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These stories tells you about Peter Parker and his lovely redheaded big-tittied wife, Mary-Jane Waston-Parker with her transformations.
ftf possession f2f incest shapeshift magic milf Sci-Fi alien transformation age progression mind change superhero breast expansion gilf race change unaware transformation parody muscle crossover monster robot girl
by
ninhjimmy007
· 27 Sep 2025
In this intro, Peter Parker and Mary Jane will tell you about their superhero life and transformation
ftf
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by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
What if Mary-Jane wields the Power of SHAZAM and becomes Ms. Marvel
magic
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ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
What if Mary Jane can wield the power of Witchblade
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ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
What if Mary Jane becomes Lady Deadpool or GwenPool
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by
ninhjimmy007
· 11 Oct 2025
What if Mary-Jane finds the Omnitrix instead of the Ben Tennyson
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by
ninhjimmy007
· 27 Sep 2025
A different kind continunity story of Spider-man + What if Mary-Jane becomes She-Venom
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A strange erotic story about a teenage boy named Nick and his lovely big-tittied girlfriend named Gena who asked to be his mom for the role.
This story was inspired by CelineTF from DeviantArt
Being My Mom
The room was bathed in soft golden light as I pressed my lips against Gena’s, our bodies pressed together on the bed, breath mingling in the warm space between us. She tasted sweet, like the candy-flavored lip gloss she always wore, and her full, pillowy lips moved against mine with practiced ease. My hands slid down her sides, feeling every curve of her tight little body before settling on her thick thighs, squeezing gently. She let out a soft moan against my mouth, her nails digging lightly into my shoulders.
“Nick…” she whispered, her voice already breathy with want. Her enormous E-cup tits pressed against my chest, the softness making my cock twitch in my jeans.
I broke the kiss just long enough to smirk. “You’re so fucking hot, Gena.”
She giggled, her blue eyes sparkling. “You say that like you don’t tell me every day.”
“‘Cause it’s true every day,” I shot back, slipping a hand under her crop-top to palm her tits. She sighed, arching into my touch, her pink nipples already stiff beneath the fabric of her bra.
We didn’t waste time—clothes were yanked off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, until she was naked beneath me, all smooth, tanned skin and plush curves. Her tits spilled into my hands as I lowered my mouth to one perfect nipple, sucking while my fingers teased the other. She gasped, thighs tightening around my waist, already grinding down against the bulge in my boxers.
“Fuck, Nick…”
I didn’t make her wait. My boxers came off, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking once, twice, before she guided me to her soaked pussy. The first thrust made us both groan, her tight wet heat clamping around me as I bottomed out inside her.
“You feel so good,” I muttered into her neck, hips already moving slow and deep.
She whimpered, her nails scratching down my back. “Harder, baby, please—”
I obliged, pistoning into her, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. Her tits bounced with every movement, her moans going higher and more desperate as she clawed at me, pulling me deeper. I could feel her clenching around me, her thighs trembling as she got close.
“Cum for me,” I growled, tilting my hips just right to hit that spot inside her that made her scream.
Gena shattered beneath me, back arching as she came hard, her pussy squeezing my cock tight. The sight of her—flushed, gasping, tits heaving—was enough to push me over the edge. I buried myself deep as I came, groaning as warmth spilled inside her.
For a few blissful moments, we just breathed together, still joined, her fingers lazily tracing circles on my back. Then, reluctantly, I pulled out and collapsed beside her, pulling her close. She snuggled into me, her head resting on my chest, her leg draped over mine.
I stroked her blonde hair absentmindedly, enjoying the warmth of her body. But my mind was already drifting to something else—the turning of the calendar, the anticipation in my gut.
“Gena,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Next month is March.”
She hummed. “Mhm. Got something special planned?”
I hesitated, heart pounding. “You ever heard the term… ‘March Needs Mom’?”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, eyebrows raised. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, and she bit her lower lip. “I might’ve heard of it.”
I swallowed. “Would you… would you be okay with it? If—if, by the end of March, you became mine?”
Her smile turned radiant. “You mean your mom?”
“Yeah.”
She giggled, pressing a soft kiss to my throat. “I’d love that, Nick. I’ve always loved the idea of being a mom.”
A thrill shot through me. She wanted this.
And so it began.
At first, the changes were subtle. A slight rounding of her hips. A new softness to her cheeks. Then, her tits—already massive—swelled even fuller, heavier, until she had to start wearing bras just to keep them supported. I watched in fascination as each morning, Gena seemed older, more mature, her face gaining gentle laugh lines, her body filling out into a perfect, thick MILF shape.
By the second week, her waist nipped in sharply, her ass rounder, thighs thicker, until she had that perfect, fuckable hourglass figure. She wasn’t just hot anymore—she was mom hot.
And she had no idea it was happening.
“Is it just me, or have my boobs gotten bigger?” she mused one morning, adjusting her sweater awkwardly over her now-massive M-cups.
I smirked, stepping closer to palm them possessively. “Might’ve. Not complaining.”
She swatted my hand away with a playful scowl. “Nick! Don’t be weird.”
But she was blushing. And she didn’t stop me when I did it again.
Her personality shifted too—gentler, sweeter, more nurturing. She started fussing over me, making sure I ate right, fixing my clothes. By the third week, she was calling me ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’ in a voice that was unmistakably maternal.
And then, one morning, she walked into the kitchen, and my jaw dropped.
Gena was gone.
In her place stood Geraldine—my perfect, thick, buxom MILF mom. Her blonde hair was longer now, streaked with hints of silver, tied back in a loose bun. Her face was mature, beautiful, with just the right amount of wrinkles to make her look experienced. And her body—fuck—those tits were enormous, straining against her sweater, her hips wide, her ass a perfect handful. The way she moved was different too, slower, graceful, with a sway that screamed motherly confidence.
She looked up from the stove where she was cooking pancakes and smiled at me—a warm, loving smile that made my heart race.
“Morning, sweetheart,” she said, her voice richer, deeper. “Hungry?”
I could barely speak. “Yeah. Yeah, Mom.”
Her smile widened like that was the most natural thing in the world.
And when she bent over to grab the syrup from the cabinet, giving me a perfect view of her thick ass in those tight mom jeans, I knew—I was never calling her Gena again.
---
At the moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off her—Geraldine—my mom. The way her hips swayed as she moved around the kitchen, the way her huge tits bounced slightly with each step, the warm smell of pancakes and vanilla perfume filling the air. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, completely at ease, completely natural, like she’d always been my mother.
My cock throbbed in my boxers.
“Sweetheart, stop standing there and sit down,” she chided gently, pouring a glass of orange juice for me. Her fingers—older now, softer—brushed against mine as she handed it to me, and I swear I felt a jolt of electricity.
I obeyed, sliding into my seat, my eyes locked onto hers. She smiled down at me, her expression full of affection as she flipped the pancakes.
She doesn’t even know she was ever Gena.
The thought made my pulse race even faster.
She turned slightly, and my breath hitched. The morning sunlight caught the curves of her body perfectly—her waist dipped in before flaring out into those wide, motherly hips, her ass round and plump beneath her tight jeans. I could see the faint outline of her bra through her sweater, the straps digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders as they struggled to contain her heavy M-cup tits.
“Eat up, baby,” she said, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me before leaning down—oh God—her tits pressing together as she reached past me for the syrup. Her cleavage was right there, inches from my face, warm and fragrant.
I wanted to bury my face in them.
Instead, I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat to hide my growing erection. “Thanks, Mom.”
She sat across from me, smiling as she watched me eat. “You’re such a good boy.”
Fuck.
I nearly choked on my food.
The way she said it—soft, approving, maternal—sent a rush of heat straight to my dick.
---
After breakfast, she insisted on doing the laundry. I followed her like a lovesick puppy, watching as she bent over the washing machine, her jeans pulling taut over her perfect ass. My fingers itched to grab her, to pull her against me and grind my cock into that thick behind until she moaned.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Not until she really understood her place.
Later that afternoon, we sat on the couch together, watching some stupid daytime talk show. She had her legs tucked under herself, her posture relaxed, her sweater stretching over those massive tits. I pretended to be engrossed in the TV, but my mind was elsewhere.
Then, she let out a content sigh and leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You know, Nicky,” she murmured, her fingers idly playing with the hem of her shirt. “I’m really happy we’re so close.”
My heart pounded. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She lifted her head just enough to look at me, her blue eyes warm. “A mother and son should always have a strong bond.”
Her hand found mine, squeezing gently.
Oh my God. She has no idea.
I swallowed, hesitating for only a second before tightening my grip on her fingers. “Yeah… we should be close.”
She smiled, pleased.
Then—fuck it—I took the plunge.
I leaned in and kissed her.
For a second, she froze. Then, to my shock, her lips moved against mine, soft and warm, before she pulled back with a bewildered little laugh.
“Oh, Nicky,” she said, her cheeks pink. “You—you can’t kiss me like that.”
I searched her face. “Why not?”
She bit her lip, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite read. “It’s just… not what a son does.”
“But what if I want to?” I murmured, inching closer until our noses brushed.
Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling quickly. “Nicky…”
I didn’t wait for her to finish.
This time, when I kissed her, she melted.
Her lips parted under mine with a soft moan, her fingers tangling in my hair as she kissed me back—harder, needier. One of her hands slid down my chest, fingers skimming over my stomach before hesitating at the waistband of my sweatpants.
“Is this… is this okay?” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling.
I groaned, gripping her hips and pulling her into my lap. “More than okay, Mom.”
Her face flushed even deeper, but she didn’t protest as I tugged her sweater off, revealing the lacy pink bra barely containing her huge, milky tits.
“Oh God,” I breathed before burying my face in them, sucking her nipples through the fabric.
She gasped, arching into me, her thighs clenching around my hips. “Oh! Oh, baby… oh my baby…”
Her words sent a thrill through me.
She was mine now, in every way.
And as I laid her back on the couch, yanking her jeans down her thick thighs, she didn’t stop me.
Instead, she spread her legs for her son.
---
Geraldine gasped as I pulled her jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, her thick thighs trembling as they spread open for me. Her curvy body was flushed pink with arousal, her huge M-cup tits heaving with each breath as I loomed over her on the couch.
"Nick—oh god—we shouldn't... I'm your—"
"Say it, Mom," I growled, palming one of her massive breasts while my other hand trailed fingers along her soaking wet pussy lips. "Tell me who you belong to."
She moaned, her back arching as my fingers dipped inside her dripping entrance. "I-I'm your mother, baby... ohhh, yes right there!"
Her plush pussy clenched around my fingers shamelessly, her motherly instincts warring with her sudden lust for her own son. I could see the struggle in her half-lidded eyes even as she ground her hips against my hand, her thick thighs squeezing around my wrist. The way her big, milky tits jiggled with every movement sent blood rushing straight to my cock.
"Fuck, Mom, look at you," I groaned, pulling my spit-slick fingers from her pussy only to lick them clean right in front of her. She watched with wide eyes as I sucked her juices off my fingers, her plump lips parting with a needy whimper.
"You taste so sweet... kinda like that peach cobbler you made last week."
Geraldine's entire body shuddered at that, her maternal pride mingling with filthy arousal. "Nicky, you can't say things like—ahhh!" Her protest turned into a moan as I suddenly stuffed two fingers back inside her, curling them against that spongy spot that made her eyes roll back.
"Why not?" I smirked, scissoring my fingers inside her tight, wet channel. "Am I not your good boy?"
Her slick coated my hand as I finger-fucked her faster, her pussy making lewd squelching sounds that echoed in the quiet living room. Her large breasts bounced with each thrust of my fingers, her pink nipples rock hard beneath her lacy bra.
"Y-you are!" she gasped, her manicured nails digging into the couch cushions. "Y-you're my perfect boy, my good sweet son, oh god Nicky don't stop—!"
I didn't.
Instead, I ripped her bra off with my free hand, finally freeing those massive udders that had tormented me all morning. Her soft, pale flesh spilled into my hands, the sheer weight of them making my mouth water. I latched onto one stiff nipple, sucking hard while my fingers worked her pussy relentlessly.
Geraldine came with a strangled scream, her thick thighs clamping around my hand as her pussy gushed around my fingers. Her tits jiggled wildly from the force of her orgasm, milky skin flushed deep pink. I drank in every second—the way her motherly eyes glazed over with pleasure, how her manicured hands clutched at me desperately, those full lips trembling as she moaned my name.
When she finally came down from her high, panting and sweaty, I wasted no time yanking my sweatpants down and freeing my aching cock. Her heavy-lidded eyes locked onto my thick length, her pink lips parting in awe.
"My sweet boy is... so big," she breathed, one trembling hand reaching out to stroke me.
"Yours, Mom," I groaned, thrusting into her soft grip. "All yours. Want to be inside you."
Her maternal instincts should have protested. She should've stopped me right then.Instead, she spread her thick thighs even wider.
I lined up my cock with her drooling entrance, watching with rapt attention as the swollen head pressed against her slick folds. Geraldine bit her plush lower lip, her huge tits rising and falling rapidly as she nodded her consent.
Slowly—too slowly for either of our liking—I pushed inside.
Her gasp turned into a broken moan as inch after inch disappeared between her puffy outer lips. She was soaking wet, her tight walls squeezing me perfectly as I bottomed out in her velvety heat.
"Oh fuck," I groaned, gripping her wide hips. "Mom... you're so tight..."
Her glossy lips curved into a shaky smile, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. "That's because I only ever had you, sweetheart... my perfect baby boy."
The way her pussy fluttered around me at those words told me she wasn't referring to childbirth.
I started moving.
-----
Geraldine's breath hitched as I pulled out slowly, her pussy clinging to me like it didn’t want to let go. But when I thrust back in—hard—she let out a high-pitched moan, her huge tits bouncing with the force of it.
"Nnngh—oh god, Nicky!"
Her thighs trembled around my hips as I settled into a deep, relentless rhythm, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin. Her manicured nails dug into my shoulders, her face a mix of maternal adoration and carnal hunger.
"I-Is this okay, baby?" she gasped, even as she rolled her hips to meet each of my thrusts. "W-We shouldn't—ohhh!—but it feels so good..."
"Of course it's okay, Mom," I grunted, palming one of her massive tits, squeezing it roughly. "You were made for this. Made for me."
She whined, her slick walls tightening around my cock at the possessiveness in my voice. I could see the war in her eyes—the part of her that knew this was wrong battling the part that wanted to surrender completely to her son.
And as I leaned down to capture her nipple between my teeth, sucking hard while my fingers pinched the other, she didn't just surrender—she broke.
"Yours!" she screamed, her back arching as her pussy convulsed around me. "Yours yours yours, my boy, m-my good boy!"
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her whole body shaking, her thick thighs clamping around me, desperate to keep me buried inside her. I didn’t let up—couldn't let up—pounding into her through her climax, chasing my own.
Her eyes flew open, glazed over with pleasure, her plush lips swollen from biting them. "Cum inside me," she begged, her voice wrecked. "Please, baby, give it to Mommy—fill me!"
That was all I needed.
With a final brutal thrust, I buried myself as deep as I could and came, my orgasm ripping through me like a fucking explosion. Geraldine moaned, her arms circling around my neck as she held me close, whispering praise into my ear.
"That's my good boy... oh, you're so perfect... Mommy loves you so much..."
I shuddered at her words, my cock still twitching inside her as I emptied every last drop into her greedy womb.
When I finally pulled out, her pussy was a mess—my cum leaking out of her, glistening on her plump lower lips. She didn't even try to wipe it away.
Instead, she lay there, breathless and flushed, her huge tits rising as she panted. Then, with a soft giggle, she pulled me against her bosom, cradling my head like she used to when I was little.
"Mmm... my sweet baby," she murmured, stroking my hair.
I smirked, glancing up at her between the valley of her cleavage. "Love you too, Mom."
She blushed, but her smile didn't falter.
Later that night, I caught her standing in front of the mirror wearing one of Gena's old dresses—a little pink sundress that barely contained her new, thicker body.
I froze in the doorway.
She turned, her cheeks flushing as she fidgeted with the hem. "D-Does it look okay...?"
I swallowed hard.
She looked adorable. The way the dress strained against her huge tits, how it hugged every new curve of her thick, motherly body—like some perfect mix of my sweet girlfriend and my even sweeter mom.
But there was something else.
Something nostalgic in the way she played with the fabric.
Like a part of Gena was still in there somewhere.
I crossed the room in three long strides, pulling her into a deep, slow kiss.
"Perfect," I murmured against her lips. "Just like always."
She melted into me, her hands finding mine.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Maybe I could have both.
---
The end of March arrived like stealing sunlight—warm, golden, and over too soon.
I woke up with Geraldine’s thick thighs wrapped around me, her plush body pressed flush against my back, her slow breaths tickling my neck. I could feel the weight of her pillowy tits pressed between my shoulder blades, her warm pussy still sticky against my skin from last night.
A bittersweet ache settled in my chest.
Tonight, my mom would be Gena again.
I turned in her arms, drinking in every detail—the laugh lines around her soft blue eyes, the silver streaks in her messy blonde hair, the way her plump lips curved in sleep. Her motherly scent—vanilla and lavender—filled my lungs.
She stirred, blinking awake before smiling sleepily. “Mmm… morning, sweetheart.”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I crushed my lips to hers.
Geraldine made a startled sound, but she melted into the kiss almost immediately, her hands sliding down my chest eagerly. I didn’t hold back—I kissed her like it was our last day together, sucking on her tongue, biting her plump lower lip, my hands roaming every inch of her lush curves.
She broke away with a gasp. “Nicky—what’s gotten into you?”
I buried my face in her tits, inhaling deeply before murmuring against her soft skin, “Just don’t wanna forget.”
She understood.
Her fingers slid through my hair, guiding me up so she could kiss me again, slower this time. Sweeter.
“You won’t,” she whispered. “I promise.”
---
We spent the day together like any mother and son—breakfast, laundry, bad daytime TV—except our version included me bending Geraldine over the kitchen counter, fucking her brains out while she sobbed my name.
And after dinner?
We really said our goodbyes.
The bed creaked under us as I mounted her from behind, her thick ass pressed against my hips as I buried myself to the hilt. Geraldine arched her back, her huge tits swaying beneath her as she braced herself on trembling arms.
“T-Tell me again,” she panted, pushing back against me desperately. “Tell me who Mommy belongs to.”
“Me,” I growled, gripping her wide hips tight enough to bruise. “Only me.”
She wailed as I pistoned into her, our bodies slapping together obscenely. I knew she was close—she always was when I talked like that—and I wasn’t far behind.
My hands slid around to grope her massive tits, squeezing them roughly as I fucked into her harder, deeper.
“Gonna fill you up, Mom,” I grunted. “One last time.”
She came with a shattered scream, her pussy milking my cock as I spilled inside her one final time.
We collapsed together, breathless and sweating, her body curled around mine.
And then she said the words I didn’t know I needed to hear—
“I’ll remember everything… and I’ll miss you, Nicky.”
---
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows.
I rolled over, expecting warmth—expecting her.
Instead, I found Gena.
Her real face—young, bright, familiar—staring at me with soft wonder.
No silver in her hair. No laugh lines.
All Gena.
I froze.
But then—
She smiled. A slow, knowing, beautiful smile.
“So…” she murmured, stretching her arms above her head with a playful yawn. “Turns out being your mom was really fun.”
My pulse exploded.
She remembered.
Gena giggled at my expression before leaning in, pressing her lips to my ear—
“Maybe we should do it again, probably on the next March? Or should we do it on Mother's day? Or how about being your Grandma, if you want to?”
I grabbed her, flipping her onto her back as she shrieked with laughter.
Yeah.
We definitely would.
(The End.)
This story was inspired by CelineTF from DeviantArt
Being My Mom
The room was bathed in soft golden light as I pressed my lips against Gena’s, our bodies pressed together on the bed, breath mingling in the warm space between us. She tasted sweet, like the candy-flavored lip gloss she always wore, and her full, pillowy lips moved against mine with practiced ease. My hands slid down her sides, feeling every curve of her tight little body before settling on her thick thighs, squeezing gently. She let out a soft moan against my mouth, her nails digging lightly into my shoulders.
“Nick…” she whispered, her voice already breathy with want. Her enormous E-cup tits pressed against my chest, the softness making my cock twitch in my jeans.
I broke the kiss just long enough to smirk. “You’re so fucking hot, Gena.”
She giggled, her blue eyes sparkling. “You say that like you don’t tell me every day.”
“‘Cause it’s true every day,” I shot back, slipping a hand under her crop-top to palm her tits. She sighed, arching into my touch, her pink nipples already stiff beneath the fabric of her bra.
We didn’t waste time—clothes were yanked off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, until she was naked beneath me, all smooth, tanned skin and plush curves. Her tits spilled into my hands as I lowered my mouth to one perfect nipple, sucking while my fingers teased the other. She gasped, thighs tightening around my waist, already grinding down against the bulge in my boxers.
“Fuck, Nick…”
I didn’t make her wait. My boxers came off, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking once, twice, before she guided me to her soaked pussy. The first thrust made us both groan, her tight wet heat clamping around me as I bottomed out inside her.
“You feel so good,” I muttered into her neck, hips already moving slow and deep.
She whimpered, her nails scratching down my back. “Harder, baby, please—”
I obliged, pistoning into her, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. Her tits bounced with every movement, her moans going higher and more desperate as she clawed at me, pulling me deeper. I could feel her clenching around me, her thighs trembling as she got close.
“Cum for me,” I growled, tilting my hips just right to hit that spot inside her that made her scream.
Gena shattered beneath me, back arching as she came hard, her pussy squeezing my cock tight. The sight of her—flushed, gasping, tits heaving—was enough to push me over the edge. I buried myself deep as I came, groaning as warmth spilled inside her.
For a few blissful moments, we just breathed together, still joined, her fingers lazily tracing circles on my back. Then, reluctantly, I pulled out and collapsed beside her, pulling her close. She snuggled into me, her head resting on my chest, her leg draped over mine.
I stroked her blonde hair absentmindedly, enjoying the warmth of her body. But my mind was already drifting to something else—the turning of the calendar, the anticipation in my gut.
“Gena,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Next month is March.”
She hummed. “Mhm. Got something special planned?”
I hesitated, heart pounding. “You ever heard the term… ‘March Needs Mom’?”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, eyebrows raised. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, and she bit her lower lip. “I might’ve heard of it.”
I swallowed. “Would you… would you be okay with it? If—if, by the end of March, you became mine?”
Her smile turned radiant. “You mean your mom?”
“Yeah.”
She giggled, pressing a soft kiss to my throat. “I’d love that, Nick. I’ve always loved the idea of being a mom.”
A thrill shot through me. She wanted this.
And so it began.
At first, the changes were subtle. A slight rounding of her hips. A new softness to her cheeks. Then, her tits—already massive—swelled even fuller, heavier, until she had to start wearing bras just to keep them supported. I watched in fascination as each morning, Gena seemed older, more mature, her face gaining gentle laugh lines, her body filling out into a perfect, thick MILF shape.
By the second week, her waist nipped in sharply, her ass rounder, thighs thicker, until she had that perfect, fuckable hourglass figure. She wasn’t just hot anymore—she was mom hot.
And she had no idea it was happening.
“Is it just me, or have my boobs gotten bigger?” she mused one morning, adjusting her sweater awkwardly over her now-massive M-cups.
I smirked, stepping closer to palm them possessively. “Might’ve. Not complaining.”
She swatted my hand away with a playful scowl. “Nick! Don’t be weird.”
But she was blushing. And she didn’t stop me when I did it again.
Her personality shifted too—gentler, sweeter, more nurturing. She started fussing over me, making sure I ate right, fixing my clothes. By the third week, she was calling me ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’ in a voice that was unmistakably maternal.
And then, one morning, she walked into the kitchen, and my jaw dropped.
Gena was gone.
In her place stood Geraldine—my perfect, thick, buxom MILF mom. Her blonde hair was longer now, streaked with hints of silver, tied back in a loose bun. Her face was mature, beautiful, with just the right amount of wrinkles to make her look experienced. And her body—fuck—those tits were enormous, straining against her sweater, her hips wide, her ass a perfect handful. The way she moved was different too, slower, graceful, with a sway that screamed motherly confidence.
She looked up from the stove where she was cooking pancakes and smiled at me—a warm, loving smile that made my heart race.
“Morning, sweetheart,” she said, her voice richer, deeper. “Hungry?”
I could barely speak. “Yeah. Yeah, Mom.”
Her smile widened like that was the most natural thing in the world.
And when she bent over to grab the syrup from the cabinet, giving me a perfect view of her thick ass in those tight mom jeans, I knew—I was never calling her Gena again.
---
At the moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off her—Geraldine—my mom. The way her hips swayed as she moved around the kitchen, the way her huge tits bounced slightly with each step, the warm smell of pancakes and vanilla perfume filling the air. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, completely at ease, completely natural, like she’d always been my mother.
My cock throbbed in my boxers.
“Sweetheart, stop standing there and sit down,” she chided gently, pouring a glass of orange juice for me. Her fingers—older now, softer—brushed against mine as she handed it to me, and I swear I felt a jolt of electricity.
I obeyed, sliding into my seat, my eyes locked onto hers. She smiled down at me, her expression full of affection as she flipped the pancakes.
She doesn’t even know she was ever Gena.
The thought made my pulse race even faster.
She turned slightly, and my breath hitched. The morning sunlight caught the curves of her body perfectly—her waist dipped in before flaring out into those wide, motherly hips, her ass round and plump beneath her tight jeans. I could see the faint outline of her bra through her sweater, the straps digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders as they struggled to contain her heavy M-cup tits.
“Eat up, baby,” she said, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me before leaning down—oh God—her tits pressing together as she reached past me for the syrup. Her cleavage was right there, inches from my face, warm and fragrant.
I wanted to bury my face in them.
Instead, I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat to hide my growing erection. “Thanks, Mom.”
She sat across from me, smiling as she watched me eat. “You’re such a good boy.”
Fuck.
I nearly choked on my food.
The way she said it—soft, approving, maternal—sent a rush of heat straight to my dick.
---
After breakfast, she insisted on doing the laundry. I followed her like a lovesick puppy, watching as she bent over the washing machine, her jeans pulling taut over her perfect ass. My fingers itched to grab her, to pull her against me and grind my cock into that thick behind until she moaned.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Not until she really understood her place.
Later that afternoon, we sat on the couch together, watching some stupid daytime talk show. She had her legs tucked under herself, her posture relaxed, her sweater stretching over those massive tits. I pretended to be engrossed in the TV, but my mind was elsewhere.
Then, she let out a content sigh and leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You know, Nicky,” she murmured, her fingers idly playing with the hem of her shirt. “I’m really happy we’re so close.”
My heart pounded. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She lifted her head just enough to look at me, her blue eyes warm. “A mother and son should always have a strong bond.”
Her hand found mine, squeezing gently.
Oh my God. She has no idea.
I swallowed, hesitating for only a second before tightening my grip on her fingers. “Yeah… we should be close.”
She smiled, pleased.
Then—fuck it—I took the plunge.
I leaned in and kissed her.
For a second, she froze. Then, to my shock, her lips moved against mine, soft and warm, before she pulled back with a bewildered little laugh.
“Oh, Nicky,” she said, her cheeks pink. “You—you can’t kiss me like that.”
I searched her face. “Why not?”
She bit her lip, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite read. “It’s just… not what a son does.”
“But what if I want to?” I murmured, inching closer until our noses brushed.
Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling quickly. “Nicky…”
I didn’t wait for her to finish.
This time, when I kissed her, she melted.
Her lips parted under mine with a soft moan, her fingers tangling in my hair as she kissed me back—harder, needier. One of her hands slid down my chest, fingers skimming over my stomach before hesitating at the waistband of my sweatpants.
“Is this… is this okay?” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling.
I groaned, gripping her hips and pulling her into my lap. “More than okay, Mom.”
Her face flushed even deeper, but she didn’t protest as I tugged her sweater off, revealing the lacy pink bra barely containing her huge, milky tits.
“Oh God,” I breathed before burying my face in them, sucking her nipples through the fabric.
She gasped, arching into me, her thighs clenching around my hips. “Oh! Oh, baby… oh my baby…”
Her words sent a thrill through me.
She was mine now, in every way.
And as I laid her back on the couch, yanking her jeans down her thick thighs, she didn’t stop me.
Instead, she spread her legs for her son.
---
Geraldine gasped as I pulled her jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, her thick thighs trembling as they spread open for me. Her curvy body was flushed pink with arousal, her huge M-cup tits heaving with each breath as I loomed over her on the couch.
"Nick—oh god—we shouldn't... I'm your—"
"Say it, Mom," I growled, palming one of her massive breasts while my other hand trailed fingers along her soaking wet pussy lips. "Tell me who you belong to."
She moaned, her back arching as my fingers dipped inside her dripping entrance. "I-I'm your mother, baby... ohhh, yes right there!"
Her plush pussy clenched around my fingers shamelessly, her motherly instincts warring with her sudden lust for her own son. I could see the struggle in her half-lidded eyes even as she ground her hips against my hand, her thick thighs squeezing around my wrist. The way her big, milky tits jiggled with every movement sent blood rushing straight to my cock.
"Fuck, Mom, look at you," I groaned, pulling my spit-slick fingers from her pussy only to lick them clean right in front of her. She watched with wide eyes as I sucked her juices off my fingers, her plump lips parting with a needy whimper.
"You taste so sweet... kinda like that peach cobbler you made last week."
Geraldine's entire body shuddered at that, her maternal pride mingling with filthy arousal. "Nicky, you can't say things like—ahhh!" Her protest turned into a moan as I suddenly stuffed two fingers back inside her, curling them against that spongy spot that made her eyes roll back.
"Why not?" I smirked, scissoring my fingers inside her tight, wet channel. "Am I not your good boy?"
Her slick coated my hand as I finger-fucked her faster, her pussy making lewd squelching sounds that echoed in the quiet living room. Her large breasts bounced with each thrust of my fingers, her pink nipples rock hard beneath her lacy bra.
"Y-you are!" she gasped, her manicured nails digging into the couch cushions. "Y-you're my perfect boy, my good sweet son, oh god Nicky don't stop—!"
I didn't.
Instead, I ripped her bra off with my free hand, finally freeing those massive udders that had tormented me all morning. Her soft, pale flesh spilled into my hands, the sheer weight of them making my mouth water. I latched onto one stiff nipple, sucking hard while my fingers worked her pussy relentlessly.
Geraldine came with a strangled scream, her thick thighs clamping around my hand as her pussy gushed around my fingers. Her tits jiggled wildly from the force of her orgasm, milky skin flushed deep pink. I drank in every second—the way her motherly eyes glazed over with pleasure, how her manicured hands clutched at me desperately, those full lips trembling as she moaned my name.
When she finally came down from her high, panting and sweaty, I wasted no time yanking my sweatpants down and freeing my aching cock. Her heavy-lidded eyes locked onto my thick length, her pink lips parting in awe.
"My sweet boy is... so big," she breathed, one trembling hand reaching out to stroke me.
"Yours, Mom," I groaned, thrusting into her soft grip. "All yours. Want to be inside you."
Her maternal instincts should have protested. She should've stopped me right then.Instead, she spread her thick thighs even wider.
I lined up my cock with her drooling entrance, watching with rapt attention as the swollen head pressed against her slick folds. Geraldine bit her plush lower lip, her huge tits rising and falling rapidly as she nodded her consent.
Slowly—too slowly for either of our liking—I pushed inside.
Her gasp turned into a broken moan as inch after inch disappeared between her puffy outer lips. She was soaking wet, her tight walls squeezing me perfectly as I bottomed out in her velvety heat.
"Oh fuck," I groaned, gripping her wide hips. "Mom... you're so tight..."
Her glossy lips curved into a shaky smile, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. "That's because I only ever had you, sweetheart... my perfect baby boy."
The way her pussy fluttered around me at those words told me she wasn't referring to childbirth.
I started moving.
-----
Geraldine's breath hitched as I pulled out slowly, her pussy clinging to me like it didn’t want to let go. But when I thrust back in—hard—she let out a high-pitched moan, her huge tits bouncing with the force of it.
"Nnngh—oh god, Nicky!"
Her thighs trembled around my hips as I settled into a deep, relentless rhythm, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin. Her manicured nails dug into my shoulders, her face a mix of maternal adoration and carnal hunger.
"I-Is this okay, baby?" she gasped, even as she rolled her hips to meet each of my thrusts. "W-We shouldn't—ohhh!—but it feels so good..."
"Of course it's okay, Mom," I grunted, palming one of her massive tits, squeezing it roughly. "You were made for this. Made for me."
She whined, her slick walls tightening around my cock at the possessiveness in my voice. I could see the war in her eyes—the part of her that knew this was wrong battling the part that wanted to surrender completely to her son.
And as I leaned down to capture her nipple between my teeth, sucking hard while my fingers pinched the other, she didn't just surrender—she broke.
"Yours!" she screamed, her back arching as her pussy convulsed around me. "Yours yours yours, my boy, m-my good boy!"
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her whole body shaking, her thick thighs clamping around me, desperate to keep me buried inside her. I didn’t let up—couldn't let up—pounding into her through her climax, chasing my own.
Her eyes flew open, glazed over with pleasure, her plush lips swollen from biting them. "Cum inside me," she begged, her voice wrecked. "Please, baby, give it to Mommy—fill me!"
That was all I needed.
With a final brutal thrust, I buried myself as deep as I could and came, my orgasm ripping through me like a fucking explosion. Geraldine moaned, her arms circling around my neck as she held me close, whispering praise into my ear.
"That's my good boy... oh, you're so perfect... Mommy loves you so much..."
I shuddered at her words, my cock still twitching inside her as I emptied every last drop into her greedy womb.
When I finally pulled out, her pussy was a mess—my cum leaking out of her, glistening on her plump lower lips. She didn't even try to wipe it away.
Instead, she lay there, breathless and flushed, her huge tits rising as she panted. Then, with a soft giggle, she pulled me against her bosom, cradling my head like she used to when I was little.
"Mmm... my sweet baby," she murmured, stroking my hair.
I smirked, glancing up at her between the valley of her cleavage. "Love you too, Mom."
She blushed, but her smile didn't falter.
Later that night, I caught her standing in front of the mirror wearing one of Gena's old dresses—a little pink sundress that barely contained her new, thicker body.
I froze in the doorway.
She turned, her cheeks flushing as she fidgeted with the hem. "D-Does it look okay...?"
I swallowed hard.
She looked adorable. The way the dress strained against her huge tits, how it hugged every new curve of her thick, motherly body—like some perfect mix of my sweet girlfriend and my even sweeter mom.
But there was something else.
Something nostalgic in the way she played with the fabric.
Like a part of Gena was still in there somewhere.
I crossed the room in three long strides, pulling her into a deep, slow kiss.
"Perfect," I murmured against her lips. "Just like always."
She melted into me, her hands finding mine.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Maybe I could have both.
---
The end of March arrived like stealing sunlight—warm, golden, and over too soon.
I woke up with Geraldine’s thick thighs wrapped around me, her plush body pressed flush against my back, her slow breaths tickling my neck. I could feel the weight of her pillowy tits pressed between my shoulder blades, her warm pussy still sticky against my skin from last night.
A bittersweet ache settled in my chest.
Tonight, my mom would be Gena again.
I turned in her arms, drinking in every detail—the laugh lines around her soft blue eyes, the silver streaks in her messy blonde hair, the way her plump lips curved in sleep. Her motherly scent—vanilla and lavender—filled my lungs.
She stirred, blinking awake before smiling sleepily. “Mmm… morning, sweetheart.”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I crushed my lips to hers.
Geraldine made a startled sound, but she melted into the kiss almost immediately, her hands sliding down my chest eagerly. I didn’t hold back—I kissed her like it was our last day together, sucking on her tongue, biting her plump lower lip, my hands roaming every inch of her lush curves.
She broke away with a gasp. “Nicky—what’s gotten into you?”
I buried my face in her tits, inhaling deeply before murmuring against her soft skin, “Just don’t wanna forget.”
She understood.
Her fingers slid through my hair, guiding me up so she could kiss me again, slower this time. Sweeter.
“You won’t,” she whispered. “I promise.”
---
We spent the day together like any mother and son—breakfast, laundry, bad daytime TV—except our version included me bending Geraldine over the kitchen counter, fucking her brains out while she sobbed my name.
And after dinner?
We really said our goodbyes.
The bed creaked under us as I mounted her from behind, her thick ass pressed against my hips as I buried myself to the hilt. Geraldine arched her back, her huge tits swaying beneath her as she braced herself on trembling arms.
“T-Tell me again,” she panted, pushing back against me desperately. “Tell me who Mommy belongs to.”
“Me,” I growled, gripping her wide hips tight enough to bruise. “Only me.”
She wailed as I pistoned into her, our bodies slapping together obscenely. I knew she was close—she always was when I talked like that—and I wasn’t far behind.
My hands slid around to grope her massive tits, squeezing them roughly as I fucked into her harder, deeper.
“Gonna fill you up, Mom,” I grunted. “One last time.”
She came with a shattered scream, her pussy milking my cock as I spilled inside her one final time.
We collapsed together, breathless and sweating, her body curled around mine.
And then she said the words I didn’t know I needed to hear—
“I’ll remember everything… and I’ll miss you, Nicky.”
---
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows.
I rolled over, expecting warmth—expecting her.
Instead, I found Gena.
Her real face—young, bright, familiar—staring at me with soft wonder.
No silver in her hair. No laugh lines.
All Gena.
I froze.
But then—
She smiled. A slow, knowing, beautiful smile.
“So…” she murmured, stretching her arms above her head with a playful yawn. “Turns out being your mom was really fun.”
My pulse exploded.
She remembered.
Gena giggled at my expression before leaning in, pressing her lips to my ear—
“Maybe we should do it again, probably on the next March? Or should we do it on Mother's day? Or how about being your Grandma, if you want to?”
I grabbed her, flipping her onto her back as she shrieked with laughter.
Yeah.
We definitely would.
(The End.)
ftf
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This story tells you about a couple, a teenager named Liam and his redheaded girlfriend named Chloe who can't stop regenerating herself after sex.
Liam lay on the bed, his heart pounding with anticipation as he watched Chloe, his gorgeous redheaded girlfriend, saunter towards him. Her naked body was a vision of perfection, her E-cup tits bouncing gently with each step. She giggled, seeing the hunger in his eyes.
"Well, looks like someone's eager," Chloe teased, her voice a sweet melody that sent shivers down Liam's spine.
Liam grinned, his cock already hard and ready. "Always for you, Chloe. I've been waiting for you."
Chloe climbed onto the bed, her body straddling his as she leaned down to kiss him. Their lips met in a soft, gentle caress that quickly deepened into a passionate, hungry dance. Liam's hands roamed over her body, his fingers tracing the curves of her waist, her hips, her thighs.
Chloe moaned softly, her body pressing against his as she felt his hard cock against her stomach. She reached down, her hand wrapping around his length as she guided him to her entrance. With a soft sigh, she sank down onto him, her body taking him in completely.
Liam groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet her as they began to move together. Chloe's body was a perfect fit for his, her pussy wet and tight as it clenched around him. He reached up, his hands cupping her large breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hard nipples.
Chloe threw her head back, her red hair cascading down her back as she moaned with pleasure. "Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that."
Liam thrust harder, his body moving in a fast, urgent rhythm. Chloe met each thrust, her body bouncing against his as their moans filled the room. The sound of their bodies slapping together was like music to their ears, a symphony of their love and passion.
Liam could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he approached the edge. Chloe seemed to sense it too, her body clenching around him as she moaned louder.
"Cum with me, Liam," she gasped, her body shaking with the intensity of her own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
With a final thrust, Liam cried out, his cock pulsing as he came, his hot cum filling Chloe completely. Chloe screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm.
But as their bodies shook with the intensity of their climax, something strange began to happen. Chloe's body started to glow, a soft, golden light emanating from her skin. Liam stared in awe and confusion as the light grew brighter, enveloping them both.
Suddenly, Chloe screamed, her body convulsing with a different kind of force. Liam watched in shock as her body began to change, her curves shifting and growing, her hair darkening and lengthening, her face morphing into that of a stranger.
The glow faded, and in place of Chloe was a middle-aged British woman with massive O-cup tits and a body that was both familiar and alien. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest as she looked around in confusion.
"Blimey, what was that?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of shock and amusement. She looked down at Liam, her eyes widening in surprise. "Liam! You silly boy, what are you doing down there? I didn't know you were here. Silly me."
Liam stared up at her, his mouth open in shock. "Chloe? Wha... what happened to you?"
The woman, who was once Chloe, giggled, her large breasts bouncing with the movement. "Chloe? Who's Chloe? It's me, Beatrice, you silly boy. Have you been playing games with me again?"
Liam looked at her, his heart pounding. He knew that something incredible had just happened, something that defied all logic and reason. But at the same time, he found himself inexplicably turned on by her transformation.
"Beatrice?" he said, his voice hesitant. "You... you don't remember?"
Beatrice giggled again, her hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Remember what, silly? I'm your girlfriend, Beatrice. Been with you for donkey's years. Now come on, out you get. A lady needs her space after such a... Such whatever that was."
Liam pulled out of her, his cock still hard, still glistening with their combined juices. Beatrice looked down at it, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Well, would you look at that," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Aren't you an eager little beaver?"
Liam grinned, his heart pounding with a mix of lust and excitement. He knew that this was wrong, that something incredible and impossible had just happened. But he also knew that he wanted her, this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe.
He leaned up, his lips capturing hers in a fierce kiss. Beatrice gasped, her body freezing for a moment before melting into him. She moaned softly, her body pressing against his as their kiss deepened.
When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, their bodies shaking with need. Liam looked at her, his eyes filled with determination.
"I don't know what's happening," he said, his voice husky with lust. "But I know that I want you. I want you so fucking bad."
Beatrice looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and desire. She knew that this was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way about her boyfriend. But she also knew that she couldn't deny the heat that was pooling between her legs.
"Liam... baby... slow down,... we... we can't..." she moaned, even as her body pressed against his. "I've still not quite sure what's going on."
Liam didn't listen. He just pulled her close, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He captured one hard nipple in his mouth, sucking gently as his hand slid down to her pussy.
Beatrice moaned, her body arching into his touch. "Mmm... yes, Liam. Yes, touch me. Touch me there."
Liam slid two fingers into her, his thumb circling her clit as he began to fuck her with his hand. Beatrice moaned louder, her body moving with his, her hips thrusting against his touch.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that. Make me cum, baby. Make me cum all over your hand."
Liam did just that, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against her clit. When she came, it was with a scream of pleasure, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm.
But Liam wasn't done. He wasn't even close. He spun her around, pressing her down onto her hands and knees as he positioned himself behind her. With one hard thrust, he was inside her, his cock filling her completely.
Beatrice moaned, her body shaking with pleasure as he began to fuck her hard and deep. His hands reached around, grabbing her large breasts as he pounded into her.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard and deep."
