Welcome to
Read and write stories with our community and AI
You can start a new story of your own, branch out from an existing chapter, or play through an AI generated text adventure! Subscribe to Premium for full access to all stories, and practically unlimited AI usage!
Search results for
"comeuppance"
Search results for "comeuppance"
New AI Chat
Loading...
Recent Chats
No recent chats found.
New Chapters
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
0
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
See All Stories
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.
0
1
0
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.
0
0
0
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!"
0
2
0
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.
0
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.
0
0
0
See All Adventures
New AI Chat
Loading...
Loading...
No adventures found for "comeuppance"
Try searching for something else.
Loading...
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.
1
5.6K
2
0
Commissioned for Anonymous on Twitter, their OC Freja gaining a magical staff and dealing with the side effects.
The pursuit of magic was an endless one, for various reasons and goals. Some wanted power, to conquer and destroy. Others wanted to mend the world, bringing peace and joy. Some wanted prestige, fame and fortune abound. So naturally there was a cavalcade of motivations for people, some good and some ill.
And more than you’d expect were just plain selfish. Even if it was for a dare or to satisfy one's ego thousands would pursue it. Some ancient magi prepared for this and set up punishments for those who would rob graves or delve into tombs in a quest for power.
One such person was a powerful sorceress, Prinzessin Freja Von Rosenburg. A young woman gifted in the magical arts who naturally wanted to have the best of the best in terms of magical equipment and prestige. Naturally, however, this had led to a bit of an ego problem with the woman.
Born to a prince elect, having access to anything she could want and being talented in magic. It was a damning combination. Especially when she realized what she could force her way through due to her large personality and similarly large assets. Meaning it was a simple task to get adventurers hired to get what she wanted if it’d turn out to be a challenge.
And she did, a group of her servants and adventurers looking to move up socially were easy to buy. Especially for a dangerous place full of dust and dirt. Monsters were no issue, after all she was the most powerful person (in her own mind) in the world.
So, the traps had been sprung, the monsters had been blasted and she hadn’t even had to risk chipping a nail. Her entourage was exhausted, but the relic she wanted was right in front of her.
“Well, thanks to MY hard work,” She boasted, knowing the grumbles from her group were just proving how hard she worked. “We have our treasure!” and said treasure was now being held right against her body. The pink staff of some powerful mage she didn’t care to remember the name of.
“Ugh, how tacky.” she mumbled as she motioned for her entourage to start carrying her out. “Really? A heart? I heard this old fogy was cringe, but I didn’t think it’d be that bad.” She ignored the grumblings of her allies, since after all they should just be happy, she is letting them use this as experience and exposure. “Come on, move faster! Everything's dealt with and I am not chipping a nail!”
There was almost no resistance from any of the other adventurers, they all knew they would get paid one way or another. Even If the bratty woman who hired them didn’t want too. But nonetheless, it was a pain to carry someone out of a dungeon, almost worse than carrying them in.
The trip back was thankfully uneventful, other than more grumbling from the people who did most of the work.
“And now, adieu!” Freja laughed, leaving the adventurers on the doorstep as she took the artifact with her. The tired grumbles now leaving her mind as she admired her treasure in actual lighting. It certainly had an aura of powerful magic, maybe if she had bothered to pay attention to stories about the sorcerer who used it, she would know more. But that stuff was just boring to her, why should she care about the past?
But now, as she entered her lavish bed spread and looked at herself in the mirror. She saw the most horrible thing that could have happened to a brave and more importantly beautiful magic user.
Her dress had the slightest, most miniscule smudge on it. It could’ve been from anything, dust, her entourage, even the staff itself could’ve had some dirt fall on her.
“Augh, of course! Of course, someone got me dirty!” she wailed, no one really paying her mind as it was a normal occurrence for her to be overdramatic. “Utterly disgusting and useless, all of them! Now I need a new outfit!”
Her doors slammed shut, her closet slammed open, and her clothing was flung with reckless abandon over her bed and her treasure. Thus, distracting her from doing literally any research or investigating what she had acquired. Just leaving it alone as something in its ancient magic started to stir.
