Working Remotely
Story created by
A newly married couple find their lives upended when the wife goes to work for a company where all is not as it seems.
sex doll
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Plot
Your body was stolen by a super busty Goth Girl. You now have to live her life. You find out you switched because her family was cursed to give their bodies to a stranger of the opposite sex on their 21st birthday. Emily just chose you at random.
Characters
Emily Lunawood: The goth girl who stole your body. She is wearing fishnet stockings, a short skirt with a black lace thong under it, a revealing top with a black lace bra under it and black high heels when she steals your body. She has black hair with red dyed tips, it goes to her waist.
You: An average looking man, you have brown hair and blue eyes. Your slightly muscular.
One moment, I was pressing my palm to the mirror, mesmerized by the way my reflection moved without me. The next—reality twisted, inverted. A dizzying lurch, and I was staring out from the glass at my own horrified face.
Oh God.
My body—Emily’s body now—was already backing away, her—my—lips curling into a smirk that felt alien on my features. "Enjoy the new life," she said in my voice, rolling my shoulders like she was testing them out. "Trust me, you’ll need it."
"Switch us back!" I snapped, but the words came out in her higher, smoother tone—hers now. My hands—slender, unfamiliar—clenched at my sides.
She just smirked, my smirk, and reached for the jacket I’d draped over the chair. "Check the purse, sweetheart. You’ll definitely want to." Then, with a wink that made my stomach twist, she was gone, the door slamming behind her before I could even think to chase her—me.
Nausea rolled through me as I grabbed the leather handbag by the dresser. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, shaking as I pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. Emily Lunawood. 21. 309 Cedar Lane.
The drive was a nightmare of panicked swerves and clumsy turns; the car, an automatic, felt foreign without my stick shift to grip. Her—my—apartment was all soft grays and jasmine in the air, pristine except for the open notebook on the kitchen counter.
A single note sat beside it, written in fluid, looping script.
Sorry to whoever is now me, it read, my family was cursed years ago. On the 21st birthday, we are forced to seek out someone of the opposite sex and give them our bodies. You will be given my memories the first night you sleep. Signed Emily Lunawood.
A bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Of course. I thumbed open the notebook—passwords, addresses, even a meticulously planned gym schedule—before collapsing onto the couch, my (her) head in my (her) hands.
The bed was too plush, the sheets too silky, but exhaustion won out. I fell into the dark, and when dreams came, they weren’t mine.
They were hers—childhood summers, first heartbreaks, whispered family warnings that the curse had no loopholes, no way back. And worst of all? The unshakable knowledge that no one in the Lunawood bloodline had ever escaped it.
The first thing I registered as consciousness crawled back was the delicious ache between my thighs and the whisper of stockings against freshly shaved skin. My fingers—her fingers—traced the outline of fishnets stretched taut over smooth legs, the crisscross pattern pressing kisses into flesh that wasn’t mine. A gasp caught in my throat as I realized the skirt riding up was obscenely short, the lace of my thong riding high enough to tease at the curve of my—her—ass. The top barely contained the swell of cleavage spilling over a black lace bra, the fabric sheer enough to outline hardened nipples.
I shifted—God, even the movement felt different—and nearly toppled off the bed when the spiked heels caught in the sheets. My reflection in the vanity mirror was a punch to the gut: smudged eyeliner, swollen lips bitten red, black hair cascading over bare shoulders with crimson streaks blazing through it like warning flares.
And the worst part? The thrill zipping down my spine at how good it all felt.
I got up and went to a mirror.
The mirror showed me—her—in full, and I barely recognized the predatory amusement in my new eyes. My fingers trembled as they traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my collarbone, every unfamiliar contour both alien and intoxicating. The lace of my bra dug into soft flesh when I inhaled sharply, my nails biting crescents into my palms—just to feel something real.
A slow, involuntary roll of my hips sent a jolt through me—her body knew exactly what it wanted. The fishnets rasped against my thighs as I spread my legs slightly, just enough to feel the damp heat pooling where the thong cut in.
Jesus.
I watched in horrified fascination as my reflection’s tongue swiped over painted lips, my own breath coming faster as I fought the urge to slide a hand lower. This wasn’t me—
But the thought shattered when I arched my back experimentally, and the bra’s clasp strained against the motion. A whimper escaped me—high, breathy, embarrassingly feminine—as my nipple peaked tighter against the lace, the sensation so intense it nearly buckled my knees.
The purse Emily left gaped open on the bed, a glint of metal catching my eye. I reached for it with shaking fingers and pulled out a slim silver vibrator, still slick with—
Oh God, she’d been using this right before swapping us.
The realization burned through me hotter than shame. My reflection’s pupils blew wide as my thumb brushed the damp button, the device humming to life with a predatory purr. The sound alone dragged a moan from my throat—her throat.
I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop.
The vibrator pressed against my inner thigh, the vibrations rippling up through the fishnets like a live wire. Every rational thought short-circuited when I dragged it higher, the lace of my panties already soaked through.
The mirror showed it all—the way my hips jerked when the buzzing found my clit, the obscene glide of the toy through slick folds as I fucked myself with it in frantic, shallow thrusts.
"Fuck—fuck—" My voice was a broken thing, her voice, her pleasure, even as my mind screamed that this wasn’t right.
But God, it felt like heaven.
The orgasm hit like a train, my back slamming against the vanity as my legs gave out. Pleasure pulsed through me in dizzying waves, my reflection’s mouth slack with ecstasy, mascara streaking down flushed cheeks.
I slid to the floor, trembling, the vibrator still buzzing weakly against my thigh.
What the hell was I becoming?
The question pulsed through me like a second heartbeat as I stared at my reflection lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. The need to feel more, to explore this stolen flesh, burned hotter than reason.
The top was the first to go. I reached behind my neck to undo the clasp, letting the silky material pool around my waist before sliding it the rest of the way down.
With shaking hands, I reached up and tugged at the straps of the lace bra, seeing in the process a 42F tag. The fabric resisted for a moment before giving way, setting my full breasts free. They bounced slightly with the motion, nipples hardening immediately in the cool air. A shiver ran through me as my fingers brushed against one, the contact sending a jolt straight to my still-throbbing core.
The fishnets came next. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, rolling them down with slow, deliberate movements. The material clung stubbornly, the crisscross pattern stretching then snapping back against my hips with each inch exposed. Smooth skin emerged beneath, freshly waxed and still tingling from earlier.
The thong was soaked through, the damp lace clinging obscenely when I finally shimmied out of it. My fingers trailed along the inside of my thighs before pausing at the apex - so smooth, so incredibly different. The scent of my own arousal filled the air as I tentatively spread my legs wider, watching in the mirror as the evidence of my pleasure glistened under soft light.
I ran trembling hands over my new body - from the dip of my waist up to cup my breasts, thumbs circling peaked nipples that responded eagerly to every touch. A breathy moan escaped my lips as one hand slid lower, fingertips brushing through damp curls before sinking into slick heat.
This isn't me.
This feels so good.
The contradictions warred in my mind even as my body arched into my own touch, hips rocking against my fingers with increasing urgency. The mirror showed it all - showed her - lost in pleasure, mouth open in silent ecstasy as fingers worked furiously between spread thighs.
When the wave crashed over me this time, I barely recognized my own scream.
The shower did nothing to wash away the surreal thrill of my stolen skin—every inch of Emily’s body still buzzed unnervingly under my touch. Steam fogged the mirror as I toweled off, deliberately running my (her) hands down the unfamiliar slope of narrow waist and curved hips. The face staring back—sharp cheekbones, violet eyes heavy with something darkly knowing—still sent a jolt through me.
I knotted the silk robe too tight, ignoring how it barely covered her thighs. Luckily thanks to her memories, I knew she didn't have any close relationships. I also knew that she would find me again soon, since the curse had a second component. The swapped individuals would fall in love and help continue the family line.
Emily—me now—had left more than just her lipsticks and half-used perfume. The sleek black phone buzzed beneath my fingers, unlocked by my—her—face. I swallowed hard. Time to take inventory of my new life.
Bank Account
The app opened instantly. I blinked.
$84,756.22
I actually laughed, sharp and disbelieving. Savings account? Another $312K. I tapped through transaction history—monthly deposits from something called Lunawood Holdings for $15K, along with smaller payments labeled consulting fees. What the hell kind of consulting did she do?
Social Media
The first tab I tapped was Instagram—her Instagram. My stomach clenched as the app loaded, revealing a digital shrine to seduction. The blue checkmark was inevitable. The bio burned into my retinas: 💋 Your Next Bad Decision 💋, all smirking lips and dangerous promise.
The feed was a slow, deliberate burn—no accidents here. Every shot was a masterclass in teasing control. Silk sheets tangled around one bare thigh, the shadow-dipped dip of her spine as she arched over a hotel balcony, a crimson-lacquered nail dragging down a champagne flute. No laughter, no adrenaline—just heat, simmering in every flick of her wrist, every half-lidded glance at the camera like she could already feel hands on her skin. The captions were sparse, deliberate: "Late nights only", "Tell me how badly you want it", "Good boys don't get to touch."
Every post wasn’t just a demand to look—it was a dare to want.
Twitter was a constant stream of punchy one-liners and suggestive stunt reels. TikTok was a minefield of temptation—short, scorching loops of Emily arching against silk bedsheets, biting her lower lip in teasing slow-motion, her fingers tracing idle circles over the lace hem of lingerie before cutting to black. No laughter, no wasted movement—just a half-second of exposed thigh, the barest glimpse of teeth grazing skin, all set to a pulse-heavy soundtrack that left you craving another replay. Every clip was a dare wrapped in five seconds of sin.
OnlyFans
The icon made my fingers hesitate. Of course she had one. I tapped it—password already saved—and nearly choked.
$27K last month. $42K the month before. A catalog of paywalled galleries—Mistress in Marble, Bondage & Breakfast, each one featuring me now, in poses so sinful my pulse stuttered. There I was, sprawled across black satin sheets, fingers tangled in my own hair as I arched toward the camera, lips parted just enough to tease. Another series showed me kneeling in thigh-high stockings, the garter straps biting into creamy skin while I stared down the lens with heavy-lidded authority.
Subscriptions
Then came the subscriptions. Of course she had every premium streaming service—Netflix, HBO, the works—but the real fun started scrolling down. Paid access to high-end porn sites, all sleek branding and "exclusive content." A membership to Velvet Orbit, some kind of luxury erotic streaming platform with thumbnails featuring tangled limbs under silk sheets and promises of "real couples, real desires."
I was closing out of the accounts when I heard it—three sharp raps against the bedroom wall, followed by two slower ones. A pattern. Deliberate.
My breath caught. That wasn’t the front door.
Emily’s memories surfaced like fragments of a dream—pressed against this same wall, her fingers finding the nearly invisible seam in the wallpaper, pushing just so—
A hidden door clicked open.
I froze as the panel swung inward, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for shoulders. And there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that matched the one I’d worn earlier, stood me.
My old body looked different now. The way he held himself was all Emily; the cocky tilt of his chin, the way his fingers drummed a lazy rhythm against his thigh. His shirt hung open, revealing the chest I used to know every scar and freckle of.
“Miss me already?” His voice was mine, but the cadence, the purr—hers.
“You—” My throat tightened. I hadn’t realized how much taller I used to be until I had to look up at myself.
“Uh-uh.” He wagged a finger—my finger—and stepped inside, the hidden door whispering shut behind him. “Rule one of the curse: no take-backs.” His gaze dragged over me, lingering where the robe gaped at my chest. “Though I do like what I see.”
A flush burned up my neck. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He prowled closer, close enough that I caught my old cologne on his skin. “I was hoping you’d find the toys first.” His grin widened as my cheeks heated. “Oh, you did.”
I backed up until the vanity dug into my spine. “Why are you here?”
His grin turned wicked as he leaned in, close enough for his borrowed lips to brush my ear. "Because you will be my bride and help continue the line as per the second half of the curse."
A few years later
The pain was unbearable—a searing, primal fire tearing through me with every contraction. My nails dug into the hospital bed sheets, sweat gluing Emily’s—no, mine now—long black hair to my face.
"You’re doing amazing," he murmured, squeezing my hand. Even now, with my old face lined with worry, the way he tilted his head was pure Emily—that same confident smirk tempered by something softer. The silver band on his finger glinted under the harsh hospital lights, matching the one nestled securely against my own ring finger.
"Shut up," I gasped, arching off the bed as another wave hit. "This is your fault.*"
He just chuckled, brushing damp strands back from my forehead. "Our family now, sweetheart." His thumb traced my knuckles. "And trust me, when you hold her, you won’t regret a damn thing."
The nurse between my legs looked up, grinning. "One more push, Mom. She’s right there."
I barely had time to scream before the pressure shattered into sudden, dizzying relief. A fragile, furious wail filled the room, and then—
Her.
Tiny. Perfect. Swaddled in a pink blanket and placed carefully against my chest, her little face scrunched up in outrage. Dark lashes fluttered against petal-soft cheeks, her miniature fingers curling reflexively around mine.
"Congratulations," the nurse murmured. "She’s beautiful."
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The weight of her was terrifying, intoxicating—mine.
"She has your nose," he whispered, bending to press a kiss to my temple. His—my old—calloused finger traced the baby’s shock of dark hair. "But your mother’s eyes." His voice cracked. "God, look at her."
The baby blinked up at us, her tiny mouth working silently before she settled with a sigh. The monitors beeped steadily, the world narrowing to this moment—this impossible, inevitable moment.
I leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, euphoric, and met my husband’s gaze.
"Worth it?" he teased, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
I clutched our daughter tighter—the next in the Lunawood line—and laughed through the tears.
Your body was stolen by a super busty Goth Girl. You now have to live her life. You find out you switched because her family was cursed to give their bodies to a stranger of the opposite sex on their 21st birthday. Emily just chose you at random.
Characters
Emily Lunawood: The goth girl who stole your body. She is wearing fishnet stockings, a short skirt with a black lace thong under it, a revealing top with a black lace bra under it and black high heels when she steals your body. She has black hair with red dyed tips, it goes to her waist.
You: An average looking man, you have brown hair and blue eyes. Your slightly muscular.
One moment, I was pressing my palm to the mirror, mesmerized by the way my reflection moved without me. The next—reality twisted, inverted. A dizzying lurch, and I was staring out from the glass at my own horrified face.
Oh God.
My body—Emily’s body now—was already backing away, her—my—lips curling into a smirk that felt alien on my features. "Enjoy the new life," she said in my voice, rolling my shoulders like she was testing them out. "Trust me, you’ll need it."
"Switch us back!" I snapped, but the words came out in her higher, smoother tone—hers now. My hands—slender, unfamiliar—clenched at my sides.
She just smirked, my smirk, and reached for the jacket I’d draped over the chair. "Check the purse, sweetheart. You’ll definitely want to." Then, with a wink that made my stomach twist, she was gone, the door slamming behind her before I could even think to chase her—me.
Nausea rolled through me as I grabbed the leather handbag by the dresser. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, shaking as I pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. Emily Lunawood. 21. 309 Cedar Lane.
The drive was a nightmare of panicked swerves and clumsy turns; the car, an automatic, felt foreign without my stick shift to grip. Her—my—apartment was all soft grays and jasmine in the air, pristine except for the open notebook on the kitchen counter.
A single note sat beside it, written in fluid, looping script.
Sorry to whoever is now me, it read, my family was cursed years ago. On the 21st birthday, we are forced to seek out someone of the opposite sex and give them our bodies. You will be given my memories the first night you sleep. Signed Emily Lunawood.
A bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Of course. I thumbed open the notebook—passwords, addresses, even a meticulously planned gym schedule—before collapsing onto the couch, my (her) head in my (her) hands.
The bed was too plush, the sheets too silky, but exhaustion won out. I fell into the dark, and when dreams came, they weren’t mine.
They were hers—childhood summers, first heartbreaks, whispered family warnings that the curse had no loopholes, no way back. And worst of all? The unshakable knowledge that no one in the Lunawood bloodline had ever escaped it.
The first thing I registered as consciousness crawled back was the delicious ache between my thighs and the whisper of stockings against freshly shaved skin. My fingers—her fingers—traced the outline of fishnets stretched taut over smooth legs, the crisscross pattern pressing kisses into flesh that wasn’t mine. A gasp caught in my throat as I realized the skirt riding up was obscenely short, the lace of my thong riding high enough to tease at the curve of my—her—ass. The top barely contained the swell of cleavage spilling over a black lace bra, the fabric sheer enough to outline hardened nipples.
I shifted—God, even the movement felt different—and nearly toppled off the bed when the spiked heels caught in the sheets. My reflection in the vanity mirror was a punch to the gut: smudged eyeliner, swollen lips bitten red, black hair cascading over bare shoulders with crimson streaks blazing through it like warning flares.
And the worst part? The thrill zipping down my spine at how good it all felt.
I got up and went to a mirror.
The mirror showed me—her—in full, and I barely recognized the predatory amusement in my new eyes. My fingers trembled as they traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my collarbone, every unfamiliar contour both alien and intoxicating. The lace of my bra dug into soft flesh when I inhaled sharply, my nails biting crescents into my palms—just to feel something real.
A slow, involuntary roll of my hips sent a jolt through me—her body knew exactly what it wanted. The fishnets rasped against my thighs as I spread my legs slightly, just enough to feel the damp heat pooling where the thong cut in.
Jesus.
I watched in horrified fascination as my reflection’s tongue swiped over painted lips, my own breath coming faster as I fought the urge to slide a hand lower. This wasn’t me—
But the thought shattered when I arched my back experimentally, and the bra’s clasp strained against the motion. A whimper escaped me—high, breathy, embarrassingly feminine—as my nipple peaked tighter against the lace, the sensation so intense it nearly buckled my knees.
The purse Emily left gaped open on the bed, a glint of metal catching my eye. I reached for it with shaking fingers and pulled out a slim silver vibrator, still slick with—
Oh God, she’d been using this right before swapping us.
The realization burned through me hotter than shame. My reflection’s pupils blew wide as my thumb brushed the damp button, the device humming to life with a predatory purr. The sound alone dragged a moan from my throat—her throat.
I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop.
The vibrator pressed against my inner thigh, the vibrations rippling up through the fishnets like a live wire. Every rational thought short-circuited when I dragged it higher, the lace of my panties already soaked through.
The mirror showed it all—the way my hips jerked when the buzzing found my clit, the obscene glide of the toy through slick folds as I fucked myself with it in frantic, shallow thrusts.
"Fuck—fuck—" My voice was a broken thing, her voice, her pleasure, even as my mind screamed that this wasn’t right.
But God, it felt like heaven.
The orgasm hit like a train, my back slamming against the vanity as my legs gave out. Pleasure pulsed through me in dizzying waves, my reflection’s mouth slack with ecstasy, mascara streaking down flushed cheeks.
I slid to the floor, trembling, the vibrator still buzzing weakly against my thigh.
