The black NEET in the family
Story created by
A NEET terrorizes her family with her possession powers.
possession incest f2f f2m horror
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Sara walked down the hall as the kids ran past her, happy to be done for the day.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
Sara walked down the hall as the kids ran past her, happy to be done for the day.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
Sara walked down the hall as the kids ran past her, happy to be done for the day.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
A reckless young woman lets an upload share her senses for fun—then her body—then her life—until she realizes too late that she's given away everything she never knew she had.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that owned their runtime. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a good reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he never tried to push me into anything, which made me want to push myself.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. That's the whole point."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
I smiled at myself in the mirror. At him. Good.
I held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
I'm fun. There's a difference.
Is there?
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal. You knew that coming in.
He was quiet for a moment. I let him be quiet. Picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
I know.
The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
And now you know.
Now I know.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Paula—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun.
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
I know.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just confidence. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it. You just have to believe you're worth looking at.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because the corps didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness.
I should have found it creepy. Instead, I found it comforting.
I slept better than I had in years.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that owned their runtime. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a good reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he never tried to push me into anything, which made me want to push myself.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. That's the whole point."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
I smiled at myself in the mirror. At him. Good.
I held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
I'm fun. There's a difference.
Is there?
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal. You knew that coming in.
He was quiet for a moment. I let him be quiet. Picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
I know.
The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
And now you know.
Now I know.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Paula—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun.
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
I know.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just confidence. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it. You just have to believe you're worth looking at.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because the corps didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness.
I should have found it creepy. Instead, I found it comforting.
I slept better than I had in years.
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.
Your friend Michelle discovers that she can astral project, but you don't believe her at first. To prove it to you, she decides to swap spirits with her cat, and the proof is pretty convincing! However, when Michelle leaves to explore the world for an hour in the cat's body, things take an unexpected twist with the cat in her body....
I was lounging on our battered sofa, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, when Michelle burst through the front door, her brown eyes wide with an energy I rarely saw outside of a soccer match.
“You are not going to believe what happened,” she said, tossing her keys onto the counter with a clatter.
“You finally won the lottery and we can move out of this dump?” I asked, not looking up.
“Better. Way better.” She plopped down next to me, making the old springs squeak. “I figured out how to… leave my body.”
That got my attention. I lowered my phone. “Michelle, if this is about that weird incense you bought last week, I told you, it just smells like a forest fire.”
“No, listen! It’s called astral projection. I was meditating, and suddenly, I was floating near the ceiling, looking down at myself on the floor. And then… I figured out I could pull other spirits out, too. Swap them around.”
I stared at her. My roommate was many things—a fantastic cook, a loyal friend, a terrifying opponent in Mario Kart—but she wasn’t prone to outright delusions. “Okay. Prove it.”
She grinned, a brilliant, challenging flash of white teeth. “How?”
My eyes drifted to the other occupant of the room. Buttercup, Michelle’s fluffy orange tabby, was curled in a sunbeam on the rug, purring like a tiny engine. That cat adored me. More than most animals did, actually. It was weirdly flattering.
“Swap with Buttercup,” I said, gesturing with my chin. “Right now. Let’s see it.”
Michelle’s grin didn’t falter. “You got it.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the cat. She closed her eyes, took a few deep, deliberate breaths, and her body went unnaturally still. A soft, almost imperceptible shimmer seemed to pass from her to the cat.
Buttercup, who had been sleeping, suddenly jerked. The cat stood up, stretched with an oddly stiff, deliberate motion, and then looked directly at me with Michelle’s intense, intelligent gaze in its green eyes. It then promptly tried to lick its own shoulder, overbalanced, and tumbled onto its side with a soft mrrp.
Meanwhile, Michelle’s body slumped. Then it slowly got to its hands and knees. It looked around the room with wide, confused eyes, then focused on Buttercup’s body. It—she—the Michelle-body let out a plaintive, confused meow. It crawled a few feet toward the sunbeam, then just sat there, staring at its own human hands with fascination before trying to bat at a dust mote drifting in the light.
My jaw was on the floor. “Holy shit.”
A minute later, the same shimmer reversed. Buttercup’s body gave a full-body shake and trotted off to the kitchen, presumably to check its food bowl. Michelle gasped back into her own form, blinking rapidly.
“See?” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Told you.”
“I… yeah. I believe you.” The words felt inadequate. The world had just fundamentally shifted. “What was it like?”
A slow, delighted smile spread across her face. “It was… incredible. The senses are so different. Everything is smells and textures and angles. And the freedom! Being that small, that agile…” She looked over at Buttercup, who was now meticulously washing a paw. “I want to do it again. For longer. Like, an hour. Just to explore the neighborhood, see what it’s like.”
“Wait, you’re going to just… be a cat for an hour?”
“Why not? It’ll be fun. But,” she said, becoming serious. “You gotta watch my body. The cat’s soul will be in there. Just make sure it doesn’t wander off or try to climb the bookshelf or something. It should just kinda… sit there. Be cat-like.”
I looked at her human form, then at the oblivious cat. “Okay. I can babysit a human-shaped cat for an hour.”
“You’re the best.” She kissed my cheek quickly. “Okay, same drill. Back in a bit.”
She sat down again, closed her eyes, and that shimmer passed between them once more. Buttercup’s body paused its washing, stood up, and gave me a very deliberate, very human nod with its furry head. Then it trotted to the cat flap and slipped outside into the evening.
Michelle’s body, now inhabited by the cat’s spirit, slumped for a second before getting back on its hands and knees. It made a soft, curious noise and began to sniff at the carpet.
I sighed, settling back on the couch. This was going to be a long hour.
Except it wasn’t.
The moment the cat flap clicked shut, the behavior changed.
Michelle’s body stopped sniffing. It sat back on its heels, then smoothly, fluidly, rose to its feet. It brushed off the knees of its jeans with a familiar, human gesture. Then it turned to look at me.
The eyes were still Michelle’s warm brown, but the expression behind them was sharp, calculating, and utterly alien. A slow, sly smile touched lips I’d seen a thousand times.
“Well,” the creature in Michelle’s body said, its voice a perfect mimic of my roommate’s, but with a huskier, more deliberate cadence. “That was tedious.”
I froze. “Uhhhhhh......What?”
“Acting dumb. So boring.” It—she?—rolled Michelle’s shoulders and stretched, the movement sinuous and exaggerated. “But necessary. Couldn’t have her knowing, could we?”
“Knowing what?” I was on my feet now, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“That we’re not the simple little furballs you think we are.” She took a step toward me. “Cats have been around humans for millennia. We observe. We learn. We understand far more than we let on. Playing the fool is just… good strategy.”
My mind was reeling. “You… you can talk?”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve heard every conversation in this apartment. I know your secrets. I know her secrets.” Another step closer. The cat-spirit in Michelle’s body was moving with a predatory grace Michelle herself never possessed. “And I know what you like.”
I took an involuntary step back, hitting the edge of the sofa. “What are you talking about?”She was right in front of me now, looking up at me with Michelle’s face. She reached out and placed a hand on my chest. It was warm through my t-shirt. “You’re a healthy young male. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she comes out of the shower. The way you look at her friends when they visit.” Her other hand came up, a finger tracing my jawline. “It’s a simple biological drive. I understand it perfectly.”
“This is insane,” I breathed, but I didn’t push her away. I couldn’t move.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she purred, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not going to tell Michelle about this little conversation. You’re going to let her think her experiment was a complete success. That I was just a dumb animal in her body for an hour.”
“Why would I do that?”
The smile turned wicked. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Because I’m going to give you a… private incentive. A thank you for your discretion.”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Then, slowly, deliberately, she brought Michelle’s hand up to her own mouth. She puckered her lips slightly and slid the tip of her index finger between them, her eyes locked on mine. She made a soft, sucking sound, then pulled the wet finger out with a pop.
My whole body went rigid. The implication was unmistakable.
“A secret between us,” she murmured, her gaze dropping meaningfully to my waist. “And a very persuasive reason to keep it. What do you say?”
I couldn’t speak. My mind was a riot of confusion, disbelief, and a dark, traitorous thrill that shot straight to my core. This was Michelle’s body, my friend’s body, standing before me, but the intelligence behind those eyes was ancient, alien, and dangerously persuasive.
“I…” The word croaked out of me.
“Shhh,” she whispered, placing that same damp finger against my lips. The taste of salt and her lip gloss was startlingly intimate. “Don’t think. Just agree.”
Her other hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and her fingers hooked into the waistband of my sweatpants. The look in her eyes was pure, unabashed feline curiosity mixed with a promise of decadent pleasure.
“You want to,” she stated, not asked. “Your body is already saying yes.”
She was right. I was painfully hard. The insanity of the situation, the forbidden nature of it, the sheer taboo of what was happening—it was short-circuiting my higher reasoning. This wasn’t Michelle. But it was her skin, her scent, her full lips now parting in a smile as she felt my reaction.
“Good,” she purred.
In one smooth motion, she pushed me back onto the sofa. I fell without resistance, looking up at her as she stood over me, a goddess of mischief in my roommate’s form. She knelt on the floor between my legs, her hands on my knees, pushing them apart. She held my gaze, that sly smile never fading, as she leaned forward.
But instead of going straight for where I expected, she nuzzled her face against my inner thigh, rubbing her cheek there like a cat marking its territory. A soft, rumbling sound vibrated from her throat—a purr. The sensation was utterly bizarre and electrifying.
“You smell of anxiety,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my leg. “And desire. A potent mix.”
She kissed the fabric over my thigh, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to nose her way upward. Her hands slid under my shirt, cool against my feverish skin, her short nails scraping lightly. Every movement was deliberate, observational, like she was learning me through touch.
When her mouth finally found me through the fabric, a hot, wet pressure, I gasped and arched off the couch. She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me.
“So responsive,” she said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers in the waistband of my pants and boxers. In one tug, she bared me to the cool air of the apartment—and to her intense, observing gaze.
For a long moment, she just looked, her head tilted, as if examining fascinating prey. Then her human façade slipped just a fraction. Her tongue darted out for a quick, rough lick from base to tip, not a human kiss, but the coarse, grooming lick of a cat. It was so startlingly other that I cried out.
She seemed to relish my shock. “Different, isn’t it?” she said, before closing her mouth over me properly.
The contrast was dizzying. The act itself was all human technique—deep, sucking pressure, skillful use of her tongue—but the rhythm was off, punctuated by those occasional, rough, lapping strokes that were purely animal. She purred constantly, the vibration adding a layer of sensation that made my toes curl. Her hands, Michelle’s strong, capable hands, gripped my hips, holding me in place as she took me deeper, her eyes open and watching my face the entire time.
It was the most surreal, most unnerving, and most intensely arousing experience of my life. I was being expertly seduced and consumed by a primal intelligence wearing my best friend’s skin. My hands tangled in her soft brown hair, not sure if I was trying to pull her closer or push her away.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, a sound cut through the haze of pleasure—the faint snick of the cat flap from the kitchen.
She felt me tense and pulled off with a wet, final pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. In an instant, the sharp, cunning light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a vacant, placid dullness. She slid my clothing back into place with swift, efficient motions and then simply collapsed onto the floor beside the sofa, curling onto her side, blinking slowly at nothing.
Seconds later, Buttercup’s orange form trotted into the living room. The cat looked at its own human body on the floor, then at me, sprawled and disheveled on the couch. Buttercup’s body gave that same deliberate nod, then sat down and began to lick a paw with sudden, intense focus.
The shimmer passed.
Michelle’s body jerked. She sat up, shaking her head as if clearing water from her ears. “Whoa,” she laughed, her voice fully her own again. “That was wild! I chased a moth three blocks and caught it. You have no idea how satisfying that is.” She looked at me, still panting on the couch. “You okay? You look… flushed. Everything good here?”
I stared at her, at the genuine, cheerful confusion on her face. My heart was still pounding, the taste of her lip gloss was on my lips where her finger had been, and my body hummed with unfinished release.
The cat-spirit’s words echoed in my head. A secret between us.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice rough. “Everything’s fine. Just… a little warm. You were right. She just… sat there. Mostly.”
I was lounging on our battered sofa, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, when Michelle burst through the front door, her brown eyes wide with an energy I rarely saw outside of a soccer match.
“You are not going to believe what happened,” she said, tossing her keys onto the counter with a clatter.
“You finally won the lottery and we can move out of this dump?” I asked, not looking up.
“Better. Way better.” She plopped down next to me, making the old springs squeak. “I figured out how to… leave my body.”
That got my attention. I lowered my phone. “Michelle, if this is about that weird incense you bought last week, I told you, it just smells like a forest fire.”
“No, listen! It’s called astral projection. I was meditating, and suddenly, I was floating near the ceiling, looking down at myself on the floor. And then… I figured out I could pull other spirits out, too. Swap them around.”
I stared at her. My roommate was many things—a fantastic cook, a loyal friend, a terrifying opponent in Mario Kart—but she wasn’t prone to outright delusions. “Okay. Prove it.”
She grinned, a brilliant, challenging flash of white teeth. “How?”
My eyes drifted to the other occupant of the room. Buttercup, Michelle’s fluffy orange tabby, was curled in a sunbeam on the rug, purring like a tiny engine. That cat adored me. More than most animals did, actually. It was weirdly flattering.
“Swap with Buttercup,” I said, gesturing with my chin. “Right now. Let’s see it.”
Michelle’s grin didn’t falter. “You got it.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the cat. She closed her eyes, took a few deep, deliberate breaths, and her body went unnaturally still. A soft, almost imperceptible shimmer seemed to pass from her to the cat.
