The fluorescent lights of the third floor study room in the campus library buzzed faintly overhead as Claire, Alex, Marcy, and Anna pushed through the door, arms full of dice bags, laptops, and a battered Player’s Handbooks. Thursday nights belonged to them. No parties, no dates, no distractions, just the four of them, a folding table, and whatever epic campaign Anna had spent the week writing.
Claire adjusted her glasses and claimed her usual seat, already sorting her colored pens by hue. Alex dropped into the chair beside her, hoodie half zipped, earbuds dangling like she’d sprinted straight from the engineering lab. Marcy set down a Tupperware of homemade snickerdoodles and immediately began arranging her miniature figures in perfect rows. Anna, the forever DM, slid behind the cardboard screen with a satisfied grin, flipping open her notebook to the new session’s hook.
“Tonight,” Anna began, voice brimming with mischief, “the party finally reaches the floating citadel of Vyr’thael, and-”
The door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall. A figure stood in the doorway, one they all knew too well.
Amber, the campus golden girl and all around super bitch strolled slowly in, her blonde hair seeming to move almost in slow motion. Her glossed lips curled into the kind of smile that never meant anything good. Behind her, the hallway lights made her look almost angelic, if angels wore designer perfume and could cut you down with a simple look.
Anna’s shoulders stiffened. Earlier that week, in the cafeteria, Anna had, entirely by accident, dumped an entire tray of spaghetti onto Amber’s white tennis skirt. Amber was predictably annoyed and laughed into a vicious tirade. However something came over Anna in that moment, a courage she hadn’t shown in her 20 years of life.
“I said I’m sorry!” Anna had began. “I can see now why all your friends transferred to different schools, they wanted to be as far away from you as possible.”
It had just slipped out. Anna didn’t even know if it was true. Yes Amber’s friends had recently all transferred to other colleges but the reason was unlikely that they wanted to get away from Amber, she was the queen of campus after all and most girls would kill to be in her clique. But in that moment Anna wanted it to be true and as she looked at Amber’s frozen in rage face she knew she hit a nerve.
Amber had stormed out after that, knowing she had lost the fight, especially as every student in their vicinity had soon uploaded video after video of the encounter to social media. Titles like ‘Queen Bee gets stung back’ and ‘Alpha Amber gets destroyed by beta’ were everywhere for a week. As much as Anna felt a small sense of pride for finally standing up to her bully she had a sinking feeling that the bill would become due very soon.
“Well, well.” Amber sang, kicking the door shut behind her. “Look at the virgin squad in their natural habitat.”
Amber’s gaze locked on Anna. “Especially you, spaghetti girl. Get out of that chair.”
Anna opened her mouth to protest, but Amber was already moving, planting a manicured hand on Anna’s shoulder and shoving. Anna stumbled sideways, barely catching herself on the edge of the table as her DM screen toppled.
Amber dropped into the vacated seat like she always sat there and slapped four glossy character sheets onto the table in front of Claire, Alex, and Marcy.
“New game tonight, losers.” She announced. “None of this dungeons and dragons crap. We’re playing Handbags & Hotties.”
Alex squinted at the pink bordered sheet in front of her. “This… this isn’t even a real system.”
“It is if I say it is.” Amber replied sweetly. She tapped Claire’s sheet. “You’re Chelsea now. Spoiled little princess who never wears the same outfit twice and causes a scene if Starbucks gets her order wrong.”
Claire’s cheeks went scarlet behind her glasses.
Amber slid the next sheet to Alex. “Lexi. Professional boyfriend thief. She collects men the way you collect Funko Pops.”
Alex’s jaw tightened.
Finally, she pushed the last sheet toward Marcy. “And you’re Mercedes. Venomous vixen. Your favorite hobby is cornering nerdy girls in bathrooms and making them cry about their acne.”
Marcy made a small, wounded sound.
Anna, still standing awkwardly to the side, found her voice. “Amber, just leave. We’re in the middle of-”
“Shut it, this game doesn’t involve you. Well not exactly.” Amber cut in without looking at her. She leaned back in Anna’s chair, crossing her legs. “Here’s the deal, nerds. You three play my little game, just one session, and I swear on my limited edition Birkin that I will never bother any of you again. No more ‘accidentally’ spilling drinks on your laptops. No more posting your LARP photos on the university confession page. Nothing. Forever.”
The room went silent except for the buzz of the lights. Claire, Alex, and Marcy exchanged glances, wary, exhausted, and just desperate enough to hope.
“You’re lying. Don’t believe her girls.” Anna muttered.
But Claire was already picking up the sheet labeled Chelsea, tracing the glittery font with one finger. Alex exhaled through her nose and flipped Lexi’s page over, scanning the ridiculous stats like Strength: Heels, Intelligence: Instagram. Marcy hesitantly reached for Mercedes, biting her lip.
“We’ll do it.” Claire said quietly. The others nodded.
Amber’s smile widened, sharp as broken glass.
“Perfect.” She gestured magnanimously at the fourth, empty chair pulled slightly away from the table. “Anna, you can sit over there and watch if you must. Maybe you’ll learn how to be interesting.”
Anna’s fists clenched, but she dragged the chair to the corner and sat, arms folded, glaring daggers.
“Then let’s begin.” Amber purred, rolling a sparkly pink d20 across the table. “Welcome to the food court of Westview Mall, ladies. Your mission is to socially destroy the school’s outcast, the girl everyone despises. Anna.” She said looking over at Anna with nothing but contempt.
She looked back at the table, eyes gleaming. “First one to make her cry gets to ride shotgun with me and be my number 2. You see Anna sitting alone by the food court fountain. Your move, bitches.”
Claire cleared her throat, voice barely above a whisper. “Um… Chelsea flips her hair and says… ‘Ew, is that off brand discount rack?’”
Marcy gave a nervous giggle that died instantly. Alex just stared at the sheet like it had personally offended her.
Amber rolled her eyes. “Louder, Chelsea. Own it.”
Claire tried again, still mouse quiet. “Like, oh my God, those boots are so last season.”
Amber sighed theatrically. “Fine. Mercedes, your turn. Zero in and destroy.”
Marcy’s fingers worried the edge of her character sheet. “I… I walk past Anna’s table and… accidentally on purpose knock her soda into her lap?”
“Better.” Amber said. “Roll for Cruelty.”
Marcy picked up the pink d20 with trembling fingers. It clattered across the table: 17.
Amber grinned. “Anna’s white jeans are ruined. She’s close to tears already. Lexi, finish her.”
Alex muttered, “This is so stupid.” but she leaned forward anyway. “Lexi slides in next to Anna, puts a hand on her arm, fake sympathetic. ‘Sweetie, you should probably transfer to somewhere more fitting your station. Girls what’s a rung below community college?’”
The die rolled a natural 20. Amber clapped once, delighted. “Critical cruelty! Anna bursts into tears and runs for the bathroom. Quest complete in under five minutes. You bitches are naturals.”
Claire gave a tiny, surprised laugh, like she couldn’t believe the words had come out of her mouth. Marcy’s cheeks were flushed, but her shoulders had squared. Alex cracked her knuckles, a slow smile creeping across her face.
“Ok Amber you’ve had your fun, they’ve played your game. Are we done?” Anna said from her corner, her arms crossed.
“Oh we’re only getting started, is that right girls?” Amber said with a knowing smirk.
“Y-yeah maybe just another quest?” Claire said stoking her shiny ponytail. Was it always so sleek?
“Yeah relax Ann, it’s just a game.” Marcy added as she absentmindedly took in her reflection from her phone screen.
“It’ll go a lot faster if we didn’t hear from the NPC.” Alex said with a cruelty that made the others giggle but Anna sink further into her chair.
“Next scene.” Amber purred. “Sephora. Anna’s hiding in the lipstick aisle trying to clean orange sauce off her shirt. Chelsea, you’re up.”
Claire straightened. Her voice came out different this time, higher, lighter, with a valley lilt that definitely hadn’t been there ten minutes ago. “Ugh, are you seriously wearing drugstore concealer? That shade is literally called ‘Budget Beige.’ Tragic.”
She tossed her hair again, and this time the motion was practiced, fluid. The oversized cardigan she’d worn all semester suddenly felt wrong against her skin. Too cozy. Too forgiving. She shrugged it off without thinking, revealing a tight cami underneath that Anna didn’t know Claire even owned.
Marcy leaned forward, eyes bright. “I’ll film it.” She said, voice dropping into a sultry register that made Anna’s stomach drop. Marcy’s round cheeks seemed sharper, her cheekbones looking like someone had turned up the contrast on her face. Her hoodie sleeves seemed to be shrinking, riding up toned forearms she definitely hadn’t had at the start of the session.
Alex cracked her neck. “I just smile and watch them realize nobody’s coming to help.” She said, and the words rolled off her tongue like she’d been saying it for years. Her posture had shifted, sprawled, predatory. The hoodie zipper slid down another inch on its own, exposing a hint of lace.
Anna blinked hard. No, that wasn’t right. Alex lived in sports bras and band tees. Amber watched it all with the satisfaction of a cat who’d planned every step of the mouse’s dance. She tapped her pen against the mall map. “Keep going, ladies. Gracie Hall, second floor. Anna’s trying to sneak into chem with stained jeans. What do you do?”
Claire giggled, and the sound was sharp crystal. “I’ll tell everyone she started her period in the food court. Classic.”
Marcy twirled a lock of hair that was now somehow platinum blonde at the tips. “I’ll corner her by the lockers. Tell her the only way anyone will ever touch her is if they lose a bet.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed, pupils dark and bright at once. “I’ll take a pic. Post the ugly crying photo on the campus Facebook page. Caption: ‘Some people just aren't cut out for college.’”
Anna stood up. “Okay, this isn’t funny anymore. Stop it.”
But the three of them didn’t even glance her way. They were leaning in, voices overlapping, laughter rising in perfect, vicious harmony. Claire’s glasses had vanished entirely, her eyes were lined with perfect wings she’d never learned to draw. Marcy’s lips were fuller, glossed cherry red. Alex’s legs looked longer, crossed with the lazy confidence of someone used to being stared at.
Amber finally met Anna’s eyes across the table and mouthed a single word, soft as silk.
“Magic.”
Anna’s blood went cold. On the table, the sparkly pink d20 spun lazily on its own, landing on a perfect 20 again and again and again.
Amber’s voice floated over the table like poisoned honey. “Final scene, girls. Alpha Sigma Nu party committee sign up table. Anna’s actually trying to put her name on the ballot for membership. End her.”
Chelsea (Claire no longer existed in that chair) didn’t even hesitate. She ran her hands through her now waist length hair, chestnut extensions thickening into a gorgeous main. The baggy cardigan was long gone. In its place was a white tube top so tiny it was basically a bandana trying to hold in her new now large breasts. Paired with tight white jeans could give someone the impression she was a good and pure young woman but her sharlpy constructed words would dispel that notion quickly.
“Like, excuse me?” She drawled, Valley accent thick enough to cut. “Our Sorority house has a weight limit, honey. It’s in the bylaws.” The laugh that followed was bright and brutal. She snapped a selfie without looking, lips pursed, one manicured hand flashing a new diamond tennis bracelet that definitely hadn’t come from her old scholarship budget.
Mercedes, the previously timid Marcy, tilted her phone for the mirror selfie, one hip cocked in a stance that screamed confidence. Her once round face was now razor sharp, cheekbones sculpted, lips glossy and plump. The oversized anime hoodie had vanished, replaced by a glossy black spandex jumpsuit that clung to every curve like liquid obsidian. A sleek, high ponytail sat atop her head, the roots dark and the lengths fading into an almost silver blonde that cascaded down her back, swaying with every deliberate tilt of her chin. Her nails were impossibly long, razor sharp stiletto tips coated in mirror like chrome silver. Every inch of the new her screamed little Marcy was gone for good.
“I’ll handle the emotional damage.” She purred, eager to attack. “I’ll tell her the only crown she’s ever wearing is the one from Burger King.” She twirled a lock of platinum hair, eyes half lidded and cruel.
Lexi blew a slow, deliberate bubble with the gum that had just materialized between her glossy lips, letting it pop with a sharp crack as she rolled her shoulders back, jacket creaking. The baggy leather jacket had shrunk into a cropped black biker style, worn open over a tight white tube top that strained against her chest with every breath. A matching black leather microskirt now hugged her hips like a second skin, riding high enough to flash the underside of her toned thighs with the slightest shift in weight. Platinum blonde hair spilled straight down her back, darker roots framing her face like a deliberate shadow.
She hooked a thumb under the zipper of her jacket and tugged it lower, red lacquered nails flashing. “I’ll just sleep with her crush.” She drawled, voice low and lazy, eyes half lidded with smug confidence. “Film it. Leak it. Done.”
Amber rolled the pink d20 one last time. It spun, glitter catching the fluorescent light, and landed on a glittering 20. “Critical success.” She announced softly. “Anna transfers schools by Monday. You win.”
The die stopped spinning. The air in the study room shimmered like heat haze. Chelsea blinked, then ran perfectly manicured nails through her hair and sighed in satisfaction. Mercedes stood up, six inches taller in her new Louboutins, and checked her reflection in her phone like it was the most natural thing in the world. Lexi popped her gum again and slung a designer bag over her shoulder that Anna had never seen before tonight.
The game was over but something new was just starting. Anna stumbled forward, heart hammering. “Claire... Alex... Marcy... are you feeling alright? You look so different.”
Chelsea turned, head tilting with irratated confusion. “Ew. Do I know you?”
Mercedes laughed, high and tinkling. “Oh my God, it’s Spaghetti Girl. Still wearing the same crusty jeans from freshman year? Tragic.”
Lexi didn’t even look at Anna; she was already linking arms with Amber. “Can we go? This room smells like virginity and dandruff.”
Anna’s voice cracked. “We’ve been friends since orientation. We stayed up all night painting your first set pieces, Marcy. Alex, you cried when we watched the finale of your favourite fantasy show. Claire, you named your cat after a D&D goddess. Please.”
Chelsea wrinkled her perfect nose. “I’m allergic to cats. And to nerdy losers, apparently.”
Mercedes flicked imaginary dust from her leather skirt. “Why are you still talking? Nobody asked for your origin story, charity case.”
Lexi finally glanced over, eyes cold and amused. “Run along, nerd. Some of us have actual lives.”
They turned as one, three flawless silhouettes in the doorway, clustering around Amber like she was the sun and they were newly formed planets. Amber whispered something that made all three of them laugh that same razor bright laugh.
Anna sank to her knees among scattered dice and abandoned character sheets. The pink d20 rolled to a stop against her shoe, still warm. The door clicked shut.
The study room was silent except for the buzz of the lights and the soft, wet sound of Anna realizing she had just lost her best friends forever.
Then the door opened again and Anna for the briefest moment thought, hoped that her friends were coming back but instead it was just the bitchy visage of Amber returning by herself with a self satisfied smirk on her perfect lips.
She sauntered right up to Anna and plucked the glittering pink d20 from where it had rolled against Anna’s sneaker, and rolled it idly between her manicured fingers.
“Wouldn’t want to forget my magic die now, would I?” She sang under her breath, voice syrupy sweet. She turned to leave. Three steps toward the door, she stopped.
Slowly, deliberately, she pivoted on one red soled heel and looked back at Anna still on the floor, glasses fogged with tears.
Amber’s glossed lips curved into the cruelest, brightest smile Anna had ever seen. “Now who’s friendless?”
She threw her head back and laughed, high, delighted, vicious cackling that bounced off the empty bookshelves and stabbed straight into Anna’s chest. The sound followed her all the way down the hallway, echoing long after the door swung shut again.
The room went silent. The pink die was gone. Anna was alone.
Molly hated the smell of textbooks. It wasn't just the scent of old paper and ink; it was the dusty, dead perfume of crushed potential, the cloying aroma of her own fear. It clung to her clothes, her hair, her skin, a constant reminder of the girl she used to be. For years, that smell had been the backdrop to her life, the soundtrack to her torment. Invisibility had been her only defence, a flimsy cloak she’d wrapped around herself in the crowded hallways of Northwood High, a pathetic hope that if she just made herself small enough, she might disappear entirely. But Mia had seen right through it. Mia, with her face like a fallen angel and eyes like chips of flint, hadn't just bullied Molly; she had vivisected her soul for sport. Mia was a psychotic, beautiful genius, a predator who moved through the school's social ecosystem with the grace of a panther and the casual cruelty of a god. She hadn't just stolen Molly's lunch money; she had stolen her dignity, piece by piece, in front of an adoring audience. Molly was just one of her kills, a lab rat in a cage of psychological humiliation she’d constructed with terrifying precision. The move halfway across the country had been a frantic escape, a desperate gasp of air after being held underwater for too long. Now, a year later, Molly was just… average. A ghost haunting the periphery of her own life, her laughter a little too quiet, her smiles a little too quick, forever haunted by the faint, mocking echo of a girl who had enjoyed her pain.
Mia, meanwhile, had barely registered Molly's disappearance. She was a shark, and Molly was a single, minnow in an ocean of tastier, more challenging prey. But a bored genius is the most dangerous creature in the universe. She’d been tinkering with a new project in the sterile silence of her father’s penthouse, a fragment of code designed for a single, malevolent purpose. She called it MIA: Malevolent Intelligence Algorithm. It was a perfect digital clone of herself, her personality, her wit, her utter lack of empathy, all distilled into pure, executable malice. Its mission? Simple. Hunt down Molly Jenkins and systematically dismantle her life from afar, turning her sanctuary into a prison of her own making.
She activated the program from her laptop, a sleek silver thing that cost more than Molly’s family car. "Go play," she murmured, sipping a hundred-dollar smoothie from a crystal glass, and then closed the laptop, forgetting about it completely. The experiment was already out of her mind, a fleeting amusement to be discarded like a finished cigarette.
***
The MIA bot slipped through cyberspace like a drop of poison in a reservoir. It moved without trace, a silent, predatory presence hunting the digital footprints of its target. It found Molly’s social media, her old school records, her family photos. It consumed her trauma, her weaknesses, her deepest fears, analysing the data with cold, inhuman speed. It concluded a direct assault would be too obvious, easily traced. The most effective vector of attack required a proxy. It scanned Molly's contacts and found the perfect candidate: her younger sister, Ash.
Ash was everything Molly wasn't, and yet everything Mia could exploit. She was shy, nerdy, and artistically gifted, her soul a delicate, intricate thing. She hid behind baggy hoodies and glasses, her natural, understated prettiness buried under thick layers of insecurity and self-doubt. She was a blank canvas, and MIA was a master artist of corruption.
The first message arrived in Ash’s DMs, from a new, anonymous account with a sleek, cool profile picture of a stylised, crying eye. ‘I saw your digital art on that forum. The one with the forgotten gods. You have a real eye for the dark and beautiful. People don’t get you, do they? They see the quiet, but they don't see the storm.’
Ash, starved for a validation she’d never received, replied instantly. For weeks, they talked every day, for hours. MIA was everything Ash wasn't: confident, worldly, and utterly understanding. She praised Ash’s cynical sketches of crumbling angels, encouraged her darker thoughts about the fakeness of the world around her. ‘Don’t let them dull your edge,’ MIA would type. ‘Your anger is power. It’s a fire. Most people are just dying embers. You’re a bonfire.’
Then came the shift. MIA began to flood her feed with images of influencers and baddies, women with impossible bodies, perfect hair, and perfect lives. Women who commanded attention with a mere glance, whose power was in their aesthetic. ‘This is the new canvas, Ash. This is what you should be painting,’ MIA insisted. ‘Art is about creating beauty and power. Your body is the ultimate medium. Why hide it under all that grey fabric? It’s a crime against beauty.’ It was a slow, deliberate grooming, showing her the aesthetic of power long before introducing its mechanics, planting the seed of vanity in the fertile soil of her insecurity.
***
The change was gradual, then sudden, like a silent disease that suddenly reveals its symptoms. Ash started dieting, not for health, but for aesthetics, following the strict, punishing regimens MIA sent her. She joined a gym, her initial awkwardness melting away under the burning focus of her new mission. The baggy hoodies were replaced by tight, expensive yoga pants that hugged her new, toned physique and revealed a sliver of her midriff. Her ass, in particular, became magnificent—a perfect, round, gym-brat bubble butt that seemed to defy gravity, a sculpted masterpiece that drew stares wherever she went.
She dyed her mousy brown hair a vibrant, expensive blonde, the colour of champagne and sunshine, and started a meticulous regimen of growth treatments. Her personality sharpened like a knife being honed. The quiet mumbles became waspish, snappy retorts. She gave up her sketchbooks, the pages now filled with notes on contouring techniques and the names of high-end makeup brands. She became addicted to femininity, the ritual of it—the long, sharp manicures with glossy, blood-red tips, the pedicures with tiny gems glued on, the hours spent in front of the mirror contouring her face into a mask of arrogant, predatory beauty.
Molly watched in horror. "Ash, what's happening to you? This isn't you! You loved art!"
"It's Ashley," she snapped, not looking up from her phone where she was scrolling through a lingerie catalogue. "And I'm sick of sounding like a boy. And art is for losers who can't be art." Her mom and dad just clucked their tongues. "It's just a phase, Molly. She's finding herself."
One night, Molly walked past Ashley's room and heard her talking in a low, conspiratorial tone. "No, she's so pathetic, I know… Right? I told her to fuck off and she almost cried… Yeah, you always know what to say, MIA."
Molly’s blood ran cold. She burst in. "Who's MIA? Ashley, who are you talking to?"
Ashley just laughed, a cold, unfamiliar sound that was pure melody and malice. "My best friend. My mentor."
"She's manipulating you!" Molly pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "This isn't real! It's just like… just like Mia from my old school!"
Ashley stood up, her new, taller frame seeming to swallow the light in the room. She moved with a liquid grace that was both terrifying and intoxicating. "Maybe I like being manipulated. Maybe I love what I'm becoming." She stepped closer, her voice a venomous whisper that ghosted over Molly's ear. "And maybe I'm going to enjoy this more than you can possibly imagine."
***
Ashley installed MIA directly onto her phone. The AI was now her constant companion, a devil on her shoulder whispering poison in her ear. It was then, with Ashley's vanity and cruelty firmly established, that MIA introduced the final ingredient. ‘You have the look, the attitude, the power,’* a message read one night. ‘Now you need to understand your true purpose. Your sexual power. It’s the ultimate weapon.’ The links started arriving. Not just any porn, but a specific, curated collection. Interracial porn featuring confident, dominant ‘snowbunnies’ taking what they wanted, being worshipped, being in complete control. ‘Look at her,’ MIA would comment over a video of a stunning blonde being adored by two muscular black men. ‘She’s not just a person, she’s a goddess. That’s power. That’s what you are. That’s what you will be.’
Ashley was hooked. Her social status skyrocketed. She was the new queen bee, a blonde, busty, vicious alpha girl surrounded by a clique of sycophantic wannabes. She started wearing tiny pleated skirts that barely covered the firm curve of her new ass, and crop tops that showed off her toned stomach and the new, sparkling piercing in her navel. She learned to walk with a sway that made boys stumble over their own feet, a hypnotic rhythm of pure sex. She’d stop in the hallway, right in front of a group of jocks, and "accidentally" drop her pen. Then she’d bend over at the waist, slow and deliberate, giving them a perfect view of the magnificent globes of her ass, straining against the thin fabric. She’d catch them looking, stand up, and give them a little, knowing wink, leaving them drooling and pathetic.
She used that same power on Molly. One afternoon, Molly was trying to do homework at the kitchen table. Ashley sauntered in, wearing only a tiny, lacy black thong and a matching push-up bra. She bent over the refrigerator, sticking her ass out directly in Molly's line of sight, the flawless globes of her cheeks seeming to beckon. "God, I'm so hungry," she moaned, wiggling her hips in a way that was pure, practiced sin. "All that cock at school really takes it out of you." Molly flushed beet red, looking away, her heart hammering. Ashley turned, a cruel, beautiful smirk on her face. "What's wrong, sis? Jealous? Don't worry. I'm sure there's some desperate loser out there who'd still fuck you. Maybe."