The staff glowed, obscured from all prying eyes. Despite her intellect and magical prowess, Freja’s ego eclipsed that. All she knew was the staff’s beneficial powers, so she was completely unprepared for the ramifications of it. No detect curses, no warding’s, just pure unfiltered ego to protect her from anything.
But, for now, she wouldn’t notice. She was too busy fixing her new outfit. A black silk dress with gold trim and inlaid fabric. Tights that showed off her curves and a few adjustments to the top allowed it to show off her body in a way that screamed ‘I own you’ to passersby who didn’t know better. Elegant, eye catching and entrancing. All to be mocked and denied when someone approached her.
The princess flipped her hair, letting the red locks cascade down to her shoulders, free of all bindings she needed for travel. After all, she couldn’t risk her hair getting things like dirt and debris in it. Then were her gloves, full length and connected to her dress as she adjusted things with each hand.
A simple, elegant dress for whatever the mage wanted. Tea, dinner, anyone she could command? Frankly if she didn’t feel this was her norm, one could assume she thought the entire world belonged to her.
Some makeup, jewelry, and she was ready for the evening, and naturally she needed to take her new staff. While pink was not her ideal color, the contrast would be eye catching and entrancing. The benefits of the staff being just the slightest bit taller than her. And that was the first chance it had to work on its new master.
She didn’t notice anything, not at first, as she carefully looked at her staff and grimaced.
“it’s so tacky... but it should make me totally unstoppable if I want it too.” she grumbled, pleasantly surprised that it was very light despite its length. “Well, it’s famous, so it’ll just make me look better!”
There was a tug at the back of her mind, that maybe she should investigate her new equipment more. Ensure she didn’t forget something important about it. But of course, she didn’t feel the need too, after all she was a fantastic magic user in her own right.
So now she went out, purely on the town to show off. Herself, the staff, her own prowess of how she definitely earned this artifact with her own skill and not from forcing others to do the work for her.
Her door swung open as she walked out, the clack of her heels echoing through the building as she strode towards the entrance. Servants took quick glimpses at her, after all, she wanted all eyes on her and her new toy.
At least, she wanted them on her for her looks and her status, not for why she found herself with a maid on the floor in front of her. Or a sudden pain in her chest.
To onlookers, she had just confidently plowed into one of the maids due to her ego. So, they all knew to expect the princess to explode and drag the maid verbally across the entire castle. They waited, with bated breath, knowing just how ruthless she would be.
And nothing, not a single spoiled scream came from the noble. A few people looked up, and with an uncharacteristic gentleness, Freja was extending her hand.
“Well? Get up!” she said, not sure why she was doing this. But something was making this small act of kindness feel phenomenal. “Just be more careful next time.” The maid was stunned and slowly stood up, mumbled some sort of apology that Freja didn’t care enough to hear as she walked off.
“Wait... she got dirt on me, didn’t she?” the mage said, looking down at her dress. Thankfully there wasn’t a smudge on her. Nothing was out of place or dirtied by the collision. Not even the fit of her dress needed adjustment. “Well... good!”
Again, something was nagging at her in the back of her mind. She did yell at the maid who so rudely walked in her vicinity. She should be livid, furious, dragged her for her insolence of thinking she could even exist in her presence. But there was no anger, not even a hint of irritation at the lower-class servant being near her.
“Hmph!” Freja said with a smirk to no one in particular. “Clearly my adventures have just made me tolerate the low class’s mistakes!” She continued to stride off, not quite sure what the feeling in the back of her mind was, knowing it couldn’t be anything that would affect her on a significant level. Or more accurately, her ego was telling her that.
However, as she walked, the incidents continued. From someone wanting to compliment her dress, to smaller collisions that should’ve by all rights let her fly off the handle. But she didn’t, in fact, she felt better every time she didn’t explode at someone.
Clearly the adventure had tired her out. She couldn’t possibly be turning... nice, could she?