Buttercup, who had been sleeping, suddenly jerked. The cat stood up, stretched with an oddly stiff, deliberate motion, and then looked directly at me with Michelle’s intense, intelligent gaze in its green eyes. It then promptly tried to lick its own shoulder, overbalanced, and tumbled onto its side with a soft mrrp.
Meanwhile, Michelle’s body slumped. Then it slowly got to its hands and knees. It looked around the room with wide, confused eyes, then focused on Buttercup’s body. It—she—the Michelle-body let out a plaintive, confused meow. It crawled a few feet toward the sunbeam, then just sat there, staring at its own human hands with fascination before trying to bat at a dust mote drifting in the light.
My jaw was on the floor. “Holy shit.”
A minute later, the same shimmer reversed. Buttercup’s body gave a full-body shake and trotted off to the kitchen, presumably to check its food bowl. Michelle gasped back into her own form, blinking rapidly.
“See?” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Told you.”
“I… yeah. I believe you.” The words felt inadequate. The world had just fundamentally shifted. “What was it like?”
A slow, delighted smile spread across her face. “It was… incredible. The senses are so different. Everything is smells and textures and angles. And the freedom! Being that small, that agile…” She looked over at Buttercup, who was now meticulously washing a paw. “I want to do it again. For longer. Like, an hour. Just to explore the neighborhood, see what it’s like.”
“Wait, you’re going to just… be a cat for an hour?”
“Why not? It’ll be fun. But,” she said, becoming serious. “You gotta watch my body. The cat’s soul will be in there. Just make sure it doesn’t wander off or try to climb the bookshelf or something. It should just kinda… sit there. Be cat-like.”
I looked at her human form, then at the oblivious cat. “Okay. I can babysit a human-shaped cat for an hour.”
“You’re the best.” She kissed my cheek quickly. “Okay, same drill. Back in a bit.”
She sat down again, closed her eyes, and that shimmer passed between them once more. Buttercup’s body paused its washing, stood up, and gave me a very deliberate, very human nod with its furry head. Then it trotted to the cat flap and slipped outside into the evening.
Michelle’s body, now inhabited by the cat’s spirit, slumped for a second before getting back on its hands and knees. It made a soft, curious noise and began to sniff at the carpet.
I sighed, settling back on the couch. This was going to be a long hour.
Except it wasn’t.
The moment the cat flap clicked shut, the behavior changed.
Michelle’s body stopped sniffing. It sat back on its heels, then smoothly, fluidly, rose to its feet. It brushed off the knees of its jeans with a familiar, human gesture. Then it turned to look at me.
The eyes were still Michelle’s warm brown, but the expression behind them was sharp, calculating, and utterly alien. A slow, sly smile touched lips I’d seen a thousand times.
“Well,” the creature in Michelle’s body said, its voice a perfect mimic of my roommate’s, but with a huskier, more deliberate cadence. “That was tedious.”
I froze. “Uhhhhhh......What?”
“Acting dumb. So boring.” It—she?—rolled Michelle’s shoulders and stretched, the movement sinuous and exaggerated. “But necessary. Couldn’t have her knowing, could we?”
“Knowing what?” I was on my feet now, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“That we’re not the simple little furballs you think we are.” She took a step toward me. “Cats have been around humans for millennia. We observe. We learn. We understand far more than we let on. Playing the fool is just… good strategy.”
My mind was reeling. “You… you can talk?”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve heard every conversation in this apartment. I know your secrets. I know her secrets.” Another step closer. The cat-spirit in Michelle’s body was moving with a predatory grace Michelle herself never possessed. “And I know what you like.”
I took an involuntary step back, hitting the edge of the sofa. “What are you talking about?”She was right in front of me now, looking up at me with Michelle’s face. She reached out and placed a hand on my chest. It was warm through my t-shirt. “You’re a healthy young male. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she comes out of the shower. The way you look at her friends when they visit.” Her other hand came up, a finger tracing my jawline. “It’s a simple biological drive. I understand it perfectly.”
“This is insane,” I breathed, but I didn’t push her away. I couldn’t move.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she purred, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not going to tell Michelle about this little conversation. You’re going to let her think her experiment was a complete success. That I was just a dumb animal in her body for an hour.”
“Why would I do that?”
The smile turned wicked. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Because I’m going to give you a… private incentive. A thank you for your discretion.”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Then, slowly, deliberately, she brought Michelle’s hand up to her own mouth. She puckered her lips slightly and slid the tip of her index finger between them, her eyes locked on mine. She made a soft, sucking sound, then pulled the wet finger out with a pop.
My whole body went rigid. The implication was unmistakable.
“A secret between us,” she murmured, her gaze dropping meaningfully to my waist. “And a very persuasive reason to keep it. What do you say?”
I couldn’t speak. My mind was a riot of confusion, disbelief, and a dark, traitorous thrill that shot straight to my core. This was Michelle’s body, my friend’s body, standing before me, but the intelligence behind those eyes was ancient, alien, and dangerously persuasive.
“I…” The word croaked out of me.
“Shhh,” she whispered, placing that same damp finger against my lips. The taste of salt and her lip gloss was startlingly intimate. “Don’t think. Just agree.”
Her other hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and her fingers hooked into the waistband of my sweatpants. The look in her eyes was pure, unabashed feline curiosity mixed with a promise of decadent pleasure.
“You want to,” she stated, not asked. “Your body is already saying yes.”
She was right. I was painfully hard. The insanity of the situation, the forbidden nature of it, the sheer taboo of what was happening—it was short-circuiting my higher reasoning. This wasn’t Michelle. But it was her skin, her scent, her full lips now parting in a smile as she felt my reaction.
“Good,” she purred.
In one smooth motion, she pushed me back onto the sofa. I fell without resistance, looking up at her as she stood over me, a goddess of mischief in my roommate’s form. She knelt on the floor between my legs, her hands on my knees, pushing them apart. She held my gaze, that sly smile never fading, as she leaned forward.
But instead of going straight for where I expected, she nuzzled her face against my inner thigh, rubbing her cheek there like a cat marking its territory. A soft, rumbling sound vibrated from her throat—a purr. The sensation was utterly bizarre and electrifying.
“You smell of anxiety,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my leg. “And desire. A potent mix.”
She kissed the fabric over my thigh, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to nose her way upward. Her hands slid under my shirt, cool against my feverish skin, her short nails scraping lightly. Every movement was deliberate, observational, like she was learning me through touch.
When her mouth finally found me through the fabric, a hot, wet pressure, I gasped and arched off the couch. She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me.
“So responsive,” she said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers in the waistband of my pants and boxers. In one tug, she bared me to the cool air of the apartment—and to her intense, observing gaze.
For a long moment, she just looked, her head tilted, as if examining fascinating prey. Then her human façade slipped just a fraction. Her tongue darted out for a quick, rough lick from base to tip, not a human kiss, but the coarse, grooming lick of a cat. It was so startlingly other that I cried out.
She seemed to relish my shock. “Different, isn’t it?” she said, before closing her mouth over me properly.
The contrast was dizzying. The act itself was all human technique—deep, sucking pressure, skillful use of her tongue—but the rhythm was off, punctuated by those occasional, rough, lapping strokes that were purely animal. She purred constantly, the vibration adding a layer of sensation that made my toes curl. Her hands, Michelle’s strong, capable hands, gripped my hips, holding me in place as she took me deeper, her eyes open and watching my face the entire time.
It was the most surreal, most unnerving, and most intensely arousing experience of my life. I was being expertly seduced and consumed by a primal intelligence wearing my best friend’s skin. My hands tangled in her soft brown hair, not sure if I was trying to pull her closer or push her away.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, a sound cut through the haze of pleasure—the faint snick of the cat flap from the kitchen.
She felt me tense and pulled off with a wet, final pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. In an instant, the sharp, cunning light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a vacant, placid dullness. She slid my clothing back into place with swift, efficient motions and then simply collapsed onto the floor beside the sofa, curling onto her side, blinking slowly at nothing.
Seconds later, Buttercup’s orange form trotted into the living room. The cat looked at its own human body on the floor, then at me, sprawled and disheveled on the couch. Buttercup’s body gave that same deliberate nod, then sat down and began to lick a paw with sudden, intense focus.
The shimmer passed.
Michelle’s body jerked. She sat up, shaking her head as if clearing water from her ears. “Whoa,” she laughed, her voice fully her own again. “That was wild! I chased a moth three blocks and caught it. You have no idea how satisfying that is.” She looked at me, still panting on the couch. “You okay? You look… flushed. Everything good here?”
I stared at her, at the genuine, cheerful confusion on her face. My heart was still pounding, the taste of her lip gloss was on my lips where her finger had been, and my body hummed with unfinished release.
The cat-spirit’s words echoed in my head. A secret between us.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice rough. “Everything’s fine. Just… a little warm. You were right. She just… sat there. Mostly.”
These stories tells you about Peter Parker and his lovely redheaded big-tittied wife, Mary-Jane Waston-Parker with her transformations.
(PETER PARKER, in his classic red-and-blue Spider-Man suit, though the mask is off and pushed back like a hood, sits on a comfortable couch next to his wife, MARY JANE WATSON-PARKER. She’s stunning, with a cascade of fiery red hair and a confident, loving smile. They’re both turned slightly, as if addressing a camera. A soft, romantic light glows around them.)
PETER: (Clears his throat, a little nervous) So, uh… hey. Hi. If you’re watching this, you probably know the deal. Radioactive spider, great power, great responsibility, all that. The whole… thing.
MARY JANE: (Laughs, a warm, rich sound. She playfully elbows him.) The whole ‘thing’? Tiger, you saved the city, like, a dozen times last week. You can say it. You’re Spider-Man. The Amazing Spider-Man.
PETER: (Blushes slightly, smiling at her) Right. That. And this… this is my wife, Mary Jane. The most amazing woman in any universe, multiverse, or frankly, any conceivable dimension. Geez, I'm just getting tired of all the multiverse now.
MARY JANE: (She leans into him, her head on his shoulder) Flatterer. But he’s not wrong. We’ve been through it all, haven’t we, Pete? That dorky, nervous kid from Queens who tripped over his own feet asking me out…
PETER: (Groans good-naturedly) Do we have to bring that up?
MARY JANE: Absolutely. And our first kiss… up on that web-line, with the city lights sparkling below us. I knew you were my Spider then. I’ve known you were Spider-Man since we were teenagers, and I’ve loved every single crazy, web-slinging, villain-punching minute of it.
PETER: (He looks at her, his expression full of adoration) And we got married. For real. No devil deals, no retcons, no editors from on high deciding we’d be better off miserable and apart. Just… us.
MARY JANE: (Her expression turns wry, addressing the ‘camera’ directly) You hear that, certain comic book writers? We’re happy. We’re together. We’re a team. And we have a life that’s… well, let’s just say it’s never, ever boring.
PETER: Understatement of the century, MJ. Because while my life is pretty consistently weird, yours… yours has taken some truly unexpected turns.
MARY JANE: (A mischievous glint appears in her emerald eyes) Oh, you have no idea. Or, well, I guess you’re about to. We thought we’d share some stories. The kind of stories they’d never let us tell in the funny pages these days. The good stuff.
PETER: (Rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture) Right. The… ahem… transformative experiences.
MARY JANE: (She grins, a brilliantly wicked smile) That’s one way to put it. Remember that time, a few years back, when that weird black goo from space didn’t latch onto you, Tiger? It decided it liked my fashion sense better, including improving everything within me.
PETER: How could I forget? I came home and instead of my beautiful wife, there was… a towering, powerful, incredibly voluptuous creature of pure alien symbiote. White spider emblem and everything. You called yourself… Venom or Venomess.
MARY JANE: (Her voice drops to a playful, sultry growl) We… are Venom. And we had… needs. Very specific, very physical needs. And let’s just say my strong, sticky husband was more than equipped to handle them. All those extra tendrils came in very handy.
PETER: (His face is now completely red. He fans himself with his hand.) Wow. Okay. Yeah. That’s… that’s a story. Then there was the summer you and I went to Central Park and found that weird geode that fell from the sky…
MARY JANE: Oh, the Omnitrix! Yeah, instead of a kid named Ben Tennyson, I received it instead. One touch and suddenly I had access to many alien forms. Pyronite was great for roasting marshmallows, Tetramand was basically She-Hulk but an alien with four arms and four eyes… but my personal favorite is Galvanic Mechamorph because it would allow us to-
PETER: (Sputtering) MJ! The kids might—
MARY JANE: They’re not listening! Relax, tiger. Then there was the mishap at that gala at the Natural History Museum. I fell right into the exhibit…
PETER: The Clayface exhibit! Yes, I remember. Plus, Bruce Wayne and Reed Richards help you recover yourself from Joker. At that time, it didn't work right away. By the time I takes you home, you’re starts to become a shapeshifting mound of living clay. And you know what? You were still the most beautiful woman in the room. Even if you're a blob clay monster. That was… a unique experience.
MARY JANE: (Winking) You didn’t complain. Not once. And let’s not forget your own upgrade, Mr. Kamen Rider. When that ancient belt fused with your web-shooters…
PETER: (Strikes a mock-heroic pose) “Henshin!” Yeah, the armored suit was cool, I’ll admit. But it was nothing compared to you bursting through our bedroom wall as Cutey Honey, ready for… ahem… ‘action’.
MARY JANE: “Honey Flash!” It was all in the name of justice. And very, very thorough lovemaking.
(They both laugh, lost in the memory for a moment. Peter looks at MJ with utter love.)
PETER: Through it all… symbiote, aliens, clay, magical girl transformations, and many things… you’ve always been you, MJ. My Mary Jane. And I wouldn’t change a single, bizarre, incredible second of it.
