Before the Incident at Milton High
Story created by
The story of how Trevor gained his powers.
female masturbation 3rd person mtf possession r18
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A high school senior develops the ability to possess people by entering their bodies, but discovers she may not be the only one with those powers in her school.
All characters are 18 or older.
Rachel Smith came home from school exhausted. She did not want to think about going back to school for tomorrow, the tests she’d taken today alone had mentally drained her and going back tomorrow to finish the rest of them was not a pleasant thought. At least that would be their last day of testing for a while. I almost forgot Rachel thought as she plopped down onto the couch, I promised Elizabeth and Susan I'd check up on them.
Me: Hey all!
How were the tests?
Elizabeth: Ugh!
Don’t talk to me about them right now, alright?
Susan: I don’t think I did too well, honestly
Think I’m going to flunk biology at this rate…
I hope I’ll still be able to graduate though
Me: I’m not sure how the colleges will take that
You know, failing thing?
Susan: omg
Rachel, shut up.
Did you even do your tests?
Or were you doing your little “cheating”?
Rachel paused. Of course, she hadn’t cheated today, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind to do so. Afterall, if she had, what would have been the point of all those sleepless nights studying for all this? But… I mean… for English, Matthew will be in the same class as me… Rachel swallowed, not sure if this was something she was really considering doing, then again, it would make her life a lot easier. As far as she knew, no one was able to tell what happened to them after she left, although there was the problem that she wouldn’t be able to stay inside them for too long, otherwise she might not have enough time to write down the answers on her own test.
Rachel shook her head and picked up her phone again:
Me:As if!
Unlike some people, I wouldn’t use my powers for selfish reasons!
Elizabeth: Girl,
You used them to see how large Trevor’s penis was
Me: That wasn’t selfish!
That was for science!
Anyway
I promise you girls I didn’t cheat
Well, she didn’t cheat today anyway. But tomorrow, well that was another story. Although Elizabeth and Susan didn’t need to know that. It wouldn’t be fair to them if they knew she was having an easier time just because of something like this. It’s funny how it all happened.
There were three of them, Rachel, Elizabeth, and Susan. Susan was the shortest of them, with tanned skin and dark hair. Elizabeth was the tallest, standing taller than even some of the boys at their school. Unlike Susan and Rachel, Elizabeth had lean muscles all along her body, although most people wouldn’t notice as she kept her clothes on the baggier side. And then there was Rachel who stood shorter than Elizabeth, but taller than Susan. Rachel’s red hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she was laughing at a joke Susan said.
They had taken a break from studying for their upcoming tests when Rachel noticed a yard sale in their neighborhood run by an old woman. When asked, the woman gave them a sad smile and told them most of these things belonged to either her late husband or her daughter, both of whom sadly passed away in a car accident a few weeks back.
While Elizabeth was consoling the woman, Rachel decided to look through some of the belongings that were up for sale. Some old clothes, a few sports equipment, and some books. Rachel paused when she noticed a box of books mostly hidden behind some golf clubs. She peered over the top, and nearly squealed when she saw they were first edition copies of Jane Smith’s Dearest Diary series. Is this the whole collection? Rachel wondered, flipping through some of the books in the box. It was indeed.
“Excuse me?” Rachel asked, “How much for the box of them?”
The old woman gave a small smile and walked closer, examining the thing that caught Rachel’s eye, “For the set, I’d say twenty dollars should do the trick,” the woman replied, “Hazel loved this when she was a kid.”
Rachel eagerly handed the woman the money and as soon as she took the box in her hands the woman piped up again, “Oh, I think my dear Tom might’ve left something in one of those books. He always liked getting into some trouble, if you find it it’s yours to keep!”
Trouble? Rachel smiled and waved for Elizabeth and Susan to follow her as they went back to her house. Once they were in his room, Rachel immediately got to work making room in her bookshelf to store those books. While she was doing so, Elizabeth and Susan were making light jokes at her expense, out of all the things in that yard sale, Rachel got books, most of which she already owned.
Of course you wouldn’t understand the pleasure of a first edition book you love Rachel thought, placing five of the twelve books in her bookcase. Something slipped out from between the pages of book six though. Rachel frowned, and bent down to pick it up, “What’s that?” Susan asked, as she and Elizabeth got closer.
“It looks like a letter,” Rachel replied, picking it up in her hands.
“Should we open it?” Susan asked.
“We probably shouldn’t,” Elizabeth replied, “it’s not ours.”
“That old lady said we could have whatever we find inside.” Rachel reminded her, getting ready to open it.
Elizabeth stepped forward and made a swipe for the letter, “What if it’s something dangerous? Like… drugs or something?”
Rachel managed to fend her off and Susan helped hold Elizabeth back, “We won’t know until we try. Besides, aren’t you two just the tiniest bit curious?”
Elizabeth swallowed, but didn’t answer. Susan, however, was nodding her head enthusiastically. That was all Rachel needed and she opened the envelope, not sure what might be inside.
To little fanfare, all that was inside was just a letter, “It looks like a simple letter,” Rachel revealed with a sigh.
“What’s it say?” Susan asked.
Rachel held the letter up, the handwriting wasn’t the greatest, and neither was the paper quality, but eventually she managed to work out the words. She read aloud:
To Hazel,
I want you to have something of mine. It’s a little trick I’ve picked up from my travels when I was younger. Maybe one day I’ll tell you where I found it, but until that day comes, I will leave with this and this alone.
Now, I don’t want to tell you much of the details of what I got up to with this little trick of mine, but just know that I know what to look for so don’t you think about causing any trouble with this, alright?
Rachel frowned when she tried to read beyond that point. She wasn’t sure if maybe the old man’s writing got particularly bad or if he was writing in another language, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of what was written after. It all just looked like a bunch of squiggly symbols.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked.
“I can’t read anything else,” Rachel replied.
“Well maybe that’s for the best then,” Elizabeth said as Rachel stared harder at the words, “afterall, this seems like something intimate between a dad and his daughter, I don’t think it’s really our place to - OH MY GOD!”
At first, Rachel wasn’t sure what got Elizabeth so excited, and then Susan started freaking out too. They were shouting at her to drop the letter, and Rachel looked at them, not sure why they were freaking out, but then she realized the paper was burning in her hands.
She sucked in a breath, but before she could even think of letting go, the fire completely enveloped the paper, however, as the fire burned Rachel swore the strange words glowed white hot against the fire. What happened next, Rachel wasn’t exactly sure, the fire and the words flowed into her and Rachel felt something tugging at her very being. Suddenly, she felt herself lurching forward and she stumbled back until her back hit the wall.
“Ow!” Rachel cried out as the back of her head protested in pain.
“Rachel, oh my god, are you alright?” Susan cried.
Rachel, still with her eyes closed, replied, “I’m fine, just a little bump.”
“Elizabeth, this is serious!” Susan nearly shrieked.
Rachel opened her eyes, and she noticed she was taller, and her body felt stronger than it had before. She wiped some stray blonde strands from her face -- wait, blonde hair?
She looked over at Susan and saw she was crouching over Rachel’s own body. Rachel stared in horror, lifting up her hands to see they weren’t actually her hands, but were actually Elizabeth’s.
“Elizabeth!” Susan hissed, “Don’t just stand there! Get help!”
“I’m not Elizabeth!” Rachel breathed.
“What?”
“I said I’m not Elizabeth!” Rachel said, “I’m Rachel,” she pointed to her own body on the floor, “that… that’s my body… except,” she looked down at herself again, “I’m not in it.”
“Is Elizabeth in there?” Susan asked.
Hello? Rachel thought, Hello? Elizabeth! Are you there? She shook her head and crouched down beside her own body. Her body was still breathing, that was good, at least it wouldn’t die without her inside. She tried poking and prodding, but no response.
“Elizabeth isn’t in this body,” Rachel replied, “and it looks like mine’s empty.”
Before either of them could think of what happened, the door opened and Rachel’s mom came in. She was gasping for breath, “Girls! What happened? Why were you screaming?”
“O-oh! Mo-Mrs. Smith!” Rachel began, trying to think of a way out of this, “There was… a spider hiding in the books! A big one! It scared us all until we managed to kill it, but… I think Rachel fainted from the sight of it.”
Rachel’s mom sighed, “Well, that’s alright,” she frowned at the sight of Rachel’s body unconscious on the floor, “I think you should make sure Rachel didn’t hurt herself when she fell, it could be serious.”
“We will,” Susan piped up, “thanks, Mrs. Smith!”
With that, Rachel’s mom, thankfully left the room and Rachel and Susan were still trying to figure out what happened. Am I trapped here? Rachel wondered, How do I get back to my body?
“Can you get out of her?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know!” Rachel replied, running her fingers through Elizabeth’s blonde hair, “I’m-I’m trying to think!”
“Well what happened that made you go inside her?” Susuan asked.
“I-I-I don’t know!” Rachel hissed, “I just felt something pulling at me and one second I was in my body and the next I’m in Elizabeth’s!”
Susan looked around, trying to see if there were any remains of the paper left that might explain what happened. While she was doing so, Rachel was taking a few deep breaths as she looked back at her body on the floor. Alright, I’ll… see if I can’t replicate that, somehow.
Sitting down, Rachel closed her eyes and imagined herself, a ghost of herself, getting outside of Elizabeth’s body. She kept the image, concentrating harder and harder until she felt something, like a hook pulling at her. Is it working? Can I get out of here?
Rachel focused on that feeling and imagined that hook pulling her out of Elizabeth’s body. The feeling of pulling grew stronger and stronger until Elizabeth shuddered and Rachel was able to slip out. Only… she wasn’t back in her body.
She floated outside, like a ghost. From this, she was able to see her body still on the floor and Elizabeth slowly regaining consciousness. She went over towards her body, feeling a slight pull, but hesitated when she noticed Susan was still searching for any clue of what might’ve happened, crouching down to look for any remains of that strange letter.
Rachel smiled, feeling a little mischievous, it wouldn’t be fair if only Liz got possessed, afterall. She floated closer to Susan and felt a slight pull as she got closer. She plunged herself into Susuan just as she was standing up and Susan shuddered, gasped, and then Rachel opened her eyes and found herself in Susan’s body.
Elizabeth groaned, “Ow… I think I hit my head… Oh my-! Rachel! Are you-?”
“I’m fine,” Rachel replied, facing Elizabeth.
“Susan, this isn’t the time for joking around, I think Rachel’s-”
Rachel held up a hand, “Liz, relax, it’s me, Rachel. I think that letter was a spell of some kind… it put me in your body and then I was able to get out and decided to possess Susan.”
Elizabeth swallowed, frowning, “You really expect me to believe that?”
“I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s the truth! Look, would Susan really be trying to mess with you if I was really in danger?”
The wheels were turning behind Elizabeth’s eyes, but Rachel knew she still didn’t believe this. “Prove it,” she said, “Tell me something only Rachel would know.”
Rachel thought for a moment, but decided this might be the perfect opportunity to mess with Elizabeth for a bit. “You panicked in the fifth grade when you forgot to buy a gift for Susan’s birthday and had to piggyback off my gift. In middle school you decided to tell me that you thought boys were icky and had no idea why Susan was so interested in them, going as far as calling Maxwell, her current crush at the time, a loser dweeb,” Rachel saw Elizabeth’s expression changing from skeptical to disbelief and knew she believed her, but decided to keep going, “in freshman year you came out to me as a lesbian and I assured you that Susan would accept you, too, and after a week of planning you came out as a lesbian. The day afterwards, I decided to tell you I was bisexual and then told Susan the day after…” Elizabeth was looking a bit red in the face now, “and last year, you and I shared a kiss behind the school to test things out. We didn’t tell Susan and while we fooled around, we decided it was better to stay as friends.”
Elizabeth was covering her face with her hands now, “Jeez, I believed you after the second thing, you didn’t need to keep going.”
Rachel giggled and gave Elizabeth a quick peck on the cheek. She barely had time to react before Elizabeth lashed out, swiping at her with her hand. Rachel kept laughing, although she made sure to cover her face with her arms, “Woah! Careful, Liz! This is Susan’s body, you know!”
“I know,” Elizabeth growled, “and can you please get out of her? I’m already freaking out enough now.”
Rachel smiled and prepared herself to leave again. The pull came easier now, and she was able to easily slip out of Susan’s body and entered her own. She got up, wincing as she felt where her body had hit the floor when she flew out of it. Ow! I guess I have to be careful when I leave because I’ll feel the pain when I come back in! Ow!
While Rachel was tending to the ache in her head, Susan got up and looked around, confused as to why she was no longer near the bookshelf. She noticed, however, that both Elizabeth and Rachel were up. “What happened?” Susan asked slowly, “No way, Rachel? Did you possess me?”
“I thought it was the best way to explain to Elizabeth what happened,” Rachel replied, still rubbing her head, “Don’t worry, nothing happened while you were gone.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, looking at Rachel with a dark expression, “nothing happened.”
“So neither of you were aware of anything while I was inside you?” Rachel asked, starting to get to her feet.
“Last thing I remembered before coming to was freaking out because that letter was on fire,” Elizabeth replied, “after that… I woke up on the floor.”
“Same,” Susan replied, “I was just looking for anything that might tell us what was happening when everything went black and then I was on the floor.”
After that little episode, the three of them decided to test out potential limits for Rachel’s powers. As far as they can tell, there was no distance limit to how far away she can get from her body, nor did there appear to be a time limit to how long Rachel can stay outside her body, although she didn’t want to stay out of it for too long as her body still needed to eat. As a ghost, Rachel wasn’t able to travel very fast, only going about walking speed, but she was able to go through walls and fly. She didn’t test out if she could possess animals because she was scared she might not be able to leave.
The three of them had some fun for her powers, with one of the first things Rachel did was possess Susan’s crush, Trevor, and go through his phone to look for any clues about what he might be interested in. Rachel found him alone in his room studying when she came upon him. As she slipped inside, Trevor shuddered and gasped, “What the f-!” before Rachel completely took over.
So, this is what it’s like being a boy, Rachel thought, flexing her arms, I could get used to this, anyway, time to see if I can find anything he’s interested in. His phone was, thankfully, unlocked and after combing through it, she gasped when she found his gallery and the stuff that was inside it. There were numerous pictures of girls in various states of undress, Rachel recognized them as being in her same grade and covered her mouth. Oh my… I never would’ve thought Trevor got around this much!
These pictures looked like they were taken by the girls themselves too, and they usually winked or smiled at the camera, no doubt intending this as a gift for Trevor for later. I need to tell Susan, now! she quickly messaged Susan from Trevor’s phone before deleting the conversation on his end so he wouldn’t have any evidence that she had been messing around with his stuff.
Rachel sighed and was about to leave Trevor’s body when she felt something pressing hard against her pants. Don’t tell me… she looked down and gasped when she saw Trevor’s boner winking at her. She licked her lips, she shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t, but… well she was always curious about what masturbating with a penis felt like and Trevor had plenty of material on his phone to get her going.
I'm going to masturbate as a boy!
Susan: Elizabeth is saying not to, but I wanna see a dick pic!
Alright! Before she could second guess the morality of the situation, Rachel got to her feet and locked herself in the bathroom before ripping off Trevor’s pants. Trevor’s penis wasn’t anything special, a bit on the smaller and slimmer side, but it reacted quickly to Rachel’s touch. She sent a quick picture to Susan before erasing all the evidence from Trevor’s phone before she got to work.
She opened Trevor’s gallery again, scrolling through the various pictures he had, all of it was making her feel warm and she quickly discovered a rhythm to stroking his cock. Mmh, Veronica definitely has a nice body! Rachel thought, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, as she stared at a photo of a mostly naked Veronica, And Abigail's hot! Who knew she was hiding all that under her baggy clothes? Trevor’s dick was twitched in her hand as she scrolled his gallery, the pleasure beginning to overcome her. It was much faster than masturbating as a girl, and she could feel the pressure rising within herself. With one final grunt, Rachel experienced her first orgasm as a guy and decided it would be funny to leave Trevor in his own sperm soaked mess.
Susan decided not to pursue Trevor, not because of the various pictures on his phone, but because she thought his dick was too small, but Rachel thought she was caring too much about the wrong things, it felt perfect to her, the pictures on his phone, however, that would have turned her off of him if she had even been interested.
It was crazy to think that had all only been a few days ago, and now here she was, in class once again about to use her power to help her cheat on her tests. It was easy enough getting out of her own skin, she just had to make sure to make it look like she was thinking and not passed out in class. After leaving her body, she made her way to Matthew without much trouble and got inside of him.
As usual, there was a slight struggle as her consciousness overpowered the person already in here, but thankfully all Matthew did was let out a small gasp. Alright, I’m in! Rachel quickly flipped through Matthew’s test, doing her best to memorize what answers he’d pick before she returned to her own body.
As she left Matthew though, she saw something strange when she came back out. For a moment, she thought she saw a blur of something vaguely person-shaped slip into the body of one of the girls in class, a quiet girl with big glasses named Vanessa, someone Rachel rarely spoke to, but had heard some of the boys whisper about excitedly. At first, Rachel thought she imagined it until Vanessa gave the telltale shudder and gasped. What?
A wicked smile etched itself on Vanessa’s mouth and she raised her hand and asked to leave to go to the bathroom. Rachel was curious, wanting to see what was going on before she remembered she hadn’t written down any of the answers. Quickly, she returned to her own body and copied down the answers she’d gotten from Matthew, making sure to occasionally mark a different answer so she didn’t get flagged for cheating. Although how exactly they would prove she’d cheated was beyond her, it was better not to take any chances here.
From there, Rachel waited, keeping an eye on the clock. She’d finished her own test and almost an hour passed but Vanessa still wasn’t back. I need to go check on her. Putting her head down, Rachel slipped out of her body and left the classroom. She heard Vanessa, or whoever was inside Vanessa, say she was going to the bathroom so that’s where Rachel headed.
She slipped inside and immediately heard crying, mixed in with mumblings of words. Worried, Rachel came closer, stopping when she saw a pile of clothes, Vanessa’s clothes, laying in a puddle of water in front of the sinks and Vanessa huddled naked against the wall, crying.
Vanessa made little effort to hide her body, as her hands were busy covering her face rather than anything else, leaving her small breasts exposed, as well as exposing her shaved pussy. As she got closer, Rachel noticed something leaking from Vanessa’s vagina, like she had been aroused earlier.
What happened here? Rachel thought.
She approached Vanessa, examining her to see if something was wrong. It didn’t look like someone was inside her, but Rachel had no idea what happened. Naturally she couldn’t ask Vanessa this, and even if she could Vanessa wouldn’t have any memory of what happened when she was possessed.
Rachel looked down at the clothes on the floor. They were wet, and wouldn’t look like they’d dry until after the test. I… I need to help her. Rachel went inside Vanessa. She gasped as she found herself in control of the other girl's body, and shivered from the coldness of the bathroom tile against her naked skin.
She couldn’t help but notice something else. This body felt good like it had just recently orgasmed. Rachel gulped, and stood up. She grabbed as many paper towels as she could and went to work trying to dry off Vanessa’s clothes. It wouldn’t get it all out, but that wasn’t the plan.
She slipped the clothes on, shivering intensely at how cold everything was before leaving the bathroom where one of the hall monitors noticed her and flagged her down.
“Young lady,” he began, “why on earth are you soaking wet?”
“There’s a problem with the sink,” Rachel lied, “it sprayed water all over me when I tried to wash my hands.”
The hall monitor sighed, “Well, I can’t let you return to your classroom like this, follow me, we’ll see if we can get you some dry clothes from the lost and found.”
Vanessa returned to class wearing an oversized hoodie along with a pair of sweatpants that were slightly too big for her. It didn’t help that they both smelled of sweat and body odor, but at least now Vanessa could finish her test. Feeling extra helpful, Rachel decided to fill in the answers for her that she took from Matthew, again, making sure she separated them from her own answers. Alright, I hope this goes well for her, Rachel thought as she got ready to leave her body poor girl.
With that, she returned to her own body and waited until the bell rang and class was let out to go to lunch. Is there someone else here with powers like mine? she wondered as she grabbed her belongings. Rachel glanced around the room, wondering if maybe whoever it was might’ve been in the room with her. No, she hadn’t noticed anyone else seemingly passed out like how she looks when she becomes a ghost. Someone from outside her classroom then, but staff or student? Boy or girl? As Rachel walked into the hallway and towards the cafeteria, she continued to glance around as more and more students came into the hall. Any one of them could have powers like hers.
Rachel thankfully managed to find Susan and Elizabeth during lunch. She was worried they would have different lunch schedules because of the test, but that wasn’t the case. Elizabeth and Susan were in the middle of talking about what they were going to do after the test. They almost didn’t notice Rachel sitting down next to them until she asked, “Hey, has anyone in your class acted… weird today?”
“Well hello to you, too, Rachel,” Susan replied, “anyway… no, not really. Why? Did something happen?”
Rachel lowered her voice, it wouldn’t be good if whoever was behind this overheard what she was going to tell them. No telling how this other person would react. “During the test… you know that quiet girl, Vanessa? I saw someone jump into her and, after some time had passed, I decided to follow using my powers…” she paused as she gathered herself to prepare to explain what happened next as she was still shaken by the sight of it, “when I found her in the bathroom, she was naked and all of her clothes had been soaked in the sink. When I hopped inside of her I also felt like… like she had just orgasmed.”
Susan and Elizabeth gasped and leaned back in their seats, their eyes wide with horror. “What did you do?” Elizabeth asked.
“I dried off her clothes the best I could,” Rachel explained, “afterwards, I picked up some clothes from the lost and found and finished her test for her.” After she finished, Rachel looked around the cafeteria, wondering if anyone had been listening in to their conversation. None of the students seemed to notice or care, being far more interested in their own meals or conversations. Still, Rachel felt her skin crawl at the thought that the person responsible was in this room with them.
“Should…” Susan hesitated, “should we do something about this?”
“What can we do?” Elizabeth asked, “I don’t think any member of the staff will believe us if we tell them what happened and I’m not sure if there’s anything we can do to this creep without putting ourselves in harm's way!”
“I might be able to do something.” Rachel said.
“Rachel, no-” Elizabeth began.
“I’m the only one with powers like this,” Rachel cut her off, “I’m the only one who would be able to see them, and I might be able to put a stop to all this.”
“Rachel,” Elizabeth said, “please be careful, alright? From what you said, I… don’t feel comfortable with you going to confront this guy alone.”
“Elizabeth is right,” Susan agreed, “what if he’s, I don’t know, able to turn the tables on you?”
Rachel swallowed, feeling sick, “I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “but I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
For the rest of the day, Rachel was on high alert, keeping a close eye on any of her classmates to see if they acted off. However, nothing happened. At least, not in her class anyway. After the tests were over and everyone got their phones back, Rachel was immediately hit with several messages from both Susan and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: Rachel, we have a problem
He struck again.
Melissa, you know, the girl in the school band with the freckles?
She left for the restroom and didn’t come back
Going to check on her now
Susan: Rachel, problem.
several girls were straight up missing when we came back
The teacher didn’t know what happened to them
Some of their friends said the girls left during lunch and then they just didn’t come back
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Rachel took in a breath, and as calmly as she could, she looked around for anything suspicious. She almost missed it, but she saw one of the girls in the cheer leading team, a tall brunette named Victoria, suddenly gasp and shudder, stopping briefly mid walk and suddenly turning around with a slight smile on her face. Bingo.
Me:I found him. I’m going to follow him for a bit and see what happens
Elizabeth: Careful.
Susan: Stay safe
With that, Rachel put her phone away and followed Victoria, or rather the person possessing Victoria, through the hallways. She made sure to keep her distance, didn’t want whoever was inside Victoria getting suspicious about her, but she also made sure to keep Victoria in her line of sight so she wouldn’t get away.
At first, Rachel thought the possessor would take Victoria into another bathroom, but no, whoever it was was taking Victoria inside the girls locker room. No one else was inside when Victoria walked in, and Rachel was barely able to slip in herself without the door closing on her. From there, she decided to hide herself away near the entrance where, hopefully, her body wouldn’t be seen.
Alright, Rachel thought, her mouth a bit dry, I’m going in. She separated herself from her body and floated over in the direction of the lockers.
She wasn’t surprised when she saw Victoria’s body already in a state of undress. Whoever was inside her had already taken off Victoria’s shoes, socks, pants, and shirt, leaving her in just her white bra and panties. The imposter stood in front of the mirror inside Victoria’s locker, admiring Victoria’s body with a wicked grin on her face as her hands reached behind her back to unclip the bra, slipping it off her and allowing Victoria’s full breasts to come into view.
Rachel caught sight of herself in the locker mirror and froze, Oh god, does he see me? The imposter, however, didn’t look like he was able to see ghosts while he was possessing someone, much like how Rachel didn’t see him while she was inside Matthew’s body. While Rachel stood frozen, the imposter took the opportunity to slide off Victoria’s panties and was now standing completely naked in front of the mirror, admiring how Victoria looked. “Oh yeah,” she growled, “much better than that mousy little Vanessa, no idea what the other guys were seeing in her.”
Rachel continued floating over, moving agonizingly slow.
One of Victoria’s hands went to her breasts, cupping them and squeezing the nipples. “Mmm, bigger than Melissa’s,” she moaned, “but not as sensitive-OH!” Victoria arched her back as her fingers slipped inside her vagina, “Oh FUCK! Oh! I think she’s the most sensitive one so far!”
Rachel held out her hands as she got closer to Victoria. Unlike before, where she always felt a slight pull towards the body she was about to enter, here she felt a slight push and she had to force herself to get closer. Fortunately, the imposter didn’t seem to notice, lost as he was busy pleasuring himself in Victoria’s body. As he got closer to the climax, Rachel was able to make her way into Victoria’s body. Get out!
”What the? Who are you? You get out!”
Rachel jerked, causing Victoria’s leg to jerk. Her vision was darkness until she saw flashes of the locker room from Victoria’s perspective. She felt a hand closing in on her throat and wasn’t sure who was the one squeezing, if it was her or the other person. I said… GET OUT1
With a shove, Rachel pushed the other presence out of Victoria and gained control for a brief moment. She looked around and was about to leave when she felt the presence trying to come back in, Victoria’s body started shuddering and Rachel once again found herself fighting for control against this creep.
I won’t let you take advantage of anyone else! Rachel screamed, leaving Victoria’s body, but making sure she dragged the other presence out with her. Bodiless, as ghosts, they both floated in the locker room, and while they had each other’s hands around the other person’s throat, neither of them were able to feel pain, just mild discomfort.
But Rachel gasped when she saw who the other person was. It was Trevor, and he was glaring down at her, but the anger quickly melted into surprise and they both let go, floating a little bit away from each other. “Trevor?” Rachel gasped.
“Rachel?” Trevor gasped.
Rachel thought back to when she searched Trevor’s phone, some of those pictures of the girls were taken from their perspectives, at first, she had thought Trevor was flirting around with all those girls, but could he have actually been possessing them and used them to give himself those pictures?
“How… how long did you have this power?” Rachel asked.
“A month, just about,” Trevor replied, sneering, “I think you can see what I’ve been using it for. You?”
“A little over two weeks.”
Trevor thought for a moment, and his sneer deepened, “Ah, so I guess it was you I have to thank for waking up covered in my own mess that one time. Well, as you can see, you might’ve inspired me to do more with my powers than just simple pictures.”
“Why did you leave them stranded without clothes?”
Trevor shrugged, “I didn’t do that will all of them, just the ones who went out of their way to mock me, judge me, call me a creep! A pervert! Loser!”
Rachel scoffed, “I don’t think they were too far off with those claims seeing what you’ve done,”
“Really?” Trevor asked, coming closer, “You violated me, and then judge me when I do the same? Well, let’s see how you like it then! Your body must be around here, somewhere, right?”
Before she could react, Trevor shoved her aside and started floating off towards the exit of the locker room, right where her body was. Shit! Rachel thought, floating behind him. Trevor glanced behind him as he floated, “Heh, guess I’m getting close.”
Fuck! Rachel thought, I shouldn’t have followed! Now he knows where my body is! She tried going faster, using her ghostly arms and legs to try to propel herself forward, but it was no use, both her and Trevor were going the exact same speed, but Trevor was ahead of her. No.
Her body came into view, slumped over against the wall. Trevor chuckled as he got closer and slowly started to slip inside. NO! Rachel reached forward, forcing herself inside before Trevor could get in her body. She expected resistance, a fight, anything, but she gasped awake as she easily slipped inside her body.
What? Where’s-? Suddenly, she gasped, her body jerking on its own accord, she felt him then, trying to force his way inside of her. Rachel knew then that he wanted her to get inside first, so she’d be trapped while he possessed her. She needed to leave! Now!
“You’re not going anywhere.” Trevor whispered in her mind as Rachel felt the pulling turn into pushing as she forced inside her body as Trevor took control. She continued fighting, but she was quickly losing. She stopped feeling her legs, then her arms, until all she controlled was her eyes and then her vision slowly slipped away as she lost all control. no…
Trevor gasped awake, grinning as he looked down at his hands, Rachel’s hands. Okay Rachel, let’s see how you like being played with. He made his way over to the lockers again, having completely forgotten about Victoria until she finally regained consciousness and shrieked when she discovered she was naked.
“Rachel!” Victoria shrieked, grabbing Rachel’s shirt, “What happened? Why am I naked? Did you see whoever did this?”
Trevor smiled, and leaned closer, kissing Victoria on the lips, when he pulled back, Victoria was staring at him wide eyed, “I’m sorry,” he said, “I just couldn’t resist, especially seeing you like this.”
Victoria pulled away, quickly grabbing her clothes and using them to cover herself, “Rachel, what the hell? This isn’t the time for anything like that!”
Trevor held up his hands, “Easy, easy, I was just suggesting we can take advantage of the moment, you know?”
Victoria’s face went red and she quickly ran out of the locker room. Damn, Trevor thought, watching her go, I was really looking forward to trying sex as a woman. Maybe I came off too strong. Oh well, at least I still have this body.
Trevor stood in front of the mirror of Victoria’s locker. Let’s see what we’re working with here. Trevor went to work, taking off Rachel’s boots first. He was surprised to see she wasn’t wearing any socks, but that was fine, less work for him. Afterwards, her shirt came off, Oh Rachel, naughty girl, underneath, a black bra held back her freckled breasts. I can’t wait to play with those Trevor thought, but first, her pants came off next, and Trevor eagerly ripped off the matching black panties. Oh my! Trevor laughed giddily as the underwear came off, I was not expecting this! Rachel’s pussy was completely shaved, giving him a nice clean view of her mound and puffy lips.
His hands went to his bra, he shook slightly from anticipation before taking it off. Rachel’s breasts weren’t as large as Victoria’s, but they were very soft and bouncy, and the freckles dusting across her skin drew his eyes to her breasts' natural roundness. He swallowed, breathing deeply as heat gathered between Rachel’s legs.
No sense putting all this off, then Without further ado, Trevor sat down and got to work fingering Rachel. Oh! Trevor bit his lip, Rachel’s back arching of its own accord as his fingers slipped inside her warmth, Shit! She’s sensitive! He licked his lips, moaning deeply as he fingered her. He found her clitoris easily and a few flicks nearly incapacitated him from the sheer pleasure.
He grunted, his free hand cupping her breasts and rubbing her erect nipples. Finally, it came. With a loud groan, Trevor felt Rachel’s body climax and laid dazed for a moment, unable to feel his legs. Fuck, Rachel. I think… out of all the bodies I’ve possessed, yours is my favorite. Trevor was about to get up and leave Rachel laying here in her shame when he heard a ding coming from her discarded pants.
It was Rachel’s phone.
Elizabeth: Rachel, you alright?
Did you find out who did it?
Trevor grinned, maybe he might be able to have sex with a woman after all. He just needed to play his cards better this time. Sorry, Rachel, looks like I’m staying in here for a little longer.
Me: Don’t worry, I’m fine.
Wanna meet up at my house?
I’ll tell you what I found out.
Elizabeth: Sure
I’ll bring Susan with me.
Oh, this was just getting better and better.
The End?
All characters are 18 or older.
Rachel Smith came home from school exhausted. She did not want to think about going back to school for tomorrow, the tests she’d taken today alone had mentally drained her and going back tomorrow to finish the rest of them was not a pleasant thought. At least that would be their last day of testing for a while. I almost forgot Rachel thought as she plopped down onto the couch, I promised Elizabeth and Susan I'd check up on them.
Me: Hey all!
How were the tests?
Elizabeth: Ugh!
Don’t talk to me about them right now, alright?
Susan: I don’t think I did too well, honestly
Think I’m going to flunk biology at this rate…
I hope I’ll still be able to graduate though
Me: I’m not sure how the colleges will take that
You know, failing thing?
Susan: omg
Rachel, shut up.
Did you even do your tests?
Or were you doing your little “cheating”?
Rachel paused. Of course, she hadn’t cheated today, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind to do so. Afterall, if she had, what would have been the point of all those sleepless nights studying for all this? But… I mean… for English, Matthew will be in the same class as me… Rachel swallowed, not sure if this was something she was really considering doing, then again, it would make her life a lot easier. As far as she knew, no one was able to tell what happened to them after she left, although there was the problem that she wouldn’t be able to stay inside them for too long, otherwise she might not have enough time to write down the answers on her own test.
Rachel shook her head and picked up her phone again:
Me:As if!
Unlike some people, I wouldn’t use my powers for selfish reasons!
Elizabeth: Girl,
You used them to see how large Trevor’s penis was
Me: That wasn’t selfish!
That was for science!
Anyway
I promise you girls I didn’t cheat
Well, she didn’t cheat today anyway. But tomorrow, well that was another story. Although Elizabeth and Susan didn’t need to know that. It wouldn’t be fair to them if they knew she was having an easier time just because of something like this. It’s funny how it all happened.
There were three of them, Rachel, Elizabeth, and Susan. Susan was the shortest of them, with tanned skin and dark hair. Elizabeth was the tallest, standing taller than even some of the boys at their school. Unlike Susan and Rachel, Elizabeth had lean muscles all along her body, although most people wouldn’t notice as she kept her clothes on the baggier side. And then there was Rachel who stood shorter than Elizabeth, but taller than Susan. Rachel’s red hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she was laughing at a joke Susan said.
They had taken a break from studying for their upcoming tests when Rachel noticed a yard sale in their neighborhood run by an old woman. When asked, the woman gave them a sad smile and told them most of these things belonged to either her late husband or her daughter, both of whom sadly passed away in a car accident a few weeks back.
While Elizabeth was consoling the woman, Rachel decided to look through some of the belongings that were up for sale. Some old clothes, a few sports equipment, and some books. Rachel paused when she noticed a box of books mostly hidden behind some golf clubs. She peered over the top, and nearly squealed when she saw they were first edition copies of Jane Smith’s Dearest Diary series. Is this the whole collection? Rachel wondered, flipping through some of the books in the box. It was indeed.
“Excuse me?” Rachel asked, “How much for the box of them?”
The old woman gave a small smile and walked closer, examining the thing that caught Rachel’s eye, “For the set, I’d say twenty dollars should do the trick,” the woman replied, “Hazel loved this when she was a kid.”
Rachel eagerly handed the woman the money and as soon as she took the box in her hands the woman piped up again, “Oh, I think my dear Tom might’ve left something in one of those books. He always liked getting into some trouble, if you find it it’s yours to keep!”
Trouble? Rachel smiled and waved for Elizabeth and Susan to follow her as they went back to her house. Once they were in his room, Rachel immediately got to work making room in her bookshelf to store those books. While she was doing so, Elizabeth and Susan were making light jokes at her expense, out of all the things in that yard sale, Rachel got books, most of which she already owned.
