Spider-Man & MJ's Transformations Continuity Stories
Story created by
These stories tells you about Peter Parker and his lovely redheaded big-tittied wife, Mary-Jane Waston-Parker with her transformations.
f2f crossover incest superhero breast expansion possession Sci-Fi shapeshift age progression alien mind change magic transformation parody race change gilf unaware transformation monster muscle milf robot girl ftf
Latest Stories on Outfox Stories
Home from college and stuck in his childhood bedroom, a restless young man discovers a bizarre side-effect of his meditation practice: the ability to astral project into the bodies of other people.
My breath slowed, easing into the steady rhythm I’d been practicing. The YouTube guru’s voice was a distant murmur in my earbuds. Let your consciousness expand beyond the physical form. Feel the boundaries of your body dissolve… I always felt a little silly doing this in my bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling my only witness. But tonight, something was different. A strange, pulling sensation started behind my navel, like a gentle but insistent hook.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on my breathing, but the tug grew stronger. The feeling of my own body—the weight of my limbs on the bed, the pressure of the mattress against my back—suddenly vanished. There was a dizzying rush of color and sound, a sensation of being pulled through a narrow, dark tunnel at impossible speed.
Then, with a soft thump I felt I heard more than heard, everything stopped. A weight... A different kind of weight. My chest felt heavy, supported. My hips felt wider.
I blinked. This wasn’t my room. The air smelled of lavender and expensive perfume. I looked down.
My hands. They were not my hands. They were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. A delicate silver bracelet hung from one wrist. I wore a silk robe, peach, tied loosely at the waist. My heart—no, her heart—hammered against my ribs.
A wave of vertigo hit me, followed by a flood of images that weren’t mine. Lydia. Her name is Lydia. A memory of her laughing with my step mom at the mailbox, holding a grocery bag. Another of her watering her roses in a sun dress last weekend. Before I left for college, she'd always waved at me, a kind, almost shy smile on her face.
Mrs. Henderson from next door. The hot MILF all my friends whispered about but who just seemed… nice.
I was inside Lydia Henderson.
Panic surged, a cold, sharp spike. I needed to get back. I tried to concentrate, to will myself back to my own body lying on my bed, but nothing happened. The panic subsided, replaced by a trembling, awe-filled curiosity. I was here. In her.
I turned, my movements unfamiliar and graceful, and caught my reflection in a full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.
Wow.
She was… stunning. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her green-flecked hazel eyes, were wide with an expression I knew was my own shock staring back. The silk robe hinted at the curves beneath. A lifetime of curious, stolen glances from my bedroom window hadn’t prepared me for the reality of being inside this body. A thrill, warm and forbidden, shot through me.
My gaze drifted past my—her—reflection to the rest of the walk-in closet behind me. The curiosity, always simmering just beneath the surface, roared to life. I’d always wondered. About the feel of it, the look of it, the secret world of it.
There I was surrounded by a forest of silks, satins, and soft, colorful fabrics.
Almost without conscious thought, my hands went to the tie of the robe. It fell open. She—I—was wearing matching peach lace lingerie underneath. A bra that cupped and lifted, panties that were just a delicate scrap of fabric. A heat that had nothing to do with possession flushed through me. It was awe. It was a secret, answered question.
I reached for a hanger. A slip of crimson satin and black lace. A teddy. My fingers trembled as I shimmied out of the peach set and into the red one. The cool satin whispered over my hips, the lace hugged curves I’d never had. I looked in the mirror again. A stranger, yet me. A beautiful, secret version of myself.
I spent what felt like hours, lost in a tactile wonderland. I tried on a tight pencil skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater, feeling the sophisticated drape. I found a pair of sky-high black heels and clomped around the carpet, her body’s balance instinctively better than mine would have been. The click-click of the heels on the hardwood floor was a powerful, feminine sound.
Then I found the vanity. An array of pots, pencils, and brushes that might as well have been alien technology. But as I picked up a tube of lipstick, a strange thing happened. A knowledge that wasn’t mine surfaced. A muscle memory. My hand steadied. I uncapped the tube, a deep rose color, and applied it to “my” lips in smooth, practiced strokes. Then eyeliner, a flick at the corner that appeared as if by magic. Blush dusted on the apples of cheeks I could now feel smiling back at me. I was using her memories, her routines. It was like riding a bike for the first time, but the bike knew the way.
When I opened my eyes and looked in the vanity mirror, a perfectly made-up Lydia Henderson looked back. It was her face, but the light in the eyes… that was all my stunned, giddy wonder.
I was awestruck. Transformed. The innocent, cookie-baking neighbor I saw from my window was also this… this goddess of satin and expertly applied liner.
I was floating on a cloud of discovery when another memory-nudge pulled me. It was stronger, more insistent than the makeup knowledge. It was a pull of routine, of duty, tinged with a secret thrill. It led me out of the bedroom, down the hall, to a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was plain, white, unlike the other decorative doors in the house.
I turned the knob and entered.
The room was an office, but unlike any office I'd ever seen before.
It was a small, soundproofed office. The dominant feature was a large desk with a ring light, a high-quality webcam, and a monitor. Plush, sexy outfits hung on a rack in the corner—things far more daring than the clothes in her main closet. Leather, lace, PVC. A shelf held… toys. Neatly arranged, clean, professional.
The cam girl setup was so blatant, so at odds with the cozy suburban mom exterior, that I just stared. Another memory-flash, not mine: the feeling of logging in, of a stage name—ScarletVelvet—of the focused, performative smile that wasn’t the same as the one she gave me when I mowed her lawn.
My heart hammered again, but with a different kind of adrenaline. This was her secret. And now it was mine. The monitor was dark, but a schedule was pinned to a corkboard. A highlighted time slot was in 15 minutes.
The idea hit me with the force of a train. It was insane. Reckless. Unforgivably invasive.
I couldn’t help it.
I sat down in the plush rolling chair. It adjusted to her—to my—body perfectly. I looked at the login screen for the streaming site. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know the password. But I closed my eyes, and let her surface. Not her consciousness, but the automatic, procedural memory. Like the makeup. My fingers moved on their own, typing in a string of characters. The dashboard for ScarletVelvet loaded.
Five minutes to showtime.
I was sweating. I used one of her memories to pick an outfit—a black lace bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. I put it on, my hands fumbling more now with the nervous energy. I checked the angles of the camera using the preview on the monitor. I fluffed the auburn hair, reapplied the lipstick.
The clock hit the hour. A deep breath. I clicked “Go Live.”
The viewer count started ticking up almost immediately. 10… 25… 50. A chat window bloomed to life on the side screen.
Hey Scarlet!
Missed you last night!
You look hot.
A wave of paralyzing stage fright hit me. This wasn’t my memory, this was live. I had to perform. I swallowed, and offered a smile to the camera. It felt brittle.
“H-hey everyone,” I said, and her voice came out, smoother, sexier than my own cracking tenor. But the cadence was off. I sounded unsure.
You okay, Scarlet? You seem nervous.
I needed to act. I leaned back in the chair, another fragment of her muscle memory guiding me into a pose that was both relaxed and deliberately alluring. “Just a long day,” I purred, trying to mimic the smoky tone I’d heard in the memory-flash. It was closer. “But I’m happy to be here with you all now.”
I let my hands—her elegant, manicured hands—trail down over the lace of the bodysuit. The chat scrolled faster.
Yeah, that’s it.
So beautiful.
I was mimicking, a poor copy of the real ScarletVelvet. I was pulling from stolen glimpses, trying to project a sultry confidence I didn’t feel. I talked, my words stilted, my gestures a half-second too slow or too fast. But the viewers didn’t seem to mind too much. They were here for the visual, for the fantasy.
Then, a private message pinged. A username I didn’t recognize, with a high tipping status. The message read: Something’s different tonight. The light in your eyes. It’s… curious. Shy, almost. I like it. A lot.
The message sent a shiver down my spine—her spine. He saw it. He saw me. The clumsy, curious boy peeking out from behind this beautiful woman’s eyes. The revelation was no longer about her secret. It was about my own, reflected back at me through a stranger’s screen. The thrill was electric, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. I was seen, yet completely hidden. And for the first time since I’d tumbled into this body, I didn’t want to leave.
The stream ended with my heart trying to claw its way out of Mrs. Henderson’s—my—chest. I clicked ‘End Broadcast’ and sat in the silent, neon-lit room, the ghost of a hundred anonymous compliments buzzing in my ears. The adrenaline crash was monumental. A deep, shuddering fatigue pulled at my limbs, at my borrowed eyes. Stumbling back to the master bedroom, I peeled off the black lace bodysuit, leaving it in a heap on the plush carpet. I didn’t have the energy to be neat. In a daze, I pulled on one of her soft cotton nightgowns from a drawer and collapsed into the enormous bed.
The scent of her shampoo on the pillows was the last thing I registered before a deep, black nothingness swallowed me.
***
I woke up with a jolt, my own thin mattress hard beneath my back. Morning light, harsh and familiar, streamed through my blinds. I was in my boxers and a faded band t-shirt. I was me. Just me.
For a long minute, I just lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling I’d put up when I was ten. Had it been a dream? A hyper-vivid, wildly inappropriate stress-dream about my neighbor? It felt too detailed, too real. The weight of the heels. The slick texture of the lipstick. The cold thrill of the chat scrolling by.
I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand, my fingers clumsy. My search history felt like a crime scene. I typed in the site name from the memory, then, hesitantly, the username: ScarletVelvet.
There it was. A profile. A teaser image that was absolutely, unmistakably Mrs. Henderson, though with a smolder I’d never seen in daylight. My mouth went dry. With a trembling click, I navigated to her recent videos. And there, at the top, uploaded six hours ago: “Scarlet’s Shy Night – Live 10/23.”
I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. I just hit play.
And there I was. Or rather, there she was, with me piloting. The footage was crystal clear. I saw the slight, uncharacteristic hesitation in my smile. The way my eyes kept flicking to the chat, wide with a panic I’d tried to hide. I heard my stolen voice say, “Just a long day,” with that imperfect, copied purr. I watched myself trail a hand over the lace, the movement a half-beat off from the real Scarlet’s confident flair.
It was real. Undeniable. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, immediately choked by a wave of gut-churning guilt. And beneath the guilt, a flicker of that same, electrifying curiosity.
I spent the day in a fog, jumping at every sound. I saw Mrs. Henderson bringing in her mail in the afternoon, wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun. She looked tired, but normal. Innocent. She gave a small, casual wave to someone across the street. The duality was mind-breaking.
As night fell, the pull became magnetic. The fear was still there, a cold stone in my stomach, but it was outweighed by the need to know, to feel that transformation again. To have an answer to a question I’d never dared ask out loud.
I sat on my bedroom floor again. No guided meditation this time. Just silence, and a focused, desperate intention. Take me back. Let me in.
The lurch was less violent this time, more like a swift, sinking drift. The lavender scent hit my nostrils. Weight. Softness. Curve.
I opened my eyes in her dark bedroom. Success.
This time, the panic was a minor tremor, quickly subdued by a sense of purpose. I went to her closet, but bypassed the crimson teddies and silk robes. I picked out a pair of dark, well-fitting jeans, a simple black long-sleeved tee, and a comfortable cardigan. I found sensible flats. I looked in the mirror: suburban mom ready for errands. Perfect.
Driving her car was another surge of alien-yet-familiar memory. My hands on the wheel were smaller, my perspective different. The weird feeling of a tight seat-belt resting in the valley of my chest. I made it to the mall, a nervous excitement humming in my veins. This was the test. To be in this body, in the world.
I went to a department store area I’d never dared enter before: the women’s lingerie section. Surrounded by racks of lace and satin, my face flushed. But no one looked twice at a woman browsing bras. The freedom was dizzying. I selected a few sets—a delicate sky blue, a bold leopard print—using her sense of size and fit. I held them up, imagining them on this body. It was a shopping trip from a dream.
Then, emboldened, I went to the trendy clothing stores. I tried on flowy dresses that swirled around my knees, a tight leather skirt that made my heart race, and a ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud. In the fitting room, under the fluorescent lights, I just stared. I turned, examining the lines of her—my—body from every angle. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was a kind of reverence.
The final stop took every ounce of my courage. A sex shop, discreetly located on the outskirts of the mall. A bell chimed as I walked in.
The girl behind the counter looked up. She was probably in her early twenties, with dyed black hair, a septum piercing, and an impressive array of tattoos snaking up her arms. Goth, cool, and utterly intimidating.
“Help you find anything?” she asked, her voice not unfriendly.
“Just… browsing,” I said, Mrs. Henderson’s voice coming out as a shy squeak. I wandered the aisles, overwhelmed by the sheer variety of it all. I felt the Goth girl’s eyes on me, the conservative cardigan-clad mom in a den of iniquity.
Eventually, curiosity overcoming shame, I picked up a small, sleek vibrator, examining it like it was an artifact from another planet.
“Good choice,” the girl said, appearing at the end of the aisle with a knowing smile. “That one’s discreet but powerful. Popular with… beginners. But definitely something you could handle.”
Our eyes met. Hers were sharp, kohl-rimmed, and saw way too much. A faint, amused smile played on her lips. “You seem different today, Mrs. Henderson.”
I nearly dropped the vibrator. She knew her? Of course she did. Small town. My blood ran cold, then hot. I managed a weak smile, channeling every ounce of innocent-neighbor energy I’d observed. “Just… exploring,” I whispered.
“Well, have fun,” she said, her smile turning into a full-blown grin. “Exploration is good for the soul.”
I paid in cash, my face burning, and fled.
Back in the sanctuary of her house, the adrenaline shifted into something slower, warmer, more insistent. The purchases were spread on her bed. The new lingerie. The sleek little toy from the shop.
I put on the sky blue set. It was even prettier on. The contrast against her skin was beautiful. I lay back on the bed, the memories of her own solo routines blending with my own frantic, curiosity. My touch was clumsy at first, then, guided by her body’s own innate knowledge, more sure. It was a bizarre, out-of-body experience that was intensely, overwhelmingly in-body. I was both the explorer and the territory. The pleasure, when it crested, was a shocking, all-consuming wave that left me gasping, shuddering, utterly spent in a way I’d never been in my own body.
In the heavy, satisfied silence that followed, lulled by the fading echoes of sensation and the soft cotton sheets, my borrowed eyes grew heavy. The last coherent thought I had was that this was the deepest, most content sleep I’d ever known.
***
I awoke to the sound of my own alarm blaring, sunlight once again piercing my own familiar, boring blinds. I was back in my scrawny body, tangled in my own sheets, home for the holiday break. For a moment, I just breathed, the phantom sensations of silk and release still tingling at the edges of my awareness. It was real. It had happened again.
And I already knew, with a certainty that scared and thrilled me, that I would be trying to go back as soon as I could.
The weekend stretched before me, a blank canvas of time. The two previous nights had been fleeting infiltrations. Today, I wanted more. I wanted a full day in her skin.
I sat on my floor as the first pale light of Saturday crept into my room. I focused, not on white light or my heart center, but on the memory of lavender and the feeling of satin against skin. The transition was smoother this time, less a lurch and more a conscious step through a door.
I arrived to the sound of running water and the humid, steamy scent of jasmine body wash. I was standing in her master bathroom, the glass shower door fogged, the silhouette of her body—my body—moving behind it. She was humming. I could feel the warm spray hitting my skin, the water sluicing over curves that were now mine. The sensation was immediate and intensely vivid. My hands—her hands—lifted almost of their own accord, slick with soap, gliding over the swell of breasts, the dip of a waist, the smooth plane of a stomach. It was a ritual washing, but for me, it was a breathtaking exploration.
The heat, the steam, the sheer physicality of it coiled a tight, urgent need low in my belly. As the water rained down, I let my hands wander with purpose, no longer just washing, but seeking. I leaned back against the cool tile, my breath hitching as my fingers found their way, guided by a knowledge both borrowed and innate. The climax in the shower was swift and shocking, a white-hot burst that made my knees weak, my stolen cries swallowed by the drumming water. I slumped, panting, the pleasure still echoing through nerve endings that weren't originally mine. It was incredible.
After, wrapped in a plush towel, I felt a strange, powerful confidence. I took my time. I blow-dried her auburn hair into the soft, shiny waves she usually wore. I applied makeup with the practiced ease her memories provided, creating that public-facing mask of friendly, approachable prettiness. I dressed in one of her nice casual outfits—dark jeans, a cream-colored V-neck sweater that clung in a flattering way, knee-high boots. I looked in the mirror and saw the perfect image of the neighbor my step mom would happily invite in for coffee.
The bold idea struck me then, sparkling with risk and a perverse curiosity. I would visit my house.
I walked the familiar short path, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the sidewalk my own sneakers usually scuffed. Ringing my own doorbell was surreal.
My step mom answered, her face lighting up in a warm smile. “Lydia! What a nice surprise. Come in, come in! I was just about to have some coffee.”
“I was just out for a walk and thought I’d say hi,” I said, sliding effortlessly into Mrs. Henderson’s—Lydia’s—warm, slightly musical tone. It was eerie how easily it came, like putting on a well-worn coat from her memories of countless similar chats.
I followed my step mom into the kitchen, the familiar space looking different from this vantage point. She poured coffee, chattering about her plans to re-organize the garage. I nodded and smiled, sipping from the mug, the coffee tasting subtly different with her palate. I was leveraging her memories constantly: the way she held a mug, her opinion on the new neighborhood landscaping, her polite laugh. I was a puppet, and Lydia’s life was the set of strings.
"My son's back from college and could use something to do" my step mom asked with a conspiratorial wink. “Want me to send him over to help with some house work?”
“Oh that'd be perfect,” I heard myself say, and had to suppress a hysterical giggle. “He's a real sweet boy.”
After about twenty minutes of this bizarre charade, I saw my chance. “Would you mind if I excused myself to use your powder room?” I asked.
“Of course, you know where it is!”
I didn’t go to the downstairs powder room. With a thief’s heart, I padded quietly up the stairs, past the framed family photos that now seemed like artifacts from another life. My bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in.
There, sprawled on my bed, fully dressed and snoring softly, was me. Or rather, my empty body. It was the strangest sight of all—seeing my own lanky form from the outside, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over my forehead. A profound sense of dislocation washed over me, followed by a sharp, devious thrill.
I slipped inside and closed the door silently. I stared at my own sleeping face. Then, moving quickly, I pulled out the phone from my borrowed purse—Lydia’s phone. I propped it up on my desk, angled perfectly toward the bed, and hit record.
Then I approached the bed. My own body smelled like my cheap deodorant and the fabric of my old comforter. Gently, I unbuckled my own jeans. My hands, small and soft, worked with a clinical curiosity that was also deeply erotic. I gave my unconscious self a handjob, watching the physiological reaction with a detached, fascinated awe. My shaft thick and hard between my hands. Leaning down, I then took myself into my mouth—her mouth. The sensations were a confusing feedback loop: the physical act, the visual of my own body, the knowledge of who was doing it. It was narcissistic, invasive, and unbearably hot. My body gave in, shooting a small load that covered my face and I made sure the phone captured it all.
I quickly cleaned everything up with a tissue from my nightstand, redid my jeans, and grabbed the phone. I stopped the recording. With shaky fingers, I airdropped the video file to my own phone, which was lying on the nightstand next to my sleeping head. I then meticulously deleted the video from Lydia’s phone and cleared the ‘recently deleted’ folder. The evidence was now only in my possession.
Taking a steadying breath, I smoothed down my sweater and left my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I rejoined my mom in the kitchen, my cheeks flushed.
“Everything alright? You look a little flushed,” my mom said.
“Fine! Just a bit warm,” I said, forcing another smile. I snuck glances at my mom as we talked, seeing the familiar lines of her face from this new, feminine perspective. I was hyper-aware of the body I inhabited, the sway of Lydia’s hair, the brush of her sweater against her breasts—my breasts—as I moved.
The afternoon wore on in a surreal bubble. I was trying to decide what to do next with this borrowed life. Go shopping again? Experiment more at her cam setup? The possibilities were a dizzying array in my mind.
And then, without warning, it happened. A sudden, tugging sensation behind my navel, like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.
***
I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was on my back in my own bed, the afternoon sun now at a different angle. My body felt instantly familiar and was overcome with a feeling of afterglow. The phantom sensations of the shower, of my own touch, still buzzed on my skin like a fading sunburn.
The memory of the video jolted me into action. I scrambled for my phone. There it was. A file received from Lydia Henderson’s device. I didn’t open it. I just stared at the filename, a cold sweat breaking out. It was real. All of it.
I changed my clothes in a frenzy, pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans, my mind reeling. I had to see. I had to know if she was still there.
I practically flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the doorway to the living room. My step mom was still there, on the sofa.
And sitting across from her, sipping the last of her coffee, was Mrs. Henderson—Lydia. She looked perfectly composed, her makeup fresh, her smile easy.
My step mom turned. “Oh, speak of the devil! Lydia was just telling me about her new rose bushes.”
Lydia’s eyes met mine. Those green-flecked hazel eyes held mine for a long, deliberate second. Then, as my step mom glanced down to pick up her own mug, Lydia’s expression shifted. The pleasant neighborly mask dissolved into something else—something knowing, sharp, and utterly mischievous. She gave me a slow, deliberate wink.
Then, her hand resting casually on her knee, hidden from my step mom’s view by the coffee table, she made a quick, unmistakable motion: her fist pumping up and down in the universal sign for a jerk-off.
My blood turned to ice. My stomach dropped through the floor.
She knew. Somehow she knew.
Before I could react, even to breathe, she smiled sweetly at my step mom, stood up, and said, “Well, I should let you two get on with your weekend. Thanks for the coffee, Ellen!”
She walked past me to the door, her perfume trailing behind her. As she reached for the knob, she paused, looked back over her shoulder directly at me, and mouthed silent words with a smirk that was anything but innocent:
“I hope you had fun.”
***
The meditation was a failure. For three nights straight, I sat on my floor until my legs cramped, focusing every ounce of my will on the memory of lavender and silk. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of my own thoughts and the growing dread that my window into Lydia’s world had slammed shut forever.
So when my step-mom Ellen cheerfully announced on Tuesday that she’d “volunteered” me to help Mrs. Henderson haul some old boxes to her attic, my blood ran cold. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a reckoning.
I stood on Lydia’s porch, my heart trying to batter its way through my ribs. I rang the bell.
She answered almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore simple leggings and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup. She looked like the mom next door, but her eyes held a storm.
“Come in,” she said, her voice flat. I shuffled inside, the familiar scent of her home now feeling like a crime scene.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click. We stood in her foyer. The air was thick with unspoken things.
She crossed her arms, fixing me with a hard stare. “So. You want to tell me what the hell that was? Snooping through my things? Wearing my clothes? Going on my stream?” Her tone was sharp, accusatory. “That is some seriously messed up, perverted shit.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My face burned with shame and terror. I was going to be arrested. My life was over. I managed a strangled, “I… I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson, I don’t know what—”
She burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but a rich, genuine sound that filled the hallway. The angry mask melted away, replaced by sparkling amusement. “Oh, god, look at your face!” she wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Priceless. I’m just messing with you, kid. Everything’s fine.”
I sagged against the wall, lightheaded with relief. “W-what?”
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated, grinning. “Well, as fine as it can be when you find out your neighbor’s been borrowing your body like a rental car.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I made iced tea.”
In a daze, I followed her. She poured two glasses, leaning against the counter. “So,” she began, her tone now conspiratorial. “That goth chick at Sinister Delights? Cute, right? She texted me after you left, said I seemed ‘different.’ More fun.”
I could only stare, my mind struggling to catch up.
“And the mall,” she continued, sipping her drink. “Good choices. The leopard print? Bold. I’d have never picked it for myself, but I kinda love it.”
I just held the cold glass, unable to process her words.
“And the cam show,” she continued, leaning against the counter, a sly smile on her lips. “Shy Girl Next Door? That was a brilliant angle. The nervous glances, the slightly clumsy moves… it was authentic. Viewers ate it up. My tips were 30% higher than usual.”
Her expression softened, turning serious for a moment. “That, you do have to keep to yourself. My… professional life. That’s a non-negotiable secret.”
“Of course,” I blurted. “Never. I swear.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she seemed to mean it. “And the video? Of me… you know, with you?” She shook her head, a faint blush on her cheeks that wasn’t entirely from amusement. “You can keep that. Consider it a… weird souvenir.”
The casual way she said it was staggering. “Why… why are you being so cool about this?” I finally managed to whisper.
Lydia sighed, setting her glass down. She looked at me, her gaze turning inward and serious. “Because it wasn’t just you in my head. When you left… something stayed. A little echo. A feeling. I can’t access your memories, but I can feel… a presence. A younger, curious, kinda horny male presence. It’s faint, like a radio playing in another room, but it’s there. It’s why I knew it was you at the door. I felt the echo… resonate.”
She walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. It was a strangely companionable gesture. “I don’t feel violated. I feel… like I owe you a favor. You left a piece of yourself here, and I feel like I should treat you like a new found brother. So.” She shrugged, a new, determined glint in her eye. “I’m going to do you a solid. One for the road, since you're about to go back to college and can’t seem to get back in on your own.”
Before I could ask what she meant, she took my hand. “Come on.”
She led me, stunned and silent, to her bedroom. She pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
I sat. She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out the leopard print lingerie I’d bought. She gave me a wink, then disappeared into the walk-in closet to change.
When she emerged, my breath caught. The leopard print was even more stunning on her when she wore it with intention. The bralette pushed her breasts up, the high-cut briefs accentuating the curve of her hips. She looked like a predator, confident and sleek.
“Lie back,” she instructed softly.
I did. She knelt on the floor between my knees, her hands deftly undoing my jeans. This was nothing like the frantic, secretive act in my bedroom. This was slow, deliberate, and performed with a masterful skill that had me trembling in seconds. Her mouth was hot and knowing, her hands roaming my thighs and stomach. She took her time, bringing me to the edge twice with torturous skill before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Not yet.”
Then she stood up, shimmied out of the briefs, and climbed onto the bed, straddling me. She guided me inside her, sinking down with a slow, deep sigh that was part pleasure, part relief.
The sex was nothing I had ever experienced. It was passionate but controlled, intense but deeply communicative. She rode me with a powerful, rolling rhythm, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned down, her breasts brushing my chest, and kissed me—a deep, searching kiss that tasted of iced tea and mint. The leopard print lace scraped deliciously against my skin.
“You feel that?” she murmured against my lips, her hips never stopping their movement. “That’s all you. That echo. It’s like I know what you like before you do.”
She was right. Every shift, every touch, was perfectly aligned with my building pleasure. It was as if she was reading the ghost I’d left inside her. The climax, when it hit me, was a cataclysmic wave that tore a raw, guttural shout from my throat. She followed me over a moment later, clenching around me, her own cry muffled in the crook of my neck.
We lay together for a long time, tangled and sweating, the scent of sex and her perfume filling the air. She eventually slipped off me and curled against my side. “A proper goodbye,” she whispered, before her breathing evened out into sleep.
