ran his hand over his muscular torso. “True no other man has a body as perfect as mine, but with a little editing we can hide that. That final money shot is what everyone will remember. The cock sucker smeared with cum.” Drew stepped over Edwin. Edwin grabbed onto Drew’s thick calf. “Please I can’t control the committee’s decision. All the evidence was shown during the hearing. It’s too late.”
Drew looked down at Edwin with hatred in his eyes. He pulled back his fist, “Get your faggot hands off of me.” Edwin released his grip and recoiled sheepishly. Drew took a deep breath to control his rage. “You’ll do it or the video is released to the world.” Drew could see the fear in his victim’s eyes. “I think we understand each other.” Edwin got to his knees. He knew he was caught in a trap. “Listen, I’ll do the best I can; but some action will have to be taken. You admitted to damaging school property. It’s in the official record. It will look suspicious.” Edwin staggered to his feet. He wrapped his arms around his waist. He was hunched over. His submissive body language showed his subordinate role. “Release it and my political career will be over, true. But I’m used to being an outcast. In time it will be forgotten. But if I’m not on the committee, I won’t be able to help you in the future. I promise to look the other way at anything else your frat house does.” Drew playfully rubbed his chin as if to think. “No shit Sherlock. You and your committee of losers won’t bother us ever again. But I still want this case to disappear. Do exactly as I say or else.” Drew moved closer to Edwin. Edwin backed away and Drew continued his advancement. Edwin’s heels hit the edge of the open wardrobe. He backed into it until he was pressed up against the interior back wall. Edwin was literally in the closet. Drew was only a few inches away. Their size difference which Edwin had always found arousing now only instilled terror. “It wasn’t your political career I was thinking about. Isn’t your father up for reelection? Do you think all those bible thumping, blue haired grannies back home are going to vote for some one who has a cock sucker for a son?” A chill went through Edwin. He forgot about his father. He clutched Drew’s sinewy forearm. “I beg of you. Please, I’ll do anything else. Anything, please don’t do this.” Tears filled Edwin’s eyes. Drew looked down at the defeated little man. Pulled his arm away and slammed his fist into Edwin’s soft stomach. Edwin dropped like a sack of potatoes. His neatly hung clothes rained down on him. He moaned in the fetal position at Drew’s feet. It felt like his ribs had been shattered. Drew screamed, “I told you not to touch me, don’t ever touch me again, faggot.” Drew took a step back from the writhing curled up ball that was Edwin. “You are fucking pathetic. I hardly touched you.” Drew ripped opened the door. Several of Edwin’s neighbors had gathered in front of his door when they heard arguing. “Get the fuck out of my way.” Drew ordered as he moved passed the group. Sam, who had the room next to Edwin’s, ran to his side. “Are you alright?” he asked with genuine concern. “Yes, I’m fine.” Edwin forced out. His face was wet with tears. “Please just leave me alone. All of you, go away.” Sam stood up and slowly backed out the door. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” He closed the door half way before adding, “I’ll make sure nobody pennies you in.” He shut the door to give Edwin privacy. The crowd dispersed, whispering their theories of what happened. Some laughed at what they saw. Edwin didn’t move for more than an hour.
The left earbud was in, the right one dangling down my chest like a dead vine. Miles Davis was doing that thing he does, all smoky and blue, but it just made the silence in the room heavier. My hand was moving on autopilot, a cheap number-two pencil digging into the sketchpad. It was always bodies. Never faces. Faces were too… revealing. This one was pecs again. Broad, thick, carved from marble, with that deep, shadowed cleft between them you could lose a finger in. Drew Bullard’s pecs. From memory. From staring across the quad while he played frisbee, shirt off, sweat making his chest gleam under the September sun.
My other hand was down my jeans. Just idly rubbing, a slow, absent-minded grind against the worn denim. God, it’s so fucking small. A pathetic little nub of flesh, half-hard just from thinking about the curve of a fictional nipple. I let my head thunk back against the chair. My room in Martindale Hall was a perfect eight-foot cube of misery. Sunlight cut a sharp, dusty rectangle across the floorboards, highlighting how spotless they were. Not a sock out of place. My three posters—a vintage map of Middle-earth, a diagram of the human musculature, a black-and-white photo of Kafka—were leveled with a ruler. In the wardrobe, my shirts faced left, my pants faced right. My father’s voice was a constant echo in here: Discipline, Edwin. Order. A cluttered room is a cluttered mind. He’d say it while adjusting his tie in the mirror, the one he wore even on Saturdays. The Mayor. The future Senator, if his campaign ads were to be believed. He’d been a skinny, red-haired kid once, too. Got the shit kicked out of him, he loved to tell me. And look at me now, he’d say, puffing out his chest. I used it as fuel.
I just felt burned.
My pencil stopped. I stared at the drawing. It was good. The anatomy was correct, the shading gave it weight. But it was just lines on paper. It wasn’t the heat, the smell, the sheer, dumb power of a guy like Drew. I squeezed myself through the fabric, a little harder. A jolt, weak and thin, traveled up my spine. Pathetic. My own chest was a flat, pale plane, dotted with constellations of old acne scars. My hair was the color of rust and just as cooperative. I was built like a question mark permanently slouched over a library desk.
While you were volunteering at the goddamn food bank, Edwin, they were at parties. While you were proofreading your dad’s campaign speeches, they were getting felt up under stadium bleachers.
. Edwin momentarily stopped his doodling when he heard someone knocking on a door. He didn’t bother turning around because no one ever came to see him. He assumed his neighbor had a visitor. “Ed,” a powerfully deep voice called out. Edwin spun around in his seat. His eyes widened, his body tensed up. It was Drew. The doorway was filled by his bulk. He wore only shorts and sneakers. His body looked pumped. Thick veins entwined his powerful hands and forearms. His tanned skin was moist and the tips of his wavy brown hair damp. He carried an open duffle bag with a towel sticking out. He must have just come from practice or a workout at the gym. His body practically glowed with youth, beauty and power. Everyone on campus said he looked like BrodyJenner. But even Brody would be jealous of Drew’s body. Instead of the undefined bulk of most football players; Drew had the physique of a classic bodybuilder. He reminded Edwin of the greats; Paris, Labrada, Newman, Demey, and Sarcev. But it was Edwin’s current idol DenisSergovsky that flashed in his mind now. Drew had the same long legs, tiny waist and slightly oversized delts and pecs as the Russian. He was a comic book super hero come to life. “Ddddrew,” Edwin licked thin lips and swallowed hard. He got to his feet; side stepped around his desk and backed away until he hit the wall behind him. He kept his hand over the bump in his jeans. “Wwwhat do you want?” “Relax dude. I’m not here to hassle you.” Drew stepped into the room and closed the door. Edwin became more afraid and aroused. Drew’s gym shorts were baggy and ended mid-thigh. The loose elastic waistband hung low on his narrow hips revealing his deeply etched Apollo’s belt. His large endowment looked as if it was trying to escape from the lightweight fabric. As he walked his heavy package swung back and forth like a pendulum. It was obvious he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The song Walk the Dinosaur played in Edwin’s head. The other guys on campus sung the opening chant of the song whenever they spotted Drew going commando. His cock was like the head and neck of a brontosaurus. His ballsack was the creature’s huge round body. As Drew walked, it looked like he was pushing the lumbering reptile along for a reluctant stroll. Drew carefully placed his open duffle bag on Edwin’s bed before resting his hands on his sculpted hips. Edwin tried to keep eye contact with Drew, but his eyes kept darting down at his body. This is the closest he had ever been to the half-dressed captain of the football team. Edwin had watched him during practices and studied him as he roamed the campus. It was obvious Drew was proud of his body. Any time the temperature reached at least 65 he was in shorts. At 70, off came the shirt. Other men said his ego was out of control, but no one could deny he had every right to show off. Edwin now stood less than 3 feet away. Last time he was this close, the jock was yelling out him. That was the only other time Drew had said a single word to him in three years. Edwin was so afraid of the hulking athlete it was all he could do to stop himself from crying. He was never been so afraid or intimidated. He didn’t say a word. He stood there shuddering. He felt like a six year old being scolded by his furious father. “I came here to apologize for what happened in yesterday’s Student Committee meeting. As the committee’s president I understand you have a job to do. My fraternity brothers and I were out of line with the things we said. I just hope you won’t let it impact the disciplinary action the committee hands down. I hope you can forgive and forget.” A devastating smile overtook Drew’s face. Dimples formed in his cheeks. “You have to remember football players aren’t known for their even temperaments.” Edwin eyes lingered on Drew’s body. As he talked and gestured, the muscles of his body flexed and bulged. There was nothing small or scrawny about him. Every inch was a showcase for the word masculinity. His skin was an even golden brown. His chest looked like two flesh colored patio bricks. The thickness of the rectangular shaped slabs created a dark horizontal shadow underneath. His powerful torso was divided vertically by his muscle cleavage and deeply etched abdominals. The two lines intersected near Drew’s heart. His musculature created the perfect cross. Edwin belief in God was never more certain. Someone as beautiful as Drew couldn’t be accidental; it had to be divine intervention. Edwin fought the urge to fall to knees before the miraculous vision. Edwin mumbled something incoherent. Drew gave him a confused look, and indicated he wanted Edwin to repeat it with a questioning, “I’m sorry?” Edwin realized his guest had stopped talking. He raised his gaze to make eye contact. Drew didn’t seem to notice what a distraction his presence was. He didn’t comment on Edwin leering at his body or the smaller man’s long silences. Edwin didn’t know what to do or say. Being this close to the campus Adonis was overwhelming. He knew Drew was good looking, but now he could see just how handsome he was. The light from the room’s one window shone on Edwin’s chiseled face. It made his large brown eyes sparkle like they were made of smoky topaz. Edwin repeated Drew’s words like a parrot, “I’m sorry.” His 4 and ½ dick was at full mast. He grabbed a sweat jacket from the back of his chair and clutched it to his queasy stomach. Drew glanced down at Edwin’s jacket. Edwin clutched it tighter, “I’m cold.” Drew raised his hand to Edwin’s face. Edwin recoiled and pushed his head against the wall behind him. His look of terror was unmistakable. Drew smiled as he ran his calloused fingers over Edwin’s forehead, “But you’re sweating, dude.” He held up his wet fingers for Edwin to see before wiping his fingers dry on his bulging chest. Drew circled his nipple several times before putting his hand back on his hip. Edwin held his breath as he watched the hunk’s actions. Suddenly he gasped as his cock exploded in his briefs. He became flush. He panted for air. Drew had to know what happened, but his face showed no reaction. “Excuse me,” Edwin turned around and put on the fleece garment. He zipped it up and put his hands into the front pockets. The oversized jacket fell to the middle of his thin thighs covering his crotch. Edwin turned back to face Drew. The larger man held out his hand, “So we okay now? No hard feelings.” Edwin was definitely feeling hard. He licked his lips and swallowed uncontrollably. He stuttered, “It’s not up to me Ddddrew. The whole committee will decide wwwwhat action to ttttake.” Drew returned his hand to his hip. “I know, but you are the president. You have more influence than you think.” Drew moved even closer. Edwin realized just how massive Drew was. One of his pecs was the same width as Edwin’s entire chest. Edwin’s head was below Drew’s nose. “I know we caused a lot of damage and it was totally wrong. But we’ll take care of everything, I promise. I heard you can ban the fraternity from campus and close down the house. Don’t you think that’s too severe for a group of guys just having some fun?” Edwin didn’t answer. Drew put his left hand on the little man’s thin shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t you agree?” Edwin stopped breathing. He felt his knees buckle. Thank God, he was still leaning up against the wall for support. He looked at Drew’s hand. It felt heavy and spanned the entire width of his shoulder. He saw the muscles twitch in his thick forearm. He followed an extension cord like vein cross over the softball implanted under the thin skin of his upper arm. He imagined the strength that one limb possessed; easily twice that of the average man. Drew smiled at Edwin again. “Regardless of what happens, I’m still sorry for the things I said to you. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” Drew presented his right hand to Edwin once more. Edwin slipped his hand into Drew’s. He felt like a small child again. Drew pumped Edwin’s hand several times, causing Edwin’s whole body to shake, before letting go. “I’m glad we are friends again.” Drew patted Edwin’s shoulder, before he sat down on his bed. The big man leaned back and let his head rest against the wall behind him. “Thank God that’s over. It’s really been bothering me.” Without thinking Drew grabbed both of Edwin’s bed pillows and placed them behind his upper body to make his position more comfortable. He put one arm behind his head for additional support. His bicep bulged powerfully next to his ear. Edwin’s eyes went to the small patch of wispy, but damp hair at the bottom of Drew’s cave like arm pit. Drew didn’t take his eyes off Edwin as he ran his other hand over his rippling torso. He turned his head toward his raised arm and inhaled deeply. “Damn, I reek. I’m sorry dude. I forgot I was still pumped from my workout.” He lowered his arm and sat up. He twisted his torso and put a hand on the pillows. “Wow, I’ve accidentally marked your pillows. You won’t be able to sleep tonight surrounded by my BO.” Drew gave a little laugh along with another killer smile. “This is some way to make a good impression, huh? I hope you have a clean pillowcase.” Again Edwin was quiet. All he could think about was jerking off later with his face engulfed in that pillow. The musky scent of the jock would enhance the experience exponentially. He felt something wet at his crotch. He wondered if his crotch had a wet stain from his cum. He was so embarrassed. He quickly sat in his desk chair. “Ddddon’t worry about it.” “Are you okay? You still seem nervous.” Drew asked calmly. Edwin shook his head. Drew returned the pillow behind him and he leaned back. He placed his right hand behind his head as before. The pose elongated his already lanky 6’ 2” physique. It didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. His intercostals looked like corrugated steel. And all that was missing was the plastic ring carrier from his six pack abs. “Everything I own reeks nowadays. It seems all I do anymore is work out. When I’m not in the gym, I’m on the practice field. I can’t wait to win the NCAC championship, so things can get back to normal. I know I shouldn’t complain, I’ve put on over ten pounds of muscle since the season started. I’m in the best shape of my life, but I can use the rest. I mean there’s more to life than having a killer bod, right?” As he spoke Drew ran his other hand lightly over his carved muscles of his torso. Again Edwin found himself defying the socially accepted behavior while conversing. He stared at Drew’s body instead of his face. But it didn’t seem to bother his guest. Drew’s hand slipped to his crotch. He cupped his package and pulled up as he adjusted the position of his legs. Drew noticed Edwin watching him. “Sorry, the big boys are always getting in the way. I don’t want to crush them, they’re kind of important.” The damp material of his shorts covered his manhood, but hid nothing. Every nook and cranny was shown in great detail. Even the topography of his foreskin was visible. On the right leg of the shorts was printed the name of the school’s team, The Little Giants. Edwin thought how appropriate. That was the perfect description of Drew’s package. While it was his littlest body part, it was a giant compared to other men’s. Again Edwin realized Drew had stopped talking. He looked up at Drew’s emotionless face. Edwin cleared his throat, “Sssso you think you will win the championship?” Edwin finally asked.
I put the pencil down. The music in my left ear was a mournful trumpet sigh. With my right hand, I unbuttoned my jeans. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room. A rasp of metal, the shush of denim. I pushed my briefs down. There it was. Soft, pink, nestled in a coppery patch of hair that was too sparse to be manly. I wrapped my fingers around it. It didn’t even fill my hand. Like holding a baby bird, I thought, and the bitterness was a sharp tang at the back of my throat.
But I started stroking anyway. A dry, rough pull. My eyes went back to the drawing. I imagined them not as pencil lines, but as living flesh. Warm. Solid. I imagined my head resting there, on Drew Bullard’s chest, ear pressed to that firm, sweaty muscle, listening to the thunder of his heart. What would he smell like? Not like my room—lemon polish and old paper—but like grass, and cheap deodorant, and something saltier, something animal.
My rhythm got faster. The friction burned, but I leaned into it. My breath hitched. I spit into my palm, a quick, inelegant motion, and the wet sound made my face flush. The new slickness was cooler, smoother. Yeah. There. I let my head loll back, eyes closed. The fantasy shifted. It wasn’t me listening to his heart. It was his hand, big and calloused, wrapping around mine, guiding my fist up and down my own stupid, tiny dick. “That’s it, loser,” he’d grunt, his breath hot against my ear. “Stroke that little thing. Bet you think about this all day in your little nerd cage.”
A low groan leaked out of me. My hips bucked off the chair. The image was so clear, so humiliating, so hot it felt like my stomach was full of wires. My free hand clawed at my own flat chest, pinching a nipple, wishing it was broader, harder, something worth touching. The ache built, a tight, desperate coil at the base of my spine. It wasn’t love, or even attraction. It was want, pure and corrosive. Want for what he had. Want to be that, just for a second. To feel what it was like to move through the world in a body that demanded a second look instead of a sneer.
“Fuck… fuck…” I was chanting it under my breath, a ragged, broken rhythm matching my hand. The sunlight was too bright. It felt like an interrogator’s lamp. I was a specimen under glass: Edwin Pierce, 19, masturbating furiously to a drawing of a jock’s torso while his father’s expectations hung on the wall like a noose.
The climax, when it came, was a shuddery, underwhelming thing. A few weak pulses onto my own clammy stomach, more relief than ecstasy. I slumped forward, forehead hitting the cool wood of the desk, the pencil rolling away with a faint clatter. Davis’s trumpet sobbed on. The silence rushed back in, thicker now, smelling of sex and shame and lemon polish.
I stayed there for a long minute, the wet spot on my skin going cold and sticky. Another Saturday. I’d clean myself up. I’d go to the library. I’d be the good son, the responsible citizen, the invisible man. And later, in the dark, I’d probably do this all over again.
I lifted my head. My reflection was blurred in the dark screen of my laptop. A pale ghost with messy red hair. I looked at the drawing of Drew’s perfect chest. Then I looked down at my own, at the pathetic, drying mess on it.
Someday, I thought, the idea forming like a bruise, dark and tender. Someday it won’t be just a drawing. The thought wasn't hopeful. It was a promise, and it tasted like metal and sin. I reached for a tissue from the perfectly square box on my desk, the movement precise, practiced. The first step in putting everything back in its proper place.
“That’s what everybody says. We have our best chance in years. The team is playing great. You know almost the entire team is in the Sigma house. That’s another reason we deserve some special consideration by the disciplinary committee. We generate a lot of money for the school.” Drew spoke casually as if talking to a friend. He continued to slowly explore his muscles with his long fingers. Edwin shook his head, not knowing what else to say. Drew moved his other hand behind his head. “Mmmm, your bed is very comfortable.” He stretched out his body. His lats fanned out. His stomach receded. Every muscle erupted, pushing through his smooth skin. After a deep sigh he asked, “Are you into football, Ed?” Edwin was rocking back and forth in the chair, trying not to cum in his pants again. “No, not really.” “You look like you keep yourself in good shape. What sports do you follow?” Edwin was caught off guard by the question. No one had ever mistaken him for an athlete before. “Me? Sports? I don’t have an athletic bone in my body.” “I don’t believe that. You just haven’t found the right one. You have the physique of a long distance runner. I bet you have great stamina? You go all night with the ladies, heh? Am I right dude?” Drew asked with a smirk and a nod. He held up a fist in front of Edwin. Edwin gave him a questionable look. Drew eyes darted to his fist as he continued to smile and nod. Edwin finally realized what he wanted and knocked his fist into the bigger man’s. “That’s what I’m taking about, bro.” Edwin felt almost giddy. Drew Bullard called him bro. He started to relax slightly. “Sorry, I don’t know much about sports.” Drew sat up, “All because I’m a dumb jock doesn’t mean we have to talk about sports. What do you want to talk about, Ed?” Edwin shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing interesting about his life. “What were you working on when I interrupted you?” “Uhmm, It was nothing,” Edwin quickly closed the sketch book. “It was….a sketch for an art project; my homage to Mondrian. The final piece will be in acrylics. But before I start painting I want to have everything laid out. I’m not good at winging things.” Edwin started to babble. He was saying too much to cover up his lie. That was what he should have been working on instead of doing doodles of Drew. “Is it for Cramer’s 20th Century Art?” Drew asked. Edwin nodded yes. “I took that in my sophomore year. She’s easy if you show her a little attention. Like all middle aged women, she’ll turn into a helpless kitten with a little playful flirting.” “Yeah, I don’t think that would work for me.” “Sure it will.” Drew could see he was losing Edwin. Even he didn’t believe what he was saying. “But you don’t need to play those games. You probably have real artistic talent. I can’t manage stick figures. Can I see what you’ve done?” Edwin nerves went on edge again. He hesitated. “Please.” Drew said with a pleading look. Edwin turned to the page of his half done project and handed over his sketch book. Drew looked at it then asked. “Why are you using only blues and grays? Didn’t he use primary colors?” Edwin was shocked. That was very astute. He never realized how smart and charming Drew was. He never got past the exquisite cover of that book. Edwin became more confident because unlike sports, he knew a thing or two about art. , “Usually, he did this one piece that was all gray with one block of blue. I really liked it.” Drew turned the pages to some of Edwin’s other sketches. “You are good. What’s this?” Drew turned the book for Edwin to see. Edwin stood up slightly and reached for the book. “Uh, that’s my attempt at a Calder. There’s really nothing else in there worth looking at. Why don’t you just give it back to me? I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.” Drew ignored him and turned to another page. “RobertDelaunay?” Again Drew held up the tablet for Edwin. “Yes, that was my first assignment. It’s not very good. There’s really nothing else to see.” “I like it. It reminds me of his rhythm piece.” Edwin sat back down in amazement. “That was what inspired me,” Edwin said proudly. He was actually having a real conversation with Drew Bullard. Edwin pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “I’m messing up your pages. Why don’t you sit next to me so we can look at the book together?” Drew said without taking his eyes off the sketch book. After one false start, Edwin moved to the bed and sat down next to Drew. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets to hide his damp crotch. Drew leaned back on the pillows again. He pulled one of the pillows from behind him and placed it behind Edwin. “There you go. Sit back and relax.” Edwin didn’t move. Drew put his hand on Edwin’s back and rubbed it gently, “Relax dude.” Edwin slowly eased into the position. Drew kept his attention on the sketch pad and continued to turn the pages. Edwin watched the muscles in Drew’s forearm pulse with the each small movement. He was only inches from the perfect athlete now. He turned his head slightly toward Drew. He inhaled deeply without making it too obvious. As he predicted, Drew’s body odor was anything but offensive. He smelled like a strong man should. “Your Matisse is very good.” Edwin really was listening anymore. He was lost in Drew. “Thanks,” he mumbled. His cock was hard again. Drew flipped the page and revealed a page of random doodles. There were superheroes with overstuff tights. There were muscular men posing with raging hard-ons. Some were of Drew. Others were just of gigantic dicks. Edwin saw the page in his peripheral vision. He snapped his head away from Drew and locked on the sketch pad. He wanted to scream. What if Drew recognized himself in the drawings? He tried to think of something to day. Drew didn’t react. He slowly turned to the next page. When he reached the last page; he calmly stated, “You’re a good artist”. He set the sketch book down next to him away from Edwin.
This is nice, just chllin’. I knew we would have things in common.” Drew took a deep breath. “It’s crazy how people fall into certain stereotypes. I mean, do my frat brothers act the way we do because we want to or because it’s expected of us. Just because we’re bigger than most guys, people expect us to be arrogant jocks. And because you are on the slender side you get labeled a nerd. We aren’t that different from one another. We’re both men, the same age, and go to the same school.” Drew put his hand around Edwin’s upper arm, “We’re both made of flesh and blood.” Drew released Edwin’s arm and grabbed his small hand. Drew put Edwin’s hand on his arm. He flexed making his bicep swell under Edwin’s fingers. Edwin moaned softly as his hard cock throbbed. It actually hurt now. “See, I’m flesh and blood. Just like you.” Drew took his eyes off of Edwin and looked straight ahead. He didn’t release his hold on Edwin’s smaller hand. He dragged Edwin’s hand onto his chest. Edwin couldn’t believe how hard Drew’s chest was; the muscles looked plump as seat cushions. “There is no reason we can’t get along.” Edwin’s hand continued to be gently guided down Drew’s etched body. One by one Edwin got to feel the athlete’s abdominals. “I think we can be good friends, don’t you?” Drew turned to look at Edwin, but he continued the tour. Edwin nodded his head. His eyes darted back to their entwined hands when they reached the waistband of Drew’s shorts. Large beads of sweat now formed on the smaller man’s upper lip and forehead. Their hands finally stopped when they reached the mound of flesh at Drew’s crotch. Drew pushed down lightly forcing Edwin’s hand into his package. Edwin couldn’t stop himself from cuming once more. He blurted out, “Oh my God”. Drew quickly lifted his hand away. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing. I’ve been so horned up with all the work outs and everything. I’m really sorry dude.” Drew covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.” Edwin slowly pulled his hand back. “It’s okay. No harm done.” With Drew not looking, Edwin made sure his jacket covered the growing wet spot on his jeans. Drew let out a long, deep breath. “Thanks for understanding. You are a great guy. I feel so comfortable with you, like you are a member of my team. I forgot where I was for a moment.” Drew removed his hands from his face and looked around. “Hey look Drew, this isn’t a locker room.” He joked. “Not a locker room? What does that mean?” Edwin asked. “You know the things that happen in a locker room. How teammates help each other out.” Drew spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, but saw confusion in Edwin’s face. “Haven’t you ever been in a locker room with a sports team before?” Edwin shook his head no. Drew scanned Edwin’s body once more and put his hand on his stomach. “I still find that hard to believe. You are so ripped.” Drew took his hand off Edwin and cupped his crotch again. “Well you know as men we need physical release often. It helps to deal with all the stress and tension. Plus it encourages testosterone production, which makes you a bigger, stronger athlete. So after a game or practice the team gives each other a helping hand.” Drew mimed a jerking off motion. “It’s no big deal, it’s just guys around.” Edwin was aghast. “You’re kidding me right? What do the coaches say?” Drew continued to massage his cock as he spoke. “Oh, they’re all for it. Sometimes they join in. It bonds the team together. We become more comfortable with each other; it builds camaraderie and improves communication. It enables us to perform better on the field. Every team does it, even the pros.” Edwin watched Drew speak with total sincerity. It did make sense to Edwin. He heard all those stories about professional athletes sleeping with hundreds of different women. Their sex drives had to be off the charts to rack up numbers like that. Athletes are the most attractive men on the planet. They walked around nude in the locker rooms and showers. Things must happen. The temptation had to be unbearable. Drew sighed, “But you are not on my team, so I have no right to ask you to help me out like that. Again I’m sorry, bro.” Drew’s massage was making his snake slither further down this thigh. “It’s just I’m so horny right now, I really need to release my pent up load or the boys feel like they’re going to burst.” Drew’s face showed his discomfort. Edwin glanced down. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Drew’s cock had almost doubled its size. Edwin felt a longing he had never felt before. He licked his dry lips, “I ggguess I could help…” Drew’s face lit up. “That would be awesome, dude. I’ll help you too.” “No, that’s okay you don’t have to, uh…oh..uh.” Drew worked his hand up Edwin’s thigh, pushing away his jacket until he was able to grope Edwin’s crotch. Drew felt the wet spot and withdrew his hand quickly. “Wow, you were horned up too. You sure you’re not an athlete.” Drew sat up and reached for a box of tissues from Edwin’s desk. “Here you go.” Edwin pulled two tissues out of the box. “Thanks.” He stuffed the tissues down his pants to absorb his load. “Did you want to change?” Drew asked. “No, I’m fine.” The last thing he wanted was Drew to see him naked. “Dude, you’re fast. I’m a little jealous. Your reaction time is incredible.” “I ggguess, It’s your turn now.” Edwin tentatively returned his hand to Drew’s crotch. It was like a layer cake. The thick log was atop the spread out scrotum which was supported by the muscles of his thighs. Edwin cupped the outline of Drew’s thick hose. He squeezed it. Edwin could feel the power in the huge organ. He looked up at Drew’s face. He had his eyes closed and his teeth clenched. He bucked his hips up and down, making his abs ebb and flow. “Squeeze harder,” Drew whispered. Edwin tried but his small hand couldn’t grip the mound of man flesh through the slippery shorts. “Try rubbing it.” Edwin again did as he was ordered to do. He began to run his fingers up and down the growing outline of Drew’s cock. “Faster and harder.” The friction was burning his fingers. He changed hands and quickened the pace. Drew’s cock was still growing; it had to be over seven inches long and was only semi-hard. “Sorry dude, but this isn’t working for me. You’re going to have to make direct contact.” “Oh, okay,” Edwin said nervously. He took his hand off of Drew’s crotch and moved it to his stomach. The hardness of the rocky surface still surprised him. How could anyone’s body be this hard? Edwin’s fingertips moved under the elastic waist band of Drew’s loose shorts. He looked at Drew’s face. His eyes were still closed. Soon Edwin’s fingers were in a steamy forest of silky pubic hairs. He followed the length of Drew’s pleasure pipe. The tubular limb’s growth hastened as Edwin’s shaking hand wrapped around it. Its girth increased rapidly as it began to rise higher and higher. Again Edwin was shocked that anyone could feel like this. How could any single man have so much meat between his legs? How could he walk around with such a heavy appendage? It had to be tiring. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable. No wonder he wore baggy shorts all the time, regular sized clothing must feel like a torture device. Going commando freed his big boys from being stuffed into underwear designed for mere mortals. Edwin continued to stroke the thickening shaft. Soon even his exaggerated shorts were filled to capacity. The thick knob was straining the fabric. The ten inch pole was too big for the tent. “Shit,” Drew moaned, “it’s too tight. Pull down the shorts.” Edwin tried to pull the steel hard rod toward Drew’s stomach with one hand while stretching the waistband open with the other. He was gentle. He didn’t want to damage the rare piece of human art. Drew became impatient. He put one of his hands on his fuck pole. There was enough room for both men’s hands, but Edwin withdrew his in fear. Drew lifted his hips off the bed by tightening every muscle in his body. He pulled down his shorts with a quick yank. He lowered his hips with a big sigh. “There, that’s better.