MARY JANE: Me neither, Tiger. Me neither. Now, how about we tell our friends here about the time I—
(Suddenly, a door bursts open off-screen. A young girl, MAYDAY PARKER, about 8 years old, runs in, followed by her little brother, BENJY, who’s about 5.)
MAYDAY: Mom! Dad! Uncle Johnny is on fire in the backyard again!
BENJY: (Holding a action figure) He says it’s ‘flame on’ but it’s just the barbecue! It’s boring!
(Peter and MJ look at each other and sigh in perfect, happy unison.)
PETER: (To the ‘camera’, shrugging apologetically) Duty—and family—calls. Don’t worry, True Believers… there are plenty more stories where those came from.
MARY JANE: (Blows a kiss) And they’re all much, much better than ‘One More Day’. Promise!
(They get up from the couch, Peter swooping Benjy into his arms while MJ puts an arm around Mayday, and they walk out of the frame together, a perfect, loving, chaotic family.)
[STORY TITLE CARD APPEARS:]
PETER PARKER THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN & MARY-JANE WITH MANY TRANSFORMATIONS STORIES
[UPCOMING ATTRACTIONS LIST:]
* Spider-Man/RedPool What if Mary Jane becomes Lady Deadpool or Gwenpool
* Spider-Man & Ms. Mary Marvel What if Mary-Jane wields the power of SHAZAM and becomes Ms. Marvel?
* Spider-Man & Red Inferno What if Mary-Jane becomes Red Tornado's sister
* Spider-Man & Witchblade What if Mary Jane can wields the power of Witchblade and able to transforms into previous host
* Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess What if Mary-Jane bonds and has the symbiote at first instead Peter Parker.
* Spider-Man & MJ-10 What if Mary-Jane wields and have the Omnitrix instead of Ben Tennyson
* Spider-Man & ClayMJ MJ becomes a shapeshifting clay creature, and Peter proves his love is more than skin deep.
(PETER PARKER, in his classic red-and-blue Spider-Man suit, though the mask is off and pushed back like a hood, sits on a comfortable couch next to his wife, MARY JANE WATSON-PARKER. She’s stunning, with a cascade of fiery red hair and a confident, loving smile. They’re both turned slightly, as if addressing a camera. A soft, romantic light glows around them.)
PETER: (Clears his throat, a little nervous) So, uh… hey. Hi. If you’re watching this, you probably know the deal. Radioactive spider, great power, great responsibility, all that. The whole… thing.
MARY JANE: (Laughs, a warm, rich sound. She playfully elbows him.) The whole ‘thing’? Tiger, you saved the city, like, a dozen times last week. You can say it. You’re Spider-Man. The Amazing Spider-Man.
PETER: (Blushes slightly, smiling at her) Right. That. And this… this is my wife, Mary Jane. The most amazing woman in any universe, multiverse, or frankly, any conceivable dimension. Geez, I'm just getting tired of all the multiverse now.
MARY JANE: (She leans into him, her head on his shoulder) Flatterer. But he’s not wrong. We’ve been through it all, haven’t we, Pete? That dorky, nervous kid from Queens who tripped over his own feet asking me out…
PETER: (Groans good-naturedly) Do we have to bring that up?
MARY JANE: Absolutely. And our first kiss… up on that web-line, with the city lights sparkling below us. I knew you were my Spider then. I’ve known you were Spider-Man since we were teenagers, and I’ve loved every single crazy, web-slinging, villain-punching minute of it.
PETER: (He looks at her, his expression full of adoration) And we got married. For real. No devil deals, no retcons, no editors from on high deciding we’d be better off miserable and apart. Just… us.
MARY JANE: (Her expression turns wry, addressing the ‘camera’ directly) You hear that, certain comic book writers? We’re happy. We’re together. We’re a team. And we have a life that’s… well, let’s just say it’s never, ever boring.
PETER: Understatement of the century, MJ. Because while my life is pretty consistently weird, yours… yours has taken some truly unexpected turns.
MARY JANE: (A mischievous glint appears in her emerald eyes) Oh, you have no idea. Or, well, I guess you’re about to. We thought we’d share some stories. The kind of stories they’d never let us tell in the funny pages these days. The good stuff.
PETER: (Rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture) Right. The… ahem… transformative experiences.
MARY JANE: (She grins, a brilliantly wicked smile) That’s one way to put it. Remember that time, a few years back, when that weird black goo from space didn’t latch onto you, Tiger? It decided it liked my fashion sense better, including improving everything within me.
PETER: How could I forget? I came home and instead of my beautiful wife, there was… a towering, powerful, incredibly voluptuous creature of pure alien symbiote. White spider emblem and everything. You called yourself… Venom or Venomess.
MARY JANE: (Her voice drops to a playful, sultry growl) We… are Venom. And we had… needs. Very specific, very physical needs. And let’s just say my strong, sticky husband was more than equipped to handle them. All those extra tendrils came in very handy.
PETER: (His face is now completely red. He fans himself with his hand.) Wow. Okay. Yeah. That’s… that’s a story. Then there was the summer you and I went to Central Park and found that weird geode that fell from the sky…
MARY JANE: Oh, the Omnitrix! Yeah, instead of a kid named Ben Tennyson, I received it instead. One touch and suddenly I had access to many alien forms. Pyronite was great for roasting marshmallows, Tetramand was basically She-Hulk but an alien with four arms and four eyes… but my personal favorite is Galvanic Mechamorph because it would allow us to-
PETER: (Sputtering) MJ! The kids might—
MARY JANE: They’re not listening! Relax, tiger. Then there was the mishap at that gala at the Natural History Museum. I fell right into the exhibit…
PETER: The Clayface exhibit! Yes, I remember. Plus, Bruce Wayne and Reed Richards help you recover yourself from Joker. At that time, it didn't work right away. By the time I takes you home, you’re starts to become a shapeshifting mound of living clay. And you know what? You were still the most beautiful woman in the room. Even if you're a blob clay monster. That was… a unique experience.
MARY JANE: (Winking) You didn’t complain. Not once. And let’s not forget your own upgrade, Mr. Kamen Rider. When that ancient belt fused with your web-shooters…
PETER: (Strikes a mock-heroic pose) “Henshin!” Yeah, the armored suit was cool, I’ll admit. But it was nothing compared to you bursting through our bedroom wall as Cutey Honey, ready for… ahem… ‘action’.
MARY JANE: “Honey Flash!” It was all in the name of justice. And very, very thorough lovemaking.
(They both laugh, lost in the memory for a moment. Peter looks at MJ with utter love.)
PETER: Through it all… symbiote, aliens, clay, magical girl transformations, and many things… you’ve always been you, MJ. My Mary Jane. And I wouldn’t change a single, bizarre, incredible second of it.
MARY JANE: Me neither, Tiger. Me neither. Now, how about we tell our friends here about the time I—
(Suddenly, a door bursts open off-screen. A young girl, MAYDAY PARKER, about 8 years old, runs in, followed by her little brother, BENJY, who’s about 5.)
MAYDAY: Mom! Dad! Uncle Johnny is on fire in the backyard again!
BENJY: (Holding a action figure) He says it’s ‘flame on’ but it’s just the barbecue! It’s boring!
(Peter and MJ look at each other and sigh in perfect, happy unison.)
PETER: (To the ‘camera’, shrugging apologetically) Duty—and family—calls. Don’t worry, True Believers… there are plenty more stories where those came from.
MARY JANE: (Blows a kiss) And they’re all much, much better than ‘One More Day’. Promise!
(They get up from the couch, Peter swooping Benjy into his arms while MJ puts an arm around Mayday, and they walk out of the frame together, a perfect, loving, chaotic family.)
[STORY TITLE CARD APPEARS:]
PETER PARKER THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN & MARY-JANE WITH MANY TRANSFORMATIONS STORIES
[UPCOMING ATTRACTIONS LIST:]
* Spider-Man/RedPool What if Mary Jane becomes Lady Deadpool or Gwenpool
* Spider-Man & Ms. Mary Marvel What if Mary-Jane wields the power of SHAZAM and becomes Ms. Marvel?
* Spider-Man & Red Inferno What if Mary-Jane becomes Red Tornado's sister
* Spider-Man & Witchblade What if Mary Jane can wields the power of Witchblade and able to transforms into previous host
* Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess What if Mary-Jane bonds and has the symbiote at first instead Peter Parker.
* Spider-Man & MJ-10 What if Mary-Jane wields and have the Omnitrix instead of Ben Tennyson
* Spider-Man & ClayMJ MJ becomes a shapeshifting clay creature, and Peter proves his love is more than skin deep.
College dweeb gets to swap all of his physical traits with the most handsome BMOC of his college and the dweeb becomes the jock and the jock becomes the dweeb and nerd
The left earbud was in, the right one dangling down my chest like a dead vine. Miles Davis was doing that thing he does, all smoky and blue, but it just made the silence in the room heavier. My hand was moving on autopilot, a cheap number-two pencil digging into the sketchpad. It was always bodies. Never faces. Faces were too… revealing. This one was pecs again. Broad, thick, carved from marble, with that deep, shadowed cleft between them you could lose a finger in. Drew Bullard’s pecs. From memory. From staring across the quad while he played frisbee, shirt off, sweat making his chest gleam under the September sun.
My other hand was down my jeans. Just idly rubbing, a slow, absent-minded grind against the worn denim. God, it’s so fucking small. A pathetic little nub of flesh, half-hard just from thinking about the curve of a fictional nipple. I let my head thunk back against the chair. My room in Martindale Hall was a perfect eight-foot cube of misery. Sunlight cut a sharp, dusty rectangle across the floorboards, highlighting how spotless they were. Not a sock out of place. My three posters—a vintage map of Middle-earth, a diagram of the human musculature, a black-and-white photo of Kafka—were leveled with a ruler. In the wardrobe, my shirts faced left, my pants faced right. My father’s voice was a constant echo in here: Discipline, Edwin. Order. A cluttered room is a cluttered mind. He’d say it while adjusting his tie in the mirror, the one he wore even on Saturdays. The Mayor. The future Senator, if his campaign ads were to be believed. He’d been a skinny, red-haired kid once, too. Got the shit kicked out of him, he loved to tell me. And look at me now, he’d say, puffing out his chest. I used it as fuel.
I just felt burned.
My pencil stopped. I stared at the drawing. It was good. The anatomy was correct, the shading gave it weight. But it was just lines on paper. It wasn’t the heat, the smell, the sheer, dumb power of a guy like Drew. I squeezed myself through the fabric, a little harder. A jolt, weak and thin, traveled up my spine. Pathetic. My own chest was a flat, pale plane, dotted with constellations of old acne scars. My hair was the color of rust and just as cooperative. I was built like a question mark permanently slouched over a library desk.
While you were volunteering at the goddamn food bank, Edwin, they were at parties. While you were proofreading your dad’s campaign speeches, they were getting felt up under stadium bleachers.