“Nice? To those cretins?” She mumbled as she shook her head, catching her hair frizzing out now that she could tell something was wrong. “Never. Not in a million years!” She was above them all of course, she was smarter, more powerful than most of the rabble in this region. Her parents were both skilled mages and her father was a prince elect. She was factually above everyone in her mind.
Her staff was just the icing on the cake. The symbol that proved she was in fact a skilled mage, even if she couldn’t care less about the history behind it. All she needed to know about it was that it was hers now, and it would increase her power.
Though, the longer she was holding it, having it near her, it was correlating with the sudden change in demeanor. She stopped and dipped into a side street free of anyone who could see her. Freja needed to get control of whatever was going on.
“...Wait... what do I do here?” she mumbled, trying to rack her brain for what could even be going on. There was a level of fogginess to her brain that wasn’t there before. “Maybe I'm tired...” she sighed, not wanting to risk running into anyone else now. “Being nice to these... people, shouldn’t feel good.”
The words left her mouth as the feeling of something strange tickled the back of her mind. She needed to think but was finding it significantly harder at the moment. The staff moved from hand to hand as she tried to think of what could be going on.
But it was getting so hard to think, her mind was unfocused, and she was finding herself dealing with some... feelings. In her body. Specifically, her lower body. Every little thing, little nice thing she found herself doing made that fogginess and feeling grow.
What’s worse is she didn’t think she hated it. But for now, she needed to try and get control of the situation. Her, her staff, and her dignity needed to make it back home intact. She just needed to figure out how to cover the short distance back home and to her room without being seen or interacting with anyone.
And then the people she hired to get the darned staff in the first place saw her. In all her elegance and glory, hiding in a back alley. Both the group and Freja paused, let an awkward silence fall between them and stand awkwardly.
“You,” one of them sighed, very visibly not pleased at seeing the noble.
“Me!” Freja said, trying to force her composure to work with her. Her posture going from awkwardly slumped over to trying to stand over the group. “You. All of you. Did. Uhm...”
“Our jobs?” one of them said, looking at her with confusion. The party was clearly not in the adventuring mood since they had changed more or less to casual clothing. “You mean the ones you barely paid us for?”
“Y-Yes!” Freja stammered, feeling that fogginess fill her head as she spoke. “Those jobs you did, uhm... what’s the word...? Tres Magnifique!” Using another language would certainly help her regain control of whatever was going on. Or at least that’s what she was hoping would happen.
“Yeah,” one of the adventurers said, a woman who frankly was a full head taller than the princess said. “Glad you got that part right.” The group murmured similar dissatisfaction with their client as their boss, who Freja was desperately trying to remember the name of, walked over to the princess. “And the other part you didn’t.”
“w-well, that.” she said, trying to muster up the primal energy of her magic to make this ruffian, who now just happened to be looking very attractive to her; remember her place. “Yes. Well. You did, Do... good work.”
“Great work.”
“Great work!” The princess stammered, her head getting foggier as she fought the urge to reward these adventurers more than she planned. “a-and you really, uhm...” the words stopped coming to her, whatever was causing this mental block was winning.
“Compensation.” the lead adventurer said with a blunt tone and expression. “You were all up there on your little chair you demanded we carry and didn’t put any risk on. So. Com. Pen. Sation. Miss Princess.”
Freja literally couldn’t find the words, her body felt like it was burning as she tried, desperately to maintain her ego due to her skill and position. But something was screaming at her to give in to their demands.
“y-yes, you... you were very good at carrying me, an-and keeping me safe so I got this, fabulous, staff.” she managed to fumble out. “I-I suppose that.” her mind screamed at her not to do what she was thinking of. “You, should. Get uhm, more... money?”
“And that we’re agreed on.” the leader said, backing away as Freja felt her knees buckle. Not enough to fall, but enough that the adventurers noticed. “You can’t pretend we hurt you, so don’t try anything.” the larger woman sighed, knowing that if they even moved a hair out of place the noble would unleash the fury of a thousand suns on them.