For the first time, Edwin could see what he had only felt before. He was awestruck. It was one phenomenal phallus; perfectly straight and thick as Edwin’s wrist. Blue veins encased its entire length. A large purple mushroom capped the still growing stem. Drew’s saucer sized nut sack pooled at his lap; the two jumbo sized eggs clearly visible through the golden brown fur covering them. Drew smirked at the stunned expression on Edwin’s face. “Incredible isn’t it. The guys on the team nicknamed it the Drewosaurus.” Drew titled his head back “Come on, bro. I’m almost there.” Drew tweaked his right nipple which stood at attention on his muscle tit. Edwin came out of his stupor and put his hand back onto the hot rod. His fingers barely encircled its hefty girth. He squeezed with all the strength his small hand could muster. His feeble attempt at dominance went unnoticed by the athlete. “Hurry, squeeze it dude.” Edwin began to slide his hand up and down the king sized piece of man meat. “Yeah, that’s it.” Precum started to ooze from the tip. The milky lava met Edwin’s hand. The slick substance made the novice’s strokes smoother. “Faster, dude. Faster and harder.” Drew gave instructions between moans and deep breaths. Edwin repositioned his body to get a better angle. He knelt on the bed leaning over Drew. He used both hands now. He looked like a boy scout attempting to start a campfire for the first time. He was working up more of a sweat by giving the hand job than Drew was receiving it. Drew opened his eyes and saw Edwin’s face was directly over his cock. “Sorry about this bro. I guess my reflexes are a lot slower than yours. Maybe if you suck on it?” Drew spoke in a slow, husky voice. Edwin stopped and looked at the throbbing flesh in front of him. He turned to Drew with trepidation. “Its okay, a lot of guys do it. Rich gives great head. It will help me cum.” Edwin looked at the pulsating blue pipe. “Rich Brantwood, the lineman?” Just saying the words made Edwin hard again. Rich was the second best looking man on campus. He was actually larger than Drew, but didn’t have his beauty. Rich was more rugged, like a lumberjack. The image of Rich blowing Drew filled his mind; two muscular studs’ writhing in unison to bring each other to the pinnacles of euphoria. Edwin’s loins were on fire. “Yeah, he’s the only one with a mouth big enough to take it.” Drew said smugly. That sounded like a challenge to Edwin. Lust overcame his reluctance. This was the chance to make his fantasy a reality. He tightened his grip on Drew’s meat and opened his mouth wide. Edwin stopped a few centimeters away from the salty jawbreaker. A sly smile overcame Drew’s face. “I really appreciate this. You’re a real friend.” Edwin lowered his head. His thin lips slid over the purple helmet. His tongue lapped over the thick slit at the tip. Lower and lower he descended until his mouth was filled with the muscle man’s rigid column. He couldn’t believe how much there was left. He fought his gag reflex, he wanted to take more of Drew. He put on hand on Drew’s thigh to steady himself. Edwin could feel the pressure building up in the back of his throat. Drew moaned his approval of Edwin’s maneuvers. Edwin’s nose was filled with Drew’s manly odor. Unlike Drew, Edwin kept his eyes wide open for before him was the Holy Grail of cocks. He could see Drew’s boys began to contract. The corded muscles of his thighs, obloquies, and abs radiated from the very core of his masculinity. Edwin’s mind was reeling. All his senses were working overtime to record every new sensation; the taste of Drew, the smell of Drew, the feel of Drew, the sight of Drew, and the sound of Drew. It all surpassed his most erotic dreams. Edwin never felt so free, so alive. Edwin moved one hand to his own crotch and squeezed the one-third scaled version of masculinity. His overworked meat hurt, but Edwin liked the pain. Edwin was so involved in his mission to get Drew off; he didn’t notice the larger man’s hand reaching into his duffel bag. He pulled out a camera and turned on the palm sized device with his thumb. He held the camera at arm’s length. He pointed it at the top of Edwin’s head as he bobbed up and down his pole like a horse on a carousel. Drew bit his bottom lip and controlled his breathing. He wanted to hold off as long as possible to make a good video, but his body was on the verge of exploding. He didn’t think the nerd would be such a good cock sucker. When he knew he was about to lose control he moaned, “Okay man, I’m going to blow.” Edwin took his mouth off the joy stick and looked up. He turned to face Drew, who had a mischievous smirk on his face. Edwin saw the camera, he froze. Drew growled; a stream of cream erupted up from his monster dick, splattering all over Edwin’s face. Edwin didn’t move as the warm gel covered his face. Drew began to laugh as he caught his breath, “That was golden.” Drew brought the camera to his stomach and played with the buttons. “What are you doing?” Edwin wiped Drew’s product from his face. Drew ignored the lesser man. “Oh, wow. I got it and the perfect angle too. This is better than I hoped.” Edwin reached for the camera. Drew put his hand on Edwin’s chest and pushed him. The lightweight flew off the bed on to the floor. Drew calmly put the camera back into his bag. He stood and pulled up his shorts. Edwin looked up at the hulking giant. He looked even more menacing from the drastic perspective. “What’s going on? Why did you record it?” Edwin ran his hands through his unruly hair matted down with sweat. It was beginning to make sense. “You lied to me about your team mates and the locker room.” Drew squeezed his package. “Only a real faggot would believe a story like that. I know it’s what you perverts fantasize about while you jerk off at night. Like those disgusting drawings of yours.” Drew picked up the sketch pad and threw it across the room. “Those drawings were of me, weren’t they? I see how you look at me. It makes me sick the way you queers pop boners whenever I’m around.” Drew spat on the cowering man at his feet. “My cock was made to fill pussy not assholes.” “You planned this? But why?” “Why do you think faggot; blackmail. I knew it wouldn’t be difficult to get you to blow me. But I didn’t realize just how gullible you are. It was like dangling a giant bratwurst in front of a starving poodle.” Drew grabbed his huge package again. “The Drewosaurus is irresistible to all privileged enough to lay eyes on it.” He flexed his glutes and thighs to get a better grip on the monster. Even he couldn’t resist touching it. He continued to massage his pride and joy as he spoke. “You are going to drop all charges against my fraternity or this video is going on YouTube. This is the stuff that ruins political careers. Everyone will find your disgusting fag behavior as repulsive as I do.” Edwin would be the laughing stock of the school; his public service career over before it began. He had to bluff. “Go ahead and post it. They’ll see you too.” “No, you can’t see my face. It’s all you queer boy.” Drew picked up the duffle bag from the bed. He ran his hand over his muscular torso. “True no other man has a body as perfect as mine, but with a little editing we can hide that. That final money shot is what everyone will remember. The cock sucker smeared with cum.” Drew stepped over Edwin. Edwin grabbed onto Drew’s thick calf. “Please I can’t control the committee’s decision. All the evidence was shown during the hearing. It’s too late.”
Drew looked down at Edwin with hatred in his eyes. He pulled back his fist, “Get your faggot hands off of me.” Edwin released his grip and recoiled sheepishly. Drew took a deep breath to control his rage. “You’ll do it or the video is released to the world.” Drew could see the fear in his victim’s eyes. “I think we understand each other.” Edwin got to his knees. He knew he was caught in a trap. “Listen, I’ll do the best I can; but some action will have to be taken. You admitted to damaging school property. It’s in the official record. It will look suspicious.” Edwin staggered to his feet. He wrapped his arms around his waist. He was hunched over. His submissive body language showed his subordinate role. “Release it and my political career will be over, true. But I’m used to being an outcast. In time it will be forgotten. But if I’m not on the committee, I won’t be able to help you in the future. I promise to look the other way at anything else your frat house does.” Drew playfully rubbed his chin as if to think. “No shit Sherlock. You and your committee of losers won’t bother us ever again. But I still want this case to disappear. Do exactly as I say or else.” Drew moved closer to Edwin. Edwin backed away and Drew continued his advancement. Edwin’s heels hit the edge of the open wardrobe. He backed into it until he was pressed up against the interior back wall. Edwin was literally in the closet. Drew was only a few inches away. Their size difference which Edwin had always found arousing now only instilled terror. “It wasn’t your political career I was thinking about. Isn’t your father up for reelection? Do you think all those bible thumping, blue haired grannies back home are going to vote for some one who has a cock sucker for a son?” A chill went through Edwin. He forgot about his father. He clutched Drew’s sinewy forearm. “I beg of you. Please, I’ll do anything else. Anything, please don’t do this.” Tears filled Edwin’s eyes. Drew looked down at the defeated little man. Pulled his arm away and slammed his fist into Edwin’s soft stomach. Edwin dropped like a sack of potatoes. His neatly hung clothes rained down on him. He moaned in the fetal position at Drew’s feet. It felt like his ribs had been shattered. Drew screamed, “I told you not to touch me, don’t ever touch me again, faggot.” Drew took a step back from the writhing curled up ball that was Edwin. “You are fucking pathetic. I hardly touched you.” Drew ripped opened the door. Several of Edwin’s neighbors had gathered in front of his door when they heard arguing. “Get the fuck out of my way.” Drew ordered as he moved passed the group. Sam, who had the room next to Edwin’s, ran to his side. “Are you alright?” he asked with genuine concern. “Yes, I’m fine.” Edwin forced out. His face was wet with tears. “Please just leave me alone. All of you, go away.” Sam stood up and slowly backed out the door. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” He closed the door half way before adding, “I’ll make sure nobody pennies you in.” He shut the door to give Edwin privacy. The crowd dispersed, whispering their theories of what happened. Some laughed at what they saw. Edwin didn’t move for more than an hour.
The story of how Trevor gained his powers.
Naomi tried her hardest not to let out a sigh of exasperation as Trevor continued on his little diatribe about some superheroes Naomi could not care less about. A few more weeks of this, Noami thought, glancing at the clock and getting frustrated at how slowly time seemed to be moving, can’t believe I agreed to this bet, I need to find something Olivia could do for me that’ll make all this worth it.
Trevor was still talking, not having noticed Naomi had checked out of the conversation. Physically, he was alright looking, average height, average weight, his face had some acne scars, but was otherwise fine, he didn’t smell which was great. No, that wasn’t the issue with him, the real issue was how he wouldn’t shut up and how he seemed to leer at her body when he thought she wasn’t looking. Of course, it didn’t help that the thing he wouldn’t shut up about is how much he likes looking at women’s bodies.
At least he managed to keep his hands to himself, most of the time anyway, unfortunately, now wasn’t one of those times. As he was talking, he started scootching closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Naomi wanted to push him away, tell him to keep his hands to himself, but decided against it. She didn’t want him to break up with her before the month was over, now that would be one of the most embarrassing things that would have ever happened to her. That would also render the dare moot and Olivia would have won. As if a dweeb like him would have the backbone to break up with me, Naomi thought, smiling slightly, if he gets sad, a little bit of skin should do the trick and make him happy again.
Trevor noticed her smile and grinned, “Ah, so you think Supergirl is good too! Nice! You know, I think you’d make a great Supergirl!”
Naomi blinked, realizing he must think she was reacting to him, “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well for one, you already look a bit like her,” he started counting, using his fingers, “you’re strong, determined, don’t take any crap from anyone, and you’re beautiful!”
Is he actually- Naomi smiled despite herself, she had no idea what he was talking about, but she was able to figure out that he was being earnest and, from what she could gather, Trevor does really enjoy Supergirl and if he thought she was like her, then who was she to deny such a compliment?
“Oh!” Trevor began, looking at the clock, “Sorry, I realize I’ve been talking for about half an hour now,” he blushed and scratched the back of his head, “Heh, sorry, sorry. How was your day?”
Naomi smiled, “I’ve been alright. Olivia and Wren and I have been talking a bit. Olivia’s been laughing lately, something about Victoria nearly embarrassing herself during the last cheer practice. I don’t know.”
Trevor nodded, “Is your mom and sister alright? I noticed they both seem a little down lately.”
Naomi sighed, “Oh, right. I haven’t told you about this because I didn’t want to ruin the mood,” that was a big lie, she hadn’t told him because she hardly cared herself, “my Great Uncle Ian passed away a few weeks ago and mom and Summerlyn have been going to his house and moving things in storage,” Naomi shrugged, “they asked dad and some of my other cousins to help bring some stuff here as well. I think everything’s in the basement.”
“Oh, I’m… really sorry, what happened to him?”
Naomi waved a hand, “He was old, and had some health problems before, something about a bad heart.”
“How’s your family taking it?”
I guess we’re talking about this now, Naomi thought, better than hearing him blather on about superheroes I don’t care about, much better than hearing him talk about other girls. “Mom’s taking it the hardest, she’s been almost inconsolable lately. Uncle Ian helped raise her since she was younger and she was there with him when he died.”
Trevor was silent for a moment before asking, “How are you taking it?”
Naomi shrugged, “Barely knew the guy, he had some cool stuff in his house though, wanna come see?”
“Oh, is that alright?”
“Should be,” Naomi replied, “just be careful not to break anything.”
Naomi helped him off her bed and together the two of them left her room and went to the basement. Her parents weren’t here right now, her dad was still at work, and her mom was probably at some cousin’s house making arrangements for Uncle Ian’s funeral. That only left herself and Summerlyn, who was probably in her room studying or something. Still, she’d rather not Summerlyn find out she was down here and tell her mom, who’d know when she’d hear the end of it, so she pressed a finger to her lips at Trevor before opening the door to her basement.
The basement wasn’t much, it was a bit larger than the downstairs living room and normally was used just to store the washer and dryer. Now, however, there were several pieces of furniture belonging to Uncle Ian stored down here, along with several boxes containing more of Uncle Ian’s stuff.
None of this stuff was particularly interesting to Naomi, there was a grandfather clock, thankfully it was broken, along with a vanity desk, a clothes drawer, and a rocking chair. The vanity desk held her interest for a moment, until Naomi realized it was too big for her room and was a bit too antique for her tastes. She glanced over at Trevor who took all of this in with a look of wonder on his face. I’m glad someone’s enjoying this, hopefully this will stop you from going on and on about superheroes.
“Aw, the clock doesn’t work?” Trevor asked.
Naomi shook her head, “According to mom, it stopped working a while ago and Uncle Ian never got around to trying to get it repaired.”
Trevor ran a hand against the carved wood of the clock, “Is this handmade? This is beautiful!”
His attention was quickly taken by some of the boxes of Uncle Ian’s belongings. He glanced at Naomi for permission and then started digging through his stuff. A bunch of it were old journals and some unpublished manuscripts. Mom had said Uncle Ian was a writer, but sadly his words will never be read by anyone.
Trevor was flipping through some of Uncle Ian’s journals, “Oh, your uncle used to travel? Says here, he’s been to France, Hungary, Japan, Mexico…”
Naomi held up a hand, “Yes, he used to travel a bit when he was younger, according to mom, he’d sometimes bring her and her brothers some souvenirs from the places he’s been to.”
“Hello!” Trevor said, picking up a rolled up piece of paper at the bottom of the box, “What are you?”
“Probably a photo or old letter,” Naomi guessed.
Trevor made a face as he unrolled the paper. He flipped it around, expression still puzzled.
“What’s up?” Naomi asked.
Trevor flipped the page towards her and she was met with a series of ineligible scribbles. Huh, I guess it’s probably a letter from someone he met when he was traveling around the world. Naomi thought, Looks old. “What language even is that?”
Trevor shrugged, squinting at the symbols written on the paper, “Your guess is as good as mine, honestly.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and Summerlyn came down the stairs. Of course, she’d show up and ruin the fun.
Summerlyn was Naomi’s older sister, and she looked like it too. She was taller than Naomi, her body lean and toned, not that you’d be able to tell since she wore clothes that did not show any skin, and her golden blonde hair was longer. The only notable difference between the two of them is that Summerlyn had gray eyes while Naomi had blue.
“What the hell are you two doing down here?” Summerlyn asked, pointing at Naomi, “Mom said she doesn’t want any guests down here!” she glanced at the books placed on the floor, “I’d clean that up if I was you, if mom knew you were digging through Uncle Ian’s stuff, she’d flip!”
Naomi rolled her eyes and stepped over to her sister, “What? Are you going to tell mom?”
“I will if you don’t clean this up,” Summerlyn replied.
“Oh my gosh, why are you so worked up about this, anyway?” Naomi asked, “You barely knew Uncle Ian.”
“I barely knew him?” Summerlyn asked, taking a step back, “Oh, right, you don’t pay attention to anything that's not on that phone of yours, huh? No, I knew Uncle Ian! More than you! He helped me apply for colleges and helped pay for my classes!”
Naomi held up her hands, “Oh wow, sorry, I’m sorry I don’t know every detail about your life, alright? Uncle Ian helped you and now you’re sad like mom, alright.”
Trevor nervously approached her from behind, “Hey, Naomi,” he began, “maybe we should just cle-”
“Are you taking her side?” Naomi asked, “Of course you would, of course!”
“What?” Trevor asked, “No, I’m not. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Boy, take it from me, you’re better off without her,” Summerlyn began.
Naomi glared at her. Don’t you fucking dare!
Trevor glanced at her, confused.
“Naomi doesn’t love you,” Summerlyn began, “she probably only asked you out as a dare or something. Trust me, you’re not her type and you will not be the one who changes her either. Trust me, just leave, and find someone else, someone who’d love you and-” she glanced at the shirt Trevor was wearing, “someone who wouldn’t mind talking about superheroes.”
Well, I guess Olivia won the bet, Naomi thought, thanks alot, sis.
Trevor, however, surprised her. He was trembling, the letter - or whatever it was - crumbled in his hand. At first Naomi was worried he was going to explode on them and took a step back, but no, the poor bastard stepped towards Summerlyn, his face red. “You stay quiet!” he shouted, surprising both Naomi and Summerlyn, “Don’t tell me who loves me and who doesn’t! I know Naomi and I are meant to be! And no one is going to tell me otherwise, alright!”
“Calm down!” Summerlyn shouted, raising her hands, “Calm down! Alright! You’re in love, I get-”
“No!” Trevor continued, “no, you don’t get it! For the first time in my life, I was asked out! If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is!”
Naomi gasped, noticing the paper in Trevor’s hand started to change, started to glow. At first, it was white, but soon burned red hot. Once she saw it, Summerlyn did too, and was freaking out, telling Trevor to drop it.
Unfortunately, Trevor didn’t notice, “Drop what? The fact that things are finally looking my way? Why wou-”
It all happened so fast. The paper burned bright, nearly blinding Naomi. There was a scream, although who was screaming, she wasn’t sure. Suddenly, the light vanished and the basement returned to normal. Except, there were only two people standing here now, Naomi herself, and Summerlyn who was looking down at herself as if she’d never seen her body before.
Naomi stepped forward, “Trevor?” she asked, her voice quivering. She didn’t see him, and couldn't find any trace of him anywhere. She looked around frantically, “Trevor!” she called again. What happened? Sure, he was a loser and she was going to dump his ass as soon as the month was over, but that didn’t mean she wanted him vaporized or whatever happened.
“Trevor!” Naomi screamed, tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m here,” Summerlyn breathed, hands over her breasts.
“Summerlyn, stop fucking around!” Naomi screeched, “Help me find where Trevor went!”
“Naomi, I’m here!” Summerlyn insisted, gesturing to herself, “I’m Trevor!”
Naomi blinked, “T-Trevor?” she asked.
Summerlyn nodded, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me! Uh…” Summerlyn, or Trevor, thought for a moment, “just earlier, I was telling you that I thought you’d make the perfect supergirl! Because you’re beautiful and blonde and-”
Naomi held up a hand, This… this can’t be happening! This isn’t real! she ran her hands through her hair, taking a breath in order to calm down. She looked around, finding no sign of that paper Trevor was holding earlier.
She did notice something else though, slumped over by the dusty furniture, was Trevor’s body. It landed a short distance away from Naomi and Summerlyn. Is Summerlyn in there? Naomi walked over to Trevor’s body and prodded it, wondering if, somehow, Summerlyn had ended up in Trevor’s body like how Trevor ended up in Summerlyn’s. No response.
Naomi checked and found that Trevor’s body was, thankfully, still breathing and still had a pulse, but it looked like no one was home. Naomi sighed, looking over at Summerlyn to see Trevor was fondling his new breasts through Summerlyn’s tank top. Of course that’s what you’re doing.
Naomi cleared her throat to get Trevor’s attention. To his credit, he did seem embarrassed when he saw Naomi notice him exploring her older sister’s body. “Help me get your body upstairs,” she said, ignoring where Trevor still had his hands, “quick, I don’t want my mom coming in and seeing us in here like this!”
That snapped Trevor out of his trance and he helped Naomi carry his body up stairs. Trevor’s body was a little on the heavier side, and Naomi wasn’t the biggest fan of his smell. It could be worse, but it also could have been better. Thankfully, while neither Naomi or Summerlyn were the strongest, they were able to carry Trevor’s body back up the stairs and into Naomi’s room where they propped up his body on the bed.
Naomi sighed, rubbing her arms, “How are you doing?” she asked.
Trevor gulped, “I’m not sure, honestly,” he replied, “it’s… it’s strange seeing myself from the outside like this.”
“Do you know where Summerlyn is?” Naomi asked, “She’s not in your body.”
“If I had to guess, she might still be in this body, but I’m currently in control or something.” Trevor flexed Summerlyn’s hands, watching the movement raptly, his gaze slowly moved from her hands to other parts of her body.
Naomi wasn’t sure why, but seeing him looking at her sister’s body like that was making her angry. Out of the people, why was it Summerlyn? Of course, the thought of Trevor in her body made her shiver, something Trevor thankfully didn’t notice as he was too busy looking down at Summerlyn’s body to notice what Naomi was doing grinning widely as he looked down Summerlyn’s shirt.
“Can you get out of her body?” Naomi snapped, coming out less of a question and more of a demand.
That snapped Trevor out of his daydreams and he, once again, looked abashedly at Naomi, he scratched the back of Summerlyn’s head, a sheepish smile on her face, “Uhh… I’m not sure.”
“Well,” Naomi paused for a moment, I am not letting you stay in my sisters body any longer than you already have, “can you figure something out? Like… try to imagine leaving her body and… I don’t know, do it?”
Trevor sighed, “Alright… I’ll…I’ll try.”
Trevor was silent for a moment, closing his eyes and looking deep in concentration. A minute passed, and then another. Naomi was beginning to feel frustrated, wondering if Trevor was even trying. He’s probably not, she thought sourly, crossing her arms, he probably just wants me to think he is so he can stay as Summerlyn a bit longer. She had just finished the thought when Summerlyn suddenly slumped over.
Naomi cried out, rushing towards Summerlyn to avoid her crashing to the floor just as Trevor’s body gasped. “It worked!” Trevor cried out.
“Glad to hear!” Naomi growled, making sure her sister didn’t hurt herself too much from the fall.
“Do you think she knows what happened?” Trevor asked, approaching the two of them.
“I don’t know,” Naomi replied truthfully. Although for your own sake, you’d better hope she doesn’t remember.
Summerlyn started to come to, blinking and waving Naomi and Trevor away, “Huh? What happened?”
“You nearly fainted earlier in the basement-!” Trevor said quickly, “Afterwards Naomi and I dragged you up here to see if you were alright. We were about to call someone when you started coming to.”
Summerlyn frowned, and shook her head, “Argh, alright, well,” she groaned as she stood up, placing her hands on her hips, “I don’t want either of you going into the basement anymore, alright? Neither of you have seen how mom’s been lately and I don’t think you two messing around down there will help her, alright?”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Alright, sis, whatever you say.”
Trevor nodded, “Alright.”
Summerlyn nodded, “Good, now… I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” Summerlyn rubbed her head as she left Naomi’s room. Well it looks like she doesn’t remember what happened when Trevor was inside her, Naomi thought, probably for the best, I doubt she’d take that better than I would.
Her hands turned to fists by her side, speaking of which, she turned to Trevor, “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed what you were doing in my sister's body!” she hissed.
Trevor sucked in a breath and stepped back, holding his hands out in front of him, “Woah! Heh, heh, easy Naomi,” he gave a nervous chuckle and ran a hand through his hair, “look, I’m sorry about that, alright? I’ve never been a girl before, I’ve never had or touched boobs, I… just… didn’t think right.”
Naomi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Well, rather it was Summerlyn than me. she suppressed a shiver, would the thought of returning to his own body even occur to him without me pushing it onto him?
“Naomi,” Trevor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she had to stop herself from jerking out of his grasp, “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Can we, please put this all behind us?”
Naomi stared into his eyes. Where in the world would Uncle Ian get one of these things? Whatever, hopefully, now that the scroll - or whatever it was - is gone, she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. “Sure, let’s put this all behind us.”
Trevor grinned and hugged her. Naomi, reluctantly, returned his hug. Trevor was the one who broke it off, noticing the clock on her wall, “Oh, is it eight already? I need to get going,” he turned to her, “see you at school?”
Naomi nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you at school.”
Naomi helped Trevor gather his belongings and saw him to the door as he started to walk back home. She sighed, curious about whether or not there were other scrolls down there in the basement. She considered going down there herself and checking, but decided against it, she’d already promised Summerlyn and if she found her down there again, well, she’d never hear the end of it.
Maybe mom knows what Uncle Ian was up to? Naomi thought. I should probably check on Summerlyn. Her sister left the door to her room open a crack and, peering through, Naomi saw Summerlyn was buried in a book, taking down notes for one of her classes. Of course she was.
Naomi considered texting Wren and Olivia what she and Trevor found in the basement, going as far as beginning to type it out, before deciding not to and deleting the message. She barely believed what happened and she was there to witness it herself, how would those two believe what she said?
Instead, she decided to open a blank journal and started writing things down. She had to, just to process what was happening, to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. She had just finished writing when her mom, who’d gotten home some time earlier, called her and Summerlyn down to eat.
“Hey mom," Naomi began between bites.
“Hmm?” her mom grunted.
“What was it exactly that Great Uncle Ian did?”
Her mom made a face, “Why do you ask?”
“Trevor was wondering what he did?” Naomi lied.
Her mom sighed, “He liked to travel a lot. He told me how he backpacked across Europe and even the United States a few times and what he’s seen on those travels,” she chuckled to herself, “he’d brought back several souvenirs and wrote multiple blogs about the places he’d been and what he’d found. You know, when I was younger, he’d always insist he came across real magic out there in the world, hidden in places almost forgotten and yet, he managed to find them and bring them back with him.”
I guess he did find some magic afterall, Naomi thought, thanking her mom for dinner and heading back upstairs. She’d need to track down her uncle’s blogs, see if maybe there was an explanation for whatever happened in the basement. But, maybe that was something she’ll do for another time, since it was getting late and she was getting tired.
As Naomi got her things ready and left down the hall to take a shower, she noticed the door to Summerlyn’s room was closed. Odd, since she always left it a little open in case someone called for her. As Naomi passed by, she thought she heard the sound of Summerlyn’s phone camera going off. She shook her head, whatever, what Summerlyn was up to was none of her business.
Oh well. Naomi thought, crawling into bed. I just hope whatever happened to Trevor was just temporary. She shivered, the thought of him being able to just take over people's bodies like that. She had an idea of what he'd use them for and hoped that whatever happened was just a one time thing.
---
The next morning, Naomi woke up and got ready to go to school. She stopped by to check up on Summerlyn before she left, she couldn't explain why, but she was just worried more than usual.
Summerlyn was still asleep when Naomi walked in. She considered maybe trying to wake her up, but decided against it, no doubt she'd get an earful from Summerlyn about how disrespectful that is or something like that.
Guess I'll just check up on you again later. Naomi thought, going downstairs.
---
Olivia was already waiting for her when she walked through the doors into Milton High. Strangely, Wren was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was sick?
“Where's Wren?” Naomi asked.
Olivia rolled her eyes, “She said she had to run to the restroom, something about breakfast not agreeing with her or something.” Olivia shook her head, “Whatever. How're you and Trevor doing, by the way? How are you two holding up?”
Naomi resisted the urge to stick out her tongue in disgust, “He still thinks we're actually dating,” Olivia interrupted her to make a gagging sound, Naomi couldn't say she disagreed, “you should listen to him talk, so disgusting. It's worse than when he talks non stop about those annoying superheroes or whatever it is he cares about.”
“Oh?” Olivia began, getting closer, “What does he say? The disgusting stuff, I don't care about anything else.”
Naomi smiled, and looked around to make sure Trevor wasn't nearby to overhear her, “He keeps talking about girls and what he would do if he got to the point where they had sex.”
Olivia gasped.
Naomi continued, smiling as she recounted her horrible first “date” with him, “You know, he asked me what kind of woman I was and what I expected him to do in our relationship? Well, since I didn't want to get dumped by him I had to play into it and said I would do the housework and cook while he gets to be treated as a king all day. He ate that up hook, line, and sinker. Then he asked about sex! Just like that! No other conversation! Just sex! Sex! Sex!” Naomi sighed, "What's worse is that afterwards, he just keeps rambling on and on about anime and superheroes."
Olivia was barely able to stand from laughing so much, “Oh my! Naomi I almost feel sorry for you for making you do this!”
“You will be sorry when I win this bet and you have to do something for me.” Naomi replied.
“Hey girls!” Wren greeted, walking over to them, “What are you all talking about?”
“Oh you're not going to believe this,” Olivia began, still laughing, “Naomi's been telling us all about what she and Trevor have been doing lately!”
“Ooh!” Wren exclaimed, “What do you think about Trevor?”
Olivia laughed, “The dude's a creep! He's even more of a loser than I thought he was! Sex this! Sex that!”
Wren frowned, “Oh? Is that what you think of him?”
Olivia shrugged, “As much as I know about him, anyway. You know, Trevor looks alright, a bit short maybe, but that personality just really kills it!”
Wren made a face and stepped closer, “You think all that before even getting to know him?”
Olivia held up her hands in mock surrender and chuckled, “Woah, relax Wren, I'm just having some fun! Trevor's a little weirdo! That's all there is to him really, he just thinks about women he likes and that's it. Not even in a good way either.”
Wren scoffed, “is that so?”
Olivia sighed in exasperation, “Oh my god, Wren! I don't know why you're so mad about this! I'm going to see if the cafeterias are still serving breakfast, if you want to calm down and talk to me you can find me there, alright?”
With that, Olivia left. Naomi stared after her, mouth dry. She turned over to Wren who watched Olivia with anger and sadness in her eyes. Except Naomi wasn’t sure that was Wren behind those eyes.
Wren turned to her, noticing Naomi staring, “What?” She asked.
There's no way… “Trevor?” Naomi began hesitantly, “Is… is that you?”
Wren grinned, “Yup!” Trevor admitted, fist pumping the air, “it's me!” he chuckled, “I still have the powers that scroll gave me, it's insane! Hey, I used them on Ms. Shaw earlier and used them to steal the answers for today's quiz!”
Naomi felt her skin crawl. Olivia said Wren went to the bathroom earlier, was that when Trevor possessed her? Or did that happen earlier? She shivered, thinking about what he might have done when he was alone.
Naomi crossed her arms beneath her breasts, “Trevor,” she began, “Please get our of my friend.”
Trevor blinked and then chuckled, “Oh, yeah! I… really should get back to my body before school starts, huh? Come with me, I left my body in the boys bathroom.”
Naomi sighed and followed Trevor. She was barely paying attention as he excitedly told her some of the questions and answers to the quiz. She focused more on what he might have done and what he will probably do.
“Is something wrong?” Trevor asked as they stopped in front of the boys bathroom.
“Hmm?” Naomi asked, “Oh, nothing! It's fine, I was just… wondering about your powers.”
Trevor chuckled, “I've been wondering about them too and I've been trying to test out the limits, but I think I'll save that for another day. Do me a favor and catch Wren, will you? I don't want to hurt her sweet body.”
Before Naomi could answer, Wren suddenly slumped forward and Naomi leapt to catch Wren before she fell to the floor. She held her up as Wren slowly regained consciousness, “Ugh… what? Naomi? Where am I?”
“Wren?” Naomi asked, “You've… passed out earlier with Olivia. I was taking you to the nurse when you started waking up!” Trevor, I am going to kill you!
Wren grumbled, shaking her head. Please believe me. She blinked, looking around, “What time is it?” she winced, “I think I'll go see the nurse myself, thanks for carrying me all this way.” She waved away Naomi and walked off, heading in the direction of the nurse’s office.
