Marissa sighed to herself as she walked to the parking garage at the end of her last day. She was really going to miss working at St. Anthony’s. Well, that wasn’t quite true - she wouldn’t miss the hospital, exactly. It was a mismanaged mess that drained the life out of her on a regular basis. She’d miss her colleagues, though. Okay, actually, that wasn’t quite true, either - she’d miss the other nurses. Most of them. Not so much the doctors or surgeons, who tended to be arrogant, demanding, and unappreciative.
So the budget cuts that led to her being laid off were a blessing in disguise, maybe. It seemed like a horrible thing at first, but really, Marissa had been looking for an excuse to try her luck elsewhere for a while now. There weren’t really a lot of other opportunities in terms of hospitals, of course - they were a rural location, and options were slim. But Marissa had lucked out hugely. Some billionaire investor had a home in the area, where he was moving full-time, and he had health concerns that required a full-time, live-in nurse. It was a huge commitment, but Marissa was young and unattached. The pay was incredible, too - close to quadruple what she made now. If nothing else, she’d do it for a little bit and build up a nice nest egg.
Marissa was lost in this house. Like, literally lost.
It was by far the largest home she’d ever seen in her life. From the outside, it was a modernist dream. All smoked glass and broad, rough-hewn timbers, it seemed to retreat into the wooded land it was built on, hiding the sheer size of it. Inside, it was sleek and tasteful, and the simple minimalist fixtures hid corridors and hallways connecting the various wings of the house.
It was a gorgeous place, really. And for the life of her, Marissa couldn’t figure out how to get to the study.
Her boss - Todd Underhill, mysterious billionaire, tech and biomed genius, jet-setting philanthropist - had given her a tour, of course. He’d shown her all around the place, all the shortcuts and faux-servant’s corridors. It was all very overwhelming, but she’d figured that she’d get it down before long. She was a quick learner, after all.
But here she was, a week into her new job, wandering blindly between the kitchen and the den for the fourth time.
She sighed and plucked her cell phone from her pocket, pressing the redial button. “Hi - yeah, Mr. Underhill, I’m lost again. Yeah. The kitchen. Okay, see you in a minute.”
She sighed, waiting for him to come rescue her. How embarrassing.
Two weeks in, and Marissa couldn’t figure out why Mr. Underhill needed her here full time.
He had some health issues, to be sure. His heart wasn’t the strongest, and it definitely needed to be monitored. That was exacerbated by the way he worked - frequently, he’d be up for thirty hours straight, plugging away at some indecipherable project in his lab. He talked about issues he used to have - fainting spells, sleepwalking - that made him want to have an extra pair of eyes available. But even if that made sense, he was hidden away so much of the time that Marissa barely saw him most days.
Still, he was a good employer - low demands, and very appreciative of her time. And with all her living expenses covered by staying with him, she could already see what a great gig this was going to be in terms of her future budget.
Marissa looked at herself in the mirror, leaning in closer, her nose nearly touching the glass. Something was definitely different. Not bad, but… different. Her skin was clearer. Her eyes were brighter. More than that, though, her face just looked different in a way she couldn’t pin down. She’d been here with Mr. Underhill for… five weeks now? Maybe six?… and in that time, she’d never felt better. She was getting plenty of exercise - her bedroom had a private gym attached with a gorgeous view of the nearby lake. She was eating well - fresh, homecooked meals she prepared for the two of them every day. No more greasy takeout!
So it wasn’t a surprise, really, that she’d lost weight and toned up a little. But the weird thing was her face. It just looked different. Honestly, she had to admit to herself, she looked hot.
Three months into her job, and Marissa was finally burning some of the cash from her new paychecks. The confusing physical changes hadn’t stopped, and they got weirder. Her legs were thicker, toned. Her stomach retreated. Those she chalked up to diet and exercise, but that didn’t explain when her hips seemed to widen, or her breasts expanding.
Strangely, though, Marissa didn’t really fuss about those changes. Her stress level since taken this job had plummeted. After years of non-stop hospital panics and demands, she felt like she was swimming in pure tranquility. She had zen mindfulness up to here. So her body was changing a little - so what? She was healthy, happy, and stable. Everything was great.
It did mean, though, that a lot of her clothes didn’t hang correctly anymore. She had some sweats and tshirts that still did the job, but those just felt wrong. In a beautiful place like this, bumming around like a college freshman felt inappropriate somehow. Marissa didn’t examine that feeling too closely. She didn’t examine many things very closely, in fact. She was operating on emotion and instinct these days, and it felt fantastic.
So when she found herself drawn to more daring, risque outfits, she ordered up a few online. Sure, they were the kind of thing she’d have dismissed as tawdry, or even slutty, at one time in her life. But hell, she had disposable income and a killer bod all of a sudden. Why not have fun with both?
Marissa was putting on her makeup somewhere in the fifth month of her employment when she realized she hadn’t given any sort of medical treatment to Mr. Underhill in weeks. She thought about that for a minute or two, then giggled at how weird it was. She went back to applying her mascara.
