Blackout

Todd scrolled through the app store with one hand, half-watching Ryan flick through channels on the sofa opposite. Sunday afternoon. Boredom so thick you could choke on it.

"Bro, I'm dying here," Ryan groaned. "There's nothing on."

Todd wasn't listening. An ad had popped up — sleek, black, with a pink-and-white shimmer effect dancing across the preview. BLACKOUT FILTER. Make your world Snowbunnyfied. The tagline sat beneath a carousel of before-and-after shots that made Todd's thumb stop dead.

"What's that?" he muttered to himself, already tapping download.

The install took three seconds. No permissions prompt. No terms of service. Just a black icon with a little white rabbit silhouette, sitting on his home screen like it had always been there.

Todd opened it. The interface was almost too simple — a camera view with one button. A toggle. BLACKOUT: OFF.

"What're you messing with?" Ryan asked, glancing over.

"Some filter thing. Says it makes everything look…" Todd squinted at the description. Snowbunnyfied. "I dunno. Probably stupid. Come here — let me test it on you."

Ryan shrugged and lolled off the sofa, shuffling over with that lanky, slouched walk of his. Six foot one, brown hair that needed a cut, a face that was fine but forgettable. He stood in front of Todd's phone with his hands in his pockets.

"Smile or whatever," Todd said.

He toggled the filter to ON.

The viewfinder shimmered.

Todd's stomach dropped.

The image on screen wasn't Ryan anymore. It was a girl — a stunning, giggly, blue-eyed blonde with a wide, bratty smile and a body that looked poured into a tiny pink top. Plump, round tits. Hips that flared out from a cinched waist. Lips full and glossy and slightly parted. She wore a gold chain with a little rabbit pendant, and her hair fell in perfect beachy waves over bare, tanned shoulders.

The phone label read: Rylee.

"What the fuck," Todd whispered.

He looked up from the screen.

Ryan was gone.

In his place stood a girl — the girl — the one from the filter. Rylee. She was real. Three-dimensional. Standing right there in Ryan's clothes, which now hung off her transformed body in absurd, impossible ways. Ryan's old band tee was stretched tight across a pair of breasts that simply should not exist on a Sunday afternoon in this living room. His jeans had become low-rise jean shorts that hugged the swell of her ass like they'd been painted on.

She was shorter — five foot five, maybe — and her skin was golden and smooth, not a single flaw. Her toes, peeking out of what were now strappy sandals, were painted bubblegum pink. Her fingernails matched. The gold rabbit pendant sat in her cleavage like it belonged there.

Todd's mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Rylee blinked those big blue eyes and beamed at him.

"Omg, Todd! Are you gonna take the pic or just stare at me like a weirdo?" She laughed — a bright, musical, empty little giggle that hit Todd somewhere behind his ribs. She tossed her hair. "Like, hello? Earth to Todd?"

"You — you're—"

"Rylee? Duh? We've been besties since forever, dummy." She put her hands on her hips, pushing her chest out. "Did you hit your head or something?"

Todd looked at the phone. The filter was still on. The screen showed Rylee, live, real-time — pouting now, impatient.

He looked back at her.

No memory of Ryan. None at all. Those blue eyes were empty of anything except mild annoyance and a kind of glowing, bratty self-assurance.

"Todd. Hello." She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "I need a new profile pic and you're, like, wasting daylight. Take the shot already."

His thumb moved on its own. He took the photo.

Rylee snatched the phone, cooed at her own image, and typed something rapid with one acrylic nail. "Perfect. Okay — come on, we're going to mine. I need to change and Blake's coming over later and I look trash in this."

She was already walking toward the door. Todd followed because his legs didn't know what else to do.

—

Rylee's house was not Ryan's house.

Ryan lived in a three-bed semi with a leaking gutter and a dad who worked night shifts. Rylee lived in a mansion — white columns, circular drive, manicured hedgerows. A Mercedes and a Range Rover sat in the open garage.

"My parents are, like, whatever," Rylee said as she punched a code into the front door. "Daddy's golfing. Mommy's at her spa thing. They literally don't care what I do." She said this with the casual pride of someone who'd never been told no in her life.