With that, Trevor came out of the bathroom, smiling. “She didn't remember anything! Heh heh! Can you believe that?”
“Yeah…” Naomi began, “that's really something.” She hoped her expression didn’t let slip the amount of disgust she was feeling.
“Hey Naomi,” Trevor began, sobering up, “I… need to ask you an important question.”
Naomi managed to keep a neutral expression as she turned to look at him, “What's that?” She asked, suddenly worried.
“Earlier, when Olivia was talking shit about me… how come you kept silent?”
Naomi froze. How much did he overhear? Did he know Naomi was the one who told Olivia about all those things? Or did he think Olivia was the one who said all that herself? What will he do if he finds out the truth? Naomi could feel herself starting to sweat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of anything to say, either in denial, or in deflection.
Trevor sighed, looking heartbroken, taking her hesitation as something else entirely “It's… whatever. I'll see you after school, alright?”
“Alright.” Naomi replied, her heart pounding as she watched him go. That… that was close.
---
The rest of the day Naomi had trouble focusing on anything her teachers were saying, whatever, she could probably just ask one of her other classmates for notes. She was too busy thinking about what was happening with Trevor. What the hell was her great uncle getting up to? Did Uncle Ian have anything else like that hidden among his belongings? Could she find something to possibly reverse this?
The power to just take over someone’s body was freaky enough as is, but the thought of Trevor of all people having it just made her skin crawl. On their first day, Trevor told her all the things he loves about a woman, with one of the top things being her body, and how he can’t stop himself from looking no matter how hard he tries.
Jeez, the boy had no tack and was just overall unpleasant to be around. A shame, too, Naomi thought, I bet he honestly thought he was complimenting me by going on and on about how beautiful I am. Naomi suppressed a smirk, the truth was that she was flattered at first, but his constant pointing out of her looks lost their charm very quickly.
“Naomi Walker!”
Naomi came crashing down back into reality, “Huh?”
Her teacher, Mr. Gray, sighed, rubbing his temples, “I was asking if you knew how to solve this equation…”
Naomi felt her face grow warm as she glanced at the whiteboard and had no idea what on earth she was looking at, “No,” she admitted, “I do not.” That earned a round of snickers from her other classmates.
Mr. Gray shook his head, “Rachel Smith, you’re up.”
Great. Naomi thought, letting her mind wander again. Now Trevor’s making things difficult in other ways as well.
---
Lunch couldn’t come quick enough. Naomi gathered her things and headed off quickly, wanting nothing more to regroup with Wren and Olivia. She thought about telling them about the situation, but decided against it. There’s no way they’ll believe me, Naomi thought, I can still just barely believe this is happening and I was there to see it happen twice! I need to find out more about Uncle Ian, if nothing else, he’ll be the one with any answers
At least she could, hopefully, relax around them for a bit. Maybe Olivia would have some gossip to help her take her mind off things for a while. After grabbing her lunch, Naomi noticed Olivia sitting at a different spot than usual even though their table was empty. Naomi swallowed, He wouldn't. her nervousness gave way to anger the closer she got, her shoes hitting the ground harder and harder with each step. He. Fucking. Wouldn't.
“Olivia” turned to her as she approached. She had an uncharacteristic big grin on her face and her hands were… Fucking Trevor! her hands were groping her own breasts.
“HI Naomi!” Trevor greeted from inside Olivia's body, “You won't be-”
“Get out.” Naomi ordered.
Trevor smiled, taking his hands off Olivia's breasts, “Woah! Woah!” He began, “No need to get so angry with me, alright? I just don't think Olivia's that good of a friend for you! I mean, what kind of friend badmouths their other friends' boyfriends? I mean, you heard the things she was saying about me.”
“Get. Out.” Naomi repeated.
“That's not all,” Trevor continued, ignoring Naomi, “I checked her phone earlier, did you know she has some dirt on you and Wren as well? I couldn't believe it myself and I was the one who found it-”
“Trevor.” Naomi growled, finally getting him to shut up and listen, “Get. Out. Of. Her. Body. Now!”
Trevor blinked, and looked away, “Alright,” he said, his voice low, “but… can you promise me something?”
“What?” Naomi snapped.
Trevor looked back at her, “Can you defend me next time?” he paused before continuing, “I'm not asking for much, at least I don't think I am. But when she was talking shit about me, you just stood there and let her keep talking.”
Naomi blinked, this fucking guy… She knew he had a point. Even she could see that, but given his actions so far, it seemed Olivia had a point. But right now wasn't a good time to confront him about any of this.
She nodded, “Alright,” she conceded, “I'll tell Olivia to stop picking on you.”
Trevor smiled and then Olivia started shaking, her eyes rolling back before she gasped and nearly fell on the table. Trevor was gone, most likely returning to his own body, wherever that was.
“Ugh,” Olivia moaned, rubbing her head, “How the hell did I get here?”
“What's wrong?” Naomi asked.
“Naomi?” Olivia asked, noticing her, “Last thing I remember was being in fifth period when everything just went…” Olivia's eyes widened and her face went red. Her hands felt at her chest before dropping down below her waist. Her face paled almost instantly.
Naomi gulped, a faint idea of what happened already forming in her head, “Is everything alright?”
“Where the fuck are my panties?” Olivia hissed, going even redder.
Naomi coughed, Trevor was really pushing his luck with her. Looking closer at Olivia's shirt, it wasn't just her bra he took off either. No, she saw the way her breasts were hanging and how they moved around when Olivia turned. Her bra was gone as well.
“Shit!” Olivia hissed, standing up and looking around, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Calm down!” Naomi whispered, “Do you… happen to have any spares?”
Olivia nodded, “I have some panties in my locker… I'll be back.”
Olivia shuffled off just as Wren came by, placing her tray down as she looked in, confused as to why Olivia was practically running out of the cafeteria.
Wren gave Naomi a look, “What's up with her?”
Naomi sighed, she knew telling the truth was not an option. “Wardrobe malfunction,” she replied, “she's getting some spare clothes from her locker.”
Wren grunted, “You doing alright, Naomi? You've been quiet today.”
Naomi stared at Wren for a while. She was acting like herself, and hadn't groped her breasts so far. “Just thinking about Trevor,” Naomi admitted, “he's been a hassle lately.”
“Going to dump him early?”
Naomi shook her head, “I don't think that's a good idea, he's…” Fuck, what should I say here?, “gotten a hold of something embarrassing of mine and I'm afraid if I dump him he'll tell everyone.”
Wren wrinkled her nose, “Ouch, he's really the type who would do that?” she gave a sympathetic squeeze to Naomi’s hand, “I'm sorry I ever went to bat for him. Well, whatever happens, Olivia and I will be here for you.”
Naomi smiled, but remembered Trevor's words that Olivia kept dirt on her and Wren in her phone. It didn't seem like he was lying either, as he'd offered to show her the proof and even delete it. I don't think Olivia will stand by me, Naomi thought. It was silly, of course she wouldn't. Still, that didn't mean Naomi wanted something like this to happen to her. She looked back at Wren who gave her a supportive smile and returned it. Wren might be different though, but Naomi wasn’t sure.
What she was sure about was that she needed to find out about what her uncle had. Luckily Trevor will be staying after school today for one of his stupid clubs, that meant Naomi would have a chance to look through her uncle's belongings and search for his blog on the internet,
So she did just that. After school, she went straight home and saw she would be alone for a few hours. Her parents were still working and Summerlyn had an evening class today.
Damn, Naomi thought, I was hoping to ask mom what she knew about Uncle Ian, hopefully she'll be back soon. No matter.* At least that meant she was able to search the basement without much issue.
At least, that's what she thought until she tried the door and found it locked. Ugh! Summerlyn!
Naomi pounded on the door out of frustration before growling, heading to Summerlyn’s room, hoping she'd find the key.
Thankfully, Summerlyn’s room didn't have a lock so getting in wasn't an issue. The issue then became finding the key, hopefully Summerlyn didn't take it with her. The bed and the desk weren't of any use, although as she checked under the bed she was surprised to see some of Summerlyn’s clothes just tossed underneath. Normally her sister would just toss them in the laundry bin.
Whatever. She checked her dresser and found the key in the third drawer. Afterwards she left to go down the basement.
It still looked the same as it did yesterday, with some of the furniture slightly moved as Naomi and Trevor looked through her uncle's belongings.
She started at the box where Trevor pulled that scroll from. Inside were some maps, a few souvenirs from other places her uncle had visited, but no other scrolls.
At the bottom of the box was an old journal. Naomi grabbed it and flipped through it, grinning as she realized it was a journal her uncle kept to record his travels. Hopefully, Uncle Ian would have written about something like this.
She searched through his other belongings, but that turned out to be a bust. So, with only a journal for her efforts, Naomi returned the basement key to Summerlyn’s room and started reading through the journal in her room.
Naomi would gather from the journal, as well as from her mom and Summerlyn, that her uncle didn't travel alone. He had someone else with him, a friend named Tom. Together the two of them traveled across the world, going across the United States, to Europe, and Asia as well.
From the journal, Naomi found out her uncle and Tom came across these scrolls as they were exploring an old ruin they found in a forest in Europe. Unfortunately, if they ever found out what these things were and what they did, her uncle didn't write them down.
All he wrote down was that he thought they were neat and he took one while his friend took several. So if I want to find out more about what's going on and how to stop Trevor, I'll need to find where Tom is and hope he knows anything about these scrolls.
It took her a while to find her uncle’s blog, but after an hour, she came across it. The blog detailed her uncle and Tom’s journey across the world, staring at the United States and how they traveled to Europe with little except what they could fit in their backpacks. She skipped ahead, seeing her uncle took several pictures of himself and Tom as they traveled along the world.
She came across an entry where her uncle and Tom decided to explore a forest somewhere in the United Kingdom. There, they came across the remains of a stone tower hidden deep in the forest and he had several photos of what they found inside, numerous old books rotting on bookshelves, strange symbols written on the walls, and, to her horror, several scrolls thrown about the tables.
There were a few comments on this blog post, with some commenters asking where exactly they were as they lived closeby, but had never encountered this stone tower ever before in their lives. Her blood ran cold when she saw her uncle responding to these comments, saying he’d tried to go back a few days later, but could not find where he and Tom stumbled upon the tower.
Her mom’s words echoed in her head, how Uncle Ian believed there was still magic out there hidden in the world and that he brought some back home with him. He did, Naomi thought, shutting off her laptop, he really did.
She wrote down everything she discovered in her journal. So far, it was the only thing keeping her sane, assuring her that all of this was actually real. She hid the journal in one of the drawers in her dresser before getting ready for bed.
The next day, before school, Naomi approached her mom and asked Tom, Uncle Ian’s friend.
“Of course I know about him,” her mom replied, “Why, he and Uncle Ian were practically inseparable when they were younger! Why?”
“I just wanted to learn more about Uncle Ian,” Naomi lied, “I feel like I never got to him. I was wondering if maybe Tom would tell me any stories about what he and Uncle Ian got up to.”
“Oh,” her mom replied sadly, “well… I'm afraid it's a little too late for that. Tom passed away a little while ago,”
Naomi grew cold, “What happened to him?”
“It was terrible,” her mom continued, “he and his daughter were in a car crash.”
Naomi leaned against the table to prevent herself from stumbling back. Her mom asked her what was wrong, but her words were meaningless buzzing to Naomi's ears. No! Naomi squeezed her eyes shut, He was the only one who would have had any answers!
“Naomi!” her mom said, grabbing her softly on the arm.
Naomi gasped, but returned to reality.
“Naomi…” her mom began, “What's wrong?”
“It's nothing.” she lied. “Nothing.”
Numb. She grabbed her backpack and went to school.
---
Trevor came back with her to her house. He was giddy, eagerly showing her the notes and other materials he managed to grab while he possessed their teachers' bodies.
“Here's the answer sheet for our history final,” Trevor said, grinning, “You're welcome for this, by the way, I know history is your worst subject.”
Naomi nodded, thanking Trevor listlessly as he went on about some of the other stuff he got up to with his new powers. She knew he was keeping some stuff from her, there was no way someone like him wouldn’t have misused those powers. He took over Wren and Olivia. The thought of what he did to Olivia made Naomi’s hands turn into fists by her side.
“Why did you take off Olivia's underwear?” Naomi asked, cutting him off.
Trevor rolled his eyes, “This again? Look, I might've gone too far with that one, but she isn't a good person. I already told you, and I just thought she needed to learn a lesson.”
“She had to walk around without a bra for the rest of the day, Trevor.”
Trevor actually laughed at that one, “I can tell you there were a few people who enjoyed that.”
“You told people?”
Trevor sighed, “Just a few, and besides, she deserved it! She's been talking shit about us for months, it was time someone knocked her down a peg!”
Naomi rubbed her temples, “And that someone had to be you, right?”
Trevor stood up, throwing his hands in the air, “I don't need to take this right now! I'm taking a five minute break, alright? Let me know when you're ready to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Naomi snapped as Trevor went to the door.
“Like I'm gross!” Trevor shouted, “like I'm a bug! You and Olivia both! You have that same look in your eye that she did, drop her and I'm sure we'll be better off for it!”
With that, he left, slamming the door behind him. Naomi rolled her eyes, and sighed. She needed to calm down, right now wasn't the best time to antagonize him, no matter how much he deserved it. Who knows what will be his breaking point and he decides to use his powers on her.
She looked down, noticing he left his phone on her bed. She couldn't help herself and opened it, as he'd told her his password.
There were several texts from some of his friends in his after school club, each one thanking him for telling them about Olivia's wardrobe incident with a few of them asking how he knew about it. So he's been keeping his powers a secret too. Naomi thought.
Each text made her stomach churn as each boy talked about how much they liked seeing Olivia like that and even asking Trevor if he could target some of the other girls as well. Thankfully, Trevor declined, but did ask if any of them would like a copy of the answer sheets to some upcoming tests.
Naomi checked his photo gallery next and nearly dropped his phone when she saw what was on it. There were numerous pictures of other girls in their grade in various states of undress. No doubt Trevor possessed them and made them take these pictures and send them to himself.
She nearly gagged when she came across the photos Trevor took of Olivia as well as Summerlyn. Olivia's seemed to be taken in one of the bathroom stalls and she was completely naked at one point, showing her pussy to the camera as well as showing her bra and panties being flushed down the toilet.
Summerlyn was similar as well. Several pictures were taken of her in various pieces of clothing before she became naked and flashed her bits to the camera. That night, Naomi thought, when I heard in her room, that was Trevor.
Before she could fully process what she was seeing, the door opened and Trevor paused when he saw his phone in her hands. Her shock made her drop his phone and it landed face up, showing that Naomi was looking through his gallery.
Trevor didn’t even get a word in before Naomi spoke, “What the hell?” Despite the emotions raging through her, those words were barely louder than a whisper.
“Listen, I can-”
“No!” Naomi cut off, raising her voice and getting off her bed and throwing his phone at him, “Get out! Now!”
Trevor backed up as she got closer, “Naomi, wait-!”
“Get out!” Naomi screeched, “I don't want to see you ever again! Those girls! My sister! Olivia! Get out, Trevor!”
Trevor didn’t move, just standing there as Noami shoved against him. He growled, standing his ground, but Naomi was stronger than he thought.
Naomi slapped him, but Trevor grabbed her arm before it landed. Naomi grunted, her chest tightening as she tried to yank her arm free, but Trevor kept it in an iron grip.
“I came across some interesting stuff in Olivia's phone when I possessed her,” Trevor began, “Is…” his voice broke slightly before he continued, “was our relationship… did it really begin as a dare?”
Naomi scoffed and yanked her hand back before shoving Trevor. He stumbled back, shocked. “Yes.” Naomi admitted, “Did you actually think otherwise?”
Trevor swallowed, his face hardening, “So you're just like them then. I thought you'd be different!”
Naomi laughed, you can't be serious, “Pfft! I'm just like them? All of them?”
“It's because of girls like you that never give people like me a chance!”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Please. You wanna know why none of the other girls never wanted anything to do with you? Why Olivia talked shit about you? It's because you're gross! All you see when you look at a woman is her body! Why else do you have all those pictures on your phone? That's all you care about, just seeing them naked! Getting your rocks off by looking at those pictures you send to yourself!”
The entire time Naomi tore into Trevor, his face hardened and turned red. It was almost funny really how sad and pathetic he looked when he was angry and genuinely trying to look intimidating.
However, as Naomi stepped closer, Trevor’s body suddenly went limp and slumped to the floor. Naomi blinked and knew what was happening. Oh no.
She shuddered, a feeling of pins and needles overtaking her as her vision went black.
---
Finally, Trevor thought as he opened his eyes to see himself in Naomi's body, I managed to shut her up.
He looked down on his own body and decided to leave it there for now. It would still be some time until Naomi's mom and sister got home and so he had the time to do whatever he wanted to with her body.
He didn't waste any time either. You never let me get to second base, he thought, a wicked smile on his lips, I think it's time that changes. He touched Naomi's breasts through her clothes. They weren't as big as some of the other girls he possessed, most notably Summerlyn and Olivia, but he appreciated how they felt in his hands right now. But how much better did they look?
He ripped off Naomi's shirt eagerly, grinning as her white bra was revealed. Oh Naomi, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this! Trevor thought, grinning as his hands once again went to her breasts, kneading them with the bra.
He sighed, feeling something going on between her legs. That sensation happened a lot while he was exploring the bodies of the girls he possessed. It was like getting an erection with a penis, but… different.
Naomi's pants came off next, followed by her socks. Her panties matched her bra, white, and Trevor hesitated briefly as his fingers dug beneath the fabric. She wasn't his girlfriend anymore, she made that more than clear, but still… the thought of seeing her naked was making him warm and dizzy.
He chuckled as he threw off her panties and collapsed on the bed as her bra followed shortly afterwards. Where's her phone? Trevor thought, I need to see how she looks! He found it and turned on her camera, changing to selfie mode and held it against his new body.
She was beautiful, but Trevor knew that already. Pale skin laid bare before him, her nipples the color of cherries and were hard and sensitive as his fingers brushed over them. He bit his lips, legs squirming, Fuck! Her tits aren't as large as Summerlyn’s, but they're sensitive!
He angled the phone to look between her legs. A neatly trimmed patch of hair greeted him, covering the entrance to her pussy which was very wet and he opened her pussy lips, his finger sliding in easily. He arched his back, biting hard on his lip to prevent himself from crying out loud.
Fuck! Trevor gasped, recovering from that sensation, That was… way different from a penis!
He licked his lips, trying to calm down. So far he'd only taken pictures of these girls to save for later when he returned to his own body. The thought of masturbating as them though… that made his face warm.
Trevor looked down at Naomi's pussy. It felt good when he accidentally slipped a finger inside, what if he tried to feel around- Holy-!
That must be the clitoris! Trevor wasn't able to stop himself, shouting out loudly as he flicked Naomi's clit, and started working it. His legs thrashed about, his free hand going to one of her breasts, rubbing against a still erect nipple. He could feel the pressure building and while he'd never orgasmed as a girl before, he knew what it was as it approached.
He cried out as the orgasm overtook him, coming along much stronger than anything he'd ever experienced as a guy. He gasped as the climax left him behind, letting him recover. I can't feel my legs. Trevor thought.
He glanced over at his body, still laying there. He had to think, if he left Naomi alone, she might cause problems for him in the future. Maybe there's a way for him to get around that.
Her phone provided a good solution. A few pictures of her naked for later was always appreciated, and it might be good to use to stop her from interfering with his plans. Of course, if that wasn't enough, he took a few pictures of Naomi with his dick in her hands as well as his mouth. It felt… strange to have a penis in his mouth, not something he'd want to do again.
Serves you right. Trevor thought, sending the photos to his phone and then making sure the evidence was deleted from her phone.
---
When Naomi came to, she found herself alone in her room, fully clothed. Trevor was gone and almost an hour had passed. What did he make me do? Naomi wondered, her mouth dry.
Her phone dinged. She reached for it hesitantly and took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth when she saw Trevor’s name appear on her screen. He sent her a text.
Trevor: If you don't want pictures like these circulating around the school, you'll do well to leave me alone.
Trevor: Thanks for the fun time though. ;)
Attached was a picture of her naked body with Trevor's dick in her mouth.
Naomi nearly dropped her phone.
Naomi tried her hardest not to let out a sigh of exasperation as Trevor continued on his little diatribe about some superheroes Naomi could not care less about. A few more weeks of this, Noami thought, glancing at the clock and getting frustrated at how slowly time seemed to be moving, can’t believe I agreed to this bet, I need to find something Olivia could do for me that’ll make all this worth it.
Trevor was still talking, not having noticed Naomi had checked out of the conversation. Physically, he was alright looking, average height, average weight, his face had some acne scars, but was otherwise fine, he didn’t smell which was great. No, that wasn’t the issue with him, the real issue was how he wouldn’t shut up and how he seemed to leer at her body when he thought she wasn’t looking. Of course, it didn’t help that the thing he wouldn’t shut up about is how much he likes looking at women’s bodies.
At least he managed to keep his hands to himself, most of the time anyway, unfortunately, now wasn’t one of those times. As he was talking, he started scootching closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Naomi wanted to push him away, tell him to keep his hands to himself, but decided against it. She didn’t want him to break up with her before the month was over, now that would be one of the most embarrassing things that would have ever happened to her. That would also render the dare moot and Olivia would have won. As if a dweeb like him would have the backbone to break up with me, Naomi thought, smiling slightly, if he gets sad, a little bit of skin should do the trick and make him happy again.
Trevor noticed her smile and grinned, “Ah, so you think Supergirl is good too! Nice! You know, I think you’d make a great Supergirl!”
Naomi blinked, realizing he must think she was reacting to him, “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well for one, you already look a bit like her,” he started counting, using his fingers, “you’re strong, determined, don’t take any crap from anyone, and you’re beautiful!”
Is he actually- Naomi smiled despite herself, she had no idea what he was talking about, but she was able to figure out that he was being earnest and, from what she could gather, Trevor does really enjoy Supergirl and if he thought she was like her, then who was she to deny such a compliment?
“Oh!” Trevor began, looking at the clock, “Sorry, I realize I’ve been talking for about half an hour now,” he blushed and scratched the back of his head, “Heh, sorry, sorry. How was your day?”
Naomi smiled, “I’ve been alright. Olivia and Wren and I have been talking a bit. Olivia’s been laughing lately, something about Victoria nearly embarrassing herself during the last cheer practice. I don’t know.”
Trevor nodded, “Is your mom and sister alright? I noticed they both seem a little down lately.”
Naomi sighed, “Oh, right. I haven’t told you about this because I didn’t want to ruin the mood,” that was a big lie, she hadn’t told him because she hardly cared herself, “my Great Uncle Ian passed away a few weeks ago and mom and Summerlyn have been going to his house and moving things in storage,” Naomi shrugged, “they asked dad and some of my other cousins to help bring some stuff here as well. I think everything’s in the basement.”
“Oh, I’m… really sorry, what happened to him?”
Naomi waved a hand, “He was old, and had some health problems before, something about a bad heart.”
“How’s your family taking it?”
I guess we’re talking about this now, Naomi thought, better than hearing him blather on about superheroes I don’t care about, much better than hearing him talk about other girls. “Mom’s taking it the hardest, she’s been almost inconsolable lately. Uncle Ian helped raise her since she was younger and she was there with him when he died.”
Trevor was silent for a moment before asking, “How are you taking it?”
Naomi shrugged, “Barely knew the guy, he had some cool stuff in his house though, wanna come see?”
“Oh, is that alright?”
“Should be,” Naomi replied, “just be careful not to break anything.”
Naomi helped him off her bed and together the two of them left her room and went to the basement. Her parents weren’t here right now, her dad was still at work, and her mom was probably at some cousin’s house making arrangements for Uncle Ian’s funeral. That only left herself and Summerlyn, who was probably in her room studying or something. Still, she’d rather not Summerlyn find out she was down here and tell her mom, who’d know when she’d hear the end of it, so she pressed a finger to her lips at Trevor before opening the door to her basement.
The basement wasn’t much, it was a bit larger than the downstairs living room and normally was used just to store the washer and dryer. Now, however, there were several pieces of furniture belonging to Uncle Ian stored down here, along with several boxes containing more of Uncle Ian’s stuff.
None of this stuff was particularly interesting to Naomi, there was a grandfather clock, thankfully it was broken, along with a vanity desk, a clothes drawer, and a rocking chair. The vanity desk held her interest for a moment, until Naomi realized it was too big for her room and was a bit too antique for her tastes. She glanced over at Trevor who took all of this in with a look of wonder on his face. I’m glad someone’s enjoying this, hopefully this will stop you from going on and on about superheroes.
“Aw, the clock doesn’t work?” Trevor asked.
Naomi shook her head, “According to mom, it stopped working a while ago and Uncle Ian never got around to trying to get it repaired.”
Trevor ran a hand against the carved wood of the clock, “Is this handmade? This is beautiful!”
His attention was quickly taken by some of the boxes of Uncle Ian’s belongings. He glanced at Naomi for permission and then started digging through his stuff. A bunch of it were old journals and some unpublished manuscripts. Mom had said Uncle Ian was a writer, but sadly his words will never be read by anyone.
Trevor was flipping through some of Uncle Ian’s journals, “Oh, your uncle used to travel? Says here, he’s been to France, Hungary, Japan, Mexico…”
Naomi held up a hand, “Yes, he used to travel a bit when he was younger, according to mom, he’d sometimes bring her and her brothers some souvenirs from the places he’s been to.”
“Hello!” Trevor said, picking up a rolled up piece of paper at the bottom of the box, “What are you?”
“Probably a photo or old letter,” Naomi guessed.
Trevor made a face as he unrolled the paper. He flipped it around, expression still puzzled.
“What’s up?” Naomi asked.
Trevor flipped the page towards her and she was met with a series of ineligible scribbles. Huh, I guess it’s probably a letter from someone he met when he was traveling around the world. Naomi thought, Looks old. “What language even is that?”
Trevor shrugged, squinting at the symbols written on the paper, “Your guess is as good as mine, honestly.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and Summerlyn came down the stairs. Of course, she’d show up and ruin the fun.
Summerlyn was Naomi’s older sister, and she looked like it too. She was taller than Naomi, her body lean and toned, not that you’d be able to tell since she wore clothes that did not show any skin, and her golden blonde hair was longer. The only notable difference between the two of them is that Summerlyn had gray eyes while Naomi had blue.
“What the hell are you two doing down here?” Summerlyn asked, pointing at Naomi, “Mom said she doesn’t want any guests down here!” she glanced at the books placed on the floor, “I’d clean that up if I was you, if mom knew you were digging through Uncle Ian’s stuff, she’d flip!”
Naomi rolled her eyes and stepped over to her sister, “What? Are you going to tell mom?”
“I will if you don’t clean this up,” Summerlyn replied.
“Oh my gosh, why are you so worked up about this, anyway?” Naomi asked, “You barely knew Uncle Ian.”
“I barely knew him?” Summerlyn asked, taking a step back, “Oh, right, you don’t pay attention to anything that's not on that phone of yours, huh? No, I knew Uncle Ian! More than you! He helped me apply for colleges and helped pay for my classes!”
Naomi held up her hands, “Oh wow, sorry, I’m sorry I don’t know every detail about your life, alright? Uncle Ian helped you and now you’re sad like mom, alright.”
Trevor nervously approached her from behind, “Hey, Naomi,” he began, “maybe we should just cle-”
“Are you taking her side?” Naomi asked, “Of course you would, of course!”
“What?” Trevor asked, “No, I’m not. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Boy, take it from me, you’re better off without her,” Summerlyn began.
Naomi glared at her. Don’t you fucking dare!
Trevor glanced at her, confused.
“Naomi doesn’t love you,” Summerlyn began, “she probably only asked you out as a dare or something. Trust me, you’re not her type and you will not be the one who changes her either. Trust me, just leave, and find someone else, someone who’d love you and-” she glanced at the shirt Trevor was wearing, “someone who wouldn’t mind talking about superheroes.”
Well, I guess Olivia won the bet, Naomi thought, thanks alot, sis.
Trevor, however, surprised her. He was trembling, the letter - or whatever it was - crumbled in his hand. At first Naomi was worried he was going to explode on them and took a step back, but no, the poor bastard stepped towards Summerlyn, his face red. “You stay quiet!” he shouted, surprising both Naomi and Summerlyn, “Don’t tell me who loves me and who doesn’t! I know Naomi and I are meant to be! And no one is going to tell me otherwise, alright!”
“Calm down!” Summerlyn shouted, raising her hands, “Calm down! Alright! You’re in love, I get-”
“No!” Trevor continued, “no, you don’t get it! For the first time in my life, I was asked out! If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is!”
Naomi gasped, noticing the paper in Trevor’s hand started to change, started to glow. At first, it was white, but soon burned red hot. Once she saw it, Summerlyn did too, and was freaking out, telling Trevor to drop it.
Unfortunately, Trevor didn’t notice, “Drop what? The fact that things are finally looking my way? Why wou-”
It all happened so fast. The paper burned bright, nearly blinding Naomi. There was a scream, although who was screaming, she wasn’t sure. Suddenly, the light vanished and the basement returned to normal. Except, there were only two people standing here now, Naomi herself, and Summerlyn who was looking down at herself as if she’d never seen her body before.
Naomi stepped forward, “Trevor?” she asked, her voice quivering. She didn’t see him, and couldn't find any trace of him anywhere. She looked around frantically, “Trevor!” she called again. What happened? Sure, he was a loser and she was going to dump his ass as soon as the month was over, but that didn’t mean she wanted him vaporized or whatever happened.
“Trevor!” Naomi screamed, tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m here,” Summerlyn breathed, hands over her breasts.
“Summerlyn, stop fucking around!” Naomi screeched, “Help me find where Trevor went!”
“Naomi, I’m here!” Summerlyn insisted, gesturing to herself, “I’m Trevor!”
Naomi blinked, “T-Trevor?” she asked.
Summerlyn nodded, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me! Uh…” Summerlyn, or Trevor, thought for a moment, “just earlier, I was telling you that I thought you’d make the perfect supergirl! Because you’re beautiful and blonde and-”
Naomi held up a hand, This… this can’t be happening! This isn’t real! she ran her hands through her hair, taking a breath in order to calm down. She looked around, finding no sign of that paper Trevor was holding earlier.
She did notice something else though, slumped over by the dusty furniture, was Trevor’s body. It landed a short distance away from Naomi and Summerlyn. Is Summerlyn in there? Naomi walked over to Trevor’s body and prodded it, wondering if, somehow, Summerlyn had ended up in Trevor’s body like how Trevor ended up in Summerlyn’s. No response.
Naomi checked and found that Trevor’s body was, thankfully, still breathing and still had a pulse, but it looked like no one was home. Naomi sighed, looking over at Summerlyn to see Trevor was fondling his new breasts through Summerlyn’s tank top. Of course that’s what you’re doing.
Naomi cleared her throat to get Trevor’s attention. To his credit, he did seem embarrassed when he saw Naomi notice him exploring her older sister’s body. “Help me get your body upstairs,” she said, ignoring where Trevor still had his hands, “quick, I don’t want my mom coming in and seeing us in here like this!”