***
I woke up alone in my own bed. The gray light of dawn filtered in. The sheets smelled of my own laundry detergent. For a dizzying moment, I was sure it had all been another impossibly vivid dream.
Then I felt the pleasant ache in my muscles. I saw the faint, smudged trace of lipstick—a peachy nude, Morning Kiss—on my collar.
And I remembered her words. You left a piece of yourself here.
That evening, restless and haunted, I sat on my bedroom floor once more. Not trying to reach for Lydia. Just trying to quiet the echo. My consciousness drifted, untethered, through the familiar walls of my house.
I floated into the master bedroom. My step mom, Ellen, was there, sitting at her vanity in a robe, carefully applying night cream. I hovered, a silent, invisible observer. She hummed a tune from some old musical, her face relaxed and kind in the soft light.
The thought, sudden and unbidden, shimmered in my non-corporeal mind. A new door. A different set of strings to pull. The curiosity, now awakened and fed, was a hungry thing.
I floated closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.
The question hung in the ether, heavy with possibility.
Do I want to?
My breath slowed, easing into the steady rhythm I’d been practicing. The YouTube guru’s voice was a distant murmur in my earbuds. Let your consciousness expand beyond the physical form. Feel the boundaries of your body dissolve… I always felt a little silly doing this in my bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling my only witness. But tonight, something was different. A strange, pulling sensation started behind my navel, like a gentle but insistent hook.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on my breathing, but the tug grew stronger. The feeling of my own body—the weight of my limbs on the bed, the pressure of the mattress against my back—suddenly vanished. There was a dizzying rush of color and sound, a sensation of being pulled through a narrow, dark tunnel at impossible speed.
Then, with a soft thump I felt I heard more than heard, everything stopped. A weight... A different kind of weight. My chest felt heavy, supported. My hips felt wider.
I blinked. This wasn’t my room. The air smelled of lavender and expensive perfume. I looked down.
My hands. They were not my hands. They were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. A delicate silver bracelet hung from one wrist. I wore a silk robe, peach, tied loosely at the waist. My heart—no, her heart—hammered against my ribs.
A wave of vertigo hit me, followed by a flood of images that weren’t mine. Lydia. Her name is Lydia. A memory of her laughing with my step mom at the mailbox, holding a grocery bag. Another of her watering her roses in a sun dress last weekend. Before I left for college, she'd always waved at me, a kind, almost shy smile on her face.
Mrs. Henderson from next door. The hot MILF all my friends whispered about but who just seemed… nice.
I was inside Lydia Henderson.
Panic surged, a cold, sharp spike. I needed to get back. I tried to concentrate, to will myself back to my own body lying on my bed, but nothing happened. The panic subsided, replaced by a trembling, awe-filled curiosity. I was here. In her.
I turned, my movements unfamiliar and graceful, and caught my reflection in a full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.
Wow.
She was… stunning. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her green-flecked hazel eyes, were wide with an expression I knew was my own shock staring back. The silk robe hinted at the curves beneath. A lifetime of curious, stolen glances from my bedroom window hadn’t prepared me for the reality of being inside this body. A thrill, warm and forbidden, shot through me.
My gaze drifted past my—her—reflection to the rest of the walk-in closet behind me. The curiosity, always simmering just beneath the surface, roared to life. I’d always wondered. About the feel of it, the look of it, the secret world of it.
There I was surrounded by a forest of silks, satins, and soft, colorful fabrics.
Almost without conscious thought, my hands went to the tie of the robe. It fell open. She—I—was wearing matching peach lace lingerie underneath. A bra that cupped and lifted, panties that were just a delicate scrap of fabric. A heat that had nothing to do with possession flushed through me. It was awe. It was a secret, answered question.
I reached for a hanger. A slip of crimson satin and black lace. A teddy. My fingers trembled as I shimmied out of the peach set and into the red one. The cool satin whispered over my hips, the lace hugged curves I’d never had. I looked in the mirror again. A stranger, yet me. A beautiful, secret version of myself.
I spent what felt like hours, lost in a tactile wonderland. I tried on a tight pencil skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater, feeling the sophisticated drape. I found a pair of sky-high black heels and clomped around the carpet, her body’s balance instinctively better than mine would have been. The click-click of the heels on the hardwood floor was a powerful, feminine sound.
Then I found the vanity. An array of pots, pencils, and brushes that might as well have been alien technology. But as I picked up a tube of lipstick, a strange thing happened. A knowledge that wasn’t mine surfaced. A muscle memory. My hand steadied. I uncapped the tube, a deep rose color, and applied it to “my” lips in smooth, practiced strokes. Then eyeliner, a flick at the corner that appeared as if by magic. Blush dusted on the apples of cheeks I could now feel smiling back at me. I was using her memories, her routines. It was like riding a bike for the first time, but the bike knew the way.
When I opened my eyes and looked in the vanity mirror, a perfectly made-up Lydia Henderson looked back. It was her face, but the light in the eyes… that was all my stunned, giddy wonder.
I was awestruck. Transformed. The innocent, cookie-baking neighbor I saw from my window was also this… this goddess of satin and expertly applied liner.
I was floating on a cloud of discovery when another memory-nudge pulled me. It was stronger, more insistent than the makeup knowledge. It was a pull of routine, of duty, tinged with a secret thrill. It led me out of the bedroom, down the hall, to a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was plain, white, unlike the other decorative doors in the house.
I turned the knob and entered.
The room was an office, but unlike any office I'd ever seen before.
It was a small, soundproofed office. The dominant feature was a large desk with a ring light, a high-quality webcam, and a monitor. Plush, sexy outfits hung on a rack in the corner—things far more daring than the clothes in her main closet. Leather, lace, PVC. A shelf held… toys. Neatly arranged, clean, professional.
The cam girl setup was so blatant, so at odds with the cozy suburban mom exterior, that I just stared. Another memory-flash, not mine: the feeling of logging in, of a stage name—ScarletVelvet—of the focused, performative smile that wasn’t the same as the one she gave me when I mowed her lawn.
My heart hammered again, but with a different kind of adrenaline. This was her secret. And now it was mine. The monitor was dark, but a schedule was pinned to a corkboard. A highlighted time slot was in 15 minutes.
The idea hit me with the force of a train. It was insane. Reckless. Unforgivably invasive.
I couldn’t help it.
I sat down in the plush rolling chair. It adjusted to her—to my—body perfectly. I looked at the login screen for the streaming site. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know the password. But I closed my eyes, and let her surface. Not her consciousness, but the automatic, procedural memory. Like the makeup. My fingers moved on their own, typing in a string of characters. The dashboard for ScarletVelvet loaded.
Five minutes to showtime.
I was sweating. I used one of her memories to pick an outfit—a black lace bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. I put it on, my hands fumbling more now with the nervous energy. I checked the angles of the camera using the preview on the monitor. I fluffed the auburn hair, reapplied the lipstick.
The clock hit the hour. A deep breath. I clicked “Go Live.”
The viewer count started ticking up almost immediately. 10… 25… 50. A chat window bloomed to life on the side screen.
Hey Scarlet!
Missed you last night!
You look hot.
A wave of paralyzing stage fright hit me. This wasn’t my memory, this was live. I had to perform. I swallowed, and offered a smile to the camera. It felt brittle.
“H-hey everyone,” I said, and her voice came out, smoother, sexier than my own cracking tenor. But the cadence was off. I sounded unsure.
You okay, Scarlet? You seem nervous.
I needed to act. I leaned back in the chair, another fragment of her muscle memory guiding me into a pose that was both relaxed and deliberately alluring. “Just a long day,” I purred, trying to mimic the smoky tone I’d heard in the memory-flash. It was closer. “But I’m happy to be here with you all now.”
I let my hands—her elegant, manicured hands—trail down over the lace of the bodysuit. The chat scrolled faster.
Yeah, that’s it.
So beautiful.
I was mimicking, a poor copy of the real ScarletVelvet. I was pulling from stolen glimpses, trying to project a sultry confidence I didn’t feel. I talked, my words stilted, my gestures a half-second too slow or too fast. But the viewers didn’t seem to mind too much. They were here for the visual, for the fantasy.
Then, a private message pinged. A username I didn’t recognize, with a high tipping status. The message read: Something’s different tonight. The light in your eyes. It’s… curious. Shy, almost. I like it. A lot.
The message sent a shiver down my spine—her spine. He saw it. He saw me. The clumsy, curious boy peeking out from behind this beautiful woman’s eyes. The revelation was no longer about her secret. It was about my own, reflected back at me through a stranger’s screen. The thrill was electric, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. I was seen, yet completely hidden. And for the first time since I’d tumbled into this body, I didn’t want to leave.
The stream ended with my heart trying to claw its way out of Mrs. Henderson’s—my—chest. I clicked ‘End Broadcast’ and sat in the silent, neon-lit room, the ghost of a hundred anonymous compliments buzzing in my ears. The adrenaline crash was monumental. A deep, shuddering fatigue pulled at my limbs, at my borrowed eyes. Stumbling back to the master bedroom, I peeled off the black lace bodysuit, leaving it in a heap on the plush carpet. I didn’t have the energy to be neat. In a daze, I pulled on one of her soft cotton nightgowns from a drawer and collapsed into the enormous bed.
The scent of her shampoo on the pillows was the last thing I registered before a deep, black nothingness swallowed me.
***
I woke up with a jolt, my own thin mattress hard beneath my back. Morning light, harsh and familiar, streamed through my blinds. I was in my boxers and a faded band t-shirt. I was me. Just me.
For a long minute, I just lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling I’d put up when I was ten. Had it been a dream? A hyper-vivid, wildly inappropriate stress-dream about my neighbor? It felt too detailed, too real. The weight of the heels. The slick texture of the lipstick. The cold thrill of the chat scrolling by.
I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand, my fingers clumsy. My search history felt like a crime scene. I typed in the site name from the memory, then, hesitantly, the username: ScarletVelvet.
There it was. A profile. A teaser image that was absolutely, unmistakably Mrs. Henderson, though with a smolder I’d never seen in daylight. My mouth went dry. With a trembling click, I navigated to her recent videos. And there, at the top, uploaded six hours ago: “Scarlet’s Shy Night – Live 10/23.”
I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. I just hit play.
And there I was. Or rather, there she was, with me piloting. The footage was crystal clear. I saw the slight, uncharacteristic hesitation in my smile. The way my eyes kept flicking to the chat, wide with a panic I’d tried to hide. I heard my stolen voice say, “Just a long day,” with that imperfect, copied purr. I watched myself trail a hand over the lace, the movement a half-beat off from the real Scarlet’s confident flair.
It was real. Undeniable. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, immediately choked by a wave of gut-churning guilt. And beneath the guilt, a flicker of that same, electrifying curiosity.
I spent the day in a fog, jumping at every sound. I saw Mrs. Henderson bringing in her mail in the afternoon, wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun. She looked tired, but normal. Innocent. She gave a small, casual wave to someone across the street. The duality was mind-breaking.
As night fell, the pull became magnetic. The fear was still there, a cold stone in my stomach, but it was outweighed by the need to know, to feel that transformation again. To have an answer to a question I’d never dared ask out loud.
I sat on my bedroom floor again. No guided meditation this time. Just silence, and a focused, desperate intention. Take me back. Let me in.
The lurch was less violent this time, more like a swift, sinking drift. The lavender scent hit my nostrils. Weight. Softness. Curve.
I opened my eyes in her dark bedroom. Success.
This time, the panic was a minor tremor, quickly subdued by a sense of purpose. I went to her closet, but bypassed the crimson teddies and silk robes. I picked out a pair of dark, well-fitting jeans, a simple black long-sleeved tee, and a comfortable cardigan. I found sensible flats. I looked in the mirror: suburban mom ready for errands. Perfect.
Driving her car was another surge of alien-yet-familiar memory. My hands on the wheel were smaller, my perspective different. The weird feeling of a tight seat-belt resting in the valley of my chest. I made it to the mall, a nervous excitement humming in my veins. This was the test. To be in this body, in the world.
I went to a department store area I’d never dared enter before: the women’s lingerie section. Surrounded by racks of lace and satin, my face flushed. But no one looked twice at a woman browsing bras. The freedom was dizzying. I selected a few sets—a delicate sky blue, a bold leopard print—using her sense of size and fit. I held them up, imagining them on this body. It was a shopping trip from a dream.
Then, emboldened, I went to the trendy clothing stores. I tried on flowy dresses that swirled around my knees, a tight leather skirt that made my heart race, and a ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud. In the fitting room, under the fluorescent lights, I just stared. I turned, examining the lines of her—my—body from every angle. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was a kind of reverence.
The final stop took every ounce of my courage. A sex shop, discreetly located on the outskirts of the mall. A bell chimed as I walked in.
The girl behind the counter looked up. She was probably in her early twenties, with dyed black hair, a septum piercing, and an impressive array of tattoos snaking up her arms. Goth, cool, and utterly intimidating.
“Help you find anything?” she asked, her voice not unfriendly.
“Just… browsing,” I said, Mrs. Henderson’s voice coming out as a shy squeak. I wandered the aisles, overwhelmed by the sheer variety of it all. I felt the Goth girl’s eyes on me, the conservative cardigan-clad mom in a den of iniquity.
Eventually, curiosity overcoming shame, I picked up a small, sleek vibrator, examining it like it was an artifact from another planet.
“Good choice,” the girl said, appearing at the end of the aisle with a knowing smile. “That one’s discreet but powerful. Popular with… beginners. But definitely something you could handle.”
Our eyes met. Hers were sharp, kohl-rimmed, and saw way too much. A faint, amused smile played on her lips. “You seem different today, Mrs. Henderson.”
I nearly dropped the vibrator. She knew her? Of course she did. Small town. My blood ran cold, then hot. I managed a weak smile, channeling every ounce of innocent-neighbor energy I’d observed. “Just… exploring,” I whispered.
“Well, have fun,” she said, her smile turning into a full-blown grin. “Exploration is good for the soul.”
I paid in cash, my face burning, and fled.
Back in the sanctuary of her house, the adrenaline shifted into something slower, warmer, more insistent. The purchases were spread on her bed. The new lingerie. The sleek little toy from the shop.
I put on the sky blue set. It was even prettier on. The contrast against her skin was beautiful. I lay back on the bed, the memories of her own solo routines blending with my own frantic, curiosity. My touch was clumsy at first, then, guided by her body’s own innate knowledge, more sure. It was a bizarre, out-of-body experience that was intensely, overwhelmingly in-body. I was both the explorer and the territory. The pleasure, when it crested, was a shocking, all-consuming wave that left me gasping, shuddering, utterly spent in a way I’d never been in my own body.
In the heavy, satisfied silence that followed, lulled by the fading echoes of sensation and the soft cotton sheets, my borrowed eyes grew heavy. The last coherent thought I had was that this was the deepest, most content sleep I’d ever known.
***
I awoke to the sound of my own alarm blaring, sunlight once again piercing my own familiar, boring blinds. I was back in my scrawny body, tangled in my own sheets, home for the holiday break. For a moment, I just breathed, the phantom sensations of silk and release still tingling at the edges of my awareness. It was real. It had happened again.
And I already knew, with a certainty that scared and thrilled me, that I would be trying to go back as soon as I could.
The weekend stretched before me, a blank canvas of time. The two previous nights had been fleeting infiltrations. Today, I wanted more. I wanted a full day in her skin.
I sat on my floor as the first pale light of Saturday crept into my room. I focused, not on white light or my heart center, but on the memory of lavender and the feeling of satin against skin. The transition was smoother this time, less a lurch and more a conscious step through a door.
I arrived to the sound of running water and the humid, steamy scent of jasmine body wash. I was standing in her master bathroom, the glass shower door fogged, the silhouette of her body—my body—moving behind it. She was humming. I could feel the warm spray hitting my skin, the water sluicing over curves that were now mine. The sensation was immediate and intensely vivid. My hands—her hands—lifted almost of their own accord, slick with soap, gliding over the swell of breasts, the dip of a waist, the smooth plane of a stomach. It was a ritual washing, but for me, it was a breathtaking exploration.
The heat, the steam, the sheer physicality of it coiled a tight, urgent need low in my belly. As the water rained down, I let my hands wander with purpose, no longer just washing, but seeking. I leaned back against the cool tile, my breath hitching as my fingers found their way, guided by a knowledge both borrowed and innate. The climax in the shower was swift and shocking, a white-hot burst that made my knees weak, my stolen cries swallowed by the drumming water. I slumped, panting, the pleasure still echoing through nerve endings that weren't originally mine. It was incredible.
After, wrapped in a plush towel, I felt a strange, powerful confidence. I took my time. I blow-dried her auburn hair into the soft, shiny waves she usually wore. I applied makeup with the practiced ease her memories provided, creating that public-facing mask of friendly, approachable prettiness. I dressed in one of her nice casual outfits—dark jeans, a cream-colored V-neck sweater that clung in a flattering way, knee-high boots. I looked in the mirror and saw the perfect image of the neighbor my step mom would happily invite in for coffee.
The bold idea struck me then, sparkling with risk and a perverse curiosity. I would visit my house.
I walked the familiar short path, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the sidewalk my own sneakers usually scuffed. Ringing my own doorbell was surreal.
My step mom answered, her face lighting up in a warm smile. “Lydia! What a nice surprise. Come in, come in! I was just about to have some coffee.”
“I was just out for a walk and thought I’d say hi,” I said, sliding effortlessly into Mrs. Henderson’s—Lydia’s—warm, slightly musical tone. It was eerie how easily it came, like putting on a well-worn coat from her memories of countless similar chats.
I followed my step mom into the kitchen, the familiar space looking different from this vantage point. She poured coffee, chattering about her plans to re-organize the garage. I nodded and smiled, sipping from the mug, the coffee tasting subtly different with her palate. I was leveraging her memories constantly: the way she held a mug, her opinion on the new neighborhood landscaping, her polite laugh. I was a puppet, and Lydia’s life was the set of strings.
"My son's back from college and could use something to do" my step mom asked with a conspiratorial wink. “Want me to send him over to help with some house work?”
“Oh that'd be perfect,” I heard myself say, and had to suppress a hysterical giggle. “He's a real sweet boy.”
After about twenty minutes of this bizarre charade, I saw my chance. “Would you mind if I excused myself to use your powder room?” I asked.
“Of course, you know where it is!”
I didn’t go to the downstairs powder room. With a thief’s heart, I padded quietly up the stairs, past the framed family photos that now seemed like artifacts from another life. My bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in.
There, sprawled on my bed, fully dressed and snoring softly, was me. Or rather, my empty body. It was the strangest sight of all—seeing my own lanky form from the outside, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over my forehead. A profound sense of dislocation washed over me, followed by a sharp, devious thrill.
I slipped inside and closed the door silently. I stared at my own sleeping face. Then, moving quickly, I pulled out the phone from my borrowed purse—Lydia’s phone. I propped it up on my desk, angled perfectly toward the bed, and hit record.
Then I approached the bed. My own body smelled like my cheap deodorant and the fabric of my old comforter. Gently, I unbuckled my own jeans. My hands, small and soft, worked with a clinical curiosity that was also deeply erotic. I gave my unconscious self a handjob, watching the physiological reaction with a detached, fascinated awe. My shaft thick and hard between my hands. Leaning down, I then took myself into my mouth—her mouth. The sensations were a confusing feedback loop: the physical act, the visual of my own body, the knowledge of who was doing it. It was narcissistic, invasive, and unbearably hot. My body gave in, shooting a small load that covered my face and I made sure the phone captured it all.
I quickly cleaned everything up with a tissue from my nightstand, redid my jeans, and grabbed the phone. I stopped the recording. With shaky fingers, I airdropped the video file to my own phone, which was lying on the nightstand next to my sleeping head. I then meticulously deleted the video from Lydia’s phone and cleared the ‘recently deleted’ folder. The evidence was now only in my possession.
Taking a steadying breath, I smoothed down my sweater and left my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I rejoined my mom in the kitchen, my cheeks flushed.
“Everything alright? You look a little flushed,” my mom said.
“Fine! Just a bit warm,” I said, forcing another smile. I snuck glances at my mom as we talked, seeing the familiar lines of her face from this new, feminine perspective. I was hyper-aware of the body I inhabited, the sway of Lydia’s hair, the brush of her sweater against her breasts—my breasts—as I moved.
The afternoon wore on in a surreal bubble. I was trying to decide what to do next with this borrowed life. Go shopping again? Experiment more at her cam setup? The possibilities were a dizzying array in my mind.
And then, without warning, it happened. A sudden, tugging sensation behind my navel, like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.
***
I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was on my back in my own bed, the afternoon sun now at a different angle. My body felt instantly familiar and was overcome with a feeling of afterglow. The phantom sensations of the shower, of my own touch, still buzzed on my skin like a fading sunburn.
The memory of the video jolted me into action. I scrambled for my phone. There it was. A file received from Lydia Henderson’s device. I didn’t open it. I just stared at the filename, a cold sweat breaking out. It was real. All of it.
I changed my clothes in a frenzy, pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans, my mind reeling. I had to see. I had to know if she was still there.
I practically flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the doorway to the living room. My step mom was still there, on the sofa.
And sitting across from her, sipping the last of her coffee, was Mrs. Henderson—Lydia. She looked perfectly composed, her makeup fresh, her smile easy.
My step mom turned. “Oh, speak of the devil! Lydia was just telling me about her new rose bushes.”
Lydia’s eyes met mine. Those green-flecked hazel eyes held mine for a long, deliberate second. Then, as my step mom glanced down to pick up her own mug, Lydia’s expression shifted. The pleasant neighborly mask dissolved into something else—something knowing, sharp, and utterly mischievous. She gave me a slow, deliberate wink.
Then, her hand resting casually on her knee, hidden from my step mom’s view by the coffee table, she made a quick, unmistakable motion: her fist pumping up and down in the universal sign for a jerk-off.
My blood turned to ice. My stomach dropped through the floor.
She knew. Somehow she knew.
Before I could react, even to breathe, she smiled sweetly at my step mom, stood up, and said, “Well, I should let you two get on with your weekend. Thanks for the coffee, Ellen!”
She walked past me to the door, her perfume trailing behind her. As she reached for the knob, she paused, looked back over her shoulder directly at me, and mouthed silent words with a smirk that was anything but innocent:
“I hope you had fun.”
***
The meditation was a failure. For three nights straight, I sat on my floor until my legs cramped, focusing every ounce of my will on the memory of lavender and silk. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of my own thoughts and the growing dread that my window into Lydia’s world had slammed shut forever.
So when my step-mom Ellen cheerfully announced on Tuesday that she’d “volunteered” me to help Mrs. Henderson haul some old boxes to her attic, my blood ran cold. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a reckoning.
I stood on Lydia’s porch, my heart trying to batter its way through my ribs. I rang the bell.
She answered almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore simple leggings and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup. She looked like the mom next door, but her eyes held a storm.
“Come in,” she said, her voice flat. I shuffled inside, the familiar scent of her home now feeling like a crime scene.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click. We stood in her foyer. The air was thick with unspoken things.
She crossed her arms, fixing me with a hard stare. “So. You want to tell me what the hell that was? Snooping through my things? Wearing my clothes? Going on my stream?” Her tone was sharp, accusatory. “That is some seriously messed up, perverted shit.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My face burned with shame and terror. I was going to be arrested. My life was over. I managed a strangled, “I… I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson, I don’t know what—”
She burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but a rich, genuine sound that filled the hallway. The angry mask melted away, replaced by sparkling amusement. “Oh, god, look at your face!” she wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Priceless. I’m just messing with you, kid. Everything’s fine.”
I sagged against the wall, lightheaded with relief. “W-what?”
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated, grinning. “Well, as fine as it can be when you find out your neighbor’s been borrowing your body like a rental car.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I made iced tea.”
In a daze, I followed her. She poured two glasses, leaning against the counter. “So,” she began, her tone now conspiratorial. “That goth chick at Sinister Delights? Cute, right? She texted me after you left, said I seemed ‘different.’ More fun.”
I could only stare, my mind struggling to catch up.
“And the mall,” she continued, sipping her drink. “Good choices. The leopard print? Bold. I’d have never picked it for myself, but I kinda love it.”
I just held the cold glass, unable to process her words.
“And the cam show,” she continued, leaning against the counter, a sly smile on her lips. “Shy Girl Next Door? That was a brilliant angle. The nervous glances, the slightly clumsy moves… it was authentic. Viewers ate it up. My tips were 30% higher than usual.”
Her expression softened, turning serious for a moment. “That, you do have to keep to yourself. My… professional life. That’s a non-negotiable secret.”
“Of course,” I blurted. “Never. I swear.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she seemed to mean it. “And the video? Of me… you know, with you?” She shook her head, a faint blush on her cheeks that wasn’t entirely from amusement. “You can keep that. Consider it a… weird souvenir.”
The casual way she said it was staggering. “Why… why are you being so cool about this?” I finally managed to whisper.
Lydia sighed, setting her glass down. She looked at me, her gaze turning inward and serious. “Because it wasn’t just you in my head. When you left… something stayed. A little echo. A feeling. I can’t access your memories, but I can feel… a presence. A younger, curious, kinda horny male presence. It’s faint, like a radio playing in another room, but it’s there. It’s why I knew it was you at the door. I felt the echo… resonate.”
She walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. It was a strangely companionable gesture. “I don’t feel violated. I feel… like I owe you a favor. You left a piece of yourself here, and I feel like I should treat you like a new found brother. So.” She shrugged, a new, determined glint in her eye. “I’m going to do you a solid. One for the road, since you're about to go back to college and can’t seem to get back in on your own.”
Before I could ask what she meant, she took my hand. “Come on.”
She led me, stunned and silent, to her bedroom. She pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
I sat. She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out the leopard print lingerie I’d bought. She gave me a wink, then disappeared into the walk-in closet to change.
When she emerged, my breath caught. The leopard print was even more stunning on her when she wore it with intention. The bralette pushed her breasts up, the high-cut briefs accentuating the curve of her hips. She looked like a predator, confident and sleek.
“Lie back,” she instructed softly.
I did. She knelt on the floor between my knees, her hands deftly undoing my jeans. This was nothing like the frantic, secretive act in my bedroom. This was slow, deliberate, and performed with a masterful skill that had me trembling in seconds. Her mouth was hot and knowing, her hands roaming my thighs and stomach. She took her time, bringing me to the edge twice with torturous skill before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Not yet.”
Then she stood up, shimmied out of the briefs, and climbed onto the bed, straddling me. She guided me inside her, sinking down with a slow, deep sigh that was part pleasure, part relief.
The sex was nothing I had ever experienced. It was passionate but controlled, intense but deeply communicative. She rode me with a powerful, rolling rhythm, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned down, her breasts brushing my chest, and kissed me—a deep, searching kiss that tasted of iced tea and mint. The leopard print lace scraped deliciously against my skin.