Seven months in, and Marissa’s body seemed to have finally leveled out. She was in the best shape of her life - she had energy for days, and felt limber in ways she never knew were possible. She spent two hours doing yoga every morning before getting up to fix Mr. Underhill’s breakfast. Her breasts were perfect - round and gravity-defying, and they complimented her toned, perky body perfectly. Her hair had grown out and had a brighter tone to it than every before. She looked fucking gorgeous.
Mentally, things were a bit off, still. She was forgetful - frequently, she’d find herself wandering the halls, unsure where she was going or coming from. Recently she’d found one of her old medical reference texts that she’d brought with her when she moved in. Something about anatomy. The whole thing was so dry and technical she couldn’t believe she’d ever read it.
Honestly, Marissa wasn’t sure how she spent most days. She’d clean and cook for Mr. Underhill, and he’d hide away, working on… molecules, or whatever. She’d work out, read magazines, surf the internet… and then it’d be the next day, and she’d do it all over again.
She lived in a kind of pleasant, constant haze, and she couldn’t have been happier.
Eleven months in, Marissa was determined to get Mr. Underhill to fuck her.
It wasn’t a sudden thought, exactly. She’d been daydreaming about it for… well, time didn’t really mean anything here, so she didn’t know. A while, at least. Somewhere over the last few months, she’d started noticing she was horny. Like, all the time. She’d wake up feeling warm and yummy and needy, and she’d rub herself lazily in bed. Her yoga routine had taken on a writhing, squirming quality, and somewhere along the line she’d added a pole-dancing element.
(When did that pole show up in the gym, anyway?)
She was pleasantly, distractingly hot at all hours of the day. She’d touch herself whenever she was alone - which was often, as Mr. Underhill was such a busy man. She wouldn’t get herself off, though. She’d get riiiiight to the hot, gasping, desperate edge of an orgasm, and then slide away from it. She hadn’t cum in… months, probably? She wasn’t sure. She was in a lovely, lusty fog at all time.
So it only made sense that she’d want to fuck her boss. He was hot, he was rich, he was available. Why not? She just had to get him to see what a wet-hot, eager, steaming little piece of ass she was.
On the one-year anniversary of Marissa’s employment, Mr. Underhill said he had a surprise for her.
She came to dinner with him that night in a blood-red dress that barely covered… well, anything. She was all legs and curves and cleavage, squeezed into the clingy fabric in a way that made it clear that even a deep breath would make her spill everywhere. She ate slowly, watching him the whole time. She could feel herself leaking on her chair.
After they ate, Mr. Underhill spoke for a while. He talked about the past year, and the project he’d been working on. It was some kind of super-small molecule thingy that he could put in the air. Apparently if you got a lot of them into a person, you could like… edit stuff about them, using a computer program. Like, change how they looked, or what kinda stuff they thought about. It was pretty technical, and Marissa didn’t follow most of it. She tried to look engaged, though, batting her eyes at him the whole time.
She didn’t really understand what any of this had to do with her. Eventually, while he was describing the neurowhatever thingy that worked with the imprinting whatchamacallit, he told her to stand up and bend over, with her palms and elbows on the table. Marissa knocked her chair to the floor in her eagerness, her whole body flushing with delight at obeying his command.
He walked behind her, running his hands up her hips, tugging up her dress. She of course wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She whimpered with pleasure and need as he caressed her firm, rounded ass. He kept talking, describing the way the molecule overrode the brain’s pleasure centers or something, but she couldn’t focus. Her head was swimming.
She was dripping wet when his cock plunged into her. She came instantly, her brain absolutely shutting down. She blacked out with pleasure. She came again, seconds later, and then again. She lost track as he sawed into her, thrusting deep, still talking, still telling her all about his discovery and how it was going to change the world. Marissa’s world, meanwhile, was collapsing to a single, solitary point of light in front of her eyes. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. She fell onto the table, maybe. He held her up. Her body was limp, liquid. He kept fucking her. She hoped he’d never, ever stop. She wanted to be fucked into infinity, into oblivion. She wanted nothing else.
Marissa didn’t really get the joke when Mr. Underhill gave her the new uniform. She didn’t remember being a nurse anymore. She didn’t remember much. All she knew was her perfect life - fucking Mr. Underhill whenever he wanted. She did other things, of course. Her daily routine stayed mostly the same, really. She just added a lot of sexual duties to it. That was the most important part of her day - of her life, really. Fucking, and sucking, and showing off her tight, perfect body for her boss.
He brought lots of other guys over sometimes. Other like, tech-y nerd types. They talked a lot about brain stuff and bio-this and plasticity-that. Marissa never understood a word of it, but she sat with them and smiled and nodded and sucked and danced and whatever else Mr. Underhill needed. The nerdy guys always left excited, talking about ladies they knew, and they gave Mr. Underhill lots of money.
Marissa knew that her life used to be different. Vaguely, at least. She had cloudy memories of being stressed, or working hard at… something. It was hard to picture. The only thing she knew for sure is that she never, ever had to worry anymore. Life with Mr. Underhill was perfect. She was so grateful. And she knew exactly how Mr. Underhill liked her to show her gratitude to him.