What the hell was I becoming?
The question pulsed through me like a second heartbeat as I stared at my reflection lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. The need to feel more, to explore this stolen flesh, burned hotter than reason.
The top was the first to go. I reached behind my neck to undo the clasp, letting the silky material pool around my waist before sliding it the rest of the way down.
With shaking hands, I reached up and tugged at the straps of the lace bra, seeing in the process a 42F tag. The fabric resisted for a moment before giving way, setting my full breasts free. They bounced slightly with the motion, nipples hardening immediately in the cool air. A shiver ran through me as my fingers brushed against one, the contact sending a jolt straight to my still-throbbing core.
The fishnets came next. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, rolling them down with slow, deliberate movements. The material clung stubbornly, the crisscross pattern stretching then snapping back against my hips with each inch exposed. Smooth skin emerged beneath, freshly waxed and still tingling from earlier.
The thong was soaked through, the damp lace clinging obscenely when I finally shimmied out of it. My fingers trailed along the inside of my thighs before pausing at the apex - so smooth, so incredibly different. The scent of my own arousal filled the air as I tentatively spread my legs wider, watching in the mirror as the evidence of my pleasure glistened under soft light.
I ran trembling hands over my new body - from the dip of my waist up to cup my breasts, thumbs circling peaked nipples that responded eagerly to every touch. A breathy moan escaped my lips as one hand slid lower, fingertips brushing through damp curls before sinking into slick heat.
This isn't me.
This feels so good.
The contradictions warred in my mind even as my body arched into my own touch, hips rocking against my fingers with increasing urgency. The mirror showed it all - showed her - lost in pleasure, mouth open in silent ecstasy as fingers worked furiously between spread thighs.
When the wave crashed over me this time, I barely recognized my own scream.
The shower did nothing to wash away the surreal thrill of my stolen skin—every inch of Emily’s body still buzzed unnervingly under my touch. Steam fogged the mirror as I toweled off, deliberately running my (her) hands down the unfamiliar slope of narrow waist and curved hips. The face staring back—sharp cheekbones, violet eyes heavy with something darkly knowing—still sent a jolt through me.
I knotted the silk robe too tight, ignoring how it barely covered her thighs. Luckily thanks to her memories, I knew she didn't have any close relationships. I also knew that she would find me again soon, since the curse had a second component. The swapped individuals would fall in love and help continue the family line.
Emily—me now—had left more than just her lipsticks and half-used perfume. The sleek black phone buzzed beneath my fingers, unlocked by my—her—face. I swallowed hard. Time to take inventory of my new life.
Bank Account
The app opened instantly. I blinked.
$84,756.22
I actually laughed, sharp and disbelieving. Savings account? Another $312K. I tapped through transaction history—monthly deposits from something called Lunawood Holdings for $15K, along with smaller payments labeled consulting fees. What the hell kind of consulting did she do?
Social Media
The first tab I tapped was Instagram—her Instagram. My stomach clenched as the app loaded, revealing a digital shrine to seduction. The blue checkmark was inevitable. The bio burned into my retinas: 💋 Your Next Bad Decision 💋, all smirking lips and dangerous promise.
The feed was a slow, deliberate burn—no accidents here. Every shot was a masterclass in teasing control. Silk sheets tangled around one bare thigh, the shadow-dipped dip of her spine as she arched over a hotel balcony, a crimson-lacquered nail dragging down a champagne flute. No laughter, no adrenaline—just heat, simmering in every flick of her wrist, every half-lidded glance at the camera like she could already feel hands on her skin. The captions were sparse, deliberate: "Late nights only", "Tell me how badly you want it", "Good boys don't get to touch."
Every post wasn’t just a demand to look—it was a dare to want.
Twitter was a constant stream of punchy one-liners and suggestive stunt reels. TikTok was a minefield of temptation—short, scorching loops of Emily arching against silk bedsheets, biting her lower lip in teasing slow-motion, her fingers tracing idle circles over the lace hem of lingerie before cutting to black. No laughter, no wasted movement—just a half-second of exposed thigh, the barest glimpse of teeth grazing skin, all set to a pulse-heavy soundtrack that left you craving another replay. Every clip was a dare wrapped in five seconds of sin.
OnlyFans
The icon made my fingers hesitate. Of course she had one. I tapped it—password already saved—and nearly choked.
$27K last month. $42K the month before. A catalog of paywalled galleries—Mistress in Marble, Bondage & Breakfast, each one featuring me now, in poses so sinful my pulse stuttered. There I was, sprawled across black satin sheets, fingers tangled in my own hair as I arched toward the camera, lips parted just enough to tease. Another series showed me kneeling in thigh-high stockings, the garter straps biting into creamy skin while I stared down the lens with heavy-lidded authority.
Subscriptions
Then came the subscriptions. Of course she had every premium streaming service—Netflix, HBO, the works—but the real fun started scrolling down. Paid access to high-end porn sites, all sleek branding and "exclusive content." A membership to Velvet Orbit, some kind of luxury erotic streaming platform with thumbnails featuring tangled limbs under silk sheets and promises of "real couples, real desires."
I was closing out of the accounts when I heard it—three sharp raps against the bedroom wall, followed by two slower ones. A pattern. Deliberate.
My breath caught. That wasn’t the front door.
Emily’s memories surfaced like fragments of a dream—pressed against this same wall, her fingers finding the nearly invisible seam in the wallpaper, pushing just so—
A hidden door clicked open.
I froze as the panel swung inward, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for shoulders. And there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that matched the one I’d worn earlier, stood me.
My old body looked different now. The way he held himself was all Emily; the cocky tilt of his chin, the way his fingers drummed a lazy rhythm against his thigh. His shirt hung open, revealing the chest I used to know every scar and freckle of.
“Miss me already?” His voice was mine, but the cadence, the purr—hers.
“You—” My throat tightened. I hadn’t realized how much taller I used to be until I had to look up at myself.
“Uh-uh.” He wagged a finger—my finger—and stepped inside, the hidden door whispering shut behind him. “Rule one of the curse: no take-backs.” His gaze dragged over me, lingering where the robe gaped at my chest. “Though I do like what I see.”
A flush burned up my neck. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He prowled closer, close enough that I caught my old cologne on his skin. “I was hoping you’d find the toys first.” His grin widened as my cheeks heated. “Oh, you did.”
I backed up until the vanity dug into my spine. “Why are you here?”
His grin turned wicked as he leaned in, close enough for his borrowed lips to brush my ear. "Because you will be my bride and help continue the line as per the second half of the curse."
A few years later
The pain was unbearable—a searing, primal fire tearing through me with every contraction. My nails dug into the hospital bed sheets, sweat gluing Emily’s—no, mine now—long black hair to my face.
"You’re doing amazing," he murmured, squeezing my hand. Even now, with my old face lined with worry, the way he tilted his head was pure Emily—that same confident smirk tempered by something softer. The silver band on his finger glinted under the harsh hospital lights, matching the one nestled securely against my own ring finger.
"Shut up," I gasped, arching off the bed as another wave hit. "This is your fault.*"
He just chuckled, brushing damp strands back from my forehead. "Our family now, sweetheart." His thumb traced my knuckles. "And trust me, when you hold her, you won’t regret a damn thing."
The nurse between my legs looked up, grinning. "One more push, Mom. She’s right there."
I barely had time to scream before the pressure shattered into sudden, dizzying relief. A fragile, furious wail filled the room, and then—
Her.
Tiny. Perfect. Swaddled in a pink blanket and placed carefully against my chest, her little face scrunched up in outrage. Dark lashes fluttered against petal-soft cheeks, her miniature fingers curling reflexively around mine.
"Congratulations," the nurse murmured. "She’s beautiful."
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The weight of her was terrifying, intoxicating—mine.
"She has your nose," he whispered, bending to press a kiss to my temple. His—my old—calloused finger traced the baby’s shock of dark hair. "But your mother’s eyes." His voice cracked. "God, look at her."
The baby blinked up at us, her tiny mouth working silently before she settled with a sigh. The monitors beeped steadily, the world narrowing to this moment—this impossible, inevitable moment.
I leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, euphoric, and met my husband’s gaze.
"Worth it?" he teased, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
I clutched our daughter tighter—the next in the Lunawood line—and laughed through the tears.
This strange erotic story tells you about a teenage boy named Nicky and his lovely big-tittied girlfriend named Gena, who gets transformed by her boyfriend's amulet from the old magic shop that turns her into an ideal mom and has sex with. Not only that, he will continue to change her any moms or MILFs he wants to fuck.
My name is Nicolas O'Donnell, but most people call me Nick or Nicky for short. I'm just some average handsome high school teenager who finished the boring semester and enjoys the summer with my lovely girlfriend, Gena. Gena and I have been friends since childhood, and we've been dating for almost 6 years now. Gena is a cute, pretty, smart, outgoing, and sexy girl in school. Not only that, we've been hooking up with each other ever since our parents were around, we even found a spot where no one disturbed us, and we were enjoying our time together like playing games, studying each other, and having sex. Our relationship had been great, but lately… something wasn’t right. Not our relationship, we're still together.
Ever since I found that weird amulet at the old shop called "Spell R Us", I couldn’t stop thinking about it, as I was curious and decided to buy it myself. The owner is an old man who sold it to me, had winked and whispered, “Ya know, kid. I never thought that one day, someone would buy this. This amulet will give ya whatever ya want, kid.” As the old man replied, honestly, I didn’t believe in magic—until now.
When my mom and dad are on their honeymoon, I get to invite my girlfriend to come over to spend our time together. For a while, Gena stretched across my bed in nothing but an old band tee and panties, her blonde hair splayed over my pillow. Her body was already incredible—those big E-cup tits spilled out the sides of her shirt, her waist curving just enough to drive me wild. But as I clutched the amulet in my pocket, staring at her while pretending to scroll on my phone like I was texting my friends. I remember what the old shopkeeper said to me, and I was about to try it out, so I imagined my girlfriend, Gena, being someone. Someone… older, old enough at my parents' age. Someone with T-cup tits that defied gravity, hips that swelled into a perfect hourglass, a voice like honey and motherly warmth.
“Babe, why you starin’ at me like that?” Gena giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Is there something wrong?"
“Oh no, it's nothing, Gena. I'm just admiring you and... um... enjoy the view,” I lied, my fingers continued squeezing the amulet tighter as I tried to focus on my s. “Here goes nothing, c'mon, change for me,” I thought, unsure if it was even real.
Then, she twitched.
A weird little shiver ran through Gena’s body. She frowned, rubbing her forehead. “Ugh,... what's happening to me?... why... do... I feel kinda… dizzy...”
I held my breath as I realized the moment of transformation had begun.
Her fingers drifted down, grazing her own breasts absentmindedly, and—holy shit—were they… swelling? Just slightly, but I could see them pushing against her thin shirt. The curve of her waist seemed to soften, her hips widening ever so slightly beneath the sheets.
“Nicky, ba... baby,” she murmured, her voice already deeper, huskier. “I don’t… I don’t feel like myself.”
I swallowed hard, my cock already pressing against my jeans. “It’s okay, Gena,” I whispered, crawling onto the bed beside her. “You’re just gonna be fine.”
Gena’s eyes fluttered—and changed. Her once-playful gaze turned softer, warmer, filled with an easy maturity. A crease formed between her brows, then smoothed out. Her lips—full and painted a soft pink before—turned a deeper shade, her mouth parting slightly as a strange, dazed recognition flickered across her face.
“Nicky… sweetheart?” she murmured, voice thick with sudden affection.
My heart pounded with excitement. It was working.
I reached out, letting my fingers brush her side—and gasped. Her skin was softer now, silkier, with the faintest touch of age smoothing over her. Her tits had risen higher, fuller, heavier, straining against the fabric of her shirt.
“Oh... my... god,...” I whispered, unable to stop.
She blinked slowly, then smiled—a warm, maternal smile—before her hand drifted up to cup my cheek. “Baby, you look tense,” she cooed. “Did you have a hard day?”
I shuddered. She thought, acted, and sounded like she was my mom all of a sudden.
But her transformation wasn’t done yet. The amulet was burning in my pocket now, pulsing with energy as her body shifted. Her E-Cup tits swelled impossibly larger, her shirt seams groaning before finally snapping, buttons pinging across the room as those massive T-cup mommy milkers spilled free.
“Oh my!” she gasped—her voice now deep, velvety—and looked down at herself. Her fingers traced over her new curves, her huge areolas darkening, her nipples stiffening. “Ohhh… I forgot how big I was.”
Her stomach had softened into a perfect little pooch, leading down to thickened thighs that could smother a man. Her face had aged—just enough—to show laugh lines, motherhood written in every new crease. Her blonde hair had darkened slightly, now streaked with a few silvery strands, swept into a loose, messy updo of a dirty blonde.
And most of all—she looks entirely different from what she was, and believed she was my mom.
Geraldine.
My new mommy, whom I always dream about.
Her eyes flicked down, spotting my raging hard-on, and she tutted—like this wasn’t the first time she’d caught me like this. “Nicky, really?” she sighed, shaking her head. “You know you shouldn’t be getting all worked up like this.”
I couldn’t take it. My hands shot up, groping her monstrously huge tits—so much bigger than before, so perfect—and she gasped, her cheeks flushing.
“Nicky! My, what are you doing to your mom, sweetie?” Gena,... or rather, Geraldine scolded, but she didn’t pull away. She's surprised when my hands reach out and cupping her massive tits. I knew—this was so much better than Gena. But I still love my girlfriend. Right now, I just want to enjoy my time with my "mom".
Gena gasped, her body felt sensitive to my touch. "Nicky... sweetie... you... you can't do that. I'm your mom."
I smiled, my thumbs brushing over her hard nipples. "I know, mom. I'm sorry, but I couldn't help myself."
Geraldine moaned, her eyes fluttering closed as my hands explored her body. I leaned down, my mouth capturing one of her nipples as he sucked it into my mouth. Geraldine cried out, her hands grasping my head as she held mine to her.
My hand slid down her body, slipping between her legs. I could feel her heat, her wetness, even through her panties. I hooked my fingers into the waistband, pulling them down and off her legs.
I sat up, straddling her hips as I looked down at her naked curvaceous hourglass body. My cock was hard, throbbing with need as I quickly shed my own clothes.
Gena looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of lust and confusion. "Nicky... baby... w... we can't do this. I'm your mom. And... what if your d... dad gets home and sees us like this.."
I smiled, my hands sliding up her thighs as I spread her legs wide. "I don't care, mom. And you know, even if you're my mom, I still love you."
With that, I slid my cock into her, her warm, wet pussy enveloping him completely. We both moaned, our bodies moving together in a dance as old as time.
Geraldine's massive breasts bounced with each thrust, her nipples hard and begging to be sucked. I leaned down, capturing one in my mouth as i continued to fuck her, my cock sliding in and out of her at a relentless pace.
Gena moaned, her head thrashing from side to side as she cried out, "Nicky... baby... we... have to stop... what if... someone... would..."
The more she moaned, the more horny I got, and I wasn't listening. I was too far gone, as my body was overcome with lust and desire. I fucked her harder, my cock pounding into her as I continued suck at her massive tits.
Geraldine's protests turned to moans of pleasure, her body shaking with each thrust. But she still tried to resist, her hands pushing at my chest as she begged me to stop.
I looked up at her, my eyes filled with determination. I captured her mouth in a searing kiss, my tongue sliding between her lips as I silenced her protests.
Gena-Geraldine moaned into my mouth, her body melting against mine as she gave in to her desires. When I finally pulled away, she looked up at me, her eyes filled with lust and need.
"You know what, baby," she murmured. "I think mommy love it, now fuck your momma like a slut."
I grinned, my cock throbbing with triumph. I sat back, grabbing her wide hips as I slammed into her, my cock pounding into her at a relentless pace.
Gena-Geraldine cried out, her massive breasts bouncing with each thrust as she moaned, "Yes, baby. Yes! Fuck your momma. Fuck me. Fuck me like a lover."
Our lovemaking was intense, our bodies slick with sweat as we moved together. When we finally cum, it was explosive, our bodies shaking with the intensity of our orgasms.
I collapsed on top of my ideal mom, Geraldine, my cock still buried deep inside her. She wrapped her arms around me, her hands stroking my back as she cooed softly to me.
"That's my boy," she murmured and giggled.
I grinned, my cock already hardening again at her words. I looked up at her, my eyes filled with love and lust.
"I love you, mom," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.
Gena-now-Geraldine smiled, her eyes filled with love. "I love you, too, sweety."
As we lay and cuddled there, our bodies entwined, I knew that this was just the beginning of my exciting transformation adventure. Gena might no longer just my girlfriend, she becomes my ideal MILF that I dreamed about. Maybe this transformation wasn't so bad after all. Perhaps, I could change her back, and then she doesn't remember any of it, or I could keep her this way until my parents get back.
To be continued…
My name is Nicolas O'Donnell, but most people call me Nick or Nicky for short. I'm just some average handsome high school teenager who finished the boring semester and enjoys the summer with my lovely girlfriend, Gena. Gena and I have been friends since childhood, and we've been dating for almost 6 years now. Gena is a cute, pretty, smart, outgoing, and sexy girl in school. Not only that, we've been hooking up with each other ever since our parents were around, we even found a spot where no one disturbed us, and we were enjoying our time together like playing games, studying each other, and having sex. Our relationship had been great, but lately… something wasn’t right. Not our relationship, we're still together.
Ever since I found that weird amulet at the old shop called "Spell R Us", I couldn’t stop thinking about it, as I was curious and decided to buy it myself. The owner is an old man who sold it to me, had winked and whispered, “Ya know, kid. I never thought that one day, someone would buy this. This amulet will give ya whatever ya want, kid.” As the old man replied, honestly, I didn’t believe in magic—until now.
When my mom and dad are on their honeymoon, I get to invite my girlfriend to come over to spend our time together. For a while, Gena stretched across my bed in nothing but an old band tee and panties, her blonde hair splayed over my pillow. Her body was already incredible—those big E-cup tits spilled out the sides of her shirt, her waist curving just enough to drive me wild. But as I clutched the amulet in my pocket, staring at her while pretending to scroll on my phone like I was texting my friends. I remember what the old shopkeeper said to me, and I was about to try it out, so I imagined my girlfriend, Gena, being someone. Someone… older, old enough at my parents' age. Someone with T-cup tits that defied gravity, hips that swelled into a perfect hourglass, a voice like honey and motherly warmth.
“Babe, why you starin’ at me like that?” Gena giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Is there something wrong?"
“Oh no, it's nothing, Gena. I'm just admiring you and... um... enjoy the view,” I lied, my fingers continued squeezing the amulet tighter as I tried to focus on my s. “Here goes nothing, c'mon, change for me,” I thought, unsure if it was even real.
Then, she twitched.
A weird little shiver ran through Gena’s body. She frowned, rubbing her forehead. “Ugh,... what's happening to me?... why... do... I feel kinda… dizzy...”