“I, I would never! I have my dignity!” Freja blurted out, feeling the warmth dissipate from her lower body as she regained her balance. “j-just do one job for me, and I’ll pay you double.”
“Triple.”
“Two and a half!”
“Quadruple.”
“Uhm... fine. That’s less than triple!” Freja said, trying, and failing, to shove the leader out of the way. “Just, get me back home! Please.” The party looked at her, then each other before stepping away and grouping up.
“She’s acting weird, right?” a smaller woman in the group whispered.
“Yeah, she is.” several others agreed. “What do we do, boss?”
“Get her home, last thing we need is her dad thinking we hurt her.” the large woman sighed. The huddle broke and they looked at the princess, her cheeks purple on her blue hued skin with a blush. “All right, we’ll get you home. But we’re getting our pay.”
“V-very good!” Freja stammered, taking a step in the completely wrong direction before the boss of the adventurers stopped her. “I, just needed to go around you! I know where I live!” she said, feeling odd as she wasn’t demanding to be carried by them.
“Right...” the boss said, looking at her team with a skeptically raised eyebrow. They followed her in mostly silence, each member looking more and more confused as they had to direct the princess back towards where she, presumably, had just left.
“Take a left,” the boss said, seeing Freja stumble on where to go again. “Seriously, you might need a doctor.”
“T-thank you for your concern!” Freja stammered back, “It is very, nice, of you!” Every little positive word that came out of her mouth made the head fog come back, and the warm sensation between her legs escalate.
What’s worse is that she was starting to think she liked this feeling. Every little word of thanks or polite sentence she uttered made it harder to not succumb to this feeling. Of course, she was arguing with herself the whole time about it, she was above people who worked and earned things the hard way. She was a skilled mage and practically halfway to royalty. Lowering herself to have things like respect and kindness for those less fortunate was beneath her!
At least, that’s what she wanted to think. But with every little nudge, begrudged sigh and word of thanks she gave to this adventuring party, she found it both harder to think and harder to disagree with the new thoughts filling her head.
Not to mention, every time she looked at the adventurers, something else started to build. They worked so hard and put up with her when she was so rude. Maybe, just maybe, they deserved more than money.
The thought was pushed down as they finally reached her home. The guards looked at the group with confusion as the leader of the adventurers just shrugged.
“Prinzessin?” one of them said as she hurried past them.
“Just, pay them! What they want!” she shouted, vanishing into the building to try and cope with the bizarre feelings. She rushed past everyone, blurting out apologies she wished she didn’t mean to them as they all looked at her with confusion.
“Okay, fuck.” she sighed, not even mentally chiding herself for the curse word. “What is going on,” she fell unceremoniously on her bed and let the staff fall to the floor. Her head was pounding, the fog was still in her mind, she didn’t even dare try to heal the headache she was now suffering from.
She sat in silence for a while, the headache growing worse as she thought about apologizing to everyone she ran past without so much as a hello. It sickened her and left her with more questions than answers.
“Okay, screw this,” she mumbled, grabbing her staff once again and staring at it. “You, you boost magic, time to get rid of this headache!” It was a simple healing spell, even if she couldn’t focus it’d be simple enough to cast.
The spell was case and Freja blinked for a minute. Just waiting to feel the relief of a clear head and no more strange thoughts. She hummed, feeling the pressure dissipate from her mind,
“Oh... that’s so much better,” she sighed, turning over and looking at the ceiling. “...what was I doing again?” The thoughts escaped her, but at least she didn’t have a headache. “Can’t have been important in that case then.”
She waited in her room, just in case her head started hurting again. Some people were moving back and forth outside of her room, had she really made such a scene? With a shrug, Freja stood up from her bed and walked to the door. Opening it to see the maid she had collided with earlier.
“Oh! You!” she said, feeling a soft smile form on her face. The maid looked nervous, and probably was expecting a verbal beatdown. “Oh my gosh, I am, so sorry for running into you!” the noble said, getting the Maid to visibly relax.
And then an idea, a horrible, status destroying idea came to Freja.