That snapped Trevor out of his trance and he helped Naomi carry his body up stairs. Trevor’s body was a little on the heavier side, and Naomi wasn’t the biggest fan of his smell. It could be worse, but it also could have been better. Thankfully, while neither Naomi or Summerlyn were the strongest, they were able to carry Trevor’s body back up the stairs and into Naomi’s room where they propped up his body on the bed.
Naomi sighed, rubbing her arms, “How are you doing?” she asked.
Trevor gulped, “I’m not sure, honestly,” he replied, “it’s… it’s strange seeing myself from the outside like this.”
“Do you know where Summerlyn is?” Naomi asked, “She’s not in your body.”
“If I had to guess, she might still be in this body, but I’m currently in control or something.” Trevor flexed Summerlyn’s hands, watching the movement raptly, his gaze slowly moved from her hands to other parts of her body.
Naomi wasn’t sure why, but seeing him looking at her sister’s body like that was making her angry. Out of the people, why was it Summerlyn? Of course, the thought of Trevor in her body made her shiver, something Trevor thankfully didn’t notice as he was too busy looking down at Summerlyn’s body to notice what Naomi was doing grinning widely as he looked down Summerlyn’s shirt.
“Can you get out of her body?” Naomi snapped, coming out less of a question and more of a demand.
That snapped Trevor out of his daydreams and he, once again, looked abashedly at Naomi, he scratched the back of Summerlyn’s head, a sheepish smile on her face, “Uhh… I’m not sure.”
“Well,” Naomi paused for a moment, I am not letting you stay in my sisters body any longer than you already have, “can you figure something out? Like… try to imagine leaving her body and… I don’t know, do it?”
Trevor sighed, “Alright… I’ll…I’ll try.”
Trevor was silent for a moment, closing his eyes and looking deep in concentration. A minute passed, and then another. Naomi was beginning to feel frustrated, wondering if Trevor was even trying. He’s probably not, she thought sourly, crossing her arms, he probably just wants me to think he is so he can stay as Summerlyn a bit longer. She had just finished the thought when Summerlyn suddenly slumped over.
Naomi cried out, rushing towards Summerlyn to avoid her crashing to the floor just as Trevor’s body gasped. “It worked!” Trevor cried out.
“Glad to hear!” Naomi growled, making sure her sister didn’t hurt herself too much from the fall.
“Do you think she knows what happened?” Trevor asked, approaching the two of them.
“I don’t know,” Naomi replied truthfully. Although for your own sake, you’d better hope she doesn’t remember.
Summerlyn started to come to, blinking and waving Naomi and Trevor away, “Huh? What happened?”
“You nearly fainted earlier in the basement-!” Trevor said quickly, “Afterwards Naomi and I dragged you up here to see if you were alright. We were about to call someone when you started coming to.”
Summerlyn frowned, and shook her head, “Argh, alright, well,” she groaned as she stood up, placing her hands on her hips, “I don’t want either of you going into the basement anymore, alright? Neither of you have seen how mom’s been lately and I don’t think you two messing around down there will help her, alright?”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Alright, sis, whatever you say.”
Trevor nodded, “Alright.”
Summerlyn nodded, “Good, now… I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” Summerlyn rubbed her head as she left Naomi’s room. Well it looks like she doesn’t remember what happened when Trevor was inside her, Naomi thought, probably for the best, I doubt she’d take that better than I would.
Her hands turned to fists by her side, speaking of which, she turned to Trevor, “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed what you were doing in my sister's body!” she hissed.
Trevor sucked in a breath and stepped back, holding his hands out in front of him, “Woah! Heh, heh, easy Naomi,” he gave a nervous chuckle and ran a hand through his hair, “look, I’m sorry about that, alright? I’ve never been a girl before, I’ve never had or touched boobs, I… just… didn’t think right.”
Naomi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Well, rather it was Summerlyn than me. she suppressed a shiver, would the thought of returning to his own body even occur to him without me pushing it onto him?
“Naomi,” Trevor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she had to stop herself from jerking out of his grasp, “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Can we, please put this all behind us?”
Naomi stared into his eyes. Where in the world would Uncle Ian get one of these things? Whatever, hopefully, now that the scroll - or whatever it was - is gone, she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. “Sure, let’s put this all behind us.”
Trevor grinned and hugged her. Naomi, reluctantly, returned his hug. Trevor was the one who broke it off, noticing the clock on her wall, “Oh, is it eight already? I need to get going,” he turned to her, “see you at school?”
Naomi nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you at school.”
Naomi helped Trevor gather his belongings and saw him to the door as he started to walk back home. She sighed, curious about whether or not there were other scrolls down there in the basement. She considered going down there herself and checking, but decided against it, she’d already promised Summerlyn and if she found her down there again, well, she’d never hear the end of it.
Maybe mom knows what Uncle Ian was up to? Naomi thought. I should probably check on Summerlyn. Her sister left the door to her room open a crack and, peering through, Naomi saw Summerlyn was buried in a book, taking down notes for one of her classes. Of course she was.
Naomi considered texting Wren and Olivia what she and Trevor found in the basement, going as far as beginning to type it out, before deciding not to and deleting the message. She barely believed what happened and she was there to witness it herself, how would those two believe what she said?
Instead, she decided to open a blank journal and started writing things down. She had to, just to process what was happening, to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. She had just finished writing when her mom, who’d gotten home some time earlier, called her and Summerlyn down to eat.
“Hey mom," Naomi began between bites.
“Hmm?” her mom grunted.
“What was it exactly that Great Uncle Ian did?”
Her mom made a face, “Why do you ask?”
“Trevor was wondering what he did?” Naomi lied.
Her mom sighed, “He liked to travel a lot. He told me how he backpacked across Europe and even the United States a few times and what he’s seen on those travels,” she chuckled to herself, “he’d brought back several souvenirs and wrote multiple blogs about the places he’d been and what he’d found. You know, when I was younger, he’d always insist he came across real magic out there in the world, hidden in places almost forgotten and yet, he managed to find them and bring them back with him.”
I guess he did find some magic afterall, Naomi thought, thanking her mom for dinner and heading back upstairs. She’d need to track down her uncle’s blogs, see if maybe there was an explanation for whatever happened in the basement. But, maybe that was something she’ll do for another time, since it was getting late and she was getting tired.
As Naomi got her things ready and left down the hall to take a shower, she noticed the door to Summerlyn’s room was closed. Odd, since she always left it a little open in case someone called for her. As Naomi passed by, she thought she heard the sound of Summerlyn’s phone camera going off. She shook her head, whatever, what Summerlyn was up to was none of her business.
Oh well. Naomi thought, crawling into bed. I just hope whatever happened to Trevor was just temporary. She shivered, the thought of him being able to just take over people's bodies like that. She had an idea of what he'd use them for and hoped that whatever happened was just a one time thing.
---
The next morning, Naomi woke up and got ready to go to school. She stopped by to check up on Summerlyn before she left, she couldn't explain why, but she was just worried more than usual.
Summerlyn was still asleep when Naomi walked in. She considered maybe trying to wake her up, but decided against it, no doubt she'd get an earful from Summerlyn about how disrespectful that is or something like that.
Guess I'll just check up on you again later. Naomi thought, going downstairs.
---
Olivia was already waiting for her when she walked through the doors into Milton High. Strangely, Wren was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was sick?
“Where's Wren?” Naomi asked.
Olivia rolled her eyes, “She said she had to run to the restroom, something about breakfast not agreeing with her or something.” Olivia shook her head, “Whatever. How're you and Trevor doing, by the way? How are you two holding up?”
Naomi resisted the urge to stick out her tongue in disgust, “He still thinks we're actually dating,” Olivia interrupted her to make a gagging sound, Naomi couldn't say she disagreed, “you should listen to him talk, so disgusting. It's worse than when he talks non stop about those annoying superheroes or whatever it is he cares about.”
“Oh?” Olivia began, getting closer, “What does he say? The disgusting stuff, I don't care about anything else.”
Naomi smiled, and looked around to make sure Trevor wasn't nearby to overhear her, “He keeps talking about girls and what he would do if he got to the point where they had sex.”
Olivia gasped.
Naomi continued, smiling as she recounted her horrible first “date” with him, “You know, he asked me what kind of woman I was and what I expected him to do in our relationship? Well, since I didn't want to get dumped by him I had to play into it and said I would do the housework and cook while he gets to be treated as a king all day. He ate that up hook, line, and sinker. Then he asked about sex! Just like that! No other conversation! Just sex! Sex! Sex!” Naomi sighed, "What's worse is that afterwards, he just keeps rambling on and on about anime and superheroes."
Olivia was barely able to stand from laughing so much, “Oh my! Naomi I almost feel sorry for you for making you do this!”
“You will be sorry when I win this bet and you have to do something for me.” Naomi replied.
“Hey girls!” Wren greeted, walking over to them, “What are you all talking about?”
“Oh you're not going to believe this,” Olivia began, still laughing, “Naomi's been telling us all about what she and Trevor have been doing lately!”
“Ooh!” Wren exclaimed, “What do you think about Trevor?”
Olivia laughed, “The dude's a creep! He's even more of a loser than I thought he was! Sex this! Sex that!”
Wren frowned, “Oh? Is that what you think of him?”
Olivia shrugged, “As much as I know about him, anyway. You know, Trevor looks alright, a bit short maybe, but that personality just really kills it!”
Wren made a face and stepped closer, “You think all that before even getting to know him?”
Olivia held up her hands in mock surrender and chuckled, “Woah, relax Wren, I'm just having some fun! Trevor's a little weirdo! That's all there is to him really, he just thinks about women he likes and that's it. Not even in a good way either.”
Wren scoffed, “is that so?”
Olivia sighed in exasperation, “Oh my god, Wren! I don't know why you're so mad about this! I'm going to see if the cafeterias are still serving breakfast, if you want to calm down and talk to me you can find me there, alright?”
With that, Olivia left. Naomi stared after her, mouth dry. She turned over to Wren who watched Olivia with anger and sadness in her eyes. Except Naomi wasn’t sure that was Wren behind those eyes.
Wren turned to her, noticing Naomi staring, “What?” She asked.
There's no way… “Trevor?” Naomi began hesitantly, “Is… is that you?”
Wren grinned, “Yup!” Trevor admitted, fist pumping the air, “it's me!” he chuckled, “I still have the powers that scroll gave me, it's insane! Hey, I used them on Ms. Shaw earlier and used them to steal the answers for today's quiz!”
Naomi felt her skin crawl. Olivia said Wren went to the bathroom earlier, was that when Trevor possessed her? Or did that happen earlier? She shivered, thinking about what he might have done when he was alone.
Naomi crossed her arms beneath her breasts, “Trevor,” she began, “Please get our of my friend.”
Trevor blinked and then chuckled, “Oh, yeah! I… really should get back to my body before school starts, huh? Come with me, I left my body in the boys bathroom.”
Naomi sighed and followed Trevor. She was barely paying attention as he excitedly told her some of the questions and answers to the quiz. She focused more on what he might have done and what he will probably do.
“Is something wrong?” Trevor asked as they stopped in front of the boys bathroom.
“Hmm?” Naomi asked, “Oh, nothing! It's fine, I was just… wondering about your powers.”
Trevor chuckled, “I've been wondering about them too and I've been trying to test out the limits, but I think I'll save that for another day. Do me a favor and catch Wren, will you? I don't want to hurt her sweet body.”
Before Naomi could answer, Wren suddenly slumped forward and Naomi leapt to catch Wren before she fell to the floor. She held her up as Wren slowly regained consciousness, “Ugh… what? Naomi? Where am I?”
“Wren?” Naomi asked, “You've… passed out earlier with Olivia. I was taking you to the nurse when you started waking up!” Trevor, I am going to kill you!
Wren grumbled, shaking her head. Please believe me. She blinked, looking around, “What time is it?” she winced, “I think I'll go see the nurse myself, thanks for carrying me all this way.” She waved away Naomi and walked off, heading in the direction of the nurse’s office.
With that, Trevor came out of the bathroom, smiling. “She didn't remember anything! Heh heh! Can you believe that?”
“Yeah…” Naomi began, “that's really something.” She hoped her expression didn’t let slip the amount of disgust she was feeling.
“Hey Naomi,” Trevor began, sobering up, “I… need to ask you an important question.”
Naomi managed to keep a neutral expression as she turned to look at him, “What's that?” She asked, suddenly worried.
“Earlier, when Olivia was talking shit about me… how come you kept silent?”
Naomi froze. How much did he overhear? Did he know Naomi was the one who told Olivia about all those things? Or did he think Olivia was the one who said all that herself? What will he do if he finds out the truth? Naomi could feel herself starting to sweat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of anything to say, either in denial, or in deflection.
Trevor sighed, looking heartbroken, taking her hesitation as something else entirely “It's… whatever. I'll see you after school, alright?”
“Alright.” Naomi replied, her heart pounding as she watched him go. That… that was close.
---
The rest of the day Naomi had trouble focusing on anything her teachers were saying, whatever, she could probably just ask one of her other classmates for notes. She was too busy thinking about what was happening with Trevor. What the hell was her great uncle getting up to? Did Uncle Ian have anything else like that hidden among his belongings? Could she find something to possibly reverse this?
The power to just take over someone’s body was freaky enough as is, but the thought of Trevor of all people having it just made her skin crawl. On their first day, Trevor told her all the things he loves about a woman, with one of the top things being her body, and how he can’t stop himself from looking no matter how hard he tries.
Jeez, the boy had no tack and was just overall unpleasant to be around. A shame, too, Naomi thought, I bet he honestly thought he was complimenting me by going on and on about how beautiful I am. Naomi suppressed a smirk, the truth was that she was flattered at first, but his constant pointing out of her looks lost their charm very quickly.
“Naomi Walker!”
Naomi came crashing down back into reality, “Huh?”
Her teacher, Mr. Gray, sighed, rubbing his temples, “I was asking if you knew how to solve this equation…”
Naomi felt her face grow warm as she glanced at the whiteboard and had no idea what on earth she was looking at, “No,” she admitted, “I do not.” That earned a round of snickers from her other classmates.
Mr. Gray shook his head, “Rachel Smith, you’re up.”
Great. Naomi thought, letting her mind wander again. Now Trevor’s making things difficult in other ways as well.
---
Lunch couldn’t come quick enough. Naomi gathered her things and headed off quickly, wanting nothing more to regroup with Wren and Olivia. She thought about telling them about the situation, but decided against it. There’s no way they’ll believe me, Naomi thought, I can still just barely believe this is happening and I was there to see it happen twice! I need to find out more about Uncle Ian, if nothing else, he’ll be the one with any answers
At least she could, hopefully, relax around them for a bit. Maybe Olivia would have some gossip to help her take her mind off things for a while. After grabbing her lunch, Naomi noticed Olivia sitting at a different spot than usual even though their table was empty. Naomi swallowed, He wouldn't. her nervousness gave way to anger the closer she got, her shoes hitting the ground harder and harder with each step. He. Fucking. Wouldn't.
“Olivia” turned to her as she approached. She had an uncharacteristic big grin on her face and her hands were… Fucking Trevor! her hands were groping her own breasts.
“HI Naomi!” Trevor greeted from inside Olivia's body, “You won't be-”
“Get out.” Naomi ordered.
Trevor smiled, taking his hands off Olivia's breasts, “Woah! Woah!” He began, “No need to get so angry with me, alright? I just don't think Olivia's that good of a friend for you! I mean, what kind of friend badmouths their other friends' boyfriends? I mean, you heard the things she was saying about me.”
“Get. Out.” Naomi repeated.
“That's not all,” Trevor continued, ignoring Naomi, “I checked her phone earlier, did you know she has some dirt on you and Wren as well? I couldn't believe it myself and I was the one who found it-”
“Trevor.” Naomi growled, finally getting him to shut up and listen, “Get. Out. Of. Her. Body. Now!”
Trevor blinked, and looked away, “Alright,” he said, his voice low, “but… can you promise me something?”
“What?” Naomi snapped.
Trevor looked back at her, “Can you defend me next time?” he paused before continuing, “I'm not asking for much, at least I don't think I am. But when she was talking shit about me, you just stood there and let her keep talking.”
Naomi blinked, this fucking guy… She knew he had a point. Even she could see that, but given his actions so far, it seemed Olivia had a point. But right now wasn't a good time to confront him about any of this.
She nodded, “Alright,” she conceded, “I'll tell Olivia to stop picking on you.”
Trevor smiled and then Olivia started shaking, her eyes rolling back before she gasped and nearly fell on the table. Trevor was gone, most likely returning to his own body, wherever that was.
“Ugh,” Olivia moaned, rubbing her head, “How the hell did I get here?”
“What's wrong?” Naomi asked.
“Naomi?” Olivia asked, noticing her, “Last thing I remember was being in fifth period when everything just went…” Olivia's eyes widened and her face went red. Her hands felt at her chest before dropping down below her waist. Her face paled almost instantly.
Naomi gulped, a faint idea of what happened already forming in her head, “Is everything alright?”
“Where the fuck are my panties?” Olivia hissed, going even redder.
Naomi coughed, Trevor was really pushing his luck with her. Looking closer at Olivia's shirt, it wasn't just her bra he took off either. No, she saw the way her breasts were hanging and how they moved around when Olivia turned. Her bra was gone as well.
“Shit!” Olivia hissed, standing up and looking around, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Calm down!” Naomi whispered, “Do you… happen to have any spares?”
Olivia nodded, “I have some panties in my locker… I'll be back.”
Olivia shuffled off just as Wren came by, placing her tray down as she looked in, confused as to why Olivia was practically running out of the cafeteria.
Wren gave Naomi a look, “What's up with her?”
Naomi sighed, she knew telling the truth was not an option. “Wardrobe malfunction,” she replied, “she's getting some spare clothes from her locker.”
Wren grunted, “You doing alright, Naomi? You've been quiet today.”
Naomi stared at Wren for a while. She was acting like herself, and hadn't groped her breasts so far. “Just thinking about Trevor,” Naomi admitted, “he's been a hassle lately.”
“Going to dump him early?”
Naomi shook her head, “I don't think that's a good idea, he's…” Fuck, what should I say here?, “gotten a hold of something embarrassing of mine and I'm afraid if I dump him he'll tell everyone.”
Wren wrinkled her nose, “Ouch, he's really the type who would do that?” she gave a sympathetic squeeze to Naomi’s hand, “I'm sorry I ever went to bat for him. Well, whatever happens, Olivia and I will be here for you.”
Naomi smiled, but remembered Trevor's words that Olivia kept dirt on her and Wren in her phone. It didn't seem like he was lying either, as he'd offered to show her the proof and even delete it. I don't think Olivia will stand by me, Naomi thought. It was silly, of course she wouldn't. Still, that didn't mean Naomi wanted something like this to happen to her. She looked back at Wren who gave her a supportive smile and returned it. Wren might be different though, but Naomi wasn’t sure.
What she was sure about was that she needed to find out about what her uncle had. Luckily Trevor will be staying after school today for one of his stupid clubs, that meant Naomi would have a chance to look through her uncle's belongings and search for his blog on the internet,
So she did just that. After school, she went straight home and saw she would be alone for a few hours. Her parents were still working and Summerlyn had an evening class today.
Damn, Naomi thought, I was hoping to ask mom what she knew about Uncle Ian, hopefully she'll be back soon. No matter.* At least that meant she was able to search the basement without much issue.
At least, that's what she thought until she tried the door and found it locked. Ugh! Summerlyn!
Naomi pounded on the door out of frustration before growling, heading to Summerlyn’s room, hoping she'd find the key.
Thankfully, Summerlyn’s room didn't have a lock so getting in wasn't an issue. The issue then became finding the key, hopefully Summerlyn didn't take it with her. The bed and the desk weren't of any use, although as she checked under the bed she was surprised to see some of Summerlyn’s clothes just tossed underneath. Normally her sister would just toss them in the laundry bin.
Whatever. She checked her dresser and found the key in the third drawer. Afterwards she left to go down the basement.
It still looked the same as it did yesterday, with some of the furniture slightly moved as Naomi and Trevor looked through her uncle's belongings.
She started at the box where Trevor pulled that scroll from. Inside were some maps, a few souvenirs from other places her uncle had visited, but no other scrolls.
At the bottom of the box was an old journal. Naomi grabbed it and flipped through it, grinning as she realized it was a journal her uncle kept to record his travels. Hopefully, Uncle Ian would have written about something like this.
She searched through his other belongings, but that turned out to be a bust. So, with only a journal for her efforts, Naomi returned the basement key to Summerlyn’s room and started reading through the journal in her room.
Naomi would gather from the journal, as well as from her mom and Summerlyn, that her uncle didn't travel alone. He had someone else with him, a friend named Tom. Together the two of them traveled across the world, going across the United States, to Europe, and Asia as well.
From the journal, Naomi found out her uncle and Tom came across these scrolls as they were exploring an old ruin they found in a forest in Europe. Unfortunately, if they ever found out what these things were and what they did, her uncle didn't write them down.
All he wrote down was that he thought they were neat and he took one while his friend took several. So if I want to find out more about what's going on and how to stop Trevor, I'll need to find where Tom is and hope he knows anything about these scrolls.
It took her a while to find her uncle’s blog, but after an hour, she came across it. The blog detailed her uncle and Tom’s journey across the world, staring at the United States and how they traveled to Europe with little except what they could fit in their backpacks. She skipped ahead, seeing her uncle took several pictures of himself and Tom as they traveled along the world.
She came across an entry where her uncle and Tom decided to explore a forest somewhere in the United Kingdom. There, they came across the remains of a stone tower hidden deep in the forest and he had several photos of what they found inside, numerous old books rotting on bookshelves, strange symbols written on the walls, and, to her horror, several scrolls thrown about the tables.
There were a few comments on this blog post, with some commenters asking where exactly they were as they lived closeby, but had never encountered this stone tower ever before in their lives. Her blood ran cold when she saw her uncle responding to these comments, saying he’d tried to go back a few days later, but could not find where he and Tom stumbled upon the tower.
Her mom’s words echoed in her head, how Uncle Ian believed there was still magic out there hidden in the world and that he brought some back home with him. He did, Naomi thought, shutting off her laptop, he really did.
She wrote down everything she discovered in her journal. So far, it was the only thing keeping her sane, assuring her that all of this was actually real. She hid the journal in one of the drawers in her dresser before getting ready for bed.
The next day, before school, Naomi approached her mom and asked Tom, Uncle Ian’s friend.
“Of course I know about him,” her mom replied, “Why, he and Uncle Ian were practically inseparable when they were younger! Why?”
“I just wanted to learn more about Uncle Ian,” Naomi lied, “I feel like I never got to him. I was wondering if maybe Tom would tell me any stories about what he and Uncle Ian got up to.”
“Oh,” her mom replied sadly, “well… I'm afraid it's a little too late for that. Tom passed away a little while ago,”
Naomi grew cold, “What happened to him?”
“It was terrible,” her mom continued, “he and his daughter were in a car crash.”
Naomi leaned against the table to prevent herself from stumbling back. Her mom asked her what was wrong, but her words were meaningless buzzing to Naomi's ears. No! Naomi squeezed her eyes shut, He was the only one who would have had any answers!
“Naomi!” her mom said, grabbing her softly on the arm.
Naomi gasped, but returned to reality.
“Naomi…” her mom began, “What's wrong?”
“It's nothing.” she lied. “Nothing.”
Numb. She grabbed her backpack and went to school.
---
Trevor came back with her to her house. He was giddy, eagerly showing her the notes and other materials he managed to grab while he possessed their teachers' bodies.
“Here's the answer sheet for our history final,” Trevor said, grinning, “You're welcome for this, by the way, I know history is your worst subject.”
Naomi nodded, thanking Trevor listlessly as he went on about some of the other stuff he got up to with his new powers. She knew he was keeping some stuff from her, there was no way someone like him wouldn’t have misused those powers. He took over Wren and Olivia. The thought of what he did to Olivia made Naomi’s hands turn into fists by her side.
“Why did you take off Olivia's underwear?” Naomi asked, cutting him off.
Trevor rolled his eyes, “This again? Look, I might've gone too far with that one, but she isn't a good person. I already told you, and I just thought she needed to learn a lesson.”
“She had to walk around without a bra for the rest of the day, Trevor.”
Trevor actually laughed at that one, “I can tell you there were a few people who enjoyed that.”
“You told people?”
Trevor sighed, “Just a few, and besides, she deserved it! She's been talking shit about us for months, it was time someone knocked her down a peg!”
Naomi rubbed her temples, “And that someone had to be you, right?”
Trevor stood up, throwing his hands in the air, “I don't need to take this right now! I'm taking a five minute break, alright? Let me know when you're ready to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Naomi snapped as Trevor went to the door.
“Like I'm gross!” Trevor shouted, “like I'm a bug! You and Olivia both! You have that same look in your eye that she did, drop her and I'm sure we'll be better off for it!”
With that, he left, slamming the door behind him. Naomi rolled her eyes, and sighed. She needed to calm down, right now wasn't the best time to antagonize him, no matter how much he deserved it. Who knows what will be his breaking point and he decides to use his powers on her.
She looked down, noticing he left his phone on her bed. She couldn't help herself and opened it, as he'd told her his password.
There were several texts from some of his friends in his after school club, each one thanking him for telling them about Olivia's wardrobe incident with a few of them asking how he knew about it. So he's been keeping his powers a secret too. Naomi thought.
Each text made her stomach churn as each boy talked about how much they liked seeing Olivia like that and even asking Trevor if he could target some of the other girls as well. Thankfully, Trevor declined, but did ask if any of them would like a copy of the answer sheets to some upcoming tests.
Naomi checked his photo gallery next and nearly dropped his phone when she saw what was on it. There were numerous pictures of other girls in their grade in various states of undress. No doubt Trevor possessed them and made them take these pictures and send them to himself.
She nearly gagged when she came across the photos Trevor took of Olivia as well as Summerlyn. Olivia's seemed to be taken in one of the bathroom stalls and she was completely naked at one point, showing her pussy to the camera as well as showing her bra and panties being flushed down the toilet.
Summerlyn was similar as well. Several pictures were taken of her in various pieces of clothing before she became naked and flashed her bits to the camera. That night, Naomi thought, when I heard in her room, that was Trevor.
Before she could fully process what she was seeing, the door opened and Trevor paused when he saw his phone in her hands. Her shock made her drop his phone and it landed face up, showing that Naomi was looking through his gallery.
Trevor didn’t even get a word in before Naomi spoke, “What the hell?” Despite the emotions raging through her, those words were barely louder than a whisper.
“Listen, I can-”
“No!” Naomi cut off, raising her voice and getting off her bed and throwing his phone at him, “Get out! Now!”
Trevor backed up as she got closer, “Naomi, wait-!”
“Get out!” Naomi screeched, “I don't want to see you ever again! Those girls! My sister! Olivia! Get out, Trevor!”
Trevor didn’t move, just standing there as Noami shoved against him. He growled, standing his ground, but Naomi was stronger than he thought.
Naomi slapped him, but Trevor grabbed her arm before it landed. Naomi grunted, her chest tightening as she tried to yank her arm free, but Trevor kept it in an iron grip.
“I came across some interesting stuff in Olivia's phone when I possessed her,” Trevor began, “Is…” his voice broke slightly before he continued, “was our relationship… did it really begin as a dare?”
Naomi scoffed and yanked her hand back before shoving Trevor. He stumbled back, shocked. “Yes.” Naomi admitted, “Did you actually think otherwise?”
Trevor swallowed, his face hardening, “So you're just like them then. I thought you'd be different!”
Naomi laughed, you can't be serious, “Pfft! I'm just like them? All of them?”
“It's because of girls like you that never give people like me a chance!”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Please. You wanna know why none of the other girls never wanted anything to do with you? Why Olivia talked shit about you? It's because you're gross! All you see when you look at a woman is her body! Why else do you have all those pictures on your phone? That's all you care about, just seeing them naked! Getting your rocks off by looking at those pictures you send to yourself!”
The entire time Naomi tore into Trevor, his face hardened and turned red. It was almost funny really how sad and pathetic he looked when he was angry and genuinely trying to look intimidating.
However, as Naomi stepped closer, Trevor’s body suddenly went limp and slumped to the floor. Naomi blinked and knew what was happening. Oh no.
She shuddered, a feeling of pins and needles overtaking her as her vision went black.
---
Finally, Trevor thought as he opened his eyes to see himself in Naomi's body, I managed to shut her up.
He looked down on his own body and decided to leave it there for now. It would still be some time until Naomi's mom and sister got home and so he had the time to do whatever he wanted to with her body.
He didn't waste any time either. You never let me get to second base, he thought, a wicked smile on his lips, I think it's time that changes. He touched Naomi's breasts through her clothes. They weren't as big as some of the other girls he possessed, most notably Summerlyn and Olivia, but he appreciated how they felt in his hands right now. But how much better did they look?
He ripped off Naomi's shirt eagerly, grinning as her white bra was revealed. Oh Naomi, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this! Trevor thought, grinning as his hands once again went to her breasts, kneading them with the bra.
He sighed, feeling something going on between her legs. That sensation happened a lot while he was exploring the bodies of the girls he possessed. It was like getting an erection with a penis, but… different.
Naomi's pants came off next, followed by her socks. Her panties matched her bra, white, and Trevor hesitated briefly as his fingers dug beneath the fabric. She wasn't his girlfriend anymore, she made that more than clear, but still… the thought of seeing her naked was making him warm and dizzy.
He chuckled as he threw off her panties and collapsed on the bed as her bra followed shortly afterwards. Where's her phone? Trevor thought, I need to see how she looks! He found it and turned on her camera, changing to selfie mode and held it against his new body.
She was beautiful, but Trevor knew that already. Pale skin laid bare before him, her nipples the color of cherries and were hard and sensitive as his fingers brushed over them. He bit his lips, legs squirming, Fuck! Her tits aren't as large as Summerlyn’s, but they're sensitive!
He angled the phone to look between her legs. A neatly trimmed patch of hair greeted him, covering the entrance to her pussy which was very wet and he opened her pussy lips, his finger sliding in easily. He arched his back, biting hard on his lip to prevent himself from crying out loud.
Fuck! Trevor gasped, recovering from that sensation, That was… way different from a penis!
He licked his lips, trying to calm down. So far he'd only taken pictures of these girls to save for later when he returned to his own body. The thought of masturbating as them though… that made his face warm.
Trevor looked down at Naomi's pussy. It felt good when he accidentally slipped a finger inside, what if he tried to feel around- Holy-!
That must be the clitoris! Trevor wasn't able to stop himself, shouting out loudly as he flicked Naomi's clit, and started working it. His legs thrashed about, his free hand going to one of her breasts, rubbing against a still erect nipple. He could feel the pressure building and while he'd never orgasmed as a girl before, he knew what it was as it approached.
He cried out as the orgasm overtook him, coming along much stronger than anything he'd ever experienced as a guy. He gasped as the climax left him behind, letting him recover. I can't feel my legs. Trevor thought.
He glanced over at his body, still laying there. He had to think, if he left Naomi alone, she might cause problems for him in the future. Maybe there's a way for him to get around that.
