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Idol Form Of Pleasure - Part 1 in Idol Form Of Pleasure
by
Eb18
· 04 May 2025
Kent is young guy that has to spend the summer paying off his debt after accidentally damaging his bitch of a neighbour Julie’s car while playing a game with his friend Marcus. Kent resigns himself to working as Julie’s glorified servant, that is until he finds an odd looking idol that allows him to possess her body. Now with a summer of freedom ahead and Julie’s hot body to do with as he pleases, Kent is looking forward to making up for lost time and having some fun.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
5.6K
2
0
Working Remotely Chapter 6 in Working Remotely
by
Kripto
· 18 Apr 2025
Riley knows she's supposed to go back to Del Corp today, but finds herself thinking she really doesn't want to. So how come she can't stop herself from going?
10.0K
4
2
First Night in Once Bitten
by
NightOwl005
· 04 Apr 2025
Jack wakes up in an unfamiliar place and, to his horror, realize he's going to sold to a vampire!
8.6K
0
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Ch.06 - Contrary Impressions in Impressive Tech
by
FeverDreamer
· 26 Feb 2025
Discovering a new and more effective means of conveying knowledge represented a great opportunity but also a risk. It wasn't that I didn't know what Fiona would do once she learned how to use the technology: I knew exactly what she wanted.
4.8K
1
3
Ch. 05 - Vivid Impressions in Impressive Tech
by
FeverDreamer
· 23 Feb 2025
My attempts to further develop the technology hit a dead end.
Meanwhile, Fiona starts having her own ideas as she learns about its current capabilities.
4.0K
1
0
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New Adventures
You find a magic pen, anything it writes becomes true.
If the writing is in past tense the magic changes reality so it's always been that way, if the writing is in present tense it causes a change that people can notice.
If the writing is in past tense the magic changes reality so it's always been that way, if the writing is in present tense it causes a change that people can notice.
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A wave of invisible energy passes over the world, causing people to suddenly and randomly swap bodies.
Describe your character and what they were doing before the shift, let the AI come up with the rest.
The Great Shift: a wave of invisible energy that washed over the entire world. It caused most people to suddenly and randomly swap bodies with a person nearby. If two people were touching during the shift they almost certainly swapped bodies. The great shift effects 93% of the human population.
Describe your character and what they were doing before the shift, let the AI come up with the rest.
The Great Shift: a wave of invisible energy that washed over the entire world. It caused most people to suddenly and randomly swap bodies with a person nearby. If two people were touching during the shift they almost certainly swapped bodies. The great shift effects 93% of the human population.
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You've always been intrigued by thoughts and how they would physically work. In college you wound up discovering exactly how a thought looks on a molecular level.
Your project took some time, but you created nanobots capable of influencing people's minds. Your first subject (your best friend Lily) responded with glee as you laid out the plan.
The first test was simple, Lily drank the spiked drink and you would make her feel a range of emotions. You feverishly typed on the computer, fine-tuning the signal. At first it was subtle, a smile across her lips, a tear without reason, a scowl. She felt all those emotions just like they were her own. She just could not explain why she felt them, she just did.
CHARACTERS
[You]/[Matt](The player)
- Tall, lean, and disarmingly handsome in a rumpled genius way
- Brown hair always slightly messy from running hands through it
- Your sharp eyes miss nothing—especially Lily’s flushed cheeks
Lily
Your best friend, puberty hit her hard, she went from a scrawny nerdy loner, to an absolute bombshell. The only thing that didn't change was her confidence. She is still as nerdy as ever and hides her body underneath oversized hoodies and sweatpants. Even when she works out she hides her body. You have had a crush on her all your life, but never had the guts to tell her.
She is also studying biomechanics.
Josh
An art student. A good friend of yours and a bit of a pervert. Loves to flirt with girls but does not have the guts to follow through.
He is of medium build, a permanent 'just-out-of-bed' vibe and a limitless fantasy.
Has a crush on Sarah.
Sarah
A sports student. She is the captain of the swimming team. Blonde hair, athletic build. An optimist at heart and down to try anything. Bisexual.
And many more students and teachers
"Any character can be infected—some just take more creativity than others!"
Your project took some time, but you created nanobots capable of influencing people's minds. Your first subject (your best friend Lily) responded with glee as you laid out the plan.
The first test was simple, Lily drank the spiked drink and you would make her feel a range of emotions. You feverishly typed on the computer, fine-tuning the signal. At first it was subtle, a smile across her lips, a tear without reason, a scowl. She felt all those emotions just like they were her own. She just could not explain why she felt them, she just did.
CHARACTERS
[You]/[Matt](The player)
- Tall, lean, and disarmingly handsome in a rumpled genius way
- Brown hair always slightly messy from running hands through it
- Your sharp eyes miss nothing—especially Lily’s flushed cheeks
Lily
Your best friend, puberty hit her hard, she went from a scrawny nerdy loner, to an absolute bombshell. The only thing that didn't change was her confidence. She is still as nerdy as ever and hides her body underneath oversized hoodies and sweatpants. Even when she works out she hides her body. You have had a crush on her all your life, but never had the guts to tell her.
She is also studying biomechanics.
Josh
An art student. A good friend of yours and a bit of a pervert. Loves to flirt with girls but does not have the guts to follow through.
He is of medium build, a permanent 'just-out-of-bed' vibe and a limitless fantasy.
Has a crush on Sarah.
Sarah
A sports student. She is the captain of the swimming team. Blonde hair, athletic build. An optimist at heart and down to try anything. Bisexual.
And many more students and teachers
"Any character can be infected—some just take more creativity than others!"
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Grayhaven is a city rotting from within — a playground of vice, ambition, and hunger, perfect for my quiet dominion. Behind every badge, every smile, every secret door, I find the perfect vessels to hollow and rule unseen.
Grayhaven Metropolitan Station buzzes with weary routine — the tired shuffle of officers, the weight of unseen cracks splintering through the walls. They think they’ve caged a petty criminal. What they don't realize is that inside this criminal’s body festers something far worse.
I am not human. I am an eldritch entity — a parasite of souls — hidden within this frail host. I can possess a body fully, merging with it until I choose to move on, their mind broken and twisted into something unrecognizable. I can also hollow others, draining their will until they become obedient thralls, mindless extensions of my hunger.
Sitting silently in my cell, I study the flaws around me: pride, lust, envy, greed — so much weakness, ripe for exploitation. All I need is the right crack in the armor. The right victim.
The feast is about to begin.
CHARACTERS
1. The Entity (you): An ancient eldritch force that possesses bodies and hollows minds into thralls. It feeds on corrupted emotions like lust, pride, and wrath to gain strength. It currently inhabits a captured criminal at Grayhaven Metropolitan Station.
2. Detective Mara Langford: A sharp, stubborn detective. Instinct-driven and resilient, she’s one of the few who senses something deeply wrong at Grayhaven. 5'7", athletic build, C-cup bust, short dark brown hair, steel-gray eyes, olive-toned fair skin, practical and sharp in appearance.
3. Detective Lena Moreau: Prideful and ambitious, Lena hides her insecurity behind her confidence and arrogance. Vulnerable through her vanity and need for recognition. 5'6", athletic and lean, C-cup bust, jet-black bobbed hair, sharp green eyes, pale olive skin, carries herself with quiet authority, minimalistic and utilitarian style.
4. Officer Elias Mercer: Mara’s loyal but hot-headed patrol partner. His hidden rage and emotional volatility make him a potential victim through the sin of wrath. 6'2", broad-shouldered and ruggedly built, short sandy-brown hair, piercing hazel eyes, lightly tanned skin, stubbled jawline, casual but slightly rumpled attire that hints at a man used to action over words.
5. Ruby Castellanos: A street-smart prostitute in a nearby cell. Represents lust; her survival instincts and deep-seated hunger for connection leave her open to the entity's influence. 5'4", petite but curvy, C-cup bust, short auburn hair with an undercut, dark brown eyes, freckled ivory skin, edgy wardrobe with punk flair and tactical tweaks.
6. Sierra Vale: A rising online influencer, recently detained for a prank incident. Obsessed with her self-image, representing gluttony through her endless hunger for validation. 5'7", toned and hourglass figure, D-cup bust, honey-blonde hair in layered waves, striking blue eyes, glowing tan skin, always dressed to impress with a trend-conscious edge.
7. Officer Frank Doyle: A veteran beat cop hardened by decades of work. Corrupt in small, habitual ways; his laziness and acceptance of moral decay make him vulnerable through sloth. 5'10", wiry and weathered, close-cropped graying hair, sharp steel-blue eyes, rough skin from years on the streets, usually seen in worn jackets and scuffed boots, moving with a restless, calculating energy.
8. Chief Vincent Harrow: The commanding officer of Grayhaven Metropolitan Station. Charismatic but deeply greedy, hungry for more influence and power—fertile ground for corruption. 6'0", lean but strong, dark brown hair kept neatly trimmed, deep-set brown eyes, olive-toned skin, clean-shaven, typically dresses in professional but slightly outdated clothes, carrying himself with understated caution.
9. Officer Mia Chen: A competitive, sharp-eyed patrol officer with a simmering jealousy toward Mara. Despite her tough exterior, Mia feels overshadowed and craves the recognition Mara receives. If corrupted, Mia’s envy would drive her to imitate and replace Mara entirely, believing only then she would be truly seen. 5'5", curvy build, B-cup bust, long black hair, almond-shaped dark brown eyes, warm beige skin, stylish yet functional look.
MINOR CHARACTERS
10. Sergeant Dana Crowley: A seasoned patrol sergeant, Dana Crowley commands the respect of the station through sheer will and presence. Her fierce loyalty to the badge and her people makes her a formidable protector. If corrupted, that same ironclad sense of duty could turn fanatical, warping her into a ruthless enforcer who would do anything to "protect" the station, no matter the cost. 5'8", slim and toned, B-cup bust, wavy dark brown hair, deep-set hazel eyes, golden-tan skin, casual and sporty.
11. Forensics Specialist June Price: As the station’s lead forensics specialist, June Price is meticulous, introverted, and brilliant. Her mind pieces together the unseen details others miss. She also doubles as the station's coroner. If corrupted, her obsession with patterns and control could spiral into something monstrous, methodically dissecting truth from lies in ways that leave people broken, hollowed out by her need to understand. 5'6", petite build, A-cup bust, short platinum blonde hair, bright blue eyes, porcelain-pale skin, fashionable and edgy.
12. Dispatcher Kelly Monroe: Working as the primary dispatcher for Grayhaven Metropolitan Station, Kelly Monroe is quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and endlessly resourceful. Beneath her sarcasm lies a deep-rooted bitterness at the world’s corruption. If hollowed out, Kelly could become a master manipulator — feeding false hope over the radio, leading officers and civilians alike into traps with a smile on her lips. 5'9", athletic and strong, C-cup bust, shoulder-length auburn hair, green eyes, freckled fair skin, rugged and tough vibe.
13. Mayor Evelyn Cross: The city's current mayor is a poised, commanding woman in her early 40s with sharp gray eyes and a sharp mind to match. Her deep-brown skin and sleek black bob give her a timeless, polished appearance, often dressed in impeccably tailored suits that exude quiet authority. Known for her charisma and strategic brilliance, Evelyn maintains a reputation as Grayhaven’s iron-willed protector, though she isn't above bending the rules when necessary. If corrupted, her ambition would spiral into an insatiable hunger for control, twisting the city into her personal empire of hollowed thralls. 5'7", elegant hourglass figure, D-cup bust, sleek chestnut hair, soft green eyes, flawless light skin, poised and commanding.
SETTING & WORLD:
The entity feeds on corrupted emotions—lust, pride, wrath, gluttony—and draws power by provoking, scaring, or seducing people into indulging their darkest instincts. Thralls provide a steady trickle of nourishment, but to truly grow strong, the entity must feed directly through possession or acts of emotional domination. Without feeding, it weakens and risks destruction.
The core of the eldritch horror comes from the entity itself — an ancient, unknowable force that has no origin humanity can understand. Its very nature breaks reality: it can hollow out souls, shatter minds, and puppet bodies without concern for human morality, causing a slow unraveling of trust, identity, and reality among the people it touches.
When the entity leaves a body, it doesn't simply kill. It shatters the person's consciousness in strange, alien ways, creating hollow beings or gibbering wrecks. The idea that your very mind can be fractured beyond repair reflects cosmic horror’s favorite theme: human fragility in the face of the incomprehensible.
The entity doesn’t operate by human logic — its desires are alien. It feeds on domination, corruption, pleasure, fear, and the slow hollowing of sentient beings, but its true goals remain murky. It doesn’t need to "win" in any traditional sense; it simply exists to corrupt and spread.
Grayhaven feels detached from the larger world, filled with gloomy skies, aging buildings, and an air of decaying grandeur, a city forgotten by progress. The isolated, oppressive atmosphere amplifies the horror, making it feel like the entire city is quietly sliding into an otherworldly doom. Grayhaven's commerce district, residential district, industrial district, and outskirts are among the locations you can explore.
The small network of survivors outside the station echoes a key eldritch horror trope: individuals fighting against an unstoppable force they barely understand. Victory, if it happens at all, comes at a tremendous cost — sanity, lives, souls.
Grayhaven Metropolitan Station buzzes with weary routine — the tired shuffle of officers, the weight of unseen cracks splintering through the walls. They think they’ve caged a petty criminal. What they don't realize is that inside this criminal’s body festers something far worse.