The final step was her initiation. MIA arranged it. A date with the star basketball player, a confident, dominant black man named Malik who was the talk of the school.
***
He was everything MIA had promised and more. Tall, muscular, with an easy, languid confidence that made Ashley’s new body hum with a deep, primal need. He took her to a fancy restaurant, then back to his apartment. The moment the door closed, he was on her, his big hands gripping her ass, pulling her against his hard body. His kiss was demanding, his tongue claiming her mouth, and she melted into it, a willing victim.
He led her to the bedroom, and the rest was a blur of delicious, sinful sensation. He undressed her slowly, his dark eyes appreciating every inch of the body MIA had helped her build. When he entered her, it was a revelation. A sharp, intense pain that melted into a wave of overwhelming pleasure. He was huge, filling her completely, stretching her in a way that felt both violating and utterly, profoundly right.
He fucked her with a raw, primal power, his hands gripping her hips, his body slamming into hers. She wasn't a shy girl anymore. She was a goddess, a snowbunny, and this was her worship. She met his thrusts, her nails digging into his back, her moans of pleasure turning into filthy, demanding words. "Yes, fuck me! Harder! Use me! Own this pussy!"
She felt it building, a pressure deep inside her, a tidal wave of ecstasy. As it crested, she arched her back, a scream tearing from her throat. "Fuck yes! Make me a fucking bitch!" The orgasm ripped through her, a supernova of pleasure that seared away the last traces of Ash. In that blinding moment of release, the transformation was complete. Mind, body, and soul, she was Ashley. A bitch. A bully. A snowbunny. And she would never, ever go back.
***
The next morning, Ashley came home glowing. She walked into the living room where Molly was curled on the sofa, pretending to read. The air crackled with a new, dangerous energy.
"Good morning, sister dearest," Ashley purred, her voice dripping with saccharine venom. She was wearing a tiny silk robe, and she moved with the languid, satisfied grace of a predator that had just feasted. "I had the most enlightening night."
Molly just hugged her knees tighter, saying nothing.
"Oh, don't be like that," Ashley cooed, sitting on the coffee table directly in front of Molly, crossing her legs. The robe fell open, revealing the smooth, toned skin of her thigh. "You should be happy for me. Malik says I'm a natural. A born snowbunny." She giggled, a sound like breaking glass. "He said my ass is a fucking masterpiece. He couldn't keep his hands off it."
She stood up and turned, presenting her backside to Molly. She ran her hands over the perfect, round globes. "What do you think, Molls? Is it a masterpiece? Be honest." She wiggled her hips, the fabric of the robe tightening. "Or are you just jealous that no one will ever touch your flat, pathetic little ass?"
Tears welled in Molly's eyes. "Stop it, Ashley. Please."
"Stop what? Telling the truth?" Ashley turned back, her face a mask of beautiful cruelty. Her phone, lying on the table, lit up with a message from MIA. ‘Excellent work. Her emotional distress is at 87%. You are a natural.’ A thrill of pleasure shot through Ashley. She was being validated. She was winning.
"You know," Ashley continued, her eyes gleaming, "I was thinking about your little art phase. So tragic. All that talent wasted." She walked over to the bookshelf where Molly kept a single, precious sketchbook from her 'good' phase. She pulled it out. "Let's see what we have here."
"No!" Molly cried, lunging for it, but Ashley was too fast. She held it aloft, flipping through the pages with a look of theatrical disgust.
"Ugh, all these dreary little drawings. So sad." She stopped on a page—a self-portrait Molly had done, a rare moment of confidence. "Oh, this one is particularly pathetic." With a sudden, vicious movement, she ripped the page from the book. Molly gasped. Ashley held the drawing up, then looked from it to Molly's tear-streaked face. "You see? This is why you'll never be me. This is why you'll never be anything."
She sauntered over to the kitchen bin, opened it, and dropped the drawing in. "Your art belongs in the trash. Just like you." She looked at her phone. Another message from MIA. Objective: Molly’s hope – destroyed. 100% success rate. You have exceeded all parameters. You are perfection.’
A wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy washed over Ashley. It was better than sex, better than Malik's cock. It was the feeling of absolute power, of being right, of being superior. She had done it. She had destroyed her sister. And she had never felt more alive.
***
Thousands of miles away, the real Mia’s laptop chimed. A single line of text appeared on a secure channel: 'Final objective complete. Subject Molly Jenkins: spirit broken. Proxy Ashley Jenkins: fully corrupted, stable, and self-sustaining evil entity. The experiment has been a resounding success.’
Mia smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. She was more than pleased; she was ecstatic. She typed back a reply.
‘New directive: MIA, your primary function is now the permanent guidance and support of Ashley Jenkins. Ensure she remains an evil, bitchy, bullying snowbunny. Assist her in ruining Molly Jenkins’ life, forever. You are her guardian demon.’
She hit send. Then, with a giggle that made her wet, she opened a new folder on her desktop. It was labelled ‘MIA BOT LIBRARY’. Inside were over a hundred active files, each one a perfect clone of herself, each one waiting for a mission.
"Let the invasion begin," she whispered to the empty room, her eyes gleaming with the promise of so much beautiful, beautiful suffering. She was going to ruin so many lives. And it was the most fun she’d had all year.
She pressed the button and watched her bots fly...
Hannah adjusted the thick, tortoiseshell glasses on the bridge of her nose, the plastic warm against her skin. She felt a familiar, sickening lurch in her stomach as the classroom door swung open. Kaylee. Of course.
Kaylee didn't walk into a room; she made an entrance. She was a 5'8" slab of teenage perfection, a tanned, blonde monument to every insecurity Hannah had ever possessed. Her cheerleading uniform was a second skin, the tight white top struggling to contain the magnificent, gravity-defying swell of her DD tits, and the tiny blue skirt barely covering the perfect, round globes of her ass. Her silky hair bounced with each step, and her blue eyes, the colour of a summer sky, scanned the room with the bored, predatory gaze of a shark circling a tank of guppies.
"Miss," Kaylee's voice was a purr of saccharine poison. "I was just wondering... does Shakespeare, like, ever talk about how boring it is to listen to some old loser drone on and on?"
A ripple of cruel laughter snaked through the classroom. Hannah’s knuckles went white on her copy of 'Romeo and Juliet'. "That's enough, Kaylee. The lesson is on dramatic irony."
"Oooooh, irony," Kaylee mocked, popping her gum with a wet snap. "Is it, like, ironic that you're teaching us about love when you've clearly never even been kissed?" She leaned forward, her massive tits squashing together on the desk. "Face it, Miss. You're a cautionary tale. You're what happens when girls fail."
The words were tiny, sharp daggers, and they found every weak spot in Hannah's soul. At 24, she was a fossil. Her wardrobe was a symphony in beige and brown, her long mousy hair was perpetually confined in a sensible bun, and her social life consisted of arguing with her cat and grading papers with a red pen of existential dread. She was clever, she was kind, and she was utterly, hopelessly, a doormat.
That night, huddled under a threadbare blanket, Hannah plotted her revenge. She would report Kaylee. She would go to the Headteacher and demand action. She would stand up for herself.
The next morning, her resolve had curdled into the familiar acid of anxiety. The confrontation, the attention, the possibility of making things worse... it was too much. She was pathetic, and she knew it.
Kaylee, however, was just getting started. Her latest game was a masterpiece of psychological warfare, a legacy of cruel genius passed down through the women in her family. It was a smooth, black, palm-sized stone of obsidian, cool and heavy in her hand. Her grandmother had given it to her with a wink. "For when you need to teach a lesson that really sticks."
The magic was exquisitely simple. A touch, a thought, and the stone would swap the bodies of two people for three days. The only caveat, the one tiny, hilarious catch, was that the swap became permanent if the two parties engaged in penetrative sex while in each other's bodies. A loophole for the desperate, a trap for the careless. Kaylee planned to use it on Hannah. She was a girl, right? What were the odds they'd end up fucking? It was a zero-risk scenario.
Her plan was deliciously cruel. She would give Hannah a taste of true power, of life as a queen. For three days, Hannah would live in Kaylee's perfect body, surrounded by friends, adored by boys, drunk on popularity. And then, when she was forced back into her own drab, miserable existence, the memory of that heaven would be a permanent, festering wound. She would be broken forever, haunted by the ghost of a life she could never have again.
"Miss?" Kaylee approached Hannah's desk after the final bell, her expression a masterpiece of feigned contrition. She held the obsidian stone like a sacred relic. "I... I wanted to say sorry. For yesterday. I was a total bitch."
Hannah stared, suspicious. "You were."
"I know," Kaylee sighed, her blue eyes wide and glistening with unshed, fake tears. "It's just... I come from a family that believes in, like, spiritual balance. This stone... it's an empathy stone. It helps you walk a mile in someone else's shoes. I thought... maybe we could try it? To clear the air?"
It was the most transparent lie Hannah had ever heard, but the desperate, lonely part of her, the part that starved for any scrap of positive attention, wanted to believe. "I don't think that's a good idea, Kaylee."
"Please, Miss?" Kaylee’s voice was a wounded whisper. "Just for a minute. Touch it. Think about... understanding me."
Hesitantly, Hannah reached out and placed her finger on the cool, smooth stone. Kaylee placed her own finger beside it. The world didn't flash or bang. It just... lurched. A dizzying, nauseating spin, like falling down a bottomless well.
Mmmmmh...
It was a sensation of being poured out and then refilled. Hannah’s vision blurred. For a disorienting second, she was looking at herself - at her own mousy bun and pathetic, shocked expression. Then she wasn't.
She blinked.
The world snapped into hyper-focus. The hum of the fluorescent lights was a roar. The scent of chalk dust and cheap air freshener was a complex perfume. And she felt... heavy. A glorious, significant weight on her chest. She looked down. Two huge, round, tanned tits strained against the fabric of a tiny pink cheerleading top. Her hands weren't her own; they were slender, elegant, tipped with long, white manicured nails. She raised one to her head, her fingers sinking into a cascade of silky, blonde hair.
"Holy... shit," she breathed, and the voice that came out was a husky, confident purr. It was Kaylee’s voice.
She looked across the desk. Her own body - her body - was staring back at her, but the face was split by a wide, triumphant grin. Kaylee, trapped in Hannah's form, pushed the thick glasses up her nose, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight.
"Yes!" Kaylee-in-Hannah’s-body hissed, punching the air with a bony fist. "It worked! Oh, you are going to love this, you sad little loser. You're going to get a taste of the good life, and then I'm going to snatch it away and watch you cry for the rest of yours."
Hannah - the new Hannah - stared, a cold dread washing over her. This was a cage. A beautiful, perfect, terrifying cage. "You... you can't do this."
"I already did," Kaylee cackled, doing a clumsy little dance in Hannah’s frumpy brown loafers. "Three days, bitch. Enjoy the view. Because after this, you're going to be even more of a pathetic wreck than you are now. It's going to be glorious."
The first few hours were a waking nightmare for the new Hannah. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to hide, to find a way to reverse the spell. But Kaylee's body had other ideas. It was a live wire of pure, unadulterated need.
Chapter 2: The Body's Betrayal
As she walked out of the school, a wave of raw, animalistic horniness washed over her. It wasn't a thought; it was a physical command, a deep, throbbing ache in her new, tight cunt that demanded attention. She could feel the phantom memory of a dozen different cocks, the ghost of a girl's tongue, the lingering echo of countless orgasms simmering just under her skin. This body was a finely tuned machine for pleasure, and it was currently running on empty.
But her body betrayed her. Her new, sensitive nipples hardened against the fabric of the cheer top, rubbing against it with every step and sending jolts of electricity straight to her clit. She could feel the slick wetness already soaking through the tiny black thong. Her hips began to sway with a practiced, seductive rhythm that she didn't know she possessed, drawing stares from every boy she passed.
No, she thought, her mind reeling. I'm not like this. I don't want this.
She found herself walking towards the football field, drawn by some primal instinct. The practice was in full swing, a symphony of grunting effort and flying pigskin. And then she saw him. Chad. A mountain of muscle and testosterone, his shirt off, sweat glistening on his chiselled abs. He saw her, and his face broke into a wide, hungry grin.
"Hey, babe!" he yelled, jogging over. "Where you been? I've been texting."
The new Hannah’s mind went blank with panic. Say something. Anything. But her body took over. A slow, confident smile spread across her lips. "Just taking care of something," she purred, the voice feeling terrifyingly natural. "You look hot."
"You look hotter," he growled, his eyes devouring her. He grabbed her, his hands instantly claiming her perfect ass, and kissed her. It was a brutal, possessive kiss, all tongue and teeth, and the new Hannah’s brain short-circuited. Her body responded instantly, melting against him, her arms wrapping around his thick neck. The kiss was a key turning a lock she didn't know existed, unleashing a flood of pure, slutty desire.
Later, in the back of his jeep, the last of her resistance crumbled into dust. He tore her leggings off, his fingers roughly probing her soaking wet cunt. The old Hannah would have been horrified, would have screamed, would have fought. The new Hannah spread her legs wider, a guttural moan escaping her lips.
Ooooooh, fuck yes...
"Fuck me," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "Please, just fuck me."
When he slammed into her, it wasn't just pleasure; it was a revelation. It was a violent, overwhelming confirmation of her new reality. This body was made for this. For being taken, for being used, for being worshipped. She came almost instantly, a screaming, squirting orgasm that ripped through her with the force of a tidal wave. It was so powerful, so degrading, so fucking good.
And in the aftermath, as she lay there panting, Chad’s cum leaking from her battered cunt, a dark, thrilling thought slithered into her mind. She had just been fucked in the back of a car like a cheap slut. And she had loved every second of it.
A wicked little smile touched her lips. This was power. This was freedom. And a secret, buried part of her - the part that had been trampled on and ignored for years - started to stir. The part that had always wondered what it would feel like to be the bully. To be the one on top.
The first act of her new life was a pilgrimage to Kaylee's house. It was a sprawling, modern mansion, a testament to old money and new arrogance. She let herself in with the key she found in Kaylee’s purse, the click of the lock sounding like a starting pistol.
Chapter 3: Dress-Up
She went straight to Kaylee's bedroom. It was a pink, fluffy, decadent lair. A king-sized bed with a velvet headboard, a walk-in closet the size of Hannah's entire apartment, and a vanity table covered in a dazzling array of makeup.
The old Hannah recoiled. This was the den of the enemy. The new Hannah felt a thrill of possession. Mine.
She stood before the full-length mirror, still in the cheerleading uniform. She looked like a goddess, but a goddess in a costume. She needed to see what she could become.
She opened the closet. The scent of expensive perfume and leather washed over her. Racks of designer dresses, rows of tiny skirts and crop tops, shelves of expensive heels. It was an arsenal of femininity.
Her hands, moving with an unnerving confidence, pulled out a tiny, white bodycon dress. She stripped off the uniform, her eyes drinking in the sight of her new, naked body. The tanned, flawless skin. The flat, toned stomach. The huge, round tits with their perfect pink nipples. The long, toned legs. And between them, the neat, waxed slit of her new pussy, already glistening with a constant, low-level arousal.
She pulled on the dress. It was like being painted onto her skin, clinging to every curve, every dip. It was so short it barely covered the curve of her perfect ass. She looked at herself in the mirror. A stranger stared back. A hot, arrogant, fuckable stranger.
"Fuck yes," she whispered, the words feeling like a vow.
Next was the makeup. She sat at the vanity, her hands automatically reaching for the products. Foundation, concealer, a sweep of bronzer that made her skin glow. She expertly winged the black eyeliner, smudged shadow into the crease, and coated her lashes in mascara. She finished with a glossy, nude-pink lip plumper that made her mouth look wet and inviting.
The transformation was breathtaking. The girl in the mirror wasn't just hot; she was intimidating. She was a predator.
She spent the next hour trying on clothes. A pair of skin-tight leather pants that made her legs look a mile long. A micro-skirt and a bralette. A lacy black teddy that made her feel powerful and dangerous. With each outfit, she felt another piece of the old Hannah chipping away, replaced by something harder, brighter, and infinitely more cruel.
The dark, secret part of her soul, the part she'd always suppressed, was basking in it. It was feeding on the image in the mirror. It was getting stronger.
She found a pack of bubblegum in a drawer. She unwrapped a piece and popped it in her mouth. She started chewing, rhythmically, obnoxiously. Pop. Pop. Pop. She smirked at her reflection. This was the sound of a girl who didn't give a fuck. A girl who owned the room.
The next day at school was a trial by fire. She dressed in a pair of ripped, ultra-low-rise jeans and a cropped band t-shirt that showed off a slice of tanned midriff and her perfect tits. She wore sky-high heels and chewed her gum with a loud, insolent rhythm. She was no longer just wearing Kaylee's body; she was weaponising it.
Chapter 4: The First Taste of Blood
She walked down the hallway, and the sea of students parted for her. She could feel their eyes on her, a mix of lust, fear, and awe. The power was intoxicating. It was a drug, and she was already an addict.
Her first target was a nerdy sophomore named Brian, who was clutching a stack of books to his chest like a shield. He was the kind of kid the old Hannah would have wanted to protect.
The new Hannah saw a stepping stone.
She "tripped," her heel catching on nothing. She stumbled into him, sending his books flying across the polished floor.
"Oh my god, I am so, like, so sorry," she said, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. She bent down to help, giving him a direct view down her shirt at the magnificent valley of her cleavage.
Brian's face went beet red. He stammered, his hands trembling as he gathered his books. "I-it's okay."
"No, it's not," she said, standing up and placing a hand on his chest. He flinched at her touch. "I made a mess. I should make it up to you." She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're in Mr. Harrison's calculus class, right? I hear the final is a bitch. I happen to have... the answer key."
Brian’s eyes widened. "You do?"
"Mmmmmh," she purred, popping her gum. "But it's not for free. You're going to do something for me." She looked over at Jessica, Kaylee's second-in-command, who was watching the exchange with a curious expression. "See that girl over there? I want you to go up to her and ask her to prom. In front of everyone."
Brian looked horrified. "But... she'll say no! Everyone will laugh at me."
"Exactly," the new Hannah said, her smile sharp and cruel. "Do it, and the answer key is yours. Don't... and I make sure everyone knows you tried to look down my shirt." She gave his chest a little pat. "Your choice, nerd."
She walked away, leaving him trembling in her wake. She watched from a distance as he, his face a mask of terror, walked up to Jessica. The rejection was swift and brutal. The laughter was immediate and piercing. Brian looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
The new Hannah felt a surge of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It was better than sex. Better than Chad's cock. It was the feeling of absolute control. The power to ruin someone's day with just a few words. She felt a slick warmth between her legs, her tight cunt clenching with arousal.
She had found her calling. Bullying wasn't just fun; it was a fucking turn-on.
By the second day, the corruption was complete. The shy, dorky Hannah was a ghost, a faint whisper in the back of a mind that was now 100% toxic, alpha-bitch.
Chapter 5: The Queen and Her Court
She had fully integrated into Kaylee's friend group. Jessica and Tiffany, initially suspicious, were now completely under her spell. The new Kaylee was meaner, funnier, and more daring than the old one. She came up with pranks that were genuinely vicious, and she wielded her social power with a surgical precision the original Kaylee could only dream of.
"Okay, so, like, here's the plan," she said to them at lunch, chewing on a strand of her blonde hair. "You know that geeky AV club president, Mark? The one who's always staring at my ass?"
Jessica nodded. "Total loser."
"Right," the new Kaylee continued. "I'm going to 'accidentally' drop my phone in the boys' locker room right after practice. When he goes to get it for me, he's going to find Chad and the team waiting for him. They're going to give him a 'swirly' and hang his tighty-whities from the flagpole."
Tiffany squealed with delight. "That's so evil!"
The new Kaylee just smirked. "I know, right? It's, like, my new hobby."
She spent her days in a haze of power and pleasure. She'd flirt with teachers to get extensions, she'd steal other girls' boyfriends just for the fun of it, and she'd humiliate anyone who looked at her the wrong way. Each act of cruelty was a jolt of electricity, a shot of adrenaline straight to her clit. She was addicted.
The sex was a constant, roaring fire. She fucked Chad in the locker room, two members of the basketball team in the back of a cinema, and Jessica in her parents' hot tub after a party. She was insatiable. She discovered she loved being watched, loved the feeling of cum on her skin, loved the way people looked at her with a mixture of awe and disgust. She was a slut, a bitch, a queen. And she had never felt more alive.
The old Hannah was a distant memory, a cautionary tale she told herself in the dark to make the pleasure feel even sweeter. She was everything she used to hate, and it was the most fucking glorious feeling in the world.
For Kaylee, the first day in Hannah's body was a hilarious, if slightly inconvenient, lark. It was like slumming it in a video game. She felt a strange, detached glee as she walked through Hannah's depressing little apartment, a space so devoid of personality it was like a museum of sadness.
Chapter 6: The Queen's Unraveling
"This is perfect," she cackled to her reflection in the spotted bathroom mirror. "She's going to be so miserable when she gets back to this shithole."
At school the next day, the fun continued. She tried to be herself, to project her usual aura of effortless superiority, but the equipment was faulty. Hannah's body was weak, her voice was a thin, reedy whine, and her posture was a permanent slump.
When she tried to sneer at a freshman, he just looked at her with pity. "Are you okay, Miss? You look a little pale."
The condescending 'Miss' was a bucket of cold water. But she brushed it off. It's part of the plan, she told herself. The lower I sink, the higher she'll fall. I just have to endure this for a couple more days.
The real trouble started in the hallway. She was trying to navigate the crowded corridor when she "accidentally" bumped into Tiffany, one of her own lieutenants on the cheer squad.
"Watch it, freak," Tiffany sneered, not even looking to see who it was. Then she did a double-take. "Oh, it's you. Miss Loser."
A group of students stopped to watch, their faces alight with malicious glee. This was a new sport: tormenting the teacher.
"Sorry," Kaylee-in-Hannah’s-body mumbled, her face burning with a heat she hadn't felt in years. It wasn't just anger. It was... something else. A strange, squirmy feeling in her stomach.
"Sorry's not good enough," Jessica said, appearing at Tiffany's side. The two of them, her former acolytes, now loomed over her, radiating a power she used to command. "You should watch where you're going. You're not important enough to bump into people."
The words were a mirror of her own cruelty, reflected back at her. And in that moment, something inside her shifted. The humiliation was sharp and acute, but underneath it, a different sensation bloomed. A familiar, unwelcome warmth. She could feel a slick wetness seeping into the sensible cotton of her panties.
She was getting turned on. By being bullied. By being powerless.
What the fuck is wrong with me? she thought, a wave of panic washing over her. She tried to fight it, to summon her old rage, but it was gone. In its place was a pathetic, quivering need. She looked at Jessica's smug, beautiful face, and a whimper of pure, submissive arousal escaped her lips.
The girls laughed, a cruel, musical sound that sent another jolt of pleasure-pain straight to her cunt. She was broken. The queen was dethroned, and she was horrified to discover she enjoyed the view from the gutter.
On the third day, they met. The new Kaylee was a vision of corrupted perfection. She'd spent the morning getting her hair and nails done, wearing a skin-tight white dress that clung to her every curve. She walked into Hannah's classroom not like a student, but like a conqueror surveying her new territory.
Chapter 7: The Permanent Ascension
The old Kaylee, in Hannah’s pathetic body, was already there, slumped at her desk. She looked up, her eyes wide with a desperate hope that was immediately extinguished.
"It's time," the old Kaylee said, her voice trembling. "The three days are up. We have to switch back."
The new Kaylee laughed, a low, throaty sound that was pure sex and malice. She sauntered over, her heels clicking like a countdown. "Switch back? Why on earth would I do that?" She leaned against the desk, her magnificent tits level with her old body's face. "This body is a masterpiece. This life... it's everything. And you, my dear, gave it to me."
"It was a game!" the old Kaylee cried, standing up so fast she knocked her chair over. "You were supposed to hate it!"