Liam did just that, his body moving with hers in a fast, urgent rhythm. He could feel his orgasm building again, his body tensing as he approached the edge.
"Cum with me, Beatrice," he gasped, his body shaking with the intensity of his own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
Beatrice screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm. When they finally collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and their breaths coming in quick gasps, Liam knew that something incredible had happened. Something that defied all logic and reason. But he also knew that he couldn't deny the love and passion he felt for this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe. And he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep her, to make her his, forever.
As they laid there, their bodies entwined and their hearts pounding with a mix of love and lust, Liam knew that this was just the beginning. The beginning of a new adventure, a new journey, a new love. And he was more than ready for it. Whatever it may bring.
Liam lay on the bed, his heart pounding with anticipation as he watched Chloe, his gorgeous redheaded girlfriend, saunter towards him. Her naked body was a vision of perfection, her E-cup tits bouncing gently with each step. She giggled, seeing the hunger in his eyes.
"Well, looks like someone's eager," Chloe teased, her voice a sweet melody that sent shivers down Liam's spine.
Liam grinned, his cock already hard and ready. "Always for you, Chloe. I've been waiting for you."
Chloe climbed onto the bed, her body straddling his as she leaned down to kiss him. Their lips met in a soft, gentle caress that quickly deepened into a passionate, hungry dance. Liam's hands roamed over her body, his fingers tracing the curves of her waist, her hips, her thighs.
Chloe moaned softly, her body pressing against his as she felt his hard cock against her stomach. She reached down, her hand wrapping around his length as she guided him to her entrance. With a soft sigh, she sank down onto him, her body taking him in completely.
Liam groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet her as they began to move together. Chloe's body was a perfect fit for his, her pussy wet and tight as it clenched around him. He reached up, his hands cupping her large breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hard nipples.
Chloe threw her head back, her red hair cascading down her back as she moaned with pleasure. "Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that."
Liam thrust harder, his body moving in a fast, urgent rhythm. Chloe met each thrust, her body bouncing against his as their moans filled the room. The sound of their bodies slapping together was like music to their ears, a symphony of their love and passion.
Liam could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he approached the edge. Chloe seemed to sense it too, her body clenching around him as she moaned louder.
"Cum with me, Liam," she gasped, her body shaking with the intensity of her own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
With a final thrust, Liam cried out, his cock pulsing as he came, his hot cum filling Chloe completely. Chloe screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm.
But as their bodies shook with the intensity of their climax, something strange began to happen. Chloe's body started to glow, a soft, golden light emanating from her skin. Liam stared in awe and confusion as the light grew brighter, enveloping them both.
Suddenly, Chloe screamed, her body convulsing with a different kind of force. Liam watched in shock as her body began to change, her curves shifting and growing, her hair darkening and lengthening, her face morphing into that of a stranger.
The glow faded, and in place of Chloe was a middle-aged British woman with massive O-cup tits and a body that was both familiar and alien. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest as she looked around in confusion.
"Blimey, what was that?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of shock and amusement. She looked down at Liam, her eyes widening in surprise. "Liam! You silly boy, what are you doing down there? I didn't know you were here. Silly me."
Liam stared up at her, his mouth open in shock. "Chloe? Wha... what happened to you?"
The woman, who was once Chloe, giggled, her large breasts bouncing with the movement. "Chloe? Who's Chloe? It's me, Beatrice, you silly boy. Have you been playing games with me again?"
Liam looked at her, his heart pounding. He knew that something incredible had just happened, something that defied all logic and reason. But at the same time, he found himself inexplicably turned on by her transformation.
"Beatrice?" he said, his voice hesitant. "You... you don't remember?"
Beatrice giggled again, her hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Remember what, silly? I'm your girlfriend, Beatrice. Been with you for donkey's years. Now come on, out you get. A lady needs her space after such a... Such whatever that was."
Liam pulled out of her, his cock still hard, still glistening with their combined juices. Beatrice looked down at it, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Well, would you look at that," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Aren't you an eager little beaver?"
Liam grinned, his heart pounding with a mix of lust and excitement. He knew that this was wrong, that something incredible and impossible had just happened. But he also knew that he wanted her, this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe.
He leaned up, his lips capturing hers in a fierce kiss. Beatrice gasped, her body freezing for a moment before melting into him. She moaned softly, her body pressing against his as their kiss deepened.
When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, their bodies shaking with need. Liam looked at her, his eyes filled with determination.
"I don't know what's happening," he said, his voice husky with lust. "But I know that I want you. I want you so fucking bad."
Beatrice looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and desire. She knew that this was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way about her boyfriend. But she also knew that she couldn't deny the heat that was pooling between her legs.
"Liam... baby... slow down,... we... we can't..." she moaned, even as her body pressed against his. "I've still not quite sure what's going on."
Liam didn't listen. He just pulled her close, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He captured one hard nipple in his mouth, sucking gently as his hand slid down to her pussy.
Beatrice moaned, her body arching into his touch. "Mmm... yes, Liam. Yes, touch me. Touch me there."
Liam slid two fingers into her, his thumb circling her clit as he began to fuck her with his hand. Beatrice moaned louder, her body moving with his, her hips thrusting against his touch.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that. Make me cum, baby. Make me cum all over your hand."
Liam did just that, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against her clit. When she came, it was with a scream of pleasure, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm.
But Liam wasn't done. He wasn't even close. He spun her around, pressing her down onto her hands and knees as he positioned himself behind her. With one hard thrust, he was inside her, his cock filling her completely.
Beatrice moaned, her body shaking with pleasure as he began to fuck her hard and deep. His hands reached around, grabbing her large breasts as he pounded into her.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard and deep."
Liam did just that, his body moving with hers in a fast, urgent rhythm. He could feel his orgasm building again, his body tensing as he approached the edge.
"Cum with me, Beatrice," he gasped, his body shaking with the intensity of his own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
Beatrice screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm. When they finally collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and their breaths coming in quick gasps, Liam knew that something incredible had happened. Something that defied all logic and reason. But he also knew that he couldn't deny the love and passion he felt for this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe. And he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep her, to make her his, forever.
As they laid there, their bodies entwined and their hearts pounding with a mix of love and lust, Liam knew that this was just the beginning. The beginning of a new adventure, a new journey, a new love. And he was more than ready for it. Whatever it may bring.
ftf
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Being My Ideal Mom(s)
This strange erotic story tells you about a teenage boy named Nicky and his lovely big-tittied girlfriend named Gena, who gets transformed by her boyfriend's amulet from the old magic shop that turns her into an ideal mom and has sex with. Not only that, he will continue to change her any moms or MILFs he wants to fuck.
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Home from college and stuck in his childhood bedroom, a restless young man discovers a bizarre side-effect of his meditation practice: the ability to astral project into the bodies of other people.
My breath slowed, easing into the steady rhythm I’d been practicing. The YouTube guru’s voice was a distant murmur in my earbuds. Let your consciousness expand beyond the physical form. Feel the boundaries of your body dissolve… I always felt a little silly doing this in my bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling my only witness. But tonight, something was different. A strange, pulling sensation started behind my navel, like a gentle but insistent hook.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on my breathing, but the tug grew stronger. The feeling of my own body—the weight of my limbs on the bed, the pressure of the mattress against my back—suddenly vanished. There was a dizzying rush of color and sound, a sensation of being pulled through a narrow, dark tunnel at impossible speed.
Then, with a soft thump I felt I heard more than heard, everything stopped. A weight... A different kind of weight. My chest felt heavy, supported. My hips felt wider.
I blinked. This wasn’t my room. The air smelled of lavender and expensive perfume. I looked down.
My hands. They were not my hands. They were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. A delicate silver bracelet hung from one wrist. I wore a silk robe, peach, tied loosely at the waist. My heart—no, her heart—hammered against my ribs.
A wave of vertigo hit me, followed by a flood of images that weren’t mine. Lydia. Her name is Lydia. A memory of her laughing with my step mom at the mailbox, holding a grocery bag. Another of her watering her roses in a sun dress last weekend. Before I left for college, she'd always waved at me, a kind, almost shy smile on her face.
Mrs. Henderson from next door. The hot MILF all my friends whispered about but who just seemed… nice.
I was inside Lydia Henderson.
Panic surged, a cold, sharp spike. I needed to get back. I tried to concentrate, to will myself back to my own body lying on my bed, but nothing happened. The panic subsided, replaced by a trembling, awe-filled curiosity. I was here. In her.
I turned, my movements unfamiliar and graceful, and caught my reflection in a full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.
Wow.
She was… stunning. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her green-flecked hazel eyes, were wide with an expression I knew was my own shock staring back. The silk robe hinted at the curves beneath. A lifetime of curious, stolen glances from my bedroom window hadn’t prepared me for the reality of being inside this body. A thrill, warm and forbidden, shot through me.
My gaze drifted past my—her—reflection to the rest of the walk-in closet behind me. The curiosity, always simmering just beneath the surface, roared to life. I’d always wondered. About the feel of it, the look of it, the secret world of it.
There I was surrounded by a forest of silks, satins, and soft, colorful fabrics.
Almost without conscious thought, my hands went to the tie of the robe. It fell open. She—I—was wearing matching peach lace lingerie underneath. A bra that cupped and lifted, panties that were just a delicate scrap of fabric. A heat that had nothing to do with possession flushed through me. It was awe. It was a secret, answered question.
I reached for a hanger. A slip of crimson satin and black lace. A teddy. My fingers trembled as I shimmied out of the peach set and into the red one. The cool satin whispered over my hips, the lace hugged curves I’d never had. I looked in the mirror again. A stranger, yet me. A beautiful, secret version of myself.
I spent what felt like hours, lost in a tactile wonderland. I tried on a tight pencil skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater, feeling the sophisticated drape. I found a pair of sky-high black heels and clomped around the carpet, her body’s balance instinctively better than mine would have been. The click-click of the heels on the hardwood floor was a powerful, feminine sound.
Then I found the vanity. An array of pots, pencils, and brushes that might as well have been alien technology. But as I picked up a tube of lipstick, a strange thing happened. A knowledge that wasn’t mine surfaced. A muscle memory. My hand steadied. I uncapped the tube, a deep rose color, and applied it to “my” lips in smooth, practiced strokes. Then eyeliner, a flick at the corner that appeared as if by magic. Blush dusted on the apples of cheeks I could now feel smiling back at me. I was using her memories, her routines. It was like riding a bike for the first time, but the bike knew the way.
When I opened my eyes and looked in the vanity mirror, a perfectly made-up Lydia Henderson looked back. It was her face, but the light in the eyes… that was all my stunned, giddy wonder.
I was awestruck. Transformed. The innocent, cookie-baking neighbor I saw from my window was also this… this goddess of satin and expertly applied liner.
I was floating on a cloud of discovery when another memory-nudge pulled me. It was stronger, more insistent than the makeup knowledge. It was a pull of routine, of duty, tinged with a secret thrill. It led me out of the bedroom, down the hall, to a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was plain, white, unlike the other decorative doors in the house.
I turned the knob and entered.
The room was an office, but unlike any office I'd ever seen before.
It was a small, soundproofed office. The dominant feature was a large desk with a ring light, a high-quality webcam, and a monitor. Plush, sexy outfits hung on a rack in the corner—things far more daring than the clothes in her main closet. Leather, lace, PVC. A shelf held… toys. Neatly arranged, clean, professional.
The cam girl setup was so blatant, so at odds with the cozy suburban mom exterior, that I just stared. Another memory-flash, not mine: the feeling of logging in, of a stage name—ScarletVelvet—of the focused, performative smile that wasn’t the same as the one she gave me when I mowed her lawn.
My heart hammered again, but with a different kind of adrenaline. This was her secret. And now it was mine. The monitor was dark, but a schedule was pinned to a corkboard. A highlighted time slot was in 15 minutes.
The idea hit me with the force of a train. It was insane. Reckless. Unforgivably invasive.
I couldn’t help it.
I sat down in the plush rolling chair. It adjusted to her—to my—body perfectly. I looked at the login screen for the streaming site. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know the password. But I closed my eyes, and let her surface. Not her consciousness, but the automatic, procedural memory. Like the makeup. My fingers moved on their own, typing in a string of characters. The dashboard for ScarletVelvet loaded.
Five minutes to showtime.
I was sweating. I used one of her memories to pick an outfit—a black lace bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. I put it on, my hands fumbling more now with the nervous energy. I checked the angles of the camera using the preview on the monitor. I fluffed the auburn hair, reapplied the lipstick.
The clock hit the hour. A deep breath. I clicked “Go Live.”
The viewer count started ticking up almost immediately. 10… 25… 50. A chat window bloomed to life on the side screen.
Hey Scarlet!
Missed you last night!
You look hot.
A wave of paralyzing stage fright hit me. This wasn’t my memory, this was live. I had to perform. I swallowed, and offered a smile to the camera. It felt brittle.
“H-hey everyone,” I said, and her voice came out, smoother, sexier than my own cracking tenor. But the cadence was off. I sounded unsure.
You okay, Scarlet? You seem nervous.
I needed to act. I leaned back in the chair, another fragment of her muscle memory guiding me into a pose that was both relaxed and deliberately alluring. “Just a long day,” I purred, trying to mimic the smoky tone I’d heard in the memory-flash. It was closer. “But I’m happy to be here with you all now.”
I let my hands—her elegant, manicured hands—trail down over the lace of the bodysuit. The chat scrolled faster.
Yeah, that’s it.
So beautiful.
I was mimicking, a poor copy of the real ScarletVelvet. I was pulling from stolen glimpses, trying to project a sultry confidence I didn’t feel. I talked, my words stilted, my gestures a half-second too slow or too fast. But the viewers didn’t seem to mind too much. They were here for the visual, for the fantasy.
Then, a private message pinged. A username I didn’t recognize, with a high tipping status. The message read: Something’s different tonight. The light in your eyes. It’s… curious. Shy, almost. I like it. A lot.
The message sent a shiver down my spine—her spine. He saw it. He saw me. The clumsy, curious boy peeking out from behind this beautiful woman’s eyes. The revelation was no longer about her secret. It was about my own, reflected back at me through a stranger’s screen. The thrill was electric, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. I was seen, yet completely hidden. And for the first time since I’d tumbled into this body, I didn’t want to leave.
The stream ended with my heart trying to claw its way out of Mrs. Henderson’s—my—chest. I clicked ‘End Broadcast’ and sat in the silent, neon-lit room, the ghost of a hundred anonymous compliments buzzing in my ears. The adrenaline crash was monumental. A deep, shuddering fatigue pulled at my limbs, at my borrowed eyes. Stumbling back to the master bedroom, I peeled off the black lace bodysuit, leaving it in a heap on the plush carpet. I didn’t have the energy to be neat. In a daze, I pulled on one of her soft cotton nightgowns from a drawer and collapsed into the enormous bed.
The scent of her shampoo on the pillows was the last thing I registered before a deep, black nothingness swallowed me.
***
I woke up with a jolt, my own thin mattress hard beneath my back. Morning light, harsh and familiar, streamed through my blinds. I was in my boxers and a faded band t-shirt. I was me. Just me.
For a long minute, I just lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling I’d put up when I was ten. Had it been a dream? A hyper-vivid, wildly inappropriate stress-dream about my neighbor? It felt too detailed, too real. The weight of the heels. The slick texture of the lipstick. The cold thrill of the chat scrolling by.
I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand, my fingers clumsy. My search history felt like a crime scene. I typed in the site name from the memory, then, hesitantly, the username: ScarletVelvet.
There it was. A profile. A teaser image that was absolutely, unmistakably Mrs. Henderson, though with a smolder I’d never seen in daylight. My mouth went dry. With a trembling click, I navigated to her recent videos. And there, at the top, uploaded six hours ago: “Scarlet’s Shy Night – Live 10/23.”
I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. I just hit play.
And there I was. Or rather, there she was, with me piloting. The footage was crystal clear. I saw the slight, uncharacteristic hesitation in my smile. The way my eyes kept flicking to the chat, wide with a panic I’d tried to hide. I heard my stolen voice say, “Just a long day,” with that imperfect, copied purr. I watched myself trail a hand over the lace, the movement a half-beat off from the real Scarlet’s confident flair.
It was real. Undeniable. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, immediately choked by a wave of gut-churning guilt. And beneath the guilt, a flicker of that same, electrifying curiosity.
I spent the day in a fog, jumping at every sound. I saw Mrs. Henderson bringing in her mail in the afternoon, wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun. She looked tired, but normal. Innocent. She gave a small, casual wave to someone across the street. The duality was mind-breaking.
As night fell, the pull became magnetic. The fear was still there, a cold stone in my stomach, but it was outweighed by the need to know, to feel that transformation again. To have an answer to a question I’d never dared ask out loud.
I sat on my bedroom floor again. No guided meditation this time. Just silence, and a focused, desperate intention. Take me back. Let me in.
The lurch was less violent this time, more like a swift, sinking drift. The lavender scent hit my nostrils. Weight. Softness. Curve.
I opened my eyes in her dark bedroom. Success.
This time, the panic was a minor tremor, quickly subdued by a sense of purpose. I went to her closet, but bypassed the crimson teddies and silk robes. I picked out a pair of dark, well-fitting jeans, a simple black long-sleeved tee, and a comfortable cardigan. I found sensible flats. I looked in the mirror: suburban mom ready for errands. Perfect.
Driving her car was another surge of alien-yet-familiar memory. My hands on the wheel were smaller, my perspective different. The weird feeling of a tight seat-belt resting in the valley of my chest. I made it to the mall, a nervous excitement humming in my veins. This was the test. To be in this body, in the world.
I went to a department store area I’d never dared enter before: the women’s lingerie section. Surrounded by racks of lace and satin, my face flushed. But no one looked twice at a woman browsing bras. The freedom was dizzying. I selected a few sets—a delicate sky blue, a bold leopard print—using her sense of size and fit. I held them up, imagining them on this body. It was a shopping trip from a dream.
Then, emboldened, I went to the trendy clothing stores. I tried on flowy dresses that swirled around my knees, a tight leather skirt that made my heart race, and a ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud. In the fitting room, under the fluorescent lights, I just stared. I turned, examining the lines of her—my—body from every angle. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was a kind of reverence.
The final stop took every ounce of my courage. A sex shop, discreetly located on the outskirts of the mall. A bell chimed as I walked in.
The girl behind the counter looked up. She was probably in her early twenties, with dyed black hair, a septum piercing, and an impressive array of tattoos snaking up her arms. Goth, cool, and utterly intimidating.
“Help you find anything?” she asked, her voice not unfriendly.
“Just… browsing,” I said, Mrs. Henderson’s voice coming out as a shy squeak. I wandered the aisles, overwhelmed by the sheer variety of it all. I felt the Goth girl’s eyes on me, the conservative cardigan-clad mom in a den of iniquity.
Eventually, curiosity overcoming shame, I picked up a small, sleek vibrator, examining it like it was an artifact from another planet.
“Good choice,” the girl said, appearing at the end of the aisle with a knowing smile. “That one’s discreet but powerful. Popular with… beginners. But definitely something you could handle.”
Our eyes met. Hers were sharp, kohl-rimmed, and saw way too much. A faint, amused smile played on her lips. “You seem different today, Mrs. Henderson.”
I nearly dropped the vibrator. She knew her? Of course she did. Small town. My blood ran cold, then hot. I managed a weak smile, channeling every ounce of innocent-neighbor energy I’d observed. “Just… exploring,” I whispered.
“Well, have fun,” she said, her smile turning into a full-blown grin. “Exploration is good for the soul.”
I paid in cash, my face burning, and fled.
Back in the sanctuary of her house, the adrenaline shifted into something slower, warmer, more insistent. The purchases were spread on her bed. The new lingerie. The sleek little toy from the shop.
I put on the sky blue set. It was even prettier on. The contrast against her skin was beautiful. I lay back on the bed, the memories of her own solo routines blending with my own frantic, curiosity. My touch was clumsy at first, then, guided by her body’s own innate knowledge, more sure. It was a bizarre, out-of-body experience that was intensely, overwhelmingly in-body. I was both the explorer and the territory. The pleasure, when it crested, was a shocking, all-consuming wave that left me gasping, shuddering, utterly spent in a way I’d never been in my own body.
In the heavy, satisfied silence that followed, lulled by the fading echoes of sensation and the soft cotton sheets, my borrowed eyes grew heavy. The last coherent thought I had was that this was the deepest, most content sleep I’d ever known.
***
I awoke to the sound of my own alarm blaring, sunlight once again piercing my own familiar, boring blinds. I was back in my scrawny body, tangled in my own sheets, home for the holiday break. For a moment, I just breathed, the phantom sensations of silk and release still tingling at the edges of my awareness. It was real. It had happened again.
And I already knew, with a certainty that scared and thrilled me, that I would be trying to go back as soon as I could.
The weekend stretched before me, a blank canvas of time. The two previous nights had been fleeting infiltrations. Today, I wanted more. I wanted a full day in her skin.
I sat on my floor as the first pale light of Saturday crept into my room. I focused, not on white light or my heart center, but on the memory of lavender and the feeling of satin against skin. The transition was smoother this time, less a lurch and more a conscious step through a door.
I arrived to the sound of running water and the humid, steamy scent of jasmine body wash. I was standing in her master bathroom, the glass shower door fogged, the silhouette of her body—my body—moving behind it. She was humming. I could feel the warm spray hitting my skin, the water sluicing over curves that were now mine. The sensation was immediate and intensely vivid. My hands—her hands—lifted almost of their own accord, slick with soap, gliding over the swell of breasts, the dip of a waist, the smooth plane of a stomach. It was a ritual washing, but for me, it was a breathtaking exploration.
The heat, the steam, the sheer physicality of it coiled a tight, urgent need low in my belly. As the water rained down, I let my hands wander with purpose, no longer just washing, but seeking. I leaned back against the cool tile, my breath hitching as my fingers found their way, guided by a knowledge both borrowed and innate. The climax in the shower was swift and shocking, a white-hot burst that made my knees weak, my stolen cries swallowed by the drumming water. I slumped, panting, the pleasure still echoing through nerve endings that weren't originally mine. It was incredible.
After, wrapped in a plush towel, I felt a strange, powerful confidence. I took my time. I blow-dried her auburn hair into the soft, shiny waves she usually wore. I applied makeup with the practiced ease her memories provided, creating that public-facing mask of friendly, approachable prettiness. I dressed in one of her nice casual outfits—dark jeans, a cream-colored V-neck sweater that clung in a flattering way, knee-high boots. I looked in the mirror and saw the perfect image of the neighbor my step mom would happily invite in for coffee.
The bold idea struck me then, sparkling with risk and a perverse curiosity. I would visit my house.
I walked the familiar short path, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the sidewalk my own sneakers usually scuffed. Ringing my own doorbell was surreal.
My step mom answered, her face lighting up in a warm smile. “Lydia! What a nice surprise. Come in, come in! I was just about to have some coffee.”
“I was just out for a walk and thought I’d say hi,” I said, sliding effortlessly into Mrs. Henderson’s—Lydia’s—warm, slightly musical tone. It was eerie how easily it came, like putting on a well-worn coat from her memories of countless similar chats.
I followed my step mom into the kitchen, the familiar space looking different from this vantage point. She poured coffee, chattering about her plans to re-organize the garage. I nodded and smiled, sipping from the mug, the coffee tasting subtly different with her palate. I was leveraging her memories constantly: the way she held a mug, her opinion on the new neighborhood landscaping, her polite laugh. I was a puppet, and Lydia’s life was the set of strings.
"My son's back from college and could use something to do" my step mom asked with a conspiratorial wink. “Want me to send him over to help with some house work?”
“Oh that'd be perfect,” I heard myself say, and had to suppress a hysterical giggle. “He's a real sweet boy.”
After about twenty minutes of this bizarre charade, I saw my chance. “Would you mind if I excused myself to use your powder room?” I asked.
“Of course, you know where it is!”
I didn’t go to the downstairs powder room. With a thief’s heart, I padded quietly up the stairs, past the framed family photos that now seemed like artifacts from another life. My bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in.
There, sprawled on my bed, fully dressed and snoring softly, was me. Or rather, my empty body. It was the strangest sight of all—seeing my own lanky form from the outside, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over my forehead. A profound sense of dislocation washed over me, followed by a sharp, devious thrill.
I slipped inside and closed the door silently. I stared at my own sleeping face. Then, moving quickly, I pulled out the phone from my borrowed purse—Lydia’s phone. I propped it up on my desk, angled perfectly toward the bed, and hit record.
Then I approached the bed. My own body smelled like my cheap deodorant and the fabric of my old comforter. Gently, I unbuckled my own jeans. My hands, small and soft, worked with a clinical curiosity that was also deeply erotic. I gave my unconscious self a handjob, watching the physiological reaction with a detached, fascinated awe. My shaft thick and hard between my hands. Leaning down, I then took myself into my mouth—her mouth. The sensations were a confusing feedback loop: the physical act, the visual of my own body, the knowledge of who was doing it. It was narcissistic, invasive, and unbearably hot. My body gave in, shooting a small load that covered my face and I made sure the phone captured it all.
I quickly cleaned everything up with a tissue from my nightstand, redid my jeans, and grabbed the phone. I stopped the recording. With shaky fingers, I airdropped the video file to my own phone, which was lying on the nightstand next to my sleeping head. I then meticulously deleted the video from Lydia’s phone and cleared the ‘recently deleted’ folder. The evidence was now only in my possession.
Taking a steadying breath, I smoothed down my sweater and left my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I rejoined my mom in the kitchen, my cheeks flushed.
“Everything alright? You look a little flushed,” my mom said.
“Fine! Just a bit warm,” I said, forcing another smile. I snuck glances at my mom as we talked, seeing the familiar lines of her face from this new, feminine perspective. I was hyper-aware of the body I inhabited, the sway of Lydia’s hair, the brush of her sweater against her breasts—my breasts—as I moved.
The afternoon wore on in a surreal bubble. I was trying to decide what to do next with this borrowed life. Go shopping again? Experiment more at her cam setup? The possibilities were a dizzying array in my mind.
And then, without warning, it happened. A sudden, tugging sensation behind my navel, like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.
***
I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was on my back in my own bed, the afternoon sun now at a different angle. My body felt instantly familiar and was overcome with a feeling of afterglow. The phantom sensations of the shower, of my own touch, still buzzed on my skin like a fading sunburn.
The memory of the video jolted me into action. I scrambled for my phone. There it was. A file received from Lydia Henderson’s device. I didn’t open it. I just stared at the filename, a cold sweat breaking out. It was real. All of it.
I changed my clothes in a frenzy, pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans, my mind reeling. I had to see. I had to know if she was still there.
I practically flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the doorway to the living room. My step mom was still there, on the sofa.
And sitting across from her, sipping the last of her coffee, was Mrs. Henderson—Lydia. She looked perfectly composed, her makeup fresh, her smile easy.
My step mom turned. “Oh, speak of the devil! Lydia was just telling me about her new rose bushes.”
Lydia’s eyes met mine. Those green-flecked hazel eyes held mine for a long, deliberate second. Then, as my step mom glanced down to pick up her own mug, Lydia’s expression shifted. The pleasant neighborly mask dissolved into something else—something knowing, sharp, and utterly mischievous. She gave me a slow, deliberate wink.
Then, her hand resting casually on her knee, hidden from my step mom’s view by the coffee table, she made a quick, unmistakable motion: her fist pumping up and down in the universal sign for a jerk-off.
My blood turned to ice. My stomach dropped through the floor.
She knew. Somehow she knew.
Before I could react, even to breathe, she smiled sweetly at my step mom, stood up, and said, “Well, I should let you two get on with your weekend. Thanks for the coffee, Ellen!”
She walked past me to the door, her perfume trailing behind her. As she reached for the knob, she paused, looked back over her shoulder directly at me, and mouthed silent words with a smirk that was anything but innocent:
“I hope you had fun.”
***
The meditation was a failure. For three nights straight, I sat on my floor until my legs cramped, focusing every ounce of my will on the memory of lavender and silk. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of my own thoughts and the growing dread that my window into Lydia’s world had slammed shut forever.
So when my step-mom Ellen cheerfully announced on Tuesday that she’d “volunteered” me to help Mrs. Henderson haul some old boxes to her attic, my blood ran cold. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a reckoning.
I stood on Lydia’s porch, my heart trying to batter its way through my ribs. I rang the bell.
She answered almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore simple leggings and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup. She looked like the mom next door, but her eyes held a storm.
“Come in,” she said, her voice flat. I shuffled inside, the familiar scent of her home now feeling like a crime scene.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click. We stood in her foyer. The air was thick with unspoken things.
She crossed her arms, fixing me with a hard stare. “So. You want to tell me what the hell that was? Snooping through my things? Wearing my clothes? Going on my stream?” Her tone was sharp, accusatory. “That is some seriously messed up, perverted shit.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My face burned with shame and terror. I was going to be arrested. My life was over. I managed a strangled, “I… I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson, I don’t know what—”
She burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but a rich, genuine sound that filled the hallway. The angry mask melted away, replaced by sparkling amusement. “Oh, god, look at your face!” she wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Priceless. I’m just messing with you, kid. Everything’s fine.”
I sagged against the wall, lightheaded with relief. “W-what?”
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated, grinning. “Well, as fine as it can be when you find out your neighbor’s been borrowing your body like a rental car.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I made iced tea.”
In a daze, I followed her. She poured two glasses, leaning against the counter. “So,” she began, her tone now conspiratorial. “That goth chick at Sinister Delights? Cute, right? She texted me after you left, said I seemed ‘different.’ More fun.”
I could only stare, my mind struggling to catch up.
“And the mall,” she continued, sipping her drink. “Good choices. The leopard print? Bold. I’d have never picked it for myself, but I kinda love it.”
I just held the cold glass, unable to process her words.
“And the cam show,” she continued, leaning against the counter, a sly smile on her lips. “Shy Girl Next Door? That was a brilliant angle. The nervous glances, the slightly clumsy moves… it was authentic. Viewers ate it up. My tips were 30% higher than usual.”
Her expression softened, turning serious for a moment. “That, you do have to keep to yourself. My… professional life. That’s a non-negotiable secret.”
“Of course,” I blurted. “Never. I swear.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she seemed to mean it. “And the video? Of me… you know, with you?” She shook her head, a faint blush on her cheeks that wasn’t entirely from amusement. “You can keep that. Consider it a… weird souvenir.”
The casual way she said it was staggering. “Why… why are you being so cool about this?” I finally managed to whisper.
Lydia sighed, setting her glass down. She looked at me, her gaze turning inward and serious. “Because it wasn’t just you in my head. When you left… something stayed. A little echo. A feeling. I can’t access your memories, but I can feel… a presence. A younger, curious, kinda horny male presence. It’s faint, like a radio playing in another room, but it’s there. It’s why I knew it was you at the door. I felt the echo… resonate.”
She walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. It was a strangely companionable gesture. “I don’t feel violated. I feel… like I owe you a favor. You left a piece of yourself here, and I feel like I should treat you like a new found brother. So.” She shrugged, a new, determined glint in her eye. “I’m going to do you a solid. One for the road, since you're about to go back to college and can’t seem to get back in on your own.”
Before I could ask what she meant, she took my hand. “Come on.”
She led me, stunned and silent, to her bedroom. She pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
I sat. She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out the leopard print lingerie I’d bought. She gave me a wink, then disappeared into the walk-in closet to change.
When she emerged, my breath caught. The leopard print was even more stunning on her when she wore it with intention. The bralette pushed her breasts up, the high-cut briefs accentuating the curve of her hips. She looked like a predator, confident and sleek.
“Lie back,” she instructed softly.
I did. She knelt on the floor between my knees, her hands deftly undoing my jeans. This was nothing like the frantic, secretive act in my bedroom. This was slow, deliberate, and performed with a masterful skill that had me trembling in seconds. Her mouth was hot and knowing, her hands roaming my thighs and stomach. She took her time, bringing me to the edge twice with torturous skill before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Not yet.”
Then she stood up, shimmied out of the briefs, and climbed onto the bed, straddling me. She guided me inside her, sinking down with a slow, deep sigh that was part pleasure, part relief.
The sex was nothing I had ever experienced. It was passionate but controlled, intense but deeply communicative. She rode me with a powerful, rolling rhythm, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned down, her breasts brushing my chest, and kissed me—a deep, searching kiss that tasted of iced tea and mint. The leopard print lace scraped deliciously against my skin.
“You feel that?” she murmured against my lips, her hips never stopping their movement. “That’s all you. That echo. It’s like I know what you like before you do.”
She was right. Every shift, every touch, was perfectly aligned with my building pleasure. It was as if she was reading the ghost I’d left inside her. The climax, when it hit me, was a cataclysmic wave that tore a raw, guttural shout from my throat. She followed me over a moment later, clenching around me, her own cry muffled in the crook of my neck.
We lay together for a long time, tangled and sweating, the scent of sex and her perfume filling the air. She eventually slipped off me and curled against my side. “A proper goodbye,” she whispered, before her breathing evened out into sleep.
***
I woke up alone in my own bed. The gray light of dawn filtered in. The sheets smelled of my own laundry detergent. For a dizzying moment, I was sure it had all been another impossibly vivid dream.
Then I felt the pleasant ache in my muscles. I saw the faint, smudged trace of lipstick—a peachy nude, Morning Kiss—on my collar.
And I remembered her words. You left a piece of yourself here.
That evening, restless and haunted, I sat on my bedroom floor once more. Not trying to reach for Lydia. Just trying to quiet the echo. My consciousness drifted, untethered, through the familiar walls of my house.
I floated into the master bedroom. My step mom, Ellen, was there, sitting at her vanity in a robe, carefully applying night cream. I hovered, a silent, invisible observer. She hummed a tune from some old musical, her face relaxed and kind in the soft light.
The thought, sudden and unbidden, shimmered in my non-corporeal mind. A new door. A different set of strings to pull. The curiosity, now awakened and fed, was a hungry thing.
I floated closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.
The question hung in the ether, heavy with possibility.
Do I want to?
My breath slowed, easing into the steady rhythm I’d been practicing. The YouTube guru’s voice was a distant murmur in my earbuds. Let your consciousness expand beyond the physical form. Feel the boundaries of your body dissolve… I always felt a little silly doing this in my bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling my only witness. But tonight, something was different. A strange, pulling sensation started behind my navel, like a gentle but insistent hook.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on my breathing, but the tug grew stronger. The feeling of my own body—the weight of my limbs on the bed, the pressure of the mattress against my back—suddenly vanished. There was a dizzying rush of color and sound, a sensation of being pulled through a narrow, dark tunnel at impossible speed.
Then, with a soft thump I felt I heard more than heard, everything stopped. A weight... A different kind of weight. My chest felt heavy, supported. My hips felt wider.
I blinked. This wasn’t my room. The air smelled of lavender and expensive perfume. I looked down.
My hands. They were not my hands. They were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. A delicate silver bracelet hung from one wrist. I wore a silk robe, peach, tied loosely at the waist. My heart—no, her heart—hammered against my ribs.
A wave of vertigo hit me, followed by a flood of images that weren’t mine. Lydia. Her name is Lydia. A memory of her laughing with my step mom at the mailbox, holding a grocery bag. Another of her watering her roses in a sun dress last weekend. Before I left for college, she'd always waved at me, a kind, almost shy smile on her face.
Mrs. Henderson from next door. The hot MILF all my friends whispered about but who just seemed… nice.
I was inside Lydia Henderson.
Panic surged, a cold, sharp spike. I needed to get back. I tried to concentrate, to will myself back to my own body lying on my bed, but nothing happened. The panic subsided, replaced by a trembling, awe-filled curiosity. I was here. In her.
I turned, my movements unfamiliar and graceful, and caught my reflection in a full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.
Wow.
She was… stunning. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her green-flecked hazel eyes, were wide with an expression I knew was my own shock staring back. The silk robe hinted at the curves beneath. A lifetime of curious, stolen glances from my bedroom window hadn’t prepared me for the reality of being inside this body. A thrill, warm and forbidden, shot through me.
My gaze drifted past my—her—reflection to the rest of the walk-in closet behind me. The curiosity, always simmering just beneath the surface, roared to life. I’d always wondered. About the feel of it, the look of it, the secret world of it.
There I was surrounded by a forest of silks, satins, and soft, colorful fabrics.
Almost without conscious thought, my hands went to the tie of the robe. It fell open. She—I—was wearing matching peach lace lingerie underneath. A bra that cupped and lifted, panties that were just a delicate scrap of fabric. A heat that had nothing to do with possession flushed through me. It was awe. It was a secret, answered question.
I reached for a hanger. A slip of crimson satin and black lace. A teddy. My fingers trembled as I shimmied out of the peach set and into the red one. The cool satin whispered over my hips, the lace hugged curves I’d never had. I looked in the mirror again. A stranger, yet me. A beautiful, secret version of myself.
I spent what felt like hours, lost in a tactile wonderland. I tried on a tight pencil skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater, feeling the sophisticated drape. I found a pair of sky-high black heels and clomped around the carpet, her body’s balance instinctively better than mine would have been. The click-click of the heels on the hardwood floor was a powerful, feminine sound.
Then I found the vanity. An array of pots, pencils, and brushes that might as well have been alien technology. But as I picked up a tube of lipstick, a strange thing happened. A knowledge that wasn’t mine surfaced. A muscle memory. My hand steadied. I uncapped the tube, a deep rose color, and applied it to “my” lips in smooth, practiced strokes. Then eyeliner, a flick at the corner that appeared as if by magic. Blush dusted on the apples of cheeks I could now feel smiling back at me. I was using her memories, her routines. It was like riding a bike for the first time, but the bike knew the way.
When I opened my eyes and looked in the vanity mirror, a perfectly made-up Lydia Henderson looked back. It was her face, but the light in the eyes… that was all my stunned, giddy wonder.
I was awestruck. Transformed. The innocent, cookie-baking neighbor I saw from my window was also this… this goddess of satin and expertly applied liner.
I was floating on a cloud of discovery when another memory-nudge pulled me. It was stronger, more insistent than the makeup knowledge. It was a pull of routine, of duty, tinged with a secret thrill. It led me out of the bedroom, down the hall, to a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was plain, white, unlike the other decorative doors in the house.
I turned the knob and entered.
The room was an office, but unlike any office I'd ever seen before.
It was a small, soundproofed office. The dominant feature was a large desk with a ring light, a high-quality webcam, and a monitor. Plush, sexy outfits hung on a rack in the corner—things far more daring than the clothes in her main closet. Leather, lace, PVC. A shelf held… toys. Neatly arranged, clean, professional.
The cam girl setup was so blatant, so at odds with the cozy suburban mom exterior, that I just stared. Another memory-flash, not mine: the feeling of logging in, of a stage name—ScarletVelvet—of the focused, performative smile that wasn’t the same as the one she gave me when I mowed her lawn.
My heart hammered again, but with a different kind of adrenaline. This was her secret. And now it was mine. The monitor was dark, but a schedule was pinned to a corkboard. A highlighted time slot was in 15 minutes.
The idea hit me with the force of a train. It was insane. Reckless. Unforgivably invasive.
I couldn’t help it.
I sat down in the plush rolling chair. It adjusted to her—to my—body perfectly. I looked at the login screen for the streaming site. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know the password. But I closed my eyes, and let her surface. Not her consciousness, but the automatic, procedural memory. Like the makeup. My fingers moved on their own, typing in a string of characters. The dashboard for ScarletVelvet loaded.
Five minutes to showtime.
I was sweating. I used one of her memories to pick an outfit—a black lace bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. I put it on, my hands fumbling more now with the nervous energy. I checked the angles of the camera using the preview on the monitor. I fluffed the auburn hair, reapplied the lipstick.
The clock hit the hour. A deep breath. I clicked “Go Live.”
The viewer count started ticking up almost immediately. 10… 25… 50. A chat window bloomed to life on the side screen.
Hey Scarlet!
Missed you last night!
You look hot.
A wave of paralyzing stage fright hit me. This wasn’t my memory, this was live. I had to perform. I swallowed, and offered a smile to the camera. It felt brittle.
“H-hey everyone,” I said, and her voice came out, smoother, sexier than my own cracking tenor. But the cadence was off. I sounded unsure.
You okay, Scarlet? You seem nervous.
I needed to act. I leaned back in the chair, another fragment of her muscle memory guiding me into a pose that was both relaxed and deliberately alluring. “Just a long day,” I purred, trying to mimic the smoky tone I’d heard in the memory-flash. It was closer. “But I’m happy to be here with you all now.”
I let my hands—her elegant, manicured hands—trail down over the lace of the bodysuit. The chat scrolled faster.
Yeah, that’s it.
So beautiful.
I was mimicking, a poor copy of the real ScarletVelvet. I was pulling from stolen glimpses, trying to project a sultry confidence I didn’t feel. I talked, my words stilted, my gestures a half-second too slow or too fast. But the viewers didn’t seem to mind too much. They were here for the visual, for the fantasy.
Then, a private message pinged. A username I didn’t recognize, with a high tipping status. The message read: Something’s different tonight. The light in your eyes. It’s… curious. Shy, almost. I like it. A lot.
The message sent a shiver down my spine—her spine. He saw it. He saw me. The clumsy, curious boy peeking out from behind this beautiful woman’s eyes. The revelation was no longer about her secret. It was about my own, reflected back at me through a stranger’s screen. The thrill was electric, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. I was seen, yet completely hidden. And for the first time since I’d tumbled into this body, I didn’t want to leave.
The stream ended with my heart trying to claw its way out of Mrs. Henderson’s—my—chest. I clicked ‘End Broadcast’ and sat in the silent, neon-lit room, the ghost of a hundred anonymous compliments buzzing in my ears. The adrenaline crash was monumental. A deep, shuddering fatigue pulled at my limbs, at my borrowed eyes. Stumbling back to the master bedroom, I peeled off the black lace bodysuit, leaving it in a heap on the plush carpet. I didn’t have the energy to be neat. In a daze, I pulled on one of her soft cotton nightgowns from a drawer and collapsed into the enormous bed.
The scent of her shampoo on the pillows was the last thing I registered before a deep, black nothingness swallowed me.
***
I woke up with a jolt, my own thin mattress hard beneath my back. Morning light, harsh and familiar, streamed through my blinds. I was in my boxers and a faded band t-shirt. I was me. Just me.
For a long minute, I just lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling I’d put up when I was ten. Had it been a dream? A hyper-vivid, wildly inappropriate stress-dream about my neighbor? It felt too detailed, too real. The weight of the heels. The slick texture of the lipstick. The cold thrill of the chat scrolling by.
I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand, my fingers clumsy. My search history felt like a crime scene. I typed in the site name from the memory, then, hesitantly, the username: ScarletVelvet.
There it was. A profile. A teaser image that was absolutely, unmistakably Mrs. Henderson, though with a smolder I’d never seen in daylight. My mouth went dry. With a trembling click, I navigated to her recent videos. And there, at the top, uploaded six hours ago: “Scarlet’s Shy Night – Live 10/23.”