I held my breath as I realized the moment of transformation had begun.
Her fingers drifted down, grazing her own breasts absentmindedly, and—holy shit—were they… swelling? Just slightly, but I could see them pushing against her thin shirt. The curve of her waist seemed to soften, her hips widening ever so slightly beneath the sheets.
“Nicky, ba... baby,” she murmured, her voice already deeper, huskier. “I don’t… I don’t feel like myself.”
I swallowed hard, my cock already pressing against my jeans. “It’s okay, Gena,” I whispered, crawling onto the bed beside her. “You’re just gonna be fine.”
Gena’s eyes fluttered—and changed. Her once-playful gaze turned softer, warmer, filled with an easy maturity. A crease formed between her brows, then smoothed out. Her lips—full and painted a soft pink before—turned a deeper shade, her mouth parting slightly as a strange, dazed recognition flickered across her face.
“Nicky… sweetheart?” she murmured, voice thick with sudden affection.
My heart pounded with excitement. It was working.
I reached out, letting my fingers brush her side—and gasped. Her skin was softer now, silkier, with the faintest touch of age smoothing over her. Her tits had risen higher, fuller, heavier, straining against the fabric of her shirt.
“Oh... my... god,...” I whispered, unable to stop.
She blinked slowly, then smiled—a warm, maternal smile—before her hand drifted up to cup my cheek. “Baby, you look tense,” she cooed. “Did you have a hard day?”
I shuddered. She thought, acted, and sounded like she was my mom all of a sudden.
But her transformation wasn’t done yet. The amulet was burning in my pocket now, pulsing with energy as her body shifted. Her E-Cup tits swelled impossibly larger, her shirt seams groaning before finally snapping, buttons pinging across the room as those massive T-cup mommy milkers spilled free.
“Oh my!” she gasped—her voice now deep, velvety—and looked down at herself. Her fingers traced over her new curves, her huge areolas darkening, her nipples stiffening. “Ohhh… I forgot how big I was.”
Her stomach had softened into a perfect little pooch, leading down to thickened thighs that could smother a man. Her face had aged—just enough—to show laugh lines, motherhood written in every new crease. Her blonde hair had darkened slightly, now streaked with a few silvery strands, swept into a loose, messy updo of a dirty blonde.
And most of all—she looks entirely different from what she was, and believed she was my mom.
Geraldine.
My new mommy, whom I always dream about.
Her eyes flicked down, spotting my raging hard-on, and she tutted—like this wasn’t the first time she’d caught me like this. “Nicky, really?” she sighed, shaking her head. “You know you shouldn’t be getting all worked up like this.”
I couldn’t take it. My hands shot up, groping her monstrously huge tits—so much bigger than before, so perfect—and she gasped, her cheeks flushing.
“Nicky! My, what are you doing to your mom, sweetie?” Gena,... or rather, Geraldine scolded, but she didn’t pull away. She's surprised when my hands reach out and cupping her massive tits. I knew—this was so much better than Gena. But I still love my girlfriend. Right now, I just want to enjoy my time with my "mom".
Gena gasped, her body felt sensitive to my touch. "Nicky... sweetie... you... you can't do that. I'm your mom."
I smiled, my thumbs brushing over her hard nipples. "I know, mom. I'm sorry, but I couldn't help myself."
Geraldine moaned, her eyes fluttering closed as my hands explored her body. I leaned down, my mouth capturing one of her nipples as he sucked it into my mouth. Geraldine cried out, her hands grasping my head as she held mine to her.
My hand slid down her body, slipping between her legs. I could feel her heat, her wetness, even through her panties. I hooked my fingers into the waistband, pulling them down and off her legs.
I sat up, straddling her hips as I looked down at her naked curvaceous hourglass body. My cock was hard, throbbing with need as I quickly shed my own clothes.
Gena looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of lust and confusion. "Nicky... baby... w... we can't do this. I'm your mom. And... what if your d... dad gets home and sees us like this.."
I smiled, my hands sliding up her thighs as I spread her legs wide. "I don't care, mom. And you know, even if you're my mom, I still love you."
With that, I slid my cock into her, her warm, wet pussy enveloping him completely. We both moaned, our bodies moving together in a dance as old as time.
Geraldine's massive breasts bounced with each thrust, her nipples hard and begging to be sucked. I leaned down, capturing one in my mouth as i continued to fuck her, my cock sliding in and out of her at a relentless pace.
Gena moaned, her head thrashing from side to side as she cried out, "Nicky... baby... we... have to stop... what if... someone... would..."
The more she moaned, the more horny I got, and I wasn't listening. I was too far gone, as my body was overcome with lust and desire. I fucked her harder, my cock pounding into her as I continued suck at her massive tits.
Geraldine's protests turned to moans of pleasure, her body shaking with each thrust. But she still tried to resist, her hands pushing at my chest as she begged me to stop.
I looked up at her, my eyes filled with determination. I captured her mouth in a searing kiss, my tongue sliding between her lips as I silenced her protests.
Gena-Geraldine moaned into my mouth, her body melting against mine as she gave in to her desires. When I finally pulled away, she looked up at me, her eyes filled with lust and need.
"You know what, baby," she murmured. "I think mommy love it, now fuck your momma like a slut."
I grinned, my cock throbbing with triumph. I sat back, grabbing her wide hips as I slammed into her, my cock pounding into her at a relentless pace.
Gena-Geraldine cried out, her massive breasts bouncing with each thrust as she moaned, "Yes, baby. Yes! Fuck your momma. Fuck me. Fuck me like a lover."
Our lovemaking was intense, our bodies slick with sweat as we moved together. When we finally cum, it was explosive, our bodies shaking with the intensity of our orgasms.
I collapsed on top of my ideal mom, Geraldine, my cock still buried deep inside her. She wrapped her arms around me, her hands stroking my back as she cooed softly to me.
"That's my boy," she murmured and giggled.
I grinned, my cock already hardening again at her words. I looked up at her, my eyes filled with love and lust.
"I love you, mom," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.
Gena-now-Geraldine smiled, her eyes filled with love. "I love you, too, sweety."
As we lay and cuddled there, our bodies entwined, I knew that this was just the beginning of my exciting transformation adventure. Gena might no longer just my girlfriend, she becomes my ideal MILF that I dreamed about. Maybe this transformation wasn't so bad after all. Perhaps, I could change her back, and then she doesn't remember any of it, or I could keep her this way until my parents get back.
To be continued…
Then one day my wish came true.
"The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by
accident," I admitted, reluctantly.
"How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little,
her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly
into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing
eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar.
I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity
of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she
insisted.
"No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on.
"Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just
patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap'
feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I
could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints
for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually
shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home."
There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been
Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good
enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several
circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of
Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many
online raids and stunts.
That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so
queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where
we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache
and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when
I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking
through his eyes and breathing his air.
"Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her
way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off.
"Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and
defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I
discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form
from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into
that imprinted form and back again."
Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered
it?"
"Uh, yeah. I experimented."
Yes, I experimented. A lot.
Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I
had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I
realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies.
I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and
mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't
take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My
entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and
gel into the new shape and become solid again.
I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on
clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That
would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come.
As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses,
and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt
comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his
body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go
on longer than in my own physique.
All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom
or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I
was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit
amything to Bill.
I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I
wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from
school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also
had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes
floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it
hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to
fade away.
However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an
exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature
characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an
acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The
colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was
blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more
easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a
sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never
knew existed.
There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged
in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others
while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed
so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in
height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of
distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In
each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the
altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth
against my tongue.
Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that
it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were
coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't
make me feel sick like the first time.
I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a
girl.
This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about
sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen
who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged
environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at
school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy.
But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch
and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This
fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to
fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out.
As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my
imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy-
looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I
should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set
my trap at the Mall.
If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a
victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for
a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However,
I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed
into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I
wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both
forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air-
conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on
a one to ten scale.
It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too
old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy
women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a
distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were
some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and
arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose.
Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a
lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a
twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed
with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous
mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped,
with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a
stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them
move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well-
tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she
was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag
swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the
side.
"Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea
who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly
touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of
the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling
and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really
beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched
into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her
personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad,
I'm real sorry."
"No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice
was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of
them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd
touched her.
"Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find
my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I
dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my
mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then
pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me.
I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush
of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's
body, which was beginning to fill my senses.
It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a
spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On
that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form
and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal.
This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it
could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of
breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my
thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts.
Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in
the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily
hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the
floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to
stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge
to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange,
feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to
the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male
orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change
from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and
my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my
ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In
seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling
around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat
across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now
grasped at empty air in front of my pussy.
Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint
between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This
is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from
airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to
face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real
woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin,
tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose,
along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair
was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands
rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers.
Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass
and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began
a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest
muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them
they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger
than the other.
My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be.
They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery
of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles.
My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and
fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as
fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and
their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal
was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made
me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me.
Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my
body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch
and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts
was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the
teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I
hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins
would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow.
As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm
abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned
behind, soft and satisfyingly round.
And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs,
which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to
quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip
one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from
downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom
calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then
stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the
bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my
girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift
back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls
drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic
experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped
myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the
inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a
miserable meal.
From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my
feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the
house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban
nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the
sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple
curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by
a mass of soft hair.
I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and
heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore
my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of
seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would
flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would
delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my
body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a
ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There,
sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot
moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then
I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw
a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of
my sex.
The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I
lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like
the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise
and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still
encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I
woke and could change back.
I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by
my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my
room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more
relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with
it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started
to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved
the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center
of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my
legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone.
I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie
shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of
course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a
screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from
behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it
lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our
guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new
game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time,
and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's
voice.
Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with
clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure
that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that
squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric.
That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched
pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly
folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach
a hand inside and rub my vajayjay.
My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or
sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's
clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a
distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space
of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends
reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found
something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into.
I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a
conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and
stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up
my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes
working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with
some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt
constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something
ripping.
I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after
forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood
in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to
overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not
comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made
the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight
of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my
body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel.
There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the
dressâ€"an operation as difficult as getting it onâ€"and looked for what
else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties
that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed
to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in
another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be
made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs
So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps,
I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now
expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and
then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start
the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax.
This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the
erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I
was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone
who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I
never received as a guy.
I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was
askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and
those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a
mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a
woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted.
Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So
long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I
transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape.
It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I
tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of
small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed.
However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would
degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends
online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I
began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the
hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift
again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded.
I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but
the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong.
When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and
half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's
and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my
hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions,
my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained
male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of
tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl.
I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function
properly. My adolescent, unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in
growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to
bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk
myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything
came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying.
The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a
bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise
and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman
again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved
to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most
attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without
getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without
much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted
shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my
consciousness.
With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival
of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of
wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing.
The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an
ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible
curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle
touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I
changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling
inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy
ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to
check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad
carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like
bruised circles.
It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and
circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness
was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like
being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which
hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less
sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in
the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However,
as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I
discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt
something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a
beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that
slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my
nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and
worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I
thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard
with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and
came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me
in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch
the tears.
Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form.
Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to
use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos,
slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper
inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking
the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new
spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my
hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a
peak I needed to come down from.
By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with
the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for
her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It
took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint.
When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most
amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support.
They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast
intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body
against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz.
It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic
body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had
shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug,
moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I
discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her
clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were
less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp
peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up
between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me
spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to
consecutive orgasms, and often did.
I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would
bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form.
Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl
juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting
thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back
into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my
fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny, schoolgirl
boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and
found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's
body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me
drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy
would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form.
The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian
girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to
look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp
epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well
proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs.
Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted
nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt
comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the
response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe
body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me
want to sink into drowsy torpor.
The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim
shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I
stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes.
Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita
could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them
comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the
room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into
and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and
matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop
myself dancing.
Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day
dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange
compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk
teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini
while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice
legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down
the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I
could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older.
With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta
getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or
three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh.
The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my
male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in
company.
Then one day my wish came true.
"The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by
accident," I admitted, reluctantly.
"How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little,
her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly
into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing
eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar.
I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity
of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she
insisted.
"No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on.
"Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just
patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap'
feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I
could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints
for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually
shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home."
There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been
Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good
enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several
circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of
Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many
online raids and stunts.
That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so
queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where
we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache
and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when
I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking
through his eyes and breathing his air.
"Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her
way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off.
"Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and
defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I
discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form
from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into
that imprinted form and back again."
Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered
it?"
"Uh, yeah. I experimented."
Yes, I experimented. A lot.
Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I
had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I
realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies.
I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and
mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't
take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My
entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and
gel into the new shape and become solid again.
I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on
clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That
would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come.
As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses,
and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt
comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his
body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go
on longer than in my own physique.
All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom
or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I
was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit
amything to Bill.
I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I
wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from
school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also
had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes
floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it
hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to
fade away.
However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an
exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature
characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an
acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The
colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was
blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more
easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a
sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never
knew existed.
There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged
in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others
while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed
so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in
height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of
distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In
each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the
altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth
against my tongue.
Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that
it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were
coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't
make me feel sick like the first time.
I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a
girl.
This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about
sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen
who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged
environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at
school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy.
But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch
and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This
fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to
fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out.
As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my
imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy-
looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I
should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set
my trap at the Mall.
If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a
victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for
a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However,
I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed
into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I
wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both
forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air-
conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on
a one to ten scale.
It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too
old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy
women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a
distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were
some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and
arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose.
Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a
lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a
twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed
with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous
mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped,
with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a
stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them
move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well-
tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she
was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag
swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the
side.
"Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea
who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly
touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of
the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling
and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really
beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched
into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her
personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad,
I'm real sorry."
"No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice
was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of
them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd
touched her.
"Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find
my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I
dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my
mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then
pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me.
I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush
of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's
body, which was beginning to fill my senses.
It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a
spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On
that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form
and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal.
This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it
could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of
breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my
thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts.
Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in
the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily
hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the
floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to
stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge
to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange,
feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to
the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male
orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change
from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and
my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my
ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In
seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling
around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat
across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now
grasped at empty air in front of my pussy.
Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint
between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This
is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from
airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to
face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real
woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin,
tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose,
along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair
was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands
rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers.
Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass
and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began
a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest
muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them
they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger
than the other.
My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be.
They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery
of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles.
My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and
fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as
fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and
their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal
was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made
me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me.
Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my
body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch
and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts
was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the
teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I
hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins
would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow.
As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm
abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned
behind, soft and satisfyingly round.
And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs,
which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to
quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip
one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from
downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom
calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then
stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the
bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my
girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift
back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls
drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic
experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped
myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the
inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a
miserable meal.
From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my
feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the
house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban
nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the
sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple
curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by
a mass of soft hair.
I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and
heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore
my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of
seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would
flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would
delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my
body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a
ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There,
sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot
moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then
I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw
a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of
my sex.
The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I
lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like
the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise
and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still
encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I
woke and could change back.
I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by
my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my
room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more
relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with
it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started
to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved
the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center
of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my
legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone.
I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie
shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of
course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a
screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from
behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it
lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our
guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new
game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time,
and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's
voice.
Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with
clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure
that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that
squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric.
That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched
pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly
folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach
a hand inside and rub my vajayjay.
My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or
sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's
clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a
distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space
of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends
reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found
something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into.
I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a
conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and
stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up
my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes
working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with
some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt
constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something
ripping.
I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after
forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood
in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to
overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not
comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made
the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight
of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my
body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel.
There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the
dressâ€"an operation as difficult as getting it onâ€"and looked for what
else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties
that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed
to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in
another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be
made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs
So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps,
I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now
expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and
then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start
the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax.
This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the
erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I
was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone
who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I
never received as a guy.
I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was
askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and
those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a
mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a
woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted.
Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So
long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I
transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape.
It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I
tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of
small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed.
However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would
degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends
online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I
began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the
hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift
again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded.
I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but
the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong.
When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and
half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's
and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my
hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions,
my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained
male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of
tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl.
I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function
properly. My unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in
growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to
bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk
myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything
came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying.
The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a
bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise
and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman
again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved
to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most
attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without
getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without
much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted
shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my
consciousness.
With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival
of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of
wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing.
The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an
ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible
curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle
touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I
changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling
inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy
ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to
check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad
carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like
bruised circles.
It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and
circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness
was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like
being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which
hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less
sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in
the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However,
as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I
discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt
something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a
beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that
slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my
nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and
worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I
thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard
with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and
came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me
in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch
the tears.
Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form.
Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to
use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos,
slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper
inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking
the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new
spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my
hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a
peak I needed to come down from.
By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with
the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for
her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It
took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint.
When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most
amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support.
They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast
intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body
against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz.
It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic
body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had
shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug,
moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I
discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her
clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were
less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp
peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up
between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me
spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to
consecutive orgasms, and often did.
I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would
bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form.
Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl
juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting
thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back
into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my
fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny
boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and
found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's
body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me
drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy
would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form.
The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian
girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to
look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp
epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well
proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs.
Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted
nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt
comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the
response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe
body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me
want to sink into drowsy torpor.
The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim
shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I
stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes.
Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita
could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them
comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the
room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into
and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and
matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop
myself dancing.
Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day
dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange
compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk
teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini
while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice
legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down
the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I
could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older.
With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta
getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or
three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh.
The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my
male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in
company.
"The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by
accident," I admitted, reluctantly.
"How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little,
her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly
into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing
eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar.
I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity
of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she
insisted.
"No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on.
"Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just
patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap'
feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I
could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints
for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually
shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home."
There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been
Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good
enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several
circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of
Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many
online raids and stunts.
That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so
queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where
we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache
and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when
I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking
through his eyes and breathing his air.
"Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her
way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off.
"Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and
defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I
discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form
from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into
that imprinted form and back again."
Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered
it?"
"Uh, yeah. I experimented."
Yes, I experimented. A lot.
Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I
had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I
realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies.
I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and
mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't
take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My
entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and
gel into the new shape and become solid again.
I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on
clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That
would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come.
As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses,
and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt
comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his
body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go
on longer than in my own physique.
All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom
or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I
was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit
amything to Bill.
I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I
wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from
school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also
had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes
floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it
hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to
fade away.
However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an
exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature
characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an
acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The
colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was
blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more
easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a
sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never
knew existed.