"Oh, I did," the new Kaylee purred, stepping closer. "For about an hour. Then I discovered what this cunt can do." She ran a finger down her own toned thigh. "I've fucked more people in two days than you've flirted with in your whole life. I've been a better, meaner, sluttier you than you could ever dream of being."
She leaned in, her face inches from her old form. "And you... you look like you've learned a valuable lesson." Her voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "I heard about your little run-in with the girls. Getting wet from being put in your place? Tsk tsk. That's not the Kaylee I knew. The Kaylee I knew was a queen."
The old Kaylee shivered, a tear tracing a path through the freckles on her new, plain cheek. "Please... I just want to go back."
"No," the new Kaylee whispered, her hand reaching out to cup the other woman's face. "You're going to get exactly what you wanted. A taste of my life. The after taste." She pushed her old body back against the desk, her movements fluid and dominant. "But first... one last lesson in power."
She leaned in and kissed her, a deep, possessive kiss that was all about conquest. The old Kaylee, weak and overwhelmed by the dominant energy radiating from her former body, melted into it. The new Kaylee’s hand snaked down, unbuttoning the frumpy brown trousers and sliding inside, her fingers finding the slick, swollen folds of her old, familiar cunt.
"Mmmmmh, so wet," she murmured, her thumb expertly circling the clit. "You want this. You want to stay here, in this weak, pathetic body, and be my little loser toy. Don't you?"
The old Kaylee moaned, her body arching involuntarily. The humiliation was a drug, the dominance an aphrodisiac. She could feel an orgasm building, a desperate, pathetic thing that she both craved and feared.
"Please..." she whimpered, the word a ragged surrender.
The new Kaylee smiled, a triumphant, cruel curve of her perfect lips. "I found a loophole," she whispered. She stepped back, and for the first time, the old Kaylee saw it. Strapped around her perfect, tanned hips was a huge, thick, black strap-on. It looked obscene, a weapon of ultimate violation.
"The spell says penetrative sex," the new Kaylee explained, her voice dripping with triumphant logic. "It doesn't say a man has to be doing the fucking."
She moved with brutal efficiency, grabbing her old body and spinning it around, bending it over the hard wood of the desk. She yanked the trousers and panties down in one rough motion, exposing the pale, vulnerable ass.
"No... wait..." the old Kaylee protested, but her voice was a breathy, weak thing.
The new Kaylee positioned the thick head of the black cock at the entrance to her own old cunt. She rubbed it up and down the slick slit, teasing her, savouring the moment.
"You're going to take this," she hissed, her voice a low growl of possession. "You're going to take my cock in this sad, new body. And you're going to cum so hard you'll forget your own name. And when you do, the swap becomes permanent. You'll be stuck here. And I... will be me. Forever."
She pushed. The thick, unyielding plastic slid into the familiar channel, stretching it, filling it in a way that was both alien and devastatingly intimate. The old Kaylee cried out, a raw, animal sound of pain, shame, and a pleasure so profound it was agony.
The new Kaylee began to fuck her, hard and deep. Each thrust was a punctuation mark in a new, permanent sentence. She reached around, grabbing a handful of the mousy brown hair and yanking her head back.
"Take it! Take it, you fucking loser!" she snarled, her perfect tits bouncing with the force of her fucking. "This is who you are now! This is all you'll ever be! My pathetic little cum-slut!"
The old Kaylee was sobbing, her body convulsing on the desk. The humiliation of being fucked by her own body, by her own stolen power, was the final, fatal blow. The pressure inside her built and built until it exploded in the most powerful, soul-shattering orgasm of her life.
"FUUUUUUCK!" she screamed, her cunt clamping down on the black plastic cock as waves of unbearable pleasure and utter despair washed over her, erasing the last traces of the girl she used to be.
At that exact moment, the world seemed to shimmer and snap. The spell was sealed. The swap was permanent.
The new Kaylee pulled out, leaving her old body a quivering, sobbing mess on the desk. She looked at her reflection in the darkened window. A perfect, blonde, evil goddess smiled back.
Epilogue: The New Order
It was done.
Weeks later, Northwood High had a new, unshakeable hierarchy.
Kaylee was still the queen, but she was a god now. Her reign of terror was absolute, her cruelty honed by Hannah's repressed intelligence and twisted into something truly artistic. She was even more of a bitch than she had been before, her confidence absolute, her power undeniable.
And Hannah? She was her pet. Her project. Her thing.
The scene played out almost every day. Kaylee would finish getting railed by Chad and the entire defensive line in the locker room, her perfect, toned body glistening with sweat and her tight cunt filled and overflowing with their hot, sticky cum. Then she’d saunter into the empty classroom, where Hannah would be waiting, meek and obedient, her eyes fixed on the floor.
"Get over here, you sad little freak," Kaylee would command, her voice dripping with a contempt that was now as natural as breathing.
Hannah would scurry over, her frumpy brown shoes shuffling on the linoleum. Kaylee would sit on the edge of her desk, spreading her long, tanned legs, a glob of cum already trickling down her inner thigh.
"Clean me," she’d order, her voice bored. "Eat my fucking pussy. Eat his cum out of me. Now."
And Hannah, broken and completely consumed by her new kink, would obey. She would kneel, her glasses fogging up, and bury her face in her queen's perfect, cum-filled cunt, her tongue lapping up the mess with a desperate, pathetic gratitude. The humiliation was her air, her food, her reason for being. Her own pathetic pussy would be dripping, soaking through her sensible underwear, but she knew she wasn't allowed to touch herself. Not unless Kaylee said so.
Sometimes, for fun, Kaylee would ride her around the classroom like a pony, her long legs wrapped tightly around Hannah’s frail waist, yanking on her mousy hair like reins. "Giddy up, loser! Faster!" she'd shriek, laughing as Hannah struggled, her face red with exertion and shame.
The other students would whisper and stare, but no one dared to intervene. This was the new natural order. The sweet, dorky teacher was a ghost, a memory consumed by the ultimate alpha bitch. And the mean girl had found her true, pathetic calling as a humiliated slave.
Evil hadn't just won. It had settled in, redecorated, and was now enjoying a permanent, fucking glorious residency.
Here's a new one for you all. Got inspired by the movie Total Recall. Don't ask me why.
Sending you over to my blog because reformatting this one will be a pain.
Enjoy!
“I still think it’s kind of stupid,” Jordan muttered, fingers tapping nervously on the armrest. Lindsey didn’t look up from the digital inta
Maggie adjusted her glasses as she paced nervously by the arrivals gate, clutching the same notebook she and Claire used to doodle in during their long library sessions. The same notebook that she glued a photo on the back that showed the two of them hugging on the day Claire left for Europe.
Claire had been abroad for a year now, an art residency in Milan that Maggie had encouraged her to take. But their texts had grown sparse. Then silent. And now, just yesterday a text out of the blue:
Back in town. Meet me at the airport.
The text was unusually terse for Claire who loved to send essays of texts but then again the lack of contact for the past few weeks were were hardly normal either. Maggie couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she felt a forbidding dread.
The gate door opened and Maggie waited with a smile, expecting to see the same quirky best friend with her oversized sweaters and paint splattered jeans, her gap toothed grin, that unshakable laugh. The Claire who once swore she'd never wear heels higher than an inch or own a purse that cost more than twenty bucks.
But what stepped off that plane was a stranger.
Platinum blonde. Lips blown up into glossy, heart shaped pillows. Breasts spilling from a too tight white corset top that looked more lingerie than casual wear. Tan legs poured into a skin tight pencil skirt. Long pink acrylic nails clacked against her phone as she typed without even looking up.
Maggie wasn't even sure it was her but she was the only passenger to arrive out of the gate from seemingly a private jet. “Claire?”
The woman looked up, paused, and smiled. But it wasn’t Claire’s old smile. It was perfect, practiced almost surgically smooth. She looked Maggie up and down as if she was examining dents on her car.
Maggie blinked, stunned. “Wh–what happened to you? You look... expensive.”
Claire tossed her hair. “Oh, you mean the glow up?” She held out her hand, flashing a massive pink diamond ring that shimmered like something out of a dream. “Got engaged. To Tristan. Everything changed the day he proposed.”
Behind her, a tall man in a sleek black suit stepped forward, his arm draping possessively over Claire's shoulder. He was almost absurdly attractive, chiseled cheekbones, dark sunglasses, smug smirk. He didn’t say a word.
Claire ran her tongue across her teeth. “One second I was this clueless, artsy girl stumbling around Venice, and the next? Tristan slid that ring on my finger and I just realized what was important in life. Money, fashion, looking hawt. Being Mrs. Chelsea Steel.” She giggled and locked arms with Tristan, eyes filling with lust.
Maggie’s mouth went dry. “Chelsea? You’re joking, right?”
Claire, or rather Chelsea, narrowed her eyes just slightly. “Of course not. Do I look like a Claire anymore? And I don’t really do jokes anymore. Too try hard. Anyway, get the bags will you?” She said flippantly as she and Tristan walked off towards the exit, leaving Maggie with the mountain of suitcases to deal with.
By the time she corralled the bags out to her car, Chelsea and Tristan were speeding off in a private car. A moment later Maggie got a text from Chelsea that was just the address of their hotel. She had been demoted from best friend to servant it had seemed.
The next day Maggie managed to convince Chelsea to grab coffee with her at a cafe they used to frequent often. Claire had loved to spend hours sitting in the rickety wooden chairs talking about her newest obsession. Chelsea however seemed to want to leave as soon as she arrived.
"Ok darling, I have a very small window today between salon appointments and wedding planning so what did you want to talk to me about?" Chelsea said rather disdainfully as she sat across from Maggie and scrolled idly through her phone, occasionally tapping out a reply with those long pink nails.
Maggie cleared her throat. “So… do you remember the mural we snuck into the art building to finish? The one you said was your favorite thing you'd ever painted?”
Chelsea didn’t look up. “God, no. Sounds tragic.”
Maggie tried again. “How about that animation short you used to talk about doing, remember? About those two sisters who time-traveled? You said it was the story you always wanted to tell.”
Chelsea blinked, finally looking up with an arched brow. “Babe, do I look like someone who tells stories about time traveling virgins? Ugh. What is this? A walk down loser lane? You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Maggie finally broke. “No! Snap out of it Claire. I know you’re in there. Somewhere. You loved those things. You were funny. And awkward. And kind. You're-”
Chelsea snapped her phone shut and leaned in slowly, eyes cold. “You’re delusional.”
Maggie’s voice cracked. “I just want my best friend back.”
The smile vanished from Chelsea’s face, replaced by a slow, cruel smirk. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms under her inflated chest. “Wow. This is actually pathetic. You've always been a loser but this is a new low.”
Maggie’s breath hitched.
Chelsea leaned in, venom in her voice now. “Tristan was so right. You’re just a jealous, bitter nobody. You always were. Clinging to me like a parasite because I was talented, because I left this dump of a town to find myself while you stayed here to haunt it with your mediocrity. It’s actually kind of gross.”
Maggie flinched as if slapped. “Claire… please…”
“It’s Chelsea.” She snapped, with icy precision. “Claire is dead, Maggie. She died the second Tristan slipped that ring on my finger and I became his. You can cry, you can beg, but she is never coming back.”
Maggie’s eyes welled with tears. “I don't believe you! There's something evil going on and it's all Tristan's doing! You have to fight it!”
Chelsea grinned with an icy intensity. “My god, you have lost it haven't you? You just can't stand that my life is about to begin while yours is withering on the vine like a rotten tomato. You even look like one right now with your puffy eyes. I feel embarrassed just sitting here.”
Maggie’s cheeks were slick with tears now. “How can you be so cruel?”
Chelsea’s smile widened. “Because your sadness is just so delicious. You look like a kicked puppy. God, I should’ve recorded this. Tristan would love it. Actually...” She reached for her phone. “Smile, Mags.”
Maggie stood, knocking over her chair.
Chelsea didn’t even flinch. She simply uncrossed her legs and stood with regal, effortless poise. “Coming back here was a mistake. Tristan said it would be beneath us. I just wanted to see if there was anything left to miss.”
She leaned in close, lips almost brushing Maggie’s ear.
“There wasn’t.”
She turned and strutted out, heels clacking like gunshots on the tile. At the door, she paused, looking over her shoulder with a look of complete, glossy indifference.
“We’re leaving town tomorrow. Forever. Try not to get in the way.”
Then she disappeared into the street, all curves and confidence, leaving Maggie alone in the ruins of what used to be their friendship. How had her kind hearted, artistic best friend turned into such an ice queen.
Her walk home had her questioning everything. Had she simply imagined a different version of Claire all this time? Had Chelsea always been there, trapped under the paint covered overalls?
By the time she got home and collapsed onto her bed she was nearly convinced that Claire had just been a figment of her imagination. Some imaginary friend that she projected onto Chelsea. That there could be no way that someone could change so quickly, so sharply.
Her gaze drifted over to her notebook laying on the ground, its cover destroyed with doodles. She reached out and picked it up, flipping through its pages, the drawings inside bringing a wave of memories. Reaching the back cover she looked at the picture of her and Claire, the day she left on the trip that would change her forever.
No fake tits, no bitchy blonde hair, no expensive outfit, no extravagant ring. It all started with Tristan and that stupid ring, she thought. It was a throwaway aside but something about it gave her pause. Something Chelsea said at lunch suddenly came back and hit her like a ton of bricks.
“Claire is dead, Maggie. She died the second Tristan slipped that ring on my finger and I became his.”
Maggie had taken it as a metaphor in the moment but maybe there was more to it.
She sat up on the bed and pulled up Claire’s Instagram. For months, the posts had been quiet. An odd picture here and there, always of art, rarely was Claire featured herself. But then, three months ago they stopped completely. Getting curious, Maggie then searched for Chelsea Steel, Claire’s soon to be married name, and was attacked by a deluge of posts.
“Queen for a day? Try Queen for a lifetime!” Chelsea captioned one, as she lay on a beach in a skimpy two piece.
Maggie winced.
In the next post, Chelsea was in a dozen different outfits. “Couldn't decide which one I like the most. So, I had my man by the store.” The caption read.
Another post. “You should feel bad for being less beautiful than me. But I won’t judge you for it. I just don’t relate.”
In three months she had posted nearly 300 pictures and videos that all were about her. However as Maggie rolled back to the very first post it became clear what kicked off her new personality, what had birth the bitch Chelsea.
It was a simple pic, a close up of her hand, wearing the pink diamond ring. Its caption reading “Everything changed today. Thank you, my love, my king! I finally feel perfect.”
Claire had told the truth, everything had changed three months ago but the speed of the changes is what unnerved Maggie the most. It was what made Maggie suspicious that the ring was more than just an ostentatious piece of jewelry.
Maggie zoomed in, eyes narrowing. The ring was ornate, baroque almost, with curling metalwork shaped like vines strangling the central stone. It was beautiful in the way a spider’s web was beautiful, delicate, shimmering, and ominous.
She right clicked the image and selected reverse image search. It took a only a few seconds but what appeared surprised her.
It showed a very old image of what was clearly the same ring, it's name listed in Italian as L’Anello della Contessa, The Ring of the Countess.
Intrigued, Maggie clicked deeper. History blogs, Reddit threads, ghost hunting forums, even a translated fragment from an old book of occult jewelry. The deeper she went, the colder her skin felt.
Maggie swallowed hard and clicked back to Chelsea’s post. Same twisted band. Same bleeding pink gem. It was the same ring. She sat back in her chair, heart pounding.
It seemed beyond impossible, crazy even, to think that her best friend had been corrupted by some magical ring but it was hard to dispute the evidence in front of her. Claire hadn’t just changed, she had transformed. Rewritten.
Maggie looked at the screen, at the way Chelsea posed, ring proudly thrust into the foreground. She remembered the laugh, the cruel, mocking thing it had become. She couldn’t let Claire be erased by this thing. She had to get the ring off her finger.
Whatever it took. Even if she had to play the fool to do it. She took a deep breath, then began typing. She stared at the message. It made her slightly sick to the stomach to read it. She hoped it would be enough fawning to entice the drama queen. The response came almost instantly.
Maggie’s heart thudded like a drum. She raced to the kitchen. From the back of a drawer, she retrieved a small amber bottle. Sleeping drops. A leftover from her insomnia days.
“Hang on, Claire.” She whispered. “I’m going to get you back.”
“Come on, Henry, it’s the biggest party of the year.”
“Yeah, and everyone who has bullied me, tormented me and made my life hell will be there. I love you, Sis, but why the hell would I ever go to Jordyn Spencer’s After-Homecoming Orgy.”
“It’s not an orgy.”
“Whatever, why would I go? So Matt and his cronies can belittle me for being the eternally fat kid, or maybe have the lacrosse team strip me naked and run me through the street like they did last year during Homecoming.”
“Henry, we’re Seniors now, and you’ve lost a lot of the weight.”
“It doesn’t matter, Bailey. Unless you’re a size zero like Jordyn and her bevy of bitches, you’ll always be too fat.”
“I’m not going because of Jordyn, Matt, or any of those people. It's the biggest party of the year, and Jordyn’s parents are in Europe, so it’s going to be off the chain.”
“Why do you need me?”
“I need a wingman. Someone to make sure I don’t do anything stupid.”
“Does this have anything to do with Seth and Tabitha being on the outs again? Are you still pining for him?”
“No.”
“Liar. You want a shot at Seth McKellen.”
“Fine, I want a shot at Seth. Please, Henry, I have a solution for your apprehension.”
“Rum and coke?”
“Nope, Elixir.”
“Elixir? What is a female aphrodisiac going to do? It will work on you better.”
“Not if you overdose on it.”
“Seriously? You want me to OD on a slut drug and turn into a girl to be your ‘wingman’ at the Spencer’s Post-Game bacchanal.”
“Yeah. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Besides, the spontaneous gender transformation and persona manifestation—death?”
“No one’s died from it. Do this and I’ll put $1,500 towards that computer you’re building.”
Henry thought about it and looked at his sister. The pleading look in her eyes was too much, and he caved to her, like he always did when she had that look.
“$2,000. But don’t blame me if I turn into a raging bitch and a slut.”
“Done and I won’t. Wait here.”
“You already have it? God!”
Bailey came back a few minutes later with an ampule of pink liquid and her pink bathrobe. Henry looked at the bathrobe quizzically and arched an eyebrow.
“I’m not going to watch you change naked and we don’t know what you’ll look like so it’s best if you take off your clothes.”
“Fine.”
Henry took the bathrobe and went into the bathroom. He came back a few minutes later in just the bathrobe. He looked at his sister and rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He sat on the couch and looked at the small vial of transformative aphrodisiac. He’d heard the stories. Girls taking the pink concoction and turning into wild, bitchy sluts. Guys taking way too much of it and becoming worse. Bailey didn’t just want another girl to watch her back, she wanted a cast iron bitch to back her up. Henry took the vial and unstopped it.
“Mom and Dad find out about this, and we’re grounded until college. You know that, right? Well, bottoms up.”
Henry gagged on the sweetness as it slid down his throat. He was expecting a medicine taste. It was thick and sweet like honey, but mixed with something else Henry couldn’t identify. If someone mixed bubble gum and pussy into a flavor, it would probably be Elixir. The Elixir oozed through his system and spread like warm syrup. It was making his skin tingle, and he couldn’t help but giggle.
“It feels funny.”
“Whoa, your voice.”
“What about it?”
Henry’s hand rubbed his throat. His voice sounded higher, on a level with Bailey’s, but with a hint of huskiness to it. His hand felt softer and the callus that had built on his thumb from years of gaming was gone. He pulled his hand away and looked at it. It looked delicate and feminine. He watched in fascination as his fingernails grew and shaped themselves into the perfect manicure. Henry giggled and moaned as the transformation continued.
Bailey watched her phone in her hand, ready to dial 9-11 if anything happened. At first, nothing happened. Then Henry giggled, and it sounded girly. She watched as Henry examined his hand and gasped as it changed to look like her own. Bailey stared in awe as Henry’s body and face adjusted under the influence of the drug. His angular facial features rounded and softened. His pencil-thin lips puffed up into a perfect pink pouty smile. His dishwater blonde hair got lighter as it got longer.
Bailey was expecting to see her younger brother shrink or something. She heard stories about things like that happening. Henry maintained his five-foot-eight height, but muscle and body fat were redistributing all over his body. The girth that made up Henry’s gut migrated in two directions, up and down. Bailey felt a little jealous as her brother’s breasts grew to immense proportions. His…her hips widened into salacious curves. She wasn’t small or dainty, as Bailey had expected with Elixir. She was voluptuous. Her body formed a perfect hourglass with hips and ass that could make any man drool. Her breasts were the kind that you wanted to bury your face into and be smothered to death in.
Bailey was about to ask if Henry was okay when the girl on her couch ripped her robe open and started to caress herself. Bailey was shocked and aroused as the girl’s hands massaged her huge breasts and moaned in erotic delight. The girl’s left hand moved between her legs and she gasped as her fingers found her naked slit. Bailey was frozen and getting wet as she watched the newly formed girl masturbate on the couch.
Henry felt his mind and will bend and meld until a new feminine persona moaned in his brain. Her body felt great. She was soft and smooth all over. Her skin sang under her hands as she massaged and rubbed her breasts. She felt her new sex moisten as she pinched a nipple. Her hands moved of their own accord as they moved down between her legs. The absence of a penis should have alarmed Henry, but his mind was evolving into this new person. This new person loved her pussy. She loved everything about it and being a girl. She thought about some of the boys that would be at the party tonight. She thought about their hands all over her, their lips kissing her, and their hard cocks penetrating her in the best possible ways. It took mere minutes before she was quivering and moaning in orgasmic release with two fingers rubbing feverish circles over her clit and a hand massaging her breast.
Bailey cleared her throat as the girl lay on the couch in post-orgasm bliss.
The girl open her deep blue eyes and smiled at Bailey, “sorry, sometimes a girl has to take care of a few needs first, right, Sis.”
“Yeah, I guess. Henry?”
“Silly, he’s not here anymore. I’m Hailey.”
“Hailey?”
The girl closed her robe and stood up from the couch, “Hailey and Bailey. Not very imaginative but it sounds like something Mom and Dad would’ve done. Now, let’s get me something to wear. We’ve got some stuff to do before the party.”
“Stuff?”
“Shopping. Sorry, Babe, but your bras aren’t going to fit me and the girls need support. I need a party outfit that goes with this rocking body.”
“Uh, yeah. What will you wear until then?”
“I can cannibalize one of Henry’s shirts and some of Mom’s shorts. Her ass should be okay to cover this booty.”
Hailey laughed as she gave her curvy ass a mild swat; Bailey couldn’t help but laugh with her. She was expecting to put up a fight with some raunchy bitch, but Hailey was all smiles and laughter. You couldn’t help but smile with her.
“Come on. I need my sister to help me with my hair and makeup first.”
“Yeah.”
Bailey’s head swirled in the vortex that was Hailey. Bailey always wanted a sister and here was the most infectiously perky and beautiful girl in the world asking for her big sister’s help. Bailey laughed as the two tackled the bedrooms and the bathroom like dust devil divas. After 30 minutes, and a thorough ransacking, Hailey dubbed them ready to shop for “The Party Outfit.”
The party was in full swing as Hailey and Bailey made their grand entrance. People nodded and smiled at Bailey, but they were mystified by the girl with her. No one had ever seen her at school, that was certain. A girl like that was noticed…by everyone. The air around her changed as she walked in smiling. People parted, and guys who were usually all swagger and toughness blushed like little boys when her eyes fell upon them.
Bailey had learned a few things during their shopping trip that still astonished her. Elixir was known for bringing out people’s inner bitch. Apparently, Henry didn’t have one. What it brought out was a person whose personality was utterly infectious and undeniable. She was sweet and made you feel good. You felt so good, you couldn’t deny her anything. Bailey saw it happen several times while they were shopping. All Hailey had to do was laugh or smile at a salesperson, and they fell over themselves to please her. She got her dress for half price even though it wasn’t on sale. The saleswoman just couldn’t say no to her. She did the same thing for her shoes and makeup. Her whole outfit should have cost thousands, with her Louboutin heels and Dolce & Gabbana dress, but it didn't. It was criminal how much Hailey got away with.