I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. I just hit play.
And there I was. Or rather, there she was, with me piloting. The footage was crystal clear. I saw the slight, uncharacteristic hesitation in my smile. The way my eyes kept flicking to the chat, wide with a panic I’d tried to hide. I heard my stolen voice say, “Just a long day,” with that imperfect, copied purr. I watched myself trail a hand over the lace, the movement a half-beat off from the real Scarlet’s confident flair.
It was real. Undeniable. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, immediately choked by a wave of gut-churning guilt. And beneath the guilt, a flicker of that same, electrifying curiosity.
I spent the day in a fog, jumping at every sound. I saw Mrs. Henderson bringing in her mail in the afternoon, wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun. She looked tired, but normal. Innocent. She gave a small, casual wave to someone across the street. The duality was mind-breaking.
As night fell, the pull became magnetic. The fear was still there, a cold stone in my stomach, but it was outweighed by the need to know, to feel that transformation again. To have an answer to a question I’d never dared ask out loud.
I sat on my bedroom floor again. No guided meditation this time. Just silence, and a focused, desperate intention. Take me back. Let me in.
The lurch was less violent this time, more like a swift, sinking drift. The lavender scent hit my nostrils. Weight. Softness. Curve.
I opened my eyes in her dark bedroom. Success.
This time, the panic was a minor tremor, quickly subdued by a sense of purpose. I went to her closet, but bypassed the crimson teddies and silk robes. I picked out a pair of dark, well-fitting jeans, a simple black long-sleeved tee, and a comfortable cardigan. I found sensible flats. I looked in the mirror: suburban mom ready for errands. Perfect.
Driving her car was another surge of alien-yet-familiar memory. My hands on the wheel were smaller, my perspective different. The weird feeling of a tight seat-belt resting in the valley of my chest. I made it to the mall, a nervous excitement humming in my veins. This was the test. To be in this body, in the world.
I went to a department store area I’d never dared enter before: the women’s lingerie section. Surrounded by racks of lace and satin, my face flushed. But no one looked twice at a woman browsing bras. The freedom was dizzying. I selected a few sets—a delicate sky blue, a bold leopard print—using her sense of size and fit. I held them up, imagining them on this body. It was a shopping trip from a dream.
Then, emboldened, I went to the trendy clothing stores. I tried on flowy dresses that swirled around my knees, a tight leather skirt that made my heart race, and a ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud. In the fitting room, under the fluorescent lights, I just stared. I turned, examining the lines of her—my—body from every angle. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was a kind of reverence.
The final stop took every ounce of my courage. A sex shop, discreetly located on the outskirts of the mall. A bell chimed as I walked in.
The girl behind the counter looked up. She was probably in her early twenties, with dyed black hair, a septum piercing, and an impressive array of tattoos snaking up her arms. Goth, cool, and utterly intimidating.
“Help you find anything?” she asked, her voice not unfriendly.
“Just… browsing,” I said, Mrs. Henderson’s voice coming out as a shy squeak. I wandered the aisles, overwhelmed by the sheer variety of it all. I felt the Goth girl’s eyes on me, the conservative cardigan-clad mom in a den of iniquity.
Eventually, curiosity overcoming shame, I picked up a small, sleek vibrator, examining it like it was an artifact from another planet.
“Good choice,” the girl said, appearing at the end of the aisle with a knowing smile. “That one’s discreet but powerful. Popular with… beginners. But definitely something you could handle.”
Our eyes met. Hers were sharp, kohl-rimmed, and saw way too much. A faint, amused smile played on her lips. “You seem different today, Mrs. Henderson.”
I nearly dropped the vibrator. She knew her? Of course she did. Small town. My blood ran cold, then hot. I managed a weak smile, channeling every ounce of innocent-neighbor energy I’d observed. “Just… exploring,” I whispered.
“Well, have fun,” she said, her smile turning into a full-blown grin. “Exploration is good for the soul.”
I paid in cash, my face burning, and fled.
Back in the sanctuary of her house, the adrenaline shifted into something slower, warmer, more insistent. The purchases were spread on her bed. The new lingerie. The sleek little toy from the shop.
I put on the sky blue set. It was even prettier on. The contrast against her skin was beautiful. I lay back on the bed, the memories of her own solo routines blending with my own frantic, curiosity. My touch was clumsy at first, then, guided by her body’s own innate knowledge, more sure. It was a bizarre, out-of-body experience that was intensely, overwhelmingly in-body. I was both the explorer and the territory. The pleasure, when it crested, was a shocking, all-consuming wave that left me gasping, shuddering, utterly spent in a way I’d never been in my own body.
In the heavy, satisfied silence that followed, lulled by the fading echoes of sensation and the soft cotton sheets, my borrowed eyes grew heavy. The last coherent thought I had was that this was the deepest, most content sleep I’d ever known.
***
I awoke to the sound of my own alarm blaring, sunlight once again piercing my own familiar, boring blinds. I was back in my scrawny body, tangled in my own sheets, home for the holiday break. For a moment, I just breathed, the phantom sensations of silk and release still tingling at the edges of my awareness. It was real. It had happened again.
And I already knew, with a certainty that scared and thrilled me, that I would be trying to go back as soon as I could.
The weekend stretched before me, a blank canvas of time. The two previous nights had been fleeting infiltrations. Today, I wanted more. I wanted a full day in her skin.
I sat on my floor as the first pale light of Saturday crept into my room. I focused, not on white light or my heart center, but on the memory of lavender and the feeling of satin against skin. The transition was smoother this time, less a lurch and more a conscious step through a door.
I arrived to the sound of running water and the humid, steamy scent of jasmine body wash. I was standing in her master bathroom, the glass shower door fogged, the silhouette of her body—my body—moving behind it. She was humming. I could feel the warm spray hitting my skin, the water sluicing over curves that were now mine. The sensation was immediate and intensely vivid. My hands—her hands—lifted almost of their own accord, slick with soap, gliding over the swell of breasts, the dip of a waist, the smooth plane of a stomach. It was a ritual washing, but for me, it was a breathtaking exploration.
The heat, the steam, the sheer physicality of it coiled a tight, urgent need low in my belly. As the water rained down, I let my hands wander with purpose, no longer just washing, but seeking. I leaned back against the cool tile, my breath hitching as my fingers found their way, guided by a knowledge both borrowed and innate. The climax in the shower was swift and shocking, a white-hot burst that made my knees weak, my stolen cries swallowed by the drumming water. I slumped, panting, the pleasure still echoing through nerve endings that weren't originally mine. It was incredible.
After, wrapped in a plush towel, I felt a strange, powerful confidence. I took my time. I blow-dried her auburn hair into the soft, shiny waves she usually wore. I applied makeup with the practiced ease her memories provided, creating that public-facing mask of friendly, approachable prettiness. I dressed in one of her nice casual outfits—dark jeans, a cream-colored V-neck sweater that clung in a flattering way, knee-high boots. I looked in the mirror and saw the perfect image of the neighbor my step mom would happily invite in for coffee.
The bold idea struck me then, sparkling with risk and a perverse curiosity. I would visit my house.
I walked the familiar short path, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the sidewalk my own sneakers usually scuffed. Ringing my own doorbell was surreal.
My step mom answered, her face lighting up in a warm smile. “Lydia! What a nice surprise. Come in, come in! I was just about to have some coffee.”
“I was just out for a walk and thought I’d say hi,” I said, sliding effortlessly into Mrs. Henderson’s—Lydia’s—warm, slightly musical tone. It was eerie how easily it came, like putting on a well-worn coat from her memories of countless similar chats.
I followed my step mom into the kitchen, the familiar space looking different from this vantage point. She poured coffee, chattering about her plans to re-organize the garage. I nodded and smiled, sipping from the mug, the coffee tasting subtly different with her palate. I was leveraging her memories constantly: the way she held a mug, her opinion on the new neighborhood landscaping, her polite laugh. I was a puppet, and Lydia’s life was the set of strings.
"My son's back from college and could use something to do" my step mom asked with a conspiratorial wink. “Want me to send him over to help with some house work?”
“Oh that'd be perfect,” I heard myself say, and had to suppress a hysterical giggle. “He's a real sweet boy.”
After about twenty minutes of this bizarre charade, I saw my chance. “Would you mind if I excused myself to use your powder room?” I asked.
“Of course, you know where it is!”
I didn’t go to the downstairs powder room. With a thief’s heart, I padded quietly up the stairs, past the framed family photos that now seemed like artifacts from another life. My bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in.
There, sprawled on my bed, fully dressed and snoring softly, was me. Or rather, my empty body. It was the strangest sight of all—seeing my own lanky form from the outside, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over my forehead. A profound sense of dislocation washed over me, followed by a sharp, devious thrill.
I slipped inside and closed the door silently. I stared at my own sleeping face. Then, moving quickly, I pulled out the phone from my borrowed purse—Lydia’s phone. I propped it up on my desk, angled perfectly toward the bed, and hit record.
Then I approached the bed. My own body smelled like my cheap deodorant and the fabric of my old comforter. Gently, I unbuckled my own jeans. My hands, small and soft, worked with a clinical curiosity that was also deeply erotic. I gave my unconscious self a handjob, watching the physiological reaction with a detached, fascinated awe. My shaft thick and hard between my hands. Leaning down, I then took myself into my mouth—her mouth. The sensations were a confusing feedback loop: the physical act, the visual of my own body, the knowledge of who was doing it. It was narcissistic, invasive, and unbearably hot. My body gave in, shooting a small load that covered my face and I made sure the phone captured it all.
I quickly cleaned everything up with a tissue from my nightstand, redid my jeans, and grabbed the phone. I stopped the recording. With shaky fingers, I airdropped the video file to my own phone, which was lying on the nightstand next to my sleeping head. I then meticulously deleted the video from Lydia’s phone and cleared the ‘recently deleted’ folder. The evidence was now only in my possession.
Taking a steadying breath, I smoothed down my sweater and left my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I rejoined my mom in the kitchen, my cheeks flushed.
“Everything alright? You look a little flushed,” my mom said.
“Fine! Just a bit warm,” I said, forcing another smile. I snuck glances at my mom as we talked, seeing the familiar lines of her face from this new, feminine perspective. I was hyper-aware of the body I inhabited, the sway of Lydia’s hair, the brush of her sweater against her breasts—my breasts—as I moved.
The afternoon wore on in a surreal bubble. I was trying to decide what to do next with this borrowed life. Go shopping again? Experiment more at her cam setup? The possibilities were a dizzying array in my mind.
And then, without warning, it happened. A sudden, tugging sensation behind my navel, like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.
***
I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was on my back in my own bed, the afternoon sun now at a different angle. My body felt instantly familiar and was overcome with a feeling of afterglow. The phantom sensations of the shower, of my own touch, still buzzed on my skin like a fading sunburn.
The memory of the video jolted me into action. I scrambled for my phone. There it was. A file received from Lydia Henderson’s device. I didn’t open it. I just stared at the filename, a cold sweat breaking out. It was real. All of it.
I changed my clothes in a frenzy, pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans, my mind reeling. I had to see. I had to know if she was still there.
I practically flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the doorway to the living room. My step mom was still there, on the sofa.
And sitting across from her, sipping the last of her coffee, was Mrs. Henderson—Lydia. She looked perfectly composed, her makeup fresh, her smile easy.
My step mom turned. “Oh, speak of the devil! Lydia was just telling me about her new rose bushes.”
Lydia’s eyes met mine. Those green-flecked hazel eyes held mine for a long, deliberate second. Then, as my step mom glanced down to pick up her own mug, Lydia’s expression shifted. The pleasant neighborly mask dissolved into something else—something knowing, sharp, and utterly mischievous. She gave me a slow, deliberate wink.
Then, her hand resting casually on her knee, hidden from my step mom’s view by the coffee table, she made a quick, unmistakable motion: her fist pumping up and down in the universal sign for a jerk-off.
My blood turned to ice. My stomach dropped through the floor.
She knew. Somehow she knew.
Before I could react, even to breathe, she smiled sweetly at my step mom, stood up, and said, “Well, I should let you two get on with your weekend. Thanks for the coffee, Ellen!”
She walked past me to the door, her perfume trailing behind her. As she reached for the knob, she paused, looked back over her shoulder directly at me, and mouthed silent words with a smirk that was anything but innocent:
“I hope you had fun.”
***
The meditation was a failure. For three nights straight, I sat on my floor until my legs cramped, focusing every ounce of my will on the memory of lavender and silk. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of my own thoughts and the growing dread that my window into Lydia’s world had slammed shut forever.
So when my step-mom Ellen cheerfully announced on Tuesday that she’d “volunteered” me to help Mrs. Henderson haul some old boxes to her attic, my blood ran cold. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a reckoning.
I stood on Lydia’s porch, my heart trying to batter its way through my ribs. I rang the bell.
She answered almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore simple leggings and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup. She looked like the mom next door, but her eyes held a storm.
“Come in,” she said, her voice flat. I shuffled inside, the familiar scent of her home now feeling like a crime scene.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click. We stood in her foyer. The air was thick with unspoken things.
She crossed her arms, fixing me with a hard stare. “So. You want to tell me what the hell that was? Snooping through my things? Wearing my clothes? Going on my stream?” Her tone was sharp, accusatory. “That is some seriously messed up, perverted shit.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My face burned with shame and terror. I was going to be arrested. My life was over. I managed a strangled, “I… I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson, I don’t know what—”
She burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but a rich, genuine sound that filled the hallway. The angry mask melted away, replaced by sparkling amusement. “Oh, god, look at your face!” she wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Priceless. I’m just messing with you, kid. Everything’s fine.”
I sagged against the wall, lightheaded with relief. “W-what?”
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated, grinning. “Well, as fine as it can be when you find out your neighbor’s been borrowing your body like a rental car.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I made iced tea.”
In a daze, I followed her. She poured two glasses, leaning against the counter. “So,” she began, her tone now conspiratorial. “That goth chick at Sinister Delights? Cute, right? She texted me after you left, said I seemed ‘different.’ More fun.”
I could only stare, my mind struggling to catch up.
“And the mall,” she continued, sipping her drink. “Good choices. The leopard print? Bold. I’d have never picked it for myself, but I kinda love it.”
I just held the cold glass, unable to process her words.
“And the cam show,” she continued, leaning against the counter, a sly smile on her lips. “Shy Girl Next Door? That was a brilliant angle. The nervous glances, the slightly clumsy moves… it was authentic. Viewers ate it up. My tips were 30% higher than usual.”
Her expression softened, turning serious for a moment. “That, you do have to keep to yourself. My… professional life. That’s a non-negotiable secret.”
“Of course,” I blurted. “Never. I swear.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she seemed to mean it. “And the video? Of me… you know, with you?” She shook her head, a faint blush on her cheeks that wasn’t entirely from amusement. “You can keep that. Consider it a… weird souvenir.”
The casual way she said it was staggering. “Why… why are you being so cool about this?” I finally managed to whisper.
Lydia sighed, setting her glass down. She looked at me, her gaze turning inward and serious. “Because it wasn’t just you in my head. When you left… something stayed. A little echo. A feeling. I can’t access your memories, but I can feel… a presence. A younger, curious, kinda horny male presence. It’s faint, like a radio playing in another room, but it’s there. It’s why I knew it was you at the door. I felt the echo… resonate.”
She walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. It was a strangely companionable gesture. “I don’t feel violated. I feel… like I owe you a favor. You left a piece of yourself here, and I feel like I should treat you like a new found brother. So.” She shrugged, a new, determined glint in her eye. “I’m going to do you a solid. One for the road, since you're about to go back to college and can’t seem to get back in on your own.”
Before I could ask what she meant, she took my hand. “Come on.”
She led me, stunned and silent, to her bedroom. She pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
I sat. She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out the leopard print lingerie I’d bought. She gave me a wink, then disappeared into the walk-in closet to change.
When she emerged, my breath caught. The leopard print was even more stunning on her when she wore it with intention. The bralette pushed her breasts up, the high-cut briefs accentuating the curve of her hips. She looked like a predator, confident and sleek.
“Lie back,” she instructed softly.
I did. She knelt on the floor between my knees, her hands deftly undoing my jeans. This was nothing like the frantic, secretive act in my bedroom. This was slow, deliberate, and performed with a masterful skill that had me trembling in seconds. Her mouth was hot and knowing, her hands roaming my thighs and stomach. She took her time, bringing me to the edge twice with torturous skill before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Not yet.”
Then she stood up, shimmied out of the briefs, and climbed onto the bed, straddling me. She guided me inside her, sinking down with a slow, deep sigh that was part pleasure, part relief.
The sex was nothing I had ever experienced. It was passionate but controlled, intense but deeply communicative. She rode me with a powerful, rolling rhythm, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned down, her breasts brushing my chest, and kissed me—a deep, searching kiss that tasted of iced tea and mint. The leopard print lace scraped deliciously against my skin.
“You feel that?” she murmured against my lips, her hips never stopping their movement. “That’s all you. That echo. It’s like I know what you like before you do.”
She was right. Every shift, every touch, was perfectly aligned with my building pleasure. It was as if she was reading the ghost I’d left inside her. The climax, when it hit me, was a cataclysmic wave that tore a raw, guttural shout from my throat. She followed me over a moment later, clenching around me, her own cry muffled in the crook of my neck.
We lay together for a long time, tangled and sweating, the scent of sex and her perfume filling the air. She eventually slipped off me and curled against my side. “A proper goodbye,” she whispered, before her breathing evened out into sleep.
***
I woke up alone in my own bed. The gray light of dawn filtered in. The sheets smelled of my own laundry detergent. For a dizzying moment, I was sure it had all been another impossibly vivid dream.
Then I felt the pleasant ache in my muscles. I saw the faint, smudged trace of lipstick—a peachy nude, Morning Kiss—on my collar.
And I remembered her words. You left a piece of yourself here.
That evening, restless and haunted, I sat on my bedroom floor once more. Not trying to reach for Lydia. Just trying to quiet the echo. My consciousness drifted, untethered, through the familiar walls of my house.
I floated into the master bedroom. My step mom, Ellen, was there, sitting at her vanity in a robe, carefully applying night cream. I hovered, a silent, invisible observer. She hummed a tune from some old musical, her face relaxed and kind in the soft light.
The thought, sudden and unbidden, shimmered in my non-corporeal mind. A new door. A different set of strings to pull. The curiosity, now awakened and fed, was a hungry thing.
I floated closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.
The question hung in the ether, heavy with possibility.
Do I want to?
possession
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A NEET terrorizes her family with her possession powers.
It was in the very early morning hours. The whole house was pitch-black and its inhabitants were fast asleep, except for one. The only source of light was the glow emenating from a computer monitor. It illuminated Wendy’s face and the strands of greasy hair glued to it. The synthetic light just faintly revealed the mess in her room: the moldy plates, empty take-out boxes, and dirty clothes, all of which were freely intermixed and strewn about.
Wet sounds and a pungent smell filled the air. Wendy sat in her computer chair in just her underwear and masturbated while playing an erotic dating simulator. She had been an avid fan of video games, especially story-driven ones like visual novels, since she was a kid, but since the twenty-three-year-old failed out of college and moved back in with her parents, she had done nothing but sit in front of her computer and play video games all day long.
She used to be somewhat pretty, but she let herself go quite a bit when she essentially barricaded herself into her old childhood room, only ever leaving to use the bathroom. Since then, she had been escaping more and more into the virtual world of various video games, desperately trying to escape her failures in the outside world. The easily achievable goals in those games provided her with at least a fake sense of fullfilment and purpose.
Initially, she stuck to regular video games and story-driven visual novels. But since moving back home, she got fairly addicted to romantic dating simulators, which provided her a with a substitute for the type of relationship she longed for but could not achieve in real life. Things took even more of a downturn when, a few months ago, after having played through virtually all visual novels, she checked out her first incest-themed eroge, a genre she had not paid any attention to before, but now felt compelled to in order to avoid spending any second alone with her own thoughts.
Right in that moment she was playing through a scene where the main character’s adorable little sister snuck into her older brother’s bed and snuggled up to him under the covers. The game quickly turned erotic and, in response, Wendy let out a long, deep grunt, signaling her climax.
To recuperate from her self-satisfaction, Wendy leaned back into her chair and looked up at her dimmly-lit ceiling. After a few moments an idea popped into her head. She got up and, for the first time in a while, left her room for a reason other than to use the bathroom. She quietly crept through the dark hallway and slowly opened the door two rooms further down, trying to keep it from creaking as to not wake the person sleeping inside.
After entering the room, she managed to silently close the door behind her and then tip-toed towards the bed inside. There, she lifted the covers and carefully laid down next to her older brother Josh who was sleeping soundly. She then cozied up to him under the blanket just like she had seen the little sister do in her video game. She was now right next to him with her foul breath caressing his skin.
Wanting to recreate the scene from her video game, Wendy began carefully fishing her brother’s limp dick out of his pyjama pants and gently rubbed it until it was fully errect. She then rolled on top of him, pushed her panties aside, and stealthily slipped his dick into her hungry snatch.
Meanwhile, Josh was having the most amazing dream. In it, he found himself in an infinite, white void where he was hooking up with the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her long, brunette hair appeared to be silky-soft as it gently swayed around her slender frame with each motion, lending her an ethereal presence. The only things about her that he found more captivating than her radiant smile were her full, ripe breasts, which were practically begging to be devoured. She seemed really familiar to Josh, although he could not quite place where he had seen her before. Maybe she was an ex-girlfriend he had forgotten about. Nevertheless, he did not want to keep this unknown beauty waiting by fretting about it.
Josh and the mysterious girl had already fully shed their clothes and were eager to get things going. He laid down on the most comfortable bed imaginable, which had appeared out of nowhere without him ever noticing. Lying on his back, he watched as his dream lover expertly fondled his privates while looking up at him with hungry eyes. In no time he was ready to take her. The nameless vixen sat on top of him and began immediately riding him, placing her hands on his hard abs for support. Her hot, silky depths engulfed him completely as her smooth, hairless body writhed with pleasure. Biting her lower lip, she failed to stifle the soft moans escaping from her mouth that accompanied the expressions of extacy on her gorgeous face. They caressed Josh’s ears like the sweatest of melodies, bewitching him like a siren. The pleasure that grew in his groin was overwhelming, beyond anything he had ever experienced in real life.
Yet, something about her felt odd to him. Despite her small size and lithe body, the dreamy nymph on top of him felt unusually heavy. This bizarre fact made him realize that he was actually dreaming, which immediately ripped him from his sleep.
Completely disoriented, the only things Josh could perceive in the dark was labored breathing and groaning, and a heavy weight bouncing up and down on him. At first he hoped that this might be a continuation of his wonderful dream, but when a lurid stench crept up his nose he knew for certain that he was awake. Wanting to find out who or what was disturbing his sweet dreams, he turned to his night stand right beside his bed to turn on the light. For a few seconds the sudden presence of light blinded him like a flash of lightning. But when his eyes had acclimated to the new-found brightness, he was horrified by the ghastly figure sitting on top of him.
“Wendy!!”, Josh exlaimed as he recognized his grody younger sister straddling him, wearing only a bra and panties. Her grin was barely visible through her greasy hair and the bra that had failed to adjust to her increased size dug deeply into her chubby shape, almost cutting off circulation to her formless breasts. “What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? And why are you sitting on top of me?” Josh demanded angrily. “Oh, Josh,” was the only answer Wendy could moan, never breaking with the rhythm of her movements. Hearing these sexual sounds come from his sister’s mouth was like fingernails on a chalkboard to his ears.
Her abhorrent, yet puzzling, response made Josh’s eyes wander lower. He gagged violently when he discovered his dick was burried deep inside his sister’s rancid, unkempt snatch, even feeling her coarse pubes rubbing against his skin as she was grinding her crotch against his. He felt so repulsed by this disgusting sight that he could have projectile-vomitted every meal he had ever had in his life right in that very moment. Luckily, his stomach was completely empty or he would have made an even bigger mess out of this situation.
“Get off of me!” Josh yelled while forcefully pushing his grody sister away. Wendy fell off his dick, off his bed, and on onto the floor, landing there with a strong thud. She quickly scrambled back onto her feet. “Why did you do that?” she hissed. “That’s what I should be asking! Why were you having sex with me, Wendy? You’re my sister! That’s so fucked!” he exclaimed. “But I’m your cute little sister, bro. Don’t you find me adorable,” she said batting her eye-lids, trying to charm her brother, but somehow ending up looking even creepier.
“Eewww, you’re sick, Wendy! Sick and vile!” Josh said disgusted. “And not just that, you’re also fucking filthy. I’d rather rip my own dick off and poke my eyes out with it than have sex with you, even if we were the last two people on earth stranded on a lonely island! I wish you’d just disappear forever and leave us alone.” Her brother’s harsh remarks finally burst the fantasy that Wendy had built up in her mind over the past few months of playing eroges. The reality she tried to run from came crashing down on her right in this moment, as Josh’s cutting words hurt her deeply.
“Fine!” Wendy said scorned and full of anger. “If you want me to disappear, then that’s what I will do, I guess!” With tears of anger welling up, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Wait! Wendy! Nooo—!” Josh exclaimed, trying to stop her. But it was too late. As if something had zapped the life out of her, Wendy instantly lost all the tension in her body and collapsed face-first onto her brother’s bed. At the same time, Josh’s eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body began convulsing vigorously. Then something inside of him snapped and he, too, lost almost all the tension in his body, just barely being able to stand. His head was loosely dangling from his neck.
After a few moments of silence, Josh seemed to wake up, as both his heads slowly rose up again. But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in control. His sister Wendy had somehow developed the powers to take over other people’s bodies during her early teenage years. At first she was shy and reluctant about them, as she used to be a gentle soul. She simply could not square it with her conscience to control other people. The most she would do was ride along in the friends or family members of a boy she had a crush on at the time. When her parents found out about her powers, they immediately scolded her and forbade her from ever using her powers. But as Wendy grew older, her parents realized that their daughter did not have any ill intentions and began relaxing about the situation.
But when Wendy failed out of college and her mental health declined, things turned scary for her family. She became more and more controlling and petulant, throwing tamper tantrums anytime anyone disturbed her or tried to tell her what to do. She also became increasingly blasé about using her powers, taking over her family, neighbors, and anyone in reach for the smallest of matters, just so she would never have to leave her room.
On a few occasions Wendy had even used her powers to blackmail people into doing what she wanted, even when she was not possessing them. Another time she had stalked a poor guy who she had become at first infatuated and then obsessed with on social media. She had followed him around as different people, watching every step he made, every second of his life for two months. She only stopped because she eventually became bored of him.
These were the myriad of reasons that her family now lived in fear of her. Her parents could not throw her out because of her powers. They themselves could not move out since all their savings were tied into their house. Their youngest daughter, Alice, refused to leave, as she did not want her parents to suffer alone. And even Josh had moved back in as a means to protect his family, which is why he now found himself not in control of his own body.
“Josh” grinned from ear to ear as he patted down “his” flat chest. “He” then flexed his biceps, admiring his own strength. Next, he grabbed his dick, which was already painfully errect, with both his hands and began firmly squeezing it. He could virtually feel the blood pulsing through the thick meat of his sizeable member. “He” then turned to the person lying on his bed and said, “I’m soooo sorry, ‘sis’. I didn’t mean to hurt you. My words came out all wrong. What I meant to say was that you are the most adorable little sister a big brother could ever wish for! Here, let me show you how much I love you.”
With that, “Josh” stepped towards Wendy’s comatose body and snaked his big, strong hands underneath her torso. “Oh, my. When did my cute little sister grow up to be such a woman?” “he” cooed while groping her flabby breasts. Without turning over her heavy frame, “Josh” glid his rough hands along her pudgy waist and onto her even wider hips, firmly grabbing ahold of them. “He” then carefully wormed his prick into “his sister’s” slimy, hairy cunt, before forcefully jamming his entire length into her unconscious flesh.
Without any further hesitation, “Josh” began viciously fucking his sleeping sister, pumping in and out of her like an animal while groaning and grunting like a bull. “He” nearly worked himself into a frenzy. Wendy’s rotten odor began reeking from all the friction and heat they created, which seemed to turn him on even more. For the next two minutes, the clapping of “his” hips against her sizeable cheeks echoed throughout the room until “he” finally hit is climax and then dumped his thick load inside of “his” sister’s gooey slit. Still inside of her, he collapsed on top of her and under heavy breathing whispered into her ear, “I love you, ‘sis’.”
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It was very late in the morning, almost creeping on noon, when Christine, the mother of the house, stood in the kitchen and prepared some food. She was cheerfully humming a tune while cutting up a cantalope and placing slices of ham on pieces of crispy toast. She then artfully aranged the food on a plate, in a way that was worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The food was not only delicious but also visually appetizing, and so was her ample bosom that was proudly put on display by a low-cut, floral sundress, which gently hugged her motherly curves.
Still humming to herself, Christine picked up the plate, left the kitchen, and went up the stairs with a joyful bounce to her step, which not only made the hem of her short dress dance around her hips and tickle her thighs but also made her opulent mounds jiggle playfully. Upstairs, she entered her daughter’s dingy room without either knocking or turning on the lights and placed the food on her desk. “Enjoy your breakfast, honey,” she whispered to a sleeping Wendy.
Without any further hesitation, Christine left her daughter’s room and headed straight to the master bedroom. Behind locked doors she made her way over to her full-sized mirror and began admiring herself. Slowly, a big, dirty grin spread across her face. “Thank you, mother, for providing me with such a healthy breakfast,” “Christine” said in a sickly-sweet tone, seemingly mocking herself. “You always taught me to eat my daily share of fruits, and your ‘melons’ are especially delicious,” she said while giving her huge globes a firm squeeze. “She” then slowly moved her hands along “her” waist and hips, closely following and enjoying every inch of her delectable curves, and then began groping her big, womanly ass. “And let’s not forget about your delicious meat! I gotta hand it to you: you got a real meatsuit of a body, mom!”
“Christine” then threw herself onto her bed and immediately began furiously masturbating, not even bothering to undress. One hand tightly squeezed her fleshy tits while the other inserted two fingers into her hungry snatch, dragging her panties along with them as they plummeted the depths of her steaming hot hole that had given birth to three children, one of which was now in control of her body and effectively molesting her own mother.
Regrettably, “Christine” soon had to remove her hand from her supple twins in order to cover her mouth and stiffle her moans, so that she would not alert the whole house to her lewd activities. Meanwhile, the other hand continued to slip in and out of her unabated. Under the assault from such intense stimulation, it did not take long for her to reach her peak, which she celebrated by letting out a long, muffled scream.
The only thing “Christine” was able to do in the immediate aftermath was to lay on her back, breathing heavily, and bask in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her panties and her hand were now drenched in her juices. But, alas, her bliss was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mom, are you in there?” Josh asked loudly through the door. “Have you seen my black shirt? I’ve been looking all over for it!”
“Christine” quickly scrambled onto her feet and straightend out her dress and hair, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible, as to not tip off “her son” to what kept her so busy. She cracked the door open just barely enough to stick her head out, hiding her body behind the door and her dripping wet hand behind her back. “Have you checked the laundry? I’m pretty sure I’ve put it in the wash recently,” she answered his query. “Yeah, I did. I guess I’m gonna check again, just to be sure,” Josh said and was already turning to walk away.
“Wait!” “Christine” suddenly exlaimed a little bit too loudly, as a most devious idea popped into her head. “What?” Josh asked somewhat startled. “You’ve got a smudge on the corner of your mouth” she explained. “Where?” he said while trying to wipe the imaginary stain from his face. “No, it’s still there. Here, let me try,” she said, now fully opening the door and finally stepping out of the room.
Josh was taken by surprise when “his mother” suddenly got so close to him that she was essentially pushing her opulent chest against his torso. Looking down he saw her face with an expresssion of concentration look up at him. Underneath that he caught a glimpse of her soft pillows bulging out of the top of her dress as they were pressed flat against him.
“M–Mom, w–what are you doing?” Jost stammered, as he began to blush. “Hold still! Just let me get it real quick,” “Christine” demanded. Unbeknownst to Josh, though, the hand which “his mother” was now smearing all over his face was still coated in her sticky juices.
Since Josh was quite a bit taller than his mother, “Christine” raised herself up by standing on the tips of her toes to better reach and more closely inspect his face. In the process, she pushed her breasts even deeper into him and slid them up along his chest until their nipples were perfectly aligned with each other.
“M–Mom, s–stop it!” Josh said while struggling to get away from her, as her face was now close enough that he could feel her hot breath on his skin. “Hold still!” “Christine” demanded. “The more you move the longer it will take.” Never having been this close to his own mother, at least not since he was a child, Josh caught a whiff of her perfume which was followed by a strange, musky smell.
Coming into such intimate contact with a woman’s body made the inside of Josh’s pants swell rapidly. His dick did not care who it was, flesh was flesh. But the thought that it was his own mother’s flesh surprisingly made him grow even harder. So hard, in fact, that he was now poking her belly with his manhood.
Appaled by his own reaction, Josh pushed who he thought was his mother away from himself. “Thanks, I think it’s gone now,” he yelled out without looking at her, trying to hide that his face was now a deep crimson. He then hastily fled to his room, almost tripping over himself, as he desperately tried to escape this embarrassing situation. “Christine” on the other just chuckled to herself, as she was highly amused by “her son’s” reaction.
That night Christine and Gilbert could be heard enjoying each other throughout the house.
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A lot of clanking, rattling, and cursing could be heard coming from the garage. Christine had asked her husband Gilbert to look after the car, since it had been making a lot of weird noises lately and even had briefly died on her the other day. This is why Gilbert, a man in his early fifties who, despite his thinning hair and slight dad bob, had still retained some of his youthful handsomeness, was now bent over the car’s engine covered in dirt and motor oil, occasionally bonking his head on the hood of the car.
Just as he finished changing the oil, his daughter Alice walked in. Unlike her sister Wendy, Alice had always been a Daddy’s girl. She and her father had been attached by the hip to each other ever since she was born. Even throughout puberty, when most other teenagers vie for their independence, she had stayed close to her Dad who had remained a steadfast anchor for her. Even now, the twenty-year-old college student loved spending time with her father more than anything else. Ever since she was a little child, one of her favorite things to do was to sit in her father’s lap and play Super Mario Bros., earning her the nickname “princess”.
There was something about her father’s presence that was incredibly relaxing to her, which is why the slim brunette did not mind him seeing her in only a pair of yoga pants and a tight spaghetti-strap top without a bra. Her outfit revealed the outline of her nubile form in great detail, including her pert buns and her gravity-defying orbs. Even her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her top as soon as they got a taste of the chilly air inside the garage.
“Hey, Dad! Watcha doing?” Alice exclaimed with a beaming smile on her face. She threw her arms enthusiastically around her father’s waist, smushing her buoyant breasts against his soft belly in the process. “Not much,” Gilbert replied while reciprocating her loving embrace. He rocked her from side to side, thereby squishing his daughter’s youthful mounds even tighter against himself. “Your mother was complaining about the car so I thought maybe I could get the old can working again. What about you, princess? Wanna hang out with your old man?”
“Oh, I’d love to,” Alice said. “But I just came here to get a screwdriver to fix the recliner on my chair.” “Well, then don’t let me stop you,” Gilbert said and booped her on the nose, coating its tip with black grease from his dirty hands. When they released their embrace and Alice made her way towards the shelf on the other side of the garage, Gilbert watched his daughter’s backside and discovered that he had accidentally smeared black grease all over her. Most of it covered her shoulders and upper arms, but some of it even got on her lower back.
The tool she was looking for was located on the top-most shelf, so Alice had to really stretch herself to reach up high. But, it was not enough, as she was still missing a few inches. She then tried jumping up and down, making her luscious body, and especially her firm cheeks, shake vigorously every time she returned to the ground. Yet, she still came up short. For a while, Gilbert closely eyed his daughter’s antics before he walked over to her and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
Alice suddenly yelped as her father, without warning, scooped up her tight little butt with his big, strong hands, and lifted her up high. His palms essentially provided a seat for her from which she comfortably could reach the tool she needed. Gilbert then gently put her down again, leaving two big, greasy handprints on his daughter’s rear.
Her father’s sudden display of strength left Alice a bit frazzled. For a moment she just stood there in silence, still facing away from him. She did not know what was happening to her. As a kid she had loved being picked up by her Dad and would cling to him like a koala. But that was ages ago. Now that she was fully grown she felt differently. No man had ever handled her like that, lifting her entire adult weight so easily. It somehow made her heart beat much faster and left her short of breath. She tried to swallow down those strange feelings, yet she still blushed when she tucked her long, brunette hair behind her ears.
Alice was in the middle of turning to face her father, wanting to ask him what that was all about, when she suddenly felt as if her feet were knocked away from under her legs, making her trip and fall chest-first towards him. Gilbert instinctively tried to catch her fall, but by doing so his daughter’s perky mounds landed squarely on his big, greasy hands. His dirty palms molded themselves perfectly around the swell of her pliable breasts. Alice thought she might be going crazy, but she could have sworn she had felt her Dad give her boobs a firm squeeze. Nevertheless, her nipples still visibly stiffened.
“Uhm, … Dad?” Alice squeaked with her father’s hands still cupping her twins. “Yes, princess? Are you alright?” Gilbert asked with worry on his face. “Yeah, … I guess so …,” she mumbled while getting back on her own feet. When Gilbert’s hands finally disconnected from his daughter’s body, they revealed yet another pair of big, black handprints, this time squarely on her chest.
“Are you sure? You seem kinda out of it,” Gilbert said while trying to feel his daughter’s forehead with the back of his hand. Alice swatted his hand away more aggressively than she had intended. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a bit of agitation in her voice. “I …, uh …, I need to change.”
Unable to deny the heat welling up inside of her, Alice tried to leave as quickly as she could, but on her way out her Dad surprised her yet again by giving her a not-so-fatherly pat on her ass. She turned her head around one last time and to give her “father” a quizzical look, but the expression on his face betrayed nothing but paternal intentions. Yet, as soon as she had left the garage, “Gilbert’s” warm expression turned sinister and a big, wet stain began to form on the crotch of his pants.
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It was late at night. Christine and Gilbert had gone out earlier that evening and were not expected to return until the next morning, leaving the “kids“ home alone. The whole house was wrapped in silence, except for the blaring of the TV coming from the living room. Josh sat alone on the couch watching a movie when Alice came shuffling into the room. She was completely draped in a giant blanket, dragging a long train behind her, making it almost look like a wedding dress.
“Heeeyy, Josh. What are you doing?” Alice asked drowsily. “Oh, nothing much. Just watching a movie. What’s up with you? Why the huge-ass blanket?” her brother responded. “I’m a little cold. Mind if I join you?” “Sure. Be my guest” he said patting the spot next to him and then placed his arm on the back of the couch. She took up his offer and sat down beside him, putting up her legs and angling them to the side, all while making sure to never leave the comforting warmth of her blanket.
“Oh, hey, isn’t that the movie we used to watch a lot as kids?” Alice asked. “Yeah,” Josh responded. “I happened to come across it while I was flipping through the channels.” “Boy, I haven’t seen it in years. I completely forgot about it. I remember we used to watch it every time it was on. I even used to scour the TV magazines so that I always knew when to catch it,” Alice said excitedly. “Yeah, I’ve been watching it only for a few minutes, yet there are so many lines that come back to me just seconds before they show up in the movie,“ Josh said joining in on the excitement.
The two siblings kept laughing and joking, quoting lines from the movie as they appeared on screen, and reveling in old memories. After sharing lots of heartfelt moments, Alice suddenly asked her brother, “Are you cold, too?” Without waiting for an answer, she began covering him with the excess half of her blanket. “Here, let me give you some of my blanket. That’ll warm you up in no time.” “Well, I wasn’t really cold. But, thanks, I guess,” the young man commented.
Underneath the blanket, Alice sidled up closer to her brother and put her head on his shoulder. They had always gotten along great, yet he was somewhat surprised about how she was acting chummier than usual. But since they were sharing a deeply bonding moment, he didn’t question it any further. Sitting like that with his sister felt comfortable to him, making him relax deeply, and allowing himself to completely get lost in the movie.
For the rest of the night, the two of them kept watching the movie in silence. When it was over, Josh’s immersion finally broke and he came back to the real world. He switched off the TV and was about to turn towards his sister when he noticed that the top of her head was right underneath his nose. Somehow she had sneakily wrapped her arms around his waist and had fallen asleep with her head nestled against his chest. Most of her body laid on top of him in a tight embrace.
Alice’s gentle snores reminded Josh of a cat’s soft purrs. He thought that, in this moment, his little sister was the most adorable. But when the sweet fragrance of her peach-flavored shampoo invaded his nose, it caused something to stir deep inside of him, in a place completely unbeknownst to him. To his shock, he began to grow hard.
Confused about his feelings, Josh just sat there, not daring to make a move. After what seemed like an eternity to him, Alice woke up. Rustling underneath the blanket she looked up at him with bleary eyes. When the vision of her brother’s face came into focus she greeted him with a beaming smile. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other wordlessly. Her big, glimmering eyes looked up at him longingly, which made him blush and melted away all his natural defences. He was now at full mast.
Josh then watched in slow-motion how his sister closed her eyes and moved in closer. When he felt her tender lips on his, he was completly stunned. His jaw dropped in shock, which Alice interpreted as an invitation to sneak her tongue into his mouth. At first he went along with it by pure instinct. But when it finally sank in that he was, in fact, really kissing his sister, he shoved her away in panic, making the blanket slip down a bit, uncovering her bare shoulders.
“Stooooppp!!” Josh yelled. “What are you doing? You’re my sister! We can’t be doing that!” Tears began welling up in Alice’s eyes in response to his sudden outburst. “But Josh …,” she whimpered. “Don’t you love me?” She looked at him expectantly with her watery eyes. “Nooo!!!” he continued yelling. “I-I-I mean, y-yes, I-I m-mean, no!” he stammered. “Aarghh! I don’t love you like thaaat!”
Alice dropped her head seemingly in defeat. But something about her demeanor changed, like a shadow was cast over her eyes. Suddenly Josh felt something scurrying around his scrotch underneath the blanket. He realized it was his sister’s hands trying to undo his belt and zipper. Now even more panicked, he pushed her away more forcefully than before, accidentally throwing the blanket off of her in the process and revealing that she had been naked underneath.
“Alice!! Why the hell are you naked?!?! What is wrong with you today?” Josh kept yelling. With a dark, menacing grin forming on her face, she growled at him, “You better let this happen. We don’t want her to find herself in a compromising situation, do we?” “Wendy…,” Josh gasped, the words getting stuck in his throat. His mind was sent on a rollercoaster, desperately struggling for a solution on how to get out of this situation. But deep down, Josh knew he had nothing against her powers.