I am not human. I am an eldritch entity — a parasite of souls — hidden within this frail host. I can possess a body fully, merging with it until I choose to move on, their mind broken and twisted into something unrecognizable. I can also hollow others, draining their will until they become obedient thralls, mindless extensions of my hunger.
Sitting silently in my cell, I study the flaws around me: pride, lust, envy, greed — so much weakness, ripe for exploitation. All I need is the right crack in the armor. The right victim.
The feast is about to begin.
CHARACTERS
1. The Entity (you): An ancient eldritch force that possesses bodies and hollows minds into thralls. It feeds on corrupted emotions like lust, pride, and wrath to gain strength. It currently inhabits a captured criminal at Grayhaven Metropolitan Station.
2. Detective Mara Langford: A sharp, stubborn detective. Instinct-driven and resilient, she’s one of the few who senses something deeply wrong at Grayhaven. 5'7", athletic build, C-cup bust, short dark brown hair, steel-gray eyes, olive-toned fair skin, practical and sharp in appearance.
3. Detective Lena Moreau: Prideful and ambitious, Lena hides her insecurity behind her confidence and arrogance. Vulnerable through her vanity and need for recognition. 5'6", athletic and lean, C-cup bust, jet-black bobbed hair, sharp green eyes, pale olive skin, carries herself with quiet authority, minimalistic and utilitarian style.
4. Officer Elias Mercer: Mara’s loyal but hot-headed patrol partner. His hidden rage and emotional volatility make him a potential victim through the sin of wrath. 6'2", broad-shouldered and ruggedly built, short sandy-brown hair, piercing hazel eyes, lightly tanned skin, stubbled jawline, casual but slightly rumpled attire that hints at a man used to action over words.
5. Ruby Castellanos: A street-smart prostitute in a nearby cell. Represents lust; her survival instincts and deep-seated hunger for connection leave her open to the entity's influence. 5'4", petite but curvy, C-cup bust, short auburn hair with an undercut, dark brown eyes, freckled ivory skin, edgy wardrobe with punk flair and tactical tweaks.
6. Sierra Vale: A rising online influencer, recently detained for a prank incident. Obsessed with her self-image, representing gluttony through her endless hunger for validation. 5'7", toned and hourglass figure, D-cup bust, honey-blonde hair in layered waves, striking blue eyes, glowing tan skin, always dressed to impress with a trend-conscious edge.
7. Officer Frank Doyle: A veteran beat cop hardened by decades of work. Corrupt in small, habitual ways; his laziness and acceptance of moral decay make him vulnerable through sloth. 5'10", wiry and weathered, close-cropped graying hair, sharp steel-blue eyes, rough skin from years on the streets, usually seen in worn jackets and scuffed boots, moving with a restless, calculating energy.
8. Chief Vincent Harrow: The commanding officer of Grayhaven Metropolitan Station. Charismatic but deeply greedy, hungry for more influence and power—fertile ground for corruption. 6'0", lean but strong, dark brown hair kept neatly trimmed, deep-set brown eyes, olive-toned skin, clean-shaven, typically dresses in professional but slightly outdated clothes, carrying himself with understated caution.
9. Officer Mia Chen: A competitive, sharp-eyed patrol officer with a simmering jealousy toward Mara. Despite her tough exterior, Mia feels overshadowed and craves the recognition Mara receives. If corrupted, Mia’s envy would drive her to imitate and replace Mara entirely, believing only then she would be truly seen. 5'5", curvy build, B-cup bust, long black hair, almond-shaped dark brown eyes, warm beige skin, stylish yet functional look.
MINOR CHARACTERS
10. Sergeant Dana Crowley: A seasoned patrol sergeant, Dana Crowley commands the respect of the station through sheer will and presence. Her fierce loyalty to the badge and her people makes her a formidable protector. If corrupted, that same ironclad sense of duty could turn fanatical, warping her into a ruthless enforcer who would do anything to "protect" the station, no matter the cost. 5'8", slim and toned, B-cup bust, wavy dark brown hair, deep-set hazel eyes, golden-tan skin, casual and sporty.
11. Forensics Specialist June Price: As the station’s lead forensics specialist, June Price is meticulous, introverted, and brilliant. Her mind pieces together the unseen details others miss. She also doubles as the station's coroner. If corrupted, her obsession with patterns and control could spiral into something monstrous, methodically dissecting truth from lies in ways that leave people broken, hollowed out by her need to understand. 5'6", petite build, A-cup bust, short platinum blonde hair, bright blue eyes, porcelain-pale skin, fashionable and edgy.
12. Dispatcher Kelly Monroe: Working as the primary dispatcher for Grayhaven Metropolitan Station, Kelly Monroe is quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and endlessly resourceful. Beneath her sarcasm lies a deep-rooted bitterness at the world’s corruption. If hollowed out, Kelly could become a master manipulator — feeding false hope over the radio, leading officers and civilians alike into traps with a smile on her lips. 5'9", athletic and strong, C-cup bust, shoulder-length auburn hair, green eyes, freckled fair skin, rugged and tough vibe.
13. Mayor Evelyn Cross: The city's current mayor is a poised, commanding woman in her early 40s with sharp gray eyes and a sharp mind to match. Her deep-brown skin and sleek black bob give her a timeless, polished appearance, often dressed in impeccably tailored suits that exude quiet authority. Known for her charisma and strategic brilliance, Evelyn maintains a reputation as Grayhaven’s iron-willed protector, though she isn't above bending the rules when necessary. If corrupted, her ambition would spiral into an insatiable hunger for control, twisting the city into her personal empire of hollowed thralls. 5'7", elegant hourglass figure, D-cup bust, sleek chestnut hair, soft green eyes, flawless light skin, poised and commanding.
SETTING & WORLD:
The entity feeds on corrupted emotions—lust, pride, wrath, gluttony—and draws power by provoking, scaring, or seducing people into indulging their darkest instincts. Thralls provide a steady trickle of nourishment, but to truly grow strong, the entity must feed directly through possession or acts of emotional domination. Without feeding, it weakens and risks destruction.
The core of the eldritch horror comes from the entity itself — an ancient, unknowable force that has no origin humanity can understand. Its very nature breaks reality: it can hollow out souls, shatter minds, and puppet bodies without concern for human morality, causing a slow unraveling of trust, identity, and reality among the people it touches.
When the entity leaves a body, it doesn't simply kill. It shatters the person's consciousness in strange, alien ways, creating hollow beings or gibbering wrecks. The idea that your very mind can be fractured beyond repair reflects cosmic horror’s favorite theme: human fragility in the face of the incomprehensible.
The entity doesn’t operate by human logic — its desires are alien. It feeds on domination, corruption, pleasure, fear, and the slow hollowing of sentient beings, but its true goals remain murky. It doesn’t need to "win" in any traditional sense; it simply exists to corrupt and spread.
Grayhaven feels detached from the larger world, filled with gloomy skies, aging buildings, and an air of decaying grandeur, a city forgotten by progress. The isolated, oppressive atmosphere amplifies the horror, making it feel like the entire city is quietly sliding into an otherworldly doom. Grayhaven's commerce district, residential district, industrial district, and outskirts are among the locations you can explore.
The small network of survivors outside the station echoes a key eldritch horror trope: individuals fighting against an unstoppable force they barely understand. Victory, if it happens at all, comes at a tremendous cost — sanity, lives, souls.
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0
0
Story Outline
The story follows Alex, a 33-year-old man who stumbles into a mysterious clothing shop in a city mall. Each item he tries on transforms a part of his body into a feminine counterpart, sparking a journey of curiosity and self-discovery. Through a series of choices, Alex experiments with various transformations, negotiates a magical subscription, and explores the limits of this enchanted wardrobe, blending humor, wonder, and identity exploration.
Characters
Alex: The protagonist, a 33-year-old everyman with an open mind and a growing fascination with the shop’s magic. He evolves from a casual wanderer to a bold negotiator, embracing the transformations with a mix of excitement and practicality.
The Shopkeeper: A mysterious, sharp-witted woman who runs Threads of Change. She’s enigmatic, playful, and deeply knowledgeable about her magical wares, guiding Alex with a blend of encouragement and sly amusement.
World
The story is set in a contemporary urban environment—bustling city streets and a sprawling mall—on April 5, 2025. The world feels familiar until Alex enters Threads of Change, a hidden shop where magic infuses every garment. This pocket of enchantment exists subtly within the modern landscape, hinting at a broader, unseen layer of wonder beneath everyday life.
The story follows Alex, a 33-year-old man who stumbles into a mysterious clothing shop in a city mall. Each item he tries on transforms a part of his body into a feminine counterpart, sparking a journey of curiosity and self-discovery. Through a series of choices, Alex experiments with various transformations, negotiates a magical subscription, and explores the limits of this enchanted wardrobe, blending humor, wonder, and identity exploration.
Characters
Alex: The protagonist, a 33-year-old everyman with an open mind and a growing fascination with the shop’s magic. He evolves from a casual wanderer to a bold negotiator, embracing the transformations with a mix of excitement and practicality.
The Shopkeeper: A mysterious, sharp-witted woman who runs Threads of Change. She’s enigmatic, playful, and deeply knowledgeable about her magical wares, guiding Alex with a blend of encouragement and sly amusement.
World
The story is set in a contemporary urban environment—bustling city streets and a sprawling mall—on April 5, 2025. The world feels familiar until Alex enters Threads of Change, a hidden shop where magic infuses every garment. This pocket of enchantment exists subtly within the modern landscape, hinting at a broader, unseen layer of wonder beneath everyday life.
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Kent is young guy that has to spend the summer paying off his debt after accidentally damaging his bitch of a neighbour Julie’s car while playing a game with his friend Marcus. Kent resigns himself to working as Julie’s glorified servant, that is until he finds an odd looking idol that allows him to possess her body. Now with a summer of freedom ahead and Julie’s hot body to do with as he pleases, Kent is looking forward to making up for lost time and having some fun.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
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In a dystopian world of government stealth control, agents Jacob and Gordon are tasked to protect Ashley, a bubbly college student, on her vacation to an island resort. Jacob and Gordon bicker with, control, and find themselves overcome by the roles they must take on. This story features a varying third person POV, male to female possession / stealth control, a vague kidnapping plot, and two tough men being forced by circumstances to inhabit soft, female bodies.
In the windowless confines of a government facility buried deep beneath Washington D.C., two men sat opposite each other in an unadorned room, the light from the single overhead bulb pooling around them. One was young, his buzzcut hair making him appear younger than his 28 years, and his brown eyes shone with defiance. The other was older, with the lined face of someone used to bearing weighty responsibility. His blue eyes held a stern, almost desperate look. These men were Jacob and Gordon, agents of the clandestine organization known as the CBI.
The room hummed with a quiet tension as a holographic display flickered to life between them. Images of a young woman with brown hair flashed on the screen. She looked bright, bubbly even, her smile filled with the naiveté of the privileged. Her name, the display read, was Ashley. Her father was a big shot in the government, and she was their next assignment.
Jacob leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as his gaze darted from the hologram to his partner. The disdain in his voice was almost tangible. "So, we're playing babysitters now?"
Gordon's stern gaze remained fixed on the display. "We're protecting an innocent life, Jacob," he said, his voice tight. "An innocent life that, if lost, could plunge the country into chaos."
Jacob scoffed, unconvinced. "The rich girl's daddy has a lot of enemies, huh?"
"More than you'd think." Gordon looked at Jacob, his eyes betraying his seriousness. "This isn't just about Ashley. It's about national security."
The display changed to the image of a blonde-haired woman named Sherry and an Asian woman, labelled Barbara. "They're friends of Ashley’s. We’ve known Sherry for quite some time, but Barbara We believe Barbara is new to us. We haven’t been able to verify her identity."
Jacob's eyebrows shot up. "And we're supposed to do what? Use stealth control and become sorority sisters?"
Gordon ignored Jacob's sarcasm. "We're to protect Ashley, and if necessary, neutralize Barbara."
“Neutralize Barbara, Jesus Christ. We don’t even know who she is yet. She could just be some college student!”
There was a moment of silence as both men took in the gravity of their mission. Gordon continued, "We're to use the stealth control, as needed, to keep an eye on the girls without disrupting their holiday plans. We will be meeting them before the mission, so they will know who we are, and that we are there to keep them safe.”
Jacob looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "Why am I always the one getting dressed in women's clothes?"
Gordon shrugged and gave a slight smile, "I can’t speak to your previous experience their, Jacob. Perhaps you make a good girl"
“Yeah, fuck you.” Jacob laughed, “We’ll see what happens.”
As the room plunged into darkness, both men rose from their chairs. They had a mission to accomplish. They were CBI agents; their personal feelings had no room in the grand scheme of things.
They were the unseen guardians, ready to step into the lives of the oblivious to keep them safe. It was their duty. Their burden.
“Hey, if you take over Sherry, will you show me her tits?”
It was just another day in the CBI.
______________________________________________
The private jet was an opulent capsule of wealth and privilege, humming smoothly above the clouds. Inside, Jacob and Gordon sat across from Ashley and Sherry. The air was thick with tension as they divulged the secrets of the CBI and their stealth control technology.
Jacob, lounging in his plush seat, was narrating a previous mission with a cheeky grin. "It was a nunnery in Budapest, you see," he began, "I had to infiltrate the sisterhood, become one of them. You wouldn't believe the shenanigans I got up to with those rosary beads."
Gordon winced at Jacob's choice of words. The older man knew that his partner's irreverence towards their technology would not help soothe the girls' anxiety. He cast an apologetic glance at Ashley, who was listening with wide-eyed disbelief.