And she couldn’t care less about the implications of it.
If verbally making someone feel good was making her feel fantastic, then what if she took it a step further?
“Come into my room! I need to make it up to you!” she said, the maid turning beet red as she nodded. A careful step inside, the turn of the lock on the door, and a dirty look at the maid were all Freja needed to make sure this maid knew how good she could feel as an apology.
The pursuit of magic was an endless one, for various reasons and goals. Some wanted power, to conquer and destroy. Others wanted to mend the world, bringing peace and joy. Some wanted prestige, fame and fortune abound. So naturally there was a cavalcade of motivations for people, some good and some ill.
And more than you’d expect were just plain selfish. Even if it was for a dare or to satisfy one's ego thousands would pursue it. Some ancient magi prepared for this and set up punishments for those who would rob graves or delve into tombs in a quest for power.
One such person was a powerful sorceress, Prinzessin Freja Von Rosenburg. A young woman gifted in the magical arts who naturally wanted to have the best of the best in terms of magical equipment and prestige. Naturally, however, this had led to a bit of an ego problem with the woman.
Born to a prince elect, having access to anything she could want and being talented in magic. It was a damning combination. Especially when she realized what she could force her way through due to her large personality and similarly large assets. Meaning it was a simple task to get adventurers hired to get what she wanted if it’d turn out to be a challenge.
And she did, a group of her servants and adventurers looking to move up socially were easy to buy. Especially for a dangerous place full of dust and dirt. Monsters were no issue, after all she was the most powerful person (in her own mind) in the world.
So, the traps had been sprung, the monsters had been blasted and she hadn’t even had to risk chipping a nail. Her entourage was exhausted, but the relic she wanted was right in front of her.
“Well, thanks to MY hard work,” She boasted, knowing the grumbles from her group were just proving how hard she worked. “We have our treasure!” and said treasure was now being held right against her body. The pink staff of some powerful mage she didn’t care to remember the name of.
“Ugh, how tacky.” she mumbled as she motioned for her entourage to start carrying her out. “Really? A heart? I heard this old fogy was cringe, but I didn’t think it’d be that bad.” She ignored the grumblings of her allies, since after all they should just be happy, she is letting them use this as experience and exposure. “Come on, move faster! Everything's dealt with and I am not chipping a nail!”
There was almost no resistance from any of the other adventurers, they all knew they would get paid one way or another. Even If the bratty woman who hired them didn’t want too. But nonetheless, it was a pain to carry someone out of a dungeon, almost worse than carrying them in.
The trip back was thankfully uneventful, other than more grumbling from the people who did most of the work.
“And now, adieu!” Freja laughed, leaving the adventurers on the doorstep as she took the artifact with her. The tired grumbles now leaving her mind as she admired her treasure in actual lighting. It certainly had an aura of powerful magic, maybe if she had bothered to pay attention to stories about the sorcerer who used it, she would know more. But that stuff was just boring to her, why should she care about the past?
But now, as she entered her lavish bed spread and looked at herself in the mirror. She saw the most horrible thing that could have happened to a brave and more importantly beautiful magic user.
Her dress had the slightest, most miniscule smudge on it. It could’ve been from anything, dust, her entourage, even the staff itself could’ve had some dirt fall on her.
“Augh, of course! Of course, someone got me dirty!” she wailed, no one really paying her mind as it was a normal occurrence for her to be overdramatic. “Utterly disgusting and useless, all of them! Now I need a new outfit!”
Her doors slammed shut, her closet slammed open, and her clothing was flung with reckless abandon over her bed and her treasure. Thus, distracting her from doing literally any research or investigating what she had acquired. Just leaving it alone as something in its ancient magic started to stir.
The staff glowed, obscured from all prying eyes. Despite her intellect and magical prowess, Freja’s ego eclipsed that. All she knew was the staff’s beneficial powers, so she was completely unprepared for the ramifications of it. No detect curses, no warding’s, just pure unfiltered ego to protect her from anything.