Of course you wouldn’t understand the pleasure of a first edition book you love Rachel thought, placing five of the twelve books in her bookcase. Something slipped out from between the pages of book six though. Rachel frowned, and bent down to pick it up, “What’s that?” Susan asked, as she and Elizabeth got closer.
“It looks like a letter,” Rachel replied, picking it up in her hands.
“Should we open it?” Susan asked.
“We probably shouldn’t,” Elizabeth replied, “it’s not ours.”
“That old lady said we could have whatever we find inside.” Rachel reminded her, getting ready to open it.
Elizabeth stepped forward and made a swipe for the letter, “What if it’s something dangerous? Like… drugs or something?”
Rachel managed to fend her off and Susan helped hold Elizabeth back, “We won’t know until we try. Besides, aren’t you two just the tiniest bit curious?”
Elizabeth swallowed, but didn’t answer. Susan, however, was nodding her head enthusiastically. That was all Rachel needed and she opened the envelope, not sure what might be inside.
To little fanfare, all that was inside was just a letter, “It looks like a simple letter,” Rachel revealed with a sigh.
“What’s it say?” Susan asked.
Rachel held the letter up, the handwriting wasn’t the greatest, and neither was the paper quality, but eventually she managed to work out the words. She read aloud:
To Hazel,
I want you to have something of mine. It’s a little trick I’ve picked up from my travels when I was younger. Maybe one day I’ll tell you where I found it, but until that day comes, I will leave with this and this alone.
Now, I don’t want to tell you much of the details of what I got up to with this little trick of mine, but just know that I know what to look for so don’t you think about causing any trouble with this, alright?
Rachel frowned when she tried to read beyond that point. She wasn’t sure if maybe the old man’s writing got particularly bad or if he was writing in another language, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of what was written after. It all just looked like a bunch of squiggly symbols.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked.
“I can’t read anything else,” Rachel replied.
“Well maybe that’s for the best then,” Elizabeth said as Rachel stared harder at the words, “afterall, this seems like something intimate between a dad and his daughter, I don’t think it’s really our place to - OH MY GOD!”
At first, Rachel wasn’t sure what got Elizabeth so excited, and then Susan started freaking out too. They were shouting at her to drop the letter, and Rachel looked at them, not sure why they were freaking out, but then she realized the paper was burning in her hands.
She sucked in a breath, but before she could even think of letting go, the fire completely enveloped the paper, however, as the fire burned Rachel swore the strange words glowed white hot against the fire. What happened next, Rachel wasn’t exactly sure, the fire and the words flowed into her and Rachel felt something tugging at her very being. Suddenly, she felt herself lurching forward and she stumbled back until her back hit the wall.
“Ow!” Rachel cried out as the back of her head protested in pain.
“Rachel, oh my god, are you alright?” Susan cried.
Rachel, still with her eyes closed, replied, “I’m fine, just a little bump.”
“Elizabeth, this is serious!” Susan nearly shrieked.
Rachel opened her eyes, and she noticed she was taller, and her body felt stronger than it had before. She wiped some stray blonde strands from her face -- wait, blonde hair?
She looked over at Susan and saw she was crouching over Rachel’s own body. Rachel stared in horror, lifting up her hands to see they weren’t actually her hands, but were actually Elizabeth’s.
“Elizabeth!” Susan hissed, “Don’t just stand there! Get help!”
“I’m not Elizabeth!” Rachel breathed.
“What?”
“I said I’m not Elizabeth!” Rachel said, “I’m Rachel,” she pointed to her own body on the floor, “that… that’s my body… except,” she looked down at herself again, “I’m not in it.”
“Is Elizabeth in there?” Susan asked.
Hello? Rachel thought, Hello? Elizabeth! Are you there? She shook her head and crouched down beside her own body. Her body was still breathing, that was good, at least it wouldn’t die without her inside. She tried poking and prodding, but no response.
“Elizabeth isn’t in this body,” Rachel replied, “and it looks like mine’s empty.”
Before either of them could think of what happened, the door opened and Rachel’s mom came in. She was gasping for breath, “Girls! What happened? Why were you screaming?”
“O-oh! Mo-Mrs. Smith!” Rachel began, trying to think of a way out of this, “There was… a spider hiding in the books! A big one! It scared us all until we managed to kill it, but… I think Rachel fainted from the sight of it.”
Rachel’s mom sighed, “Well, that’s alright,” she frowned at the sight of Rachel’s body unconscious on the floor, “I think you should make sure Rachel didn’t hurt herself when she fell, it could be serious.”
“We will,” Susan piped up, “thanks, Mrs. Smith!”
With that, Rachel’s mom, thankfully left the room and Rachel and Susan were still trying to figure out what happened. Am I trapped here? Rachel wondered, How do I get back to my body?
“Can you get out of her?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know!” Rachel replied, running her fingers through Elizabeth’s blonde hair, “I’m-I’m trying to think!”
“Well what happened that made you go inside her?” Susuan asked.
“I-I-I don’t know!” Rachel hissed, “I just felt something pulling at me and one second I was in my body and the next I’m in Elizabeth’s!”
Susan looked around, trying to see if there were any remains of the paper left that might explain what happened. While she was doing so, Rachel was taking a few deep breaths as she looked back at her body on the floor. Alright, I’ll… see if I can’t replicate that, somehow.
Sitting down, Rachel closed her eyes and imagined herself, a ghost of herself, getting outside of Elizabeth’s body. She kept the image, concentrating harder and harder until she felt something, like a hook pulling at her. Is it working? Can I get out of here?
Rachel focused on that feeling and imagined that hook pulling her out of Elizabeth’s body. The feeling of pulling grew stronger and stronger until Elizabeth shuddered and Rachel was able to slip out. Only… she wasn’t back in her body.
She floated outside, like a ghost. From this, she was able to see her body still on the floor and Elizabeth slowly regaining consciousness. She went over towards her body, feeling a slight pull, but hesitated when she noticed Susan was still searching for any clue of what might’ve happened, crouching down to look for any remains of that strange letter.
Rachel smiled, feeling a little mischievous, it wouldn’t be fair if only Liz got possessed, afterall. She floated closer to Susan and felt a slight pull as she got closer. She plunged herself into Susuan just as she was standing up and Susan shuddered, gasped, and then Rachel opened her eyes and found herself in Susan’s body.
Elizabeth groaned, “Ow… I think I hit my head… Oh my-! Rachel! Are you-?”
“I’m fine,” Rachel replied, facing Elizabeth.
“Susan, this isn’t the time for joking around, I think Rachel’s-”
Rachel held up a hand, “Liz, relax, it’s me, Rachel. I think that letter was a spell of some kind… it put me in your body and then I was able to get out and decided to possess Susan.”
Elizabeth swallowed, frowning, “You really expect me to believe that?”
“I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s the truth! Look, would Susan really be trying to mess with you if I was really in danger?”
The wheels were turning behind Elizabeth’s eyes, but Rachel knew she still didn’t believe this. “Prove it,” she said, “Tell me something only Rachel would know.”
Rachel thought for a moment, but decided this might be the perfect opportunity to mess with Elizabeth for a bit. “You panicked in the fifth grade when you forgot to buy a gift for Susan’s birthday and had to piggyback off my gift. In middle school you decided to tell me that you thought boys were icky and had no idea why Susan was so interested in them, going as far as calling Maxwell, her current crush at the time, a loser dweeb,” Rachel saw Elizabeth’s expression changing from skeptical to disbelief and knew she believed her, but decided to keep going, “in freshman year you came out to me as a lesbian and I assured you that Susan would accept you, too, and after a week of planning you came out as a lesbian. The day afterwards, I decided to tell you I was bisexual and then told Susan the day after…” Elizabeth was looking a bit red in the face now, “and last year, you and I shared a kiss behind the school to test things out. We didn’t tell Susan and while we fooled around, we decided it was better to stay as friends.”
Elizabeth was covering her face with her hands now, “Jeez, I believed you after the second thing, you didn’t need to keep going.”
Rachel giggled and gave Elizabeth a quick peck on the cheek. She barely had time to react before Elizabeth lashed out, swiping at her with her hand. Rachel kept laughing, although she made sure to cover her face with her arms, “Woah! Careful, Liz! This is Susan’s body, you know!”
“I know,” Elizabeth growled, “and can you please get out of her? I’m already freaking out enough now.”
Rachel smiled and prepared herself to leave again. The pull came easier now, and she was able to easily slip out of Susan’s body and entered her own. She got up, wincing as she felt where her body had hit the floor when she flew out of it. Ow! I guess I have to be careful when I leave because I’ll feel the pain when I come back in! Ow!
While Rachel was tending to the ache in her head, Susan got up and looked around, confused as to why she was no longer near the bookshelf. She noticed, however, that both Elizabeth and Rachel were up. “What happened?” Susan asked slowly, “No way, Rachel? Did you possess me?”
“I thought it was the best way to explain to Elizabeth what happened,” Rachel replied, still rubbing her head, “Don’t worry, nothing happened while you were gone.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, looking at Rachel with a dark expression, “nothing happened.”
“So neither of you were aware of anything while I was inside you?” Rachel asked, starting to get to her feet.
“Last thing I remembered before coming to was freaking out because that letter was on fire,” Elizabeth replied, “after that… I woke up on the floor.”
“Same,” Susan replied, “I was just looking for anything that might tell us what was happening when everything went black and then I was on the floor.”
After that little episode, the three of them decided to test out potential limits for Rachel’s powers. As far as they can tell, there was no distance limit to how far away she can get from her body, nor did there appear to be a time limit to how long Rachel can stay outside her body, although she didn’t want to stay out of it for too long as her body still needed to eat. As a ghost, Rachel wasn’t able to travel very fast, only going about walking speed, but she was able to go through walls and fly. She didn’t test out if she could possess animals because she was scared she might not be able to leave.
The three of them had some fun for her powers, with one of the first things Rachel did was possess Susan’s crush, Trevor, and go through his phone to look for any clues about what he might be interested in. Rachel found him alone in his room studying when she came upon him. As she slipped inside, Trevor shuddered and gasped, “What the f-!” before Rachel completely took over.
So, this is what it’s like being a boy, Rachel thought, flexing her arms, I could get used to this, anyway, time to see if I can find anything he’s interested in. His phone was, thankfully, unlocked and after combing through it, she gasped when she found his gallery and the stuff that was inside it. There were numerous pictures of girls in various states of undress, Rachel recognized them as being in her same grade and covered her mouth. Oh my… I never would’ve thought Trevor got around this much!
These pictures looked like they were taken by the girls themselves too, and they usually winked or smiled at the camera, no doubt intending this as a gift for Trevor for later. I need to tell Susan, now! she quickly messaged Susan from Trevor’s phone before deleting the conversation on his end so he wouldn’t have any evidence that she had been messing around with his stuff.
Rachel sighed and was about to leave Trevor’s body when she felt something pressing hard against her pants. Don’t tell me… she looked down and gasped when she saw Trevor’s boner winking at her. She licked her lips, she shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t, but… well she was always curious about what masturbating with a penis felt like and Trevor had plenty of material on his phone to get her going.
I'm going to masturbate as a boy!
Susan: Elizabeth is saying not to, but I wanna see a dick pic!
Alright! Before she could second guess the morality of the situation, Rachel got to her feet and locked herself in the bathroom before ripping off Trevor’s pants. Trevor’s penis wasn’t anything special, a bit on the smaller and slimmer side, but it reacted quickly to Rachel’s touch. She sent a quick picture to Susan before erasing all the evidence from Trevor’s phone before she got to work.
She opened Trevor’s gallery again, scrolling through the various pictures he had, all of it was making her feel warm and she quickly discovered a rhythm to stroking his cock. Mmh, Veronica definitely has a nice body! Rachel thought, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, as she stared at a photo of a mostly naked Veronica, And Abigail's hot! Who knew she was hiding all that under her baggy clothes? Trevor’s dick was twitched in her hand as she scrolled his gallery, the pleasure beginning to overcome her. It was much faster than masturbating as a girl, and she could feel the pressure rising within herself. With one final grunt, Rachel experienced her first orgasm as a guy and decided it would be funny to leave Trevor in his own sperm soaked mess.
Susan decided not to pursue Trevor, not because of the various pictures on his phone, but because she thought his dick was too small, but Rachel thought she was caring too much about the wrong things, it felt perfect to her, the pictures on his phone, however, that would have turned her off of him if she had even been interested.
It was crazy to think that had all only been a few days ago, and now here she was, in class once again about to use her power to help her cheat on her tests. It was easy enough getting out of her own skin, she just had to make sure to make it look like she was thinking and not passed out in class. After leaving her body, she made her way to Matthew without much trouble and got inside of him.
As usual, there was a slight struggle as her consciousness overpowered the person already in here, but thankfully all Matthew did was let out a small gasp. Alright, I’m in! Rachel quickly flipped through Matthew’s test, doing her best to memorize what answers he’d pick before she returned to her own body.
As she left Matthew though, she saw something strange when she came back out. For a moment, she thought she saw a blur of something vaguely person-shaped slip into the body of one of the girls in class, a quiet girl with big glasses named Vanessa, someone Rachel rarely spoke to, but had heard some of the boys whisper about excitedly. At first, Rachel thought she imagined it until Vanessa gave the telltale shudder and gasped. What?
A wicked smile etched itself on Vanessa’s mouth and she raised her hand and asked to leave to go to the bathroom. Rachel was curious, wanting to see what was going on before she remembered she hadn’t written down any of the answers. Quickly, she returned to her own body and copied down the answers she’d gotten from Matthew, making sure to occasionally mark a different answer so she didn’t get flagged for cheating. Although how exactly they would prove she’d cheated was beyond her, it was better not to take any chances here.
From there, Rachel waited, keeping an eye on the clock. She’d finished her own test and almost an hour passed but Vanessa still wasn’t back. I need to go check on her. Putting her head down, Rachel slipped out of her body and left the classroom. She heard Vanessa, or whoever was inside Vanessa, say she was going to the bathroom so that’s where Rachel headed.
She slipped inside and immediately heard crying, mixed in with mumblings of words. Worried, Rachel came closer, stopping when she saw a pile of clothes, Vanessa’s clothes, laying in a puddle of water in front of the sinks and Vanessa huddled naked against the wall, crying.
Vanessa made little effort to hide her body, as her hands were busy covering her face rather than anything else, leaving her small breasts exposed, as well as exposing her shaved pussy. As she got closer, Rachel noticed something leaking from Vanessa’s vagina, like she had been aroused earlier.
What happened here? Rachel thought.
She approached Vanessa, examining her to see if something was wrong. It didn’t look like someone was inside her, but Rachel had no idea what happened. Naturally she couldn’t ask Vanessa this, and even if she could Vanessa wouldn’t have any memory of what happened when she was possessed.
Rachel looked down at the clothes on the floor. They were wet, and wouldn’t look like they’d dry until after the test. I… I need to help her. Rachel went inside Vanessa. She gasped as she found herself in control of the other girl's body, and shivered from the coldness of the bathroom tile against her naked skin.
She couldn’t help but notice something else. This body felt good like it had just recently orgasmed. Rachel gulped, and stood up. She grabbed as many paper towels as she could and went to work trying to dry off Vanessa’s clothes. It wouldn’t get it all out, but that wasn’t the plan.
She slipped the clothes on, shivering intensely at how cold everything was before leaving the bathroom where one of the hall monitors noticed her and flagged her down.
“Young lady,” he began, “why on earth are you soaking wet?”
“There’s a problem with the sink,” Rachel lied, “it sprayed water all over me when I tried to wash my hands.”
The hall monitor sighed, “Well, I can’t let you return to your classroom like this, follow me, we’ll see if we can get you some dry clothes from the lost and found.”
Vanessa returned to class wearing an oversized hoodie along with a pair of sweatpants that were slightly too big for her. It didn’t help that they both smelled of sweat and body odor, but at least now Vanessa could finish her test. Feeling extra helpful, Rachel decided to fill in the answers for her that she took from Matthew, again, making sure she separated them from her own answers. Alright, I hope this goes well for her, Rachel thought as she got ready to leave her body poor girl.
With that, she returned to her own body and waited until the bell rang and class was let out to go to lunch. Is there someone else here with powers like mine? she wondered as she grabbed her belongings. Rachel glanced around the room, wondering if maybe whoever it was might’ve been in the room with her. No, she hadn’t noticed anyone else seemingly passed out like how she looks when she becomes a ghost. Someone from outside her classroom then, but staff or student? Boy or girl? As Rachel walked into the hallway and towards the cafeteria, she continued to glance around as more and more students came into the hall. Any one of them could have powers like hers.
Rachel thankfully managed to find Susan and Elizabeth during lunch. She was worried they would have different lunch schedules because of the test, but that wasn’t the case. Elizabeth and Susan were in the middle of talking about what they were going to do after the test. They almost didn’t notice Rachel sitting down next to them until she asked, “Hey, has anyone in your class acted… weird today?”
“Well hello to you, too, Rachel,” Susan replied, “anyway… no, not really. Why? Did something happen?”
Rachel lowered her voice, it wouldn’t be good if whoever was behind this overheard what she was going to tell them. No telling how this other person would react. “During the test… you know that quiet girl, Vanessa? I saw someone jump into her and, after some time had passed, I decided to follow using my powers…” she paused as she gathered herself to prepare to explain what happened next as she was still shaken by the sight of it, “when I found her in the bathroom, she was naked and all of her clothes had been soaked in the sink. When I hopped inside of her I also felt like… like she had just orgasmed.”
Susan and Elizabeth gasped and leaned back in their seats, their eyes wide with horror. “What did you do?” Elizabeth asked.
“I dried off her clothes the best I could,” Rachel explained, “afterwards, I picked up some clothes from the lost and found and finished her test for her.” After she finished, Rachel looked around the cafeteria, wondering if anyone had been listening in to their conversation. None of the students seemed to notice or care, being far more interested in their own meals or conversations. Still, Rachel felt her skin crawl at the thought that the person responsible was in this room with them.
“Should…” Susan hesitated, “should we do something about this?”
“What can we do?” Elizabeth asked, “I don’t think any member of the staff will believe us if we tell them what happened and I’m not sure if there’s anything we can do to this creep without putting ourselves in harm's way!”
“I might be able to do something.” Rachel said.
“Rachel, no-” Elizabeth began.
“I’m the only one with powers like this,” Rachel cut her off, “I’m the only one who would be able to see them, and I might be able to put a stop to all this.”
“Rachel,” Elizabeth said, “please be careful, alright? From what you said, I… don’t feel comfortable with you going to confront this guy alone.”
“Elizabeth is right,” Susan agreed, “what if he’s, I don’t know, able to turn the tables on you?”
Rachel swallowed, feeling sick, “I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “but I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
For the rest of the day, Rachel was on high alert, keeping a close eye on any of her classmates to see if they acted off. However, nothing happened. At least, not in her class anyway. After the tests were over and everyone got their phones back, Rachel was immediately hit with several messages from both Susan and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: Rachel, we have a problem
He struck again.
Melissa, you know, the girl in the school band with the freckles?
She left for the restroom and didn’t come back
Going to check on her now
Susan: Rachel, problem.
several girls were straight up missing when we came back
The teacher didn’t know what happened to them
Some of their friends said the girls left during lunch and then they just didn’t come back
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Rachel took in a breath, and as calmly as she could, she looked around for anything suspicious. She almost missed it, but she saw one of the girls in the cheer leading team, a tall brunette named Victoria, suddenly gasp and shudder, stopping briefly mid walk and suddenly turning around with a slight smile on her face. Bingo.
Me:I found him. I’m going to follow him for a bit and see what happens
Elizabeth: Careful.
Susan: Stay safe
With that, Rachel put her phone away and followed Victoria, or rather the person possessing Victoria, through the hallways. She made sure to keep her distance, didn’t want whoever was inside Victoria getting suspicious about her, but she also made sure to keep Victoria in her line of sight so she wouldn’t get away.
At first, Rachel thought the possessor would take Victoria into another bathroom, but no, whoever it was was taking Victoria inside the girls locker room. No one else was inside when Victoria walked in, and Rachel was barely able to slip in herself without the door closing on her. From there, she decided to hide herself away near the entrance where, hopefully, her body wouldn’t be seen.
Alright, Rachel thought, her mouth a bit dry, I’m going in. She separated herself from her body and floated over in the direction of the lockers.
She wasn’t surprised when she saw Victoria’s body already in a state of undress. Whoever was inside her had already taken off Victoria’s shoes, socks, pants, and shirt, leaving her in just her white bra and panties. The imposter stood in front of the mirror inside Victoria’s locker, admiring Victoria’s body with a wicked grin on her face as her hands reached behind her back to unclip the bra, slipping it off her and allowing Victoria’s full breasts to come into view.
Rachel caught sight of herself in the locker mirror and froze, Oh god, does he see me? The imposter, however, didn’t look like he was able to see ghosts while he was possessing someone, much like how Rachel didn’t see him while she was inside Matthew’s body. While Rachel stood frozen, the imposter took the opportunity to slide off Victoria’s panties and was now standing completely naked in front of the mirror, admiring how Victoria looked. “Oh yeah,” she growled, “much better than that mousy little Vanessa, no idea what the other guys were seeing in her.”
Rachel continued floating over, moving agonizingly slow.
One of Victoria’s hands went to her breasts, cupping them and squeezing the nipples. “Mmm, bigger than Melissa’s,” she moaned, “but not as sensitive-OH!” Victoria arched her back as her fingers slipped inside her vagina, “Oh FUCK! Oh! I think she’s the most sensitive one so far!”
Rachel held out her hands as she got closer to Victoria. Unlike before, where she always felt a slight pull towards the body she was about to enter, here she felt a slight push and she had to force herself to get closer. Fortunately, the imposter didn’t seem to notice, lost as he was busy pleasuring himself in Victoria’s body. As he got closer to the climax, Rachel was able to make her way into Victoria’s body. Get out!
”What the? Who are you? You get out!”
Rachel jerked, causing Victoria’s leg to jerk. Her vision was darkness until she saw flashes of the locker room from Victoria’s perspective. She felt a hand closing in on her throat and wasn’t sure who was the one squeezing, if it was her or the other person. I said… GET OUT1
With a shove, Rachel pushed the other presence out of Victoria and gained control for a brief moment. She looked around and was about to leave when she felt the presence trying to come back in, Victoria’s body started shuddering and Rachel once again found herself fighting for control against this creep.
I won’t let you take advantage of anyone else! Rachel screamed, leaving Victoria’s body, but making sure she dragged the other presence out with her. Bodiless, as ghosts, they both floated in the locker room, and while they had each other’s hands around the other person’s throat, neither of them were able to feel pain, just mild discomfort.
But Rachel gasped when she saw who the other person was. It was Trevor, and he was glaring down at her, but the anger quickly melted into surprise and they both let go, floating a little bit away from each other. “Trevor?” Rachel gasped.
“Rachel?” Trevor gasped.
Rachel thought back to when she searched Trevor’s phone, some of those pictures of the girls were taken from their perspectives, at first, she had thought Trevor was flirting around with all those girls, but could he have actually been possessing them and used them to give himself those pictures?
“How… how long did you have this power?” Rachel asked.
“A month, just about,” Trevor replied, sneering, “I think you can see what I’ve been using it for. You?”
“A little over two weeks.”
Trevor thought for a moment, and his sneer deepened, “Ah, so I guess it was you I have to thank for waking up covered in my own mess that one time. Well, as you can see, you might’ve inspired me to do more with my powers than just simple pictures.”
“Why did you leave them stranded without clothes?”
Trevor shrugged, “I didn’t do that will all of them, just the ones who went out of their way to mock me, judge me, call me a creep! A pervert! Loser!”
Rachel scoffed, “I don’t think they were too far off with those claims seeing what you’ve done,”
“Really?” Trevor asked, coming closer, “You violated me, and then judge me when I do the same? Well, let’s see how you like it then! Your body must be around here, somewhere, right?”
Before she could react, Trevor shoved her aside and started floating off towards the exit of the locker room, right where her body was. Shit! Rachel thought, floating behind him. Trevor glanced behind him as he floated, “Heh, guess I’m getting close.”
Fuck! Rachel thought, I shouldn’t have followed! Now he knows where my body is! She tried going faster, using her ghostly arms and legs to try to propel herself forward, but it was no use, both her and Trevor were going the exact same speed, but Trevor was ahead of her. No.
Her body came into view, slumped over against the wall. Trevor chuckled as he got closer and slowly started to slip inside. NO! Rachel reached forward, forcing herself inside before Trevor could get in her body. She expected resistance, a fight, anything, but she gasped awake as she easily slipped inside her body.
What? Where’s-? Suddenly, she gasped, her body jerking on its own accord, she felt him then, trying to force his way inside of her. Rachel knew then that he wanted her to get inside first, so she’d be trapped while he possessed her. She needed to leave! Now!
“You’re not going anywhere.” Trevor whispered in her mind as Rachel felt the pulling turn into pushing as she forced inside her body as Trevor took control. She continued fighting, but she was quickly losing. She stopped feeling her legs, then her arms, until all she controlled was her eyes and then her vision slowly slipped away as she lost all control. no…
Trevor gasped awake, grinning as he looked down at his hands, Rachel’s hands. Okay Rachel, let’s see how you like being played with. He made his way over to the lockers again, having completely forgotten about Victoria until she finally regained consciousness and shrieked when she discovered she was naked.
“Rachel!” Victoria shrieked, grabbing Rachel’s shirt, “What happened? Why am I naked? Did you see whoever did this?”
Trevor smiled, and leaned closer, kissing Victoria on the lips, when he pulled back, Victoria was staring at him wide eyed, “I’m sorry,” he said, “I just couldn’t resist, especially seeing you like this.”
Victoria pulled away, quickly grabbing her clothes and using them to cover herself, “Rachel, what the hell? This isn’t the time for anything like that!”
Trevor held up his hands, “Easy, easy, I was just suggesting we can take advantage of the moment, you know?”
Victoria’s face went red and she quickly ran out of the locker room. Damn, Trevor thought, watching her go, I was really looking forward to trying sex as a woman. Maybe I came off too strong. Oh well, at least I still have this body.
Trevor stood in front of the mirror of Victoria’s locker. Let’s see what we’re working with here. Trevor went to work, taking off Rachel’s boots first. He was surprised to see she wasn’t wearing any socks, but that was fine, less work for him. Afterwards, her shirt came off, Oh Rachel, naughty girl, underneath, a black bra held back her freckled breasts. I can’t wait to play with those Trevor thought, but first, her pants came off next, and Trevor eagerly ripped off the matching black panties. Oh my! Trevor laughed giddily as the underwear came off, I was not expecting this! Rachel’s pussy was completely shaved, giving him a nice clean view of her mound and puffy lips.
His hands went to his bra, he shook slightly from anticipation before taking it off. Rachel’s breasts weren’t as large as Victoria’s, but they were very soft and bouncy, and the freckles dusting across her skin drew his eyes to her breasts' natural roundness. He swallowed, breathing deeply as heat gathered between Rachel’s legs.
No sense putting all this off, then Without further ado, Trevor sat down and got to work fingering Rachel. Oh! Trevor bit his lip, Rachel’s back arching of its own accord as his fingers slipped inside her warmth, Shit! She’s sensitive! He licked his lips, moaning deeply as he fingered her. He found her clitoris easily and a few flicks nearly incapacitated him from the sheer pleasure.
He grunted, his free hand cupping her breasts and rubbing her erect nipples. Finally, it came. With a loud groan, Trevor felt Rachel’s body climax and laid dazed for a moment, unable to feel his legs. Fuck, Rachel. I think… out of all the bodies I’ve possessed, yours is my favorite. Trevor was about to get up and leave Rachel laying here in her shame when he heard a ding coming from her discarded pants.
It was Rachel’s phone.
Elizabeth: Rachel, you alright?
Did you find out who did it?
Trevor grinned, maybe he might be able to have sex with a woman after all. He just needed to play his cards better this time. Sorry, Rachel, looks like I’m staying in here for a little longer.
Me: Don’t worry, I’m fine.
Wanna meet up at my house?
I’ll tell you what I found out.
Elizabeth: Sure
I’ll bring Susan with me.
Oh, this was just getting better and better.
The End?
This story contains heavy and mature themes. It explores psychological trauma, loss of identity, and body horror. It includes explicit scenes of a sexual nature and graphic descriptions of physical and mental distress. Reader discretion is advised.
Daniel, a man living a solitary life in the mountain wilderness, witnesses a catastrophic event when a streak of violet light slams into the nearby ridge. Believing it to be a plane crash, his instincts drive him toward the impact site.
The silence of the mountains was Daniel’s only friend, until the sky tore open.
The sound wasn't a roar; it was a rhythmic, metallic shriek that vibrated the floorboards of his cabin. Daniel stood on his porch, a lukewarm beer in hand, watching a streak of violet-white light cut through the mist. It plummet like a plane falling from the sky. It skipped across the atmosphere before slamming into the ridge of Blackwood Peak with a thud that felt like a localized earthquake.
"Damn it," he whispered.
He didn't call the police. In these parts, the police were forty minutes away or more, and Daniel had nothing but time. He grabbed his heavy coat and a high-powered tactical flashlight, his boots crunching on the frost-dusted pine needles as he began the trek.
As he climbed, the air changed. It smelled weird. When he reached the clearing, he didn't see a Boeing or a Cessna. He saw a jagged shard of obsidian-slick material buried in the dirt. It pulsed with a low, rhythmic thrumming, like a heartbeat. No flames. No smoke. Just a cold, terrifying glow.
Fear, sharp and primal, finally pierced his curiosity. Run, his brain screamed.
He turned to flee, but his boot caught on a silky, translucent, and vibrating protruding cable. As he fell, his hand slapped against a warm, metallic surface that felt like liquid.
The world turned inside out. Then, darkness.
***
Daniel woke up face-down in the dirt. His watch said only ten minutes had passed. He felt fine, better than fine, actually. He felt light. The shard of obsidian-slick material buried completely in the dirt. It wasn't possible to see it anymore.
Seeing the distant sweep of flashlights from the valley floor, the authorities were finally arriving, he scrambled to his feet and hiked back down the deer trails, bypassing the main roads. He slipped into his house, locked the door, and waited for the adrenaline to fade.
That’s when the pressure started.
It began as a dull throb behind his left eye. By the time he hit the bed, it felt like someone was driving a railroad spike into his temple. He swallowed four Advil, dry, and collapsed into a fever dream. He wasn't Daniel anymore. He was a queen on a throne; he was a peasant in a green desert; he was a soldier in a war with three suns.
He bolted upright at 4:00 AM, drenched in sweat. His stomach groaned with a hunger so hollow it felt like his ribs were collapsing. He checked the fridge: half a lemon and a jar of mustard.
"Damn it," he croaked. "I'm hungry!"
***
The drive to the 24/7 "Stop & Gas" was a blur of shadows. The night air was naturally still and cold.
When he pushed through the glass doors, the chime of the bell sounded like a gunshot. Jane, a woman in her early thirties, with tired eyes and a permanent scent of menthol cigarettes, looked up from a crossword puzzle.
"You look like hell, Daniel," she said, squinting. "And that's saying something for a Tuesday."
"Coffee, Jane. Please. Extra sugar," Daniel managed. He leaned against the plexiglass shield, his knuckles white.
"Comin' up. Just brewed a fresh pot." She turned away, her movements practiced and slow.
Daniel took a breath, trying to steady his heart. He thought the worst was over. But then, a low hum started in the base of his skull. It grew louder, drowning out the buzz of the refrigerated aisles. The headache wasn't just back, it was evolving.
The pain didn't just peak; it shattered him. It felt as though a hot wire was being pulled through his prefrontal cortex and out his eyes. He gasped, his vision whiting out. He saw Jane through his squinted eyes and then, as quickly as a light switch flipping, the pressure vanished. The silence that followed was deafening.
Daniel blinked, gasping for air that finally didn't taste like copper. "Jane?"
Jane had frozen. She stood with the coffee pot halfway to the mug, her back to him. Then, she began to tremble. Not just a shiver of cold, but a violent, jerky twitching of her shoulders.
"Jane, you okay?"
She spun around, dropping the coffee pot into the floor. Her eyes wide, reflected the fluorescent overheads. She looked at her hands as if they were alien appendages. Her mouth opened, and she tried to speak.
"Whatafu..."
The sound died. She clutched her throat, her fingers digging into the soft skin of her neck, like she was looking for something that wasn't there.
Ignoring Daniel entirely, she began to frantically pat herself down. Her hands moved with a clinical, desperate curiosity, roaming over her torso and hips. She gripped her own breasts with a startling, painful-looking vigor.
"Boobs?" she whispered, the voice unmistakably Jane's, but the inflection entirely foreign. "I have boobs?"
She finally looked up, locking eyes with Daniel. Her expression shifted from confusion to a terrifying, mirrored recognition.
"Whathahell," she gasped, her finger trembling as she pointed at him. "Why do you look like me?"
***
Daniel’s heart hammered against a chest that felt too tight, too narrow. Daniel felt a cold sweat break out, but it wasn’t from the fever this time. He looked down at his own hands. They weren't the rough, calloused hands of a man who spent his days chopping wood and fixing pipes. They were slender. The skin was pale, smelling faintly of menthol cigarettes.
He caught his reflection in the glass of the donut display case. He didn’t see the grizzled, middle-aged face of Daniel. He saw Jane. The same tired eyes, the same messy ponytail, the same nose he had been looking at just seconds ago across the counter.
"Jane, what are you talking about?" Daniel heard his own voice asking. It was like hearing a recording, since the sound didn't came from his mouth.
The person on the other side of the counter, the one with Daniel’s heavy, muscular frame, looked puzzled to him.
Daniel felt his head spin. "I'm not Jane! I'm Daniel! I came in here for coffee because my head was,"
"I don't follow you, Jane. Do you want me to call an ambulance?" the man said, pointing a thick, calloused finger at Daniel. The finger Daniel had used to wood-carve just yesterday.
"I'm Daniel! I live up on the ridge! I, I saw the crash! I fell!" Daniel began to hyperventilate, his large chest heaving. He reached up, feeling the softness of his face, his eyes darting around the store in a panic. "I was just at my house, I took some Advil, I went to sleep,"
***
Daniel froze. Those were his memories. Jane wasn't just claiming to be him; she knew what Daniel had done for the last hours.
The silence of the convenience store was broken only by the hum of the refrigerators and the puddle of coffee spreading across the floor from the dropped pot. Daniel looked at Jane again. He felt a sickening realization crawl up his spine. The headache hadn't ended because he was cured; it ended because the pressure had reached a breaking point and vented.
It hadn't left his body. It had spilled over. To Jane.
"You think you're me," Daniel whispered. "But I'm still here. I'm right here."
The woman behind the counter clutched the edge of the register so hard her knuckles turned white. Her chest, clad in a "Stop & Gas" uniform, heaved with a breath that felt stolen.
"Stop it," she hissed, her voice trembling with Jane's pitch but Daniel’s cadence. "Stop saying what I’m thinking! I’m the one who went up that mountain. I’m the one who felt the metal. I can still taste the copper in my mouth!"
Daniel, the one standing in his own boots, with his own heavy shoulders, recoiled as if he’d been struck. He looked down at his large, familiar hands, then back at the woman. "You’re crazy, Jane. I don't know what kind of game this is, but you’re scaring the hell out of me. I'm Daniel. I've lived in that cabin for twelve years. I know every creak in those floorboards."
"Then what’s the name of the dog I buried under the oak tree?" Jane’s body barked, leaning over the counter.