Sherry, however, was less tolerant. The blonde girl crossed her arms, her blue eyes flashing with anger. "Are you telling me," she began, her voice icy, "that you could just take over one of us without us even knowing? That's... that's gross! It's disgusting!"
Jacob merely shrugged, not at all perturbed by her outrage. "It's the job," he said, leaning back into his seat. "It's not personal. And it's only if necessary. It's all about protecting your dear friend Ashley here."
Ashley looked terrified at the thought of her body being taken over. Sherry, on the other hand, looked downright furious.
Gordon, sensing the escalating tension, decided to intervene. "It's a measure of last resort, ladies," he assured them. "We would not use this technology unless it's absolutely necessary."
"But how can you make that decision?" Sherry protested, her voice shaking. "What gives you the right to use our bodies like... like empty vessels?"
Gordon's gaze hardened. "It's our duty, Miss. We're here to protect Ashley and you from potential harm."
"What potential harm?" Ashley asked, her voice tiny. "We're just on college break."
Gordon's glance slid to Jacob, then back to the girls. "We have reason to believe that one of your college mates, Barbara, might not be who she claims to be."
Sherry's nostrils flared, her sharp eyes narrowing on Jacob. "You probably enjoy this, don't you?" she accused, her voice dripping with contempt. "You get your kicks out of wearing women's bodies. Must be a real ego trip."
Jacob looked unfazed by her accusations. Instead, he let out a small chuckle, leaning back against his seat. "You know, Sherry," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "You really should learn to relax. Life's too short to always be angry."
Sherry's retort was cut off as the plane jostled slightly, a patch of turbulence causing everyone to grip their armrests. The distraction provided Jacob with the perfect cover. His hand moved deftly, slipping a small device from his pocket. With a swift, practised movement, he reached out under the guise of steadying Sherry and attached the receiver to the back of her neck.
She gave him a sour look, completely oblivious to the device now nestled under her blonde curls. "Keep your hands to yourself," she snapped, swatting his arm away.
Jacob simply raised his hands in a show of innocence, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Just making sure you're safe, princess."
Gordon shot Jacob a stern look, shaking his head slightly. The younger agent was playing a dangerous game, but Gordon knew they didn't have the luxury of time. For now, they had to trust Jacob's instincts, as reckless as they seemed.
As the jet soared above the clouds, a game of cat and mouse was beginning to take shape. Unbeknownst to her, Sherry was now at the mercy of a technology that made her body an unwitting pawn in a high-stakes game. And all around her, eyes watched, ready to protect, and if necessary, to control.
Jacob fished out the small, innocuous-looking device from his pocket. It was the transmitter, the critical piece of technology that could bridge minds. "Now, ladies," he began, holding up the device for them to see, "this little gadget here is the key. It links me to the receiver, allowing me to 'borrow' the body."
Sherry scoffed, her face flushing with anger. "You mean 'hijack,' not 'borrow.'"
Jacob merely shrugged, the corners of his mouth pulling into a wry grin. "Potato, potahto."
"And you're planning to use it on me?" Sherry spat, her fingers curling into tight fists. “No way I’ll let you put one of those receiver things on me.”
"Why, Sherry, it's almost like you're worried." Jacob teased, his grin broadening. "I promise you won't feel a thing. One moment you'll be here, the next you'll be... well, still here. But with better decision-making skills."
Gordon frowned at Jacob's flippant remark, but remained silent. Ashley, on the other hand, was growing more anxious by the second. Her wide eyes darted between Jacob, Sherry, and the device in Jacob's hand.
"But... how can you ensure she won't realize?" Ashley asked, her voice quivering.
Jacob leaned back, clasping the transmitter device in his hand. "That's the beauty of it, Ashley. The person being controlled won't even realize they're not making their own decisions. They just think they're having a particularly decisive day."
Ashley gulped, her gaze drifting towards Sherry, who was now standing, her eyes blazing with fury. "And what if I refuse?" Sherry snapped, her voice echoing in the confined space of the jet.
Jacob met her gaze unflinchingly, his grin never wavering. "Well, then, princess," he said, his voice deceptively soft, "you can consider this a lesson in diplomacy. Or better yet, consider it... an adventure."
"An adventure?" Sherry scoffed, her eyes alight with a mixture of anger and defiance. "I think you'll find, Jacob, that I'm not as easy to control as you think."
Jacob's grin widened, his gaze meeting hers. "Is that a challenge, princess?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes gleamed with anticipation at the thought of finally putting the arrogant heiress in her place.
Beside Sherry, Ashley's brow furrowed in thought. "But... what does it feel like?" she asked quietly. "Being controlled, I mean."
Jacob shifted his attention to Ashley, his grin softening into a gentler smile. "It's like being a passenger in your own body, Ashley," he explained. "You feel everything, you see everything. But the decisions, the actions, they're all made by someone else. And the best part? You won't even realize it's not you."
Ashley chewed on her lower lip, her brown eyes filled with a mix of fear and curiosity. "So... it's like sleepwalking?"
"In a way," Gordon chimed in, his voice steady. "You're aware of everything happening, but it's like you're on autopilot."
"But I can resist, right?" Sherry cut in, her voice filled with determination. "I mean, it's my body. I should be able to fight it."
Jacob chuckled, the sound echoing through the private jet. "I'd love to see you try, princess," he said, his tone filled with a challenge. He was relishing the opportunity to use the stealth control technology, and even more so, the opportunity to take Sherry down a notch.
Gordon watched the exchange quietly. There was an undeniable tension building between Jacob and Sherry, a silent power struggle that hung heavy in the air. As for Ashley, she was a mixture of curiosity and fear. But Gordon knew they didn't have the luxury of choice anymore. A game was set to begin, and whether they liked it or not, they were all players.
Jacob lifted the transmitter, his fingers curling around the device. His eyes locked onto Sherry's defiant glare, a predatory grin playing on his lips.
"Let's put your theory to the test, shall we, princess?" His voice was low and taunting, as he pressed a button on the transmitter.
The moment the button was pressed, Jacob's body slumped back in his chair, eyes closed, and a blank expression on his face. Meanwhile, the effect on Sherry was immediate and startling.
Sherry's eyes glazed over for a moment, before a confident, almost mischievous smirk spread across her face - a mirror image of Jacob's. Her posture changed subtly, carrying the swagger and bravado that Jacob exhibited. Her hands reached out, grabbing onto the arms of her chair, and then she was pushing herself up to a standing position.
Inside Sherry's body, Jacob was reveling in his control. His – or rather, Sherry's – hands spread wide as he straightened her back, pushing her shoulders back with an exaggerated flourish. He could feel the luxurious fabric of her clothes, the power of her healthy, young muscles. Sherry's outraged expression had been replaced by his confident smirk, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of his delight and daring.
"This," he made Sherry's voice purr, gesturing to her body with her hands, "is rather impressive."
Across the aisle, Ashley's eyes went wide with shock, her gaze darting between Sherry's animated form and Jacob's lifeless body. She was silent, her hand hovering uncertainly over her mouth as she grappled with the reality of what she was witnessing.
Gordon's face was a stoic mask, his eyes moving between his own lifeless partner and the heiress, now dancing like a puppet on a string. He noted the smug satisfaction radiating off of 'Sherry', and knew Jacob was thoroughly enjoying himself.
A strange sensation gripped Sherry, but it was not an unpleasant one. It was like waking up in the morning and not quite remembering your dream, but knowing it had been delightful. She found herself giggling, her hands drifting down to the hem of her dress and tugging it experimentally. It was her decision, she thought. Why else would she do it?
She was aware of the luxurious fabric sliding between her fingers, of the way it hugged her figure. She was not usually one to admire herself so openly, yet now she found herself doing just that. She glanced down at her designer heels and in the blink of an eye, decided they were far too constricting. With a small huff, she kicked them off, the shoes sailing through the air with a satisfying arc before landing with a muffled thud.
Her gaze returned to her bare feet, her pedicured toes wriggling against the plush carpet of the jet. The sensation was... liberating. She looked at her own body, her hands exploring the curves of her form, the feeling so natural it was as if she had decided to do it herself.
Yet somewhere, a small part of her mind fluttered with uncertainty. She remembered Jacob's promise, his taunting grin, the way his body had slumped lifelessly. Was it possible that she wasn't in control, that she was just a passenger in her own body?
She pushed the thought away immediately. She was Sherry, the woman who bowed to no one, the woman who was always in control. She was not going to be manipulated by a man who saw her as nothing more than a plaything.
She cupped her breasts with a smirk. Yep, these were hers all right.
The moment was interrupted by Gordon's stern voice, "Alright, Jacob. That's enough. Don't embarrass the girl."
Jacob's smirk, painted on Sherry's face, deepened at his partner's reprimand. With a dramatic bow, he surrendered the controls. The moment he disengaged the transmitter, his own body jerked back to life, a yawn escaping his lips as though he had just woken from a nap.
At the same time, Sherry's body froze, the audacious smirk slowly melting from her face. She blinked, her eyes returning to their usual fierce determination. She looked around, her brows furrowed in confusion, as if waking from an odd dream.
Ashley rushed over to her friend, concern etched into her face. "Sherry, are you okay? What did it feel like?"
Sherry frowned, her hands running down her dress, straightening it out. "What do you mean, 'what did it feel like'? I was just...having a bit of fun, that's all."
"But... but Jacob was controlling you," Ashley stammered, glancing between her friend and the CBI agent. "Didn't you feel that?"
"Nonsense," Sherry huffed, a flush creeping onto her cheeks. "No one controls me. Not even Jacob."
Gordon watched the exchange in silence. If Jacob's demonstration had taught them anything, it was the power and subtlety of the stealth control technology. Even now, Sherry refused to believe she'd been manipulated.
Jacob, meanwhile, stretched in his seat, a satisfied smirk still dancing on his lips. He'd enjoyed the ride more than he'd anticipated, and Sherry's continued denial was just icing on the cake. Despite the underlying seriousness of their mission, he found himself looking forward to what would come next.
It didn’t have to be him that was stuck inside that gorgeous female body, after all.
As the private jet descended onto the private airstrip of the island resort, Ashley and Sherry gazed out the window, their eyes filled with anticipation. From above, the resort looked like a paradise. An ocean of turquoise blue lapped against white sandy beaches, while luxurious villas lay dotted amidst lush, tropical greenery.
Once they'd landed, Ashley and Sherry, fueled by excitement, hurried off the jet and disappeared into the resort. They were seemingly unaffected by the strange events on the plane, or perhaps just choosing to ignore them for now.
With the girls out of earshot, Gordon turned to Jacob. His stern gaze bore into his partner's smirking face. "What you did up there was inappropriate," he chided, his voice low but firm. "This isn't a game, Jacob. We're here to protect Ashley and Sherry, not to make fools of them."
Jacob's smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew wider. "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Gordon," he said casually. "But I also think it's important to enjoy your work, don't you?"
Gordon sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is serious, Jacob. We have a mission."
Jacob rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. All serious and no play. But tell you what, Gordon. Next time, you get to do the controlling. I'd love to see what 'fun' you'd have with Sherry."
Gordon's face blanched at the thought. "Jacob, I..."
Jacob cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "No arguments, Gordon. We'll see how much of a straight shooter you are then."
As Jacob walked off towards the resort, leaving a dumbstruck Gordon behind, he couldn't help but chuckle. His mission had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.
___________________________
Inside one of the private villas in the resort, Gordon and Jacob had swiftly set up their temporary base of operations. Surveillance equipment was neatly arranged across the tables, while a screen displayed the layout of the entire resort. Here, they would keep a close eye on Ashley and Sherry while blending into the luxurious backdrop of their surroundings.
The evening brought with it a gentle breeze that swept across the balcony of the villa, rustling the leaves of the palm trees outside. Gordon found himself standing there, staring out into the approaching dusk, his thoughts burdened by the prospect of the task ahead.
Jacob joined him, his posture relaxed, a glass of some exotic drink in his hand. "Nervous, Gordon?" he asked, a teasing edge to his voice.
Gordon shot him a sidelong glance. "I just... I don't agree with this method. It feels wrong."
Jacob chuckled, taking a sip from his drink. "You'll get used to it. Besides, we're doing this for Ashley, remember? So she can enjoy her break with her friends, oblivious to the danger lurking around."
Gordon sighed, a resigned expression crossing his face. "Fine. I'll take over Sherry. But you're tailing us in your own body. No more 'fun' at their expense."
Jacob laughed, raising his glass. "Deal. And don't worry, Gordon. I'll be the perfect, invisible shadow. No antics, promise."
The decision to initiate the stealth control came swiftly and without ceremony. In the privacy of their villa, Gordon held the small transmitter, a device no larger than a pocket watch, and connected to the receiver implanted on Sherry. The world swirled around him for a moment, and then, darkness.
When he woke up, he found himself seated at the resort bar, ambient music softly playing in the background. He was now in Sherry's body, her senses his, her world his to navigate. As he came to terms with the transfer, he took a moment to observe his new surroundings.
The air was filled with the scent of exotic perfumes and tropical drinks, mixed with the salty tang of the nearby ocean. His ears picked up the faint laughter and chatter of other guests, the clinking of glasses, and the distant crash of waves against the shore. It was a sensory overload compared to the quiet solitude of the CBI headquarters, and Gordon had to suppress a wave of vertigo.
Cautiously, he glanced down at his new body. It was strange to see Sherry's slender fingers resting on the bar counter instead of his own callused hands. He could feel the cool, polished surface of the bar under these fingers, the smooth grain of the wood distinct and real.