The inside was all marble and glass and fresh flowers. Rylee kicked off her sandals and padded barefoot across the cool floor, her ass swaying in the too-big shorts she'd somehow kept hitched up.

"Make yourself useful and fix me a drink, yeah? Diet Coke, lots of ice. Kitchen's that way." She pointed without looking at him and disappeared up the spiral staircase.

Todd stood in the foyer of a house that, twelve minutes ago, had not existed. His brain was doing something between screaming and rebooting. He found the kitchen. He fixed the Diet Coke. He brought it outside to the pool area because where else would she be?

Rylee was already there.

She'd changed.

Gone were the borrowed shorts and stretched tee. She stood at the pool's edge in a bikini that could generously be described as string and intention — white, tiny, triangular patches barely covering her nipples and a bottom that vanished between the cheeks of her ass. Her body was absurd. Gym-toned and soft in all the right places. Her breasts were full and round and heavy, the kind that defied the bikini's engineering. Her stomach was flat. Her ass was a thick, sculpted curve that caught the afternoon light.

She'd put on more lip gloss. She'd touched up her mascara. Gold anklet. Diamond studs. She looked like a girl who'd been bred, built, and polished for one specific purpose and knew it.

"About time," she said, taking the Diet Coke without thanking him. She sipped, surveyed the pool, and lowered herself onto a lounger with a satisfied sigh. "Mmmmmh. This is better."

Todd sat on a chair at the pool's edge, phone still in his hand, the Blackout app still open. He stared at it. The toggle sat at ON. A small line of text beneath it read: 1 transformation active.

One. Just Rylee. Just Ryan — erased, overwritten, replaced by this bratty, perfect creature who didn't even know he'd ever been anything else.

And Rylee was already texting someone, her thumbs flying, her glossed lips pursed in a smirk.

Blake. 20 min. Bring drinks. Don't be late this time or I'll be mad.

She hit send and looked up at Todd with those empty, sparkling eyes.

"Blake's coming. You can stay but, like — don't be weird about it, okay? He's mine."

—

Blake arrived in a blacked-out SUV with tinted windows and a bass-heavy stereo. He was tall — six two, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, with a jawline that could cut glass and the easy, confident swagger of someone who'd never doubted his place in the world for a single second.

Rylee practically vibrated off the lounger.

"Blake!" She skipped toward him — actually skipped — and launched herself into his arms. He caught her with one arm, her legs wrapping around his waist, and kissed her deep and open-mouthed while Todd watched from his poolside chair.

"Mmmmmh, I missed you," Rylee purred against his mouth. Her fingers were already in his hair, her hips already grinding against his stomach.

"You saw me Thursday, girl."

"Too long." She bit his lower lip. "Too long."

Blake carried her to the pool's edge and set her down on the first step. Water lapped at their ankles. Rylee reached for his belt with practiced fingers.

Todd cleared his throat.

Blake looked up. Noticed Todd for the first time. Raised an eyebrow at Rylee.

"He's fine," Rylee said, not even glancing at Todd. "He's just my friend. He won't be weird. Will you, Todd."

It wasn't a question.

Todd shook his head. What else could he do?

Rylee pulled Blake's belt open. Unzipped him. Reached in.

"Oooooh," she breathed, and her whole face changed — softer, hungrier, her blue eyes going half-lidded. "There he is."

She pulled him out and Todd's stomach clenched because Blake was huge. Thick, long, heavy, and not even fully hard yet. Rylee wrapped both hands around him and there was still room for her mouth.

She looked up at Blake with pure, adoring sluttiness and licked from base to tip in one slow, wet stroke.

"Mmmmmh. I love this cock so much."

Todd sat rigid in his chair. His own cock — average, unremarkable — was hard in his jeans and he hated himself for it. He watched Rylee sink her mouth down over Blake's shaft, watched her cheeks hollow, watched her throat bulge as she took him deeper than Todd thought physically possible. She made wet, sloppy, happy sounds — little moans and gurgles and muffled squeals of delight.

Blake's hand gathered her blonde hair into a ponytail and held it. He started moving his hips.

"That's it, baby. Take it."

Rylee's eyes watered. Her mascara ran. She didn't care. She was in heaven.