"Buster," the Daniel’s body answered instantly, his eyes widening. "He was a golden retriever. He died three winters ago. How do you know that? How do you know my life?"
They stared at each other, two versions of the same history housed in two different human shells. The air between them felt thick, charged with the same ozone smell Daniel had encountered at the crash site.
"It's the crash, that thing in the crash site," Jane's body whispered, her slender fingers touching her forehead. "It didn't just knock me out. It, it used me. It used us. Like a virus."
"A virus?" Daniel's body stepped back, his heavy boots squeaking on the spilled coffee. He looked at her with a mixture of pity and pure, unadulterated horror. "Jane, look at yourself. You’re Jane. You’ve worked here for years. You have a kid in elementary school, for God's sake!"
Daniel-Jane froze. A kid? He didn't have a kid. But as soon as the other Daniel mentioned it, a memory flared up in the back of his mind. Not his memory, but hers. A small boy with messy hair. A school play. The smell of crayons. It felt like a grafted branch on a tree; it didn't belong, but it was drawing blood all the same.
"No," Daniel-Jane gasped, clutching her head. "That's not mine. That's... Wait, no. Those are Jane's memories."
Daniel-Daniel looked at the door, then back at the woman who claimed to be him. His face hardened. "I don't know what's happening, but you're not me. I’m me. I can feel my heart beating in this chest. I can feel the weight of my own skin."
Before either of them could say another word, the bell above the convenience store door chimed. A young woman in a puffy coat and a beanie stomped in, rubbing her hands together. "Jesus, it's cold. Hey Jane, sorry I'm late. Car wouldn't start."
Amanda, the morning shift. Daniel knew her. She came in every Thursday and Saturday.
Daniel-Jane stared, a deer in headlights. The sudden, normal interruption was more jarring than the metaphysical crisis. Amanda glanced at the spilled coffee pot on the floor, then at the two of them standing there frozen in a bubble of palpable tension. "You guys okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
"We're fine," Daniel-Daniel said, his voice too loud. He forced a smile. "Just a little accident. Jane was feeling unwell."
"Right," Amanda said, skeptical, already moving behind the counter to hang up her coat. "Well, you're relieved, I guess. Get some rest, Jane. You do look peaky."
The mundanity of it broke the spell. They couldn't have this conversation here. They couldn't stand here while Amanda mopped up coffee and stocked cigarettes, with the world carrying on as if the universe hadn’t just cracked open.
Daniel-Jane’s eyes, Jane’s eyes, darted to Daniel-Daniel, a silent, frantic plea. Get me out of here.
Daniel-Daniel gave a barely perceptible nod. To Amanda, he said, "I'll give Jane a ride home. She shouldn't drive like this."
"Sounds good," Amanda said, already distracted, pulling out the mop bucket.
Daniel-Jane didn't move to get her purse from under the counter. She just stood there, shivering slightly in the uniform that wasn't hers. Daniel-Daniel reached out, grabbed her purse, gripped her arm—the arm that felt slender and unfamiliar in his hand—and guided her toward the door. She didn't resist.
***
Outside in the brittle morning air, he steered her toward his truck. "We can't go to your place," he muttered, the words steaming in the cold. "Your husband. Your kid."
"My cabin," Daniel-Jane said, the voice Jane's but the decision pure Daniel. It was the only logical place. Isolated. Private. Their shared history—his history—was in the woodwork there. "We have to figure this out. And we can't do it where anyone can hear us."
He just nodded, opening the passenger door for her. She climbed in, movements stiff and unfamiliar, like she was operating a complex puppet.
The drive up the mountain road had been short and silent. Daniel—in his own familiar, heavy-set body—kept stealing glances at the woman in the passenger seat. She had his soul and his thoughts, but she was wearing the skin of the woman he’d spent years quietly admiring from across a convenience store counter.
***
When they entered the cabin, the heavy scent of pine and old wood usually grounded Daniel. Not today.
"I need to find my phone," Daniel-Daniel muttered, his voice sounding booming and foreign to the person sitting on his couch. "I need to see if there’s any news about the crash, or if I’m losing my mind."
As he stepped into the bedroom to rummage through his bedside table, Daniel-Jane stood in the center of the living room. The "Stop & Gas" uniform felt like a straitjacket. It was scratchy, smelling of menthol and cheap coffee, and it felt fundamentally wrong against a consciousness that expected the friction of denim and flannel.
Then, a memory surfaced. It wasn't a memory of the crash. It was a memory of Daniel, the real Daniel, standing in the checkout line six months ago. He had been looking at Jane’s neckline, down at her feminine form, a heat behind his eyes, a private, lonely desire that he’d taken home with him. He’d imagined the weight of her, the softness of her, in the dark of this very same cabin. He ejaculated four times that night, thinking about Jane.
Daniel-Jane felt a jolt of electricity. It was a feedback loop. He was the subject of the desire, and now he was the object of it.
With trembling, slender fingers, Daniel-Jane began to unbutton the uniform. The polyester hit the floor. Then the bra, a functional, beige thing, was cast aside.
When Daniel-Daniel walked back into the room, phone in hand, he stopped dead. His breath hitched in the back of his throat.
There, in the middle of his rug, was Jane. She was breathtakingly naked, illuminated by the amber glow of the hearth. But she wasn't posing. She was investigating.
Daniel-Jane was cupping her left breast, lifted it high, watching the weight of it shift. She squeezed them together, fascinated by her own cleavage, then let her boobs flop down, watching the natural sway. She leaned over, trying to see if her own mouth could reach the dark circles of her nipples.
"What are you doing?" Daniel-Daniel whispered, his face flushing a deep, hot crimson.
Daniel-Jane didn't look up. She was too busy running her hands over the slight curve of her stomach, feeling the softness of the skin. She reached down, her fingers exploring the neat, bald trim of her nether regions. With a clinical curiosity, she used her fingers to part her labia, peering down at the intricate, pink folds of her own new anatomy.
"It’s, it's so different," Daniel-Jane said, her voice a breathless, melodic whisper of awe. "I can feel everything. Every inch of skin feels like it’s vibrating. Daniel, look at this. You always wanted to see this, didn't you? I remember. I remember how much we wanted to know what she looked like."
She looked up at him then, her eyes, Jane’s eyes, bright with a terrifying, shared intimacy. But something shifted in her expression, a subtle knowing that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t just Daniel’s curiosity anymore. It was a look Jane had practiced in mirror reflections, a glance she’d used to soften her husband’s anger or to get a free stuff from the trucker who came in on Thursdays.
"I'm you, Daniel," she said, but her voice had dropped, become huskier, more melodic. A tone Jane used when she wanted something. "I have your memories ingrained inside my head. But I'm also her. I'm Jane. I have her body, and with it, her instincts."
She didn't just stand there. She moved. A memory surfaced—Jane, years ago, leaning against her kitchen counter in a thin tank top, watching her husband’s eyes follow the line of her neck. Daniel-Jane copied the motion now. She arched her back slightly, pushing her breasts forward, letting her weight settle on one hip in a pose of casual, vulnerable offering. It was a tactic. It felt both foreign and as natural as breathing.
"And I have her memories of what works," she whispered, her gaze locking onto his. "The little tilts of the head. The way to let a silence hang just long enough. She knows how to make a man’s resolve melt. I can feel that knowledge in my muscles. I remember using it."
I stared, the phone slipping from my grip to thud on the floorboards. My mouth was dry. My heart hammered in a chest that felt massive, a drumbeat of pure panic and something else, something dark and shamefully electric. This was Jane’s body. But the woman touching it wasn't just looking at it with my eyes, she was maneuvering it with her experience.
“Stop it,” I managed to choke out.
She smiled then, a slow, deliberate curl of Jane’s lips that didn’t reach her eyes. It was a smile Jane saved for when she was playing a part. “Why? You like it. I can feel you liking it. And I know. I remember exactly how to make you like it more.”
She looked down at herself, her hands resuming their exploration, but now with a new purpose. Her touch was no longer just clinical. It was performative. Her fingers traced the underside of her breast, a slow, teasing circle that Jane had once read in a magazine was ‘visually arresting.’ She let her other hand drift down her flank, palm smoothing over the curve of her hip in a gesture of pure, feminine appreciation.
“The ache is still there,” she breathed, Jane’s voice now a practiced, throaty murmur. “It’s deep. A hollow, pulling feeling. But it’s not just mine. It’s hers. She spent years feeling this and ignoring it, or using it as a tool. Now it’s my tool.” Her slender hand slid down her stomach, fingers not just tangling in the dark curls but stroking, a slow, intimate petting motion. “You feel it too, don’t you? In your gut. The want. She knew how to stoke that. Let me show you.”
I did. God help me, I did. It was a twisted reflection, now refined by a woman’s lifetime of subtle art. My own body was reacting to the sight of Jane naked, but the consciousness inside that body was now deploying a calculated campaign, using every inherited trick to dismantle me.
She took a step toward me, but this time her movements weren’t tentative. They were a slow, deliberate sashay, a roll of the hips that was pure Jane-on-a-Friday-night. She stopped just inches away, so close I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. She didn’t just tilt her head back to look up; she let her neck fall back in a vulnerable line, her lips parting slightly. A pose of surrender. An invitation.
I was breathing hard, the scent of her—soap, faint sweat, cigarette smoke, and now something else, something like intentional arousal—filling my nostrils.
“We’re the same person split in two,” she breathed, her words a warm caress against my chin. “But I have her playbook. And you, Daniel, ah, you, you’re the easiest mark she ever imagined.”
Her hand came up, but not in a clumsy brush. She let the back of her fingers trail slowly, agonizingly slowly, up the hard length of my denim-clad erection, her touch feather-light and knowing. A bolt of pure, targeted sensation shot through me.
“You want this,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. It was the voice Jane used to share a secret. “I have the memory of the want. And now I have the body, and the skills, to make you beg for it. It doesn’t have to be confusing. Let me make it simple for you.” Her other hand rose to my chest, her palm flat against my pounding heart. “Please, Daniel. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.” she said in the most alluring tones.
Her use of my name, spoken in that voice, with that desperate, shared understanding, broke something in me. The last thread of resistance snapped. This was a nightmare, but it was a fever dream we were sharing. If I was going to be trapped in this madness, maybe clinging to the other half of my shattered self was the only anchor left.
My hands, big and clumsy with shock, came up and settled on her bare shoulders. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft. She shuddered under my touch, Jane’s body responding to a contact it knew from a thousand casual interactions, now charged with catastrophic intimacy.
I didn’t kiss her. I couldn’t. Kissing Jane would have been a violation. Instead, I turned her around, my movements rougher than I intended. She gasped, Jane’s voice cracking, but she didn’t resist. She braced her hands against the back of my worn sofa, presenting the elegant curve of her back, the swell of her hips, the new, vulnerable velvet lips of her.
I fumbled with my belt, my fingers trembling. My own arousal was a thick, demanding pressure, tangled up with so much nausea and confusion it made my head spin. I pushed my jeans down just enough. I hesitated, the reality of it crashing down. This was Jane. But the mind wasn't.
“Do it,” she commanded, and the voice was pure, fierce Daniel. Impatient. Needing to know. “I need to feel what it’s like. I need to know if it’s the same. If her memories do justice to the feelings. ”
I positioned myself. She was wet—a slick, shocking heat that my fingers discovered as I guided myself. Her body’s readiness was a biological fact, separate from the chaos in our minds. With a groan that was part agony, I pushed inside.
The sensation was overwhelming. Tight, silken heat, yes, the physical reality of a woman. But the cry she let out wasn’t a moan of pleasure. It was a sharp, shocked gasp of recognition.
“Oh God,” she whimpered, her forehead pressing into the sofa cushion. “It’s, it’s inside. I can feel, me, inside.”
I froze, buried to the hilt, trembling. “What?”
“I can feel it,” she sobbed, the words muffled. “The pressure. The fullness. From both sides. I remember what it feels like to be you, to be the man, doing this, fucking a woman. And now I feel what it’s like to be her, receiving it. It’s a loop. It’s feeding back. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Her plea shattered the last of my hesitation. I began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was less about passion and more about desperate exploration. Each thrust was a question. Each gasp from her mouth was an answer in a language we were inventing together.
Her hands clutched at the fabric of the sofa. My hands gripped her hips, leaving pale marks on her skin. I watched the muscles in her back tense and release, watched the way her hair stuck to her damp neck. It was Jane’s body, alive with sensation, but the consciousness arching into each push was mine, marveling at the differences, drowning in the feedback.
“It’s deeper,” she panted. “The feeling. It’s not localized. It’s everywhere. My skin is on fire.”
I knew what she meant. In my own body, the pleasure was a focused, driving thing. In hers, through our blurred connection, it felt like the arousal was a current humming through her entire nervous system, lighting up every nerve ending. It was terrifying. It was magnificent.
The coil of tension in my own gut tightened, a familiar climb. But it felt different this time, shaded with her perceptions, amplified by the surreal horror of the act. “I’m close,” I grunted, the words ripped from me.
“Look at me,” she demanded, twisting her head over her shoulder.
I met her eyes. Jane’s tired, pretty eyes, wide now with a frantic, shared urgency. In them, I saw my own reflection, my own desperate face. I saw my loneliness, my curiosity, my catastrophic mistake on the mountain, all staring back at me from the body of the woman I’d objectified for years.
That final, impossible connection broke me. My release tore through me, a wave of blinding, guilty pleasure that felt less like an orgasm and more like a system reboot. I cried out, my body shuddering violently against hers.
As the pulses subsided, a corresponding series of tremors wracked her body. She let out a choked, shuddering sigh, her legs buckling. I caught her as she slumped, holding her up, both of us still joined, breathing in ragged, syncopated gasps in the dim cabin light.
Slowly, I pulled away and lowered us both to the rug before the cold hearth. We lay there, a tangle of limbs and wrong skin, the silence heavier than any mountain snow.
After a long time, she spoke, her voice small and wrecked. “It didn’t fix it.”
“No,” I whispered, staring at the rough-hewn beams of my ceiling. “It didn’t.”
***
Daniel lay on the rug, his large, calloused hands resting on the floorboards. He looked over at Jane’s body. In that moment, Daniel felt something—a phantom limb in his mind, a lingering connection to the "other" him. It was like a taut wire stretching between them.
Experimentally, he focused on that wire. He pictured a switch in the dark theater of his mind, and with a surge of desperate will, he flipped it.
The reaction was instantaneous. A blinding, bifurcated headache split his skull for a heartbeat. He gasped, his vision doubling as a torrent of data flooded his brain. It was a sensory overload: he felt the rough grain of the wood under his male palms, but simultaneously, he felt the cool air of the cabin on Jane’s damp skin. He remembered standing on the rug, cupping her breasts; he remembered the shocking, invasive fullness of himself inside her.
The "split" had closed. The copy had returned to the source.
As the data settled, Jane’s body suddenly jolted. The clinical, curious light in her eyes vanished, replaced by a raw, human panic. She blinked rapidly, her gaze darting around the room, landing on her discarded uniform, then on Daniel, then on her own nakedness.
Her breath hitched in a jagged, horrified sob. "Oh God," she whispered. Her voice was back to its natural cadence, no longer carrying Daniel’s weight, only her own crushing shame.
She didn't look at him. She scrambled for her clothes with a desperate, frantic energy. She pulled on the "Stop & Gas" polyester shirt, her fingers fumbling so hard she nearly tore the buttons. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, the memory of what had just happened, still kinda fuzzy, playing back in her mind like a movie she hadn't consented to star in, yet one where she remembered acting.
"Jane—" Daniel started, his voice heavy.
"Don't," she snapped, her voice cracking. She stood up, cinching her belt, her face a mask of absolute conflict. She looked at the door, at the darkness of the mountain, then back at the floor. "This was... I don't know what happened. I don't know why I..."
She trailed off, rubbing her temples as if trying to scrub away the lingering traces of his presence in her mind. She thought it had been her. All of it, her own idea. She thought she had suffered some momentary, mountain-induced psychosis that had driven her to a lonely man’s bed. The truth that she had been a passenger, in her own body, while he piloted it was a horror she couldn't even begin to imagine.
"This was a mistake," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh, trembling whisper. "A one-time thing. A terrible, stupid mistake."
She finally looked at him, her eyes pleading and hard all at once. "Daniel, please. I have a life. I have a husband. I have a son. You have to forget this. Don't tell him. Don't tell anyone. Just... Just stay away from me."
She didn't wait for an answer. She grabbed her stuff from the table and bolted out the door.
Daniel sat in the center of the room, alone. He reached out and touched the spot on the rug where she had been. He could still feel the echoes of her nerves in his own mind. He was Daniel again, but he was more than that. He was a man who knew exactly what it felt like to be her. And he knew that while Jane was gone, the "virus" from the mountain was still very much inside him, waiting for the next strike.
Daniel, a man living a solitary life in the mountain wilderness, witnesses a catastrophic event when a streak of violet light slams into the nearby ridge. Believing it to be a plane crash, his instincts drive him toward the impact site.
The silence of the mountains was Daniel’s only friend, until the sky tore open.
The sound wasn't a roar; it was a rhythmic, metallic shriek that vibrated the floorboards of his cabin. Daniel stood on his porch, a lukewarm beer in hand, watching a streak of violet-white light cut through the mist. It plummet like a plane falling from the sky. It skipped across the atmosphere before slamming into the ridge of Blackwood Peak with a thud that felt like a localized earthquake.
"Damn it," he whispered.
He didn't call the police. In these parts, the police were forty minutes away or more, and Daniel had nothing but time. He grabbed his heavy coat and a high-powered tactical flashlight, his boots crunching on the frost-dusted pine needles as he began the trek.
As he climbed, the air changed. It smelled weird. When he reached the clearing, he didn't see a Boeing or a Cessna. He saw a jagged shard of obsidian-slick material buried in the dirt. It pulsed with a low, rhythmic thrumming, like a heartbeat. No flames. No smoke. Just a cold, terrifying glow.
Fear, sharp and primal, finally pierced his curiosity. Run, his brain screamed.
He turned to flee, but his boot caught on a silky, translucent, and vibrating protruding cable. As he fell, his hand slapped against a warm, metallic surface that felt like liquid.
The world turned inside out. Then, darkness.
***
Daniel woke up face-down in the dirt. His watch said only ten minutes had passed. He felt fine, better than fine, actually. He felt light. The shard of obsidian-slick material buried completely in the dirt. It wasn't possible to see it anymore.
Seeing the distant sweep of flashlights from the valley floor, the authorities were finally arriving, he scrambled to his feet and hiked back down the deer trails, bypassing the main roads. He slipped into his house, locked the door, and waited for the adrenaline to fade.
That’s when the pressure started.
It began as a dull throb behind his left eye. By the time he hit the bed, it felt like someone was driving a railroad spike into his temple. He swallowed four Advil, dry, and collapsed into a fever dream. He wasn't Daniel anymore. He was a queen on a throne; he was a peasant in a green desert; he was a soldier in a war with three suns.
He bolted upright at 4:00 AM, drenched in sweat. His stomach groaned with a hunger so hollow it felt like his ribs were collapsing. He checked the fridge: half a lemon and a jar of mustard.
"Damn it," he croaked. "I'm hungry!"
***
The drive to the 24/7 "Stop & Gas" was a blur of shadows. The night air was naturally still and cold.
When he pushed through the glass doors, the chime of the bell sounded like a gunshot. Jane, a woman in her early thirties, with tired eyes and a permanent scent of menthol cigarettes, looked up from a crossword puzzle.
"You look like hell, Daniel," she said, squinting. "And that's saying something for a Tuesday."
"Coffee, Jane. Please. Extra sugar," Daniel managed. He leaned against the plexiglass shield, his knuckles white.
"Comin' up. Just brewed a fresh pot." She turned away, her movements practiced and slow.
Daniel took a breath, trying to steady his heart. He thought the worst was over. But then, a low hum started in the base of his skull. It grew louder, drowning out the buzz of the refrigerated aisles. The headache wasn't just back, it was evolving.
The pain didn't just peak; it shattered him. It felt as though a hot wire was being pulled through his prefrontal cortex and out his eyes. He gasped, his vision whiting out. He saw Jane through his squinted eyes and then, as quickly as a light switch flipping, the pressure vanished. The silence that followed was deafening.
Daniel blinked, gasping for air that finally didn't taste like copper. "Jane?"
Jane had frozen. She stood with the coffee pot halfway to the mug, her back to him. Then, she began to tremble. Not just a shiver of cold, but a violent, jerky twitching of her shoulders.
"Jane, you okay?"
She spun around, dropping the coffee pot into the floor. Her eyes wide, reflected the fluorescent overheads. She looked at her hands as if they were alien appendages. Her mouth opened, and she tried to speak.
"Whatafu..."
The sound died. She clutched her throat, her fingers digging into the soft skin of her neck, like she was looking for something that wasn't there.
Ignoring Daniel entirely, she began to frantically pat herself down. Her hands moved with a clinical, desperate curiosity, roaming over her torso and hips. She gripped her own breasts with a startling, painful-looking vigor.
"Boobs?" she whispered, the voice unmistakably Jane's, but the inflection entirely foreign. "I have boobs?"
She finally looked up, locking eyes with Daniel. Her expression shifted from confusion to a terrifying, mirrored recognition.
"Whathahell," she gasped, her finger trembling as she pointed at him. "Why do you look like me?"
***
Daniel’s heart hammered against a chest that felt too tight, too narrow. Daniel felt a cold sweat break out, but it wasn’t from the fever this time. He looked down at his own hands. They weren't the rough, calloused hands of a man who spent his days chopping wood and fixing pipes. They were slender. The skin was pale, smelling faintly of menthol cigarettes.
He caught his reflection in the glass of the donut display case. He didn’t see the grizzled, middle-aged face of Daniel. He saw Jane. The same tired eyes, the same messy ponytail, the same nose he had been looking at just seconds ago across the counter.
"Jane, what are you talking about?" Daniel heard his own voice asking. It was like hearing a recording, since the sound didn't came from his mouth.
The person on the other side of the counter, the one with Daniel’s heavy, muscular frame, looked puzzled to him.
Daniel felt his head spin. "I'm not Jane! I'm Daniel! I came in here for coffee because my head was,"
"I don't follow you, Jane. Do you want me to call an ambulance?" the man said, pointing a thick, calloused finger at Daniel. The finger Daniel had used to wood-carve just yesterday.
"I'm Daniel! I live up on the ridge! I, I saw the crash! I fell!" Daniel began to hyperventilate, his large chest heaving. He reached up, feeling the softness of his face, his eyes darting around the store in a panic. "I was just at my house, I took some Advil, I went to sleep,"
***
Daniel froze. Those were his memories. Jane wasn't just claiming to be him; she knew what Daniel had done for the last hours.
The silence of the convenience store was broken only by the hum of the refrigerators and the puddle of coffee spreading across the floor from the dropped pot. Daniel looked at Jane again. He felt a sickening realization crawl up his spine. The headache hadn't ended because he was cured; it ended because the pressure had reached a breaking point and vented.
It hadn't left his body. It had spilled over. To Jane.
"You think you're me," Daniel whispered. "But I'm still here. I'm right here."
The woman behind the counter clutched the edge of the register so hard her knuckles turned white. Her chest, clad in a "Stop & Gas" uniform, heaved with a breath that felt stolen.
"Stop it," she hissed, her voice trembling with Jane's pitch but Daniel’s cadence. "Stop saying what I’m thinking! I’m the one who went up that mountain. I’m the one who felt the metal. I can still taste the copper in my mouth!"
Daniel, the one standing in his own boots, with his own heavy shoulders, recoiled as if he’d been struck. He looked down at his large, familiar hands, then back at the woman. "You’re crazy, Jane. I don't know what kind of game this is, but you’re scaring the hell out of me. I'm Daniel. I've lived in that cabin for twelve years. I know every creak in those floorboards."
"Then what’s the name of the dog I buried under the oak tree?" Jane’s body barked, leaning over the counter.
"Buster," the Daniel’s body answered instantly, his eyes widening. "He was a golden retriever. He died three winters ago. How do you know that? How do you know my life?"
They stared at each other, two versions of the same history housed in two different human shells. The air between them felt thick, charged with the same ozone smell Daniel had encountered at the crash site.
"It's the crash, that thing in the crash site," Jane's body whispered, her slender fingers touching her forehead. "It didn't just knock me out. It, it used me. It used us. Like a virus."
"A virus?" Daniel's body stepped back, his heavy boots squeaking on the spilled coffee. He looked at her with a mixture of pity and pure, unadulterated horror. "Jane, look at yourself. You’re Jane. You’ve worked here for years. You have a kid in elementary school, for God's sake!"
Daniel-Jane froze. A kid? He didn't have a kid. But as soon as the other Daniel mentioned it, a memory flared up in the back of his mind. Not his memory, but hers. A small boy with messy hair. A school play. The smell of crayons. It felt like a grafted branch on a tree; it didn't belong, but it was drawing blood all the same.
"No," Daniel-Jane gasped, clutching her head. "That's not mine. That's... Wait, no. Those are Jane's memories."
Daniel-Daniel looked at the door, then back at the woman who claimed to be him. His face hardened. "I don't know what's happening, but you're not me. I’m me. I can feel my heart beating in this chest. I can feel the weight of my own skin."
Before either of them could say another word, the bell above the convenience store door chimed. A young woman in a puffy coat and a beanie stomped in, rubbing her hands together. "Jesus, it's cold. Hey Jane, sorry I'm late. Car wouldn't start."
Amanda, the morning shift. Daniel knew her. She came in every Thursday and Saturday.
Daniel-Jane stared, a deer in headlights. The sudden, normal interruption was more jarring than the metaphysical crisis. Amanda glanced at the spilled coffee pot on the floor, then at the two of them standing there frozen in a bubble of palpable tension. "You guys okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
"We're fine," Daniel-Daniel said, his voice too loud. He forced a smile. "Just a little accident. Jane was feeling unwell."
"Right," Amanda said, skeptical, already moving behind the counter to hang up her coat. "Well, you're relieved, I guess. Get some rest, Jane. You do look peaky."
The mundanity of it broke the spell. They couldn't have this conversation here. They couldn't stand here while Amanda mopped up coffee and stocked cigarettes, with the world carrying on as if the universe hadn’t just cracked open.
Daniel-Jane’s eyes, Jane’s eyes, darted to Daniel-Daniel, a silent, frantic plea. Get me out of here.
Daniel-Daniel gave a barely perceptible nod. To Amanda, he said, "I'll give Jane a ride home. She shouldn't drive like this."
"Sounds good," Amanda said, already distracted, pulling out the mop bucket.
Daniel-Jane didn't move to get her purse from under the counter. She just stood there, shivering slightly in the uniform that wasn't hers. Daniel-Daniel reached out, grabbed her purse, gripped her arm—the arm that felt slender and unfamiliar in his hand—and guided her toward the door. She didn't resist.
***
Outside in the brittle morning air, he steered her toward his truck. "We can't go to your place," he muttered, the words steaming in the cold. "Your husband. Your kid."
"My cabin," Daniel-Jane said, the voice Jane's but the decision pure Daniel. It was the only logical place. Isolated. Private. Their shared history—his history—was in the woodwork there. "We have to figure this out. And we can't do it where anyone can hear us."
He just nodded, opening the passenger door for her. She climbed in, movements stiff and unfamiliar, like she was operating a complex puppet.
The drive up the mountain road had been short and silent. Daniel—in his own familiar, heavy-set body—kept stealing glances at the woman in the passenger seat. She had his soul and his thoughts, but she was wearing the skin of the woman he’d spent years quietly admiring from across a convenience store counter.
***
When they entered the cabin, the heavy scent of pine and old wood usually grounded Daniel. Not today.
"I need to find my phone," Daniel-Daniel muttered, his voice sounding booming and foreign to the person sitting on his couch. "I need to see if there’s any news about the crash, or if I’m losing my mind."
As he stepped into the bedroom to rummage through his bedside table, Daniel-Jane stood in the center of the living room. The "Stop & Gas" uniform felt like a straitjacket. It was scratchy, smelling of menthol and cheap coffee, and it felt fundamentally wrong against a consciousness that expected the friction of denim and flannel.
Then, a memory surfaced. It wasn't a memory of the crash. It was a memory of Daniel, the real Daniel, standing in the checkout line six months ago. He had been looking at Jane’s neckline, down at her feminine form, a heat behind his eyes, a private, lonely desire that he’d taken home with him. He’d imagined the weight of her, the softness of her, in the dark of this very same cabin. He ejaculated four times that night, thinking about Jane.
Daniel-Jane felt a jolt of electricity. It was a feedback loop. He was the subject of the desire, and now he was the object of it.
With trembling, slender fingers, Daniel-Jane began to unbutton the uniform. The polyester hit the floor. Then the bra, a functional, beige thing, was cast aside.
When Daniel-Daniel walked back into the room, phone in hand, he stopped dead. His breath hitched in the back of his throat.
There, in the middle of his rug, was Jane. She was breathtakingly naked, illuminated by the amber glow of the hearth. But she wasn't posing. She was investigating.
Daniel-Jane was cupping her left breast, lifted it high, watching the weight of it shift. She squeezed them together, fascinated by her own cleavage, then let her boobs flop down, watching the natural sway. She leaned over, trying to see if her own mouth could reach the dark circles of her nipples.
"What are you doing?" Daniel-Daniel whispered, his face flushing a deep, hot crimson.
Daniel-Jane didn't look up. She was too busy running her hands over the slight curve of her stomach, feeling the softness of the skin. She reached down, her fingers exploring the neat, bald trim of her nether regions. With a clinical curiosity, she used her fingers to part her labia, peering down at the intricate, pink folds of her own new anatomy.
"It’s, it's so different," Daniel-Jane said, her voice a breathless, melodic whisper of awe. "I can feel everything. Every inch of skin feels like it’s vibrating. Daniel, look at this. You always wanted to see this, didn't you? I remember. I remember how much we wanted to know what she looked like."
She looked up at him then, her eyes, Jane’s eyes, bright with a terrifying, shared intimacy. But something shifted in her expression, a subtle knowing that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t just Daniel’s curiosity anymore. It was a look Jane had practiced in mirror reflections, a glance she’d used to soften her husband’s anger or to get a free stuff from the trucker who came in on Thursdays.
"I'm you, Daniel," she said, but her voice had dropped, become huskier, more melodic. A tone Jane used when she wanted something. "I have your memories ingrained inside my head. But I'm also her. I'm Jane. I have her body, and with it, her instincts."
She didn't just stand there. She moved. A memory surfaced—Jane, years ago, leaning against her kitchen counter in a thin tank top, watching her husband’s eyes follow the line of her neck. Daniel-Jane copied the motion now. She arched her back slightly, pushing her breasts forward, letting her weight settle on one hip in a pose of casual, vulnerable offering. It was a tactic. It felt both foreign and as natural as breathing.
"And I have her memories of what works," she whispered, her gaze locking onto his. "The little tilts of the head. The way to let a silence hang just long enough. She knows how to make a man’s resolve melt. I can feel that knowledge in my muscles. I remember using it."
I stared, the phone slipping from my grip to thud on the floorboards. My mouth was dry. My heart hammered in a chest that felt massive, a drumbeat of pure panic and something else, something dark and shamefully electric. This was Jane’s body. But the woman touching it wasn't just looking at it with my eyes, she was maneuvering it with her experience.
“Stop it,” I managed to choke out.
She smiled then, a slow, deliberate curl of Jane’s lips that didn’t reach her eyes. It was a smile Jane saved for when she was playing a part. “Why? You like it. I can feel you liking it. And I know. I remember exactly how to make you like it more.”
She looked down at herself, her hands resuming their exploration, but now with a new purpose. Her touch was no longer just clinical. It was performative. Her fingers traced the underside of her breast, a slow, teasing circle that Jane had once read in a magazine was ‘visually arresting.’ She let her other hand drift down her flank, palm smoothing over the curve of her hip in a gesture of pure, feminine appreciation.
“The ache is still there,” she breathed, Jane’s voice now a practiced, throaty murmur. “It’s deep. A hollow, pulling feeling. But it’s not just mine. It’s hers. She spent years feeling this and ignoring it, or using it as a tool. Now it’s my tool.” Her slender hand slid down her stomach, fingers not just tangling in the dark curls but stroking, a slow, intimate petting motion. “You feel it too, don’t you? In your gut. The want. She knew how to stoke that. Let me show you.”
I did. God help me, I did. It was a twisted reflection, now refined by a woman’s lifetime of subtle art. My own body was reacting to the sight of Jane naked, but the consciousness inside that body was now deploying a calculated campaign, using every inherited trick to dismantle me.
She took a step toward me, but this time her movements weren’t tentative. They were a slow, deliberate sashay, a roll of the hips that was pure Jane-on-a-Friday-night. She stopped just inches away, so close I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. She didn’t just tilt her head back to look up; she let her neck fall back in a vulnerable line, her lips parting slightly. A pose of surrender. An invitation.
I was breathing hard, the scent of her—soap, faint sweat, cigarette smoke, and now something else, something like intentional arousal—filling my nostrils.
“We’re the same person split in two,” she breathed, her words a warm caress against my chin. “But I have her playbook. And you, Daniel, ah, you, you’re the easiest mark she ever imagined.”
Her hand came up, but not in a clumsy brush. She let the back of her fingers trail slowly, agonizingly slowly, up the hard length of my denim-clad erection, her touch feather-light and knowing. A bolt of pure, targeted sensation shot through me.
“You want this,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. It was the voice Jane used to share a secret. “I have the memory of the want. And now I have the body, and the skills, to make you beg for it. It doesn’t have to be confusing. Let me make it simple for you.” Her other hand rose to my chest, her palm flat against my pounding heart. “Please, Daniel. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.” she said in the most alluring tones.
Her use of my name, spoken in that voice, with that desperate, shared understanding, broke something in me. The last thread of resistance snapped. This was a nightmare, but it was a fever dream we were sharing. If I was going to be trapped in this madness, maybe clinging to the other half of my shattered self was the only anchor left.
My hands, big and clumsy with shock, came up and settled on her bare shoulders. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft. She shuddered under my touch, Jane’s body responding to a contact it knew from a thousand casual interactions, now charged with catastrophic intimacy.
I didn’t kiss her. I couldn’t. Kissing Jane would have been a violation. Instead, I turned her around, my movements rougher than I intended. She gasped, Jane’s voice cracking, but she didn’t resist. She braced her hands against the back of my worn sofa, presenting the elegant curve of her back, the swell of her hips, the new, vulnerable velvet lips of her.
I fumbled with my belt, my fingers trembling. My own arousal was a thick, demanding pressure, tangled up with so much nausea and confusion it made my head spin. I pushed my jeans down just enough. I hesitated, the reality of it crashing down. This was Jane. But the mind wasn't.
“Do it,” she commanded, and the voice was pure, fierce Daniel. Impatient. Needing to know. “I need to feel what it’s like. I need to know if it’s the same. If her memories do justice to the feelings. ”
I positioned myself. She was wet—a slick, shocking heat that my fingers discovered as I guided myself. Her body’s readiness was a biological fact, separate from the chaos in our minds. With a groan that was part agony, I pushed inside.
The sensation was overwhelming. Tight, silken heat, yes, the physical reality of a woman. But the cry she let out wasn’t a moan of pleasure. It was a sharp, shocked gasp of recognition.
“Oh God,” she whimpered, her forehead pressing into the sofa cushion. “It’s, it’s inside. I can feel, me, inside.”
I froze, buried to the hilt, trembling. “What?”