Her phone provided a good solution. A few pictures of her naked for later was always appreciated, and it might be good to use to stop her from interfering with his plans. Of course, if that wasn't enough, he took a few pictures of Naomi with his dick in her hands as well as his mouth. It felt… strange to have a penis in his mouth, not something he'd want to do again.
Serves you right. Trevor thought, sending the photos to his phone and then making sure the evidence was deleted from her phone.
---
When Naomi came to, she found herself alone in her room, fully clothed. Trevor was gone and almost an hour had passed. What did he make me do? Naomi wondered, her mouth dry.
Her phone dinged. She reached for it hesitantly and took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth when she saw Trevor’s name appear on her screen. He sent her a text.
Trevor: If you don't want pictures like these circulating around the school, you'll do well to leave me alone.
Trevor: Thanks for the fun time though. ;)
Attached was a picture of her naked body with Trevor's dick in her mouth.
Naomi nearly dropped her phone.
Home from college and stuck in his childhood bedroom, a restless young man discovers a bizarre side-effect of his meditation practice: the ability to astral project into the bodies of other people.
My breath slowed, easing into the steady rhythm I’d been practicing. The YouTube guru’s voice was a distant murmur in my earbuds. Let your consciousness expand beyond the physical form. Feel the boundaries of your body dissolve… I always felt a little silly doing this in my bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling my only witness. But tonight, something was different. A strange, pulling sensation started behind my navel, like a gentle but insistent hook.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on my breathing, but the tug grew stronger. The feeling of my own body—the weight of my limbs on the bed, the pressure of the mattress against my back—suddenly vanished. There was a dizzying rush of color and sound, a sensation of being pulled through a narrow, dark tunnel at impossible speed.
Then, with a soft thump I felt I heard more than heard, everything stopped. A weight... A different kind of weight. My chest felt heavy, supported. My hips felt wider.
I blinked. This wasn’t my room. The air smelled of lavender and expensive perfume. I looked down.
My hands. They were not my hands. They were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. A delicate silver bracelet hung from one wrist. I wore a silk robe, peach, tied loosely at the waist. My heart—no, her heart—hammered against my ribs.
A wave of vertigo hit me, followed by a flood of images that weren’t mine. Lydia. Her name is Lydia. A memory of her laughing with my step mom at the mailbox, holding a grocery bag. Another of her watering her roses in a sun dress last weekend. Before I left for college, she'd always waved at me, a kind, almost shy smile on her face.
Mrs. Henderson from next door. The hot MILF all my friends whispered about but who just seemed… nice.
I was inside Lydia Henderson.
Panic surged, a cold, sharp spike. I needed to get back. I tried to concentrate, to will myself back to my own body lying on my bed, but nothing happened. The panic subsided, replaced by a trembling, awe-filled curiosity. I was here. In her.
I turned, my movements unfamiliar and graceful, and caught my reflection in a full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.
Wow.
She was… stunning. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her green-flecked hazel eyes, were wide with an expression I knew was my own shock staring back. The silk robe hinted at the curves beneath. A lifetime of curious, stolen glances from my bedroom window hadn’t prepared me for the reality of being inside this body. A thrill, warm and forbidden, shot through me.
My gaze drifted past my—her—reflection to the rest of the walk-in closet behind me. The curiosity, always simmering just beneath the surface, roared to life. I’d always wondered. About the feel of it, the look of it, the secret world of it.
There I was surrounded by a forest of silks, satins, and soft, colorful fabrics.
Almost without conscious thought, my hands went to the tie of the robe. It fell open. She—I—was wearing matching peach lace lingerie underneath. A bra that cupped and lifted, panties that were just a delicate scrap of fabric. A heat that had nothing to do with possession flushed through me. It was awe. It was a secret, answered question.
I reached for a hanger. A slip of crimson satin and black lace. A teddy. My fingers trembled as I shimmied out of the peach set and into the red one. The cool satin whispered over my hips, the lace hugged curves I’d never had. I looked in the mirror again. A stranger, yet me. A beautiful, secret version of myself.
I spent what felt like hours, lost in a tactile wonderland. I tried on a tight pencil skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater, feeling the sophisticated drape. I found a pair of sky-high black heels and clomped around the carpet, her body’s balance instinctively better than mine would have been. The click-click of the heels on the hardwood floor was a powerful, feminine sound.
Then I found the vanity. An array of pots, pencils, and brushes that might as well have been alien technology. But as I picked up a tube of lipstick, a strange thing happened. A knowledge that wasn’t mine surfaced. A muscle memory. My hand steadied. I uncapped the tube, a deep rose color, and applied it to “my” lips in smooth, practiced strokes. Then eyeliner, a flick at the corner that appeared as if by magic. Blush dusted on the apples of cheeks I could now feel smiling back at me. I was using her memories, her routines. It was like riding a bike for the first time, but the bike knew the way.
When I opened my eyes and looked in the vanity mirror, a perfectly made-up Lydia Henderson looked back. It was her face, but the light in the eyes… that was all my stunned, giddy wonder.
I was awestruck. Transformed. The innocent, cookie-baking neighbor I saw from my window was also this… this goddess of satin and expertly applied liner.
I was floating on a cloud of discovery when another memory-nudge pulled me. It was stronger, more insistent than the makeup knowledge. It was a pull of routine, of duty, tinged with a secret thrill. It led me out of the bedroom, down the hall, to a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was plain, white, unlike the other decorative doors in the house.
I turned the knob and entered.
The room was an office, but unlike any office I'd ever seen before.
It was a small, soundproofed office. The dominant feature was a large desk with a ring light, a high-quality webcam, and a monitor. Plush, sexy outfits hung on a rack in the corner—things far more daring than the clothes in her main closet. Leather, lace, PVC. A shelf held… toys. Neatly arranged, clean, professional.
The cam girl setup was so blatant, so at odds with the cozy suburban mom exterior, that I just stared. Another memory-flash, not mine: the feeling of logging in, of a stage name—ScarletVelvet—of the focused, performative smile that wasn’t the same as the one she gave me when I mowed her lawn.
My heart hammered again, but with a different kind of adrenaline. This was her secret. And now it was mine. The monitor was dark, but a schedule was pinned to a corkboard. A highlighted time slot was in 15 minutes.
The idea hit me with the force of a train. It was insane. Reckless. Unforgivably invasive.
I couldn’t help it.
I sat down in the plush rolling chair. It adjusted to her—to my—body perfectly. I looked at the login screen for the streaming site. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know the password. But I closed my eyes, and let her surface. Not her consciousness, but the automatic, procedural memory. Like the makeup. My fingers moved on their own, typing in a string of characters. The dashboard for ScarletVelvet loaded.
Five minutes to showtime.
I was sweating. I used one of her memories to pick an outfit—a black lace bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. I put it on, my hands fumbling more now with the nervous energy. I checked the angles of the camera using the preview on the monitor. I fluffed the auburn hair, reapplied the lipstick.
The clock hit the hour. A deep breath. I clicked “Go Live.”
The viewer count started ticking up almost immediately. 10… 25… 50. A chat window bloomed to life on the side screen.
Hey Scarlet!
Missed you last night!
You look hot.
A wave of paralyzing stage fright hit me. This wasn’t my memory, this was live. I had to perform. I swallowed, and offered a smile to the camera. It felt brittle.
“H-hey everyone,” I said, and her voice came out, smoother, sexier than my own cracking tenor. But the cadence was off. I sounded unsure.
You okay, Scarlet? You seem nervous.
I needed to act. I leaned back in the chair, another fragment of her muscle memory guiding me into a pose that was both relaxed and deliberately alluring. “Just a long day,” I purred, trying to mimic the smoky tone I’d heard in the memory-flash. It was closer. “But I’m happy to be here with you all now.”
I let my hands—her elegant, manicured hands—trail down over the lace of the bodysuit. The chat scrolled faster.
Yeah, that’s it.
So beautiful.
I was mimicking, a poor copy of the real ScarletVelvet. I was pulling from stolen glimpses, trying to project a sultry confidence I didn’t feel. I talked, my words stilted, my gestures a half-second too slow or too fast. But the viewers didn’t seem to mind too much. They were here for the visual, for the fantasy.
Then, a private message pinged. A username I didn’t recognize, with a high tipping status. The message read: Something’s different tonight. The light in your eyes. It’s… curious. Shy, almost. I like it. A lot.
The message sent a shiver down my spine—her spine. He saw it. He saw me. The clumsy, curious boy peeking out from behind this beautiful woman’s eyes. The revelation was no longer about her secret. It was about my own, reflected back at me through a stranger’s screen. The thrill was electric, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. I was seen, yet completely hidden. And for the first time since I’d tumbled into this body, I didn’t want to leave.
The stream ended with my heart trying to claw its way out of Mrs. Henderson’s—my—chest. I clicked ‘End Broadcast’ and sat in the silent, neon-lit room, the ghost of a hundred anonymous compliments buzzing in my ears. The adrenaline crash was monumental. A deep, shuddering fatigue pulled at my limbs, at my borrowed eyes. Stumbling back to the master bedroom, I peeled off the black lace bodysuit, leaving it in a heap on the plush carpet. I didn’t have the energy to be neat. In a daze, I pulled on one of her soft cotton nightgowns from a drawer and collapsed into the enormous bed.
The scent of her shampoo on the pillows was the last thing I registered before a deep, black nothingness swallowed me.
***
I woke up with a jolt, my own thin mattress hard beneath my back. Morning light, harsh and familiar, streamed through my blinds. I was in my boxers and a faded band t-shirt. I was me. Just me.
For a long minute, I just lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling I’d put up when I was ten. Had it been a dream? A hyper-vivid, wildly inappropriate stress-dream about my neighbor? It felt too detailed, too real. The weight of the heels. The slick texture of the lipstick. The cold thrill of the chat scrolling by.
I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand, my fingers clumsy. My search history felt like a crime scene. I typed in the site name from the memory, then, hesitantly, the username: ScarletVelvet.
There it was. A profile. A teaser image that was absolutely, unmistakably Mrs. Henderson, though with a smolder I’d never seen in daylight. My mouth went dry. With a trembling click, I navigated to her recent videos. And there, at the top, uploaded six hours ago: “Scarlet’s Shy Night – Live 10/23.”
I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. I just hit play.
And there I was. Or rather, there she was, with me piloting. The footage was crystal clear. I saw the slight, uncharacteristic hesitation in my smile. The way my eyes kept flicking to the chat, wide with a panic I’d tried to hide. I heard my stolen voice say, “Just a long day,” with that imperfect, copied purr. I watched myself trail a hand over the lace, the movement a half-beat off from the real Scarlet’s confident flair.
It was real. Undeniable. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, immediately choked by a wave of gut-churning guilt. And beneath the guilt, a flicker of that same, electrifying curiosity.
I spent the day in a fog, jumping at every sound. I saw Mrs. Henderson bringing in her mail in the afternoon, wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun. She looked tired, but normal. Innocent. She gave a small, casual wave to someone across the street. The duality was mind-breaking.
As night fell, the pull became magnetic. The fear was still there, a cold stone in my stomach, but it was outweighed by the need to know, to feel that transformation again. To have an answer to a question I’d never dared ask out loud.
I sat on my bedroom floor again. No guided meditation this time. Just silence, and a focused, desperate intention. Take me back. Let me in.
The lurch was less violent this time, more like a swift, sinking drift. The lavender scent hit my nostrils. Weight. Softness. Curve.
I opened my eyes in her dark bedroom. Success.
This time, the panic was a minor tremor, quickly subdued by a sense of purpose. I went to her closet, but bypassed the crimson teddies and silk robes. I picked out a pair of dark, well-fitting jeans, a simple black long-sleeved tee, and a comfortable cardigan. I found sensible flats. I looked in the mirror: suburban mom ready for errands. Perfect.
Driving her car was another surge of alien-yet-familiar memory. My hands on the wheel were smaller, my perspective different. The weird feeling of a tight seat-belt resting in the valley of my chest. I made it to the mall, a nervous excitement humming in my veins. This was the test. To be in this body, in the world.
I went to a department store area I’d never dared enter before: the women’s lingerie section. Surrounded by racks of lace and satin, my face flushed. But no one looked twice at a woman browsing bras. The freedom was dizzying. I selected a few sets—a delicate sky blue, a bold leopard print—using her sense of size and fit. I held them up, imagining them on this body. It was a shopping trip from a dream.
Then, emboldened, I went to the trendy clothing stores. I tried on flowy dresses that swirled around my knees, a tight leather skirt that made my heart race, and a ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud. In the fitting room, under the fluorescent lights, I just stared. I turned, examining the lines of her—my—body from every angle. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was a kind of reverence.
The final stop took every ounce of my courage. A sex shop, discreetly located on the outskirts of the mall. A bell chimed as I walked in.
The girl behind the counter looked up. She was probably in her early twenties, with dyed black hair, a septum piercing, and an impressive array of tattoos snaking up her arms. Goth, cool, and utterly intimidating.
“Help you find anything?” she asked, her voice not unfriendly.
“Just… browsing,” I said, Mrs. Henderson’s voice coming out as a shy squeak. I wandered the aisles, overwhelmed by the sheer variety of it all. I felt the Goth girl’s eyes on me, the conservative cardigan-clad mom in a den of iniquity.
Eventually, curiosity overcoming shame, I picked up a small, sleek vibrator, examining it like it was an artifact from another planet.
“Good choice,” the girl said, appearing at the end of the aisle with a knowing smile. “That one’s discreet but powerful. Popular with… beginners. But definitely something you could handle.”
Our eyes met. Hers were sharp, kohl-rimmed, and saw way too much. A faint, amused smile played on her lips. “You seem different today, Mrs. Henderson.”
I nearly dropped the vibrator. She knew her? Of course she did. Small town. My blood ran cold, then hot. I managed a weak smile, channeling every ounce of innocent-neighbor energy I’d observed. “Just… exploring,” I whispered.
“Well, have fun,” she said, her smile turning into a full-blown grin. “Exploration is good for the soul.”
I paid in cash, my face burning, and fled.
Back in the sanctuary of her house, the adrenaline shifted into something slower, warmer, more insistent. The purchases were spread on her bed. The new lingerie. The sleek little toy from the shop.
I put on the sky blue set. It was even prettier on. The contrast against her skin was beautiful. I lay back on the bed, the memories of her own solo routines blending with my own frantic, curiosity. My touch was clumsy at first, then, guided by her body’s own innate knowledge, more sure. It was a bizarre, out-of-body experience that was intensely, overwhelmingly in-body. I was both the explorer and the territory. The pleasure, when it crested, was a shocking, all-consuming wave that left me gasping, shuddering, utterly spent in a way I’d never been in my own body.
In the heavy, satisfied silence that followed, lulled by the fading echoes of sensation and the soft cotton sheets, my borrowed eyes grew heavy. The last coherent thought I had was that this was the deepest, most content sleep I’d ever known.
***
I awoke to the sound of my own alarm blaring, sunlight once again piercing my own familiar, boring blinds. I was back in my scrawny body, tangled in my own sheets, home for the holiday break. For a moment, I just breathed, the phantom sensations of silk and release still tingling at the edges of my awareness. It was real. It had happened again.
And I already knew, with a certainty that scared and thrilled me, that I would be trying to go back as soon as I could.
The weekend stretched before me, a blank canvas of time. The two previous nights had been fleeting infiltrations. Today, I wanted more. I wanted a full day in her skin.
I sat on my floor as the first pale light of Saturday crept into my room. I focused, not on white light or my heart center, but on the memory of lavender and the feeling of satin against skin. The transition was smoother this time, less a lurch and more a conscious step through a door.
I arrived to the sound of running water and the humid, steamy scent of jasmine body wash. I was standing in her master bathroom, the glass shower door fogged, the silhouette of her body—my body—moving behind it. She was humming. I could feel the warm spray hitting my skin, the water sluicing over curves that were now mine. The sensation was immediate and intensely vivid. My hands—her hands—lifted almost of their own accord, slick with soap, gliding over the swell of breasts, the dip of a waist, the smooth plane of a stomach. It was a ritual washing, but for me, it was a breathtaking exploration.
The heat, the steam, the sheer physicality of it coiled a tight, urgent need low in my belly. As the water rained down, I let my hands wander with purpose, no longer just washing, but seeking. I leaned back against the cool tile, my breath hitching as my fingers found their way, guided by a knowledge both borrowed and innate. The climax in the shower was swift and shocking, a white-hot burst that made my knees weak, my stolen cries swallowed by the drumming water. I slumped, panting, the pleasure still echoing through nerve endings that weren't originally mine. It was incredible.
After, wrapped in a plush towel, I felt a strange, powerful confidence. I took my time. I blow-dried her auburn hair into the soft, shiny waves she usually wore. I applied makeup with the practiced ease her memories provided, creating that public-facing mask of friendly, approachable prettiness. I dressed in one of her nice casual outfits—dark jeans, a cream-colored V-neck sweater that clung in a flattering way, knee-high boots. I looked in the mirror and saw the perfect image of the neighbor my step mom would happily invite in for coffee.
The bold idea struck me then, sparkling with risk and a perverse curiosity. I would visit my house.
I walked the familiar short path, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the sidewalk my own sneakers usually scuffed. Ringing my own doorbell was surreal.
My step mom answered, her face lighting up in a warm smile. “Lydia! What a nice surprise. Come in, come in! I was just about to have some coffee.”
“I was just out for a walk and thought I’d say hi,” I said, sliding effortlessly into Mrs. Henderson’s—Lydia’s—warm, slightly musical tone. It was eerie how easily it came, like putting on a well-worn coat from her memories of countless similar chats.
I followed my step mom into the kitchen, the familiar space looking different from this vantage point. She poured coffee, chattering about her plans to re-organize the garage. I nodded and smiled, sipping from the mug, the coffee tasting subtly different with her palate. I was leveraging her memories constantly: the way she held a mug, her opinion on the new neighborhood landscaping, her polite laugh. I was a puppet, and Lydia’s life was the set of strings.
"My son's back from college and could use something to do" my step mom asked with a conspiratorial wink. “Want me to send him over to help with some house work?”
“Oh that'd be perfect,” I heard myself say, and had to suppress a hysterical giggle. “He's a real sweet boy.”
After about twenty minutes of this bizarre charade, I saw my chance. “Would you mind if I excused myself to use your powder room?” I asked.
“Of course, you know where it is!”
I didn’t go to the downstairs powder room. With a thief’s heart, I padded quietly up the stairs, past the framed family photos that now seemed like artifacts from another life. My bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in.
There, sprawled on my bed, fully dressed and snoring softly, was me. Or rather, my empty body. It was the strangest sight of all—seeing my own lanky form from the outside, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over my forehead. A profound sense of dislocation washed over me, followed by a sharp, devious thrill.
I slipped inside and closed the door silently. I stared at my own sleeping face. Then, moving quickly, I pulled out the phone from my borrowed purse—Lydia’s phone. I propped it up on my desk, angled perfectly toward the bed, and hit record.
Then I approached the bed. My own body smelled like my cheap deodorant and the fabric of my old comforter. Gently, I unbuckled my own jeans. My hands, small and soft, worked with a clinical curiosity that was also deeply erotic. I gave my unconscious self a handjob, watching the physiological reaction with a detached, fascinated awe. My shaft thick and hard between my hands. Leaning down, I then took myself into my mouth—her mouth. The sensations were a confusing feedback loop: the physical act, the visual of my own body, the knowledge of who was doing it. It was narcissistic, invasive, and unbearably hot. My body gave in, shooting a small load that covered my face and I made sure the phone captured it all.
I quickly cleaned everything up with a tissue from my nightstand, redid my jeans, and grabbed the phone. I stopped the recording. With shaky fingers, I airdropped the video file to my own phone, which was lying on the nightstand next to my sleeping head. I then meticulously deleted the video from Lydia’s phone and cleared the ‘recently deleted’ folder. The evidence was now only in my possession.
Taking a steadying breath, I smoothed down my sweater and left my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I rejoined my mom in the kitchen, my cheeks flushed.
“Everything alright? You look a little flushed,” my mom said.
“Fine! Just a bit warm,” I said, forcing another smile. I snuck glances at my mom as we talked, seeing the familiar lines of her face from this new, feminine perspective. I was hyper-aware of the body I inhabited, the sway of Lydia’s hair, the brush of her sweater against her breasts—my breasts—as I moved.
The afternoon wore on in a surreal bubble. I was trying to decide what to do next with this borrowed life. Go shopping again? Experiment more at her cam setup? The possibilities were a dizzying array in my mind.
And then, without warning, it happened. A sudden, tugging sensation behind my navel, like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.
***
I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was on my back in my own bed, the afternoon sun now at a different angle. My body felt instantly familiar and was overcome with a feeling of afterglow. The phantom sensations of the shower, of my own touch, still buzzed on my skin like a fading sunburn.
The memory of the video jolted me into action. I scrambled for my phone. There it was. A file received from Lydia Henderson’s device. I didn’t open it. I just stared at the filename, a cold sweat breaking out. It was real. All of it.
I changed my clothes in a frenzy, pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans, my mind reeling. I had to see. I had to know if she was still there.
I practically flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the doorway to the living room. My step mom was still there, on the sofa.
And sitting across from her, sipping the last of her coffee, was Mrs. Henderson—Lydia. She looked perfectly composed, her makeup fresh, her smile easy.
My step mom turned. “Oh, speak of the devil! Lydia was just telling me about her new rose bushes.”
Lydia’s eyes met mine. Those green-flecked hazel eyes held mine for a long, deliberate second. Then, as my step mom glanced down to pick up her own mug, Lydia’s expression shifted. The pleasant neighborly mask dissolved into something else—something knowing, sharp, and utterly mischievous. She gave me a slow, deliberate wink.
Then, her hand resting casually on her knee, hidden from my step mom’s view by the coffee table, she made a quick, unmistakable motion: her fist pumping up and down in the universal sign for a jerk-off.
My blood turned to ice. My stomach dropped through the floor.
She knew. Somehow she knew.
Before I could react, even to breathe, she smiled sweetly at my step mom, stood up, and said, “Well, I should let you two get on with your weekend. Thanks for the coffee, Ellen!”
She walked past me to the door, her perfume trailing behind her. As she reached for the knob, she paused, looked back over her shoulder directly at me, and mouthed silent words with a smirk that was anything but innocent:
“I hope you had fun.”
***
The meditation was a failure. For three nights straight, I sat on my floor until my legs cramped, focusing every ounce of my will on the memory of lavender and silk. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of my own thoughts and the growing dread that my window into Lydia’s world had slammed shut forever.
So when my step-mom Ellen cheerfully announced on Tuesday that she’d “volunteered” me to help Mrs. Henderson haul some old boxes to her attic, my blood ran cold. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a reckoning.
I stood on Lydia’s porch, my heart trying to batter its way through my ribs. I rang the bell.
She answered almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore simple leggings and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup. She looked like the mom next door, but her eyes held a storm.
“Come in,” she said, her voice flat. I shuffled inside, the familiar scent of her home now feeling like a crime scene.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click. We stood in her foyer. The air was thick with unspoken things.
She crossed her arms, fixing me with a hard stare. “So. You want to tell me what the hell that was? Snooping through my things? Wearing my clothes? Going on my stream?” Her tone was sharp, accusatory. “That is some seriously messed up, perverted shit.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My face burned with shame and terror. I was going to be arrested. My life was over. I managed a strangled, “I… I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson, I don’t know what—”
She burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but a rich, genuine sound that filled the hallway. The angry mask melted away, replaced by sparkling amusement. “Oh, god, look at your face!” she wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Priceless. I’m just messing with you, kid. Everything’s fine.”
I sagged against the wall, lightheaded with relief. “W-what?”
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated, grinning. “Well, as fine as it can be when you find out your neighbor’s been borrowing your body like a rental car.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I made iced tea.”
In a daze, I followed her. She poured two glasses, leaning against the counter. “So,” she began, her tone now conspiratorial. “That goth chick at Sinister Delights? Cute, right? She texted me after you left, said I seemed ‘different.’ More fun.”
I could only stare, my mind struggling to catch up.
“And the mall,” she continued, sipping her drink. “Good choices. The leopard print? Bold. I’d have never picked it for myself, but I kinda love it.”
I just held the cold glass, unable to process her words.
“And the cam show,” she continued, leaning against the counter, a sly smile on her lips. “Shy Girl Next Door? That was a brilliant angle. The nervous glances, the slightly clumsy moves… it was authentic. Viewers ate it up. My tips were 30% higher than usual.”
Her expression softened, turning serious for a moment. “That, you do have to keep to yourself. My… professional life. That’s a non-negotiable secret.”
“Of course,” I blurted. “Never. I swear.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she seemed to mean it. “And the video? Of me… you know, with you?” She shook her head, a faint blush on her cheeks that wasn’t entirely from amusement. “You can keep that. Consider it a… weird souvenir.”
The casual way she said it was staggering. “Why… why are you being so cool about this?” I finally managed to whisper.
Lydia sighed, setting her glass down. She looked at me, her gaze turning inward and serious. “Because it wasn’t just you in my head. When you left… something stayed. A little echo. A feeling. I can’t access your memories, but I can feel… a presence. A younger, curious, kinda horny male presence. It’s faint, like a radio playing in another room, but it’s there. It’s why I knew it was you at the door. I felt the echo… resonate.”
She walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. It was a strangely companionable gesture. “I don’t feel violated. I feel… like I owe you a favor. You left a piece of yourself here, and I feel like I should treat you like a new found brother. So.” She shrugged, a new, determined glint in her eye. “I’m going to do you a solid. One for the road, since you're about to go back to college and can’t seem to get back in on your own.”
Before I could ask what she meant, she took my hand. “Come on.”
She led me, stunned and silent, to her bedroom. She pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
I sat. She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out the leopard print lingerie I’d bought. She gave me a wink, then disappeared into the walk-in closet to change.
When she emerged, my breath caught. The leopard print was even more stunning on her when she wore it with intention. The bralette pushed her breasts up, the high-cut briefs accentuating the curve of her hips. She looked like a predator, confident and sleek.
“Lie back,” she instructed softly.
I did. She knelt on the floor between my knees, her hands deftly undoing my jeans. This was nothing like the frantic, secretive act in my bedroom. This was slow, deliberate, and performed with a masterful skill that had me trembling in seconds. Her mouth was hot and knowing, her hands roaming my thighs and stomach. She took her time, bringing me to the edge twice with torturous skill before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Not yet.”
Then she stood up, shimmied out of the briefs, and climbed onto the bed, straddling me. She guided me inside her, sinking down with a slow, deep sigh that was part pleasure, part relief.
The sex was nothing I had ever experienced. It was passionate but controlled, intense but deeply communicative. She rode me with a powerful, rolling rhythm, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned down, her breasts brushing my chest, and kissed me—a deep, searching kiss that tasted of iced tea and mint. The leopard print lace scraped deliciously against my skin.
“You feel that?” she murmured against my lips, her hips never stopping their movement. “That’s all you. That echo. It’s like I know what you like before you do.”
She was right. Every shift, every touch, was perfectly aligned with my building pleasure. It was as if she was reading the ghost I’d left inside her. The climax, when it hit me, was a cataclysmic wave that tore a raw, guttural shout from my throat. She followed me over a moment later, clenching around me, her own cry muffled in the crook of my neck.
We lay together for a long time, tangled and sweating, the scent of sex and her perfume filling the air. She eventually slipped off me and curled against my side. “A proper goodbye,” she whispered, before her breathing evened out into sleep.
***
I woke up alone in my own bed. The gray light of dawn filtered in. The sheets smelled of my own laundry detergent. For a dizzying moment, I was sure it had all been another impossibly vivid dream.
Then I felt the pleasant ache in my muscles. I saw the faint, smudged trace of lipstick—a peachy nude, Morning Kiss—on my collar.
And I remembered her words. You left a piece of yourself here.
That evening, restless and haunted, I sat on my bedroom floor once more. Not trying to reach for Lydia. Just trying to quiet the echo. My consciousness drifted, untethered, through the familiar walls of my house.
I floated into the master bedroom. My step mom, Ellen, was there, sitting at her vanity in a robe, carefully applying night cream. I hovered, a silent, invisible observer. She hummed a tune from some old musical, her face relaxed and kind in the soft light.
The thought, sudden and unbidden, shimmered in my non-corporeal mind. A new door. A different set of strings to pull. The curiosity, now awakened and fed, was a hungry thing.
I floated closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.
The question hung in the ether, heavy with possibility.
Do I want to?
My breath slowed, easing into the steady rhythm I’d been practicing. The YouTube guru’s voice was a distant murmur in my earbuds. Let your consciousness expand beyond the physical form. Feel the boundaries of your body dissolve… I always felt a little silly doing this in my bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling my only witness. But tonight, something was different. A strange, pulling sensation started behind my navel, like a gentle but insistent hook.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on my breathing, but the tug grew stronger. The feeling of my own body—the weight of my limbs on the bed, the pressure of the mattress against my back—suddenly vanished. There was a dizzying rush of color and sound, a sensation of being pulled through a narrow, dark tunnel at impossible speed.
Then, with a soft thump I felt I heard more than heard, everything stopped. A weight... A different kind of weight. My chest felt heavy, supported. My hips felt wider.
I blinked. This wasn’t my room. The air smelled of lavender and expensive perfume. I looked down.
My hands. They were not my hands. They were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. A delicate silver bracelet hung from one wrist. I wore a silk robe, peach, tied loosely at the waist. My heart—no, her heart—hammered against my ribs.
A wave of vertigo hit me, followed by a flood of images that weren’t mine. Lydia. Her name is Lydia. A memory of her laughing with my step mom at the mailbox, holding a grocery bag. Another of her watering her roses in a sun dress last weekend. Before I left for college, she'd always waved at me, a kind, almost shy smile on her face.
Mrs. Henderson from next door. The hot MILF all my friends whispered about but who just seemed… nice.
I was inside Lydia Henderson.
Panic surged, a cold, sharp spike. I needed to get back. I tried to concentrate, to will myself back to my own body lying on my bed, but nothing happened. The panic subsided, replaced by a trembling, awe-filled curiosity. I was here. In her.
I turned, my movements unfamiliar and graceful, and caught my reflection in a full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.
Wow.
She was… stunning. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her green-flecked hazel eyes, were wide with an expression I knew was my own shock staring back. The silk robe hinted at the curves beneath. A lifetime of curious, stolen glances from my bedroom window hadn’t prepared me for the reality of being inside this body. A thrill, warm and forbidden, shot through me.
My gaze drifted past my—her—reflection to the rest of the walk-in closet behind me. The curiosity, always simmering just beneath the surface, roared to life. I’d always wondered. About the feel of it, the look of it, the secret world of it.
There I was surrounded by a forest of silks, satins, and soft, colorful fabrics.
Almost without conscious thought, my hands went to the tie of the robe. It fell open. She—I—was wearing matching peach lace lingerie underneath. A bra that cupped and lifted, panties that were just a delicate scrap of fabric. A heat that had nothing to do with possession flushed through me. It was awe. It was a secret, answered question.
I reached for a hanger. A slip of crimson satin and black lace. A teddy. My fingers trembled as I shimmied out of the peach set and into the red one. The cool satin whispered over my hips, the lace hugged curves I’d never had. I looked in the mirror again. A stranger, yet me. A beautiful, secret version of myself.