Completely dejected, Josh finally resigned himself to his fate. “Alice”, on the other hand, squealed with excitement and, like a child ripping open a present on christmas, frantically tried to get her brother’s dick out of his pants. When she finally freed it from its denim prison, his rigid member sprung out with the energy of a coil spring. She then swung one of her smooth legs over her brother and placed herself squarely on top of him.
Without any further hesitation, “Alice” slowly lowered her unclad, nubile form towards her brother’s penis. His bulbous head at first just barely kissed her velvety folds, but then gently parted them, and finally, by completely piercing her labia, desecrated that holy bond between brother and sister.
“Wendy, we have to stop this! We’re not wearing any protection!” Josh tried to protest one last time. “Don’t be silly, I’m sure this little slut is on birth control” “Alice” hissed. She was straining to force herself down her brother’s girth. “Hhnnnnnghhhoooohhhh my god she is so tight” she said panting. “She must still be a virgin. Well, not anymore, hehe.” Her small, hairless lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft. To keep going further, she arched her back and angled her hips for maximum penetration.
When she finally bottomed out, “Alice” grabbed Josh’s head and started giving him a deep passionate kiss. Her long, brown hair draped over them, curtailing the world from seeing the forbidden intimacy they were sharing. While they kept kissing, “Alice” started to moan into his mouth, as she began slowly working her way up and down her brother’s shaft. The more their friction and passion increased, the more she ruffled his hair, her hands’ movements becoming more and more frantic.
Meanwhile, Josh moved his hands down his sister’s bare back and glid them first along her waist, then her hips, and finally around the sensual curve of her butt. He gave her firm cheeks a strong squeeze, while at the same time supporting her petite body with his manly hands. At last, he finally gave in to his new-found, forbidden desires and started humping his sister in sync with the rhythm of her movements.
Getting wetter by the second, “Alice’s” juices by now provided enough lubrication for her to easily glide along her brother’s member. She broke off their kiss, sat upgright, and began to drastically increase her speed. As she was bouncing up and down on Josh’s dick, her perky tits kept jiggling wildy about. To aleviate that, she took her brother’s hands and firmly placed them on top of her shapley breasts. He eagerly accepted her offer and began digging his fingers deeply into the tender flesh of his sister’s swollen boobs, ferociously groping and squeezing them like a man who lost all his inhibitions.
Greed seemed to overtake Josh, as he followed his sister’s lead by sitting upright and then tightly embracing her lithe body while she kept viciously riding his cock. Hungrily, he placed his mouth on her delicious breasts and began sucking and licking and biting her nipples, practically devouring her boobs and almost swallowing them whole. His sister rewarded him by giving off a series of high-pitched moans and clamping down on his dick.
“Wendy …,” Josh gasped short of breath and inbetween sucking his sister’s nipples. “What is it, bro?” Alice moaned. “I don’t… I don’t think I can hold it any lo—” was the last thing Josh managed to say before he finally errupted inside his sister like a volcano, spraying his creamy spunk all over his her insides. Feeling her brother’s hot goo coating her inner walls set off “Alice’s” own orgasm, making her join him in his extacy. Her body, which was glistening from all the excertion, began shaking from top to bottom as if a current of electricity ran through her.
When the tension suddenly left her body, “Alice” collapsed on top of her brother. Completely drained, she nestled her head against his chest, breathing heavily and with strands of her sweat-drenched hair sticking to her face. “I love you, Josh,” “Alice” whispered sweetly. “I love you, too,” he sighed unconvincingly. His dick was still inside deep his sister, refusing to go limp.
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For the past month there had been a large shadow hanging over their household. Wendy’s shenanigans had sowed mistrust and uneasiness among the members of her family. It all came to a head when Alice finally confronted her brother. “Josh, I’m begging you: please tell me the truth!” Alice pleaded. “What’s going on? Why have you been avoiding me? You don’t even look me in the eyes anymore.” “I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Josh hissed without even facing her. His eyes were red and on the verge of tears.
Gilbert and Christine heard their children argue, so they went to investigate. “What’s going with the two of you? Why are you making so much noise?” Gilbert said as he stepped into the room. “Josh, has been avoiding me for weeks now and he won’t tell me what his problem is,” Alice said unnerved. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering that, too. Care to explain yourself, son?” Gilbert asked.
Josh tried to block off their barrage of questions, but, after being relentlessly corned by three people, he eventually broke down in tears and confessed how Wendy had taken control of Alice and forced himself onto her, and how he had been unable to resist. The entire room fell silent. Alice’s stomach turned, sickening her to her core. Gilbert was simply stunned, the news leaving his mind completely blank.
Christine, on the other hand, felt an uncontrollable rage explode inside of her. “That’s it!” she yelled with tears of anger in her eyes. “This is way over the line! I’m so sick and tired of her shit. This has to end now!” “Wait! Where are you going?” Gilbert said to the afterimage of his wife as she had already rushed out of the room. The rest of them slowly began to follow her, one after the other, still trying to process the information they had just received.
An absolutely livid Christine stomped furiously down the hallway and violently barged into her daughter’s room, almost knocking the door out of its hinges. There, Wendy laid on her bed and, like so often, just slept. Without waiting for her to wake up, Christine swiftly approached her sleeping daughter, wrapped her hands around her throat, and began strangling her with all her might. Wendy did not seem to make any signs of struggling against her mother’s assault.
“How could you do that?” Christine sobbed uncontrollably as rivers of tears streamed down her face. “I loved you with all my heart. Why did you become such a hateful peson? Where did I go wrong?” she said gritting her teeth. “This is the only way I can make things right!”
Gilbert and Josh were aghast when they stepped into the room and discovered what Christine was doing. Yet, neither of them intervened and tried to stop her. They just stood there and watched.
When everything was over, everybody went quiet again, except for Christine who was unable to stop her tears. Suddenly, Alice, who everyone seemed to have forgotten about, stepped into the room. They all looked at her in disbelief as they watched a creepy, sinister smile form on her pretty face. “No!” Christine whispered. “Actually, yes, mother,” “Alice” countered. “I’m not so easy to get rid of, you see.” “No!” Christine repeated, this time more emphatically. “And from now on, you will all do exactly as I tell you or the police might get an anonymous tip about what has happened to your dearest daughter. Remember this for the rest of you lives: you got blood on your hands, literally, and I won’t hesistate to take any one of you down!” “Alice” said menacingly. It finally dawned on Christine, Gilbert, and Josh that there was no way of escaping Wendy and that they had to resign themselves to the fact that their lives were now fully under her control, essentially making them her personal slaves.
Meanwhile, “Alice”, who was relishing in the power she had over her family, sauntered over towards her father and lifted the front of her skirt, exposing “her” panty-clad pussy. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, Daddy,” she whispered with lust dripping in her voice. Both of her small, feminine hands then reached out and grabbed one of her father’s big, manly hands and slowly guided it underneath her skirt and panties and gently placed it onto her already sopping wet pussy. Gilbert was too stunned to stop her, and even if he had not been, he would not have dared to go against her.
Suddenly, both Alice and Gilbert shuddered simultaneously. “We sure will, princess,” “Gilbert” said with a lecherous expression on his face. “He” then slipped a finger inside “his” daughter’s smooth folds and began aggressively fingering her hole. The real Alice was dazed and confused when she finally came to again. “D–Dad?” she stammared. “W–What’s going o–o–oooohhhhnnggg?!” she moaned, being overwhelmed by an unexpected orgasm as her “father” quickly sent her over the edge.
Christine was horrified as she watched her husband molest their daughter in front of her eyes. Unfortunately, she was unable to do anything about it as a shiver ran down her spine and the same spell that had taken over her husband and daughter was now taking hold of her. “And let’s not neglect these two here,” “Christine” said while firmly squeezing “her” boobs against each other. “She” then climbed onto Wendy’s bed on all fours, pulled up her dress and her panties to the side, and openly offered up “her own” snatch. “Josh, be a good son and come over here and show Mommy how much my boy has grown up?”
At last it was Josh’s turn. Before he could really process the actions unfolding in front of him, he was no longer in control of his body. “Don’t mind if I do!” “Josh” replied eagerly. As fast as lightning “he” walked over to his mother, dropped his pants, and slammed his rock-hard errection into her sloppy slit. Christine, now back in control of her body, was overwhelmed with the pleasurable sensation of her son’s girthy member ramming in and out of her. When she felt her son mauling her big tits from behind, she went completely limp in his arms, as the last of her will left her while “her son” kept hammering her hole. Eventually, they both climaxed at the same time and Christine felt her son’s hot fluids spread throughout her inside.
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That same night it was raining cats and dogs. Gilbert and Josh, equipped with spades, dug a hole in their backyard to dispose of Wendy’s corpse while Christine and “Alice” watched from the kitchen window.
The four of them would spend the rest of their lives living in fear and terror, as Wendy forced them to live out all of her depraved sex fantasies between sister and brother, father and daughter, mother and son, mother and daugher, and even between father and son.
Eventually, when the last of her family members had passed on, Wendy continued to live on as a formless presence, taking over other people, until the end of time.
It was in the very early morning hours. The whole house was pitch-black and its inhabitants were fast asleep, except for one. The only source of light was the glow emenating from a computer monitor. It illuminated Wendy’s face and the strands of greasy hair glued to it. The synthetic light just faintly revealed the mess in her room: the moldy plates, empty take-out boxes, and dirty clothes, all of which were freely intermixed and strewn about.
Wet sounds and a pungent smell filled the air. Wendy sat in her computer chair in just her underwear and masturbated while playing an erotic dating simulator. She had been an avid fan of video games, especially story-driven ones like visual novels, since she was a kid, but since the twenty-three-year-old failed out of college and moved back in with her parents, she had done nothing but sit in front of her computer and play video games all day long.
She used to be somewhat pretty, but she let herself go quite a bit when she essentially barricaded herself into her old childhood room, only ever leaving to use the bathroom. Since then, she had been escaping more and more into the virtual world of various video games, desperately trying to escape her failures in the outside world. The easily achievable goals in those games provided her with at least a fake sense of fullfilment and purpose.
Initially, she stuck to regular video games and story-driven visual novels. But since moving back home, she got fairly addicted to romantic dating simulators, which provided her a with a substitute for the type of relationship she longed for but could not achieve in real life. Things took even more of a downturn when, a few months ago, after having played through virtually all visual novels, she checked out her first incest-themed eroge, a genre she had not paid any attention to before, but now felt compelled to in order to avoid spending any second alone with her own thoughts.
Right in that moment she was playing through a scene where the main character’s adorable little sister snuck into her older brother’s bed and snuggled up to him under the covers. The game quickly turned erotic and, in response, Wendy let out a long, deep grunt, signaling her climax.
To recuperate from her self-satisfaction, Wendy leaned back into her chair and looked up at her dimmly-lit ceiling. After a few moments an idea popped into her head. She got up and, for the first time in a while, left her room for a reason other than to use the bathroom. She quietly crept through the dark hallway and slowly opened the door two rooms further down, trying to keep it from creaking as to not wake the person sleeping inside.
After entering the room, she managed to silently close the door behind her and then tip-toed towards the bed inside. There, she lifted the covers and carefully laid down next to her older brother Josh who was sleeping soundly. She then cozied up to him under the blanket just like she had seen the little sister do in her video game. She was now right next to him with her foul breath caressing his skin.
Wanting to recreate the scene from her video game, Wendy began carefully fishing her brother’s limp dick out of his pyjama pants and gently rubbed it until it was fully errect. She then rolled on top of him, pushed her panties aside, and stealthily slipped his dick into her hungry snatch.
Meanwhile, Josh was having the most amazing dream. In it, he found himself in an infinite, white void where he was hooking up with the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her long, brunette hair appeared to be silky-soft as it gently swayed around her slender frame with each motion, lending her an ethereal presence. The only things about her that he found more captivating than her radiant smile were her full, ripe breasts, which were practically begging to be devoured. She seemed really familiar to Josh, although he could not quite place where he had seen her before. Maybe she was an ex-girlfriend he had forgotten about. Nevertheless, he did not want to keep this unknown beauty waiting by fretting about it.
Josh and the mysterious girl had already fully shed their clothes and were eager to get things going. He laid down on the most comfortable bed imaginable, which had appeared out of nowhere without him ever noticing. Lying on his back, he watched as his dream lover expertly fondled his privates while looking up at him with hungry eyes. In no time he was ready to take her. The nameless vixen sat on top of him and began immediately riding him, placing her hands on his hard abs for support. Her hot, silky depths engulfed him completely as her smooth, hairless body writhed with pleasure. Biting her lower lip, she failed to stifle the soft moans escaping from her mouth that accompanied the expressions of extacy on her gorgeous face. They caressed Josh’s ears like the sweatest of melodies, bewitching him like a siren. The pleasure that grew in his groin was overwhelming, beyond anything he had ever experienced in real life.
Yet, something about her felt odd to him. Despite her small size and lithe body, the dreamy nymph on top of him felt unusually heavy. This bizarre fact made him realize that he was actually dreaming, which immediately ripped him from his sleep.
Completely disoriented, the only things Josh could perceive in the dark was labored breathing and groaning, and a heavy weight bouncing up and down on him. At first he hoped that this might be a continuation of his wonderful dream, but when a lurid stench crept up his nose he knew for certain that he was awake. Wanting to find out who or what was disturbing his sweet dreams, he turned to his night stand right beside his bed to turn on the light. For a few seconds the sudden presence of light blinded him like a flash of lightning. But when his eyes had acclimated to the new-found brightness, he was horrified by the ghastly figure sitting on top of him.
“Wendy!!”, Josh exlaimed as he recognized his grody younger sister straddling him, wearing only a bra and panties. Her grin was barely visible through her greasy hair and the bra that had failed to adjust to her increased size dug deeply into her chubby shape, almost cutting off circulation to her formless breasts. “What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? And why are you sitting on top of me?” Josh demanded angrily. “Oh, Josh,” was the only answer Wendy could moan, never breaking with the rhythm of her movements. Hearing these sexual sounds come from his sister’s mouth was like fingernails on a chalkboard to his ears.
Her abhorrent, yet puzzling, response made Josh’s eyes wander lower. He gagged violently when he discovered his dick was burried deep inside his sister’s rancid, unkempt snatch, even feeling her coarse pubes rubbing against his skin as she was grinding her crotch against his. He felt so repulsed by this disgusting sight that he could have projectile-vomitted every meal he had ever had in his life right in that very moment. Luckily, his stomach was completely empty or he would have made an even bigger mess out of this situation.
“Get off of me!” Josh yelled while forcefully pushing his grody sister away. Wendy fell off his dick, off his bed, and on onto the floor, landing there with a strong thud. She quickly scrambled back onto her feet. “Why did you do that?” she hissed. “That’s what I should be asking! Why were you having sex with me, Wendy? You’re my sister! That’s so fucked!” he exclaimed. “But I’m your cute little sister, bro. Don’t you find me adorable,” she said batting her eye-lids, trying to charm her brother, but somehow ending up looking even creepier.
“Eewww, you’re sick, Wendy! Sick and vile!” Josh said disgusted. “And not just that, you’re also fucking filthy. I’d rather rip my own dick off and poke my eyes out with it than have sex with you, even if we were the last two people on earth stranded on a lonely island! I wish you’d just disappear forever and leave us alone.” Her brother’s harsh remarks finally burst the fantasy that Wendy had built up in her mind over the past few months of playing eroges. The reality she tried to run from came crashing down on her right in this moment, as Josh’s cutting words hurt her deeply.
“Fine!” Wendy said scorned and full of anger. “If you want me to disappear, then that’s what I will do, I guess!” With tears of anger welling up, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Wait! Wendy! Nooo—!” Josh exclaimed, trying to stop her. But it was too late. As if something had zapped the life out of her, Wendy instantly lost all the tension in her body and collapsed face-first onto her brother’s bed. At the same time, Josh’s eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body began convulsing vigorously. Then something inside of him snapped and he, too, lost almost all the tension in his body, just barely being able to stand. His head was loosely dangling from his neck.
After a few moments of silence, Josh seemed to wake up, as both his heads slowly rose up again. But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in control. His sister Wendy had somehow developed the powers to take over other people’s bodies during her early teenage years. At first she was shy and reluctant about them, as she used to be a gentle soul. She simply could not square it with her conscience to control other people. The most she would do was ride along in the friends or family members of a boy she had a crush on at the time. When her parents found out about her powers, they immediately scolded her and forbade her from ever using her powers. But as Wendy grew older, her parents realized that their daughter did not have any ill intentions and began relaxing about the situation.
But when Wendy failed out of college and her mental health declined, things turned scary for her family. She became more and more controlling and petulant, throwing tamper tantrums anytime anyone disturbed her or tried to tell her what to do. She also became increasingly blasé about using her powers, taking over her family, neighbors, and anyone in reach for the smallest of matters, just so she would never have to leave her room.
On a few occasions Wendy had even used her powers to blackmail people into doing what she wanted, even when she was not possessing them. Another time she had stalked a poor guy who she had become at first infatuated and then obsessed with on social media. She had followed him around as different people, watching every step he made, every second of his life for two months. She only stopped because she eventually became bored of him.
These were the myriad of reasons that her family now lived in fear of her. Her parents could not throw her out because of her powers. They themselves could not move out since all their savings were tied into their house. Their youngest daughter, Alice, refused to leave, as she did not want her parents to suffer alone. And even Josh had moved back in as a means to protect his family, which is why he now found himself not in control of his own body.
“Josh” grinned from ear to ear as he patted down “his” flat chest. “He” then flexed his biceps, admiring his own strength. Next, he grabbed his dick, which was already painfully errect, with both his hands and began firmly squeezing it. He could virtually feel the blood pulsing through the thick meat of his sizeable member. “He” then turned to the person lying on his bed and said, “I’m soooo sorry, ‘sis’. I didn’t mean to hurt you. My words came out all wrong. What I meant to say was that you are the most adorable little sister a big brother could ever wish for! Here, let me show you how much I love you.”
With that, “Josh” stepped towards Wendy’s comatose body and snaked his big, strong hands underneath her torso. “Oh, my. When did my cute little sister grow up to be such a woman?” “he” cooed while groping her flabby breasts. Without turning over her heavy frame, “Josh” glid his rough hands along her pudgy waist and onto her even wider hips, firmly grabbing ahold of them. “He” then carefully wormed his prick into “his sister’s” slimy, hairy cunt, before forcefully jamming his entire length into her unconscious flesh.
Without any further hesitation, “Josh” began viciously fucking his sleeping sister, pumping in and out of her like an animal while groaning and grunting like a bull. “He” nearly worked himself into a frenzy. Wendy’s rotten odor began reeking from all the friction and heat they created, which seemed to turn him on even more. For the next two minutes, the clapping of “his” hips against her sizeable cheeks echoed throughout the room until “he” finally hit is climax and then dumped his thick load inside of “his” sister’s gooey slit. Still inside of her, he collapsed on top of her and under heavy breathing whispered into her ear, “I love you, ‘sis’.”
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It was very late in the morning, almost creeping on noon, when Christine, the mother of the house, stood in the kitchen and prepared some food. She was cheerfully humming a tune while cutting up a cantalope and placing slices of ham on pieces of crispy toast. She then artfully aranged the food on a plate, in a way that was worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The food was not only delicious but also visually appetizing, and so was her ample bosom that was proudly put on display by a low-cut, floral sundress, which gently hugged her motherly curves.
Still humming to herself, Christine picked up the plate, left the kitchen, and went up the stairs with a joyful bounce to her step, which not only made the hem of her short dress dance around her hips and tickle her thighs but also made her opulent mounds jiggle playfully. Upstairs, she entered her daughter’s dingy room without either knocking or turning on the lights and placed the food on her desk. “Enjoy your breakfast, honey,” she whispered to a sleeping Wendy.
Without any further hesitation, Christine left her daughter’s room and headed straight to the master bedroom. Behind locked doors she made her way over to her full-sized mirror and began admiring herself. Slowly, a big, dirty grin spread across her face. “Thank you, mother, for providing me with such a healthy breakfast,” “Christine” said in a sickly-sweet tone, seemingly mocking herself. “You always taught me to eat my daily share of fruits, and your ‘melons’ are especially delicious,” she said while giving her huge globes a firm squeeze. “She” then slowly moved her hands along “her” waist and hips, closely following and enjoying every inch of her delectable curves, and then began groping her big, womanly ass. “And let’s not forget about your delicious meat! I gotta hand it to you: you got a real meatsuit of a body, mom!”
“Christine” then threw herself onto her bed and immediately began furiously masturbating, not even bothering to undress. One hand tightly squeezed her fleshy tits while the other inserted two fingers into her hungry snatch, dragging her panties along with them as they plummeted the depths of her steaming hot hole that had given birth to three children, one of which was now in control of her body and effectively molesting her own mother.
Regrettably, “Christine” soon had to remove her hand from her supple twins in order to cover her mouth and stiffle her moans, so that she would not alert the whole house to her lewd activities. Meanwhile, the other hand continued to slip in and out of her unabated. Under the assault from such intense stimulation, it did not take long for her to reach her peak, which she celebrated by letting out a long, muffled scream.
The only thing “Christine” was able to do in the immediate aftermath was to lay on her back, breathing heavily, and bask in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her panties and her hand were now drenched in her juices. But, alas, her bliss was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mom, are you in there?” Josh asked loudly through the door. “Have you seen my black shirt? I’ve been looking all over for it!”
“Christine” quickly scrambled onto her feet and straightend out her dress and hair, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible, as to not tip off “her son” to what kept her so busy. She cracked the door open just barely enough to stick her head out, hiding her body behind the door and her dripping wet hand behind her back. “Have you checked the laundry? I’m pretty sure I’ve put it in the wash recently,” she answered his query. “Yeah, I did. I guess I’m gonna check again, just to be sure,” Josh said and was already turning to walk away.
“Wait!” “Christine” suddenly exlaimed a little bit too loudly, as a most devious idea popped into her head. “What?” Josh asked somewhat startled. “You’ve got a smudge on the corner of your mouth” she explained. “Where?” he said while trying to wipe the imaginary stain from his face. “No, it’s still there. Here, let me try,” she said, now fully opening the door and finally stepping out of the room.
Josh was taken by surprise when “his mother” suddenly got so close to him that she was essentially pushing her opulent chest against his torso. Looking down he saw her face with an expresssion of concentration look up at him. Underneath that he caught a glimpse of her soft pillows bulging out of the top of her dress as they were pressed flat against him.
“M–Mom, w–what are you doing?” Jost stammered, as he began to blush. “Hold still! Just let me get it real quick,” “Christine” demanded. Unbeknownst to Josh, though, the hand which “his mother” was now smearing all over his face was still coated in her sticky juices.
Since Josh was quite a bit taller than his mother, “Christine” raised herself up by standing on the tips of her toes to better reach and more closely inspect his face. In the process, she pushed her breasts even deeper into him and slid them up along his chest until their nipples were perfectly aligned with each other.
“M–Mom, s–stop it!” Josh said while struggling to get away from her, as her face was now close enough that he could feel her hot breath on his skin. “Hold still!” “Christine” demanded. “The more you move the longer it will take.” Never having been this close to his own mother, at least not since he was a child, Josh caught a whiff of her perfume which was followed by a strange, musky smell.
Coming into such intimate contact with a woman’s body made the inside of Josh’s pants swell rapidly. His dick did not care who it was, flesh was flesh. But the thought that it was his own mother’s flesh surprisingly made him grow even harder. So hard, in fact, that he was now poking her belly with his manhood.
Appaled by his own reaction, Josh pushed who he thought was his mother away from himself. “Thanks, I think it’s gone now,” he yelled out without looking at her, trying to hide that his face was now a deep crimson. He then hastily fled to his room, almost tripping over himself, as he desperately tried to escape this embarrassing situation. “Christine” on the other just chuckled to herself, as she was highly amused by “her son’s” reaction.
That night Christine and Gilbert could be heard enjoying each other throughout the house.
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A lot of clanking, rattling, and cursing could be heard coming from the garage. Christine had asked her husband Gilbert to look after the car, since it had been making a lot of weird noises lately and even had briefly died on her the other day. This is why Gilbert, a man in his early fifties who, despite his thinning hair and slight dad bob, had still retained some of his youthful handsomeness, was now bent over the car’s engine covered in dirt and motor oil, occasionally bonking his head on the hood of the car.
Just as he finished changing the oil, his daughter Alice walked in. Unlike her sister Wendy, Alice had always been a Daddy’s girl. She and her father had been attached by the hip to each other ever since she was born. Even throughout puberty, when most other teenagers vie for their independence, she had stayed close to her Dad who had remained a steadfast anchor for her. Even now, the twenty-year-old college student loved spending time with her father more than anything else. Ever since she was a little child, one of her favorite things to do was to sit in her father’s lap and play Super Mario Bros., earning her the nickname “princess”.
There was something about her father’s presence that was incredibly relaxing to her, which is why the slim brunette did not mind him seeing her in only a pair of yoga pants and a tight spaghetti-strap top without a bra. Her outfit revealed the outline of her nubile form in great detail, including her pert buns and her gravity-defying orbs. Even her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her top as soon as they got a taste of the chilly air inside the garage.
“Hey, Dad! Watcha doing?” Alice exclaimed with a beaming smile on her face. She threw her arms enthusiastically around her father’s waist, smushing her buoyant breasts against his soft belly in the process. “Not much,” Gilbert replied while reciprocating her loving embrace. He rocked her from side to side, thereby squishing his daughter’s youthful mounds even tighter against himself. “Your mother was complaining about the car so I thought maybe I could get the old can working again. What about you, princess? Wanna hang out with your old man?”
“Oh, I’d love to,” Alice said. “But I just came here to get a screwdriver to fix the recliner on my chair.” “Well, then don’t let me stop you,” Gilbert said and booped her on the nose, coating its tip with black grease from his dirty hands. When they released their embrace and Alice made her way towards the shelf on the other side of the garage, Gilbert watched his daughter’s backside and discovered that he had accidentally smeared black grease all over her. Most of it covered her shoulders and upper arms, but some of it even got on her lower back.
The tool she was looking for was located on the top-most shelf, so Alice had to really stretch herself to reach up high. But, it was not enough, as she was still missing a few inches. She then tried jumping up and down, making her luscious body, and especially her firm cheeks, shake vigorously every time she returned to the ground. Yet, she still came up short. For a while, Gilbert closely eyed his daughter’s antics before he walked over to her and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
Alice suddenly yelped as her father, without warning, scooped up her tight little butt with his big, strong hands, and lifted her up high. His palms essentially provided a seat for her from which she comfortably could reach the tool she needed. Gilbert then gently put her down again, leaving two big, greasy handprints on his daughter’s rear.
Her father’s sudden display of strength left Alice a bit frazzled. For a moment she just stood there in silence, still facing away from him. She did not know what was happening to her. As a kid she had loved being picked up by her Dad and would cling to him like a koala. But that was ages ago. Now that she was fully grown she felt differently. No man had ever handled her like that, lifting her entire adult weight so easily. It somehow made her heart beat much faster and left her short of breath. She tried to swallow down those strange feelings, yet she still blushed when she tucked her long, brunette hair behind her ears.
Alice was in the middle of turning to face her father, wanting to ask him what that was all about, when she suddenly felt as if her feet were knocked away from under her legs, making her trip and fall chest-first towards him. Gilbert instinctively tried to catch her fall, but by doing so his daughter’s perky mounds landed squarely on his big, greasy hands. His dirty palms molded themselves perfectly around the swell of her pliable breasts. Alice thought she might be going crazy, but she could have sworn she had felt her Dad give her boobs a firm squeeze. Nevertheless, her nipples still visibly stiffened.
“Uhm, … Dad?” Alice squeaked with her father’s hands still cupping her twins. “Yes, princess? Are you alright?” Gilbert asked with worry on his face. “Yeah, … I guess so …,” she mumbled while getting back on her own feet. When Gilbert’s hands finally disconnected from his daughter’s body, they revealed yet another pair of big, black handprints, this time squarely on her chest.
“Are you sure? You seem kinda out of it,” Gilbert said while trying to feel his daughter’s forehead with the back of his hand. Alice swatted his hand away more aggressively than she had intended. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a bit of agitation in her voice. “I …, uh …, I need to change.”
Unable to deny the heat welling up inside of her, Alice tried to leave as quickly as she could, but on her way out her Dad surprised her yet again by giving her a not-so-fatherly pat on her ass. She turned her head around one last time and to give her “father” a quizzical look, but the expression on his face betrayed nothing but paternal intentions. Yet, as soon as she had left the garage, “Gilbert’s” warm expression turned sinister and a big, wet stain began to form on the crotch of his pants.
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It was late at night. Christine and Gilbert had gone out earlier that evening and were not expected to return until the next morning, leaving the “kids“ home alone. The whole house was wrapped in silence, except for the blaring of the TV coming from the living room. Josh sat alone on the couch watching a movie when Alice came shuffling into the room. She was completely draped in a giant blanket, dragging a long train behind her, making it almost look like a wedding dress.
“Heeeyy, Josh. What are you doing?” Alice asked drowsily. “Oh, nothing much. Just watching a movie. What’s up with you? Why the huge-ass blanket?” her brother responded. “I’m a little cold. Mind if I join you?” “Sure. Be my guest” he said patting the spot next to him and then placed his arm on the back of the couch. She took up his offer and sat down beside him, putting up her legs and angling them to the side, all while making sure to never leave the comforting warmth of her blanket.
“Oh, hey, isn’t that the movie we used to watch a lot as kids?” Alice asked. “Yeah,” Josh responded. “I happened to come across it while I was flipping through the channels.” “Boy, I haven’t seen it in years. I completely forgot about it. I remember we used to watch it every time it was on. I even used to scour the TV magazines so that I always knew when to catch it,” Alice said excitedly. “Yeah, I’ve been watching it only for a few minutes, yet there are so many lines that come back to me just seconds before they show up in the movie,“ Josh said joining in on the excitement.
The two siblings kept laughing and joking, quoting lines from the movie as they appeared on screen, and reveling in old memories. After sharing lots of heartfelt moments, Alice suddenly asked her brother, “Are you cold, too?” Without waiting for an answer, she began covering him with the excess half of her blanket. “Here, let me give you some of my blanket. That’ll warm you up in no time.” “Well, I wasn’t really cold. But, thanks, I guess,” the young man commented.
Underneath the blanket, Alice sidled up closer to her brother and put her head on his shoulder. They had always gotten along great, yet he was somewhat surprised about how she was acting chummier than usual. But since they were sharing a deeply bonding moment, he didn’t question it any further. Sitting like that with his sister felt comfortable to him, making him relax deeply, and allowing himself to completely get lost in the movie.
For the rest of the night, the two of them kept watching the movie in silence. When it was over, Josh’s immersion finally broke and he came back to the real world. He switched off the TV and was about to turn towards his sister when he noticed that the top of her head was right underneath his nose. Somehow she had sneakily wrapped her arms around his waist and had fallen asleep with her head nestled against his chest. Most of her body laid on top of him in a tight embrace.
Alice’s gentle snores reminded Josh of a cat’s soft purrs. He thought that, in this moment, his little sister was the most adorable. But when the sweet fragrance of her peach-flavored shampoo invaded his nose, it caused something to stir deep inside of him, in a place completely unbeknownst to him. To his shock, he began to grow hard.
Confused about his feelings, Josh just sat there, not daring to make a move. After what seemed like an eternity to him, Alice woke up. Rustling underneath the blanket she looked up at him with bleary eyes. When the vision of her brother’s face came into focus she greeted him with a beaming smile. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other wordlessly. Her big, glimmering eyes looked up at him longingly, which made him blush and melted away all his natural defences. He was now at full mast.
Josh then watched in slow-motion how his sister closed her eyes and moved in closer. When he felt her tender lips on his, he was completly stunned. His jaw dropped in shock, which Alice interpreted as an invitation to sneak her tongue into his mouth. At first he went along with it by pure instinct. But when it finally sank in that he was, in fact, really kissing his sister, he shoved her away in panic, making the blanket slip down a bit, uncovering her bare shoulders.
“Stooooppp!!” Josh yelled. “What are you doing? You’re my sister! We can’t be doing that!” Tears began welling up in Alice’s eyes in response to his sudden outburst. “But Josh …,” she whimpered. “Don’t you love me?” She looked at him expectantly with her watery eyes. “Nooo!!!” he continued yelling. “I-I-I mean, y-yes, I-I m-mean, no!” he stammered. “Aarghh! I don’t love you like thaaat!”
Alice dropped her head seemingly in defeat. But something about her demeanor changed, like a shadow was cast over her eyes. Suddenly Josh felt something scurrying around his scrotch underneath the blanket. He realized it was his sister’s hands trying to undo his belt and zipper. Now even more panicked, he pushed her away more forcefully than before, accidentally throwing the blanket off of her in the process and revealing that she had been naked underneath.
“Alice!! Why the hell are you naked?!?! What is wrong with you today?” Josh kept yelling. With a dark, menacing grin forming on her face, she growled at him, “You better let this happen. We don’t want her to find herself in a compromising situation, do we?” “Wendy…,” Josh gasped, the words getting stuck in his throat. His mind was sent on a rollercoaster, desperately struggling for a solution on how to get out of this situation. But deep down, Josh knew he had nothing against her powers.
Completely dejected, Josh finally resigned himself to his fate. “Alice”, on the other hand, squealed with excitement and, like a child ripping open a present on christmas, frantically tried to get her brother’s dick out of his pants. When she finally freed it from its denim prison, his rigid member sprung out with the energy of a coil spring. She then swung one of her smooth legs over her brother and placed herself squarely on top of him.
Without any further hesitation, “Alice” slowly lowered her unclad, nubile form towards her brother’s penis. His bulbous head at first just barely kissed her velvety folds, but then gently parted them, and finally, by completely piercing her labia, desecrated that holy bond between brother and sister.
“Wendy, we have to stop this! We’re not wearing any protection!” Josh tried to protest one last time. “Don’t be silly, I’m sure this little slut is on birth control” “Alice” hissed. She was straining to force herself down her brother’s girth. “Hhnnnnnghhhoooohhhh my god she is so tight” she said panting. “She must still be a virgin. Well, not anymore, hehe.” Her small, hairless lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft. To keep going further, she arched her back and angled her hips for maximum penetration.
When she finally bottomed out, “Alice” grabbed Josh’s head and started giving him a deep passionate kiss. Her long, brown hair draped over them, curtailing the world from seeing the forbidden intimacy they were sharing. While they kept kissing, “Alice” started to moan into his mouth, as she began slowly working her way up and down her brother’s shaft. The more their friction and passion increased, the more she ruffled his hair, her hands’ movements becoming more and more frantic.
Meanwhile, Josh moved his hands down his sister’s bare back and glid them first along her waist, then her hips, and finally around the sensual curve of her butt. He gave her firm cheeks a strong squeeze, while at the same time supporting her petite body with his manly hands. At last, he finally gave in to his new-found, forbidden desires and started humping his sister in sync with the rhythm of her movements.
Getting wetter by the second, “Alice’s” juices by now provided enough lubrication for her to easily glide along her brother’s member. She broke off their kiss, sat upgright, and began to drastically increase her speed. As she was bouncing up and down on Josh’s dick, her perky tits kept jiggling wildy about. To aleviate that, she took her brother’s hands and firmly placed them on top of her shapley breasts. He eagerly accepted her offer and began digging his fingers deeply into the tender flesh of his sister’s swollen boobs, ferociously groping and squeezing them like a man who lost all his inhibitions.
Greed seemed to overtake Josh, as he followed his sister’s lead by sitting upright and then tightly embracing her lithe body while she kept viciously riding his cock. Hungrily, he placed his mouth on her delicious breasts and began sucking and licking and biting her nipples, practically devouring her boobs and almost swallowing them whole. His sister rewarded him by giving off a series of high-pitched moans and clamping down on his dick.
“Wendy …,” Josh gasped short of breath and inbetween sucking his sister’s nipples. “What is it, bro?” Alice moaned. “I don’t… I don’t think I can hold it any lo—” was the last thing Josh managed to say before he finally errupted inside his sister like a volcano, spraying his creamy spunk all over his her insides. Feeling her brother’s hot goo coating her inner walls set off “Alice’s” own orgasm, making her join him in his extacy. Her body, which was glistening from all the excertion, began shaking from top to bottom as if a current of electricity ran through her.
When the tension suddenly left her body, “Alice” collapsed on top of her brother. Completely drained, she nestled her head against his chest, breathing heavily and with strands of her sweat-drenched hair sticking to her face. “I love you, Josh,” “Alice” whispered sweetly. “I love you, too,” he sighed unconvincingly. His dick was still inside deep his sister, refusing to go limp.
--------------------------------------------------------
For the past month there had been a large shadow hanging over their household. Wendy’s shenanigans had sowed mistrust and uneasiness among the members of her family. It all came to a head when Alice finally confronted her brother. “Josh, I’m begging you: please tell me the truth!” Alice pleaded. “What’s going on? Why have you been avoiding me? You don’t even look me in the eyes anymore.” “I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Josh hissed without even facing her. His eyes were red and on the verge of tears.
Gilbert and Christine heard their children argue, so they went to investigate. “What’s going with the two of you? Why are you making so much noise?” Gilbert said as he stepped into the room. “Josh, has been avoiding me for weeks now and he won’t tell me what his problem is,” Alice said unnerved. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering that, too. Care to explain yourself, son?” Gilbert asked.
Josh tried to block off their barrage of questions, but, after being relentlessly corned by three people, he eventually broke down in tears and confessed how Wendy had taken control of Alice and forced himself onto her, and how he had been unable to resist. The entire room fell silent. Alice’s stomach turned, sickening her to her core. Gilbert was simply stunned, the news leaving his mind completely blank.
Christine, on the other hand, felt an uncontrollable rage explode inside of her. “That’s it!” she yelled with tears of anger in her eyes. “This is way over the line! I’m so sick and tired of her shit. This has to end now!” “Wait! Where are you going?” Gilbert said to the afterimage of his wife as she had already rushed out of the room. The rest of them slowly began to follow her, one after the other, still trying to process the information they had just received.
An absolutely livid Christine stomped furiously down the hallway and violently barged into her daughter’s room, almost knocking the door out of its hinges. There, Wendy laid on her bed and, like so often, just slept. Without waiting for her to wake up, Christine swiftly approached her sleeping daughter, wrapped her hands around her throat, and began strangling her with all her might. Wendy did not seem to make any signs of struggling against her mother’s assault.
“How could you do that?” Christine sobbed uncontrollably as rivers of tears streamed down her face. “I loved you with all my heart. Why did you become such a hateful peson? Where did I go wrong?” she said gritting her teeth. “This is the only way I can make things right!”
Gilbert and Josh were aghast when they stepped into the room and discovered what Christine was doing. Yet, neither of them intervened and tried to stop her. They just stood there and watched.
When everything was over, everybody went quiet again, except for Christine who was unable to stop her tears. Suddenly, Alice, who everyone seemed to have forgotten about, stepped into the room. They all looked at her in disbelief as they watched a creepy, sinister smile form on her pretty face. “No!” Christine whispered. “Actually, yes, mother,” “Alice” countered. “I’m not so easy to get rid of, you see.” “No!” Christine repeated, this time more emphatically. “And from now on, you will all do exactly as I tell you or the police might get an anonymous tip about what has happened to your dearest daughter. Remember this for the rest of you lives: you got blood on your hands, literally, and I won’t hesistate to take any one of you down!” “Alice” said menacingly. It finally dawned on Christine, Gilbert, and Josh that there was no way of escaping Wendy and that they had to resign themselves to the fact that their lives were now fully under her control, essentially making them her personal slaves.
Meanwhile, “Alice”, who was relishing in the power she had over her family, sauntered over towards her father and lifted the front of her skirt, exposing “her” panty-clad pussy. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, Daddy,” she whispered with lust dripping in her voice. Both of her small, feminine hands then reached out and grabbed one of her father’s big, manly hands and slowly guided it underneath her skirt and panties and gently placed it onto her already sopping wet pussy. Gilbert was too stunned to stop her, and even if he had not been, he would not have dared to go against her.
Suddenly, both Alice and Gilbert shuddered simultaneously. “We sure will, princess,” “Gilbert” said with a lecherous expression on his face. “He” then slipped a finger inside “his” daughter’s smooth folds and began aggressively fingering her hole. The real Alice was dazed and confused when she finally came to again. “D–Dad?” she stammared. “W–What’s going o–o–oooohhhhnnggg?!” she moaned, being overwhelmed by an unexpected orgasm as her “father” quickly sent her over the edge.
Christine was horrified as she watched her husband molest their daughter in front of her eyes. Unfortunately, she was unable to do anything about it as a shiver ran down her spine and the same spell that had taken over her husband and daughter was now taking hold of her. “And let’s not neglect these two here,” “Christine” said while firmly squeezing “her” boobs against each other. “She” then climbed onto Wendy’s bed on all fours, pulled up her dress and her panties to the side, and openly offered up “her own” snatch. “Josh, be a good son and come over here and show Mommy how much my boy has grown up?”
At last it was Josh’s turn. Before he could really process the actions unfolding in front of him, he was no longer in control of his body. “Don’t mind if I do!” “Josh” replied eagerly. As fast as lightning “he” walked over to his mother, dropped his pants, and slammed his rock-hard errection into her sloppy slit. Christine, now back in control of her body, was overwhelmed with the pleasurable sensation of her son’s girthy member ramming in and out of her. When she felt her son mauling her big tits from behind, she went completely limp in his arms, as the last of her will left her while “her son” kept hammering her hole. Eventually, they both climaxed at the same time and Christine felt her son’s hot fluids spread throughout her inside.
--------------------------------------------------------
That same night it was raining cats and dogs. Gilbert and Josh, equipped with spades, dug a hole in their backyard to dispose of Wendy’s corpse while Christine and “Alice” watched from the kitchen window.
The four of them would spend the rest of their lives living in fear and terror, as Wendy forced them to live out all of her depraved sex fantasies between sister and brother, father and daughter, mother and son, mother and daugher, and even between father and son.
Eventually, when the last of her family members had passed on, Wendy continued to live on as a formless presence, taking over other people, until the end of time.
possession
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Oblivious
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
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These stories tells you about Peter Parker and his lovely redheaded big-tittied wife, Mary-Jane Waston-Parker with her transformations.
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A strange erotic story about a teenage boy named Nick and his lovely big-tittied girlfriend named Gena who asked to be his mom for the role.
This story was inspired by CelineTF from DeviantArt
Being My Mom
The room was bathed in soft golden light as I pressed my lips against Gena’s, our bodies pressed together on the bed, breath mingling in the warm space between us. She tasted sweet, like the candy-flavored lip gloss she always wore, and her full, pillowy lips moved against mine with practiced ease. My hands slid down her sides, feeling every curve of her tight little body before settling on her thick thighs, squeezing gently. She let out a soft moan against my mouth, her nails digging lightly into my shoulders.
“Nick…” she whispered, her voice already breathy with want. Her enormous E-cup tits pressed against my chest, the softness making my cock twitch in my jeans.