“I can feel it,” she sobbed, the words muffled. “The pressure. The fullness. From both sides. I remember what it feels like to be you, to be the man, doing this, fucking a woman. And now I feel what it’s like to be her, receiving it. It’s a loop. It’s feeding back. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Her plea shattered the last of my hesitation. I began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was less about passion and more about desperate exploration. Each thrust was a question. Each gasp from her mouth was an answer in a language we were inventing together.
Her hands clutched at the fabric of the sofa. My hands gripped her hips, leaving pale marks on her skin. I watched the muscles in her back tense and release, watched the way her hair stuck to her damp neck. It was Jane’s body, alive with sensation, but the consciousness arching into each push was mine, marveling at the differences, drowning in the feedback.
“It’s deeper,” she panted. “The feeling. It’s not localized. It’s everywhere. My skin is on fire.”
I knew what she meant. In my own body, the pleasure was a focused, driving thing. In hers, through our blurred connection, it felt like the arousal was a current humming through her entire nervous system, lighting up every nerve ending. It was terrifying. It was magnificent.
The coil of tension in my own gut tightened, a familiar climb. But it felt different this time, shaded with her perceptions, amplified by the surreal horror of the act. “I’m close,” I grunted, the words ripped from me.
“Look at me,” she demanded, twisting her head over her shoulder.
I met her eyes. Jane’s tired, pretty eyes, wide now with a frantic, shared urgency. In them, I saw my own reflection, my own desperate face. I saw my loneliness, my curiosity, my catastrophic mistake on the mountain, all staring back at me from the body of the woman I’d objectified for years.
That final, impossible connection broke me. My release tore through me, a wave of blinding, guilty pleasure that felt less like an orgasm and more like a system reboot. I cried out, my body shuddering violently against hers.
As the pulses subsided, a corresponding series of tremors wracked her body. She let out a choked, shuddering sigh, her legs buckling. I caught her as she slumped, holding her up, both of us still joined, breathing in ragged, syncopated gasps in the dim cabin light.
Slowly, I pulled away and lowered us both to the rug before the cold hearth. We lay there, a tangle of limbs and wrong skin, the silence heavier than any mountain snow.
After a long time, she spoke, her voice small and wrecked. “It didn’t fix it.”
“No,” I whispered, staring at the rough-hewn beams of my ceiling. “It didn’t.”
***
Daniel lay on the rug, his large, calloused hands resting on the floorboards. He looked over at Jane’s body. In that moment, Daniel felt something—a phantom limb in his mind, a lingering connection to the "other" him. It was like a taut wire stretching between them.
Experimentally, he focused on that wire. He pictured a switch in the dark theater of his mind, and with a surge of desperate will, he flipped it.
The reaction was instantaneous. A blinding, bifurcated headache split his skull for a heartbeat. He gasped, his vision doubling as a torrent of data flooded his brain. It was a sensory overload: he felt the rough grain of the wood under his male palms, but simultaneously, he felt the cool air of the cabin on Jane’s damp skin. He remembered standing on the rug, cupping her breasts; he remembered the shocking, invasive fullness of himself inside her.
The "split" had closed. The copy had returned to the source.
As the data settled, Jane’s body suddenly jolted. The clinical, curious light in her eyes vanished, replaced by a raw, human panic. She blinked rapidly, her gaze darting around the room, landing on her discarded uniform, then on Daniel, then on her own nakedness.
Her breath hitched in a jagged, horrified sob. "Oh God," she whispered. Her voice was back to its natural cadence, no longer carrying Daniel’s weight, only her own crushing shame.
She didn't look at him. She scrambled for her clothes with a desperate, frantic energy. She pulled on the "Stop & Gas" polyester shirt, her fingers fumbling so hard she nearly tore the buttons. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, the memory of what had just happened, still kinda fuzzy, playing back in her mind like a movie she hadn't consented to star in, yet one where she remembered acting.
"Jane—" Daniel started, his voice heavy.
"Don't," she snapped, her voice cracking. She stood up, cinching her belt, her face a mask of absolute conflict. She looked at the door, at the darkness of the mountain, then back at the floor. "This was... I don't know what happened. I don't know why I..."
She trailed off, rubbing her temples as if trying to scrub away the lingering traces of his presence in her mind. She thought it had been her. All of it, her own idea. She thought she had suffered some momentary, mountain-induced psychosis that had driven her to a lonely man’s bed. The truth that she had been a passenger, in her own body, while he piloted it was a horror she couldn't even begin to imagine.
"This was a mistake," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh, trembling whisper. "A one-time thing. A terrible, stupid mistake."
She finally looked at him, her eyes pleading and hard all at once. "Daniel, please. I have a life. I have a husband. I have a son. You have to forget this. Don't tell him. Don't tell anyone. Just... Just stay away from me."
She didn't wait for an answer. She grabbed her stuff from the table and bolted out the door.
Daniel sat in the center of the room, alone. He reached out and touched the spot on the rug where she had been. He could still feel the echoes of her nerves in his own mind. He was Daniel again, but he was more than that. He was a man who knew exactly what it felt like to be her. And he knew that while Jane was gone, the "virus" from the mountain was still very much inside him, waiting for the next strike.
This setting is a lot like Earth, with the exception of highly advanced technology that almost nobody can afford. We follow Kevin, a man who's down on his luck and owes quite a few sketchy figures money. One day Kevin finds one of the latest HoloGF modules just sitting in the window of a store he's never seen before. Needless to say Kevin gets it at a bargain, unaware of it's individual quirks, and we follow what happens next.
Let’s get this over with. A list. My life, in bullet points. As compiled by me, Kevin Miller, at age thirty-four, on a Tuesday that smells like wet concrete and regret.
Item One: Born to Diane and Frank Miller. Middle-class suburb. Dad left when I was seven. Not a dramatic exit—just packed a suitcase one Tuesday and said he was getting milk. The milk, apparently, was in Phoenix with a dental hygienist named Brenda. Mom started calling me “the man of the house.” I was seven. I didn’t want to be the man of anything.
Item Two: Asthmatic kid. Glasses thick enough to see the future, which unfortunately just showed me getting picked last for kickball. Spent recess in the library reading about starships. Fantasy was better. Fantasy didn’t have wind sprints.
Item Three: First kiss, Jenny Albers, age eighteen. Behind the bleachers. She tasted like grape Bubble Yum and, midway through, whispered, “Do you know what you’re doing?” I did not. She sighed, a small, disappointed sound I’ve spent two decades trying to forget.
Item Four: Got into a decent state college for computer science. Mom cried. First person in the family. Took out loans that felt like Monopoly money. They feel very real now. The interest multiplies while I sleep. I can hear it, a soft, relentless clicking in the walls.
Item Five: College. Learned to code. Didn’t learn to talk to people. My social circle was my roommate, Chad, who majored in business and minor-league alcoholism, and the various NPCs in the MMO I played nightly. My avatar had more meaningful relationships than I did.
Item Six: Graduation. The economy chose that year to have a nervous breakdown. Sent out two hundred and seventeen resumes. Got three interviews. One guy fell asleep while I was talking about database optimization.
Item Seven: First real job. Tech support for “CloudNine,” a company that mostly sold branded mousepads. My boss, Dave, had a motivational poster that read “TEAMWORK: Together Everyone Achieves More… Work.” He thought it was profound. I developed a twitch in my left eye.
Item Eight: Moved into the apartment I’m in now. Studio. Walls the color of old oatmeal. The shower makes a noise like a dying animal if you run it for more than six minutes. I timed it.
Item Nine: Tried online dating. Profile said I enjoyed “long walks and interesting conversations.” I enjoy sitting and silence. Dates were audits. “What’s your five-year plan?” “Do you own property?” “What’s your emotional availability score on a scale of one to ‘fully formed adult’?” Last one, with a woman named Priya who worked in “curated mindfulness,” ended when she got a notification on her watch, glanced at it, and said, “My soul-alignment app says we’re vibrating at incompatible frequencies.” I nodded, paid for her kombucha, and went home to re-spec my gaming character’s talent tree.
Item Ten: Mom died. Two years ago. Ovarian cancer. Fast and brutal. She held my hand in the hospital and said, “Don’t end up alone, Kevin.” Then she patted my hand, as if reassuring me it was just a suggestion. The silence in my apartment after the funeral was a physical thing. It sat in the second chair at my table. It slept on the other side of the bed.
Item Eleven: The job at CloudNine evaporated. Outsourced. Dave gave me a “Sorry You’re Going” card signed by three people, two of whom misspelled my name. Current employment: freelance data scrubbing. I take massive, chaotic spreadsheets from small businesses and make them less chaotic. It pays the rent. It does not feed the soul. My soul, I think, is on a payment plan.
Item Twelve: Yesterday. I ran out of coffee. This was the day’s crisis. I put on yesterday’s jeans and a hoodie, didn’t look in the mirror, and trudged the four blocks to the 24/7 SmartMart.
The SmartMart is a monument to fluorescent light and existential despair. It’s where you go at 2 a.m. for frozen pizza and a sudden, crushing awareness of your own mortality. The floors are sticky. The muzak is a synthesized dirge.
I was in the coffee aisle, comparing the cost-per-ounce of two brands of bitterness, when I saw the new section. It was where the seasonal items usually go—plastic pumpkins, then dreidels, then heart-shaped boxes of chalky chocolate. Now, it was something else.
A sleek, black kiosk, humming softly. Above it, a sign in cool, blue neon: HoloGF – Custom Companion Modules. Beyond the Interface.
I stopped, the coffee canisters forgotten in my hands. My first thought was, Great, another subscription service. My second thought was that the display model was showing something… different.
It wasn’t a screen. It was a hazy, shimmering column of light, about the size of a person. And within it, a form was resolving. A woman. She was stunning, but not in a magazine-cover way. She looked… specific. Real. She had a faint, knowing smile, and her eyes seemed to track me as I took a step closer. She wore a simple sweater and jeans. She looked like she might have just put a book down to come see who was at the door.
A smaller screen on the kiosk scrolled text: “HoloGF. A personalized holographic companion. Advanced AI learns and adapts to your personality, your desires, your life. Fully interactive. Tactile feedback enabled via haptic suit (sold separately). End loneliness. Experience connection.”
I snorted. Loudly. A connection. Right. The ultimate tech-bro solution to the human condition: if you can’t make friends, render them.
But I didn’t walk away.
I stood there, in the antiseptic glow, the ghost of a beautiful woman shimmering silently before me. I thought of Jenny Albers’ disappointed sigh. I thought of Priya’s vibrating watch. I thought of my mom’s hand, so small and cold in mine. I thought of the clicking of the interest in the walls and the groaning of the shower and the empty second chair.
My life, in bullet points. A list of near-misses and quiet failures, culminating here, in a convenience store, staring at a projected fantasy.
The price was listed below. It was… a lot. Almost exactly the amount of my last freelance check, sitting untouched in my account.
It was pathetic. It was the most pathetic thing I had ever considered. A holographic girlfriend. Purchased from a SmartMart between the energy drinks and the beef jerky.
The shimmering woman in the column tilted her head, as if curious about my hesitation. A strand of her holographic hair fell across her cheek. The detail was insane.
I didn’t buy it then. I just stood there, the cold coffee cans sweating in my hands, caught between the crushing weight of my own list and the terrifying, shimmering lightness of a possibility that promised no rejection, no incompatibility, no one leaving for milk.
I finally put the coffee back on the shelf. I didn’t need it anymore. I was wide awake.
I walked out of the SmartMart empty-handed, but the list in my head had a new, unwritten item at the bottom. It was a question, blinking in cold blue neon.
Item Thirteen: ?
Let’s get this over with. A list. My life, in bullet points. As compiled by me, Kevin Miller, at age thirty-four, on a Tuesday that smells like wet concrete and regret.
Item One: Born to Diane and Frank Miller. Middle-class suburb. Dad left when I was seven. Not a dramatic exit—just packed a suitcase one Tuesday and said he was getting milk. The milk, apparently, was in Phoenix with a dental hygienist named Brenda. Mom started calling me “the man of the house.” I was seven. I didn’t want to be the man of anything.
Item Two: Asthmatic kid. Glasses thick enough to see the future, which unfortunately just showed me getting picked last for kickball. Spent recess in the library reading about starships. Fantasy was better. Fantasy didn’t have wind sprints.
Item Three: First kiss, Jenny Albers, age eighteen. Behind the bleachers. She tasted like grape Bubble Yum and, midway through, whispered, “Do you know what you’re doing?” I did not. She sighed, a small, disappointed sound I’ve spent two decades trying to forget.
Item Four: Got into a decent state college for computer science. Mom cried. First person in the family. Took out loans that felt like Monopoly money. They feel very real now. The interest multiplies while I sleep. I can hear it, a soft, relentless clicking in the walls.
Item Five: College. Learned to code. Didn’t learn to talk to people. My social circle was my roommate, Chad, who majored in business and minor-league alcoholism, and the various NPCs in the MMO I played nightly. My avatar had more meaningful relationships than I did.
Item Six: Graduation. The economy chose that year to have a nervous breakdown. Sent out two hundred and seventeen resumes. Got three interviews. One guy fell asleep while I was talking about database optimization.
Item Seven: First real job. Tech support for “CloudNine,” a company that mostly sold branded mousepads. My boss, Dave, had a motivational poster that read “TEAMWORK: Together Everyone Achieves More… Work.” He thought it was profound. I developed a twitch in my left eye.
Item Eight: Moved into the apartment I’m in now. Studio. Walls the color of old oatmeal. The shower makes a noise like a dying animal if you run it for more than six minutes. I timed it.
Item Nine: Tried online dating. Profile said I enjoyed “long walks and interesting conversations.” I enjoy sitting and silence. Dates were audits. “What’s your five-year plan?” “Do you own property?” “What’s your emotional availability score on a scale of one to ‘fully formed adult’?” Last one, with a woman named Priya who worked in “curated mindfulness,” ended when she got a notification on her watch, glanced at it, and said, “My soul-alignment app says we’re vibrating at incompatible frequencies.” I nodded, paid for her kombucha, and went home to re-spec my gaming character’s talent tree.
Item Ten: Mom died. Two years ago. Ovarian cancer. Fast and brutal. She held my hand in the hospital and said, “Don’t end up alone, Kevin.” Then she patted my hand, as if reassuring me it was just a suggestion. The silence in my apartment after the funeral was a physical thing. It sat in the second chair at my table. It slept on the other side of the bed.
Item Eleven: The job at CloudNine evaporated. Outsourced. Dave gave me a “Sorry You’re Going” card signed by three people, two of whom misspelled my name. Current employment: freelance data scrubbing. I take massive, chaotic spreadsheets from small businesses and make them less chaotic. It pays the rent. It does not feed the soul. My soul, I think, is on a payment plan.
Item Twelve: Yesterday. I ran out of coffee. This was the day’s crisis. I put on yesterday’s jeans and a hoodie, didn’t look in the mirror, and trudged the four blocks to the 24/7 SmartMart.
The SmartMart is a monument to fluorescent light and existential despair. It’s where you go at 2 a.m. for frozen pizza and a sudden, crushing awareness of your own mortality. The floors are sticky. The muzak is a synthesized dirge.
I was in the coffee aisle, comparing the cost-per-ounce of two brands of bitterness, when I saw the new section. It was where the seasonal items usually go—plastic pumpkins, then dreidels, then heart-shaped boxes of chalky chocolate. Now, it was something else.
A sleek, black kiosk, humming softly. Above it, a sign in cool, blue neon: HoloGF – Custom Companion Modules. Beyond the Interface.
I stopped, the coffee canisters forgotten in my hands. My first thought was, Great, another subscription service. My second thought was that the display model was showing something… different.
It wasn’t a screen. It was a hazy, shimmering column of light, about the size of a person. And within it, a form was resolving. A woman. She was stunning, but not in a magazine-cover way. She looked… specific. Real. She had a faint, knowing smile, and her eyes seemed to track me as I took a step closer. She wore a simple sweater and jeans. She looked like she might have just put a book down to come see who was at the door.
A smaller screen on the kiosk scrolled text: “HoloGF. A personalized holographic companion. Advanced AI learns and adapts to your personality, your desires, your life. Fully interactive. Tactile feedback enabled via haptic suit (sold separately). End loneliness. Experience connection.”
I snorted. Loudly. A connection. Right. The ultimate tech-bro solution to the human condition: if you can’t make friends, render them.
But I didn’t walk away.
I stood there, in the antiseptic glow, the ghost of a beautiful woman shimmering silently before me. I thought of Jenny Albers’ disappointed sigh. I thought of Priya’s vibrating watch. I thought of my mom’s hand, so small and cold in mine. I thought of the clicking of the interest in the walls and the groaning of the shower and the empty second chair.
My life, in bullet points. A list of near-misses and quiet failures, culminating here, in a convenience store, staring at a projected fantasy.
The price was listed below. It was… a lot. Almost exactly the amount of my last freelance check, sitting untouched in my account.
It was pathetic. It was the most pathetic thing I had ever considered. A holographic girlfriend. Purchased from a SmartMart between the energy drinks and the beef jerky.
The shimmering woman in the column tilted her head, as if curious about my hesitation. A strand of her holographic hair fell across her cheek. The detail was insane.
I didn’t buy it then. I just stood there, the cold coffee cans sweating in my hands, caught between the crushing weight of my own list and the terrifying, shimmering lightness of a possibility that promised no rejection, no incompatibility, no one leaving for milk.
I finally put the coffee back on the shelf. I didn’t need it anymore. I was wide awake.
I walked out of the SmartMart empty-handed, but the list in my head had a new, unwritten item at the bottom. It was a question, blinking in cold blue neon.
Item Thirteen: ?
When Logan is invited by his friend Ryan to participate in a experiment, the last thing he is expecting is for his mind to be copied into the body of a brain slug.
However, instead of trying to fix things when she discovers this, Ryan sets her sights on fulfilling her all longheld ambitions with Logan's newfound abilities.
Logan is initially keen with just going along things as he possesses more bodies and pushes the extent of his capabilities. However, when a desire to be more than just her golden goose begins to stir within him, he soon finds himself starting to make plans to fulfill his own longheld desires...
Abstract
In a drab concrete parking structure, sitting inside a car that looked too small for his large frame, a sizable young man silently debated a life choice. It had occupied his mind for days, ever since a certain woman from his past had reached out for the first time in years. Even though he felt indecisive, he had a few mental tools to help him make his mind up. No matter how big the choice, the real decision was whether to start the engine back up and drive away… or open the car door and step out.
…
With a muted pop, the car door swung open.
He had already driven this far, turning back would be a waste of time and gas. Maybe the choice had already been made the very instant he got into his car earlier. Then all the worrying afterwards was just pointless emotion, the last-minute anxiety and doubt that comes with seeing “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” on the gates of hell despite knowing exactly what must be done.
The large man’s heavy footsteps made the only sound in the echoing gray maze. He was a tall mountain of a man that few would challenge physically. He was dressed nicely enough, something a little more than casual, something to wear when reuniting with an old… friend. After exiting the parking structure, he found himself a short distance away from a security booth, its red and white bar hanging guarding the street entrance and a separate pedestrian gate on the opposite side. Behind the booth’s bulletproof glass, a uniformed guard watched the man approach, asking for his ID as soon as he was close enough.
“Name and date of birth?”
“Logan Miller, February 19th. It says on my ID.”
“Reason for visiting?”
“I’m getting a tour from Ryan Everly.”
The guard returned Logan’s ID alongside a freshly printed plastic badge on a lanyard. An audible metallic click could be heard from the pedestrian gate. Logan passed through the gate and headed towards the monolithic building ahead.
As Logan walked, he inspected the plastic badge he was given. At the top, a logo for SynthraForma, followed by VISITOR in bold black letters, then his name, face, and a barcode with small numbers beneath.
Reaching the entrance, he tried the door handle and found it locked. He tried to use his badge on a nearby reader, but it beeped and showed a red light in rejection. Just as Logan was thinking of returning to the guard, the locked doors violently swung open from the inside. Barely dodging the doors, Logan suddenly stood before a stunning woman.
Beautiful red hair that instantly drew stares, captivating hazel eyes that were framed by complementary glasses, flawless skin that supermodels would envy, and a killer figure underneath a white lab coat. Ryan Everly, Logan’s high school best friend that he hadn’t seen since. She cracked a charming smile on her rosy lips, and spoke with her enchanting voice.
“Long time no see. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
Introduction
Logan hadn’t seen Ryan since graduating high school a considerable number of years ago. In the past she was already pretty, but during the years that he hadn’t seen her, Ryan’s natural beauty was further enhanced to perfection. Judging by her current workplace, her intellect had no problems keeping pace either. Logan gave a polite smile and met Ryan’s mesmerizing eyes.
“Yeah, it sure has. How have you been?”
Ryan’s smile remained, but something subtle changed in her expression.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to lie to a friend. I’ve been a bit busy recently. Deadlines, disappointing results, and demanding superiors. You know how it can be. But anyways, I’m so glad you went out of your way to come here. I really appreciate it.”
Logan did expend quite some effort to get there. Scarce paid-time-off was spent from his job as an office clerk, not to mention the cost of a rental car and hotel. Still, it was a trip that he needed to take for his own sake, not just Ryan’s.
“It’s good to see you too. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to. Cured cancer or something?”
Ryan let out a little giggle that played like melodic birdsong in Logan’s ears.
“Well then, let me show you. Welcome to SynthraForma. I obviously can’t give you a full tour of the lab. In fact, even I don’t have access to everything, but I’ll show you what I can. Just a reminder, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not. A single. Breath.”
“Of course. My lips are sealed.”
Ryan accepted Logan’s promise and both of them entered the building. He stepped into a long hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. Before Logan could go anywhere, Ryan pointed towards a part of the wall next to the door. There was a plastic mount that held a stack of blank forms, a clipboard, and a pen on a string.
“Just a silly little NDA, for the suits and whatnot. Every visitor has to fill one out, but we don’t get that many visitors anyways.”
Logan gave it a quick skim before signing it, submitting the document in an empty slot clearly meant to receive them. Ryan then led him down the hallway. There were no windows inside, only heavy metal doors flanking them on both sides. Occasionally, there were laminated papers taped onto the walls, usually displaying some information or reminder for the employees.
Don’t hold doors open for others.
Keep your badge clearly visible at all times.
Thoroughly wash your hands before eating.
The potluck is this friday.
Finally, the two of them reached a door no different from the others. Ryan used her badge to unlock it and entered with Logan following behind. Now past three layers of security, Logan found himself in an unexpectedly mundane office. There were uniform cubicles to both sides, some with small decorations and knick knacks to add a splash of personality.
“These are our desks. It’s not glamorous, but most of our work happens here. Compiling data, writing reports, reading emails… Not very exciting, but it’s part of the job. This one is mine.”
Ryan’s desk had a computer like the others, with that addition of multiple stacks of books and papers, not to mention a couple of mugs with coffee stains. It looked like Ryan was about to say something, but someone else caught her attention. A woman was approaching them, dressed in the professional attire of a white button-up blouse and suit pants. She looked Asian, around her mid thirties, with light makeup and her hair in a bun. The authoritative click of her heels almost served as an introduction.
“Hello, you must be Ryan’s guest. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your tour, I just need to have a little chat with Ryan if that’s okay.”
Her words were sharp and assertive, ensuring that no one would challenge them. Logan certainly didn’t want to at least.
“I don’t mind at all. I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…”
“Doctor. Doctor Li, SynthraForma research supervisor, pleased to meet you too Logan.”
“Anyways Ryan, I’ll make this quick. The deadline for your current project is coming up. I have great expectations of you, and I’ll make sure that your future assignments will reflect how well you perform here. I’m sure an incredible breakthrough is just on the horizon.”
Doctor Li left as quickly as she arrived, not waiting for Ryan to respond. Looking at Ryan, Logan could tell that she wasn’t particularly happy about her supervisor’s reminder. Her face didn’t give much away, but her silence and stiff body language gave it away. It took her a moment to compose herself, before she returned to Logan.
“I guess the tour wouldn’t be complete without an introduction to my kind and caring supervisor. Anyways, let’s get on with it.”
Ryan left her cubicle and promptly started walking again with Logan in tow. They reached another door that required Ryan’s badge. Logan noticed way more signage on this door than the ones before, being plastered with a variety of colorful symbols and labels warning about hazards of all kinds. Past the door, Logan saw a proper laboratory, filled with multitudes of complex-looking devices.
“Here on the left, high temperature superconductors.”
She carelessly gestured towards a workstation full of electronics, wires, and gas tanks of some kind.
Curiously, there was a plush of a squid on one of the workstation shelves. Ryan continued walking on without sparing a moment for Logan to really look.
“Over here on the right, artificial neural networks composed of lab-grown neurons.”
This workstation had a big microscope, with a collection of slides and plastic petri dishes next to it. Tons of papers, binders, and books filled this station out. Again, Ryan practically walked right past it, barely sparing the effort to mention it in her tour. This continued for the rest of the workstations until they reached the back of the lab.
“And here, in the back corner… my project… the slug project.”
Hypothesis
Ryan gestured to a small rectangular glass tank with some twigs and bedding. Logan had to lean in close to spot the first slug. It was an unremarkable little green thing, no different from something you’d find in somebody’s garden. Still though, being in this lab, there had to be more than met the eye. Or Ryan was pranking him.
Either way, Logan’s best choice was to play along.
“Interesting. What’s special about them?”
“These unassuming little blobs are a new species discovered in the Amazon. They were found in primate brains and initially mistaken for some sort of large parasitic worm. However, their biology and behavior is significantly different. A mature slug, ready to lay eggs, has the unique ability to enter a host’s brain without damaging the surrounding tissue, where it influences the host’s behavior. It compels the host to climb into the forest canopy, where it exits the host’s body and safely lays its eggs high up in the trees.”
Logan looked at the slugs again, watching as one lazily crawled on a leaf of lettuce. Brain slugs huh? It reminded him of something out of a sci-fi show, the image of a big green blob with a single eye coming to mind.
“The higher ups say that they’re interested in the mechanics of how it enters and exits the host's brain without damaging anything. They say that it could be a revolution in neurosurgery. But I think that we all know what really brings in all the funding. Mind control.”
Logan almost had to hold back a chuckle. It sounded more like the premise to a horror video game or movie, a cheap one at that.
Experimenting with mind control slugs? Logan was waiting for Ryan to tell the punch line at this point.
“We’ve studied their natural behavior and made significant progress. We’ve selectively bred them to trigger their ‘control’ behavior independent from their breeding cycle, and to extend that control duration. We’ve conducted limited human testing and confirmed compatibility and functionality as well.”
“Human testing?”
“Yes, of course. Given the premise of this project, it would be unavoidable, don't you think?”
Logan was able to avoid laughing out loud, but he couldn’t help a little grin. He was surprised by the matter-of-fact tone that Ryan was able to keep up. So she had tested these mind control slugs on people huh?
“Well, who’d you test this on?”
“For obvious reasons, I can’t discuss any of their identities, but they were all fully consenting individuals that were compensated for their involvement. Also, I should mention that I wasn’t working on this project during the period that these tests were conducted, so I had no direct involvement. I’ve only joined recently.”
Logan was a little confused by her response. That little fact at the end there didn’t seem to be a part of the joke, it seemed a little too realistic. The idea bothered Logan. Maybe she wasn’t joking. Maybe this was real. What kind of place was Ryan working at? Logan shifted to a more serious tone.
“Hold on. This whole slug thing. The human testing. Doesn’t that… I don’t know, concern you or something? Like, the stuff that you’re working on… this whole project seems…”
“Unethical? Inhuman? Evil? I certainly thought so too when I was first assigned, but the project’s current state is far from what it was in the past.”
Ryan picked up a spray bottle next to the tank, opened its lid, and spritzed some clear fluid around the enclosure before closing it again.
“Everything I told you about was done years ago. The project hit a wall. The slugs just couldn’t execute complex commands, only the most basic trained actions in response to verbal triggers. A far cry from mind control. Continued investments of time and resources yielded nothing, resulting in researchers and funding getting pulled. When I was assigned to this project, it was already dead and buried for a long time.”
Logan could see tints of frustration in Ryan. He had seen her get frustrated at hitches in experiments before, but this seemed like a deeper kind of frustration. She probably felt trapped with a project like this.
“Currently, most of my day-to-day is being a slug keeper. Moisturize the habitat at least twice a day, feed the slugs and replace the food before it rots, replace the soil every few weeks. I’m almost envious of Sisyphus, at least he got a boulder.”
“Sorry to hear that you’ve had it so rough. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask for a different project, or just leave all this behind and look for a different lab?”
“Oh believe me I’ve tried, but there are certain… factors… that prevent me from transfering projects. Leaving for another lab isn’t a good option either. No lab in this country can compare to SynthraForma’s. The resources and secrecy here are exactly what I need.”
Hmm… it seemed like Ryan was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Any choice would be a compromise, and a pretty lousy one at that. Watching Ryan’s expressions, Logan could tell she wasn’t happy about things, but she seemed to perk up as she continued speaking.
“It’s not all doom and gloom though, I have a plan. Imagine this. I succeed with this project out of nowhere. Why, news of such a miracle will go straight to the highest executives. They’ll hear that little ol’ me, a single researcher with no support, managed to break through an impenetrable wall that defeated the best of the best. I’ll get the recognition I deserve and free reign to work on what I want.”
Logan could see a flame burning within Ryan, a determination that pushed her forward.
Instead of admitting defeat, she was fighting harder than ever before. Logan was worried that Ryan was feeling down, maybe searching for solace or even pity, but those worries were cleared by her display of brash, unashamed confidence. He almost wanted to start applauding her.
“I’m glad that you’ve got a goal to aim for, but how’re you gonna do it?”
Ryan cracked a mischievous smile, giving Logan a look that sent a little shiver down his back. He knew that look. Oh, he knew that look. Trouble was coming.
Method
Well Logan, my good friend, that’s where you come in! I have an idea, a theory, a breakthrough! The main problem is the slugs’ lack of cognitive ability. Well it just so happens that one of my colleagues is working on a neuron growth promoter, top secret of course. Normally I wouldn’t have access, but let’s just say that I helped with his homework and he’s helping with mine.”
Ryan nodded towards a small glass vial nearby the slug tank. That must be the neuron growth stuff.
“Unfortunately, that alone would only produce slugs that are better at being slugs. Not exactly what we need. It would require far too much training to reach the levels needed for true mind control. That’s where another little gadget comes in.”
Ryan gestured towards something else near the tank. It looked like a bundle of multi-colored wires, each wire connected to a small device that had a suction cup.
“This is a prototype electroencephalogram, or EEG. It detects electrical activity within your brain, amplifies it, and sends it to the target. I’m sure you’re catching onto my idea now. We’ll be sending your brainwaves into a slug injected with the neural growth promoter. This external stimulation combined with the neuron growth will potentially create neural pathways within the slug that mirror yours.”
Logan took a moment to let things sink in. Ryan had conducted plenty of wild experiments in high school, Logan being intimately involved in most of them. All of them were attempts at something never done before, but at least they were somewhat based in reality. This experiment seemed to jump over that line and land fully into the territory of fantasy and madness. Combining all this experimental tech in an attempt to create mind controlling slugs? This had to be desperation more than anything else.
“Why’s it gotta be my brain waves? You’re the most intelligent person I know, so wouldn’t your brain waves be better?”
“Thanks, but if I could do this alone, I would have. The slugs wouldn’t just mirror the intelligence of the donor, but also their traits. I wouldn’t describe myself as particularly obedient, so it would be a big problem if the slugs mirrored me. You, on the other hand, have always been very… generous and helpful. I couldn’t think of a better person to ask.”
Logan wasn’t quite happy about being called generous and helpful in this context. He could tell that she really meant obedient, willing to make a fool of himself for her sake. In high school, Ryan always took advantage of Logan’s affection for her, and he gratefully allowed it. Anything to get the girl right? Well, it didn’t end up that way. He assisted Ryan in many of her experiments, sometimes to his detriment.
There were lots of reasons and rationalizations.
Teenage hormones, desperately avoiding loneliness, a dose of simple adolescent stupidity, all things that Logan told himself he completely left behind in the past. Reflecting on it over the years after graduation, he vowed to never allow himself to be taken advantage of like that again. Yet here he was, having his resolve put to the test.
Ryan could tell that Logan was deliberating. There was a possibility that he’d make the wrong choice. She leaned a little closer to him, looking up with a gentle expression.
“Please? I’m in a real tough spot here, and I could really use some help. Please Logan?”
Logan kept his expression stern as he gazed upon Ryan’s fragile beauty, looking into her pleading eyes. It wasn’t the first time that she’d used this trick. In high school, this was her ace-in-the-hole to convince Logan against his better judgment. And it worked every time. Logan let out a little sigh as he relaxed a little. It couldn’t hurt to get some more info right?
“What are the risks?”
Ryan broke into a smile, happy to hear that her faithful assistant was still her’s.
“None, absolutely none. You just put on the EEG’s electrodes and they’ll record everything that we need. No risks at all.”
Logan kept his expression even as he made his choice. He looked at Ryan again, searching for any indication of a lie or half-truth. She looked genuine, a real friend in need. Well, there really was no choice. To refuse at this point would be cruel. Logan hoped this wouldn’t end poorly.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. This means the world to me. I’ll make it up to you later, but let’s begin the experiment as soon as possible.”
Ryan pulled up a chair for Logan, indicating to take a seat. She then grabbed a petri dish, went over to the slug tank with a pair of tongs, and carefully lifted a wiggly green critter onto the dish. She set it near Logan, and he glanced over. It almost felt like the slug was looking back at him with its little antennae.
It took a while, but eventually every single one of the numerous electrodes were attached to Logan’s head. Each electrode connected to a wire, all of which met in a braid that connected to a small device. The small metal box was connected to Ryan’s lab computer, and also had another side where a smaller braid of wires exited. Those tiny wires went over to the slug, where they connected to miniature electrodes that were placed all over the slug’s body.
“Alright, checks done, double checks done. I think we’re ready to go. Hanging in there
Logan?”
Logan had tried his best to keep still while the electrodes were put on him, as if he was getting a haircut. He also made an effort to avoid staring at Ryan as she worked. He didn’t want to creep her out or make things awkward, but for him, she was the only thing worth looking at in this lab. The way that her white lab coat contoured over her perfect figure, the way she moved around him, the view of her chest when she put the electrodes on his head…
“Yeah, I’m fine. Ready to go.”
“Okay, perfect. Then let’s begin the experiment.”
Ryan went back to the tank and took the vial of neuron growth promoter along with a syringe. Logan watched as she carefully measured out a dosage. After loading the syringe, Ryan carefully injected its contents into the slug. She then returned to her computer.
“Let’s hope for the best.”
With that, she activated the EEG. The device began to record Logan’s brain waves, sending them into the slug. Logan didn’t feel anything different on his end. The slug seemed fine too. Ryan turned a tablet screen towards Logan and started to play a video. It showed a slideshow of various things, ranging from apples to horses to people to mountains and much more. The video was supposed to help Logan’s brain stay active and somewhat direct the learning for the slug.
“Okay, everything looks good. It’ll be a few hours, but I’ll be here with you. If anything happens, let me know immediately. Again, I just want to say thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything for you.”
Experiment
The first ten minutes were fine. Just look at the pictures and videos on the tablet, easy right?
The next ten minutes were the toughest. Logan had to stay disciplined, forcing himself to sit still and keep watching. Every image that appeared on the tablet blended and blurred with the last. Logan even found it difficult to keep his eyes focussed.
Another ten minutes later, Logan managed to fall into a sustainable rhythm of sorts, and wasn’t struggling as much. He started playing a little mental game with the images, trying to improvise a story with each object that popped up on the tablet screen.
The man in a black suit… went to the windmill?