There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged
in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others
while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed
so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in
height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of
distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In
each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the
altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth
against my tongue.
Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that
it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were
coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't
make me feel sick like the first time.
I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a
girl.
This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about
sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen
who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged
environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at
school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy.
But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch
and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This
fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to
fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out.
As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my
imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy-
looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I
should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set
my trap at the Mall.
If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a
victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for
a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However,
I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed
into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I
wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both
forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air-
conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on
a one to ten scale.
It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too
old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy
women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a
distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were
some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and
arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose.
Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a
lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a
twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed
with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous
mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped,
with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a
stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them
move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well-
tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she
was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag
swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the
side.
"Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea
who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly
touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of
the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling
and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really
beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched
into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her
personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad,
I'm real sorry."
"No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice
was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of
them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd
touched her.
"Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find
my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I
dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my
mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then
pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me.
I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush
of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's
body, which was beginning to fill my senses.
It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a
spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On
that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form
and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal.
This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it
could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of
breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my
thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts.
Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in
the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily
hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the
floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to
stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge
to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange,
feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to
the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male
orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change
from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and
my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my
ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In
seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling
around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat
across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now
grasped at empty air in front of my pussy.
Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint
between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This
is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from
airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to
face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real
woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin,
tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose,
along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair
was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands
rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers.
Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass
and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began
a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest
muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them
they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger
than the other.
My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be.
They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery
of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles.
My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and
fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as
fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and
their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal
was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made
me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me.
Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my
body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch
and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts
was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the
teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I
hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins
would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow.
As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm
abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned
behind, soft and satisfyingly round.
And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs,
which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to
quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip
one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from
downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom
calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then
stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the
bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my
girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift
back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls
drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic
experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped
myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the
inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a
miserable meal.
From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my
feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the
house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban
nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the
sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple
curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by
a mass of soft hair.
I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and
heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore
my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of
seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would
flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would
delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my
body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a
ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There,
sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot
moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then
I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw
a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of
my sex.
The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I
lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like
the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise
and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still
encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I
woke and could change back.
I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by
my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my
room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more
relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with
it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started
to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved
the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center
of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my
legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone.
I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie
shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of
course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a
screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from
behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it
lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our
guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new
game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time,
and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's
voice.
Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with
clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure
that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that
squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric.
That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched
pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly
folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach
a hand inside and rub my vajayjay.
My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or
sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's
clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a
distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space
of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends
reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found
something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into.
I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a
conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and
stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up
my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes
working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with
some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt
constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something
ripping.
I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after
forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood
in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to
overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not
comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made
the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight
of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my
body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel.
There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the
dressâ€"an operation as difficult as getting it onâ€"and looked for what
else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties
that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed
to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in
another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be
made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs
So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps,
I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now
expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and
then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start
the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax.
This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the
erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I
was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone
who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I
never received as a guy.
I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was
askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and
those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a
mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a
woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted.
Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So
long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I
transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape.
It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I
tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of
small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed.
However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would
degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends
online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I
began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the
hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift
again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded.
I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but
the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong.
When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and
half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's
and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my
hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions,
my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained
male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of
tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl.
I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function
properly. My adolescent, unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in
growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to
bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk
myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything
came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying.
The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a
bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise
and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman
again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved
to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most
attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without
getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without
much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted
shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my
consciousness.
With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival
of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of
wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing.
The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an
ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible
curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle
touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I
changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling
inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy
ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to
check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad
carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like
bruised circles.
It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and
circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness
was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like
being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which
hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less
sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in
the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However,
as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I
discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt
something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a
beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that
slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my
nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and
worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I
thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard
with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and
came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me
in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch
the tears.
Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form.
Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to
use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos,
slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper
inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking
the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new
spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my
hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a
peak I needed to come down from.
By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with
the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for
her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It
took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint.
When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most
amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support.
They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast
intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body
against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz.
It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic
body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had
shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug,
moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I
discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her
clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were
less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp
peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up
between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me
spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to
consecutive orgasms, and often did.
I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would
bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form.
Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl
juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting
thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back
into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my
fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny, schoolgirl
boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and
found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's
body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me
drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy
would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form.
The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian
girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to
look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp
epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well
proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs.
Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted
nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt
comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the
response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe
body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me
want to sink into drowsy torpor.
The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim
shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I
stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes.
Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita
could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them
comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the
room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into
and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and
matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop
myself dancing.
Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day
dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange
compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk
teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini
while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice
legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down
the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I
could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older.
With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta
getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or
three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh.
The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my
male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in
company.
Then one day my wish came true.
"The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by
accident," I admitted, reluctantly.
"How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little,
her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly
into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing
eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar.
I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity
of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she
insisted.
"No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on.
"Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just
patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap'
feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I
could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints
for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually
shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home."
There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been
Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good
enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several
circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of
Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many
online raids and stunts.
That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so
queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where
we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache
and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when
I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking
through his eyes and breathing his air.
"Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her
way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off.
"Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and
defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I
discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form
from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into
that imprinted form and back again."
Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered
it?"
"Uh, yeah. I experimented."
Yes, I experimented. A lot.
Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I
had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I
realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies.
I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and
mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't
take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My
entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and
gel into the new shape and become solid again.
I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on
clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That
would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come.
As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses,
and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt
comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his
body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go
on longer than in my own physique.
All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom
or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I
was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit
amything to Bill.
I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I
wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from
school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also
had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes
floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it
hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to
fade away.
However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an
exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature
characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an
acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The
colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was
blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more
easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a
sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never
knew existed.
There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged
in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others
while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed
so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in
height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of
distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In
each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the
altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth
against my tongue.
Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that
it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were
coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't
make me feel sick like the first time.
I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a
girl.
This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about
sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen
who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged
environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at
school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy.
But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch
and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This
fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to
fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out.
As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my
imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy-
looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I
should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set
my trap at the Mall.
If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a
victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for
a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However,
I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed
into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I
wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both
forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air-
conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on
a one to ten scale.
It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too
old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy
women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a
distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were
some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and
arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose.
Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a
lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a
twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed
with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous
mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped,
with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a
stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them
move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well-
tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she
was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag
swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the
side.
"Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea
who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly
touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of
the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling
and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really
beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched
into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her
personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad,
I'm real sorry."
"No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice
was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of
them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd
touched her.
"Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find
my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I
dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my
mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then
pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me.
I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush
of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's
body, which was beginning to fill my senses.
It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a
spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On
that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form
and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal.
This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it
could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of
breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my
thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts.
Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in
the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily
hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the
floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to
stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge
to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange,
feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to
the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male
orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change
from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and
my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my
ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In
seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling
around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat
across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now
grasped at empty air in front of my pussy.
Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint
between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This
is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from
airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to
face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real
woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin,
tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose,
along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair
was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands
rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers.
Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass
and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began
a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest
muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them
they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger
than the other.
My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be.
They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery
of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles.
My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and
fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as
fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and
their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal
was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made
me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me.
Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my
body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch
and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts
was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the
teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I
hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins
would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow.
As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm
abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned
behind, soft and satisfyingly round.
And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs,
which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to
quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip
one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from
downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom
calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then
stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the
bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my
girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift
back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls
drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic
experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped
myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the
inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a
miserable meal.
From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my
feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the
house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban
nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the
sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple
curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by
a mass of soft hair.
I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and
heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore
my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of
seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would
flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would
delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my
body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a
ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There,
sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot
moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then
I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw
a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of
my sex.
The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I
lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like
the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise
and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still
encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I
woke and could change back.
I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by
my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my
room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more
relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with
it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started
to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved
the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center
of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my
legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone.
I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie
shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of
course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a
screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from
behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it
lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our
guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new
game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time,
and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's
voice.
Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with
clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure
that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that
squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric.
That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched
pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly
folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach
a hand inside and rub my vajayjay.
My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or
sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's
clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a
distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space
of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends
reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found
something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into.
I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a
conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and
stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up
my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes
working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with
some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt
constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something
ripping.
I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after
forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood
in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to
overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not
comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made
the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight
of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my
body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel.
There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the
dressâ€"an operation as difficult as getting it onâ€"and looked for what
else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties
that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed
to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in
another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be
made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs
So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps,
I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now
expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and
then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start
the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax.
This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the
erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I
was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone
who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I
never received as a guy.
I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was
askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and
those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a
mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a
woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted.
Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So
long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I
transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape.
It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I
tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of
small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed.
However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would
degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends
online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I
began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the
hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift
again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded.
I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but
the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong.
When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and
half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's
and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my
hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions,
my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained
male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of
tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl.
I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function
properly. My unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in
growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to
bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk
myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything
came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying.
The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a
bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise
and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman
again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved
to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most
attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without
getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without
much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted
shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my
consciousness.
With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival
of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of
wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing.
The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an
ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible
curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle
touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I
changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling
inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy
ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to
check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad
carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like
bruised circles.
It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and
circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness
was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like
being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which
hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less
sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in
the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However,
as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I
discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt
something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a
beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that
slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my
nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and
worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I
thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard
with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and
came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me
in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch
the tears.
Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form.
Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to
use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos,
slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper
inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking
the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new
spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my
hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a
peak I needed to come down from.
By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with
the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for
her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It
took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint.
When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most
amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support.
They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast
intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body
against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz.
It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic
body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had
shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug,
moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I
discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her
clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were
less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp
peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up
between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me
spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to
consecutive orgasms, and often did.
I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would
bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form.
Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl
juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting
thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back
into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my
fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny
boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and
found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's
body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me
drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy
would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form.
The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian
girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to
look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp
epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well
proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs.
Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted
nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt
comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the
response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe
body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me
want to sink into drowsy torpor.
The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim
shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I
stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes.
Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita
could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them
comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the
room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into
and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and
matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop
myself dancing.
Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day
dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange
compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk
teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini
while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice
legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down
the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I
could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older.
With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta
getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or
three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh.
The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my
male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in
company.
This is a rewrite & expansion of The Guillotine by Smiles on Writing.com -- https://www.writing.com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1575512-The-Guillotine
It's set in the same world and will start of similarly, but will quickly expand out in different directions without directly copying the original.
____
A family member discovers a magical guillotine at a magic shop called Franz Joseph Illusions. It has the ability to cut off body parts and let them be reattached to anyone and anywhere!
Rules:
- When a body part is cut off, the person it is removed from can still feel and move it until it is attached to somebody else.
- When it is attached to somebody else, the original owner loses all sensation in it, and the new person gains the ability to move and feel it as if it is their own.
- If it is cut off from the second person, they keep control of the body part until it is again attached to another person.
- If a body part is attached to something inanimate (like a wall or a table), it just goes completely numb.
The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into Franz Joseph Illusions, the musty scent of aged wood and old velvet filling your nose. The shop was dimly lit, dust motes swirling in the shafts of sunlight that pierced through the grimy front windows. Behind the counter sat an ancient man with wiry white hair and thick spectacles that magnified his watery blue eyes. He barely glanced up from his newspaper as you entered.
Your boots scuffed against the worn wooden floorboards as you wandered between displays of magic props. A gleaming chrome box for sawing women in half stood beside a levitation rig with silk scarves still draped over its frame. But your attention kept drifting to the back corner where a massive guillotine loomed, its polished blade catching the light in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.
Running your fingers along the smooth oak frame, you examined the intricate carvings of fleur-de-lis along the sides. The metal components gleamed with fresh oil, the blade's edge so sharp you could see your distorted reflection in it. Crouching down, you checked beneath the lunette - the semicircular brace where a victim's neck would rest - but found no manufacturer's marks or price tags.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" The old man's voice made you jump. He'd appeared silently beside you, his gnarled hands stroking the guillotine's frame with disturbing affection. "Built in 1793 for the Comte de Rougemont. He commissioned it to save his own neck, if you'll pardon the expression."
You frowned. "How does a guillotine save someone?"
The old man's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Magic, my boy. The oldest kind." He rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame. "This one's special. The blade never quite... connects. Makes for quite the party trick."
Your fingers itched to try it. "How much?"
"To buy? More than you've got in that wallet." He chuckled at your crestfallen expression. "But I'll lend it to you for a week. Show your friends. Maybe slice some fruit. Just remember to mention Franz Joseph's when they scream."
Within the hour, you'd carefully loaded the massive contraption into your pickup, the old man fussing over the padding like a mother with a newborn. The drive home was tense, every bump making you glance nervously at the rearview mirror to check the guillotine hadn't shifted.
Back in your garage, you wrestled the heavy device into position, the scent of oil and aged wood filling the space. The blade hung ominously above the empty lunette, the release mechanism's rope coiled like a sleeping serpent. Excited to test it, you hurried inside to grab a watermelon from the fridge.
The cool night air hit your face as you returned, the watermelon heavy in your arms. But as you stepped into the garage, you froze. Someone was already there, their silhouette framed against the guillotine's massive outline....
It's set in the same world and will start of similarly, but will quickly expand out in different directions without directly copying the original.
____
A family member discovers a magical guillotine at a magic shop called Franz Joseph Illusions. It has the ability to cut off body parts and let them be reattached to anyone and anywhere!
Rules:
- When a body part is cut off, the person it is removed from can still feel and move it until it is attached to somebody else.
- When it is attached to somebody else, the original owner loses all sensation in it, and the new person gains the ability to move and feel it as if it is their own.
- If it is cut off from the second person, they keep control of the body part until it is again attached to another person.
- If a body part is attached to something inanimate (like a wall or a table), it just goes completely numb.
The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into Franz Joseph Illusions, the musty scent of aged wood and old velvet filling your nose. The shop was dimly lit, dust motes swirling in the shafts of sunlight that pierced through the grimy front windows. Behind the counter sat an ancient man with wiry white hair and thick spectacles that magnified his watery blue eyes. He barely glanced up from his newspaper as you entered.
Your boots scuffed against the worn wooden floorboards as you wandered between displays of magic props. A gleaming chrome box for sawing women in half stood beside a levitation rig with silk scarves still draped over its frame. But your attention kept drifting to the back corner where a massive guillotine loomed, its polished blade catching the light in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.
Running your fingers along the smooth oak frame, you examined the intricate carvings of fleur-de-lis along the sides. The metal components gleamed with fresh oil, the blade's edge so sharp you could see your distorted reflection in it. Crouching down, you checked beneath the lunette - the semicircular brace where a victim's neck would rest - but found no manufacturer's marks or price tags.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" The old man's voice made you jump. He'd appeared silently beside you, his gnarled hands stroking the guillotine's frame with disturbing affection. "Built in 1793 for the Comte de Rougemont. He commissioned it to save his own neck, if you'll pardon the expression."
You frowned. "How does a guillotine save someone?"
The old man's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Magic, my boy. The oldest kind." He rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame. "This one's special. The blade never quite... connects. Makes for quite the party trick."
Your fingers itched to try it. "How much?"
"To buy? More than you've got in that wallet." He chuckled at your crestfallen expression. "But I'll lend it to you for a week. Show your friends. Maybe slice some fruit. Just remember to mention Franz Joseph's when they scream."
Within the hour, you'd carefully loaded the massive contraption into your pickup, the old man fussing over the padding like a mother with a newborn. The drive home was tense, every bump making you glance nervously at the rearview mirror to check the guillotine hadn't shifted.
Back in your garage, you wrestled the heavy device into position, the scent of oil and aged wood filling the space. The blade hung ominously above the empty lunette, the release mechanism's rope coiled like a sleeping serpent. Excited to test it, you hurried inside to grab a watermelon from the fridge.
The cool night air hit your face as you returned, the watermelon heavy in your arms. But as you stepped into the garage, you froze. Someone was already there, their silhouette framed against the guillotine's massive outline....
Kent is young guy that has to spend the summer paying off his debt after accidentally damaging his bitch of a neighbour Julie’s car while playing a game with his friend Marcus. Kent resigns himself to working as Julie’s glorified servant, that is until he finds an odd looking idol that allows him to possess her body. Now with a summer of freedom ahead and Julie’s hot body to do with as he pleases, Kent is looking forward to making up for lost time and having some fun.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
Jack wakes up in an unfamiliar place and, to his horror, realize he's going to sold to a vampire!
Jack woke up slowly with a dull headache right behind his eyes and forehead. He tried to rub his head, but quickly found his hands were bound behind his back. That woke him up fully. He gasped, or rather tried to, but his mouth was gagged as well. He looked around him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.
He was in a cage, alone. He sat up, nearly falling over when the ground beneath him lurched. Jack was thrown backwards from the force, hitting his head hard against the wall. Grunts came from elsewhere around him, muffled, some weaker than others. Jack sat up against the wall and looked around.
As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, a horrible thought came over him. 'Oh dear gods, please don’t let this be real!' There were a few other cages in there with him, and inside were other humans. They were dirty, looking like they haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, much less a shower. There were various ages and sizes as well, with the one unifying factor being their ragged appearance and demeanor.
Dirt, mud, and grime covered their bodies, tattered clothes, and tear stained cheeks. Others simply slumped against the walls, their eyes glossy, with the only sign of them still being alive being the gentle rising and falling of their chests. 'We’ve been taken by snatchers,' Jack thought, his mind racing. 'How did this happen? There’s no way any of them should have been in Rubyshire! Were the damn guardians not doing their gods forsaken job!'
A moment of fury briefly overcame him, and as the ground once again lurched beneath him, Jack used that to lunge towards the bars. He grunted in pain. The bars stood strong against his futile attack. Only thing that accomplished was making his headache worse and giving him aches along his shoulder.
There was another thing this accomplished though, outside the dark room, a loud voice called out, “Quiet in there!” The crack of a whip came afterwards, and numerous other peoples in the cages shied away or tensed up. A few of them even glared at Jack, shaking their heads at him. 'Lost the urge to fight back or something?' Jack leaned against the bars, shifting his body to find a position that would ease the aching the most.
He thought back to what happened before all this. 'How could this have happened?'
Jack’s head was swimming as he downed another drink. The taste was bitter, and it went down hard. He always hated these things, felt they made people stupid. But then again, here he was at a bar, having several drinks after he saw his grades for University. These made it easier to forget, if only for a little bit.