I broke the kiss just long enough to smirk. “You’re so fucking hot, Gena.”
She giggled, her blue eyes sparkling. “You say that like you don’t tell me every day.”
“‘Cause it’s true every day,” I shot back, slipping a hand under her crop-top to palm her tits. She sighed, arching into my touch, her pink nipples already stiff beneath the fabric of her bra.
We didn’t waste time—clothes were yanked off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, until she was naked beneath me, all smooth, tanned skin and plush curves. Her tits spilled into my hands as I lowered my mouth to one perfect nipple, sucking while my fingers teased the other. She gasped, thighs tightening around my waist, already grinding down against the bulge in my boxers.
“Fuck, Nick…”
I didn’t make her wait. My boxers came off, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking once, twice, before she guided me to her soaked pussy. The first thrust made us both groan, her tight wet heat clamping around me as I bottomed out inside her.
“You feel so good,” I muttered into her neck, hips already moving slow and deep.
She whimpered, her nails scratching down my back. “Harder, baby, please—”
I obliged, pistoning into her, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. Her tits bounced with every movement, her moans going higher and more desperate as she clawed at me, pulling me deeper. I could feel her clenching around me, her thighs trembling as she got close.
“Cum for me,” I growled, tilting my hips just right to hit that spot inside her that made her scream.
Gena shattered beneath me, back arching as she came hard, her pussy squeezing my cock tight. The sight of her—flushed, gasping, tits heaving—was enough to push me over the edge. I buried myself deep as I came, groaning as warmth spilled inside her.
For a few blissful moments, we just breathed together, still joined, her fingers lazily tracing circles on my back. Then, reluctantly, I pulled out and collapsed beside her, pulling her close. She snuggled into me, her head resting on my chest, her leg draped over mine.
I stroked her blonde hair absentmindedly, enjoying the warmth of her body. But my mind was already drifting to something else—the turning of the calendar, the anticipation in my gut.
“Gena,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Next month is March.”
She hummed. “Mhm. Got something special planned?”
I hesitated, heart pounding. “You ever heard the term… ‘March Needs Mom’?”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, eyebrows raised. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, and she bit her lower lip. “I might’ve heard of it.”
I swallowed. “Would you… would you be okay with it? If—if, by the end of March, you became mine?”
Her smile turned radiant. “You mean your mom?”
“Yeah.”
She giggled, pressing a soft kiss to my throat. “I’d love that, Nick. I’ve always loved the idea of being a mom.”
A thrill shot through me. She wanted this.
And so it began.
At first, the changes were subtle. A slight rounding of her hips. A new softness to her cheeks. Then, her tits—already massive—swelled even fuller, heavier, until she had to start wearing bras just to keep them supported. I watched in fascination as each morning, Gena seemed older, more mature, her face gaining gentle laugh lines, her body filling out into a perfect, thick MILF shape.
By the second week, her waist nipped in sharply, her ass rounder, thighs thicker, until she had that perfect, fuckable hourglass figure. She wasn’t just hot anymore—she was mom hot.
And she had no idea it was happening.
“Is it just me, or have my boobs gotten bigger?” she mused one morning, adjusting her sweater awkwardly over her now-massive M-cups.
I smirked, stepping closer to palm them possessively. “Might’ve. Not complaining.”
She swatted my hand away with a playful scowl. “Nick! Don’t be weird.”
But she was blushing. And she didn’t stop me when I did it again.
Her personality shifted too—gentler, sweeter, more nurturing. She started fussing over me, making sure I ate right, fixing my clothes. By the third week, she was calling me ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’ in a voice that was unmistakably maternal.
And then, one morning, she walked into the kitchen, and my jaw dropped.
Gena was gone.
In her place stood Geraldine—my perfect, thick, buxom MILF mom. Her blonde hair was longer now, streaked with hints of silver, tied back in a loose bun. Her face was mature, beautiful, with just the right amount of wrinkles to make her look experienced. And her body—fuck—those tits were enormous, straining against her sweater, her hips wide, her ass a perfect handful. The way she moved was different too, slower, graceful, with a sway that screamed motherly confidence.
She looked up from the stove where she was cooking pancakes and smiled at me—a warm, loving smile that made my heart race.
“Morning, sweetheart,” she said, her voice richer, deeper. “Hungry?”
I could barely speak. “Yeah. Yeah, Mom.”
Her smile widened like that was the most natural thing in the world.
And when she bent over to grab the syrup from the cabinet, giving me a perfect view of her thick ass in those tight mom jeans, I knew—I was never calling her Gena again.
---
At the moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off her—Geraldine—my mom. The way her hips swayed as she moved around the kitchen, the way her huge tits bounced slightly with each step, the warm smell of pancakes and vanilla perfume filling the air. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, completely at ease, completely natural, like she’d always been my mother.
My cock throbbed in my boxers.
“Sweetheart, stop standing there and sit down,” she chided gently, pouring a glass of orange juice for me. Her fingers—older now, softer—brushed against mine as she handed it to me, and I swear I felt a jolt of electricity.
I obeyed, sliding into my seat, my eyes locked onto hers. She smiled down at me, her expression full of affection as she flipped the pancakes.
She doesn’t even know she was ever Gena.
The thought made my pulse race even faster.
She turned slightly, and my breath hitched. The morning sunlight caught the curves of her body perfectly—her waist dipped in before flaring out into those wide, motherly hips, her ass round and plump beneath her tight jeans. I could see the faint outline of her bra through her sweater, the straps digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders as they struggled to contain her heavy M-cup tits.
“Eat up, baby,” she said, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me before leaning down—oh God—her tits pressing together as she reached past me for the syrup. Her cleavage was right there, inches from my face, warm and fragrant.
I wanted to bury my face in them.
Instead, I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat to hide my growing erection. “Thanks, Mom.”
She sat across from me, smiling as she watched me eat. “You’re such a good boy.”
Fuck.
I nearly choked on my food.
The way she said it—soft, approving, maternal—sent a rush of heat straight to my dick.
---
After breakfast, she insisted on doing the laundry. I followed her like a lovesick puppy, watching as she bent over the washing machine, her jeans pulling taut over her perfect ass. My fingers itched to grab her, to pull her against me and grind my cock into that thick behind until she moaned.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Not until she really understood her place.
Later that afternoon, we sat on the couch together, watching some stupid daytime talk show. She had her legs tucked under herself, her posture relaxed, her sweater stretching over those massive tits. I pretended to be engrossed in the TV, but my mind was elsewhere.
Then, she let out a content sigh and leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You know, Nicky,” she murmured, her fingers idly playing with the hem of her shirt. “I’m really happy we’re so close.”
My heart pounded. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She lifted her head just enough to look at me, her blue eyes warm. “A mother and son should always have a strong bond.”
Her hand found mine, squeezing gently.
Oh my God. She has no idea.
I swallowed, hesitating for only a second before tightening my grip on her fingers. “Yeah… we should be close.”
She smiled, pleased.
Then—fuck it—I took the plunge.
I leaned in and kissed her.
For a second, she froze. Then, to my shock, her lips moved against mine, soft and warm, before she pulled back with a bewildered little laugh.
“Oh, Nicky,” she said, her cheeks pink. “You—you can’t kiss me like that.”
I searched her face. “Why not?”
She bit her lip, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite read. “It’s just… not what a son does.”
“But what if I want to?” I murmured, inching closer until our noses brushed.
Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling quickly. “Nicky…”
I didn’t wait for her to finish.
This time, when I kissed her, she melted.
Her lips parted under mine with a soft moan, her fingers tangling in my hair as she kissed me back—harder, needier. One of her hands slid down my chest, fingers skimming over my stomach before hesitating at the waistband of my sweatpants.
“Is this… is this okay?” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling.
I groaned, gripping her hips and pulling her into my lap. “More than okay, Mom.”
Her face flushed even deeper, but she didn’t protest as I tugged her sweater off, revealing the lacy pink bra barely containing her huge, milky tits.
“Oh God,” I breathed before burying my face in them, sucking her nipples through the fabric.
She gasped, arching into me, her thighs clenching around my hips. “Oh! Oh, baby… oh my baby…”
Her words sent a thrill through me.
She was mine now, in every way.
And as I laid her back on the couch, yanking her jeans down her thick thighs, she didn’t stop me.
Instead, she spread her legs for her son.
---
Geraldine gasped as I pulled her jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, her thick thighs trembling as they spread open for me. Her curvy body was flushed pink with arousal, her huge M-cup tits heaving with each breath as I loomed over her on the couch.
"Nick—oh god—we shouldn't... I'm your—"
"Say it, Mom," I growled, palming one of her massive breasts while my other hand trailed fingers along her soaking wet pussy lips. "Tell me who you belong to."
She moaned, her back arching as my fingers dipped inside her dripping entrance. "I-I'm your mother, baby... ohhh, yes right there!"
Her plush pussy clenched around my fingers shamelessly, her motherly instincts warring with her sudden lust for her own son. I could see the struggle in her half-lidded eyes even as she ground her hips against my hand, her thick thighs squeezing around my wrist. The way her big, milky tits jiggled with every movement sent blood rushing straight to my cock.
"Fuck, Mom, look at you," I groaned, pulling my spit-slick fingers from her pussy only to lick them clean right in front of her. She watched with wide eyes as I sucked her juices off my fingers, her plump lips parting with a needy whimper.
"You taste so sweet... kinda like that peach cobbler you made last week."
Geraldine's entire body shuddered at that, her maternal pride mingling with filthy arousal. "Nicky, you can't say things like—ahhh!" Her protest turned into a moan as I suddenly stuffed two fingers back inside her, curling them against that spongy spot that made her eyes roll back.
"Why not?" I smirked, scissoring my fingers inside her tight, wet channel. "Am I not your good boy?"
Her slick coated my hand as I finger-fucked her faster, her pussy making lewd squelching sounds that echoed in the quiet living room. Her large breasts bounced with each thrust of my fingers, her pink nipples rock hard beneath her lacy bra.
"Y-you are!" she gasped, her manicured nails digging into the couch cushions. "Y-you're my perfect boy, my good sweet son, oh god Nicky don't stop—!"
I didn't.
Instead, I ripped her bra off with my free hand, finally freeing those massive udders that had tormented me all morning. Her soft, pale flesh spilled into my hands, the sheer weight of them making my mouth water. I latched onto one stiff nipple, sucking hard while my fingers worked her pussy relentlessly.
Geraldine came with a strangled scream, her thick thighs clamping around my hand as her pussy gushed around my fingers. Her tits jiggled wildly from the force of her orgasm, milky skin flushed deep pink. I drank in every second—the way her motherly eyes glazed over with pleasure, how her manicured hands clutched at me desperately, those full lips trembling as she moaned my name.
When she finally came down from her high, panting and sweaty, I wasted no time yanking my sweatpants down and freeing my aching cock. Her heavy-lidded eyes locked onto my thick length, her pink lips parting in awe.
"My sweet boy is... so big," she breathed, one trembling hand reaching out to stroke me.
"Yours, Mom," I groaned, thrusting into her soft grip. "All yours. Want to be inside you."
Her maternal instincts should have protested. She should've stopped me right then.Instead, she spread her thick thighs even wider.
I lined up my cock with her drooling entrance, watching with rapt attention as the swollen head pressed against her slick folds. Geraldine bit her plush lower lip, her huge tits rising and falling rapidly as she nodded her consent.
Slowly—too slowly for either of our liking—I pushed inside.
Her gasp turned into a broken moan as inch after inch disappeared between her puffy outer lips. She was soaking wet, her tight walls squeezing me perfectly as I bottomed out in her velvety heat.
"Oh fuck," I groaned, gripping her wide hips. "Mom... you're so tight..."
Her glossy lips curved into a shaky smile, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. "That's because I only ever had you, sweetheart... my perfect baby boy."
The way her pussy fluttered around me at those words told me she wasn't referring to childbirth.
I started moving.
-----
Geraldine's breath hitched as I pulled out slowly, her pussy clinging to me like it didn’t want to let go. But when I thrust back in—hard—she let out a high-pitched moan, her huge tits bouncing with the force of it.
"Nnngh—oh god, Nicky!"
Her thighs trembled around my hips as I settled into a deep, relentless rhythm, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin. Her manicured nails dug into my shoulders, her face a mix of maternal adoration and carnal hunger.
"I-Is this okay, baby?" she gasped, even as she rolled her hips to meet each of my thrusts. "W-We shouldn't—ohhh!—but it feels so good..."
"Of course it's okay, Mom," I grunted, palming one of her massive tits, squeezing it roughly. "You were made for this. Made for me."
She whined, her slick walls tightening around my cock at the possessiveness in my voice. I could see the war in her eyes—the part of her that knew this was wrong battling the part that wanted to surrender completely to her son.
And as I leaned down to capture her nipple between my teeth, sucking hard while my fingers pinched the other, she didn't just surrender—she broke.
"Yours!" she screamed, her back arching as her pussy convulsed around me. "Yours yours yours, my boy, m-my good boy!"
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her whole body shaking, her thick thighs clamping around me, desperate to keep me buried inside her. I didn’t let up—couldn't let up—pounding into her through her climax, chasing my own.
Her eyes flew open, glazed over with pleasure, her plush lips swollen from biting them. "Cum inside me," she begged, her voice wrecked. "Please, baby, give it to Mommy—fill me!"
That was all I needed.
With a final brutal thrust, I buried myself as deep as I could and came, my orgasm ripping through me like a fucking explosion. Geraldine moaned, her arms circling around my neck as she held me close, whispering praise into my ear.
"That's my good boy... oh, you're so perfect... Mommy loves you so much..."
I shuddered at her words, my cock still twitching inside her as I emptied every last drop into her greedy womb.
When I finally pulled out, her pussy was a mess—my cum leaking out of her, glistening on her plump lower lips. She didn't even try to wipe it away.
Instead, she lay there, breathless and flushed, her huge tits rising as she panted. Then, with a soft giggle, she pulled me against her bosom, cradling my head like she used to when I was little.
"Mmm... my sweet baby," she murmured, stroking my hair.
I smirked, glancing up at her between the valley of her cleavage. "Love you too, Mom."
She blushed, but her smile didn't falter.
Later that night, I caught her standing in front of the mirror wearing one of Gena's old dresses—a little pink sundress that barely contained her new, thicker body.
I froze in the doorway.
She turned, her cheeks flushing as she fidgeted with the hem. "D-Does it look okay...?"
I swallowed hard.
She looked adorable. The way the dress strained against her huge tits, how it hugged every new curve of her thick, motherly body—like some perfect mix of my sweet girlfriend and my even sweeter mom.
But there was something else.
Something nostalgic in the way she played with the fabric.
Like a part of Gena was still in there somewhere.
I crossed the room in three long strides, pulling her into a deep, slow kiss.
"Perfect," I murmured against her lips. "Just like always."
She melted into me, her hands finding mine.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Maybe I could have both.
---
The end of March arrived like stealing sunlight—warm, golden, and over too soon.
I woke up with Geraldine’s thick thighs wrapped around me, her plush body pressed flush against my back, her slow breaths tickling my neck. I could feel the weight of her pillowy tits pressed between my shoulder blades, her warm pussy still sticky against my skin from last night.
A bittersweet ache settled in my chest.
Tonight, my mom would be Gena again.
I turned in her arms, drinking in every detail—the laugh lines around her soft blue eyes, the silver streaks in her messy blonde hair, the way her plump lips curved in sleep. Her motherly scent—vanilla and lavender—filled my lungs.
She stirred, blinking awake before smiling sleepily. “Mmm… morning, sweetheart.”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I crushed my lips to hers.
Geraldine made a startled sound, but she melted into the kiss almost immediately, her hands sliding down my chest eagerly. I didn’t hold back—I kissed her like it was our last day together, sucking on her tongue, biting her plump lower lip, my hands roaming every inch of her lush curves.
She broke away with a gasp. “Nicky—what’s gotten into you?”
I buried my face in her tits, inhaling deeply before murmuring against her soft skin, “Just don’t wanna forget.”
She understood.
Her fingers slid through my hair, guiding me up so she could kiss me again, slower this time. Sweeter.
“You won’t,” she whispered. “I promise.”
---
We spent the day together like any mother and son—breakfast, laundry, bad daytime TV—except our version included me bending Geraldine over the kitchen counter, fucking her brains out while she sobbed my name.
And after dinner?
We really said our goodbyes.
The bed creaked under us as I mounted her from behind, her thick ass pressed against my hips as I buried myself to the hilt. Geraldine arched her back, her huge tits swaying beneath her as she braced herself on trembling arms.
“T-Tell me again,” she panted, pushing back against me desperately. “Tell me who Mommy belongs to.”
“Me,” I growled, gripping her wide hips tight enough to bruise. “Only me.”
She wailed as I pistoned into her, our bodies slapping together obscenely. I knew she was close—she always was when I talked like that—and I wasn’t far behind.
My hands slid around to grope her massive tits, squeezing them roughly as I fucked into her harder, deeper.
“Gonna fill you up, Mom,” I grunted. “One last time.”
She came with a shattered scream, her pussy milking my cock as I spilled inside her one final time.
We collapsed together, breathless and sweating, her body curled around mine.
And then she said the words I didn’t know I needed to hear—
“I’ll remember everything… and I’ll miss you, Nicky.”
---
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows.
I rolled over, expecting warmth—expecting her.
Instead, I found Gena.
Her real face—young, bright, familiar—staring at me with soft wonder.
No silver in her hair. No laugh lines.
All Gena.
I froze.
But then—
She smiled. A slow, knowing, beautiful smile.
“So…” she murmured, stretching her arms above her head with a playful yawn. “Turns out being your mom was really fun.”
My pulse exploded.
She remembered.
Gena giggled at my expression before leaning in, pressing her lips to my ear—
“Maybe we should do it again, probably on the next March? Or should we do it on Mother's day? Or how about being your Grandma, if you want to?”
I grabbed her, flipping her onto her back as she shrieked with laughter.
Yeah.
We definitely would.
(The End.)
This story was inspired by CelineTF from DeviantArt
Being My Mom
The room was bathed in soft golden light as I pressed my lips against Gena’s, our bodies pressed together on the bed, breath mingling in the warm space between us. She tasted sweet, like the candy-flavored lip gloss she always wore, and her full, pillowy lips moved against mine with practiced ease. My hands slid down her sides, feeling every curve of her tight little body before settling on her thick thighs, squeezing gently. She let out a soft moan against my mouth, her nails digging lightly into my shoulders.
“Nick…” she whispered, her voice already breathy with want. Her enormous E-cup tits pressed against my chest, the softness making my cock twitch in my jeans.
I broke the kiss just long enough to smirk. “You’re so fucking hot, Gena.”
She giggled, her blue eyes sparkling. “You say that like you don’t tell me every day.”
“‘Cause it’s true every day,” I shot back, slipping a hand under her crop-top to palm her tits. She sighed, arching into my touch, her pink nipples already stiff beneath the fabric of her bra.
We didn’t waste time—clothes were yanked off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, until she was naked beneath me, all smooth, tanned skin and plush curves. Her tits spilled into my hands as I lowered my mouth to one perfect nipple, sucking while my fingers teased the other. She gasped, thighs tightening around my waist, already grinding down against the bulge in my boxers.
“Fuck, Nick…”
I didn’t make her wait. My boxers came off, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking once, twice, before she guided me to her soaked pussy. The first thrust made us both groan, her tight wet heat clamping around me as I bottomed out inside her.
“You feel so good,” I muttered into her neck, hips already moving slow and deep.
She whimpered, her nails scratching down my back. “Harder, baby, please—”
I obliged, pistoning into her, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. Her tits bounced with every movement, her moans going higher and more desperate as she clawed at me, pulling me deeper. I could feel her clenching around me, her thighs trembling as she got close.
“Cum for me,” I growled, tilting my hips just right to hit that spot inside her that made her scream.
Gena shattered beneath me, back arching as she came hard, her pussy squeezing my cock tight. The sight of her—flushed, gasping, tits heaving—was enough to push me over the edge. I buried myself deep as I came, groaning as warmth spilled inside her.
For a few blissful moments, we just breathed together, still joined, her fingers lazily tracing circles on my back. Then, reluctantly, I pulled out and collapsed beside her, pulling her close. She snuggled into me, her head resting on my chest, her leg draped over mine.
I stroked her blonde hair absentmindedly, enjoying the warmth of her body. But my mind was already drifting to something else—the turning of the calendar, the anticipation in my gut.
“Gena,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Next month is March.”
She hummed. “Mhm. Got something special planned?”
I hesitated, heart pounding. “You ever heard the term… ‘March Needs Mom’?”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, eyebrows raised. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, and she bit her lower lip. “I might’ve heard of it.”
I swallowed. “Would you… would you be okay with it? If—if, by the end of March, you became mine?”
Her smile turned radiant. “You mean your mom?”
“Yeah.”
She giggled, pressing a soft kiss to my throat. “I’d love that, Nick. I’ve always loved the idea of being a mom.”
A thrill shot through me. She wanted this.
And so it began.
At first, the changes were subtle. A slight rounding of her hips. A new softness to her cheeks. Then, her tits—already massive—swelled even fuller, heavier, until she had to start wearing bras just to keep them supported. I watched in fascination as each morning, Gena seemed older, more mature, her face gaining gentle laugh lines, her body filling out into a perfect, thick MILF shape.
By the second week, her waist nipped in sharply, her ass rounder, thighs thicker, until she had that perfect, fuckable hourglass figure. She wasn’t just hot anymore—she was mom hot.
And she had no idea it was happening.
“Is it just me, or have my boobs gotten bigger?” she mused one morning, adjusting her sweater awkwardly over her now-massive M-cups.
I smirked, stepping closer to palm them possessively. “Might’ve. Not complaining.”
She swatted my hand away with a playful scowl. “Nick! Don’t be weird.”
But she was blushing. And she didn’t stop me when I did it again.
Her personality shifted too—gentler, sweeter, more nurturing. She started fussing over me, making sure I ate right, fixing my clothes. By the third week, she was calling me ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’ in a voice that was unmistakably maternal.
And then, one morning, she walked into the kitchen, and my jaw dropped.
Gena was gone.
In her place stood Geraldine—my perfect, thick, buxom MILF mom. Her blonde hair was longer now, streaked with hints of silver, tied back in a loose bun. Her face was mature, beautiful, with just the right amount of wrinkles to make her look experienced. And her body—fuck—those tits were enormous, straining against her sweater, her hips wide, her ass a perfect handful. The way she moved was different too, slower, graceful, with a sway that screamed motherly confidence.
She looked up from the stove where she was cooking pancakes and smiled at me—a warm, loving smile that made my heart race.
“Morning, sweetheart,” she said, her voice richer, deeper. “Hungry?”
I could barely speak. “Yeah. Yeah, Mom.”
Her smile widened like that was the most natural thing in the world.
And when she bent over to grab the syrup from the cabinet, giving me a perfect view of her thick ass in those tight mom jeans, I knew—I was never calling her Gena again.
---
At the moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off her—Geraldine—my mom. The way her hips swayed as she moved around the kitchen, the way her huge tits bounced slightly with each step, the warm smell of pancakes and vanilla perfume filling the air. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, completely at ease, completely natural, like she’d always been my mother.
My cock throbbed in my boxers.
“Sweetheart, stop standing there and sit down,” she chided gently, pouring a glass of orange juice for me. Her fingers—older now, softer—brushed against mine as she handed it to me, and I swear I felt a jolt of electricity.
I obeyed, sliding into my seat, my eyes locked onto hers. She smiled down at me, her expression full of affection as she flipped the pancakes.
She doesn’t even know she was ever Gena.
The thought made my pulse race even faster.
She turned slightly, and my breath hitched. The morning sunlight caught the curves of her body perfectly—her waist dipped in before flaring out into those wide, motherly hips, her ass round and plump beneath her tight jeans. I could see the faint outline of her bra through her sweater, the straps digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders as they struggled to contain her heavy M-cup tits.
“Eat up, baby,” she said, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me before leaning down—oh God—her tits pressing together as she reached past me for the syrup. Her cleavage was right there, inches from my face, warm and fragrant.
I wanted to bury my face in them.
Instead, I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat to hide my growing erection. “Thanks, Mom.”
She sat across from me, smiling as she watched me eat. “You’re such a good boy.”
Fuck.
I nearly choked on my food.
The way she said it—soft, approving, maternal—sent a rush of heat straight to my dick.
---
After breakfast, she insisted on doing the laundry. I followed her like a lovesick puppy, watching as she bent over the washing machine, her jeans pulling taut over her perfect ass. My fingers itched to grab her, to pull her against me and grind my cock into that thick behind until she moaned.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Not until she really understood her place.
Later that afternoon, we sat on the couch together, watching some stupid daytime talk show. She had her legs tucked under herself, her posture relaxed, her sweater stretching over those massive tits. I pretended to be engrossed in the TV, but my mind was elsewhere.
Then, she let out a content sigh and leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You know, Nicky,” she murmured, her fingers idly playing with the hem of her shirt. “I’m really happy we’re so close.”
My heart pounded. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She lifted her head just enough to look at me, her blue eyes warm. “A mother and son should always have a strong bond.”
Her hand found mine, squeezing gently.
Oh my God. She has no idea.
I swallowed, hesitating for only a second before tightening my grip on her fingers. “Yeah… we should be close.”
She smiled, pleased.
Then—fuck it—I took the plunge.
I leaned in and kissed her.
For a second, she froze. Then, to my shock, her lips moved against mine, soft and warm, before she pulled back with a bewildered little laugh.
“Oh, Nicky,” she said, her cheeks pink. “You—you can’t kiss me like that.”
I searched her face. “Why not?”
She bit her lip, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite read. “It’s just… not what a son does.”
“But what if I want to?” I murmured, inching closer until our noses brushed.
Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling quickly. “Nicky…”
I didn’t wait for her to finish.
This time, when I kissed her, she melted.
Her lips parted under mine with a soft moan, her fingers tangling in my hair as she kissed me back—harder, needier. One of her hands slid down my chest, fingers skimming over my stomach before hesitating at the waistband of my sweatpants.
“Is this… is this okay?” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling.
I groaned, gripping her hips and pulling her into my lap. “More than okay, Mom.”
Her face flushed even deeper, but she didn’t protest as I tugged her sweater off, revealing the lacy pink bra barely containing her huge, milky tits.
“Oh God,” I breathed before burying my face in them, sucking her nipples through the fabric.
She gasped, arching into me, her thighs clenching around my hips. “Oh! Oh, baby… oh my baby…”
Her words sent a thrill through me.
She was mine now, in every way.
And as I laid her back on the couch, yanking her jeans down her thick thighs, she didn’t stop me.
Instead, she spread her legs for her son.
---
Geraldine gasped as I pulled her jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, her thick thighs trembling as they spread open for me. Her curvy body was flushed pink with arousal, her huge M-cup tits heaving with each breath as I loomed over her on the couch.
"Nick—oh god—we shouldn't... I'm your—"
"Say it, Mom," I growled, palming one of her massive breasts while my other hand trailed fingers along her soaking wet pussy lips. "Tell me who you belong to."
She moaned, her back arching as my fingers dipped inside her dripping entrance. "I-I'm your mother, baby... ohhh, yes right there!"
Her plush pussy clenched around my fingers shamelessly, her motherly instincts warring with her sudden lust for her own son. I could see the struggle in her half-lidded eyes even as she ground her hips against my hand, her thick thighs squeezing around my wrist. The way her big, milky tits jiggled with every movement sent blood rushing straight to my cock.
"Fuck, Mom, look at you," I groaned, pulling my spit-slick fingers from her pussy only to lick them clean right in front of her. She watched with wide eyes as I sucked her juices off my fingers, her plump lips parting with a needy whimper.
"You taste so sweet... kinda like that peach cobbler you made last week."
Geraldine's entire body shuddered at that, her maternal pride mingling with filthy arousal. "Nicky, you can't say things like—ahhh!" Her protest turned into a moan as I suddenly stuffed two fingers back inside her, curling them against that spongy spot that made her eyes roll back.
"Why not?" I smirked, scissoring my fingers inside her tight, wet channel. "Am I not your good boy?"
Her slick coated my hand as I finger-fucked her faster, her pussy making lewd squelching sounds that echoed in the quiet living room. Her large breasts bounced with each thrust of my fingers, her pink nipples rock hard beneath her lacy bra.
"Y-you are!" she gasped, her manicured nails digging into the couch cushions. "Y-you're my perfect boy, my good sweet son, oh god Nicky don't stop—!"
I didn't.
Instead, I ripped her bra off with my free hand, finally freeing those massive udders that had tormented me all morning. Her soft, pale flesh spilled into my hands, the sheer weight of them making my mouth water. I latched onto one stiff nipple, sucking hard while my fingers worked her pussy relentlessly.
Geraldine came with a strangled scream, her thick thighs clamping around my hand as her pussy gushed around my fingers. Her tits jiggled wildly from the force of her orgasm, milky skin flushed deep pink. I drank in every second—the way her motherly eyes glazed over with pleasure, how her manicured hands clutched at me desperately, those full lips trembling as she moaned my name.
When she finally came down from her high, panting and sweaty, I wasted no time yanking my sweatpants down and freeing my aching cock. Her heavy-lidded eyes locked onto my thick length, her pink lips parting in awe.
"My sweet boy is... so big," she breathed, one trembling hand reaching out to stroke me.
"Yours, Mom," I groaned, thrusting into her soft grip. "All yours. Want to be inside you."
Her maternal instincts should have protested. She should've stopped me right then.Instead, she spread her thick thighs even wider.
I lined up my cock with her drooling entrance, watching with rapt attention as the swollen head pressed against her slick folds. Geraldine bit her plush lower lip, her huge tits rising and falling rapidly as she nodded her consent.
Slowly—too slowly for either of our liking—I pushed inside.
Her gasp turned into a broken moan as inch after inch disappeared between her puffy outer lips. She was soaking wet, her tight walls squeezing me perfectly as I bottomed out in her velvety heat.
"Oh fuck," I groaned, gripping her wide hips. "Mom... you're so tight..."
Her glossy lips curved into a shaky smile, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. "That's because I only ever had you, sweetheart... my perfect baby boy."
The way her pussy fluttered around me at those words told me she wasn't referring to childbirth.
I started moving.
-----
Geraldine's breath hitched as I pulled out slowly, her pussy clinging to me like it didn’t want to let go. But when I thrust back in—hard—she let out a high-pitched moan, her huge tits bouncing with the force of it.
"Nnngh—oh god, Nicky!"
Her thighs trembled around my hips as I settled into a deep, relentless rhythm, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin. Her manicured nails dug into my shoulders, her face a mix of maternal adoration and carnal hunger.
"I-Is this okay, baby?" she gasped, even as she rolled her hips to meet each of my thrusts. "W-We shouldn't—ohhh!—but it feels so good..."
"Of course it's okay, Mom," I grunted, palming one of her massive tits, squeezing it roughly. "You were made for this. Made for me."
She whined, her slick walls tightening around my cock at the possessiveness in my voice. I could see the war in her eyes—the part of her that knew this was wrong battling the part that wanted to surrender completely to her son.
And as I leaned down to capture her nipple between my teeth, sucking hard while my fingers pinched the other, she didn't just surrender—she broke.
"Yours!" she screamed, her back arching as her pussy convulsed around me. "Yours yours yours, my boy, m-my good boy!"
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her whole body shaking, her thick thighs clamping around me, desperate to keep me buried inside her. I didn’t let up—couldn't let up—pounding into her through her climax, chasing my own.
Her eyes flew open, glazed over with pleasure, her plush lips swollen from biting them. "Cum inside me," she begged, her voice wrecked. "Please, baby, give it to Mommy—fill me!"
That was all I needed.
With a final brutal thrust, I buried myself as deep as I could and came, my orgasm ripping through me like a fucking explosion. Geraldine moaned, her arms circling around my neck as she held me close, whispering praise into my ear.
"That's my good boy... oh, you're so perfect... Mommy loves you so much..."
I shuddered at her words, my cock still twitching inside her as I emptied every last drop into her greedy womb.
When I finally pulled out, her pussy was a mess—my cum leaking out of her, glistening on her plump lower lips. She didn't even try to wipe it away.
Instead, she lay there, breathless and flushed, her huge tits rising as she panted. Then, with a soft giggle, she pulled me against her bosom, cradling my head like she used to when I was little.
"Mmm... my sweet baby," she murmured, stroking my hair.
I smirked, glancing up at her between the valley of her cleavage. "Love you too, Mom."
She blushed, but her smile didn't falter.
Later that night, I caught her standing in front of the mirror wearing one of Gena's old dresses—a little pink sundress that barely contained her new, thicker body.
I froze in the doorway.
She turned, her cheeks flushing as she fidgeted with the hem. "D-Does it look okay...?"
I swallowed hard.
She looked adorable. The way the dress strained against her huge tits, how it hugged every new curve of her thick, motherly body—like some perfect mix of my sweet girlfriend and my even sweeter mom.
But there was something else.
Something nostalgic in the way she played with the fabric.
Like a part of Gena was still in there somewhere.
I crossed the room in three long strides, pulling her into a deep, slow kiss.
"Perfect," I murmured against her lips. "Just like always."
She melted into me, her hands finding mine.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Maybe I could have both.
---
The end of March arrived like stealing sunlight—warm, golden, and over too soon.
I woke up with Geraldine’s thick thighs wrapped around me, her plush body pressed flush against my back, her slow breaths tickling my neck. I could feel the weight of her pillowy tits pressed between my shoulder blades, her warm pussy still sticky against my skin from last night.
A bittersweet ache settled in my chest.
Tonight, my mom would be Gena again.
I turned in her arms, drinking in every detail—the laugh lines around her soft blue eyes, the silver streaks in her messy blonde hair, the way her plump lips curved in sleep. Her motherly scent—vanilla and lavender—filled my lungs.
She stirred, blinking awake before smiling sleepily. “Mmm… morning, sweetheart.”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I crushed my lips to hers.
Geraldine made a startled sound, but she melted into the kiss almost immediately, her hands sliding down my chest eagerly. I didn’t hold back—I kissed her like it was our last day together, sucking on her tongue, biting her plump lower lip, my hands roaming every inch of her lush curves.
She broke away with a gasp. “Nicky—what’s gotten into you?”
I buried my face in her tits, inhaling deeply before murmuring against her soft skin, “Just don’t wanna forget.”
She understood.
Her fingers slid through my hair, guiding me up so she could kiss me again, slower this time. Sweeter.
“You won’t,” she whispered. “I promise.”
---
We spent the day together like any mother and son—breakfast, laundry, bad daytime TV—except our version included me bending Geraldine over the kitchen counter, fucking her brains out while she sobbed my name.
And after dinner?
We really said our goodbyes.
The bed creaked under us as I mounted her from behind, her thick ass pressed against my hips as I buried myself to the hilt. Geraldine arched her back, her huge tits swaying beneath her as she braced herself on trembling arms.
“T-Tell me again,” she panted, pushing back against me desperately. “Tell me who Mommy belongs to.”
“Me,” I growled, gripping her wide hips tight enough to bruise. “Only me.”
She wailed as I pistoned into her, our bodies slapping together obscenely. I knew she was close—she always was when I talked like that—and I wasn’t far behind.
My hands slid around to grope her massive tits, squeezing them roughly as I fucked into her harder, deeper.
“Gonna fill you up, Mom,” I grunted. “One last time.”
She came with a shattered scream, her pussy milking my cock as I spilled inside her one final time.
We collapsed together, breathless and sweating, her body curled around mine.
And then she said the words I didn’t know I needed to hear—
“I’ll remember everything… and I’ll miss you, Nicky.”
---
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows.
I rolled over, expecting warmth—expecting her.
Instead, I found Gena.
Her real face—young, bright, familiar—staring at me with soft wonder.
No silver in her hair. No laugh lines.
All Gena.
I froze.
But then—
She smiled. A slow, knowing, beautiful smile.
“So…” she murmured, stretching her arms above her head with a playful yawn. “Turns out being your mom was really fun.”
My pulse exploded.
She remembered.
Gena giggled at my expression before leaning in, pressing her lips to my ear—
“Maybe we should do it again, probably on the next March? Or should we do it on Mother's day? Or how about being your Grandma, if you want to?”
I grabbed her, flipping her onto her back as she shrieked with laughter.
Yeah.
We definitely would.
(The End.)
ftf
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This story tells you about a couple, a teenager named Liam and his redheaded girlfriend named Chloe who can't stop regenerating herself after sex.
Liam lay on the bed, his heart pounding with anticipation as he watched Chloe, his gorgeous redheaded girlfriend, saunter towards him. Her naked body was a vision of perfection, her E-cup tits bouncing gently with each step. She giggled, seeing the hunger in his eyes.
"Well, looks like someone's eager," Chloe teased, her voice a sweet melody that sent shivers down Liam's spine.
Liam grinned, his cock already hard and ready. "Always for you, Chloe. I've been waiting for you."
Chloe climbed onto the bed, her body straddling his as she leaned down to kiss him. Their lips met in a soft, gentle caress that quickly deepened into a passionate, hungry dance. Liam's hands roamed over her body, his fingers tracing the curves of her waist, her hips, her thighs.
Chloe moaned softly, her body pressing against his as she felt his hard cock against her stomach. She reached down, her hand wrapping around his length as she guided him to her entrance. With a soft sigh, she sank down onto him, her body taking him in completely.
Liam groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet her as they began to move together. Chloe's body was a perfect fit for his, her pussy wet and tight as it clenched around him. He reached up, his hands cupping her large breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hard nipples.
Chloe threw her head back, her red hair cascading down her back as she moaned with pleasure. "Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that."
Liam thrust harder, his body moving in a fast, urgent rhythm. Chloe met each thrust, her body bouncing against his as their moans filled the room. The sound of their bodies slapping together was like music to their ears, a symphony of their love and passion.
Liam could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he approached the edge. Chloe seemed to sense it too, her body clenching around him as she moaned louder.
"Cum with me, Liam," she gasped, her body shaking with the intensity of her own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
With a final thrust, Liam cried out, his cock pulsing as he came, his hot cum filling Chloe completely. Chloe screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm.
But as their bodies shook with the intensity of their climax, something strange began to happen. Chloe's body started to glow, a soft, golden light emanating from her skin. Liam stared in awe and confusion as the light grew brighter, enveloping them both.
Suddenly, Chloe screamed, her body convulsing with a different kind of force. Liam watched in shock as her body began to change, her curves shifting and growing, her hair darkening and lengthening, her face morphing into that of a stranger.
The glow faded, and in place of Chloe was a middle-aged British woman with massive O-cup tits and a body that was both familiar and alien. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest as she looked around in confusion.
"Blimey, what was that?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of shock and amusement. She looked down at Liam, her eyes widening in surprise. "Liam! You silly boy, what are you doing down there? I didn't know you were here. Silly me."
Liam stared up at her, his mouth open in shock. "Chloe? Wha... what happened to you?"
The woman, who was once Chloe, giggled, her large breasts bouncing with the movement. "Chloe? Who's Chloe? It's me, Beatrice, you silly boy. Have you been playing games with me again?"
Liam looked at her, his heart pounding. He knew that something incredible had just happened, something that defied all logic and reason. But at the same time, he found himself inexplicably turned on by her transformation.
"Beatrice?" he said, his voice hesitant. "You... you don't remember?"
Beatrice giggled again, her hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Remember what, silly? I'm your girlfriend, Beatrice. Been with you for donkey's years. Now come on, out you get. A lady needs her space after such a... Such whatever that was."
Liam pulled out of her, his cock still hard, still glistening with their combined juices. Beatrice looked down at it, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Well, would you look at that," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Aren't you an eager little beaver?"
Liam grinned, his heart pounding with a mix of lust and excitement. He knew that this was wrong, that something incredible and impossible had just happened. But he also knew that he wanted her, this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe.
He leaned up, his lips capturing hers in a fierce kiss. Beatrice gasped, her body freezing for a moment before melting into him. She moaned softly, her body pressing against his as their kiss deepened.
When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, their bodies shaking with need. Liam looked at her, his eyes filled with determination.
"I don't know what's happening," he said, his voice husky with lust. "But I know that I want you. I want you so fucking bad."
Beatrice looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and desire. She knew that this was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way about her boyfriend. But she also knew that she couldn't deny the heat that was pooling between her legs.
"Liam... baby... slow down,... we... we can't..." she moaned, even as her body pressed against his. "I've still not quite sure what's going on."
Liam didn't listen. He just pulled her close, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He captured one hard nipple in his mouth, sucking gently as his hand slid down to her pussy.
Beatrice moaned, her body arching into his touch. "Mmm... yes, Liam. Yes, touch me. Touch me there."
Liam slid two fingers into her, his thumb circling her clit as he began to fuck her with his hand. Beatrice moaned louder, her body moving with his, her hips thrusting against his touch.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that. Make me cum, baby. Make me cum all over your hand."
Liam did just that, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against her clit. When she came, it was with a scream of pleasure, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm.
But Liam wasn't done. He wasn't even close. He spun her around, pressing her down onto her hands and knees as he positioned himself behind her. With one hard thrust, he was inside her, his cock filling her completely.
Beatrice moaned, her body shaking with pleasure as he began to fuck her hard and deep. His hands reached around, grabbing her large breasts as he pounded into her.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard and deep."
Liam did just that, his body moving with hers in a fast, urgent rhythm. He could feel his orgasm building again, his body tensing as he approached the edge.
"Cum with me, Beatrice," he gasped, his body shaking with the intensity of his own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
Beatrice screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm. When they finally collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and their breaths coming in quick gasps, Liam knew that something incredible had happened. Something that defied all logic and reason. But he also knew that he couldn't deny the love and passion he felt for this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe. And he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep her, to make her his, forever.
As they laid there, their bodies entwined and their hearts pounding with a mix of love and lust, Liam knew that this was just the beginning. The beginning of a new adventure, a new journey, a new love. And he was more than ready for it. Whatever it may bring.
Liam lay on the bed, his heart pounding with anticipation as he watched Chloe, his gorgeous redheaded girlfriend, saunter towards him. Her naked body was a vision of perfection, her E-cup tits bouncing gently with each step. She giggled, seeing the hunger in his eyes.
"Well, looks like someone's eager," Chloe teased, her voice a sweet melody that sent shivers down Liam's spine.
Liam grinned, his cock already hard and ready. "Always for you, Chloe. I've been waiting for you."
Chloe climbed onto the bed, her body straddling his as she leaned down to kiss him. Their lips met in a soft, gentle caress that quickly deepened into a passionate, hungry dance. Liam's hands roamed over her body, his fingers tracing the curves of her waist, her hips, her thighs.
Chloe moaned softly, her body pressing against his as she felt his hard cock against her stomach. She reached down, her hand wrapping around his length as she guided him to her entrance. With a soft sigh, she sank down onto him, her body taking him in completely.
Liam groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet her as they began to move together. Chloe's body was a perfect fit for his, her pussy wet and tight as it clenched around him. He reached up, his hands cupping her large breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hard nipples.