And in the windmill he… found a flock of sheep. Okay, so he was actually a manager for the mill, and the sheep were workers on a break. As a reward for hard work, the manager gave each of them a… butterknife? Woah, okay, so the manager was actually inciting the sheep to revolt against their oppressors. The oppressors that were forcing the sheep to work were… mongooses… mongeese?
The story unfurled itself, on and on, sometimes needing the occasional reset. Logan did his best to keep his neurons activated for this experiment. He kept going and going and going, persevering and relentless. To his credit, he managed to keep his focus most of the time, but as the process dragged on, his focus wavered more and more. The ideas were less creative, the mental image grew blurry, and the plot moved slower. Logan tried to pull himself back into the groove, but his descent was inevitable at this point. His mind grew dimmer and dimmer, a dark fog growing thicker and more impenetrable until the last candle flame of thought flickered out, and nothing remained.
…
…
…
Ryan checked up on Logan, looking over at him slightly slumped in his chair. His head was slightly tilted to the side and his eyes were closed. Must’ve dozed off. She had already noticed that Logan was struggling to stay awake for some time. Unfortunately, any stimulant like coffee could affect the experiment, so Ryan would have to wake him up everytime he nodded off.
Ryan got up and walked over to Logan, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Logan? Logan wake up.”
No response. She shook him harder. Nothing. She lightly tapped him on the cheek. Still nothing. She carefully opened his eyelid. Logan’s eye blankly stared back at her. Ryan felt a wave of dread flood through her. Logan? Logan!
…
…
…
Ryan had done everything that she could. Logan was unconscious when she found him. She had immediately called for help, and he was rushed to the hospital by paramedics. She was in shock. What happened? What caused this? Was it the experiment? Impossible. But the timing… Healthy young men like him don’t just… stop, not like this.
Ryan knew that she was screwed. Even if it somehow wasn’t her fault, there was no way that SynthraForma would overlook all the attention she was bringing in.
Ryan sat in her little corner of the lab, feeling hollowed out like an empty shell. Her eyes drifted to Logan’s empty chair. He was just there, not long ago, healthy and energetic.
The prototype EEG laid on the floor nearby, still in the same place that it landed after
Ryan had yanked it off of Logan’s head when trying to wake him. Ryan knew that the prototype EEG and neuron growth promoter would cast a lot of suspicion on the situation, but hiding or destroying evidence would practically be an admission of guilt. Ryan knew that there was a good chance that the experiment had nothing to do with Logan’s sudden decline, and that it was just a coincidence. But there was no way for her to know. She’d have to wait to hear from the hospital, or the police.
While Ryan was sitting, sorting through her thoughts, her supervisor Doctor Li showed up.
“I’m sure you’re shaken by all of this. Go home. I’ll give you a call if we need anything from you. Don’t even think about coming to work until you’ve fully recovered from this shocking incident, okay?”
Ryan didn’t want to respond, she didn’t even make eye contact. She just continued sitting with her head hung as Doctor Li promptly left. When Ryan heard the sound of the lab door closing, she raised her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tank of slugs. A sudden rush of heat filled her body as she felt a fierce hatred towards them. Stupid fucking slugs! She wanted to get a hammer and smash the tank, crushing the pathetic little bastards.
But she restrained herself. She just glared at them, cursing their very existence. Freaks of nature. She got up from her seat, deciding that the privacy of her apartment would indeed be better than sulking in the lab. She reached over and grabbed her white lab coat. She had taken it off earlier while trying to help Logan.
Ryan stuck her left arm through its sleeve before draping it over her back and filling out the other sleeve. As she left the lab, Ryan was completely unaware of the little green hitchhiker in her lab coat’s pocket.
Recalibration
Dark…
Familiar… smell… Rough… all over…
Where…?
…
Hungry…
Move…
Need to move…
That way…
…
In the darkest hours of the night, a little green slug crawled out of a lab coat pocket thrown on top of a laundry basket. Confused and disoriented, it did the only thing that it could, follow its instincts.
Delicate slivers of moonlight leaked through the thin blinds of the bedroom. The room wasn’t particularly messy or clean, just lived-in. There were two beds opposite to each other in this small space. The plucky little slug crawled along the floor, inch by inch, towards the bed on the right.
Progress was slow, but steady. A few inches every minute. The slug finally reached the foot of the bed and began its journey upwards. It climbed against gravity, leaving a shiny trail of slime behind on the wood. After a few minutes, the unyielding green spelunker reached the top of the bed, where a sleeping beauty lay enveloped in a peaceful slumber. Her chest periodically rose and fell as silent breaths came and went.
The slug continued, crawling onto the sheets of the bed, eventually making its way onto the pillow. The slug’s small, pulsating body made the insidious last legs of its journey as it aimed for a small opening.
The slug touched the sleeping woman’s skin, feeling her warmth as it began to climb the side of her neck. She didn’t even stir. The slug climbed closer, closer, until it reached… the entrance. The slug dipped itself into her ear, pushing its head in and quickly filling the small tunnel’s width. The slug squeezed its malleable body into the small space, crawling deeper and deeper and deeper…
The woman stirred a little. A small readjustment of the body in response to mild discomfort. A light groan escaped her lips, as if she was just having a bad dream. There was no way to know that something was entering her… invading her… burrowing deep deep inside. She would undoubtedly panic if she was awake, if she knew what was happening to her, but it was just the slug’s luck that she was deep asleep, that she was defenseless.
Deep inside her head, the slug finally felt… satisfaction. It had reached its destination. Now, it could rest, just for a little. The woman’s body settled back down, returning to its restful state. Her breathing returned to a slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The only thing amiss was a small trail of dried slug fluid.
However, instead of trying to fix things when she discovers this, Ryan sets her sights on fulfilling her all longheld ambitions with Logan's newfound abilities.
Logan is initially keen with just going along things as he possesses more bodies and pushes the extent of his capabilities. However, when a desire to be more than just her golden goose begins to stir within him, he soon finds himself starting to make plans to fulfill his own longheld desires...
Abstract
In a drab concrete parking structure, sitting inside a car that looked too small for his large frame, a sizable young man silently debated a life choice. It had occupied his mind for days, ever since a certain woman from his past had reached out for the first time in years. Even though he felt indecisive, he had a few mental tools to help him make his mind up. No matter how big the choice, the real decision was whether to start the engine back up and drive away… or open the car door and step out.
…
With a muted pop, the car door swung open.
He had already driven this far, turning back would be a waste of time and gas. Maybe the choice had already been made the very instant he got into his car earlier. Then all the worrying afterwards was just pointless emotion, the last-minute anxiety and doubt that comes with seeing “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” on the gates of hell despite knowing exactly what must be done.
The large man’s heavy footsteps made the only sound in the echoing gray maze. He was a tall mountain of a man that few would challenge physically. He was dressed nicely enough, something a little more than casual, something to wear when reuniting with an old… friend. After exiting the parking structure, he found himself a short distance away from a security booth, its red and white bar hanging guarding the street entrance and a separate pedestrian gate on the opposite side. Behind the booth’s bulletproof glass, a uniformed guard watched the man approach, asking for his ID as soon as he was close enough.
“Name and date of birth?”
“Logan Miller, February 19th. It says on my ID.”
“Reason for visiting?”
“I’m getting a tour from Ryan Everly.”
The guard returned Logan’s ID alongside a freshly printed plastic badge on a lanyard. An audible metallic click could be heard from the pedestrian gate. Logan passed through the gate and headed towards the monolithic building ahead.
As Logan walked, he inspected the plastic badge he was given. At the top, a logo for SynthraForma, followed by VISITOR in bold black letters, then his name, face, and a barcode with small numbers beneath.
Reaching the entrance, he tried the door handle and found it locked. He tried to use his badge on a nearby reader, but it beeped and showed a red light in rejection. Just as Logan was thinking of returning to the guard, the locked doors violently swung open from the inside. Barely dodging the doors, Logan suddenly stood before a stunning woman.
Beautiful red hair that instantly drew stares, captivating hazel eyes that were framed by complementary glasses, flawless skin that supermodels would envy, and a killer figure underneath a white lab coat. Ryan Everly, Logan’s high school best friend that he hadn’t seen since. She cracked a charming smile on her rosy lips, and spoke with her enchanting voice.
“Long time no see. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
Introduction
Logan hadn’t seen Ryan since graduating high school a considerable number of years ago. In the past she was already pretty, but during the years that he hadn’t seen her, Ryan’s natural beauty was further enhanced to perfection. Judging by her current workplace, her intellect had no problems keeping pace either. Logan gave a polite smile and met Ryan’s mesmerizing eyes.
“Yeah, it sure has. How have you been?”
Ryan’s smile remained, but something subtle changed in her expression.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to lie to a friend. I’ve been a bit busy recently. Deadlines, disappointing results, and demanding superiors. You know how it can be. But anyways, I’m so glad you went out of your way to come here. I really appreciate it.”
Logan did expend quite some effort to get there. Scarce paid-time-off was spent from his job as an office clerk, not to mention the cost of a rental car and hotel. Still, it was a trip that he needed to take for his own sake, not just Ryan’s.
“It’s good to see you too. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to. Cured cancer or something?”
Ryan let out a little giggle that played like melodic birdsong in Logan’s ears.
“Well then, let me show you. Welcome to SynthraForma. I obviously can’t give you a full tour of the lab. In fact, even I don’t have access to everything, but I’ll show you what I can. Just a reminder, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not. A single. Breath.”
“Of course. My lips are sealed.”
Ryan accepted Logan’s promise and both of them entered the building. He stepped into a long hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. Before Logan could go anywhere, Ryan pointed towards a part of the wall next to the door. There was a plastic mount that held a stack of blank forms, a clipboard, and a pen on a string.
“Just a silly little NDA, for the suits and whatnot. Every visitor has to fill one out, but we don’t get that many visitors anyways.”
Logan gave it a quick skim before signing it, submitting the document in an empty slot clearly meant to receive them. Ryan then led him down the hallway. There were no windows inside, only heavy metal doors flanking them on both sides. Occasionally, there were laminated papers taped onto the walls, usually displaying some information or reminder for the employees.
Don’t hold doors open for others.
Keep your badge clearly visible at all times.
Thoroughly wash your hands before eating.
The potluck is this friday.
Finally, the two of them reached a door no different from the others. Ryan used her badge to unlock it and entered with Logan following behind. Now past three layers of security, Logan found himself in an unexpectedly mundane office. There were uniform cubicles to both sides, some with small decorations and knick knacks to add a splash of personality.
“These are our desks. It’s not glamorous, but most of our work happens here. Compiling data, writing reports, reading emails… Not very exciting, but it’s part of the job. This one is mine.”
Ryan’s desk had a computer like the others, with that addition of multiple stacks of books and papers, not to mention a couple of mugs with coffee stains. It looked like Ryan was about to say something, but someone else caught her attention. A woman was approaching them, dressed in the professional attire of a white button-up blouse and suit pants. She looked Asian, around her mid thirties, with light makeup and her hair in a bun. The authoritative click of her heels almost served as an introduction.
“Hello, you must be Ryan’s guest. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your tour, I just need to have a little chat with Ryan if that’s okay.”
Her words were sharp and assertive, ensuring that no one would challenge them. Logan certainly didn’t want to at least.
“I don’t mind at all. I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…”
“Doctor. Doctor Li, SynthraForma research supervisor, pleased to meet you too Logan.”
“Anyways Ryan, I’ll make this quick. The deadline for your current project is coming up. I have great expectations of you, and I’ll make sure that your future assignments will reflect how well you perform here. I’m sure an incredible breakthrough is just on the horizon.”
Doctor Li left as quickly as she arrived, not waiting for Ryan to respond. Looking at Ryan, Logan could tell that she wasn’t particularly happy about her supervisor’s reminder. Her face didn’t give much away, but her silence and stiff body language gave it away. It took her a moment to compose herself, before she returned to Logan.
“I guess the tour wouldn’t be complete without an introduction to my kind and caring supervisor. Anyways, let’s get on with it.”
Ryan left her cubicle and promptly started walking again with Logan in tow. They reached another door that required Ryan’s badge. Logan noticed way more signage on this door than the ones before, being plastered with a variety of colorful symbols and labels warning about hazards of all kinds. Past the door, Logan saw a proper laboratory, filled with multitudes of complex-looking devices.
“Here on the left, high temperature superconductors.”
She carelessly gestured towards a workstation full of electronics, wires, and gas tanks of some kind.
Curiously, there was a plush of a squid on one of the workstation shelves. Ryan continued walking on without sparing a moment for Logan to really look.
“Over here on the right, artificial neural networks composed of lab-grown neurons.”
This workstation had a big microscope, with a collection of slides and plastic petri dishes next to it. Tons of papers, binders, and books filled this station out. Again, Ryan practically walked right past it, barely sparing the effort to mention it in her tour. This continued for the rest of the workstations until they reached the back of the lab.
“And here, in the back corner… my project… the slug project.”
Hypothesis
Ryan gestured to a small rectangular glass tank with some twigs and bedding. Logan had to lean in close to spot the first slug. It was an unremarkable little green thing, no different from something you’d find in somebody’s garden. Still though, being in this lab, there had to be more than met the eye. Or Ryan was pranking him.
Either way, Logan’s best choice was to play along.
“Interesting. What’s special about them?”
“These unassuming little blobs are a new species discovered in the Amazon. They were found in primate brains and initially mistaken for some sort of large parasitic worm. However, their biology and behavior is significantly different. A mature slug, ready to lay eggs, has the unique ability to enter a host’s brain without damaging the surrounding tissue, where it influences the host’s behavior. It compels the host to climb into the forest canopy, where it exits the host’s body and safely lays its eggs high up in the trees.”
Logan looked at the slugs again, watching as one lazily crawled on a leaf of lettuce. Brain slugs huh? It reminded him of something out of a sci-fi show, the image of a big green blob with a single eye coming to mind.
“The higher ups say that they’re interested in the mechanics of how it enters and exits the host's brain without damaging anything. They say that it could be a revolution in neurosurgery. But I think that we all know what really brings in all the funding. Mind control.”
Logan almost had to hold back a chuckle. It sounded more like the premise to a horror video game or movie, a cheap one at that.
Experimenting with mind control slugs? Logan was waiting for Ryan to tell the punch line at this point.
“We’ve studied their natural behavior and made significant progress. We’ve selectively bred them to trigger their ‘control’ behavior independent from their breeding cycle, and to extend that control duration. We’ve conducted limited human testing and confirmed compatibility and functionality as well.”
“Human testing?”
“Yes, of course. Given the premise of this project, it would be unavoidable, don't you think?”
Logan was able to avoid laughing out loud, but he couldn’t help a little grin. He was surprised by the matter-of-fact tone that Ryan was able to keep up. So she had tested these mind control slugs on people huh?
“Well, who’d you test this on?”
“For obvious reasons, I can’t discuss any of their identities, but they were all fully consenting individuals that were compensated for their involvement. Also, I should mention that I wasn’t working on this project during the period that these tests were conducted, so I had no direct involvement. I’ve only joined recently.”
Logan was a little confused by her response. That little fact at the end there didn’t seem to be a part of the joke, it seemed a little too realistic. The idea bothered Logan. Maybe she wasn’t joking. Maybe this was real. What kind of place was Ryan working at? Logan shifted to a more serious tone.
“Hold on. This whole slug thing. The human testing. Doesn’t that… I don’t know, concern you or something? Like, the stuff that you’re working on… this whole project seems…”
“Unethical? Inhuman? Evil? I certainly thought so too when I was first assigned, but the project’s current state is far from what it was in the past.”
Ryan picked up a spray bottle next to the tank, opened its lid, and spritzed some clear fluid around the enclosure before closing it again.
“Everything I told you about was done years ago. The project hit a wall. The slugs just couldn’t execute complex commands, only the most basic trained actions in response to verbal triggers. A far cry from mind control. Continued investments of time and resources yielded nothing, resulting in researchers and funding getting pulled. When I was assigned to this project, it was already dead and buried for a long time.”
Logan could see tints of frustration in Ryan. He had seen her get frustrated at hitches in experiments before, but this seemed like a deeper kind of frustration. She probably felt trapped with a project like this.
“Currently, most of my day-to-day is being a slug keeper. Moisturize the habitat at least twice a day, feed the slugs and replace the food before it rots, replace the soil every few weeks. I’m almost envious of Sisyphus, at least he got a boulder.”
“Sorry to hear that you’ve had it so rough. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask for a different project, or just leave all this behind and look for a different lab?”
“Oh believe me I’ve tried, but there are certain… factors… that prevent me from transfering projects. Leaving for another lab isn’t a good option either. No lab in this country can compare to SynthraForma’s. The resources and secrecy here are exactly what I need.”
Hmm… it seemed like Ryan was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Any choice would be a compromise, and a pretty lousy one at that. Watching Ryan’s expressions, Logan could tell she wasn’t happy about things, but she seemed to perk up as she continued speaking.
“It’s not all doom and gloom though, I have a plan. Imagine this. I succeed with this project out of nowhere. Why, news of such a miracle will go straight to the highest executives. They’ll hear that little ol’ me, a single researcher with no support, managed to break through an impenetrable wall that defeated the best of the best. I’ll get the recognition I deserve and free reign to work on what I want.”
Logan could see a flame burning within Ryan, a determination that pushed her forward.
Instead of admitting defeat, she was fighting harder than ever before. Logan was worried that Ryan was feeling down, maybe searching for solace or even pity, but those worries were cleared by her display of brash, unashamed confidence. He almost wanted to start applauding her.
“I’m glad that you’ve got a goal to aim for, but how’re you gonna do it?”
Ryan cracked a mischievous smile, giving Logan a look that sent a little shiver down his back. He knew that look. Oh, he knew that look. Trouble was coming.
Method
Well Logan, my good friend, that’s where you come in! I have an idea, a theory, a breakthrough! The main problem is the slugs’ lack of cognitive ability. Well it just so happens that one of my colleagues is working on a neuron growth promoter, top secret of course. Normally I wouldn’t have access, but let’s just say that I helped with his homework and he’s helping with mine.”
Ryan nodded towards a small glass vial nearby the slug tank. That must be the neuron growth stuff.
“Unfortunately, that alone would only produce slugs that are better at being slugs. Not exactly what we need. It would require far too much training to reach the levels needed for true mind control. That’s where another little gadget comes in.”
Ryan gestured towards something else near the tank. It looked like a bundle of multi-colored wires, each wire connected to a small device that had a suction cup.
“This is a prototype electroencephalogram, or EEG. It detects electrical activity within your brain, amplifies it, and sends it to the target. I’m sure you’re catching onto my idea now. We’ll be sending your brainwaves into a slug injected with the neural growth promoter. This external stimulation combined with the neuron growth will potentially create neural pathways within the slug that mirror yours.”
Logan took a moment to let things sink in. Ryan had conducted plenty of wild experiments in high school, Logan being intimately involved in most of them. All of them were attempts at something never done before, but at least they were somewhat based in reality. This experiment seemed to jump over that line and land fully into the territory of fantasy and madness. Combining all this experimental tech in an attempt to create mind controlling slugs? This had to be desperation more than anything else.
“Why’s it gotta be my brain waves? You’re the most intelligent person I know, so wouldn’t your brain waves be better?”
“Thanks, but if I could do this alone, I would have. The slugs wouldn’t just mirror the intelligence of the donor, but also their traits. I wouldn’t describe myself as particularly obedient, so it would be a big problem if the slugs mirrored me. You, on the other hand, have always been very… generous and helpful. I couldn’t think of a better person to ask.”
Logan wasn’t quite happy about being called generous and helpful in this context. He could tell that she really meant obedient, willing to make a fool of himself for her sake. In high school, Ryan always took advantage of Logan’s affection for her, and he gratefully allowed it. Anything to get the girl right? Well, it didn’t end up that way. He assisted Ryan in many of her experiments, sometimes to his detriment.
There were lots of reasons and rationalizations.
Teenage hormones, desperately avoiding loneliness, a dose of simple adolescent stupidity, all things that Logan told himself he completely left behind in the past. Reflecting on it over the years after graduation, he vowed to never allow himself to be taken advantage of like that again. Yet here he was, having his resolve put to the test.
Ryan could tell that Logan was deliberating. There was a possibility that he’d make the wrong choice. She leaned a little closer to him, looking up with a gentle expression.
“Please? I’m in a real tough spot here, and I could really use some help. Please Logan?”
Logan kept his expression stern as he gazed upon Ryan’s fragile beauty, looking into her pleading eyes. It wasn’t the first time that she’d used this trick. In high school, this was her ace-in-the-hole to convince Logan against his better judgment. And it worked every time. Logan let out a little sigh as he relaxed a little. It couldn’t hurt to get some more info right?
“What are the risks?”
Ryan broke into a smile, happy to hear that her faithful assistant was still her’s.
“None, absolutely none. You just put on the EEG’s electrodes and they’ll record everything that we need. No risks at all.”
Logan kept his expression even as he made his choice. He looked at Ryan again, searching for any indication of a lie or half-truth. She looked genuine, a real friend in need. Well, there really was no choice. To refuse at this point would be cruel. Logan hoped this wouldn’t end poorly.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. This means the world to me. I’ll make it up to you later, but let’s begin the experiment as soon as possible.”
Ryan pulled up a chair for Logan, indicating to take a seat. She then grabbed a petri dish, went over to the slug tank with a pair of tongs, and carefully lifted a wiggly green critter onto the dish. She set it near Logan, and he glanced over. It almost felt like the slug was looking back at him with its little antennae.
It took a while, but eventually every single one of the numerous electrodes were attached to Logan’s head. Each electrode connected to a wire, all of which met in a braid that connected to a small device. The small metal box was connected to Ryan’s lab computer, and also had another side where a smaller braid of wires exited. Those tiny wires went over to the slug, where they connected to miniature electrodes that were placed all over the slug’s body.
“Alright, checks done, double checks done. I think we’re ready to go. Hanging in there
Logan?”
Logan had tried his best to keep still while the electrodes were put on him, as if he was getting a haircut. He also made an effort to avoid staring at Ryan as she worked. He didn’t want to creep her out or make things awkward, but for him, she was the only thing worth looking at in this lab. The way that her white lab coat contoured over her perfect figure, the way she moved around him, the view of her chest when she put the electrodes on his head…
“Yeah, I’m fine. Ready to go.”
“Okay, perfect. Then let’s begin the experiment.”
Ryan went back to the tank and took the vial of neuron growth promoter along with a syringe. Logan watched as she carefully measured out a dosage. After loading the syringe, Ryan carefully injected its contents into the slug. She then returned to her computer.
“Let’s hope for the best.”
With that, she activated the EEG. The device began to record Logan’s brain waves, sending them into the slug. Logan didn’t feel anything different on his end. The slug seemed fine too. Ryan turned a tablet screen towards Logan and started to play a video. It showed a slideshow of various things, ranging from apples to horses to people to mountains and much more. The video was supposed to help Logan’s brain stay active and somewhat direct the learning for the slug.
“Okay, everything looks good. It’ll be a few hours, but I’ll be here with you. If anything happens, let me know immediately. Again, I just want to say thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything for you.”
Experiment
The first ten minutes were fine. Just look at the pictures and videos on the tablet, easy right?
The next ten minutes were the toughest. Logan had to stay disciplined, forcing himself to sit still and keep watching. Every image that appeared on the tablet blended and blurred with the last. Logan even found it difficult to keep his eyes focussed.
Another ten minutes later, Logan managed to fall into a sustainable rhythm of sorts, and wasn’t struggling as much. He started playing a little mental game with the images, trying to improvise a story with each object that popped up on the tablet screen.
The man in a black suit… went to the windmill?
And in the windmill he… found a flock of sheep. Okay, so he was actually a manager for the mill, and the sheep were workers on a break. As a reward for hard work, the manager gave each of them a… butterknife? Woah, okay, so the manager was actually inciting the sheep to revolt against their oppressors. The oppressors that were forcing the sheep to work were… mongooses… mongeese?
The story unfurled itself, on and on, sometimes needing the occasional reset. Logan did his best to keep his neurons activated for this experiment. He kept going and going and going, persevering and relentless. To his credit, he managed to keep his focus most of the time, but as the process dragged on, his focus wavered more and more. The ideas were less creative, the mental image grew blurry, and the plot moved slower. Logan tried to pull himself back into the groove, but his descent was inevitable at this point. His mind grew dimmer and dimmer, a dark fog growing thicker and more impenetrable until the last candle flame of thought flickered out, and nothing remained.
…
…
…
Ryan checked up on Logan, looking over at him slightly slumped in his chair. His head was slightly tilted to the side and his eyes were closed. Must’ve dozed off. She had already noticed that Logan was struggling to stay awake for some time. Unfortunately, any stimulant like coffee could affect the experiment, so Ryan would have to wake him up everytime he nodded off.
Ryan got up and walked over to Logan, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Logan? Logan wake up.”
No response. She shook him harder. Nothing. She lightly tapped him on the cheek. Still nothing. She carefully opened his eyelid. Logan’s eye blankly stared back at her. Ryan felt a wave of dread flood through her. Logan? Logan!
…
…
…
Ryan had done everything that she could. Logan was unconscious when she found him. She had immediately called for help, and he was rushed to the hospital by paramedics. She was in shock. What happened? What caused this? Was it the experiment? Impossible. But the timing… Healthy young men like him don’t just… stop, not like this.
Ryan knew that she was screwed. Even if it somehow wasn’t her fault, there was no way that SynthraForma would overlook all the attention she was bringing in.
Ryan sat in her little corner of the lab, feeling hollowed out like an empty shell. Her eyes drifted to Logan’s empty chair. He was just there, not long ago, healthy and energetic.
The prototype EEG laid on the floor nearby, still in the same place that it landed after
Ryan had yanked it off of Logan’s head when trying to wake him. Ryan knew that the prototype EEG and neuron growth promoter would cast a lot of suspicion on the situation, but hiding or destroying evidence would practically be an admission of guilt. Ryan knew that there was a good chance that the experiment had nothing to do with Logan’s sudden decline, and that it was just a coincidence. But there was no way for her to know. She’d have to wait to hear from the hospital, or the police.
While Ryan was sitting, sorting through her thoughts, her supervisor Doctor Li showed up.
“I’m sure you’re shaken by all of this. Go home. I’ll give you a call if we need anything from you. Don’t even think about coming to work until you’ve fully recovered from this shocking incident, okay?”
Ryan didn’t want to respond, she didn’t even make eye contact. She just continued sitting with her head hung as Doctor Li promptly left. When Ryan heard the sound of the lab door closing, she raised her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tank of slugs. A sudden rush of heat filled her body as she felt a fierce hatred towards them. Stupid fucking slugs! She wanted to get a hammer and smash the tank, crushing the pathetic little bastards.
But she restrained herself. She just glared at them, cursing their very existence. Freaks of nature. She got up from her seat, deciding that the privacy of her apartment would indeed be better than sulking in the lab. She reached over and grabbed her white lab coat. She had taken it off earlier while trying to help Logan.
Ryan stuck her left arm through its sleeve before draping it over her back and filling out the other sleeve. As she left the lab, Ryan was completely unaware of the little green hitchhiker in her lab coat’s pocket.
Recalibration
Dark…
Familiar… smell… Rough… all over…
Where…?
…
Hungry…
Move…
Need to move…
That way…
…
In the darkest hours of the night, a little green slug crawled out of a lab coat pocket thrown on top of a laundry basket. Confused and disoriented, it did the only thing that it could, follow its instincts.
Delicate slivers of moonlight leaked through the thin blinds of the bedroom. The room wasn’t particularly messy or clean, just lived-in. There were two beds opposite to each other in this small space. The plucky little slug crawled along the floor, inch by inch, towards the bed on the right.
Progress was slow, but steady. A few inches every minute. The slug finally reached the foot of the bed and began its journey upwards. It climbed against gravity, leaving a shiny trail of slime behind on the wood. After a few minutes, the unyielding green spelunker reached the top of the bed, where a sleeping beauty lay enveloped in a peaceful slumber. Her chest periodically rose and fell as silent breaths came and went.
The slug continued, crawling onto the sheets of the bed, eventually making its way onto the pillow. The slug’s small, pulsating body made the insidious last legs of its journey as it aimed for a small opening.
The slug touched the sleeping woman’s skin, feeling her warmth as it began to climb the side of her neck. She didn’t even stir. The slug climbed closer, closer, until it reached… the entrance. The slug dipped itself into her ear, pushing its head in and quickly filling the small tunnel’s width. The slug squeezed its malleable body into the small space, crawling deeper and deeper and deeper…
The woman stirred a little. A small readjustment of the body in response to mild discomfort. A light groan escaped her lips, as if she was just having a bad dream. There was no way to know that something was entering her… invading her… burrowing deep deep inside. She would undoubtedly panic if she was awake, if she knew what was happening to her, but it was just the slug’s luck that she was deep asleep, that she was defenseless.
Deep inside her head, the slug finally felt… satisfaction. It had reached its destination. Now, it could rest, just for a little. The woman’s body settled back down, returning to its restful state. Her breathing returned to a slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The only thing amiss was a small trail of dried slug fluid.
Inspired by a comic.
Silas possesses a metaphysical ability known as Soul Partitioning, allowing him to excise a fragment of his own consciousness and project it into a host's mind through direct ocular contact. This "hit" doesn't merely brainwash the victim; it effectively overwrites their core identity with his own, causing them to experience a total shift in self-perception where they believe they are Silas.
'Its cold! Come inside!' she said, her voice bright and welcoming. Rachel stepped aside to let Silas in.
Silas stood in the foyer, while Rachel closed the door with a click that sounded far too final.
"Make yourself at home," she said, her voice carrying a devilish smirk that twisted her features into something predatory and sharp. It was a look Rachel had never worn in her life.
She began to pace the hallway, but her gait was wrong. She moved with a heavy, masculine confidence, her hips swinging not out of grace, but as if she were testing the weight and balance of a new machine. As she spoke, her hands began to wander. She traced the curve of her own waist, her fingers digging into the soft flesh with an intense curiosity.
"It’s a nice place, isn't it?" she asked, though she wasn't looking at the decor. Her hand slid upward, her palm cupping her boobs through the thin fabric of her blouse. She squeezed, her eyes widening slightly as if the sensation were a foreign transmission. "Soft. I could get used to this."
She didn't wait for him to answer. She was already walking toward the sideboard in the dining room, pointing out a heavy silver tray.
"The silverware is genuine Georgian. Worth a fortune," she noted casually, her fingers now tracing the line of her collarbone. "The jewelry safe is behind the landscape painting in the study. Code is 0-4-1-2. My birthday. Or... her birthday, anyway."
The incongruity was sickening. To any passerby, she was a housewife giving a tour; to Silas, she was a victim meticulously betraying herself. She leaned against the wall, her legs crossing in a way that made her skirt hike up, and she stared at the skin of her thighs with the wonder of a child holding a new toy.
"Her husband, Mark, isn't here, obviously," she said, a bitter, Silas-like edge creeping into her tone. "He’s in Chicago. Business. Again. He’s always 'working,' always elsewhere." She let out a dry, jagged laugh, her hand moving to the back of her neck, pulling at her own hair to feel the tension on the scalp. "You want to know a secret, Silas? The last time we actually had sex was three months ago. Pathetic, right? I’m standing here in a body this... functional... and it’s just sitting here, gathering dust while he's at a Marriott in the Midwest."
She looked down at her hands, flexed them, and then looked back at him with a chilling intimacy. She was baring Rachel’s deepest, most private frustrations to a man she had met thirty seconds ago, yet she spoke with the total lack of shame one has when talking to oneself in a mirror.
"I feel so... empty," she whispered, her fingers grazing her lips. "But not anymore. Now that you're here, I finally feel like I’ve woken up."
*
A few moments ago...
The neighborhood was quiet—the kind of quiet that makes a lone footstep sound like a threat. Silas stopped in front of the cream-colored colonial, his shadow stretching long across the manicured lawn. He reached out and pressed the doorbell.
Inside, the muffled chime was followed by a heavy silence. Then, the rhythmic thud-thud of someone approaching.
The door didn't swing wide. It opened barely three inches, abruptly halted by the metallic snap of a security chain. Rachel peered through the gap, her face framed by the dark wood. Her posture was stiff, her hand visible on the edge of the door, knuckles white with tension. She was alone, and the sight of a strange man on her porch at this hour sent a visible ripple of unease through her.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice tight, barely a whisper. "Can I help you?"
Silas didn't answer immediately. He didn't need to. He stood perfectly still, letting his gaze lock onto hers through the narrow opening. He looked past the iris, past the pupil, searching for her very soul.
Then, it happened.
There was no sound, no flash of light. A fragment of his very essence, cold and sharp as a needle, surged forward. It didn't travel through the air like a physical object; it bypassed the space between them entirely. It left his eyes as a shimmering distortion, a microscopic ripple in reality that hit Rachel’s retinas with the force of a psychic collision.
Rachel didn't scream. She couldn't.
For a heartbeat, her world went gray. The "blur" hit her with a total desynchronization of her senses. Her brain tried to reject the intruder, but the fragment of Silas was already burrowing, weaving itself into her neural pathways, claiming her mind as its own. Rachel's eyes were momentarily blurred, just for a split second, as if her focus had snagged on something invisible. Then, they cleared, snapping back to a sharp, vivid clarity. A warm, unearned familiarity washed over her features.
Her grip on the door softened. The fear that had been radiating from her just a second ago didn't just vanish—it was rewritten into a soft and gracious smile. Slowly, her fingers moved to the chain. With a steady, rhythmic clink, she slid the bolt out of the track.
She opened the door wide, her expression shifting from a guarded mask to that unnatural, devilish smirk. She looked at him—man to man, soul to soul—even though she was trapped in the skin of a woman he had just broken.
*
Back to present...
I watched her—or rather, I watched myself—move through Rachel’s home with a thief’s appreciation and a conqueror’s pride. Her confession hung in the air between us, a raw, intimate truth that belonged to her, but was now mine to dissect.
“Gathering dust,” I echoed, my voice low. “A shame. Such a well-made machine should be running at full capacity.”
“Shouldn’t it?” she agreed, pushing herself off the wall. That predatory grin returned, but it was edged with something new—a hungry curiosity. “Come on. The tour isn’t finished. The best part’s upstairs.”
She led the way, her hand trailing up the polished banister. I followed, my footsteps silent on the plush carpet. From behind, I could see the way her spine was held too straight, the set of her shoulders too broad for the delicate frame she inhabited. It was like watching a marionette controlled by a puppeteer who’d only read about human movement in a manual.
She paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back at me. “Her memories are… interesting. Like watching a very dull movie about someone else’s life. But the sensory data? The physical feedback? Oh, man... that’s the real prize.”
As she spoke, her hands came up to the buttons of her blouse. Without breaking eye contact, she began to undo them, one by one. The fabric parted, revealing a lace-edged bra and the smooth, pale skin of her stomach. “For example,” she said, her voice a clinical murmur. “The weight. We knew her breasts had weight, intellectually, just from looking. But feeling them pull, this constant, gentle anchor… it’s fascinating. And the sensitivity. Amazing.”
Her fingertips brushed over the lace covering her left nipple. A sharp, shuddering breath escaped her lips—Rachel’s lips. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second before snapping open, locked on mine. “See? A direct line. No filter. It’s all just… input.”
She turned and walked down the hallway, leaving her blouse hanging open. I followed her into the master bedroom. It was a spacious, airy room done in creams and soft blues. A large, neatly made bed dominated the space. A wedding photo in a silver frame sat on the nightstand—Rachel beaming, her husband Mark’s arm around her, both of them looking like a catalog for suburban bliss.