Sherry was dressed for a night on the town, in a little black dress that shimmered under the warm lighting of the bar. He could feel the soft fabric against his skin, the hemline resting high on his - no, Sherry's - thighs. The sensation of the strappy heels on his feet was new and uncomfortable. It felt like he was walking on stilts, precariously balancing with every step.
Just as he was grappling with the surreal experience, Ashley approached. She was dressed equally stylish, a bright smile on her face as she took the seat next to Sherry's body. "Sherry, you were right! This place is fabulous!"
Keeping up appearances, Gordon forced a smile, trying to mimic Sherry's mean-spirited charm. "Told you, didn't I? Only the best for us, Ash."
Gordon, having assumed the role of Sherry, felt a rush of panic as Ashley, buzzing with youthful exuberance, grabbed his - her - hand. "Let's dance, Sherry!" she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. Before Gordon could utter a word of protest, Ashley had pulled him onto the dance floor. The pulsing beat of the music seemed to engulf him, the rhythm a foreign language his body did not speak.
He found himself in the midst of a swirling kaleidoscope of colors, the flashing strobe lights illuminating the dance floor in a frenetic array. The energy was contagious, the crowd swaying and moving as one, but Gordon felt like an intruder in this world. He was an agent, trained to navigate the darkest corners of the world, not a dance floor.
Despite his discomfort, Gordon pushed aside his reservations, trying to mimic the moves of the people around him. He attempted to keep a safe distance from Ashley, but she seemed keen on dancing more intimately, matching the rhythm and closeness of the other dancers.
The heels were another challenge altogether. With each step, he could feel his balance falter. It was a stark contrast to his usual surefootedness in sturdy combat boots. He cursed Jacob under his breath - this was a world he was unprepared for.
To add to his mounting discomfort, the hemline of Sherry's dress seemed determined to defy gravity, riding up with every movement he made. It was a battle to keep pulling it down, all the while trying to maintain his balance and continue the dance.
"I didn't know you were so shy, Sherry," Ashley giggled, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. "You usually take the lead."
Gordon laughed, hoping it sounded genuine. "I guess, it's just one of those nights, Ash. Let's just enjoy the music, shall we?"
As the music blared and bodies swayed around him, Gordon realized that he was not just in uncharted territory. He was on a battlefield, far removed from his comfort zone. But, as with all battles, he would adapt and overcome.
As the tempo of the music began to slow down, two men approached them. One was a tall, dark-haired man with a charming smile, while the other had sandy hair and blue eyes that held a hint of mischief. Ashley, ever the social butterfly, eagerly introduced herself and, in a matter of moments, was whisked away to the other side of the dance floor by the dark-haired stranger.
Gordon, still in Sherry's body, was left alone with the sandy-haired man. He was named Chris, a name Gordon committed to memory in case it was needed later. As the man extended his hand to him, inviting him for the slow dance, Gordon felt a pang of unease. This was far from the battlefields he was used to.
As Chris pulled him closer, Gordon felt the distinct discomfort of being in an attractive woman's body. The warmth of the man’s body was uncomfortably intimate, his hand resting at the small of Sherry's back felt invasive, and the smell of his aftershave was too potent, a little too sweet for Gordon's liking.
Gordon forced a smile, playing along with the dance, his body moving in sync with the rhythm. He kept reminding himself that this was all a part of the mission, a necessary discomfort for the greater cause. But, as Chris's hand moved a little too low for Gordon's comfort, he found himself fighting a blush of embarrassment. The feeling was both foreign and unsettling.
"Sherry, you're quite the dancer," Chris murmured, his gaze appreciative, as Gordon tottered around awkwardly in Sherry’s heels.
"I bet you say that to all your girlfriends." Gordon replied in his high pitched voice, trying his best to emulate Sherry's sharp and sassy tone.
__________________
Jacob sat across the room, sipping on a glass of whiskey as he observed the dance floor. His trained eyes scanned the crowd, on the lookout for any signs of danger. But, his attention inevitably strayed to the sight of Gordon, in Sherry's body, tottering about like a newborn lamb on the dance floor.
A smirk spread across Jacob's face, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. The usually stern and upstanding Gordon was now attempting to navigate the world of high heels and mini dresses, and from Jacob's perspective, it was a sight to behold.
He watched as Gordon, or rather Sherry, swayed gently to the rhythm of the music, an awkward contrast to the fluid movements of his dancing partner. Jacob stifled a laugh as he saw Gordon struggling to pull the dress down, only for it to rebelliously creep back up.
His gaze then slid to Sherry's legs, an aspect of her appearance he hadn't previously given much thought. The dress, although a source of discomfort for Gordon, did accentuate the length and graceful curve of her legs. A pang of appreciation and regret hit Jacob simultaneously. He couldn't deny that Sherry's body was appealing, yet it brought back a surge of memories from earlier in the day - memories he tried to suppress, but couldn't help revisiting.
Jacob sighed, taking another sip of his whiskey. His smirk morphed into a serious expression as he forced his attention back onto his duty.
Just as Jacob was about to glance back at Gordon, a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He squinted, his gaze zeroing in on a familiar face in the crowd. It was Barbara, the Asian woman from their briefing, her tall and curvy frame immediately recognizable.
His heart pounded a little faster as he noticed her subtly trailing after Ashley, who was now being led away by her dark-haired dance partner. Jacob shot a quick look towards Gordon, who was still entangled in a dance with Chris, completely oblivious to Ashley's movement.
With a roll of his eyes, Jacob pushed away his amusement at Gordon's situation. This was not the time for distractions. He slid off his barstool, leaving his whiskey behind, and started towards Barbara. He blended effortlessly with the crowd, his black suit camouflaging him in the dimly lit room.
As he neared Barbara, he fell into his well-rehearsed pattern of shadowing a target, maintaining a safe distance while keeping her in his line of sight. His hand subtly rested on the small device in his pocket - the stealth control transmitter & receiver pair - just in case he needed it.
Jacob was an expert at this - the stalking, the anticipation. The adrenaline rush was a part of his job he genuinely relished. A predatory smile curled on his lips as he thought of what he might have to do next.
__________________
For Ashley, the evening was a thrilling dance of laughter, flirting, and cocktails. Yet, something was off. Sherry, her usually energetic and vivacious friend, had been acting weird all night. Her antics on the dance floor were one thing, but the occasional stiff body language and the moments of awkward silence were entirely unlike her.
But these concerns paled as she found herself being led off the dance floor by the charming man she'd met earlier. He introduced himself as Tom, and the way he spun her around the dance floor had her head spinning with delight. It was the way he whispered compliments into her ear, his lips brushing against her hair, that kept her enchanted.
However, as they ventured further into the quieter, more secluded parts of the resort, a flicker of apprehension ignited within her. The lights of the dance floor were fading, replaced by the low hum of the backstage area. It felt wrong, almost predatory. Tom, her partner, no longer looked charming but sinister under the harsh backstage lights.
Before Ashley could process her thoughts and voice her concerns, a strong hand clamped around her mouth, silencing her surprised yelp. Her heart hammered in her chest as she was yanked off her feet and into the obscurity of a darkened room. The last sight she caught was that of Tom, a twisted smile playing on his lips as the door shut, plunging her into darkness.
_____________
Jacob swore as he walked off the dance floor, following Barbara’s mesmerising hips. He’d lost track of Ashley. He could have sworn she’d come this way just a moment ago. In a blur of colors and movement, he stopped in his tracks, eyes scanning the crowd in a frantic attempt to spot her. She had vanished. He cursed under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. He'd let himself be distracted by Barbara's tantalizing movements, the hypnotic sway of her hips, the seductive bend of her spine as she moved with the rhythm of the music.
He looked back toward her as she pushed through a door to the backstage area. Those damn beautiful legs, with their thick muscles, silky curves, and glinting steel…
Wait, what?
He squinted. Strapped to Barbara’s thigh, just showing under the bunched up fabric of her dress, was a small, but lethal-looking knife. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Barbara was the assassin they had been warned about.
He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze to remain focused. It was easy to get lost in the appreciation of her form, but the sight of the weapon brought him back to reality. He was not here to admire. He was here to protect.
He watched as Barbara made her way off the dance floor, her gait smooth and purposeful. His gut told him that Ashley was in danger, and he had to act fast. His fingers curled around the receiver in his pocket, ready to make his move. Now was not the time for admiring; now was the time for action.
The door to the backstage area swung shut behind Barbara, separating her from the bustling dance floor. The echo of her exit rumbled in Jacob's ears, setting his adrenaline surging. He'd let Ashley out of his sight once already, and he couldn't let it happen again.
With a newfound determination, Jacob took off after Barbara, his footfalls silent against the resort's plush carpeting. He wove his way through the throng of party-goers, his gaze fixed on the door Barbara had just passed through.
The backstage corridor was a sharp contrast to the vibrant scene they'd left behind. The din of the party was muffled here, replaced by the low hum of equipment and hushed conversations of staff. There, just a few strides away, Barbara moved with a killer's grace, her body coiled like a viper ready to strike.
Taking advantage of her lack of awareness, Jacob made his move. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between them and attached the stealth control receiver to the back of her neck. It adhered with a near-silent click, an unassuming speck on her tanned skin.
A rush of adrenaline swept over him. He was about to step into the shoes of an assassin. He couldn't afford to mess this up. His own body fell into its unresponsive slumber as he activated the transmitter, his consciousness diving into the unknown territory of Barbara's mind and body.
The transfer was instantaneous, like diving headfirst into a cold pool. One moment, Jacob was on the precipice of the transition; the next, he was immersed in the mind and body of an assassin. His first instinct was to familiarize himself with his new form.
Flexing his — no, Barbara's — fingers, he traced the curvaceous lines of her body. The strength beneath the feminine exterior was not lost on him; every curve, every muscle was toned and firm, sculpted by years of disciplined training.
He took a moment to chastise her for her line of work, delivering a firm slap to her cheek. The sensation was jarring. He could feel both the sting of the slap and the tremor that ran through her hand. His lips curled into a smirk at the absurdity of the act.
His gaze traveled downwards, observing the dress that clung to her like a second skin. He raised an eyebrow, taking in the sight of her attractive form. Being in a woman's body was one thing; being in the body of an attractive assassin was an entirely different ballgame.
He quickly pulled out the skin tight dress to stare down into his new cleavage. What was the point of taking over a female form if you couldn’t admire it, anyway? He shook his hips side to side, noticing the strange sensation that his legs were further apart then they should be. He quickly felt between his legs and smirked. He loved being a woman.
Jacob found himself musing about what life might be like for Barbara. How often did she use her beauty as a weapon, ensnaring her targets in a web of desire before delivering the final blow? How did she navigate the world of shadowy figures and deadly contracts while maintaining her femininity? It was a world he was about to explore, albeit temporarily. He only hoped he could navigate it as well as she did.
_____________________
Sherry found herself in the throes of a dance she didn't understand. It was a slow dance, her body swaying rhythmlessly, almost clumsily in a stranger's arms. The guy, a young man with a keen interest in her, had a grip on her that seemed too firm, too persistent. But for reasons unknown, she didn't pull away.
She was usually more composed, her moves fluid and natural. Tonight, though, something was off. Each step she took felt like a struggle, her legs buckling under her as if they had forgotten how to dance. Her signature grace was replaced with an awkwardness that puzzled her. It was as if her body was operating independently, responding to cues that she wasn't consciously giving.
It wasn't just her dance skills that were off, it was her entire perception. She felt detached from her actions, like a spectator in her own body. "What is happening to me?" she thought, as she once again found herself gently brushing down the front of her dress, between her legs, as if something was missing there.
Her eyes flitted around the room, desperately seeking a familiar face. Ashley was nowhere to be seen. A twinge of worry gnawed at her. She considered breaking away from the dance to find her, but her body continued to sway to the rhythm of the song. For the moment, she was trapped in the dance, locked in the arms of a stranger, her concern for Ashley gnawing at the back of her mind.
____________________________
Ashley was trying to keep her calm. Her wrists were bound together with a harsh, biting cord, her body shoved onto a chair in a dim, musty room. The man, who she now knew as Tom, was pacing restlessly in front of her.
Tom had a gruff exterior, his features hardened by what Ashley could only assume were years spent in illicit activities. He was irritated, glancing at the door every few seconds, his grumbles growing louder as time passed.
"Where the hell is she?" Tom growled under his breath, his gaze darting towards the old, rusty clock hanging off-kilter on the wall. The room, which seemed to be some sort of storage area, echoed with the loud ticking of the clock, punctuating the heavy silence that lay between them.
Ashley felt a wave of dread wash over her. She didn't know who they were waiting for, but she was certain that her appearance wouldn't bode well for her. Her mind raced, thoughts whirling in a tornado of fear and anxiety.
Suddenly, the door to the room burst open, revealing the silhouette of a woman. Barbara. Ashley knew her only casually from their classes, but she had always had a cold, distant demeanor. Ashley watched her with wide, fearful eyes, her heart hammering in her chest. Barbara stalked into the room, her eyes glinting dangerously. Tom straightened, a surprised grunt escaping his lips.
"Finally," he growled. "What took you so--"
His sentence was cut off as Barbara lunged at him. It happened so fast that Ashley barely had time to blink. One moment, Tom was standing, the next, he was sprawled on the floor with Barbara on top of him. She moved with a grace and precision that belied her size. Her fists rained down on Tom, and Ashley could hear the dull thud of each punch landing.