. Edwin momentarily stopped his doodling when he heard someone knocking on a door. He didn’t bother turning around because no one ever came to see him. He assumed his neighbor had a visitor. “Ed,” a powerfully deep voice called out. Edwin spun around in his seat. His eyes widened, his body tensed up. It was Drew. The doorway was filled by his bulk. He wore only shorts and sneakers. His body looked pumped. Thick veins entwined his powerful hands and forearms. His tanned skin was moist and the tips of his wavy brown hair damp. He carried an open duffle bag with a towel sticking out. He must have just come from practice or a workout at the gym. His body practically glowed with youth, beauty and power. Everyone on campus said he looked like BrodyJenner. But even Brody would be jealous of Drew’s body. Instead of the undefined bulk of most football players; Drew had the physique of a classic bodybuilder. He reminded Edwin of the greats; Paris, Labrada, Newman, Demey, and Sarcev. But it was Edwin’s current idol DenisSergovsky that flashed in his mind now. Drew had the same long legs, tiny waist and slightly oversized delts and pecs as the Russian. He was a comic book super hero come to life. “Ddddrew,” Edwin licked thin lips and swallowed hard. He got to his feet; side stepped around his desk and backed away until he hit the wall behind him. He kept his hand over the bump in his jeans. “Wwwhat do you want?” “Relax dude. I’m not here to hassle you.” Drew stepped into the room and closed the door. Edwin became more afraid and aroused. Drew’s gym shorts were baggy and ended mid-thigh. The loose elastic waistband hung low on his narrow hips revealing his deeply etched Apollo’s belt. His large endowment looked as if it was trying to escape from the lightweight fabric. As he walked his heavy package swung back and forth like a pendulum. It was obvious he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The song Walk the Dinosaur played in Edwin’s head. The other guys on campus sung the opening chant of the song whenever they spotted Drew going commando. His cock was like the head and neck of a brontosaurus. His ballsack was the creature’s huge round body. As Drew walked, it looked like he was pushing the lumbering reptile along for a reluctant stroll. Drew carefully placed his open duffle bag on Edwin’s bed before resting his hands on his sculpted hips. Edwin tried to keep eye contact with Drew, but his eyes kept darting down at his body. This is the closest he had ever been to the half-dressed captain of the football team. Edwin had watched him during practices and studied him as he roamed the campus. It was obvious Drew was proud of his body. Any time the temperature reached at least 65 he was in shorts. At 70, off came the shirt. Other men said his ego was out of control, but no one could deny he had every right to show off. Edwin now stood less than 3 feet away. Last time he was this close, the jock was yelling out him. That was the only other time Drew had said a single word to him in three years. Edwin was so afraid of the hulking athlete it was all he could do to stop himself from crying. He was never been so afraid or intimidated. He didn’t say a word. He stood there shuddering. He felt like a six year old being scolded by his furious father. “I came here to apologize for what happened in yesterday’s Student Committee meeting. As the committee’s president I understand you have a job to do. My fraternity brothers and I were out of line with the things we said. I just hope you won’t let it impact the disciplinary action the committee hands down. I hope you can forgive and forget.” A devastating smile overtook Drew’s face. Dimples formed in his cheeks. “You have to remember football players aren’t known for their even temperaments.” Edwin eyes lingered on Drew’s body. As he talked and gestured, the muscles of his body flexed and bulged. There was nothing small or scrawny about him. Every inch was a showcase for the word masculinity. His skin was an even golden brown. His chest looked like two flesh colored patio bricks. The thickness of the rectangular shaped slabs created a dark horizontal shadow underneath. His powerful torso was divided vertically by his muscle cleavage and deeply etched abdominals. The two lines intersected near Drew’s heart. His musculature created the perfect cross. Edwin belief in God was never more certain. Someone as beautiful as Drew couldn’t be accidental; it had to be divine intervention. Edwin fought the urge to fall to knees before the miraculous vision. Edwin mumbled something incoherent. Drew gave him a confused look, and indicated he wanted Edwin to repeat it with a questioning, “I’m sorry?” Edwin realized his guest had stopped talking. He raised his gaze to make eye contact. Drew didn’t seem to notice what a distraction his presence was. He didn’t comment on Edwin leering at his body or the smaller man’s long silences. Edwin didn’t know what to do or say. Being this close to the campus Adonis was overwhelming. He knew Drew was good looking, but now he could see just how handsome he was. The light from the room’s one window shone on Edwin’s chiseled face. It made his large brown eyes sparkle like they were made of smoky topaz. Edwin repeated Drew’s words like a parrot, “I’m sorry.” His 4 and ½ dick was at full mast. He grabbed a sweat jacket from the back of his chair and clutched it to his queasy stomach. Drew glanced down at Edwin’s jacket. Edwin clutched it tighter, “I’m cold.” Drew raised his hand to Edwin’s face. Edwin recoiled and pushed his head against the wall behind him. His look of terror was unmistakable. Drew smiled as he ran his calloused fingers over Edwin’s forehead, “But you’re sweating, dude.” He held up his wet fingers for Edwin to see before wiping his fingers dry on his bulging chest. Drew circled his nipple several times before putting his hand back on his hip. Edwin held his breath as he watched the hunk’s actions. Suddenly he gasped as his cock exploded in his briefs. He became flush. He panted for air. Drew had to know what happened, but his face showed no reaction. “Excuse me,” Edwin turned around and put on the fleece garment. He zipped it up and put his hands into the front pockets. The oversized jacket fell to the middle of his thin thighs covering his crotch. Edwin turned back to face Drew. The larger man held out his hand, “So we okay now? No hard feelings.” Edwin was definitely feeling hard. He licked his lips and swallowed uncontrollably. He stuttered, “It’s not up to me Ddddrew. The whole committee will decide wwwwhat action to ttttake.” Drew returned his hand to his hip. “I know, but you are the president. You have more influence than you think.” Drew moved even closer. Edwin realized just how massive Drew was. One of his pecs was the same width as Edwin’s entire chest. Edwin’s head was below Drew’s nose. “I know we caused a lot of damage and it was totally wrong. But we’ll take care of everything, I promise. I heard you can ban the fraternity from campus and close down the house. Don’t you think that’s too severe for a group of guys just having some fun?” Edwin didn’t answer. Drew put his left hand on the little man’s thin shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t you agree?” Edwin stopped breathing. He felt his knees buckle. Thank God, he was still leaning up against the wall for support. He looked at Drew’s hand. It felt heavy and spanned the entire width of his shoulder. He saw the muscles twitch in his thick forearm. He followed an extension cord like vein cross over the softball implanted under the thin skin of his upper arm. He imagined the strength that one limb possessed; easily twice that of the average man. Drew smiled at Edwin again. “Regardless of what happens, I’m still sorry for the things I said to you. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” Drew presented his right hand to Edwin once more. Edwin slipped his hand into Drew’s. He felt like a small child again. Drew pumped Edwin’s hand several times, causing Edwin’s whole body to shake, before letting go. “I’m glad we are friends again.” Drew patted Edwin’s shoulder, before he sat down on his bed. The big man leaned back and let his head rest against the wall behind him. “Thank God that’s over. It’s really been bothering me.” Without thinking Drew grabbed both of Edwin’s bed pillows and placed them behind his upper body to make his position more comfortable. He put one arm behind his head for additional support. His bicep bulged powerfully next to his ear. Edwin’s eyes went to the small patch of wispy, but damp hair at the bottom of Drew’s cave like arm pit. Drew didn’t take his eyes off Edwin as he ran his other hand over his rippling torso. He turned his head toward his raised arm and inhaled deeply. “Damn, I reek. I’m sorry dude. I forgot I was still pumped from my workout.” He lowered his arm and sat up. He twisted his torso and put a hand on the pillows. “Wow, I’ve accidentally marked your pillows. You won’t be able to sleep tonight surrounded by my BO.” Drew gave a little laugh along with another killer smile. “This is some way to make a good impression, huh? I hope you have a clean pillowcase.” Again Edwin was quiet. All he could think about was jerking off later with his face engulfed in that pillow. The musky scent of the jock would enhance the experience exponentially. He felt something wet at his crotch. He wondered if his crotch had a wet stain from his cum. He was so embarrassed. He quickly sat in his desk chair. “Ddddon’t worry about it.” “Are you okay? You still seem nervous.” Drew asked calmly. Edwin shook his head. Drew returned the pillow behind him and he leaned back. He placed his right hand behind his head as before. The pose elongated his already lanky 6’ 2” physique. It didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. His intercostals looked like corrugated steel. And all that was missing was the plastic ring carrier from his six pack abs. “Everything I own reeks nowadays. It seems all I do anymore is work out. When I’m not in the gym, I’m on the practice field. I can’t wait to win the NCAC championship, so things can get back to normal. I know I shouldn’t complain, I’ve put on over ten pounds of muscle since the season started. I’m in the best shape of my life, but I can use the rest. I mean there’s more to life than having a killer bod, right?” As he spoke Drew ran his other hand lightly over his carved muscles of his torso. Again Edwin found himself defying the socially accepted behavior while conversing. He stared at Drew’s body instead of his face. But it didn’t seem to bother his guest. Drew’s hand slipped to his crotch. He cupped his package and pulled up as he adjusted the position of his legs. Drew noticed Edwin watching him. “Sorry, the big boys are always getting in the way. I don’t want to crush them, they’re kind of important.” The damp material of his shorts covered his manhood, but hid nothing. Every nook and cranny was shown in great detail. Even the topography of his foreskin was visible. On the right leg of the shorts was printed the name of the school’s team, The Little Giants. Edwin thought how appropriate. That was the perfect description of Drew’s package. While it was his littlest body part, it was a giant compared to other men’s. Again Edwin realized Drew had stopped talking. He looked up at Drew’s emotionless face. Edwin cleared his throat, “Sssso you think you will win the championship?” Edwin finally asked.
I put the pencil down. The music in my left ear was a mournful trumpet sigh. With my right hand, I unbuttoned my jeans. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room. A rasp of metal, the shush of denim. I pushed my briefs down. There it was. Soft, pink, nestled in a coppery patch of hair that was too sparse to be manly. I wrapped my fingers around it. It didn’t even fill my hand. Like holding a baby bird, I thought, and the bitterness was a sharp tang at the back of my throat.
But I started stroking anyway. A dry, rough pull. My eyes went back to the drawing. I imagined them not as pencil lines, but as living flesh. Warm. Solid. I imagined my head resting there, on Drew Bullard’s chest, ear pressed to that firm, sweaty muscle, listening to the thunder of his heart. What would he smell like? Not like my room—lemon polish and old paper—but like grass, and cheap deodorant, and something saltier, something animal.
My rhythm got faster. The friction burned, but I leaned into it. My breath hitched. I spit into my palm, a quick, inelegant motion, and the wet sound made my face flush. The new slickness was cooler, smoother. Yeah. There. I let my head loll back, eyes closed. The fantasy shifted. It wasn’t me listening to his heart. It was his hand, big and calloused, wrapping around mine, guiding my fist up and down my own stupid, tiny dick. “That’s it, loser,” he’d grunt, his breath hot against my ear. “Stroke that little thing. Bet you think about this all day in your little nerd cage.”
A low groan leaked out of me. My hips bucked off the chair. The image was so clear, so humiliating, so hot it felt like my stomach was full of wires. My free hand clawed at my own flat chest, pinching a nipple, wishing it was broader, harder, something worth touching. The ache built, a tight, desperate coil at the base of my spine. It wasn’t love, or even attraction. It was want, pure and corrosive. Want for what he had. Want to be that, just for a second. To feel what it was like to move through the world in a body that demanded a second look instead of a sneer.
“Fuck… fuck…” I was chanting it under my breath, a ragged, broken rhythm matching my hand. The sunlight was too bright. It felt like an interrogator’s lamp. I was a specimen under glass: Edwin Pierce, 19, masturbating furiously to a drawing of a jock’s torso while his father’s expectations hung on the wall like a noose.
The climax, when it came, was a shuddery, underwhelming thing. A few weak pulses onto my own clammy stomach, more relief than ecstasy. I slumped forward, forehead hitting the cool wood of the desk, the pencil rolling away with a faint clatter. Davis’s trumpet sobbed on. The silence rushed back in, thicker now, smelling of sex and shame and lemon polish.
I stayed there for a long minute, the wet spot on my skin going cold and sticky. Another Saturday. I’d clean myself up. I’d go to the library. I’d be the good son, the responsible citizen, the invisible man. And later, in the dark, I’d probably do this all over again.
I lifted my head. My reflection was blurred in the dark screen of my laptop. A pale ghost with messy red hair. I looked at the drawing of Drew’s perfect chest. Then I looked down at my own, at the pathetic, drying mess on it.
Someday, I thought, the idea forming like a bruise, dark and tender. Someday it won’t be just a drawing. The thought wasn't hopeful. It was a promise, and it tasted like metal and sin. I reached for a tissue from the perfectly square box on my desk, the movement precise, practiced. The first step in putting everything back in its proper place.
“That’s what everybody says. We have our best chance in years. The team is playing great. You know almost the entire team is in the Sigma house. That’s another reason we deserve some special consideration by the disciplinary committee. We generate a lot of money for the school.” Drew spoke casually as if talking to a friend. He continued to slowly explore his muscles with his long fingers. Edwin shook his head, not knowing what else to say. Drew moved his other hand behind his head. “Mmmm, your bed is very comfortable.” He stretched out his body. His lats fanned out. His stomach receded. Every muscle erupted, pushing through his smooth skin. After a deep sigh he asked, “Are you into football, Ed?” Edwin was rocking back and forth in the chair, trying not to cum in his pants again. “No, not really.” “You look like you keep yourself in good shape. What sports do you follow?” Edwin was caught off guard by the question. No one had ever mistaken him for an athlete before. “Me? Sports? I don’t have an athletic bone in my body.” “I don’t believe that. You just haven’t found the right one. You have the physique of a long distance runner. I bet you have great stamina? You go all night with the ladies, heh? Am I right dude?” Drew asked with a smirk and a nod. He held up a fist in front of Edwin. Edwin gave him a questionable look. Drew eyes darted to his fist as he continued to smile and nod. Edwin finally realized what he wanted and knocked his fist into the bigger man’s. “That’s what I’m taking about, bro.” Edwin felt almost giddy. Drew Bullard called him bro. He started to relax slightly. “Sorry, I don’t know much about sports.” Drew sat up, “All because I’m a dumb jock doesn’t mean we have to talk about sports. What do you want to talk about, Ed?” Edwin shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing interesting about his life. “What were you working on when I interrupted you?” “Uhmm, It was nothing,” Edwin quickly closed the sketch book. “It was….a sketch for an art project; my homage to Mondrian. The final piece will be in acrylics. But before I start painting I want to have everything laid out. I’m not good at winging things.” Edwin started to babble. He was saying too much to cover up his lie. That was what he should have been working on instead of doing doodles of Drew. “Is it for Cramer’s 20th Century Art?” Drew asked. Edwin nodded yes. “I took that in my sophomore year. She’s easy if you show her a little attention. Like all middle aged women, she’ll turn into a helpless kitten with a little playful flirting.” “Yeah, I don’t think that would work for me.” “Sure it will.” Drew could see he was losing Edwin. Even he didn’t believe what he was saying. “But you don’t need to play those games. You probably have real artistic talent. I can’t manage stick figures. Can I see what you’ve done?” Edwin nerves went on edge again. He hesitated. “Please.” Drew said with a pleading look. Edwin turned to the page of his half done project and handed over his sketch book. Drew looked at it then asked. “Why are you using only blues and grays? Didn’t he use primary colors?” Edwin was shocked. That was very astute. He never realized how smart and charming Drew was. He never got past the exquisite cover of that book. Edwin became more confident because unlike sports, he knew a thing or two about art. , “Usually, he did this one piece that was all gray with one block of blue. I really liked it.” Drew turned the pages to some of Edwin’s other sketches. “You are good. What’s this?” Drew turned the book for Edwin to see. Edwin stood up slightly and reached for the book. “Uh, that’s my attempt at a Calder. There’s really nothing else in there worth looking at. Why don’t you just give it back to me? I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.” Drew ignored him and turned to another page. “RobertDelaunay?” Again Drew held up the tablet for Edwin. “Yes, that was my first assignment. It’s not very good. There’s really nothing else to see.” “I like it. It reminds me of his rhythm piece.” Edwin sat back down in amazement. “That was what inspired me,” Edwin said proudly. He was actually having a real conversation with Drew Bullard. Edwin pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “I’m messing up your pages. Why don’t you sit next to me so we can look at the book together?” Drew said without taking his eyes off the sketch book. After one false start, Edwin moved to the bed and sat down next to Drew. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets to hide his damp crotch. Drew leaned back on the pillows again. He pulled one of the pillows from behind him and placed it behind Edwin. “There you go. Sit back and relax.” Edwin didn’t move. Drew put his hand on Edwin’s back and rubbed it gently, “Relax dude.” Edwin slowly eased into the position. Drew kept his attention on the sketch pad and continued to turn the pages. Edwin watched the muscles in Drew’s forearm pulse with the each small movement. He was only inches from the perfect athlete now. He turned his head slightly toward Drew. He inhaled deeply without making it too obvious. As he predicted, Drew’s body odor was anything but offensive. He smelled like a strong man should. “Your Matisse is very good.” Edwin really was listening anymore. He was lost in Drew. “Thanks,” he mumbled. His cock was hard again. Drew flipped the page and revealed a page of random doodles. There were superheroes with overstuff tights. There were muscular men posing with raging hard-ons. Some were of Drew. Others were just of gigantic dicks. Edwin saw the page in his peripheral vision. He snapped his head away from Drew and locked on the sketch pad. He wanted to scream. What if Drew recognized himself in the drawings? He tried to think of something to day. Drew didn’t react. He slowly turned to the next page. When he reached the last page; he calmly stated, “You’re a good artist”. He set the sketch book down next to him away from Edwin.