“You feel that?” she murmured against my lips, her hips never stopping their movement. “That’s all you. That echo. It’s like I know what you like before you do.”
She was right. Every shift, every touch, was perfectly aligned with my building pleasure. It was as if she was reading the ghost I’d left inside her. The climax, when it hit me, was a cataclysmic wave that tore a raw, guttural shout from my throat. She followed me over a moment later, clenching around me, her own cry muffled in the crook of my neck.
We lay together for a long time, tangled and sweating, the scent of sex and her perfume filling the air. She eventually slipped off me and curled against my side. “A proper goodbye,” she whispered, before her breathing evened out into sleep.
***
I woke up alone in my own bed. The gray light of dawn filtered in. The sheets smelled of my own laundry detergent. For a dizzying moment, I was sure it had all been another impossibly vivid dream.
Then I felt the pleasant ache in my muscles. I saw the faint, smudged trace of lipstick—a peachy nude, Morning Kiss—on my collar.
And I remembered her words. You left a piece of yourself here.
That evening, restless and haunted, I sat on my bedroom floor once more. Not trying to reach for Lydia. Just trying to quiet the echo. My consciousness drifted, untethered, through the familiar walls of my house.
I floated into the master bedroom. My step mom, Ellen, was there, sitting at her vanity in a robe, carefully applying night cream. I hovered, a silent, invisible observer. She hummed a tune from some old musical, her face relaxed and kind in the soft light.
The thought, sudden and unbidden, shimmered in my non-corporeal mind. A new door. A different set of strings to pull. The curiosity, now awakened and fed, was a hungry thing.
I floated closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.
The question hung in the ether, heavy with possibility.
Do I want to?
A NEET terrorizes her family with her possession powers.
It was in the very early morning hours. The whole house was pitch-black and its inhabitants were fast asleep, except for one. The only source of light was the glow emenating from a computer monitor. It illuminated Wendy’s face and the strands of greasy hair glued to it. The synthetic light just faintly revealed the mess in her room: the moldy plates, empty take-out boxes, and dirty clothes, all of which were freely intermixed and strewn about.
Wet sounds and a pungent smell filled the air. Wendy sat in her computer chair in just her underwear and masturbated while playing an erotic dating simulator. She had been an avid fan of video games, especially story-driven ones like visual novels, since she was a kid, but since the twenty-three-year-old failed out of college and moved back in with her parents, she had done nothing but sit in front of her computer and play video games all day long.
She used to be somewhat pretty, but she let herself go quite a bit when she essentially barricaded herself into her old childhood room, only ever leaving to use the bathroom. Since then, she had been escaping more and more into the virtual world of various video games, desperately trying to escape her failures in the outside world. The easily achievable goals in those games provided her with at least a fake sense of fullfilment and purpose.
Initially, she stuck to regular video games and story-driven visual novels. But since moving back home, she got fairly addicted to romantic dating simulators, which provided her a with a substitute for the type of relationship she longed for but could not achieve in real life. Things took even more of a downturn when, a few months ago, after having played through virtually all visual novels, she checked out her first incest-themed eroge, a genre she had not paid any attention to before, but now felt compelled to in order to avoid spending any second alone with her own thoughts.
Right in that moment she was playing through a scene where the main character’s adorable little sister snuck into her older brother’s bed and snuggled up to him under the covers. The game quickly turned erotic and, in response, Wendy let out a long, deep grunt, signaling her climax.
To recuperate from her self-satisfaction, Wendy leaned back into her chair and looked up at her dimmly-lit ceiling. After a few moments an idea popped into her head. She got up and, for the first time in a while, left her room for a reason other than to use the bathroom. She quietly crept through the dark hallway and slowly opened the door two rooms further down, trying to keep it from creaking as to not wake the person sleeping inside.
After entering the room, she managed to silently close the door behind her and then tip-toed towards the bed inside. There, she lifted the covers and carefully laid down next to her older brother Josh who was sleeping soundly. She then cozied up to him under the blanket just like she had seen the little sister do in her video game. She was now right next to him with her foul breath caressing his skin.
Wanting to recreate the scene from her video game, Wendy began carefully fishing her brother’s limp dick out of his pyjama pants and gently rubbed it until it was fully errect. She then rolled on top of him, pushed her panties aside, and stealthily slipped his dick into her hungry snatch.
Meanwhile, Josh was having the most amazing dream. In it, he found himself in an infinite, white void where he was hooking up with the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her long, brunette hair appeared to be silky-soft as it gently swayed around her slender frame with each motion, lending her an ethereal presence. The only things about her that he found more captivating than her radiant smile were her full, ripe breasts, which were practically begging to be devoured. She seemed really familiar to Josh, although he could not quite place where he had seen her before. Maybe she was an ex-girlfriend he had forgotten about. Nevertheless, he did not want to keep this unknown beauty waiting by fretting about it.
Josh and the mysterious girl had already fully shed their clothes and were eager to get things going. He laid down on the most comfortable bed imaginable, which had appeared out of nowhere without him ever noticing. Lying on his back, he watched as his dream lover expertly fondled his privates while looking up at him with hungry eyes. In no time he was ready to take her. The nameless vixen sat on top of him and began immediately riding him, placing her hands on his hard abs for support. Her hot, silky depths engulfed him completely as her smooth, hairless body writhed with pleasure. Biting her lower lip, she failed to stifle the soft moans escaping from her mouth that accompanied the expressions of extacy on her gorgeous face. They caressed Josh’s ears like the sweatest of melodies, bewitching him like a siren. The pleasure that grew in his groin was overwhelming, beyond anything he had ever experienced in real life.
Yet, something about her felt odd to him. Despite her small size and lithe body, the dreamy nymph on top of him felt unusually heavy. This bizarre fact made him realize that he was actually dreaming, which immediately ripped him from his sleep.
Completely disoriented, the only things Josh could perceive in the dark was labored breathing and groaning, and a heavy weight bouncing up and down on him. At first he hoped that this might be a continuation of his wonderful dream, but when a lurid stench crept up his nose he knew for certain that he was awake. Wanting to find out who or what was disturbing his sweet dreams, he turned to his night stand right beside his bed to turn on the light. For a few seconds the sudden presence of light blinded him like a flash of lightning. But when his eyes had acclimated to the new-found brightness, he was horrified by the ghastly figure sitting on top of him.
“Wendy!!”, Josh exlaimed as he recognized his grody younger sister straddling him, wearing only a bra and panties. Her grin was barely visible through her greasy hair and the bra that had failed to adjust to her increased size dug deeply into her chubby shape, almost cutting off circulation to her formless breasts. “What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? And why are you sitting on top of me?” Josh demanded angrily. “Oh, Josh,” was the only answer Wendy could moan, never breaking with the rhythm of her movements. Hearing these sexual sounds come from his sister’s mouth was like fingernails on a chalkboard to his ears.
Her abhorrent, yet puzzling, response made Josh’s eyes wander lower. He gagged violently when he discovered his dick was burried deep inside his sister’s rancid, unkempt snatch, even feeling her coarse pubes rubbing against his skin as she was grinding her crotch against his. He felt so repulsed by this disgusting sight that he could have projectile-vomitted every meal he had ever had in his life right in that very moment. Luckily, his stomach was completely empty or he would have made an even bigger mess out of this situation.
“Get off of me!” Josh yelled while forcefully pushing his grody sister away. Wendy fell off his dick, off his bed, and on onto the floor, landing there with a strong thud. She quickly scrambled back onto her feet. “Why did you do that?” she hissed. “That’s what I should be asking! Why were you having sex with me, Wendy? You’re my sister! That’s so fucked!” he exclaimed. “But I’m your cute little sister, bro. Don’t you find me adorable,” she said batting her eye-lids, trying to charm her brother, but somehow ending up looking even creepier.
“Eewww, you’re sick, Wendy! Sick and vile!” Josh said disgusted. “And not just that, you’re also fucking filthy. I’d rather rip my own dick off and poke my eyes out with it than have sex with you, even if we were the last two people on earth stranded on a lonely island! I wish you’d just disappear forever and leave us alone.” Her brother’s harsh remarks finally burst the fantasy that Wendy had built up in her mind over the past few months of playing eroges. The reality she tried to run from came crashing down on her right in this moment, as Josh’s cutting words hurt her deeply.
“Fine!” Wendy said scorned and full of anger. “If you want me to disappear, then that’s what I will do, I guess!” With tears of anger welling up, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Wait! Wendy! Nooo—!” Josh exclaimed, trying to stop her. But it was too late. As if something had zapped the life out of her, Wendy instantly lost all the tension in her body and collapsed face-first onto her brother’s bed. At the same time, Josh’s eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body began convulsing vigorously. Then something inside of him snapped and he, too, lost almost all the tension in his body, just barely being able to stand. His head was loosely dangling from his neck.
After a few moments of silence, Josh seemed to wake up, as both his heads slowly rose up again. But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in control. His sister Wendy had somehow developed the powers to take over other people’s bodies during her early teenage years. At first she was shy and reluctant about them, as she used to be a gentle soul. She simply could not square it with her conscience to control other people. The most she would do was ride along in the friends or family members of a boy she had a crush on at the time. When her parents found out about her powers, they immediately scolded her and forbade her from ever using her powers. But as Wendy grew older, her parents realized that their daughter did not have any ill intentions and began relaxing about the situation.
But when Wendy failed out of college and her mental health declined, things turned scary for her family. She became more and more controlling and petulant, throwing tamper tantrums anytime anyone disturbed her or tried to tell her what to do. She also became increasingly blasé about using her powers, taking over her family, neighbors, and anyone in reach for the smallest of matters, just so she would never have to leave her room.
On a few occasions Wendy had even used her powers to blackmail people into doing what she wanted, even when she was not possessing them. Another time she had stalked a poor guy who she had become at first infatuated and then obsessed with on social media. She had followed him around as different people, watching every step he made, every second of his life for two months. She only stopped because she eventually became bored of him.
These were the myriad of reasons that her family now lived in fear of her. Her parents could not throw her out because of her powers. They themselves could not move out since all their savings were tied into their house. Their youngest daughter, Alice, refused to leave, as she did not want her parents to suffer alone. And even Josh had moved back in as a means to protect his family, which is why he now found himself not in control of his own body.
“Josh” grinned from ear to ear as he patted down “his” flat chest. “He” then flexed his biceps, admiring his own strength. Next, he grabbed his dick, which was already painfully errect, with both his hands and began firmly squeezing it. He could virtually feel the blood pulsing through the thick meat of his sizeable member. “He” then turned to the person lying on his bed and said, “I’m soooo sorry, ‘sis’. I didn’t mean to hurt you. My words came out all wrong. What I meant to say was that you are the most adorable little sister a big brother could ever wish for! Here, let me show you how much I love you.”
With that, “Josh” stepped towards Wendy’s comatose body and snaked his big, strong hands underneath her torso. “Oh, my. When did my cute little sister grow up to be such a woman?” “he” cooed while groping her flabby breasts. Without turning over her heavy frame, “Josh” glid his rough hands along her pudgy waist and onto her even wider hips, firmly grabbing ahold of them. “He” then carefully wormed his prick into “his sister’s” slimy, hairy cunt, before forcefully jamming his entire length into her unconscious flesh.
Without any further hesitation, “Josh” began viciously fucking his sleeping sister, pumping in and out of her like an animal while groaning and grunting like a bull. “He” nearly worked himself into a frenzy. Wendy’s rotten odor began reeking from all the friction and heat they created, which seemed to turn him on even more. For the next two minutes, the clapping of “his” hips against her sizeable cheeks echoed throughout the room until “he” finally hit is climax and then dumped his thick load inside of “his” sister’s gooey slit. Still inside of her, he collapsed on top of her and under heavy breathing whispered into her ear, “I love you, ‘sis’.”
--------------------------------------------------------
It was very late in the morning, almost creeping on noon, when Christine, the mother of the house, stood in the kitchen and prepared some food. She was cheerfully humming a tune while cutting up a cantalope and placing slices of ham on pieces of crispy toast. She then artfully aranged the food on a plate, in a way that was worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The food was not only delicious but also visually appetizing, and so was her ample bosom that was proudly put on display by a low-cut, floral sundress, which gently hugged her motherly curves.
Still humming to herself, Christine picked up the plate, left the kitchen, and went up the stairs with a joyful bounce to her step, which not only made the hem of her short dress dance around her hips and tickle her thighs but also made her opulent mounds jiggle playfully. Upstairs, she entered her daughter’s dingy room without either knocking or turning on the lights and placed the food on her desk. “Enjoy your breakfast, honey,” she whispered to a sleeping Wendy.
Without any further hesitation, Christine left her daughter’s room and headed straight to the master bedroom. Behind locked doors she made her way over to her full-sized mirror and began admiring herself. Slowly, a big, dirty grin spread across her face. “Thank you, mother, for providing me with such a healthy breakfast,” “Christine” said in a sickly-sweet tone, seemingly mocking herself. “You always taught me to eat my daily share of fruits, and your ‘melons’ are especially delicious,” she said while giving her huge globes a firm squeeze. “She” then slowly moved her hands along “her” waist and hips, closely following and enjoying every inch of her delectable curves, and then began groping her big, womanly ass. “And let’s not forget about your delicious meat! I gotta hand it to you: you got a real meatsuit of a body, mom!”
“Christine” then threw herself onto her bed and immediately began furiously masturbating, not even bothering to undress. One hand tightly squeezed her fleshy tits while the other inserted two fingers into her hungry snatch, dragging her panties along with them as they plummeted the depths of her steaming hot hole that had given birth to three children, one of which was now in control of her body and effectively molesting her own mother.
Regrettably, “Christine” soon had to remove her hand from her supple twins in order to cover her mouth and stiffle her moans, so that she would not alert the whole house to her lewd activities. Meanwhile, the other hand continued to slip in and out of her unabated. Under the assault from such intense stimulation, it did not take long for her to reach her peak, which she celebrated by letting out a long, muffled scream.
The only thing “Christine” was able to do in the immediate aftermath was to lay on her back, breathing heavily, and bask in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her panties and her hand were now drenched in her juices. But, alas, her bliss was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mom, are you in there?” Josh asked loudly through the door. “Have you seen my black shirt? I’ve been looking all over for it!”
“Christine” quickly scrambled onto her feet and straightend out her dress and hair, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible, as to not tip off “her son” to what kept her so busy. She cracked the door open just barely enough to stick her head out, hiding her body behind the door and her dripping wet hand behind her back. “Have you checked the laundry? I’m pretty sure I’ve put it in the wash recently,” she answered his query. “Yeah, I did. I guess I’m gonna check again, just to be sure,” Josh said and was already turning to walk away.
“Wait!” “Christine” suddenly exlaimed a little bit too loudly, as a most devious idea popped into her head. “What?” Josh asked somewhat startled. “You’ve got a smudge on the corner of your mouth” she explained. “Where?” he said while trying to wipe the imaginary stain from his face. “No, it’s still there. Here, let me try,” she said, now fully opening the door and finally stepping out of the room.
Josh was taken by surprise when “his mother” suddenly got so close to him that she was essentially pushing her opulent chest against his torso. Looking down he saw her face with an expresssion of concentration look up at him. Underneath that he caught a glimpse of her soft pillows bulging out of the top of her dress as they were pressed flat against him.
“M–Mom, w–what are you doing?” Jost stammered, as he began to blush. “Hold still! Just let me get it real quick,” “Christine” demanded. Unbeknownst to Josh, though, the hand which “his mother” was now smearing all over his face was still coated in her sticky juices.
Since Josh was quite a bit taller than his mother, “Christine” raised herself up by standing on the tips of her toes to better reach and more closely inspect his face. In the process, she pushed her breasts even deeper into him and slid them up along his chest until their nipples were perfectly aligned with each other.
“M–Mom, s–stop it!” Josh said while struggling to get away from her, as her face was now close enough that he could feel her hot breath on his skin. “Hold still!” “Christine” demanded. “The more you move the longer it will take.” Never having been this close to his own mother, at least not since he was a child, Josh caught a whiff of her perfume which was followed by a strange, musky smell.
Coming into such intimate contact with a woman’s body made the inside of Josh’s pants swell rapidly. His dick did not care who it was, flesh was flesh. But the thought that it was his own mother’s flesh surprisingly made him grow even harder. So hard, in fact, that he was now poking her belly with his manhood.
Appaled by his own reaction, Josh pushed who he thought was his mother away from himself. “Thanks, I think it’s gone now,” he yelled out without looking at her, trying to hide that his face was now a deep crimson. He then hastily fled to his room, almost tripping over himself, as he desperately tried to escape this embarrassing situation. “Christine” on the other just chuckled to herself, as she was highly amused by “her son’s” reaction.
That night Christine and Gilbert could be heard enjoying each other throughout the house.
--------------------------------------------------------
A lot of clanking, rattling, and cursing could be heard coming from the garage. Christine had asked her husband Gilbert to look after the car, since it had been making a lot of weird noises lately and even had briefly died on her the other day. This is why Gilbert, a man in his early fifties who, despite his thinning hair and slight dad bob, had still retained some of his youthful handsomeness, was now bent over the car’s engine covered in dirt and motor oil, occasionally bonking his head on the hood of the car.
Just as he finished changing the oil, his daughter Alice walked in. Unlike her sister Wendy, Alice had always been a Daddy’s girl. She and her father had been attached by the hip to each other ever since she was born. Even throughout puberty, when most other teenagers vie for their independence, she had stayed close to her Dad who had remained a steadfast anchor for her. Even now, the twenty-year-old college student loved spending time with her father more than anything else. Ever since she was a little child, one of her favorite things to do was to sit in her father’s lap and play Super Mario Bros., earning her the nickname “princess”.
There was something about her father’s presence that was incredibly relaxing to her, which is why the slim brunette did not mind him seeing her in only a pair of yoga pants and a tight spaghetti-strap top without a bra. Her outfit revealed the outline of her nubile form in great detail, including her pert buns and her gravity-defying orbs. Even her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her top as soon as they got a taste of the chilly air inside the garage.
“Hey, Dad! Watcha doing?” Alice exclaimed with a beaming smile on her face. She threw her arms enthusiastically around her father’s waist, smushing her buoyant breasts against his soft belly in the process. “Not much,” Gilbert replied while reciprocating her loving embrace. He rocked her from side to side, thereby squishing his daughter’s youthful mounds even tighter against himself. “Your mother was complaining about the car so I thought maybe I could get the old can working again. What about you, princess? Wanna hang out with your old man?”
“Oh, I’d love to,” Alice said. “But I just came here to get a screwdriver to fix the recliner on my chair.” “Well, then don’t let me stop you,” Gilbert said and booped her on the nose, coating its tip with black grease from his dirty hands. When they released their embrace and Alice made her way towards the shelf on the other side of the garage, Gilbert watched his daughter’s backside and discovered that he had accidentally smeared black grease all over her. Most of it covered her shoulders and upper arms, but some of it even got on her lower back.
The tool she was looking for was located on the top-most shelf, so Alice had to really stretch herself to reach up high. But, it was not enough, as she was still missing a few inches. She then tried jumping up and down, making her luscious body, and especially her firm cheeks, shake vigorously every time she returned to the ground. Yet, she still came up short. For a while, Gilbert closely eyed his daughter’s antics before he walked over to her and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
Alice suddenly yelped as her father, without warning, scooped up her tight little butt with his big, strong hands, and lifted her up high. His palms essentially provided a seat for her from which she comfortably could reach the tool she needed. Gilbert then gently put her down again, leaving two big, greasy handprints on his daughter’s rear.
Her father’s sudden display of strength left Alice a bit frazzled. For a moment she just stood there in silence, still facing away from him. She did not know what was happening to her. As a kid she had loved being picked up by her Dad and would cling to him like a koala. But that was ages ago. Now that she was fully grown she felt differently. No man had ever handled her like that, lifting her entire adult weight so easily. It somehow made her heart beat much faster and left her short of breath. She tried to swallow down those strange feelings, yet she still blushed when she tucked her long, brunette hair behind her ears.
Alice was in the middle of turning to face her father, wanting to ask him what that was all about, when she suddenly felt as if her feet were knocked away from under her legs, making her trip and fall chest-first towards him. Gilbert instinctively tried to catch her fall, but by doing so his daughter’s perky mounds landed squarely on his big, greasy hands. His dirty palms molded themselves perfectly around the swell of her pliable breasts. Alice thought she might be going crazy, but she could have sworn she had felt her Dad give her boobs a firm squeeze. Nevertheless, her nipples still visibly stiffened.
“Uhm, … Dad?” Alice squeaked with her father’s hands still cupping her twins. “Yes, princess? Are you alright?” Gilbert asked with worry on his face. “Yeah, … I guess so …,” she mumbled while getting back on her own feet. When Gilbert’s hands finally disconnected from his daughter’s body, they revealed yet another pair of big, black handprints, this time squarely on her chest.
“Are you sure? You seem kinda out of it,” Gilbert said while trying to feel his daughter’s forehead with the back of his hand. Alice swatted his hand away more aggressively than she had intended. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a bit of agitation in her voice. “I …, uh …, I need to change.”
Unable to deny the heat welling up inside of her, Alice tried to leave as quickly as she could, but on her way out her Dad surprised her yet again by giving her a not-so-fatherly pat on her ass. She turned her head around one last time and to give her “father” a quizzical look, but the expression on his face betrayed nothing but paternal intentions. Yet, as soon as she had left the garage, “Gilbert’s” warm expression turned sinister and a big, wet stain began to form on the crotch of his pants.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was late at night. Christine and Gilbert had gone out earlier that evening and were not expected to return until the next morning, leaving the “kids“ home alone. The whole house was wrapped in silence, except for the blaring of the TV coming from the living room. Josh sat alone on the couch watching a movie when Alice came shuffling into the room. She was completely draped in a giant blanket, dragging a long train behind her, making it almost look like a wedding dress.
“Heeeyy, Josh. What are you doing?” Alice asked drowsily. “Oh, nothing much. Just watching a movie. What’s up with you? Why the huge-ass blanket?” her brother responded. “I’m a little cold. Mind if I join you?” “Sure. Be my guest” he said patting the spot next to him and then placed his arm on the back of the couch. She took up his offer and sat down beside him, putting up her legs and angling them to the side, all while making sure to never leave the comforting warmth of her blanket.
“Oh, hey, isn’t that the movie we used to watch a lot as kids?” Alice asked. “Yeah,” Josh responded. “I happened to come across it while I was flipping through the channels.” “Boy, I haven’t seen it in years. I completely forgot about it. I remember we used to watch it every time it was on. I even used to scour the TV magazines so that I always knew when to catch it,” Alice said excitedly. “Yeah, I’ve been watching it only for a few minutes, yet there are so many lines that come back to me just seconds before they show up in the movie,“ Josh said joining in on the excitement.
The two siblings kept laughing and joking, quoting lines from the movie as they appeared on screen, and reveling in old memories. After sharing lots of heartfelt moments, Alice suddenly asked her brother, “Are you cold, too?” Without waiting for an answer, she began covering him with the excess half of her blanket. “Here, let me give you some of my blanket. That’ll warm you up in no time.” “Well, I wasn’t really cold. But, thanks, I guess,” the young man commented.
Underneath the blanket, Alice sidled up closer to her brother and put her head on his shoulder. They had always gotten along great, yet he was somewhat surprised about how she was acting chummier than usual. But since they were sharing a deeply bonding moment, he didn’t question it any further. Sitting like that with his sister felt comfortable to him, making him relax deeply, and allowing himself to completely get lost in the movie.
For the rest of the night, the two of them kept watching the movie in silence. When it was over, Josh’s immersion finally broke and he came back to the real world. He switched off the TV and was about to turn towards his sister when he noticed that the top of her head was right underneath his nose. Somehow she had sneakily wrapped her arms around his waist and had fallen asleep with her head nestled against his chest. Most of her body laid on top of him in a tight embrace.
Alice’s gentle snores reminded Josh of a cat’s soft purrs. He thought that, in this moment, his little sister was the most adorable. But when the sweet fragrance of her peach-flavored shampoo invaded his nose, it caused something to stir deep inside of him, in a place completely unbeknownst to him. To his shock, he began to grow hard.
Confused about his feelings, Josh just sat there, not daring to make a move. After what seemed like an eternity to him, Alice woke up. Rustling underneath the blanket she looked up at him with bleary eyes. When the vision of her brother’s face came into focus she greeted him with a beaming smile. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other wordlessly. Her big, glimmering eyes looked up at him longingly, which made him blush and melted away all his natural defences. He was now at full mast.
Josh then watched in slow-motion how his sister closed her eyes and moved in closer. When he felt her tender lips on his, he was completly stunned. His jaw dropped in shock, which Alice interpreted as an invitation to sneak her tongue into his mouth. At first he went along with it by pure instinct. But when it finally sank in that he was, in fact, really kissing his sister, he shoved her away in panic, making the blanket slip down a bit, uncovering her bare shoulders.
“Stooooppp!!” Josh yelled. “What are you doing? You’re my sister! We can’t be doing that!” Tears began welling up in Alice’s eyes in response to his sudden outburst. “But Josh …,” she whimpered. “Don’t you love me?” She looked at him expectantly with her watery eyes. “Nooo!!!” he continued yelling. “I-I-I mean, y-yes, I-I m-mean, no!” he stammered. “Aarghh! I don’t love you like thaaat!”
Alice dropped her head seemingly in defeat. But something about her demeanor changed, like a shadow was cast over her eyes. Suddenly Josh felt something scurrying around his scrotch underneath the blanket. He realized it was his sister’s hands trying to undo his belt and zipper. Now even more panicked, he pushed her away more forcefully than before, accidentally throwing the blanket off of her in the process and revealing that she had been naked underneath.
“Alice!! Why the hell are you naked?!?! What is wrong with you today?” Josh kept yelling. With a dark, menacing grin forming on her face, she growled at him, “You better let this happen. We don’t want her to find herself in a compromising situation, do we?” “Wendy…,” Josh gasped, the words getting stuck in his throat. His mind was sent on a rollercoaster, desperately struggling for a solution on how to get out of this situation. But deep down, Josh knew he had nothing against her powers.
Completely dejected, Josh finally resigned himself to his fate. “Alice”, on the other hand, squealed with excitement and, like a child ripping open a present on christmas, frantically tried to get her brother’s dick out of his pants. When she finally freed it from its denim prison, his rigid member sprung out with the energy of a coil spring. She then swung one of her smooth legs over her brother and placed herself squarely on top of him.
Without any further hesitation, “Alice” slowly lowered her unclad, nubile form towards her brother’s penis. His bulbous head at first just barely kissed her velvety folds, but then gently parted them, and finally, by completely piercing her labia, desecrated that holy bond between brother and sister.
“Wendy, we have to stop this! We’re not wearing any protection!” Josh tried to protest one last time. “Don’t be silly, I’m sure this little slut is on birth control” “Alice” hissed. She was straining to force herself down her brother’s girth. “Hhnnnnnghhhoooohhhh my god she is so tight” she said panting. “She must still be a virgin. Well, not anymore, hehe.” Her small, hairless lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft. To keep going further, she arched her back and angled her hips for maximum penetration.