Tom fought back, his surprise turning into a snarl of anger. But Barbara – or was it Barbara? - was relentless. It was as if she was a completely different person, her eyes filled with a cold fury that Ashley had never seen before.
There was a crack, a yelp of pain from Tom, and then silence. Barbara rose, leaving Tom lying motionless on the floor. She turned towards Ashley, and for a moment, Ashley's heart seized in terror.
But then, Barbara – no, this couldn’t be Barbara - merely crossed the room to where Ashley sat, her eyes filled with an intensity that made her shiver. Her hands, surprisingly gentle, began to work at the cords binding Ashley. As she was freed, Ashley felt a rush of relief, her mind a whirl of questions.
Who was this woman really? And why had she come to her rescue?
_________________
It was strange. Jacob had been in female bodies before but somehow, controlling Barbara was different. There was a raw, physical power in her, a vitality that felt foreign and exhilarating. He flexed her hands, still tingling from the impact against Tom's face. He had managed to put the brute down, but not without some struggle. Women weren't supposed to be as strong as men, or so Jacob thought, but Barbara was an exception.
At the same time, he was irked. Controlling Barbara’s body had revealed a new set of challenges. Her strength wasn’t the same as his own, particularly his arms. It had taken quite a few punches to deal with Tom, and his knuckles were painful and swelling. As he kneeled to untie Ashley, he felt a pulse of fatigue.
"Who are you?" Ashley stuttered as the ropes loosened.
Jacob paused, a grimace crossing Barbara's face. "It's me, Ashley," he said, trying to infuse Barbara's voice with as much of his own character as possible. "Jacob. I’m using the stealth control tech."
He saw the confusion flicker across Ashley’s face before comprehension dawned on her. Her eyes widened in shock. "Jacob? Really?”
"We’ll have time for questions later," Jacob interrupted, finishing untying her. "Right now, we need to get you out of here."
As he stood up, he once again took a moment to appreciate the body he was controlling. Powerful, agile and, he had to admit, seductive. Barbara was a woman to be reckoned with. If he had his way, he wouldn't mind using this body a bit more.
Jacob felt Ashley stiffen as they approached his own limp body lying unnoticed in the corridor. He hated seeing himself like this - vulnerable and defenseless. It was a risk of the stealth control tech, but a necessary one.
“Jacob?” Ashley’s voice quivered, “Is that… your body?”
“Yeah, it is,” Jacob replied with a curt nod, feeling a grim satisfaction at the shock on Ashley’s face. He let go of her arm and knelt beside his own body. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a spare receiver, a near-invisible piece of technology that was the size of a coin.
"Here, turn around," Jacob instructed, holding the receiver up.
“What are you doing?” Ashley asked, a note of panic edging into her voice as she moved away.
Jacob rose to his feet, raising an eyebrow. “Well, you saw what happened tonight, right? Clearly, you need more protection. This," he said, holding the receiver up, "this will let me keep a closer eye on you."
Ashley looked from the receiver to Jacob’s unconscious body and then back to Barbara, a dawning realization in her eyes. “You want to control me too?”
“Only if necessary,” Jacob replied, his voice firm. “Besides, I did just save your life.”
Ashley hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze darting between Barbara and Jacob’s limp body. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she turned around. As Jacob attached the receiver onto the back of her neck, he could feel her shudder under his touch.
“Don’t worry, Ashley,” Jacob reassured her, “You’re in safe hands.” A grin spread across Barbara’s face as he said it.
“Um… okay.” said Ashley. “I’m going to head back up to my room now. Tell Sherry where I went.”
With that, she scampered away. Was it safe to let her run off by herself like that? Jacob thought. How many times could somebody get kidnapped in one night anyway?
Some part of him said probably more than once, but fuck it. He pushed through the door back into the club.
With Ashley finally off to safety, Jacob turned his attention back to the dance floor. He scanned the throng of gyrating bodies and found Gordon, still looking completely out of sorts in Sherry's body. His movements were clunky and unsure, like a fawn taking its first steps. A smirk played on Jacob's lips as he moved towards him.
As he approached, he saw a group of young men watching Gordon with a mix of amusement and lustful curiosity. "Excuse me, gents," Jacob said in Barbara's sultry voice, sliding between them with an ease that belied his masculine mind.
He reached Gordon and took his hands, leading him onto the dance floor. He could feel Gordon stiffen in surprise but made no attempt to pull away.
"Sherry," Jacob said, grinning mischievously, "you dance like you have two left feet. Let me show you how it's done."
Gordon, looking surprised, stuttered a reply. "Barbara? What are you—"
Jacob silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Shh. Dance with me, Sherry."
With that, Jacob led the dance. As Barbara, he moved fluidly, sensually, leading Sherry around the dance floor in a dance that drew the attention of everyone in the room. Jacob revelled in the moment, both in the control he held over the situation and in the pleasure of making Gordon squirm.
As the music swelled, Jacob spun Sherry out and then pulled her back in. Sherry's surprised yelp was swallowed by the cheers of the crowd. Jacob could barely contain his laughter as Gordon, wide-eyed and flushed, stared at him.
The song ended, and Jacob released Gordon, flashing him a smug smile. "That," he said, pointing a finger at Gordon, "is how you dance."
Jacob lowered Barbara’s already sultry voice. “Want to see how you do… something else?”
Sherry’s body stared up at him, eyes wide, and reached a hesitant hand around the side of Barbara’s neck. Jacob felt the fingers explore, settling on the receiver still attached just above the spine.
A look of understanding passed over Sherry’s face, and then she gave a small, subtle nod. Jacob leaned in for a kiss. The frat boys around them cheered.
_______________
Five drinks later, the two agents turned college girls were in each other's arms, sloppily alternating between making out and examining their new bodies.
“I think Sherry is a- a lightweight” giggled Gordon, blushing at the situation. “Here I am, a twenty one year old girl, or a fifty six year old man, or a jesus…”
“I don’t think you’re Jesus,” smirked Jacob. He used Barbara’s hand to fondle one of Sherry’s breasts. “He wasn’t nearly this stacked.”
“Should we… should we…” Gordon started.
“Find somewhere more private? Sure.” Jacob forced himself to his feet, once again admiring the long, feminine legs that stretched out before him.
“I was going to say dis- disengage” grumbled Gordon. “But I think I like your idea better.”
He nearly rolled one of Sherry’s ankles as he stumbled to his feet. He leaned on Barbara’s body as the two of them snuck away from the emptying bar and up to a room.
“You know the best thing about being a girl?” said Gordon drunkenly. “Everybody wants to have sex with you. Tom wanted to have sex with me. Chris wanted to have sex with me. Even hot college girls like Barbara want to have sex with me.”
He fell back onto the bed, rubbing his legs together.
“Evvveeerybody wants to have sex with me. I’m a sex god.”
“I’m not a college girl.” said Jacob, smirking as he took off his dress.
“Assassin, whatever.”
Jacob laughed. He reached underneath Sherry’s dress and pulled down her silk panties.
“And you know the worst part about being a girl? Evvverrrybody wants to have sex with me. What if I don’t want to have sex with them?”
Jacob pawed at one of Sherry's legs, nibbling at her thigh. Gordon mewed at him.
“I don’t get to turn it off. They always want to have sexxxx, even if I don’t want to. Every guy was staaaaaring at me. Half the girls were staring at me.”
Jacob tore off his own underwear and frowned down at his flat crotch. Oh yeah.
“Being a girl suuuuuuccccks. Everybody always wants to have seeeexxx with me.”
“Being a girl sucks alright”, thought Jacob as he drunkenly felt around between his legs. “How the fuck am I meant to have sex without a dick?”
He grunted and stared down at the hot, horny woman that was lying on her back in front of him, so wet it was running onto the sheets. He was so damn turned on. He would have had a throbbing erection if he was in his own body.
He looked down at himself. Past the large, hanging breasts, and to the bare vagina nestled between his thighs. He spread the labia uselessly, growly with frustration as he squinted, trying to see anything but the tiny clit that was pulsing there. It was so damn small. What the fuck was he meant to do with that?
“I’ll be right back,” Jacob growled. Gordon moaned in disappointment and began feeling himself up.
“You’re meant to rub it.” said Gordon, absentmindedly, as he began to use Sherry’s hands on her own body.
Jacob barged out of the door.
________________________________
Sherry was having a hell of a night. First she found she couldn’t dance for shit, next she spent like an hour being felt up by the same uncharming douchebag, and then she got drunk and made out with one of Ashley’s random college friends – Barbara? What was her name?
She stared down at herself, spreadeagled on the bed, horny as she had ever been. Now Barbara had disappeared, god knows where, and she could barely get herself off.
“Ugh!” she moaned in frustration. “This is way harder than it looks!”
She cupped her boob in one hand and tried to stick out her tongue to lick it, but couldn’t reach. Her other hand grabbed at her clit, tugging it up and down like a tiny little dick. Why wasn’t she acting normal? It usually took her two minutes to get off and go to sleep!
“Fuck this!” she huffed and collapsed back onto the bed. She raised her bare legs into the air and stared at them. One leg, two legs, kicking in the air.
She admired her toes as she flexed them about, rubbing one leg up and down the other. She had never really looked at herself like this before, but she had to admit, she had nice legs. She blew a kissy face at them.
“Hellloooo toes,” she chortled.
She moaned again in frustration. She didn’t want to talk to her toes. She wanted to get off! She’d been alternating between horny and frustrated all night – not to mention seemingly fascinated with her own body. What was that all about?
The door burst open.
“Still awake?” came a man’s voice. “It took me a while to sort out Barbara’s body, hand her over to the cops, make sure Ashley was safe, etcetera, etcetera.”
Sherry just stared at him. What the fuck was Jacob doing in her room?
“Nice view, boss.” he said, staring right up at her. Her legs were still raised in the air, her bare nether region exposed. She thought she should maybe cover up, but decided, why not let the perv get a view? Closest someone like him would ever get to her!
Jacob tore his pants off. “Glad you could save it for me.”
“Never tell anybody about this.” Sherry found herself hissing.
“You got it, boss.”
She looked down to see Jacob’s monster member growing before her eyes. She threw her head back and moaned. Maybe she could have sex with him after all? What’s the worst that could happen? Not like she’d been able to do much without him…
“Hurry up! You better be able to get me off in this damn horny body!”
A thick, meaty hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her along the bed. Then she felt a peculiar sensation of something big touching a hole that she had never felt before…
Of course she had felt that before, what was she thinking?
An alien sensation burst through her in little waves as Jacob’s dick entered her. She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on the sensation that bore through every nerve in her body.
“It feels so good!” she screamed, “and-what-the-fuck-it-feels-so-weird!”
Jacob began thrusting into her. He grabbed her arms and held them down on either side of her. All she could do was gasp as the sensations overwhelmed her body. In out in out in out.
Jacob grunted. “You like that old man? You like that Sherry?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Fuck both of you! I’m the fucking king! What did either of you do tonight for the mission? What have you ever done for me!”
“No- nothing!”
“You like being made a little bitch, don’t you Gordon? Don’t you Sherry!”
Gordon? What the fuck was he talking about? But Sherry didn’t care, she let out a scream.
“Yes! Yes! Fuck me Jacob!”
“Cum like you haven’t had sex in a decade, old man!”
“Twenty five years! This is.. My first time… in twenty five years!”
Sherry was talking nonsense, but who cared? Her eyes rolled back in her head. She saw white. Every muscle in her body spasmed, every nerve cried out, she felt a wave slam into her mind, her fists clenched, her toes kicked, her whole body seized up, Jacob’s dick pulsating inside her, spurting deep into her body!
“OH GOOOOODDDDDD”
She collapsed back onto her bed. Jacob pulled out, and they quickly fell asleep.
______________________________
The next morning, Jacob was having a coffee outside the control room when Gordon, his old body looking tired and sore, grumbled his way out of the sleeping quarters.
“I don’t want to hear a fucking word.”
Jacob smirked, and that was that.
In the windowless confines of a government facility buried deep beneath Washington D.C., two men sat opposite each other in an unadorned room, the light from the single overhead bulb pooling around them. One was young, his buzzcut hair making him appear younger than his 28 years, and his brown eyes shone with defiance. The other was older, with the lined face of someone used to bearing weighty responsibility. His blue eyes held a stern, almost desperate look. These men were Jacob and Gordon, agents of the clandestine organization known as the CBI.
The room hummed with a quiet tension as a holographic display flickered to life between them. Images of a young woman with brown hair flashed on the screen. She looked bright, bubbly even, her smile filled with the naiveté of the privileged. Her name, the display read, was Ashley. Her father was a big shot in the government, and she was their next assignment.
Jacob leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as his gaze darted from the hologram to his partner. The disdain in his voice was almost tangible. "So, we're playing babysitters now?"
Gordon's stern gaze remained fixed on the display. "We're protecting an innocent life, Jacob," he said, his voice tight. "An innocent life that, if lost, could plunge the country into chaos."
Jacob scoffed, unconvinced. "The rich girl's daddy has a lot of enemies, huh?"
"More than you'd think." Gordon looked at Jacob, his eyes betraying his seriousness. "This isn't just about Ashley. It's about national security."
The display changed to the image of a blonde-haired woman named Sherry and an Asian woman, labelled Barbara. "They're friends of Ashley’s. We’ve known Sherry for quite some time, but Barbara We believe Barbara is new to us. We haven’t been able to verify her identity."
Jacob's eyebrows shot up. "And we're supposed to do what? Use stealth control and become sorority sisters?"
Gordon ignored Jacob's sarcasm. "We're to protect Ashley, and if necessary, neutralize Barbara."