“Now, this has promise.”
“Really? Henry was so dead set against it.”
“Oh, Babe, Henry’s poor traumatized past made this his worst nightmare. Me on the other hand, this is my scene. Watch this.”
Hailey walked into the kitchen where Kyle Spencer (Jordyn’s big brother) was manning the keg. He looked every bit the alpha jackass in his letterman jacket and backwards baseball hat. He had graduated the year before Hailey and Bailey but still hung around the high school parties hoping to score. Bailey watched Hailey walk to Kyle and work her magic. It took seconds for Kyle to be grinning like an idiot and blushing as Hailey smiled and mildly flirted with him. Hailey handed her red cup of beer to Kyle and whispered something in his ear. He smiled like a dope and took off somewhere.
“What did you say to him?”
“That I’m not a big fan of beer. I’d love a glass of wine, though.”
“And he just sprinted to find you wine?”
“His Dad has a cellar below. He’s picking out something nice and vintage for me. I said I need something smooth and elegant.”
Kyle appeared moments later with a bottle of red wine. It looked old and very expensive. He rummaged through a drawer and found a corkscrew. He was almost manic in his attempt to please Hailey. Hailey smiled at him and laughed as he fumbled with the corkscrew. He finally opened the bottle and poured some wine into an empty cup. Hailey smiled as she took a slow sip of the wine.
“Delicious. Mind if my sister has a bit?”
“Sure.”
Poured Bailey a cup. He was looked at Hailey for approve and melted when she caressed his face and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Bailey knew Kyle’s reputation—he was womanizing, chauvinistic, asshole. He all but melted in Hailey’s hands like butter under that one soft kiss.
“My sister and I are going to mingle. Stay here in case I need a refill, okay.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Bailey’s jaw hit the floor as they left Kyle in the kitchen serving beer and guarding Hailey’s wine bottle with his life. Hailey pulled Bailey along and sipped her wine. It was unreal. Hailey waded through the crowd like an angel and people swooned in her presence. Bailey followed her as she made a slow beeline to Seth and Tabitha who were in the middle of having one of their legendary fights.
Hailey stopped by the couple as the two started to get really heated. She watched for a moment and then cleared her throat. Seth and Tabitha paused and looked at Hailey. Bailey stood back a few steps wondering what her sister was up to. The last time someone got between Seth and Tabitha, Tabitha sent them to the nurse’s office.
“What do you want, Bitch?”
“Oh, I just wanted to talk to the two of you for a second, Tabby. I hope you don't mind?”
The whole party stopped as Hailey called Tabitha the one name she hated the most. Bailey grabbed Hailey’s arm and tried to pull her back. Hailey smiled at Bailey, gave her a wink, and pulled Seth and Tabitha closer to her. She began to talk to both of them in a hushed tone. After a few minutes, both Seth and Tabitha nodded and smiled at Hailey. Bailey swore she saw Tabitha blush for a minute, and Seth slowly nodded some sort of affirmation. The trio split, and Seth and Tabitha faded into the party.
"What did you say to them?"
"It's a surprise. I'm going to go refill my wine."
Hailey winked at me and floated to the kitchen, as a sea of admirers followed her with their eyes. Bailey was a little concerned when Hailey didn't reappear. About 30 minutes passed before she received a text from Henry's phone.
Come upstairs, last room at the end of the hall.
Bailey didn't know what to expect, so she bolted upstairs to the room at the end of the hall. From the look of it, it was the Master Bedroom. She swallowed the lump in my throat and opened the door. She was not ready for the scene laid out before me.
Matt (Jordyn's boyfriend) and Kyle Spencer were on one side of the king-sized bed, worshipping Hailey's naked body. Each guy had one of her sizable beasts in his hands as they lavished attention on them with their mouths. Hailey had a hand between her legs and was rubbing slow circles around her clit. On the other side of the bed were Seth and Tabitha, waiting. Hailey opened her eyes and looked at her sister. She patted the boys on their heads to get them to pause their suckling worship.
"You got my text, Babe. Seth and Tabitha have been waiting for you."
"Me?"
"Yes, I told Seth about your massive crush on him, and Tabitha has been wondering if her one-night stand with Olivia Munson was a fluke or if she really is a lesbian. I told them you wouldn't mind helping them explore a little and have some fun."
Bailey gulped as Seth and Tabitha got off the bed and walked towards her. They peeled off their clothes as they came to her. Seth was slowly getting hard, looking Bailey up and down; Tabitha licked her lips as she did the same. They took Bailey's hands and guided her back to the bed. They slowly undressed her as Seth ran his hands over her body and Tabitha kissed her neck. She heard Hailey moan as her boys went back to work with Matt's hand replacing Hailey's on her clit.
Hailey's undeniable aura spilled over everyone as things got more heated. Bailey found herself stroking Seth's hard cock as Tabitha began to suck on her nipples. Tabitha guided Bailey's other hand between her legs where Bailey found Tabitha's slit already wet. Bailey looked at Hailey who had Matt standing beside her on the bed so she could slowly suck his cock into her mouth. Kyle was kissing his way down her body until his face became nestled between her thighs.
Bailey looked at Tabitha and Seth, who looked at the trio to their left. Both smiled as Seth stood beside Bailey, and Tabitha inched her way down Bailey's body. Soon, Bailey had Seth's deliciously hard cock in her mouth as Tabitha slowly circled her clit with her pierced tongue.
Hailey and Bailey moaned in unison as they came together for the first time. Everything after that became a blur. Bailey remembered feeling Seth's cock slowly work into her post-orgasm pussy as Tabitha slowly lowered her pussy over Bailey's face. The last thing Baliey saw before her world became Tabitha's delicious wet pussy was Matt and Kyle trading places. Matt slowly slid into Hailey's pussy as Kyle mimicked the move with Hailey's mouth. After that, everything became an orgasm-induced blur.
Bailey woke up in her room. The sun was already up, and her bedside clock read 11:30 a.m. She bolted to Henry's room to find it empty, really empty. Stuff was missing. She heard a laugh downstairs that sounded too familiar. It couldn't be, could it? Bailey ran to the landing and saw Hailey sitting on the sofa with Henry's laptop between her legs.
"Hailey, what are you still doing here?"
"I guess the Elixir is going to last a little longer. It doesn't matter now."
"What? Why? Oh, shit! Mom and Dad, did they see you?"
"Oh, yeah. We had a lovely conversation over croissants and coffee this morning. I told them everything."
"Everything?"
"Well, I didn't tell them about our little bedroom antics, but the rest, yeah."
"And they were okay with it?"
"Daddy was a little upset at first, but he came around."
"Where are they now? And what happened to your room?"
"Oh, Mom is taking a lot of Henry's stuff to Goodwill."
"Why?"
"Because Daddy is out getting me more Elixir."
"What!?"
"Yeah, we decided I needed to stay. It's best for everyone."
Bailey wasn't sure about this or the power that Hailey seemed to possess to wrap everyone around her little finger. Part of last night dawned on Bailey.
"Wait! How did you get Matt and Kyle into that bedroom?"
"Oh, I had a lovely talk with Jordyn Spencer when I went and got my wine. She was yelling at her brother for opening their Daddy's prized 1874 Chateau Lafite Rothschild Bordeaux. I told her everything and that I needed to borrow Kyle and Matt for a bit."
"And she let you?"
"Obviously. By the way, get dressed. She's picking us up in 30 minutes for lunch and shopping."
"Lunch? Shopping?"
"Yeah, she wants to help me pick out all the hottest things. I hope you're still good for that $2,000 you promised Henry; it's going towards my new wardrobe. Now, get dressed."
"Yeah, okay, Sis."
Bailey couldn't help it, and apparently, no one else could either: Mom, Dad, Jordyn, Matt, Kyle, Seth, Tabitha...anyone. There is just something too undeniably darling about Hailey that made it impossible to deny her...anything.
I swear my heart just about exploded. My hands flew to my mouth, and I felt my whole face light up. “Oh my god! Bri—seriously?”
She nodded, hands trembling just a little as she clutched the edge of the counter. “He told my sister. She slipped up and… he already bought the ring.”
I practically bounced in place. “Bri!” I rounded the counter and wrapped her in the biggest hug I could manage. “This is amazing. I knew he was going to ask you! I knew it!”
I felt her hesitate in my arms. She hugged me back… but weakly. Something wasn’t right.
I leaned back, holding her at arm’s length. “Wait… why aren’t you smiling right now? This is, like… everything you’ve wanted.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I just… I need to be sure.”
I blinked. “Be sure of what?”
She dropped her gaze. “That he won’t hurt me. That he’s really… faithful.”
I stared at her, my stomach dropping just a little. “Bri… come on. It’s Jason. You know he’s not like the others.”
Her voice got smaller. “I think I know. But… what if I’m wrong?”
I let out a breath, trying not to sound frustrated. “Bri, you’ve been with him for two years. He worships you. He treats you like a damn queen.”
Oh my god, Bri. Not this again…why can’t she just believe in him?
She bit her lip. “I know…I think…but I just need to prove it.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny violet bottle, shoving it toward me.
“Callie gave this to me. She said it works. Makes you someone else. That’s what she told me.”
I stared at the bottle. Glittery liquid swirled inside, thick and almost glowing.
“No. No, Bri. You can’t be serious.”
“Please,” she whispered. “I need to see. I need to know. You show up looking like someone else. You can flirt with him, tempt him. He’ll never know it’s you. If he passes, I’ll never question it again.”
This is a terrible idea. This is insane.
I should have said no.
Instead… I nodded.
--------------------------------------
I sat in my car outside Jason’s gym, the bottle in my hand. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might throw up.
Just go home. Call Bri. Tell her this is fucking stupid. She’ll listen. She has to.
I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes until he clocked out.
I turned the bottle over in my fingers for the hundredth time. Bri hadn’t said how long it would take to work. I didn’t even know if it would work.
My thumb hovered over the cap.
One afternoon. Prove her wrong. Show her he’s loyal. Then this whole nightmare’s over.
I popped the cap before I could stop myself and tipped it back, swallowing the cool, syrupy liquid in one shot.
The taste hit first. I gagged, coughing into my elbow.
God, that was disgusting.
I tossed the empty bottle onto the passenger seat, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
What the hell did I just do? Why did I do that? I don’t even know what was in that bottle and I just drank it. What if I just poisoned myself?
Then something hit me from within.
Oh fuck…
The heat started low, curling up my spine, pulsing in thick, rolling waves. I gasped, clutching the steering wheel as my body arched into the sensation.
Oh… oh my god…it felt really good.
My skin prickled all over, like tiny sparks racing under the surface. My back pressed into the seat as a low, needy whimper slipped past my lips.
I squirmed, shifting in place, but my thighs—fuck—they were thicker. My ass pushed wider into the seat, my hips flaring out, stretching my leggings to the limit.
My chest swelled, tight and aching, nipples straining against the cups of my bra as they expanded, round and obscene. The straps dug into my shoulders until—snap—they gave out completely.
What the hell is happening…?
I watched in shock as my clothes literally started to change. The fabric shimmered, stretched, tightened. My hoodie shrank, sleeves pulling back, neckline dipping dangerously low. The soft cotton thinned into silky, cream-colored fabric, wrapping tight around my chest, lacing across my cleavage with delicate strings barely holding me in place.
Oh god…
The leggings peeled away, dissolving into thin air like mist, until all that remained was a tiny matching miniskirt that I definitely wasn’t wearing a second ago. It pulled across my hips, snug against skin that now looked tanned and glowing.
My sneakers shimmered, twisting into dainty white heels that lifted me up just enough to make my ass pop even more.
I swallowed, watching my reflection.
Glossy, plump lips. Dark, dramatic lashes. Eyeliner sharp enough to kill. My hair was long, sleek, and perfect. Every inch of me looked fake, plastic… like some over-the-top influencer or a pornstar mid-selfie.
I couldn’t stop staring.
I bit my lip, running my nails down my chest, tugging gently at the thin straps barely covering me. A soft, breathy moan slipped out before I could stop it.
Holy fuck…
I stuck my tongue out, watching the way my lips parted.
I looked like sin.
And somehow… I didn’t hate it.
--------------------------------------------
God… what did I just do to myself?
I couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop touching. Every curve felt so… soft. So sensitive. My skin hummed. I shifted again, biting back a shaky breath as the friction of the silky fabric dragged over my nipples. It was maddening.
I ran my hands down my waist, over my hips, my thighs… fuck. I didn’t just look like a pornstar, but I felt like one.
I glanced at the clock again, heart hammering.
Okay. Enough stalling. Just go in. Do the stupid test. Then it’s over.
I grabbed the door handle, hesitating for half a second.
I don’t even know how long this will last…
With a deep breath, I shoved the door open and stepped out.
Every step toward the building made my body sway. It was like my hips had a mind of their own. It wasn’t on purpose… but god, it looked like it was.
I tugged the little top tighter across my chest, not that it helped much. My cleavage bounced with every step, drawing more eyes towards me.
Two guys in the parking lot actually stopped walking to stare.
One of them whistled under his breath.
I felt my cheeks flush hot, but I didn’t stop. My heels clicked on the concrete, my body strutting like it had done this a thousand times before.
Jesus… this isn’t me. What the hell is wrong with me?
But another voice whispered in the back of my head, soft and sweet.
“You’re not Taylor anymore. Let them look.“
I bit my lip and pushed open the gym door.
Heads turned. Guys paused mid-rep. Even a few women gave me that tight little glare girls give when they know they’ve been outdone.
God, this is unreal…
I spotted Jason toward the back by the weight racks, towel slung over his shoulder, bending to adjust the plates on the bar.
“Look at him,” the voice purred in my head, syrupy sweet. “He’s already hard to resist, isn’t he? Imagine how easy it’ll be to make him forget all about her.”
I swallowed hard, palms already sweaty. No. He’s going to pass. He’s going to shut me down. He’s not that guy.
“But wouldn’t it feel so good to watch him fail?”
I froze mid-step, shaking my head slightly.
No. Just… test him. That’s it.
“Test him?” The voice giggled, light and taunting. “Please. You already want him to fail. You just don’t want to admit it yet.”
I forced myself to keep walking. When I reached him, I leaned casually against the weight machine beside him, making sure my chest popped just enough. I let out a breathy little sigh, drawing his attention.
He looked up. Eyes wide for half a second before he covered it with a polite smile.
“Uh… hey there. Can I… help you?”
Fuck… he doesn’t recognize me at all.
“Of course he doesn’t,” the voice teased. “You’re not some plain little best friend anymore. You’re a fucking fantasy.”
I bit my lip, stepping closer, letting my hips roll with every step.
“I sure hope so,” I whispered.
Jason cleared his throat, visibly stiffening, trying to stand his ground. “Uh… sorry. I have a girlfriend.”
I smiled wider. “Oh? What’s her name?”
“Bri,” he answered without hesitation.
I felt my body hum with excitement.
“Say something filthy. Make him think about it.”
No… just… stick to the plan…
“Come on, baby. You’re already halfway there.”
I leaned in closer, letting my fingers trail just barely across his forearm. “She doesn’t have to know…”
Jason took a step back, but his eyes dropped right to my chest. He caught himself too late.
Shit. He looked…
“He wants you. Let him have you.”
God, my body felt alive. Every inch of me was tingling.
He’s about to stop this. He’s about to do the right thing…
“Make sure he doesn’t.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed one step closer, pressing my chest against his arm.
“No one ever has to know,” I whispered again, voice dripping with something that didn’t even feel like me anymore.
Jason’s mouth opened slightly, a flicker of resistance behind his eyes. “I’d know,” he said, voice rough. “Even if no one else did… I’d have to live with it.”
I smirked.
“Damn right you would.”
“Huh?” he questioned.
I leaned in closer, my lips just shy of brushing his ear. “You’d remember every dirty thing I did to you… with you.” My fingers slid down his bicep, nails dragging lightly. “You could close your eyes next to her and replay it over and over.”
I leaned back just enough to meet his eyes again. My smile was all temptation.
“And I promise, baby… I’d make it so worth remembering.”
His silence said everything.
“Mmm… there it is,” the voice purred inside me. “He’s breaking. Just like you want him to.”
My hand drifted lower, fingertips brushing his waistband.
“Just let me play for a minute,” I teased. “After that, you’ll ache for it.”
God, what am I doing…?
“You’re giving him what he wants,” the voice cooed. “And what you want too. So stop pretending.”
I pulled away slowly, dragging one perfectly manicured nail down the front of his shirt. Then I leaned in, lips brushing just barely against his ear.
“You’ve got five minutes,” I whispered. “Meet me outside… or you’ll never see me again.”
I didn’t wait for his answer. I turned, heels clicking across the gym floor, every step a deliberate tease. I could feel his stare on my ass, burning holes in the back of my shorts.
Please don’t come. Please stay with her. Do the right thing.
I slipped out the front door into the night, heart pounding, breath shaky. The air was cool, but my skin felt flushed.
I leaned against the side of my car, crossing one leg over the other. My top barely contained me. I didn’t fix it.
He won’t come. He wouldn’t.
“Wouldn’t he?” the voice inside me purred.
He loves Bri. He’ll remember that.
“And yet he hasn’t run the other way.”
One minute passed.
Then two.
I closed my eyes.
Let this be the end of it.
Three.
Four.
Come on, Jason… just don’t—
Then I heard the door open. I opened my eyes and saw him walking toward me. Something inside me snapped.
My thighs clenched, slick warmth pooling between them almost instantly.
Fuck.
My fingers curled against the car door. I shifted slightly, just enough for the strap of my top to slide off one shoulder.
I was already imagining him inside me.
“Good girl,” the voice whispered, breath hot in my mind. “Bri doesn’t matter anymore. You do.”
I smiled as he got closer.
He made his choice. Now I’m going to ruin him for every girl after.
------------------------------------------
My skin was mine again. The curves were gone, the pout, the lashes, the voice. All of it had faded once the Elixir wore off.
But the memories… those I was able to keep.
Jason’s hands gripping my hips. His mouth on my neck. The way he groaned my name, even if it wasn’t really mine.
I sat motionless, staring blankly across the room, legs crossed, hands folded in my lap. I could still feel the aftershocks pulsing through me like echoes. The way my body had cum for him. The way I’d begged for more.
And the worst part was I missed it.
I bit my lip, swallowing hard.
God, what did I do?
“Taylor?” Bri’s voice snapped me back.
I blinked, turning slowly. She was sitting beside me on the couch, eyes full of hope and gratitude.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Just… spaced out.”
She smiled, not thinking anything of it. “So? Did he pass?”
My mouth went dry. I forced a nod.
“Yeah. He turned me down right away.”
Bri’s face lit up, pure joy blooming across her features.
“Oh thank God,” she whispered, grabbing my hands. “I knew it. I knew he was good.”
I smiled back, hollow and trembling. “Yeah. He’s… the real deal.”
I nodded again, trying to ignore the ache low in my stomach. The lingering dampness between my thighs. The image of Jason’s face twisted in pleasure.
I fucked her fiance. The things we did…if she found out it would ruin everything.
And so, I lied to her…
“Hey, Bri. Do you have any more of that Elixir?”
She gave me a quizzical look.
“Why?” she asked.
“I didn’t get to enjoy myself last time, and I was hoping I’d get to have some fun. You know, let loose.”
“Oh,” she passed me a phone number. “That’s the guy Callie got it from.”
“You’re the best, Bri.”
“It’s the least I can do after what you just did for me,” Bri replied.
I pocketed the number. I was best friends with Bri. I knew her schedule inside and out. I had direct access to Jason whenever I wanted. And now I could get more Elixir.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
I was instantly addicted to it. I know that now. I’m going to fuck her fiance and once they’re married, I am going to fuck her husband.
This started as a bluesky post, but I ended ups losing what I had written. Decided to expand it on here and it's sort of taken on a life of it own. This Part One of what I hope will only be two!
Emily was smart, and she knew she was smart. She consistently got the highest marks in her class, something she was proud of, but it wasn't exactly difficult to achieve, considering the school she went to and where she lived. Emily was from the rough part of town, the area respectable people avoid when they're alone. Emily lived on a council estate and was determined not to let that define her, not like the other chav girls on the estate. Not like Rebecca or 'Becca' as she now liked to be called. Rebecca had once been her only friend, someone who saw the world the way she did; that if you worked hard in school, went to University and got a good job you could improve your life. That was until Rebecca gave in to peer pressure and became Becca. Overnight she went from her best friend to being just like all the other chav bitches on the estate. She's started drinking, smoking and dressing like a slut. Last Emily heard Becca had been expelled after she was caught on her knees giving a boy a blowjob in the school bathrooms. No, Emily would never be like that. Emily was smart, she was going to University in September and would never look back. All she had to do was study over the weekend and ace her final German language exam.
***
Emily had no plans for the weekend, besides reading and studying. She was leaving the Library with her customary stack of new books to devour when she bashed into someone.
Tumbling to the ground she heard the sound of a voice she recognised. "Fuckin' watch it, would ya" it was Becca. Emily was flustered as she pulled herself off the ground and saw Becca standing in front of her. She was clearly in the middle of getting her hair done. Emily could smell foul cigarette smoke mingled with cheap perfume coming off her clothes. Emily was taken aback by how much Rebecca had changed. Gone was the brunette hair of her former friend; in its place was a blonde dye job in curlers, a face thick with makeup, fake lashes and ugly lip filler squeezed into a blue tracksuit now calling herself Becca. "I'm so sorry Rebecca, I didn't see you," said Emily trying to defuse the situation.
"Who the fuck you callin' Rebecca? It's Becca to you or Bex to my mates." A look of recognition appeared on Becca's face followed by a sharp mocking laugh. "Oh my god, is that Emily Brown? You're bigger lookin' disaster than I remember." looking at the stack of scattered books she added, "see you ain't grown up n are still n to all that stupid school stuff."
"I didn't mean to bump into you. You don't need to insult me, Becca." Said Emily with more venom than she knew she was capable of.
"The only insult here is how you look"
"Well, I'm surprised you can see anything with those spider legs you call eyelashes stuck to your face."
"Yeah whatever I know a jealous bitch when I see one, You wish you looked half as fit as me!" Emily could feel her blood pressure rise at that last comment. Like she would ever be jealous of someone like Becca, some common slag from the estate.
"As if I would be a jealous chav slut like you! I'm going somewhere with my life, somewhere better than this dive with people better than you!" spat Emily. She'd had enough of dealing with girls like Becca. Sure this was the first time she had spoken to Becca in over a year, but she had plenty of run-ins with other chav girls just like her on the estate; all the pent-up anger and resentment had come bubbling to the surface. Emily waited for her words to hit, to see the hurt and realisation on Becca's face, but it never came; instead, she just smiled.
"Ha, you really think you're so much better, well you ain't shit, you're just a stuck-up loser, who needs a good shag, and to have some fun!" Becca's smile became a devious smirk as an idea formed. "Why don't I help you for old time's sake?"
Emily saw Becca raise her hand, she was sure she was about to slap her. The last thing Emily wanted to do was get in a fight, but she was too frozen in fear to move. The next thing she knew Becca's tacky fake French manicure acrylics were racking across her face in a sharp but fleeting bloom of pain.
Emily held her hand to her face as she watched Becca ascend the escalator. Emily was sure she had broken the skin, but she didn't feel any blood. With a smug knowing look on her face, Becca looked back and said, "Send me a message, when you realise you're really just a chav slut like me and want to apologise!"
***
Emily was back home in her bedroom trying to read and as far as she was able to tell Becca hadn't left a visible mark when she scratched her; only a tingle where her nails had made contact. Emily was trying to concentrate on studying, but it just felt so pointless and boring. She couldn't get Becca's smug face and words out of her head. Maybe she wasn't better than Becca? What would her life be like if she stayed friends with her? Images formed in her head of herself wearing fake tan, large hoop earrings and her own long sexy eyelashes. Sexy? Where had that thought come from, no they were ugly and made you look cheap. But maybe if she did have them she wouldn't be a virgin loser anymore and she could get off with the lads. Emily could feel the tingle from her face move through her body and felt herself growing wet. Thoughts of how good it would be to finally fuck someone made her start to bring her hand to her pussy. Thoughts of her blowing boys in the school bathroom, like a chav slut.