When she finally bottomed out, “Alice” grabbed Josh’s head and started giving him a deep passionate kiss. Her long, brown hair draped over them, curtailing the world from seeing the forbidden intimacy they were sharing. While they kept kissing, “Alice” started to moan into his mouth, as she began slowly working her way up and down her brother’s shaft. The more their friction and passion increased, the more she ruffled his hair, her hands’ movements becoming more and more frantic.
Meanwhile, Josh moved his hands down his sister’s bare back and glid them first along her waist, then her hips, and finally around the sensual curve of her butt. He gave her firm cheeks a strong squeeze, while at the same time supporting her petite body with his manly hands. At last, he finally gave in to his new-found, forbidden desires and started humping his sister in sync with the rhythm of her movements.
Getting wetter by the second, “Alice’s” juices by now provided enough lubrication for her to easily glide along her brother’s member. She broke off their kiss, sat upgright, and began to drastically increase her speed. As she was bouncing up and down on Josh’s dick, her perky tits kept jiggling wildy about. To aleviate that, she took her brother’s hands and firmly placed them on top of her shapley breasts. He eagerly accepted her offer and began digging his fingers deeply into the tender flesh of his sister’s swollen boobs, ferociously groping and squeezing them like a man who lost all his inhibitions.
Greed seemed to overtake Josh, as he followed his sister’s lead by sitting upright and then tightly embracing her lithe body while she kept viciously riding his cock. Hungrily, he placed his mouth on her delicious breasts and began sucking and licking and biting her nipples, practically devouring her boobs and almost swallowing them whole. His sister rewarded him by giving off a series of high-pitched moans and clamping down on his dick.
“Wendy …,” Josh gasped short of breath and inbetween sucking his sister’s nipples. “What is it, bro?” Alice moaned. “I don’t… I don’t think I can hold it any lo—” was the last thing Josh managed to say before he finally errupted inside his sister like a volcano, spraying his creamy spunk all over his her insides. Feeling her brother’s hot goo coating her inner walls set off “Alice’s” own orgasm, making her join him in his extacy. Her body, which was glistening from all the excertion, began shaking from top to bottom as if a current of electricity ran through her.
When the tension suddenly left her body, “Alice” collapsed on top of her brother. Completely drained, she nestled her head against his chest, breathing heavily and with strands of her sweat-drenched hair sticking to her face. “I love you, Josh,” “Alice” whispered sweetly. “I love you, too,” he sighed unconvincingly. His dick was still inside deep his sister, refusing to go limp.
--------------------------------------------------------
For the past month there had been a large shadow hanging over their household. Wendy’s shenanigans had sowed mistrust and uneasiness among the members of her family. It all came to a head when Alice finally confronted her brother. “Josh, I’m begging you: please tell me the truth!” Alice pleaded. “What’s going on? Why have you been avoiding me? You don’t even look me in the eyes anymore.” “I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Josh hissed without even facing her. His eyes were red and on the verge of tears.
Gilbert and Christine heard their children argue, so they went to investigate. “What’s going with the two of you? Why are you making so much noise?” Gilbert said as he stepped into the room. “Josh, has been avoiding me for weeks now and he won’t tell me what his problem is,” Alice said unnerved. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering that, too. Care to explain yourself, son?” Gilbert asked.
Josh tried to block off their barrage of questions, but, after being relentlessly corned by three people, he eventually broke down in tears and confessed how Wendy had taken control of Alice and forced himself onto her, and how he had been unable to resist. The entire room fell silent. Alice’s stomach turned, sickening her to her core. Gilbert was simply stunned, the news leaving his mind completely blank.
Christine, on the other hand, felt an uncontrollable rage explode inside of her. “That’s it!” she yelled with tears of anger in her eyes. “This is way over the line! I’m so sick and tired of her shit. This has to end now!” “Wait! Where are you going?” Gilbert said to the afterimage of his wife as she had already rushed out of the room. The rest of them slowly began to follow her, one after the other, still trying to process the information they had just received.
An absolutely livid Christine stomped furiously down the hallway and violently barged into her daughter’s room, almost knocking the door out of its hinges. There, Wendy laid on her bed and, like so often, just slept. Without waiting for her to wake up, Christine swiftly approached her sleeping daughter, wrapped her hands around her throat, and began strangling her with all her might. Wendy did not seem to make any signs of struggling against her mother’s assault.
“How could you do that?” Christine sobbed uncontrollably as rivers of tears streamed down her face. “I loved you with all my heart. Why did you become such a hateful peson? Where did I go wrong?” she said gritting her teeth. “This is the only way I can make things right!”
Gilbert and Josh were aghast when they stepped into the room and discovered what Christine was doing. Yet, neither of them intervened and tried to stop her. They just stood there and watched.
When everything was over, everybody went quiet again, except for Christine who was unable to stop her tears. Suddenly, Alice, who everyone seemed to have forgotten about, stepped into the room. They all looked at her in disbelief as they watched a creepy, sinister smile form on her pretty face. “No!” Christine whispered. “Actually, yes, mother,” “Alice” countered. “I’m not so easy to get rid of, you see.” “No!” Christine repeated, this time more emphatically. “And from now on, you will all do exactly as I tell you or the police might get an anonymous tip about what has happened to your dearest daughter. Remember this for the rest of you lives: you got blood on your hands, literally, and I won’t hesistate to take any one of you down!” “Alice” said menacingly. It finally dawned on Christine, Gilbert, and Josh that there was no way of escaping Wendy and that they had to resign themselves to the fact that their lives were now fully under her control, essentially making them her personal slaves.
Meanwhile, “Alice”, who was relishing in the power she had over her family, sauntered over towards her father and lifted the front of her skirt, exposing “her” panty-clad pussy. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, Daddy,” she whispered with lust dripping in her voice. Both of her small, feminine hands then reached out and grabbed one of her father’s big, manly hands and slowly guided it underneath her skirt and panties and gently placed it onto her already sopping wet pussy. Gilbert was too stunned to stop her, and even if he had not been, he would not have dared to go against her.
Suddenly, both Alice and Gilbert shuddered simultaneously. “We sure will, princess,” “Gilbert” said with a lecherous expression on his face. “He” then slipped a finger inside “his” daughter’s smooth folds and began aggressively fingering her hole. The real Alice was dazed and confused when she finally came to again. “D–Dad?” she stammared. “W–What’s going o–o–oooohhhhnnggg?!” she moaned, being overwhelmed by an unexpected orgasm as her “father” quickly sent her over the edge.
Christine was horrified as she watched her husband molest their daughter in front of her eyes. Unfortunately, she was unable to do anything about it as a shiver ran down her spine and the same spell that had taken over her husband and daughter was now taking hold of her. “And let’s not neglect these two here,” “Christine” said while firmly squeezing “her” boobs against each other. “She” then climbed onto Wendy’s bed on all fours, pulled up her dress and her panties to the side, and openly offered up “her own” snatch. “Josh, be a good son and come over here and show Mommy how much my boy has grown up?”
At last it was Josh’s turn. Before he could really process the actions unfolding in front of him, he was no longer in control of his body. “Don’t mind if I do!” “Josh” replied eagerly. As fast as lightning “he” walked over to his mother, dropped his pants, and slammed his rock-hard errection into her sloppy slit. Christine, now back in control of her body, was overwhelmed with the pleasurable sensation of her son’s girthy member ramming in and out of her. When she felt her son mauling her big tits from behind, she went completely limp in his arms, as the last of her will left her while “her son” kept hammering her hole. Eventually, they both climaxed at the same time and Christine felt her son’s hot fluids spread throughout her inside.
--------------------------------------------------------
That same night it was raining cats and dogs. Gilbert and Josh, equipped with spades, dug a hole in their backyard to dispose of Wendy’s corpse while Christine and “Alice” watched from the kitchen window.
The four of them would spend the rest of their lives living in fear and terror, as Wendy forced them to live out all of her depraved sex fantasies between sister and brother, father and daughter, mother and son, mother and daugher, and even between father and son.
Eventually, when the last of her family members had passed on, Wendy continued to live on as a formless presence, taking over other people, until the end of time.
It was in the very early morning hours. The whole house was pitch-black and its inhabitants were fast asleep, except for one. The only source of light was the glow emenating from a computer monitor. It illuminated Wendy’s face and the strands of greasy hair glued to it. The synthetic light just faintly revealed the mess in her room: the moldy plates, empty take-out boxes, and dirty clothes, all of which were freely intermixed and strewn about.
Wet sounds and a pungent smell filled the air. Wendy sat in her computer chair in just her underwear and masturbated while playing an erotic dating simulator. She had been an avid fan of video games, especially story-driven ones like visual novels, since she was a kid, but since the twenty-three-year-old failed out of college and moved back in with her parents, she had done nothing but sit in front of her computer and play video games all day long.
She used to be somewhat pretty, but she let herself go quite a bit when she essentially barricaded herself into her old childhood room, only ever leaving to use the bathroom. Since then, she had been escaping more and more into the virtual world of various video games, desperately trying to escape her failures in the outside world. The easily achievable goals in those games provided her with at least a fake sense of fullfilment and purpose.
Initially, she stuck to regular video games and story-driven visual novels. But since moving back home, she got fairly addicted to romantic dating simulators, which provided her a with a substitute for the type of relationship she longed for but could not achieve in real life. Things took even more of a downturn when, a few months ago, after having played through virtually all visual novels, she checked out her first incest-themed eroge, a genre she had not paid any attention to before, but now felt compelled to in order to avoid spending any second alone with her own thoughts.
Right in that moment she was playing through a scene where the main character’s adorable little sister snuck into her older brother’s bed and snuggled up to him under the covers. The game quickly turned erotic and, in response, Wendy let out a long, deep grunt, signaling her climax.
To recuperate from her self-satisfaction, Wendy leaned back into her chair and looked up at her dimmly-lit ceiling. After a few moments an idea popped into her head. She got up and, for the first time in a while, left her room for a reason other than to use the bathroom. She quietly crept through the dark hallway and slowly opened the door two rooms further down, trying to keep it from creaking as to not wake the person sleeping inside.
After entering the room, she managed to silently close the door behind her and then tip-toed towards the bed inside. There, she lifted the covers and carefully laid down next to her older brother Josh who was sleeping soundly. She then cozied up to him under the blanket just like she had seen the little sister do in her video game. She was now right next to him with her foul breath caressing his skin.
Wanting to recreate the scene from her video game, Wendy began carefully fishing her brother’s limp dick out of his pyjama pants and gently rubbed it until it was fully errect. She then rolled on top of him, pushed her panties aside, and stealthily slipped his dick into her hungry snatch.
Meanwhile, Josh was having the most amazing dream. In it, he found himself in an infinite, white void where he was hooking up with the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her long, brunette hair appeared to be silky-soft as it gently swayed around her slender frame with each motion, lending her an ethereal presence. The only things about her that he found more captivating than her radiant smile were her full, ripe breasts, which were practically begging to be devoured. She seemed really familiar to Josh, although he could not quite place where he had seen her before. Maybe she was an ex-girlfriend he had forgotten about. Nevertheless, he did not want to keep this unknown beauty waiting by fretting about it.
Josh and the mysterious girl had already fully shed their clothes and were eager to get things going. He laid down on the most comfortable bed imaginable, which had appeared out of nowhere without him ever noticing. Lying on his back, he watched as his dream lover expertly fondled his privates while looking up at him with hungry eyes. In no time he was ready to take her. The nameless vixen sat on top of him and began immediately riding him, placing her hands on his hard abs for support. Her hot, silky depths engulfed him completely as her smooth, hairless body writhed with pleasure. Biting her lower lip, she failed to stifle the soft moans escaping from her mouth that accompanied the expressions of extacy on her gorgeous face. They caressed Josh’s ears like the sweatest of melodies, bewitching him like a siren. The pleasure that grew in his groin was overwhelming, beyond anything he had ever experienced in real life.
Yet, something about her felt odd to him. Despite her small size and lithe body, the dreamy nymph on top of him felt unusually heavy. This bizarre fact made him realize that he was actually dreaming, which immediately ripped him from his sleep.
Completely disoriented, the only things Josh could perceive in the dark was labored breathing and groaning, and a heavy weight bouncing up and down on him. At first he hoped that this might be a continuation of his wonderful dream, but when a lurid stench crept up his nose he knew for certain that he was awake. Wanting to find out who or what was disturbing his sweet dreams, he turned to his night stand right beside his bed to turn on the light. For a few seconds the sudden presence of light blinded him like a flash of lightning. But when his eyes had acclimated to the new-found brightness, he was horrified by the ghastly figure sitting on top of him.
“Wendy!!”, Josh exlaimed as he recognized his grody younger sister straddling him, wearing only a bra and panties. Her grin was barely visible through her greasy hair and the bra that had failed to adjust to her increased size dug deeply into her chubby shape, almost cutting off circulation to her formless breasts. “What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? And why are you sitting on top of me?” Josh demanded angrily. “Oh, Josh,” was the only answer Wendy could moan, never breaking with the rhythm of her movements. Hearing these sexual sounds come from his sister’s mouth was like fingernails on a chalkboard to his ears.
Her abhorrent, yet puzzling, response made Josh’s eyes wander lower. He gagged violently when he discovered his dick was burried deep inside his sister’s rancid, unkempt snatch, even feeling her coarse pubes rubbing against his skin as she was grinding her crotch against his. He felt so repulsed by this disgusting sight that he could have projectile-vomitted every meal he had ever had in his life right in that very moment. Luckily, his stomach was completely empty or he would have made an even bigger mess out of this situation.
“Get off of me!” Josh yelled while forcefully pushing his grody sister away. Wendy fell off his dick, off his bed, and on onto the floor, landing there with a strong thud. She quickly scrambled back onto her feet. “Why did you do that?” she hissed. “That’s what I should be asking! Why were you having sex with me, Wendy? You’re my sister! That’s so fucked!” he exclaimed. “But I’m your cute little sister, bro. Don’t you find me adorable,” she said batting her eye-lids, trying to charm her brother, but somehow ending up looking even creepier.
“Eewww, you’re sick, Wendy! Sick and vile!” Josh said disgusted. “And not just that, you’re also fucking filthy. I’d rather rip my own dick off and poke my eyes out with it than have sex with you, even if we were the last two people on earth stranded on a lonely island! I wish you’d just disappear forever and leave us alone.” Her brother’s harsh remarks finally burst the fantasy that Wendy had built up in her mind over the past few months of playing eroges. The reality she tried to run from came crashing down on her right in this moment, as Josh’s cutting words hurt her deeply.
“Fine!” Wendy said scorned and full of anger. “If you want me to disappear, then that’s what I will do, I guess!” With tears of anger welling up, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Wait! Wendy! Nooo—!” Josh exclaimed, trying to stop her. But it was too late. As if something had zapped the life out of her, Wendy instantly lost all the tension in her body and collapsed face-first onto her brother’s bed. At the same time, Josh’s eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body began convulsing vigorously. Then something inside of him snapped and he, too, lost almost all the tension in his body, just barely being able to stand. His head was loosely dangling from his neck.
After a few moments of silence, Josh seemed to wake up, as both his heads slowly rose up again. But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in control. His sister Wendy had somehow developed the powers to take over other people’s bodies during her early teenage years. At first she was shy and reluctant about them, as she used to be a gentle soul. She simply could not square it with her conscience to control other people. The most she would do was ride along in the friends or family members of a boy she had a crush on at the time. When her parents found out about her powers, they immediately scolded her and forbade her from ever using her powers. But as Wendy grew older, her parents realized that their daughter did not have any ill intentions and began relaxing about the situation.
But when Wendy failed out of college and her mental health declined, things turned scary for her family. She became more and more controlling and petulant, throwing tamper tantrums anytime anyone disturbed her or tried to tell her what to do. She also became increasingly blasé about using her powers, taking over her family, neighbors, and anyone in reach for the smallest of matters, just so she would never have to leave her room.
On a few occasions Wendy had even used her powers to blackmail people into doing what she wanted, even when she was not possessing them. Another time she had stalked a poor guy who she had become at first infatuated and then obsessed with on social media. She had followed him around as different people, watching every step he made, every second of his life for two months. She only stopped because she eventually became bored of him.
These were the myriad of reasons that her family now lived in fear of her. Her parents could not throw her out because of her powers. They themselves could not move out since all their savings were tied into their house. Their youngest daughter, Alice, refused to leave, as she did not want her parents to suffer alone. And even Josh had moved back in as a means to protect his family, which is why he now found himself not in control of his own body.
“Josh” grinned from ear to ear as he patted down “his” flat chest. “He” then flexed his biceps, admiring his own strength. Next, he grabbed his dick, which was already painfully errect, with both his hands and began firmly squeezing it. He could virtually feel the blood pulsing through the thick meat of his sizeable member. “He” then turned to the person lying on his bed and said, “I’m soooo sorry, ‘sis’. I didn’t mean to hurt you. My words came out all wrong. What I meant to say was that you are the most adorable little sister a big brother could ever wish for! Here, let me show you how much I love you.”
With that, “Josh” stepped towards Wendy’s comatose body and snaked his big, strong hands underneath her torso. “Oh, my. When did my cute little sister grow up to be such a woman?” “he” cooed while groping her flabby breasts. Without turning over her heavy frame, “Josh” glid his rough hands along her pudgy waist and onto her even wider hips, firmly grabbing ahold of them. “He” then carefully wormed his prick into “his sister’s” slimy, hairy cunt, before forcefully jamming his entire length into her unconscious flesh.
Without any further hesitation, “Josh” began viciously fucking his sleeping sister, pumping in and out of her like an animal while groaning and grunting like a bull. “He” nearly worked himself into a frenzy. Wendy’s rotten odor began reeking from all the friction and heat they created, which seemed to turn him on even more. For the next two minutes, the clapping of “his” hips against her sizeable cheeks echoed throughout the room until “he” finally hit is climax and then dumped his thick load inside of “his” sister’s gooey slit. Still inside of her, he collapsed on top of her and under heavy breathing whispered into her ear, “I love you, ‘sis’.”
--------------------------------------------------------
It was very late in the morning, almost creeping on noon, when Christine, the mother of the house, stood in the kitchen and prepared some food. She was cheerfully humming a tune while cutting up a cantalope and placing slices of ham on pieces of crispy toast. She then artfully aranged the food on a plate, in a way that was worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The food was not only delicious but also visually appetizing, and so was her ample bosom that was proudly put on display by a low-cut, floral sundress, which gently hugged her motherly curves.
Still humming to herself, Christine picked up the plate, left the kitchen, and went up the stairs with a joyful bounce to her step, which not only made the hem of her short dress dance around her hips and tickle her thighs but also made her opulent mounds jiggle playfully. Upstairs, she entered her daughter’s dingy room without either knocking or turning on the lights and placed the food on her desk. “Enjoy your breakfast, honey,” she whispered to a sleeping Wendy.
Without any further hesitation, Christine left her daughter’s room and headed straight to the master bedroom. Behind locked doors she made her way over to her full-sized mirror and began admiring herself. Slowly, a big, dirty grin spread across her face. “Thank you, mother, for providing me with such a healthy breakfast,” “Christine” said in a sickly-sweet tone, seemingly mocking herself. “You always taught me to eat my daily share of fruits, and your ‘melons’ are especially delicious,” she said while giving her huge globes a firm squeeze. “She” then slowly moved her hands along “her” waist and hips, closely following and enjoying every inch of her delectable curves, and then began groping her big, womanly ass. “And let’s not forget about your delicious meat! I gotta hand it to you: you got a real meatsuit of a body, mom!”
“Christine” then threw herself onto her bed and immediately began furiously masturbating, not even bothering to undress. One hand tightly squeezed her fleshy tits while the other inserted two fingers into her hungry snatch, dragging her panties along with them as they plummeted the depths of her steaming hot hole that had given birth to three children, one of which was now in control of her body and effectively molesting her own mother.
Regrettably, “Christine” soon had to remove her hand from her supple twins in order to cover her mouth and stiffle her moans, so that she would not alert the whole house to her lewd activities. Meanwhile, the other hand continued to slip in and out of her unabated. Under the assault from such intense stimulation, it did not take long for her to reach her peak, which she celebrated by letting out a long, muffled scream.
The only thing “Christine” was able to do in the immediate aftermath was to lay on her back, breathing heavily, and bask in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her panties and her hand were now drenched in her juices. But, alas, her bliss was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mom, are you in there?” Josh asked loudly through the door. “Have you seen my black shirt? I’ve been looking all over for it!”
“Christine” quickly scrambled onto her feet and straightend out her dress and hair, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible, as to not tip off “her son” to what kept her so busy. She cracked the door open just barely enough to stick her head out, hiding her body behind the door and her dripping wet hand behind her back. “Have you checked the laundry? I’m pretty sure I’ve put it in the wash recently,” she answered his query. “Yeah, I did. I guess I’m gonna check again, just to be sure,” Josh said and was already turning to walk away.
“Wait!” “Christine” suddenly exlaimed a little bit too loudly, as a most devious idea popped into her head. “What?” Josh asked somewhat startled. “You’ve got a smudge on the corner of your mouth” she explained. “Where?” he said while trying to wipe the imaginary stain from his face. “No, it’s still there. Here, let me try,” she said, now fully opening the door and finally stepping out of the room.
Josh was taken by surprise when “his mother” suddenly got so close to him that she was essentially pushing her opulent chest against his torso. Looking down he saw her face with an expresssion of concentration look up at him. Underneath that he caught a glimpse of her soft pillows bulging out of the top of her dress as they were pressed flat against him.
“M–Mom, w–what are you doing?” Jost stammered, as he began to blush. “Hold still! Just let me get it real quick,” “Christine” demanded. Unbeknownst to Josh, though, the hand which “his mother” was now smearing all over his face was still coated in her sticky juices.
Since Josh was quite a bit taller than his mother, “Christine” raised herself up by standing on the tips of her toes to better reach and more closely inspect his face. In the process, she pushed her breasts even deeper into him and slid them up along his chest until their nipples were perfectly aligned with each other.
“M–Mom, s–stop it!” Josh said while struggling to get away from her, as her face was now close enough that he could feel her hot breath on his skin. “Hold still!” “Christine” demanded. “The more you move the longer it will take.” Never having been this close to his own mother, at least not since he was a child, Josh caught a whiff of her perfume which was followed by a strange, musky smell.
Coming into such intimate contact with a woman’s body made the inside of Josh’s pants swell rapidly. His dick did not care who it was, flesh was flesh. But the thought that it was his own mother’s flesh surprisingly made him grow even harder. So hard, in fact, that he was now poking her belly with his manhood.
Appaled by his own reaction, Josh pushed who he thought was his mother away from himself. “Thanks, I think it’s gone now,” he yelled out without looking at her, trying to hide that his face was now a deep crimson. He then hastily fled to his room, almost tripping over himself, as he desperately tried to escape this embarrassing situation. “Christine” on the other just chuckled to herself, as she was highly amused by “her son’s” reaction.
That night Christine and Gilbert could be heard enjoying each other throughout the house.
--------------------------------------------------------
A lot of clanking, rattling, and cursing could be heard coming from the garage. Christine had asked her husband Gilbert to look after the car, since it had been making a lot of weird noises lately and even had briefly died on her the other day. This is why Gilbert, a man in his early fifties who, despite his thinning hair and slight dad bob, had still retained some of his youthful handsomeness, was now bent over the car’s engine covered in dirt and motor oil, occasionally bonking his head on the hood of the car.
Just as he finished changing the oil, his daughter Alice walked in. Unlike her sister Wendy, Alice had always been a Daddy’s girl. She and her father had been attached by the hip to each other ever since she was born. Even throughout puberty, when most other teenagers vie for their independence, she had stayed close to her Dad who had remained a steadfast anchor for her. Even now, the twenty-year-old college student loved spending time with her father more than anything else. Ever since she was a little child, one of her favorite things to do was to sit in her father’s lap and play Super Mario Bros., earning her the nickname “princess”.
There was something about her father’s presence that was incredibly relaxing to her, which is why the slim brunette did not mind him seeing her in only a pair of yoga pants and a tight spaghetti-strap top without a bra. Her outfit revealed the outline of her nubile form in great detail, including her pert buns and her gravity-defying orbs. Even her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her top as soon as they got a taste of the chilly air inside the garage.
“Hey, Dad! Watcha doing?” Alice exclaimed with a beaming smile on her face. She threw her arms enthusiastically around her father’s waist, smushing her buoyant breasts against his soft belly in the process. “Not much,” Gilbert replied while reciprocating her loving embrace. He rocked her from side to side, thereby squishing his daughter’s youthful mounds even tighter against himself. “Your mother was complaining about the car so I thought maybe I could get the old can working again. What about you, princess? Wanna hang out with your old man?”
“Oh, I’d love to,” Alice said. “But I just came here to get a screwdriver to fix the recliner on my chair.” “Well, then don’t let me stop you,” Gilbert said and booped her on the nose, coating its tip with black grease from his dirty hands. When they released their embrace and Alice made her way towards the shelf on the other side of the garage, Gilbert watched his daughter’s backside and discovered that he had accidentally smeared black grease all over her. Most of it covered her shoulders and upper arms, but some of it even got on her lower back.
The tool she was looking for was located on the top-most shelf, so Alice had to really stretch herself to reach up high. But, it was not enough, as she was still missing a few inches. She then tried jumping up and down, making her luscious body, and especially her firm cheeks, shake vigorously every time she returned to the ground. Yet, she still came up short. For a while, Gilbert closely eyed his daughter’s antics before he walked over to her and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
Alice suddenly yelped as her father, without warning, scooped up her tight little butt with his big, strong hands, and lifted her up high. His palms essentially provided a seat for her from which she comfortably could reach the tool she needed. Gilbert then gently put her down again, leaving two big, greasy handprints on his daughter’s rear.
Her father’s sudden display of strength left Alice a bit frazzled. For a moment she just stood there in silence, still facing away from him. She did not know what was happening to her. As a kid she had loved being picked up by her Dad and would cling to him like a koala. But that was ages ago. Now that she was fully grown she felt differently. No man had ever handled her like that, lifting her entire adult weight so easily. It somehow made her heart beat much faster and left her short of breath. She tried to swallow down those strange feelings, yet she still blushed when she tucked her long, brunette hair behind her ears.
Alice was in the middle of turning to face her father, wanting to ask him what that was all about, when she suddenly felt as if her feet were knocked away from under her legs, making her trip and fall chest-first towards him. Gilbert instinctively tried to catch her fall, but by doing so his daughter’s perky mounds landed squarely on his big, greasy hands. His dirty palms molded themselves perfectly around the swell of her pliable breasts. Alice thought she might be going crazy, but she could have sworn she had felt her Dad give her boobs a firm squeeze. Nevertheless, her nipples still visibly stiffened.