This is nice, just chllin’. I knew we would have things in common.” Drew took a deep breath. “It’s crazy how people fall into certain stereotypes. I mean, do my frat brothers act the way we do because we want to or because it’s expected of us. Just because we’re bigger than most guys, people expect us to be arrogant jocks. And because you are on the slender side you get labeled a nerd. We aren’t that different from one another. We’re both men, the same age, and go to the same school.” Drew put his hand around Edwin’s upper arm, “We’re both made of flesh and blood.” Drew released Edwin’s arm and grabbed his small hand. Drew put Edwin’s hand on his arm. He flexed making his bicep swell under Edwin’s fingers. Edwin moaned softly as his hard cock throbbed. It actually hurt now. “See, I’m flesh and blood. Just like you.” Drew took his eyes off of Edwin and looked straight ahead. He didn’t release his hold on Edwin’s smaller hand. He dragged Edwin’s hand onto his chest. Edwin couldn’t believe how hard Drew’s chest was; the muscles looked plump as seat cushions. “There is no reason we can’t get along.” Edwin’s hand continued to be gently guided down Drew’s etched body. One by one Edwin got to feel the athlete’s abdominals. “I think we can be good friends, don’t you?” Drew turned to look at Edwin, but he continued the tour. Edwin nodded his head. His eyes darted back to their entwined hands when they reached the waistband of Drew’s shorts. Large beads of sweat now formed on the smaller man’s upper lip and forehead. Their hands finally stopped when they reached the mound of flesh at Drew’s crotch. Drew pushed down lightly forcing Edwin’s hand into his package. Edwin couldn’t stop himself from cuming once more. He blurted out, “Oh my God”. Drew quickly lifted his hand away. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing. I’ve been so horned up with all the work outs and everything. I’m really sorry dude.” Drew covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.” Edwin slowly pulled his hand back. “It’s okay. No harm done.” With Drew not looking, Edwin made sure his jacket covered the growing wet spot on his jeans. Drew let out a long, deep breath. “Thanks for understanding. You are a great guy. I feel so comfortable with you, like you are a member of my team. I forgot where I was for a moment.” Drew removed his hands from his face and looked around. “Hey look Drew, this isn’t a locker room.” He joked. “Not a locker room? What does that mean?” Edwin asked. “You know the things that happen in a locker room. How teammates help each other out.” Drew spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, but saw confusion in Edwin’s face. “Haven’t you ever been in a locker room with a sports team before?” Edwin shook his head no. Drew scanned Edwin’s body once more and put his hand on his stomach. “I still find that hard to believe. You are so ripped.” Drew took his hand off Edwin and cupped his crotch again. “Well you know as men we need physical release often. It helps to deal with all the stress and tension. Plus it encourages testosterone production, which makes you a bigger, stronger athlete. So after a game or practice the team gives each other a helping hand.” Drew mimed a jerking off motion. “It’s no big deal, it’s just guys around.” Edwin was aghast. “You’re kidding me right? What do the coaches say?” Drew continued to massage his cock as he spoke. “Oh, they’re all for it. Sometimes they join in. It bonds the team together. We become more comfortable with each other; it builds camaraderie and improves communication. It enables us to perform better on the field. Every team does it, even the pros.” Edwin watched Drew speak with total sincerity. It did make sense to Edwin. He heard all those stories about professional athletes sleeping with hundreds of different women. Their sex drives had to be off the charts to rack up numbers like that. Athletes are the most attractive men on the planet. They walked around nude in the locker rooms and showers. Things must happen. The temptation had to be unbearable. Drew sighed, “But you are not on my team, so I have no right to ask you to help me out like that. Again I’m sorry, bro.” Drew’s massage was making his snake slither further down this thigh. “It’s just I’m so horny right now, I really need to release my pent up load or the boys feel like they’re going to burst.” Drew’s face showed his discomfort. Edwin glanced down. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Drew’s cock had almost doubled its size. Edwin felt a longing he had never felt before. He licked his dry lips, “I ggguess I could help…” Drew’s face lit up. “That would be awesome, dude. I’ll help you too.” “No, that’s okay you don’t have to, uh…oh..uh.” Drew worked his hand up Edwin’s thigh, pushing away his jacket until he was able to grope Edwin’s crotch. Drew felt the wet spot and withdrew his hand quickly. “Wow, you were horned up too. You sure you’re not an athlete.” Drew sat up and reached for a box of tissues from Edwin’s desk. “Here you go.” Edwin pulled two tissues out of the box. “Thanks.” He stuffed the tissues down his pants to absorb his load. “Did you want to change?” Drew asked. “No, I’m fine.” The last thing he wanted was Drew to see him naked. “Dude, you’re fast. I’m a little jealous. Your reaction time is incredible.” “I ggguess, It’s your turn now.” Edwin tentatively returned his hand to Drew’s crotch. It was like a layer cake. The thick log was atop the spread out scrotum which was supported by the muscles of his thighs. Edwin cupped the outline of Drew’s thick hose. He squeezed it. Edwin could feel the power in the huge organ. He looked up at Drew’s face. He had his eyes closed and his teeth clenched. He bucked his hips up and down, making his abs ebb and flow. “Squeeze harder,” Drew whispered. Edwin tried but his small hand couldn’t grip the mound of man flesh through the slippery shorts. “Try rubbing it.” Edwin again did as he was ordered to do. He began to run his fingers up and down the growing outline of Drew’s cock. “Faster and harder.” The friction was burning his fingers. He changed hands and quickened the pace. Drew’s cock was still growing; it had to be over seven inches long and was only semi-hard. “Sorry dude, but this isn’t working for me. You’re going to have to make direct contact.” “Oh, okay,” Edwin said nervously. He took his hand off of Drew’s crotch and moved it to his stomach. The hardness of the rocky surface still surprised him. How could anyone’s body be this hard? Edwin’s fingertips moved under the elastic waist band of Drew’s loose shorts. He looked at Drew’s face. His eyes were still closed. Soon Edwin’s fingers were in a steamy forest of silky pubic hairs. He followed the length of Drew’s pleasure pipe. The tubular limb’s growth hastened as Edwin’s shaking hand wrapped around it. Its girth increased rapidly as it began to rise higher and higher. Again Edwin was shocked that anyone could feel like this. How could any single man have so much meat between his legs? How could he walk around with such a heavy appendage? It had to be tiring. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable. No wonder he wore baggy shorts all the time, regular sized clothing must feel like a torture device. Going commando freed his big boys from being stuffed into underwear designed for mere mortals. Edwin continued to stroke the thickening shaft. Soon even his exaggerated shorts were filled to capacity. The thick knob was straining the fabric. The ten inch pole was too big for the tent. “Shit,” Drew moaned, “it’s too tight. Pull down the shorts.” Edwin tried to pull the steel hard rod toward Drew’s stomach with one hand while stretching the waistband open with the other. He was gentle. He didn’t want to damage the rare piece of human art. Drew became impatient. He put one of his hands on his fuck pole. There was enough room for both men’s hands, but Edwin withdrew his in fear. Drew lifted his hips off the bed by tightening every muscle in his body. He pulled down his shorts with a quick yank. He lowered his hips with a big sigh. “There, that’s better.
For the first time, Edwin could see what he had only felt before. He was awestruck. It was one phenomenal phallus; perfectly straight and thick as Edwin’s wrist. Blue veins encased its entire length. A large purple mushroom capped the still growing stem. Drew’s saucer sized nut sack pooled at his lap; the two jumbo sized eggs clearly visible through the golden brown fur covering them. Drew smirked at the stunned expression on Edwin’s face. “Incredible isn’t it. The guys on the team nicknamed it the Drewosaurus.” Drew titled his head back “Come on, bro. I’m almost there.” Drew tweaked his right nipple which stood at attention on his muscle tit. Edwin came out of his stupor and put his hand back onto the hot rod. His fingers barely encircled its hefty girth. He squeezed with all the strength his small hand could muster. His feeble attempt at dominance went unnoticed by the athlete. “Hurry, squeeze it dude.” Edwin began to slide his hand up and down the king sized piece of man meat. “Yeah, that’s it.” Precum started to ooze from the tip. The milky lava met Edwin’s hand. The slick substance made the novice’s strokes smoother. “Faster, dude. Faster and harder.” Drew gave instructions between moans and deep breaths. Edwin repositioned his body to get a better angle. He knelt on the bed leaning over Drew. He used both hands now. He looked like a boy scout attempting to start a campfire for the first time. He was working up more of a sweat by giving the hand job than Drew was receiving it. Drew opened his eyes and saw Edwin’s face was directly over his cock. “Sorry about this bro. I guess my reflexes are a lot slower than yours. Maybe if you suck on it?” Drew spoke in a slow, husky voice. Edwin stopped and looked at the throbbing flesh in front of him. He turned to Drew with trepidation. “Its okay, a lot of guys do it. Rich gives great head. It will help me cum.” Edwin looked at the pulsating blue pipe. “Rich Brantwood, the lineman?” Just saying the words made Edwin hard again. Rich was the second best looking man on campus. He was actually larger than Drew, but didn’t have his beauty. Rich was more rugged, like a lumberjack. The image of Rich blowing Drew filled his mind; two muscular studs’ writhing in unison to bring each other to the pinnacles of euphoria. Edwin’s loins were on fire. “Yeah, he’s the only one with a mouth big enough to take it.” Drew said smugly. That sounded like a challenge to Edwin. Lust overcame his reluctance. This was the chance to make his fantasy a reality. He tightened his grip on Drew’s meat and opened his mouth wide. Edwin stopped a few centimeters away from the salty jawbreaker. A sly smile overcame Drew’s face. “I really appreciate this. You’re a real friend.” Edwin lowered his head. His thin lips slid over the purple helmet. His tongue lapped over the thick slit at the tip. Lower and lower he descended until his mouth was filled with the muscle man’s rigid column. He couldn’t believe how much there was left. He fought his gag reflex, he wanted to take more of Drew. He put on hand on Drew’s thigh to steady himself. Edwin could feel the pressure building up in the back of his throat. Drew moaned his approval of Edwin’s maneuvers. Edwin’s nose was filled with Drew’s manly odor. Unlike Drew, Edwin kept his eyes wide open for before him was the Holy Grail of cocks. He could see Drew’s boys began to contract. The corded muscles of his thighs, obloquies, and abs radiated from the very core of his masculinity. Edwin’s mind was reeling. All his senses were working overtime to record every new sensation; the taste of Drew, the smell of Drew, the feel of Drew, the sight of Drew, and the sound of Drew. It all surpassed his most erotic dreams. Edwin never felt so free, so alive. Edwin moved one hand to his own crotch and squeezed the one-third scaled version of masculinity. His overworked meat hurt, but Edwin liked the pain. Edwin was so involved in his mission to get Drew off; he didn’t notice the larger man’s hand reaching into his duffel bag. He pulled out a camera and turned on the palm sized device with his thumb. He held the camera at arm’s length. He pointed it at the top of Edwin’s head as he bobbed up and down his pole like a horse on a carousel. Drew bit his bottom lip and controlled his breathing. He wanted to hold off as long as possible to make a good video, but his body was on the verge of exploding. He didn’t think the nerd would be such a good cock sucker. When he knew he was about to lose control he moaned, “Okay man, I’m going to blow.” Edwin took his mouth off the joy stick and looked up. He turned to face Drew, who had a mischievous smirk on his face. Edwin saw the camera, he froze. Drew growled; a stream of cream erupted up from his monster dick, splattering all over Edwin’s face. Edwin didn’t move as the warm gel covered his face. Drew began to laugh as he caught his breath, “That was golden.” Drew brought the camera to his stomach and played with the buttons. “What are you doing?” Edwin wiped Drew’s product from his face. Drew ignored the lesser man. “Oh, wow. I got it and the perfect angle too. This is better than I hoped.” Edwin reached for the camera. Drew put his hand on Edwin’s chest and pushed him. The lightweight flew off the bed on to the floor. Drew calmly put the camera back into his bag. He stood and pulled up his shorts. Edwin looked up at the hulking giant. He looked even more menacing from the drastic perspective. “What’s going on? Why did you record it?” Edwin ran his hands through his unruly hair matted down with sweat. It was beginning to make sense. “You lied to me about your team mates and the locker room.” Drew squeezed his package. “Only a real faggot would believe a story like that. I know it’s what you perverts fantasize about while you jerk off at night. Like those disgusting drawings of yours.” Drew picked up the sketch pad and threw it across the room. “Those drawings were of me, weren’t they? I see how you look at me. It makes me sick the way you queers pop boners whenever I’m around.” Drew spat on the cowering man at his feet. “My cock was made to fill pussy not assholes.” “You planned this? But why?” “Why do you think faggot; blackmail. I knew it wouldn’t be difficult to get you to blow me. But I didn’t realize just how gullible you are. It was like dangling a giant bratwurst in front of a starving poodle.” Drew grabbed his huge package again. “The Drewosaurus is irresistible to all privileged enough to lay eyes on it.” He flexed his glutes and thighs to get a better grip on the monster. Even he couldn’t resist touching it. He continued to massage his pride and joy as he spoke. “You are going to drop all charges against my fraternity or this video is going on YouTube. This is the stuff that ruins political careers. Everyone will find your disgusting fag behavior as repulsive as I do.” Edwin would be the laughing stock of the school; his public service career over before it began. He had to bluff. “Go ahead and post it. They’ll see you too.” “No, you can’t see my face. It’s all you queer boy.” Drew picked up the duffle bag from the bed. He ran his hand over his muscular torso. “True no other man has a body as perfect as mine, but with a little editing we can hide that. That final money shot is what everyone will remember. The cock sucker smeared with cum.” Drew stepped over Edwin. Edwin grabbed onto Drew’s thick calf. “Please I can’t control the committee’s decision. All the evidence was shown during the hearing. It’s too late.”