But, for now, she wouldn’t notice. She was too busy fixing her new outfit. A black silk dress with gold trim and inlaid fabric. Tights that showed off her curves and a few adjustments to the top allowed it to show off her body in a way that screamed ‘I own you’ to passersby who didn’t know better. Elegant, eye catching and entrancing. All to be mocked and denied when someone approached her.
The princess flipped her hair, letting the red locks cascade down to her shoulders, free of all bindings she needed for travel. After all, she couldn’t risk her hair getting things like dirt and debris in it. Then were her gloves, full length and connected to her dress as she adjusted things with each hand.
A simple, elegant dress for whatever the mage wanted. Tea, dinner, anyone she could command? Frankly if she didn’t feel this was her norm, one could assume she thought the entire world belonged to her.
Some makeup, jewelry, and she was ready for the evening, and naturally she needed to take her new staff. While pink was not her ideal color, the contrast would be eye catching and entrancing. The benefits of the staff being just the slightest bit taller than her. And that was the first chance it had to work on its new master.
She didn’t notice anything, not at first, as she carefully looked at her staff and grimaced.
“it’s so tacky... but it should make me totally unstoppable if I want it too.” she grumbled, pleasantly surprised that it was very light despite its length. “Well, it’s famous, so it’ll just make me look better!”
There was a tug at the back of her mind, that maybe she should investigate her new equipment more. Ensure she didn’t forget something important about it. But of course, she didn’t feel the need too, after all she was a fantastic magic user in her own right.
So now she went out, purely on the town to show off. Herself, the staff, her own prowess of how she definitely earned this artifact with her own skill and not from forcing others to do the work for her.
Her door swung open as she walked out, the clack of her heels echoing through the building as she strode towards the entrance. Servants took quick glimpses at her, after all, she wanted all eyes on her and her new toy.
At least, she wanted them on her for her looks and her status, not for why she found herself with a maid on the floor in front of her. Or a sudden pain in her chest.
To onlookers, she had just confidently plowed into one of the maids due to her ego. So, they all knew to expect the princess to explode and drag the maid verbally across the entire castle. They waited, with bated breath, knowing just how ruthless she would be.
And nothing, not a single spoiled scream came from the noble. A few people looked up, and with an uncharacteristic gentleness, Freja was extending her hand.
“Well? Get up!” she said, not sure why she was doing this. But something was making this small act of kindness feel phenomenal. “Just be more careful next time.” The maid was stunned and slowly stood up, mumbled some sort of apology that Freja didn’t care enough to hear as she walked off.
“Wait... she got dirt on me, didn’t she?” the mage said, looking down at her dress. Thankfully there wasn’t a smudge on her. Nothing was out of place or dirtied by the collision. Not even the fit of her dress needed adjustment. “Well... good!”
Again, something was nagging at her in the back of her mind. She did yell at the maid who so rudely walked in her vicinity. She should be livid, furious, dragged her for her insolence of thinking she could even exist in her presence. But there was no anger, not even a hint of irritation at the lower-class servant being near her.
“Hmph!” Freja said with a smirk to no one in particular. “Clearly my adventures have just made me tolerate the low class’s mistakes!” She continued to stride off, not quite sure what the feeling in the back of her mind was, knowing it couldn’t be anything that would affect her on a significant level. Or more accurately, her ego was telling her that.
However, as she walked, the incidents continued. From someone wanting to compliment her dress, to smaller collisions that should’ve by all rights let her fly off the handle. But she didn’t, in fact, she felt better every time she didn’t explode at someone.
Clearly the adventure had tired her out. She couldn’t possibly be turning... nice, could she?
“Nice? To those cretins?” She mumbled as she shook her head, catching her hair frizzing out now that she could tell something was wrong. “Never. Not in a million years!” She was above them all of course, she was smarter, more powerful than most of the rabble in this region. Her parents were both skilled mages and her father was a prince elect. She was factually above everyone in her mind.
Her staff was just the icing on the cake. The symbol that proved she was in fact a skilled mage, even if she couldn’t care less about the history behind it. All she needed to know about it was that it was hers now, and it would increase her power.