“Uhm, … Dad?” Alice squeaked with her father’s hands still cupping her twins. “Yes, princess? Are you alright?” Gilbert asked with worry on his face. “Yeah, … I guess so …,” she mumbled while getting back on her own feet. When Gilbert’s hands finally disconnected from his daughter’s body, they revealed yet another pair of big, black handprints, this time squarely on her chest.
“Are you sure? You seem kinda out of it,” Gilbert said while trying to feel his daughter’s forehead with the back of his hand. Alice swatted his hand away more aggressively than she had intended. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a bit of agitation in her voice. “I …, uh …, I need to change.”
Unable to deny the heat welling up inside of her, Alice tried to leave as quickly as she could, but on her way out her Dad surprised her yet again by giving her a not-so-fatherly pat on her ass. She turned her head around one last time and to give her “father” a quizzical look, but the expression on his face betrayed nothing but paternal intentions. Yet, as soon as she had left the garage, “Gilbert’s” warm expression turned sinister and a big, wet stain began to form on the crotch of his pants.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was late at night. Christine and Gilbert had gone out earlier that evening and were not expected to return until the next morning, leaving the “kids“ home alone. The whole house was wrapped in silence, except for the blaring of the TV coming from the living room. Josh sat alone on the couch watching a movie when Alice came shuffling into the room. She was completely draped in a giant blanket, dragging a long train behind her, making it almost look like a wedding dress.
“Heeeyy, Josh. What are you doing?” Alice asked drowsily. “Oh, nothing much. Just watching a movie. What’s up with you? Why the huge-ass blanket?” her brother responded. “I’m a little cold. Mind if I join you?” “Sure. Be my guest” he said patting the spot next to him and then placed his arm on the back of the couch. She took up his offer and sat down beside him, putting up her legs and angling them to the side, all while making sure to never leave the comforting warmth of her blanket.
“Oh, hey, isn’t that the movie we used to watch a lot as kids?” Alice asked. “Yeah,” Josh responded. “I happened to come across it while I was flipping through the channels.” “Boy, I haven’t seen it in years. I completely forgot about it. I remember we used to watch it every time it was on. I even used to scour the TV magazines so that I always knew when to catch it,” Alice said excitedly. “Yeah, I’ve been watching it only for a few minutes, yet there are so many lines that come back to me just seconds before they show up in the movie,“ Josh said joining in on the excitement.
The two siblings kept laughing and joking, quoting lines from the movie as they appeared on screen, and reveling in old memories. After sharing lots of heartfelt moments, Alice suddenly asked her brother, “Are you cold, too?” Without waiting for an answer, she began covering him with the excess half of her blanket. “Here, let me give you some of my blanket. That’ll warm you up in no time.” “Well, I wasn’t really cold. But, thanks, I guess,” the young man commented.
Underneath the blanket, Alice sidled up closer to her brother and put her head on his shoulder. They had always gotten along great, yet he was somewhat surprised about how she was acting chummier than usual. But since they were sharing a deeply bonding moment, he didn’t question it any further. Sitting like that with his sister felt comfortable to him, making him relax deeply, and allowing himself to completely get lost in the movie.
For the rest of the night, the two of them kept watching the movie in silence. When it was over, Josh’s immersion finally broke and he came back to the real world. He switched off the TV and was about to turn towards his sister when he noticed that the top of her head was right underneath his nose. Somehow she had sneakily wrapped her arms around his waist and had fallen asleep with her head nestled against his chest. Most of her body laid on top of him in a tight embrace.
Alice’s gentle snores reminded Josh of a cat’s soft purrs. He thought that, in this moment, his little sister was the most adorable. But when the sweet fragrance of her peach-flavored shampoo invaded his nose, it caused something to stir deep inside of him, in a place completely unbeknownst to him. To his shock, he began to grow hard.
Confused about his feelings, Josh just sat there, not daring to make a move. After what seemed like an eternity to him, Alice woke up. Rustling underneath the blanket she looked up at him with bleary eyes. When the vision of her brother’s face came into focus she greeted him with a beaming smile. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other wordlessly. Her big, glimmering eyes looked up at him longingly, which made him blush and melted away all his natural defences. He was now at full mast.
Josh then watched in slow-motion how his sister closed her eyes and moved in closer. When he felt her tender lips on his, he was completly stunned. His jaw dropped in shock, which Alice interpreted as an invitation to sneak her tongue into his mouth. At first he went along with it by pure instinct. But when it finally sank in that he was, in fact, really kissing his sister, he shoved her away in panic, making the blanket slip down a bit, uncovering her bare shoulders.
“Stooooppp!!” Josh yelled. “What are you doing? You’re my sister! We can’t be doing that!” Tears began welling up in Alice’s eyes in response to his sudden outburst. “But Josh …,” she whimpered. “Don’t you love me?” She looked at him expectantly with her watery eyes. “Nooo!!!” he continued yelling. “I-I-I mean, y-yes, I-I m-mean, no!” he stammered. “Aarghh! I don’t love you like thaaat!”
Alice dropped her head seemingly in defeat. But something about her demeanor changed, like a shadow was cast over her eyes. Suddenly Josh felt something scurrying around his scrotch underneath the blanket. He realized it was his sister’s hands trying to undo his belt and zipper. Now even more panicked, he pushed her away more forcefully than before, accidentally throwing the blanket off of her in the process and revealing that she had been naked underneath.
“Alice!! Why the hell are you naked?!?! What is wrong with you today?” Josh kept yelling. With a dark, menacing grin forming on her face, she growled at him, “You better let this happen. We don’t want her to find herself in a compromising situation, do we?” “Wendy…,” Josh gasped, the words getting stuck in his throat. His mind was sent on a rollercoaster, desperately struggling for a solution on how to get out of this situation. But deep down, Josh knew he had nothing against her powers.
Completely dejected, Josh finally resigned himself to his fate. “Alice”, on the other hand, squealed with excitement and, like a child ripping open a present on christmas, frantically tried to get her brother’s dick out of his pants. When she finally freed it from its denim prison, his rigid member sprung out with the energy of a coil spring. She then swung one of her smooth legs over her brother and placed herself squarely on top of him.
Without any further hesitation, “Alice” slowly lowered her unclad, nubile form towards her brother’s penis. His bulbous head at first just barely kissed her velvety folds, but then gently parted them, and finally, by completely piercing her labia, desecrated that holy bond between brother and sister.
“Wendy, we have to stop this! We’re not wearing any protection!” Josh tried to protest one last time. “Don’t be silly, I’m sure this little slut is on birth control” “Alice” hissed. She was straining to force herself down her brother’s girth. “Hhnnnnnghhhoooohhhh my god she is so tight” she said panting. “She must still be a virgin. Well, not anymore, hehe.” Her small, hairless lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft. To keep going further, she arched her back and angled her hips for maximum penetration.
When she finally bottomed out, “Alice” grabbed Josh’s head and started giving him a deep passionate kiss. Her long, brown hair draped over them, curtailing the world from seeing the forbidden intimacy they were sharing. While they kept kissing, “Alice” started to moan into his mouth, as she began slowly working her way up and down her brother’s shaft. The more their friction and passion increased, the more she ruffled his hair, her hands’ movements becoming more and more frantic.
Meanwhile, Josh moved his hands down his sister’s bare back and glid them first along her waist, then her hips, and finally around the sensual curve of her butt. He gave her firm cheeks a strong squeeze, while at the same time supporting her petite body with his manly hands. At last, he finally gave in to his new-found, forbidden desires and started humping his sister in sync with the rhythm of her movements.
Getting wetter by the second, “Alice’s” juices by now provided enough lubrication for her to easily glide along her brother’s member. She broke off their kiss, sat upgright, and began to drastically increase her speed. As she was bouncing up and down on Josh’s dick, her perky tits kept jiggling wildy about. To aleviate that, she took her brother’s hands and firmly placed them on top of her shapley breasts. He eagerly accepted her offer and began digging his fingers deeply into the tender flesh of his sister’s swollen boobs, ferociously groping and squeezing them like a man who lost all his inhibitions.
Greed seemed to overtake Josh, as he followed his sister’s lead by sitting upright and then tightly embracing her lithe body while she kept viciously riding his cock. Hungrily, he placed his mouth on her delicious breasts and began sucking and licking and biting her nipples, practically devouring her boobs and almost swallowing them whole. His sister rewarded him by giving off a series of high-pitched moans and clamping down on his dick.
“Wendy …,” Josh gasped short of breath and inbetween sucking his sister’s nipples. “What is it, bro?” Alice moaned. “I don’t… I don’t think I can hold it any lo—” was the last thing Josh managed to say before he finally errupted inside his sister like a volcano, spraying his creamy spunk all over his her insides. Feeling her brother’s hot goo coating her inner walls set off “Alice’s” own orgasm, making her join him in his extacy. Her body, which was glistening from all the excertion, began shaking from top to bottom as if a current of electricity ran through her.
When the tension suddenly left her body, “Alice” collapsed on top of her brother. Completely drained, she nestled her head against his chest, breathing heavily and with strands of her sweat-drenched hair sticking to her face. “I love you, Josh,” “Alice” whispered sweetly. “I love you, too,” he sighed unconvincingly. His dick was still inside deep his sister, refusing to go limp.
--------------------------------------------------------
For the past month there had been a large shadow hanging over their household. Wendy’s shenanigans had sowed mistrust and uneasiness among the members of her family. It all came to a head when Alice finally confronted her brother. “Josh, I’m begging you: please tell me the truth!” Alice pleaded. “What’s going on? Why have you been avoiding me? You don’t even look me in the eyes anymore.” “I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Josh hissed without even facing her. His eyes were red and on the verge of tears.
Gilbert and Christine heard their children argue, so they went to investigate. “What’s going with the two of you? Why are you making so much noise?” Gilbert said as he stepped into the room. “Josh, has been avoiding me for weeks now and he won’t tell me what his problem is,” Alice said unnerved. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering that, too. Care to explain yourself, son?” Gilbert asked.
Josh tried to block off their barrage of questions, but, after being relentlessly corned by three people, he eventually broke down in tears and confessed how Wendy had taken control of Alice and forced himself onto her, and how he had been unable to resist. The entire room fell silent. Alice’s stomach turned, sickening her to her core. Gilbert was simply stunned, the news leaving his mind completely blank.
Christine, on the other hand, felt an uncontrollable rage explode inside of her. “That’s it!” she yelled with tears of anger in her eyes. “This is way over the line! I’m so sick and tired of her shit. This has to end now!” “Wait! Where are you going?” Gilbert said to the afterimage of his wife as she had already rushed out of the room. The rest of them slowly began to follow her, one after the other, still trying to process the information they had just received.
An absolutely livid Christine stomped furiously down the hallway and violently barged into her daughter’s room, almost knocking the door out of its hinges. There, Wendy laid on her bed and, like so often, just slept. Without waiting for her to wake up, Christine swiftly approached her sleeping daughter, wrapped her hands around her throat, and began strangling her with all her might. Wendy did not seem to make any signs of struggling against her mother’s assault.
“How could you do that?” Christine sobbed uncontrollably as rivers of tears streamed down her face. “I loved you with all my heart. Why did you become such a hateful peson? Where did I go wrong?” she said gritting her teeth. “This is the only way I can make things right!”
Gilbert and Josh were aghast when they stepped into the room and discovered what Christine was doing. Yet, neither of them intervened and tried to stop her. They just stood there and watched.
When everything was over, everybody went quiet again, except for Christine who was unable to stop her tears. Suddenly, Alice, who everyone seemed to have forgotten about, stepped into the room. They all looked at her in disbelief as they watched a creepy, sinister smile form on her pretty face. “No!” Christine whispered. “Actually, yes, mother,” “Alice” countered. “I’m not so easy to get rid of, you see.” “No!” Christine repeated, this time more emphatically. “And from now on, you will all do exactly as I tell you or the police might get an anonymous tip about what has happened to your dearest daughter. Remember this for the rest of you lives: you got blood on your hands, literally, and I won’t hesistate to take any one of you down!” “Alice” said menacingly. It finally dawned on Christine, Gilbert, and Josh that there was no way of escaping Wendy and that they had to resign themselves to the fact that their lives were now fully under her control, essentially making them her personal slaves.
Meanwhile, “Alice”, who was relishing in the power she had over her family, sauntered over towards her father and lifted the front of her skirt, exposing “her” panty-clad pussy. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, Daddy,” she whispered with lust dripping in her voice. Both of her small, feminine hands then reached out and grabbed one of her father’s big, manly hands and slowly guided it underneath her skirt and panties and gently placed it onto her already sopping wet pussy. Gilbert was too stunned to stop her, and even if he had not been, he would not have dared to go against her.
Suddenly, both Alice and Gilbert shuddered simultaneously. “We sure will, princess,” “Gilbert” said with a lecherous expression on his face. “He” then slipped a finger inside “his” daughter’s smooth folds and began aggressively fingering her hole. The real Alice was dazed and confused when she finally came to again. “D–Dad?” she stammared. “W–What’s going o–o–oooohhhhnnggg?!” she moaned, being overwhelmed by an unexpected orgasm as her “father” quickly sent her over the edge.
Christine was horrified as she watched her husband molest their daughter in front of her eyes. Unfortunately, she was unable to do anything about it as a shiver ran down her spine and the same spell that had taken over her husband and daughter was now taking hold of her. “And let’s not neglect these two here,” “Christine” said while firmly squeezing “her” boobs against each other. “She” then climbed onto Wendy’s bed on all fours, pulled up her dress and her panties to the side, and openly offered up “her own” snatch. “Josh, be a good son and come over here and show Mommy how much my boy has grown up?”
At last it was Josh’s turn. Before he could really process the actions unfolding in front of him, he was no longer in control of his body. “Don’t mind if I do!” “Josh” replied eagerly. As fast as lightning “he” walked over to his mother, dropped his pants, and slammed his rock-hard errection into her sloppy slit. Christine, now back in control of her body, was overwhelmed with the pleasurable sensation of her son’s girthy member ramming in and out of her. When she felt her son mauling her big tits from behind, she went completely limp in his arms, as the last of her will left her while “her son” kept hammering her hole. Eventually, they both climaxed at the same time and Christine felt her son’s hot fluids spread throughout her inside.
--------------------------------------------------------
That same night it was raining cats and dogs. Gilbert and Josh, equipped with spades, dug a hole in their backyard to dispose of Wendy’s corpse while Christine and “Alice” watched from the kitchen window.
The four of them would spend the rest of their lives living in fear and terror, as Wendy forced them to live out all of her depraved sex fantasies between sister and brother, father and daughter, mother and son, mother and daugher, and even between father and son.
Eventually, when the last of her family members had passed on, Wendy continued to live on as a formless presence, taking over other people, until the end of time.
Oblivious
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
When Philip and Jack are given the challenge of going on a panty raid through the sorority next door to secure their place as pledges at Delta Epsilon, Philip's heart sinks.
With the sorority girls having already taken well known countermeasures to deal with any would be panty thieves, he thinks the chances of completing the challenge are near zero.
However, when his best friend Jack claims to have a plan involving a little magic and burrowing the bodies of his crush Vanessa and her roommate Katy, he knows he is in for a long night ahead when things don't exactly end up going to plan...
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The floor of Delta Epsilon’s house was sticky.
Beer, cheap cologne, and stale pizza had seeped into the carpet like a second skin, and Philip had the honor of scrubbing it clean while half a dozen brothers lounged on couches watching basketball highlights.
“Missed a spot,” one of them called, deliberately tilting a red Solo cup so that the last of his drink bled out onto the carpet inches from Philip’s sponge.
Philip clenched his jaw. He’d been degraded all semester, fetching fast food at three in the morning, running errands that skirted the edge of being criminal, serving as human furniture during drinking games. He told himself it would be worth it. Delta Epsilon’s parties were legendary, the kind of place girls lined up to get into. More importantly, alumni connections meant a shot at internships that led to real careers. You suffered now, you cashed in later.
Jack, naturally, thrived. He was perched on the arm of a sofa, balancing a tray of wings for two seniors, grinning like the humiliation was a party of its own.
“How’s that knee grease holding up, Phil?” he teased, eyebrows bouncing. Philip muttered something under his breath, pressing the sponge hard enough to leave his knuckles white. He’d thought pledging with his best friend would make things easier. Instead, Jack’s bottomless energy only made Philip feel like the boring one, always one step away from quitting.
The pledge master, Trent, finally called them over once the brothers had eaten their fill.
“You’ve made it further than many,” he said, addressing both Philip and Jack while tapping the ash off his cigar. “Scrubbing toilets, babysitting drunk brothers, taking whatever punishment we throw at you, you did it all without complaint. But Delta doesn’t hand out membership for free. There’s one last hurdle.”
Jack’s eyes lit up, while Philip felt his stomach knot. Trent leaned forward. “You’ve got until Saturday morning to bring us proof that you’re worthy of being Delta Epsilons. And by proof, I mean the underwear of one of the Theta sisters across the street.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Someone whistled. Another shouted, “Better hope they’re lace!”
Philip’s face burned hot. He’d expected something brutal. A dangerous stunt, or maybe even a tattoo or branding, not…this. Not something that felt like the set-up to a police record for being a creep.
Jack, of course, grinned like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. “Piece of cake,” he said.
“Piece of felony,” Philip muttered.
Trent ignored the comment. “You get caught, that’s your problem. Theta girls are sick of pranks. They’ll eat you alive if they catch you sneaking around. Fail, and you’ll have to re-pledge next semester, if we even let you back in. Succeed, and you’ll be full brothers by sunrise.”
He flicked his cigar ash into an empty beer can, and the matter was closed. Philip and Jack were dismissed like servants, slipping out into the cool night air. The frat house behind them thumped with bass as the next round of drinking games began.
Across the street, the Theta house glowed with warm yellow light, its windows alive with the silhouettes of girls laughing, moving and living in a world that felt forbidden.
Philip shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “This is insane. They want us to break into a sorority house. Forget expulsion, that’s actual jail time if we’re caught and reported.”
Jack slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Come on, man. It’s tradition. Everybody who ever wore Delta letters has done something crazy like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Philip shrugged him off. “You mean you’ll figure it out. And drag me with you.”
Jack’s grin widened. “Exactly. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” That phrase, I’ve got a plan, was the single most dangerous thing Jack could say. Philip knew better, but as he stared up at the Theta house, he couldn’t shake the truth. They’d come too far to back out now.
Philip assumed Jack’s “plan” would be something stupid but doable. Like sneaking into the Theta laundry room, bribing a janitor, or maybe finessing a stolen bra from lost-and-found.
What he didn’t expect, as their deadline creeped ever closer, was Jack pulling a battered paperback out of his backpack like he’d just smuggled the Necronomicon out of the library and declaring their troubles were about to be a thing of the past.
“What is that?” Philip asked, eyeing the faded title embossed with moons and symbols.
“Wiccan Rites and Rituals of the Body,” Jack said with a grin so wide it could split his face. “This baby is going to get us in.”
Philip stared. “That’s not a plan you idiot. That’s…props from a bad horror movie.”
“Correction,” Jack said, flipping through pages until he landed on one marked with a sticky note. “It’s a possession spell. All we need is something personal from the Thetas. Hair is perfect. One strand, and we’re golden.”
Philip blinked. “Hair. You want us to pluck a strand off someone’s head, mix it into some potion, and what? Astral-project into their underwear drawer?”
Jack leaned forward, whispering even though there was nobody else around. “Exactly. But into them, not their underwear drawer.”
For a moment, Philip couldn’t even find words. His friend was dead serious. His blue eyes glittered with the manic light of a man who believed in his own insanity. Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, you need help.”
“Correction again. We need help, and this is it. Think about it. We don’t sneak around, we don’t break and enter, we just become them. Walk right in the front door. Grab what we need and walk back out again. Easy as pie.”
Philip wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Jack this was why pledges got expelled, why college urban legends started with two idiots reading a so-called spell book. But something about Jack’s certainty unsettled him.
“How do you even plan to get the hair?” Philip asked, deciding to humor him.
Jack smirked. “You’re partnered with Vanessa in chem lab. I’m with her roommate, Katy. Both of them happen to belong to the Theta Sorority. Boom. Easy.”
Philip’s stomach lurched. Vanessa, the Vanessa, the girl he’d spent the better part of a semester trying not to stare at. She was sharp, funny, gorgeous, and so out of his league it hurt. The idea of stealing a strand of her hair wasn’t just impossible, it was mortifying.
“Jack, if I even look at her hair the wrong way she’ll know. She’ll tell everyone. I’ll be branded as the campus creep for the rest of my life.”
Jack clapped him on the back. “Relax. I’ll take care of mine. You just…fumble your way through like usual. She likes you, right? I’m sure she’s called you sweet before. She won’t even notice.”
Lab that afternoon was a fluorescent blur of glassware and nerves. Bunsen burners hissed, and the sharp scent of acetone hung in the air. Vanessa tied her glossy black hair into a messy bun as she leaned over the counter, the soft hum she made under her breath cutting through the low chatter of other pairs.
Philip adjusted the clamp on their stand and tried to steady his hands, pretending to check the thermometer while sneaking a glance at her profile. The long lashes, the soft curve of her cheek when she smiled. He’d barely worked up the nerve to say something to her, when the door swung open and Ryan Hale strolled in.
Ryan wasn’t a student in their class, he was a teaching assistant who was busy with his Masters. The kind of nerd who looked more like he belonged in a movie poster than a chemistry lab. The Henry Cavill of the campus. Tall, effortlessly confident, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing forearms that probably did not belong to someone who spent his evenings doing titration reports.
“Need a hand, Vanessa?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth enough to make the words sound like an inside joke.
Vanessa’s whole face lit up. “Ryan! You’re still hanging around the underclassmen? I thought you were too cool for basic chem.”
“Guess I missed the fun crowd.” He winked, stepping close enough that Philip caught the faint smell of his cologne. Something woodsy and smug. Philip’s stomach twisted. He busied himself pretending to check their notes, but every word between Vanessa and Ryan pulled his focus like a hook through his ribs.
“Still showing off that perfect technique, huh?” Ryan teased, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Could use someone like you to calibrate my disastrous love life.”
Vanessa laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I told you last time, you need better lab partners, not better lines.”
“Maybe I just need one who actually likes me,” he said, voice dipping into something low and knowing. “You still wearing that purple dress that makes everyone else forget the experiment?”
She grinned, shaking her head. “Keep talking, and you’ll set the sprinklers off again.”
Ryan chuckled, backing away with a little salute. “Worth it.”
Philip’s jaw locked so tight it hurt. He shifted his beaker just to make noise. “Vanessa, uh, the solution’s ready,” he muttered.
She turned back, still smiling, a faint pink on her cheeks. “Right, sorry, I got distracted.” The way she said it made Philip want to vanish into the nearest fume hood.
Ryan gave him a nod that felt more like dismissal. “Good work, man. Don’t let her boss you around too much.”
Philip forced a tight smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When Ryan finally moved on to check another table, the tension in Philip’s shoulders eased only slightly. Vanessa was still smiling to herself, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “He’s such a dork,” she said fondly.
“Yeah,” Philip replied, voice flat. “A real geek.”
She glanced at him, oblivious. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”
“Fine,” he lied. His pulse thundered. He hated how obvious it felt. The jealousy, the ridiculous possessiveness over a girl who barely saw him as more than a partner for lab reports.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jack was all charm. Katy, tall, athletic, focused on the work at hand with cool intensity, rolled her eyes at his constant jokes, but she didn’t seem to actively hate him. Jack’s hands moved casually, as if the experiment was background noise to whatever ridiculous story he was spinning.
Philip’s heart pounded. He couldn’t do it. Not to Vanessa. The thought of deliberately stealing a piece of her felt worse than any frat punishment. But then her bun slipped, and a single strand drifted onto the lab bench.
Philip froze and stared at it like it was radioactive. One perfect strand, right there. All he had to do was pick it up without her noticing. His hand twitched. Sweat beaded at his hairline. Vanessa reached for the pipette, and he panicked. He grabbed the strand too quickly, shoving it into his pocket like a thief.
She glanced at him, puzzled. “You good?” she asked.
Philip’s laugh came out strangled. “Yeah. Totally. Fine. Just, science, you know?”
She gave him a strange look, then turned back to the experiment. Across the room, Jack caught his eye and subtly flashed a triumphant thumbs-up. He mouthed, Got it. Philip wanted to throw up.
After class, they met outside, ducking into a quiet corner near the library. Jack pulled a small plastic baggie from his pocket and wiggled it proudly. Katy’s strand of hair gleaming inside. Philip shoved his hands deep into his hoodie, where Vanessa’s strand burned against his palm like contraband.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “If she’d caught me, I’d have been ruined.”
Jack was practically buzzing. “But she didn’t. We’ve got everything. Today, we drink the potion. Tomorrow, we’re legends.”
Philip stared at him, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t the frat house that scared him anymore. It was Jack’s unwavering certainty, the gleam in his eye like he’d already crossed a line Philip couldn’t even see.
Back in their room, Jack had cleared his desk, pushing aside textbooks and laundry to make space for the battered paperback and a mess of supplies that looked like they’d been stolen from a Spirit Halloween clearance bin. Mason jars, candles, a bag of salt and something that Philip really, really hoped was red food coloring.
Philip sat on the bed, arms crossed, trying not to look at the plastic bag in his pocket. Inside was Vanessa’s hair, a single dark strand that felt heavier than lead.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re going to set off the fire alarm, and we’ll get kicked out before we even fail the pledge.”
Jack was hunched over the desk, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he measured powder into a chipped coffee mug.
“Correction. You’re going to stop being so negative, because we’re going to waltz into Theta’s house like we own it and take our time finding the perfect proof. Something small, sexy and lacy. Then we hand it to Trent and we’re done. Easiest initiation ever and we’re lifelong members of the Delta Epsilon brotherhood.”
Philip shook his head. “You actually believe all the crap coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes. Because I know this is going to work.” Jack’s grin was feral. He held up his mug, fizzing with something dark and faintly purple. “And very soon, you’re going to have to swallow all your pessimistic, dismissive words and admit that I’m the GOAT.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped Katy’s wavy strand of hair into the concoction.
Philip looked at his own brew, waiting for him on the desk. It reeked faintly of vinegar and something metallic. “This looks like cough syrup that went bad.”
Jack grabbed the paperback, muttering words under his breath. Latin? Gibberish? Philip couldn’t tell. The candlelight threw shadows across Jack’s face, making him look more unhinged than usual.
“Jack,” Philip said slowly, “You get that if this doesn’t work, we may be drinking poison?”
“Trust me,” Jack said, gesturing meaningfully at Philip’s mug. Those two words had been the prelude to every disaster Philip had lived through with him. The broken window in high school. The near arrest in freshman year. And now this.
Philip sighed, pulled Vanessa’s hair from his pocket, and dropped it into the liquid. It curled and fizzed, dissolving into the mixture like it had never been.
“Bottoms up,” Jack said cheerfully, chugging the contents in one long pull.