How was he going to tell his parents? Would they even care? His mom might, she believed in him, even if Jack suspected it might be pretend. His dad, however, would just shake his head in disappointment. Wallis was always the favorite, he had been sent to the capital university fully paid for by dad, while Jack was lucky he managed to pay for the university at Rubyshire.
'Guess you were right about me, old man.' Jack thought bitterly, taking another sip, 'but I don’t think I’ll give you the satisfaction of seeing me return home without a degree!' Yes, he could go into the workforce, or maybe try a trade school. If nothing else he could try being a guardian, wasn’t the flashiest of jobs, but at least he could make sure no snatchers got inside.
He didn’t even realize he was giggling with a mad grin on his face until the barkeeper came up to him and tapped his finger on the counter to catch his attention. “H-huuh?” Jack mumbled.
“You’re disturbing some of the other patrons, you know?” the barkeep replied, “How many of those have you had?”
Jack thought for a moment, struggling to remember how numbers and words worked. “Can’t ‘memb’r,” he replied, “but I thin’ ill a’ve ‘noth’r!”
The barkeep shook his head, taking Jack’s mug away from him. No matter, Jack just finished it anyway. “I think it’ll be best if you wait awhile, or you have something to eat first.”
Jack stood up, and grabbed onto the counter as his legs struggled to carry him. “Dun act like ooo know bett’r thin me!” Jack slurred, “I thin I’m dun here.”
He stumbled outside, managing not to bump into anyone on his way out. The cold air was good for him, helped clear his mind a little. There were a few people on the streets, most likely other drunks and insomniacs. The lamps of the city burned dull, the guardians needed to refill the oil.
Jack walked around for a bit, grumbling to himself about what happened in university. His professor had it out for him. Didn’t like Jack coming from a well off family. 'I’ll wipe that smug look off your face!'
He swung out, his fist striking nothing but air. Unfortunately, the weight behind it caused him to stumble and fall. He landed in a puddle, and managed to avoid striking his head on the street. His body was heavy. Waking up in a guardian’s holding cell wasn’t ideal, but it would be better than stumbling back to his dorm.
Jack laughed as he succumbed to sleep.
'Bastards let some snatchers into the city,' Jack thought, 'only way I would’ve been captured. To the abyss with them!' In a rage, Jack started beating against the bars with his foot. He stopped quickly after another crack of a whip from outside. 'I should save my strength,' he thought, 'they probably won’t feed with me, or at least not give me any proper meal. I’ll need my strength so I can escape.'
While Jack was putting together a plan for what to do if they ever let him out of this cage, the wagon came to a stop and a voice from outside shouted, “Oh, a customer!”
Jack’s mouth went dry. There were a few people who would be willing to buy another human and the few options he could think of weren’t the greatest. Slavers were the most common, as were scientists who did unethical research, and of course there’s the variety of monsters who eat humans. None of these possibilities were particularly appealing.
“How may I help you?” the same voice asked.
Jack heard a response, although it was from a much quieter and refined voice than the snatchers, “I’ve been looking to get a new servant for my estate, might I take a look at your wares?”
“Of course!” the snatcher replied, “I’ll get the door for you!”
Outside, Jack heard footsteps, and a door closing. The snatcher warned his customer not to get too close to them, since they might try to use her as a hostage. His customer simply laughed and said that wouldn’t be a problem.
The door to their wagon opened and two people came in. The snatcher carried a lantern on him, momentarily blinding everyone already inside the wagon. When Jack’s eyes adjusted to the sudden light he was able to get a good look at the snatcher.
His eyes widened when he saw the snatcher was wearing the leather jacket of the guardians, and even had the seal of the guardians stitched above his heart. The snatcher was clean shaven and had short black hair, in summary, he looked like what someone would think of if they pictured an average guardian.
His customer moved quickly, going from cage to cage to examine the people inside. She was tall, taller even than the guardian. Her skin was pale, and Jack was able to see some veins through her skin. He sucked in a breath, or rather tried to since the gag was still in his mouth. She moved with unnatural speed to the next cage to examine the others, sniffing from the other side of the bars.
She was dressed nicely, wearing a blue travel coat with silver embroidery etched upon it as well as embroidery of ravens on her collar. Her hair was a deep black and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her trousers were brown and looked worn. Unlike the snatcher, whose boots made noise wherever he stepped, she was nearly silent as she moved over to the next cage. Jack caught a brief look at her as she moved and saw she was barefoot.
“Anyone catch your eye?” the snatcher asked.
She shook her head as she moved over to the next cage, “plenty of people here look a bit too sickly for my taste, I’d rather avoid having to nurse them back to health before they can begin working.”
“Apologies, miss,” the snatcher replied, “most of the people here tried to rebel against us, had to make sure they didn’t get any ideas.”
The woman sighed, “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
She came towards Jack’s cage, and he shrinked back when her eyes fell upon him. Her eyes were blood red, and she smiled when she saw him, revealing two long and sharp fangs among the rest of her teeth.
“This one looks cute,” the woman said, leaning towards the bars as Jack scooted further back, “looks like he doesn’t need that long to recover either.”
“Are you sure about him?” the snatcher asked, “We just picked him up last night, haven’t had the chance to beat the fight out of him.”
“Even better,” she replied, licking her lips, “I think I’ll take him.”
'Gods no.'
The snatcher laughed, “Well, we don’t accept refunds, so if he doesn’t work out, that’s not our responsibility. That’ll be two hundred knots.”
The vampire handed him the money as the snatcher left to grab his buddy to help get him out of the cage. 'Gods, please don’t let this be real!' Jack thought, glaring at the vampire, 'This is all a bad dream!'
“I love that look in your eyes,” the vampire said, “so scared, and angry. Oh… it makes me excited, I’m sure your blood is pumping fast right now, isn’t it?”
Jack shivered, but tried not to show his fear. The vampire, however, seemed to have noticed.
“Oh dear,” she chuckled, her voice strangely warm yet there was a disturbing note of something else, “seems you’re a bit more scared now.”
The snatcher came back with his buddy who was also wearing the uniform of a guardian. The first snatcher produced a ring of keys while the other held a whip in his hand. “I wouldn’t try anything if I was you,” the second snatcher said, holding his whip, “unless you want to be whipped.”
The door creaked open and the first snatcher came in and grabbed Jack roughly by the shoulder as he produced a knife to cut the bindings around his feet. “On your feet!” The snatcher forced him to stand up, and kept a strong grip on Jack’s shoulder.
“You think you could undo his gag?” the vampire asked, “I’d like to know what he has to say.”
“As you wish,” the snatcher replied, undoing the gag.
The first thing Jack did was cough and wet his mouth now that the foul gag was removed. He took in a few deep breaths with his mouth before he did the second thing, which was to look at the two snatchers and say, “The gods will damn you forever!”
The snatchers chuckled, “We’ve been doing this for over a decade, if the gods cared, they would have done something by now!”
They lead him, forcibly, out of the wagon. His hands were still bound, and the snatcher was still gripping him tightly, and he didn’t want to see how well the second snatcher could use that whip, and of course there was the vampire who walked a little too close to him for comfort.
“Yes,” the vampire whispered, “I think you’ll do nicely.”
Jack was surprised to see it was twilight outside, with the sun barely setting below the horizon. The sky was cloudy, probably giving the vampire enough cover so she wouldn’t burn in the sunlight.
There was a carriage waiting for them. Jack was surprised to see the driver was a human dressed almost as nicely as the vampire, “Did you find someone, Mistress Ash?”
“I did, Atticus,” she replied, “I’m glad we can cut our trip short, I can spend some time with our newest member.”
“Alright Mistress.” Atticus replied.
“Remember,” the snatcher began as Atticus came over to open the door to the carriage, “anything that happens with him is not our problem.”
“Don’t worry,” Ash replied, “I know.”
While the first snatcher was talking to Ash, Jack felt the second snatcher slip something into his pocket, “Go ahead and use it when you think you have the chance,” the second snatcher whispered in his ear, “do the world a favor and rid of us of her kind.”
Afterwards, Jack was shoved into the carriage and the two snatchers bid Ash a good day before going back to their wagon. 'This can’t be happening!' The vampire smirked as she closed the door as she entered the carriage, taking the opposite seat from him. She leaned back, smiling slightly as Atticus got the horses going again.
“What do you plan to do with me?” Jack asked, sounding braver than he felt.
“First, you’ll need a bath,” Ash replied, giggling slightly and pinching her nose, “Afterwards, I’ll give you some time to rest before having another of our members get you acquainted with my estate and any duties that may fall upon you. Oh, where are my manners? Come here, let me undo your wrists.”
Reluctantly, Jack shuffled around to give her access to the bindings on his wrist. Her touch was cold, sending shivers through his body, but she was surprisingly gentle, never once scratching or gripping him too tight. The bindings came away without much problem but before Jack could move, Ash had her fingers on him, tracing along his arms.
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice low, “I think I picked good here.”
Jack couldn’t stop himself, and swiftly spun around, scooting to the far corner of the carriage.
Ash smiled, “I’m sorry, I have trouble controlling myself sometimes.”
“What will you do if I try to make a run for it?” Jack asked, gesturing to the door.
“You really think you can escape a vampire at night? In an area you don’t know?”
Jack clung to the corner, glaring at Ash. This was bad, really bad. Being a thrall to a vampire was something most parents told to scare their children into behaving, but here he was, with the possibility that he was about to be turned into a thrall. He had the knife the snatcher gave him, that was something at least. Maybe he could kill her. Trying to do so now wouldn’t be a good idea though.
At the very least, if he was going to be the slave of a vampire, at least she was a beautiful one. The clothes she wore weren't the greatest in showing off her body, but she had a nice face and Jack would be lying if he said her smile wasn’t comforting in a creepy sort of way. There was something else as well. When he thought she wasn’t looking, his eyes drifted over to her bare feet. His hands twitched at his side when she bobbed her feet, giving him a good view of her long slender toes. They looked soft, yet strong as well. Her toenails were cut short and were clean and healthy looking. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to touch them just for a little bit. Of course, it would be even better if he -
“Hmm?” Ash asked, “Is something wrong? I can hear your heart beating rather fast.”
Jack looked away, hoping she didn't notice the bulge struggling in his pants, “Where are we going?” he asked.
Ash leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she replied, “My manor. I think you’ll like it there. The manor itself is rather large, with plenty of rooms to explore and a library filled with so many books that even I haven’t read them all yet. You’ll be given plenty of food, and will be treated well if you do work and do it well. Of course, I’ll be needing to feed on you every now and then, part of the reason I bought you is because the others have been struggling since I keep sucking their blood so often, I want to have someone else so everyone has a chance to rest.”
The rest of the carriage ride passed by uneventfully. Jack stared out the window, curious as to which part of the imperium he was in. Didn’t take him long to wonder how long he had been knocked out as the foggy marshlands outside shouldn’t be anywhere near Rubyshire. 'I couldn’t have been passed out for more than a few hours at the most!' He thought, trying to stay calm, 'did the snatchers inject me with something when they found me?'
That was the only explanation for ending up here, somewhere he was not familiar with at all. Soon, the marshlands gave way to rolling hills with a few trees here and there, and he saw a few small towns in the distance. Not too surprising, I would think all the humans in this supposed estate would need to eat something.
The estate itself rested on top of one of the hills, and they passed by a gate which closed behind them as soon as they entered. “I’d rather not let any vampire hunter into my grounds uninvited,” Ash explained as soon as the gate closed, “come now, I think it would be good to give you a tour of where you’ll be staying.”
Jack reluctantly got out of the carriage, regardless of how he felt, it would be good not to upset a vampire. He looked around as soon as he got out, seeing the wide open front lawn with numerous plants growing on the grounds. There were many flowers here, all sorts of different colors and types. A fountain was nearby, spraying water up into the air. On top of the fountain was a raven with its wings spread open, with water spewing from its open beak. Some herbs must have been mixed into the water, because the smell it gave off was different than that of water, and vampires weren’t known for liking water.
Another servant came to take the horses from Atticus while Ash showed Jack around the courtyard. Most of what she was saying fell on deaf ears though, since Jack looked for any way he could escape. The walls were high, and didn’t look scalable. The gate was currently closed and Jack wondered if Ash’s servants would even open it for him.
Even if he were to escape, there weren’t many places he could hide as the area outside was open except for the towns. Would he even be able to hide there? Or would the people simply turn him over to Ash? Some towns would do that, so the vampire wouldn’t take one of their own.
“Thinking about escaping?” Ash asked, suddenly close to him.
Jack sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and nearly fell over, but Ash grabbed him by the shirt to hold him up. “Huh?” Jack asked, “N-no!”
Ash tilted her head, her red eyes flashing briefly over him, “I would think you would know better than to lie to me, I can hear your heartbeat racing right now,” she released him and turned around, “if you want to escape, you’re more than welcome to try, but I assure you you won’t get far. I remember the scent of all my servants… even someone as drenched in odor as you.”
“The horses are taken care of, mistress.” The servant from earlier came by.
“Thank you, Eban, you may resume your post.”
Eban bowed to Ash before glancing briefly at Jack, who froze when he saw Eban’s eyes. His eyes were glazed over with an empty look in them with a translucent red film over them. The rest of Eban looked normal, he wasn’t as pale as Ash, meaning he was still a human. Jack noticed the way Eban moved, as though he was being pulled by strings, his body no longer his own. 'Dear gods, a thrall!'
“I’m glad you met Eban,” Ash said, noting Jack’s pale face, “now you see what will happen if you try to run. I try not to do that too much though, a thrall’s blood is terrible, both in taste and substance.”
“You’re a monster!” Jack exclaimed.
It happened quickly. One moment, Jack was standing glaring at Ash, and the next he was on the ground with his right cheek burning, looking up at Ash who kept a passive expression. “I’d be careful when you talk to me like that, human.” Ash said, looking down at him, “unless you want to share Eban’s fate.”
Jack tried to control himself, but unfortunately, his body betrayed him. His pants were baggy enough to hide his growing excitement, but unfortunately, Ash knew exactly what Jack was feeling and she quickly glanced down at his crotch before sneering.
“Truly pathetic.”
Jack’s face burned. He hated being called that. He hated other people thinking that. All his life, his father, his sister, so called friends, and even his professors all thought he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He would not let this monster talk to him that way.
While she had her back turned to him, he rose to his feet, forgetting all his fear. He only had one thought, to kill. She wasn’t looking, now would be the perfect time to-
Ash turned around lazily, looking at him right in the eyes, “Oh? Back on your feet already?”
Jack swallowed, all his gusto gone. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he asked, “Is there anywhere else you’d like to show me?”
Ash smiled, a genuine smile. “Of course! I think it would be good if you get acquainted with the inside of my manor as well. Usually dusting and cleaning is Samantha’s job, but it would be nice for her to have a break every now and again.”
The manor was surprisingly warm, whenever Jack imagined something such as a vampire’s lair, he imagined it would be cold and uninviting. Even stories he heard of vampires taking over a residence said vampires transform to reflect themselves, by sapping away any warmth it might have had.
Ash’s manor, on the other hand, was well-lit and had the feel of something that had been lived in for a long time. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, which could be because of that Samantha person Ash mentioned, and the two of them even passed by a few servants doing their jobs, with each servant bowing their heads as they passed.
Unlike Eban, these servants weren’t thralls. At least, Jack wasn’t able to tell if they were or not. They seemed to move normally, although he wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of their eyes. “As you can see, I treat my servants well,” Ash said, continuing to walk with him through her manor, “provided they don’t misbehave, I give them as much freedom as I can.”
“Who are these people?” Jack asked.
“That,” Ash began, “I think would be best for you to find out on your own.”
'Most likely they’re people like me.' Jack thought bitterly, 'People taken by snatchers! Strange, with all these people around, I would think one of them would have tried to put a stake in her heart. Maybe Eban did, he’s the only one who might have had any sense. '
“This is the library,” Ash said, leading him to a large open room with rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with numerous tomes, like the fountain in the courtyard, there were depictions of ravens in the library as well, mostly as paintings on the walls as well as small statues sitting in empty spaces in the shelves, “feel free to read anything that might catch your fancy.”
Jack scowled, but said nothing.
Ash gave him a strange look, almost a look of concern. “I see you still don’t believe me, well give it some time. It took Atticus almost a month for him to trust me.”
“How long did it take Eban?” Jack asked.
Ash shook her head, “I should have mentioned this, I didn’t get Eban from Snatchers, rather I caught him when he snuck in here to try to kill me over a year ago.” she chuckled and undid the top buttons of her jacket, exposing the pale skin underneath. Ash’s smile widened when she saw Jack blush as she parted the jacket to reveal her full chest. She didn’t show too much though, but Jack saw the shape of her breasts, and most importantly, he saw the wicked scar above her left breast which looked like it barely missed her heart, “Eban would have got me if it wasn’t for his poor aim.” Ash said with a chuckle, “Awww, look at you, all flustered. What’s the matter? Never seen a pair of breasts before?”
Jack tore his eyes away, turning to the rows of books, “I was wondering how Eban managed to miss you so close.”
Ash shrugged as she buttoned up her jacket once more, “He panicked, plain and simple. His hand flew too high and his knife missed my heart, hurt like the abyss though. As you can see, I made sure he is paying the price for that.”
Jack growled, remembering the knife he had in his pocket. The snatchers gave that to him before he got into the carriage, but why? Did they want him to try to kill her? Or did they want him to make a fool of himself? The knife looked sharp, he thought, trying not to reach for it, maybe it could kill her. Or me.
While he was thinking, Atticus entered the room, holding a towel over his arm, “Misstress,” he greeted with a bow, “I have both your bath as well as the newcomer’s baths ready if you’d like to go.”
“That’s perfect, thank you Atticus,” Ash replied, “It’ll be good for him to wash off, I’d rather not have to bite into someone who's a bit dirty.”
Jack blinked and blushed, What in the Abyss is this? “We’re taking a bath together?” he blurted out.
Ash threw her head back in laughter, nearly doubling over as well, “Sorry, but no. I’m afraid you’re taking a bath separate from myself.”
The bath was a large room with a large tub, easily able to fill multiple people. It was just Jack though, and Atticus as well. The other man wasn’t getting in the tub with him, thankfully, but Jack wasn’t happy to see someone else in here with him. Ash said it was to make sure he didn’t get any ideas. 'As if I’d try.' He thought bitterly.
Atticus didn’t look away when Jack stripped, and Jack didn’t like the way Atticus was studying him. He made sure the knife stayed inside his pants and was as quiet as he could be when he laid his pants on the floor.
“I can see why the mistress chose you.” Atticus said when Jack was fully naked.
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, meeting the other man’s eyes.
“You look like you’d be able to do the mistress’ tasks,” Atticus replied, “and you’d be able to give her some entertainment as well.”
Jack scoffed and got in the tub, “Tell me, do you actually serve her on your own free will?”