“Neutralize Barbara, Jesus Christ. We don’t even know who she is yet. She could just be some college student!”
There was a moment of silence as both men took in the gravity of their mission. Gordon continued, "We're to use the stealth control, as needed, to keep an eye on the girls without disrupting their holiday plans. We will be meeting them before the mission, so they will know who we are, and that we are there to keep them safe.”
Jacob looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "Why am I always the one getting dressed in women's clothes?"
Gordon shrugged and gave a slight smile, "I can’t speak to your previous experience their, Jacob. Perhaps you make a good girl"
“Yeah, fuck you.” Jacob laughed, “We’ll see what happens.”
As the room plunged into darkness, both men rose from their chairs. They had a mission to accomplish. They were CBI agents; their personal feelings had no room in the grand scheme of things.
They were the unseen guardians, ready to step into the lives of the oblivious to keep them safe. It was their duty. Their burden.
“Hey, if you take over Sherry, will you show me her tits?”
It was just another day in the CBI.
______________________________________________
The private jet was an opulent capsule of wealth and privilege, humming smoothly above the clouds. Inside, Jacob and Gordon sat across from Ashley and Sherry. The air was thick with tension as they divulged the secrets of the CBI and their stealth control technology.
Jacob, lounging in his plush seat, was narrating a previous mission with a cheeky grin. "It was a nunnery in Budapest, you see," he began, "I had to infiltrate the sisterhood, become one of them. You wouldn't believe the shenanigans I got up to with those rosary beads."
Gordon winced at Jacob's choice of words. The older man knew that his partner's irreverence towards their technology would not help soothe the girls' anxiety. He cast an apologetic glance at Ashley, who was listening with wide-eyed disbelief.
Sherry, however, was less tolerant. The blonde girl crossed her arms, her blue eyes flashing with anger. "Are you telling me," she began, her voice icy, "that you could just take over one of us without us even knowing? That's... that's gross! It's disgusting!"
Jacob merely shrugged, not at all perturbed by her outrage. "It's the job," he said, leaning back into his seat. "It's not personal. And it's only if necessary. It's all about protecting your dear friend Ashley here."
Ashley looked terrified at the thought of her body being taken over. Sherry, on the other hand, looked downright furious.
Gordon, sensing the escalating tension, decided to intervene. "It's a measure of last resort, ladies," he assured them. "We would not use this technology unless it's absolutely necessary."
"But how can you make that decision?" Sherry protested, her voice shaking. "What gives you the right to use our bodies like... like empty vessels?"
Gordon's gaze hardened. "It's our duty, Miss. We're here to protect Ashley and you from potential harm."
"What potential harm?" Ashley asked, her voice tiny. "We're just on college break."
Gordon's glance slid to Jacob, then back to the girls. "We have reason to believe that one of your college mates, Barbara, might not be who she claims to be."
Sherry's nostrils flared, her sharp eyes narrowing on Jacob. "You probably enjoy this, don't you?" she accused, her voice dripping with contempt. "You get your kicks out of wearing women's bodies. Must be a real ego trip."
Jacob looked unfazed by her accusations. Instead, he let out a small chuckle, leaning back against his seat. "You know, Sherry," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "You really should learn to relax. Life's too short to always be angry."
Sherry's retort was cut off as the plane jostled slightly, a patch of turbulence causing everyone to grip their armrests. The distraction provided Jacob with the perfect cover. His hand moved deftly, slipping a small device from his pocket. With a swift, practised movement, he reached out under the guise of steadying Sherry and attached the receiver to the back of her neck.
She gave him a sour look, completely oblivious to the device now nestled under her blonde curls. "Keep your hands to yourself," she snapped, swatting his arm away.
Jacob simply raised his hands in a show of innocence, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Just making sure you're safe, princess."
Gordon shot Jacob a stern look, shaking his head slightly. The younger agent was playing a dangerous game, but Gordon knew they didn't have the luxury of time. For now, they had to trust Jacob's instincts, as reckless as they seemed.
As the jet soared above the clouds, a game of cat and mouse was beginning to take shape. Unbeknownst to her, Sherry was now at the mercy of a technology that made her body an unwitting pawn in a high-stakes game. And all around her, eyes watched, ready to protect, and if necessary, to control.
Jacob fished out the small, innocuous-looking device from his pocket. It was the transmitter, the critical piece of technology that could bridge minds. "Now, ladies," he began, holding up the device for them to see, "this little gadget here is the key. It links me to the receiver, allowing me to 'borrow' the body."
Sherry scoffed, her face flushing with anger. "You mean 'hijack,' not 'borrow.'"
Jacob merely shrugged, the corners of his mouth pulling into a wry grin. "Potato, potahto."
"And you're planning to use it on me?" Sherry spat, her fingers curling into tight fists. “No way I’ll let you put one of those receiver things on me.”
"Why, Sherry, it's almost like you're worried." Jacob teased, his grin broadening. "I promise you won't feel a thing. One moment you'll be here, the next you'll be... well, still here. But with better decision-making skills."
Gordon frowned at Jacob's flippant remark, but remained silent. Ashley, on the other hand, was growing more anxious by the second. Her wide eyes darted between Jacob, Sherry, and the device in Jacob's hand.
"But... how can you ensure she won't realize?" Ashley asked, her voice quivering.
Jacob leaned back, clasping the transmitter device in his hand. "That's the beauty of it, Ashley. The person being controlled won't even realize they're not making their own decisions. They just think they're having a particularly decisive day."
Ashley gulped, her gaze drifting towards Sherry, who was now standing, her eyes blazing with fury. "And what if I refuse?" Sherry snapped, her voice echoing in the confined space of the jet.
Jacob met her gaze unflinchingly, his grin never wavering. "Well, then, princess," he said, his voice deceptively soft, "you can consider this a lesson in diplomacy. Or better yet, consider it... an adventure."
"An adventure?" Sherry scoffed, her eyes alight with a mixture of anger and defiance. "I think you'll find, Jacob, that I'm not as easy to control as you think."
Jacob's grin widened, his gaze meeting hers. "Is that a challenge, princess?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes gleamed with anticipation at the thought of finally putting the arrogant heiress in her place.
Beside Sherry, Ashley's brow furrowed in thought. "But... what does it feel like?" she asked quietly. "Being controlled, I mean."
Jacob shifted his attention to Ashley, his grin softening into a gentler smile. "It's like being a passenger in your own body, Ashley," he explained. "You feel everything, you see everything. But the decisions, the actions, they're all made by someone else. And the best part? You won't even realize it's not you."
Ashley chewed on her lower lip, her brown eyes filled with a mix of fear and curiosity. "So... it's like sleepwalking?"
"In a way," Gordon chimed in, his voice steady. "You're aware of everything happening, but it's like you're on autopilot."
"But I can resist, right?" Sherry cut in, her voice filled with determination. "I mean, it's my body. I should be able to fight it."
Jacob chuckled, the sound echoing through the private jet. "I'd love to see you try, princess," he said, his tone filled with a challenge. He was relishing the opportunity to use the stealth control technology, and even more so, the opportunity to take Sherry down a notch.
Gordon watched the exchange quietly. There was an undeniable tension building between Jacob and Sherry, a silent power struggle that hung heavy in the air. As for Ashley, she was a mixture of curiosity and fear. But Gordon knew they didn't have the luxury of choice anymore. A game was set to begin, and whether they liked it or not, they were all players.
Jacob lifted the transmitter, his fingers curling around the device. His eyes locked onto Sherry's defiant glare, a predatory grin playing on his lips.
"Let's put your theory to the test, shall we, princess?" His voice was low and taunting, as he pressed a button on the transmitter.
The moment the button was pressed, Jacob's body slumped back in his chair, eyes closed, and a blank expression on his face. Meanwhile, the effect on Sherry was immediate and startling.
Sherry's eyes glazed over for a moment, before a confident, almost mischievous smirk spread across her face - a mirror image of Jacob's. Her posture changed subtly, carrying the swagger and bravado that Jacob exhibited. Her hands reached out, grabbing onto the arms of her chair, and then she was pushing herself up to a standing position.
Inside Sherry's body, Jacob was reveling in his control. His – or rather, Sherry's – hands spread wide as he straightened her back, pushing her shoulders back with an exaggerated flourish. He could feel the luxurious fabric of her clothes, the power of her healthy, young muscles. Sherry's outraged expression had been replaced by his confident smirk, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of his delight and daring.
"This," he made Sherry's voice purr, gesturing to her body with her hands, "is rather impressive."
Across the aisle, Ashley's eyes went wide with shock, her gaze darting between Sherry's animated form and Jacob's lifeless body. She was silent, her hand hovering uncertainly over her mouth as she grappled with the reality of what she was witnessing.
Gordon's face was a stoic mask, his eyes moving between his own lifeless partner and the heiress, now dancing like a puppet on a string. He noted the smug satisfaction radiating off of 'Sherry', and knew Jacob was thoroughly enjoying himself.
A strange sensation gripped Sherry, but it was not an unpleasant one. It was like waking up in the morning and not quite remembering your dream, but knowing it had been delightful. She found herself giggling, her hands drifting down to the hem of her dress and tugging it experimentally. It was her decision, she thought. Why else would she do it?
She was aware of the luxurious fabric sliding between her fingers, of the way it hugged her figure. She was not usually one to admire herself so openly, yet now she found herself doing just that. She glanced down at her designer heels and in the blink of an eye, decided they were far too constricting. With a small huff, she kicked them off, the shoes sailing through the air with a satisfying arc before landing with a muffled thud.
Her gaze returned to her bare feet, her pedicured toes wriggling against the plush carpet of the jet. The sensation was... liberating. She looked at her own body, her hands exploring the curves of her form, the feeling so natural it was as if she had decided to do it herself.
Yet somewhere, a small part of her mind fluttered with uncertainty. She remembered Jacob's promise, his taunting grin, the way his body had slumped lifelessly. Was it possible that she wasn't in control, that she was just a passenger in her own body?
She pushed the thought away immediately. She was Sherry, the woman who bowed to no one, the woman who was always in control. She was not going to be manipulated by a man who saw her as nothing more than a plaything.
She cupped her breasts with a smirk. Yep, these were hers all right.
The moment was interrupted by Gordon's stern voice, "Alright, Jacob. That's enough. Don't embarrass the girl."
Jacob's smirk, painted on Sherry's face, deepened at his partner's reprimand. With a dramatic bow, he surrendered the controls. The moment he disengaged the transmitter, his own body jerked back to life, a yawn escaping his lips as though he had just woken from a nap.
At the same time, Sherry's body froze, the audacious smirk slowly melting from her face. She blinked, her eyes returning to their usual fierce determination. She looked around, her brows furrowed in confusion, as if waking from an odd dream.
Ashley rushed over to her friend, concern etched into her face. "Sherry, are you okay? What did it feel like?"
Sherry frowned, her hands running down her dress, straightening it out. "What do you mean, 'what did it feel like'? I was just...having a bit of fun, that's all."
"But... but Jacob was controlling you," Ashley stammered, glancing between her friend and the CBI agent. "Didn't you feel that?"
"Nonsense," Sherry huffed, a flush creeping onto her cheeks. "No one controls me. Not even Jacob."
Gordon watched the exchange in silence. If Jacob's demonstration had taught them anything, it was the power and subtlety of the stealth control technology. Even now, Sherry refused to believe she'd been manipulated.
Jacob, meanwhile, stretched in his seat, a satisfied smirk still dancing on his lips. He'd enjoyed the ride more than he'd anticipated, and Sherry's continued denial was just icing on the cake. Despite the underlying seriousness of their mission, he found himself looking forward to what would come next.
It didn’t have to be him that was stuck inside that gorgeous female body, after all.
As the private jet descended onto the private airstrip of the island resort, Ashley and Sherry gazed out the window, their eyes filled with anticipation. From above, the resort looked like a paradise. An ocean of turquoise blue lapped against white sandy beaches, while luxurious villas lay dotted amidst lush, tropical greenery.
Once they'd landed, Ashley and Sherry, fueled by excitement, hurried off the jet and disappeared into the resort. They were seemingly unaffected by the strange events on the plane, or perhaps just choosing to ignore them for now.
With the girls out of earshot, Gordon turned to Jacob. His stern gaze bore into his partner's smirking face. "What you did up there was inappropriate," he chided, his voice low but firm. "This isn't a game, Jacob. We're here to protect Ashley and Sherry, not to make fools of them."
Jacob's smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew wider. "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Gordon," he said casually. "But I also think it's important to enjoy your work, don't you?"
Gordon sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is serious, Jacob. We have a mission."
Jacob rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. All serious and no play. But tell you what, Gordon. Next time, you get to do the controlling. I'd love to see what 'fun' you'd have with Sherry."
Gordon's face blanched at the thought. "Jacob, I..."
Jacob cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "No arguments, Gordon. We'll see how much of a straight shooter you are then."
As Jacob walked off towards the resort, leaving a dumbstruck Gordon behind, he couldn't help but chuckle. His mission had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.
___________________________
Inside one of the private villas in the resort, Gordon and Jacob had swiftly set up their temporary base of operations. Surveillance equipment was neatly arranged across the tables, while a screen displayed the layout of the entire resort. Here, they would keep a close eye on Ashley and Sherry while blending into the luxurious backdrop of their surroundings.
The evening brought with it a gentle breeze that swept across the balcony of the villa, rustling the leaves of the palm trees outside. Gordon found himself standing there, staring out into the approaching dusk, his thoughts burdened by the prospect of the task ahead.