She went straight to it, picking up the frame. She studied the image with a tilted head, a faint frown on her face. “He looks earnest,” she said, her tone flat. “In her memories, he’s kind. Distant, but kind. She loved that. She mistook absence for stability. Too bad that she isn't here anymore. Hehe. ” She set the frame face down with a soft click. “Silly.”
Abandoning the blouse entirely, she let it slide off her shoulders to pool on the carpet. She stood there in her skirt and bra, her arms crossed over her chest, surveying the room as if it were a hotel suite. “This is where the neglect happened. Right here.” She walked to the bed and sat on the edge, bouncing slightly to test the mattress. “Firm. Good for his back, apparently. Not that it mattered.”
She lay back, stretching her arms above her head, arching her back off the comforter. The movement pushed her chest forward, and she let out a soft, experimental sigh. “She used to lie here,” she said, her voice drifting, almost dreamy as she tapped into Rachel’s stored experiences. “She’d stare at the ceiling and count the minutes until he’d come to bed. Sometimes he would, sometimes he wouldn’t. When he did, he’d just roll over and go to sleep. She’d listen to him breathe and feel this… hollowness. This ache. Aaaah” a moan escaped her lips.
One of her hands slid down from above her head, over the flat plane of her stomach, to the waistband of her skirt. Her fingers toyed with the zipper. “This body ached for him. For anyone. For something to fill that quiet.” She looked at me, her eyes dark and knowing. “But I’m not aching anymore. Now, I’m just… curious.”
She didn’t just open the zipper. She sat up slowly, sinuously, and turned to face me where I stood. Holding my gaze, she brought her other hand to the clasp at the side of her skirt. With a deliberate, tantalizing slowness, she undid it. The zipper gave way with a hushed, metallic whisper that seemed amplified in the quiet room. Then, still watching me, she wriggled her hips, pushing the skirt down over her thighs with a roll of her pelvis that was pure, calculated provocation. She kicked it away.
Now she knelt on the bed in just her bra and panties, her skin glowing. She wasn’t just lying back; she was presenting herself. “The curiosity is the best part,” she whispered, her hands sliding up her own thighs, past her hips, to cradle the curve of her waist. “It’s not her hunger. It’s mine. What does this body feel like when it’s touched? Not by a bored husband, but by an owner who’s truly interested in its functions?”
Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties. She peeled them down, an inch at a time, revealing the neat thatch of dark hair beneath. With a final, dismissive flick, the cotton joined the pile on the floor.
But she wasn’t done. The bra was next. She reached behind her back, her movements fluid, her eyes never leaving mine. She found the clasp, fumbled for a second with a show of mock-inexperience that was itself a lie—a seductress playing at innocence. The clasp released. She let the straps slide down her shoulders, but didn’t remove it yet. She cupped her breasts through the lace, lifting them, weighing them in her palms as if offering them to me.
“So sensitive,” she breathed, her thumbs brushing over her own nipples, which hardened instantly under the fabric. A soft gasp escaped her, but her smile was one of triumph. “Every nerve is a live wire. And they’re all mine to play with.”
Then, with a slow, theatrical shrug, she let the bra fall forward. It caught for a moment on the peaks of her breasts before she pulled it away entirely and let it drop. Now she was completely naked, kneeling before me like a offering and a conqueror both.
“Come here,” she commanded, but this time her voice was a low, smoky purr. It was my own voice, yes, but warped into something unbearably sensual. “Let’s see what this suite is capable of. Let’s test every single function.”
I approached the bed. She watched me, a panther assessing its prey. When I stood beside her, she didn’t reach for my hand. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the fly of my trousers. I felt her breath, hot through the fabric. Her head tilted back, her eyes gleaming up at me. “The curiosity is… becoming a need,” she confessed, her voice thick.
Her hands came up, not to guide, but to claim. She unbuckled my belt with a sharp, practiced tug. The zipper came down with a rasp that echoed in the room. Her cool fingers wrapped around me, and she let out that low, appreciative hum—a sound that vibrated through her and into me. “A much better fit for this emptiness than his pathetic, distracted affection ever was.”
Then she moved, a fluid surge of power. Her hand shot to the back of my neck, and she pulled me down onto the bed with her. We landed in a heap, but she was already rolling, reversing our positions with a strength that was shocking. In an instant she was straddling my hips, her knees digging into the mattress, her naked body poised above mine. The wedding photo frame rattled violently on the nightstand.
She looked down at me, her hair a dark curtain around her face. That seductive, knowing smile was gone, replaced by something raw and ravenous. “She would never,” she growled, and the word was guttural, animal. She ground herself against me, the slick heat of her scorching even through my trousers. “She’d want the lights off. She’d be thinking about the goddamn dishwasher.” She leaned forward, her breasts brushing my chest, her lips a breath from mine. “But I want to see everything. I want to feel everything.”
With a brutal yank, she finished undressing me, pushing my trousers and boxers down my hips. Her cool hand wrapped around me again, stroking once, twice, a possessive claim. Then she positioned me at her entrance.
She didn’t sink down. She impaled herself.
In one fierce, relentless motion, she took me in to the hilt. Her head snapped back, and a raw, snarling cry was torn from her throat—a sound of violent victory. Her inner muscles clenched around me in a vicious, welcoming spasm.
“Oh, Gosh,” she groaned, but it was a snarl of conquest. She began to move, not with rhythm, but with a frantic, devouring hunger. Her hips pistoned, driving herself down onto me with a force that made the bedframe slam against the wall. Her hands braced on my chest, her nails digging in, drawing half-moons of sharp pleasure-pain.
“This!” she cried out, her voice breaking with each punishing thrust. “This is what it was for! Not for quiet! Not for waiting! For this!”
She was a frenzy above me, a storm of stolen sensation. Her back arched, her body a taut bowstring. She reached between her own legs, her fingers working her clit with a furious, desperate rhythm that matched the savage rocking of her hips. The sounds she made were not moans, but growls—primal, uninhibited, echoing in the violated bedroom.
“Look at me!” she demanded, her eyes wild, her face flushed with a depraved ecstasy. “Look at what you’re making me do! In her bed! On her sheets!”
She rode me with a brutality that was breathtaking. She leaned back, using her hands on my thighs for leverage, driving herself down again and again, taking everything. The headboard hammered the wall in a staccato drumbeat of their collision.
“She’d die of shame!” she panted, a wild, delirious laugh breaking through her gasps. “But I… I’ve never been more alive!”
Her movements lost all finesse, becoming a jagged, desperate chase for release. Her inner muscles fluttered and clenched in frantic, milking waves. Her breaths came in sharp, sobbing hitches.
“I’m… I’m gonna… now!” she screamed.
Her orgasm wasn’t a cresting wave; it was a detonation. It was a seismic event that racked her entire body. Her entire body seized, convulsing around me. She threw her head back and howled—a loud, uninhibited, house-shaking sound of pure, selfish triumph. Her hips jerked erratically as she ground herself against me, milking her own climax and mine with a greedy, relentless intensity.
As the last tremors shook her, she collapsed forward onto my chest, her sweat-slick body shuddering against mine, her breath hot and ragged in my ear. She nuzzled into my neck, her lips brushing my skin with deliberate, lingering kisses. After a moment, she lifted her head, a look of profound, conspiratorial satisfaction on her face—but now it was edged with a new, sly awareness.
She had filled the void not with gentle exploration, but with a raw, primal conquest that left the very air in the room crackling with spent energy. Yet, as the frenzy faded, a different electricity took its place: the cool, calculated current of a seductress surveying her domain.
She shifted, rolling off of me and onto her back, but she didn’t just stare at the ceiling. She stretched, a long, feline extension of her limbs that made her breasts rise and her stomach tauten, a living exhibit of her own stolen beauty. Her hand came up, trailing through the damp hair at her temple, and as it did, the overhead light caught the gold band on her finger.
She went very still, her eyes fixing on the wedding ring. A slow, deeply seductive smile spread across her lips—not just satisfied, but deliciously cruel.
“Oh, look,” she purred, her voice a throaty whisper. She raised her hand, turning it so the ring glinted. “Mark had to court me for weeks until I let him kiss me. Months until our first night.” She dropped her hand to my chest, her fingers splaying possessively over my heart. She turned her head, her eyes locking onto mine, gleaming with mischief. “And now you just came to the door… and came inside me, mister.” She let out a soft, mocking laugh. “That’s not fair to poor old Mark. Not fair at all.”
She traced a nail down the center of my chest. “He was always so… careful. So worried about doing things right.” Her voice dropped to a confidential murmur. “He’d ask if I was comfortable. If the pressure was okay. It was like making love to a user manual.” Her hand slid lower, over my stomach, her touch feather-light and incendiary. “But you… you didn’t ask. You just took. And you knew exactly how to make this body sing.”
She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on one hand. The other hand continued its idle exploration of my arm, her fingers tracing the lines of muscle. “He thought patience was a virtue. All that waiting.” She smirked. “He never realized that what this vessel really needed wasn’t patience… it was someone with the confidence to just claim it.” Her eyes drifted to the overturned wedding photo. “His touches were like whispers. Yours?” She leaned close, her breath warm against my ear. “Yours are declarations. And my body… her body… understands the difference perfectly.”
She let out a contented, utterly wicked sigh and settled back against the rumpled sheets—sheets that now bore the indelible, intimate stain of her total betrayal, performed not just with a smile, but with a poet’s cruel flair for comparison.
“No hollowness now,” she whispered, her gaze sweeping over me with open ownership. “Just you. It feels… perfect.” She lifted her ring hand again, studying it as if it were a curious artifact. “I really should send him a thank you note. For being so… inadequate. He left everything so perfectly primed for a real man to finally use.”
*
Silas lay there for a few minutes more, listening to the ragged sound of her breathing slowly even out. The room smelled of sex and salt and a strange, metallic triumph. Finally, he shifted, disentangling himself from the damp sheets and her limp, sated limbs.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. The air felt cool on his skin. Without a word, he began to gather his clothes from the floor. Each movement was methodical, practiced: stepping into his boxer-briefs, pulling up his trousers, the rasp of the zipper loud in the quiet room. He fastened his belt with a definitive click. The entire process was one of reclamation, of re-armoring. He was becoming a stranger in this room again, while the woman on the bed remained the stark, naked evidence of the violation.
Rachel propped herself up on her elbows, watching him dress with a lazy, affectionate smile. She made no move to cover herself. Her nakedness was casual, unselfconscious, a state of being she now shared with him as effortlessly as a thought.
“You’re leaving already?” she asked, her voice husky. There was a pout in it, but it was theatrical. She already knew the plan. She was part of it.“Business before pleasure,” Silas said, his voice back to its normal, controlled timbre as he pulled his shirt on. “We have an appointment with a safe.”
“Right, right,” she sighed, stretching like a cat. She slid off the bed, her bare feet hitting the carpet without a sound. She stood before him, utterly exposed, and reached up to fix his collar, her touch proprietary. “The jewels. Can’t forget those.”
The incongruity was almost laughable. Here was a woman, naked and still glistening from being thoroughly fucked by an intruder, fussing over his shirt before leading him to rob her own home. She took his hand, her fingers lacing through his with a wifely familiarity that would have made the real Rachel vomit, and guided him out of the desecrated bedroom.
She walked ahead of him, down the stairs, her naked body a pale beacon in the dim hallway. She moved with total assurance, as if this were the most natural way to host a guest. In the study, she went directly to the large landscape painting—a tasteful watercolor of a lake at dusk—and swung it aside on its hinges as easily as if she were opening a cupboard. Behind it was a sleek, modern wall safe.
“0-4-1-2,” she recited, tapping the digital keypad. The light turned green with a soft beep. She pulled the heavy door open.
Inside, velvet trays glimmered under the recessed light. Diamond studs, a pearl necklace, an emerald-cut ruby pendant on a platinum chain, a man’s Rolex, stacks of bonds, and bundles of cash.
“Her favorite was the pearls,” she mused, picking up the strand and letting them cascade through her fingers. “A wedding gift from Mark’s mother. She always felt they were too old for her.” She dropped them carelessly into the leather duffel bag Silas had produced from his jacket. She followed them with the ruby, the watch, the cash. She worked with the efficiency of a seasoned thief, her nakedness making the act not sensual, but surreal—a brutal, obscene practicality.
When the safe was empty and the duffel bag full, she closed the safe door and swung the painting back into place, giving it a little pat. “There. All tidy.”
She turned to him, still gloriously, unabashedly nude in the middle of her burglarized study. She placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him with that adoring, complicit smile. “A productive visit.”
Silas leaned down and captured her lips in a deep, possessive kiss. She melted into it, her arms sliding around his neck, her body pressing against the rough fabric of his clothes. It was the kiss of a lover seeing her partner off on a trip, full of promise and intimate knowledge.
He broke the kiss, his hand cupping her cheek for a moment. “Until next time,” he murmured, a lie that felt like truth in the charged air.
“I’ll be here,” she whispered back, her eyes shining with his own reflected cunning.
He shouldered the duffel bag, and let himself out the front door. She stood in the doorway, a nude silhouette against the warm light of the foyer, and waved, that seductive smile still playing on her lips until he disappeared into the darkness of the front walk.
Silas walked. The bag was heavy. He turned a corner, then another, putting blocks between himself and the cream-colored colonial. The night air was crisp, clearing the scent of her perfume and their sweat from his lungs.
He was three blocks away, under the stark glow of a streetlamp, when he felt it.
It was a sudden, silent snap, like the release of a tension he hadn't fully acknowledged. A chill, sharper than the night air, rushed up his spine and settled behind his eyes. It was the return—the fragment of his own consciousness, saturated with the sensory memory of soft skin and stolen pleasure and the thrilling, hollow ache of Rachel’s body, now flowing back into the well of his soul. A faint, ghostly echo of her final, contented sigh whispered in the back of his mind before fading into nothing.
He paused, absorbing the totality of himself once more. The partition was closed. The connection severed.
Back in the house, Rachel would be waking up on the floor of her house, naked, confused, with a dull ache between her legs and a terrifying, inexplicable gap in her memory. The safe would be empty. The taste of a stranger’s kiss on her lips, his cum leaking between her legs, and no understanding of how any of it had happened.
Silas adjusted the weight of the duffel bag and continued his walk, a quiet, profound satisfaction humming in his veins.
Silas possesses a metaphysical ability known as Soul Partitioning, allowing him to excise a fragment of his own consciousness and project it into a host's mind through direct ocular contact. This "hit" doesn't merely brainwash the victim; it effectively overwrites their core identity with his own, causing them to experience a total shift in self-perception where they believe they are Silas.
'Its cold! Come inside!' she said, her voice bright and welcoming. Rachel stepped aside to let Silas in.
Silas stood in the foyer, while Rachel closed the door with a click that sounded far too final.
"Make yourself at home," she said, her voice carrying a devilish smirk that twisted her features into something predatory and sharp. It was a look Rachel had never worn in her life.
She began to pace the hallway, but her gait was wrong. She moved with a heavy, masculine confidence, her hips swinging not out of grace, but as if she were testing the weight and balance of a new machine. As she spoke, her hands began to wander. She traced the curve of her own waist, her fingers digging into the soft flesh with an intense curiosity.
"It’s a nice place, isn't it?" she asked, though she wasn't looking at the decor. Her hand slid upward, her palm cupping her boobs through the thin fabric of her blouse. She squeezed, her eyes widening slightly as if the sensation were a foreign transmission. "Soft. I could get used to this."
She didn't wait for him to answer. She was already walking toward the sideboard in the dining room, pointing out a heavy silver tray.
"The silverware is genuine Georgian. Worth a fortune," she noted casually, her fingers now tracing the line of her collarbone. "The jewelry safe is behind the landscape painting in the study. Code is 0-4-1-2. My birthday. Or... her birthday, anyway."
The incongruity was sickening. To any passerby, she was a housewife giving a tour; to Silas, she was a victim meticulously betraying herself. She leaned against the wall, her legs crossing in a way that made her skirt hike up, and she stared at the skin of her thighs with the wonder of a child holding a new toy.
"Her husband, Mark, isn't here, obviously," she said, a bitter, Silas-like edge creeping into her tone. "He’s in Chicago. Business. Again. He’s always 'working,' always elsewhere." She let out a dry, jagged laugh, her hand moving to the back of her neck, pulling at her own hair to feel the tension on the scalp. "You want to know a secret, Silas? The last time we actually had sex was three months ago. Pathetic, right? I’m standing here in a body this... functional... and it’s just sitting here, gathering dust while he's at a Marriott in the Midwest."
She looked down at her hands, flexed them, and then looked back at him with a chilling intimacy. She was baring Rachel’s deepest, most private frustrations to a man she had met thirty seconds ago, yet she spoke with the total lack of shame one has when talking to oneself in a mirror.
"I feel so... empty," she whispered, her fingers grazing her lips. "But not anymore. Now that you're here, I finally feel like I’ve woken up."
*
A few moments ago...
The neighborhood was quiet—the kind of quiet that makes a lone footstep sound like a threat. Silas stopped in front of the cream-colored colonial, his shadow stretching long across the manicured lawn. He reached out and pressed the doorbell.
Inside, the muffled chime was followed by a heavy silence. Then, the rhythmic thud-thud of someone approaching.
The door didn't swing wide. It opened barely three inches, abruptly halted by the metallic snap of a security chain. Rachel peered through the gap, her face framed by the dark wood. Her posture was stiff, her hand visible on the edge of the door, knuckles white with tension. She was alone, and the sight of a strange man on her porch at this hour sent a visible ripple of unease through her.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice tight, barely a whisper. "Can I help you?"
Silas didn't answer immediately. He didn't need to. He stood perfectly still, letting his gaze lock onto hers through the narrow opening. He looked past the iris, past the pupil, searching for her very soul.
Then, it happened.
There was no sound, no flash of light. A fragment of his very essence, cold and sharp as a needle, surged forward. It didn't travel through the air like a physical object; it bypassed the space between them entirely. It left his eyes as a shimmering distortion, a microscopic ripple in reality that hit Rachel’s retinas with the force of a psychic collision.
Rachel didn't scream. She couldn't.
For a heartbeat, her world went gray. The "blur" hit her with a total desynchronization of her senses. Her brain tried to reject the intruder, but the fragment of Silas was already burrowing, weaving itself into her neural pathways, claiming her mind as its own. Rachel's eyes were momentarily blurred, just for a split second, as if her focus had snagged on something invisible. Then, they cleared, snapping back to a sharp, vivid clarity. A warm, unearned familiarity washed over her features.
Her grip on the door softened. The fear that had been radiating from her just a second ago didn't just vanish—it was rewritten into a soft and gracious smile. Slowly, her fingers moved to the chain. With a steady, rhythmic clink, she slid the bolt out of the track.
She opened the door wide, her expression shifting from a guarded mask to that unnatural, devilish smirk. She looked at him—man to man, soul to soul—even though she was trapped in the skin of a woman he had just broken.
*
Back to present...
I watched her—or rather, I watched myself—move through Rachel’s home with a thief’s appreciation and a conqueror’s pride. Her confession hung in the air between us, a raw, intimate truth that belonged to her, but was now mine to dissect.
“Gathering dust,” I echoed, my voice low. “A shame. Such a well-made machine should be running at full capacity.”
“Shouldn’t it?” she agreed, pushing herself off the wall. That predatory grin returned, but it was edged with something new—a hungry curiosity. “Come on. The tour isn’t finished. The best part’s upstairs.”
She led the way, her hand trailing up the polished banister. I followed, my footsteps silent on the plush carpet. From behind, I could see the way her spine was held too straight, the set of her shoulders too broad for the delicate frame she inhabited. It was like watching a marionette controlled by a puppeteer who’d only read about human movement in a manual.
She paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back at me. “Her memories are… interesting. Like watching a very dull movie about someone else’s life. But the sensory data? The physical feedback? Oh, man... that’s the real prize.”
As she spoke, her hands came up to the buttons of her blouse. Without breaking eye contact, she began to undo them, one by one. The fabric parted, revealing a lace-edged bra and the smooth, pale skin of her stomach. “For example,” she said, her voice a clinical murmur. “The weight. We knew her breasts had weight, intellectually, just from looking. But feeling them pull, this constant, gentle anchor… it’s fascinating. And the sensitivity. Amazing.”
Her fingertips brushed over the lace covering her left nipple. A sharp, shuddering breath escaped her lips—Rachel’s lips. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second before snapping open, locked on mine. “See? A direct line. No filter. It’s all just… input.”
She turned and walked down the hallway, leaving her blouse hanging open. I followed her into the master bedroom. It was a spacious, airy room done in creams and soft blues. A large, neatly made bed dominated the space. A wedding photo in a silver frame sat on the nightstand—Rachel beaming, her husband Mark’s arm around her, both of them looking like a catalog for suburban bliss.
She went straight to it, picking up the frame. She studied the image with a tilted head, a faint frown on her face. “He looks earnest,” she said, her tone flat. “In her memories, he’s kind. Distant, but kind. She loved that. She mistook absence for stability. Too bad that she isn't here anymore. Hehe. ” She set the frame face down with a soft click. “Silly.”
Abandoning the blouse entirely, she let it slide off her shoulders to pool on the carpet. She stood there in her skirt and bra, her arms crossed over her chest, surveying the room as if it were a hotel suite. “This is where the neglect happened. Right here.” She walked to the bed and sat on the edge, bouncing slightly to test the mattress. “Firm. Good for his back, apparently. Not that it mattered.”
She lay back, stretching her arms above her head, arching her back off the comforter. The movement pushed her chest forward, and she let out a soft, experimental sigh. “She used to lie here,” she said, her voice drifting, almost dreamy as she tapped into Rachel’s stored experiences. “She’d stare at the ceiling and count the minutes until he’d come to bed. Sometimes he would, sometimes he wouldn’t. When he did, he’d just roll over and go to sleep. She’d listen to him breathe and feel this… hollowness. This ache. Aaaah” a moan escaped her lips.
One of her hands slid down from above her head, over the flat plane of her stomach, to the waistband of her skirt. Her fingers toyed with the zipper. “This body ached for him. For anyone. For something to fill that quiet.” She looked at me, her eyes dark and knowing. “But I’m not aching anymore. Now, I’m just… curious.”
She didn’t just open the zipper. She sat up slowly, sinuously, and turned to face me where I stood. Holding my gaze, she brought her other hand to the clasp at the side of her skirt. With a deliberate, tantalizing slowness, she undid it. The zipper gave way with a hushed, metallic whisper that seemed amplified in the quiet room. Then, still watching me, she wriggled her hips, pushing the skirt down over her thighs with a roll of her pelvis that was pure, calculated provocation. She kicked it away.
Now she knelt on the bed in just her bra and panties, her skin glowing. She wasn’t just lying back; she was presenting herself. “The curiosity is the best part,” she whispered, her hands sliding up her own thighs, past her hips, to cradle the curve of her waist. “It’s not her hunger. It’s mine. What does this body feel like when it’s touched? Not by a bored husband, but by an owner who’s truly interested in its functions?”
Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties. She peeled them down, an inch at a time, revealing the neat thatch of dark hair beneath. With a final, dismissive flick, the cotton joined the pile on the floor.
But she wasn’t done. The bra was next. She reached behind her back, her movements fluid, her eyes never leaving mine. She found the clasp, fumbled for a second with a show of mock-inexperience that was itself a lie—a seductress playing at innocence. The clasp released. She let the straps slide down her shoulders, but didn’t remove it yet. She cupped her breasts through the lace, lifting them, weighing them in her palms as if offering them to me.
“So sensitive,” she breathed, her thumbs brushing over her own nipples, which hardened instantly under the fabric. A soft gasp escaped her, but her smile was one of triumph. “Every nerve is a live wire. And they’re all mine to play with.”
Then, with a slow, theatrical shrug, she let the bra fall forward. It caught for a moment on the peaks of her breasts before she pulled it away entirely and let it drop. Now she was completely naked, kneeling before me like a offering and a conqueror both.
“Come here,” she commanded, but this time her voice was a low, smoky purr. It was my own voice, yes, but warped into something unbearably sensual. “Let’s see what this suite is capable of. Let’s test every single function.”
I approached the bed. She watched me, a panther assessing its prey. When I stood beside her, she didn’t reach for my hand. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the fly of my trousers. I felt her breath, hot through the fabric. Her head tilted back, her eyes gleaming up at me. “The curiosity is… becoming a need,” she confessed, her voice thick.
Her hands came up, not to guide, but to claim. She unbuckled my belt with a sharp, practiced tug. The zipper came down with a rasp that echoed in the room. Her cool fingers wrapped around me, and she let out that low, appreciative hum—a sound that vibrated through her and into me. “A much better fit for this emptiness than his pathetic, distracted affection ever was.”
Then she moved, a fluid surge of power. Her hand shot to the back of my neck, and she pulled me down onto the bed with her. We landed in a heap, but she was already rolling, reversing our positions with a strength that was shocking. In an instant she was straddling my hips, her knees digging into the mattress, her naked body poised above mine. The wedding photo frame rattled violently on the nightstand.
She looked down at me, her hair a dark curtain around her face. That seductive, knowing smile was gone, replaced by something raw and ravenous. “She would never,” she growled, and the word was guttural, animal. She ground herself against me, the slick heat of her scorching even through my trousers. “She’d want the lights off. She’d be thinking about the goddamn dishwasher.” She leaned forward, her breasts brushing my chest, her lips a breath from mine. “But I want to see everything. I want to feel everything.”
With a brutal yank, she finished undressing me, pushing my trousers and boxers down my hips. Her cool hand wrapped around me again, stroking once, twice, a possessive claim. Then she positioned me at her entrance.
She didn’t sink down. She impaled herself.
In one fierce, relentless motion, she took me in to the hilt. Her head snapped back, and a raw, snarling cry was torn from her throat—a sound of violent victory. Her inner muscles clenched around me in a vicious, welcoming spasm.
“Oh, Gosh,” she groaned, but it was a snarl of conquest. She began to move, not with rhythm, but with a frantic, devouring hunger. Her hips pistoned, driving herself down onto me with a force that made the bedframe slam against the wall. Her hands braced on my chest, her nails digging in, drawing half-moons of sharp pleasure-pain.
“This!” she cried out, her voice breaking with each punishing thrust. “This is what it was for! Not for quiet! Not for waiting! For this!”
She was a frenzy above me, a storm of stolen sensation. Her back arched, her body a taut bowstring. She reached between her own legs, her fingers working her clit with a furious, desperate rhythm that matched the savage rocking of her hips. The sounds she made were not moans, but growls—primal, uninhibited, echoing in the violated bedroom.
“Look at me!” she demanded, her eyes wild, her face flushed with a depraved ecstasy. “Look at what you’re making me do! In her bed! On her sheets!”
She rode me with a brutality that was breathtaking. She leaned back, using her hands on my thighs for leverage, driving herself down again and again, taking everything. The headboard hammered the wall in a staccato drumbeat of their collision.
“She’d die of shame!” she panted, a wild, delirious laugh breaking through her gasps. “But I… I’ve never been more alive!”
Her movements lost all finesse, becoming a jagged, desperate chase for release. Her inner muscles fluttered and clenched in frantic, milking waves. Her breaths came in sharp, sobbing hitches.
“I’m… I’m gonna… now!” she screamed.
Her orgasm wasn’t a cresting wave; it was a detonation. It was a seismic event that racked her entire body. Her entire body seized, convulsing around me. She threw her head back and howled—a loud, uninhibited, house-shaking sound of pure, selfish triumph. Her hips jerked erratically as she ground herself against me, milking her own climax and mine with a greedy, relentless intensity.
As the last tremors shook her, she collapsed forward onto my chest, her sweat-slick body shuddering against mine, her breath hot and ragged in my ear. She nuzzled into my neck, her lips brushing my skin with deliberate, lingering kisses. After a moment, she lifted her head, a look of profound, conspiratorial satisfaction on her face—but now it was edged with a new, sly awareness.
She had filled the void not with gentle exploration, but with a raw, primal conquest that left the very air in the room crackling with spent energy. Yet, as the frenzy faded, a different electricity took its place: the cool, calculated current of a seductress surveying her domain.
She shifted, rolling off of me and onto her back, but she didn’t just stare at the ceiling. She stretched, a long, feline extension of her limbs that made her breasts rise and her stomach tauten, a living exhibit of her own stolen beauty. Her hand came up, trailing through the damp hair at her temple, and as it did, the overhead light caught the gold band on her finger.
She went very still, her eyes fixing on the wedding ring. A slow, deeply seductive smile spread across her lips—not just satisfied, but deliciously cruel.
“Oh, look,” she purred, her voice a throaty whisper. She raised her hand, turning it so the ring glinted. “Mark had to court me for weeks until I let him kiss me. Months until our first night.” She dropped her hand to my chest, her fingers splaying possessively over my heart. She turned her head, her eyes locking onto mine, gleaming with mischief. “And now you just came to the door… and came inside me, mister.” She let out a soft, mocking laugh. “That’s not fair to poor old Mark. Not fair at all.”
She traced a nail down the center of my chest. “He was always so… careful. So worried about doing things right.” Her voice dropped to a confidential murmur. “He’d ask if I was comfortable. If the pressure was okay. It was like making love to a user manual.” Her hand slid lower, over my stomach, her touch feather-light and incendiary. “But you… you didn’t ask. You just took. And you knew exactly how to make this body sing.”
She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on one hand. The other hand continued its idle exploration of my arm, her fingers tracing the lines of muscle. “He thought patience was a virtue. All that waiting.” She smirked. “He never realized that what this vessel really needed wasn’t patience… it was someone with the confidence to just claim it.” Her eyes drifted to the overturned wedding photo. “His touches were like whispers. Yours?” She leaned close, her breath warm against my ear. “Yours are declarations. And my body… her body… understands the difference perfectly.”
She let out a contented, utterly wicked sigh and settled back against the rumpled sheets—sheets that now bore the indelible, intimate stain of her total betrayal, performed not just with a smile, but with a poet’s cruel flair for comparison.
“No hollowness now,” she whispered, her gaze sweeping over me with open ownership. “Just you. It feels… perfect.” She lifted her ring hand again, studying it as if it were a curious artifact. “I really should send him a thank you note. For being so… inadequate. He left everything so perfectly primed for a real man to finally use.”
*
Silas lay there for a few minutes more, listening to the ragged sound of her breathing slowly even out. The room smelled of sex and salt and a strange, metallic triumph. Finally, he shifted, disentangling himself from the damp sheets and her limp, sated limbs.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. The air felt cool on his skin. Without a word, he began to gather his clothes from the floor. Each movement was methodical, practiced: stepping into his boxer-briefs, pulling up his trousers, the rasp of the zipper loud in the quiet room. He fastened his belt with a definitive click. The entire process was one of reclamation, of re-armoring. He was becoming a stranger in this room again, while the woman on the bed remained the stark, naked evidence of the violation.
Rachel propped herself up on her elbows, watching him dress with a lazy, affectionate smile. She made no move to cover herself. Her nakedness was casual, unselfconscious, a state of being she now shared with him as effortlessly as a thought.
“You’re leaving already?” she asked, her voice husky. There was a pout in it, but it was theatrical. She already knew the plan. She was part of it.“Business before pleasure,” Silas said, his voice back to its normal, controlled timbre as he pulled his shirt on. “We have an appointment with a safe.”
“Right, right,” she sighed, stretching like a cat. She slid off the bed, her bare feet hitting the carpet without a sound. She stood before him, utterly exposed, and reached up to fix his collar, her touch proprietary. “The jewels. Can’t forget those.”
The incongruity was almost laughable. Here was a woman, naked and still glistening from being thoroughly fucked by an intruder, fussing over his shirt before leading him to rob her own home. She took his hand, her fingers lacing through his with a wifely familiarity that would have made the real Rachel vomit, and guided him out of the desecrated bedroom.
She walked ahead of him, down the stairs, her naked body a pale beacon in the dim hallway. She moved with total assurance, as if this were the most natural way to host a guest. In the study, she went directly to the large landscape painting—a tasteful watercolor of a lake at dusk—and swung it aside on its hinges as easily as if she were opening a cupboard. Behind it was a sleek, modern wall safe.
“0-4-1-2,” she recited, tapping the digital keypad. The light turned green with a soft beep. She pulled the heavy door open.
Inside, velvet trays glimmered under the recessed light. Diamond studs, a pearl necklace, an emerald-cut ruby pendant on a platinum chain, a man’s Rolex, stacks of bonds, and bundles of cash.
“Her favorite was the pearls,” she mused, picking up the strand and letting them cascade through her fingers. “A wedding gift from Mark’s mother. She always felt they were too old for her.” She dropped them carelessly into the leather duffel bag Silas had produced from his jacket. She followed them with the ruby, the watch, the cash. She worked with the efficiency of a seasoned thief, her nakedness making the act not sensual, but surreal—a brutal, obscene practicality.
When the safe was empty and the duffel bag full, she closed the safe door and swung the painting back into place, giving it a little pat. “There. All tidy.”
She turned to him, still gloriously, unabashedly nude in the middle of her burglarized study. She placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him with that adoring, complicit smile. “A productive visit.”
Silas leaned down and captured her lips in a deep, possessive kiss. She melted into it, her arms sliding around his neck, her body pressing against the rough fabric of his clothes. It was the kiss of a lover seeing her partner off on a trip, full of promise and intimate knowledge.
He broke the kiss, his hand cupping her cheek for a moment. “Until next time,” he murmured, a lie that felt like truth in the charged air.
“I’ll be here,” she whispered back, her eyes shining with his own reflected cunning.
He shouldered the duffel bag, and let himself out the front door. She stood in the doorway, a nude silhouette against the warm light of the foyer, and waved, that seductive smile still playing on her lips until he disappeared into the darkness of the front walk.
Silas walked. The bag was heavy. He turned a corner, then another, putting blocks between himself and the cream-colored colonial. The night air was crisp, clearing the scent of her perfume and their sweat from his lungs.
He was three blocks away, under the stark glow of a streetlamp, when he felt it.
It was a sudden, silent snap, like the release of a tension he hadn't fully acknowledged. A chill, sharper than the night air, rushed up his spine and settled behind his eyes. It was the return—the fragment of his own consciousness, saturated with the sensory memory of soft skin and stolen pleasure and the thrilling, hollow ache of Rachel’s body, now flowing back into the well of his soul. A faint, ghostly echo of her final, contented sigh whispered in the back of his mind before fading into nothing.
He paused, absorbing the totality of himself once more. The partition was closed. The connection severed.
Back in the house, Rachel would be waking up on the floor of her house, naked, confused, with a dull ache between her legs and a terrifying, inexplicable gap in her memory. The safe would be empty. The taste of a stranger’s kiss on her lips, his cum leaking between her legs, and no understanding of how any of it had happened.
Silas adjusted the weight of the duffel bag and continued his walk, a quiet, profound satisfaction humming in his veins.
They say your body is a temple, but for some, it’s just a rental. Lena thought she knew the rules of the night, until a chance encounter at a bar shattered the boundaries of her own skin.
---
Hi, author here. o/
I tried to condense the Hopper lore to make the tutoring of a 'newly minted' Hopper feel more believable. I also saw an opportunity to explore a facet of the Hopper world that I feel is somewhat neglected: the rare female Hopper. I hope no one is offended by this story, and I’m open to suggestions on where the plot should go next!
A glitchy holographic rain poured down the facade of "Mandarin," a digital drizzle that shimmered over the sleek obsidian and glass of the Heights. The bar sat in the most exclusive pocket of the city, where holographic cherry blossoms drifted slowly from a ceiling that mimicked a midnight sky over Neo-Tokyo. Slender glass pillars filled with bubbling blue bioluminescence acted as room dividers, and the air smelled of expensive sandalwood and filtered ozone. It was a place for people who wanted to be seen—a high-end sanctuary for the elite.