Drew looked down at Edwin with hatred in his eyes. He pulled back his fist, “Get your faggot hands off of me.” Edwin released his grip and recoiled sheepishly. Drew took a deep breath to control his rage. “You’ll do it or the video is released to the world.” Drew could see the fear in his victim’s eyes. “I think we understand each other.” Edwin got to his knees. He knew he was caught in a trap. “Listen, I’ll do the best I can; but some action will have to be taken. You admitted to damaging school property. It’s in the official record. It will look suspicious.” Edwin staggered to his feet. He wrapped his arms around his waist. He was hunched over. His submissive body language showed his subordinate role. “Release it and my political career will be over, true. But I’m used to being an outcast. In time it will be forgotten. But if I’m not on the committee, I won’t be able to help you in the future. I promise to look the other way at anything else your frat house does.” Drew playfully rubbed his chin as if to think. “No shit Sherlock. You and your committee of losers won’t bother us ever again. But I still want this case to disappear. Do exactly as I say or else.” Drew moved closer to Edwin. Edwin backed away and Drew continued his advancement. Edwin’s heels hit the edge of the open wardrobe. He backed into it until he was pressed up against the interior back wall. Edwin was literally in the closet. Drew was only a few inches away. Their size difference which Edwin had always found arousing now only instilled terror. “It wasn’t your political career I was thinking about. Isn’t your father up for reelection? Do you think all those bible thumping, blue haired grannies back home are going to vote for some one who has a cock sucker for a son?” A chill went through Edwin. He forgot about his father. He clutched Drew’s sinewy forearm. “I beg of you. Please, I’ll do anything else. Anything, please don’t do this.” Tears filled Edwin’s eyes. Drew looked down at the defeated little man. Pulled his arm away and slammed his fist into Edwin’s soft stomach. Edwin dropped like a sack of potatoes. His neatly hung clothes rained down on him. He moaned in the fetal position at Drew’s feet. It felt like his ribs had been shattered. Drew screamed, “I told you not to touch me, don’t ever touch me again, faggot.” Drew took a step back from the writhing curled up ball that was Edwin. “You are fucking pathetic. I hardly touched you.” Drew ripped opened the door. Several of Edwin’s neighbors had gathered in front of his door when they heard arguing. “Get the fuck out of my way.” Drew ordered as he moved passed the group. Sam, who had the room next to Edwin’s, ran to his side. “Are you alright?” he asked with genuine concern. “Yes, I’m fine.” Edwin forced out. His face was wet with tears. “Please just leave me alone. All of you, go away.” Sam stood up and slowly backed out the door. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” He closed the door half way before adding, “I’ll make sure nobody pennies you in.” He shut the door to give Edwin privacy. The crowd dispersed, whispering their theories of what happened. Some laughed at what they saw. Edwin didn’t move for more than an hour.
The left earbud was in, the right one dangling down my chest like a dead vine. Miles Davis was doing that thing he does, all smoky and blue, but it just made the silence in the room heavier. My hand was moving on autopilot, a cheap number-two pencil digging into the sketchpad. It was always bodies. Never faces. Faces were too… revealing. This one was pecs again. Broad, thick, carved from marble, with that deep, shadowed cleft between them you could lose a finger in. Drew Bullard’s pecs. From memory. From staring across the quad while he played frisbee, shirt off, sweat making his chest gleam under the September sun.
My other hand was down my jeans. Just idly rubbing, a slow, absent-minded grind against the worn denim. God, it’s so fucking small. A pathetic little nub of flesh, half-hard just from thinking about the curve of a fictional nipple. I let my head thunk back against the chair. My room in Martindale Hall was a perfect eight-foot cube of misery. Sunlight cut a sharp, dusty rectangle across the floorboards, highlighting how spotless they were. Not a sock out of place. My three posters—a vintage map of Middle-earth, a diagram of the human musculature, a black-and-white photo of Kafka—were leveled with a ruler. In the wardrobe, my shirts faced left, my pants faced right. My father’s voice was a constant echo in here: Discipline, Edwin. Order. A cluttered room is a cluttered mind. He’d say it while adjusting his tie in the mirror, the one he wore even on Saturdays. The Mayor. The future Senator, if his campaign ads were to be believed. He’d been a skinny, red-haired kid once, too. Got the shit kicked out of him, he loved to tell me. And look at me now, he’d say, puffing out his chest. I used it as fuel.
I just felt burned.
My pencil stopped. I stared at the drawing. It was good. The anatomy was correct, the shading gave it weight. But it was just lines on paper. It wasn’t the heat, the smell, the sheer, dumb power of a guy like Drew. I squeezed myself through the fabric, a little harder. A jolt, weak and thin, traveled up my spine. Pathetic. My own chest was a flat, pale plane, dotted with constellations of old acne scars. My hair was the color of rust and just as cooperative. I was built like a question mark permanently slouched over a library desk.
While you were volunteering at the goddamn food bank, Edwin, they were at parties. While you were proofreading your dad’s campaign speeches, they were getting felt up under stadium bleachers.
. Edwin momentarily stopped his doodling when he heard someone knocking on a door. He didn’t bother turning around because no one ever came to see him. He assumed his neighbor had a visitor. “Ed,” a powerfully deep voice called out. Edwin spun around in his seat. His eyes widened, his body tensed up. It was Drew. The doorway was filled by his bulk. He wore only shorts and sneakers. His body looked pumped. Thick veins entwined his powerful hands and forearms. His tanned skin was moist and the tips of his wavy brown hair damp. He carried an open duffle bag with a towel sticking out. He must have just come from practice or a workout at the gym. His body practically glowed with youth, beauty and power. Everyone on campus said he looked like BrodyJenner. But even Brody would be jealous of Drew’s body. Instead of the undefined bulk of most football players; Drew had the physique of a classic bodybuilder. He reminded Edwin of the greats; Paris, Labrada, Newman, Demey, and Sarcev. But it was Edwin’s current idol DenisSergovsky that flashed in his mind now. Drew had the same long legs, tiny waist and slightly oversized delts and pecs as the Russian. He was a comic book super hero come to life. “Ddddrew,” Edwin licked thin lips and swallowed hard. He got to his feet; side stepped around his desk and backed away until he hit the wall behind him. He kept his hand over the bump in his jeans. “Wwwhat do you want?” “Relax dude. I’m not here to hassle you.” Drew stepped into the room and closed the door. Edwin became more afraid and aroused. Drew’s gym shorts were baggy and ended mid-thigh. The loose elastic waistband hung low on his narrow hips revealing his deeply etched Apollo’s belt. His large endowment looked as if it was trying to escape from the lightweight fabric. As he walked his heavy package swung back and forth like a pendulum. It was obvious he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The song Walk the Dinosaur played in Edwin’s head. The other guys on campus sung the opening chant of the song whenever they spotted Drew going commando. His cock was like the head and neck of a brontosaurus. His ballsack was the creature’s huge round body. As Drew walked, it looked like he was pushing the lumbering reptile along for a reluctant stroll. Drew carefully placed his open duffle bag on Edwin’s bed before resting his hands on his sculpted hips. Edwin tried to keep eye contact with Drew, but his eyes kept darting down at his body. This is the closest he had ever been to the half-dressed captain of the football team. Edwin had watched him during practices and studied him as he roamed the campus. It was obvious Drew was proud of his body. Any time the temperature reached at least 65 he was in shorts. At 70, off came the shirt. Other men said his ego was out of control, but no one could deny he had every right to show off. Edwin now stood less than 3 feet away. Last time he was this close, the jock was yelling out him. That was the only other time Drew had said a single word to him in three years. Edwin was so afraid of the hulking athlete it was all he could do to stop himself from crying. He was never been so afraid or intimidated. He didn’t say a word. He stood there shuddering. He felt like a six year old being scolded by his furious father. “I came here to apologize for what happened in yesterday’s Student Committee meeting. As the committee’s president I understand you have a job to do. My fraternity brothers and I were out of line with the things we said. I just hope you won’t let it impact the disciplinary action the committee hands down. I hope you can forgive and forget.” A devastating smile overtook Drew’s face. Dimples formed in his cheeks. “You have to remember football players aren’t known for their even temperaments.” Edwin eyes lingered on Drew’s body. As he talked and gestured, the muscles of his body flexed and bulged. There was nothing small or scrawny about him. Every inch was a showcase for the word masculinity. His skin was an even golden brown. His chest looked like two flesh colored patio bricks. The thickness of the rectangular shaped slabs created a dark horizontal shadow underneath. His powerful torso was divided vertically by his muscle cleavage and deeply etched abdominals. The two lines intersected near Drew’s heart. His musculature created the perfect cross. Edwin belief in God was never more certain. Someone as beautiful as Drew couldn’t be accidental; it had to be divine intervention. Edwin fought the urge to fall to knees before the miraculous vision. Edwin mumbled something incoherent. Drew gave him a confused look, and indicated he wanted Edwin to repeat it with a questioning, “I’m sorry?” Edwin realized his guest had stopped talking. He raised his gaze to make eye contact. Drew didn’t seem to notice what a distraction his presence was. He didn’t comment on Edwin leering at his body or the smaller man’s long silences. Edwin didn’t know what to do or say. Being this close to the campus Adonis was overwhelming. He knew Drew was good looking, but now he could see just how handsome he was. The light from the room’s one window shone on Edwin’s chiseled face. It made his large brown eyes sparkle like they were made of smoky topaz. Edwin repeated Drew’s words like a parrot, “I’m sorry.” His 4 and ½ dick was at full mast. He grabbed a sweat jacket from the back of his chair and clutched it to his queasy stomach. Drew glanced down at Edwin’s jacket. Edwin clutched it tighter, “I’m cold.” Drew raised his hand to Edwin’s face. Edwin recoiled and pushed his head against the wall behind him. His look of terror was unmistakable. Drew smiled as he ran his calloused fingers over Edwin’s forehead, “But you’re sweating, dude.” He held up his wet fingers for Edwin to see before wiping his fingers dry on his bulging chest. Drew circled his nipple several times before putting his hand back on his hip. Edwin held his breath as he watched the hunk’s actions. Suddenly he gasped as his cock exploded in his briefs. He became flush. He panted for air. Drew had to know what happened, but his face showed no reaction. “Excuse me,” Edwin turned around and put on the fleece garment. He zipped it up and put his hands into the front pockets. The oversized jacket fell to the middle of his thin thighs covering his crotch. Edwin turned back to face Drew. The larger man held out his hand, “So we okay now? No hard feelings.” Edwin was definitely feeling hard. He licked his lips and swallowed uncontrollably. He stuttered, “It’s not up to me Ddddrew. The whole committee will decide wwwwhat action to ttttake.” Drew returned his hand to his hip. “I know, but you are the president. You have more influence than you think.” Drew moved even closer. Edwin realized just how massive Drew was. One of his pecs was the same width as Edwin’s entire chest. Edwin’s head was below Drew’s nose. “I know we caused a lot of damage and it was totally wrong. But we’ll take care of everything, I promise. I heard you can ban the fraternity from campus and close down the house. Don’t you think that’s too severe for a group of guys just having some fun?” Edwin didn’t answer. Drew put his left hand on the little man’s thin shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t you agree?” Edwin stopped breathing. He felt his knees buckle. Thank God, he was still leaning up against the wall for support. He looked at Drew’s hand. It felt heavy and spanned the entire width of his shoulder. He saw the muscles twitch in his thick forearm. He followed an extension cord like vein cross over the softball implanted under the thin skin of his upper arm. He imagined the strength that one limb possessed; easily twice that of the average man. Drew smiled at Edwin again. “Regardless of what happens, I’m still sorry for the things I said to you. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” Drew presented his right hand to Edwin once more. Edwin slipped his hand into Drew’s. He felt like a small child again. Drew pumped Edwin’s hand several times, causing Edwin’s whole body to shake, before letting go. “I’m glad we are friends again.” Drew patted Edwin’s shoulder, before he sat down on his bed. The big man leaned back and let his head rest against the wall behind him. “Thank God that’s over. It’s really been bothering me.” Without thinking Drew grabbed both of Edwin’s bed pillows and placed them behind his upper body to make his position more comfortable. He put one arm behind his head for additional support. His bicep bulged powerfully next to his ear. Edwin’s eyes went to the small patch of wispy, but damp hair at the bottom of Drew’s cave like arm pit. Drew didn’t take his eyes off Edwin as he ran his other hand over his rippling torso. He turned his head toward his raised arm and inhaled deeply. “Damn, I reek. I’m sorry dude. I forgot I was still pumped from my workout.” He lowered his arm and sat up. He twisted his torso and put a hand on the pillows. “Wow, I’ve accidentally marked your pillows. You won’t be able to sleep tonight surrounded by my BO.” Drew gave a little laugh along with another killer smile. “This is some way to make a good impression, huh? I hope you have a clean pillowcase.” Again Edwin was quiet. All he could think about was jerking off later with his face engulfed in that pillow. The musky scent of the jock would enhance the experience exponentially. He felt something wet at his crotch. He wondered if his crotch had a wet stain from his cum. He was so embarrassed. He quickly sat in his desk chair. “Ddddon’t worry about it.” “Are you okay? You still seem nervous.” Drew asked calmly. Edwin shook his head. Drew returned the pillow behind him and he leaned back. He placed his right hand behind his head as before. The pose elongated his already lanky 6’ 2” physique. It didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. His intercostals looked like corrugated steel. And all that was missing was the plastic ring carrier from his six pack abs. “Everything I own reeks nowadays. It seems all I do anymore is work out. When I’m not in the gym, I’m on the practice field. I can’t wait to win the NCAC championship, so things can get back to normal. I know I shouldn’t complain, I’ve put on over ten pounds of muscle since the season started. I’m in the best shape of my life, but I can use the rest. I mean there’s more to life than having a killer bod, right?” As he spoke Drew ran his other hand lightly over his carved muscles of his torso. Again Edwin found himself defying the socially accepted behavior while conversing. He stared at Drew’s body instead of his face. But it didn’t seem to bother his guest. Drew’s hand slipped to his crotch. He cupped his package and pulled up as he adjusted the position of his legs. Drew noticed Edwin watching him. “Sorry, the big boys are always getting in the way. I don’t want to crush them, they’re kind of important.” The damp material of his shorts covered his manhood, but hid nothing. Every nook and cranny was shown in great detail. Even the topography of his foreskin was visible. On the right leg of the shorts was printed the name of the school’s team, The Little Giants. Edwin thought how appropriate. That was the perfect description of Drew’s package. While it was his littlest body part, it was a giant compared to other men’s. Again Edwin realized Drew had stopped talking. He looked up at Drew’s emotionless face. Edwin cleared his throat, “Sssso you think you will win the championship?” Edwin finally asked.