Chloe threw her head back, her red hair cascading down her back as she moaned with pleasure. "Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that."
Liam thrust harder, his body moving in a fast, urgent rhythm. Chloe met each thrust, her body bouncing against his as their moans filled the room. The sound of their bodies slapping together was like music to their ears, a symphony of their love and passion.
Liam could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he approached the edge. Chloe seemed to sense it too, her body clenching around him as she moaned louder.
"Cum with me, Liam," she gasped, her body shaking with the intensity of her own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
With a final thrust, Liam cried out, his cock pulsing as he came, his hot cum filling Chloe completely. Chloe screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm.
But as their bodies shook with the intensity of their climax, something strange began to happen. Chloe's body started to glow, a soft, golden light emanating from her skin. Liam stared in awe and confusion as the light grew brighter, enveloping them both.
Suddenly, Chloe screamed, her body convulsing with a different kind of force. Liam watched in shock as her body began to change, her curves shifting and growing, her hair darkening and lengthening, her face morphing into that of a stranger.
The glow faded, and in place of Chloe was a middle-aged British woman with massive O-cup tits and a body that was both familiar and alien. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest as she looked around in confusion.
"Blimey, what was that?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of shock and amusement. She looked down at Liam, her eyes widening in surprise. "Liam! You silly boy, what are you doing down there? I didn't know you were here. Silly me."
Liam stared up at her, his mouth open in shock. "Chloe? Wha... what happened to you?"
The woman, who was once Chloe, giggled, her large breasts bouncing with the movement. "Chloe? Who's Chloe? It's me, Beatrice, you silly boy. Have you been playing games with me again?"
Liam looked at her, his heart pounding. He knew that something incredible had just happened, something that defied all logic and reason. But at the same time, he found himself inexplicably turned on by her transformation.
"Beatrice?" he said, his voice hesitant. "You... you don't remember?"
Beatrice giggled again, her hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Remember what, silly? I'm your girlfriend, Beatrice. Been with you for donkey's years. Now come on, out you get. A lady needs her space after such a... Such whatever that was."
Liam pulled out of her, his cock still hard, still glistening with their combined juices. Beatrice looked down at it, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Well, would you look at that," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Aren't you an eager little beaver?"
Liam grinned, his heart pounding with a mix of lust and excitement. He knew that this was wrong, that something incredible and impossible had just happened. But he also knew that he wanted her, this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe.
He leaned up, his lips capturing hers in a fierce kiss. Beatrice gasped, her body freezing for a moment before melting into him. She moaned softly, her body pressing against his as their kiss deepened.
When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, their bodies shaking with need. Liam looked at her, his eyes filled with determination.
"I don't know what's happening," he said, his voice husky with lust. "But I know that I want you. I want you so fucking bad."
Beatrice looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and desire. She knew that this was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way about her boyfriend. But she also knew that she couldn't deny the heat that was pooling between her legs.
"Liam... baby... slow down,... we... we can't..." she moaned, even as her body pressed against his. "I've still not quite sure what's going on."
Liam didn't listen. He just pulled her close, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He captured one hard nipple in his mouth, sucking gently as his hand slid down to her pussy.
Beatrice moaned, her body arching into his touch. "Mmm... yes, Liam. Yes, touch me. Touch me there."
Liam slid two fingers into her, his thumb circling her clit as he began to fuck her with his hand. Beatrice moaned louder, her body moving with his, her hips thrusting against his touch.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Just like that. Make me cum, baby. Make me cum all over your hand."
Liam did just that, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against her clit. When she came, it was with a scream of pleasure, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm.
But Liam wasn't done. He wasn't even close. He spun her around, pressing her down onto her hands and knees as he positioned himself behind her. With one hard thrust, he was inside her, his cock filling her completely.
Beatrice moaned, her body shaking with pleasure as he began to fuck her hard and deep. His hands reached around, grabbing her large breasts as he pounded into her.
"Yes, Liam. Yes! Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard and deep."
Liam did just that, his body moving with hers in a fast, urgent rhythm. He could feel his orgasm building again, his body tensing as he approached the edge.
"Cum with me, Beatrice," he gasped, his body shaking with the intensity of his own orgasm. "Cum with me!"
Beatrice screamed with him, her body convulsing with the force of her own orgasm. When they finally collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and their breaths coming in quick gasps, Liam knew that something incredible had happened. Something that defied all logic and reason. But he also knew that he couldn't deny the love and passion he felt for this new woman, this stranger who was once his Chloe. And he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep her, to make her his, forever.
As they laid there, their bodies entwined and their hearts pounding with a mix of love and lust, Liam knew that this was just the beginning. The beginning of a new adventure, a new journey, a new love. And he was more than ready for it. Whatever it may bring.
ftf
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Being My Ideal Mom(s)
This strange erotic story tells you about a teenage boy named Nicky and his lovely big-tittied girlfriend named Gena, who gets transformed by her boyfriend's amulet from the old magic shop that turns her into an ideal mom and has sex with. Not only that, he will continue to change her any moms or MILFs he wants to fuck.
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Home from college and stuck in his childhood bedroom, a restless young man discovers a bizarre side-effect of his meditation practice: the ability to astral project into the bodies of other people.
My breath slowed, easing into the steady rhythm I’d been practicing. The YouTube guru’s voice was a distant murmur in my earbuds. Let your consciousness expand beyond the physical form. Feel the boundaries of your body dissolve… I always felt a little silly doing this in my bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling my only witness. But tonight, something was different. A strange, pulling sensation started behind my navel, like a gentle but insistent hook.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on my breathing, but the tug grew stronger. The feeling of my own body—the weight of my limbs on the bed, the pressure of the mattress against my back—suddenly vanished. There was a dizzying rush of color and sound, a sensation of being pulled through a narrow, dark tunnel at impossible speed.
Then, with a soft thump I felt I heard more than heard, everything stopped. A weight... A different kind of weight. My chest felt heavy, supported. My hips felt wider.
I blinked. This wasn’t my room. The air smelled of lavender and expensive perfume. I looked down.
My hands. They were not my hands. They were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. A delicate silver bracelet hung from one wrist. I wore a silk robe, peach, tied loosely at the waist. My heart—no, her heart—hammered against my ribs.
A wave of vertigo hit me, followed by a flood of images that weren’t mine. Lydia. Her name is Lydia. A memory of her laughing with my step mom at the mailbox, holding a grocery bag. Another of her watering her roses in a sun dress last weekend. Before I left for college, she'd always waved at me, a kind, almost shy smile on her face.
Mrs. Henderson from next door. The hot MILF all my friends whispered about but who just seemed… nice.
I was inside Lydia Henderson.
Panic surged, a cold, sharp spike. I needed to get back. I tried to concentrate, to will myself back to my own body lying on my bed, but nothing happened. The panic subsided, replaced by a trembling, awe-filled curiosity. I was here. In her.
I turned, my movements unfamiliar and graceful, and caught my reflection in a full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.
Wow.
She was… stunning. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her green-flecked hazel eyes, were wide with an expression I knew was my own shock staring back. The silk robe hinted at the curves beneath. A lifetime of curious, stolen glances from my bedroom window hadn’t prepared me for the reality of being inside this body. A thrill, warm and forbidden, shot through me.
My gaze drifted past my—her—reflection to the rest of the walk-in closet behind me. The curiosity, always simmering just beneath the surface, roared to life. I’d always wondered. About the feel of it, the look of it, the secret world of it.
There I was surrounded by a forest of silks, satins, and soft, colorful fabrics.
Almost without conscious thought, my hands went to the tie of the robe. It fell open. She—I—was wearing matching peach lace lingerie underneath. A bra that cupped and lifted, panties that were just a delicate scrap of fabric. A heat that had nothing to do with possession flushed through me. It was awe. It was a secret, answered question.
I reached for a hanger. A slip of crimson satin and black lace. A teddy. My fingers trembled as I shimmied out of the peach set and into the red one. The cool satin whispered over my hips, the lace hugged curves I’d never had. I looked in the mirror again. A stranger, yet me. A beautiful, secret version of myself.
I spent what felt like hours, lost in a tactile wonderland. I tried on a tight pencil skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater, feeling the sophisticated drape. I found a pair of sky-high black heels and clomped around the carpet, her body’s balance instinctively better than mine would have been. The click-click of the heels on the hardwood floor was a powerful, feminine sound.
Then I found the vanity. An array of pots, pencils, and brushes that might as well have been alien technology. But as I picked up a tube of lipstick, a strange thing happened. A knowledge that wasn’t mine surfaced. A muscle memory. My hand steadied. I uncapped the tube, a deep rose color, and applied it to “my” lips in smooth, practiced strokes. Then eyeliner, a flick at the corner that appeared as if by magic. Blush dusted on the apples of cheeks I could now feel smiling back at me. I was using her memories, her routines. It was like riding a bike for the first time, but the bike knew the way.
When I opened my eyes and looked in the vanity mirror, a perfectly made-up Lydia Henderson looked back. It was her face, but the light in the eyes… that was all my stunned, giddy wonder.
I was awestruck. Transformed. The innocent, cookie-baking neighbor I saw from my window was also this… this goddess of satin and expertly applied liner.
I was floating on a cloud of discovery when another memory-nudge pulled me. It was stronger, more insistent than the makeup knowledge. It was a pull of routine, of duty, tinged with a secret thrill. It led me out of the bedroom, down the hall, to a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was plain, white, unlike the other decorative doors in the house.
I turned the knob and entered.
The room was an office, but unlike any office I'd ever seen before.
It was a small, soundproofed office. The dominant feature was a large desk with a ring light, a high-quality webcam, and a monitor. Plush, sexy outfits hung on a rack in the corner—things far more daring than the clothes in her main closet. Leather, lace, PVC. A shelf held… toys. Neatly arranged, clean, professional.
The cam girl setup was so blatant, so at odds with the cozy suburban mom exterior, that I just stared. Another memory-flash, not mine: the feeling of logging in, of a stage name—ScarletVelvet—of the focused, performative smile that wasn’t the same as the one she gave me when I mowed her lawn.
My heart hammered again, but with a different kind of adrenaline. This was her secret. And now it was mine. The monitor was dark, but a schedule was pinned to a corkboard. A highlighted time slot was in 15 minutes.
The idea hit me with the force of a train. It was insane. Reckless. Unforgivably invasive.
I couldn’t help it.
I sat down in the plush rolling chair. It adjusted to her—to my—body perfectly. I looked at the login screen for the streaming site. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know the password. But I closed my eyes, and let her surface. Not her consciousness, but the automatic, procedural memory. Like the makeup. My fingers moved on their own, typing in a string of characters. The dashboard for ScarletVelvet loaded.
Five minutes to showtime.
I was sweating. I used one of her memories to pick an outfit—a black lace bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. I put it on, my hands fumbling more now with the nervous energy. I checked the angles of the camera using the preview on the monitor. I fluffed the auburn hair, reapplied the lipstick.
The clock hit the hour. A deep breath. I clicked “Go Live.”
The viewer count started ticking up almost immediately. 10… 25… 50. A chat window bloomed to life on the side screen.
Hey Scarlet!
Missed you last night!
You look hot.
A wave of paralyzing stage fright hit me. This wasn’t my memory, this was live. I had to perform. I swallowed, and offered a smile to the camera. It felt brittle.
“H-hey everyone,” I said, and her voice came out, smoother, sexier than my own cracking tenor. But the cadence was off. I sounded unsure.
You okay, Scarlet? You seem nervous.
I needed to act. I leaned back in the chair, another fragment of her muscle memory guiding me into a pose that was both relaxed and deliberately alluring. “Just a long day,” I purred, trying to mimic the smoky tone I’d heard in the memory-flash. It was closer. “But I’m happy to be here with you all now.”
I let my hands—her elegant, manicured hands—trail down over the lace of the bodysuit. The chat scrolled faster.
Yeah, that’s it.
So beautiful.
I was mimicking, a poor copy of the real ScarletVelvet. I was pulling from stolen glimpses, trying to project a sultry confidence I didn’t feel. I talked, my words stilted, my gestures a half-second too slow or too fast. But the viewers didn’t seem to mind too much. They were here for the visual, for the fantasy.
Then, a private message pinged. A username I didn’t recognize, with a high tipping status. The message read: Something’s different tonight. The light in your eyes. It’s… curious. Shy, almost. I like it. A lot.
The message sent a shiver down my spine—her spine. He saw it. He saw me. The clumsy, curious boy peeking out from behind this beautiful woman’s eyes. The revelation was no longer about her secret. It was about my own, reflected back at me through a stranger’s screen. The thrill was electric, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. I was seen, yet completely hidden. And for the first time since I’d tumbled into this body, I didn’t want to leave.
The stream ended with my heart trying to claw its way out of Mrs. Henderson’s—my—chest. I clicked ‘End Broadcast’ and sat in the silent, neon-lit room, the ghost of a hundred anonymous compliments buzzing in my ears. The adrenaline crash was monumental. A deep, shuddering fatigue pulled at my limbs, at my borrowed eyes. Stumbling back to the master bedroom, I peeled off the black lace bodysuit, leaving it in a heap on the plush carpet. I didn’t have the energy to be neat. In a daze, I pulled on one of her soft cotton nightgowns from a drawer and collapsed into the enormous bed.
The scent of her shampoo on the pillows was the last thing I registered before a deep, black nothingness swallowed me.
***
I woke up with a jolt, my own thin mattress hard beneath my back. Morning light, harsh and familiar, streamed through my blinds. I was in my boxers and a faded band t-shirt. I was me. Just me.
For a long minute, I just lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling I’d put up when I was ten. Had it been a dream? A hyper-vivid, wildly inappropriate stress-dream about my neighbor? It felt too detailed, too real. The weight of the heels. The slick texture of the lipstick. The cold thrill of the chat scrolling by.
I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand, my fingers clumsy. My search history felt like a crime scene. I typed in the site name from the memory, then, hesitantly, the username: ScarletVelvet.
There it was. A profile. A teaser image that was absolutely, unmistakably Mrs. Henderson, though with a smolder I’d never seen in daylight. My mouth went dry. With a trembling click, I navigated to her recent videos. And there, at the top, uploaded six hours ago: “Scarlet’s Shy Night – Live 10/23.”
I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. I just hit play.
And there I was. Or rather, there she was, with me piloting. The footage was crystal clear. I saw the slight, uncharacteristic hesitation in my smile. The way my eyes kept flicking to the chat, wide with a panic I’d tried to hide. I heard my stolen voice say, “Just a long day,” with that imperfect, copied purr. I watched myself trail a hand over the lace, the movement a half-beat off from the real Scarlet’s confident flair.
It was real. Undeniable. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, immediately choked by a wave of gut-churning guilt. And beneath the guilt, a flicker of that same, electrifying curiosity.
I spent the day in a fog, jumping at every sound. I saw Mrs. Henderson bringing in her mail in the afternoon, wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun. She looked tired, but normal. Innocent. She gave a small, casual wave to someone across the street. The duality was mind-breaking.
As night fell, the pull became magnetic. The fear was still there, a cold stone in my stomach, but it was outweighed by the need to know, to feel that transformation again. To have an answer to a question I’d never dared ask out loud.
I sat on my bedroom floor again. No guided meditation this time. Just silence, and a focused, desperate intention. Take me back. Let me in.
The lurch was less violent this time, more like a swift, sinking drift. The lavender scent hit my nostrils. Weight. Softness. Curve.
I opened my eyes in her dark bedroom. Success.
This time, the panic was a minor tremor, quickly subdued by a sense of purpose. I went to her closet, but bypassed the crimson teddies and silk robes. I picked out a pair of dark, well-fitting jeans, a simple black long-sleeved tee, and a comfortable cardigan. I found sensible flats. I looked in the mirror: suburban mom ready for errands. Perfect.
Driving her car was another surge of alien-yet-familiar memory. My hands on the wheel were smaller, my perspective different. The weird feeling of a tight seat-belt resting in the valley of my chest. I made it to the mall, a nervous excitement humming in my veins. This was the test. To be in this body, in the world.
I went to a department store area I’d never dared enter before: the women’s lingerie section. Surrounded by racks of lace and satin, my face flushed. But no one looked twice at a woman browsing bras. The freedom was dizzying. I selected a few sets—a delicate sky blue, a bold leopard print—using her sense of size and fit. I held them up, imagining them on this body. It was a shopping trip from a dream.
Then, emboldened, I went to the trendy clothing stores. I tried on flowy dresses that swirled around my knees, a tight leather skirt that made my heart race, and a ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud. In the fitting room, under the fluorescent lights, I just stared. I turned, examining the lines of her—my—body from every angle. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was a kind of reverence.
The final stop took every ounce of my courage. A sex shop, discreetly located on the outskirts of the mall. A bell chimed as I walked in.
The girl behind the counter looked up. She was probably in her early twenties, with dyed black hair, a septum piercing, and an impressive array of tattoos snaking up her arms. Goth, cool, and utterly intimidating.
“Help you find anything?” she asked, her voice not unfriendly.
“Just… browsing,” I said, Mrs. Henderson’s voice coming out as a shy squeak. I wandered the aisles, overwhelmed by the sheer variety of it all. I felt the Goth girl’s eyes on me, the conservative cardigan-clad mom in a den of iniquity.
Eventually, curiosity overcoming shame, I picked up a small, sleek vibrator, examining it like it was an artifact from another planet.
“Good choice,” the girl said, appearing at the end of the aisle with a knowing smile. “That one’s discreet but powerful. Popular with… beginners. But definitely something you could handle.”
Our eyes met. Hers were sharp, kohl-rimmed, and saw way too much. A faint, amused smile played on her lips. “You seem different today, Mrs. Henderson.”
I nearly dropped the vibrator. She knew her? Of course she did. Small town. My blood ran cold, then hot. I managed a weak smile, channeling every ounce of innocent-neighbor energy I’d observed. “Just… exploring,” I whispered.
“Well, have fun,” she said, her smile turning into a full-blown grin. “Exploration is good for the soul.”
I paid in cash, my face burning, and fled.
Back in the sanctuary of her house, the adrenaline shifted into something slower, warmer, more insistent. The purchases were spread on her bed. The new lingerie. The sleek little toy from the shop.
I put on the sky blue set. It was even prettier on. The contrast against her skin was beautiful. I lay back on the bed, the memories of her own solo routines blending with my own frantic, curiosity. My touch was clumsy at first, then, guided by her body’s own innate knowledge, more sure. It was a bizarre, out-of-body experience that was intensely, overwhelmingly in-body. I was both the explorer and the territory. The pleasure, when it crested, was a shocking, all-consuming wave that left me gasping, shuddering, utterly spent in a way I’d never been in my own body.
In the heavy, satisfied silence that followed, lulled by the fading echoes of sensation and the soft cotton sheets, my borrowed eyes grew heavy. The last coherent thought I had was that this was the deepest, most content sleep I’d ever known.
***
I awoke to the sound of my own alarm blaring, sunlight once again piercing my own familiar, boring blinds. I was back in my scrawny body, tangled in my own sheets, home for the holiday break. For a moment, I just breathed, the phantom sensations of silk and release still tingling at the edges of my awareness. It was real. It had happened again.
And I already knew, with a certainty that scared and thrilled me, that I would be trying to go back as soon as I could.
The weekend stretched before me, a blank canvas of time. The two previous nights had been fleeting infiltrations. Today, I wanted more. I wanted a full day in her skin.
I sat on my floor as the first pale light of Saturday crept into my room. I focused, not on white light or my heart center, but on the memory of lavender and the feeling of satin against skin. The transition was smoother this time, less a lurch and more a conscious step through a door.
I arrived to the sound of running water and the humid, steamy scent of jasmine body wash. I was standing in her master bathroom, the glass shower door fogged, the silhouette of her body—my body—moving behind it. She was humming. I could feel the warm spray hitting my skin, the water sluicing over curves that were now mine. The sensation was immediate and intensely vivid. My hands—her hands—lifted almost of their own accord, slick with soap, gliding over the swell of breasts, the dip of a waist, the smooth plane of a stomach. It was a ritual washing, but for me, it was a breathtaking exploration.
The heat, the steam, the sheer physicality of it coiled a tight, urgent need low in my belly. As the water rained down, I let my hands wander with purpose, no longer just washing, but seeking. I leaned back against the cool tile, my breath hitching as my fingers found their way, guided by a knowledge both borrowed and innate. The climax in the shower was swift and shocking, a white-hot burst that made my knees weak, my stolen cries swallowed by the drumming water. I slumped, panting, the pleasure still echoing through nerve endings that weren't originally mine. It was incredible.
After, wrapped in a plush towel, I felt a strange, powerful confidence. I took my time. I blow-dried her auburn hair into the soft, shiny waves she usually wore. I applied makeup with the practiced ease her memories provided, creating that public-facing mask of friendly, approachable prettiness. I dressed in one of her nice casual outfits—dark jeans, a cream-colored V-neck sweater that clung in a flattering way, knee-high boots. I looked in the mirror and saw the perfect image of the neighbor my step mom would happily invite in for coffee.
The bold idea struck me then, sparkling with risk and a perverse curiosity. I would visit my house.
I walked the familiar short path, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the sidewalk my own sneakers usually scuffed. Ringing my own doorbell was surreal.
My step mom answered, her face lighting up in a warm smile. “Lydia! What a nice surprise. Come in, come in! I was just about to have some coffee.”
“I was just out for a walk and thought I’d say hi,” I said, sliding effortlessly into Mrs. Henderson’s—Lydia’s—warm, slightly musical tone. It was eerie how easily it came, like putting on a well-worn coat from her memories of countless similar chats.
I followed my step mom into the kitchen, the familiar space looking different from this vantage point. She poured coffee, chattering about her plans to re-organize the garage. I nodded and smiled, sipping from the mug, the coffee tasting subtly different with her palate. I was leveraging her memories constantly: the way she held a mug, her opinion on the new neighborhood landscaping, her polite laugh. I was a puppet, and Lydia’s life was the set of strings.
"My son's back from college and could use something to do" my step mom asked with a conspiratorial wink. “Want me to send him over to help with some house work?”
“Oh that'd be perfect,” I heard myself say, and had to suppress a hysterical giggle. “He's a real sweet boy.”
After about twenty minutes of this bizarre charade, I saw my chance. “Would you mind if I excused myself to use your powder room?” I asked.
“Of course, you know where it is!”
I didn’t go to the downstairs powder room. With a thief’s heart, I padded quietly up the stairs, past the framed family photos that now seemed like artifacts from another life. My bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in.
There, sprawled on my bed, fully dressed and snoring softly, was me. Or rather, my empty body. It was the strangest sight of all—seeing my own lanky form from the outside, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over my forehead. A profound sense of dislocation washed over me, followed by a sharp, devious thrill.
I slipped inside and closed the door silently. I stared at my own sleeping face. Then, moving quickly, I pulled out the phone from my borrowed purse—Lydia’s phone. I propped it up on my desk, angled perfectly toward the bed, and hit record.
Then I approached the bed. My own body smelled like my cheap deodorant and the fabric of my old comforter. Gently, I unbuckled my own jeans. My hands, small and soft, worked with a clinical curiosity that was also deeply erotic. I gave my unconscious self a handjob, watching the physiological reaction with a detached, fascinated awe. My shaft thick and hard between my hands. Leaning down, I then took myself into my mouth—her mouth. The sensations were a confusing feedback loop: the physical act, the visual of my own body, the knowledge of who was doing it. It was narcissistic, invasive, and unbearably hot. My body gave in, shooting a small load that covered my face and I made sure the phone captured it all.
I quickly cleaned everything up with a tissue from my nightstand, redid my jeans, and grabbed the phone. I stopped the recording. With shaky fingers, I airdropped the video file to my own phone, which was lying on the nightstand next to my sleeping head. I then meticulously deleted the video from Lydia’s phone and cleared the ‘recently deleted’ folder. The evidence was now only in my possession.
Taking a steadying breath, I smoothed down my sweater and left my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I rejoined my mom in the kitchen, my cheeks flushed.
“Everything alright? You look a little flushed,” my mom said.
“Fine! Just a bit warm,” I said, forcing another smile. I snuck glances at my mom as we talked, seeing the familiar lines of her face from this new, feminine perspective. I was hyper-aware of the body I inhabited, the sway of Lydia’s hair, the brush of her sweater against her breasts—my breasts—as I moved.
The afternoon wore on in a surreal bubble. I was trying to decide what to do next with this borrowed life. Go shopping again? Experiment more at her cam setup? The possibilities were a dizzying array in my mind.
And then, without warning, it happened. A sudden, tugging sensation behind my navel, like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.
***
I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was on my back in my own bed, the afternoon sun now at a different angle. My body felt instantly familiar and was overcome with a feeling of afterglow. The phantom sensations of the shower, of my own touch, still buzzed on my skin like a fading sunburn.
The memory of the video jolted me into action. I scrambled for my phone. There it was. A file received from Lydia Henderson’s device. I didn’t open it. I just stared at the filename, a cold sweat breaking out. It was real. All of it.
I changed my clothes in a frenzy, pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans, my mind reeling. I had to see. I had to know if she was still there.
I practically flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the doorway to the living room. My step mom was still there, on the sofa.
And sitting across from her, sipping the last of her coffee, was Mrs. Henderson—Lydia. She looked perfectly composed, her makeup fresh, her smile easy.
My step mom turned. “Oh, speak of the devil! Lydia was just telling me about her new rose bushes.”
Lydia’s eyes met mine. Those green-flecked hazel eyes held mine for a long, deliberate second. Then, as my step mom glanced down to pick up her own mug, Lydia’s expression shifted. The pleasant neighborly mask dissolved into something else—something knowing, sharp, and utterly mischievous. She gave me a slow, deliberate wink.
Then, her hand resting casually on her knee, hidden from my step mom’s view by the coffee table, she made a quick, unmistakable motion: her fist pumping up and down in the universal sign for a jerk-off.
My blood turned to ice. My stomach dropped through the floor.
She knew. Somehow she knew.
Before I could react, even to breathe, she smiled sweetly at my step mom, stood up, and said, “Well, I should let you two get on with your weekend. Thanks for the coffee, Ellen!”
She walked past me to the door, her perfume trailing behind her. As she reached for the knob, she paused, looked back over her shoulder directly at me, and mouthed silent words with a smirk that was anything but innocent:
“I hope you had fun.”
***
The meditation was a failure. For three nights straight, I sat on my floor until my legs cramped, focusing every ounce of my will on the memory of lavender and silk. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of my own thoughts and the growing dread that my window into Lydia’s world had slammed shut forever.
So when my step-mom Ellen cheerfully announced on Tuesday that she’d “volunteered” me to help Mrs. Henderson haul some old boxes to her attic, my blood ran cold. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a reckoning.
I stood on Lydia’s porch, my heart trying to batter its way through my ribs. I rang the bell.
She answered almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore simple leggings and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup. She looked like the mom next door, but her eyes held a storm.
“Come in,” she said, her voice flat. I shuffled inside, the familiar scent of her home now feeling like a crime scene.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click. We stood in her foyer. The air was thick with unspoken things.
She crossed her arms, fixing me with a hard stare. “So. You want to tell me what the hell that was? Snooping through my things? Wearing my clothes? Going on my stream?” Her tone was sharp, accusatory. “That is some seriously messed up, perverted shit.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My face burned with shame and terror. I was going to be arrested. My life was over. I managed a strangled, “I… I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson, I don’t know what—”
She burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but a rich, genuine sound that filled the hallway. The angry mask melted away, replaced by sparkling amusement. “Oh, god, look at your face!” she wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Priceless. I’m just messing with you, kid. Everything’s fine.”
I sagged against the wall, lightheaded with relief. “W-what?”
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated, grinning. “Well, as fine as it can be when you find out your neighbor’s been borrowing your body like a rental car.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I made iced tea.”
In a daze, I followed her. She poured two glasses, leaning against the counter. “So,” she began, her tone now conspiratorial. “That goth chick at Sinister Delights? Cute, right? She texted me after you left, said I seemed ‘different.’ More fun.”
I could only stare, my mind struggling to catch up.
“And the mall,” she continued, sipping her drink. “Good choices. The leopard print? Bold. I’d have never picked it for myself, but I kinda love it.”
I just held the cold glass, unable to process her words.
“And the cam show,” she continued, leaning against the counter, a sly smile on her lips. “Shy Girl Next Door? That was a brilliant angle. The nervous glances, the slightly clumsy moves… it was authentic. Viewers ate it up. My tips were 30% higher than usual.”
Her expression softened, turning serious for a moment. “That, you do have to keep to yourself. My… professional life. That’s a non-negotiable secret.”
“Of course,” I blurted. “Never. I swear.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she seemed to mean it. “And the video? Of me… you know, with you?” She shook her head, a faint blush on her cheeks that wasn’t entirely from amusement. “You can keep that. Consider it a… weird souvenir.”
The casual way she said it was staggering. “Why… why are you being so cool about this?” I finally managed to whisper.
Lydia sighed, setting her glass down. She looked at me, her gaze turning inward and serious. “Because it wasn’t just you in my head. When you left… something stayed. A little echo. A feeling. I can’t access your memories, but I can feel… a presence. A younger, curious, kinda horny male presence. It’s faint, like a radio playing in another room, but it’s there. It’s why I knew it was you at the door. I felt the echo… resonate.”
She walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. It was a strangely companionable gesture. “I don’t feel violated. I feel… like I owe you a favor. You left a piece of yourself here, and I feel like I should treat you like a new found brother. So.” She shrugged, a new, determined glint in her eye. “I’m going to do you a solid. One for the road, since you're about to go back to college and can’t seem to get back in on your own.”
Before I could ask what she meant, she took my hand. “Come on.”
She led me, stunned and silent, to her bedroom. She pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
I sat. She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out the leopard print lingerie I’d bought. She gave me a wink, then disappeared into the walk-in closet to change.
When she emerged, my breath caught. The leopard print was even more stunning on her when she wore it with intention. The bralette pushed her breasts up, the high-cut briefs accentuating the curve of her hips. She looked like a predator, confident and sleek.
“Lie back,” she instructed softly.
I did. She knelt on the floor between my knees, her hands deftly undoing my jeans. This was nothing like the frantic, secretive act in my bedroom. This was slow, deliberate, and performed with a masterful skill that had me trembling in seconds. Her mouth was hot and knowing, her hands roaming my thighs and stomach. She took her time, bringing me to the edge twice with torturous skill before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Not yet.”
Then she stood up, shimmied out of the briefs, and climbed onto the bed, straddling me. She guided me inside her, sinking down with a slow, deep sigh that was part pleasure, part relief.
The sex was nothing I had ever experienced. It was passionate but controlled, intense but deeply communicative. She rode me with a powerful, rolling rhythm, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned down, her breasts brushing my chest, and kissed me—a deep, searching kiss that tasted of iced tea and mint. The leopard print lace scraped deliciously against my skin.
“You feel that?” she murmured against my lips, her hips never stopping their movement. “That’s all you. That echo. It’s like I know what you like before you do.”
She was right. Every shift, every touch, was perfectly aligned with my building pleasure. It was as if she was reading the ghost I’d left inside her. The climax, when it hit me, was a cataclysmic wave that tore a raw, guttural shout from my throat. She followed me over a moment later, clenching around me, her own cry muffled in the crook of my neck.
We lay together for a long time, tangled and sweating, the scent of sex and her perfume filling the air. She eventually slipped off me and curled against my side. “A proper goodbye,” she whispered, before her breathing evened out into sleep.
***
I woke up alone in my own bed. The gray light of dawn filtered in. The sheets smelled of my own laundry detergent. For a dizzying moment, I was sure it had all been another impossibly vivid dream.
Then I felt the pleasant ache in my muscles. I saw the faint, smudged trace of lipstick—a peachy nude, Morning Kiss—on my collar.
And I remembered her words. You left a piece of yourself here.
That evening, restless and haunted, I sat on my bedroom floor once more. Not trying to reach for Lydia. Just trying to quiet the echo. My consciousness drifted, untethered, through the familiar walls of my house.
I floated into the master bedroom. My step mom, Ellen, was there, sitting at her vanity in a robe, carefully applying night cream. I hovered, a silent, invisible observer. She hummed a tune from some old musical, her face relaxed and kind in the soft light.
The thought, sudden and unbidden, shimmered in my non-corporeal mind. A new door. A different set of strings to pull. The curiosity, now awakened and fed, was a hungry thing.
I floated closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.
The question hung in the ether, heavy with possibility.
Do I want to?
My breath slowed, easing into the steady rhythm I’d been practicing. The YouTube guru’s voice was a distant murmur in my earbuds. Let your consciousness expand beyond the physical form. Feel the boundaries of your body dissolve… I always felt a little silly doing this in my bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling my only witness. But tonight, something was different. A strange, pulling sensation started behind my navel, like a gentle but insistent hook.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on my breathing, but the tug grew stronger. The feeling of my own body—the weight of my limbs on the bed, the pressure of the mattress against my back—suddenly vanished. There was a dizzying rush of color and sound, a sensation of being pulled through a narrow, dark tunnel at impossible speed.
Then, with a soft thump I felt I heard more than heard, everything stopped. A weight... A different kind of weight. My chest felt heavy, supported. My hips felt wider.
I blinked. This wasn’t my room. The air smelled of lavender and expensive perfume. I looked down.
My hands. They were not my hands. They were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. A delicate silver bracelet hung from one wrist. I wore a silk robe, peach, tied loosely at the waist. My heart—no, her heart—hammered against my ribs.
A wave of vertigo hit me, followed by a flood of images that weren’t mine. Lydia. Her name is Lydia. A memory of her laughing with my step mom at the mailbox, holding a grocery bag. Another of her watering her roses in a sun dress last weekend. Before I left for college, she'd always waved at me, a kind, almost shy smile on her face.
Mrs. Henderson from next door. The hot MILF all my friends whispered about but who just seemed… nice.
I was inside Lydia Henderson.
Panic surged, a cold, sharp spike. I needed to get back. I tried to concentrate, to will myself back to my own body lying on my bed, but nothing happened. The panic subsided, replaced by a trembling, awe-filled curiosity. I was here. In her.
I turned, my movements unfamiliar and graceful, and caught my reflection in a full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.
Wow.
She was… stunning. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her green-flecked hazel eyes, were wide with an expression I knew was my own shock staring back. The silk robe hinted at the curves beneath. A lifetime of curious, stolen glances from my bedroom window hadn’t prepared me for the reality of being inside this body. A thrill, warm and forbidden, shot through me.
My gaze drifted past my—her—reflection to the rest of the walk-in closet behind me. The curiosity, always simmering just beneath the surface, roared to life. I’d always wondered. About the feel of it, the look of it, the secret world of it.
There I was surrounded by a forest of silks, satins, and soft, colorful fabrics.
Almost without conscious thought, my hands went to the tie of the robe. It fell open. She—I—was wearing matching peach lace lingerie underneath. A bra that cupped and lifted, panties that were just a delicate scrap of fabric. A heat that had nothing to do with possession flushed through me. It was awe. It was a secret, answered question.
I reached for a hanger. A slip of crimson satin and black lace. A teddy. My fingers trembled as I shimmied out of the peach set and into the red one. The cool satin whispered over my hips, the lace hugged curves I’d never had. I looked in the mirror again. A stranger, yet me. A beautiful, secret version of myself.
I spent what felt like hours, lost in a tactile wonderland. I tried on a tight pencil skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater, feeling the sophisticated drape. I found a pair of sky-high black heels and clomped around the carpet, her body’s balance instinctively better than mine would have been. The click-click of the heels on the hardwood floor was a powerful, feminine sound.
Then I found the vanity. An array of pots, pencils, and brushes that might as well have been alien technology. But as I picked up a tube of lipstick, a strange thing happened. A knowledge that wasn’t mine surfaced. A muscle memory. My hand steadied. I uncapped the tube, a deep rose color, and applied it to “my” lips in smooth, practiced strokes. Then eyeliner, a flick at the corner that appeared as if by magic. Blush dusted on the apples of cheeks I could now feel smiling back at me. I was using her memories, her routines. It was like riding a bike for the first time, but the bike knew the way.
When I opened my eyes and looked in the vanity mirror, a perfectly made-up Lydia Henderson looked back. It was her face, but the light in the eyes… that was all my stunned, giddy wonder.
I was awestruck. Transformed. The innocent, cookie-baking neighbor I saw from my window was also this… this goddess of satin and expertly applied liner.
I was floating on a cloud of discovery when another memory-nudge pulled me. It was stronger, more insistent than the makeup knowledge. It was a pull of routine, of duty, tinged with a secret thrill. It led me out of the bedroom, down the hall, to a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was plain, white, unlike the other decorative doors in the house.
I turned the knob and entered.
The room was an office, but unlike any office I'd ever seen before.
It was a small, soundproofed office. The dominant feature was a large desk with a ring light, a high-quality webcam, and a monitor. Plush, sexy outfits hung on a rack in the corner—things far more daring than the clothes in her main closet. Leather, lace, PVC. A shelf held… toys. Neatly arranged, clean, professional.
The cam girl setup was so blatant, so at odds with the cozy suburban mom exterior, that I just stared. Another memory-flash, not mine: the feeling of logging in, of a stage name—ScarletVelvet—of the focused, performative smile that wasn’t the same as the one she gave me when I mowed her lawn.
My heart hammered again, but with a different kind of adrenaline. This was her secret. And now it was mine. The monitor was dark, but a schedule was pinned to a corkboard. A highlighted time slot was in 15 minutes.
The idea hit me with the force of a train. It was insane. Reckless. Unforgivably invasive.
I couldn’t help it.
I sat down in the plush rolling chair. It adjusted to her—to my—body perfectly. I looked at the login screen for the streaming site. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know the password. But I closed my eyes, and let her surface. Not her consciousness, but the automatic, procedural memory. Like the makeup. My fingers moved on their own, typing in a string of characters. The dashboard for ScarletVelvet loaded.
Five minutes to showtime.
I was sweating. I used one of her memories to pick an outfit—a black lace bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. I put it on, my hands fumbling more now with the nervous energy. I checked the angles of the camera using the preview on the monitor. I fluffed the auburn hair, reapplied the lipstick.
The clock hit the hour. A deep breath. I clicked “Go Live.”
The viewer count started ticking up almost immediately. 10… 25… 50. A chat window bloomed to life on the side screen.
Hey Scarlet!
Missed you last night!
You look hot.
A wave of paralyzing stage fright hit me. This wasn’t my memory, this was live. I had to perform. I swallowed, and offered a smile to the camera. It felt brittle.
“H-hey everyone,” I said, and her voice came out, smoother, sexier than my own cracking tenor. But the cadence was off. I sounded unsure.
You okay, Scarlet? You seem nervous.
I needed to act. I leaned back in the chair, another fragment of her muscle memory guiding me into a pose that was both relaxed and deliberately alluring. “Just a long day,” I purred, trying to mimic the smoky tone I’d heard in the memory-flash. It was closer. “But I’m happy to be here with you all now.”
I let my hands—her elegant, manicured hands—trail down over the lace of the bodysuit. The chat scrolled faster.
Yeah, that’s it.
So beautiful.
I was mimicking, a poor copy of the real ScarletVelvet. I was pulling from stolen glimpses, trying to project a sultry confidence I didn’t feel. I talked, my words stilted, my gestures a half-second too slow or too fast. But the viewers didn’t seem to mind too much. They were here for the visual, for the fantasy.
Then, a private message pinged. A username I didn’t recognize, with a high tipping status. The message read: Something’s different tonight. The light in your eyes. It’s… curious. Shy, almost. I like it. A lot.
The message sent a shiver down my spine—her spine. He saw it. He saw me. The clumsy, curious boy peeking out from behind this beautiful woman’s eyes. The revelation was no longer about her secret. It was about my own, reflected back at me through a stranger’s screen. The thrill was electric, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. I was seen, yet completely hidden. And for the first time since I’d tumbled into this body, I didn’t want to leave.
The stream ended with my heart trying to claw its way out of Mrs. Henderson’s—my—chest. I clicked ‘End Broadcast’ and sat in the silent, neon-lit room, the ghost of a hundred anonymous compliments buzzing in my ears. The adrenaline crash was monumental. A deep, shuddering fatigue pulled at my limbs, at my borrowed eyes. Stumbling back to the master bedroom, I peeled off the black lace bodysuit, leaving it in a heap on the plush carpet. I didn’t have the energy to be neat. In a daze, I pulled on one of her soft cotton nightgowns from a drawer and collapsed into the enormous bed.
The scent of her shampoo on the pillows was the last thing I registered before a deep, black nothingness swallowed me.
***
I woke up with a jolt, my own thin mattress hard beneath my back. Morning light, harsh and familiar, streamed through my blinds. I was in my boxers and a faded band t-shirt. I was me. Just me.
For a long minute, I just lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling I’d put up when I was ten. Had it been a dream? A hyper-vivid, wildly inappropriate stress-dream about my neighbor? It felt too detailed, too real. The weight of the heels. The slick texture of the lipstick. The cold thrill of the chat scrolling by.
I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand, my fingers clumsy. My search history felt like a crime scene. I typed in the site name from the memory, then, hesitantly, the username: ScarletVelvet.
There it was. A profile. A teaser image that was absolutely, unmistakably Mrs. Henderson, though with a smolder I’d never seen in daylight. My mouth went dry. With a trembling click, I navigated to her recent videos. And there, at the top, uploaded six hours ago: “Scarlet’s Shy Night – Live 10/23.”
I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. I just hit play.
And there I was. Or rather, there she was, with me piloting. The footage was crystal clear. I saw the slight, uncharacteristic hesitation in my smile. The way my eyes kept flicking to the chat, wide with a panic I’d tried to hide. I heard my stolen voice say, “Just a long day,” with that imperfect, copied purr. I watched myself trail a hand over the lace, the movement a half-beat off from the real Scarlet’s confident flair.
It was real. Undeniable. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, immediately choked by a wave of gut-churning guilt. And beneath the guilt, a flicker of that same, electrifying curiosity.
I spent the day in a fog, jumping at every sound. I saw Mrs. Henderson bringing in her mail in the afternoon, wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun. She looked tired, but normal. Innocent. She gave a small, casual wave to someone across the street. The duality was mind-breaking.
As night fell, the pull became magnetic. The fear was still there, a cold stone in my stomach, but it was outweighed by the need to know, to feel that transformation again. To have an answer to a question I’d never dared ask out loud.
I sat on my bedroom floor again. No guided meditation this time. Just silence, and a focused, desperate intention. Take me back. Let me in.
The lurch was less violent this time, more like a swift, sinking drift. The lavender scent hit my nostrils. Weight. Softness. Curve.
I opened my eyes in her dark bedroom. Success.
This time, the panic was a minor tremor, quickly subdued by a sense of purpose. I went to her closet, but bypassed the crimson teddies and silk robes. I picked out a pair of dark, well-fitting jeans, a simple black long-sleeved tee, and a comfortable cardigan. I found sensible flats. I looked in the mirror: suburban mom ready for errands. Perfect.