Todd watched his former best friend — the quiet, lanky guy who played video games and ate cold pizza for breakfast — get facefucked by the pool in a mansion that shouldn't exist, wearing a bikini that shouldn't be legal, loving every second of it with a body that had been designed by something Todd didn't understand.

Blake pulled out and Rylee gasped, drool trailing from her lips to his cock. She grinned up at him, wrecked and radiant.

"Pool. Now."

They moved into the water. Blake sat on the pool's edge with his legs in the water and Rylee straddled him, bikini bottom pulled aside, and sank down onto him with one long, shuddering, satisfied moan.

"Fuuuuuck yes — yes — right there, right there—"

She rode him with her head thrown back and her tits bouncing free — the bikini top had been discarded somewhere in the water — and her nails raking his shoulders. Water splashed around them. Her ass clapped against his thighs on every downstroke.

Todd could hear everything. The wet slap of skin. The slosh of water. Rylee's high, breathy moans. Blake's deep, rumbling groans. The dirty, pornographic squish of her taking him to the root over and over.

"Oh God — Blake — your cock is so fucking big — I'm gonna — I'm gonna—"

She came with a squeal that echoed off the mansion walls, her whole body shaking, her thighs clamping around him. Blake held her hips and thrust up into her through the orgasm, extending it, drawing it out until she was a trembling, whimpering mess.

Then he stood — still inside her — carried her to the poolside, laid her on the warm tiles, and started fucking her for real. Long, deep, deliberate strokes that made Rylee's eyes roll back.

"Take it, baby. Take all of it."

"Yes — yes — give it to me — I'm yours — I'm your slut — use me—"

Todd watched. Transfixed. Jealous. Hard. Confused. Alone.

Blake pulled out at the end and Rylee dropped to her knees on the poolside, mouth open, tongue out, eyes closed. He stroked himself twice, three times, and came across her face in thick, heavy ropes — her cheeks, her lips, her chin, her chest, her tits. Rylee moaned through the whole thing like it was the best gift she'd ever received.

When he was done, she opened her eyes and looked up at him with cum dripping from her lashes.

"Mmmmmh. Perfect."

She scooped a strand from her breast and licked her fingers clean, grinning.

Todd's phone buzzed in his hand. He looked down.

The Blackout app was open. The toggle sat at ON. Below it, new text: Snowbunny protocol: 1 active. User eligible.

And beneath that, a new button he hadn't seen before.

SELFIE MODE.

Todd's thumb hovered.

He looked at Rylee — glazed in cum, glowing, happy in a way Ryan had never been. He looked at Blake — spent, satisfied, leaning back on his elbows with the easy confidence of a god.

He looked at the button.

User eligible.

His own face reflected in the dark screen. Plain. Forgettable. The kind of face that watched and never participated.

(You could be like her.)

The thought came from somewhere deep and warm.

(You could be her. Not watching. Doing. Not jealous. Envied.)

His thumb was shaking.

(Just one photo. One selfie. That's all it takes.)

Todd raised the phone. The front camera activated. The filter shimmered across his reflection and for a split second he saw her — a sharp-faced, bratty blonde with high cheekbones and a wicked smile, gold hoops in her ears, a body that could stop traffic.

Tandi.

The name appeared on screen like it had always been his.

Todd's thumb pressed the button.

The flash went off — not white, but pink — and Todd felt the world lurch.

—

The first thing Tandi felt was warmth. Sun on her skin. Lots of skin.

The second thing she felt was weight on her chest — heavy, full, round weight that shifted when she breathed. She looked down.

Big tits. Huge tits. Bare and golden in the sunlight, with cum still glistening on—

Wait.

Tandi blinked. She was kneeling by a pool. There was cum on her chest. There was a tall, gorgeous, dark-skinned man lying nearby with his cock out. And there was a blonde girl — another blonde girl — sitting next to her, also covered in cum, grinning at her.

"Tandi! Omg, finally — I was starting to think you'd, like, fallen asleep or something." Rylee bumped her shoulder. "You okay, babe?"

Tandi's mouth opened. Her voice came out higher, breathier, with a bratty little rasp she didn't recognize.