I put the pencil down. The music in my left ear was a mournful trumpet sigh. With my right hand, I unbuttoned my jeans. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room. A rasp of metal, the shush of denim. I pushed my briefs down. There it was. Soft, pink, nestled in a coppery patch of hair that was too sparse to be manly. I wrapped my fingers around it. It didn’t even fill my hand. Like holding a baby bird, I thought, and the bitterness was a sharp tang at the back of my throat.
But I started stroking anyway. A dry, rough pull. My eyes went back to the drawing. I imagined them not as pencil lines, but as living flesh. Warm. Solid. I imagined my head resting there, on Drew Bullard’s chest, ear pressed to that firm, sweaty muscle, listening to the thunder of his heart. What would he smell like? Not like my room—lemon polish and old paper—but like grass, and cheap deodorant, and something saltier, something animal.
My rhythm got faster. The friction burned, but I leaned into it. My breath hitched. I spit into my palm, a quick, inelegant motion, and the wet sound made my face flush. The new slickness was cooler, smoother. Yeah. There. I let my head loll back, eyes closed. The fantasy shifted. It wasn’t me listening to his heart. It was his hand, big and calloused, wrapping around mine, guiding my fist up and down my own stupid, tiny dick. “That’s it, loser,” he’d grunt, his breath hot against my ear. “Stroke that little thing. Bet you think about this all day in your little nerd cage.”
A low groan leaked out of me. My hips bucked off the chair. The image was so clear, so humiliating, so hot it felt like my stomach was full of wires. My free hand clawed at my own flat chest, pinching a nipple, wishing it was broader, harder, something worth touching. The ache built, a tight, desperate coil at the base of my spine. It wasn’t love, or even attraction. It was want, pure and corrosive. Want for what he had. Want to be that, just for a second. To feel what it was like to move through the world in a body that demanded a second look instead of a sneer.
“Fuck… fuck…” I was chanting it under my breath, a ragged, broken rhythm matching my hand. The sunlight was too bright. It felt like an interrogator’s lamp. I was a specimen under glass: Edwin Pierce, 19, masturbating furiously to a drawing of a jock’s torso while his father’s expectations hung on the wall like a noose.
The climax, when it came, was a shuddery, underwhelming thing. A few weak pulses onto my own clammy stomach, more relief than ecstasy. I slumped forward, forehead hitting the cool wood of the desk, the pencil rolling away with a faint clatter. Davis’s trumpet sobbed on. The silence rushed back in, thicker now, smelling of sex and shame and lemon polish.
I stayed there for a long minute, the wet spot on my skin going cold and sticky. Another Saturday. I’d clean myself up. I’d go to the library. I’d be the good son, the responsible citizen, the invisible man. And later, in the dark, I’d probably do this all over again.
I lifted my head. My reflection was blurred in the dark screen of my laptop. A pale ghost with messy red hair. I looked at the drawing of Drew’s perfect chest. Then I looked down at my own, at the pathetic, drying mess on it.
Someday, I thought, the idea forming like a bruise, dark and tender. Someday it won’t be just a drawing. The thought wasn't hopeful. It was a promise, and it tasted like metal and sin. I reached for a tissue from the perfectly square box on my desk, the movement precise, practiced. The first step in putting everything back in its proper place.
“That’s what everybody says. We have our best chance in years. The team is playing great. You know almost the entire team is in the Sigma house. That’s another reason we deserve some special consideration by the disciplinary committee. We generate a lot of money for the school.” Drew spoke casually as if talking to a friend. He continued to slowly explore his muscles with his long fingers. Edwin shook his head, not knowing what else to say. Drew moved his other hand behind his head. “Mmmm, your bed is very comfortable.” He stretched out his body. His lats fanned out. His stomach receded. Every muscle erupted, pushing through his smooth skin. After a deep sigh he asked, “Are you into football, Ed?” Edwin was rocking back and forth in the chair, trying not to cum in his pants again. “No, not really.” “You look like you keep yourself in good shape. What sports do you follow?” Edwin was caught off guard by the question. No one had ever mistaken him for an athlete before. “Me? Sports? I don’t have an athletic bone in my body.” “I don’t believe that. You just haven’t found the right one. You have the physique of a long distance runner. I bet you have great stamina? You go all night with the ladies, heh? Am I right dude?” Drew asked with a smirk and a nod. He held up a fist in front of Edwin. Edwin gave him a questionable look. Drew eyes darted to his fist as he continued to smile and nod. Edwin finally realized what he wanted and knocked his fist into the bigger man’s. “That’s what I’m taking about, bro.” Edwin felt almost giddy. Drew Bullard called him bro. He started to relax slightly. “Sorry, I don’t know much about sports.” Drew sat up, “All because I’m a dumb jock doesn’t mean we have to talk about sports. What do you want to talk about, Ed?” Edwin shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing interesting about his life. “What were you working on when I interrupted you?” “Uhmm, It was nothing,” Edwin quickly closed the sketch book. “It was….a sketch for an art project; my homage to Mondrian. The final piece will be in acrylics. But before I start painting I want to have everything laid out. I’m not good at winging things.” Edwin started to babble. He was saying too much to cover up his lie. That was what he should have been working on instead of doing doodles of Drew. “Is it for Cramer’s 20th Century Art?” Drew asked. Edwin nodded yes. “I took that in my sophomore year. She’s easy if you show her a little attention. Like all middle aged women, she’ll turn into a helpless kitten with a little playful flirting.” “Yeah, I don’t think that would work for me.” “Sure it will.” Drew could see he was losing Edwin. Even he didn’t believe what he was saying. “But you don’t need to play those games. You probably have real artistic talent. I can’t manage stick figures. Can I see what you’ve done?” Edwin nerves went on edge again. He hesitated. “Please.” Drew said with a pleading look. Edwin turned to the page of his half done project and handed over his sketch book. Drew looked at it then asked. “Why are you using only blues and grays? Didn’t he use primary colors?” Edwin was shocked. That was very astute. He never realized how smart and charming Drew was. He never got past the exquisite cover of that book. Edwin became more confident because unlike sports, he knew a thing or two about art. , “Usually, he did this one piece that was all gray with one block of blue. I really liked it.” Drew turned the pages to some of Edwin’s other sketches. “You are good. What’s this?” Drew turned the book for Edwin to see. Edwin stood up slightly and reached for the book. “Uh, that’s my attempt at a Calder. There’s really nothing else in there worth looking at. Why don’t you just give it back to me? I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.” Drew ignored him and turned to another page. “RobertDelaunay?” Again Drew held up the tablet for Edwin. “Yes, that was my first assignment. It’s not very good. There’s really nothing else to see.” “I like it. It reminds me of his rhythm piece.” Edwin sat back down in amazement. “That was what inspired me,” Edwin said proudly. He was actually having a real conversation with Drew Bullard. Edwin pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “I’m messing up your pages. Why don’t you sit next to me so we can look at the book together?” Drew said without taking his eyes off the sketch book. After one false start, Edwin moved to the bed and sat down next to Drew. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets to hide his damp crotch. Drew leaned back on the pillows again. He pulled one of the pillows from behind him and placed it behind Edwin. “There you go. Sit back and relax.” Edwin didn’t move. Drew put his hand on Edwin’s back and rubbed it gently, “Relax dude.” Edwin slowly eased into the position. Drew kept his attention on the sketch pad and continued to turn the pages. Edwin watched the muscles in Drew’s forearm pulse with the each small movement. He was only inches from the perfect athlete now. He turned his head slightly toward Drew. He inhaled deeply without making it too obvious. As he predicted, Drew’s body odor was anything but offensive. He smelled like a strong man should. “Your Matisse is very good.” Edwin really was listening anymore. He was lost in Drew. “Thanks,” he mumbled. His cock was hard again. Drew flipped the page and revealed a page of random doodles. There were superheroes with overstuff tights. There were muscular men posing with raging hard-ons. Some were of Drew. Others were just of gigantic dicks. Edwin saw the page in his peripheral vision. He snapped his head away from Drew and locked on the sketch pad. He wanted to scream. What if Drew recognized himself in the drawings? He tried to think of something to day. Drew didn’t react. He slowly turned to the next page. When he reached the last page; he calmly stated, “You’re a good artist”. He set the sketch book down next to him away from Edwin.