Driving her car was another surge of alien-yet-familiar memory. My hands on the wheel were smaller, my perspective different. The weird feeling of a tight seat-belt resting in the valley of my chest. I made it to the mall, a nervous excitement humming in my veins. This was the test. To be in this body, in the world.
I went to a department store area I’d never dared enter before: the women’s lingerie section. Surrounded by racks of lace and satin, my face flushed. But no one looked twice at a woman browsing bras. The freedom was dizzying. I selected a few sets—a delicate sky blue, a bold leopard print—using her sense of size and fit. I held them up, imagining them on this body. It was a shopping trip from a dream.
Then, emboldened, I went to the trendy clothing stores. I tried on flowy dresses that swirled around my knees, a tight leather skirt that made my heart race, and a ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud. In the fitting room, under the fluorescent lights, I just stared. I turned, examining the lines of her—my—body from every angle. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was a kind of reverence.
The final stop took every ounce of my courage. A sex shop, discreetly located on the outskirts of the mall. A bell chimed as I walked in.
The girl behind the counter looked up. She was probably in her early twenties, with dyed black hair, a septum piercing, and an impressive array of tattoos snaking up her arms. Goth, cool, and utterly intimidating.
“Help you find anything?” she asked, her voice not unfriendly.
“Just… browsing,” I said, Mrs. Henderson’s voice coming out as a shy squeak. I wandered the aisles, overwhelmed by the sheer variety of it all. I felt the Goth girl’s eyes on me, the conservative cardigan-clad mom in a den of iniquity.
Eventually, curiosity overcoming shame, I picked up a small, sleek vibrator, examining it like it was an artifact from another planet.
“Good choice,” the girl said, appearing at the end of the aisle with a knowing smile. “That one’s discreet but powerful. Popular with… beginners. But definitely something you could handle.”
Our eyes met. Hers were sharp, kohl-rimmed, and saw way too much. A faint, amused smile played on her lips. “You seem different today, Mrs. Henderson.”
I nearly dropped the vibrator. She knew her? Of course she did. Small town. My blood ran cold, then hot. I managed a weak smile, channeling every ounce of innocent-neighbor energy I’d observed. “Just… exploring,” I whispered.
“Well, have fun,” she said, her smile turning into a full-blown grin. “Exploration is good for the soul.”
I paid in cash, my face burning, and fled.
Back in the sanctuary of her house, the adrenaline shifted into something slower, warmer, more insistent. The purchases were spread on her bed. The new lingerie. The sleek little toy from the shop.
I put on the sky blue set. It was even prettier on. The contrast against her skin was beautiful. I lay back on the bed, the memories of her own solo routines blending with my own frantic, curiosity. My touch was clumsy at first, then, guided by her body’s own innate knowledge, more sure. It was a bizarre, out-of-body experience that was intensely, overwhelmingly in-body. I was both the explorer and the territory. The pleasure, when it crested, was a shocking, all-consuming wave that left me gasping, shuddering, utterly spent in a way I’d never been in my own body.
In the heavy, satisfied silence that followed, lulled by the fading echoes of sensation and the soft cotton sheets, my borrowed eyes grew heavy. The last coherent thought I had was that this was the deepest, most content sleep I’d ever known.
***
I awoke to the sound of my own alarm blaring, sunlight once again piercing my own familiar, boring blinds. I was back in my scrawny body, tangled in my own sheets, home for the holiday break. For a moment, I just breathed, the phantom sensations of silk and release still tingling at the edges of my awareness. It was real. It had happened again.
And I already knew, with a certainty that scared and thrilled me, that I would be trying to go back as soon as I could.
The weekend stretched before me, a blank canvas of time. The two previous nights had been fleeting infiltrations. Today, I wanted more. I wanted a full day in her skin.
I sat on my floor as the first pale light of Saturday crept into my room. I focused, not on white light or my heart center, but on the memory of lavender and the feeling of satin against skin. The transition was smoother this time, less a lurch and more a conscious step through a door.
I arrived to the sound of running water and the humid, steamy scent of jasmine body wash. I was standing in her master bathroom, the glass shower door fogged, the silhouette of her body—my body—moving behind it. She was humming. I could feel the warm spray hitting my skin, the water sluicing over curves that were now mine. The sensation was immediate and intensely vivid. My hands—her hands—lifted almost of their own accord, slick with soap, gliding over the swell of breasts, the dip of a waist, the smooth plane of a stomach. It was a ritual washing, but for me, it was a breathtaking exploration.
The heat, the steam, the sheer physicality of it coiled a tight, urgent need low in my belly. As the water rained down, I let my hands wander with purpose, no longer just washing, but seeking. I leaned back against the cool tile, my breath hitching as my fingers found their way, guided by a knowledge both borrowed and innate. The climax in the shower was swift and shocking, a white-hot burst that made my knees weak, my stolen cries swallowed by the drumming water. I slumped, panting, the pleasure still echoing through nerve endings that weren't originally mine. It was incredible.
After, wrapped in a plush towel, I felt a strange, powerful confidence. I took my time. I blow-dried her auburn hair into the soft, shiny waves she usually wore. I applied makeup with the practiced ease her memories provided, creating that public-facing mask of friendly, approachable prettiness. I dressed in one of her nice casual outfits—dark jeans, a cream-colored V-neck sweater that clung in a flattering way, knee-high boots. I looked in the mirror and saw the perfect image of the neighbor my step mom would happily invite in for coffee.
The bold idea struck me then, sparkling with risk and a perverse curiosity. I would visit my house.
I walked the familiar short path, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the sidewalk my own sneakers usually scuffed. Ringing my own doorbell was surreal.
My step mom answered, her face lighting up in a warm smile. “Lydia! What a nice surprise. Come in, come in! I was just about to have some coffee.”
“I was just out for a walk and thought I’d say hi,” I said, sliding effortlessly into Mrs. Henderson’s—Lydia’s—warm, slightly musical tone. It was eerie how easily it came, like putting on a well-worn coat from her memories of countless similar chats.
I followed my step mom into the kitchen, the familiar space looking different from this vantage point. She poured coffee, chattering about her plans to re-organize the garage. I nodded and smiled, sipping from the mug, the coffee tasting subtly different with her palate. I was leveraging her memories constantly: the way she held a mug, her opinion on the new neighborhood landscaping, her polite laugh. I was a puppet, and Lydia’s life was the set of strings.
"My son's back from college and could use something to do" my step mom asked with a conspiratorial wink. “Want me to send him over to help with some house work?”
“Oh that'd be perfect,” I heard myself say, and had to suppress a hysterical giggle. “He's a real sweet boy.”
After about twenty minutes of this bizarre charade, I saw my chance. “Would you mind if I excused myself to use your powder room?” I asked.
“Of course, you know where it is!”
I didn’t go to the downstairs powder room. With a thief’s heart, I padded quietly up the stairs, past the framed family photos that now seemed like artifacts from another life. My bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in.
There, sprawled on my bed, fully dressed and snoring softly, was me. Or rather, my empty body. It was the strangest sight of all—seeing my own lanky form from the outside, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over my forehead. A profound sense of dislocation washed over me, followed by a sharp, devious thrill.
I slipped inside and closed the door silently. I stared at my own sleeping face. Then, moving quickly, I pulled out the phone from my borrowed purse—Lydia’s phone. I propped it up on my desk, angled perfectly toward the bed, and hit record.
Then I approached the bed. My own body smelled like my cheap deodorant and the fabric of my old comforter. Gently, I unbuckled my own jeans. My hands, small and soft, worked with a clinical curiosity that was also deeply erotic. I gave my unconscious self a handjob, watching the physiological reaction with a detached, fascinated awe. My shaft thick and hard between my hands. Leaning down, I then took myself into my mouth—her mouth. The sensations were a confusing feedback loop: the physical act, the visual of my own body, the knowledge of who was doing it. It was narcissistic, invasive, and unbearably hot. My body gave in, shooting a small load that covered my face and I made sure the phone captured it all.
I quickly cleaned everything up with a tissue from my nightstand, redid my jeans, and grabbed the phone. I stopped the recording. With shaky fingers, I airdropped the video file to my own phone, which was lying on the nightstand next to my sleeping head. I then meticulously deleted the video from Lydia’s phone and cleared the ‘recently deleted’ folder. The evidence was now only in my possession.
Taking a steadying breath, I smoothed down my sweater and left my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I rejoined my mom in the kitchen, my cheeks flushed.
“Everything alright? You look a little flushed,” my mom said.
“Fine! Just a bit warm,” I said, forcing another smile. I snuck glances at my mom as we talked, seeing the familiar lines of her face from this new, feminine perspective. I was hyper-aware of the body I inhabited, the sway of Lydia’s hair, the brush of her sweater against her breasts—my breasts—as I moved.
The afternoon wore on in a surreal bubble. I was trying to decide what to do next with this borrowed life. Go shopping again? Experiment more at her cam setup? The possibilities were a dizzying array in my mind.
And then, without warning, it happened. A sudden, tugging sensation behind my navel, like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.
***
I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was on my back in my own bed, the afternoon sun now at a different angle. My body felt instantly familiar and was overcome with a feeling of afterglow. The phantom sensations of the shower, of my own touch, still buzzed on my skin like a fading sunburn.
The memory of the video jolted me into action. I scrambled for my phone. There it was. A file received from Lydia Henderson’s device. I didn’t open it. I just stared at the filename, a cold sweat breaking out. It was real. All of it.
I changed my clothes in a frenzy, pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans, my mind reeling. I had to see. I had to know if she was still there.
I practically flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the doorway to the living room. My step mom was still there, on the sofa.
And sitting across from her, sipping the last of her coffee, was Mrs. Henderson—Lydia. She looked perfectly composed, her makeup fresh, her smile easy.
My step mom turned. “Oh, speak of the devil! Lydia was just telling me about her new rose bushes.”
Lydia’s eyes met mine. Those green-flecked hazel eyes held mine for a long, deliberate second. Then, as my step mom glanced down to pick up her own mug, Lydia’s expression shifted. The pleasant neighborly mask dissolved into something else—something knowing, sharp, and utterly mischievous. She gave me a slow, deliberate wink.
Then, her hand resting casually on her knee, hidden from my step mom’s view by the coffee table, she made a quick, unmistakable motion: her fist pumping up and down in the universal sign for a jerk-off.
My blood turned to ice. My stomach dropped through the floor.
She knew. Somehow she knew.
Before I could react, even to breathe, she smiled sweetly at my step mom, stood up, and said, “Well, I should let you two get on with your weekend. Thanks for the coffee, Ellen!”
She walked past me to the door, her perfume trailing behind her. As she reached for the knob, she paused, looked back over her shoulder directly at me, and mouthed silent words with a smirk that was anything but innocent:
“I hope you had fun.”
***
The meditation was a failure. For three nights straight, I sat on my floor until my legs cramped, focusing every ounce of my will on the memory of lavender and silk. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of my own thoughts and the growing dread that my window into Lydia’s world had slammed shut forever.
So when my step-mom Ellen cheerfully announced on Tuesday that she’d “volunteered” me to help Mrs. Henderson haul some old boxes to her attic, my blood ran cold. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a reckoning.
I stood on Lydia’s porch, my heart trying to batter its way through my ribs. I rang the bell.
She answered almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore simple leggings and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup. She looked like the mom next door, but her eyes held a storm.
“Come in,” she said, her voice flat. I shuffled inside, the familiar scent of her home now feeling like a crime scene.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click. We stood in her foyer. The air was thick with unspoken things.
She crossed her arms, fixing me with a hard stare. “So. You want to tell me what the hell that was? Snooping through my things? Wearing my clothes? Going on my stream?” Her tone was sharp, accusatory. “That is some seriously messed up, perverted shit.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My face burned with shame and terror. I was going to be arrested. My life was over. I managed a strangled, “I… I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson, I don’t know what—”
She burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but a rich, genuine sound that filled the hallway. The angry mask melted away, replaced by sparkling amusement. “Oh, god, look at your face!” she wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Priceless. I’m just messing with you, kid. Everything’s fine.”
I sagged against the wall, lightheaded with relief. “W-what?”
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated, grinning. “Well, as fine as it can be when you find out your neighbor’s been borrowing your body like a rental car.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I made iced tea.”
In a daze, I followed her. She poured two glasses, leaning against the counter. “So,” she began, her tone now conspiratorial. “That goth chick at Sinister Delights? Cute, right? She texted me after you left, said I seemed ‘different.’ More fun.”
I could only stare, my mind struggling to catch up.
“And the mall,” she continued, sipping her drink. “Good choices. The leopard print? Bold. I’d have never picked it for myself, but I kinda love it.”
I just held the cold glass, unable to process her words.
“And the cam show,” she continued, leaning against the counter, a sly smile on her lips. “Shy Girl Next Door? That was a brilliant angle. The nervous glances, the slightly clumsy moves… it was authentic. Viewers ate it up. My tips were 30% higher than usual.”
Her expression softened, turning serious for a moment. “That, you do have to keep to yourself. My… professional life. That’s a non-negotiable secret.”
“Of course,” I blurted. “Never. I swear.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she seemed to mean it. “And the video? Of me… you know, with you?” She shook her head, a faint blush on her cheeks that wasn’t entirely from amusement. “You can keep that. Consider it a… weird souvenir.”
The casual way she said it was staggering. “Why… why are you being so cool about this?” I finally managed to whisper.
Lydia sighed, setting her glass down. She looked at me, her gaze turning inward and serious. “Because it wasn’t just you in my head. When you left… something stayed. A little echo. A feeling. I can’t access your memories, but I can feel… a presence. A younger, curious, kinda horny male presence. It’s faint, like a radio playing in another room, but it’s there. It’s why I knew it was you at the door. I felt the echo… resonate.”
She walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. It was a strangely companionable gesture. “I don’t feel violated. I feel… like I owe you a favor. You left a piece of yourself here, and I feel like I should treat you like a new found brother. So.” She shrugged, a new, determined glint in her eye. “I’m going to do you a solid. One for the road, since you're about to go back to college and can’t seem to get back in on your own.”
Before I could ask what she meant, she took my hand. “Come on.”
She led me, stunned and silent, to her bedroom. She pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
I sat. She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out the leopard print lingerie I’d bought. She gave me a wink, then disappeared into the walk-in closet to change.
When she emerged, my breath caught. The leopard print was even more stunning on her when she wore it with intention. The bralette pushed her breasts up, the high-cut briefs accentuating the curve of her hips. She looked like a predator, confident and sleek.
“Lie back,” she instructed softly.
I did. She knelt on the floor between my knees, her hands deftly undoing my jeans. This was nothing like the frantic, secretive act in my bedroom. This was slow, deliberate, and performed with a masterful skill that had me trembling in seconds. Her mouth was hot and knowing, her hands roaming my thighs and stomach. She took her time, bringing me to the edge twice with torturous skill before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Not yet.”
Then she stood up, shimmied out of the briefs, and climbed onto the bed, straddling me. She guided me inside her, sinking down with a slow, deep sigh that was part pleasure, part relief.
The sex was nothing I had ever experienced. It was passionate but controlled, intense but deeply communicative. She rode me with a powerful, rolling rhythm, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned down, her breasts brushing my chest, and kissed me—a deep, searching kiss that tasted of iced tea and mint. The leopard print lace scraped deliciously against my skin.
“You feel that?” she murmured against my lips, her hips never stopping their movement. “That’s all you. That echo. It’s like I know what you like before you do.”
She was right. Every shift, every touch, was perfectly aligned with my building pleasure. It was as if she was reading the ghost I’d left inside her. The climax, when it hit me, was a cataclysmic wave that tore a raw, guttural shout from my throat. She followed me over a moment later, clenching around me, her own cry muffled in the crook of my neck.
We lay together for a long time, tangled and sweating, the scent of sex and her perfume filling the air. She eventually slipped off me and curled against my side. “A proper goodbye,” she whispered, before her breathing evened out into sleep.
***
I woke up alone in my own bed. The gray light of dawn filtered in. The sheets smelled of my own laundry detergent. For a dizzying moment, I was sure it had all been another impossibly vivid dream.
Then I felt the pleasant ache in my muscles. I saw the faint, smudged trace of lipstick—a peachy nude, Morning Kiss—on my collar.
And I remembered her words. You left a piece of yourself here.
That evening, restless and haunted, I sat on my bedroom floor once more. Not trying to reach for Lydia. Just trying to quiet the echo. My consciousness drifted, untethered, through the familiar walls of my house.
I floated into the master bedroom. My step mom, Ellen, was there, sitting at her vanity in a robe, carefully applying night cream. I hovered, a silent, invisible observer. She hummed a tune from some old musical, her face relaxed and kind in the soft light.
The thought, sudden and unbidden, shimmered in my non-corporeal mind. A new door. A different set of strings to pull. The curiosity, now awakened and fed, was a hungry thing.
I floated closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.
The question hung in the ether, heavy with possibility.
Do I want to?
possession
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A NEET terrorizes her family with her possession powers.
It was in the very early morning hours. The whole house was pitch-black and its inhabitants were fast asleep, except for one. The only source of light was the glow emenating from a computer monitor. It illuminated Wendy’s face and the strands of greasy hair glued to it. The synthetic light just faintly revealed the mess in her room: the moldy plates, empty take-out boxes, and dirty clothes, all of which were freely intermixed and strewn about.
Wet sounds and a pungent smell filled the air. Wendy sat in her computer chair in just her underwear and masturbated while playing an erotic dating simulator. She had been an avid fan of video games, especially story-driven ones like visual novels, since she was a kid, but since the twenty-three-year-old failed out of college and moved back in with her parents, she had done nothing but sit in front of her computer and play video games all day long.
She used to be somewhat pretty, but she let herself go quite a bit when she essentially barricaded herself into her old childhood room, only ever leaving to use the bathroom. Since then, she had been escaping more and more into the virtual world of various video games, desperately trying to escape her failures in the outside world. The easily achievable goals in those games provided her with at least a fake sense of fullfilment and purpose.
Initially, she stuck to regular video games and story-driven visual novels. But since moving back home, she got fairly addicted to romantic dating simulators, which provided her a with a substitute for the type of relationship she longed for but could not achieve in real life. Things took even more of a downturn when, a few months ago, after having played through virtually all visual novels, she checked out her first incest-themed eroge, a genre she had not paid any attention to before, but now felt compelled to in order to avoid spending any second alone with her own thoughts.
Right in that moment she was playing through a scene where the main character’s adorable little sister snuck into her older brother’s bed and snuggled up to him under the covers. The game quickly turned erotic and, in response, Wendy let out a long, deep grunt, signaling her climax.
To recuperate from her self-satisfaction, Wendy leaned back into her chair and looked up at her dimmly-lit ceiling. After a few moments an idea popped into her head. She got up and, for the first time in a while, left her room for a reason other than to use the bathroom. She quietly crept through the dark hallway and slowly opened the door two rooms further down, trying to keep it from creaking as to not wake the person sleeping inside.
After entering the room, she managed to silently close the door behind her and then tip-toed towards the bed inside. There, she lifted the covers and carefully laid down next to her older brother Josh who was sleeping soundly. She then cozied up to him under the blanket just like she had seen the little sister do in her video game. She was now right next to him with her foul breath caressing his skin.
Wanting to recreate the scene from her video game, Wendy began carefully fishing her brother’s limp dick out of his pyjama pants and gently rubbed it until it was fully errect. She then rolled on top of him, pushed her panties aside, and stealthily slipped his dick into her hungry snatch.
Meanwhile, Josh was having the most amazing dream. In it, he found himself in an infinite, white void where he was hooking up with the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her long, brunette hair appeared to be silky-soft as it gently swayed around her slender frame with each motion, lending her an ethereal presence. The only things about her that he found more captivating than her radiant smile were her full, ripe breasts, which were practically begging to be devoured. She seemed really familiar to Josh, although he could not quite place where he had seen her before. Maybe she was an ex-girlfriend he had forgotten about. Nevertheless, he did not want to keep this unknown beauty waiting by fretting about it.
Josh and the mysterious girl had already fully shed their clothes and were eager to get things going. He laid down on the most comfortable bed imaginable, which had appeared out of nowhere without him ever noticing. Lying on his back, he watched as his dream lover expertly fondled his privates while looking up at him with hungry eyes. In no time he was ready to take her. The nameless vixen sat on top of him and began immediately riding him, placing her hands on his hard abs for support. Her hot, silky depths engulfed him completely as her smooth, hairless body writhed with pleasure. Biting her lower lip, she failed to stifle the soft moans escaping from her mouth that accompanied the expressions of extacy on her gorgeous face. They caressed Josh’s ears like the sweatest of melodies, bewitching him like a siren. The pleasure that grew in his groin was overwhelming, beyond anything he had ever experienced in real life.
Yet, something about her felt odd to him. Despite her small size and lithe body, the dreamy nymph on top of him felt unusually heavy. This bizarre fact made him realize that he was actually dreaming, which immediately ripped him from his sleep.
Completely disoriented, the only things Josh could perceive in the dark was labored breathing and groaning, and a heavy weight bouncing up and down on him. At first he hoped that this might be a continuation of his wonderful dream, but when a lurid stench crept up his nose he knew for certain that he was awake. Wanting to find out who or what was disturbing his sweet dreams, he turned to his night stand right beside his bed to turn on the light. For a few seconds the sudden presence of light blinded him like a flash of lightning. But when his eyes had acclimated to the new-found brightness, he was horrified by the ghastly figure sitting on top of him.
“Wendy!!”, Josh exlaimed as he recognized his grody younger sister straddling him, wearing only a bra and panties. Her grin was barely visible through her greasy hair and the bra that had failed to adjust to her increased size dug deeply into her chubby shape, almost cutting off circulation to her formless breasts. “What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? And why are you sitting on top of me?” Josh demanded angrily. “Oh, Josh,” was the only answer Wendy could moan, never breaking with the rhythm of her movements. Hearing these sexual sounds come from his sister’s mouth was like fingernails on a chalkboard to his ears.
Her abhorrent, yet puzzling, response made Josh’s eyes wander lower. He gagged violently when he discovered his dick was burried deep inside his sister’s rancid, unkempt snatch, even feeling her coarse pubes rubbing against his skin as she was grinding her crotch against his. He felt so repulsed by this disgusting sight that he could have projectile-vomitted every meal he had ever had in his life right in that very moment. Luckily, his stomach was completely empty or he would have made an even bigger mess out of this situation.
“Get off of me!” Josh yelled while forcefully pushing his grody sister away. Wendy fell off his dick, off his bed, and on onto the floor, landing there with a strong thud. She quickly scrambled back onto her feet. “Why did you do that?” she hissed. “That’s what I should be asking! Why were you having sex with me, Wendy? You’re my sister! That’s so fucked!” he exclaimed. “But I’m your cute little sister, bro. Don’t you find me adorable,” she said batting her eye-lids, trying to charm her brother, but somehow ending up looking even creepier.
“Eewww, you’re sick, Wendy! Sick and vile!” Josh said disgusted. “And not just that, you’re also fucking filthy. I’d rather rip my own dick off and poke my eyes out with it than have sex with you, even if we were the last two people on earth stranded on a lonely island! I wish you’d just disappear forever and leave us alone.” Her brother’s harsh remarks finally burst the fantasy that Wendy had built up in her mind over the past few months of playing eroges. The reality she tried to run from came crashing down on her right in this moment, as Josh’s cutting words hurt her deeply.
“Fine!” Wendy said scorned and full of anger. “If you want me to disappear, then that’s what I will do, I guess!” With tears of anger welling up, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Wait! Wendy! Nooo—!” Josh exclaimed, trying to stop her. But it was too late. As if something had zapped the life out of her, Wendy instantly lost all the tension in her body and collapsed face-first onto her brother’s bed. At the same time, Josh’s eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body began convulsing vigorously. Then something inside of him snapped and he, too, lost almost all the tension in his body, just barely being able to stand. His head was loosely dangling from his neck.
After a few moments of silence, Josh seemed to wake up, as both his heads slowly rose up again. But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in control. His sister Wendy had somehow developed the powers to take over other people’s bodies during her early teenage years. At first she was shy and reluctant about them, as she used to be a gentle soul. She simply could not square it with her conscience to control other people. The most she would do was ride along in the friends or family members of a boy she had a crush on at the time. When her parents found out about her powers, they immediately scolded her and forbade her from ever using her powers. But as Wendy grew older, her parents realized that their daughter did not have any ill intentions and began relaxing about the situation.
But when Wendy failed out of college and her mental health declined, things turned scary for her family. She became more and more controlling and petulant, throwing tamper tantrums anytime anyone disturbed her or tried to tell her what to do. She also became increasingly blasé about using her powers, taking over her family, neighbors, and anyone in reach for the smallest of matters, just so she would never have to leave her room.
On a few occasions Wendy had even used her powers to blackmail people into doing what she wanted, even when she was not possessing them. Another time she had stalked a poor guy who she had become at first infatuated and then obsessed with on social media. She had followed him around as different people, watching every step he made, every second of his life for two months. She only stopped because she eventually became bored of him.
These were the myriad of reasons that her family now lived in fear of her. Her parents could not throw her out because of her powers. They themselves could not move out since all their savings were tied into their house. Their youngest daughter, Alice, refused to leave, as she did not want her parents to suffer alone. And even Josh had moved back in as a means to protect his family, which is why he now found himself not in control of his own body.
“Josh” grinned from ear to ear as he patted down “his” flat chest. “He” then flexed his biceps, admiring his own strength. Next, he grabbed his dick, which was already painfully errect, with both his hands and began firmly squeezing it. He could virtually feel the blood pulsing through the thick meat of his sizeable member. “He” then turned to the person lying on his bed and said, “I’m soooo sorry, ‘sis’. I didn’t mean to hurt you. My words came out all wrong. What I meant to say was that you are the most adorable little sister a big brother could ever wish for! Here, let me show you how much I love you.”
With that, “Josh” stepped towards Wendy’s comatose body and snaked his big, strong hands underneath her torso. “Oh, my. When did my cute little sister grow up to be such a woman?” “he” cooed while groping her flabby breasts. Without turning over her heavy frame, “Josh” glid his rough hands along her pudgy waist and onto her even wider hips, firmly grabbing ahold of them. “He” then carefully wormed his prick into “his sister’s” slimy, hairy cunt, before forcefully jamming his entire length into her unconscious flesh.
Without any further hesitation, “Josh” began viciously fucking his sleeping sister, pumping in and out of her like an animal while groaning and grunting like a bull. “He” nearly worked himself into a frenzy. Wendy’s rotten odor began reeking from all the friction and heat they created, which seemed to turn him on even more. For the next two minutes, the clapping of “his” hips against her sizeable cheeks echoed throughout the room until “he” finally hit is climax and then dumped his thick load inside of “his” sister’s gooey slit. Still inside of her, he collapsed on top of her and under heavy breathing whispered into her ear, “I love you, ‘sis’.”
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It was very late in the morning, almost creeping on noon, when Christine, the mother of the house, stood in the kitchen and prepared some food. She was cheerfully humming a tune while cutting up a cantalope and placing slices of ham on pieces of crispy toast. She then artfully aranged the food on a plate, in a way that was worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The food was not only delicious but also visually appetizing, and so was her ample bosom that was proudly put on display by a low-cut, floral sundress, which gently hugged her motherly curves.
Still humming to herself, Christine picked up the plate, left the kitchen, and went up the stairs with a joyful bounce to her step, which not only made the hem of her short dress dance around her hips and tickle her thighs but also made her opulent mounds jiggle playfully. Upstairs, she entered her daughter’s dingy room without either knocking or turning on the lights and placed the food on her desk. “Enjoy your breakfast, honey,” she whispered to a sleeping Wendy.
Without any further hesitation, Christine left her daughter’s room and headed straight to the master bedroom. Behind locked doors she made her way over to her full-sized mirror and began admiring herself. Slowly, a big, dirty grin spread across her face. “Thank you, mother, for providing me with such a healthy breakfast,” “Christine” said in a sickly-sweet tone, seemingly mocking herself. “You always taught me to eat my daily share of fruits, and your ‘melons’ are especially delicious,” she said while giving her huge globes a firm squeeze. “She” then slowly moved her hands along “her” waist and hips, closely following and enjoying every inch of her delectable curves, and then began groping her big, womanly ass. “And let’s not forget about your delicious meat! I gotta hand it to you: you got a real meatsuit of a body, mom!”
“Christine” then threw herself onto her bed and immediately began furiously masturbating, not even bothering to undress. One hand tightly squeezed her fleshy tits while the other inserted two fingers into her hungry snatch, dragging her panties along with them as they plummeted the depths of her steaming hot hole that had given birth to three children, one of which was now in control of her body and effectively molesting her own mother.
Regrettably, “Christine” soon had to remove her hand from her supple twins in order to cover her mouth and stiffle her moans, so that she would not alert the whole house to her lewd activities. Meanwhile, the other hand continued to slip in and out of her unabated. Under the assault from such intense stimulation, it did not take long for her to reach her peak, which she celebrated by letting out a long, muffled scream.
The only thing “Christine” was able to do in the immediate aftermath was to lay on her back, breathing heavily, and bask in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her panties and her hand were now drenched in her juices. But, alas, her bliss was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mom, are you in there?” Josh asked loudly through the door. “Have you seen my black shirt? I’ve been looking all over for it!”
“Christine” quickly scrambled onto her feet and straightend out her dress and hair, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible, as to not tip off “her son” to what kept her so busy. She cracked the door open just barely enough to stick her head out, hiding her body behind the door and her dripping wet hand behind her back. “Have you checked the laundry? I’m pretty sure I’ve put it in the wash recently,” she answered his query. “Yeah, I did. I guess I’m gonna check again, just to be sure,” Josh said and was already turning to walk away.
“Wait!” “Christine” suddenly exlaimed a little bit too loudly, as a most devious idea popped into her head. “What?” Josh asked somewhat startled. “You’ve got a smudge on the corner of your mouth” she explained. “Where?” he said while trying to wipe the imaginary stain from his face. “No, it’s still there. Here, let me try,” she said, now fully opening the door and finally stepping out of the room.
Josh was taken by surprise when “his mother” suddenly got so close to him that she was essentially pushing her opulent chest against his torso. Looking down he saw her face with an expresssion of concentration look up at him. Underneath that he caught a glimpse of her soft pillows bulging out of the top of her dress as they were pressed flat against him.
“M–Mom, w–what are you doing?” Jost stammered, as he began to blush. “Hold still! Just let me get it real quick,” “Christine” demanded. Unbeknownst to Josh, though, the hand which “his mother” was now smearing all over his face was still coated in her sticky juices.
Since Josh was quite a bit taller than his mother, “Christine” raised herself up by standing on the tips of her toes to better reach and more closely inspect his face. In the process, she pushed her breasts even deeper into him and slid them up along his chest until their nipples were perfectly aligned with each other.
“M–Mom, s–stop it!” Josh said while struggling to get away from her, as her face was now close enough that he could feel her hot breath on his skin. “Hold still!” “Christine” demanded. “The more you move the longer it will take.” Never having been this close to his own mother, at least not since he was a child, Josh caught a whiff of her perfume which was followed by a strange, musky smell.
Coming into such intimate contact with a woman’s body made the inside of Josh’s pants swell rapidly. His dick did not care who it was, flesh was flesh. But the thought that it was his own mother’s flesh surprisingly made him grow even harder. So hard, in fact, that he was now poking her belly with his manhood.
Appaled by his own reaction, Josh pushed who he thought was his mother away from himself. “Thanks, I think it’s gone now,” he yelled out without looking at her, trying to hide that his face was now a deep crimson. He then hastily fled to his room, almost tripping over himself, as he desperately tried to escape this embarrassing situation. “Christine” on the other just chuckled to herself, as she was highly amused by “her son’s” reaction.
That night Christine and Gilbert could be heard enjoying each other throughout the house.
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A lot of clanking, rattling, and cursing could be heard coming from the garage. Christine had asked her husband Gilbert to look after the car, since it had been making a lot of weird noises lately and even had briefly died on her the other day. This is why Gilbert, a man in his early fifties who, despite his thinning hair and slight dad bob, had still retained some of his youthful handsomeness, was now bent over the car’s engine covered in dirt and motor oil, occasionally bonking his head on the hood of the car.
Just as he finished changing the oil, his daughter Alice walked in. Unlike her sister Wendy, Alice had always been a Daddy’s girl. She and her father had been attached by the hip to each other ever since she was born. Even throughout puberty, when most other teenagers vie for their independence, she had stayed close to her Dad who had remained a steadfast anchor for her. Even now, the twenty-year-old college student loved spending time with her father more than anything else. Ever since she was a little child, one of her favorite things to do was to sit in her father’s lap and play Super Mario Bros., earning her the nickname “princess”.
There was something about her father’s presence that was incredibly relaxing to her, which is why the slim brunette did not mind him seeing her in only a pair of yoga pants and a tight spaghetti-strap top without a bra. Her outfit revealed the outline of her nubile form in great detail, including her pert buns and her gravity-defying orbs. Even her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her top as soon as they got a taste of the chilly air inside the garage.
“Hey, Dad! Watcha doing?” Alice exclaimed with a beaming smile on her face. She threw her arms enthusiastically around her father’s waist, smushing her buoyant breasts against his soft belly in the process. “Not much,” Gilbert replied while reciprocating her loving embrace. He rocked her from side to side, thereby squishing his daughter’s youthful mounds even tighter against himself. “Your mother was complaining about the car so I thought maybe I could get the old can working again. What about you, princess? Wanna hang out with your old man?”
“Oh, I’d love to,” Alice said. “But I just came here to get a screwdriver to fix the recliner on my chair.” “Well, then don’t let me stop you,” Gilbert said and booped her on the nose, coating its tip with black grease from his dirty hands. When they released their embrace and Alice made her way towards the shelf on the other side of the garage, Gilbert watched his daughter’s backside and discovered that he had accidentally smeared black grease all over her. Most of it covered her shoulders and upper arms, but some of it even got on her lower back.
The tool she was looking for was located on the top-most shelf, so Alice had to really stretch herself to reach up high. But, it was not enough, as she was still missing a few inches. She then tried jumping up and down, making her luscious body, and especially her firm cheeks, shake vigorously every time she returned to the ground. Yet, she still came up short. For a while, Gilbert closely eyed his daughter’s antics before he walked over to her and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
Alice suddenly yelped as her father, without warning, scooped up her tight little butt with his big, strong hands, and lifted her up high. His palms essentially provided a seat for her from which she comfortably could reach the tool she needed. Gilbert then gently put her down again, leaving two big, greasy handprints on his daughter’s rear.
Her father’s sudden display of strength left Alice a bit frazzled. For a moment she just stood there in silence, still facing away from him. She did not know what was happening to her. As a kid she had loved being picked up by her Dad and would cling to him like a koala. But that was ages ago. Now that she was fully grown she felt differently. No man had ever handled her like that, lifting her entire adult weight so easily. It somehow made her heart beat much faster and left her short of breath. She tried to swallow down those strange feelings, yet she still blushed when she tucked her long, brunette hair behind her ears.
Alice was in the middle of turning to face her father, wanting to ask him what that was all about, when she suddenly felt as if her feet were knocked away from under her legs, making her trip and fall chest-first towards him. Gilbert instinctively tried to catch her fall, but by doing so his daughter’s perky mounds landed squarely on his big, greasy hands. His dirty palms molded themselves perfectly around the swell of her pliable breasts. Alice thought she might be going crazy, but she could have sworn she had felt her Dad give her boobs a firm squeeze. Nevertheless, her nipples still visibly stiffened.
“Uhm, … Dad?” Alice squeaked with her father’s hands still cupping her twins. “Yes, princess? Are you alright?” Gilbert asked with worry on his face. “Yeah, … I guess so …,” she mumbled while getting back on her own feet. When Gilbert’s hands finally disconnected from his daughter’s body, they revealed yet another pair of big, black handprints, this time squarely on her chest.
“Are you sure? You seem kinda out of it,” Gilbert said while trying to feel his daughter’s forehead with the back of his hand. Alice swatted his hand away more aggressively than she had intended. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a bit of agitation in her voice. “I …, uh …, I need to change.”
Unable to deny the heat welling up inside of her, Alice tried to leave as quickly as she could, but on her way out her Dad surprised her yet again by giving her a not-so-fatherly pat on her ass. She turned her head around one last time and to give her “father” a quizzical look, but the expression on his face betrayed nothing but paternal intentions. Yet, as soon as she had left the garage, “Gilbert’s” warm expression turned sinister and a big, wet stain began to form on the crotch of his pants.
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It was late at night. Christine and Gilbert had gone out earlier that evening and were not expected to return until the next morning, leaving the “kids“ home alone. The whole house was wrapped in silence, except for the blaring of the TV coming from the living room. Josh sat alone on the couch watching a movie when Alice came shuffling into the room. She was completely draped in a giant blanket, dragging a long train behind her, making it almost look like a wedding dress.
“Heeeyy, Josh. What are you doing?” Alice asked drowsily. “Oh, nothing much. Just watching a movie. What’s up with you? Why the huge-ass blanket?” her brother responded. “I’m a little cold. Mind if I join you?” “Sure. Be my guest” he said patting the spot next to him and then placed his arm on the back of the couch. She took up his offer and sat down beside him, putting up her legs and angling them to the side, all while making sure to never leave the comforting warmth of her blanket.
“Oh, hey, isn’t that the movie we used to watch a lot as kids?” Alice asked. “Yeah,” Josh responded. “I happened to come across it while I was flipping through the channels.” “Boy, I haven’t seen it in years. I completely forgot about it. I remember we used to watch it every time it was on. I even used to scour the TV magazines so that I always knew when to catch it,” Alice said excitedly. “Yeah, I’ve been watching it only for a few minutes, yet there are so many lines that come back to me just seconds before they show up in the movie,“ Josh said joining in on the excitement.
The two siblings kept laughing and joking, quoting lines from the movie as they appeared on screen, and reveling in old memories. After sharing lots of heartfelt moments, Alice suddenly asked her brother, “Are you cold, too?” Without waiting for an answer, she began covering him with the excess half of her blanket. “Here, let me give you some of my blanket. That’ll warm you up in no time.” “Well, I wasn’t really cold. But, thanks, I guess,” the young man commented.
Underneath the blanket, Alice sidled up closer to her brother and put her head on his shoulder. They had always gotten along great, yet he was somewhat surprised about how she was acting chummier than usual. But since they were sharing a deeply bonding moment, he didn’t question it any further. Sitting like that with his sister felt comfortable to him, making him relax deeply, and allowing himself to completely get lost in the movie.
For the rest of the night, the two of them kept watching the movie in silence. When it was over, Josh’s immersion finally broke and he came back to the real world. He switched off the TV and was about to turn towards his sister when he noticed that the top of her head was right underneath his nose. Somehow she had sneakily wrapped her arms around his waist and had fallen asleep with her head nestled against his chest. Most of her body laid on top of him in a tight embrace.
Alice’s gentle snores reminded Josh of a cat’s soft purrs. He thought that, in this moment, his little sister was the most adorable. But when the sweet fragrance of her peach-flavored shampoo invaded his nose, it caused something to stir deep inside of him, in a place completely unbeknownst to him. To his shock, he began to grow hard.
Confused about his feelings, Josh just sat there, not daring to make a move. After what seemed like an eternity to him, Alice woke up. Rustling underneath the blanket she looked up at him with bleary eyes. When the vision of her brother’s face came into focus she greeted him with a beaming smile. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other wordlessly. Her big, glimmering eyes looked up at him longingly, which made him blush and melted away all his natural defences. He was now at full mast.
Josh then watched in slow-motion how his sister closed her eyes and moved in closer. When he felt her tender lips on his, he was completly stunned. His jaw dropped in shock, which Alice interpreted as an invitation to sneak her tongue into his mouth. At first he went along with it by pure instinct. But when it finally sank in that he was, in fact, really kissing his sister, he shoved her away in panic, making the blanket slip down a bit, uncovering her bare shoulders.
“Stooooppp!!” Josh yelled. “What are you doing? You’re my sister! We can’t be doing that!” Tears began welling up in Alice’s eyes in response to his sudden outburst. “But Josh …,” she whimpered. “Don’t you love me?” She looked at him expectantly with her watery eyes. “Nooo!!!” he continued yelling. “I-I-I mean, y-yes, I-I m-mean, no!” he stammered. “Aarghh! I don’t love you like thaaat!”
Alice dropped her head seemingly in defeat. But something about her demeanor changed, like a shadow was cast over her eyes. Suddenly Josh felt something scurrying around his scrotch underneath the blanket. He realized it was his sister’s hands trying to undo his belt and zipper. Now even more panicked, he pushed her away more forcefully than before, accidentally throwing the blanket off of her in the process and revealing that she had been naked underneath.
“Alice!! Why the hell are you naked?!?! What is wrong with you today?” Josh kept yelling. With a dark, menacing grin forming on her face, she growled at him, “You better let this happen. We don’t want her to find herself in a compromising situation, do we?” “Wendy…,” Josh gasped, the words getting stuck in his throat. His mind was sent on a rollercoaster, desperately struggling for a solution on how to get out of this situation. But deep down, Josh knew he had nothing against her powers.
Completely dejected, Josh finally resigned himself to his fate. “Alice”, on the other hand, squealed with excitement and, like a child ripping open a present on christmas, frantically tried to get her brother’s dick out of his pants. When she finally freed it from its denim prison, his rigid member sprung out with the energy of a coil spring. She then swung one of her smooth legs over her brother and placed herself squarely on top of him.
Without any further hesitation, “Alice” slowly lowered her unclad, nubile form towards her brother’s penis. His bulbous head at first just barely kissed her velvety folds, but then gently parted them, and finally, by completely piercing her labia, desecrated that holy bond between brother and sister.
“Wendy, we have to stop this! We’re not wearing any protection!” Josh tried to protest one last time. “Don’t be silly, I’m sure this little slut is on birth control” “Alice” hissed. She was straining to force herself down her brother’s girth. “Hhnnnnnghhhoooohhhh my god she is so tight” she said panting. “She must still be a virgin. Well, not anymore, hehe.” Her small, hairless lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft. To keep going further, she arched her back and angled her hips for maximum penetration.
When she finally bottomed out, “Alice” grabbed Josh’s head and started giving him a deep passionate kiss. Her long, brown hair draped over them, curtailing the world from seeing the forbidden intimacy they were sharing. While they kept kissing, “Alice” started to moan into his mouth, as she began slowly working her way up and down her brother’s shaft. The more their friction and passion increased, the more she ruffled his hair, her hands’ movements becoming more and more frantic.
Meanwhile, Josh moved his hands down his sister’s bare back and glid them first along her waist, then her hips, and finally around the sensual curve of her butt. He gave her firm cheeks a strong squeeze, while at the same time supporting her petite body with his manly hands. At last, he finally gave in to his new-found, forbidden desires and started humping his sister in sync with the rhythm of her movements.