Philip raised his mug. The liquid shimmered oddly, like heat ripples above asphalt. He pinched his nose and tossed it back. It burned. Like swallowing melted pennies chased with bleach. His stomach roiled instantly, bile rising up.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked, slamming the cup down. “That’s not magic, that’s battery acid.”
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing hard, but his grin didn’t falter. “Wait for it.”
Philip blinked and the dorm room folded in on itself. Candlelight bent sideways and the next breath tasted like coffee and paper. He was not in their room anymore. He was sitting at a table under tall windows, late afternoon light spilling amber over open textbooks and half empty cups.
The scent was library quiet and caffeine. Hair slid across his cheek. Definitely not his. It was long and silky. His hands were smaller, nails pink, wrists delicate. The weight on his chest tugged when he breathed. He was looking through Vanessa’s eyes.
Across from him, Katy sat in a chair with a pen in her hand and her mouth parted in a quiet, startled sound that belonged to Jack. “Holy shit,” Jack whispered in Katy’s voice.
Philip’s pulse spiked. “How the hell did I get here?” he asked under his breath, before the realization hit him fully. Jack’s crazy plan worked. He glanced down, eyes bugging at the soft cleavage he encountered. He was on the verge of completely freaking out. “Keep it together,” he muttered to himself. The sound of Vanessa's voice only sent him spiraling further into chaos.
Jack’s grin curled slow and wicked as he looked down at himself and then around them. He started to pull the top of Katy’s tank forward so he could peek at her breasts, before Philip shot him a look that could choke a man at twenty paces.
“Don’t,” Philip hissed. “Katy would never do something like that in public!”
Jack laughed, high and breathy in Katy’s voice. “You’re telling me you’re not even curious? Come on, man. We’re in. This is unreal. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to them when we touch them?”
Philip swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from spiraling into sensory overload.
“This…this isn’t possible,” he whispered. But the evidence pressed in from every side. The scent of citrus shampoo in his hair, the tug of bra straps against his shoulders, the fullness in his chest when he inhaled. The emptiness where his cock should be.
Philip’s eyes darted anxiously around the library cafe. “We need to get out of here before someone notices something off,” Philip said. “People pick up on the smallest wrong note.” He was terrified that someone would realize the girls were possessed.
He spent way too much time staring at Vanessa, but that didn’t mean he could copy her actions. If anyone watched them closely, they’d know immediately that there were impostors inhabiting Vanessa and Katy.
“We should go back to their room and fool around,” Jack suggested immediately, hands on Katy’s breasts, squeezing idly.
“Jesus, Jack, stop that! They’re in public. We’re in public…”
This was such a mind-fuck. Clearly they were literally possessing Vanessa and Katy’s bodies. Where was Vanessa's consciousness now? Asleep? Aware? He didn’t feel like someone was watching him, so hopefully she had no idea what he was doing. And where were his and Jack’s bodies? Still in their dorm room? Fuck. If he’d known there was any chance of this working, he’d never have gone through with it.
“Come on bestie, let’s go home,” Jack cooed at him. “I’m just dying to get out of these pesky clothes.”
Jack clearly had zero second thoughts about any of this. Then again, Jack had never had a second thought in his life. He rarely had first ones. Philip decided that only made him a bigger idiot for always following his friend’s crazy plans.
Philip took a deep breath, gathered Vanessa’s things and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder before getting up on shaky legs. The plan was to reach Theta house without interacting with anyone who knew the girls.
Vanessa was outgoing and popular, so he kept his eyes trained on the ground to avoid any accidental socializing.
He was doing his best to focus on the mission, but every move betrayed him. Vanessa’s curves shifted differently from his own. Her hips swayed without permission when he walked. The tug of the denim skirt around her thighs was tighter than he was used to, the waistband sitting higher, the soft curtain of hair continuously falling into his eyes. And he kept fighting the urge to run his fingertips over her lustrous, satiny skin.
Philip thanked his lucky stars that it was late afternoon sliding toward evening and most of the Theta girls were either at dinner, in class, or busy with the mixer prep.
The second piece of good luck was the fact that the first year members of the sorority had the downstairs bedrooms and Katy and Vanessa had their names picked out in glittery wooden letters on their door. Which saved him and Jack from being caught wandering aimlessly into someone else’s room and rifling through their underwear.
“Come on,” he hissed at Jack, nearly having heart failure when he heard Vanessa’s sweet, bubbly voice, before remembering it came from his own mouth.
As soon as they entered the room, Philip froze like a deer in headlights.
The room smelled like them. A heady mix of perfume, make-up and detergent. Several photos of Vanessa and Katy were pinned to the notice board. Keys with a little Theta charm lay on a desk. Lip gloss on each bedside table. A folded flyer about the upcoming mixer. Every object made him feel like an intruder in a life that wasn’t his.
Then he looked up and saw his reflection thrown back at him from the floor length mirror fastened to the opposite wall. Vanessa stared back. Her round face framed by shiny black hair, lips glossed in pale pink, eyes wide with Philip’s panic.
“This isn’t possible,” he murmured hoarsely.
Jack crossed the room with Katy’s energetic stride, hair swinging over her shoulder. He leaned down, far too close, eyes alight with mischief.
“Possible or not, it’s happening. And we’ve got hours before it wears off. Wanna play?” Philip’s pulse thundered. He was in Vanessa’s body. Jack was in Katy’s. He had no idea what their real bodies were doing or where, only that they were not here. For the first time since pledging Delta, he realized he was more terrified of his best friend than of any frat brother.
Jack was practically bouncing around like a kid in a candy store, repeatedly mentioning how awesome it is to have tits.
“This is insane,” Philip muttered, running a hand through Vanessa’s long hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like silk, brushing the back of his neck, constantly in his peripheral vision. Every little tickle made him twitch. “I feel like I’m drowning in shampoo.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. It’s fucking awesome. Look at this.” He shook his head, letting Katy’s long, dark hair fall over her shoulders, framing her face, then bit her lower lip between her teeth and winked at Philip seductively. “Tell me this doesn’t look hot.”
Philip turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of the curve of Katy’s collarbone, the tan line along her shoulder where a sports bra must’ve once sat. He gritted his teeth.
“We’re only here to grab underwear and then we get out. That’s it.” Jack made a distracted sound, which didn’t entirely sound like agreement.
He was testing everything. Squeezing Katy’s biceps and delighting in the subtle muscle definition, stretching out one long leg and flexing her calf muscles, even bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if testing how springy she was.
Philip was still focused on the reflection in the mirror. He stepped closer, and the image followed, familiar and foreign all at once. He raised a hand. She raised a hand. Jack appeared beside him, sliding Katy’s body into view. She was taller, leaner, her shoulders broader than Vanessa’s.
Katy was studious and fairly quiet normally, but Jack’s grin warped her into something hungry. A femme fatale in search of her next prey.
“Dude, look at us,” Jack whispered. “We actually pulled it off. We’re fucking hot!”
Philip swallowed, heat crawling up his neck. “We shouldn’t be looking. This is… it’s too much.”
“Too much fun,” Jack corrected. He pressed closer to the mirror, tilting Katy’s head, pursing her lips, sticking out her tongue just to see how it looked. He laughed in delight. “God, the way this mouth moves, it’s unreal.”
Philip tried to drag his eyes away, but curiosity betrayed him. His gaze dipped, catching sight of Vanessa’s chest in the reflection. The neckline of her shirt clung close, clearly showing the outline of her nipples. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away sharply. He was not going to lift her top and take a peek.
“You’re staring,” Jack teased, slipping behind him and resting Katy’s hands on Vanessa’s hips.
Katy’s reflection loomed over Vanessa’s smaller frame in the mirror. “What’s it like, having the body of your crush? Bet you’ve fantasized about having unfettered access to her before. Touching every inch of her. Running your palms over her perky tits. Cupping her pussy.”
Philip’s face went hot. “Shut up.”
Jack leaned closer, his voice dropping, Katy’s lips brushing dangerously near Philip’s ear. “She’s soft, isn’t she? Curvy. Everything you imagined. And she’s right here. Aching to know what your hands would feel like sliding all over her.”
Philip’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth of Jack’s presence, the whisper of Katy’s hair brushing his cheek. He tried to step away, but Vanessa’s body didn’t obey with the same steadiness as his own.
His hip bumped the desk, throwing him off balance. Jack’s hand shot out, steadying him. Grabbing his hips instead of his arm. Philip stiffened. The pressure of Katy’s palm against Vanessa’s midriff was startling. A hot reminder that this wasn’t a joke anymore.
“Jack,” Philip said, voice low with warning. But Jack only grinned, tightening his grip slightly, fingertips sliding along the hem of Vanessa’s shirt, tickling the strip of skin underneath.
“Relax. We’ve got time before the potion wears off. Why waste it panicking when we could explore?”
Philip shoved his hand away, heart hammering too fast. “We came here for one reason. Don’t fuck this up with your usual bullshit.”
Jack backed off in mock surrender, leaning against the wall and raising Katy’s hands. “Fine, fine. You want to pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity by being a pussy, instead of playing with one, go ahead.”
Philip ignored him and pulled open one of the dresser drawers, coming face to face with the mother lode.
A mass of lace and cotton, bright colors and neutrals, G-strings and briefs and bras, all folded neatly in little piles. He fumbled, pulling out a pair at random, trying not to notice the little bow stitched along the waistband, or theorize about which of the girls it belonged to.
“Got it,” he muttered, stuffing it into his pocket.
“We should leave and go and stash this somewhere so we can retrieve it when we’re us again.”
“Plenty of time for that. Are you seriously passing up the opportunity to find out what turns your crush on?”
Philip’s chest heaved, the bra beneath his shirt pinching tighter with the movement. Every tiny sensation was amplified in this shape. He had no idea girls had such sensitive bodies. If Vanessa's neck and shoulders were this responsive to stimuli, what about the more… delicate areas?
Jack leaned against the wall, watching his friend closely. Katy’s arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made Philip avert his eyes.
“You really think you can ignore this?” Jack asked softly. “Ignore her?”
Philip didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, even as he tried to ignore it, every nerve in Vanessa’s body was alive with a tingling feeling he couldn’t shut off.
He told himself he wouldn’t look at the mirror again. That he had the underwear and all that was left to do was wait for the potion to burn off. But every time he moved, Vanessa’s body reminded him he wasn’t himself. The way her thighs brushed together when he shifted his stance. The heat trapped in the curve between her breasts. The way her nipples tightened when she saw the way Katy stared at her. The sudden, sharp contraction of pleasure between her legs.
Each detail was louder than thought. And Jack wouldn’t fucking give him space to breathe.
“You’re wound too tight,” Jack murmured, stepping closer again. Katy’s taller body loomed behind him, all lean lines and toned strength. He set Katy’s hands on Vanessa's shoulders from behind, massaging with deliberate slowness.
“Loosen up.”
Philip froze. The sensation was alien. Slender fingers pressing into the slope of Vanessa’s shoulders, kneading muscle softer than his own. His back arched without meaning to, chest pushing forward. He could feel the heat in his panties and almost smell the pheromones in the air.
“Jack-”
“Shh.”
Katy’s breath ghosted over his ear, warm and taunting. “Allow her to feel it. Her body isn’t fighting me. She likes this.”
Philip hated the way heat rippled through him at the words. The way Vanessa’s nipples pebbled instantly, turning aching and hard beneath her bra when Jack’s thumbs kept sensually running across her muscles.
He tried to step away, but Jack’s grip on her waist drew her back. Katy’s chest pressed flush against Vanessa’s back. Firm breasts molding against soft skin. Philip gasped, a small, betraying sound.
“That’s it,” Jack whispered, lips brushing the shell of Vanessa's ear. “You feel that, don’t you? How different it is?”
Philip bit his lip hard. But it didn’t stop his body from reacting. His chest ached with sensitivity, every brush of fabric against his nipples sparking hot shivers. His hips shifted against Jack’s hold, searching without meaning to. His ass pressing back, almost expecting to feel an erect cock there, relaxing when all he encountered was softness.
Jack slid one hand lower, over Vanessa’s flat stomach, fingertips grazing the waist of her denim skirt. Philip’s pulse spiked. He could feel the shape of her body in ways he’d only imagined.
“God, you’re actually shaking,” Jack teased. He pressed his palm harder, dragging upward until he cupped one of Vanessa’s breasts through her shirt. His hand molded perfectly to the curve, fingers sinking in slightly before closing over the nipples and pinching.
Philip jolted like he’d been shocked. The pressure sent heat exploding through him. So much sharper than he ever imagined. A moan slipped out, broken and needy, before he could stop it. Jack laughed low, his voice a husky echo in Katy’s mouth.
“I knew it. You’re loving this.”
Philip shook his head, but his body betrayed him. Vanessa’s breasts were soft in his own hands when Jack pulled them into place, squeezing and kneading.
The ache in his chest spread downward, a molten restlessness that coiled between his legs, where there was no longer any familiar weight. Only a slick, sensitive heat that made his thighs tense. Jack leaned closer, kissing the side of Vanessa's neck.
Katy’s lips left tingling sparks against her skin. He gasped again, tilting his head back without meaning to, giving Jack room to explore.
“You always wanted to know what she felt like, didn’t you?” Jack murmured between kisses. “Now you do. Every inch. Every little twitch. If you ever get the chance, you could make her cum in minutes.”
Philip squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to want this. But Vanessa’s body was singing beneath his skin, her curves hypersensitive to every touch, every squeeze. When Jack dragged his hand lower, cupping the swell of her ass through denim, Philip’s knees went weak. He stumbled, and they tumbled together onto the nearest bed. Vanessa’s smaller frame pinned beneath Katy’s.
Jack landed on top, grinning down, hair falling in a dark curtain around their faces. “Just lie back and enjoy it,” he said, voice husky. “I’ll do all the work and you can take notes in your head.”
Katy’s hips pressed down, grinding just enough for Philip to feel the press of her pussy against Vanessa's. The pleasure nearly made him see stars. What would it feel like if Katy actually touched her clit? Dragged her tongue over it? Sucked it between those soft lips?
Philip whimpered, his hands trapped between them, pressed against the curves of Katy’s sides. He could feel the warmth of skin through fabric. Every nerve screamed with arousal. Jack leaned down, lips hovering over his.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
Philip’s heart thundered. His lips parted, and he didn’t know if he was going to say I don’t or kiss Katy. His pulse roared in his ears. He could feel the weight of Vanessa’s chest rising and falling too fast, her heartbeat thundering in her ribs like a trapped animal.
Jack hovered over him, Katy’s taller frame caging him against the mattress, their borrowed hair spilling together in a curtain that smelled faintly of fruit.
“This isn’t funny anymore,” Philip rasped, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor of arousal under the words.
Jack smirked. “I’m not joking.” He lowered Katy’s body until their breasts touched, brushing Katy’s peaked nipples against Vanessa’s rock hard ones. The friction alone made Philip gasp, heat shooting through him. It wasn’t like pressing chest-to-chest with another guy.
The give, the shape, the electric sting of nipples touching, every detail was overwhelming. He had no idea breasts were so receptive to the slightest touch. Vanessa's wasn’t even uncovered and they made him squirm.
“God,” he groaned before he could stop himself. Jack’s grin widened in satisfaction.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Every touch goes both ways. You squeeze her,” He pressed Katy’s hand down onto one of Vanessa’s breasts, forcing Philip to feel it fully, “And you are her.”
Philip arched into the contact despite himself. His hands moved up without any conscious thought. The weight of her breast in his palm, the nipple reacting instantly under his touch, each tiny spark flooded through him in a way his male body never reacted to anything but pressure on his cock.
He kneaded once, twice, and heat surged low in his stomach, between his thighs, turning his panties damp. His back bowed off the mattress, mouth falling open in a helpless sound.
Jack kissed him then. Katy’s mouth grazing Vanessa's jaw, the corner of her mouth, teasing as it moved around.
Every brush of her sweet lips left a wet, burning mark. Philip turned away, breathless, but Jack followed, biting gently at Vanessa’s neck until Philip gasped.
His thighs clenched hard. Something slick and molten was spreading there, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He could feel the absence, the soft, tender heat where his cock would usually be straining.
The pressure of denim against it only sharpened the ache. He needed Jack to touch Vanessa's pussy. He needed pressure. Jack ground down lightly and Philip bucked up helplessly, his own hands gripping Katy’s hips tight, chasing the friction he’d die without.
“Stop,” he panted, but the word broke halfway, turning into a moan. Jack chuckled low.
“Your body doesn’t want me to stop.” He kissed Vanessa again. Her lips plump, glossy, trembling beneath Katy’s teasing press. Philip’s breath hitched and his tongue flicked nervously against the edge of his teeth.
Every nerve screamed to close the distance, to taste what it felt like to kiss as a girl, to be kissed as a girl. Jack deepened the grind of their hips. Philip’s breath hitched sharply, a helpless whimper leaving his throat.
Heat surged through his belly, down his thighs, the ache between his legs swelling into a throbbing need. He arched against Katy, nails digging into her waist. There’s no way he was going to be able to say no. Jack had to make him cum.
Jack pulled back slightly, asking with twinkling eyes, “Shall we see how good Katy is at eating pussy?”
Philip knew what his answer should be, but his entire body was throbbing, yes yes yes.
Their mouths hovered a fraction apart, breaths mingling. The world narrowed to that single point of contact waiting to happen. Philip’s lips parted, ready, needy.
“Vanessa? Katy?” The voice cut through the fog like a blade, followed by the rap of knuckles on the door.
Philip’s eyes flew wide. Jack froze above him, both of them panting hard. “Vanessa, Katy!” another girl called from the hall. “We need you for the final discussions for tonight’s mixer!”
Silence. Only their ragged breaths, the hot press of bodies still locked together. Jack swore under his breath, rolling off Vanessa reluctantly.
“Just when things were about to get really good.”
Philip scrambled upright, Vanessa’s hair tangling in his face, chest heaving, nipples still hard and aching. He shoved shaky hands through the strands, trying to compose himself, though the slick heat between his thighs throbbed in open defiance.
He knew they should have kept their heads. If they let curiosity drag them off course they would blow the whole point of the night. The spell would end when it wanted and they had no idea when that would be.
Another knock. “Come on, you two! Hurry up! Megan saw you get in earlier, I know you’re in there.”
Jack smirked, tugging Katy’s tank top straight as if they hadn’t just been seconds from fucking each other into oblivion.
“Guess there’s more fun ahead. Don’t think you’re off the hook though, I’m still going to eat that pussy later and I fully expect to get repaid in kind.”
Philip sat frozen, heart still hammering, his mind spinning so fast he worried he might throw up.
With the sorority girls having already taken well known countermeasures to deal with any would be panty thieves, he thinks the chances of completing the challenge are near zero.
However, when his best friend Jack claims to have a plan involving a little magic and burrowing the bodies of his crush Vanessa and her roommate Katy, he knows he is in for a long night ahead when things don't exactly end up going to plan...
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The floor of Delta Epsilon’s house was sticky.
Beer, cheap cologne, and stale pizza had seeped into the carpet like a second skin, and Philip had the honor of scrubbing it clean while half a dozen brothers lounged on couches watching basketball highlights.
“Missed a spot,” one of them called, deliberately tilting a red Solo cup so that the last of his drink bled out onto the carpet inches from Philip’s sponge.
Philip clenched his jaw. He’d been degraded all semester, fetching fast food at three in the morning, running errands that skirted the edge of being criminal, serving as human furniture during drinking games. He told himself it would be worth it. Delta Epsilon’s parties were legendary, the kind of place girls lined up to get into. More importantly, alumni connections meant a shot at internships that led to real careers. You suffered now, you cashed in later.
Jack, naturally, thrived. He was perched on the arm of a sofa, balancing a tray of wings for two seniors, grinning like the humiliation was a party of its own.
“How’s that knee grease holding up, Phil?” he teased, eyebrows bouncing. Philip muttered something under his breath, pressing the sponge hard enough to leave his knuckles white. He’d thought pledging with his best friend would make things easier. Instead, Jack’s bottomless energy only made Philip feel like the boring one, always one step away from quitting.
The pledge master, Trent, finally called them over once the brothers had eaten their fill.
“You’ve made it further than many,” he said, addressing both Philip and Jack while tapping the ash off his cigar. “Scrubbing toilets, babysitting drunk brothers, taking whatever punishment we throw at you, you did it all without complaint. But Delta doesn’t hand out membership for free. There’s one last hurdle.”
Jack’s eyes lit up, while Philip felt his stomach knot. Trent leaned forward. “You’ve got until Saturday morning to bring us proof that you’re worthy of being Delta Epsilons. And by proof, I mean the underwear of one of the Theta sisters across the street.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Someone whistled. Another shouted, “Better hope they’re lace!”
Philip’s face burned hot. He’d expected something brutal. A dangerous stunt, or maybe even a tattoo or branding, not…this. Not something that felt like the set-up to a police record for being a creep.
Jack, of course, grinned like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. “Piece of cake,” he said.
“Piece of felony,” Philip muttered.
Trent ignored the comment. “You get caught, that’s your problem. Theta girls are sick of pranks. They’ll eat you alive if they catch you sneaking around. Fail, and you’ll have to re-pledge next semester, if we even let you back in. Succeed, and you’ll be full brothers by sunrise.”
He flicked his cigar ash into an empty beer can, and the matter was closed. Philip and Jack were dismissed like servants, slipping out into the cool night air. The frat house behind them thumped with bass as the next round of drinking games began.
Across the street, the Theta house glowed with warm yellow light, its windows alive with the silhouettes of girls laughing, moving and living in a world that felt forbidden.
Philip shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “This is insane. They want us to break into a sorority house. Forget expulsion, that’s actual jail time if we’re caught and reported.”
Jack slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Come on, man. It’s tradition. Everybody who ever wore Delta letters has done something crazy like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Philip shrugged him off. “You mean you’ll figure it out. And drag me with you.”
Jack’s grin widened. “Exactly. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” That phrase, I’ve got a plan, was the single most dangerous thing Jack could say. Philip knew better, but as he stared up at the Theta house, he couldn’t shake the truth. They’d come too far to back out now.
Philip assumed Jack’s “plan” would be something stupid but doable. Like sneaking into the Theta laundry room, bribing a janitor, or maybe finessing a stolen bra from lost-and-found.
What he didn’t expect, as their deadline creeped ever closer, was Jack pulling a battered paperback out of his backpack like he’d just smuggled the Necronomicon out of the library and declaring their troubles were about to be a thing of the past.
“What is that?” Philip asked, eyeing the faded title embossed with moons and symbols.
“Wiccan Rites and Rituals of the Body,” Jack said with a grin so wide it could split his face. “This baby is going to get us in.”
Philip stared. “That’s not a plan you idiot. That’s…props from a bad horror movie.”
“Correction,” Jack said, flipping through pages until he landed on one marked with a sticky note. “It’s a possession spell. All we need is something personal from the Thetas. Hair is perfect. One strand, and we’re golden.”
Philip blinked. “Hair. You want us to pluck a strand off someone’s head, mix it into some potion, and what? Astral-project into their underwear drawer?”
Jack leaned forward, whispering even though there was nobody else around. “Exactly. But into them, not their underwear drawer.”
For a moment, Philip couldn’t even find words. His friend was dead serious. His blue eyes glittered with the manic light of a man who believed in his own insanity. Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, you need help.”
“Correction again. We need help, and this is it. Think about it. We don’t sneak around, we don’t break and enter, we just become them. Walk right in the front door. Grab what we need and walk back out again. Easy as pie.”
Philip wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Jack this was why pledges got expelled, why college urban legends started with two idiots reading a so-called spell book. But something about Jack’s certainty unsettled him.
“How do you even plan to get the hair?” Philip asked, deciding to humor him.
Jack smirked. “You’re partnered with Vanessa in chem lab. I’m with her roommate, Katy. Both of them happen to belong to the Theta Sorority. Boom. Easy.”
Philip’s stomach lurched. Vanessa, the Vanessa, the girl he’d spent the better part of a semester trying not to stare at. She was sharp, funny, gorgeous, and so out of his league it hurt. The idea of stealing a strand of her hair wasn’t just impossible, it was mortifying.
“Jack, if I even look at her hair the wrong way she’ll know. She’ll tell everyone. I’ll be branded as the campus creep for the rest of my life.”
Jack clapped him on the back. “Relax. I’ll take care of mine. You just…fumble your way through like usual. She likes you, right? I’m sure she’s called you sweet before. She won’t even notice.”
Lab that afternoon was a fluorescent blur of glassware and nerves. Bunsen burners hissed, and the sharp scent of acetone hung in the air. Vanessa tied her glossy black hair into a messy bun as she leaned over the counter, the soft hum she made under her breath cutting through the low chatter of other pairs.
Philip adjusted the clamp on their stand and tried to steady his hands, pretending to check the thermometer while sneaking a glance at her profile. The long lashes, the soft curve of her cheek when she smiled. He’d barely worked up the nerve to say something to her, when the door swung open and Ryan Hale strolled in.
Ryan wasn’t a student in their class, he was a teaching assistant who was busy with his Masters. The kind of nerd who looked more like he belonged in a movie poster than a chemistry lab. The Henry Cavill of the campus. Tall, effortlessly confident, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing forearms that probably did not belong to someone who spent his evenings doing titration reports.
“Need a hand, Vanessa?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth enough to make the words sound like an inside joke.
Vanessa’s whole face lit up. “Ryan! You’re still hanging around the underclassmen? I thought you were too cool for basic chem.”
“Guess I missed the fun crowd.” He winked, stepping close enough that Philip caught the faint smell of his cologne. Something woodsy and smug. Philip’s stomach twisted. He busied himself pretending to check their notes, but every word between Vanessa and Ryan pulled his focus like a hook through his ribs.
“Still showing off that perfect technique, huh?” Ryan teased, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Could use someone like you to calibrate my disastrous love life.”
Vanessa laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I told you last time, you need better lab partners, not better lines.”
“Maybe I just need one who actually likes me,” he said, voice dipping into something low and knowing. “You still wearing that purple dress that makes everyone else forget the experiment?”
She grinned, shaking her head. “Keep talking, and you’ll set the sprinklers off again.”
Ryan chuckled, backing away with a little salute. “Worth it.”
Philip’s jaw locked so tight it hurt. He shifted his beaker just to make noise. “Vanessa, uh, the solution’s ready,” he muttered.
She turned back, still smiling, a faint pink on her cheeks. “Right, sorry, I got distracted.” The way she said it made Philip want to vanish into the nearest fume hood.
Ryan gave him a nod that felt more like dismissal. “Good work, man. Don’t let her boss you around too much.”
Philip forced a tight smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When Ryan finally moved on to check another table, the tension in Philip’s shoulders eased only slightly. Vanessa was still smiling to herself, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “He’s such a dork,” she said fondly.
“Yeah,” Philip replied, voice flat. “A real geek.”