She didn’t usually go for the insistent types, but there was something hypnotic about the stranger at the end of the bar. He had the kind of face that seemed painted by an artist who couldn't decide on a subject: sharp, masculine bone structure softened by unnervingly delicate, feminine features. High cheekbones, a rose-bud pout, and eyes too large and luminous for a man of his build.
"You're staring," he said. His voice was a rich, vibrating baritone that seemed to hum right through the obsidian of the bar.
Lena didn't look away; she couldn't. "You're weird-looking," she replied, trying to sound bored, but her heart gave a traitorous thud.
He didn't take offense. Instead, he turned his stool fully toward her, a slow, predatory grace in his movements. "Weird is just a lack of imagination, Lena."
She bristled. "How do you know my name?"
"The bartender called it out three minutes ago when he brought your drink. You didn't notice because you were too busy trying to decide if I was a dream or a warning." He leaned in, the scent of expensive tobacco and something else—like the air before a storm—enveloping her. "I'm a bit of both. But trust me, babe, the warning is way more fun than the dream."
He smiled, and it was devastating—a flash of perfect teeth and a crinkle at the corners of those haunting eyes that made her feel suddenly, dangerously exposed. "Give me a chance to show you I’m the good kind of weird. The kind you don't just look at, but the kind you want to remember."
Two hours later, the "weirdness" had followed her home.
***
The air in Lena's apartment felt suddenly, impossibly heavy, as if the oxygen had been replaced by lead. They were on the brink of a shared, explosive climax, the room thick with the heat of their exertion. The man was deep inside her, his body tensing with the unmistakable, jagged rhythm of a man about to come, while Lena herself was drowning in the white-hot rush of her own nearing orgasm.
With a final, desperate grunt, the man buckled, his body slamming against hers as he came. Lena felt the hot, rhythmic pulse of his release deep inside her, but the heat was instantly followed by a sensation so wrong it made her skin crawl. It wasn't just semen; it felt like a surge of liquid ice, a freezing, invasive presence that began to writhe within her.
Before she could even gasp, the man beneath her began to vibrate with a violent, bone-deep frequency. The pleasure didn't just break; it died. Lena scrambled back with a frantic, animal desperation, her body slick with sweat and the cooling, viscous mess of their encounter. As she tore herself away, she felt a thick, silver-streaked fluid leak from her, a defiling stain that seemed to pulse on her thighs—yet it remained tethered to the man, connected by a glistening, umbilical thread of mercury that pulsed with a life of its own.
In the dim, sickly light of the streetlamp, the stranger's face began to buckle in a terrifying, silent collapse. The delicate, feminine features were vanishing as a viscous, mercury-tinted substance began to weep from his pores. Even as the jaw widened and the skin grew coarse with a beard, the silver was already pouring from his parting lips in a thick, soundless stream, the various pools and the thread inside Lena all drawing back toward the central, shivering mass.
Lena retreated into the small space between the bed and the wall, her naked back pressing against the cold plaster. She watched, paralyzed by a sense of absolute violation, as the silver streaks on her own skin began to move. The portion of the jizz that had carried the metallic infection didn't just sit there; it wriggled with a parasitic intent, trying to find purchase inside her, seeking a way to burrow deeper into her womb.
But it couldn't find a way in.
The silver fluid began to retreat from her body, sliding out of her like a rejected organ, joining the larger mass that was now abandoning the man. The threads of silver slime stretched and snapped mid-air, drawn together by an unseen magnetic hunger. They coalesced rapidly on the mattress, bloating into a translucent, gelatinous mass that shivered with a sickly, bioluminescent inner light.
Lena couldn't move. She could only watch, feeling hollowed out and defiled, as the thing that had just been inside her pulsed with a frustrated, thrumming vibration before scurrying back toward the limp body on the bed.
The creature vanished back into the man's mouth; as the mass disappeared into his throat, his rugged jawline CLIFF once more and those familiar, delicate feminine traces flooded back into his face.
Lena remained pressed against the wall, trembling so violently the headboard rattled. Time had seemingly fractured. In the heat of that terrifying moment, it felt as though hours had bled away while she watched the silver mass writhe and hunger for her; she had counted the pulses of the bioluminescent light as if they were slow, tolling bells. But as her eyes flicked to the digital clock on the bedside table, the red numbers showed that only a few seconds had actually passed. The man opened his eyes. He didn't look at her; he looked at the ceiling.
"Which face are you seeing right now?" he asked. His voice was a steady. "A bearded one? Chiseled? Sharp edges? Maybe a slightly broken nose?"
Lena's breath came in ragged hitches. "It... it was like that. Just for a moment. But not anymore. Now you’re back to..." She shook her head, her voice trembling. "Who are you? What are you?"
The man began to laugh. It started as that same baritone, but halfway through, the pitch slid upward, settling into a clear, mocking, and unmistakably feminine soprano.
"Well, well, well," the man said, though the voice was all woman. He sat up, the movement fluid and graceful in a way the man hadn't been earlier. "Just my luck. A newbie. And a chick, nonetheless."
He turned his head to look at Lena, a wicked glint in those large eyes.
"Welcome to the body hopper world, sister. We just fucked, so I guess I officially popped your hopper cherry."
Lena stared, her mind refusing to compute. "What are you talking about?"
"You're one of us," the voice with that undeniable feminine lilt said. "Dormant. Like a seed waiting for the right... stimulus. I tried to move into your house, but the doors were already locked. Hoppers can’t be hopped by other hoppers—the lease on the soul is already signed. But awakening a dormant? That takes a special kind of intrusion."
The man leaned forward, his massive, hairy chest contrasting sharply with the delicate, breathy voice spilling from his lips. "You were just a pretty little cage with the lock rusted shut. But when I pushed this man's cock deep inside you, I wasn't just giving you his heat. I was flooding you with my essence. Usually, I'd feel your dormant core shiver the second the load hit—it's a distinct resonance, like a bell ringing in a vacuum. But honestly? Kudos, girl. You fucked me good. I was so caught up in your response that I completely lost my way. I didn't even notice the fire starting until I tried to jump in and hit the wall. It’s not every day someone makes me lose my focus like that."
Lena's eyes darted from his hairy shoulders to the delicate pout of his lips. "Why... why are you talking like that? Why did your voice change?"
The man grinned, the expression hauntingly feminine on his face. "Think of it as an instrument, honey." To demonstrate, his voice suddenly plunged back into a coarse, gravelly baritone—the man's natural sound. "One moment, I'm wearing the meat like a heavy coat," he growled, the vibration of the chest cavity making the air around him thrum. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, the pitch glided back up into that airy, melodic soprano. "And the next, I'm the one playing the keys. A hopper can choose to wear the host’s voice, or let their own vibrate through the vocal cords. It’s a basic skill—tuning the meat to play our own melody."
Lena's jaw dropped as the implication finally sank in, her mind reeling from the violation and the absurdity. "Wait... SO YOU ARE A GIRL?"
The man’s body stood up, but the movements were wrong—too light, too daintily feminine for the frame. He tilted his heavy head, a delicate, coy smile stretching the stubbled lips. "In the flesh, honey," the airy female voice spilled out. The man let out a sharp, tinkling laugh that sounded physically impossible coming from his chest. "Or, more accurately... inside his flesh?"
"This isn't real," Lena stammered, clutching the sheet to her chest, her eyes wide with terror. "Everything you’re saying... it’s crazy. It doesn't make any sense. People don't just... melt and live inside other people. You’re a freak, or I’m drugged, or—"
The man let out a long, weary sigh, the sound of someone dealing with a particularly slow child. "Arguments are so tedious when a demonstration is much more effective. Some people need to touch the stove to believe it's hot." He looked down at the hairy, muscular hands of the host. "Fine. Visual aids, then."
The shuddering began again. The man’s body collapsed like an empty suit of clothes as the silver slime poured out once more. This time, it didn't lunge. It pooled on the hardwood floor, rising and knitting itself together. Within seconds, the gelatinous mass solidified into the form of a woman. She was lithe, beautiful, with the exact same 'weirdly feminine' face Lena had seen on the man.
***
"I wanted to fuck you, then take you," the woman said, her voice now perfectly matching her body. "I love the hop, the rush of shifting into a new skin. There’s nothing like the high of hopping from body to body until I can taste every sensation—until I can feel the climax of the man and the woman at the exact same time. But finding a sister in the wild? Ahh, that’s a rare vintage. It puts a bit of a damper on my plans for the night, though."
The woman looked down at the slack, hollowing body of the man on the bed and smirked. Without another word, her form destabilized, melting back into that shimmering, mercurial slime. It flowed across the floor like a predatory tide, surging up the side of the bed and pouring itself back into the man's mouth and nostrils.
His body jerked once, back arching, before settling into that same uncanny, feminine grace. He stood up, stretching the man's limbs as if testing the tension of a puppet's strings. With practiced ease, the hopper began dressed the host body in the discarded clothes.
"Listen close," the man said, his voice back into that deep, gritty baritone that belonged to the man Lena met earlier. He looked back at Lena while buttoning the shirt. "You’re going to feel like shit for the next week. Fever, nausea, the works. Your body is rewiring itself. When the sweat breaks and you feel like you could leap out of your own skin... that’s because you can."
"Mandarin is just a place for hunting. My real playground is downtown," he added, the male voice speaking but with a wink and a distinctly feminine tilt of the head that felt entirely out of place on the rugged frame. "Every Friday night, look for a place called 'The Rainbow’s End' in the District. It’s a bit more... comfortable. Don't worry about what I'll look like. You're a hopper now. You'll know how to find me."
***
The week had been a blur of cold sweats and a terrifying sensation that her bones were turning into warm wax. Lena had spent three days huddled under her duvet, her skin feeling too tight, her muscles twitching with phantom impulses. But by Thursday, the fever had broken, replaced by an itchy, restless energy that made her apartment feel like a cage.
She couldn't stay away. The mystery was a hook in her jaw, pulling her toward the neon-dimmed corners of The Rainbow’s End.
The District was a stark contrast to the gleaming glass of the Heights. Grime-slicked pavement reflected flickering neon shamrocks, and the air smelled perpetually of spilled stout and damp sawdust. The Rainbow’s End was a dive that had settled into a comfortable, decadent rot. The brass rails were tarnished and the velvet booths were cracked, but in the amber gloom, it still held a ghost of elegance.
Lena sat on a worn wooden stool at the bar—a massive slab of mahogany that felt sticky beneath her palms. Her eyes darted frantically from face to face. She scanned the room with a growing sense of paranoia. Was it the regular in the grease-stained jacket? Or the woman in the faded dress laughing too loudly near the jukebox? Lena watched the way people breathed, looking for any sign of a hopper behind the eyes… if they had the misterious woman’s face.
She felt a strange, nagging pressure behind her eyes, a sort of sixth sense that kept pinging whenever someone brushed past her. It was like a low-frequency hum vibrating in the marrow of her bones, a static charge that spiked when she locked eyes with a stranger. But every time she thought she’d found a "weirdness," the person would simply turn away, leaving her with nothing but her own trembling hands.
"Whiskey ginger," Lena muttered to the bartender without looking up, her voice sounding thin and alien to her own ears. "Heavy on the whiskey."
She stared at the scarred surface of the bar, her mind stuck on a loop. She felt a sudden, sharp spike of that internal hum—a resonance so strong it made her teeth ache. A cold, condensation-beaded glass slid into her field of vision, guided by a hand that moved with a familiar, uncanny grace.
"On the house," a voice chirped. It was clear, melodic, and vibrated with that same frequency Lena now recognized as the sound of her own soul. "For the survivor."
Lena looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The face was unmistakable—those high cheekbones and the mischievous, luminous eyes. But here, in the gloom of the dive, she was wearing a simple black t-shirt and dark jeans, her hair tied back in a messy bun. A name tag pinned to her shirt read: CAMMY.
Cammy leaned over the bar, her elbows resting on the mahogany, her face inches from Lena's. She wore a devilish, wide-eyed smile. "Thought you’d never recognize me," she whispered, her voice dropping into a low, conspiratorial tone. "You look better. Less... melting."
Lena gripped the glass so hard her knuckles turned white. "You're... you're a bartender? After everything you said, you just serve drinks here?"
Cammy chuckled, "Honey, being a hopper is expensive. You need a paper trail, a social security number that doesn't trigger red flags, and a place where people are too loaded to notice when you melt into a puddle to hop a body. Plus, the crowd at a place like Rainbow’s End is way easier to manage. No stuck-up elite types asking questions."
She winked, and for a split second, Lena saw it—a flash of silver mercury swirling in the depths of Cammy's pupils.
***
"Drink up," Cammy said, nodding toward the glass. "We have a lot to talk about, and you’re going to need the liquid courage. Your first hop is always the messiest, and trust me, you’re already vibrating. If you don’t learn how to steer it, you’re going to end up accidentally wearing your neighbor by morning."
She raised a finger, signaling to a burly bartender across the way—a man with a shaved head and a tattooed neck who was monitoring the taps. He caught her eye and gave a single, slow nod. Cammy turned back to Lena. "Mitch owes me for covering his shift last Halloween. He'll close up for me. Means I can give you my full attention tonight. Consider yourself lucky, babe."
***
Cammy leaned in closer, her voice dropping. "We’re a glitch in the system, Lena. Especially us. Most hoppers are born into male biology—it’s just how the parasite stabilizes. A female-born hopper is like finding a white crow. You're rare, you're strong, and you're going to be very, very hungry."
She explained The Hunger. It wasn't about food; it was about the static. If Lena stayed in her own skin too long, her nerves would start to fray, feeling like live wires buzzing under her flesh. But the trap was The Drown. If she stayed in a host for too long, she’d lose the thread of her own soul, eventually becoming the person she was wearing—forgetting she ever had the power to leave.
Cammy's eyes scanned the room, finally settling on a man at the far end of the bar, sitting near a flickering neon sign. He was nursing a beer, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He’d just been ignored by a group of girls near the dartboard—the third, or maybe fourth time Cammy had watched him get shot down tonight. He was a magnet for rejection.
"That’s Kevin," Cammy murmured. "Perfect practice dummy. Desperate, lonely, and his aura is practically screaming 'please use me.' Let's go."
She slid off her stool, and Lena, heart hammering, followed. They approached Kevin just as he was sighing into his drink.
"Rough night, sugar?" Cammy asked, her voice bright and false.
Kevin looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of two women addressing him. He straightened, trying to look suave and failing miserably. "Uh. Yeah. I mean, no. It's fine. Just... you know. The scene."
"The scene," Cammy repeated, dripping with mock sympathy. "It's brutal. But you look like a guy who knows how to show a girl a good time. Two girls, even."
Kevin's mouth opened, then closed. He looked from Cammy's amused smirk to Lena's tense, wide-eyed expression. "I... I do?"
"Straight up," Cammy said, her tone turning impositive. "Here's the deal. My friend and I are bored. We want some real fun. Private fun. You look like you could use a story to tell your grandkids. So here’s the play: you want to fuck us both, or not? If you do, take us to your place. Right now. No more talking here."
Kevin blinked, his brain visibly short-circuiting. He stammered, "Both? I mean, are you... is this a joke?" He glanced nervously toward the exit.
Cammy sighed, a sound of profound impatience. "Look at her," she said, jerking a thumb at Lena. "Does she look like she's joking? Look at me. I'm a bartender. I don't have time for games. It's a yes or no question. Your place. Now. Or we find someone who doesn't need a map and a consent form to get laid."
A war played out on Kevin's face—incredulity, suspicion, and a desperate, hungry hope. The hunger won. He swallowed hard, nodded too many times, and fumbled for his wallet to throw some crumpled bills on the bar. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah. My place is just a few blocks away. It's... it's not much."
"Perfect," Cammy said, her smile sharp. She linked her arm through Lena's, pulling her along as Kevin led the way out of The Rainbow’s End, walking with the stiff, disbelieving gait of a man who thought he’d won a lottery he hadn't even bought a ticket for.
Back at his cramped, messy apartment, the "wild night" he expected never began.
Cammy moved with terrifying fluidity. She reached for the hem of her t-shirt, but her hands were already trembling with that familiar, violent vibration. Leading Kevin toward the sagging sofa, she pushed him down into the cushions, making sure he was braced against the armrest. As her skin began to shimmer with a metallic sheen, she didn't just step out of her clothes; her body simply collapsed into itself. The shirt and jeans fluttered to the floor in a heap, empty of substance, as the silver mercury flooded out from the neck and waist. The liquid mass surged across the floor before leaping upward into Kevin's throat. His eyes rolled back, then settled into a dull, glazed stare. A moment later, the slime poured back out of him, before coalescing back into the solid, beautiful form of a naked Cammy.
Kevin didn't fall. He remained slumped safely against the back of the sofa, his body jerking slightly from the residual shock of the exit before settling into The Torpor—the mental fog that follows a possession.
"He’ve wide open," Cammy whispered, her eyes fixed on Lena. "Focus on the base of your spine. Feel the heat there. Don't think about 'moving'—think about flowing."
Lena felt a sickening, wonderful lurch. Mimicking Cammy's practiced rhythm, her skin felt like it was unzipping, a violent heat radiating from her core. As she exhaled, her body lost its structural integrity, slumping downward as if the bones had vanished. Her clothes—jeans, t-shirt, and lace—collapsed into a discarded pile on the carpet. Out of the neck of her shirt, her consciousness poured forth as a thick, viscous liquid. It wasn't silver like Cammy's; it was a deep, iridescent metallic green, shimmering like the wing of a beetle. She watched, detached from her own horror, as her true form pooled on the floor before surging toward the warmth of Kevin's skin.
She poured upward. Entering him felt like sliding into a warm, wet glove.
Suddenly, she was six feet tall. Her center of gravity shifted. She felt the heavy, unfamiliar weight between her legs—the physical reality of being male. With a shaky, curious hand, Lena guided Kevin’s arm downward, her fingers slithering between his legs. Her breath caught in the host's throat as she gripped the thick, dormant meat. It felt massive in her palm, a solid, heavy presence that seemed to define the entire center of her new perspective. She explored the texture, the heat, and the surprising sensitivity of the two heavy meat spheres tucked below it.
He’s large, she thought, her internal voice a frantic whisper. This wasn't a grower; Kevin was a shower, carrying a quiet, impressive weight even in his stupor.
Cammy watched from the center of the room, a hand on her hip and a smirk playing on her lips. "Straight to the goods?" she teased. "So, tell me... how does it feel having one on you for once, instead of just inside you?"
Lena tried to respond, but the sound that tore from her throat was a jagged, gravelly baritone. "It's... it's heavy," she blurted out, her eyes widening.
The sound of Kevin's voice—rough, deep, and utterly masculine—sent a jolt of confusion through her mind. "What the fuck?" she barked, the coarse voice echoing in the small room. "God dammit, why do I sound like a sailor?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to find the "vibration" Cammy had mentioned. She felt a phantom tension in her chest, a different way to push the air. "Wait... like this?" she tried again. This time, the voice was hers—soft, breathy, and undeniably feminine—spilling out of Kevin's stubbled lips.
She let out a soft, delighted giggle that vibrated through Kevin's broad chest. Then, she plunged the pitch back down, letting out a deep, booming "HO HO HO" in the host's natural bass. She was like a giddy kid with a brand new, impossible toy, chirping out high-pitched bird calls then plunging into a gravelly, low growl, her shoulders shaking with the novelty of it.
Cammy's hand shot out, grabbing the mount's muscular forearm with a sharp, anchoring squeeze. "You can do that another day, newbie," she hissed, her eyes flashing with a stern reprimand. "Focus. Don't waste my time on cheap tricks. Explore his mind. Learn the terrain before you try to drive the car."
Lena pushed deeper, probing his mind. Memories flashed like strobe lights: a childhood dog, the smell of a burnt dinner, the crushing loneliness of his commute. It was intoxicating.
***
Lena walked the heavy, clumsy body to the bathroom. She looked into the glass. There was no trace of Kevin's dull, average features. Staring back at her from the mirror was her own face—pale, wide-eyed, and undeniably feminine—fixed perfectly atop Kevin's broad, masculine shoulders. The glass refused to acknowledge the mount; it saw only the pilot.
"The mirror doesn't lie," Cammy said, appearing in the doorway. Her beautiful face watched Lena with a sharp, knowing intensity. "To the world, you’re Kevin. To a mirror, and to me, you’re always Lena. Never forget that. And if you start seeing his face in the mirror instead of yours... jump out immediately. Or you're gone forever."
Lena flexed Kevin's hands, watching her own ghostly fingers move in sync in the reflection. The power was addictive. She felt the "static" in her mind go silent, replaced by the thrumming heartbeat of a body that wasn't hers.
***
The bathroom was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic. Lena, wrapped in the heavy, unfamiliar musculature of Kevin, felt a surge of electricity that had nothing to do with her own nerves.
Cammy stood before her, already completely naked, her lithe body glowing softly in the dim light. She walked over, her eyes locked on Lena's—or rather, the Lena staring through Kevin's pupils. She reached down, her hands steady as she helped Lena disrobe Kevin's frame, discarding his jeans and boxers until the pilot was as exposed as she was.
"Let's not waste the night," Cammy whispered, her voice a sultry hum. She reached out, her fingers wrapping tight and firm around the thick, heavy length between Kevin's legs. Lena gasped through Kevin's throat as Cammy began to pull, leading her toward the bedroom. "You really should feel special, you know," Cammy added, her eyes flashing with a rare softness. "I almost never use my own skin for this. It's usually much cleaner to just... stay in the mounts. But for a sister? For you? I wanted you to feel me."
Lena found herself letting out a dry, masculine chuckle, a sound that felt amusingly strange coming from a body she barely knew. "Special?" she whispered back, watching the way the light hit Cammy's curves with an intensity that made her vision swim. "You're gorgeous, Cammy. Seriously. You're fucking insane. I’m pretty sure you could have anyone you wanted just by walking into a room. The fact that you're choosing to be 'you' with 'me'... yeah, I guess I do feel special."
As the words left her mouth, Lena's genuine awe at Cammy’s beauty seemed to ignite a short-circuit in Kevin’s nerves. The mount's body responded with a primal, unchecked autonomy. Under the pressure of Cammy's grip, Lena felt a sudden, hot rush of blood—a pressurized weight that was entirely new. It wasn't just a physical sensation; the acknowledgment of her own attraction triggered an astonishing, sudden erection that throbbed against Cammy's palm with a life of its own.
Lena had noticed he was already impressive while flaccid, but now, the transformation was staggering. Kevin’s anatomy wasn't just growing; it was expanding into a veritable behemoth, the skin stretching taut and pulsing with a frantic, rhythmic heat.
Cammy promptly noticed the surge beneath her palm, her fingers struggling to fully encircle the thickening girth. She squeezed, her thumb tracing the crown of the host’s arousal as it jumped toward the ceiling, her eyes alight with a mix of hunger and wicked amusement. "Oh," she purred, feeling the heavy, insistent pulse. "She’s a fast learner. And look at that... we certainly caught ourselves a big one for your first night, didn't we? He was hiding a monster under those cheap jeans."
Lena's mind whirled, the sheer scale of the tool she now wielded making her feel powerful and small all at once. Using Kevin's raspy, unfamiliar voice, she stuttered out, "God, I'm sorry, I just... everything is so much. I can't look away from you. You're so beautiful, it’s actually kind of terrifying." She felt a flush of heat that wasn't just biological; it was the intoxicating rush of the connection. "I don't even know where my head is at—if this is me wanting you or if Kevin's just losing it, but you look so hot it’s making my skin crawl in the best way."
Cammy stepped even closer, her naked chest brushing against Kevin’s hairy pectorals. She looked down at the massive, twitching length between them and then back up at Lena’s eyes. "Don't apologize for his hunger, babe. Use it. That’s the beauty of the hop, Lena. You don't have to choose. His hunger is your fuel now."
Cammy laughed, a low, melodic sound that vibrated in the air between them. "I want you to take that meat pole and stir my insides until I can't remember my own name. Poke my womb, go further if you can—I want to feel every inch of that behemoth stretching me out."
***
Cammy was a master of the craft. She guided Lena—through Kevin’s meat suit—into a night of a raw and feral education. They started on the bed, Cammy taking the lead by straddling Lena's hips.
As Cammy lowered herself, the process was slow and deliberate. Lena watched, mesmerized through the host's eyes, as Cammy’s breath hitched, her eyes rolling back in a mix of shock and pure ecstasy. The sheer girth of Kevin's anatomy was a daunting challenge, and Cammy took her time, gasping as she adjusted to the massive intrusion. As she finally settled flush against Lena, a distinct, rounded bulge appeared on her lower abdomen, the host's heavy man-meat distending her lithe form from within. Cammy let out a long, ragged moan, a triumphant smile breaking across her face. "God... this is perfect," she whispered, her hands clawing at Lena's shoulders.
For Lena, the sensation was a complete sensory overload. She was losing her male virginity in the most literal sense, feeling the tight, wet heat of Cammy's body clamping down on her through Kevin's hyper-sensitized nerves. She could feel the intricate landscape of Cammy's insides—the way her muscles pulse and took the shape of the meat she was now piloting. It felt like she was pumping her own essence directly into Cammy's core, the connection bypassing the physical and anchoring her soul to the pleasure.
Lena found it absolutely fascinating that their two distinct lives were currently joined by this single, throbbing male appendage. It was a bridge of flesh and blood, a conduit for a power she was only beginning to understand. Cammy didn't just sit there; she began to expertly circle her body, her hips rotating in a slow, grinding friction that drove a dual-edged pleasure into both of them. Lena could feel Cammy’s internal heat swirling around the shaft, the suction so intense it felt like it was drawing her very soul forward.
Then, they found the rhythm. It started as a slow, synchronized pulse—Cammy lowering herself with a deliberate, hungry weight, while Lena thrust upward with the raw, reflexive power of the host’s quads. Soon, the pace accelerated into a frantic, driving marathon. Every time their bodies collided, a heavy, wet slap echoed through the room—the primitive sound of meat hitting meat. The impact was visceral, a percussive punctuation to their shared gasps.
After a few minutes of this intense collision, Lena felt the pressure in Kevin’s loins reach a critical mass. The orgasm was no longer a possibility; it was an oncoming storm, a surge that threatened to incinerate her control. "Cammy," she choked out through Kevin's gravelly voice, "I'm... I'm close. I can't hold him back much longer."
Cammy’s eyes snapped open, a predatory glint in their depths. Without a word, she suddenly surged upward, disengaging from Lena's huge dick with an audible, wet slurp sound that made Lena's head spin. The sudden loss of contact was a shock to the system, leaving the host's anatomy twitching and exposed in the cool air.
"Don't get too comfortable on your back," Cammy hissed, her chest heaving as she rolled off the bed, pulling Lena with her until they hit the soft rug on the floor. "Get behind me," she commanded, her eyes dark with a primal intent. "Now. Doggy style. I want to feel that monster hit the back of my throat from the other side."
She dropped onto her hands and knees on the floor, her back arched, her hair cascading over her shoulders. Lena felt the blood rush to Kevin's face as she moved behind Cammy, gripping her hips from behind. Cammy reached back, her hand finding the host's hair and pulling his head down with a sharp, aggressive yank. "Drive," she ordered. Lena moved Kevin into a deep, rhythmic doggy-style stance, feeling the power in the mount's quads and the raw, rhythmic thud of his hips hitting Cammy's. The aggression from Cammy was intoxicating; she wasn't just receiving, she was demanding, her breath coming in sharp, shallow hitches as she took every inch Lena offered.
"You're learning," Cammy gasped, feeling the shift in the mount's performance. "You're actually... holding it."
But that admission seemed to trigger a new level of challenge from Cammy. "Enough of that," she groaned, her voice thick with a molten desire. Before Lena could celebrate her control, Cammy flipped over onto her back, pulling Lena down until she was straddling the host's lap in a punishingly intimate cowgirl position. Cammy's fingers dug into the host’s shoulders, her nails leaving red marks that Lena felt as a dull, pleasant stinging. She took control of the pace, her hips moving in a brutal, deep grind that made the host's lungs burn.
"Be a man, Lena!" Cammy commanded, her head lolling back as she rode the massive length. "Take what you want! Squeeze my tits! Make me feel your hands!"
Lena leaned forward, Kevin's thick, calloused fingers sinking into Cammy’s soft, pale breasts. She squeezed with a strength that was terrifying and exhilarating, the tactile contrast of the host's rough skin against Cammy's silkiness vibrating through her iridescent green core. Lena found herself leaning closer, her breath hot against Cammy's neck. Up close, the "weirdness" was gone, replaced by a magnetic beauty that made Lena's own heart thud with an urgent, irrational desire.
She wanted to kiss her. It was weird; so far, this had been an exercise in male anatomy, some perverted kind of clinical exploration of a stolen machine. She could justify the arousal as biological resonance, she could tell herself she was still hetero and just playing along Kevin’s body. But as she pressed her lips against Cammy’s, the justification died. Cammy reciprocated with a fierce, possessive hunger, her tongue tangling with Lena’s in a way that felt like soul touching soul. In that kiss, Lena felt a line blur and snap. This wasn't just roleplay. This was a recognition that transcended the stolen meat.
As the pressure built to an impossible peak, Lena felt a sensation that was entirely alien—the feeling of Cammy's internal muscles clamping down, a rhythmic, powerful suction that seemed to be physically pulling the essence out of the mount's body. It was like being sucked dry, a vacuum of pleasure that bypassed the physical and hit Lena's very core.
The first shot of cum hit Cammy like a physical blow, a hot, pressurized jet that made the hopper gasp. Lena felt it leave her—a rhythmic, violent pulse of Kevin's vitality. The second shot followed instantly, a heavy cord of heat that made Kevin’s entire frame arch in a silent scream. By the third pulse, Lena felt hollowed out, her green consciousness vibrating in sync with the rhythmic spasms of the host’s balls. The fourth and fifth shots were desperate, deep tremors, emptying Kevin’s reservoir into Cammy's waiting womb until his heart felt like it was trying to leap through his ribs.
But that was just the beginning of the night.
As the first release settled, the wanting didn't fade—it mutated. Cammy didn't let Lena rest. She forced her to keep Kevin's body active, pushing the host through a grueling marathon of exploration. They moved from the floor back to the bed, then to the shower, where the spray of hot water mingled with their sweat. Cammy was relentless, demanding different angles, forcing Lena to discover the precise tilt of the pelvis that triggered the most intense neural spikes.
***
By the time the sun began to bleed through the curtains, the "static" in Lena's mind had been replaced by a deep, satisfied hum. She knew this body now. She knew its triggers, its limits, and its hidden joys.
As the room brightened, Cammy stood up, entirely unfazed by the night's exertion. Kevin's body lay on the sofa, panting and exhausted, Lena still anchored behind his eyes.
Lena felt a sudden, sharp pang of vulnerability. Using Kevin's deep, tired voice, she whispered, "Cammy... I need to say something. About the night. How I felt."
Cammy arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Oh? Let me guess. You're in love with me now? The newbie falls for her mentor after one wild ride?"
"Shut up, Cammy," Lena snapped, the baritone voice sounding surprisingly firm. "I'm serious. For my entire life, I've never touched a girl beyond some light fun in a high school locker room. I've never had an intense desire for a woman’s body before. Not like this. Watching you, touching you... it felt more real than anything I've done with a guy." She paused, Kevin’s chest hitching. "Am I lesbian? Is that what this is?"
Cammy’s expression softened, but the devilish glint remained. She stepped closer, striking a pose that emphasized the long, elegant curves of her body, her hands resting on her hips as she tilted her head. "Don't be so wary, newbie," she purred, her voice a soothing, magnetic melody. "You're in a new world now. A world where the rules of that dull, monotonous reality you lived in simply don't apply. You weren't just Lena tonight. You were Kevin. You had his testosterone, his desires, and you played along beautifully."
She flitted a hand toward her own chest, then traced the line of her waist with a slow, deliberate finger. "If we're being strictly factual, you were having a night of love with this," she said, winking. "And Kevin sure as hell liked this. You felt his hunger, but you steered it with your own heart. Don't try to label it yet. Just feel the power of the blur."
She straightened up, the playful moment ending as her tone turned professional. "But enough of the existential crisis. We have work to do."
"Last lesson for the morning," Cammy said, wiping a stray hair from her forehead. She knelt by the sofa, looking into Lena's (Kevin's) eyes. "The exit. You can't just jump and leave a mess. You have to handle his head, or the body-shock will break him."
Cammy raised three fingers. "Option one: The Fast Exit. You just jump. It’s the default, it’s instant, but it’s cruel. He’ll wake up with the absolute truth—vivid memories of every touch, but with the haunting realization that his body was moving on its own. He’ll think he’s a passenger in his own skin, Lena. That leads to a psych ward and a life of trauma."
She folded one finger. "Option two: The Wipe. You reach into his short-term buffer and just... delete it. It's faster than the final option, but it’s messy. He’ll wake up on the floor with no clothes and no memory of how he got there. It breeds a deep, localized paranoia. He’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if he’s a somnambulist, a blackout drunk or if he were drugged."
She held up her last finger. "Option three: The Weave. This is the art, newbie. It takes time and effort. You take the real memories and you edit them. You make him believe that every touch, every moan, was his idea. You replace our faces with ghosts of his desires. You give him a dream he’ll treasure for the rest of his life, even if it’s a total, convenient lie. It keeps him sane, and it keeps us invisible."
Cammy showed her how to reach into the "wetware" of Kevin's brain. Lena felt the memories of the night—the real, gritty details—and began to soften them. Under Cammy's guidance, she blurred the edges, weaving in the phantom image of herself and Cammy as two willing participants in a legendary threesome. She planted the seed of "free will," making Kevin's subconscious believe he had been the architect of the entire encounter.
While Lena worked on Kevin's mind, Cammy began to dress with a languid, practiced ease. Lena watched her through Kevin's heavy eyelids, a strange, lingering heat still simmering in her gut. As Cammy pulled on her lace undergarments and adjusted her black shirt, Lena found herself admiring the elegant line of her spine, the way her muscles move beneath her skin. It wasn't the frantic, burning passion of an hour ago; it was a more quiet, aesthetic appreciation. She realized with a start that some of Kevin's base desire was still blurring into her own thoughts—a residual stain of his biology that made her linger on the curve of Cammy's hip longer than she should have.
"Stop staring, Kevin," Cammy teased, though she didn't look back. She knew exactly what Lena was feeling. "Or should I say… stop letting him stare. Tidy up your own house before you leave his."
Lena flushed, a wave of heat passing through the mount's exhausted body. She forced herself to focus, pulling the last threads of the night together into a coherent, pleasant blur in Kevin's memory.
With a shove, Lena pulled herself out.
The metallic green slime slithered out of Kevin's mouth, pooling on the floor before rising back into Lena's own soft, aching female form. She stood up, feeling light—almost dangerously so—while Kevin remained in a deep, peaceful Torpor on the sofa, a faint, stupid grin plastered on his face.
"He’ll wake up feeling like a god," Cammy said, heading for the door. "And we’ll be long gone. Dress up and let's bounce, newbie. You've got a lot to process before next Friday."
---
Hi, author here. o/
I tried to condense the Hopper lore to make the tutoring of a 'newly minted' Hopper feel more believable. I also saw an opportunity to explore a facet of the Hopper world that I feel is somewhat neglected: the rare female Hopper. I hope no one is offended by this story, and I’m open to suggestions on where the plot should go next!