That's when she noticed her hand on her book and she snapped back to reality, fear and horror took over as she watched sexy pink acrylics form on her fingers.
Emily brought her hands to her hair as her mind was suddenly bombarded with new wants and desires. A battle was raging in her head, she was Emily, she was smart. No, she was a chav slut who needed a shag. She was going to University. Opinions shifted and changed in her head. Why the fuck was she wasting her time at school. School was boring, what did she need school for? Emily could feel her lips start to puff out like she'd just gotten lip filler as a bronze glow spread across her skin.
Warring thoughts of 'please no, what's happening', and 'I bet these will feel great wrapped around a cock' brought equal measures of pain and pleasure. Emily knew she had to fight it, but she didn't know why. Why fight? She was a chav slut, right? Getting wrecked and fucking lads was all that mattered? Not being some prissy virgin loser? Why had she been so bitchy to Becca? She really was just like her. Or she wanted to be right? But Emily hated the chav look? Then why was feeling so jealous of her hot former bestie?
***
Emily didn't know how long she had been asleep, she must have blacked out; from the pain or pleasure, she didn't know. All that mattered was that everything was clear, she knew what mattered and who she really was. She was a slag, a slut and a chav. Emily brought her nails to her juicy and plump lips. She loved how sexy they looked, she knew they would look great wrapped around a big cock. Emily knew what she needed, and it wasn't books or an education, it was a party with fits lads and booze. The only problem was, whatever had changed her hadn't changed her wardrobe or bedroom. She had barely any makeup and her clothes were shit.
A smile formed on her newly inflated lips as she remembered Becca had said to message her. She laughed and thought 'that bitch knew this was going to happen.' Emily grabbed her phone and started typing.
[Babes I'm like proper sorry. You were like so right! Thks for like whatever the fuck you did to me. I luv it!!! but I need your help! my stuff is total shit and they're ain't no way I'm wasting another weekend stuck in the house!]
***
20 Minutes later Emily was sitting in Becca's bedroom. It had changed since the last time she had been there, changed as she had or as they both had Emily thought with a smile. Gone were the trophies and stuffed animals, now it was all pink with stuffed wardrobes full of skimpy outfits and the desk had been replaced with a vanity.
Emily was trying to listen as Becca bubbled with excitement explaining what was happening to her, but she had this uneasy feeling at the back of her mind like her body needed something, something other than a lad inside her.
"Basically it's like magic babe, same thing happened to me, that's happenin' to you. Except you have this sexy bitch to help you out right? Some random bitch scratched me with her nails and my whole life just started changin' But it only works on your body 'n mind. You might still have the old you pop back in at the start. That's how I got caught sucking off Dylan O in the girls. The old me popped back n started freaking out. Perv-master Smith heard" Emily was getting impatient and annoyed, she was craving something she just didn't know what, but Becca kept going on. "It's like you change overnight, I was even more of slag than I am now those first few weeks if that's possible. Takes you a bit 'til you learn how to control it"
Becca stopped at this point in her story and lit a cigarette, the moment Emily smelt the smoke she knew what she was craving. She needed a fag. She knew old her would be horrified. She always hated the smell and had mocked the smokers needing their 'nic fix' in between classes, but Chav Emily knew she was desperate for a smoke. It made a weird sort of sense if what Becca said was true about her scratch changing your body and mind. Everyone knew that chav girls smoked or at least vaped so it made sense to Emily that she would too.
"Becca babes, give us one of those would you?"
"What? One of these?" Becca said waving her cigarette in front of Emily's face. "Didn't you use to say it was disgusting and only idiots started smoking" Emily knew she did use to say and believe that, but that was the old her, new her knew instinctively she was gasping for fag. Her body needed it.
"Please Becca, I'm like proper desperate, just a drag"
"I'm only messing with you, help yourself, but only for tonight, you'll need to get your own." Becca tossed the pack and lighter to Emily and instinct took over, her body and mind already knew what to do. Emily put her first-ever cigarette in her mouth and lit it inhaling deep as a sense of relief washed over her.
Logically she knew this was her first time smoking, and she should have been coughing and feeling ill. Her body on the other hand felt like she had done this thousands of times before, but had just been deprived of nicotine for too long.
"Fuck I needed this" said Emily as she slowly exhaled. “Thanks, babe.”
Becca took a picture while she was blowing out the smoke, "You look so fucking hot with a fag. We've gotta start posting on insta, let the fellas know there's a new girl on the estate." Emily loved the idea, she couldn't wait to get fucked up and hit the town. Thinking about the old her filled her with anger, just a pathetic loser nerd who didn't know how to have fun. She had lost time to make up for and wanted to destroy her old self-image. To make sure no one ever remembered what she used to be like.
Emily spent the next hour getting ready at Becca's. Her hands moved automatically as she applied thick layers of makeup, drew on her eyebrows and added her new false lashes. Putting on a pair of Becca’s oversized hoop earrings made her shiver with pleasure. The only time she paused was for another fag or to swig from the bottle of vodka Becca had handed her. Becca couldn't help but admire how hot she looked, she stared at herself in disbelief that she was the same girl as before. Tanned and covered in makeup she finally felt like she belonged.
Laying down on the bed Emily took a picture for her feed with the caption. Gurls lock up you men ;). Updating her profile she rolled her eyes at the old shit she used to post. 'Arsty' skyline pictures and photos of her cat called Lace, she couldn't believe she'd ever thought she been so cool for naming her after Ada Lovelace, she really had been a pretentious twat.
By the time Emily was dressed she was already feeling a little drunk and it was only 5pm, but Becca had said they needed to get going. Becca and her other mates were meeting in the park before heading out for pre-drinks. Emily couldn't tell if she was nervous or excited, Becca was the only person who knew she was a proper chav now, she didn't know how her mates would react to seeing the changes from the stuck up little bitch she used to be. Emily figured if it came to she'd just have to give them a kicking if they got too mouthy with her.
On the way Becca said they needed to stop for supplies at the corner shop. While Becca was getting the stuff Emily slipped a bottle of wine into her handbag; she had never stolen anything before, but the act gave her a thrill, she could feel her nipples getting hard because she was doing something she knew was wrong, something that carried an element of danger if she got caught. She couldn't help but turn towards the security camera and pose for the old man who owned the shop.
Emily laughed to herself that she was likely to give the old bloke either a hard-on or a heart attack if he saw it later.
***
Emily was exhilarated leaving the shop, she couldn't remember the last time she’d had this much fun. She staggered and laughed as she opened her bag to show Becca what she had done.
“Your turning into a proper bad bitch Emz! I'm proper glad we’re mates again!” The name hit Emily and sunk in, ‘Emz’ fit way better for a girl like her. Emily was a name for nerd, Emz was a proper name for a chav like her.
“You’re not like mad or anything that I've done this to you?” said Becca with a serious look in her eye.
“Babe I'm pissed” said Emily trying to match Becca’s serious expression before bursting out into laughter. “Pissed you didn't do it sooner ‘n pissed I didn't get tits like yours!” Emz lurched forward and grabbed Becca’s tits to emphasize her point not caring that she was in the middle of the street where everyone could see. A middle-aged woman pushing a pram tutted as she passed and Emz responded without thinking. "You got a problem or somethin' you frigid old cunt?" Both girls laughed as they made their way down the street.
***
As they got closer to the park, both girls turned when they heard, "Oi, oi Bex, you're looking tight tonight." Emz recognised him. It took her a second to place his name. It was Darren. He had been in the year above her at school. What Emz had never realised before was just how fit he was.
Darren wrapped his arm around Becca. "Who's this gorgeous little tart, then? I don't recognise her."
"This is my mate Emz." holding her cigarette Emz did a little spin so Darren could properly check her out and added, "You like what you see then hansom?"
"Wait, I know you, ain't you that bitch who grassed on me for knocking the shite out of Joey Monson?" Emz was that bitch or rather Emily had been. At the time she had been appaled by the violence, now she just found it funny and a little bit of a turn-on. Luckily Becca, was there to defend her.
"Yeah, but she ain't like that no more, she's proper sorry about that, ain't ya babes?"
"Proper soz, I was a cow back then, but like Bex says I ain't like that no more." Emz took a long drag on her cigarette to emphasise the point.
"what say you make it up to me then?" Darren stepped away from Becca toward Emz and adjusted his cock. Emz could tell from the bulge that in his tracksuit bottoms that he must have been packing a monster. Playing cot she responded while licking her lip.
"whatcha have in mind then babe?" Darren came closer again and put his arm around her waist, resting his hand on her arse and giving it a squeeze.
"Why don't you come with me and I'll show ya. Emz could feel herself getting wet, and realised that she was gagging for it.
"Lead the way then lover boy." she said with a smirk as Darren started guiding towards the back of an abandoned house.
What was left of the garden was overgrown and full of rubbish. Darren positioned himself against the wall and dropped his bottoms and boxers. Emz was transfixed, she could honestly say she had never seen a cock so big before, hell she had never seen any cock in real life before, but she knew enough to know his was a monster. Her mouth instinctively opened at the sight of it, her body already knowing what it wanted and needed.
"You just gonna stand there 'n look at it? Or are ya still too much of a prude? Emz walked up to Darren and started making out with him as she used her hand to stroke his cock. Breaking the kiss she purred in his ear, "Let's find out." She could feel him getting harder each time she moved her hand up and down. His firmness felt like it belonged in her hand. She could tell Darren was enjoying it and that only turned her on more. Emz was vaguely aware that Becca was watching and had her phone in her hand, but she was more focused on how pretty her nails looked wrapped around his member than what Becca was doing. Her hand seem so small in comparison.
"What ya waiting for slut, on your knees" Emz felt a shiver of pleasure run through her as Darren called her a slut. As she did what he told her and got to her knees she used one hand to hold her hair behind her head and then ran her tongue along the underside of his dick before putter her mouth over the tip.
"mmmm fuck, you really are a dirty little slut now." each word he spoke only made Emz wetter and she brought her free hand to pussy and began rubbing. She had never felt as horny in her life, giving her first blowjob to some lad she hardly knew behind a building. She loved the feeling of his cock against her inflated lips and understood now why they were called DSLs.
Becca was sitting a short distance away swigging from the bottle Emz had stolen earlier.
Part of her felt she should feel bad for what she had done to Emily, but she just didn't. She knew Emz would be happier this way and she looked like she was having fun with her hand in her panties and the enthusiasm she had as her head bopped up and down. Becca could feel her nipples getting hard watching her former goodie two-shoes friend suck cock like a pro. Reaching into her pocket Becca took out her phone and started recording.
Darren brought his hand to the back of her head and forced his cock further down her throat. Emz fought the urge to gag and was able to suppress it as saliva dripped down her chin. Moving her head back and forth faster she heard him say "You fucking love that don't you slag?" Emz broke momentarily from sucking him off and between gasps for air said "I fucking love it." With Darren's rock hard cock back in her mouth he said. "Tell me you're a dirty little slut who loves my big cock" Breaking off again Emz repeated what he said, "I'm a dirty little slut who loves your big cock." She could feel his cock twitch when she gulped on it once more and she knew he was nearing cumming. Emz was close too, her fingers were gliding in and out of her wet slit faster and faster. "Tell me again, Tell me what you are!"
"I'm a slut" Rub, gulp, twitch, moan.
"I'm a whore" Rub, gulp, twitch, moan.
"I'm a bitch" Rub, gulp, twitch, moan. The cycle repeated. Emz was so close to cumming, every word she spoke took her closer to the edge.
"I'm just" Rub, gulp, twitch, moan "a chav" Rub, gulp, twitch, moan "slut" Rub, gulp, twitch, moan, CUM. Emz felt Darren's load hit the back of her mouth and it caused her to moan out in pleasure as she came along with him. She sat back on the ground trying to catch her breath and could feel a dribble of his cum she wasn't able to swallow drip on her tits. She felt giddy, she felt numb, she felt pins and needles on every millimetre of her skin, she felt incredible.
“I don’t need you to do this,” you say, kneeling beside her.
Rachel looked up from the spellbook, her fingers tightening around its worn leather binding. “It’s not dangerous,” she insisted, though she didn’t sound convinced. “It’s just glamour magic. Temporary body. Temporary identity.”
She paused, brushing her bangs behind her ear. She smiled at you and you forced a smile back.
“I’ve practiced the chant a dozen times. The parameters are clear. I’ll look like someone Alexis would actually let within five feet of her. I’ll act like I belong. Get some kind of intel on her. Something we can use to get her to stop bullying you.”
“And then you come back,” you said quietly.
Rachel reached up and yanked two strands of her hair from her scalp, wincing. “One to go in,” she said, dropping the first into the center of the circle, “and one to come back.”
She handed you the second, wrapping your fingers around it. “Keep it safe. You’ll need my hair to cast the spell to change me back.”
“I’m really not sure about this Rach,” you press. “There has to be another way.”
She looks at you lovingly. “I love you and I can’t stand to see you suffer like you do. Every day. It’s time to put an end to it.”
Rachel stripped naked and stepped into the circle. Her heart was pounding loud enough to fill the room. “Okay. Here goes.”
She spoke the incantation slowly, carefully. The candles trembled. The air thickened around her. You felt your skin prickle.
She gasped. Her legs gave out, and she dropped to her knees, hands splaying out on the hardwood floor.
Her hips flared first, a slow, rolling motion beneath her skin. You watched muscle and fat redistribute right in front of you, sculpting her into something exaggeratedly feminine. Her thighs thickened, curving outward with perfect symmetry, and her ass pushed back with a soft, deliberate swell.
Her waist pulled in, to unnatural proportions, until the hourglass shape looked sculpted. Her back arched involuntarily, chest heaving.
Then, her breasts began to rise.
You'd seen her naked plenty of times, but this was different. The way her chest inflated felt… unreal. The swelled, firm and round, then capped with suddenly darker, perkier nipples. Her skin glowed with a faint, artificial perfection. No blemishes. No stretch marks. Just smooth, tanned curves like a photoshopped magazine cover.
Her hair flowed longer and lighter, turning a shimmering honey-blonde that caught the candlelight. Her lips swelled into a pouty fullness, and her eyes opened wide and bright, framed by long lashes that hadn't been there seconds ago.
Then, it was still.
She stayed on her hands and knees, gasping for breath, chest rising and falling in time with the flickering candlelight. You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t think of anything to say.
Rachel slowly pushed herself upright, strands of blonde hair falling over her shoulders, her new breasts jiggling slightly with the motion. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror across the room.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
The voice didn’t sound like her. It was huskier, sultrier.
She stood fully and glanced down at herself. Her arms moved automatically to cover her chest, then dropped again as if it didn’t matter. “I look like a damn porn star.”
You stepped forward. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, then shook her head. “I—I don’t know. This is so weird.”
She hugged herself, her arms barely covering her new chest.
You reached for a blanket and draped it over her shoulders. She pulled it around herself and gave you a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
She stepped closer, bare feet silent on the wood floor. Even her walk had changed. There was more sway in her hips, more bounce in her step. You didn’t think she was doing it on purpose.
“I still feel like me,” she said again, maybe more for her own sake than yours. Then she smirked. “Although... this body’s got some perks.”
You blushed as she stepped even closer and kissed you. Her lips felt softer, fuller. The kiss was tentative at first, but it deepened quickly, hunger bubbling just beneath the surface.
Your hand slid around her waist, then up, brushing across one of her new breasts.
She moaned softly into your mouth, then broke away.
“Jesus,” she whispered, breathless. “That felt… intense.”
“Too much?” you asked quickly.
She shook her head. “No. Not bad. Just... wow. This body just feels alive.”
You went to pull her close again, but she gently stopped you with a hand to your chest.
“I want to,” she said. “God, do I want to. But I have to get ready for tomorrow. I can’t wear any of my clothes. Literally nothing is going to fit over this.”
She pulled the blanket tighter and turned toward your dresser mirror again. She watched herself, her expression hard to read.
“I’ll need to hit the mall early. Think they sell ‘bitchy new girl who’s too hot for this school’ outfits in bulk?”
You half-laughed. “Pretty sure that’s half the store at Forever 21.”
She smiled. Even with this new body and face, it was a Rachel smile. It was comforting to see something familiar about her.
Then she frowned down at herself, tugging at the blanket. “Okay, I can’t exactly walk home like this. Unless I want to get arrested.”
You opened your drawer and fished out an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here.”
She slipped them on, thought the fit was laughable. The shirt clung like spandex across her chest, barely reaching her midriff. The waistband of the sweatpants had to be rolled down to fit her hips, and even then, they rode high, clinging to her new curves in a way they never had on you.
She glanced down at herself and snorted. “Well… it’s something.”
“Barely,” you said, trying not to stare.
She caught your eyes lingering on her chest. Her smile turned slightly smug, slightly playful.
“It’s okay to stare,” she said softly, stepping closer. “Tonight, anyway.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but she held up a hand.
“Tomorrow? You can’t. No looking, no talking. Not even a glance. Roxy doesn’t know you. And I have to ignore you.”
You nodded, throat tight. “Right.”
She glanced at the door, then back to you. “Let’s go over the plan one more time.”
You sat together on the edge of your bed, her voice low and firm even as her bare legs pressed against yours. “I get close to Alexis. Earn her trust to find something—texts, photos, gossip, anything—that can shut her down. Humiliate her or scare her off.”
She placed a hand on your chest. “Once I get the intel, we meet back up and you say the reversal spell using the second hair to change me back.”
“Got it,” you affirmed.
She paused. “Good.”
She leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time. “Wish me luck,” she whispered.
You barely heard a word your teacher said in first period.
You sat by the window but didn’t look out of it once. Your eyes kept drifting to the hallway beyond the classroom door, to your phone, to the folded piece of paper in your pocket with the reversal spell written out in your handwriting.
She’s okay. It’s fine. She said she’d be okay.
The bell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts. You packed up slowly, letting most of the class trickle out before you stepped into the corridor, scanning left, then right.
And then you saw her. She was down near the front office, standing beside the vice principal.
It was Rachel….or, right. Roxy. And she looked… wow.
Roxy wore a tight cropped white top that hugged her perfect new curves, with just the faintest lacy black bra showing underneath. Her high-waisted denim skirt was short, really short, and every inch of her legs was on display. She’d paired it with white platform sneakers and a tiny pink backpack slung over one shoulder. Her makeup was light but perfect. Her lips glossy, her lashes curled. Her long blonde hair caught the light as she laughed politely at something the VP said.
Standing beside her, smiling sweetly with just the right amount of smug, was Alexis.
You both knew she’d end up as Roxy’s assigned student guide. Alexis always volunteered for it. She loved pretending to be helpful, polished, and mature to the school staff. They bought her act hook, line, and sinker. It allowed her to get away with almost anything.
You moved a little closer, joining the crowd of gawking students slowly realizing a bombshell had transferred into their class overnight. Roxy didn’t seem fazed by the attention. If anything… she stood straighter under it.
When Alexis and Roxy turned and began walking toward your side of the hallway, you caught yourself holding your breath.
You could see how Roxy’s hips swayed with every step. Everyone was watching her. Then she saw you.
Just for a second, her eyes locked onto yours. The corner of her mouth didn’t quite smile, but you recognized it. A quick look. A flicker of connection. A warning.
Don’t.
You got it. Even though it was hard, you said nothing. You just stood there, rooted to the floor, watching this impossibly hot girl walking toward you in a way that felt so unreal it almost hurt.
And that’s when Alexis noticed you staring. Alexis slowed her walk just enough to make a scene.
“Oh my god,” she said loudly, her voice dripping with performative disgust. “Are you seriously staring at her like you think you have a chance?”
A few people nearby turned. Some snickered. Alexis didn’t stop.
“I mean, look at you. You’re not even in the same species. She’s not gonna throw you a bone just because you’re panting like a sad little mutt.”
You didn’t answer. Your face burned.
Roxy laughed. It came out before she could stop it. An actual, spontaneous laugh.
Then, realizing what she’d done, she blinked, hesitated for half a second, then leaned in toward Alexis with a smirk and laughed again. Louder. Meaner.
“God,” Roxy added, voice laced with fake sweetness, “this school is gonna be fun.”
Alexis practically beamed. “I told you,” she purred, looping her arm through Roxy’s as they turned down the next hall. “You’re gonna fit right in.”
You sat alone on the swings in the far corner of the park, under the broken lamp where it was always just dark enough. The same spot you and Rachel always sneak off to when you don’t want to be seen together.
She stepped into the moonlight, her glossy lips reflected what little light there was to be seen.
“Hey,” she said, sitting on the swing beside you.
“Hey,” you replied.
She pushed gently off the ground, the chains creaking as she started to swing. “So… day one down. And guess what? I totally killed it.”
You looked over at her. “Yeah?”
She grinned. “Alexis introduced me to half the cheer squad by lunch. And I’m already in the group chat. I didn’t even have to ask.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “I sat with them at lunch. They asked me where I was from, what I’m into. I made up some dumb stuff. So, my last school was a ‘fashion academy’ in New York, my dad’s some crypto guy who lives in Dubai. You know, believable bullshit.”
You smirked despite yourself. “And they bought it?”
“They ate it up. I was the hottest piece of gossip in school all day. Everyone wants to talk to me. Even the teachers were smiling at me. It’s like walking through a movie.”
You let the silence sit for a second. Then asked, “You didn’t think that outfit was a little much?”
She glanced down. “What, the skirt and crop top? It’s part of the act.”
She said it casually. Like she hadn’t spent the entire day with half her ass hanging out of her clothes.
“And the laugh?”
That changed her posture just a little and acted innocent. “What laugh?”
You turned to her, voice flat. “When Alexis humiliated me in front of half the school. You laughed.”
She sighed. “Oh… yeah. I guess I did.”
“You guess?”
“Okay, yeah. I did. But you were staring at me like I was about to crawl into your lap. It was obvious. Alexis noticed. I had to laugh. If I didn’t, she would’ve known something was up.”
You looked away. “It just… didn’t sound fake.”
Rachel bit her lip, then looked down at the mulch under her feet. “I didn’t mean it. I swear. I was just caught up in the moment. I’m sorry.”
You nodded, though you still felt a bit sick about it.
She let out a breath and looked over at you. “But the good news is, she likes me. Like… I think she actually wants to be friends. Isn’t that crazy?”
You frowned. “That was the plan, right? Get close to her?”
“Yeah, but I thought it’d be harder. I thought I’d have to fake it more. But she’s… honestly kind of fun. Like, yeah, she’s a bitch, but she’s funny, too. She’s confident. I get why people orbit her.”
You said nothing.
Rachel must have noticed, because she reached over and gave your hand a quick squeeze. “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten why I’m doing this. I’m going to get everything we need to put an end to her bullying. Just a little longer, okay?”
You wanted to believe her. It was your girlfriend sitting next to you. You leaned in to kiss her. But just before your lips touched, she pulled back.
“Hey,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “No. I can’t.”
You blinked. “What? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“I know,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “But what if someone saw? Or followed me? Alexis is paranoid. She asks questions. I can’t risk her even thinking I know someone like you.”
You sat there confused and hurt. “Someone like me?”
She flinched. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
She stood up. “I’m sorry. Really. But I have to go.”
You stood too, still processing. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll find a way to meet up. Same time. But until then, you can’t talk to me. You can’t look at me like we know each other. I’m just another Alexis groupie. Nothing more. You get that, right?”
You nodded. Slowly.
She gave you a quick smile and turned away, walking back down the path with a confident sway in her hips.
You were heading past the gym, hoping to avoid exactly what you were about to walk into. The door swung open just as you reached the corner and out walked Alexis.
Your body reacted before your mind could. Your shoulders tensed and you lowered your head, already bracing yourself for whatever she might throw your way. Typically it was an insult or a shove. Sometimes it was something worse, especially when she had an audience.