She glanced at him, oblivious. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”
“Fine,” he lied. His pulse thundered. He hated how obvious it felt. The jealousy, the ridiculous possessiveness over a girl who barely saw him as more than a partner for lab reports.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jack was all charm. Katy, tall, athletic, focused on the work at hand with cool intensity, rolled her eyes at his constant jokes, but she didn’t seem to actively hate him. Jack’s hands moved casually, as if the experiment was background noise to whatever ridiculous story he was spinning.
Philip’s heart pounded. He couldn’t do it. Not to Vanessa. The thought of deliberately stealing a piece of her felt worse than any frat punishment. But then her bun slipped, and a single strand drifted onto the lab bench.
Philip froze and stared at it like it was radioactive. One perfect strand, right there. All he had to do was pick it up without her noticing. His hand twitched. Sweat beaded at his hairline. Vanessa reached for the pipette, and he panicked. He grabbed the strand too quickly, shoving it into his pocket like a thief.
She glanced at him, puzzled. “You good?” she asked.
Philip’s laugh came out strangled. “Yeah. Totally. Fine. Just, science, you know?”
She gave him a strange look, then turned back to the experiment. Across the room, Jack caught his eye and subtly flashed a triumphant thumbs-up. He mouthed, Got it. Philip wanted to throw up.
After class, they met outside, ducking into a quiet corner near the library. Jack pulled a small plastic baggie from his pocket and wiggled it proudly. Katy’s strand of hair gleaming inside. Philip shoved his hands deep into his hoodie, where Vanessa’s strand burned against his palm like contraband.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “If she’d caught me, I’d have been ruined.”
Jack was practically buzzing. “But she didn’t. We’ve got everything. Today, we drink the potion. Tomorrow, we’re legends.”
Philip stared at him, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t the frat house that scared him anymore. It was Jack’s unwavering certainty, the gleam in his eye like he’d already crossed a line Philip couldn’t even see.
Back in their room, Jack had cleared his desk, pushing aside textbooks and laundry to make space for the battered paperback and a mess of supplies that looked like they’d been stolen from a Spirit Halloween clearance bin. Mason jars, candles, a bag of salt and something that Philip really, really hoped was red food coloring.
Philip sat on the bed, arms crossed, trying not to look at the plastic bag in his pocket. Inside was Vanessa’s hair, a single dark strand that felt heavier than lead.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re going to set off the fire alarm, and we’ll get kicked out before we even fail the pledge.”
Jack was hunched over the desk, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he measured powder into a chipped coffee mug.
“Correction. You’re going to stop being so negative, because we’re going to waltz into Theta’s house like we own it and take our time finding the perfect proof. Something small, sexy and lacy. Then we hand it to Trent and we’re done. Easiest initiation ever and we’re lifelong members of the Delta Epsilon brotherhood.”
Philip shook his head. “You actually believe all the crap coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes. Because I know this is going to work.” Jack’s grin was feral. He held up his mug, fizzing with something dark and faintly purple. “And very soon, you’re going to have to swallow all your pessimistic, dismissive words and admit that I’m the GOAT.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped Katy’s wavy strand of hair into the concoction.
Philip looked at his own brew, waiting for him on the desk. It reeked faintly of vinegar and something metallic. “This looks like cough syrup that went bad.”
Jack grabbed the paperback, muttering words under his breath. Latin? Gibberish? Philip couldn’t tell. The candlelight threw shadows across Jack’s face, making him look more unhinged than usual.
“Jack,” Philip said slowly, “You get that if this doesn’t work, we may be drinking poison?”
“Trust me,” Jack said, gesturing meaningfully at Philip’s mug. Those two words had been the prelude to every disaster Philip had lived through with him. The broken window in high school. The near arrest in freshman year. And now this.
Philip sighed, pulled Vanessa’s hair from his pocket, and dropped it into the liquid. It curled and fizzed, dissolving into the mixture like it had never been.
“Bottoms up,” Jack said cheerfully, chugging the contents in one long pull.
Philip raised his mug. The liquid shimmered oddly, like heat ripples above asphalt. He pinched his nose and tossed it back. It burned. Like swallowing melted pennies chased with bleach. His stomach roiled instantly, bile rising up.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked, slamming the cup down. “That’s not magic, that’s battery acid.”
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing hard, but his grin didn’t falter. “Wait for it.”
Philip blinked and the dorm room folded in on itself. Candlelight bent sideways and the next breath tasted like coffee and paper. He was not in their room anymore. He was sitting at a table under tall windows, late afternoon light spilling amber over open textbooks and half empty cups.
The scent was library quiet and caffeine. Hair slid across his cheek. Definitely not his. It was long and silky. His hands were smaller, nails pink, wrists delicate. The weight on his chest tugged when he breathed. He was looking through Vanessa’s eyes.
Across from him, Katy sat in a chair with a pen in her hand and her mouth parted in a quiet, startled sound that belonged to Jack. “Holy shit,” Jack whispered in Katy’s voice.
Philip’s pulse spiked. “How the hell did I get here?” he asked under his breath, before the realization hit him fully. Jack’s crazy plan worked. He glanced down, eyes bugging at the soft cleavage he encountered. He was on the verge of completely freaking out. “Keep it together,” he muttered to himself. The sound of Vanessa's voice only sent him spiraling further into chaos.
Jack’s grin curled slow and wicked as he looked down at himself and then around them. He started to pull the top of Katy’s tank forward so he could peek at her breasts, before Philip shot him a look that could choke a man at twenty paces.
“Don’t,” Philip hissed. “Katy would never do something like that in public!”
Jack laughed, high and breathy in Katy’s voice. “You’re telling me you’re not even curious? Come on, man. We’re in. This is unreal. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to them when we touch them?”
Philip swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from spiraling into sensory overload.
“This…this isn’t possible,” he whispered. But the evidence pressed in from every side. The scent of citrus shampoo in his hair, the tug of bra straps against his shoulders, the fullness in his chest when he inhaled. The emptiness where his cock should be.
Philip’s eyes darted anxiously around the library cafe. “We need to get out of here before someone notices something off,” Philip said. “People pick up on the smallest wrong note.” He was terrified that someone would realize the girls were possessed.
He spent way too much time staring at Vanessa, but that didn’t mean he could copy her actions. If anyone watched them closely, they’d know immediately that there were impostors inhabiting Vanessa and Katy.
“We should go back to their room and fool around,” Jack suggested immediately, hands on Katy’s breasts, squeezing idly.
“Jesus, Jack, stop that! They’re in public. We’re in public…”
This was such a mind-fuck. Clearly they were literally possessing Vanessa and Katy’s bodies. Where was Vanessa's consciousness now? Asleep? Aware? He didn’t feel like someone was watching him, so hopefully she had no idea what he was doing. And where were his and Jack’s bodies? Still in their dorm room? Fuck. If he’d known there was any chance of this working, he’d never have gone through with it.
“Come on bestie, let’s go home,” Jack cooed at him. “I’m just dying to get out of these pesky clothes.”
Jack clearly had zero second thoughts about any of this. Then again, Jack had never had a second thought in his life. He rarely had first ones. Philip decided that only made him a bigger idiot for always following his friend’s crazy plans.
Philip took a deep breath, gathered Vanessa’s things and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder before getting up on shaky legs. The plan was to reach Theta house without interacting with anyone who knew the girls.
Vanessa was outgoing and popular, so he kept his eyes trained on the ground to avoid any accidental socializing.
He was doing his best to focus on the mission, but every move betrayed him. Vanessa’s curves shifted differently from his own. Her hips swayed without permission when he walked. The tug of the denim skirt around her thighs was tighter than he was used to, the waistband sitting higher, the soft curtain of hair continuously falling into his eyes. And he kept fighting the urge to run his fingertips over her lustrous, satiny skin.
Philip thanked his lucky stars that it was late afternoon sliding toward evening and most of the Theta girls were either at dinner, in class, or busy with the mixer prep.
The second piece of good luck was the fact that the first year members of the sorority had the downstairs bedrooms and Katy and Vanessa had their names picked out in glittery wooden letters on their door. Which saved him and Jack from being caught wandering aimlessly into someone else’s room and rifling through their underwear.
“Come on,” he hissed at Jack, nearly having heart failure when he heard Vanessa’s sweet, bubbly voice, before remembering it came from his own mouth.
As soon as they entered the room, Philip froze like a deer in headlights.
The room smelled like them. A heady mix of perfume, make-up and detergent. Several photos of Vanessa and Katy were pinned to the notice board. Keys with a little Theta charm lay on a desk. Lip gloss on each bedside table. A folded flyer about the upcoming mixer. Every object made him feel like an intruder in a life that wasn’t his.
Then he looked up and saw his reflection thrown back at him from the floor length mirror fastened to the opposite wall. Vanessa stared back. Her round face framed by shiny black hair, lips glossed in pale pink, eyes wide with Philip’s panic.
“This isn’t possible,” he murmured hoarsely.
Jack crossed the room with Katy’s energetic stride, hair swinging over her shoulder. He leaned down, far too close, eyes alight with mischief.
“Possible or not, it’s happening. And we’ve got hours before it wears off. Wanna play?” Philip’s pulse thundered. He was in Vanessa’s body. Jack was in Katy’s. He had no idea what their real bodies were doing or where, only that they were not here. For the first time since pledging Delta, he realized he was more terrified of his best friend than of any frat brother.
Jack was practically bouncing around like a kid in a candy store, repeatedly mentioning how awesome it is to have tits.
“This is insane,” Philip muttered, running a hand through Vanessa’s long hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like silk, brushing the back of his neck, constantly in his peripheral vision. Every little tickle made him twitch. “I feel like I’m drowning in shampoo.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. It’s fucking awesome. Look at this.” He shook his head, letting Katy’s long, dark hair fall over her shoulders, framing her face, then bit her lower lip between her teeth and winked at Philip seductively. “Tell me this doesn’t look hot.”
Philip turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of the curve of Katy’s collarbone, the tan line along her shoulder where a sports bra must’ve once sat. He gritted his teeth.
“We’re only here to grab underwear and then we get out. That’s it.” Jack made a distracted sound, which didn’t entirely sound like agreement.
He was testing everything. Squeezing Katy’s biceps and delighting in the subtle muscle definition, stretching out one long leg and flexing her calf muscles, even bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if testing how springy she was.
Philip was still focused on the reflection in the mirror. He stepped closer, and the image followed, familiar and foreign all at once. He raised a hand. She raised a hand. Jack appeared beside him, sliding Katy’s body into view. She was taller, leaner, her shoulders broader than Vanessa’s.
Katy was studious and fairly quiet normally, but Jack’s grin warped her into something hungry. A femme fatale in search of her next prey.
“Dude, look at us,” Jack whispered. “We actually pulled it off. We’re fucking hot!”
Philip swallowed, heat crawling up his neck. “We shouldn’t be looking. This is… it’s too much.”
“Too much fun,” Jack corrected. He pressed closer to the mirror, tilting Katy’s head, pursing her lips, sticking out her tongue just to see how it looked. He laughed in delight. “God, the way this mouth moves, it’s unreal.”
Philip tried to drag his eyes away, but curiosity betrayed him. His gaze dipped, catching sight of Vanessa’s chest in the reflection. The neckline of her shirt clung close, clearly showing the outline of her nipples. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away sharply. He was not going to lift her top and take a peek.
“You’re staring,” Jack teased, slipping behind him and resting Katy’s hands on Vanessa’s hips.
Katy’s reflection loomed over Vanessa’s smaller frame in the mirror. “What’s it like, having the body of your crush? Bet you’ve fantasized about having unfettered access to her before. Touching every inch of her. Running your palms over her perky tits. Cupping her pussy.”
Philip’s face went hot. “Shut up.”
Jack leaned closer, his voice dropping, Katy’s lips brushing dangerously near Philip’s ear. “She’s soft, isn’t she? Curvy. Everything you imagined. And she’s right here. Aching to know what your hands would feel like sliding all over her.”
Philip’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth of Jack’s presence, the whisper of Katy’s hair brushing his cheek. He tried to step away, but Vanessa’s body didn’t obey with the same steadiness as his own.
His hip bumped the desk, throwing him off balance. Jack’s hand shot out, steadying him. Grabbing his hips instead of his arm. Philip stiffened. The pressure of Katy’s palm against Vanessa’s midriff was startling. A hot reminder that this wasn’t a joke anymore.
“Jack,” Philip said, voice low with warning. But Jack only grinned, tightening his grip slightly, fingertips sliding along the hem of Vanessa’s shirt, tickling the strip of skin underneath.
“Relax. We’ve got time before the potion wears off. Why waste it panicking when we could explore?”
Philip shoved his hand away, heart hammering too fast. “We came here for one reason. Don’t fuck this up with your usual bullshit.”
Jack backed off in mock surrender, leaning against the wall and raising Katy’s hands. “Fine, fine. You want to pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity by being a pussy, instead of playing with one, go ahead.”
Philip ignored him and pulled open one of the dresser drawers, coming face to face with the mother lode.
A mass of lace and cotton, bright colors and neutrals, G-strings and briefs and bras, all folded neatly in little piles. He fumbled, pulling out a pair at random, trying not to notice the little bow stitched along the waistband, or theorize about which of the girls it belonged to.
“Got it,” he muttered, stuffing it into his pocket.
“We should leave and go and stash this somewhere so we can retrieve it when we’re us again.”
“Plenty of time for that. Are you seriously passing up the opportunity to find out what turns your crush on?”
Philip’s chest heaved, the bra beneath his shirt pinching tighter with the movement. Every tiny sensation was amplified in this shape. He had no idea girls had such sensitive bodies. If Vanessa's neck and shoulders were this responsive to stimuli, what about the more… delicate areas?
Jack leaned against the wall, watching his friend closely. Katy’s arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made Philip avert his eyes.
“You really think you can ignore this?” Jack asked softly. “Ignore her?”
Philip didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, even as he tried to ignore it, every nerve in Vanessa’s body was alive with a tingling feeling he couldn’t shut off.
He told himself he wouldn’t look at the mirror again. That he had the underwear and all that was left to do was wait for the potion to burn off. But every time he moved, Vanessa’s body reminded him he wasn’t himself. The way her thighs brushed together when he shifted his stance. The heat trapped in the curve between her breasts. The way her nipples tightened when she saw the way Katy stared at her. The sudden, sharp contraction of pleasure between her legs.
Each detail was louder than thought. And Jack wouldn’t fucking give him space to breathe.
“You’re wound too tight,” Jack murmured, stepping closer again. Katy’s taller body loomed behind him, all lean lines and toned strength. He set Katy’s hands on Vanessa's shoulders from behind, massaging with deliberate slowness.
“Loosen up.”
Philip froze. The sensation was alien. Slender fingers pressing into the slope of Vanessa’s shoulders, kneading muscle softer than his own. His back arched without meaning to, chest pushing forward. He could feel the heat in his panties and almost smell the pheromones in the air.
“Jack-”
“Shh.”
Katy’s breath ghosted over his ear, warm and taunting. “Allow her to feel it. Her body isn’t fighting me. She likes this.”
Philip hated the way heat rippled through him at the words. The way Vanessa’s nipples pebbled instantly, turning aching and hard beneath her bra when Jack’s thumbs kept sensually running across her muscles.
He tried to step away, but Jack’s grip on her waist drew her back. Katy’s chest pressed flush against Vanessa’s back. Firm breasts molding against soft skin. Philip gasped, a small, betraying sound.
“That’s it,” Jack whispered, lips brushing the shell of Vanessa's ear. “You feel that, don’t you? How different it is?”
Philip bit his lip hard. But it didn’t stop his body from reacting. His chest ached with sensitivity, every brush of fabric against his nipples sparking hot shivers. His hips shifted against Jack’s hold, searching without meaning to. His ass pressing back, almost expecting to feel an erect cock there, relaxing when all he encountered was softness.
Jack slid one hand lower, over Vanessa’s flat stomach, fingertips grazing the waist of her denim skirt. Philip’s pulse spiked. He could feel the shape of her body in ways he’d only imagined.
“God, you’re actually shaking,” Jack teased. He pressed his palm harder, dragging upward until he cupped one of Vanessa’s breasts through her shirt. His hand molded perfectly to the curve, fingers sinking in slightly before closing over the nipples and pinching.
Philip jolted like he’d been shocked. The pressure sent heat exploding through him. So much sharper than he ever imagined. A moan slipped out, broken and needy, before he could stop it. Jack laughed low, his voice a husky echo in Katy’s mouth.
“I knew it. You’re loving this.”
Philip shook his head, but his body betrayed him. Vanessa’s breasts were soft in his own hands when Jack pulled them into place, squeezing and kneading.
The ache in his chest spread downward, a molten restlessness that coiled between his legs, where there was no longer any familiar weight. Only a slick, sensitive heat that made his thighs tense. Jack leaned closer, kissing the side of Vanessa's neck.
Katy’s lips left tingling sparks against her skin. He gasped again, tilting his head back without meaning to, giving Jack room to explore.
“You always wanted to know what she felt like, didn’t you?” Jack murmured between kisses. “Now you do. Every inch. Every little twitch. If you ever get the chance, you could make her cum in minutes.”
Philip squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to want this. But Vanessa’s body was singing beneath his skin, her curves hypersensitive to every touch, every squeeze. When Jack dragged his hand lower, cupping the swell of her ass through denim, Philip’s knees went weak. He stumbled, and they tumbled together onto the nearest bed. Vanessa’s smaller frame pinned beneath Katy’s.
Jack landed on top, grinning down, hair falling in a dark curtain around their faces. “Just lie back and enjoy it,” he said, voice husky. “I’ll do all the work and you can take notes in your head.”
Katy’s hips pressed down, grinding just enough for Philip to feel the press of her pussy against Vanessa's. The pleasure nearly made him see stars. What would it feel like if Katy actually touched her clit? Dragged her tongue over it? Sucked it between those soft lips?
Philip whimpered, his hands trapped between them, pressed against the curves of Katy’s sides. He could feel the warmth of skin through fabric. Every nerve screamed with arousal. Jack leaned down, lips hovering over his.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
Philip’s heart thundered. His lips parted, and he didn’t know if he was going to say I don’t or kiss Katy. His pulse roared in his ears. He could feel the weight of Vanessa’s chest rising and falling too fast, her heartbeat thundering in her ribs like a trapped animal.
Jack hovered over him, Katy’s taller frame caging him against the mattress, their borrowed hair spilling together in a curtain that smelled faintly of fruit.
“This isn’t funny anymore,” Philip rasped, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor of arousal under the words.
Jack smirked. “I’m not joking.” He lowered Katy’s body until their breasts touched, brushing Katy’s peaked nipples against Vanessa’s rock hard ones. The friction alone made Philip gasp, heat shooting through him. It wasn’t like pressing chest-to-chest with another guy.
The give, the shape, the electric sting of nipples touching, every detail was overwhelming. He had no idea breasts were so receptive to the slightest touch. Vanessa's wasn’t even uncovered and they made him squirm.
“God,” he groaned before he could stop himself. Jack’s grin widened in satisfaction.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Every touch goes both ways. You squeeze her,” He pressed Katy’s hand down onto one of Vanessa’s breasts, forcing Philip to feel it fully, “And you are her.”
Philip arched into the contact despite himself. His hands moved up without any conscious thought. The weight of her breast in his palm, the nipple reacting instantly under his touch, each tiny spark flooded through him in a way his male body never reacted to anything but pressure on his cock.
He kneaded once, twice, and heat surged low in his stomach, between his thighs, turning his panties damp. His back bowed off the mattress, mouth falling open in a helpless sound.
Jack kissed him then. Katy’s mouth grazing Vanessa's jaw, the corner of her mouth, teasing as it moved around.
Every brush of her sweet lips left a wet, burning mark. Philip turned away, breathless, but Jack followed, biting gently at Vanessa’s neck until Philip gasped.
His thighs clenched hard. Something slick and molten was spreading there, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He could feel the absence, the soft, tender heat where his cock would usually be straining.
The pressure of denim against it only sharpened the ache. He needed Jack to touch Vanessa's pussy. He needed pressure. Jack ground down lightly and Philip bucked up helplessly, his own hands gripping Katy’s hips tight, chasing the friction he’d die without.
“Stop,” he panted, but the word broke halfway, turning into a moan. Jack chuckled low.
“Your body doesn’t want me to stop.” He kissed Vanessa again. Her lips plump, glossy, trembling beneath Katy’s teasing press. Philip’s breath hitched and his tongue flicked nervously against the edge of his teeth.
Every nerve screamed to close the distance, to taste what it felt like to kiss as a girl, to be kissed as a girl. Jack deepened the grind of their hips. Philip’s breath hitched sharply, a helpless whimper leaving his throat.
Heat surged through his belly, down his thighs, the ache between his legs swelling into a throbbing need. He arched against Katy, nails digging into her waist. There’s no way he was going to be able to say no. Jack had to make him cum.
Jack pulled back slightly, asking with twinkling eyes, “Shall we see how good Katy is at eating pussy?”
Philip knew what his answer should be, but his entire body was throbbing, yes yes yes.
Their mouths hovered a fraction apart, breaths mingling. The world narrowed to that single point of contact waiting to happen. Philip’s lips parted, ready, needy.
“Vanessa? Katy?” The voice cut through the fog like a blade, followed by the rap of knuckles on the door.
Philip’s eyes flew wide. Jack froze above him, both of them panting hard. “Vanessa, Katy!” another girl called from the hall. “We need you for the final discussions for tonight’s mixer!”
Silence. Only their ragged breaths, the hot press of bodies still locked together. Jack swore under his breath, rolling off Vanessa reluctantly.
“Just when things were about to get really good.”
Philip scrambled upright, Vanessa’s hair tangling in his face, chest heaving, nipples still hard and aching. He shoved shaky hands through the strands, trying to compose himself, though the slick heat between his thighs throbbed in open defiance.
He knew they should have kept their heads. If they let curiosity drag them off course they would blow the whole point of the night. The spell would end when it wanted and they had no idea when that would be.
Another knock. “Come on, you two! Hurry up! Megan saw you get in earlier, I know you’re in there.”
Jack smirked, tugging Katy’s tank top straight as if they hadn’t just been seconds from fucking each other into oblivion.
“Guess there’s more fun ahead. Don’t think you’re off the hook though, I’m still going to eat that pussy later and I fully expect to get repaid in kind.”
Philip sat frozen, heart still hammering, his mind spinning so fast he worried he might throw up.
Will and Claire become close to their siblings in a very intimate sense
The morning light was harsh through the blinds, slicing across the rumpled bed. Claire blinked, her head throbbing with a dull, medicinal ache. Something warm and soft was pressed against her. She looked down.
Amy was nestled in her arms, asleep, her blond hair fanned across the pillow. Except… Claire’s arms were thickly bandaged from wrist to elbow, and the body she held was decidedly male. The firm plane of a chest, the coarse hair on a forearm. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
“Amy?” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. It came out wrong. Deeper. Rougher.
The body in her arms stirred. Blue eyes, so like Will’s, fluttered open. They widened in instant, sheer panic. “Frank? What the hell? Why are you… holding me?” The voice was high, melodic. Amy’s voice. But the tone was all Will—confused, irritable, direct.
Claire—in Frank’s body—pushed herself up on her elbows. Past the tangle of Amy’s blond hair, she saw the closet mirror. The reflection showed Frank’s familiar, lean frame, his own dark hair mussed from sleep, his bandaged arms wrapped around a petite, curvy Amy. But Amy’s face was contorted in a terror that wasn’t hers.
“Will?” Claire breathed, the name feeling foreign in this new throat. “Is that you in there?”
The person in Amy’s body scrambled back, the sheets pooling around a waist that was suddenly, distressingly narrow. “Claire? What did you call me?” He—Will—looked down at himself, at the pronounced swell of his sister’s breasts beneath the thin cotton sleep shirt, and his hands flew to his throat. “That’s my… this is Amy’s voice. What is this?”
“I think… I think I’m you,” Claire said, the reality of it dawning with a sick, dizzying weight. She swung Frank’s legs—her legs—out of bed. The movement was all wrong, the center of gravity shifted, a heavy, unfamiliar weight swinging between her thighs. She ignored it, for now. “The accident. The goodbye. Don’t you remember?”
Will—in Amy—stood up shakily. He looked down at his new body, his hands hovering over the generous curves. “I remember you… you and me, in the car. Crushed. Then nothing. Then waking up here, smothered by my little brother.” He shuddered, a full-body tremor that made the new flesh quiver. “This isn’t right. This is Amy.”
“And this is Frank,” Claire said, staring at Frank’s hands—her hands—as she flexed them. “We’re in our siblings. Our spouses’ siblings.” The sheer, grotesque improbability of it threatened to swallow her. But the throbbing in her bandaged arms was real. The discharge papers on the nightstand were real.
They found them, the crisp hospital printout. Franklin Miller, contusions, lacerations. Amy Miller, contusions, mild concussion. The names were wrong, but the injuries mapped. They had been patched up and sent home, two souls crammed into the wrong, aching containers.
Wordlessly, they moved to the kitchen, the beach house silent except for the distant crash of Pacific waves. The medical instructions said to clean and re-dress the wounds. They worked in a stunned quiet, Claire clumsily winding fresh gauze around Will-Amy’s slender forearm, Will using Amy’s delicate fingers to secure the wrap on Claire-Frank’s broader bicep with a efficiency that was utterly his own.
“We need to shower,” Will said finally, his voice tight. “We’re covered in road grit and… and whatever else.”
Claire nodded. It was practical. A step. They stood in the master bathroom, a spacious tiled room with a large glass-walled shower. The silence grew thick.
“Just… get it over with,” Will muttered, not looking at her. He—in Amy’s body—peeled the sleep shirt over his head, revealing Amy’s full, pale breasts. He froze, his breath catching, his face a mask of profound disorientation. Claire watched, a strange, detached part of her noting how Will’s shock did nothing to diminish the natural, ripe beauty of the form he now wore.
Swallowing hard, Claire turned her attention to Frank’s clothes. The jeans were awkward, the button fly an unfamiliar puzzle for her fingers. She got them open, pushed them down Frank’s hips. The boxer briefs followed. And there it was.
Frank’s penis, soft and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. It was… there. A presence. A weight. She stared at it, this alien appendage that was now, technically, hers. The core of her being, Claire, recoiled. But the body she inhabited didn’t. There was a low, curious hum of sensation, a connection to the thing that was both deeply wrong and undeniably physical.
Will had stripped completely now, standing naked by the sink. He was staring into the mirror, at Amy’s face, with a kind of horrified fascination. His hands skimmed over the dramatic hourglass curve of the hips, the soft swell of the stomach. “God,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” Claire said, her new voice gruff. “Just… don’t think. Clean. That’s all.”
They stepped into the shower together, a bizarre and intimate pantomime of their old married life. The water was hot, a welcome shock. Claire let it sluice over Frank’s broad shoulders, watching as Will soaped Amy’s body with a clinical, hurried desperation. The suds slid over smooth skin, over curves that Will had only ever seen on his sister from a detached, brotherly distance. Now he was mapping them with his own, stolen hands.