Though, the longer she was holding it, having it near her, it was correlating with the sudden change in demeanor. She stopped and dipped into a side street free of anyone who could see her. Freja needed to get control of whatever was going on.
“...Wait... what do I do here?” she mumbled, trying to rack her brain for what could even be going on. There was a level of fogginess to her brain that wasn’t there before. “Maybe I'm tired...” she sighed, not wanting to risk running into anyone else now. “Being nice to these... people, shouldn’t feel good.”
The words left her mouth as the feeling of something strange tickled the back of her mind. She needed to think but was finding it significantly harder at the moment. The staff moved from hand to hand as she tried to think of what could be going on.
But it was getting so hard to think, her mind was unfocused, and she was finding herself dealing with some... feelings. In her body. Specifically, her lower body. Every little thing, little nice thing she found herself doing made that fogginess and feeling grow.
What’s worse is she didn’t think she hated it. But for now, she needed to try and get control of the situation. Her, her staff, and her dignity needed to make it back home intact. She just needed to figure out how to cover the short distance back home and to her room without being seen or interacting with anyone.
And then the people she hired to get the darned staff in the first place saw her. In all her elegance and glory, hiding in a back alley. Both the group and Freja paused, let an awkward silence fall between them and stand awkwardly.
“You,” one of them sighed, very visibly not pleased at seeing the noble.
“Me!” Freja said, trying to force her composure to work with her. Her posture going from awkwardly slumped over to trying to stand over the group. “You. All of you. Did. Uhm...”
“Our jobs?” one of them said, looking at her with confusion. The party was clearly not in the adventuring mood since they had changed more or less to casual clothing. “You mean the ones you barely paid us for?”
“Y-Yes!” Freja stammered, feeling that fogginess fill her head as she spoke. “Those jobs you did, uhm... what’s the word...? Tres Magnifique!” Using another language would certainly help her regain control of whatever was going on. Or at least that’s what she was hoping would happen.
“Yeah,” one of the adventurers said, a woman who frankly was a full head taller than the princess said. “Glad you got that part right.” The group murmured similar dissatisfaction with their client as their boss, who Freja was desperately trying to remember the name of, walked over to the princess. “And the other part you didn’t.”
“w-well, that.” she said, trying to muster up the primal energy of her magic to make this ruffian, who now just happened to be looking very attractive to her; remember her place. “Yes. Well. You did, Do... good work.”
“Great work.”
“Great work!” The princess stammered, her head getting foggier as she fought the urge to reward these adventurers more than she planned. “a-and you really, uhm...” the words stopped coming to her, whatever was causing this mental block was winning.
“Compensation.” the lead adventurer said with a blunt tone and expression. “You were all up there on your little chair you demanded we carry and didn’t put any risk on. So. Com. Pen. Sation. Miss Princess.”
Freja literally couldn’t find the words, her body felt like it was burning as she tried, desperately to maintain her ego due to her skill and position. But something was screaming at her to give in to their demands.
“y-yes, you... you were very good at carrying me, an-and keeping me safe so I got this, fabulous, staff.” she managed to fumble out. “I-I suppose that.” her mind screamed at her not to do what she was thinking of. “You, should. Get uhm, more... money?”
“And that we’re agreed on.” the leader said, backing away as Freja felt her knees buckle. Not enough to fall, but enough that the adventurers noticed. “You can’t pretend we hurt you, so don’t try anything.” the larger woman sighed, knowing that if they even moved a hair out of place the noble would unleash the fury of a thousand suns on them.
“I, I would never! I have my dignity!” Freja blurted out, feeling the warmth dissipate from her lower body as she regained her balance. “j-just do one job for me, and I’ll pay you double.”
“Triple.”
“Two and a half!”
“Quadruple.”
“Uhm... fine. That’s less than triple!” Freja said, trying, and failing, to shove the leader out of the way. “Just, get me back home! Please.” The party looked at her, then each other before stepping away and grouping up.
“She’s acting weird, right?” a smaller woman in the group whispered.