I spent what felt like hours, lost in a tactile wonderland. I tried on a tight pencil skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater, feeling the sophisticated drape. I found a pair of sky-high black heels and clomped around the carpet, her body’s balance instinctively better than mine would have been. The click-click of the heels on the hardwood floor was a powerful, feminine sound.
Then I found the vanity. An array of pots, pencils, and brushes that might as well have been alien technology. But as I picked up a tube of lipstick, a strange thing happened. A knowledge that wasn’t mine surfaced. A muscle memory. My hand steadied. I uncapped the tube, a deep rose color, and applied it to “my” lips in smooth, practiced strokes. Then eyeliner, a flick at the corner that appeared as if by magic. Blush dusted on the apples of cheeks I could now feel smiling back at me. I was using her memories, her routines. It was like riding a bike for the first time, but the bike knew the way.
When I opened my eyes and looked in the vanity mirror, a perfectly made-up Lydia Henderson looked back. It was her face, but the light in the eyes… that was all my stunned, giddy wonder.
I was awestruck. Transformed. The innocent, cookie-baking neighbor I saw from my window was also this… this goddess of satin and expertly applied liner.
I was floating on a cloud of discovery when another memory-nudge pulled me. It was stronger, more insistent than the makeup knowledge. It was a pull of routine, of duty, tinged with a secret thrill. It led me out of the bedroom, down the hall, to a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was plain, white, unlike the other decorative doors in the house.
I turned the knob and entered.
The room was an office, but unlike any office I'd ever seen before.
It was a small, soundproofed office. The dominant feature was a large desk with a ring light, a high-quality webcam, and a monitor. Plush, sexy outfits hung on a rack in the corner—things far more daring than the clothes in her main closet. Leather, lace, PVC. A shelf held… toys. Neatly arranged, clean, professional.
The cam girl setup was so blatant, so at odds with the cozy suburban mom exterior, that I just stared. Another memory-flash, not mine: the feeling of logging in, of a stage name—ScarletVelvet—of the focused, performative smile that wasn’t the same as the one she gave me when I mowed her lawn.
My heart hammered again, but with a different kind of adrenaline. This was her secret. And now it was mine. The monitor was dark, but a schedule was pinned to a corkboard. A highlighted time slot was in 15 minutes.
The idea hit me with the force of a train. It was insane. Reckless. Unforgivably invasive.
I couldn’t help it.
I sat down in the plush rolling chair. It adjusted to her—to my—body perfectly. I looked at the login screen for the streaming site. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know the password. But I closed my eyes, and let her surface. Not her consciousness, but the automatic, procedural memory. Like the makeup. My fingers moved on their own, typing in a string of characters. The dashboard for ScarletVelvet loaded.
Five minutes to showtime.
I was sweating. I used one of her memories to pick an outfit—a black lace bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. I put it on, my hands fumbling more now with the nervous energy. I checked the angles of the camera using the preview on the monitor. I fluffed the auburn hair, reapplied the lipstick.
The clock hit the hour. A deep breath. I clicked “Go Live.”
The viewer count started ticking up almost immediately. 10… 25… 50. A chat window bloomed to life on the side screen.
Hey Scarlet!
Missed you last night!
You look hot.
A wave of paralyzing stage fright hit me. This wasn’t my memory, this was live. I had to perform. I swallowed, and offered a smile to the camera. It felt brittle.
“H-hey everyone,” I said, and her voice came out, smoother, sexier than my own cracking tenor. But the cadence was off. I sounded unsure.
You okay, Scarlet? You seem nervous.
I needed to act. I leaned back in the chair, another fragment of her muscle memory guiding me into a pose that was both relaxed and deliberately alluring. “Just a long day,” I purred, trying to mimic the smoky tone I’d heard in the memory-flash. It was closer. “But I’m happy to be here with you all now.”
I let my hands—her elegant, manicured hands—trail down over the lace of the bodysuit. The chat scrolled faster.
Yeah, that’s it.
So beautiful.
I was mimicking, a poor copy of the real ScarletVelvet. I was pulling from stolen glimpses, trying to project a sultry confidence I didn’t feel. I talked, my words stilted, my gestures a half-second too slow or too fast. But the viewers didn’t seem to mind too much. They were here for the visual, for the fantasy.
Then, a private message pinged. A username I didn’t recognize, with a high tipping status. The message read: Something’s different tonight. The light in your eyes. It’s… curious. Shy, almost. I like it. A lot.
The message sent a shiver down my spine—her spine. He saw it. He saw me. The clumsy, curious boy peeking out from behind this beautiful woman’s eyes. The revelation was no longer about her secret. It was about my own, reflected back at me through a stranger’s screen. The thrill was electric, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. I was seen, yet completely hidden. And for the first time since I’d tumbled into this body, I didn’t want to leave.
The stream ended with my heart trying to claw its way out of Mrs. Henderson’s—my—chest. I clicked ‘End Broadcast’ and sat in the silent, neon-lit room, the ghost of a hundred anonymous compliments buzzing in my ears. The adrenaline crash was monumental. A deep, shuddering fatigue pulled at my limbs, at my borrowed eyes. Stumbling back to the master bedroom, I peeled off the black lace bodysuit, leaving it in a heap on the plush carpet. I didn’t have the energy to be neat. In a daze, I pulled on one of her soft cotton nightgowns from a drawer and collapsed into the enormous bed.
The scent of her shampoo on the pillows was the last thing I registered before a deep, black nothingness swallowed me.
***
I woke up with a jolt, my own thin mattress hard beneath my back. Morning light, harsh and familiar, streamed through my blinds. I was in my boxers and a faded band t-shirt. I was me. Just me.
For a long minute, I just lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling I’d put up when I was ten. Had it been a dream? A hyper-vivid, wildly inappropriate stress-dream about my neighbor? It felt too detailed, too real. The weight of the heels. The slick texture of the lipstick. The cold thrill of the chat scrolling by.
I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand, my fingers clumsy. My search history felt like a crime scene. I typed in the site name from the memory, then, hesitantly, the username: ScarletVelvet.
There it was. A profile. A teaser image that was absolutely, unmistakably Mrs. Henderson, though with a smolder I’d never seen in daylight. My mouth went dry. With a trembling click, I navigated to her recent videos. And there, at the top, uploaded six hours ago: “Scarlet’s Shy Night – Live 10/23.”
I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. I just hit play.
And there I was. Or rather, there she was, with me piloting. The footage was crystal clear. I saw the slight, uncharacteristic hesitation in my smile. The way my eyes kept flicking to the chat, wide with a panic I’d tried to hide. I heard my stolen voice say, “Just a long day,” with that imperfect, copied purr. I watched myself trail a hand over the lace, the movement a half-beat off from the real Scarlet’s confident flair.
It was real. Undeniable. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, immediately choked by a wave of gut-churning guilt. And beneath the guilt, a flicker of that same, electrifying curiosity.
I spent the day in a fog, jumping at every sound. I saw Mrs. Henderson bringing in her mail in the afternoon, wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun. She looked tired, but normal. Innocent. She gave a small, casual wave to someone across the street. The duality was mind-breaking.
As night fell, the pull became magnetic. The fear was still there, a cold stone in my stomach, but it was outweighed by the need to know, to feel that transformation again. To have an answer to a question I’d never dared ask out loud.
I sat on my bedroom floor again. No guided meditation this time. Just silence, and a focused, desperate intention. Take me back. Let me in.
The lurch was less violent this time, more like a swift, sinking drift. The lavender scent hit my nostrils. Weight. Softness. Curve.
I opened my eyes in her dark bedroom. Success.
This time, the panic was a minor tremor, quickly subdued by a sense of purpose. I went to her closet, but bypassed the crimson teddies and silk robes. I picked out a pair of dark, well-fitting jeans, a simple black long-sleeved tee, and a comfortable cardigan. I found sensible flats. I looked in the mirror: suburban mom ready for errands. Perfect.
Driving her car was another surge of alien-yet-familiar memory. My hands on the wheel were smaller, my perspective different. The weird feeling of a tight seat-belt resting in the valley of my chest. I made it to the mall, a nervous excitement humming in my veins. This was the test. To be in this body, in the world.
I went to a department store area I’d never dared enter before: the women’s lingerie section. Surrounded by racks of lace and satin, my face flushed. But no one looked twice at a woman browsing bras. The freedom was dizzying. I selected a few sets—a delicate sky blue, a bold leopard print—using her sense of size and fit. I held them up, imagining them on this body. It was a shopping trip from a dream.
Then, emboldened, I went to the trendy clothing stores. I tried on flowy dresses that swirled around my knees, a tight leather skirt that made my heart race, and a ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud. In the fitting room, under the fluorescent lights, I just stared. I turned, examining the lines of her—my—body from every angle. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was a kind of reverence.
The final stop took every ounce of my courage. A sex shop, discreetly located on the outskirts of the mall. A bell chimed as I walked in.
The girl behind the counter looked up. She was probably in her early twenties, with dyed black hair, a septum piercing, and an impressive array of tattoos snaking up her arms. Goth, cool, and utterly intimidating.
“Help you find anything?” she asked, her voice not unfriendly.
“Just… browsing,” I said, Mrs. Henderson’s voice coming out as a shy squeak. I wandered the aisles, overwhelmed by the sheer variety of it all. I felt the Goth girl’s eyes on me, the conservative cardigan-clad mom in a den of iniquity.
Eventually, curiosity overcoming shame, I picked up a small, sleek vibrator, examining it like it was an artifact from another planet.
“Good choice,” the girl said, appearing at the end of the aisle with a knowing smile. “That one’s discreet but powerful. Popular with… beginners. But definitely something you could handle.”
Our eyes met. Hers were sharp, kohl-rimmed, and saw way too much. A faint, amused smile played on her lips. “You seem different today, Mrs. Henderson.”
I nearly dropped the vibrator. She knew her? Of course she did. Small town. My blood ran cold, then hot. I managed a weak smile, channeling every ounce of innocent-neighbor energy I’d observed. “Just… exploring,” I whispered.
“Well, have fun,” she said, her smile turning into a full-blown grin. “Exploration is good for the soul.”
I paid in cash, my face burning, and fled.
Back in the sanctuary of her house, the adrenaline shifted into something slower, warmer, more insistent. The purchases were spread on her bed. The new lingerie. The sleek little toy from the shop.
I put on the sky blue set. It was even prettier on. The contrast against her skin was beautiful. I lay back on the bed, the memories of her own solo routines blending with my own frantic, curiosity. My touch was clumsy at first, then, guided by her body’s own innate knowledge, more sure. It was a bizarre, out-of-body experience that was intensely, overwhelmingly in-body. I was both the explorer and the territory. The pleasure, when it crested, was a shocking, all-consuming wave that left me gasping, shuddering, utterly spent in a way I’d never been in my own body.
In the heavy, satisfied silence that followed, lulled by the fading echoes of sensation and the soft cotton sheets, my borrowed eyes grew heavy. The last coherent thought I had was that this was the deepest, most content sleep I’d ever known.
***
I awoke to the sound of my own alarm blaring, sunlight once again piercing my own familiar, boring blinds. I was back in my scrawny body, tangled in my own sheets, home for the holiday break. For a moment, I just breathed, the phantom sensations of silk and release still tingling at the edges of my awareness. It was real. It had happened again.
And I already knew, with a certainty that scared and thrilled me, that I would be trying to go back as soon as I could.
The weekend stretched before me, a blank canvas of time. The two previous nights had been fleeting infiltrations. Today, I wanted more. I wanted a full day in her skin.
I sat on my floor as the first pale light of Saturday crept into my room. I focused, not on white light or my heart center, but on the memory of lavender and the feeling of satin against skin. The transition was smoother this time, less a lurch and more a conscious step through a door.
I arrived to the sound of running water and the humid, steamy scent of jasmine body wash. I was standing in her master bathroom, the glass shower door fogged, the silhouette of her body—my body—moving behind it. She was humming. I could feel the warm spray hitting my skin, the water sluicing over curves that were now mine. The sensation was immediate and intensely vivid. My hands—her hands—lifted almost of their own accord, slick with soap, gliding over the swell of breasts, the dip of a waist, the smooth plane of a stomach. It was a ritual washing, but for me, it was a breathtaking exploration.
The heat, the steam, the sheer physicality of it coiled a tight, urgent need low in my belly. As the water rained down, I let my hands wander with purpose, no longer just washing, but seeking. I leaned back against the cool tile, my breath hitching as my fingers found their way, guided by a knowledge both borrowed and innate. The climax in the shower was swift and shocking, a white-hot burst that made my knees weak, my stolen cries swallowed by the drumming water. I slumped, panting, the pleasure still echoing through nerve endings that weren't originally mine. It was incredible.
After, wrapped in a plush towel, I felt a strange, powerful confidence. I took my time. I blow-dried her auburn hair into the soft, shiny waves she usually wore. I applied makeup with the practiced ease her memories provided, creating that public-facing mask of friendly, approachable prettiness. I dressed in one of her nice casual outfits—dark jeans, a cream-colored V-neck sweater that clung in a flattering way, knee-high boots. I looked in the mirror and saw the perfect image of the neighbor my step mom would happily invite in for coffee.
The bold idea struck me then, sparkling with risk and a perverse curiosity. I would visit my house.
I walked the familiar short path, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the sidewalk my own sneakers usually scuffed. Ringing my own doorbell was surreal.
My step mom answered, her face lighting up in a warm smile. “Lydia! What a nice surprise. Come in, come in! I was just about to have some coffee.”
“I was just out for a walk and thought I’d say hi,” I said, sliding effortlessly into Mrs. Henderson’s—Lydia’s—warm, slightly musical tone. It was eerie how easily it came, like putting on a well-worn coat from her memories of countless similar chats.
I followed my step mom into the kitchen, the familiar space looking different from this vantage point. She poured coffee, chattering about her plans to re-organize the garage. I nodded and smiled, sipping from the mug, the coffee tasting subtly different with her palate. I was leveraging her memories constantly: the way she held a mug, her opinion on the new neighborhood landscaping, her polite laugh. I was a puppet, and Lydia’s life was the set of strings.
"My son's back from college and could use something to do" my step mom asked with a conspiratorial wink. “Want me to send him over to help with some house work?”
“Oh that'd be perfect,” I heard myself say, and had to suppress a hysterical giggle. “He's a real sweet boy.”
After about twenty minutes of this bizarre charade, I saw my chance. “Would you mind if I excused myself to use your powder room?” I asked.
“Of course, you know where it is!”
I didn’t go to the downstairs powder room. With a thief’s heart, I padded quietly up the stairs, past the framed family photos that now seemed like artifacts from another life. My bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in.
There, sprawled on my bed, fully dressed and snoring softly, was me. Or rather, my empty body. It was the strangest sight of all—seeing my own lanky form from the outside, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over my forehead. A profound sense of dislocation washed over me, followed by a sharp, devious thrill.
I slipped inside and closed the door silently. I stared at my own sleeping face. Then, moving quickly, I pulled out the phone from my borrowed purse—Lydia’s phone. I propped it up on my desk, angled perfectly toward the bed, and hit record.
Then I approached the bed. My own body smelled like my cheap deodorant and the fabric of my old comforter. Gently, I unbuckled my own jeans. My hands, small and soft, worked with a clinical curiosity that was also deeply erotic. I gave my unconscious self a handjob, watching the physiological reaction with a detached, fascinated awe. My shaft thick and hard between my hands. Leaning down, I then took myself into my mouth—her mouth. The sensations were a confusing feedback loop: the physical act, the visual of my own body, the knowledge of who was doing it. It was narcissistic, invasive, and unbearably hot. My body gave in, shooting a small load that covered my face and I made sure the phone captured it all.
I quickly cleaned everything up with a tissue from my nightstand, redid my jeans, and grabbed the phone. I stopped the recording. With shaky fingers, I airdropped the video file to my own phone, which was lying on the nightstand next to my sleeping head. I then meticulously deleted the video from Lydia’s phone and cleared the ‘recently deleted’ folder. The evidence was now only in my possession.
Taking a steadying breath, I smoothed down my sweater and left my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I rejoined my mom in the kitchen, my cheeks flushed.
“Everything alright? You look a little flushed,” my mom said.
“Fine! Just a bit warm,” I said, forcing another smile. I snuck glances at my mom as we talked, seeing the familiar lines of her face from this new, feminine perspective. I was hyper-aware of the body I inhabited, the sway of Lydia’s hair, the brush of her sweater against her breasts—my breasts—as I moved.
The afternoon wore on in a surreal bubble. I was trying to decide what to do next with this borrowed life. Go shopping again? Experiment more at her cam setup? The possibilities were a dizzying array in my mind.
And then, without warning, it happened. A sudden, tugging sensation behind my navel, like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.
***
I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was on my back in my own bed, the afternoon sun now at a different angle. My body felt instantly familiar and was overcome with a feeling of afterglow. The phantom sensations of the shower, of my own touch, still buzzed on my skin like a fading sunburn.
The memory of the video jolted me into action. I scrambled for my phone. There it was. A file received from Lydia Henderson’s device. I didn’t open it. I just stared at the filename, a cold sweat breaking out. It was real. All of it.
I changed my clothes in a frenzy, pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans, my mind reeling. I had to see. I had to know if she was still there.
I practically flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the doorway to the living room. My step mom was still there, on the sofa.
And sitting across from her, sipping the last of her coffee, was Mrs. Henderson—Lydia. She looked perfectly composed, her makeup fresh, her smile easy.
My step mom turned. “Oh, speak of the devil! Lydia was just telling me about her new rose bushes.”
Lydia’s eyes met mine. Those green-flecked hazel eyes held mine for a long, deliberate second. Then, as my step mom glanced down to pick up her own mug, Lydia’s expression shifted. The pleasant neighborly mask dissolved into something else—something knowing, sharp, and utterly mischievous. She gave me a slow, deliberate wink.
Then, her hand resting casually on her knee, hidden from my step mom’s view by the coffee table, she made a quick, unmistakable motion: her fist pumping up and down in the universal sign for a jerk-off.
My blood turned to ice. My stomach dropped through the floor.
She knew. Somehow she knew.
Before I could react, even to breathe, she smiled sweetly at my step mom, stood up, and said, “Well, I should let you two get on with your weekend. Thanks for the coffee, Ellen!”
She walked past me to the door, her perfume trailing behind her. As she reached for the knob, she paused, looked back over her shoulder directly at me, and mouthed silent words with a smirk that was anything but innocent:
“I hope you had fun.”
***
The meditation was a failure. For three nights straight, I sat on my floor until my legs cramped, focusing every ounce of my will on the memory of lavender and silk. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of my own thoughts and the growing dread that my window into Lydia’s world had slammed shut forever.
So when my step-mom Ellen cheerfully announced on Tuesday that she’d “volunteered” me to help Mrs. Henderson haul some old boxes to her attic, my blood ran cold. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a reckoning.
I stood on Lydia’s porch, my heart trying to batter its way through my ribs. I rang the bell.
She answered almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore simple leggings and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup. She looked like the mom next door, but her eyes held a storm.
“Come in,” she said, her voice flat. I shuffled inside, the familiar scent of her home now feeling like a crime scene.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click. We stood in her foyer. The air was thick with unspoken things.
She crossed her arms, fixing me with a hard stare. “So. You want to tell me what the hell that was? Snooping through my things? Wearing my clothes? Going on my stream?” Her tone was sharp, accusatory. “That is some seriously messed up, perverted shit.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My face burned with shame and terror. I was going to be arrested. My life was over. I managed a strangled, “I… I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson, I don’t know what—”
She burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but a rich, genuine sound that filled the hallway. The angry mask melted away, replaced by sparkling amusement. “Oh, god, look at your face!” she wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Priceless. I’m just messing with you, kid. Everything’s fine.”
I sagged against the wall, lightheaded with relief. “W-what?”
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated, grinning. “Well, as fine as it can be when you find out your neighbor’s been borrowing your body like a rental car.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I made iced tea.”
In a daze, I followed her. She poured two glasses, leaning against the counter. “So,” she began, her tone now conspiratorial. “That goth chick at Sinister Delights? Cute, right? She texted me after you left, said I seemed ‘different.’ More fun.”
I could only stare, my mind struggling to catch up.
“And the mall,” she continued, sipping her drink. “Good choices. The leopard print? Bold. I’d have never picked it for myself, but I kinda love it.”
I just held the cold glass, unable to process her words.
“And the cam show,” she continued, leaning against the counter, a sly smile on her lips. “Shy Girl Next Door? That was a brilliant angle. The nervous glances, the slightly clumsy moves… it was authentic. Viewers ate it up. My tips were 30% higher than usual.”
Her expression softened, turning serious for a moment. “That, you do have to keep to yourself. My… professional life. That’s a non-negotiable secret.”
“Of course,” I blurted. “Never. I swear.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she seemed to mean it. “And the video? Of me… you know, with you?” She shook her head, a faint blush on her cheeks that wasn’t entirely from amusement. “You can keep that. Consider it a… weird souvenir.”
The casual way she said it was staggering. “Why… why are you being so cool about this?” I finally managed to whisper.
Lydia sighed, setting her glass down. She looked at me, her gaze turning inward and serious. “Because it wasn’t just you in my head. When you left… something stayed. A little echo. A feeling. I can’t access your memories, but I can feel… a presence. A younger, curious, kinda horny male presence. It’s faint, like a radio playing in another room, but it’s there. It’s why I knew it was you at the door. I felt the echo… resonate.”
She walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. It was a strangely companionable gesture. “I don’t feel violated. I feel… like I owe you a favor. You left a piece of yourself here, and I feel like I should treat you like a new found brother. So.” She shrugged, a new, determined glint in her eye. “I’m going to do you a solid. One for the road, since you're about to go back to college and can’t seem to get back in on your own.”
Before I could ask what she meant, she took my hand. “Come on.”
She led me, stunned and silent, to her bedroom. She pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
I sat. She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out the leopard print lingerie I’d bought. She gave me a wink, then disappeared into the walk-in closet to change.
When she emerged, my breath caught. The leopard print was even more stunning on her when she wore it with intention. The bralette pushed her breasts up, the high-cut briefs accentuating the curve of her hips. She looked like a predator, confident and sleek.
“Lie back,” she instructed softly.
I did. She knelt on the floor between my knees, her hands deftly undoing my jeans. This was nothing like the frantic, secretive act in my bedroom. This was slow, deliberate, and performed with a masterful skill that had me trembling in seconds. Her mouth was hot and knowing, her hands roaming my thighs and stomach. She took her time, bringing me to the edge twice with torturous skill before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Not yet.”
Then she stood up, shimmied out of the briefs, and climbed onto the bed, straddling me. She guided me inside her, sinking down with a slow, deep sigh that was part pleasure, part relief.
The sex was nothing I had ever experienced. It was passionate but controlled, intense but deeply communicative. She rode me with a powerful, rolling rhythm, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned down, her breasts brushing my chest, and kissed me—a deep, searching kiss that tasted of iced tea and mint. The leopard print lace scraped deliciously against my skin.
“You feel that?” she murmured against my lips, her hips never stopping their movement. “That’s all you. That echo. It’s like I know what you like before you do.”
She was right. Every shift, every touch, was perfectly aligned with my building pleasure. It was as if she was reading the ghost I’d left inside her. The climax, when it hit me, was a cataclysmic wave that tore a raw, guttural shout from my throat. She followed me over a moment later, clenching around me, her own cry muffled in the crook of my neck.
We lay together for a long time, tangled and sweating, the scent of sex and her perfume filling the air. She eventually slipped off me and curled against my side. “A proper goodbye,” she whispered, before her breathing evened out into sleep.
***
I woke up alone in my own bed. The gray light of dawn filtered in. The sheets smelled of my own laundry detergent. For a dizzying moment, I was sure it had all been another impossibly vivid dream.
Then I felt the pleasant ache in my muscles. I saw the faint, smudged trace of lipstick—a peachy nude, Morning Kiss—on my collar.
And I remembered her words. You left a piece of yourself here.
That evening, restless and haunted, I sat on my bedroom floor once more. Not trying to reach for Lydia. Just trying to quiet the echo. My consciousness drifted, untethered, through the familiar walls of my house.
I floated into the master bedroom. My step mom, Ellen, was there, sitting at her vanity in a robe, carefully applying night cream. I hovered, a silent, invisible observer. She hummed a tune from some old musical, her face relaxed and kind in the soft light.
The thought, sudden and unbidden, shimmered in my non-corporeal mind. A new door. A different set of strings to pull. The curiosity, now awakened and fed, was a hungry thing.
I floated closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.
The question hung in the ether, heavy with possibility.
Do I want to?
A NEET terrorizes her family with her possession powers.
It was in the very early morning hours. The whole house was pitch-black and its inhabitants were fast asleep, except for one. The only source of light was the glow emenating from a computer monitor. It illuminated Wendy’s face and the strands of greasy hair glued to it. The synthetic light just faintly revealed the mess in her room: the moldy plates, empty take-out boxes, and dirty clothes, all of which were freely intermixed and strewn about.
Wet sounds and a pungent smell filled the air. Wendy sat in her computer chair in just her underwear and masturbated while playing an erotic dating simulator. She had been an avid fan of video games, especially story-driven ones like visual novels, since she was a kid, but since the twenty-three-year-old failed out of college and moved back in with her parents, she had done nothing but sit in front of her computer and play video games all day long.
She used to be somewhat pretty, but she let herself go quite a bit when she essentially barricaded herself into her old childhood room, only ever leaving to use the bathroom. Since then, she had been escaping more and more into the virtual world of various video games, desperately trying to escape her failures in the outside world. The easily achievable goals in those games provided her with at least a fake sense of fullfilment and purpose.
Initially, she stuck to regular video games and story-driven visual novels. But since moving back home, she got fairly addicted to romantic dating simulators, which provided her a with a substitute for the type of relationship she longed for but could not achieve in real life. Things took even more of a downturn when, a few months ago, after having played through virtually all visual novels, she checked out her first incest-themed eroge, a genre she had not paid any attention to before, but now felt compelled to in order to avoid spending any second alone with her own thoughts.
Right in that moment she was playing through a scene where the main character’s adorable little sister snuck into her older brother’s bed and snuggled up to him under the covers. The game quickly turned erotic and, in response, Wendy let out a long, deep grunt, signaling her climax.
To recuperate from her self-satisfaction, Wendy leaned back into her chair and looked up at her dimmly-lit ceiling. After a few moments an idea popped into her head. She got up and, for the first time in a while, left her room for a reason other than to use the bathroom. She quietly crept through the dark hallway and slowly opened the door two rooms further down, trying to keep it from creaking as to not wake the person sleeping inside.
After entering the room, she managed to silently close the door behind her and then tip-toed towards the bed inside. There, she lifted the covers and carefully laid down next to her older brother Josh who was sleeping soundly. She then cozied up to him under the blanket just like she had seen the little sister do in her video game. She was now right next to him with her foul breath caressing his skin.
Wanting to recreate the scene from her video game, Wendy began carefully fishing her brother’s limp dick out of his pyjama pants and gently rubbed it until it was fully errect. She then rolled on top of him, pushed her panties aside, and stealthily slipped his dick into her hungry snatch.
Meanwhile, Josh was having the most amazing dream. In it, he found himself in an infinite, white void where he was hooking up with the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her long, brunette hair appeared to be silky-soft as it gently swayed around her slender frame with each motion, lending her an ethereal presence. The only things about her that he found more captivating than her radiant smile were her full, ripe breasts, which were practically begging to be devoured. She seemed really familiar to Josh, although he could not quite place where he had seen her before. Maybe she was an ex-girlfriend he had forgotten about. Nevertheless, he did not want to keep this unknown beauty waiting by fretting about it.
Josh and the mysterious girl had already fully shed their clothes and were eager to get things going. He laid down on the most comfortable bed imaginable, which had appeared out of nowhere without him ever noticing. Lying on his back, he watched as his dream lover expertly fondled his privates while looking up at him with hungry eyes. In no time he was ready to take her. The nameless vixen sat on top of him and began immediately riding him, placing her hands on his hard abs for support. Her hot, silky depths engulfed him completely as her smooth, hairless body writhed with pleasure. Biting her lower lip, she failed to stifle the soft moans escaping from her mouth that accompanied the expressions of extacy on her gorgeous face. They caressed Josh’s ears like the sweatest of melodies, bewitching him like a siren. The pleasure that grew in his groin was overwhelming, beyond anything he had ever experienced in real life.
Yet, something about her felt odd to him. Despite her small size and lithe body, the dreamy nymph on top of him felt unusually heavy. This bizarre fact made him realize that he was actually dreaming, which immediately ripped him from his sleep.
Completely disoriented, the only things Josh could perceive in the dark was labored breathing and groaning, and a heavy weight bouncing up and down on him. At first he hoped that this might be a continuation of his wonderful dream, but when a lurid stench crept up his nose he knew for certain that he was awake. Wanting to find out who or what was disturbing his sweet dreams, he turned to his night stand right beside his bed to turn on the light. For a few seconds the sudden presence of light blinded him like a flash of lightning. But when his eyes had acclimated to the new-found brightness, he was horrified by the ghastly figure sitting on top of him.
“Wendy!!”, Josh exlaimed as he recognized his grody younger sister straddling him, wearing only a bra and panties. Her grin was barely visible through her greasy hair and the bra that had failed to adjust to her increased size dug deeply into her chubby shape, almost cutting off circulation to her formless breasts. “What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? And why are you sitting on top of me?” Josh demanded angrily. “Oh, Josh,” was the only answer Wendy could moan, never breaking with the rhythm of her movements. Hearing these sexual sounds come from his sister’s mouth was like fingernails on a chalkboard to his ears.
Her abhorrent, yet puzzling, response made Josh’s eyes wander lower. He gagged violently when he discovered his dick was burried deep inside his sister’s rancid, unkempt snatch, even feeling her coarse pubes rubbing against his skin as she was grinding her crotch against his. He felt so repulsed by this disgusting sight that he could have projectile-vomitted every meal he had ever had in his life right in that very moment. Luckily, his stomach was completely empty or he would have made an even bigger mess out of this situation.
“Get off of me!” Josh yelled while forcefully pushing his grody sister away. Wendy fell off his dick, off his bed, and on onto the floor, landing there with a strong thud. She quickly scrambled back onto her feet. “Why did you do that?” she hissed. “That’s what I should be asking! Why were you having sex with me, Wendy? You’re my sister! That’s so fucked!” he exclaimed. “But I’m your cute little sister, bro. Don’t you find me adorable,” she said batting her eye-lids, trying to charm her brother, but somehow ending up looking even creepier.
“Eewww, you’re sick, Wendy! Sick and vile!” Josh said disgusted. “And not just that, you’re also fucking filthy. I’d rather rip my own dick off and poke my eyes out with it than have sex with you, even if we were the last two people on earth stranded on a lonely island! I wish you’d just disappear forever and leave us alone.” Her brother’s harsh remarks finally burst the fantasy that Wendy had built up in her mind over the past few months of playing eroges. The reality she tried to run from came crashing down on her right in this moment, as Josh’s cutting words hurt her deeply.