Jacob joined him, his posture relaxed, a glass of some exotic drink in his hand. "Nervous, Gordon?" he asked, a teasing edge to his voice.
Gordon shot him a sidelong glance. "I just... I don't agree with this method. It feels wrong."
Jacob chuckled, taking a sip from his drink. "You'll get used to it. Besides, we're doing this for Ashley, remember? So she can enjoy her break with her friends, oblivious to the danger lurking around."
Gordon sighed, a resigned expression crossing his face. "Fine. I'll take over Sherry. But you're tailing us in your own body. No more 'fun' at their expense."
Jacob laughed, raising his glass. "Deal. And don't worry, Gordon. I'll be the perfect, invisible shadow. No antics, promise."
The decision to initiate the stealth control came swiftly and without ceremony. In the privacy of their villa, Gordon held the small transmitter, a device no larger than a pocket watch, and connected to the receiver implanted on Sherry. The world swirled around him for a moment, and then, darkness.
When he woke up, he found himself seated at the resort bar, ambient music softly playing in the background. He was now in Sherry's body, her senses his, her world his to navigate. As he came to terms with the transfer, he took a moment to observe his new surroundings.
The air was filled with the scent of exotic perfumes and tropical drinks, mixed with the salty tang of the nearby ocean. His ears picked up the faint laughter and chatter of other guests, the clinking of glasses, and the distant crash of waves against the shore. It was a sensory overload compared to the quiet solitude of the CBI headquarters, and Gordon had to suppress a wave of vertigo.
Cautiously, he glanced down at his new body. It was strange to see Sherry's slender fingers resting on the bar counter instead of his own callused hands. He could feel the cool, polished surface of the bar under these fingers, the smooth grain of the wood distinct and real.
Sherry was dressed for a night on the town, in a little black dress that shimmered under the warm lighting of the bar. He could feel the soft fabric against his skin, the hemline resting high on his - no, Sherry's - thighs. The sensation of the strappy heels on his feet was new and uncomfortable. It felt like he was walking on stilts, precariously balancing with every step.
Just as he was grappling with the surreal experience, Ashley approached. She was dressed equally stylish, a bright smile on her face as she took the seat next to Sherry's body. "Sherry, you were right! This place is fabulous!"
Keeping up appearances, Gordon forced a smile, trying to mimic Sherry's mean-spirited charm. "Told you, didn't I? Only the best for us, Ash."
Gordon, having assumed the role of Sherry, felt a rush of panic as Ashley, buzzing with youthful exuberance, grabbed his - her - hand. "Let's dance, Sherry!" she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. Before Gordon could utter a word of protest, Ashley had pulled him onto the dance floor. The pulsing beat of the music seemed to engulf him, the rhythm a foreign language his body did not speak.
He found himself in the midst of a swirling kaleidoscope of colors, the flashing strobe lights illuminating the dance floor in a frenetic array. The energy was contagious, the crowd swaying and moving as one, but Gordon felt like an intruder in this world. He was an agent, trained to navigate the darkest corners of the world, not a dance floor.
Despite his discomfort, Gordon pushed aside his reservations, trying to mimic the moves of the people around him. He attempted to keep a safe distance from Ashley, but she seemed keen on dancing more intimately, matching the rhythm and closeness of the other dancers.
The heels were another challenge altogether. With each step, he could feel his balance falter. It was a stark contrast to his usual surefootedness in sturdy combat boots. He cursed Jacob under his breath - this was a world he was unprepared for.
To add to his mounting discomfort, the hemline of Sherry's dress seemed determined to defy gravity, riding up with every movement he made. It was a battle to keep pulling it down, all the while trying to maintain his balance and continue the dance.
"I didn't know you were so shy, Sherry," Ashley giggled, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. "You usually take the lead."
Gordon laughed, hoping it sounded genuine. "I guess, it's just one of those nights, Ash. Let's just enjoy the music, shall we?"
As the music blared and bodies swayed around him, Gordon realized that he was not just in uncharted territory. He was on a battlefield, far removed from his comfort zone. But, as with all battles, he would adapt and overcome.
As the tempo of the music began to slow down, two men approached them. One was a tall, dark-haired man with a charming smile, while the other had sandy hair and blue eyes that held a hint of mischief. Ashley, ever the social butterfly, eagerly introduced herself and, in a matter of moments, was whisked away to the other side of the dance floor by the dark-haired stranger.
Gordon, still in Sherry's body, was left alone with the sandy-haired man. He was named Chris, a name Gordon committed to memory in case it was needed later. As the man extended his hand to him, inviting him for the slow dance, Gordon felt a pang of unease. This was far from the battlefields he was used to.
As Chris pulled him closer, Gordon felt the distinct discomfort of being in an attractive woman's body. The warmth of the man’s body was uncomfortably intimate, his hand resting at the small of Sherry's back felt invasive, and the smell of his aftershave was too potent, a little too sweet for Gordon's liking.
Gordon forced a smile, playing along with the dance, his body moving in sync with the rhythm. He kept reminding himself that this was all a part of the mission, a necessary discomfort for the greater cause. But, as Chris's hand moved a little too low for Gordon's comfort, he found himself fighting a blush of embarrassment. The feeling was both foreign and unsettling.
"Sherry, you're quite the dancer," Chris murmured, his gaze appreciative, as Gordon tottered around awkwardly in Sherry’s heels.
"I bet you say that to all your girlfriends." Gordon replied in his high pitched voice, trying his best to emulate Sherry's sharp and sassy tone.
__________________
Jacob sat across the room, sipping on a glass of whiskey as he observed the dance floor. His trained eyes scanned the crowd, on the lookout for any signs of danger. But, his attention inevitably strayed to the sight of Gordon, in Sherry's body, tottering about like a newborn lamb on the dance floor.
A smirk spread across Jacob's face, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. The usually stern and upstanding Gordon was now attempting to navigate the world of high heels and mini dresses, and from Jacob's perspective, it was a sight to behold.
He watched as Gordon, or rather Sherry, swayed gently to the rhythm of the music, an awkward contrast to the fluid movements of his dancing partner. Jacob stifled a laugh as he saw Gordon struggling to pull the dress down, only for it to rebelliously creep back up.
His gaze then slid to Sherry's legs, an aspect of her appearance he hadn't previously given much thought. The dress, although a source of discomfort for Gordon, did accentuate the length and graceful curve of her legs. A pang of appreciation and regret hit Jacob simultaneously. He couldn't deny that Sherry's body was appealing, yet it brought back a surge of memories from earlier in the day - memories he tried to suppress, but couldn't help revisiting.
Jacob sighed, taking another sip of his whiskey. His smirk morphed into a serious expression as he forced his attention back onto his duty.
Just as Jacob was about to glance back at Gordon, a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He squinted, his gaze zeroing in on a familiar face in the crowd. It was Barbara, the Asian woman from their briefing, her tall and curvy frame immediately recognizable.
His heart pounded a little faster as he noticed her subtly trailing after Ashley, who was now being led away by her dark-haired dance partner. Jacob shot a quick look towards Gordon, who was still entangled in a dance with Chris, completely oblivious to Ashley's movement.
With a roll of his eyes, Jacob pushed away his amusement at Gordon's situation. This was not the time for distractions. He slid off his barstool, leaving his whiskey behind, and started towards Barbara. He blended effortlessly with the crowd, his black suit camouflaging him in the dimly lit room.
As he neared Barbara, he fell into his well-rehearsed pattern of shadowing a target, maintaining a safe distance while keeping her in his line of sight. His hand subtly rested on the small device in his pocket - the stealth control transmitter & receiver pair - just in case he needed it.
Jacob was an expert at this - the stalking, the anticipation. The adrenaline rush was a part of his job he genuinely relished. A predatory smile curled on his lips as he thought of what he might have to do next.
__________________
For Ashley, the evening was a thrilling dance of laughter, flirting, and cocktails. Yet, something was off. Sherry, her usually energetic and vivacious friend, had been acting weird all night. Her antics on the dance floor were one thing, but the occasional stiff body language and the moments of awkward silence were entirely unlike her.
But these concerns paled as she found herself being led off the dance floor by the charming man she'd met earlier. He introduced himself as Tom, and the way he spun her around the dance floor had her head spinning with delight. It was the way he whispered compliments into her ear, his lips brushing against her hair, that kept her enchanted.
However, as they ventured further into the quieter, more secluded parts of the resort, a flicker of apprehension ignited within her. The lights of the dance floor were fading, replaced by the low hum of the backstage area. It felt wrong, almost predatory. Tom, her partner, no longer looked charming but sinister under the harsh backstage lights.
Before Ashley could process her thoughts and voice her concerns, a strong hand clamped around her mouth, silencing her surprised yelp. Her heart hammered in her chest as she was yanked off her feet and into the obscurity of a darkened room. The last sight she caught was that of Tom, a twisted smile playing on his lips as the door shut, plunging her into darkness.
_____________
Jacob swore as he walked off the dance floor, following Barbara’s mesmerising hips. He’d lost track of Ashley. He could have sworn she’d come this way just a moment ago. In a blur of colors and movement, he stopped in his tracks, eyes scanning the crowd in a frantic attempt to spot her. She had vanished. He cursed under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. He'd let himself be distracted by Barbara's tantalizing movements, the hypnotic sway of her hips, the seductive bend of her spine as she moved with the rhythm of the music.
He looked back toward her as she pushed through a door to the backstage area. Those damn beautiful legs, with their thick muscles, silky curves, and glinting steel…
Wait, what?
He squinted. Strapped to Barbara’s thigh, just showing under the bunched up fabric of her dress, was a small, but lethal-looking knife. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Barbara was the assassin they had been warned about.
He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze to remain focused. It was easy to get lost in the appreciation of her form, but the sight of the weapon brought him back to reality. He was not here to admire. He was here to protect.
He watched as Barbara made her way off the dance floor, her gait smooth and purposeful. His gut told him that Ashley was in danger, and he had to act fast. His fingers curled around the receiver in his pocket, ready to make his move. Now was not the time for admiring; now was the time for action.
The door to the backstage area swung shut behind Barbara, separating her from the bustling dance floor. The echo of her exit rumbled in Jacob's ears, setting his adrenaline surging. He'd let Ashley out of his sight once already, and he couldn't let it happen again.
With a newfound determination, Jacob took off after Barbara, his footfalls silent against the resort's plush carpeting. He wove his way through the throng of party-goers, his gaze fixed on the door Barbara had just passed through.
The backstage corridor was a sharp contrast to the vibrant scene they'd left behind. The din of the party was muffled here, replaced by the low hum of equipment and hushed conversations of staff. There, just a few strides away, Barbara moved with a killer's grace, her body coiled like a viper ready to strike.
Taking advantage of her lack of awareness, Jacob made his move. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between them and attached the stealth control receiver to the back of her neck. It adhered with a near-silent click, an unassuming speck on her tanned skin.
A rush of adrenaline swept over him. He was about to step into the shoes of an assassin. He couldn't afford to mess this up. His own body fell into its unresponsive slumber as he activated the transmitter, his consciousness diving into the unknown territory of Barbara's mind and body.
The transfer was instantaneous, like diving headfirst into a cold pool. One moment, Jacob was on the precipice of the transition; the next, he was immersed in the mind and body of an assassin. His first instinct was to familiarize himself with his new form.
Flexing his — no, Barbara's — fingers, he traced the curvaceous lines of her body. The strength beneath the feminine exterior was not lost on him; every curve, every muscle was toned and firm, sculpted by years of disciplined training.
He took a moment to chastise her for her line of work, delivering a firm slap to her cheek. The sensation was jarring. He could feel both the sting of the slap and the tremor that ran through her hand. His lips curled into a smirk at the absurdity of the act.
His gaze traveled downwards, observing the dress that clung to her like a second skin. He raised an eyebrow, taking in the sight of her attractive form. Being in a woman's body was one thing; being in the body of an attractive assassin was an entirely different ballgame.
He quickly pulled out the skin tight dress to stare down into his new cleavage. What was the point of taking over a female form if you couldn’t admire it, anyway? He shook his hips side to side, noticing the strange sensation that his legs were further apart then they should be. He quickly felt between his legs and smirked. He loved being a woman.
Jacob found himself musing about what life might be like for Barbara. How often did she use her beauty as a weapon, ensnaring her targets in a web of desire before delivering the final blow? How did she navigate the world of shadowy figures and deadly contracts while maintaining her femininity? It was a world he was about to explore, albeit temporarily. He only hoped he could navigate it as well as she did.
_____________________
Sherry found herself in the throes of a dance she didn't understand. It was a slow dance, her body swaying rhythmlessly, almost clumsily in a stranger's arms. The guy, a young man with a keen interest in her, had a grip on her that seemed too firm, too persistent. But for reasons unknown, she didn't pull away.
She was usually more composed, her moves fluid and natural. Tonight, though, something was off. Each step she took felt like a struggle, her legs buckling under her as if they had forgotten how to dance. Her signature grace was replaced with an awkwardness that puzzled her. It was as if her body was operating independently, responding to cues that she wasn't consciously giving.
It wasn't just her dance skills that were off, it was her entire perception. She felt detached from her actions, like a spectator in her own body. "What is happening to me?" she thought, as she once again found herself gently brushing down the front of her dress, between her legs, as if something was missing there.
Her eyes flitted around the room, desperately seeking a familiar face. Ashley was nowhere to be seen. A twinge of worry gnawed at her. She considered breaking away from the dance to find her, but her body continued to sway to the rhythm of the song. For the moment, she was trapped in the dance, locked in the arms of a stranger, her concern for Ashley gnawing at the back of her mind.