“Yeah, she is.” several others agreed. “What do we do, boss?”
“Get her home, last thing we need is her dad thinking we hurt her.” the large woman sighed. The huddle broke and they looked at the princess, her cheeks purple on her blue hued skin with a blush. “All right, we’ll get you home. But we’re getting our pay.”
“V-very good!” Freja stammered, taking a step in the completely wrong direction before the boss of the adventurers stopped her. “I, just needed to go around you! I know where I live!” she said, feeling odd as she wasn’t demanding to be carried by them.
“Right...” the boss said, looking at her team with a skeptically raised eyebrow. They followed her in mostly silence, each member looking more and more confused as they had to direct the princess back towards where she, presumably, had just left.
“Take a left,” the boss said, seeing Freja stumble on where to go again. “Seriously, you might need a doctor.”
“T-thank you for your concern!” Freja stammered back, “It is very, nice, of you!” Every little positive word that came out of her mouth made the head fog come back, and the warm sensation between her legs escalate.
What’s worse is that she was starting to think she liked this feeling. Every little word of thanks or polite sentence she uttered made it harder to not succumb to this feeling. Of course, she was arguing with herself the whole time about it, she was above people who worked and earned things the hard way. She was a skilled mage and practically halfway to royalty. Lowering herself to have things like respect and kindness for those less fortunate was beneath her!
At least, that’s what she wanted to think. But with every little nudge, begrudged sigh and word of thanks she gave to this adventuring party, she found it both harder to think and harder to disagree with the new thoughts filling her head.
Not to mention, every time she looked at the adventurers, something else started to build. They worked so hard and put up with her when she was so rude. Maybe, just maybe, they deserved more than money.
The thought was pushed down as they finally reached her home. The guards looked at the group with confusion as the leader of the adventurers just shrugged.
“Prinzessin?” one of them said as she hurried past them.
“Just, pay them! What they want!” she shouted, vanishing into the building to try and cope with the bizarre feelings. She rushed past everyone, blurting out apologies she wished she didn’t mean to them as they all looked at her with confusion.
“Okay, fuck.” she sighed, not even mentally chiding herself for the curse word. “What is going on,” she fell unceremoniously on her bed and let the staff fall to the floor. Her head was pounding, the fog was still in her mind, she didn’t even dare try to heal the headache she was now suffering from.
She sat in silence for a while, the headache growing worse as she thought about apologizing to everyone she ran past without so much as a hello. It sickened her and left her with more questions than answers.
“Okay, screw this,” she mumbled, grabbing her staff once again and staring at it. “You, you boost magic, time to get rid of this headache!” It was a simple healing spell, even if she couldn’t focus it’d be simple enough to cast.
The spell was case and Freja blinked for a minute. Just waiting to feel the relief of a clear head and no more strange thoughts. She hummed, feeling the pressure dissipate from her mind,
“Oh... that’s so much better,” she sighed, turning over and looking at the ceiling. “...what was I doing again?” The thoughts escaped her, but at least she didn’t have a headache. “Can’t have been important in that case then.”
She waited in her room, just in case her head started hurting again. Some people were moving back and forth outside of her room, had she really made such a scene? With a shrug, Freja stood up from her bed and walked to the door. Opening it to see the maid she had collided with earlier.
“Oh! You!” she said, feeling a soft smile form on her face. The maid looked nervous, and probably was expecting a verbal beatdown. “Oh my gosh, I am, so sorry for running into you!” the noble said, getting the Maid to visibly relax.
And then an idea, a horrible, status destroying idea came to Freja.
And she couldn’t care less about the implications of it.
If verbally making someone feel good was making her feel fantastic, then what if she took it a step further?
“Come into my room! I need to make it up to you!” she said, the maid turning beet red as she nodded. A careful step inside, the turn of the lock on the door, and a dirty look at the maid were all Freja needed to make sure this maid knew how good she could feel as an apology.
1
3.4K
0
0
Loading...
No users found for "comeuppance"
Try searching for something else.
Loading...