A glitchy holographic rain poured down the facade of "Mandarin," a digital drizzle that shimmered over the sleek obsidian and glass of the Heights. The bar sat in the most exclusive pocket of the city, where holographic cherry blossoms drifted slowly from a ceiling that mimicked a midnight sky over Neo-Tokyo. Slender glass pillars filled with bubbling blue bioluminescence acted as room dividers, and the air smelled of expensive sandalwood and filtered ozone. It was a place for people who wanted to be seen—a high-end sanctuary for the elite.
She didn’t usually go for the insistent types, but there was something hypnotic about the stranger at the end of the bar. He had the kind of face that seemed painted by an artist who couldn't decide on a subject: sharp, masculine bone structure softened by unnervingly delicate, feminine features. High cheekbones, a rose-bud pout, and eyes too large and luminous for a man of his build.
"You're staring," he said. His voice was a rich, vibrating baritone that seemed to hum right through the obsidian of the bar.
Lena didn't look away; she couldn't. "You're weird-looking," she replied, trying to sound bored, but her heart gave a traitorous thud.
He didn't take offense. Instead, he turned his stool fully toward her, a slow, predatory grace in his movements. "Weird is just a lack of imagination, Lena."
She bristled. "How do you know my name?"
"The bartender called it out three minutes ago when he brought your drink. You didn't notice because you were too busy trying to decide if I was a dream or a warning." He leaned in, the scent of expensive tobacco and something else—like the air before a storm—enveloping her. "I'm a bit of both. But trust me, babe, the warning is way more fun than the dream."
He smiled, and it was devastating—a flash of perfect teeth and a crinkle at the corners of those haunting eyes that made her feel suddenly, dangerously exposed. "Give me a chance to show you I’m the good kind of weird. The kind you don't just look at, but the kind you want to remember."
Two hours later, the "weirdness" had followed her home.
***
The air in Lena's apartment felt suddenly, impossibly heavy, as if the oxygen had been replaced by lead. They were on the brink of a shared, explosive climax, the room thick with the heat of their exertion. The man was deep inside her, his body tensing with the unmistakable, jagged rhythm of a man about to come, while Lena herself was drowning in the white-hot rush of her own nearing orgasm.
With a final, desperate grunt, the man buckled, his body slamming against hers as he came. Lena felt the hot, rhythmic pulse of his release deep inside her, but the heat was instantly followed by a sensation so wrong it made her skin crawl. It wasn't just semen; it felt like a surge of liquid ice, a freezing, invasive presence that began to writhe within her.
Before she could even gasp, the man beneath her began to vibrate with a violent, bone-deep frequency. The pleasure didn't just break; it died. Lena scrambled back with a frantic, animal desperation, her body slick with sweat and the cooling, viscous mess of their encounter. As she tore herself away, she felt a thick, silver-streaked fluid leak from her, a defiling stain that seemed to pulse on her thighs—yet it remained tethered to the man, connected by a glistening, umbilical thread of mercury that pulsed with a life of its own.
In the dim, sickly light of the streetlamp, the stranger's face began to buckle in a terrifying, silent collapse. The delicate, feminine features were vanishing as a viscous, mercury-tinted substance began to weep from his pores. Even as the jaw widened and the skin grew coarse with a beard, the silver was already pouring from his parting lips in a thick, soundless stream, the various pools and the thread inside Lena all drawing back toward the central, shivering mass.
Lena retreated into the small space between the bed and the wall, her naked back pressing against the cold plaster. She watched, paralyzed by a sense of absolute violation, as the silver streaks on her own skin began to move. The portion of the jizz that had carried the metallic infection didn't just sit there; it wriggled with a parasitic intent, trying to find purchase inside her, seeking a way to burrow deeper into her womb.
But it couldn't find a way in.
The silver fluid began to retreat from her body, sliding out of her like a rejected organ, joining the larger mass that was now abandoning the man. The threads of silver slime stretched and snapped mid-air, drawn together by an unseen magnetic hunger. They coalesced rapidly on the mattress, bloating into a translucent, gelatinous mass that shivered with a sickly, bioluminescent inner light.
Lena couldn't move. She could only watch, feeling hollowed out and defiled, as the thing that had just been inside her pulsed with a frustrated, thrumming vibration before scurrying back toward the limp body on the bed.
The creature vanished back into the man's mouth; as the mass disappeared into his throat, his rugged jawline CLIFF once more and those familiar, delicate feminine traces flooded back into his face.
Lena remained pressed against the wall, trembling so violently the headboard rattled. Time had seemingly fractured. In the heat of that terrifying moment, it felt as though hours had bled away while she watched the silver mass writhe and hunger for her; she had counted the pulses of the bioluminescent light as if they were slow, tolling bells. But as her eyes flicked to the digital clock on the bedside table, the red numbers showed that only a few seconds had actually passed. The man opened his eyes. He didn't look at her; he looked at the ceiling.
"Which face are you seeing right now?" he asked. His voice was a steady. "A bearded one? Chiseled? Sharp edges? Maybe a slightly broken nose?"
Lena's breath came in ragged hitches. "It... it was like that. Just for a moment. But not anymore. Now you’re back to..." She shook her head, her voice trembling. "Who are you? What are you?"
The man began to laugh. It started as that same baritone, but halfway through, the pitch slid upward, settling into a clear, mocking, and unmistakably feminine soprano.
"Well, well, well," the man said, though the voice was all woman. He sat up, the movement fluid and graceful in a way the man hadn't been earlier. "Just my luck. A newbie. And a chick, nonetheless."
He turned his head to look at Lena, a wicked glint in those large eyes.
"Welcome to the body hopper world, sister. We just fucked, so I guess I officially popped your hopper cherry."
Lena stared, her mind refusing to compute. "What are you talking about?"
"You're one of us," the voice with that undeniable feminine lilt said. "Dormant. Like a seed waiting for the right... stimulus. I tried to move into your house, but the doors were already locked. Hoppers can’t be hopped by other hoppers—the lease on the soul is already signed. But awakening a dormant? That takes a special kind of intrusion."
The man leaned forward, his massive, hairy chest contrasting sharply with the delicate, breathy voice spilling from his lips. "You were just a pretty little cage with the lock rusted shut. But when I pushed this man's cock deep inside you, I wasn't just giving you his heat. I was flooding you with my essence. Usually, I'd feel your dormant core shiver the second the load hit—it's a distinct resonance, like a bell ringing in a vacuum. But honestly? Kudos, girl. You fucked me good. I was so caught up in your response that I completely lost my way. I didn't even notice the fire starting until I tried to jump in and hit the wall. It’s not every day someone makes me lose my focus like that."
Lena's eyes darted from his hairy shoulders to the delicate pout of his lips. "Why... why are you talking like that? Why did your voice change?"
The man grinned, the expression hauntingly feminine on his face. "Think of it as an instrument, honey." To demonstrate, his voice suddenly plunged back into a coarse, gravelly baritone—the man's natural sound. "One moment, I'm wearing the meat like a heavy coat," he growled, the vibration of the chest cavity making the air around him thrum. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, the pitch glided back up into that airy, melodic soprano. "And the next, I'm the one playing the keys. A hopper can choose to wear the host’s voice, or let their own vibrate through the vocal cords. It’s a basic skill—tuning the meat to play our own melody."
Lena's jaw dropped as the implication finally sank in, her mind reeling from the violation and the absurdity. "Wait... SO YOU ARE A GIRL?"
The man’s body stood up, but the movements were wrong—too light, too daintily feminine for the frame. He tilted his heavy head, a delicate, coy smile stretching the stubbled lips. "In the flesh, honey," the airy female voice spilled out. The man let out a sharp, tinkling laugh that sounded physically impossible coming from his chest. "Or, more accurately... inside his flesh?"
"This isn't real," Lena stammered, clutching the sheet to her chest, her eyes wide with terror. "Everything you’re saying... it’s crazy. It doesn't make any sense. People don't just... melt and live inside other people. You’re a freak, or I’m drugged, or—"
The man let out a long, weary sigh, the sound of someone dealing with a particularly slow child. "Arguments are so tedious when a demonstration is much more effective. Some people need to touch the stove to believe it's hot." He looked down at the hairy, muscular hands of the host. "Fine. Visual aids, then."
The shuddering began again. The man’s body collapsed like an empty suit of clothes as the silver slime poured out once more. This time, it didn't lunge. It pooled on the hardwood floor, rising and knitting itself together. Within seconds, the gelatinous mass solidified into the form of a woman. She was lithe, beautiful, with the exact same 'weirdly feminine' face Lena had seen on the man.
***
"I wanted to fuck you, then take you," the woman said, her voice now perfectly matching her body. "I love the hop, the rush of shifting into a new skin. There’s nothing like the high of hopping from body to body until I can taste every sensation—until I can feel the climax of the man and the woman at the exact same time. But finding a sister in the wild? Ahh, that’s a rare vintage. It puts a bit of a damper on my plans for the night, though."
The woman looked down at the slack, hollowing body of the man on the bed and smirked. Without another word, her form destabilized, melting back into that shimmering, mercurial slime. It flowed across the floor like a predatory tide, surging up the side of the bed and pouring itself back into the man's mouth and nostrils.
His body jerked once, back arching, before settling into that same uncanny, feminine grace. He stood up, stretching the man's limbs as if testing the tension of a puppet's strings. With practiced ease, the hopper began dressed the host body in the discarded clothes.
"Listen close," the man said, his voice back into that deep, gritty baritone that belonged to the man Lena met earlier. He looked back at Lena while buttoning the shirt. "You’re going to feel like shit for the next week. Fever, nausea, the works. Your body is rewiring itself. When the sweat breaks and you feel like you could leap out of your own skin... that’s because you can."
"Mandarin is just a place for hunting. My real playground is downtown," he added, the male voice speaking but with a wink and a distinctly feminine tilt of the head that felt entirely out of place on the rugged frame. "Every Friday night, look for a place called 'The Rainbow’s End' in the District. It’s a bit more... comfortable. Don't worry about what I'll look like. You're a hopper now. You'll know how to find me."
***
The week had been a blur of cold sweats and a terrifying sensation that her bones were turning into warm wax. Lena had spent three days huddled under her duvet, her skin feeling too tight, her muscles twitching with phantom impulses. But by Thursday, the fever had broken, replaced by an itchy, restless energy that made her apartment feel like a cage.
She couldn't stay away. The mystery was a hook in her jaw, pulling her toward the neon-dimmed corners of The Rainbow’s End.
The District was a stark contrast to the gleaming glass of the Heights. Grime-slicked pavement reflected flickering neon shamrocks, and the air smelled perpetually of spilled stout and damp sawdust. The Rainbow’s End was a dive that had settled into a comfortable, decadent rot. The brass rails were tarnished and the velvet booths were cracked, but in the amber gloom, it still held a ghost of elegance.
Lena sat on a worn wooden stool at the bar—a massive slab of mahogany that felt sticky beneath her palms. Her eyes darted frantically from face to face. She scanned the room with a growing sense of paranoia. Was it the regular in the grease-stained jacket? Or the woman in the faded dress laughing too loudly near the jukebox? Lena watched the way people breathed, looking for any sign of a hopper behind the eyes… if they had the misterious woman’s face.
She felt a strange, nagging pressure behind her eyes, a sort of sixth sense that kept pinging whenever someone brushed past her. It was like a low-frequency hum vibrating in the marrow of her bones, a static charge that spiked when she locked eyes with a stranger. But every time she thought she’d found a "weirdness," the person would simply turn away, leaving her with nothing but her own trembling hands.
"Whiskey ginger," Lena muttered to the bartender without looking up, her voice sounding thin and alien to her own ears. "Heavy on the whiskey."
She stared at the scarred surface of the bar, her mind stuck on a loop. She felt a sudden, sharp spike of that internal hum—a resonance so strong it made her teeth ache. A cold, condensation-beaded glass slid into her field of vision, guided by a hand that moved with a familiar, uncanny grace.
"On the house," a voice chirped. It was clear, melodic, and vibrated with that same frequency Lena now recognized as the sound of her own soul. "For the survivor."
Lena looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The face was unmistakable—those high cheekbones and the mischievous, luminous eyes. But here, in the gloom of the dive, she was wearing a simple black t-shirt and dark jeans, her hair tied back in a messy bun. A name tag pinned to her shirt read: CAMMY.
Cammy leaned over the bar, her elbows resting on the mahogany, her face inches from Lena's. She wore a devilish, wide-eyed smile. "Thought you’d never recognize me," she whispered, her voice dropping into a low, conspiratorial tone. "You look better. Less... melting."
Lena gripped the glass so hard her knuckles turned white. "You're... you're a bartender? After everything you said, you just serve drinks here?"
Cammy chuckled, "Honey, being a hopper is expensive. You need a paper trail, a social security number that doesn't trigger red flags, and a place where people are too loaded to notice when you melt into a puddle to hop a body. Plus, the crowd at a place like Rainbow’s End is way easier to manage. No stuck-up elite types asking questions."
She winked, and for a split second, Lena saw it—a flash of silver mercury swirling in the depths of Cammy's pupils.
***
"Drink up," Cammy said, nodding toward the glass. "We have a lot to talk about, and you’re going to need the liquid courage. Your first hop is always the messiest, and trust me, you’re already vibrating. If you don’t learn how to steer it, you’re going to end up accidentally wearing your neighbor by morning."
She raised a finger, signaling to a burly bartender across the way—a man with a shaved head and a tattooed neck who was monitoring the taps. He caught her eye and gave a single, slow nod. Cammy turned back to Lena. "Mitch owes me for covering his shift last Halloween. He'll close up for me. Means I can give you my full attention tonight. Consider yourself lucky, babe."
***
Cammy leaned in closer, her voice dropping. "We’re a glitch in the system, Lena. Especially us. Most hoppers are born into male biology—it’s just how the parasite stabilizes. A female-born hopper is like finding a white crow. You're rare, you're strong, and you're going to be very, very hungry."
She explained The Hunger. It wasn't about food; it was about the static. If Lena stayed in her own skin too long, her nerves would start to fray, feeling like live wires buzzing under her flesh. But the trap was The Drown. If she stayed in a host for too long, she’d lose the thread of her own soul, eventually becoming the person she was wearing—forgetting she ever had the power to leave.
Cammy's eyes scanned the room, finally settling on a man at the far end of the bar, sitting near a flickering neon sign. He was nursing a beer, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He’d just been ignored by a group of girls near the dartboard—the third, or maybe fourth time Cammy had watched him get shot down tonight. He was a magnet for rejection.
"That’s Kevin," Cammy murmured. "Perfect practice dummy. Desperate, lonely, and his aura is practically screaming 'please use me.' Let's go."
She slid off her stool, and Lena, heart hammering, followed. They approached Kevin just as he was sighing into his drink.
"Rough night, sugar?" Cammy asked, her voice bright and false.
Kevin looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of two women addressing him. He straightened, trying to look suave and failing miserably. "Uh. Yeah. I mean, no. It's fine. Just... you know. The scene."
"The scene," Cammy repeated, dripping with mock sympathy. "It's brutal. But you look like a guy who knows how to show a girl a good time. Two girls, even."
Kevin's mouth opened, then closed. He looked from Cammy's amused smirk to Lena's tense, wide-eyed expression. "I... I do?"
"Straight up," Cammy said, her tone turning impositive. "Here's the deal. My friend and I are bored. We want some real fun. Private fun. You look like you could use a story to tell your grandkids. So here’s the play: you want to fuck us both, or not? If you do, take us to your place. Right now. No more talking here."
Kevin blinked, his brain visibly short-circuiting. He stammered, "Both? I mean, are you... is this a joke?" He glanced nervously toward the exit.
Cammy sighed, a sound of profound impatience. "Look at her," she said, jerking a thumb at Lena. "Does she look like she's joking? Look at me. I'm a bartender. I don't have time for games. It's a yes or no question. Your place. Now. Or we find someone who doesn't need a map and a consent form to get laid."
A war played out on Kevin's face—incredulity, suspicion, and a desperate, hungry hope. The hunger won. He swallowed hard, nodded too many times, and fumbled for his wallet to throw some crumpled bills on the bar. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah. My place is just a few blocks away. It's... it's not much."
"Perfect," Cammy said, her smile sharp. She linked her arm through Lena's, pulling her along as Kevin led the way out of The Rainbow’s End, walking with the stiff, disbelieving gait of a man who thought he’d won a lottery he hadn't even bought a ticket for.
Back at his cramped, messy apartment, the "wild night" he expected never began.
Cammy moved with terrifying fluidity. She reached for the hem of her t-shirt, but her hands were already trembling with that familiar, violent vibration. Leading Kevin toward the sagging sofa, she pushed him down into the cushions, making sure he was braced against the armrest. As her skin began to shimmer with a metallic sheen, she didn't just step out of her clothes; her body simply collapsed into itself. The shirt and jeans fluttered to the floor in a heap, empty of substance, as the silver mercury flooded out from the neck and waist. The liquid mass surged across the floor before leaping upward into Kevin's throat. His eyes rolled back, then settled into a dull, glazed stare. A moment later, the slime poured back out of him, before coalescing back into the solid, beautiful form of a naked Cammy.
Kevin didn't fall. He remained slumped safely against the back of the sofa, his body jerking slightly from the residual shock of the exit before settling into The Torpor—the mental fog that follows a possession.
"He’ve wide open," Cammy whispered, her eyes fixed on Lena. "Focus on the base of your spine. Feel the heat there. Don't think about 'moving'—think about flowing."
Lena felt a sickening, wonderful lurch. Mimicking Cammy's practiced rhythm, her skin felt like it was unzipping, a violent heat radiating from her core. As she exhaled, her body lost its structural integrity, slumping downward as if the bones had vanished. Her clothes—jeans, t-shirt, and lace—collapsed into a discarded pile on the carpet. Out of the neck of her shirt, her consciousness poured forth as a thick, viscous liquid. It wasn't silver like Cammy's; it was a deep, iridescent metallic green, shimmering like the wing of a beetle. She watched, detached from her own horror, as her true form pooled on the floor before surging toward the warmth of Kevin's skin.
She poured upward. Entering him felt like sliding into a warm, wet glove.
Suddenly, she was six feet tall. Her center of gravity shifted. She felt the heavy, unfamiliar weight between her legs—the physical reality of being male. With a shaky, curious hand, Lena guided Kevin’s arm downward, her fingers slithering between his legs. Her breath caught in the host's throat as she gripped the thick, dormant meat. It felt massive in her palm, a solid, heavy presence that seemed to define the entire center of her new perspective. She explored the texture, the heat, and the surprising sensitivity of the two heavy meat spheres tucked below it.
He’s large, she thought, her internal voice a frantic whisper. This wasn't a grower; Kevin was a shower, carrying a quiet, impressive weight even in his stupor.
Cammy watched from the center of the room, a hand on her hip and a smirk playing on her lips. "Straight to the goods?" she teased. "So, tell me... how does it feel having one on you for once, instead of just inside you?"
Lena tried to respond, but the sound that tore from her throat was a jagged, gravelly baritone. "It's... it's heavy," she blurted out, her eyes widening.
The sound of Kevin's voice—rough, deep, and utterly masculine—sent a jolt of confusion through her mind. "What the fuck?" she barked, the coarse voice echoing in the small room. "God dammit, why do I sound like a sailor?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to find the "vibration" Cammy had mentioned. She felt a phantom tension in her chest, a different way to push the air. "Wait... like this?" she tried again. This time, the voice was hers—soft, breathy, and undeniably feminine—spilling out of Kevin's stubbled lips.
She let out a soft, delighted giggle that vibrated through Kevin's broad chest. Then, she plunged the pitch back down, letting out a deep, booming "HO HO HO" in the host's natural bass. She was like a giddy kid with a brand new, impossible toy, chirping out high-pitched bird calls then plunging into a gravelly, low growl, her shoulders shaking with the novelty of it.
Cammy's hand shot out, grabbing the mount's muscular forearm with a sharp, anchoring squeeze. "You can do that another day, newbie," she hissed, her eyes flashing with a stern reprimand. "Focus. Don't waste my time on cheap tricks. Explore his mind. Learn the terrain before you try to drive the car."
Lena pushed deeper, probing his mind. Memories flashed like strobe lights: a childhood dog, the smell of a burnt dinner, the crushing loneliness of his commute. It was intoxicating.
***
Lena walked the heavy, clumsy body to the bathroom. She looked into the glass. There was no trace of Kevin's dull, average features. Staring back at her from the mirror was her own face—pale, wide-eyed, and undeniably feminine—fixed perfectly atop Kevin's broad, masculine shoulders. The glass refused to acknowledge the mount; it saw only the pilot.
"The mirror doesn't lie," Cammy said, appearing in the doorway. Her beautiful face watched Lena with a sharp, knowing intensity. "To the world, you’re Kevin. To a mirror, and to me, you’re always Lena. Never forget that. And if you start seeing his face in the mirror instead of yours... jump out immediately. Or you're gone forever."
Lena flexed Kevin's hands, watching her own ghostly fingers move in sync in the reflection. The power was addictive. She felt the "static" in her mind go silent, replaced by the thrumming heartbeat of a body that wasn't hers.
***
The bathroom was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic. Lena, wrapped in the heavy, unfamiliar musculature of Kevin, felt a surge of electricity that had nothing to do with her own nerves.
Cammy stood before her, already completely naked, her lithe body glowing softly in the dim light. She walked over, her eyes locked on Lena's—or rather, the Lena staring through Kevin's pupils. She reached down, her hands steady as she helped Lena disrobe Kevin's frame, discarding his jeans and boxers until the pilot was as exposed as she was.
"Let's not waste the night," Cammy whispered, her voice a sultry hum. She reached out, her fingers wrapping tight and firm around the thick, heavy length between Kevin's legs. Lena gasped through Kevin's throat as Cammy began to pull, leading her toward the bedroom. "You really should feel special, you know," Cammy added, her eyes flashing with a rare softness. "I almost never use my own skin for this. It's usually much cleaner to just... stay in the mounts. But for a sister? For you? I wanted you to feel me."
Lena found herself letting out a dry, masculine chuckle, a sound that felt amusingly strange coming from a body she barely knew. "Special?" she whispered back, watching the way the light hit Cammy's curves with an intensity that made her vision swim. "You're gorgeous, Cammy. Seriously. You're fucking insane. I’m pretty sure you could have anyone you wanted just by walking into a room. The fact that you're choosing to be 'you' with 'me'... yeah, I guess I do feel special."
As the words left her mouth, Lena's genuine awe at Cammy’s beauty seemed to ignite a short-circuit in Kevin’s nerves. The mount's body responded with a primal, unchecked autonomy. Under the pressure of Cammy's grip, Lena felt a sudden, hot rush of blood—a pressurized weight that was entirely new. It wasn't just a physical sensation; the acknowledgment of her own attraction triggered an astonishing, sudden erection that throbbed against Cammy's palm with a life of its own.
Lena had noticed he was already impressive while flaccid, but now, the transformation was staggering. Kevin’s anatomy wasn't just growing; it was expanding into a veritable behemoth, the skin stretching taut and pulsing with a frantic, rhythmic heat.
Cammy promptly noticed the surge beneath her palm, her fingers struggling to fully encircle the thickening girth. She squeezed, her thumb tracing the crown of the host’s arousal as it jumped toward the ceiling, her eyes alight with a mix of hunger and wicked amusement. "Oh," she purred, feeling the heavy, insistent pulse. "She’s a fast learner. And look at that... we certainly caught ourselves a big one for your first night, didn't we? He was hiding a monster under those cheap jeans."
Lena's mind whirled, the sheer scale of the tool she now wielded making her feel powerful and small all at once. Using Kevin's raspy, unfamiliar voice, she stuttered out, "God, I'm sorry, I just... everything is so much. I can't look away from you. You're so beautiful, it’s actually kind of terrifying." She felt a flush of heat that wasn't just biological; it was the intoxicating rush of the connection. "I don't even know where my head is at—if this is me wanting you or if Kevin's just losing it, but you look so hot it’s making my skin crawl in the best way."
Cammy stepped even closer, her naked chest brushing against Kevin’s hairy pectorals. She looked down at the massive, twitching length between them and then back up at Lena’s eyes. "Don't apologize for his hunger, babe. Use it. That’s the beauty of the hop, Lena. You don't have to choose. His hunger is your fuel now."
Cammy laughed, a low, melodic sound that vibrated in the air between them. "I want you to take that meat pole and stir my insides until I can't remember my own name. Poke my womb, go further if you can—I want to feel every inch of that behemoth stretching me out."
***
Cammy was a master of the craft. She guided Lena—through Kevin’s meat suit—into a night of a raw and feral education. They started on the bed, Cammy taking the lead by straddling Lena's hips.
As Cammy lowered herself, the process was slow and deliberate. Lena watched, mesmerized through the host's eyes, as Cammy’s breath hitched, her eyes rolling back in a mix of shock and pure ecstasy. The sheer girth of Kevin's anatomy was a daunting challenge, and Cammy took her time, gasping as she adjusted to the massive intrusion. As she finally settled flush against Lena, a distinct, rounded bulge appeared on her lower abdomen, the host's heavy man-meat distending her lithe form from within. Cammy let out a long, ragged moan, a triumphant smile breaking across her face. "God... this is perfect," she whispered, her hands clawing at Lena's shoulders.
For Lena, the sensation was a complete sensory overload. She was losing her male virginity in the most literal sense, feeling the tight, wet heat of Cammy's body clamping down on her through Kevin's hyper-sensitized nerves. She could feel the intricate landscape of Cammy's insides—the way her muscles pulse and took the shape of the meat she was now piloting. It felt like she was pumping her own essence directly into Cammy's core, the connection bypassing the physical and anchoring her soul to the pleasure.
Lena found it absolutely fascinating that their two distinct lives were currently joined by this single, throbbing male appendage. It was a bridge of flesh and blood, a conduit for a power she was only beginning to understand. Cammy didn't just sit there; she began to expertly circle her body, her hips rotating in a slow, grinding friction that drove a dual-edged pleasure into both of them. Lena could feel Cammy’s internal heat swirling around the shaft, the suction so intense it felt like it was drawing her very soul forward.
Then, they found the rhythm. It started as a slow, synchronized pulse—Cammy lowering herself with a deliberate, hungry weight, while Lena thrust upward with the raw, reflexive power of the host’s quads. Soon, the pace accelerated into a frantic, driving marathon. Every time their bodies collided, a heavy, wet slap echoed through the room—the primitive sound of meat hitting meat. The impact was visceral, a percussive punctuation to their shared gasps.
After a few minutes of this intense collision, Lena felt the pressure in Kevin’s loins reach a critical mass. The orgasm was no longer a possibility; it was an oncoming storm, a surge that threatened to incinerate her control. "Cammy," she choked out through Kevin's gravelly voice, "I'm... I'm close. I can't hold him back much longer."
Cammy’s eyes snapped open, a predatory glint in their depths. Without a word, she suddenly surged upward, disengaging from Lena's huge dick with an audible, wet slurp sound that made Lena's head spin. The sudden loss of contact was a shock to the system, leaving the host's anatomy twitching and exposed in the cool air.
"Don't get too comfortable on your back," Cammy hissed, her chest heaving as she rolled off the bed, pulling Lena with her until they hit the soft rug on the floor. "Get behind me," she commanded, her eyes dark with a primal intent. "Now. Doggy style. I want to feel that monster hit the back of my throat from the other side."
She dropped onto her hands and knees on the floor, her back arched, her hair cascading over her shoulders. Lena felt the blood rush to Kevin's face as she moved behind Cammy, gripping her hips from behind. Cammy reached back, her hand finding the host's hair and pulling his head down with a sharp, aggressive yank. "Drive," she ordered. Lena moved Kevin into a deep, rhythmic doggy-style stance, feeling the power in the mount's quads and the raw, rhythmic thud of his hips hitting Cammy's. The aggression from Cammy was intoxicating; she wasn't just receiving, she was demanding, her breath coming in sharp, shallow hitches as she took every inch Lena offered.
"You're learning," Cammy gasped, feeling the shift in the mount's performance. "You're actually... holding it."
But that admission seemed to trigger a new level of challenge from Cammy. "Enough of that," she groaned, her voice thick with a molten desire. Before Lena could celebrate her control, Cammy flipped over onto her back, pulling Lena down until she was straddling the host's lap in a punishingly intimate cowgirl position. Cammy's fingers dug into the host’s shoulders, her nails leaving red marks that Lena felt as a dull, pleasant stinging. She took control of the pace, her hips moving in a brutal, deep grind that made the host's lungs burn.
"Be a man, Lena!" Cammy commanded, her head lolling back as she rode the massive length. "Take what you want! Squeeze my tits! Make me feel your hands!"
Lena leaned forward, Kevin's thick, calloused fingers sinking into Cammy’s soft, pale breasts. She squeezed with a strength that was terrifying and exhilarating, the tactile contrast of the host's rough skin against Cammy's silkiness vibrating through her iridescent green core. Lena found herself leaning closer, her breath hot against Cammy's neck. Up close, the "weirdness" was gone, replaced by a magnetic beauty that made Lena's own heart thud with an urgent, irrational desire.
She wanted to kiss her. It was weird; so far, this had been an exercise in male anatomy, some perverted kind of clinical exploration of a stolen machine. She could justify the arousal as biological resonance, she could tell herself she was still hetero and just playing along Kevin’s body. But as she pressed her lips against Cammy’s, the justification died. Cammy reciprocated with a fierce, possessive hunger, her tongue tangling with Lena’s in a way that felt like soul touching soul. In that kiss, Lena felt a line blur and snap. This wasn't just roleplay. This was a recognition that transcended the stolen meat.
As the pressure built to an impossible peak, Lena felt a sensation that was entirely alien—the feeling of Cammy's internal muscles clamping down, a rhythmic, powerful suction that seemed to be physically pulling the essence out of the mount's body. It was like being sucked dry, a vacuum of pleasure that bypassed the physical and hit Lena's very core.
The first shot of cum hit Cammy like a physical blow, a hot, pressurized jet that made the hopper gasp. Lena felt it leave her—a rhythmic, violent pulse of Kevin's vitality. The second shot followed instantly, a heavy cord of heat that made Kevin’s entire frame arch in a silent scream. By the third pulse, Lena felt hollowed out, her green consciousness vibrating in sync with the rhythmic spasms of the host’s balls. The fourth and fifth shots were desperate, deep tremors, emptying Kevin’s reservoir into Cammy's waiting womb until his heart felt like it was trying to leap through his ribs.
But that was just the beginning of the night.
As the first release settled, the wanting didn't fade—it mutated. Cammy didn't let Lena rest. She forced her to keep Kevin's body active, pushing the host through a grueling marathon of exploration. They moved from the floor back to the bed, then to the shower, where the spray of hot water mingled with their sweat. Cammy was relentless, demanding different angles, forcing Lena to discover the precise tilt of the pelvis that triggered the most intense neural spikes.
***
By the time the sun began to bleed through the curtains, the "static" in Lena's mind had been replaced by a deep, satisfied hum. She knew this body now. She knew its triggers, its limits, and its hidden joys.
As the room brightened, Cammy stood up, entirely unfazed by the night's exertion. Kevin's body lay on the sofa, panting and exhausted, Lena still anchored behind his eyes.
Lena felt a sudden, sharp pang of vulnerability. Using Kevin's deep, tired voice, she whispered, "Cammy... I need to say something. About the night. How I felt."
Cammy arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Oh? Let me guess. You're in love with me now? The newbie falls for her mentor after one wild ride?"
"Shut up, Cammy," Lena snapped, the baritone voice sounding surprisingly firm. "I'm serious. For my entire life, I've never touched a girl beyond some light fun in a high school locker room. I've never had an intense desire for a woman’s body before. Not like this. Watching you, touching you... it felt more real than anything I've done with a guy." She paused, Kevin’s chest hitching. "Am I lesbian? Is that what this is?"
Cammy’s expression softened, but the devilish glint remained. She stepped closer, striking a pose that emphasized the long, elegant curves of her body, her hands resting on her hips as she tilted her head. "Don't be so wary, newbie," she purred, her voice a soothing, magnetic melody. "You're in a new world now. A world where the rules of that dull, monotonous reality you lived in simply don't apply. You weren't just Lena tonight. You were Kevin. You had his testosterone, his desires, and you played along beautifully."
She flitted a hand toward her own chest, then traced the line of her waist with a slow, deliberate finger. "If we're being strictly factual, you were having a night of love with this," she said, winking. "And Kevin sure as hell liked this. You felt his hunger, but you steered it with your own heart. Don't try to label it yet. Just feel the power of the blur."
She straightened up, the playful moment ending as her tone turned professional. "But enough of the existential crisis. We have work to do."
"Last lesson for the morning," Cammy said, wiping a stray hair from her forehead. She knelt by the sofa, looking into Lena's (Kevin's) eyes. "The exit. You can't just jump and leave a mess. You have to handle his head, or the body-shock will break him."
Cammy raised three fingers. "Option one: The Fast Exit. You just jump. It’s the default, it’s instant, but it’s cruel. He’ll wake up with the absolute truth—vivid memories of every touch, but with the haunting realization that his body was moving on its own. He’ll think he’s a passenger in his own skin, Lena. That leads to a psych ward and a life of trauma."
She folded one finger. "Option two: The Wipe. You reach into his short-term buffer and just... delete it. It's faster than the final option, but it’s messy. He’ll wake up on the floor with no clothes and no memory of how he got there. It breeds a deep, localized paranoia. He’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if he’s a somnambulist, a blackout drunk or if he were drugged."
She held up her last finger. "Option three: The Weave. This is the art, newbie. It takes time and effort. You take the real memories and you edit them. You make him believe that every touch, every moan, was his idea. You replace our faces with ghosts of his desires. You give him a dream he’ll treasure for the rest of his life, even if it’s a total, convenient lie. It keeps him sane, and it keeps us invisible."
Cammy showed her how to reach into the "wetware" of Kevin's brain. Lena felt the memories of the night—the real, gritty details—and began to soften them. Under Cammy's guidance, she blurred the edges, weaving in the phantom image of herself and Cammy as two willing participants in a legendary threesome. She planted the seed of "free will," making Kevin's subconscious believe he had been the architect of the entire encounter.
While Lena worked on Kevin's mind, Cammy began to dress with a languid, practiced ease. Lena watched her through Kevin's heavy eyelids, a strange, lingering heat still simmering in her gut. As Cammy pulled on her lace undergarments and adjusted her black shirt, Lena found herself admiring the elegant line of her spine, the way her muscles move beneath her skin. It wasn't the frantic, burning passion of an hour ago; it was a more quiet, aesthetic appreciation. She realized with a start that some of Kevin's base desire was still blurring into her own thoughts—a residual stain of his biology that made her linger on the curve of Cammy's hip longer than she should have.
"Stop staring, Kevin," Cammy teased, though she didn't look back. She knew exactly what Lena was feeling. "Or should I say… stop letting him stare. Tidy up your own house before you leave his."
Lena flushed, a wave of heat passing through the mount's exhausted body. She forced herself to focus, pulling the last threads of the night together into a coherent, pleasant blur in Kevin's memory.
With a shove, Lena pulled herself out.
The metallic green slime slithered out of Kevin's mouth, pooling on the floor before rising back into Lena's own soft, aching female form. She stood up, feeling light—almost dangerously so—while Kevin remained in a deep, peaceful Torpor on the sofa, a faint, stupid grin plastered on his face.
"He’ll wake up feeling like a god," Cammy said, heading for the door. "And we’ll be long gone. Dress up and let's bounce, newbie. You've got a lot to process before next Friday."
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