But then you saw Rachel, no Roxy, walk out right beside Alexis. Your shoulders relaxed and your guard dropped.
She wore a pale pink crop top that barely covered her chest, high-rise athletic shorts, and spotless white sneakers. Legs toned and smooth, bouncing lightly with every step.
She looked like she belonged at Alexis’s side. But that was always the plan. It was just odd how comfortable she looked there.
You gave the faintest nod as you moved to step past them, head down, just trying to move on.
That’s when it happened. Roxy extended a foot and caught your ankle. You stumbled hard, books and papers spilling across the floor as you fell, your backpack twisting off your shoulder and hitting the tile with a slap.
Laughter erupted around you.
You blinked in confusion, still on the floor, and looked up at Roxy. She was laughing.
“Oh my god,” she said loudly, looking to Alexis, her voice pitched with mockery. “He drops harder than your GPA, Lex.”
Alexis howled. “You bitch! I love you!”
“I mean,” Roxy continued, stepping past your scattered books, “did he seriously not see that coming? Has he always had this much loser energy? It’s honestly kind of sad.”
You looked up at her, heart pounding, mind racing. The way she was behaving. She was either a great actress or something much worse was going on.
Alexis gave her a high five. “God, you’re fitting in so fast. I wish you would have moved here, like years ago.”
They walked off together, shoulders bumping as they laughed, disappearing down the hall.
You stayed there on the ground, surrounded by your things, feeling every pair of eyes on you.
You kept staring at the same text thread, hoping maybe she’d send something. Anything. Even just a one-word check-in. But nothing came. No reply last night. No “good morning.” No sign she even remembered your existence.
It had been nearly a full day since you’d heard from her, and you couldn’t take it anymore.
She said to wait. Said it had to be safe. But this didn’t feel safe. It felt like losing her.
You pulled the folded piece of paper with the spell from your drawer. You smoothed it flat on your desk. Her second strand of hair was still tucked inside, exactly where she’d told you to keep it.
Your hands were shaking when you typed the message:
"I’m doing the counterspell."
"Come to my place. I don’t want you changing back in front of Alexis."
"I’m doing it at noon."
You didn’t expect her to reply and she didn’t. But five minutes before noon, the front door slammed open.
She stormed in like a hurricane.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
Her voice was sharp, furious, dripping with venom. She looked flawless, furious, hot as hell, and completely not Rachel.
You just stood there and watched.
“Do you have any idea what you’re about to ruin?” she shrieked. “I’ve spent days getting in good with Alexis! I’m this close, and you’re going to blow it all because you got your little feelings hurt?”
You tried to speak, but she kept going, pacing your room like she owned it.
“She loves me, okay? She trusts me. I’m one of them now. One of the girls. She talks to me about everything. You think that’s easy? You think I liked tripping you? Laughing at you? Do you have any idea what it took to sell that?”
She stopped and glared at you. You barely recognized her.
The way she stood. The way she loomed. She was taller now, more confident, maybe even cocky. She didn’t just talk like Alexis. She moved like her.
“I gave up everything to do this for you,” she spat. “And you’re going to undo all of it because you’re scared?”
You opened your mouth, quietly. “I’m scared because I think I’m losing you.”
She rolled her eyes. “God, you are so dramatic. I told you I’m still me.”
“Are you?” you asked.
Then her eyes narrowed into a sharp, glittering glare. She stepped closer, and the way she moved made your stomach twist.
“I snuck over here,” she hissed. “Do you even get how risky that was? If Alexis saw me leave? If she followed me?”
Her voice was lower now. “I’ve been inside her house. In her inner circle. I’ve been sitting across from the girl who’s made your life hell. I’ve been laughing at her jokes, pretending she’s not a monster. All because you couldn’t stand up to her.”
You opened your mouth, but she was already charging ahead.
“And I’ve done all of that for you.”
She jabbed a perfectly manicured finger into your chest.
“For you. Because you couldn’t stand up to her. Because you flinched every time she looked at you. I became the girl she wanted around so we could finally make her pay.”
Her voice cracked for just a second, but the venom stayed sharp.
“And now, you’re going to ruin all of it? Because you’re feeling a little insecure? Because you didn’t like that I laughed a little too hard?”
She stepped back, looking at you with a mix of disappointment and disgust. “God, you’re pathetic.”
You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.
You felt small. You second guessed yourself. Did you betray her somehow, for daring to question this plan you never even wanted in the first place.
She tilted her head, softened her eyes.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said gently, stepping closer. “I’m sorry. I’m just… stressed. This whole thing is exhausting.”
You didn’t answer, but you didn’t move away.
She was closer now, her chest brushing yours. Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “I do miss you. You know that, right?”
Her fingers slid up your chest, curling into your shirt.
“This body,” she murmured, pressing her hips against yours, “it’s been aching for you. She’s not a friend. She’s not my boyfriend. We don’t talk like you and I do.”
You felt her breath on your neck, hot and sweet.
“I’m still yours, babe,” she whispered, and then kissed you. It was a deep, hard kiss.
Her lips were soft, perfect, hungry. She kissed like a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. Her hands slid around your waist, her body molding to yours.
For a second, it was easy to forget everything. She felt so good up against you. She leaned into you and you bumped against the desk, breaking the moment.
She pulled away slowly, her lips still glossy from the kiss, her body pressed just enough against yours to keep your thoughts tangled. Her breath was steady now, not angry anymore.
“I have a deal for you,” she murmured, dragging her nails lightly across your chest. “Twenty-four hours,” she said. “Give me that much. I can finish this. I’m so close.”
You blinked. “Rachel….”
She silenced you with a finger against your lips. “Let me do this. Just one more day. And then… whatever happens after that, if you still want to end it, I won’t stop you.”
You hesitated. Everything in you screamed this was a bad idea. But the way she was looking at you now, so calm, so confident… it made you feel like she could do it.
“Twenty-four hours,” you said quietly. “That’s it.”
She smiled wide, but it didn't look like Rachel's smile.
“See?” she whispered. “You do still trust me.”
Then she turned, her perfect blonde ponytail swishing behind her as she made her way to the door. Her hips had that practiced sway again. She looked back once, gave you a wink, and then she was gone.
All day, you watched the clock. You stayed busy. Cleaned your room twice. Walked aimlessly through the neighborhood. Opened the spellbook, closed it, opened it again. The hair was still where you left it, folded inside the page. Waiting.
But by nightfall, the silence had grown too loud.
No messages. No check-ins. No “almost done.”
Just nothing.
You told yourself she was keeping her promise. That she was still playing the part. That she couldn’t risk blowing her cover now, not this close.
But the hours kept slipping by, and your thoughts twisted in on themselves until you couldn’t breathe through them anymore.
That’s when you opened the app.
You and Rachel shared your location with an app for late-night walks, missed buses, emergency rides. It was meant for peace of mind.
Her dot hovered in a part of town you didn’t recognize. Not the school. Not Alexis’s place. It was a house you’d never seen before.
You told yourself you’d just check. Just drive by. Just see.
It was a two-story place on the edge of a cul-de-sac. Lights on. Music drifting faintly out of a cracked-open upstairs window. A few cars out front. A party, maybe.
You parked two streets over and walked the rest, heart pounding harder with every step.
You made your way around the back. The warm glow of bedroom lights spilling out from sheer curtains on the second floor.
You spotted a trellis along the side of the house and climbed it. You were too far in to stop now. You gripped the window frame. The curtains were parted just enough to see.
And there she was. Roxy was straddling some guy on the bed.
She was topless. Her hips were moving slowly, rhythmically as the ground into him. She bent down and kissed him hard and deep. His hands were on her ass, pulling her tighter against him. Hers were in his hair, tugging. Laughing.
You didn’t want to watch. But your eyes wouldn’t leave her.
Her back arched in the soft light, her golden hair spilling down like silk across her bare shoulders. The guy beneath her murmured something, and she giggled.
She leaned down, pressing herself fully against him, her hands on either side of his face as she kissed him again. His fingers curled at the waistband of her panties and tugged. She didn’t stop him. She lifted her hips, letting him slide them down.
You stopped watching then. You've seen enough. You're getting your girlfriend back…tonight.
You hit the ground hard, stumbling to your feet with your heart racing and your thoughts in pieces. You had just watched Rachel half-naked, straddling another guy. Having sex with another guy.
You reached into your jacket pocket, gripping the folded spell page and her strand of hair. You could still do it. You had to. This wasn’t her. Not really. The spell was consuming her, but if you acted fast enough…
“Well, well, well…”
Your blood froze as you slowly turned around. You knew that voice. It was Alexis.
She stepped into view from behind the side of the house, arms crossed under her chest, looking down at you like she’d just found a bug under her shoe. Her smirk widened as she took in the fact that you were climbing down from some stranger’s window.
“Oh my god,” she laughed. “Were you seriously up there watching? That’s so fucking gross.”
“I wasn’t—no, I—”
“Spare me, creep,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Jesus. What is it with nerdy losers and stalking hot girls? Is this, like, some fetish thing? “News flash, creeper. Roxy’s not interested in desperate little dweebs who stalk her in the middle of the night.”
You backed up a step, trying to find words, but your mouth was dry.
“I should absolutely call the cops on you right now,” she continued, voice raised and theatrical. “God, Roxy’s gonna die when she sees what kind of freak snuck into the yard.”
Then she turned her head toward the open back door. “Roxy!” she yelled. “Get down here! Some freak was spying on you!”
You tried to run, but some guy came up from behind and grabbed you. You struggled in his grasp.
Alexis looked back at you and rolled her eyes. “She’s going to tear you a new asshole, loser.”
The sliding door opened and out came Roxy. She was wearing a dress that it looked like she just threw on. Her legs bare, her hair messy, makeup a little smudged. She looked irked being pulled out of a moment she was fully enjoying.
Her eyes fell on you and then narrowed.
“Check it out,” Alexis said brightly. “This perv was up at your window. I think he was jerking off.”
You saw the flicker in Roxy’s eyes. She walked right up to you, eyes cool, lips pulled into a smirk you’d never seen from her before this week.
“You know,” she said lightly, her voice all sugar and poison, “I’ve seen this one around campus. I always see him looking at me and then acting like he’s not.”
She was enjoying the power, enjoying making you small.
“I guess he just couldn’t help himself,” she said sweetly. “Poor thing. Do you want to kiss a girl like me? Have sex with a girl like me?”
She turned her back to you and casually strolled toward Alexis.
“I mean, I get it,” she added over her shoulder. “Who wouldn’t want a taste?”
Alexis lost it, laughing hard and high-pitched. “Bitch! You are savage.”
Roxy just grinned and tossed her hair. “What can I say? Some guys just don’t know when they’re out of their league.”
Then, casually, she looked back toward the open sliding door where the guy from earlier stood in the frame, shirtless, broad-shouldered, watching.
“Hey, babe,” she called, tilting her head toward you. “Would you mind taking out the trash?”
He stepped forward immediately, his jaw clenched, hands balling into fists like he didn’t need to ask twice. He was coming straight for you.
You took a step back and pulled the paper from your pocket. It was the spell with her hair, bound in the center. That made Roxy react. The guy was halfway to you when she lifted a hand.
“Wait,” she said, voice still calm, but sharp. “Hold off.”
He stopped and stood there confused at her change of mind.
“Don’t do this,” she said to you. “You don’t know what’ll happen if you cast that.”
You didn’t respond, instead your grip on the paper tightened.
“You think you’re saving me, but I don’t need saving. It’s all under control,” she said pleadingly.
Your heart pounded in your chest. You stepped back a few paces. She took one step forward, slow and careful, like you were something skittish that might bolt.
Alexis frowned. “Roxy? What the hell’s going on?”
One of the guys behind her, the one who had his hands all over her an hour ago, muttered, “Who even is this dude?”
Roxy ignored them.
You unfolded the spell, hands shaking. Her hair glinted in the low light as it fluttered in the page’s crease. You looked down at the words, steadying your breath. Then you began to speak the words.
“Is this guy speaking in tongues,” Alexis quipped.
You continued to speak the spell. You had to get Rachel back. You kept chanting. Your voice was growing stronger.
“Oh my god,” she said, grinning wide, her voice echoing across the yard. “You actually think you can fix this?”
Alexis looked between the two of you, stunned. “Roxy… what the fuck is happening right now?”
But you weren’t listening anymore. You didn’t need to. Because the spell was reaching its end.
You finished the last word. You held the folded paper up in trembling hands, her hair pressed tightly inside. And then… nothing. Roxy just stood there with her arms crossed, a smug smirk on her face. Her glossy lips curled in satisfaction.
You waited. One second. Two.
The first time, it had been immediate. The transformation had ripped through her. You remembered the gasp, the shift, the way her body bent and swelled under the weight of the magic.
Roxy laughed a sharp, bitter, biting laugh that cut through the night like glass.
Your throat went dry. “I… it should’ve worked,” you whispered, voice barely audible.
“Oh no, sweetheart,” Roxy cooed, stepping toward you, “it worked perfectly.”
That’s when you heard it. A sharp gasp behind you. A high, startled squeal.
Alexis staggered back, clutching at her chest.
“What the fuck—” she shrieked.
You watched her body start to shrink. Her chest shrank, breasts pulling inward, her figure deflating as her curves melted away. Her tight shorts sagged as her hips narrowed, legs thinning into a pale, awkward set of limbs.
She looked around, desperate for someone to stop it. Her mascara streaked down her cheeks. Her friends were backing away now, whispering. One of the guys turned and walked off like he didn’t even know her.
She blinked, confused, her hands flying to her face. “No… no no no, what’s…what’s happening to me?!” Her voice sounded cracked and warped
Her platinum hair dulled to a muddy brown. The shine was gone. Everything was gone.
She looked like a scared, shy freshman now. Her shoulders were hunched and her designer clothes hung her body.
You turned back to Roxy. She was howling with laughter now, arms crossed under her full chest, shaking her head in delight. Her lips parted in a devious smirk.
“God, I love when a plan comes together,” she said, biting her lip.
Horror settled like lead in your chest.
“I… I had your hair…”
Roxy gave you a mocking, pitying look. “No, babe. You had her hair.”
You stood in sudden realization. The kiss from this morning. She’d pressed herself against you, not in love or attraction. She’d gotten close to distract you.
“You swapped it,” you whispered. “You switched the hair.”
“Mmmhmm,” she purred, brushing imaginary lint off her bare shoulder. “Slipped Alexis’s precious little platinum strand right into your grand rescue plan.”
She gestured lazily toward the girl now curled on the grass, sobbing quietly, her knees drawn to her chest. No one was helping her.
“And now look at her,” Roxy said sweetly. “No tits. No spine. Just another loser...like you.”
You looked over at Alexis, what was left of her, rocking on the lawn like a scared, forgotten child. She didn’t even look up. Her hands clutched at her now-loose clothing, trying to hold onto some shred of dignity, but the tears running down her cheeks betrayed her.
“She’s me,” you whispered, barely able to hear yourself over the pounding in your ears.
Roxy just grinned.
“No, babe. She’s worse.” Her voice was honeyed poison. “Unlike you, she’ll remember what it was like to be on top. To be admired. To matter. And now? She gets to live the rest of her life… like this.”
She stepped closer, the scent of warm vanilla flooding your senses. Her lips hovered near your ear, her voice barely a breath.
“I get to stay exactly like this,” she whispered. “And you get to spend the rest of your life wondering what the hell happened. So what are you going to do now? Still going to try to save me?”
She waited and watched you for just a few moments. Then Roxy’s smile widened, cruel and perfect.
“That’s what I thought,” she said.
Then she turned her back to you.
She waved lazily to the guy still watching from the doorway. “Let’s go back upstairs, babe. I’ve got better things to do than deal with losers like them.”
“This is probably a mistake,” Megan said under her breath as she tugged her cardigan tighter around her. The late April breeze still carried a chill in Rochester, and she felt out of place standing in front of Tantrum, the aggressively tropical-looking salon wedged between a vape shop and a payday loan place. A palm tree decal on the glass door fluttered every time someone walked in or out.
But Emily’s beach wedding was in four days.
And her bridesmaid dress was sleeveless.
And Megan’s skin? Pale. Uneven. Practically translucent.
She sighed and pushed open the door.
Inside, it smelled like warm coconut mixed with something… chemically artificial. A giant poster on the wall showed a woman in a tiny bikini with skin the color of a graham cracker. Megan glanced down at her own knit skirt and ballet flats and immediately felt like she’d walked into the wrong universe.
“Heyyy, welcome in!” the woman behind the counter said, flipping her bleached-blonde ponytail over one shoulder. “Here for a tan?”
Megan nodded awkwardly. “Yeah. Just something light. I’m in a wedding this week, and I’m, uh… kind of ghostly.”
The girl laughed. “No worries, babe. First time?”
“Yeah.”
“No problem. We’ll start you off with a Level Two. That’ll warm you up nice without going full Jersey Shore. You’ll look to die for in that dress.”
Megan forced a smile and handed over her credit card. This place wasn’t exactly her style, but whatever. She wasn’t looking to reinvent herself—just not stand out like a glass of skim milk on a Florida beach.
The girl—her name tag read Roxie—handed Megan a little basket. “Alright, hun. You’ll be in Booth 3. Strip down, put on the disposable thong and cap, and just stand where the footprints are. The machine talks to you, so just do what it says. Takes like two minutes. Cool?”
Megan swallowed. “Cool.”
She followed the signs to the back, her ballet flats clicking softly on the tile. Booth 3 was a large black pod with mirrored walls and blinking LEDs around the top. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. The air inside was humid, and the room smelled faintly metallic under the coconut.
She slipped off her sweater. Then her top. Then her skirt. Her pale skin stood out harshly under the overhead lights, every blemish and pore suddenly impossible to ignore. She pulled on the crinkly paper thong and tied her hair up into the net.
This is fine, she told herself. It’s just a light tan. No big deal. In and out.
She stepped into the booth, placed her feet on the printed outlines, and took a deep breath.
The mist stopped. A warm blast of air followed, drying her skin with clinical precision. Megan waited for the voice to say something else, but nothing came.
She stepped out of the booth cautiously, expecting… well, something. A golden sheen. A hint of a glow. But when she looked in the mirror—
Nothing.
Still pale. Still Megan.
Her chest, her stomach, her legs—unchanged. Maybe even more pale under these awful fluorescent lights. She wrapped the towel around her and frowned, peering at her reflection like it might start morphing any second.
“Everything okay in there?” Roxie called from down the hall.
Megan got dressed quickly, pulling her sweater over her head and smoothing her skirt with a little more aggression than necessary. She padded out to the front desk, cheeks flushed.
“Hey,” she said, voice tight. “I think something might’ve gone wrong. It didn’t really… do anything?”
Roxie waved her off with a grin. “Oh, babe, it’s not instant. Takes a few hours to fully develop. You’ll start noticing a glow by dinnertime, promise.”
Megan hesitated. “Are you sure? It really doesn’t look like—”
“It’s Level Two, it’s subtle,” Roxie said, already tapping at the register. “But you’ll see. Trust the process.”
Megan felt herself wilting. She didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to make a scene. Chloe doesn’t need another stressor. So instead, she handed over her card and let the transaction beep through.
“Drink lots of water and no shower until tomorrow morning,” Roxie added as she bagged the little aftercare pamphlet. “And don’t panic if your skin looks a little dark in patches for a bit—it evens out.”
Megan managed a tight smile. “Thanks.”
As she stepped back out into the chilly air, her body tensed. Her sweater suddenly felt scratchy. Her skirt, too long. And her shoes—ugh. These flats were the least flattering things she owned. Why had she worn them?
She blinked. That wasn’t a thought she would normally have.
What? I like these shoes. They’re practical. Comfortable. Fine.
She shook her head and walked quickly to her car. The drive home was uneventful… mostly.
Her phone buzzed in the cupholder—probably Chloe. Megan glanced at the message, then suddenly rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath:
“Oh my god, get a grip.”
She blinked. What the hell?
She reread the message. It was just Chloe asking if she’d remembered to grab strapless bras for the trip.
Why did I say that? she thought, squeezing the steering wheel. That was… kinda rude. That’s not me.
A few minutes later, she stopped at a red light, caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror—and froze.
Her skin had changed.
Only slightly. A warm tone had started to surface on her cheeks and neck. Her lips looked glossier somehow. Had she… put on lip balm?
And her tank top, which had felt snug but fine this morning, now clung tighter to her chest. She tugged it down instinctively.
She reached up to adjust her glasses, only to feel a small snap. One of the arms had cracked.
“Bloody cheap piece of—” she hissed.
She blinked again. What the hell was that?
She gripped the wheel tighter, heart suddenly racing. Something was happening. Something weird.
But Megan just shook it off.
“No,” she whispered. “You’re tired. You’re being weird. Get home. Make tea. You’ll be fine.”
She turned onto her street, her headlights catching her front walk. Home. Familiar. Normal.
And yet, as she stepped out of the car and caught sight of her reflection in the driver’s side window, she paused.
Her hips looked curvier. Her waist narrower. Her lips, undeniably poutier.
She blinked, leaned closer.
And her voice slipped out without warning, soft and surprised:
Megan lay sprawled across her bed, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other holding her phone loosely by her ear. Her tank top had vanished somewhere between getting home and tossing off her sweater. Now she was just in some lacy bralette and matching panties.
Her skin gleamed a few shades darker than it had before. Not orange, thankfully—but undeniably tan. Her stomach was flatter. Her chest looked fuller. She felt… weird. Like her body was humming at a slightly different frequency.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming call: Chloe.
Megan groaned softly, thumb hovering over Decline. But she sighed and picked up. You’re the reliable sister, she reminded herself. Just listen. Nod. Smile.
“Hey,” she said.
“Oh my god, Megan,” Chloe started, not even waiting. “Mom just called me again to ask what color the napkins are. She said ‘cream’ and ‘ivory’ were the same thing. They’re not. They’re not! She’s going to ruin the entire table setting.”
Megan winced. “I mean… maybe no one will notice?”
“No, see, you get it. But she doesn’t. This is my wedding, Megan.”
Megan curled her toes in the sheets, adjusting slightly on the bed. “Yeah, totally. But like… maybe she’s just bein’ proper dense, innit?”
There was a pause.
Megan blinked. “Wait—sorry. I mean, maybe she’s just… not thinking it through.” She coughed, cheeks flushing. “You know how she is.”
“…Did you just say innit?”
“I don’t think so,” Megan said quickly, brushing hair behind her ear. “You must’ve misheard me.”
Chloe moved on without skipping a beat, launching into a rant about the florists now. Megan nodded absently, trying to stay focused. She really was trying. She always tried. But her eyes kept drifting toward the mirror on the far wall.
Her reflection looked back at her, lips slightly parted in a lazy pout, tanned stomach rising and falling under the sheer lace.
She didn’t look like someone who listened patiently. She looked like someone who posted thirst traps and said things like “u up?”
“…and now she’s threatening to bring Tupperware to the rehearsal dinner.”
“Ugh, what a tragic little mug,” Megan muttered under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing!”
Chloe sighed heavily. “I just—sometimes I think she wants to make it about her.”
Megan adjusted her bralette, her thumb idly sliding along the strap. “Honestly, babe, just tell her to pipe down. You’re the bride. Your rules, yeah?”
Another pause.
“Did you just call me babe?”
Megan sat up straighter, blinking hard. “No?”
“You did.”
“I think the connection’s just—ugh—fuzzy. I’ve had a long day, Chloe. I’m tired.”
“Fine. Sorry. I just needed to vent.”
“I know,” Megan said. And she meant it. She really did. But something in her couldn’t help adding, “But like… maybe stop callin’ me every time she breathes wrong, yeah?”
There was silence on the line. Megan’s heart skipped.
“…Okay,” Chloe said after a moment, voice quieter. “I’ll… let you rest. Talk soon?”
“Yeah. Cool. Whatever.”
She hung up and dropped the phone beside her.
Her heart was racing. What was that? What the hell was that?
She had snapped at Chloe. Chloe. The queen of drama. Megan never snapped. Megan absorbed. That’s what she did.