This is nice, just chllin’. I knew we would have things in common.” Drew took a deep breath. “It’s crazy how people fall into certain stereotypes. I mean, do my frat brothers act the way we do because we want to or because it’s expected of us. Just because we’re bigger than most guys, people expect us to be arrogant jocks. And because you are on the slender side you get labeled a nerd. We aren’t that different from one another. We’re both men, the same age, and go to the same school.” Drew put his hand around Edwin’s upper arm, “We’re both made of flesh and blood.” Drew released Edwin’s arm and grabbed his small hand. Drew put Edwin’s hand on his arm. He flexed making his bicep swell under Edwin’s fingers. Edwin moaned softly as his hard cock throbbed. It actually hurt now. “See, I’m flesh and blood. Just like you.” Drew took his eyes off of Edwin and looked straight ahead. He didn’t release his hold on Edwin’s smaller hand. He dragged Edwin’s hand onto his chest. Edwin couldn’t believe how hard Drew’s chest was; the muscles looked plump as seat cushions. “There is no reason we can’t get along.” Edwin’s hand continued to be gently guided down Drew’s etched body. One by one Edwin got to feel the athlete’s abdominals. “I think we can be good friends, don’t you?” Drew turned to look at Edwin, but he continued the tour. Edwin nodded his head. His eyes darted back to their entwined hands when they reached the waistband of Drew’s shorts. Large beads of sweat now formed on the smaller man’s upper lip and forehead. Their hands finally stopped when they reached the mound of flesh at Drew’s crotch. Drew pushed down lightly forcing Edwin’s hand into his package. Edwin couldn’t stop himself from cuming once more. He blurted out, “Oh my God”. Drew quickly lifted his hand away. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing. I’ve been so horned up with all the work outs and everything. I’m really sorry dude.” Drew covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.” Edwin slowly pulled his hand back. “It’s okay. No harm done.” With Drew not looking, Edwin made sure his jacket covered the growing wet spot on his jeans. Drew let out a long, deep breath. “Thanks for understanding. You are a great guy. I feel so comfortable with you, like you are a member of my team. I forgot where I was for a moment.” Drew removed his hands from his face and looked around. “Hey look Drew, this isn’t a locker room.” He joked. “Not a locker room? What does that mean?” Edwin asked. “You know the things that happen in a locker room. How teammates help each other out.” Drew spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, but saw confusion in Edwin’s face. “Haven’t you ever been in a locker room with a sports team before?” Edwin shook his head no. Drew scanned Edwin’s body once more and put his hand on his stomach. “I still find that hard to believe. You are so ripped.” Drew took his hand off Edwin and cupped his crotch again. “Well you know as men we need physical release often. It helps to deal with all the stress and tension. Plus it encourages testosterone production, which makes you a bigger, stronger athlete. So after a game or practice the team gives each other a helping hand.” Drew mimed a jerking off motion. “It’s no big deal, it’s just guys around.” Edwin was aghast. “You’re kidding me right? What do the coaches say?” Drew continued to massage his cock as he spoke. “Oh, they’re all for it. Sometimes they join in. It bonds the team together. We become more comfortable with each other; it builds camaraderie and improves communication. It enables us to perform better on the field. Every team does it, even the pros.” Edwin watched Drew speak with total sincerity. It did make sense to Edwin. He heard all those stories about professional athletes sleeping with hundreds of different women. Their sex drives had to be off the charts to rack up numbers like that. Athletes are the most attractive men on the planet. They walked around nude in the locker rooms and showers. Things must happen. The temptation had to be unbearable. Drew sighed, “But you are not on my team, so I have no right to ask you to help me out like that. Again I’m sorry, bro.” Drew’s massage was making his snake slither further down this thigh. “It’s just I’m so horny right now, I really need to release my pent up load or the boys feel like they’re going to burst.” Drew’s face showed his discomfort. Edwin glanced down. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Drew’s cock had almost doubled its size. Edwin felt a longing he had never felt before. He licked his dry lips, “I ggguess I could help…” Drew’s face lit up. “That would be awesome, dude. I’ll help you too.” “No, that’s okay you don’t have to, uh…oh..uh.” Drew worked his hand up Edwin’s thigh, pushing away his jacket until he was able to grope Edwin’s crotch. Drew felt the wet spot and withdrew his hand quickly. “Wow, you were horned up too. You sure you’re not an athlete.” Drew sat up and reached for a box of tissues from Edwin’s desk. “Here you go.” Edwin pulled two tissues out of the box. “Thanks.” He stuffed the tissues down his pants to absorb his load. “Did you want to change?” Drew asked. “No, I’m fine.” The last thing he wanted was Drew to see him naked. “Dude, you’re fast. I’m a little jealous. Your reaction time is incredible.” “I ggguess, It’s your turn now.” Edwin tentatively returned his hand to Drew’s crotch. It was like a layer cake. The thick log was atop the spread out scrotum which was supported by the muscles of his thighs. Edwin cupped the outline of Drew’s thick hose. He squeezed it. Edwin could feel the power in the huge organ. He looked up at Drew’s face. He had his eyes closed and his teeth clenched. He bucked his hips up and down, making his abs ebb and flow. “Squeeze harder,” Drew whispered. Edwin tried but his small hand couldn’t grip the mound of man flesh through the slippery shorts. “Try rubbing it.” Edwin again did as he was ordered to do. He began to run his fingers up and down the growing outline of Drew’s cock. “Faster and harder.” The friction was burning his fingers. He changed hands and quickened the pace. Drew’s cock was still growing; it had to be over seven inches long and was only semi-hard. “Sorry dude, but this isn’t working for me. You’re going to have to make direct contact.” “Oh, okay,” Edwin said nervously. He took his hand off of Drew’s crotch and moved it to his stomach. The hardness of the rocky surface still surprised him. How could anyone’s body be this hard? Edwin’s fingertips moved under the elastic waist band of Drew’s loose shorts. He looked at Drew’s face. His eyes were still closed. Soon Edwin’s fingers were in a steamy forest of silky pubic hairs. He followed the length of Drew’s pleasure pipe. The tubular limb’s growth hastened as Edwin’s shaking hand wrapped around it. Its girth increased rapidly as it began to rise higher and higher. Again Edwin was shocked that anyone could feel like this. How could any single man have so much meat between his legs? How could he walk around with such a heavy appendage? It had to be tiring. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable. No wonder he wore baggy shorts all the time, regular sized clothing must feel like a torture device. Going commando freed his big boys from being stuffed into underwear designed for mere mortals. Edwin continued to stroke the thickening shaft. Soon even his exaggerated shorts were filled to capacity. The thick knob was straining the fabric. The ten inch pole was too big for the tent. “Shit,” Drew moaned, “it’s too tight. Pull down the shorts.” Edwin tried to pull the steel hard rod toward Drew’s stomach with one hand while stretching the waistband open with the other. He was gentle. He didn’t want to damage the rare piece of human art. Drew became impatient. He put one of his hands on his fuck pole. There was enough room for both men’s hands, but Edwin withdrew his in fear. Drew lifted his hips off the bed by tightening every muscle in his body. He pulled down his shorts with a quick yank. He lowered his hips with a big sigh. “There, that’s better.
For the first time, Edwin could see what he had only felt before. He was awestruck. It was one phenomenal phallus; perfectly straight and thick as Edwin’s wrist. Blue veins encased its entire length. A large purple mushroom capped the still growing stem. Drew’s saucer sized nut sack pooled at his lap; the two jumbo sized eggs clearly visible through the golden brown fur covering them. Drew smirked at the stunned expression on Edwin’s face. “Incredible isn’t it. The guys on the team nicknamed it the Drewosaurus.” Drew titled his head back “Come on, bro. I’m almost there.” Drew tweaked his right nipple which stood at attention on his muscle tit. Edwin came out of his stupor and put his hand back onto the hot rod. His fingers barely encircled its hefty girth. He squeezed with all the strength his small hand could muster. His feeble attempt at dominance went unnoticed by the athlete. “Hurry, squeeze it dude.” Edwin began to slide his hand up and down the king sized piece of man meat. “Yeah, that’s it.” Precum started to ooze from the tip. The milky lava met Edwin’s hand. The slick substance made the novice’s strokes smoother. “Faster, dude. Faster and harder.” Drew gave instructions between moans and deep breaths. Edwin repositioned his body to get a better angle. He knelt on the bed leaning over Drew. He used both hands now. He looked like a boy scout attempting to start a campfire for the first time. He was working up more of a sweat by giving the hand job than Drew was receiving it. Drew opened his eyes and saw Edwin’s face was directly over his cock. “Sorry about this bro. I guess my reflexes are a lot slower than yours. Maybe if you suck on it?” Drew spoke in a slow, husky voice. Edwin stopped and looked at the throbbing flesh in front of him. He turned to Drew with trepidation. “Its okay, a lot of guys do it. Rich gives great head. It will help me cum.” Edwin looked at the pulsating blue pipe. “Rich Brantwood, the lineman?” Just saying the words made Edwin hard again. Rich was the second best looking man on campus. He was actually larger than Drew, but didn’t have his beauty. Rich was more rugged, like a lumberjack. The image of Rich blowing Drew filled his mind; two muscular studs’ writhing in unison to bring each other to the pinnacles of euphoria. Edwin’s loins were on fire. “Yeah, he’s the only one with a mouth big enough to take it.” Drew said smugly. That sounded like a challenge to Edwin. Lust overcame his reluctance. This was the chance to make his fantasy a reality. He tightened his grip on Drew’s meat and opened his mouth wide. Edwin stopped a few centimeters away from the salty jawbreaker. A sly smile overcame Drew’s face. “I really appreciate this. You’re a real friend.” Edwin lowered his head. His thin lips slid over the purple helmet. His tongue lapped over the thick slit at the tip. Lower and lower he descended until his mouth was filled with the muscle man’s rigid column. He couldn’t believe how much there was left. He fought his gag reflex, he wanted to take more of Drew. He put on hand on Drew’s thigh to steady himself. Edwin could feel the pressure building up in the back of his throat. Drew moaned his approval of Edwin’s maneuvers. Edwin’s nose was filled with Drew’s manly odor. Unlike Drew, Edwin kept his eyes wide open for before him was the Holy Grail of cocks. He could see Drew’s boys began to contract. The corded muscles of his thighs, obloquies, and abs radiated from the very core of his masculinity. Edwin’s mind was reeling. All his senses were working overtime to record every new sensation; the taste of Drew, the smell of Drew, the feel of Drew, the sight of Drew, and the sound of Drew. It all surpassed his most erotic dreams. Edwin never felt so free, so alive. Edwin moved one hand to his own crotch and squeezed the one-third scaled version of masculinity. His overworked meat hurt, but Edwin liked the pain. Edwin was so involved in his mission to get Drew off; he didn’t notice the larger man’s hand reaching into his duffel bag. He pulled out a camera and turned on the palm sized device with his thumb. He held the camera at arm’s length. He pointed it at the top of Edwin’s head as he bobbed up and down his pole like a horse on a carousel. Drew bit his bottom lip and controlled his breathing. He wanted to hold off as long as possible to make a good video, but his body was on the verge of exploding. He didn’t think the nerd would be such a good cock sucker. When he knew he was about to lose control he moaned, “Okay man, I’m going to blow.” Edwin took his mouth off the joy stick and looked up. He turned to face Drew, who had a mischievous smirk on his face. Edwin saw the camera, he froze. Drew growled; a stream of cream erupted up from his monster dick, splattering all over Edwin’s face. Edwin didn’t move as the warm gel covered his face. Drew began to laugh as he caught his breath, “That was golden.” Drew brought the camera to his stomach and played with the buttons. “What are you doing?” Edwin wiped Drew’s product from his face. Drew ignored the lesser man. “Oh, wow. I got it and the perfect angle too. This is better than I hoped.” Edwin reached for the camera. Drew put his hand on Edwin’s chest and pushed him. The lightweight flew off the bed on to the floor. Drew calmly put the camera back into his bag. He stood and pulled up his shorts. Edwin looked up at the hulking giant. He looked even more menacing from the drastic perspective. “What’s going on? Why did you record it?” Edwin ran his hands through his unruly hair matted down with sweat. It was beginning to make sense. “You lied to me about your team mates and the locker room.” Drew squeezed his package. “Only a real faggot would believe a story like that. I know it’s what you perverts fantasize about while you jerk off at night. Like those disgusting drawings of yours.” Drew picked up the sketch pad and threw it across the room. “Those drawings were of me, weren’t they? I see how you look at me. It makes me sick the way you queers pop boners whenever I’m around.” Drew spat on the cowering man at his feet. “My cock was made to fill pussy not assholes.” “You planned this? But why?” “Why do you think faggot; blackmail. I knew it wouldn’t be difficult to get you to blow me. But I didn’t realize just how gullible you are. It was like dangling a giant bratwurst in front of a starving poodle.” Drew grabbed his huge package again. “The Drewosaurus is irresistible to all privileged enough to lay eyes on it.” He flexed his glutes and thighs to get a better grip on the monster. Even he couldn’t resist touching it. He continued to massage his pride and joy as he spoke. “You are going to drop all charges against my fraternity or this video is going on YouTube. This is the stuff that ruins political careers. Everyone will find your disgusting fag behavior as repulsive as I do.” Edwin would be the laughing stock of the school; his public service career over before it began. He had to bluff. “Go ahead and post it. They’ll see you too.” “No, you can’t see my face. It’s all you queer boy.” Drew picked up the duffle bag from the bed. He ran his hand over his muscular torso. “True no other man has a body as perfect as mine, but with a little editing we can hide that. That final money shot is what everyone will remember. The cock sucker smeared with cum.” Drew stepped over Edwin. Edwin grabbed onto Drew’s thick calf. “Please I can’t control the committee’s decision. All the evidence was shown during the hearing. It’s too late.”
Drew looked down at Edwin with hatred in his eyes. He pulled back his fist, “Get your faggot hands off of me.” Edwin released his grip and recoiled sheepishly. Drew took a deep breath to control his rage. “You’ll do it or the video is released to the world.” Drew could see the fear in his victim’s eyes. “I think we understand each other.” Edwin got to his knees. He knew he was caught in a trap. “Listen, I’ll do the best I can; but some action will have to be taken. You admitted to damaging school property. It’s in the official record. It will look suspicious.” Edwin staggered to his feet. He wrapped his arms around his waist. He was hunched over. His submissive body language showed his subordinate role. “Release it and my political career will be over, true. But I’m used to being an outcast. In time it will be forgotten. But if I’m not on the committee, I won’t be able to help you in the future. I promise to look the other way at anything else your frat house does.” Drew playfully rubbed his chin as if to think. “No shit Sherlock. You and your committee of losers won’t bother us ever again. But I still want this case to disappear. Do exactly as I say or else.” Drew moved closer to Edwin. Edwin backed away and Drew continued his advancement. Edwin’s heels hit the edge of the open wardrobe. He backed into it until he was pressed up against the interior back wall. Edwin was literally in the closet. Drew was only a few inches away. Their size difference which Edwin had always found arousing now only instilled terror. “It wasn’t your political career I was thinking about. Isn’t your father up for reelection? Do you think all those bible thumping, blue haired grannies back home are going to vote for some one who has a cock sucker for a son?” A chill went through Edwin. He forgot about his father. He clutched Drew’s sinewy forearm. “I beg of you. Please, I’ll do anything else. Anything, please don’t do this.” Tears filled Edwin’s eyes. Drew looked down at the defeated little man. Pulled his arm away and slammed his fist into Edwin’s soft stomach. Edwin dropped like a sack of potatoes. His neatly hung clothes rained down on him. He moaned in the fetal position at Drew’s feet. It felt like his ribs had been shattered. Drew screamed, “I told you not to touch me, don’t ever touch me again, faggot.” Drew took a step back from the writhing curled up ball that was Edwin. “You are fucking pathetic. I hardly touched you.” Drew ripped opened the door. Several of Edwin’s neighbors had gathered in front of his door when they heard arguing. “Get the fuck out of my way.” Drew ordered as he moved passed the group. Sam, who had the room next to Edwin’s, ran to his side. “Are you alright?” he asked with genuine concern. “Yes, I’m fine.” Edwin forced out. His face was wet with tears. “Please just leave me alone. All of you, go away.” Sam stood up and slowly backed out the door. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” He closed the door half way before adding, “I’ll make sure nobody pennies you in.” He shut the door to give Edwin privacy. The crowd dispersed, whispering their theories of what happened. Some laughed at what they saw. Edwin didn’t move for more than an hour.