____________________________
Ashley was trying to keep her calm. Her wrists were bound together with a harsh, biting cord, her body shoved onto a chair in a dim, musty room. The man, who she now knew as Tom, was pacing restlessly in front of her.
Tom had a gruff exterior, his features hardened by what Ashley could only assume were years spent in illicit activities. He was irritated, glancing at the door every few seconds, his grumbles growing louder as time passed.
"Where the hell is she?" Tom growled under his breath, his gaze darting towards the old, rusty clock hanging off-kilter on the wall. The room, which seemed to be some sort of storage area, echoed with the loud ticking of the clock, punctuating the heavy silence that lay between them.
Ashley felt a wave of dread wash over her. She didn't know who they were waiting for, but she was certain that her appearance wouldn't bode well for her. Her mind raced, thoughts whirling in a tornado of fear and anxiety.
Suddenly, the door to the room burst open, revealing the silhouette of a woman. Barbara. Ashley knew her only casually from their classes, but she had always had a cold, distant demeanor. Ashley watched her with wide, fearful eyes, her heart hammering in her chest. Barbara stalked into the room, her eyes glinting dangerously. Tom straightened, a surprised grunt escaping his lips.
"Finally," he growled. "What took you so--"
His sentence was cut off as Barbara lunged at him. It happened so fast that Ashley barely had time to blink. One moment, Tom was standing, the next, he was sprawled on the floor with Barbara on top of him. She moved with a grace and precision that belied her size. Her fists rained down on Tom, and Ashley could hear the dull thud of each punch landing.
Tom fought back, his surprise turning into a snarl of anger. But Barbara – or was it Barbara? - was relentless. It was as if she was a completely different person, her eyes filled with a cold fury that Ashley had never seen before.
There was a crack, a yelp of pain from Tom, and then silence. Barbara rose, leaving Tom lying motionless on the floor. She turned towards Ashley, and for a moment, Ashley's heart seized in terror.
But then, Barbara – no, this couldn’t be Barbara - merely crossed the room to where Ashley sat, her eyes filled with an intensity that made her shiver. Her hands, surprisingly gentle, began to work at the cords binding Ashley. As she was freed, Ashley felt a rush of relief, her mind a whirl of questions.
Who was this woman really? And why had she come to her rescue?
_________________
It was strange. Jacob had been in female bodies before but somehow, controlling Barbara was different. There was a raw, physical power in her, a vitality that felt foreign and exhilarating. He flexed her hands, still tingling from the impact against Tom's face. He had managed to put the brute down, but not without some struggle. Women weren't supposed to be as strong as men, or so Jacob thought, but Barbara was an exception.
At the same time, he was irked. Controlling Barbara’s body had revealed a new set of challenges. Her strength wasn’t the same as his own, particularly his arms. It had taken quite a few punches to deal with Tom, and his knuckles were painful and swelling. As he kneeled to untie Ashley, he felt a pulse of fatigue.
"Who are you?" Ashley stuttered as the ropes loosened.
Jacob paused, a grimace crossing Barbara's face. "It's me, Ashley," he said, trying to infuse Barbara's voice with as much of his own character as possible. "Jacob. I’m using the stealth control tech."
He saw the confusion flicker across Ashley’s face before comprehension dawned on her. Her eyes widened in shock. "Jacob? Really?”
"We’ll have time for questions later," Jacob interrupted, finishing untying her. "Right now, we need to get you out of here."
As he stood up, he once again took a moment to appreciate the body he was controlling. Powerful, agile and, he had to admit, seductive. Barbara was a woman to be reckoned with. If he had his way, he wouldn't mind using this body a bit more.
Jacob felt Ashley stiffen as they approached his own limp body lying unnoticed in the corridor. He hated seeing himself like this - vulnerable and defenseless. It was a risk of the stealth control tech, but a necessary one.
“Jacob?” Ashley’s voice quivered, “Is that… your body?”
“Yeah, it is,” Jacob replied with a curt nod, feeling a grim satisfaction at the shock on Ashley’s face. He let go of her arm and knelt beside his own body. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a spare receiver, a near-invisible piece of technology that was the size of a coin.
"Here, turn around," Jacob instructed, holding the receiver up.
“What are you doing?” Ashley asked, a note of panic edging into her voice as she moved away.
Jacob rose to his feet, raising an eyebrow. “Well, you saw what happened tonight, right? Clearly, you need more protection. This," he said, holding the receiver up, "this will let me keep a closer eye on you."
Ashley looked from the receiver to Jacob’s unconscious body and then back to Barbara, a dawning realization in her eyes. “You want to control me too?”
“Only if necessary,” Jacob replied, his voice firm. “Besides, I did just save your life.”
Ashley hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze darting between Barbara and Jacob’s limp body. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she turned around. As Jacob attached the receiver onto the back of her neck, he could feel her shudder under his touch.
“Don’t worry, Ashley,” Jacob reassured her, “You’re in safe hands.” A grin spread across Barbara’s face as he said it.
“Um… okay.” said Ashley. “I’m going to head back up to my room now. Tell Sherry where I went.”
With that, she scampered away. Was it safe to let her run off by herself like that? Jacob thought. How many times could somebody get kidnapped in one night anyway?
Some part of him said probably more than once, but fuck it. He pushed through the door back into the club.
With Ashley finally off to safety, Jacob turned his attention back to the dance floor. He scanned the throng of gyrating bodies and found Gordon, still looking completely out of sorts in Sherry's body. His movements were clunky and unsure, like a fawn taking its first steps. A smirk played on Jacob's lips as he moved towards him.
As he approached, he saw a group of young men watching Gordon with a mix of amusement and lustful curiosity. "Excuse me, gents," Jacob said in Barbara's sultry voice, sliding between them with an ease that belied his masculine mind.
He reached Gordon and took his hands, leading him onto the dance floor. He could feel Gordon stiffen in surprise but made no attempt to pull away.
"Sherry," Jacob said, grinning mischievously, "you dance like you have two left feet. Let me show you how it's done."
Gordon, looking surprised, stuttered a reply. "Barbara? What are you—"
Jacob silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Shh. Dance with me, Sherry."
With that, Jacob led the dance. As Barbara, he moved fluidly, sensually, leading Sherry around the dance floor in a dance that drew the attention of everyone in the room. Jacob revelled in the moment, both in the control he held over the situation and in the pleasure of making Gordon squirm.
As the music swelled, Jacob spun Sherry out and then pulled her back in. Sherry's surprised yelp was swallowed by the cheers of the crowd. Jacob could barely contain his laughter as Gordon, wide-eyed and flushed, stared at him.
The song ended, and Jacob released Gordon, flashing him a smug smile. "That," he said, pointing a finger at Gordon, "is how you dance."
Jacob lowered Barbara’s already sultry voice. “Want to see how you do… something else?”
Sherry’s body stared up at him, eyes wide, and reached a hesitant hand around the side of Barbara’s neck. Jacob felt the fingers explore, settling on the receiver still attached just above the spine.
A look of understanding passed over Sherry’s face, and then she gave a small, subtle nod. Jacob leaned in for a kiss. The frat boys around them cheered.
_______________
Five drinks later, the two agents turned college girls were in each other's arms, sloppily alternating between making out and examining their new bodies.
“I think Sherry is a- a lightweight” giggled Gordon, blushing at the situation. “Here I am, a twenty one year old girl, or a fifty six year old man, or a jesus…”
“I don’t think you’re Jesus,” smirked Jacob. He used Barbara’s hand to fondle one of Sherry’s breasts. “He wasn’t nearly this stacked.”
“Should we… should we…” Gordon started.
“Find somewhere more private? Sure.” Jacob forced himself to his feet, once again admiring the long, feminine legs that stretched out before him.
“I was going to say dis- disengage” grumbled Gordon. “But I think I like your idea better.”
He nearly rolled one of Sherry’s ankles as he stumbled to his feet. He leaned on Barbara’s body as the two of them snuck away from the emptying bar and up to a room.
“You know the best thing about being a girl?” said Gordon drunkenly. “Everybody wants to have sex with you. Tom wanted to have sex with me. Chris wanted to have sex with me. Even hot college girls like Barbara want to have sex with me.”
He fell back onto the bed, rubbing his legs together.
“Evvveeerybody wants to have sex with me. I’m a sex god.”
“I’m not a college girl.” said Jacob, smirking as he took off his dress.
“Assassin, whatever.”
Jacob laughed. He reached underneath Sherry’s dress and pulled down her silk panties.
“And you know the worst part about being a girl? Evvverrrybody wants to have sex with me. What if I don’t want to have sex with them?”
Jacob pawed at one of Sherry's legs, nibbling at her thigh. Gordon mewed at him.
“I don’t get to turn it off. They always want to have sexxxx, even if I don’t want to. Every guy was staaaaaring at me. Half the girls were staring at me.”
Jacob tore off his own underwear and frowned down at his flat crotch. Oh yeah.
“Being a girl suuuuuuccccks. Everybody always wants to have seeeexxx with me.”
“Being a girl sucks alright”, thought Jacob as he drunkenly felt around between his legs. “How the fuck am I meant to have sex without a dick?”
He grunted and stared down at the hot, horny woman that was lying on her back in front of him, so wet it was running onto the sheets. He was so damn turned on. He would have had a throbbing erection if he was in his own body.
He looked down at himself. Past the large, hanging breasts, and to the bare vagina nestled between his thighs. He spread the labia uselessly, growly with frustration as he squinted, trying to see anything but the tiny clit that was pulsing there. It was so damn small. What the fuck was he meant to do with that?
“I’ll be right back,” Jacob growled. Gordon moaned in disappointment and began feeling himself up.
“You’re meant to rub it.” said Gordon, absentmindedly, as he began to use Sherry’s hands on her own body.
Jacob barged out of the door.
________________________________
Sherry was having a hell of a night. First she found she couldn’t dance for shit, next she spent like an hour being felt up by the same uncharming douchebag, and then she got drunk and made out with one of Ashley’s random college friends – Barbara? What was her name?
She stared down at herself, spreadeagled on the bed, horny as she had ever been. Now Barbara had disappeared, god knows where, and she could barely get herself off.
“Ugh!” she moaned in frustration. “This is way harder than it looks!”
She cupped her boob in one hand and tried to stick out her tongue to lick it, but couldn’t reach. Her other hand grabbed at her clit, tugging it up and down like a tiny little dick. Why wasn’t she acting normal? It usually took her two minutes to get off and go to sleep!
“Fuck this!” she huffed and collapsed back onto the bed. She raised her bare legs into the air and stared at them. One leg, two legs, kicking in the air.
She admired her toes as she flexed them about, rubbing one leg up and down the other. She had never really looked at herself like this before, but she had to admit, she had nice legs. She blew a kissy face at them.
“Hellloooo toes,” she chortled.
She moaned again in frustration. She didn’t want to talk to her toes. She wanted to get off! She’d been alternating between horny and frustrated all night – not to mention seemingly fascinated with her own body. What was that all about?
The door burst open.
“Still awake?” came a man’s voice. “It took me a while to sort out Barbara’s body, hand her over to the cops, make sure Ashley was safe, etcetera, etcetera.”
Sherry just stared at him. What the fuck was Jacob doing in her room?
“Nice view, boss.” he said, staring right up at her. Her legs were still raised in the air, her bare nether region exposed. She thought she should maybe cover up, but decided, why not let the perv get a view? Closest someone like him would ever get to her!
Jacob tore his pants off. “Glad you could save it for me.”
“Never tell anybody about this.” Sherry found herself hissing.
“You got it, boss.”
She looked down to see Jacob’s monster member growing before her eyes. She threw her head back and moaned. Maybe she could have sex with him after all? What’s the worst that could happen? Not like she’d been able to do much without him…
“Hurry up! You better be able to get me off in this damn horny body!”
A thick, meaty hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her along the bed. Then she felt a peculiar sensation of something big touching a hole that she had never felt before…
Of course she had felt that before, what was she thinking?
An alien sensation burst through her in little waves as Jacob’s dick entered her. She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on the sensation that bore through every nerve in her body.
“It feels so good!” she screamed, “and-what-the-fuck-it-feels-so-weird!”
Jacob began thrusting into her. He grabbed her arms and held them down on either side of her. All she could do was gasp as the sensations overwhelmed her body. In out in out in out.
Jacob grunted. “You like that old man? You like that Sherry?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Fuck both of you! I’m the fucking king! What did either of you do tonight for the mission? What have you ever done for me!”
“No- nothing!”
“You like being made a little bitch, don’t you Gordon? Don’t you Sherry!”
Gordon? What the fuck was he talking about? But Sherry didn’t care, she let out a scream.
“Yes! Yes! Fuck me Jacob!”
“Cum like you haven’t had sex in a decade, old man!”
“Twenty five years! This is.. My first time… in twenty five years!”
Sherry was talking nonsense, but who cared? Her eyes rolled back in her head. She saw white. Every muscle in her body spasmed, every nerve cried out, she felt a wave slam into her mind, her fists clenched, her toes kicked, her whole body seized up, Jacob’s dick pulsating inside her, spurting deep into her body!
“OH GOOOOODDDDDD”
She collapsed back onto her bed. Jacob pulled out, and they quickly fell asleep.
______________________________
The next morning, Jacob was having a coffee outside the control room when Gordon, his old body looking tired and sore, grumbled his way out of the sleeping quarters.
“I don’t want to hear a fucking word.”
Jacob smirked, and that was that.
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