“I do,” Atticus replied, “I didn’t want to, of course, I was terrified. But… slowly she won me over. Treated me better than my own parents did. Certainly much better than the previous..." Atticus paused before shaking his head and continuing, "I have served her for over a decade since.”
Jack paused and looked Atticus over, the other man seemed to be only slighter older than he was. She took you when you were just a child?
“You mind looking away?” Jack asked, “I’d rather not have someone look at me when I’m washing.”
Atticus rolled his eyes, “And I’d rather be watching Samantha bathe instead of you, but here we are,” he sighed, “If you would please hurry, I do have other things I must attend to and being kept here isn’t something I would like to have happen.”
Jack shook his head, “Tell me something, have you and her ever done anything?”
Atticus scoffed and shook his head, “I was wondering if I would get this question. No. There is nothing and has never been anything, and I am disgusted to know you would think that!”
“Why’s that?”
Atticus glared at Jack before replying, “I see her as the mother I wish I had. She practically raised me. So no, I have never thought about doing anything to her!”
'You were raised by her? Well that explains your loyalty, although I’m curious what she could have done for you that made you stay here. '
Jack washed up as well as he could before stepping out and grabbing the spare clothes Atticus provided for him. They were a bit large, but were otherwise fine. When Atticus had his back turned, Jack managed to slip the knife from his old pants and sneaked them into his new ones.
Atticus took Jack to his room, a cozy little place on the second floor of the manor which had a window which gave him a view of the garden he was supposed to start taking care of starting tomorrow. “I’d wait for a bit before going to sleep,” Atticus told him as he was leaving, “the mistress was hoping to see you after her bath.”
'I hope she does.' Jack thought, feeling the knife on the inside of his pants. He sat down on the bed, playing through the act in his mind of what he needed to do. Ash would hopefully drop her guard and he would swiftly take out the knife and plunge it into her heart, Eban attacked too high, so he needed to attack lower.
He waited for a few more minutes until his door creaked open. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Ash standing there in his doorway. She was in a revealing blue nightgown which left little to the imagination. Her gown showed enough cleavage so Jack not only saw the scar Eban made, but where he also had a clear opening to her heart, if he attacked properly.
She drifted towards him, her bare feet silent against the carpet and sat down gracefully next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a smile which showed off her long, sharp fangs. “Hmmm,” she moaned, “you certainly cleaned up well.”
“Not as well as you,” Jack breathed, his voice catching in his throat.
Ash giggled, “Thank you for the compliment, Atticus told you to expect me?”
Jack nodded.
“Sorry to spring this on your first day, but it is customary I feed on my servants when I first acquire them. To stop other vampires from possibly poaching you.”
'I’m not some animal!'
“Alright,” Jack replied.
Ash placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned closer. He stiffened slightly. Ash loosened her grip a bit, “Sorry,” she whispered, “I’ll try to be gentle with you since it’s your first time.”
Jack’s heart was pounding as Ash drew closer to his neck and he stifled a moan as she bit into his neck. She was warm, and gentle. He could feel his blood being taken away, and started to feel a little light headed. Why then, did it feel so good? He fought back the urge to embrace her in his arms, and ignored the growing hunger between his legs, instead reaching for his pocket to pull out the knife.
He couldn’t see her chest, couldn’t see her neck. But he can try to guess. He felt her breasts resting against his chests, rising and falling with every breath he took. This is it, he would only get one chance.
Ash gasped and pulled away from him when he plunged the knife into her. For a moment, Jack thought he had done it, until his vision came back into focus and he saw the knife was instead buried into her side. He had missed.
Ash slapped his hands away before looking down at the knife. It wasn’t even buried that deep, even if Jack had been accurate, it wouldn’t have been anywhere close to her heart to kill. She grunted softly as she pulled it out, bleeding slightly as the knife was free from her. She examined the knife briefly before lazily turning her attention to him.
“This is a snatcher knife,” she said, “I’ve heard they started trying to convince the humans to kill us, never thought those two would try. I’ll be sure to spread the word. As for you-” she lunged at him, throwing him onto the floor, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I-” Jack began, trying to get up.
“Don’t move!” she ordered, slamming her foot on his head.
Jack whimpered as his head hit the floor, causing his vision to swim again. He was able to see Ash standing over him, arms crossed under her breasts, and red eyes flashing dangerously.
“What were you planning to do with that knife?” she asked, pressing down harder on him.
“Don’t-!” Jack cried.
“Don’t what?” Ash demanded, leaning down towards him, “Don’t give me this little act of yours! Answer my question!”
“I was going to-!” Jack started, before choking up.
“Oh enough of this!”
Ash released him briefly, but before he could recover, Ash grabbed him roughly up by one of his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. He cried out, but Ash slapped him across the face and growled, “Look into my eyes human.”
Jack closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to weep, “Don’t kill me.” he managed to choke out.
“Look into my eyes and I might consider letting you live, human.”
Reluctantly, Jack opened his eyes and forced himself to look into her eyes. They were glowing with anger, but try as he might, he couldn’t look away. He knew what this was, a vampire’s hypnosis. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would do it.
He felt control of his body slip away, and try as he might, he couldn’t move anymore, not even twitch his fingers. He was barely aware of what was even happening, having to fight to stay in control of his mind.
Ash simply grunted as she released him, his body crashing onto the floor. She looked down at him with a sneer on her expression. “What were you planning to do with that knife, human?”
“I was going to kill you.” Jack replied against his will.
“Why?”
“I refuse to serve you, I will not serve a disgusting monster like you.”
Ash’s sneer vanished, and was replaced with a small, amused smile, “Didn’t learn anything from Eban, did you? I would have thought his story would have served as a warning. Looks like I will have to make another example of someone.” Ash sighed, shaking her head, before turning back to him. Her expression was a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Have a good rest, human.”
With inhuman speed, Ash picked him up before delivering a punch directly at his face, knocking him out.
Jack groaned as he woke up, his head pounding in pain. The rest of his body also ached, but his head was the worst. He was still alive, so he had that going for him at least. He looked around his room, seeing Ash had already disposed of the knife. He struggled to his feet before opening the door, surprised Ash didn’t lock him in.
It was still dark outside, but hopefully morning wouldn’t be too far behind. He needed to get out of here, and make sure no one saw him. The servants here will certainly call Ash, and if he saw Ash herself, she would most likely suck him dry. Jack limped out of his room, his legs wobbly and struggling beneath his weight.
As soon as he was in the hallway, he leaned against the wall to take the weight off his legs. He could feel some of his strength returning, slowly but surely. His head was still pounding and most likely wouldn’t stop for a while. He made his way over to the stairs, the hallway was thankfully empty, but he was worried where Ash and her other servants may be.
Before he took the first step, he paused as he heard voices coming from downstairs. They were quiet, but since the rest of the manor was silent he was still able to hear them. It was Ash, and she was talking to Atticus.
Jack quieted his breathing, trying to focus so he could hear them. He leaned in closer to hear better.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” Atticus said, “I should have searched him better when he was undressed.”
“Not your fault Atticus,” Ash replied, “But be sure to send the letters to the others, I’d rather no one else fall for the snatcher’s schemes.”
“What do you plan on doing with the new one, Mistress?” Atticus asked, “I’m not sure when other snatchers will be in the area and those two have already proven to be untrustworthy.”
Ash sighed, “I’m not sure. I’m not against killing him, he can serve as an example for others, but I’m not sure when I’d be able to get another one. Turning him to a thrall would be a good punishment as well, his blood will be awful, but at least then we can work him to the bone without worry.”
Jack’s throat went dry. Neither of those were things he’d want to happen. Despite himself, his breathing got faster, his heart beating faster as well, legs wobbling.
“Oh?”
“Is something wrong, Mistress?” Atticus asked.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Ash replied, “I just think our ungrateful guest has woken up.”
“Would you like me to check on him, Mistress?”
“No,” Ash told him, “I think I will go and see what he is doing.”
Jack tried to move, to run back to his room, but unfortunately, his legs gave out when he tried to move. I have to hide! He thought, crawling along the floor. There was barely any strength in his arms, and he wheezed when he tried to pull himself forward. 'This is it,' he despaired, 'I’m dead.'
When he looked up again, Ash stood over him. She was still dressed in her nightgown, and the knife wound was still present, although it looked like it healed a bit. Ash knelt down in front of him, looking more bored than angry, was that any better?
“What exactly are you planning on doing, human?” Ash asked.
“I wanted to apologize,” Jack blurted, thinking of the first thing that might allow him to live a little longer, “for trying to kill you.”
Ash tilted her head to the side, looking unimpressed, “Mmmmhmmm,” she grunted, “is that so?”
“Yes!” Jack wheezed, hoping she believed him.
“Why don’t you look me in the eyes when you speak, then?”
Jack knew he couldn’t do that. If she asked him if he was speaking the truth, he’d say no, and he’d rather not find out what she would make him do.
“Tell me,” Ash began, reaching down and forcing Jack to look at her, “why should I let you live?”
“Because,” Jack wheezed, “you won’t have to worry about replacing me. And… if you don’t make me a thrall, then you can still enjoy my blood.”
Ash grinned, showing her fangs, “Heard my conversation, have you?” she thought for a moment, tapping her finger against Jack’s chin. He flinched when her sharp nails cut him slightly. Ash licked her lips, “I will say, your blood smells delectable, but is it worth it?”
“Please Mistress!” Jack blubbered.
“Very well,” Ash sighed, “although there are two things I need from you.”
Jack sighed, feeling relieved. She’s letting him live.
“The first, is some blood,” Ash fingers worked their way to his collar, and he felt her grip him tightly, “the second is something else. I can feel that you desire it as well.”
In one swift motion, Ash ripped the shirt he was wearing in half before throwing him backwards and ripping off his pants and underwear as well, leaving him completely naked in the hallway.
“Mmm,” Ash moaned, “seems I was right, you really are a dirty little creature aren’t you?”
Jack tried to cover his erection, ashamed she not only knew, but saw his boner. Ash wasn’t having it though, and slapped his hand away.
“If you want to live, it would be a good idea to make me happy.” Ash growled, leaning down against him.
Jack knew what he had to do. He lifted his hands up, reaching for her breasts. He cupped them lightly, enjoying the weight of them. Ash closed her eyes, her body shuddering slightly from his touch. Despite the situation, Jack smiled, this was his first time touching breasts and he wanted to savor it. She arched her back slightly, allowing him to access them more. They were large and their weight felt good in his hands, even if her body was cold. Her nipples were erect and she moaned when he rubbed his fingers over them.
He wasn’t sure who was shaking more, Ash or himself. He also wasn’t sure why he was shaking, whether it was fear or anticipation. Would she truly spare him if he kept doing this? 'Only thing I can do,' he thought, as he worked his way down, his hands finding the edges of her nightgown and lifting it up slowly.
Ash stopped him, placing her hands over his “Getting bold, are we?” Ash asked, “Such a shame, I can’t let you see me. Not yet anyway…” she leaned down, placing her head on his chest. She was breathing heavily, and Jack wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not,
He got his answer when he suddenly felt a cold hand wrapping around his member. He groaned as she started pumping him, moving her hand slowly, and gliding it over his shaft to where she was just grazing over his tip, teasing his foreskin as well. He arched his back in response, biting back a moan.
“Mmmmm,” Ash moaned, her eyes meeting his, “I’m surprised you have enough blood left to manage this, I was worried I would be playing with a limp noodle for a while,” she giggled as she quickened the pace, enjoying the way Jack squirmed in her grasp.
“O-oh!” Jack moaned, but was quickly silenced by a slap across the face.
“I never said you can talk!” Ash reprimanded, releasing her hold on his member.
Jack nodded, trying to blink back the tears. He held his hands out, feeling a bit foolish as he did so, as if it would do anything to stop her. Ash paused when she saw him though, her expression softening as the tears trailed down his face.
She leaned closer and wiped one of the tears away, “Seems I managed to hurt you more than I wanted to. I’m sorry about that, human. Tell you what, just this once, I’ll let you touch any part of me you want. Just name it.”
Jack wrestled with himself for a few minutes. He decided if he was going to die, he might as well have no regrets. “Can I…” he began, swallowing before he continued, “touch your feet?”
Ash grinned, “Ah, is that why you’ve been staring at them since we met? I should have figured,” she stood up, “Go on then.”
Jack made his way over to them. Her feet, like the rest of her, were pale and slender. Her toes were perfect with the nails clipped short and unpainted. He reached out to touch them and marvelled at how soft her skin was. Ash giggled a little as his fingers pressed between her toes.
She sat down, giving him access to her soles. They were lovely as well. While he was playing with one of her feet, Ash pressed her other one against his crotch and he froze when he felt her toes against his shaft. “Oh my,” Ash laughed, “are you even harder now? Your veins seem to be sticking out more than they did before. Looks rather appetizing if you ask me.”
Jack shuddered, “Please don’t bite me ther-”
He groaned as Ash pressed her foot into his testicles, “What did I say about speaking out of turn, human? Although, if it bothers you that much, I won’t bite you down there. However, right now, I want you on your back!”
Jack winced at how loud she was. He didn’t know how many servants were here, or how many were nearby, but he did know he didn’t want anyone seeing him like this. Ash forced him on his back, his cock stretching out towards the ceiling, or rather it was before Ash pressed it between her toes.
Jack shuddered, his back arching slightly. Her movements were clumsier than when she used her hand, but somehow, he was enjoying this much more than he had with her hand. He tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, so he could see the look of contempt and disgust on her face as she towered over him. He was terrified, yes, but it all still felt good.
“Ah,” Ash began, “I wonder, are you worried about what happens if anyone were to see you like this? Should we find out what would happen?”
Jack frantically shook his head no. 'Please don’t!' He was embarrassed and terrified enough, the thought of others being here, well, it was too much to think about!
“Oh?” Ash asked, “Is that so? You don’t want me to call others to see like this? Naked, and desperately trying to deny your own arousal?”
Jack shook his head. 'Please. Don’t do it.'
“Say, I wonder what would happen if I were to stop playing with this? Would it twitch after how much I’ve played with it?”
True to her word, Ash took her foot off him. Jack crossed his legs. He hated how good it felt when she was jacking him off, both with her hand and especially with her foot. His penis felt like it was on the verge of orgasm, and he knew Ash wouldn’t let him finish up by himself. To his horror, his penis was twitching slightly without her touch.
“Oh my!” Ash laughed, nearly doubling over, “I’ve certainly never seen that before!”
'Please stop…' Jack felt the tears burning in his eyes, just stop. No more. They started coming down, and he couldn’t stop himself from making noise.
Ash stopped smiling as she knelt down beside him. Once more, she wiped away a tear from his face, “I know what’s bothering you. Since you’ve been so good so far, I promise I won’t call the other servants. I doubt they would like to watch a grown man groveling anyway.” She laughed at the end, and placed a finger under his chin to force him to look at her, “Besides, now is the part where you make me feel good.”
Similar to his clothing, Ash ripped her nightgown in two, revealing her body to him. She was beautiful. While the nightgown was a bit translucent, seeing her pale body in full was a sight to behold. Her nipplies, still erect, were a deep shade of pink and her stomach was flat, save for the mound before her vagina which was clean shaven. Jack didn’t need to be told what to do and reached for her opening.
Ash stiffened slightly when his fingers entered her. “Mmm, that’s it…”
His fingers explored her folds, and Jack will happily admit he enjoyed seeing the power he had over her, if only briefly. She moaned, her voice pitching higher as he found her clit and started playing with it.
“Hrm!” she groaned, “Well, it seems-!” she moaned, “You know what you’re doing!”
She panted as she moved her position, climbing on top of him and lowering herself onto him. The both of them winced as he went inside, his member slipping in without much resistance. Her muscles were constricting around him, gripping him tightly while Ash threw herself back, her expression a mask of ecstasy. She started pumping once more, her hips moving fast, muscles continuing to tighten around his penis.
Jack bit back moans, biting his tongue as the pleasure overtook him. He could feel it, building, building. The pressure was coming, and he knew Ash was also close. He couldn’t take it anymore!
Ash yelled as she came, her body shuddering from the experience. Jack followed close behind, shooting his load into her. The two of them laid there for a moment, Ash still holding onto him, even as he recovered. As soon as the pleasure was over though, Jack tensed up.
'Was I good enough?' He looked down at Ash who was laying on top of him, eyes closed, with a smile on her face. 'Please dear gods, spare me!'
Ash opened her eyes, “You’re heart’s racing, a little scared?”
Jack swallowed, and nodded, not sure if he was able to speak or not.
Ash reached out, and he flinched away slightly.
“Shhh,” she whispered, “it’s alright,” she got up and moved closer to him, her hand moving across his cheek, cupping him gently, “I won’t kill you.”
Jack breathed out, and started crying. 'Oh thank the gods!' He didn’t care who heard him, or what Ash currently thought of him, right now, he was just happy.
“However,” Ash continued, her voice suddenly stern, “I can’t just let your murder attempt go unpunished!”
Before he could react, Ash bit him once more, and Jack felt something being injected into him. Her blood.
She pulled back, wiping her mouth with the ruined remains of Jack’s clothing, “I think turning you into a thrall for a while is a good punishment. What do you think about that, Jack?”
“It is a fitting punishment.” Jack’s body replied against his will. 'Oh gods, no! Please no!'
Ash stood up, “Don’t worry, your enthrallment will only last for a week or so, then you can have your free will back,” she reached down to pick up her nightgown, shaking her head, “ah, I got carried away again,” she clicked her tongue before turning back to him, “I’ll also be sure to work you as much as possible for your punishment as well. Don’t worry, I won’t feed on you, thrall’s blood is terrible.”
“That is acceptable.” Jack’s body replied. 'This can’t be happening!'
Ash looked towards the clock, “It’s almost morning, you should get dressed and head out into the grounds, Tarkus should be there to show you the ropes. I’ll have you work till nightfall, is that alright with you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Ash smiled, “Good, then get going Jack, and don’t make me regret sparing your life.”
Jack woke up slowly with a dull headache right behind his eyes and forehead. He tried to rub his head, but quickly found his hands were bound behind his back. That woke him up fully. He gasped, or rather tried to, but his mouth was gagged as well. He looked around him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.
He was in a cage, alone. He sat up, nearly falling over when the ground beneath him lurched. Jack was thrown backwards from the force, hitting his head hard against the wall. Grunts came from elsewhere around him, muffled, some weaker than others. Jack sat up against the wall and looked around.
As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, a horrible thought came over him. 'Oh dear gods, please don’t let this be real!' There were a few other cages in there with him, and inside were other humans. They were dirty, looking like they haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, much less a shower. There were various ages and sizes as well, with the one unifying factor being their ragged appearance and demeanor.
Dirt, mud, and grime covered their bodies, tattered clothes, and tear stained cheeks. Others simply slumped against the walls, their eyes glossy, with the only sign of them still being alive being the gentle rising and falling of their chests. 'We’ve been taken by snatchers,' Jack thought, his mind racing. 'How did this happen? There’s no way any of them should have been in Rubyshire! Were the damn guardians not doing their gods forsaken job!'