“Fine!” Wendy said scorned and full of anger. “If you want me to disappear, then that’s what I will do, I guess!” With tears of anger welling up, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Wait! Wendy! Nooo—!” Josh exclaimed, trying to stop her. But it was too late. As if something had zapped the life out of her, Wendy instantly lost all the tension in her body and collapsed face-first onto her brother’s bed. At the same time, Josh’s eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body began convulsing vigorously. Then something inside of him snapped and he, too, lost almost all the tension in his body, just barely being able to stand. His head was loosely dangling from his neck.
After a few moments of silence, Josh seemed to wake up, as both his heads slowly rose up again. But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in control. His sister Wendy had somehow developed the powers to take over other people’s bodies during her early teenage years. At first she was shy and reluctant about them, as she used to be a gentle soul. She simply could not square it with her conscience to control other people. The most she would do was ride along in the friends or family members of a boy she had a crush on at the time. When her parents found out about her powers, they immediately scolded her and forbade her from ever using her powers. But as Wendy grew older, her parents realized that their daughter did not have any ill intentions and began relaxing about the situation.
But when Wendy failed out of college and her mental health declined, things turned scary for her family. She became more and more controlling and petulant, throwing tamper tantrums anytime anyone disturbed her or tried to tell her what to do. She also became increasingly blasé about using her powers, taking over her family, neighbors, and anyone in reach for the smallest of matters, just so she would never have to leave her room.
On a few occasions Wendy had even used her powers to blackmail people into doing what she wanted, even when she was not possessing them. Another time she had stalked a poor guy who she had become at first infatuated and then obsessed with on social media. She had followed him around as different people, watching every step he made, every second of his life for two months. She only stopped because she eventually became bored of him.
These were the myriad of reasons that her family now lived in fear of her. Her parents could not throw her out because of her powers. They themselves could not move out since all their savings were tied into their house. Their youngest daughter, Alice, refused to leave, as she did not want her parents to suffer alone. And even Josh had moved back in as a means to protect his family, which is why he now found himself not in control of his own body.
“Josh” grinned from ear to ear as he patted down “his” flat chest. “He” then flexed his biceps, admiring his own strength. Next, he grabbed his dick, which was already painfully errect, with both his hands and began firmly squeezing it. He could virtually feel the blood pulsing through the thick meat of his sizeable member. “He” then turned to the person lying on his bed and said, “I’m soooo sorry, ‘sis’. I didn’t mean to hurt you. My words came out all wrong. What I meant to say was that you are the most adorable little sister a big brother could ever wish for! Here, let me show you how much I love you.”
With that, “Josh” stepped towards Wendy’s comatose body and snaked his big, strong hands underneath her torso. “Oh, my. When did my cute little sister grow up to be such a woman?” “he” cooed while groping her flabby breasts. Without turning over her heavy frame, “Josh” glid his rough hands along her pudgy waist and onto her even wider hips, firmly grabbing ahold of them. “He” then carefully wormed his prick into “his sister’s” slimy, hairy cunt, before forcefully jamming his entire length into her unconscious flesh.
Without any further hesitation, “Josh” began viciously fucking his sleeping sister, pumping in and out of her like an animal while groaning and grunting like a bull. “He” nearly worked himself into a frenzy. Wendy’s rotten odor began reeking from all the friction and heat they created, which seemed to turn him on even more. For the next two minutes, the clapping of “his” hips against her sizeable cheeks echoed throughout the room until “he” finally hit is climax and then dumped his thick load inside of “his” sister’s gooey slit. Still inside of her, he collapsed on top of her and under heavy breathing whispered into her ear, “I love you, ‘sis’.”
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It was very late in the morning, almost creeping on noon, when Christine, the mother of the house, stood in the kitchen and prepared some food. She was cheerfully humming a tune while cutting up a cantalope and placing slices of ham on pieces of crispy toast. She then artfully aranged the food on a plate, in a way that was worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The food was not only delicious but also visually appetizing, and so was her ample bosom that was proudly put on display by a low-cut, floral sundress, which gently hugged her motherly curves.
Still humming to herself, Christine picked up the plate, left the kitchen, and went up the stairs with a joyful bounce to her step, which not only made the hem of her short dress dance around her hips and tickle her thighs but also made her opulent mounds jiggle playfully. Upstairs, she entered her daughter’s dingy room without either knocking or turning on the lights and placed the food on her desk. “Enjoy your breakfast, honey,” she whispered to a sleeping Wendy.
Without any further hesitation, Christine left her daughter’s room and headed straight to the master bedroom. Behind locked doors she made her way over to her full-sized mirror and began admiring herself. Slowly, a big, dirty grin spread across her face. “Thank you, mother, for providing me with such a healthy breakfast,” “Christine” said in a sickly-sweet tone, seemingly mocking herself. “You always taught me to eat my daily share of fruits, and your ‘melons’ are especially delicious,” she said while giving her huge globes a firm squeeze. “She” then slowly moved her hands along “her” waist and hips, closely following and enjoying every inch of her delectable curves, and then began groping her big, womanly ass. “And let’s not forget about your delicious meat! I gotta hand it to you: you got a real meatsuit of a body, mom!”
“Christine” then threw herself onto her bed and immediately began furiously masturbating, not even bothering to undress. One hand tightly squeezed her fleshy tits while the other inserted two fingers into her hungry snatch, dragging her panties along with them as they plummeted the depths of her steaming hot hole that had given birth to three children, one of which was now in control of her body and effectively molesting her own mother.
Regrettably, “Christine” soon had to remove her hand from her supple twins in order to cover her mouth and stiffle her moans, so that she would not alert the whole house to her lewd activities. Meanwhile, the other hand continued to slip in and out of her unabated. Under the assault from such intense stimulation, it did not take long for her to reach her peak, which she celebrated by letting out a long, muffled scream.
The only thing “Christine” was able to do in the immediate aftermath was to lay on her back, breathing heavily, and bask in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her panties and her hand were now drenched in her juices. But, alas, her bliss was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mom, are you in there?” Josh asked loudly through the door. “Have you seen my black shirt? I’ve been looking all over for it!”
“Christine” quickly scrambled onto her feet and straightend out her dress and hair, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible, as to not tip off “her son” to what kept her so busy. She cracked the door open just barely enough to stick her head out, hiding her body behind the door and her dripping wet hand behind her back. “Have you checked the laundry? I’m pretty sure I’ve put it in the wash recently,” she answered his query. “Yeah, I did. I guess I’m gonna check again, just to be sure,” Josh said and was already turning to walk away.
“Wait!” “Christine” suddenly exlaimed a little bit too loudly, as a most devious idea popped into her head. “What?” Josh asked somewhat startled. “You’ve got a smudge on the corner of your mouth” she explained. “Where?” he said while trying to wipe the imaginary stain from his face. “No, it’s still there. Here, let me try,” she said, now fully opening the door and finally stepping out of the room.
Josh was taken by surprise when “his mother” suddenly got so close to him that she was essentially pushing her opulent chest against his torso. Looking down he saw her face with an expresssion of concentration look up at him. Underneath that he caught a glimpse of her soft pillows bulging out of the top of her dress as they were pressed flat against him.
“M–Mom, w–what are you doing?” Jost stammered, as he began to blush. “Hold still! Just let me get it real quick,” “Christine” demanded. Unbeknownst to Josh, though, the hand which “his mother” was now smearing all over his face was still coated in her sticky juices.
Since Josh was quite a bit taller than his mother, “Christine” raised herself up by standing on the tips of her toes to better reach and more closely inspect his face. In the process, she pushed her breasts even deeper into him and slid them up along his chest until their nipples were perfectly aligned with each other.
“M–Mom, s–stop it!” Josh said while struggling to get away from her, as her face was now close enough that he could feel her hot breath on his skin. “Hold still!” “Christine” demanded. “The more you move the longer it will take.” Never having been this close to his own mother, at least not since he was a child, Josh caught a whiff of her perfume which was followed by a strange, musky smell.
Coming into such intimate contact with a woman’s body made the inside of Josh’s pants swell rapidly. His dick did not care who it was, flesh was flesh. But the thought that it was his own mother’s flesh surprisingly made him grow even harder. So hard, in fact, that he was now poking her belly with his manhood.
Appaled by his own reaction, Josh pushed who he thought was his mother away from himself. “Thanks, I think it’s gone now,” he yelled out without looking at her, trying to hide that his face was now a deep crimson. He then hastily fled to his room, almost tripping over himself, as he desperately tried to escape this embarrassing situation. “Christine” on the other just chuckled to herself, as she was highly amused by “her son’s” reaction.
That night Christine and Gilbert could be heard enjoying each other throughout the house.
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A lot of clanking, rattling, and cursing could be heard coming from the garage. Christine had asked her husband Gilbert to look after the car, since it had been making a lot of weird noises lately and even had briefly died on her the other day. This is why Gilbert, a man in his early fifties who, despite his thinning hair and slight dad bob, had still retained some of his youthful handsomeness, was now bent over the car’s engine covered in dirt and motor oil, occasionally bonking his head on the hood of the car.
Just as he finished changing the oil, his daughter Alice walked in. Unlike her sister Wendy, Alice had always been a Daddy’s girl. She and her father had been attached by the hip to each other ever since she was born. Even throughout puberty, when most other teenagers vie for their independence, she had stayed close to her Dad who had remained a steadfast anchor for her. Even now, the twenty-year-old college student loved spending time with her father more than anything else. Ever since she was a little child, one of her favorite things to do was to sit in her father’s lap and play Super Mario Bros., earning her the nickname “princess”.
There was something about her father’s presence that was incredibly relaxing to her, which is why the slim brunette did not mind him seeing her in only a pair of yoga pants and a tight spaghetti-strap top without a bra. Her outfit revealed the outline of her nubile form in great detail, including her pert buns and her gravity-defying orbs. Even her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her top as soon as they got a taste of the chilly air inside the garage.
“Hey, Dad! Watcha doing?” Alice exclaimed with a beaming smile on her face. She threw her arms enthusiastically around her father’s waist, smushing her buoyant breasts against his soft belly in the process. “Not much,” Gilbert replied while reciprocating her loving embrace. He rocked her from side to side, thereby squishing his daughter’s youthful mounds even tighter against himself. “Your mother was complaining about the car so I thought maybe I could get the old can working again. What about you, princess? Wanna hang out with your old man?”
“Oh, I’d love to,” Alice said. “But I just came here to get a screwdriver to fix the recliner on my chair.” “Well, then don’t let me stop you,” Gilbert said and booped her on the nose, coating its tip with black grease from his dirty hands. When they released their embrace and Alice made her way towards the shelf on the other side of the garage, Gilbert watched his daughter’s backside and discovered that he had accidentally smeared black grease all over her. Most of it covered her shoulders and upper arms, but some of it even got on her lower back.
The tool she was looking for was located on the top-most shelf, so Alice had to really stretch herself to reach up high. But, it was not enough, as she was still missing a few inches. She then tried jumping up and down, making her luscious body, and especially her firm cheeks, shake vigorously every time she returned to the ground. Yet, she still came up short. For a while, Gilbert closely eyed his daughter’s antics before he walked over to her and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
Alice suddenly yelped as her father, without warning, scooped up her tight little butt with his big, strong hands, and lifted her up high. His palms essentially provided a seat for her from which she comfortably could reach the tool she needed. Gilbert then gently put her down again, leaving two big, greasy handprints on his daughter’s rear.
Her father’s sudden display of strength left Alice a bit frazzled. For a moment she just stood there in silence, still facing away from him. She did not know what was happening to her. As a kid she had loved being picked up by her Dad and would cling to him like a koala. But that was ages ago. Now that she was fully grown she felt differently. No man had ever handled her like that, lifting her entire adult weight so easily. It somehow made her heart beat much faster and left her short of breath. She tried to swallow down those strange feelings, yet she still blushed when she tucked her long, brunette hair behind her ears.
Alice was in the middle of turning to face her father, wanting to ask him what that was all about, when she suddenly felt as if her feet were knocked away from under her legs, making her trip and fall chest-first towards him. Gilbert instinctively tried to catch her fall, but by doing so his daughter’s perky mounds landed squarely on his big, greasy hands. His dirty palms molded themselves perfectly around the swell of her pliable breasts. Alice thought she might be going crazy, but she could have sworn she had felt her Dad give her boobs a firm squeeze. Nevertheless, her nipples still visibly stiffened.
“Uhm, … Dad?” Alice squeaked with her father’s hands still cupping her twins. “Yes, princess? Are you alright?” Gilbert asked with worry on his face. “Yeah, … I guess so …,” she mumbled while getting back on her own feet. When Gilbert’s hands finally disconnected from his daughter’s body, they revealed yet another pair of big, black handprints, this time squarely on her chest.
“Are you sure? You seem kinda out of it,” Gilbert said while trying to feel his daughter’s forehead with the back of his hand. Alice swatted his hand away more aggressively than she had intended. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a bit of agitation in her voice. “I …, uh …, I need to change.”
Unable to deny the heat welling up inside of her, Alice tried to leave as quickly as she could, but on her way out her Dad surprised her yet again by giving her a not-so-fatherly pat on her ass. She turned her head around one last time and to give her “father” a quizzical look, but the expression on his face betrayed nothing but paternal intentions. Yet, as soon as she had left the garage, “Gilbert’s” warm expression turned sinister and a big, wet stain began to form on the crotch of his pants.
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It was late at night. Christine and Gilbert had gone out earlier that evening and were not expected to return until the next morning, leaving the “kids“ home alone. The whole house was wrapped in silence, except for the blaring of the TV coming from the living room. Josh sat alone on the couch watching a movie when Alice came shuffling into the room. She was completely draped in a giant blanket, dragging a long train behind her, making it almost look like a wedding dress.
“Heeeyy, Josh. What are you doing?” Alice asked drowsily. “Oh, nothing much. Just watching a movie. What’s up with you? Why the huge-ass blanket?” her brother responded. “I’m a little cold. Mind if I join you?” “Sure. Be my guest” he said patting the spot next to him and then placed his arm on the back of the couch. She took up his offer and sat down beside him, putting up her legs and angling them to the side, all while making sure to never leave the comforting warmth of her blanket.
“Oh, hey, isn’t that the movie we used to watch a lot as kids?” Alice asked. “Yeah,” Josh responded. “I happened to come across it while I was flipping through the channels.” “Boy, I haven’t seen it in years. I completely forgot about it. I remember we used to watch it every time it was on. I even used to scour the TV magazines so that I always knew when to catch it,” Alice said excitedly. “Yeah, I’ve been watching it only for a few minutes, yet there are so many lines that come back to me just seconds before they show up in the movie,“ Josh said joining in on the excitement.
The two siblings kept laughing and joking, quoting lines from the movie as they appeared on screen, and reveling in old memories. After sharing lots of heartfelt moments, Alice suddenly asked her brother, “Are you cold, too?” Without waiting for an answer, she began covering him with the excess half of her blanket. “Here, let me give you some of my blanket. That’ll warm you up in no time.” “Well, I wasn’t really cold. But, thanks, I guess,” the young man commented.
Underneath the blanket, Alice sidled up closer to her brother and put her head on his shoulder. They had always gotten along great, yet he was somewhat surprised about how she was acting chummier than usual. But since they were sharing a deeply bonding moment, he didn’t question it any further. Sitting like that with his sister felt comfortable to him, making him relax deeply, and allowing himself to completely get lost in the movie.
For the rest of the night, the two of them kept watching the movie in silence. When it was over, Josh’s immersion finally broke and he came back to the real world. He switched off the TV and was about to turn towards his sister when he noticed that the top of her head was right underneath his nose. Somehow she had sneakily wrapped her arms around his waist and had fallen asleep with her head nestled against his chest. Most of her body laid on top of him in a tight embrace.
Alice’s gentle snores reminded Josh of a cat’s soft purrs. He thought that, in this moment, his little sister was the most adorable. But when the sweet fragrance of her peach-flavored shampoo invaded his nose, it caused something to stir deep inside of him, in a place completely unbeknownst to him. To his shock, he began to grow hard.
Confused about his feelings, Josh just sat there, not daring to make a move. After what seemed like an eternity to him, Alice woke up. Rustling underneath the blanket she looked up at him with bleary eyes. When the vision of her brother’s face came into focus she greeted him with a beaming smile. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other wordlessly. Her big, glimmering eyes looked up at him longingly, which made him blush and melted away all his natural defences. He was now at full mast.
Josh then watched in slow-motion how his sister closed her eyes and moved in closer. When he felt her tender lips on his, he was completly stunned. His jaw dropped in shock, which Alice interpreted as an invitation to sneak her tongue into his mouth. At first he went along with it by pure instinct. But when it finally sank in that he was, in fact, really kissing his sister, he shoved her away in panic, making the blanket slip down a bit, uncovering her bare shoulders.
“Stooooppp!!” Josh yelled. “What are you doing? You’re my sister! We can’t be doing that!” Tears began welling up in Alice’s eyes in response to his sudden outburst. “But Josh …,” she whimpered. “Don’t you love me?” She looked at him expectantly with her watery eyes. “Nooo!!!” he continued yelling. “I-I-I mean, y-yes, I-I m-mean, no!” he stammered. “Aarghh! I don’t love you like thaaat!”
Alice dropped her head seemingly in defeat. But something about her demeanor changed, like a shadow was cast over her eyes. Suddenly Josh felt something scurrying around his scrotch underneath the blanket. He realized it was his sister’s hands trying to undo his belt and zipper. Now even more panicked, he pushed her away more forcefully than before, accidentally throwing the blanket off of her in the process and revealing that she had been naked underneath.
“Alice!! Why the hell are you naked?!?! What is wrong with you today?” Josh kept yelling. With a dark, menacing grin forming on her face, she growled at him, “You better let this happen. We don’t want her to find herself in a compromising situation, do we?” “Wendy…,” Josh gasped, the words getting stuck in his throat. His mind was sent on a rollercoaster, desperately struggling for a solution on how to get out of this situation. But deep down, Josh knew he had nothing against her powers.
Completely dejected, Josh finally resigned himself to his fate. “Alice”, on the other hand, squealed with excitement and, like a child ripping open a present on christmas, frantically tried to get her brother’s dick out of his pants. When she finally freed it from its denim prison, his rigid member sprung out with the energy of a coil spring. She then swung one of her smooth legs over her brother and placed herself squarely on top of him.
Without any further hesitation, “Alice” slowly lowered her unclad, nubile form towards her brother’s penis. His bulbous head at first just barely kissed her velvety folds, but then gently parted them, and finally, by completely piercing her labia, desecrated that holy bond between brother and sister.
“Wendy, we have to stop this! We’re not wearing any protection!” Josh tried to protest one last time. “Don’t be silly, I’m sure this little slut is on birth control” “Alice” hissed. She was straining to force herself down her brother’s girth. “Hhnnnnnghhhoooohhhh my god she is so tight” she said panting. “She must still be a virgin. Well, not anymore, hehe.” Her small, hairless lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft. To keep going further, she arched her back and angled her hips for maximum penetration.
When she finally bottomed out, “Alice” grabbed Josh’s head and started giving him a deep passionate kiss. Her long, brown hair draped over them, curtailing the world from seeing the forbidden intimacy they were sharing. While they kept kissing, “Alice” started to moan into his mouth, as she began slowly working her way up and down her brother’s shaft. The more their friction and passion increased, the more she ruffled his hair, her hands’ movements becoming more and more frantic.
Meanwhile, Josh moved his hands down his sister’s bare back and glid them first along her waist, then her hips, and finally around the sensual curve of her butt. He gave her firm cheeks a strong squeeze, while at the same time supporting her petite body with his manly hands. At last, he finally gave in to his new-found, forbidden desires and started humping his sister in sync with the rhythm of her movements.
Getting wetter by the second, “Alice’s” juices by now provided enough lubrication for her to easily glide along her brother’s member. She broke off their kiss, sat upgright, and began to drastically increase her speed. As she was bouncing up and down on Josh’s dick, her perky tits kept jiggling wildy about. To aleviate that, she took her brother’s hands and firmly placed them on top of her shapley breasts. He eagerly accepted her offer and began digging his fingers deeply into the tender flesh of his sister’s swollen boobs, ferociously groping and squeezing them like a man who lost all his inhibitions.
Greed seemed to overtake Josh, as he followed his sister’s lead by sitting upright and then tightly embracing her lithe body while she kept viciously riding his cock. Hungrily, he placed his mouth on her delicious breasts and began sucking and licking and biting her nipples, practically devouring her boobs and almost swallowing them whole. His sister rewarded him by giving off a series of high-pitched moans and clamping down on his dick.
“Wendy …,” Josh gasped short of breath and inbetween sucking his sister’s nipples. “What is it, bro?” Alice moaned. “I don’t… I don’t think I can hold it any lo—” was the last thing Josh managed to say before he finally errupted inside his sister like a volcano, spraying his creamy spunk all over his her insides. Feeling her brother’s hot goo coating her inner walls set off “Alice’s” own orgasm, making her join him in his extacy. Her body, which was glistening from all the excertion, began shaking from top to bottom as if a current of electricity ran through her.
When the tension suddenly left her body, “Alice” collapsed on top of her brother. Completely drained, she nestled her head against his chest, breathing heavily and with strands of her sweat-drenched hair sticking to her face. “I love you, Josh,” “Alice” whispered sweetly. “I love you, too,” he sighed unconvincingly. His dick was still inside deep his sister, refusing to go limp.
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For the past month there had been a large shadow hanging over their household. Wendy’s shenanigans had sowed mistrust and uneasiness among the members of her family. It all came to a head when Alice finally confronted her brother. “Josh, I’m begging you: please tell me the truth!” Alice pleaded. “What’s going on? Why have you been avoiding me? You don’t even look me in the eyes anymore.” “I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Josh hissed without even facing her. His eyes were red and on the verge of tears.
Gilbert and Christine heard their children argue, so they went to investigate. “What’s going with the two of you? Why are you making so much noise?” Gilbert said as he stepped into the room. “Josh, has been avoiding me for weeks now and he won’t tell me what his problem is,” Alice said unnerved. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering that, too. Care to explain yourself, son?” Gilbert asked.
Josh tried to block off their barrage of questions, but, after being relentlessly corned by three people, he eventually broke down in tears and confessed how Wendy had taken control of Alice and forced himself onto her, and how he had been unable to resist. The entire room fell silent. Alice’s stomach turned, sickening her to her core. Gilbert was simply stunned, the news leaving his mind completely blank.
Christine, on the other hand, felt an uncontrollable rage explode inside of her. “That’s it!” she yelled with tears of anger in her eyes. “This is way over the line! I’m so sick and tired of her shit. This has to end now!” “Wait! Where are you going?” Gilbert said to the afterimage of his wife as she had already rushed out of the room. The rest of them slowly began to follow her, one after the other, still trying to process the information they had just received.
An absolutely livid Christine stomped furiously down the hallway and violently barged into her daughter’s room, almost knocking the door out of its hinges. There, Wendy laid on her bed and, like so often, just slept. Without waiting for her to wake up, Christine swiftly approached her sleeping daughter, wrapped her hands around her throat, and began strangling her with all her might. Wendy did not seem to make any signs of struggling against her mother’s assault.
“How could you do that?” Christine sobbed uncontrollably as rivers of tears streamed down her face. “I loved you with all my heart. Why did you become such a hateful peson? Where did I go wrong?” she said gritting her teeth. “This is the only way I can make things right!”
Gilbert and Josh were aghast when they stepped into the room and discovered what Christine was doing. Yet, neither of them intervened and tried to stop her. They just stood there and watched.
When everything was over, everybody went quiet again, except for Christine who was unable to stop her tears. Suddenly, Alice, who everyone seemed to have forgotten about, stepped into the room. They all looked at her in disbelief as they watched a creepy, sinister smile form on her pretty face. “No!” Christine whispered. “Actually, yes, mother,” “Alice” countered. “I’m not so easy to get rid of, you see.” “No!” Christine repeated, this time more emphatically. “And from now on, you will all do exactly as I tell you or the police might get an anonymous tip about what has happened to your dearest daughter. Remember this for the rest of you lives: you got blood on your hands, literally, and I won’t hesistate to take any one of you down!” “Alice” said menacingly. It finally dawned on Christine, Gilbert, and Josh that there was no way of escaping Wendy and that they had to resign themselves to the fact that their lives were now fully under her control, essentially making them her personal slaves.
Meanwhile, “Alice”, who was relishing in the power she had over her family, sauntered over towards her father and lifted the front of her skirt, exposing “her” panty-clad pussy. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, Daddy,” she whispered with lust dripping in her voice. Both of her small, feminine hands then reached out and grabbed one of her father’s big, manly hands and slowly guided it underneath her skirt and panties and gently placed it onto her already sopping wet pussy. Gilbert was too stunned to stop her, and even if he had not been, he would not have dared to go against her.
Suddenly, both Alice and Gilbert shuddered simultaneously. “We sure will, princess,” “Gilbert” said with a lecherous expression on his face. “He” then slipped a finger inside “his” daughter’s smooth folds and began aggressively fingering her hole. The real Alice was dazed and confused when she finally came to again. “D–Dad?” she stammared. “W–What’s going o–o–oooohhhhnnggg?!” she moaned, being overwhelmed by an unexpected orgasm as her “father” quickly sent her over the edge.
Christine was horrified as she watched her husband molest their daughter in front of her eyes. Unfortunately, she was unable to do anything about it as a shiver ran down her spine and the same spell that had taken over her husband and daughter was now taking hold of her. “And let’s not neglect these two here,” “Christine” said while firmly squeezing “her” boobs against each other. “She” then climbed onto Wendy’s bed on all fours, pulled up her dress and her panties to the side, and openly offered up “her own” snatch. “Josh, be a good son and come over here and show Mommy how much my boy has grown up?”
At last it was Josh’s turn. Before he could really process the actions unfolding in front of him, he was no longer in control of his body. “Don’t mind if I do!” “Josh” replied eagerly. As fast as lightning “he” walked over to his mother, dropped his pants, and slammed his rock-hard errection into her sloppy slit. Christine, now back in control of her body, was overwhelmed with the pleasurable sensation of her son’s girthy member ramming in and out of her. When she felt her son mauling her big tits from behind, she went completely limp in his arms, as the last of her will left her while “her son” kept hammering her hole. Eventually, they both climaxed at the same time and Christine felt her son’s hot fluids spread throughout her inside.
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That same night it was raining cats and dogs. Gilbert and Josh, equipped with spades, dug a hole in their backyard to dispose of Wendy’s corpse while Christine and “Alice” watched from the kitchen window.
The four of them would spend the rest of their lives living in fear and terror, as Wendy forced them to live out all of her depraved sex fantasies between sister and brother, father and daughter, mother and son, mother and daugher, and even between father and son.
Eventually, when the last of her family members had passed on, Wendy continued to live on as a formless presence, taking over other people, until the end of time.
It was in the very early morning hours. The whole house was pitch-black and its inhabitants were fast asleep, except for one. The only source of light was the glow emenating from a computer monitor. It illuminated Wendy’s face and the strands of greasy hair glued to it. The synthetic light just faintly revealed the mess in her room: the moldy plates, empty take-out boxes, and dirty clothes, all of which were freely intermixed and strewn about.
Wet sounds and a pungent smell filled the air. Wendy sat in her computer chair in just her underwear and masturbated while playing an erotic dating simulator. She had been an avid fan of video games, especially story-driven ones like visual novels, since she was a kid, but since the twenty-three-year-old failed out of college and moved back in with her parents, she had done nothing but sit in front of her computer and play video games all day long.
She used to be somewhat pretty, but she let herself go quite a bit when she essentially barricaded herself into her old childhood room, only ever leaving to use the bathroom. Since then, she had been escaping more and more into the virtual world of various video games, desperately trying to escape her failures in the outside world. The easily achievable goals in those games provided her with at least a fake sense of fullfilment and purpose.
Initially, she stuck to regular video games and story-driven visual novels. But since moving back home, she got fairly addicted to romantic dating simulators, which provided her a with a substitute for the type of relationship she longed for but could not achieve in real life. Things took even more of a downturn when, a few months ago, after having played through virtually all visual novels, she checked out her first incest-themed eroge, a genre she had not paid any attention to before, but now felt compelled to in order to avoid spending any second alone with her own thoughts.
Right in that moment she was playing through a scene where the main character’s adorable little sister snuck into her older brother’s bed and snuggled up to him under the covers. The game quickly turned erotic and, in response, Wendy let out a long, deep grunt, signaling her climax.
To recuperate from her self-satisfaction, Wendy leaned back into her chair and looked up at her dimmly-lit ceiling. After a few moments an idea popped into her head. She got up and, for the first time in a while, left her room for a reason other than to use the bathroom. She quietly crept through the dark hallway and slowly opened the door two rooms further down, trying to keep it from creaking as to not wake the person sleeping inside.
After entering the room, she managed to silently close the door behind her and then tip-toed towards the bed inside. There, she lifted the covers and carefully laid down next to her older brother Josh who was sleeping soundly. She then cozied up to him under the blanket just like she had seen the little sister do in her video game. She was now right next to him with her foul breath caressing his skin.
Wanting to recreate the scene from her video game, Wendy began carefully fishing her brother’s limp dick out of his pyjama pants and gently rubbed it until it was fully errect. She then rolled on top of him, pushed her panties aside, and stealthily slipped his dick into her hungry snatch.
Meanwhile, Josh was having the most amazing dream. In it, he found himself in an infinite, white void where he was hooking up with the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her long, brunette hair appeared to be silky-soft as it gently swayed around her slender frame with each motion, lending her an ethereal presence. The only things about her that he found more captivating than her radiant smile were her full, ripe breasts, which were practically begging to be devoured. She seemed really familiar to Josh, although he could not quite place where he had seen her before. Maybe she was an ex-girlfriend he had forgotten about. Nevertheless, he did not want to keep this unknown beauty waiting by fretting about it.
Josh and the mysterious girl had already fully shed their clothes and were eager to get things going. He laid down on the most comfortable bed imaginable, which had appeared out of nowhere without him ever noticing. Lying on his back, he watched as his dream lover expertly fondled his privates while looking up at him with hungry eyes. In no time he was ready to take her. The nameless vixen sat on top of him and began immediately riding him, placing her hands on his hard abs for support. Her hot, silky depths engulfed him completely as her smooth, hairless body writhed with pleasure. Biting her lower lip, she failed to stifle the soft moans escaping from her mouth that accompanied the expressions of extacy on her gorgeous face. They caressed Josh’s ears like the sweatest of melodies, bewitching him like a siren. The pleasure that grew in his groin was overwhelming, beyond anything he had ever experienced in real life.
Yet, something about her felt odd to him. Despite her small size and lithe body, the dreamy nymph on top of him felt unusually heavy. This bizarre fact made him realize that he was actually dreaming, which immediately ripped him from his sleep.
Completely disoriented, the only things Josh could perceive in the dark was labored breathing and groaning, and a heavy weight bouncing up and down on him. At first he hoped that this might be a continuation of his wonderful dream, but when a lurid stench crept up his nose he knew for certain that he was awake. Wanting to find out who or what was disturbing his sweet dreams, he turned to his night stand right beside his bed to turn on the light. For a few seconds the sudden presence of light blinded him like a flash of lightning. But when his eyes had acclimated to the new-found brightness, he was horrified by the ghastly figure sitting on top of him.