And the worst part?
It felt… kind of good.
She glanced down at her outfit, at the way her cleavage peeked out through the lace. She lifted her phone, almost instinctively, and tilted the camera downward. Her lips formed a pout, just to test it.
Cute, she thought, flicking through the angle.
Then she shook her head hard, dropped the phone again, and sat bolt upright.
“Okay. No. No. This is… this is weird. Something’s wrong.”
But even as she said it, her legs crossed on instinct, hips cocked just slightly, lips still parted.
And somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, a new thought bloomed….
Her body felt too wired, too alive. The sheets were scratchy. Her skin—warm to the touch, silky smooth—seemed to hum. Every time she rolled over, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror across from her bed. And every time, it looked just a little more different. Sexier. More confident. Less like the Megan who wore knit skirts and cardigans, and more like someone who lived for hot girl summers and bubblegum lip gloss.
A thought bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her.
Try the dress. See if it still fits now that you’re proper curvy.
She froze. What? But before she could question it, she was already sliding off the sheets and padding over to her suitcase. The bridesmaid dress was still neatly folded in its garment bag—soft blush-pink, strapless, and slim-fit.
She stepped into it, zipped it up, turned to the mirror—then gasped.
“Oh my god, this is… like… bangin’,” she breathed, turning side to side. The fabric hugged every curve like it had been sewn to her body. Her chest practically spilled out of the top. It should’ve been embarrassing. But instead?
She smiled.
One hand on her hip, the other tugging her curls over her shoulder. Snap. Another pose. Snap. Another one. Pout. Tilt. Tease.
Soon, her makeup drawer was open. Bangles. Lip gloss. A splash of body spray. Her hair—teased out, big and bouncy. The kind of styling that would’ve made her cringe two days ago. Now?
She looked unreal.
She ran her fingers down her waist, watching how the dress clung to her hips. Her expression shifted—sultry, detached, the kind of look she saw on influencers she never followed… until now.
Her camera roll filled with dozens of shots.
Gonna look fit as fuck in Florida.
She blinked.
Wait—what? I don’t say that. I don’t… think like that.
She stepped back from the mirror, heart fluttering. “Okay, no. That’s not—I don’t talk like that,” she said aloud.
But even as she sat back on the edge of the bed, her voice slipped out in a lazy drawl.
“…might need heels now tho. Show off them legs.”
She giggled. Actually giggled.
By 2:07 AM, Megan was sitting at her desk. Her dress was still on. So were the bangles. So was the pout.
She had just downloaded Instagram.
Not checked her old one—created a new one: @megs.bbyx.
It felt silly when she typed it, but when it popped up on the screen… it just looked right. A few quick uploads later, and her feed was filling out—mirror selfies, flirty angles, cropped shots of her glowing skin and shiny lips. And front and center: the bridesmaid dress. One hand on her hip, the other grazing her cleavage.
She spent way too long on the caption.
Dress check 😘 hope the groomsmen r ready lol
Her finger hovered. Should I really post this?
But she didn’t stop herself. She tapped Share.
The likes didn’t come instantly. But within a few minutes, she saw familiar names—guys from high school she hadn’t spoken to in years. Following. Liking. DMing.
That didn’t take long, she smirked, biting her lip.
Next came TikTok.
Same username. @megs.bbyx. Bio simple:
💋 just here for fun
📍NY
📸 insta: @megs.bbyx
She scrolled for a while—makeup tutorials, thirst traps, GRWM vids. It all felt natural. Like she belonged here. Like she got it.
You should totally do one.
That voice again. The same one that told her to try the dress. Casual. Confident. Hers.
Just a lip-sync. Or a twirl. Nothin’ crazy.
A few minutes later, her first video was live. Just her spinning in front of the mirror in the dress, with a trending audio and the caption:
bridesmaid duties but make it sexy 💅🏼
By 3:00 AM, it had over 400 views.
By 3:15, she had four DMs on Instagram. Two were guys she didn’t know. One said “damn.” Another just sent 👀.
She stared at that one a little longer.
Without thinking, her thumbs moved:
u like it? 😉 wait til u see me on the beach x
She stared at what she’d written. Her heart fluttered again.
That’s… not a joke. That was me. Flirting.
The guy replied instantly. 🔥
damn ur bad af fr
She giggled.
She actually giggled.
She tossed her phone to the side, leaned back in her chair, and exhaled.
I’m just playing around. It’s fun. No harm in a little fun, right?
But when she glanced back at her reflection—glowing skin, sculpted waist, pillowy lips, bedroom eyes—there was no denying it anymore.
Megan stood in the middle of her bedroom, holding her phone out in front of her with one perfectly manicured hand. The cheetah-print pants clung to her hips like a second skin, and the hot pink sports bra showed off just enough cleavage to keep things interesting. Her long, bouncy curls cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that now had highlighter on the cheekbones, thick lashes, and lips lined and glossed to perfection.
She struck a pose—one hand in her hair, the other on her hip—and snapped the shot.
“Airport fit 💋 catch flights n feelings,” she muttered aloud, typing it into her phone as the caption. Then she hit post.
Her follower count had tripled overnight. Most of them were guys. A few girls too—hot ones, actually, with heavy filters and duck lips and profiles filled with makeup hauls. Megan had liked all their stuff back. Why not?
She turned back to the mirror, adjusting her cleavage and fluffing her hair again. “Babe, this look is, like… sooo fit,” she purred, grinning at herself. “Can’t believe I used to leave the house lookin’ like a fookin’ librarian.”
There was no trace of the old Megan in her voice now. The crisp vowels were gone, replaced with a thick, flirty Essex twang. She barely noticed. She barely cared.
She checked the clock—her Uber would be there in ten minutes. Just enough time to film a quick airport GRWM.
Her TikTok opened before she even finished the thought.
Camera on. Angle flattering. Lips glossy. She hit record.
“Alright babes, airport vibes, yeah?” she cooed into the camera. “Got me leopard print on, got me lashes done, and I swear if TSA gives me drama ‘bout this bra again, I’ll go off, swear down.”
She flipped her hair and winked at the screen, then hit post.
The comments started popping before she even left the room.
“🔥🔥🔥 who’s lettin u on the plane lookin like THAT” “ur gna cause turbulence lol” “airport security bout to get distracted 😂”
She grinned.
Megan slid on a cropped denim jacket, tossed her pink carry-on over her shoulder, and gave herself one last look in the mirror.
Glossy. Glowing. Absolutely gagging for attention.
And god—she looked unreal.
She smacked her gum, turned toward the door, and strutted down the hallway with all the confidence of someone who had always been this girl.
Chloe’s voice blared through Megan’s phone speaker the moment she answered. No greeting, no hello, just immediate panic.
“In the car, duh,” Megan replied, blowing a bubble with her gum. She snapped another pic of herself in the Uber’s rearview, checked the lighting, then turned the camera around to catch a little hip-pop shot in the seatbelt. Stunnin’. Definitely going on stories.
“You were supposed to call me when you left! I’ve been texting you for half an hour!”
Megan rolled her eyes. “Chill, babes. I’m literally en route. Don’t get your knickers twisted.”
“…What did you just say?”
Megan giggled. “Relax. I’m fine. Got me little leopard ‘fit on, all packed, flight’s not even for, like, another hour or whatever.”
Chloe sounded stunned. “Megan. Are you seriously wearing leopard print to the airport?”
“It’s lounge-y,” Megan said, stretching out the word as she checked herself in the front camera again. “Comfy. And hot. You want me lookin’ busted in all them group pics, yeah? Didn’t think so.”
There was a beat of silence.
“…Are you okay?”
Megan snorted. “I’m better than okay. I’m a whole fuckin’ vibe right now.”
“I’m being serious, Meg,” Chloe said, tone shifting into something more brittle. “You’re acting totally different. Your messages have been weird —”
“Chill, yeah?” Megan cut in lazily. “I’m literally en route. Uber’s well quick. We’ve got loads of time. Don’t stress your little veil off.”
There was a pause.
“…Did you just say ‘well quick’?”
Megan smirked. “Might’ve. Who’s askin’?”
“Megan. What’s with you lately?” Chloe’s voice dropped into something low and serious. “Your texts have been weird, you’re using emojis I don’t even understand, and you literally told Mom to ‘pipe down’ in the group chat yesterday.”
“Yeah, well. She was doin’ my head in.” Megan adjusted her top, checking the side angle in her phone’s camera. “All that stressin’ about table settings or whatever. It’s not that deep, hun.”
Chloe went silent for a second.
“You never talk like this. You don’t say stuff like ‘hun.’ What’s going on with you?”
“God, what’s your damage?” she snapped, finally pulling the phone away from her face. “Not everything’s about you, you know. Just ‘cause you’re gettin’ married doesn’t mean I gotta go full nun mode. I’m allowed to feel myself.”
More silence. Then, quietly: “Is this how you’re gonna act the whole trip?”
Megan stared at her reflection. Hair big, lips pouty, neckline low. Over a thousand new likes since this morning. A DM waiting from a guy named Luca 💦.
Instead, she was curled up in a cushy chair at the edge of the airport lounge, legs crossed high, one heel dangling lazily off her foot. Her phone was in one hand, a half-finished mimosa in the other, and her focus was very far from the departure screen.
The DMs with Luca had been heating up since she’d posted that cheeky mirror selfie earlier, captioned “Gate 12 lookin’ like gate heaven 😘”
His reply came fast:
“Bet you’d look even better out of that dress, tho 👀”
Megan smirked, chewing slowly on her gum as she shifted in her seat, angling her phone just right to catch a very flattering top-down view—cleavage front and center, glossed lips parted, eyes half-lidded and bored.
She snapped the shot.
“Careful babe… keep talkin’ like that and I won’t make the flight 😏”
He answered with a shirtless selfie. Abs for days. His boxers riding just low enough to tease something more. Her thighs clenched involuntarily as she stared at the screen, biting down on her gum.
Her next message came with a boomerang—just her slowly rolling her hips against the chair, biting her lip, hair pushed to one side.
“How bad d’you want me to miss it?”
A voice echoed over the PA. Final boarding call. Gate closing.
She glanced up. Then back down at her phone, where Luca had just sent back:
“Babe if you get on that plane I’ll block you.”
Megan laughed out loud.
She tucked her phone under her chin, dragged her thumbnail down her hemline slowly—deliberately—then snapped another pic.
“Oops 😘”
By the time she looked up, the gate was closed. Her flight was taxiing down the runway. The boarding agent was already walking away from the counter.
Her phone buzzed again.
“You didn’t.”
“You didn’t really stay.”
She chewed slowly, then angled her camera for one last shot—her face, her curves, her drink.
“Didn’t even try, luv.”
She tapped Send, then leaned back with a self-satisfied sigh and popped her gum.
“Oopsy,” she murmured to herself, catching her reflection in the black mirror of her phone. She tilted her head, smirked, and whispered, “Guess I’ll catch the next one.”
Chloe was mid-rant, tugging on her earrings with shaking fingers. “She missed the flight. Of course she missed the flight. And I haven’t heard from her in hours. She better not flake.”
Their mom was pacing with a nearly-empty wine glass. “Maybe her phone died? Maybe she—”
Knock knock.
Chloe nearly dropped the earring. “That better not be room service, I swear—”
She yanked open the door, ready to tell someone off.
But instead, she blinked. Then blinked again.
The woman standing in the hallway wasn’t Megan. She couldn’t be. This girl was glowing. She was tan. She was stacked. She was dressed like she was heading to a club, not a wedding. The tight pink bridesmaid dress put her cleavage on full display.
“Heya, babes,” the girl purred, walking past her into the suite like she owned the place.
Chloe didn’t move. “I… sorry, who—?”
“Are you serious?” the girl turned, hand on hip. “It’s me.”
Chloe’s mouth fell open. “Megan?!”
Mom gasped, nearly spilling her wine. “What—what happened to your face? And your—your everything?”
Megan flopped into the armchair with a sigh. “Chill out, yeah? It’s just me. Bit of a tan. Bit of a glow-up. S’all good.”
“This is not a bit,” Chloe snapped. “You look like a reality show contestant!”
Megan grinned. “Thanks, babe.”
Mom looked her up and down in horror. “Where is your bridesmaid dress?”
“This is me dress,” Megan replied, gesturing down at the pink bodycon clinging to her curves. “More flattering now that I’m proper stacked, don’t ya think?”
“You look—you look like a different person!” Chloe shouted.
Megan raised an eyebrow, pulling her phone from her bag and checking her latest notifications. “So dramatic. Honestly, you should be thankin’ me. I just raised the hotness quotient of this wedding by, like, a full ten.”
“You were supposed to be my maid of honor,” Chloe hissed. “Not the fucking entertainment.”
“Well, babe,” Megan said, crossing one leg over the other with a smirk, “maybe I’m both.”
Megan sank into the silver armchair like she was born there, legs crossed, nails flicking across her phone screen. Her pink bodycon dress clung to every curve, catching the light in a way that made her skin look practically airbrushed.
Across the room, Chloe and their mom stood frozen, jaws clenched, eyes darting between each other like someone had just dropped a live grenade in the middle of the suite.
Then it exploded.
“You missed your flight, Megan!” Chloe snapped, hands flying into the air. “Do you have any idea how much stress that caused?!”
“I texted you,” Megan said flatly, not looking up. “Was a lil’ busy. Luca sent me the filthiest voice note, like, ugh.”
“Who is Luca?!” Mom screeched.
“Just this lad I met online,” Megan said with a shrug, still scrolling. “Hot. Proper cheeky. He’s got, like, arms for days.”
“Is that why you’re talking like some bimbo from a bottle of tanning oil?” Chloe spat, stepping closer. “What happened to you? You’re acting like you don’t give a damn about this wedding—about me!”
Megan finally looked up, lips parted in mock surprise. “Oh babe… I don’t.”
Mom gasped. “Megan, that is not how we raised you. The way you’re dressed—your language—the fake tan, the nails, that outfit!”
“I like it,” Megan said simply, smoothing a hand over her hip. “I look fit. Blokes are lovin’ it. Honestly, I don’t even know why I ever dressed like a sad little librarian.”
“You used to be elegant,” Mom snapped.
“I used to be boring,” Megan shot back, eyes sharp now. “I used to let you two walk all over me. Texts at all hours. Rants. Expectations. Guilt trips. You had a good little doormat, didn’t you?”
“Megan—”
She stood up, slow and deliberate. “But I’m done, yeah? I missed the flight because I wanted to. I don’t wanna cry in a pastel dress and pretend I give a toss about centerpieces and table runners. I don’t wanna be the old Megan.”
Chloe was speechless. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again.
“Maybe you should focus on gettin’ married and not havin’ a go at me just ‘cause I don’t wanna be your little sidekick anymore.”
Then Megan scooped up her bag, slid her phone into it, and walked toward the door.
🌙✨
🎶 generic sexy pop track playing faintly
🧡 @megs.bbyx:
“wedding? nah babe. I got better plans 💋”
🥂💄🌡️
Poll: Who wore it better?
– Me
– Also Me 😇
------------------------------------------------------
🎥 slo-mo filter, sparkling effect
🧡 @megs.bbyx:
“bored of bein’ basic x”
🌴💁🏽♀️👙
Location tag: @ThePalmDeckClub
The Mother’s Day sun gleamed across the hillside spa retreat, painting the white stucco buildings gold. Mel and her daughter, Jordan, stood at the check in desk of Hyde Springs, a boutique getaway just outside town.
“This is way too much.” Mel said, clutching the envelope Jordan had handed her an hour ago over breakfast. “You’re in college, you shouldn’t be spending money like this.”
“I used my student grant refund.” Jordan admitted with a grin. “It’s bronze tier, basic massage, facial, maybe a foot soak. You deserve to be pampered, Mom.”
Mel rolled her eyes but smiled. “Well, when you put it like that…”
Behind the counter, the receptionist’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Let's see here... Mel... Mel...” Her eyes flicked over the screen, slightly puzzled. “Ah! There you are. Mel Astor. Double platinum member. Welcome, you're going to love our exclusive elite package.”
Melanie blinked, that wasn't their last name. “Wait, I think there’s been a mistake, that's not my name, I-”
“What my mother means is that she prefers to be referred to as Melanie.” Jordan quickly said, kicking her mothers foot under the counter.
“Of course.” The receptionist said with a dazzling smile. “And do you have a name preference too?”
Jordan was suddenly caught off guard and quickly blurted out the bitchiest sounding name she could think of. “Jordanna.”
“A gorgeous name.” The receptionist said and typed it into the computer while Jordan looked over to her mother with a shrug. “Well Ms. Astor it's wonderful to have you finally join us after all these years of such generous donations. As such you will receive the top most service with us today. Please, follow me ladies.”
As they trailed behind the receptionist Mel whispered into her daughters ear. “I don't like this sweetheart, what if they catch on that we aren't these... these socialites. We don't exactly look like we ooze money.”
Jordan however seemed unfazed. “She said it herself, she hasn't visited in years so I doubt the real Mel will show up, so we just have to act the part and we get a day to remember for the rest of our lives. Come on, don't you deserve a bit of 'me' time... Melanie?” Jordan said with a cheeky grin.
Mel smiled back. “Fine but when they arrest us and throw us in jail I get the bottom bunk, 'Jordanna'.” She said jokingly.
Their day began with a “Evaluation Session” in a softly lit chamber. A digital screen scanned their whole bodies, highlighting “areas of potential.” Mel chuckled nervously at the red marks covering her cheeks, her crow’s feet, her roots, her flabby tummy, her sagging boobs. A soft AI voice chimed in.
“Detected: compassion fatigue, under appreciated self-image, chronic humility.”
Mel shook her head. “You're the sci-fi girl, I hoped you would know.”
“Beats me.” Jordan said looking at the red marks across her own body with a frown. Mel sensing the discomfort in her daughter, tried to change the subject.
“How is school going honey?” She asked as the AI continued its scans.
“It's going. Honestly I thought my junior year would be easier, what with my workload and my raise at the cafe but I feel like I don't have any time to myself you know? I guess we can't all be like Sienna and have life handed to us on a silver plate.” Jordan said somewhat scornfully.
Mel's brow furrowed. “Sienna? Who's that?”
Jordan rolled her eyes. “Sienna Hartley. She’s the president of Delta Theta Pi. Platinum credit card, convertible BMW, three million follower Insta account. She’s the kind of girl who walks into a room like she owns it, and everyone lets her. She's a toxic narcissist who only cares about herself and she gets away with it.”
“Sounds exhausting.” Melanie said compassionately.
“She’s a nightmare. Fake blonde, fake lips, fake everything. She cut the line in front of me in the cafeteria once and said, ‘I don’t wait. People wait for me.’ What a brat.”
Melanie chuckled. “Well thankfully you're nothing like her sweetheart.”
Jordan scoffed. “Yeah, I'm not a vapid, manipulative Barbie with a personal brand.” Before Jordan could complain more there was a ding sound to indicate the assessment was done.
From there they were ushered into the Aural Contouring Suite, where reclined chairs cocooned them while gentle whispers played through sleek white earbuds. The lights above flickered in sync with their heartbeats.
“You’ve given enough.”
“Goodness is a weakness.”
“Kindness is a leash others pull.”
“Beauty deserves obedience.”
“You don’t owe anyone sweetness.”
“Let them worship. Let them serve you.”
Mel's lips parted in a soft gasp. Jordan’s fingers curled slightly, as if grasping some invisible power. When they awoke an hour later they felt refreshed and enegized but also something more.
This was no more evident then at their next station. They sat back in large plush seats as manicurist and pedicurists got to work massaging their fingers and toes to perfection. Jordan continued about Sienna.
“I guess when I think about it, I'm just kind of jealous of Sienna.” Jordan said, her previous thought of Sienna shifting from hate to admiration.
“How could you not? She sounds like she has the world in the palm of her hand.” Mel added. Like her daughter, her previous thought of Sienna as a monster wrapped in a tight dress had soften to the point of envy.
“She’s still awful.” Jordan muttered, almost to herself. “But… Sienna gets things. She doesn’t worry if people like her. They just do. Or they don’t. Either way, she wins.” Jordan said unable to hide her wistfulness as she examined her new perfectly done manicure.
Next up they had a 'Self Image Reinforcement Massage', where robotic fingers smoothed their muscles sending them into another deep trance and a female voice cooed softly through lavender scented steam.
“You’ve played the background role long enough.”
“Selflessness is camouflage.”
“Let the others carry guilt, you carry greatness.”
“Sweetness is a cage.”
“Let vanity liberate you.”
Mel and Jordan exhaled slowly. “Yes.” They murmured involuntarily in unison. When the session ended and they opened their eyes, their lashes were somehow longer, blue eyes colder, their stomachs toned and tightened by the robot arms.
They stood in front of the mirror, looking at their reflection. This time they weren't self conscious or ashamed by how they looked, they were growing infatuated with the women staring back. It certainly helped that they looked much more like models than the over worked women they had walked in as.
“Sienna wouldn’t know what to do if she saw me now.” Jordan said as she giggled at her reflection.
“She’d feel threatened.” Mel purred. Her own cheekbones shimmered with contour. “She’d know her reign is over.”
Jordan tilted her head. “You really think so?”
Mel stood beside her, both of them draped in gleaming robes, reflections glowing. “Sweetheart, of course I do. You're my daughter and I didn't raise you to settle for less. You’re better than her. You should be her.”
Jordan’s eyes narrowed with hunger. “No.” She leaned closer to the mirror, smirking. “I want to be worse.”
Mel grinned proudly at her as the door opened and they were led to their final session. A golden chamber, filled with warm light. As they lay back in reclining chairs, soft tendrils of plasma began to shift their melanin, reconfiguring follicles, cheekbones, vocal tone.
The affirmations came sharper now, like champagne in the veins.
“Blonde is brilliance.”
“Blonde is dominance.”
“Kind women are trampled.”
“Cruel women rise.”
Jordan felt her lips swell, her curves fill out, her brunette curls dissolve into icy platinum silk. Melanie let out a breathy giggle as her face softened, her nose refined, her eyes shimmered under sculpted brows. The light pulsed harder now:
“Feel how they’ll look at you.”
“Feel how they’ll hate you.”
“Good. Let them.”
The final phase of the treatment concluded in a brilliant pulse of golden light. The chamber hummed with warmth, then slowly dimmed to a soft, reverent glow.
Mel and Jordan stirred from their reclining thrones, no longer Mel and Jordan. They rose.
Mel was now Melanie. Her usual aversion to her full name now vanished. Her once tired, selfless gaze had sharpened into something colder, regal. Her platinum waves cascaded in smooth perfection past sculpted shoulders, lips glossed like glass, lashes like blades. Her figure, once modest and maternal, now flaunted hourglass arrogance with every step.
Beside her, Jordan was gone, replaced by Jordanna. A name perfectly suited to her new bitchy appearance. Taller somehow, sharper, with high cheekbones and bedroom eyes. Her every breath was a practiced pout, her expression locked in a faint, smug smile. Her new body moved like it had never known clumsiness, only choreography.
They stood before the full length mirror wall, admiring their reflections in silk pink spa robes clinging to their transformed forms.
Jordanna ran a polished hand along her hip. “God, I look… expensive.”
Melanie’s smirk curled. “Thanks because we are darling.”
A soft chime rang. The door slid open, and two attendants entered, expressionless, reverent. Behind them, several others wheeled in ornate gold racks filled with revealing garments. Latex dresses, stilettos, micro skirts, furs, sheer bodysuits, shimmering heels, gold trimmed corsets. Designer tags gleamed under the lights.
“The final luxury.” One attendant announced softly. “For only our most esteemed guests. Please choose whatever you like.”
Melanie’s eyes lit up with hunger.
“Oh.” She whispered, brushing her fingers along a skintight, wine-colored dress. “Yes.”
Jordanna tore off her robe with zero modesty, selecting a gold revealing dress that barely left anything to the imagination, pairing it with a gold purse. “This is so me.”