A moment of fury briefly overcame him, and as the ground once again lurched beneath him, Jack used that to lunge towards the bars. He grunted in pain. The bars stood strong against his futile attack. Only thing that accomplished was making his headache worse and giving him aches along his shoulder.
There was another thing this accomplished though, outside the dark room, a loud voice called out, “Quiet in there!” The crack of a whip came afterwards, and numerous other peoples in the cages shied away or tensed up. A few of them even glared at Jack, shaking their heads at him. 'Lost the urge to fight back or something?' Jack leaned against the bars, shifting his body to find a position that would ease the aching the most.
He thought back to what happened before all this. 'How could this have happened?'
Jack’s head was swimming as he downed another drink. The taste was bitter, and it went down hard. He always hated these things, felt they made people stupid. But then again, here he was at a bar, having several drinks after he saw his grades for University. These made it easier to forget, if only for a little bit.
How was he going to tell his parents? Would they even care? His mom might, she believed in him, even if Jack suspected it might be pretend. His dad, however, would just shake his head in disappointment. Wallis was always the favorite, he had been sent to the capital university fully paid for by dad, while Jack was lucky he managed to pay for the university at Rubyshire.
'Guess you were right about me, old man.' Jack thought bitterly, taking another sip, 'but I don’t think I’ll give you the satisfaction of seeing me return home without a degree!' Yes, he could go into the workforce, or maybe try a trade school. If nothing else he could try being a guardian, wasn’t the flashiest of jobs, but at least he could make sure no snatchers got inside.
He didn’t even realize he was giggling with a mad grin on his face until the barkeeper came up to him and tapped his finger on the counter to catch his attention. “H-huuh?” Jack mumbled.
“You’re disturbing some of the other patrons, you know?” the barkeep replied, “How many of those have you had?”
Jack thought for a moment, struggling to remember how numbers and words worked. “Can’t ‘memb’r,” he replied, “but I thin’ ill a’ve ‘noth’r!”
The barkeep shook his head, taking Jack’s mug away from him. No matter, Jack just finished it anyway. “I think it’ll be best if you wait awhile, or you have something to eat first.”
Jack stood up, and grabbed onto the counter as his legs struggled to carry him. “Dun act like ooo know bett’r thin me!” Jack slurred, “I thin I’m dun here.”
He stumbled outside, managing not to bump into anyone on his way out. The cold air was good for him, helped clear his mind a little. There were a few people on the streets, most likely other drunks and insomniacs. The lamps of the city burned dull, the guardians needed to refill the oil.
Jack walked around for a bit, grumbling to himself about what happened in university. His professor had it out for him. Didn’t like Jack coming from a well off family. 'I’ll wipe that smug look off your face!'
He swung out, his fist striking nothing but air. Unfortunately, the weight behind it caused him to stumble and fall. He landed in a puddle, and managed to avoid striking his head on the street. His body was heavy. Waking up in a guardian’s holding cell wasn’t ideal, but it would be better than stumbling back to his dorm.
Jack laughed as he succumbed to sleep.
'Bastards let some snatchers into the city,' Jack thought, 'only way I would’ve been captured. To the abyss with them!' In a rage, Jack started beating against the bars with his foot. He stopped quickly after another crack of a whip from outside. 'I should save my strength,' he thought, 'they probably won’t feed with me, or at least not give me any proper meal. I’ll need my strength so I can escape.'
While Jack was putting together a plan for what to do if they ever let him out of this cage, the wagon came to a stop and a voice from outside shouted, “Oh, a customer!”
Jack’s mouth went dry. There were a few people who would be willing to buy another human and the few options he could think of weren’t the greatest. Slavers were the most common, as were scientists who did unethical research, and of course there’s the variety of monsters who eat humans. None of these possibilities were particularly appealing.
“How may I help you?” the same voice asked.
Jack heard a response, although it was from a much quieter and refined voice than the snatchers, “I’ve been looking to get a new servant for my estate, might I take a look at your wares?”
“Of course!” the snatcher replied, “I’ll get the door for you!”
Outside, Jack heard footsteps, and a door closing. The snatcher warned his customer not to get too close to them, since they might try to use her as a hostage. His customer simply laughed and said that wouldn’t be a problem.
The door to their wagon opened and two people came in. The snatcher carried a lantern on him, momentarily blinding everyone already inside the wagon. When Jack’s eyes adjusted to the sudden light he was able to get a good look at the snatcher.
His eyes widened when he saw the snatcher was wearing the leather jacket of the guardians, and even had the seal of the guardians stitched above his heart. The snatcher was clean shaven and had short black hair, in summary, he looked like what someone would think of if they pictured an average guardian.
His customer moved quickly, going from cage to cage to examine the people inside. She was tall, taller even than the guardian. Her skin was pale, and Jack was able to see some veins through her skin. He sucked in a breath, or rather tried to since the gag was still in his mouth. She moved with unnatural speed to the next cage to examine the others, sniffing from the other side of the bars.
She was dressed nicely, wearing a blue travel coat with silver embroidery etched upon it as well as embroidery of ravens on her collar. Her hair was a deep black and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her trousers were brown and looked worn. Unlike the snatcher, whose boots made noise wherever he stepped, she was nearly silent as she moved over to the next cage. Jack caught a brief look at her as she moved and saw she was barefoot.
“Anyone catch your eye?” the snatcher asked.
She shook her head as she moved over to the next cage, “plenty of people here look a bit too sickly for my taste, I’d rather avoid having to nurse them back to health before they can begin working.”
“Apologies, miss,” the snatcher replied, “most of the people here tried to rebel against us, had to make sure they didn’t get any ideas.”
The woman sighed, “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
She came towards Jack’s cage, and he shrinked back when her eyes fell upon him. Her eyes were blood red, and she smiled when she saw him, revealing two long and sharp fangs among the rest of her teeth.
“This one looks cute,” the woman said, leaning towards the bars as Jack scooted further back, “looks like he doesn’t need that long to recover either.”
“Are you sure about him?” the snatcher asked, “We just picked him up last night, haven’t had the chance to beat the fight out of him.”
“Even better,” she replied, licking her lips, “I think I’ll take him.”
'Gods no.'
The snatcher laughed, “Well, we don’t accept refunds, so if he doesn’t work out, that’s not our responsibility. That’ll be two hundred knots.”
The vampire handed him the money as the snatcher left to grab his buddy to help get him out of the cage. 'Gods, please don’t let this be real!' Jack thought, glaring at the vampire, 'This is all a bad dream!'
“I love that look in your eyes,” the vampire said, “so scared, and angry. Oh… it makes me excited, I’m sure your blood is pumping fast right now, isn’t it?”
Jack shivered, but tried not to show his fear. The vampire, however, seemed to have noticed.
“Oh dear,” she chuckled, her voice strangely warm yet there was a disturbing note of something else, “seems you’re a bit more scared now.”
The snatcher came back with his buddy who was also wearing the uniform of a guardian. The first snatcher produced a ring of keys while the other held a whip in his hand. “I wouldn’t try anything if I was you,” the second snatcher said, holding his whip, “unless you want to be whipped.”
The door creaked open and the first snatcher came in and grabbed Jack roughly by the shoulder as he produced a knife to cut the bindings around his feet. “On your feet!” The snatcher forced him to stand up, and kept a strong grip on Jack’s shoulder.
“You think you could undo his gag?” the vampire asked, “I’d like to know what he has to say.”
“As you wish,” the snatcher replied, undoing the gag.
The first thing Jack did was cough and wet his mouth now that the foul gag was removed. He took in a few deep breaths with his mouth before he did the second thing, which was to look at the two snatchers and say, “The gods will damn you forever!”
The snatchers chuckled, “We’ve been doing this for over a decade, if the gods cared, they would have done something by now!”
They lead him, forcibly, out of the wagon. His hands were still bound, and the snatcher was still gripping him tightly, and he didn’t want to see how well the second snatcher could use that whip, and of course there was the vampire who walked a little too close to him for comfort.
“Yes,” the vampire whispered, “I think you’ll do nicely.”
Jack was surprised to see it was twilight outside, with the sun barely setting below the horizon. The sky was cloudy, probably giving the vampire enough cover so she wouldn’t burn in the sunlight.
There was a carriage waiting for them. Jack was surprised to see the driver was a human dressed almost as nicely as the vampire, “Did you find someone, Mistress Ash?”
“I did, Atticus,” she replied, “I’m glad we can cut our trip short, I can spend some time with our newest member.”
“Alright Mistress.” Atticus replied.
“Remember,” the snatcher began as Atticus came over to open the door to the carriage, “anything that happens with him is not our problem.”
“Don’t worry,” Ash replied, “I know.”
While the first snatcher was talking to Ash, Jack felt the second snatcher slip something into his pocket, “Go ahead and use it when you think you have the chance,” the second snatcher whispered in his ear, “do the world a favor and rid of us of her kind.”
Afterwards, Jack was shoved into the carriage and the two snatchers bid Ash a good day before going back to their wagon. 'This can’t be happening!' The vampire smirked as she closed the door as she entered the carriage, taking the opposite seat from him. She leaned back, smiling slightly as Atticus got the horses going again.
“What do you plan to do with me?” Jack asked, sounding braver than he felt.
“First, you’ll need a bath,” Ash replied, giggling slightly and pinching her nose, “Afterwards, I’ll give you some time to rest before having another of our members get you acquainted with my estate and any duties that may fall upon you. Oh, where are my manners? Come here, let me undo your wrists.”
Reluctantly, Jack shuffled around to give her access to the bindings on his wrist. Her touch was cold, sending shivers through his body, but she was surprisingly gentle, never once scratching or gripping him too tight. The bindings came away without much problem but before Jack could move, Ash had her fingers on him, tracing along his arms.
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice low, “I think I picked good here.”
Jack couldn’t stop himself, and swiftly spun around, scooting to the far corner of the carriage.
Ash smiled, “I’m sorry, I have trouble controlling myself sometimes.”
“What will you do if I try to make a run for it?” Jack asked, gesturing to the door.
“You really think you can escape a vampire at night? In an area you don’t know?”
Jack clung to the corner, glaring at Ash. This was bad, really bad. Being a thrall to a vampire was something most parents told to scare their children into behaving, but here he was, with the possibility that he was about to be turned into a thrall. He had the knife the snatcher gave him, that was something at least. Maybe he could kill her. Trying to do so now wouldn’t be a good idea though.
At the very least, if he was going to be the slave of a vampire, at least she was a beautiful one. The clothes she wore weren't the greatest in showing off her body, but she had a nice face and Jack would be lying if he said her smile wasn’t comforting in a creepy sort of way. There was something else as well. When he thought she wasn’t looking, his eyes drifted over to her bare feet. His hands twitched at his side when she bobbed her feet, giving him a good view of her long slender toes. They looked soft, yet strong as well. Her toenails were cut short and were clean and healthy looking. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to touch them just for a little bit. Of course, it would be even better if he -
“Hmm?” Ash asked, “Is something wrong? I can hear your heart beating rather fast.”
Jack looked away, hoping she didn't notice the bulge struggling in his pants, “Where are we going?” he asked.
Ash leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she replied, “My manor. I think you’ll like it there. The manor itself is rather large, with plenty of rooms to explore and a library filled with so many books that even I haven’t read them all yet. You’ll be given plenty of food, and will be treated well if you do work and do it well. Of course, I’ll be needing to feed on you every now and then, part of the reason I bought you is because the others have been struggling since I keep sucking their blood so often, I want to have someone else so everyone has a chance to rest.”
The rest of the carriage ride passed by uneventfully. Jack stared out the window, curious as to which part of the imperium he was in. Didn’t take him long to wonder how long he had been knocked out as the foggy marshlands outside shouldn’t be anywhere near Rubyshire. 'I couldn’t have been passed out for more than a few hours at the most!' He thought, trying to stay calm, 'did the snatchers inject me with something when they found me?'
That was the only explanation for ending up here, somewhere he was not familiar with at all. Soon, the marshlands gave way to rolling hills with a few trees here and there, and he saw a few small towns in the distance. Not too surprising, I would think all the humans in this supposed estate would need to eat something.
The estate itself rested on top of one of the hills, and they passed by a gate which closed behind them as soon as they entered. “I’d rather not let any vampire hunter into my grounds uninvited,” Ash explained as soon as the gate closed, “come now, I think it would be good to give you a tour of where you’ll be staying.”
Jack reluctantly got out of the carriage, regardless of how he felt, it would be good not to upset a vampire. He looked around as soon as he got out, seeing the wide open front lawn with numerous plants growing on the grounds. There were many flowers here, all sorts of different colors and types. A fountain was nearby, spraying water up into the air. On top of the fountain was a raven with its wings spread open, with water spewing from its open beak. Some herbs must have been mixed into the water, because the smell it gave off was different than that of water, and vampires weren’t known for liking water.
Another servant came to take the horses from Atticus while Ash showed Jack around the courtyard. Most of what she was saying fell on deaf ears though, since Jack looked for any way he could escape. The walls were high, and didn’t look scalable. The gate was currently closed and Jack wondered if Ash’s servants would even open it for him.
Even if he were to escape, there weren’t many places he could hide as the area outside was open except for the towns. Would he even be able to hide there? Or would the people simply turn him over to Ash? Some towns would do that, so the vampire wouldn’t take one of their own.
“Thinking about escaping?” Ash asked, suddenly close to him.
Jack sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and nearly fell over, but Ash grabbed him by the shirt to hold him up. “Huh?” Jack asked, “N-no!”
Ash tilted her head, her red eyes flashing briefly over him, “I would think you would know better than to lie to me, I can hear your heartbeat racing right now,” she released him and turned around, “if you want to escape, you’re more than welcome to try, but I assure you you won’t get far. I remember the scent of all my servants… even someone as drenched in odor as you.”
“The horses are taken care of, mistress.” The servant from earlier came by.
“Thank you, Eban, you may resume your post.”
Eban bowed to Ash before glancing briefly at Jack, who froze when he saw Eban’s eyes. His eyes were glazed over with an empty look in them with a translucent red film over them. The rest of Eban looked normal, he wasn’t as pale as Ash, meaning he was still a human. Jack noticed the way Eban moved, as though he was being pulled by strings, his body no longer his own. 'Dear gods, a thrall!'
“I’m glad you met Eban,” Ash said, noting Jack’s pale face, “now you see what will happen if you try to run. I try not to do that too much though, a thrall’s blood is terrible, both in taste and substance.”
“You’re a monster!” Jack exclaimed.
It happened quickly. One moment, Jack was standing glaring at Ash, and the next he was on the ground with his right cheek burning, looking up at Ash who kept a passive expression. “I’d be careful when you talk to me like that, human.” Ash said, looking down at him, “unless you want to share Eban’s fate.”
Jack tried to control himself, but unfortunately, his body betrayed him. His pants were baggy enough to hide his growing excitement, but unfortunately, Ash knew exactly what Jack was feeling and she quickly glanced down at his crotch before sneering.
“Truly pathetic.”
Jack’s face burned. He hated being called that. He hated other people thinking that. All his life, his father, his sister, so called friends, and even his professors all thought he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He would not let this monster talk to him that way.
While she had her back turned to him, he rose to his feet, forgetting all his fear. He only had one thought, to kill. She wasn’t looking, now would be the perfect time to-
Ash turned around lazily, looking at him right in the eyes, “Oh? Back on your feet already?”
Jack swallowed, all his gusto gone. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he asked, “Is there anywhere else you’d like to show me?”
Ash smiled, a genuine smile. “Of course! I think it would be good if you get acquainted with the inside of my manor as well. Usually dusting and cleaning is Samantha’s job, but it would be nice for her to have a break every now and again.”
The manor was surprisingly warm, whenever Jack imagined something such as a vampire’s lair, he imagined it would be cold and uninviting. Even stories he heard of vampires taking over a residence said vampires transform to reflect themselves, by sapping away any warmth it might have had.
Ash’s manor, on the other hand, was well-lit and had the feel of something that had been lived in for a long time. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, which could be because of that Samantha person Ash mentioned, and the two of them even passed by a few servants doing their jobs, with each servant bowing their heads as they passed.
Unlike Eban, these servants weren’t thralls. At least, Jack wasn’t able to tell if they were or not. They seemed to move normally, although he wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of their eyes. “As you can see, I treat my servants well,” Ash said, continuing to walk with him through her manor, “provided they don’t misbehave, I give them as much freedom as I can.”
“Who are these people?” Jack asked.
“That,” Ash began, “I think would be best for you to find out on your own.”
'Most likely they’re people like me.' Jack thought bitterly, 'People taken by snatchers! Strange, with all these people around, I would think one of them would have tried to put a stake in her heart. Maybe Eban did, he’s the only one who might have had any sense. '
“This is the library,” Ash said, leading him to a large open room with rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with numerous tomes, like the fountain in the courtyard, there were depictions of ravens in the library as well, mostly as paintings on the walls as well as small statues sitting in empty spaces in the shelves, “feel free to read anything that might catch your fancy.”
Jack scowled, but said nothing.
Ash gave him a strange look, almost a look of concern. “I see you still don’t believe me, well give it some time. It took Atticus almost a month for him to trust me.”
“How long did it take Eban?” Jack asked.
Ash shook her head, “I should have mentioned this, I didn’t get Eban from Snatchers, rather I caught him when he snuck in here to try to kill me over a year ago.” she chuckled and undid the top buttons of her jacket, exposing the pale skin underneath. Ash’s smile widened when she saw Jack blush as she parted the jacket to reveal her full chest. She didn’t show too much though, but Jack saw the shape of her breasts, and most importantly, he saw the wicked scar above her left breast which looked like it barely missed her heart, “Eban would have got me if it wasn’t for his poor aim.” Ash said with a chuckle, “Awww, look at you, all flustered. What’s the matter? Never seen a pair of breasts before?”
Jack tore his eyes away, turning to the rows of books, “I was wondering how Eban managed to miss you so close.”
Ash shrugged as she buttoned up her jacket once more, “He panicked, plain and simple. His hand flew too high and his knife missed my heart, hurt like the abyss though. As you can see, I made sure he is paying the price for that.”
Jack growled, remembering the knife he had in his pocket. The snatchers gave that to him before he got into the carriage, but why? Did they want him to try to kill her? Or did they want him to make a fool of himself? The knife looked sharp, he thought, trying not to reach for it, maybe it could kill her. Or me.
While he was thinking, Atticus entered the room, holding a towel over his arm, “Misstress,” he greeted with a bow, “I have both your bath as well as the newcomer’s baths ready if you’d like to go.”
“That’s perfect, thank you Atticus,” Ash replied, “It’ll be good for him to wash off, I’d rather not have to bite into someone who's a bit dirty.”
Jack blinked and blushed, What in the Abyss is this? “We’re taking a bath together?” he blurted out.