“Wendy!!”, Josh exlaimed as he recognized his grody younger sister straddling him, wearing only a bra and panties. Her grin was barely visible through her greasy hair and the bra that had failed to adjust to her increased size dug deeply into her chubby shape, almost cutting off circulation to her formless breasts. “What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? And why are you sitting on top of me?” Josh demanded angrily. “Oh, Josh,” was the only answer Wendy could moan, never breaking with the rhythm of her movements. Hearing these sexual sounds come from his sister’s mouth was like fingernails on a chalkboard to his ears.
Her abhorrent, yet puzzling, response made Josh’s eyes wander lower. He gagged violently when he discovered his dick was burried deep inside his sister’s rancid, unkempt snatch, even feeling her coarse pubes rubbing against his skin as she was grinding her crotch against his. He felt so repulsed by this disgusting sight that he could have projectile-vomitted every meal he had ever had in his life right in that very moment. Luckily, his stomach was completely empty or he would have made an even bigger mess out of this situation.
“Get off of me!” Josh yelled while forcefully pushing his grody sister away. Wendy fell off his dick, off his bed, and on onto the floor, landing there with a strong thud. She quickly scrambled back onto her feet. “Why did you do that?” she hissed. “That’s what I should be asking! Why were you having sex with me, Wendy? You’re my sister! That’s so fucked!” he exclaimed. “But I’m your cute little sister, bro. Don’t you find me adorable,” she said batting her eye-lids, trying to charm her brother, but somehow ending up looking even creepier.
“Eewww, you’re sick, Wendy! Sick and vile!” Josh said disgusted. “And not just that, you’re also fucking filthy. I’d rather rip my own dick off and poke my eyes out with it than have sex with you, even if we were the last two people on earth stranded on a lonely island! I wish you’d just disappear forever and leave us alone.” Her brother’s harsh remarks finally burst the fantasy that Wendy had built up in her mind over the past few months of playing eroges. The reality she tried to run from came crashing down on her right in this moment, as Josh’s cutting words hurt her deeply.
“Fine!” Wendy said scorned and full of anger. “If you want me to disappear, then that’s what I will do, I guess!” With tears of anger welling up, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Wait! Wendy! Nooo—!” Josh exclaimed, trying to stop her. But it was too late. As if something had zapped the life out of her, Wendy instantly lost all the tension in her body and collapsed face-first onto her brother’s bed. At the same time, Josh’s eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body began convulsing vigorously. Then something inside of him snapped and he, too, lost almost all the tension in his body, just barely being able to stand. His head was loosely dangling from his neck.
After a few moments of silence, Josh seemed to wake up, as both his heads slowly rose up again. But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in control. His sister Wendy had somehow developed the powers to take over other people’s bodies during her early teenage years. At first she was shy and reluctant about them, as she used to be a gentle soul. She simply could not square it with her conscience to control other people. The most she would do was ride along in the friends or family members of a boy she had a crush on at the time. When her parents found out about her powers, they immediately scolded her and forbade her from ever using her powers. But as Wendy grew older, her parents realized that their daughter did not have any ill intentions and began relaxing about the situation.
But when Wendy failed out of college and her mental health declined, things turned scary for her family. She became more and more controlling and petulant, throwing tamper tantrums anytime anyone disturbed her or tried to tell her what to do. She also became increasingly blasé about using her powers, taking over her family, neighbors, and anyone in reach for the smallest of matters, just so she would never have to leave her room.
On a few occasions Wendy had even used her powers to blackmail people into doing what she wanted, even when she was not possessing them. Another time she had stalked a poor guy who she had become at first infatuated and then obsessed with on social media. She had followed him around as different people, watching every step he made, every second of his life for two months. She only stopped because she eventually became bored of him.
These were the myriad of reasons that her family now lived in fear of her. Her parents could not throw her out because of her powers. They themselves could not move out since all their savings were tied into their house. Their youngest daughter, Alice, refused to leave, as she did not want her parents to suffer alone. And even Josh had moved back in as a means to protect his family, which is why he now found himself not in control of his own body.
“Josh” grinned from ear to ear as he patted down “his” flat chest. “He” then flexed his biceps, admiring his own strength. Next, he grabbed his dick, which was already painfully errect, with both his hands and began firmly squeezing it. He could virtually feel the blood pulsing through the thick meat of his sizeable member. “He” then turned to the person lying on his bed and said, “I’m soooo sorry, ‘sis’. I didn’t mean to hurt you. My words came out all wrong. What I meant to say was that you are the most adorable little sister a big brother could ever wish for! Here, let me show you how much I love you.”
With that, “Josh” stepped towards Wendy’s comatose body and snaked his big, strong hands underneath her torso. “Oh, my. When did my cute little sister grow up to be such a woman?” “he” cooed while groping her flabby breasts. Without turning over her heavy frame, “Josh” glid his rough hands along her pudgy waist and onto her even wider hips, firmly grabbing ahold of them. “He” then carefully wormed his prick into “his sister’s” slimy, hairy cunt, before forcefully jamming his entire length into her unconscious flesh.
Without any further hesitation, “Josh” began viciously fucking his sleeping sister, pumping in and out of her like an animal while groaning and grunting like a bull. “He” nearly worked himself into a frenzy. Wendy’s rotten odor began reeking from all the friction and heat they created, which seemed to turn him on even more. For the next two minutes, the clapping of “his” hips against her sizeable cheeks echoed throughout the room until “he” finally hit is climax and then dumped his thick load inside of “his” sister’s gooey slit. Still inside of her, he collapsed on top of her and under heavy breathing whispered into her ear, “I love you, ‘sis’.”
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It was very late in the morning, almost creeping on noon, when Christine, the mother of the house, stood in the kitchen and prepared some food. She was cheerfully humming a tune while cutting up a cantalope and placing slices of ham on pieces of crispy toast. She then artfully aranged the food on a plate, in a way that was worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The food was not only delicious but also visually appetizing, and so was her ample bosom that was proudly put on display by a low-cut, floral sundress, which gently hugged her motherly curves.
Still humming to herself, Christine picked up the plate, left the kitchen, and went up the stairs with a joyful bounce to her step, which not only made the hem of her short dress dance around her hips and tickle her thighs but also made her opulent mounds jiggle playfully. Upstairs, she entered her daughter’s dingy room without either knocking or turning on the lights and placed the food on her desk. “Enjoy your breakfast, honey,” she whispered to a sleeping Wendy.
Without any further hesitation, Christine left her daughter’s room and headed straight to the master bedroom. Behind locked doors she made her way over to her full-sized mirror and began admiring herself. Slowly, a big, dirty grin spread across her face. “Thank you, mother, for providing me with such a healthy breakfast,” “Christine” said in a sickly-sweet tone, seemingly mocking herself. “You always taught me to eat my daily share of fruits, and your ‘melons’ are especially delicious,” she said while giving her huge globes a firm squeeze. “She” then slowly moved her hands along “her” waist and hips, closely following and enjoying every inch of her delectable curves, and then began groping her big, womanly ass. “And let’s not forget about your delicious meat! I gotta hand it to you: you got a real meatsuit of a body, mom!”
“Christine” then threw herself onto her bed and immediately began furiously masturbating, not even bothering to undress. One hand tightly squeezed her fleshy tits while the other inserted two fingers into her hungry snatch, dragging her panties along with them as they plummeted the depths of her steaming hot hole that had given birth to three children, one of which was now in control of her body and effectively molesting her own mother.
Regrettably, “Christine” soon had to remove her hand from her supple twins in order to cover her mouth and stiffle her moans, so that she would not alert the whole house to her lewd activities. Meanwhile, the other hand continued to slip in and out of her unabated. Under the assault from such intense stimulation, it did not take long for her to reach her peak, which she celebrated by letting out a long, muffled scream.
The only thing “Christine” was able to do in the immediate aftermath was to lay on her back, breathing heavily, and bask in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her panties and her hand were now drenched in her juices. But, alas, her bliss was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mom, are you in there?” Josh asked loudly through the door. “Have you seen my black shirt? I’ve been looking all over for it!”
“Christine” quickly scrambled onto her feet and straightend out her dress and hair, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible, as to not tip off “her son” to what kept her so busy. She cracked the door open just barely enough to stick her head out, hiding her body behind the door and her dripping wet hand behind her back. “Have you checked the laundry? I’m pretty sure I’ve put it in the wash recently,” she answered his query. “Yeah, I did. I guess I’m gonna check again, just to be sure,” Josh said and was already turning to walk away.
“Wait!” “Christine” suddenly exlaimed a little bit too loudly, as a most devious idea popped into her head. “What?” Josh asked somewhat startled. “You’ve got a smudge on the corner of your mouth” she explained. “Where?” he said while trying to wipe the imaginary stain from his face. “No, it’s still there. Here, let me try,” she said, now fully opening the door and finally stepping out of the room.
Josh was taken by surprise when “his mother” suddenly got so close to him that she was essentially pushing her opulent chest against his torso. Looking down he saw her face with an expresssion of concentration look up at him. Underneath that he caught a glimpse of her soft pillows bulging out of the top of her dress as they were pressed flat against him.
“M–Mom, w–what are you doing?” Jost stammered, as he began to blush. “Hold still! Just let me get it real quick,” “Christine” demanded. Unbeknownst to Josh, though, the hand which “his mother” was now smearing all over his face was still coated in her sticky juices.
Since Josh was quite a bit taller than his mother, “Christine” raised herself up by standing on the tips of her toes to better reach and more closely inspect his face. In the process, she pushed her breasts even deeper into him and slid them up along his chest until their nipples were perfectly aligned with each other.
“M–Mom, s–stop it!” Josh said while struggling to get away from her, as her face was now close enough that he could feel her hot breath on his skin. “Hold still!” “Christine” demanded. “The more you move the longer it will take.” Never having been this close to his own mother, at least not since he was a child, Josh caught a whiff of her perfume which was followed by a strange, musky smell.
Coming into such intimate contact with a woman’s body made the inside of Josh’s pants swell rapidly. His dick did not care who it was, flesh was flesh. But the thought that it was his own mother’s flesh surprisingly made him grow even harder. So hard, in fact, that he was now poking her belly with his manhood.
Appaled by his own reaction, Josh pushed who he thought was his mother away from himself. “Thanks, I think it’s gone now,” he yelled out without looking at her, trying to hide that his face was now a deep crimson. He then hastily fled to his room, almost tripping over himself, as he desperately tried to escape this embarrassing situation. “Christine” on the other just chuckled to herself, as she was highly amused by “her son’s” reaction.
That night Christine and Gilbert could be heard enjoying each other throughout the house.
--------------------------------------------------------
A lot of clanking, rattling, and cursing could be heard coming from the garage. Christine had asked her husband Gilbert to look after the car, since it had been making a lot of weird noises lately and even had briefly died on her the other day. This is why Gilbert, a man in his early fifties who, despite his thinning hair and slight dad bob, had still retained some of his youthful handsomeness, was now bent over the car’s engine covered in dirt and motor oil, occasionally bonking his head on the hood of the car.
Just as he finished changing the oil, his daughter Alice walked in. Unlike her sister Wendy, Alice had always been a Daddy’s girl. She and her father had been attached by the hip to each other ever since she was born. Even throughout puberty, when most other teenagers vie for their independence, she had stayed close to her Dad who had remained a steadfast anchor for her. Even now, the twenty-year-old college student loved spending time with her father more than anything else. Ever since she was a little child, one of her favorite things to do was to sit in her father’s lap and play Super Mario Bros., earning her the nickname “princess”.
There was something about her father’s presence that was incredibly relaxing to her, which is why the slim brunette did not mind him seeing her in only a pair of yoga pants and a tight spaghetti-strap top without a bra. Her outfit revealed the outline of her nubile form in great detail, including her pert buns and her gravity-defying orbs. Even her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her top as soon as they got a taste of the chilly air inside the garage.
“Hey, Dad! Watcha doing?” Alice exclaimed with a beaming smile on her face. She threw her arms enthusiastically around her father’s waist, smushing her buoyant breasts against his soft belly in the process. “Not much,” Gilbert replied while reciprocating her loving embrace. He rocked her from side to side, thereby squishing his daughter’s youthful mounds even tighter against himself. “Your mother was complaining about the car so I thought maybe I could get the old can working again. What about you, princess? Wanna hang out with your old man?”
“Oh, I’d love to,” Alice said. “But I just came here to get a screwdriver to fix the recliner on my chair.” “Well, then don’t let me stop you,” Gilbert said and booped her on the nose, coating its tip with black grease from his dirty hands. When they released their embrace and Alice made her way towards the shelf on the other side of the garage, Gilbert watched his daughter’s backside and discovered that he had accidentally smeared black grease all over her. Most of it covered her shoulders and upper arms, but some of it even got on her lower back.
The tool she was looking for was located on the top-most shelf, so Alice had to really stretch herself to reach up high. But, it was not enough, as she was still missing a few inches. She then tried jumping up and down, making her luscious body, and especially her firm cheeks, shake vigorously every time she returned to the ground. Yet, she still came up short. For a while, Gilbert closely eyed his daughter’s antics before he walked over to her and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
Alice suddenly yelped as her father, without warning, scooped up her tight little butt with his big, strong hands, and lifted her up high. His palms essentially provided a seat for her from which she comfortably could reach the tool she needed. Gilbert then gently put her down again, leaving two big, greasy handprints on his daughter’s rear.
Her father’s sudden display of strength left Alice a bit frazzled. For a moment she just stood there in silence, still facing away from him. She did not know what was happening to her. As a kid she had loved being picked up by her Dad and would cling to him like a koala. But that was ages ago. Now that she was fully grown she felt differently. No man had ever handled her like that, lifting her entire adult weight so easily. It somehow made her heart beat much faster and left her short of breath. She tried to swallow down those strange feelings, yet she still blushed when she tucked her long, brunette hair behind her ears.
Alice was in the middle of turning to face her father, wanting to ask him what that was all about, when she suddenly felt as if her feet were knocked away from under her legs, making her trip and fall chest-first towards him. Gilbert instinctively tried to catch her fall, but by doing so his daughter’s perky mounds landed squarely on his big, greasy hands. His dirty palms molded themselves perfectly around the swell of her pliable breasts. Alice thought she might be going crazy, but she could have sworn she had felt her Dad give her boobs a firm squeeze. Nevertheless, her nipples still visibly stiffened.
“Uhm, … Dad?” Alice squeaked with her father’s hands still cupping her twins. “Yes, princess? Are you alright?” Gilbert asked with worry on his face. “Yeah, … I guess so …,” she mumbled while getting back on her own feet. When Gilbert’s hands finally disconnected from his daughter’s body, they revealed yet another pair of big, black handprints, this time squarely on her chest.
“Are you sure? You seem kinda out of it,” Gilbert said while trying to feel his daughter’s forehead with the back of his hand. Alice swatted his hand away more aggressively than she had intended. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a bit of agitation in her voice. “I …, uh …, I need to change.”
Unable to deny the heat welling up inside of her, Alice tried to leave as quickly as she could, but on her way out her Dad surprised her yet again by giving her a not-so-fatherly pat on her ass. She turned her head around one last time and to give her “father” a quizzical look, but the expression on his face betrayed nothing but paternal intentions. Yet, as soon as she had left the garage, “Gilbert’s” warm expression turned sinister and a big, wet stain began to form on the crotch of his pants.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was late at night. Christine and Gilbert had gone out earlier that evening and were not expected to return until the next morning, leaving the “kids“ home alone. The whole house was wrapped in silence, except for the blaring of the TV coming from the living room. Josh sat alone on the couch watching a movie when Alice came shuffling into the room. She was completely draped in a giant blanket, dragging a long train behind her, making it almost look like a wedding dress.
“Heeeyy, Josh. What are you doing?” Alice asked drowsily. “Oh, nothing much. Just watching a movie. What’s up with you? Why the huge-ass blanket?” her brother responded. “I’m a little cold. Mind if I join you?” “Sure. Be my guest” he said patting the spot next to him and then placed his arm on the back of the couch. She took up his offer and sat down beside him, putting up her legs and angling them to the side, all while making sure to never leave the comforting warmth of her blanket.
“Oh, hey, isn’t that the movie we used to watch a lot as kids?” Alice asked. “Yeah,” Josh responded. “I happened to come across it while I was flipping through the channels.” “Boy, I haven’t seen it in years. I completely forgot about it. I remember we used to watch it every time it was on. I even used to scour the TV magazines so that I always knew when to catch it,” Alice said excitedly. “Yeah, I’ve been watching it only for a few minutes, yet there are so many lines that come back to me just seconds before they show up in the movie,“ Josh said joining in on the excitement.
The two siblings kept laughing and joking, quoting lines from the movie as they appeared on screen, and reveling in old memories. After sharing lots of heartfelt moments, Alice suddenly asked her brother, “Are you cold, too?” Without waiting for an answer, she began covering him with the excess half of her blanket. “Here, let me give you some of my blanket. That’ll warm you up in no time.” “Well, I wasn’t really cold. But, thanks, I guess,” the young man commented.
Underneath the blanket, Alice sidled up closer to her brother and put her head on his shoulder. They had always gotten along great, yet he was somewhat surprised about how she was acting chummier than usual. But since they were sharing a deeply bonding moment, he didn’t question it any further. Sitting like that with his sister felt comfortable to him, making him relax deeply, and allowing himself to completely get lost in the movie.
For the rest of the night, the two of them kept watching the movie in silence. When it was over, Josh’s immersion finally broke and he came back to the real world. He switched off the TV and was about to turn towards his sister when he noticed that the top of her head was right underneath his nose. Somehow she had sneakily wrapped her arms around his waist and had fallen asleep with her head nestled against his chest. Most of her body laid on top of him in a tight embrace.
Alice’s gentle snores reminded Josh of a cat’s soft purrs. He thought that, in this moment, his little sister was the most adorable. But when the sweet fragrance of her peach-flavored shampoo invaded his nose, it caused something to stir deep inside of him, in a place completely unbeknownst to him. To his shock, he began to grow hard.
Confused about his feelings, Josh just sat there, not daring to make a move. After what seemed like an eternity to him, Alice woke up. Rustling underneath the blanket she looked up at him with bleary eyes. When the vision of her brother’s face came into focus she greeted him with a beaming smile. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other wordlessly. Her big, glimmering eyes looked up at him longingly, which made him blush and melted away all his natural defences. He was now at full mast.
Josh then watched in slow-motion how his sister closed her eyes and moved in closer. When he felt her tender lips on his, he was completly stunned. His jaw dropped in shock, which Alice interpreted as an invitation to sneak her tongue into his mouth. At first he went along with it by pure instinct. But when it finally sank in that he was, in fact, really kissing his sister, he shoved her away in panic, making the blanket slip down a bit, uncovering her bare shoulders.
“Stooooppp!!” Josh yelled. “What are you doing? You’re my sister! We can’t be doing that!” Tears began welling up in Alice’s eyes in response to his sudden outburst. “But Josh …,” she whimpered. “Don’t you love me?” She looked at him expectantly with her watery eyes. “Nooo!!!” he continued yelling. “I-I-I mean, y-yes, I-I m-mean, no!” he stammered. “Aarghh! I don’t love you like thaaat!”
Alice dropped her head seemingly in defeat. But something about her demeanor changed, like a shadow was cast over her eyes. Suddenly Josh felt something scurrying around his scrotch underneath the blanket. He realized it was his sister’s hands trying to undo his belt and zipper. Now even more panicked, he pushed her away more forcefully than before, accidentally throwing the blanket off of her in the process and revealing that she had been naked underneath.
“Alice!! Why the hell are you naked?!?! What is wrong with you today?” Josh kept yelling. With a dark, menacing grin forming on her face, she growled at him, “You better let this happen. We don’t want her to find herself in a compromising situation, do we?” “Wendy…,” Josh gasped, the words getting stuck in his throat. His mind was sent on a rollercoaster, desperately struggling for a solution on how to get out of this situation. But deep down, Josh knew he had nothing against her powers.
Completely dejected, Josh finally resigned himself to his fate. “Alice”, on the other hand, squealed with excitement and, like a child ripping open a present on christmas, frantically tried to get her brother’s dick out of his pants. When she finally freed it from its denim prison, his rigid member sprung out with the energy of a coil spring. She then swung one of her smooth legs over her brother and placed herself squarely on top of him.
Without any further hesitation, “Alice” slowly lowered her unclad, nubile form towards her brother’s penis. His bulbous head at first just barely kissed her velvety folds, but then gently parted them, and finally, by completely piercing her labia, desecrated that holy bond between brother and sister.
“Wendy, we have to stop this! We’re not wearing any protection!” Josh tried to protest one last time. “Don’t be silly, I’m sure this little slut is on birth control” “Alice” hissed. She was straining to force herself down her brother’s girth. “Hhnnnnnghhhoooohhhh my god she is so tight” she said panting. “She must still be a virgin. Well, not anymore, hehe.” Her small, hairless lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft. To keep going further, she arched her back and angled her hips for maximum penetration.
When she finally bottomed out, “Alice” grabbed Josh’s head and started giving him a deep passionate kiss. Her long, brown hair draped over them, curtailing the world from seeing the forbidden intimacy they were sharing. While they kept kissing, “Alice” started to moan into his mouth, as she began slowly working her way up and down her brother’s shaft. The more their friction and passion increased, the more she ruffled his hair, her hands’ movements becoming more and more frantic.
Meanwhile, Josh moved his hands down his sister’s bare back and glid them first along her waist, then her hips, and finally around the sensual curve of her butt. He gave her firm cheeks a strong squeeze, while at the same time supporting her petite body with his manly hands. At last, he finally gave in to his new-found, forbidden desires and started humping his sister in sync with the rhythm of her movements.
Getting wetter by the second, “Alice’s” juices by now provided enough lubrication for her to easily glide along her brother’s member. She broke off their kiss, sat upgright, and began to drastically increase her speed. As she was bouncing up and down on Josh’s dick, her perky tits kept jiggling wildy about. To aleviate that, she took her brother’s hands and firmly placed them on top of her shapley breasts. He eagerly accepted her offer and began digging his fingers deeply into the tender flesh of his sister’s swollen boobs, ferociously groping and squeezing them like a man who lost all his inhibitions.
Greed seemed to overtake Josh, as he followed his sister’s lead by sitting upright and then tightly embracing her lithe body while she kept viciously riding his cock. Hungrily, he placed his mouth on her delicious breasts and began sucking and licking and biting her nipples, practically devouring her boobs and almost swallowing them whole. His sister rewarded him by giving off a series of high-pitched moans and clamping down on his dick.
“Wendy …,” Josh gasped short of breath and inbetween sucking his sister’s nipples. “What is it, bro?” Alice moaned. “I don’t… I don’t think I can hold it any lo—” was the last thing Josh managed to say before he finally errupted inside his sister like a volcano, spraying his creamy spunk all over his her insides. Feeling her brother’s hot goo coating her inner walls set off “Alice’s” own orgasm, making her join him in his extacy. Her body, which was glistening from all the excertion, began shaking from top to bottom as if a current of electricity ran through her.
When the tension suddenly left her body, “Alice” collapsed on top of her brother. Completely drained, she nestled her head against his chest, breathing heavily and with strands of her sweat-drenched hair sticking to her face. “I love you, Josh,” “Alice” whispered sweetly. “I love you, too,” he sighed unconvincingly. His dick was still inside deep his sister, refusing to go limp.
--------------------------------------------------------
For the past month there had been a large shadow hanging over their household. Wendy’s shenanigans had sowed mistrust and uneasiness among the members of her family. It all came to a head when Alice finally confronted her brother. “Josh, I’m begging you: please tell me the truth!” Alice pleaded. “What’s going on? Why have you been avoiding me? You don’t even look me in the eyes anymore.” “I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Josh hissed without even facing her. His eyes were red and on the verge of tears.
Gilbert and Christine heard their children argue, so they went to investigate. “What’s going with the two of you? Why are you making so much noise?” Gilbert said as he stepped into the room. “Josh, has been avoiding me for weeks now and he won’t tell me what his problem is,” Alice said unnerved. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering that, too. Care to explain yourself, son?” Gilbert asked.
Josh tried to block off their barrage of questions, but, after being relentlessly corned by three people, he eventually broke down in tears and confessed how Wendy had taken control of Alice and forced himself onto her, and how he had been unable to resist. The entire room fell silent. Alice’s stomach turned, sickening her to her core. Gilbert was simply stunned, the news leaving his mind completely blank.
Christine, on the other hand, felt an uncontrollable rage explode inside of her. “That’s it!” she yelled with tears of anger in her eyes. “This is way over the line! I’m so sick and tired of her shit. This has to end now!” “Wait! Where are you going?” Gilbert said to the afterimage of his wife as she had already rushed out of the room. The rest of them slowly began to follow her, one after the other, still trying to process the information they had just received.
An absolutely livid Christine stomped furiously down the hallway and violently barged into her daughter’s room, almost knocking the door out of its hinges. There, Wendy laid on her bed and, like so often, just slept. Without waiting for her to wake up, Christine swiftly approached her sleeping daughter, wrapped her hands around her throat, and began strangling her with all her might. Wendy did not seem to make any signs of struggling against her mother’s assault.
“How could you do that?” Christine sobbed uncontrollably as rivers of tears streamed down her face. “I loved you with all my heart. Why did you become such a hateful peson? Where did I go wrong?” she said gritting her teeth. “This is the only way I can make things right!”
Gilbert and Josh were aghast when they stepped into the room and discovered what Christine was doing. Yet, neither of them intervened and tried to stop her. They just stood there and watched.
When everything was over, everybody went quiet again, except for Christine who was unable to stop her tears. Suddenly, Alice, who everyone seemed to have forgotten about, stepped into the room. They all looked at her in disbelief as they watched a creepy, sinister smile form on her pretty face. “No!” Christine whispered. “Actually, yes, mother,” “Alice” countered. “I’m not so easy to get rid of, you see.” “No!” Christine repeated, this time more emphatically. “And from now on, you will all do exactly as I tell you or the police might get an anonymous tip about what has happened to your dearest daughter. Remember this for the rest of you lives: you got blood on your hands, literally, and I won’t hesistate to take any one of you down!” “Alice” said menacingly. It finally dawned on Christine, Gilbert, and Josh that there was no way of escaping Wendy and that they had to resign themselves to the fact that their lives were now fully under her control, essentially making them her personal slaves.
Meanwhile, “Alice”, who was relishing in the power she had over her family, sauntered over towards her father and lifted the front of her skirt, exposing “her” panty-clad pussy. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, Daddy,” she whispered with lust dripping in her voice. Both of her small, feminine hands then reached out and grabbed one of her father’s big, manly hands and slowly guided it underneath her skirt and panties and gently placed it onto her already sopping wet pussy. Gilbert was too stunned to stop her, and even if he had not been, he would not have dared to go against her.
Suddenly, both Alice and Gilbert shuddered simultaneously. “We sure will, princess,” “Gilbert” said with a lecherous expression on his face. “He” then slipped a finger inside “his” daughter’s smooth folds and began aggressively fingering her hole. The real Alice was dazed and confused when she finally came to again. “D–Dad?” she stammared. “W–What’s going o–o–oooohhhhnnggg?!” she moaned, being overwhelmed by an unexpected orgasm as her “father” quickly sent her over the edge.
Christine was horrified as she watched her husband molest their daughter in front of her eyes. Unfortunately, she was unable to do anything about it as a shiver ran down her spine and the same spell that had taken over her husband and daughter was now taking hold of her. “And let’s not neglect these two here,” “Christine” said while firmly squeezing “her” boobs against each other. “She” then climbed onto Wendy’s bed on all fours, pulled up her dress and her panties to the side, and openly offered up “her own” snatch. “Josh, be a good son and come over here and show Mommy how much my boy has grown up?”
At last it was Josh’s turn. Before he could really process the actions unfolding in front of him, he was no longer in control of his body. “Don’t mind if I do!” “Josh” replied eagerly. As fast as lightning “he” walked over to his mother, dropped his pants, and slammed his rock-hard errection into her sloppy slit. Christine, now back in control of her body, was overwhelmed with the pleasurable sensation of her son’s girthy member ramming in and out of her. When she felt her son mauling her big tits from behind, she went completely limp in his arms, as the last of her will left her while “her son” kept hammering her hole. Eventually, they both climaxed at the same time and Christine felt her son’s hot fluids spread throughout her inside.
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That same night it was raining cats and dogs. Gilbert and Josh, equipped with spades, dug a hole in their backyard to dispose of Wendy’s corpse while Christine and “Alice” watched from the kitchen window.
The four of them would spend the rest of their lives living in fear and terror, as Wendy forced them to live out all of her depraved sex fantasies between sister and brother, father and daughter, mother and son, mother and daugher, and even between father and son.
Eventually, when the last of her family members had passed on, Wendy continued to live on as a formless presence, taking over other people, until the end of time.
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ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Peter and MJ looks at their photo album of their anniversary, wedding, dating, and everything. Then they starts to make out together. MJ asks if it's okay to transforms into his aunt, but Peter says no. She begs him with the puppy eyes, she tells Pete that he did turn on when MJ transforms into her as he smiles and says alright fine.
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ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Peter gets up in the morning and sees MJ is working out. Not only that, she seems jacked, and masculine. And her looks manly. Then, she greets him. Pete amazed that MJ looks like a dude with a big jawline and manly face, and short buzz red-haired. She giggles and replies with low tone she just uses this appearance to increase her strength, and tells him that she's still a woman. Pete asks if that's true as she takes off her shorts and sees for himself. Pete tells her that she didn't have to do that. Then, he kisses her and asks if it's okay for him to make love in this form. She smiles and asks him back that he doesn't feel disgusted in this appearance. Pete tells her that he still loves her
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ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
montage where Spider-man and Venom fight crime, then Peter and manly MJ continues to make love, then Spider-man and Venom defeat the villains, and then Peter and Venom continues as he cum into her
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ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Peter in Spider-man suit while MJ ready in the bed. MJ then morphs into a random old woman and thinks she's grateful for Spider-man who saves her. Then he starts to pull off his friend out as she gasps and surprised
Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess - Issue #8: The Daily Bugle’s New Headache
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ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Spider-man and Venom got the news on Daily Bugle. The title called "Heroes or Chaotic Menaces" JJJ can't believe that menace got himself a partner with this creature looking like Spider-man. Peter can hear anything from JJ in his office. After Pete gets home and sees MJ tries out her appearances, personas, and many people. Peter loves and enjoys the view as she looks back at her husband. She walks toward him and transforms into Venom and says if he like what he see. Then she carries him like a baby and kisses him.
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ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Peter sits and watches MJ tries out and transforms into Venom then kisses him. Then, she morphs into female Guyver. This is so cool she says, she always wanted to be Guyver. Then, she morphs into Red Beetle, a female version of Blue Beetle. Wow, didn't see that coming Peter says. MJ asks if he can takes photo for her, she likes to keep those for them and others for her shooting. Peter agrees and then says he needs help so he can get some perfect shots.