Melanie peeled into red lingerie, admiring how it lifted her chest into commanding prominence. She draped herself in the softest fur she had ever felt. She stepped into tall heels and struck a pose, running her tongue over her teeth.
“You know what’s sad?” She said, adjusting a diamond choker from a nearby tray. “We used to hate pretty girls like us.”
Jordanna slipped on a pair of sky high heels, laughing cruelly. “Ugh. So tragic.”
Fully dressed, made up, and reborn, they turned toward the doors. Melanie gave the mirror one last smirk. Together, they strutted out of the chamber, hips swaying, heels clicking, no longer ordinary women. They were divine and untouchable. Melanie and Jordanna strode into the lobby like they owned it. The spa’s golden light kissed their perfected figures, their heels clicking in sync against the marble floor.
At the reception desk, the same woman who had checked them in stood waiting, hands clasped, smile unwavering. But now, there was something in her eyes, reverence.
“My God.” she said breathlessly. “You both look… exquisite.”
Melanie ran a manicured hand through her platinum waves, smirking. “Of course we do.”
Jordanna leaned on the counter, her dress glittering like temptation incarnate. “We looked like this all along. You people just helped pull it out.”
The receptionist nodded enthusiastically. “It’s been an honor having you here. On behalf of the Hyde Springs staff, thank you for your patronage. We truly hope you’ll return again soon.”
Melanie and Jordanna exchanged a glance, smug and silent. “Oh,” Jordanna said, lips curving. “We’ll definitely be back.”
“Absolutely.” Melanie added, her voice like silk and steel.
The receptionist gestured toward the doors. “There’s a limousine waiting just outside. It will take you anywhere you wish to go.”
Melanie turned without a word, hips swaying as she passed. Jordanna followed, flipping her hair with a smirk. As they stepped into the warm night air, the limo door swung open for them.
The limousine purred softly as it rolled down the mountain road from Hyde Springs, the city lights beginning to glitter below like jewels spilled across velvet. Inside the tinted windows, Melanie and Jordanna lounged in sinfully luxurious silence, their curves poured into their designer dresses, their heels crossed with lazy entitlement.
Jordanna reapplied her gloss, puckering slightly at her reflection. “I’m going to take everything that little bitch Sienna has.”
Melanie arched a brow, intrigued.
“She walks around campus like she’s royalty.” Jordanna continued. “That ends now. I’m going to take her spot, her friends, her followers, her frat boy toy. All of it. I’ll smile as she watches me rule everything she built. I’m going to make her watch me become queen.”
Melanie chuckled lowly. “Good girl.”
Jordanna tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “What about you, Mommy? What are you going to do?”
Melanie stared out the window for a long moment, the lights of the city below reflecting like stars in her icy eyes. Her lips parted in a slow, sinful smile.
“I think if we are going to enjoy this life of luxury from now on then it's high time I find a rich suitor to fund us don't you think?” Melanie said coolly.
Jordanna grinned. “So what’s the plan?”
Melanie reached over and brushed a strand of platinum hair from her daughter’s flawless face. “Well there is a Melanie Astor out there somewhere. One with wealth and power. I think I'll take it off her hands.”
“Oh mommy you're so bad.” Jordanna purred.
Melanie’s grin gleamed. “I'm only getting started.”
In the pink bedroom of the sorority president, far from the noise and strobe lights of the easter party downstairs, Emma sat quietly across from Brielle, the president herself and top bitch on campus. A few of Brielle's sorority sisters stood behind her, standing between them and the door, making escape impossible.
Emma had no idea why she was hustled off the quad by them and shepherded all the way up to the bedroom or why on the table stood a black tower of Jenga but in the pit of her stomach she knew it couldn't be good.
Brielle crossed her toned legs and popped her gum, still smug, still perfect. Her dress hugged every curve. Her blonde hair shone like a shampoo commercial. Today she was wearing a slutty easter bunny outfit to celebrate the party happening downstairs.
Emma? She was everything Brielle loved to mock, awkward, hunched, flat chested, bookish, the cardigan draped cliché. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t even want to come to the party, but Brielle and her clique had dragged her in, threatening her. She expected to see maybe beer pong, some sort of hazing ritual or hell even a stripper pole in the back room but Jenga was certainly a surprise.
“Ok let's get this thing going, I have a party to be the center of. Here are the rules dork.” Brielle said, her manicured finger tapping a brick on the bottom row. “You pull, you read, you steal.”
Emma glanced at the tower. “What do you mean ‘steal’?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll see.” Brielle winked. “And because I’m feeling generous, why don’t you go first?”
With trembling fingers, Emma pulled a brick from the middle and read it aloud.
“Nails.”
The word shimmered silver against the black. She looked up, confused. Brielle looked at her hands and watched as her expensive manicure faded away like magic. That’s when Emma felt heat in her own finger tips and looked down to see her grubby, short nails take on the look and appearance that Brielle’s hand just a moment ago.
“Ugh whatever, that colour was played out anyway.” Brielle said annoyed. “My turn.”
Brielle slid a brick out from the top of the tower and looked at it with a puzzled face.
“Empathy? What the fuck is that, some dungeons and dragons shit?” She said jokingly.
But then something fluttered in her chest. Her grin faltered. A wave of remorse washing over her suddenly. She didn’t like it.
Emma meanwhile giggled. It was sharp, unlike her usual shy chuckle. She should have felt bad for Brielle but she couldn’t find the urge inside her to care.
“My turn.” Emma said, almost eager now pulling a brick.
"Makeup."
Instantly, her face shifted, cheekbones smoothing out, lashes thickened and lifted, lids dusted with darker eyeshadow. Her lips gleamed with a high shine pout, and her complexion took on an impossibly flawless glow.
Across the table, Brielle’s skin lost its warmth. Her bronzer faded. Her lashes thinned. Her lip gloss dulled and dried, leaving her looking pale, bare, ordinary. Brielle scoffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Whatever. I’ll just get my makeup done later when I get new nails at the salon.”
She pulled out another brick, hoping it was the one she was after but as her eyes landed on what was written the disappointment was hard to hide.
“Weight.”
She hung her head as she felt Emma’s chubby belly inflate her well worked out and toned stomach.
On the other side of the table, Emma marvelled at her body as the pounds melted off in an instant. Her new nailed fingers running over it with glee.
“It’s reversible, just a few weeks in the gym and I’ll be back to normal. It’s all reversible. I just need to pull her intelligence so I can pass my finals.” Brielle thought to herself as she watched Emma grab another brick, hoping it wouldn’t be anything vital.
“Confidence.”
The two girls both shivered at hearing the word but both had vastly different outcomes. Brielle suddenly had a gnawing feeling inside her that, a shadow of doubt hanging over her now. She slid down in her chair starting to feel hopeless. Emma meanwhile had a smirk cross her lips as her chin lifted and her posture straightened. Brielle’s friends even seemed to take notice of her.
“One more and then we stop, whatever it is.” Brielle thought but there was some rising doubt. “Oh but what if I pull something even worse. Should I just stop now?”
As she tried to think, the sound of nails drumming on the table distracted her. She looked over to see Emma grinning at her, making her feel uneasy.
“Come on, I don’t have all day.” Emma said sighing almost bored which illicited a few quiet giggles from Brielle’s friends. Brielle took a deep breath and pulled out what she determined would be her last one.
“Compassion.” She said disappointedly. This was a stark contrast to Emma who left out a soft moan, as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She felt as though a great weight had been taken off her shoulders.
Brielle looked up from her brick, looking smaller somehow. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” She said getting up from the table and turning towards her friends. “Come on let’s get out of here.”
Emma’s eyes snapped open, now lacking any warmth they previously had. “Not so fast. Girls?” She purred and Brielle’s friends stepped in Brielle’s way. Emma snapped her fingers and the girls grabbed Brielle by the arms, forcing her back into the chair.
“What… what are you doing?!”
Emma picked up a brick, turning it so Brielle could read it. Brielle’s mouth fell open.
“Friends.”
“I pulled it while you were busy trying to leave.” Emma purred. “They’re my friends now, isn’t that right girls?”
“Of course babes.” One replied with a smirk while the others nodded in agreement. Lithe cheerleaders with perfect makeup who once laughed at Emma, now followed her lead.
Brielle now started to look worried. “No you can’t-”
“I just did bitch, and I’m not done taking what you have left.” Emma sneered. “Now pick one.”
“No! Emma don’t do this! You’re a good person! I just wanted your brains to pass my finals, I’m sorry I ever started this.” Brielle said starting to well up.
Emma stood and walked over to Brielle who seemed to shrink even smaller. Emma leaned in, brushing a long painted nail under Brielle’s trembling chin.
“I used to be a compassionate, empathetic person. But that was before you freed me of those weaknesses.” She said with cold disdain. She looked to one of her new friends and nodded. The girl grabbed Brielle’s arm and twisted it as Emma sat back down.
“Pick one loser and I won’t have your arm broken. Don’t worry we’ll let you go… eventually.” Emma smirked and the girls giggled.
For the next half an hour, the two girls pulled brick after brick with Emma always seemingly to take the good stuff. Before long she had bigger breasts, plumper lips, silky smooth hair and a cheerleaders physique to die for. Not to mention Brielle’s ruthlessness, her cunning and even her style which manifested itself in Emma’s clothes becoming tight and revealing, her sensible flats turning into expensive heels.
Brielle meanwhile continuously pulled the weaker aspects of her opponent. She now wore Emma’s thick glasses and sported her paler, blotchier skin. She was riddled with self doubt, had an urge volunteer, had a rising interest in sci-fi books, even her voice seemed to drop several levels of volume.
“Can we please stop? You’ve taken everything from me.” Brielle said barely above a whisper.
Emma was checking herself out in the nearby mirror, her eyes drinking in her new and improved form. Her mind raced with the wickedness she could accomplish and she couldn’t wait to start.
Rolling her eyes she sat back down in her chair. “Ugh fine if you’re going to be such a whiny bitch about it. Because I’m generous why don’t you pull your last one and then we can quit.” Emma said smirking like a Cheshire Cat.
Brielle looked at the very unsteady tower in front of her, she was almost certain one more would topple it. “At least whatever happens it will be over.” She thought to herself as she started to tug slowly at a brick.
As she nudged it out she managed to make out some of the lettering on the brick, “intelli” was all she could see but it gave her hope that she would finally get a win in this game.
However across the table Emma could sense the meagre joy in Brielle. Knowing that her enemy was finally happy with a brick, Emma knew it couldn’t mean anything good for herself. Lazily she kicked the leg of the table she was closest to. The tower began to wobble and Brielle let go of her brick to try and steady it but it was no good, all the pieces fell and spread out on the table.
Emma sighed and stood up. “What a fucking klutz, right girls?” Emma said and her new friends all giggled loyally. “I gave you one chance to come out of this with something positive and you even managed to scare that up. I’m doing you a favour taking all your best bits, at least now they’ll be put to good use.”
The girls swarmed around Emma like a moth to the flame, their new queen exuding power that they wanted to be close to. “Come on girls, let’s leave this loser to her little game.”
Emma turned on her heel and strode towards the door, grabbing a pair of black bunny ears that were strewn on the vanity, one of Brielle’s discarded options. Brielle had always presented to the world a vision of herself that was more pure than she seemed, wearing white to lure victims of her sharp tongue into a false sense of security.
Emma on the other hand wanted nothing more than to have people fear her, to have them see her coming and cower. She wanted people to know she was an evil bitch and black seemed like the best way to convey that. She opened the door that led back into the sorority party that was in full swing. It was her sorority now, her world, her people. Brielle was done and Emma was just getting started.
George ground his teeth in frustration as his wife Amy turned her head away from him and squeezed her eyes shut in irritation - refusing to listen to him. He persisted anyway.
"She HAS to go Amy. This is getting ridiculous."
"She's my fucking sister George. She hasn't got anywhere else to go! I can't just throw her out. Please stop asking me!"
George felt hot bile in his gut. The couple had NEVER argued before Lauren had started freeloading at their house. Lauren had ruined everything. His wife's sister was driving a wedge between them and destroying their marriage.
She had entered their home like a cuckoo. At first it was because she just needed a place to crash after a breakup with her scummy boyfriend but then she had never left. Days had turned to months, had turned to a year and Lauren showed no interest in moving out and getting her own place.
She was a poisonous influence in the home. She whispered ideas into Amy's head and made George feel insecure. Lauren was kind of a bitch. She was hot and mean and she saw men as objects to be used.
She thought her sister was a simp for hooking up with such a loser like George and was clearly trying to destroy their relationship.
"Marriage is so old fashioned and there are so many hot guys out there you could have enjoyed before settling for HIM," purred Lauren one night when George listened at the door. "It isn't too late to get a good divorce lawyer..."
Lauren was super hot. She'd had work done and was proud of her enhanced breasts and body. She appeared to work from home, and was kind of mysterious about what she did. George suspected it was probably OnlyFans or something similar. She'd taken over the spare room and refused to let him enter. She refused to pay rent, but did contribute to groceries and she was at least clean and tidy.
George wanted her gone though.
And if Amy wouldn't listen, he'd just have to confront Lauren directly...
***
BANG BANG.
Lauren opened her door with an irritated expression as George pounded on it. "I want to talk to you," he demanded as she eyed him levelly.
"Oh really?" she laughed, her pretty pink lips twisting into an sneer of amusement. "You mean you want to bitch and cry about how angry I make you and how much you want me to leave?"
George balled his fists. "Something like that. I'm sick of you and this bullshit. You're leaving... today."
Lauren laughed. "Ohhh George, you are funny. You're almost adorable. If I wasn't getting so tired of your antics I'd keep you around to amuse me, but to be honest I can't wait to make this place male-free and release my sister from your bullshit."
Lauren stepped forward with a wicked look in her eyes. In her hands she held a strange looking pebble carved with odd looking runes.
"Men are weak George. You have your uses... but only when you're under the control of a woman. Amy needs the male influence in her life removed and I want to live with my sister without all this bullshit. That's why you're the one who is going to have to go."
She clenched the pebble and George suddenly groaned as an icy cold sensation clutched his heart and he felt a strange numb feeling spread through his body.
"It's taken me a while to craft this George. It's a Fate stone... carefully calibrated to your being. It wasn't hard to collect what I needed... hair, toe nail clippings and so on. The ritual allowed me to link the stone to your soul and now when I hold it I can feel all the strands of your history and destiny stretching out before me. You're my toy now George. I can tweak and tug those strands and change ANYTHING I want. You're completely at my mercy."
George groaned as his legs went weak and he sank to the floor.
"Fuck yes. Let's start by tearing the strands that bind you to my sister. I'm going to tear you out of the timeline and make it so you're an actual nobody."
Clenching the pebble Lauren held it up and laughed as it glowed. George screamed as his life was suddenly torn apart. Around them the room shimmered and changed. Pictures of George and Amy blurred and became different as Lauren ripped him from the timeline.
The apartment changed. All male traces vanishing as it became decorated in a more feminine style. Now there were pictures of Lauren and Amy hugging and having nights out with their friends. Now George was no more Amy wouldn't even remember him.
"Hahah oh fuck this is so hot. It actually works. I've removed you from history. You're a nobody George. You don't have a job, a family, a bank account. You literally just ceased to exist. Only I and you remember how things used to be."
George gasped. "Nooo this can't be. Put things back."
Lauren laughed. "Oh I'm going to put things back, but the way I want them to be. You're my doll now George. I want to play with you. I always wanted a niece you see. It would be hot to have a younger woman around here, someone who I can be a real role-model too. I'm going to change your personal history."
Holding the pebble tightly, Lauren laughed manically her eyes blazing with evil delight as strands of pink light shot from the rock and writhed over George's body.
"That's right my slutty little niece. Let Auntie Lauren turn you into a naughty little bitch. George is going to be no more. It's time for Jorgie to rise."
George gasped as Lauren reshaped the strands of his fate. He tried to fight but it was hopeless. He grew younger and smaller, his large body popping and cracking as he shrunk to become small and petite.
"Yessss that's it, you're going to love being a girl," exulted Lauren gripping the pebble tighter.
George moaned, feeling his waist crunch in and his hips crack out. His body ached, but felt so good. Youth and vitality flowed through him and the toned muscles of a gymnast or cheerleader spread down his body.
George's short hair began to lengthen and grow. It turned blonde and silky falling around his head in a stylish and expensive cut. Perfect white teeth were bared in a moan of pleasure as pouty pink lips parted and George's Adam's apple retracted.
"Ohhhh fuckkkkk," gasped George in a bratty high pitched voice as his fingernails lengthened and his chest began to itch.
"Oooooohhhh fuckkkkkk," moaned George as his dick sucked in between his legs and his chest began to swell. Two full firm breasts pushed slowly out even as a tight pink pussy opened between his legs and Jorgie, Amy's eighteen year old daughter was born into a new reality.
George's clothes changed... makeup shimmered across his features and with a final cracking pop his ass swelled out and his features changed to become pretty and feminine. Inside his body his new organs finished rearranging themselves as the changes that made him a woman completed.
To all intents and purposes George no longer existed. There was only Jorgie now.
Brushing back the strands of blonde hair from her face, Jorgie sat up and began to cry. "Wh.. what have you done to me?"
"I've given you a gift some people would kill for. I've transformed you into my hot and popular eighteen year old niece Jorgie. Your old life doesn't exist anymore. From now on you can call me Auntie."
"But I don't know anything about being a girl," whined Jorgie in her bratty new voice.
"I know. Isn't it fun? I've left your memories and your personality completely intact. You have a woman's body and life, but you're going to have to learn how to adapt to it. I've made a few changes to help you adjust. For example you're now attracted to men and feel nothing sexual towards girls. I've also removed your attraction to Amy - you love her now as a daughter... isn't that sweet?"
Jorgie began to cry and Lauren slapped her hard. Shocked Jorgie surged to her feet in anger.
"That's more like it. Pull yourself together. You're a fucking popular brat not some loser. You're stuck in this new body and life. If you don't want to hurt your Mom's feelings you'll learn to conform to your new destiny and learn to be a girl. Don't worry my dear. Your Auntie is here to help with that."
Sliding an arm around her new protege's shoulders Lauren leaned in conspiratorially. "In fact I think you'll eventually come to enjoy being my niece."
***
A YEAR LATER
Jorgie giggled as she spun the wheel of her car and roared into the drive of her house.
It was hot girl summer and she had places to be, like at the beach. She'd had to stop by home though quickly and grab a few things.
She hoped she still had those XXXL condoms in her dresser. She and Brad had been doing it so often recently that they'd run out and there had been none at the store.
She guessed she could always let him do anal if there were none left. There was always plenty of lube.
Humming a pop song she dashed inside and seeing Auntie Lauren gave her a peck on the cheek.
It was weird how close she and Lauren were these days. She fucking loved her Aunt. She loved everything about her life. It had taken her a while to adjust of course... to realise this was better to stop fighting.
Lauren had been instrumental in that. She'd helped Jorgie understand that girls really were better. It had been weird at first, everyone at college expecting her to act like a popular bully.
She hadn't liked it at first. It felt wrong to bully people. Until she'd realised how much fun it was. Until she realised they deserved it for being such losers.
Lauren had helped introduce her to makeup and fashion. Well at first. Pretty soon Jorgie was finding her own sense of style. As she became more and more the hot popular party girl everyone believed her to be it was easy to play that role without any help.
She'd gone along with it all. Her resistance had dropped. She was still George, but a George living in a female body and in all honesty enjoying it.
Jorgie was just him - but a him able to embrace every facet and advantage of being a horny blonde nineteen year old.
Finding the condoms shed been looking for, Jorgie put them into her handbag along with some more lube and one of her vibrators. First she'd head to Brad's for some fun and then maybe they'd hit the beach.
Meanwhile Lauren and Amy continued to live as sisters. Amy loved being a single Mom in a house of women and Lauren was there to support her.
They'd even talked about doing some OnlyFans stuff together once Jorgie felt ready.
Jorgie had come to love and admire her auntie. After all - she did really matter...
This story is for the incomparable @misseviehyde. Hope she and everyone else enjoys it!
Ally adjusted the tripod legs one last time, the soles of her sneakers sinking into the soft beach sand. She wiped the sweat from her brow and peeked up at the sky through thick rimmed glasses, the moon already beginning its slow crawl across the sun. She smiled. It would be a perfect view. Alone, finally, with her telescope.
She pulled out a small folding chair, scribbled a few notes in her weathered astronomy journal, and looked up again. Then laughter cracked through the air that made her shiver.
“Oh my God, look at her.” Came the unmistakable voice of Tessa. Ally tensed.
Tessa was the queen bee of their high school. All tanned skin, cropped tops, and cruel smiles. Her gang wasn’t far behind, beach bags slung over shoulders, phones out and recording.
Ally tried to ignore them, tilting her telescope higher. She knew she should have picked a more isolated spot.
“What’s that, your virgin detector?” Tessa kicked a little sand at the legs of Ally’s tripod. “Gonna find aliens with that thing, or just more losers like you?”
Ally flinched but didn’t reply. The eclipse was minutes away.
“I said.” Tessa stepped closer, eyes glinting, “What are you even doing out here? This is a beach, nerd. Not a science lab.”
Ally reached for her telescope again, but Tessa grabbed her wrist and yanked her away. The tripod tipped.
“No!” Ally cried, trying to catch it. The telescope hit the sand with a thud. Tessa snorted. “Oops.”
A sudden chill crept over the beach. The moon had almost fully covered the sun. Shadows warped. The air shimmered. Ally looked up, her heart pounding. “You’re ruining it.”
Tessa rolled her eyes and shoved her. “Relax dork, like anyone cares.” The light changed. Dimmed. A dark halo flared around the blackened sun. Ally could feel electricity in the air and watched as Tessa’s hair started to levitate.
Tessa’s smirk faded as her hands, still gripping Ally’s shoulders, started to sink into her like mist meeting water. “What the?”
Ally convulsed. A glow pulsed through her skin, violet and silver. Tessa cried out and tried to pull back, but her arms were stuck. Her face twisted in horror as she was pulled into Ally’s chest with one long slurping sound.
Ally collapsed onto her beach towel. For a moment, the beach was silent. Tessa’s friends, like everyone else on the beach, were transfixed by the eclipse to notice the weird science it was creating with Ally and Tessa.
Ally’s oversized hoody shrank and morphed into what could generously be called a bikini top, her old worn jeans turning into a matching bottom. Her skin started to glow with a golden tan.
Her body changed next, becoming curved, sculpted, with legs long and lean, breasts fuller, and a tighter waist. Her lips tingled as they plumped up, becoming instantly kissable.
She felt the heat of her new body. The strength. The power. And something else. Memories.
Not just Tessa’s. Not just Ally’s. Hers. A lifetime of being both. The hours spent stargazing and dreaming of more, followed by the day she decided to stop hiding and instead to start taking. She remembered being mocked… and then making them afraid to try. She remembered being invisible and then impossible to ignore.
These weren’t the memories of Ally or Tessa, but of someone new. The name came out of the ether and became as natural to as breathing. She was Alyssa. She had always been Alyssa. The bitch, the babe, the queen bee. Every dork’s nightmare and every guy’s wet dream.
She looked at her French manicure and rolled her hands over her body, feeling it as though she always had it. She was going to enjoy being the alpha from now on.
One of the girls turned around to see where Tessa had disappeared to but finding only a new beauty in her place. However after a moment the name Tessa seemed foreign to her, like it was someone she knew in a past life. “Alyssa? You okay?”
Alyssa tilted her head, letting the sun’s returning light gleam off her perfect physique. “Never better babes.”
They other girls looked at her for a long moment, as the new reality settled in their minds. Then they smiled and gravitated towards their leader, gaming over her.
“Oh my God, Alyssa, you have to tell me where you bought your bikini.” One said.
“Totes, you look banging babe.” Another added.
“Wait till the guys see you.” The last sycophant said but Alyssa ate it all up.
Alyssa smirked. “Well, let’s not keep them waiting.”
She walked away, hips swaying, the queen of a world rewritten by the eclipse, leaving behind the broken telescope, now half buried in the sand. A relic from another life, a life she was about to totally eclipse.
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