Ash threw her head back in laughter, nearly doubling over as well, “Sorry, but no. I’m afraid you’re taking a bath separate from myself.”
The bath was a large room with a large tub, easily able to fill multiple people. It was just Jack though, and Atticus as well. The other man wasn’t getting in the tub with him, thankfully, but Jack wasn’t happy to see someone else in here with him. Ash said it was to make sure he didn’t get any ideas. 'As if I’d try.' He thought bitterly.
Atticus didn’t look away when Jack stripped, and Jack didn’t like the way Atticus was studying him. He made sure the knife stayed inside his pants and was as quiet as he could be when he laid his pants on the floor.
“I can see why the mistress chose you.” Atticus said when Jack was fully naked.
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, meeting the other man’s eyes.
“You look like you’d be able to do the mistress’ tasks,” Atticus replied, “and you’d be able to give her some entertainment as well.”
Jack scoffed and got in the tub, “Tell me, do you actually serve her on your own free will?”
“I do,” Atticus replied, “I didn’t want to, of course, I was terrified. But… slowly she won me over. Treated me better than my own parents did. Certainly much better than the previous..." Atticus paused before shaking his head and continuing, "I have served her for over a decade since.”
Jack paused and looked Atticus over, the other man seemed to be only slighter older than he was. She took you when you were just a child?
“You mind looking away?” Jack asked, “I’d rather not have someone look at me when I’m washing.”
Atticus rolled his eyes, “And I’d rather be watching Samantha bathe instead of you, but here we are,” he sighed, “If you would please hurry, I do have other things I must attend to and being kept here isn’t something I would like to have happen.”
Jack shook his head, “Tell me something, have you and her ever done anything?”
Atticus scoffed and shook his head, “I was wondering if I would get this question. No. There is nothing and has never been anything, and I am disgusted to know you would think that!”
“Why’s that?”
Atticus glared at Jack before replying, “I see her as the mother I wish I had. She practically raised me. So no, I have never thought about doing anything to her!”
'You were raised by her? Well that explains your loyalty, although I’m curious what she could have done for you that made you stay here. '
Jack washed up as well as he could before stepping out and grabbing the spare clothes Atticus provided for him. They were a bit large, but were otherwise fine. When Atticus had his back turned, Jack managed to slip the knife from his old pants and sneaked them into his new ones.
Atticus took Jack to his room, a cozy little place on the second floor of the manor which had a window which gave him a view of the garden he was supposed to start taking care of starting tomorrow. “I’d wait for a bit before going to sleep,” Atticus told him as he was leaving, “the mistress was hoping to see you after her bath.”
'I hope she does.' Jack thought, feeling the knife on the inside of his pants. He sat down on the bed, playing through the act in his mind of what he needed to do. Ash would hopefully drop her guard and he would swiftly take out the knife and plunge it into her heart, Eban attacked too high, so he needed to attack lower.
He waited for a few more minutes until his door creaked open. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Ash standing there in his doorway. She was in a revealing blue nightgown which left little to the imagination. Her gown showed enough cleavage so Jack not only saw the scar Eban made, but where he also had a clear opening to her heart, if he attacked properly.
She drifted towards him, her bare feet silent against the carpet and sat down gracefully next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a smile which showed off her long, sharp fangs. “Hmmm,” she moaned, “you certainly cleaned up well.”
“Not as well as you,” Jack breathed, his voice catching in his throat.
Ash giggled, “Thank you for the compliment, Atticus told you to expect me?”
Jack nodded.
“Sorry to spring this on your first day, but it is customary I feed on my servants when I first acquire them. To stop other vampires from possibly poaching you.”
'I’m not some animal!'
“Alright,” Jack replied.
Ash placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned closer. He stiffened slightly. Ash loosened her grip a bit, “Sorry,” she whispered, “I’ll try to be gentle with you since it’s your first time.”
Jack’s heart was pounding as Ash drew closer to his neck and he stifled a moan as she bit into his neck. She was warm, and gentle. He could feel his blood being taken away, and started to feel a little light headed. Why then, did it feel so good? He fought back the urge to embrace her in his arms, and ignored the growing hunger between his legs, instead reaching for his pocket to pull out the knife.
He couldn’t see her chest, couldn’t see her neck. But he can try to guess. He felt her breasts resting against his chests, rising and falling with every breath he took. This is it, he would only get one chance.
Ash gasped and pulled away from him when he plunged the knife into her. For a moment, Jack thought he had done it, until his vision came back into focus and he saw the knife was instead buried into her side. He had missed.
Ash slapped his hands away before looking down at the knife. It wasn’t even buried that deep, even if Jack had been accurate, it wouldn’t have been anywhere close to her heart to kill. She grunted softly as she pulled it out, bleeding slightly as the knife was free from her. She examined the knife briefly before lazily turning her attention to him.
“This is a snatcher knife,” she said, “I’ve heard they started trying to convince the humans to kill us, never thought those two would try. I’ll be sure to spread the word. As for you-” she lunged at him, throwing him onto the floor, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I-” Jack began, trying to get up.
“Don’t move!” she ordered, slamming her foot on his head.
Jack whimpered as his head hit the floor, causing his vision to swim again. He was able to see Ash standing over him, arms crossed under her breasts, and red eyes flashing dangerously.
“What were you planning to do with that knife?” she asked, pressing down harder on him.
“Don’t-!” Jack cried.
“Don’t what?” Ash demanded, leaning down towards him, “Don’t give me this little act of yours! Answer my question!”
“I was going to-!” Jack started, before choking up.
“Oh enough of this!”
Ash released him briefly, but before he could recover, Ash grabbed him roughly up by one of his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. He cried out, but Ash slapped him across the face and growled, “Look into my eyes human.”
Jack closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to weep, “Don’t kill me.” he managed to choke out.
“Look into my eyes and I might consider letting you live, human.”
Reluctantly, Jack opened his eyes and forced himself to look into her eyes. They were glowing with anger, but try as he might, he couldn’t look away. He knew what this was, a vampire’s hypnosis. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would do it.
He felt control of his body slip away, and try as he might, he couldn’t move anymore, not even twitch his fingers. He was barely aware of what was even happening, having to fight to stay in control of his mind.
Ash simply grunted as she released him, his body crashing onto the floor. She looked down at him with a sneer on her expression. “What were you planning to do with that knife, human?”
“I was going to kill you.” Jack replied against his will.
“Why?”
“I refuse to serve you, I will not serve a disgusting monster like you.”
Ash’s sneer vanished, and was replaced with a small, amused smile, “Didn’t learn anything from Eban, did you? I would have thought his story would have served as a warning. Looks like I will have to make another example of someone.” Ash sighed, shaking her head, before turning back to him. Her expression was a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Have a good rest, human.”
With inhuman speed, Ash picked him up before delivering a punch directly at his face, knocking him out.
Jack groaned as he woke up, his head pounding in pain. The rest of his body also ached, but his head was the worst. He was still alive, so he had that going for him at least. He looked around his room, seeing Ash had already disposed of the knife. He struggled to his feet before opening the door, surprised Ash didn’t lock him in.
It was still dark outside, but hopefully morning wouldn’t be too far behind. He needed to get out of here, and make sure no one saw him. The servants here will certainly call Ash, and if he saw Ash herself, she would most likely suck him dry. Jack limped out of his room, his legs wobbly and struggling beneath his weight.
As soon as he was in the hallway, he leaned against the wall to take the weight off his legs. He could feel some of his strength returning, slowly but surely. His head was still pounding and most likely wouldn’t stop for a while. He made his way over to the stairs, the hallway was thankfully empty, but he was worried where Ash and her other servants may be.
Before he took the first step, he paused as he heard voices coming from downstairs. They were quiet, but since the rest of the manor was silent he was still able to hear them. It was Ash, and she was talking to Atticus.
Jack quieted his breathing, trying to focus so he could hear them. He leaned in closer to hear better.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” Atticus said, “I should have searched him better when he was undressed.”
“Not your fault Atticus,” Ash replied, “But be sure to send the letters to the others, I’d rather no one else fall for the snatcher’s schemes.”
“What do you plan on doing with the new one, Mistress?” Atticus asked, “I’m not sure when other snatchers will be in the area and those two have already proven to be untrustworthy.”
Ash sighed, “I’m not sure. I’m not against killing him, he can serve as an example for others, but I’m not sure when I’d be able to get another one. Turning him to a thrall would be a good punishment as well, his blood will be awful, but at least then we can work him to the bone without worry.”
Jack’s throat went dry. Neither of those were things he’d want to happen. Despite himself, his breathing got faster, his heart beating faster as well, legs wobbling.
“Oh?”
“Is something wrong, Mistress?” Atticus asked.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Ash replied, “I just think our ungrateful guest has woken up.”
“Would you like me to check on him, Mistress?”
“No,” Ash told him, “I think I will go and see what he is doing.”
Jack tried to move, to run back to his room, but unfortunately, his legs gave out when he tried to move. I have to hide! He thought, crawling along the floor. There was barely any strength in his arms, and he wheezed when he tried to pull himself forward. 'This is it,' he despaired, 'I’m dead.'
When he looked up again, Ash stood over him. She was still dressed in her nightgown, and the knife wound was still present, although it looked like it healed a bit. Ash knelt down in front of him, looking more bored than angry, was that any better?
“What exactly are you planning on doing, human?” Ash asked.
“I wanted to apologize,” Jack blurted, thinking of the first thing that might allow him to live a little longer, “for trying to kill you.”
Ash tilted her head to the side, looking unimpressed, “Mmmmhmmm,” she grunted, “is that so?”
“Yes!” Jack wheezed, hoping she believed him.
“Why don’t you look me in the eyes when you speak, then?”
Jack knew he couldn’t do that. If she asked him if he was speaking the truth, he’d say no, and he’d rather not find out what she would make him do.
“Tell me,” Ash began, reaching down and forcing Jack to look at her, “why should I let you live?”
“Because,” Jack wheezed, “you won’t have to worry about replacing me. And… if you don’t make me a thrall, then you can still enjoy my blood.”
Ash grinned, showing her fangs, “Heard my conversation, have you?” she thought for a moment, tapping her finger against Jack’s chin. He flinched when her sharp nails cut him slightly. Ash licked her lips, “I will say, your blood smells delectable, but is it worth it?”
“Please Mistress!” Jack blubbered.
“Very well,” Ash sighed, “although there are two things I need from you.”
Jack sighed, feeling relieved. She’s letting him live.
“The first, is some blood,” Ash fingers worked their way to his collar, and he felt her grip him tightly, “the second is something else. I can feel that you desire it as well.”
In one swift motion, Ash ripped the shirt he was wearing in half before throwing him backwards and ripping off his pants and underwear as well, leaving him completely naked in the hallway.
“Mmm,” Ash moaned, “seems I was right, you really are a dirty little creature aren’t you?”
Jack tried to cover his erection, ashamed she not only knew, but saw his boner. Ash wasn’t having it though, and slapped his hand away.
“If you want to live, it would be a good idea to make me happy.” Ash growled, leaning down against him.
Jack knew what he had to do. He lifted his hands up, reaching for her breasts. He cupped them lightly, enjoying the weight of them. Ash closed her eyes, her body shuddering slightly from his touch. Despite the situation, Jack smiled, this was his first time touching breasts and he wanted to savor it. She arched her back slightly, allowing him to access them more. They were large and their weight felt good in his hands, even if her body was cold. Her nipples were erect and she moaned when he rubbed his fingers over them.
He wasn’t sure who was shaking more, Ash or himself. He also wasn’t sure why he was shaking, whether it was fear or anticipation. Would she truly spare him if he kept doing this? 'Only thing I can do,' he thought, as he worked his way down, his hands finding the edges of her nightgown and lifting it up slowly.
Ash stopped him, placing her hands over his “Getting bold, are we?” Ash asked, “Such a shame, I can’t let you see me. Not yet anyway…” she leaned down, placing her head on his chest. She was breathing heavily, and Jack wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not,
He got his answer when he suddenly felt a cold hand wrapping around his member. He groaned as she started pumping him, moving her hand slowly, and gliding it over his shaft to where she was just grazing over his tip, teasing his foreskin as well. He arched his back in response, biting back a moan.
“Mmmmm,” Ash moaned, her eyes meeting his, “I’m surprised you have enough blood left to manage this, I was worried I would be playing with a limp noodle for a while,” she giggled as she quickened the pace, enjoying the way Jack squirmed in her grasp.
“O-oh!” Jack moaned, but was quickly silenced by a slap across the face.
“I never said you can talk!” Ash reprimanded, releasing her hold on his member.
Jack nodded, trying to blink back the tears. He held his hands out, feeling a bit foolish as he did so, as if it would do anything to stop her. Ash paused when she saw him though, her expression softening as the tears trailed down his face.
She leaned closer and wiped one of the tears away, “Seems I managed to hurt you more than I wanted to. I’m sorry about that, human. Tell you what, just this once, I’ll let you touch any part of me you want. Just name it.”
Jack wrestled with himself for a few minutes. He decided if he was going to die, he might as well have no regrets. “Can I…” he began, swallowing before he continued, “touch your feet?”
Ash grinned, “Ah, is that why you’ve been staring at them since we met? I should have figured,” she stood up, “Go on then.”
Jack made his way over to them. Her feet, like the rest of her, were pale and slender. Her toes were perfect with the nails clipped short and unpainted. He reached out to touch them and marvelled at how soft her skin was. Ash giggled a little as his fingers pressed between her toes.
She sat down, giving him access to her soles. They were lovely as well. While he was playing with one of her feet, Ash pressed her other one against his crotch and he froze when he felt her toes against his shaft. “Oh my,” Ash laughed, “are you even harder now? Your veins seem to be sticking out more than they did before. Looks rather appetizing if you ask me.”
Jack shuddered, “Please don’t bite me ther-”
He groaned as Ash pressed her foot into his testicles, “What did I say about speaking out of turn, human? Although, if it bothers you that much, I won’t bite you down there. However, right now, I want you on your back!”
Jack winced at how loud she was. He didn’t know how many servants were here, or how many were nearby, but he did know he didn’t want anyone seeing him like this. Ash forced him on his back, his cock stretching out towards the ceiling, or rather it was before Ash pressed it between her toes.
Jack shuddered, his back arching slightly. Her movements were clumsier than when she used her hand, but somehow, he was enjoying this much more than he had with her hand. He tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, so he could see the look of contempt and disgust on her face as she towered over him. He was terrified, yes, but it all still felt good.
“Ah,” Ash began, “I wonder, are you worried about what happens if anyone were to see you like this? Should we find out what would happen?”
Jack frantically shook his head no. 'Please don’t!' He was embarrassed and terrified enough, the thought of others being here, well, it was too much to think about!
“Oh?” Ash asked, “Is that so? You don’t want me to call others to see like this? Naked, and desperately trying to deny your own arousal?”
Jack shook his head. 'Please. Don’t do it.'
“Say, I wonder what would happen if I were to stop playing with this? Would it twitch after how much I’ve played with it?”
True to her word, Ash took her foot off him. Jack crossed his legs. He hated how good it felt when she was jacking him off, both with her hand and especially with her foot. His penis felt like it was on the verge of orgasm, and he knew Ash wouldn’t let him finish up by himself. To his horror, his penis was twitching slightly without her touch.
“Oh my!” Ash laughed, nearly doubling over, “I’ve certainly never seen that before!”
'Please stop…' Jack felt the tears burning in his eyes, just stop. No more. They started coming down, and he couldn’t stop himself from making noise.
Ash stopped smiling as she knelt down beside him. Once more, she wiped away a tear from his face, “I know what’s bothering you. Since you’ve been so good so far, I promise I won’t call the other servants. I doubt they would like to watch a grown man groveling anyway.” She laughed at the end, and placed a finger under his chin to force him to look at her, “Besides, now is the part where you make me feel good.”
Similar to his clothing, Ash ripped her nightgown in two, revealing her body to him. She was beautiful. While the nightgown was a bit translucent, seeing her pale body in full was a sight to behold. Her nipplies, still erect, were a deep shade of pink and her stomach was flat, save for the mound before her vagina which was clean shaven. Jack didn’t need to be told what to do and reached for her opening.
Ash stiffened slightly when his fingers entered her. “Mmm, that’s it…”
His fingers explored her folds, and Jack will happily admit he enjoyed seeing the power he had over her, if only briefly. She moaned, her voice pitching higher as he found her clit and started playing with it.
“Hrm!” she groaned, “Well, it seems-!” she moaned, “You know what you’re doing!”
She panted as she moved her position, climbing on top of him and lowering herself onto him. The both of them winced as he went inside, his member slipping in without much resistance. Her muscles were constricting around him, gripping him tightly while Ash threw herself back, her expression a mask of ecstasy. She started pumping once more, her hips moving fast, muscles continuing to tighten around his penis.
Jack bit back moans, biting his tongue as the pleasure overtook him. He could feel it, building, building. The pressure was coming, and he knew Ash was also close. He couldn’t take it anymore!
Ash yelled as she came, her body shuddering from the experience. Jack followed close behind, shooting his load into her. The two of them laid there for a moment, Ash still holding onto him, even as he recovered. As soon as the pleasure was over though, Jack tensed up.
'Was I good enough?' He looked down at Ash who was laying on top of him, eyes closed, with a smile on her face. 'Please dear gods, spare me!'
Ash opened her eyes, “You’re heart’s racing, a little scared?”
Jack swallowed, and nodded, not sure if he was able to speak or not.
Ash reached out, and he flinched away slightly.
“Shhh,” she whispered, “it’s alright,” she got up and moved closer to him, her hand moving across his cheek, cupping him gently, “I won’t kill you.”
Jack breathed out, and started crying. 'Oh thank the gods!' He didn’t care who heard him, or what Ash currently thought of him, right now, he was just happy.
“However,” Ash continued, her voice suddenly stern, “I can’t just let your murder attempt go unpunished!”
Before he could react, Ash bit him once more, and Jack felt something being injected into him. Her blood.
She pulled back, wiping her mouth with the ruined remains of Jack’s clothing, “I think turning you into a thrall for a while is a good punishment. What do you think about that, Jack?”
“It is a fitting punishment.” Jack’s body replied against his will. 'Oh gods, no! Please no!'
Ash stood up, “Don’t worry, your enthrallment will only last for a week or so, then you can have your free will back,” she reached down to pick up her nightgown, shaking her head, “ah, I got carried away again,” she clicked her tongue before turning back to him, “I’ll also be sure to work you as much as possible for your punishment as well. Don’t worry, I won’t feed on you, thrall’s blood is terrible.”
“That is acceptable.” Jack’s body replied. 'This can’t be happening!'
Ash looked towards the clock, “It’s almost morning, you should get dressed and head out into the grounds, Tarkus should be there to show you the ropes. I’ll have you work till nightfall, is that alright with you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Ash smiled, “Good, then get going Jack, and don’t make me regret sparing your life.”
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