Claire’s own washing was more hesitant. The soap slid over Frank’s chest, flat and hard. Down the taut stomach. Her hand, wrapped in plastic to protect the bandages, hesitated again at the groin. She had to clean it. It was just a body part. A piece of biology.
She touched it. Frank’s flaccid penis was soft, vulnerable in her grip. She washed it quickly, the soap slick, her mind screaming the wrongness of it. But as her fingers moved, a jolt went through her—through Frank’s body. A thick, gathering tension. A flood of warmth that had nothing to do with the shower. She gasped, and the thing in her hand began to change, to swell and stiffen, lengthening and thickening in a way that was utterly, overwhelmingly male.
In the mirror of her mind, she was still Claire. But the sensation… the sensation was a deep, insistent pulse, a claiming of blood and flesh that centered entirely on that stretching, hardening shaft. It felt powerful. It felt hungry.
She looked up, water streaming down Frank’s face, and met Will’s eyes. He had seen. He was staring, not at her face, but lower, at the clear, hard evidence of the body’s response. In his own new body, Amy’s body, a sympathetic flush spread across the chest and throat.
“It’s… it’s just the heat,” Claire stammered, the excuse weak even to her own ears.
Will didn’t answer. He was looking down now, at Amy’s body. At the space between her legs. His expression was one of dawning, awful comprehension. “It would… it would stretch,” he said, his voice hollow. “Wouldn’t it? If we… that would stretch this.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image was there, brutal and visceral: the thick, hard length of Frank, of the penis Claire now felt twitching in her hand, pushing into the tight, small space that was now his.
The thought should have revolted him. It should have revolted her. But standing there in the steam, with the water beating down on their stolen, aching forms, it didn’t. It hummed between them, a forbidden current. A terrible, logical next step. The body Claire was in throbbed with a need that was entirely about filling a space, about the profound, physical truth of fit and stretch. And the body Will was in, for all his mental horror, seemed to soften in response, a faint, unfamiliar ache blooming low in Amy’s belly.
They finished rinsing in silence, the air crackling with things unsaid. They toweled off, avoiding each other’s eyes, avoiding looking too long at the reflections in the fogged-up glass. They were two people, stranded in the wrong skins, with the ghosts of their spouses between them and a terrifying, tantalizing new physics of flesh beckoning from the shadows of their own home.
The morning light was harsh through the blinds, slicing across the rumpled bed. Claire blinked, her head throbbing with a dull, medicinal ache. Something warm and soft was pressed against her. She looked down.
Amy was nestled in her arms, asleep, her blond hair fanned across the pillow. Except… Claire’s arms were thickly bandaged from wrist to elbow, and the body she held was decidedly male. The firm plane of a chest, the coarse hair on a forearm. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
“Amy?” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. It came out wrong. Deeper. Rougher.
The body in her arms stirred. Blue eyes, so like Will’s, fluttered open. They widened in instant, sheer panic. “Frank? What the hell? Why are you… holding me?” The voice was high, melodic. Amy’s voice. But the tone was all Will—confused, irritable, direct.
Claire—in Frank’s body—pushed herself up on her elbows. Past the tangle of Amy’s blond hair, she saw the closet mirror. The reflection showed Frank’s familiar, lean frame, his own dark hair mussed from sleep, his bandaged arms wrapped around a petite, curvy Amy. But Amy’s face was contorted in a terror that wasn’t hers.
“Will?” Claire breathed, the name feeling foreign in this new throat. “Is that you in there?”
The person in Amy’s body scrambled back, the sheets pooling around a waist that was suddenly, distressingly narrow. “Claire? What did you call me?” He—Will—looked down at himself, at the pronounced swell of his sister’s breasts beneath the thin cotton sleep shirt, and his hands flew to his throat. “That’s my… this is Amy’s voice. What is this?”
“I think… I think I’m you,” Claire said, the reality of it dawning with a sick, dizzying weight. She swung Frank’s legs—her legs—out of bed. The movement was all wrong, the center of gravity shifted, a heavy, unfamiliar weight swinging between her thighs. She ignored it, for now. “The accident. The goodbye. Don’t you remember?”
Will—in Amy—stood up shakily. He looked down at his new body, his hands hovering over the generous curves. “I remember you… you and me, in the car. Crushed. Then nothing. Then waking up here, smothered by my little brother.” He shuddered, a full-body tremor that made the new flesh quiver. “This isn’t right. This is Amy.”
“And this is Frank,” Claire said, staring at Frank’s hands—her hands—as she flexed them. “We’re in our siblings. Our spouses’ siblings.” The sheer, grotesque improbability of it threatened to swallow her. But the throbbing in her bandaged arms was real. The discharge papers on the nightstand were real.
They found them, the crisp hospital printout. Franklin Miller, contusions, lacerations. Amy Miller, contusions, mild concussion. The names were wrong, but the injuries mapped. They had been patched up and sent home, two souls crammed into the wrong, aching containers.
Wordlessly, they moved to the kitchen, the beach house silent except for the distant crash of Pacific waves. The medical instructions said to clean and re-dress the wounds. They worked in a stunned quiet, Claire clumsily winding fresh gauze around Will-Amy’s slender forearm, Will using Amy’s delicate fingers to secure the wrap on Claire-Frank’s broader bicep with a efficiency that was utterly his own.
“We need to shower,” Will said finally, his voice tight. “We’re covered in road grit and… and whatever else.”
Claire nodded. It was practical. A step. They stood in the master bathroom, a spacious tiled room with a large glass-walled shower. The silence grew thick.
“Just… get it over with,” Will muttered, not looking at her. He—in Amy’s body—peeled the sleep shirt over his head, revealing Amy’s full, pale breasts. He froze, his breath catching, his face a mask of profound disorientation. Claire watched, a strange, detached part of her noting how Will’s shock did nothing to diminish the natural, ripe beauty of the form he now wore.
Swallowing hard, Claire turned her attention to Frank’s clothes. The jeans were awkward, the button fly an unfamiliar puzzle for her fingers. She got them open, pushed them down Frank’s hips. The boxer briefs followed. And there it was.
Frank’s penis, soft and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. It was… there. A presence. A weight. She stared at it, this alien appendage that was now, technically, hers. The core of her being, Claire, recoiled. But the body she inhabited didn’t. There was a low, curious hum of sensation, a connection to the thing that was both deeply wrong and undeniably physical.
Will had stripped completely now, standing naked by the sink. He was staring into the mirror, at Amy’s face, with a kind of horrified fascination. His hands skimmed over the dramatic hourglass curve of the hips, the soft swell of the stomach. “God,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” Claire said, her new voice gruff. “Just… don’t think. Clean. That’s all.”
They stepped into the shower together, a bizarre and intimate pantomime of their old married life. The water was hot, a welcome shock. Claire let it sluice over Frank’s broad shoulders, watching as Will soaped Amy’s body with a clinical, hurried desperation. The suds slid over smooth skin, over curves that Will had only ever seen on his sister from a detached, brotherly distance. Now he was mapping them with his own, stolen hands.
Claire’s own washing was more hesitant. The soap slid over Frank’s chest, flat and hard. Down the taut stomach. Her hand, wrapped in plastic to protect the bandages, hesitated again at the groin. She had to clean it. It was just a body part. A piece of biology.
She touched it. Frank’s flaccid penis was soft, vulnerable in her grip. She washed it quickly, the soap slick, her mind screaming the wrongness of it. But as her fingers moved, a jolt went through her—through Frank’s body. A thick, gathering tension. A flood of warmth that had nothing to do with the shower. She gasped, and the thing in her hand began to change, to swell and stiffen, lengthening and thickening in a way that was utterly, overwhelmingly male.
In the mirror of her mind, she was still Claire. But the sensation… the sensation was a deep, insistent pulse, a claiming of blood and flesh that centered entirely on that stretching, hardening shaft. It felt powerful. It felt hungry.
She looked up, water streaming down Frank’s face, and met Will’s eyes. He had seen. He was staring, not at her face, but lower, at the clear, hard evidence of the body’s response. In his own new body, Amy’s body, a sympathetic flush spread across the chest and throat.
“It’s… it’s just the heat,” Claire stammered, the excuse weak even to her own ears.
Will didn’t answer. He was looking down now, at Amy’s body. At the space between her legs. His expression was one of dawning, awful comprehension. “It would… it would stretch,” he said, his voice hollow. “Wouldn’t it? If we… that would stretch this.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image was there, brutal and visceral: the thick, hard length of Frank, of the penis Claire now felt twitching in her hand, pushing into the tight, small space that was now his.
The thought should have revolted him. It should have revolted her. But standing there in the steam, with the water beating down on their stolen, aching forms, it didn’t. It hummed between them, a forbidden current. A terrible, logical next step. The body Claire was in throbbed with a need that was entirely about filling a space, about the profound, physical truth of fit and stretch. And the body Will was in, for all his mental horror, seemed to soften in response, a faint, unfamiliar ache blooming low in Amy’s belly.
They finished rinsing in silence, the air crackling with things unsaid. They toweled off, avoiding each other’s eyes, avoiding looking too long at the reflections in the fogged-up glass. They were two people, stranded in the wrong skins, with the ghosts of their spouses between them and a terrifying, tantalizing new physics of flesh beckoning from the shadows of their own home.
Vega's BEAUTIFUL face is destroyed by Chun Li so he replaces it.
A reimagining of 'Palette Swap' by Team Lady Valiant & FarhadTG
The final kick landed with a sickening crack. My heel connected squarely with Vega's porcelain mask, shattering it—and the bone beneath—with a sound like splintering china. He went down hard, clutching his ruined face, blood seeping between his perfect fingers. For a moment, there was only his ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Then he started to laugh.
"Beautiful... so beautiful..." he gurgled through the wreckage of his jaw, his once-perfect features now a jigsaw puzzle of gore and ceramic shards. His free hand fumbled at his belt, producing a small device I recognized from Bison's labs. "But beauty... can be transferred."
"No—!" I lunged forward, but too late. He pressed the trigger.
The world exploded in white light and static. I felt myself falling, spinning, my consciousness ripping away from my body like silk tearing. When I could see again, I was looking up at the ceiling from the floor, my perspective completely wrong. Vega's hands—my hands now—rose into view. Long-fingered and pale. I touched my face and felt bandages, surgical tape, the swollen flesh beneath.
Across from me, Vega—now wearing my body—stood staring down at itself with wide, hungry eyes. He immediately grabbed the neckline of my qipao top and tore it open, exposing the breasts I'd known my whole life as if seeing them for the first time. "Exquisite," he breathed in my voice, a sound so wrong it made my stomach turn. He cupped them, his fingers—my fingers once—squeezing the weight of them with obscene fascination.
"Three days later."
The words felt surreal to even think. Three days of surgery, of recovery, of Vega preening and parading in my skin while I lay in his bed, trapped in his broken body. I shifted against silk sheets that smelled of roses and blood, trying to find a position that didn't send agony lancing through Vega's four fractured ribs—my fractured ribs now.
The bedroom door opened. Vega entered—not the Vega I'd fought, but the Vega who now wore my face and form. He'd styled my hair into his signature braid, the dark ropes hanging over one shoulder. My breasts—his breasts now—were completely exposed, moving with a bounce and weight I intimately understood but had never witnessed from this angle. His nipples, my nipples once, were hard on my former breasts and already healed into them was a matching version of Vega's serpent tattoo, coiling around his left breast.
He wore the ceremonial trousers of a matador in murrey and yellow, so tight they might have been painted on. Every curve of what had been my hips, my ass, my thighs—his now—was outlined in devastating detail. The white leggings hugged his calves, the red sash cinched his waist, and the loafers clicked softly on the marble floor. There was no shirt, no vest, no modesty whatsoever.
"How are we feeling today, my beautiful monster?" he purred in my voice, running his hands down his bare torso, fingers tracing the new tattoo. "I've been breaking in your body. The flexibility is... inspiring."
I pushed myself up on Vega's arms—my arms now—so much stronger than my own had been, but currently useless thanks to the ribs. I wore the masculine version of my Street Fighter Alpha outfit: an embroidered vest that strained across his broad shoulders, a navy unitard that did nothing to hide the evidence of my new anatomy, athletic shoes, and studded wristbands. My face was still wrapped in bandages, Napoleon's guise hiding the damage I'd inflicted.
"You're a psychopath," I rasped, his voice grating in my throat.
"I'm an artist," he corrected, striking a pose that made his—my breasts once—lift and press together. "And I've finally achieved my masterpiece. The face I was always meant to have, the body I've coveted for years. But..." He frowned, touching his bandaged visage on my body. "I still need to fix this. Your brutality marred perfection."
Despite everything, despite the pain and violation, I felt a strange heat pooling in my new groin as I watched him touch what had been my face. My old body was undeniably beautiful, even under his control. And his body... I flexed Vega's powerful thighs—my thighs now—felt the weight of different muscles, the tightness of the unitard against an erection I hadn't asked for.
His eyes—my eyes once—caught the movement. "Ah, I see my husband is adjusting. Good." He began to pace, each step deliberate, making my former hips sway. "I've been thinking, my love. About our arrangement. You gave me this gift, this perfect vessel. And I realized something." He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on what had been my hips. "I'm in love. With you. With the fighter who broke me, who made this possible."
My breath caught. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." He smiled with my lips, then reached down and began to touch himself through the impossibly tight matador trousers. "But watch how your former body responds to the truth." One hand squeezed his breast—the weight of it filling his palm perfectly—while the other rubbed slow circles between his legs. "I've been touching myself constantly, wife. Learning every secret you kept hidden. Did you know you could get this wet?"
He turned, presenting the profile of my former body, and I watched in horrified fascination as his fingers worked faster. The trousers were so tight I could see the outline of his hand, the way the fabric pulled and strained. He was getting wet—I could smell it, that familiar scent from a foreign source, and the dark patch spreading across the murrey fabric.
"Vega, stop—" I protested, but my new voice was weak.
"Why? This is as much yours as mine now." He approached the bed, leaning over my new crotch, my former breasts—his breasts now—swaying. "Let me show you what I've learned as your wife."
His hands moved to my unitard, and before I could protest, he tore the reinforced fabric between my legs with shocking ease. Vega's cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing. I gasped at the sensation—so different, so urgent.
"Beautiful," he whispered, taking it in my former hands. "Just like the rest of your husband."
Then he leaned forward and pressed my erection between his breasts—the breasts I'd once soaped in the shower, the breasts that had fit into specific sports bras, the breasts that were now his to wield as mother to my fatherhood. The sensation was overwhelming. He squeezed them together, creating a channel of soft, yielding flesh, and began to move.
"Watch," he commanded in my voice, looking down at me with my own dark eyes—his eyes now. "Watch what you made of your wife."
He worked faster, the gold rings in his nipples glinting, his braid swinging with each motion. The pleasure built in this unfamiliar body, coiling tighter and tighter. When he lowered his mouth to the tip and took me—Vega—between my own lips—his lips now—I couldn't hold back.
The orgasm ripped through me, a different kind of explosion than any kick or punch. He swallowed, his throat working in a way I'd never felt, then released me with a satisfied smile. Vega's cock—my cock now—still twitched, half-hard and sensitive.
"There," he purred, wiping his mouth with the back of my former hand. "Now we understand each other, husband."
I was panting, each breath sending pain through Vega's ribs—my ribs now. "More," I managed, hips still twitching with aftershocks. "I want..."
"Shhh." He leaned close, my former breasts—his breasts now—pressing against the vest covering his old chest. "Your body is still healing. I had to have extensive reconstructive surgery on your face, you know. These ribs need time." He whispered in my ear, his breath hot against skin that was his but now mine: "We have all the time in the world, my love. When you're whole again, your wife will take you so much further."
He kissed the bandages covering Vega's ruined features—my ruined features now—then rose from the bed, adjusting his trousers with a satisfied smile. My body left the room with his swagger, the door clicking shut behind him.
I collapsed back against the pillows, remembering as Vega removed his breasts from my half-hard penis, the wetness left behind cooling in the air. My mind reeled with the obscene intimacy of what we'd just done. Three days in, and I was already lost, already thinking of this monster in my skin as "my wife." How many more until I didn't want to find my way back?
A reimagining of 'Palette Swap' by Team Lady Valiant & FarhadTG
The final kick landed with a sickening crack. My heel connected squarely with Vega's porcelain mask, shattering it—and the bone beneath—with a sound like splintering china. He went down hard, clutching his ruined face, blood seeping between his perfect fingers. For a moment, there was only his ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Then he started to laugh.
"Beautiful... so beautiful..." he gurgled through the wreckage of his jaw, his once-perfect features now a jigsaw puzzle of gore and ceramic shards. His free hand fumbled at his belt, producing a small device I recognized from Bison's labs. "But beauty... can be transferred."
"No—!" I lunged forward, but too late. He pressed the trigger.
The world exploded in white light and static. I felt myself falling, spinning, my consciousness ripping away from my body like silk tearing. When I could see again, I was looking up at the ceiling from the floor, my perspective completely wrong. Vega's hands—my hands now—rose into view. Long-fingered and pale. I touched my face and felt bandages, surgical tape, the swollen flesh beneath.
Across from me, Vega—now wearing my body—stood staring down at itself with wide, hungry eyes. He immediately grabbed the neckline of my qipao top and tore it open, exposing the breasts I'd known my whole life as if seeing them for the first time. "Exquisite," he breathed in my voice, a sound so wrong it made my stomach turn. He cupped them, his fingers—my fingers once—squeezing the weight of them with obscene fascination.
"Three days later."
The words felt surreal to even think. Three days of surgery, of recovery, of Vega preening and parading in my skin while I lay in his bed, trapped in his broken body. I shifted against silk sheets that smelled of roses and blood, trying to find a position that didn't send agony lancing through Vega's four fractured ribs—my fractured ribs now.
The bedroom door opened. Vega entered—not the Vega I'd fought, but the Vega who now wore my face and form. He'd styled my hair into his signature braid, the dark ropes hanging over one shoulder. My breasts—his breasts now—were completely exposed, moving with a bounce and weight I intimately understood but had never witnessed from this angle. His nipples, my nipples once, were hard on my former breasts and already healed into them was a matching version of Vega's serpent tattoo, coiling around his left breast.
He wore the ceremonial trousers of a matador in murrey and yellow, so tight they might have been painted on. Every curve of what had been my hips, my ass, my thighs—his now—was outlined in devastating detail. The white leggings hugged his calves, the red sash cinched his waist, and the loafers clicked softly on the marble floor. There was no shirt, no vest, no modesty whatsoever.
"How are we feeling today, my beautiful monster?" he purred in my voice, running his hands down his bare torso, fingers tracing the new tattoo. "I've been breaking in your body. The flexibility is... inspiring."
I pushed myself up on Vega's arms—my arms now—so much stronger than my own had been, but currently useless thanks to the ribs. I wore the masculine version of my Street Fighter Alpha outfit: an embroidered vest that strained across his broad shoulders, a navy unitard that did nothing to hide the evidence of my new anatomy, athletic shoes, and studded wristbands. My face was still wrapped in bandages, Napoleon's guise hiding the damage I'd inflicted.
"You're a psychopath," I rasped, his voice grating in my throat.
"I'm an artist," he corrected, striking a pose that made his—my breasts once—lift and press together. "And I've finally achieved my masterpiece. The face I was always meant to have, the body I've coveted for years. But..." He frowned, touching his bandaged visage on my body. "I still need to fix this. Your brutality marred perfection."
Despite everything, despite the pain and violation, I felt a strange heat pooling in my new groin as I watched him touch what had been my face. My old body was undeniably beautiful, even under his control. And his body... I flexed Vega's powerful thighs—my thighs now—felt the weight of different muscles, the tightness of the unitard against an erection I hadn't asked for.
His eyes—my eyes once—caught the movement. "Ah, I see my husband is adjusting. Good." He began to pace, each step deliberate, making my former hips sway. "I've been thinking, my love. About our arrangement. You gave me this gift, this perfect vessel. And I realized something." He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on what had been my hips. "I'm in love. With you. With the fighter who broke me, who made this possible."
My breath caught. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." He smiled with my lips, then reached down and began to touch himself through the impossibly tight matador trousers. "But watch how your former body responds to the truth." One hand squeezed his breast—the weight of it filling his palm perfectly—while the other rubbed slow circles between his legs. "I've been touching myself constantly, wife. Learning every secret you kept hidden. Did you know you could get this wet?"
He turned, presenting the profile of my former body, and I watched in horrified fascination as his fingers worked faster. The trousers were so tight I could see the outline of his hand, the way the fabric pulled and strained. He was getting wet—I could smell it, that familiar scent from a foreign source, and the dark patch spreading across the murrey fabric.
"Vega, stop—" I protested, but my new voice was weak.
"Why? This is as much yours as mine now." He approached the bed, leaning over my new crotch, my former breasts—his breasts now—swaying. "Let me show you what I've learned as your wife."
His hands moved to my unitard, and before I could protest, he tore the reinforced fabric between my legs with shocking ease. Vega's cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing. I gasped at the sensation—so different, so urgent.
"Beautiful," he whispered, taking it in my former hands. "Just like the rest of your husband."
Then he leaned forward and pressed my erection between his breasts—the breasts I'd once soaped in the shower, the breasts that had fit into specific sports bras, the breasts that were now his to wield as mother to my fatherhood. The sensation was overwhelming. He squeezed them together, creating a channel of soft, yielding flesh, and began to move.
"Watch," he commanded in my voice, looking down at me with my own dark eyes—his eyes now. "Watch what you made of your wife."
He worked faster, the gold rings in his nipples glinting, his braid swinging with each motion. The pleasure built in this unfamiliar body, coiling tighter and tighter. When he lowered his mouth to the tip and took me—Vega—between my own lips—his lips now—I couldn't hold back.
The orgasm ripped through me, a different kind of explosion than any kick or punch. He swallowed, his throat working in a way I'd never felt, then released me with a satisfied smile. Vega's cock—my cock now—still twitched, half-hard and sensitive.
"There," he purred, wiping his mouth with the back of my former hand. "Now we understand each other, husband."
I was panting, each breath sending pain through Vega's ribs—my ribs now. "More," I managed, hips still twitching with aftershocks. "I want..."
"Shhh." He leaned close, my former breasts—his breasts now—pressing against the vest covering his old chest. "Your body is still healing. I had to have extensive reconstructive surgery on your face, you know. These ribs need time." He whispered in my ear, his breath hot against skin that was his but now mine: "We have all the time in the world, my love. When you're whole again, your wife will take you so much further."
He kissed the bandages covering Vega's ruined features—my ruined features now—then rose from the bed, adjusting his trousers with a satisfied smile. My body left the room with his swagger, the door clicking shut behind him.
I collapsed back against the pillows, remembering as Vega removed his breasts from my half-hard penis, the wetness left behind cooling in the air. My mind reeled with the obscene intimacy of what we'd just done. Three days in, and I was already lost, already thinking of this monster in my skin as "my wife." How many more until I didn't want to find my way back?
Latest Stories on Outfox
by
ninhjimmy007
· 27 Sep 2025
In this intro, Peter Parker and Mary Jane will tell you about their superhero life and transformation
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
After Spidey manages defeat the bad guys and web them up, he heads to see MJ's performance. After he made it, he watches from distance and MJ on Live. She transforms into many different women and amazing performing skills as the audience enjoys without a single mistake and exposes herself, it's like magic.
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Witchblade loves to have Peter around as she(s) kisses, cuddles, and makes love with him. Peter/Spidey is so confused. Then she shifts into a black woman and explains about the Witchblade.
by
ninhjimmy007
· 27 Sep 2025
A different kind continunity story of Spider-man + What if Mary-Jane becomes She-Venom
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Peter gets dressed in his normal clothes, including his suit underneath as he ready for work. MJ also needs to dress up as she needs to get some shooting and acting career ready, but then the suit itself reforms into her casual clothes as they both surprise. MJ amazes how Spectacular this thing can do, Peter didn't see that coming. Then, She wonders if it can make more suitable for her as it morphs into a revealing dress for Peter. Peter loves it, wish he has it with him. But then, they need to go to work and give each other a kisses and go. After a while, Pete head back and see how happy she is because of this suit gives her something. MJ tells Pete that it gives her more skills that it help her improve her career and thanks to it, she doesn't need to wear any dress. Peter congrats and kisses her. Not only that, she wants to show him what this symbiote can do. MJ shows off as it can change her entire appearance into different person
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Spider-man and Venomess fights along side together, beat the bad guys, save civilians, and finally work together like a team. Seems this work, not only that, Peter feels great to have MJ with him. After that, they're on the roof and enjoys their view. He couldn't imagine that MJ can also handle herself spectacular. Plus, MJ glad she can help Peter, she doesn't want him to get hurt and work alone to fight the Sinister Six. Then again, they cuddles and kisses together. Later they intercourse.
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Peter and MJ looks at their photo album of their anniversary, wedding, dating, and everything. Then they starts to make out together. MJ asks if it's okay to transforms into his aunt, but Peter says no. She begs him with the puppy eyes, she tells Pete that he did turn on when MJ transforms into her as he smiles and says alright fine.
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Peter gets up in the morning and sees MJ is working out. Not only that, she seems jacked, and masculine. And her looks manly. Then, she greets him. Pete amazed that MJ looks like a dude with a big jawline and manly face, and short buzz red-haired. She giggles and replies with low tone she just uses this appearance to increase her strength, and tells him that she's still a woman. Pete asks if that's true as she takes off her shorts and sees for himself. Pete tells her that she didn't have to do that. Then, he kisses her and asks if it's okay for him to make love in this form. She smiles and asks him back that he doesn't feel disgusted in this appearance. Pete tells her that he still loves her
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
montage where Spider-man and Venom fight crime, then Peter and manly MJ continues to make love, then Spider-man and Venom defeat the villains, and then Peter and Venom continues as he cum into her
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Peter in Spider-man suit while MJ ready in the bed. MJ then morphs into a random old woman and thinks she's grateful for Spider-man who saves her. Then he starts to pull off his friend out as she gasps and surprised
Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess - Issue #8: The Daily Bugle’s New Headache
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Spider-man and Venom got the news on Daily Bugle. The title called "Heroes or Chaotic Menaces" JJJ can't believe that menace got himself a partner with this creature looking like Spider-man. Peter can hear anything from JJ in his office. After Pete gets home and sees MJ tries out her appearances, personas, and many people. Peter loves and enjoys the view as she looks back at her husband. She walks toward him and transforms into Venom and says if he like what he see. Then she carries him like a baby and kisses him.
by
ninhjimmy007
· 26 Dec 2025
Peter sits and watches MJ tries out and transforms into Venom then kisses him. Then, she morphs into female Guyver. This is so cool she says, she always wanted to be Guyver. Then, she morphs into Red Beetle, a female version of Blue Beetle. Wow, didn't see that coming Peter says. MJ asks if he can takes photo for her, she likes to keep those for them and others for her shooting. Peter agrees and then says he needs help so he can get some perfect shots.