Getting wetter by the second, “Alice’s” juices by now provided enough lubrication for her to easily glide along her brother’s member. She broke off their kiss, sat upgright, and began to drastically increase her speed. As she was bouncing up and down on Josh’s dick, her perky tits kept jiggling wildy about. To aleviate that, she took her brother’s hands and firmly placed them on top of her shapley breasts. He eagerly accepted her offer and began digging his fingers deeply into the tender flesh of his sister’s swollen boobs, ferociously groping and squeezing them like a man who lost all his inhibitions.
Greed seemed to overtake Josh, as he followed his sister’s lead by sitting upright and then tightly embracing her lithe body while she kept viciously riding his cock. Hungrily, he placed his mouth on her delicious breasts and began sucking and licking and biting her nipples, practically devouring her boobs and almost swallowing them whole. His sister rewarded him by giving off a series of high-pitched moans and clamping down on his dick.
“Wendy …,” Josh gasped short of breath and inbetween sucking his sister’s nipples. “What is it, bro?” Alice moaned. “I don’t… I don’t think I can hold it any lo—” was the last thing Josh managed to say before he finally errupted inside his sister like a volcano, spraying his creamy spunk all over his her insides. Feeling her brother’s hot goo coating her inner walls set off “Alice’s” own orgasm, making her join him in his extacy. Her body, which was glistening from all the excertion, began shaking from top to bottom as if a current of electricity ran through her.
When the tension suddenly left her body, “Alice” collapsed on top of her brother. Completely drained, she nestled her head against his chest, breathing heavily and with strands of her sweat-drenched hair sticking to her face. “I love you, Josh,” “Alice” whispered sweetly. “I love you, too,” he sighed unconvincingly. His dick was still inside deep his sister, refusing to go limp.
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For the past month there had been a large shadow hanging over their household. Wendy’s shenanigans had sowed mistrust and uneasiness among the members of her family. It all came to a head when Alice finally confronted her brother. “Josh, I’m begging you: please tell me the truth!” Alice pleaded. “What’s going on? Why have you been avoiding me? You don’t even look me in the eyes anymore.” “I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Josh hissed without even facing her. His eyes were red and on the verge of tears.
Gilbert and Christine heard their children argue, so they went to investigate. “What’s going with the two of you? Why are you making so much noise?” Gilbert said as he stepped into the room. “Josh, has been avoiding me for weeks now and he won’t tell me what his problem is,” Alice said unnerved. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering that, too. Care to explain yourself, son?” Gilbert asked.
Josh tried to block off their barrage of questions, but, after being relentlessly corned by three people, he eventually broke down in tears and confessed how Wendy had taken control of Alice and forced himself onto her, and how he had been unable to resist. The entire room fell silent. Alice’s stomach turned, sickening her to her core. Gilbert was simply stunned, the news leaving his mind completely blank.
Christine, on the other hand, felt an uncontrollable rage explode inside of her. “That’s it!” she yelled with tears of anger in her eyes. “This is way over the line! I’m so sick and tired of her shit. This has to end now!” “Wait! Where are you going?” Gilbert said to the afterimage of his wife as she had already rushed out of the room. The rest of them slowly began to follow her, one after the other, still trying to process the information they had just received.
An absolutely livid Christine stomped furiously down the hallway and violently barged into her daughter’s room, almost knocking the door out of its hinges. There, Wendy laid on her bed and, like so often, just slept. Without waiting for her to wake up, Christine swiftly approached her sleeping daughter, wrapped her hands around her throat, and began strangling her with all her might. Wendy did not seem to make any signs of struggling against her mother’s assault.
“How could you do that?” Christine sobbed uncontrollably as rivers of tears streamed down her face. “I loved you with all my heart. Why did you become such a hateful peson? Where did I go wrong?” she said gritting her teeth. “This is the only way I can make things right!”
Gilbert and Josh were aghast when they stepped into the room and discovered what Christine was doing. Yet, neither of them intervened and tried to stop her. They just stood there and watched.
When everything was over, everybody went quiet again, except for Christine who was unable to stop her tears. Suddenly, Alice, who everyone seemed to have forgotten about, stepped into the room. They all looked at her in disbelief as they watched a creepy, sinister smile form on her pretty face. “No!” Christine whispered. “Actually, yes, mother,” “Alice” countered. “I’m not so easy to get rid of, you see.” “No!” Christine repeated, this time more emphatically. “And from now on, you will all do exactly as I tell you or the police might get an anonymous tip about what has happened to your dearest daughter. Remember this for the rest of you lives: you got blood on your hands, literally, and I won’t hesistate to take any one of you down!” “Alice” said menacingly. It finally dawned on Christine, Gilbert, and Josh that there was no way of escaping Wendy and that they had to resign themselves to the fact that their lives were now fully under her control, essentially making them her personal slaves.
Meanwhile, “Alice”, who was relishing in the power she had over her family, sauntered over towards her father and lifted the front of her skirt, exposing “her” panty-clad pussy. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, Daddy,” she whispered with lust dripping in her voice. Both of her small, feminine hands then reached out and grabbed one of her father’s big, manly hands and slowly guided it underneath her skirt and panties and gently placed it onto her already sopping wet pussy. Gilbert was too stunned to stop her, and even if he had not been, he would not have dared to go against her.
Suddenly, both Alice and Gilbert shuddered simultaneously. “We sure will, princess,” “Gilbert” said with a lecherous expression on his face. “He” then slipped a finger inside “his” daughter’s smooth folds and began aggressively fingering her hole. The real Alice was dazed and confused when she finally came to again. “D–Dad?” she stammared. “W–What’s going o–o–oooohhhhnnggg?!” she moaned, being overwhelmed by an unexpected orgasm as her “father” quickly sent her over the edge.
Christine was horrified as she watched her husband molest their daughter in front of her eyes. Unfortunately, she was unable to do anything about it as a shiver ran down her spine and the same spell that had taken over her husband and daughter was now taking hold of her. “And let’s not neglect these two here,” “Christine” said while firmly squeezing “her” boobs against each other. “She” then climbed onto Wendy’s bed on all fours, pulled up her dress and her panties to the side, and openly offered up “her own” snatch. “Josh, be a good son and come over here and show Mommy how much my boy has grown up?”
At last it was Josh’s turn. Before he could really process the actions unfolding in front of him, he was no longer in control of his body. “Don’t mind if I do!” “Josh” replied eagerly. As fast as lightning “he” walked over to his mother, dropped his pants, and slammed his rock-hard errection into her sloppy slit. Christine, now back in control of her body, was overwhelmed with the pleasurable sensation of her son’s girthy member ramming in and out of her. When she felt her son mauling her big tits from behind, she went completely limp in his arms, as the last of her will left her while “her son” kept hammering her hole. Eventually, they both climaxed at the same time and Christine felt her son’s hot fluids spread throughout her inside.
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That same night it was raining cats and dogs. Gilbert and Josh, equipped with spades, dug a hole in their backyard to dispose of Wendy’s corpse while Christine and “Alice” watched from the kitchen window.
The four of them would spend the rest of their lives living in fear and terror, as Wendy forced them to live out all of her depraved sex fantasies between sister and brother, father and daughter, mother and son, mother and daugher, and even between father and son.
Eventually, when the last of her family members had passed on, Wendy continued to live on as a formless presence, taking over other people, until the end of time.
It was in the very early morning hours. The whole house was pitch-black and its inhabitants were fast asleep, except for one. The only source of light was the glow emenating from a computer monitor. It illuminated Wendy’s face and the strands of greasy hair glued to it. The synthetic light just faintly revealed the mess in her room: the moldy plates, empty take-out boxes, and dirty clothes, all of which were freely intermixed and strewn about.
Wet sounds and a pungent smell filled the air. Wendy sat in her computer chair in just her underwear and masturbated while playing an erotic dating simulator. She had been an avid fan of video games, especially story-driven ones like visual novels, since she was a kid, but since the twenty-three-year-old failed out of college and moved back in with her parents, she had done nothing but sit in front of her computer and play video games all day long.
She used to be somewhat pretty, but she let herself go quite a bit when she essentially barricaded herself into her old childhood room, only ever leaving to use the bathroom. Since then, she had been escaping more and more into the virtual world of various video games, desperately trying to escape her failures in the outside world. The easily achievable goals in those games provided her with at least a fake sense of fullfilment and purpose.
Initially, she stuck to regular video games and story-driven visual novels. But since moving back home, she got fairly addicted to romantic dating simulators, which provided her a with a substitute for the type of relationship she longed for but could not achieve in real life. Things took even more of a downturn when, a few months ago, after having played through virtually all visual novels, she checked out her first incest-themed eroge, a genre she had not paid any attention to before, but now felt compelled to in order to avoid spending any second alone with her own thoughts.
Right in that moment she was playing through a scene where the main character’s adorable little sister snuck into her older brother’s bed and snuggled up to him under the covers. The game quickly turned erotic and, in response, Wendy let out a long, deep grunt, signaling her climax.
To recuperate from her self-satisfaction, Wendy leaned back into her chair and looked up at her dimmly-lit ceiling. After a few moments an idea popped into her head. She got up and, for the first time in a while, left her room for a reason other than to use the bathroom. She quietly crept through the dark hallway and slowly opened the door two rooms further down, trying to keep it from creaking as to not wake the person sleeping inside.
After entering the room, she managed to silently close the door behind her and then tip-toed towards the bed inside. There, she lifted the covers and carefully laid down next to her older brother Josh who was sleeping soundly. She then cozied up to him under the blanket just like she had seen the little sister do in her video game. She was now right next to him with her foul breath caressing his skin.
Wanting to recreate the scene from her video game, Wendy began carefully fishing her brother’s limp dick out of his pyjama pants and gently rubbed it until it was fully errect. She then rolled on top of him, pushed her panties aside, and stealthily slipped his dick into her hungry snatch.
Meanwhile, Josh was having the most amazing dream. In it, he found himself in an infinite, white void where he was hooking up with the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her long, brunette hair appeared to be silky-soft as it gently swayed around her slender frame with each motion, lending her an ethereal presence. The only things about her that he found more captivating than her radiant smile were her full, ripe breasts, which were practically begging to be devoured. She seemed really familiar to Josh, although he could not quite place where he had seen her before. Maybe she was an ex-girlfriend he had forgotten about. Nevertheless, he did not want to keep this unknown beauty waiting by fretting about it.
Josh and the mysterious girl had already fully shed their clothes and were eager to get things going. He laid down on the most comfortable bed imaginable, which had appeared out of nowhere without him ever noticing. Lying on his back, he watched as his dream lover expertly fondled his privates while looking up at him with hungry eyes. In no time he was ready to take her. The nameless vixen sat on top of him and began immediately riding him, placing her hands on his hard abs for support. Her hot, silky depths engulfed him completely as her smooth, hairless body writhed with pleasure. Biting her lower lip, she failed to stifle the soft moans escaping from her mouth that accompanied the expressions of extacy on her gorgeous face. They caressed Josh’s ears like the sweatest of melodies, bewitching him like a siren. The pleasure that grew in his groin was overwhelming, beyond anything he had ever experienced in real life.
Yet, something about her felt odd to him. Despite her small size and lithe body, the dreamy nymph on top of him felt unusually heavy. This bizarre fact made him realize that he was actually dreaming, which immediately ripped him from his sleep.
Completely disoriented, the only things Josh could perceive in the dark was labored breathing and groaning, and a heavy weight bouncing up and down on him. At first he hoped that this might be a continuation of his wonderful dream, but when a lurid stench crept up his nose he knew for certain that he was awake. Wanting to find out who or what was disturbing his sweet dreams, he turned to his night stand right beside his bed to turn on the light. For a few seconds the sudden presence of light blinded him like a flash of lightning. But when his eyes had acclimated to the new-found brightness, he was horrified by the ghastly figure sitting on top of him.
“Wendy!!”, Josh exlaimed as he recognized his grody younger sister straddling him, wearing only a bra and panties. Her grin was barely visible through her greasy hair and the bra that had failed to adjust to her increased size dug deeply into her chubby shape, almost cutting off circulation to her formless breasts. “What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? And why are you sitting on top of me?” Josh demanded angrily. “Oh, Josh,” was the only answer Wendy could moan, never breaking with the rhythm of her movements. Hearing these sexual sounds come from his sister’s mouth was like fingernails on a chalkboard to his ears.
Her abhorrent, yet puzzling, response made Josh’s eyes wander lower. He gagged violently when he discovered his dick was burried deep inside his sister’s rancid, unkempt snatch, even feeling her coarse pubes rubbing against his skin as she was grinding her crotch against his. He felt so repulsed by this disgusting sight that he could have projectile-vomitted every meal he had ever had in his life right in that very moment. Luckily, his stomach was completely empty or he would have made an even bigger mess out of this situation.
“Get off of me!” Josh yelled while forcefully pushing his grody sister away. Wendy fell off his dick, off his bed, and on onto the floor, landing there with a strong thud. She quickly scrambled back onto her feet. “Why did you do that?” she hissed. “That’s what I should be asking! Why were you having sex with me, Wendy? You’re my sister! That’s so fucked!” he exclaimed. “But I’m your cute little sister, bro. Don’t you find me adorable,” she said batting her eye-lids, trying to charm her brother, but somehow ending up looking even creepier.
“Eewww, you’re sick, Wendy! Sick and vile!” Josh said disgusted. “And not just that, you’re also fucking filthy. I’d rather rip my own dick off and poke my eyes out with it than have sex with you, even if we were the last two people on earth stranded on a lonely island! I wish you’d just disappear forever and leave us alone.” Her brother’s harsh remarks finally burst the fantasy that Wendy had built up in her mind over the past few months of playing eroges. The reality she tried to run from came crashing down on her right in this moment, as Josh’s cutting words hurt her deeply.
“Fine!” Wendy said scorned and full of anger. “If you want me to disappear, then that’s what I will do, I guess!” With tears of anger welling up, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Wait! Wendy! Nooo—!” Josh exclaimed, trying to stop her. But it was too late. As if something had zapped the life out of her, Wendy instantly lost all the tension in her body and collapsed face-first onto her brother’s bed. At the same time, Josh’s eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body began convulsing vigorously. Then something inside of him snapped and he, too, lost almost all the tension in his body, just barely being able to stand. His head was loosely dangling from his neck.
After a few moments of silence, Josh seemed to wake up, as both his heads slowly rose up again. But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in control. His sister Wendy had somehow developed the powers to take over other people’s bodies during her early teenage years. At first she was shy and reluctant about them, as she used to be a gentle soul. She simply could not square it with her conscience to control other people. The most she would do was ride along in the friends or family members of a boy she had a crush on at the time. When her parents found out about her powers, they immediately scolded her and forbade her from ever using her powers. But as Wendy grew older, her parents realized that their daughter did not have any ill intentions and began relaxing about the situation.
But when Wendy failed out of college and her mental health declined, things turned scary for her family. She became more and more controlling and petulant, throwing tamper tantrums anytime anyone disturbed her or tried to tell her what to do. She also became increasingly blasé about using her powers, taking over her family, neighbors, and anyone in reach for the smallest of matters, just so she would never have to leave her room.
On a few occasions Wendy had even used her powers to blackmail people into doing what she wanted, even when she was not possessing them. Another time she had stalked a poor guy who she had become at first infatuated and then obsessed with on social media. She had followed him around as different people, watching every step he made, every second of his life for two months. She only stopped because she eventually became bored of him.
These were the myriad of reasons that her family now lived in fear of her. Her parents could not throw her out because of her powers. They themselves could not move out since all their savings were tied into their house. Their youngest daughter, Alice, refused to leave, as she did not want her parents to suffer alone. And even Josh had moved back in as a means to protect his family, which is why he now found himself not in control of his own body.
“Josh” grinned from ear to ear as he patted down “his” flat chest. “He” then flexed his biceps, admiring his own strength. Next, he grabbed his dick, which was already painfully errect, with both his hands and began firmly squeezing it. He could virtually feel the blood pulsing through the thick meat of his sizeable member. “He” then turned to the person lying on his bed and said, “I’m soooo sorry, ‘sis’. I didn’t mean to hurt you. My words came out all wrong. What I meant to say was that you are the most adorable little sister a big brother could ever wish for! Here, let me show you how much I love you.”
With that, “Josh” stepped towards Wendy’s comatose body and snaked his big, strong hands underneath her torso. “Oh, my. When did my cute little sister grow up to be such a woman?” “he” cooed while groping her flabby breasts. Without turning over her heavy frame, “Josh” glid his rough hands along her pudgy waist and onto her even wider hips, firmly grabbing ahold of them. “He” then carefully wormed his prick into “his sister’s” slimy, hairy cunt, before forcefully jamming his entire length into her unconscious flesh.
Without any further hesitation, “Josh” began viciously fucking his sleeping sister, pumping in and out of her like an animal while groaning and grunting like a bull. “He” nearly worked himself into a frenzy. Wendy’s rotten odor began reeking from all the friction and heat they created, which seemed to turn him on even more. For the next two minutes, the clapping of “his” hips against her sizeable cheeks echoed throughout the room until “he” finally hit is climax and then dumped his thick load inside of “his” sister’s gooey slit. Still inside of her, he collapsed on top of her and under heavy breathing whispered into her ear, “I love you, ‘sis’.”
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It was very late in the morning, almost creeping on noon, when Christine, the mother of the house, stood in the kitchen and prepared some food. She was cheerfully humming a tune while cutting up a cantalope and placing slices of ham on pieces of crispy toast. She then artfully aranged the food on a plate, in a way that was worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The food was not only delicious but also visually appetizing, and so was her ample bosom that was proudly put on display by a low-cut, floral sundress, which gently hugged her motherly curves.
Still humming to herself, Christine picked up the plate, left the kitchen, and went up the stairs with a joyful bounce to her step, which not only made the hem of her short dress dance around her hips and tickle her thighs but also made her opulent mounds jiggle playfully. Upstairs, she entered her daughter’s dingy room without either knocking or turning on the lights and placed the food on her desk. “Enjoy your breakfast, honey,” she whispered to a sleeping Wendy.
Without any further hesitation, Christine left her daughter’s room and headed straight to the master bedroom. Behind locked doors she made her way over to her full-sized mirror and began admiring herself. Slowly, a big, dirty grin spread across her face. “Thank you, mother, for providing me with such a healthy breakfast,” “Christine” said in a sickly-sweet tone, seemingly mocking herself. “You always taught me to eat my daily share of fruits, and your ‘melons’ are especially delicious,” she said while giving her huge globes a firm squeeze. “She” then slowly moved her hands along “her” waist and hips, closely following and enjoying every inch of her delectable curves, and then began groping her big, womanly ass. “And let’s not forget about your delicious meat! I gotta hand it to you: you got a real meatsuit of a body, mom!”
“Christine” then threw herself onto her bed and immediately began furiously masturbating, not even bothering to undress. One hand tightly squeezed her fleshy tits while the other inserted two fingers into her hungry snatch, dragging her panties along with them as they plummeted the depths of her steaming hot hole that had given birth to three children, one of which was now in control of her body and effectively molesting her own mother.
Regrettably, “Christine” soon had to remove her hand from her supple twins in order to cover her mouth and stiffle her moans, so that she would not alert the whole house to her lewd activities. Meanwhile, the other hand continued to slip in and out of her unabated. Under the assault from such intense stimulation, it did not take long for her to reach her peak, which she celebrated by letting out a long, muffled scream.
The only thing “Christine” was able to do in the immediate aftermath was to lay on her back, breathing heavily, and bask in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her panties and her hand were now drenched in her juices. But, alas, her bliss was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mom, are you in there?” Josh asked loudly through the door. “Have you seen my black shirt? I’ve been looking all over for it!”
“Christine” quickly scrambled onto her feet and straightend out her dress and hair, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible, as to not tip off “her son” to what kept her so busy. She cracked the door open just barely enough to stick her head out, hiding her body behind the door and her dripping wet hand behind her back. “Have you checked the laundry? I’m pretty sure I’ve put it in the wash recently,” she answered his query. “Yeah, I did. I guess I’m gonna check again, just to be sure,” Josh said and was already turning to walk away.
“Wait!” “Christine” suddenly exlaimed a little bit too loudly, as a most devious idea popped into her head. “What?” Josh asked somewhat startled. “You’ve got a smudge on the corner of your mouth” she explained. “Where?” he said while trying to wipe the imaginary stain from his face. “No, it’s still there. Here, let me try,” she said, now fully opening the door and finally stepping out of the room.
Josh was taken by surprise when “his mother” suddenly got so close to him that she was essentially pushing her opulent chest against his torso. Looking down he saw her face with an expresssion of concentration look up at him. Underneath that he caught a glimpse of her soft pillows bulging out of the top of her dress as they were pressed flat against him.
“M–Mom, w–what are you doing?” Jost stammered, as he began to blush. “Hold still! Just let me get it real quick,” “Christine” demanded. Unbeknownst to Josh, though, the hand which “his mother” was now smearing all over his face was still coated in her sticky juices.
Since Josh was quite a bit taller than his mother, “Christine” raised herself up by standing on the tips of her toes to better reach and more closely inspect his face. In the process, she pushed her breasts even deeper into him and slid them up along his chest until their nipples were perfectly aligned with each other.
“M–Mom, s–stop it!” Josh said while struggling to get away from her, as her face was now close enough that he could feel her hot breath on his skin. “Hold still!” “Christine” demanded. “The more you move the longer it will take.” Never having been this close to his own mother, at least not since he was a child, Josh caught a whiff of her perfume which was followed by a strange, musky smell.
Coming into such intimate contact with a woman’s body made the inside of Josh’s pants swell rapidly. His dick did not care who it was, flesh was flesh. But the thought that it was his own mother’s flesh surprisingly made him grow even harder. So hard, in fact, that he was now poking her belly with his manhood.
Appaled by his own reaction, Josh pushed who he thought was his mother away from himself. “Thanks, I think it’s gone now,” he yelled out without looking at her, trying to hide that his face was now a deep crimson. He then hastily fled to his room, almost tripping over himself, as he desperately tried to escape this embarrassing situation. “Christine” on the other just chuckled to herself, as she was highly amused by “her son’s” reaction.
That night Christine and Gilbert could be heard enjoying each other throughout the house.
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A lot of clanking, rattling, and cursing could be heard coming from the garage. Christine had asked her husband Gilbert to look after the car, since it had been making a lot of weird noises lately and even had briefly died on her the other day. This is why Gilbert, a man in his early fifties who, despite his thinning hair and slight dad bob, had still retained some of his youthful handsomeness, was now bent over the car’s engine covered in dirt and motor oil, occasionally bonking his head on the hood of the car.
Just as he finished changing the oil, his daughter Alice walked in. Unlike her sister Wendy, Alice had always been a Daddy’s girl. She and her father had been attached by the hip to each other ever since she was born. Even throughout puberty, when most other teenagers vie for their independence, she had stayed close to her Dad who had remained a steadfast anchor for her. Even now, the twenty-year-old college student loved spending time with her father more than anything else. Ever since she was a little child, one of her favorite things to do was to sit in her father’s lap and play Super Mario Bros., earning her the nickname “princess”.
There was something about her father’s presence that was incredibly relaxing to her, which is why the slim brunette did not mind him seeing her in only a pair of yoga pants and a tight spaghetti-strap top without a bra. Her outfit revealed the outline of her nubile form in great detail, including her pert buns and her gravity-defying orbs. Even her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her top as soon as they got a taste of the chilly air inside the garage.
“Hey, Dad! Watcha doing?” Alice exclaimed with a beaming smile on her face. She threw her arms enthusiastically around her father’s waist, smushing her buoyant breasts against his soft belly in the process. “Not much,” Gilbert replied while reciprocating her loving embrace. He rocked her from side to side, thereby squishing his daughter’s youthful mounds even tighter against himself. “Your mother was complaining about the car so I thought maybe I could get the old can working again. What about you, princess? Wanna hang out with your old man?”
“Oh, I’d love to,” Alice said. “But I just came here to get a screwdriver to fix the recliner on my chair.” “Well, then don’t let me stop you,” Gilbert said and booped her on the nose, coating its tip with black grease from his dirty hands. When they released their embrace and Alice made her way towards the shelf on the other side of the garage, Gilbert watched his daughter’s backside and discovered that he had accidentally smeared black grease all over her. Most of it covered her shoulders and upper arms, but some of it even got on her lower back.
The tool she was looking for was located on the top-most shelf, so Alice had to really stretch herself to reach up high. But, it was not enough, as she was still missing a few inches. She then tried jumping up and down, making her luscious body, and especially her firm cheeks, shake vigorously every time she returned to the ground. Yet, she still came up short. For a while, Gilbert closely eyed his daughter’s antics before he walked over to her and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
Alice suddenly yelped as her father, without warning, scooped up her tight little butt with his big, strong hands, and lifted her up high. His palms essentially provided a seat for her from which she comfortably could reach the tool she needed. Gilbert then gently put her down again, leaving two big, greasy handprints on his daughter’s rear.
Her father’s sudden display of strength left Alice a bit frazzled. For a moment she just stood there in silence, still facing away from him. She did not know what was happening to her. As a kid she had loved being picked up by her Dad and would cling to him like a koala. But that was ages ago. Now that she was fully grown she felt differently. No man had ever handled her like that, lifting her entire adult weight so easily. It somehow made her heart beat much faster and left her short of breath. She tried to swallow down those strange feelings, yet she still blushed when she tucked her long, brunette hair behind her ears.
Alice was in the middle of turning to face her father, wanting to ask him what that was all about, when she suddenly felt as if her feet were knocked away from under her legs, making her trip and fall chest-first towards him. Gilbert instinctively tried to catch her fall, but by doing so his daughter’s perky mounds landed squarely on his big, greasy hands. His dirty palms molded themselves perfectly around the swell of her pliable breasts. Alice thought she might be going crazy, but she could have sworn she had felt her Dad give her boobs a firm squeeze. Nevertheless, her nipples still visibly stiffened.
“Uhm, … Dad?” Alice squeaked with her father’s hands still cupping her twins. “Yes, princess? Are you alright?” Gilbert asked with worry on his face. “Yeah, … I guess so …,” she mumbled while getting back on her own feet. When Gilbert’s hands finally disconnected from his daughter’s body, they revealed yet another pair of big, black handprints, this time squarely on her chest.
“Are you sure? You seem kinda out of it,” Gilbert said while trying to feel his daughter’s forehead with the back of his hand. Alice swatted his hand away more aggressively than she had intended. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a bit of agitation in her voice. “I …, uh …, I need to change.”
Unable to deny the heat welling up inside of her, Alice tried to leave as quickly as she could, but on her way out her Dad surprised her yet again by giving her a not-so-fatherly pat on her ass. She turned her head around one last time and to give her “father” a quizzical look, but the expression on his face betrayed nothing but paternal intentions. Yet, as soon as she had left the garage, “Gilbert’s” warm expression turned sinister and a big, wet stain began to form on the crotch of his pants.
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It was late at night. Christine and Gilbert had gone out earlier that evening and were not expected to return until the next morning, leaving the “kids“ home alone. The whole house was wrapped in silence, except for the blaring of the TV coming from the living room. Josh sat alone on the couch watching a movie when Alice came shuffling into the room. She was completely draped in a giant blanket, dragging a long train behind her, making it almost look like a wedding dress.
“Heeeyy, Josh. What are you doing?” Alice asked drowsily. “Oh, nothing much. Just watching a movie. What’s up with you? Why the huge-ass blanket?” her brother responded. “I’m a little cold. Mind if I join you?” “Sure. Be my guest” he said patting the spot next to him and then placed his arm on the back of the couch. She took up his offer and sat down beside him, putting up her legs and angling them to the side, all while making sure to never leave the comforting warmth of her blanket.
“Oh, hey, isn’t that the movie we used to watch a lot as kids?” Alice asked. “Yeah,” Josh responded. “I happened to come across it while I was flipping through the channels.” “Boy, I haven’t seen it in years. I completely forgot about it. I remember we used to watch it every time it was on. I even used to scour the TV magazines so that I always knew when to catch it,” Alice said excitedly. “Yeah, I’ve been watching it only for a few minutes, yet there are so many lines that come back to me just seconds before they show up in the movie,“ Josh said joining in on the excitement.
The two siblings kept laughing and joking, quoting lines from the movie as they appeared on screen, and reveling in old memories. After sharing lots of heartfelt moments, Alice suddenly asked her brother, “Are you cold, too?” Without waiting for an answer, she began covering him with the excess half of her blanket. “Here, let me give you some of my blanket. That’ll warm you up in no time.” “Well, I wasn’t really cold. But, thanks, I guess,” the young man commented.
Underneath the blanket, Alice sidled up closer to her brother and put her head on his shoulder. They had always gotten along great, yet he was somewhat surprised about how she was acting chummier than usual. But since they were sharing a deeply bonding moment, he didn’t question it any further. Sitting like that with his sister felt comfortable to him, making him relax deeply, and allowing himself to completely get lost in the movie.
For the rest of the night, the two of them kept watching the movie in silence. When it was over, Josh’s immersion finally broke and he came back to the real world. He switched off the TV and was about to turn towards his sister when he noticed that the top of her head was right underneath his nose. Somehow she had sneakily wrapped her arms around his waist and had fallen asleep with her head nestled against his chest. Most of her body laid on top of him in a tight embrace.
Alice’s gentle snores reminded Josh of a cat’s soft purrs. He thought that, in this moment, his little sister was the most adorable. But when the sweet fragrance of her peach-flavored shampoo invaded his nose, it caused something to stir deep inside of him, in a place completely unbeknownst to him. To his shock, he began to grow hard.
Confused about his feelings, Josh just sat there, not daring to make a move. After what seemed like an eternity to him, Alice woke up. Rustling underneath the blanket she looked up at him with bleary eyes. When the vision of her brother’s face came into focus she greeted him with a beaming smile. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other wordlessly. Her big, glimmering eyes looked up at him longingly, which made him blush and melted away all his natural defences. He was now at full mast.
Josh then watched in slow-motion how his sister closed her eyes and moved in closer. When he felt her tender lips on his, he was completly stunned. His jaw dropped in shock, which Alice interpreted as an invitation to sneak her tongue into his mouth. At first he went along with it by pure instinct. But when it finally sank in that he was, in fact, really kissing his sister, he shoved her away in panic, making the blanket slip down a bit, uncovering her bare shoulders.
“Stooooppp!!” Josh yelled. “What are you doing? You’re my sister! We can’t be doing that!” Tears began welling up in Alice’s eyes in response to his sudden outburst. “But Josh …,” she whimpered. “Don’t you love me?” She looked at him expectantly with her watery eyes. “Nooo!!!” he continued yelling. “I-I-I mean, y-yes, I-I m-mean, no!” he stammered. “Aarghh! I don’t love you like thaaat!”
Alice dropped her head seemingly in defeat. But something about her demeanor changed, like a shadow was cast over her eyes. Suddenly Josh felt something scurrying around his scrotch underneath the blanket. He realized it was his sister’s hands trying to undo his belt and zipper. Now even more panicked, he pushed her away more forcefully than before, accidentally throwing the blanket off of her in the process and revealing that she had been naked underneath.
“Alice!! Why the hell are you naked?!?! What is wrong with you today?” Josh kept yelling. With a dark, menacing grin forming on her face, she growled at him, “You better let this happen. We don’t want her to find herself in a compromising situation, do we?” “Wendy…,” Josh gasped, the words getting stuck in his throat. His mind was sent on a rollercoaster, desperately struggling for a solution on how to get out of this situation. But deep down, Josh knew he had nothing against her powers.
Completely dejected, Josh finally resigned himself to his fate. “Alice”, on the other hand, squealed with excitement and, like a child ripping open a present on christmas, frantically tried to get her brother’s dick out of his pants. When she finally freed it from its denim prison, his rigid member sprung out with the energy of a coil spring. She then swung one of her smooth legs over her brother and placed herself squarely on top of him.
Without any further hesitation, “Alice” slowly lowered her unclad, nubile form towards her brother’s penis. His bulbous head at first just barely kissed her velvety folds, but then gently parted them, and finally, by completely piercing her labia, desecrated that holy bond between brother and sister.
“Wendy, we have to stop this! We’re not wearing any protection!” Josh tried to protest one last time. “Don’t be silly, I’m sure this little slut is on birth control” “Alice” hissed. She was straining to force herself down her brother’s girth. “Hhnnnnnghhhoooohhhh my god she is so tight” she said panting. “She must still be a virgin. Well, not anymore, hehe.” Her small, hairless lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft. To keep going further, she arched her back and angled her hips for maximum penetration.
When she finally bottomed out, “Alice” grabbed Josh’s head and started giving him a deep passionate kiss. Her long, brown hair draped over them, curtailing the world from seeing the forbidden intimacy they were sharing. While they kept kissing, “Alice” started to moan into his mouth, as she began slowly working her way up and down her brother’s shaft. The more their friction and passion increased, the more she ruffled his hair, her hands’ movements becoming more and more frantic.
Meanwhile, Josh moved his hands down his sister’s bare back and glid them first along her waist, then her hips, and finally around the sensual curve of her butt. He gave her firm cheeks a strong squeeze, while at the same time supporting her petite body with his manly hands. At last, he finally gave in to his new-found, forbidden desires and started humping his sister in sync with the rhythm of her movements.
Getting wetter by the second, “Alice’s” juices by now provided enough lubrication for her to easily glide along her brother’s member. She broke off their kiss, sat upgright, and began to drastically increase her speed. As she was bouncing up and down on Josh’s dick, her perky tits kept jiggling wildy about. To aleviate that, she took her brother’s hands and firmly placed them on top of her shapley breasts. He eagerly accepted her offer and began digging his fingers deeply into the tender flesh of his sister’s swollen boobs, ferociously groping and squeezing them like a man who lost all his inhibitions.
Greed seemed to overtake Josh, as he followed his sister’s lead by sitting upright and then tightly embracing her lithe body while she kept viciously riding his cock. Hungrily, he placed his mouth on her delicious breasts and began sucking and licking and biting her nipples, practically devouring her boobs and almost swallowing them whole. His sister rewarded him by giving off a series of high-pitched moans and clamping down on his dick.
“Wendy …,” Josh gasped short of breath and inbetween sucking his sister’s nipples. “What is it, bro?” Alice moaned. “I don’t… I don’t think I can hold it any lo—” was the last thing Josh managed to say before he finally errupted inside his sister like a volcano, spraying his creamy spunk all over his her insides. Feeling her brother’s hot goo coating her inner walls set off “Alice’s” own orgasm, making her join him in his extacy. Her body, which was glistening from all the excertion, began shaking from top to bottom as if a current of electricity ran through her.
When the tension suddenly left her body, “Alice” collapsed on top of her brother. Completely drained, she nestled her head against his chest, breathing heavily and with strands of her sweat-drenched hair sticking to her face. “I love you, Josh,” “Alice” whispered sweetly. “I love you, too,” he sighed unconvincingly. His dick was still inside deep his sister, refusing to go limp.
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For the past month there had been a large shadow hanging over their household. Wendy’s shenanigans had sowed mistrust and uneasiness among the members of her family. It all came to a head when Alice finally confronted her brother. “Josh, I’m begging you: please tell me the truth!” Alice pleaded. “What’s going on? Why have you been avoiding me? You don’t even look me in the eyes anymore.” “I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Josh hissed without even facing her. His eyes were red and on the verge of tears.
Gilbert and Christine heard their children argue, so they went to investigate. “What’s going with the two of you? Why are you making so much noise?” Gilbert said as he stepped into the room. “Josh, has been avoiding me for weeks now and he won’t tell me what his problem is,” Alice said unnerved. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering that, too. Care to explain yourself, son?” Gilbert asked.
Josh tried to block off their barrage of questions, but, after being relentlessly corned by three people, he eventually broke down in tears and confessed how Wendy had taken control of Alice and forced himself onto her, and how he had been unable to resist. The entire room fell silent. Alice’s stomach turned, sickening her to her core. Gilbert was simply stunned, the news leaving his mind completely blank.
Christine, on the other hand, felt an uncontrollable rage explode inside of her. “That’s it!” she yelled with tears of anger in her eyes. “This is way over the line! I’m so sick and tired of her shit. This has to end now!” “Wait! Where are you going?” Gilbert said to the afterimage of his wife as she had already rushed out of the room. The rest of them slowly began to follow her, one after the other, still trying to process the information they had just received.
An absolutely livid Christine stomped furiously down the hallway and violently barged into her daughter’s room, almost knocking the door out of its hinges. There, Wendy laid on her bed and, like so often, just slept. Without waiting for her to wake up, Christine swiftly approached her sleeping daughter, wrapped her hands around her throat, and began strangling her with all her might. Wendy did not seem to make any signs of struggling against her mother’s assault.
“How could you do that?” Christine sobbed uncontrollably as rivers of tears streamed down her face. “I loved you with all my heart. Why did you become such a hateful peson? Where did I go wrong?” she said gritting her teeth. “This is the only way I can make things right!”
Gilbert and Josh were aghast when they stepped into the room and discovered what Christine was doing. Yet, neither of them intervened and tried to stop her. They just stood there and watched.
When everything was over, everybody went quiet again, except for Christine who was unable to stop her tears. Suddenly, Alice, who everyone seemed to have forgotten about, stepped into the room. They all looked at her in disbelief as they watched a creepy, sinister smile form on her pretty face. “No!” Christine whispered. “Actually, yes, mother,” “Alice” countered. “I’m not so easy to get rid of, you see.” “No!” Christine repeated, this time more emphatically. “And from now on, you will all do exactly as I tell you or the police might get an anonymous tip about what has happened to your dearest daughter. Remember this for the rest of you lives: you got blood on your hands, literally, and I won’t hesistate to take any one of you down!” “Alice” said menacingly. It finally dawned on Christine, Gilbert, and Josh that there was no way of escaping Wendy and that they had to resign themselves to the fact that their lives were now fully under her control, essentially making them her personal slaves.
Meanwhile, “Alice”, who was relishing in the power she had over her family, sauntered over towards her father and lifted the front of her skirt, exposing “her” panty-clad pussy. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, Daddy,” she whispered with lust dripping in her voice. Both of her small, feminine hands then reached out and grabbed one of her father’s big, manly hands and slowly guided it underneath her skirt and panties and gently placed it onto her already sopping wet pussy. Gilbert was too stunned to stop her, and even if he had not been, he would not have dared to go against her.
Suddenly, both Alice and Gilbert shuddered simultaneously. “We sure will, princess,” “Gilbert” said with a lecherous expression on his face. “He” then slipped a finger inside “his” daughter’s smooth folds and began aggressively fingering her hole. The real Alice was dazed and confused when she finally came to again. “D–Dad?” she stammared. “W–What’s going o–o–oooohhhhnnggg?!” she moaned, being overwhelmed by an unexpected orgasm as her “father” quickly sent her over the edge.
Christine was horrified as she watched her husband molest their daughter in front of her eyes. Unfortunately, she was unable to do anything about it as a shiver ran down her spine and the same spell that had taken over her husband and daughter was now taking hold of her. “And let’s not neglect these two here,” “Christine” said while firmly squeezing “her” boobs against each other. “She” then climbed onto Wendy’s bed on all fours, pulled up her dress and her panties to the side, and openly offered up “her own” snatch. “Josh, be a good son and come over here and show Mommy how much my boy has grown up?”
At last it was Josh’s turn. Before he could really process the actions unfolding in front of him, he was no longer in control of his body. “Don’t mind if I do!” “Josh” replied eagerly. As fast as lightning “he” walked over to his mother, dropped his pants, and slammed his rock-hard errection into her sloppy slit. Christine, now back in control of her body, was overwhelmed with the pleasurable sensation of her son’s girthy member ramming in and out of her. When she felt her son mauling her big tits from behind, she went completely limp in his arms, as the last of her will left her while “her son” kept hammering her hole. Eventually, they both climaxed at the same time and Christine felt her son’s hot fluids spread throughout her inside.
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That same night it was raining cats and dogs. Gilbert and Josh, equipped with spades, dug a hole in their backyard to dispose of Wendy’s corpse while Christine and “Alice” watched from the kitchen window.
The four of them would spend the rest of their lives living in fear and terror, as Wendy forced them to live out all of her depraved sex fantasies between sister and brother, father and daughter, mother and son, mother and daugher, and even between father and son.
Eventually, when the last of her family members had passed on, Wendy continued to live on as a formless presence, taking over other people, until the end of time.
possession
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Oblivious
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
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Chapter by
ninhjimmy007 · 26 Dec 2025 -
What if Mary-Jane becomes Lady Clayface?
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I still remember the day it all started—the bite, the powers, the responsibility. Bam! Just like that, skinny little Peter Parker became your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Yeah, I know, classic origin story. Radioactive spider, Uncle Ben’s wisdom, the whole deal. But honestly? The real plot twist in my life wasn’t the web-slinging. It was her.
Mary Jane Watson. Red hair like fire, eyes greener than the Hudson on a bad algae day, and a laugh that could melt the cold, cold heart of even the grumpiest New Yorker. I first saw her at Midtown High when we were just kids. She was all confidence and cool, and I was, well… not. But hey, I had my charms. Or at least, my web-shooters did.
Our first date was a disaster. I spilled soda on her shirt, tripped over my own feet trying to impress her, and almost webbed a waiter by accident when he brought the check. But she just laughed. Actually laughed. And then she leaned in, her perfume wrapping around me like a promise, and whispered, “I know, Pete.”
Turns out, MJ had known I was Spider-Man since I was fifteen. Saw me changing in an alley once after a scuffle with the Shocker. Didn’t scream. Didn’t freak out. Just smirked and thought, Yeah, that dork’s got something special.
We started dating for real after that. I supported her acting gigs—off-Broadway stuff, indie films, the works. She supported the whole “saving the city in spandex” thing. Even helped me stitch up the suit a few times. We got married on a rooftop. Judge, a few friends, Spider-Man mask half-off. It was us. Perfect.
Life was good. Until it wasn’t.
It happened after one of MJ’s exhibitions—this avant-garde art show in Chelsea. Some low-rent villain named The Aesthetic—yes, really—decided modern art needed more chaos and tried to turn the gallery into a death trap of swinging paint cans and exploding sculptures.
Spider-Man to the rescue, obviously. I web-swing in, catch a falling marble statue right before it crushes a critic—who still gave the show two stars, by the way—and scoop up MJ just as a wall of neon goop threatens to swallow her whole.
“Honey, I’m home,” I quipped, swinging us out of there as the place collapsed behind us.
She clung to me, laughing despite everything. “You always did know how to make an entrance, tiger.”
Back at …
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Next Chapters
Spider-Man & ClayMJ - Issue 2 - The Performance in Spider-Man & MJ's Transformations Continuity Stories
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
After Spidey manages defeat the bad guys and web them up, he heads to see MJ's performance. After he made it, he watches from distance and MJ on Live. She transforms into many different women and amazing performing skills as the audience enjoys without a single mistake and exposes herself, it's like magic.
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