"I — yeah. I'm good. I just…" She looked at the phone in her hand. A selfie stared back at her — a stunning, sharp-featured blonde with cat eyes and full lips and a body that made Rylee's look almost modest. Her hair was lighter than Rylee's — almost platinum — and shorter, falling to her collarbones in a sleek, styled cut. Gold hoops. A tiny black choker. A body that was all tight curves and gym-toned perfection.

She looked hot. She looked powerful. She looked like the kind of girl who'd never waited for anything in her life.

The phone screen read: 2 transformations active.

Tandi didn't know what that meant. She didn't know why she was at a pool. She didn't know why she had cum on her tits.

She didn't care.

"Blake," Rylee said, pointing at the man on the poolside. "Tandi hasn't had a turn yet."

Blake looked up. His eyes traveled over Tandi's body — the massive, round breasts, the tiny waist, the thick hips, the smooth, bare pussy — and his cock, which had been softening, started to stir again.

"Damn, girl. You're fine."

Tandi felt a rush of heat that started in her chest and flooded downward. Her nipples hardened. Her pussy throbbed. A hunger she'd never experienced — deep, urgent, insatiable — bloomed between her legs.

She looked at Blake's cock. It was getting hard again, thickening in his lap, and Tandi's mouth actually watered.

"Oooooh," she breathed, and a grin spread across her face — wicked, greedy, delighted. "Come here."

Blake stood up. His cock jutted out in front of him, and Tandi crawled forward on her knees — tits swaying, ass in the air — and took him in both hands.

"He's so big, Rylee," she giggled, and then she opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around the head.

Blake groaned. Rylee clapped her hands.

"Tandi! Slut!" Rylee laughed — proud, approving, like a coach watching her star player.

Tandi sucked him with an instinct she didn't know she had. She swirled her tongue. She took him deep. She gagged and loved it. She looked up at Blake with those sharp, cat-like eyes and he put his hand on the back of her head and pushed.

"Fuck, girl. Where'd you learn to suck cock like that?"

Tandi didn't know. She didn't care. She just knew she was good at it. Knew it in her bones. Knew it the way she knew how to breathe.

Rylee slid in beside her and the two of them shared him — licking up the shaft from opposite sides, kissing each other around his cock, tongues tangling, cum from Rylee's earlier glazing smearing between their lips and tits.

"Mmmmmh," Rylee moaned into the kiss. "You taste like me."

"You taste like him," Tandi whispered back, and they both giggled — bright, empty, hungry.

Blake pulled them both to their feet and into the pool. The water was warm. He bent Tandi over the pool edge first — she braced herself on the tiles, ass up, back arched, tits pressed against the warm stone — and entered her in one long, slow, devastating thrust.

"OH — fuck — FUCK—"

Tandi's eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open. She'd never felt anything like this — this fullness, this stretch — and her body responded instantly, clenching around him, pulling him deeper, her hips bucking back against him of their own accord.

"That's it, baby," Blake said, gripping her hips. "Take that dick."

Rylee sat on the pool edge in front of Tandi, legs spread, and pulled Tandi's face into her pussy.

"Lick me while he fucks you, babe. Please."

Tandi licked. She licked like she'd been born to do it — long, slow strokes up Rylee's slit, circling her clit, sucking gently while Rylee writhed and moaned above her. Blake fucked her from behind with deep, powerful strokes that pushed her face deeper into Rylee's cunt with every thrust.

The three of them moved together — wet, sloppy, obscene — and the sounds filled the pool area. Splashing water. Slapping skin. Two girls moaning in harmony. One man's deep, satisfied groans.

Tandi came first — hard, screaming into Rylee's pussy, her whole body convulsing around Blake's cock. Rylee came seconds later, grinding against Tandi's face, pulling her hair. Blake pulled out and stroked himself over both of them as they knelt together in the shallow water, faces up, mouths open, tongues touching.

He came across both of them — thick ropes striping Tandi's cheeks and Rylee's lips, pooling in the valley between Tandi's massive tits, dripping from Rylee's chin onto her chest.

Silence. Just breathing. Just the water. Just the sun.

Then Rylee turned to Tandi and, with a slow, deliberate tongue, licked a strand of cum from Tandi's cheek. Tandi shivered. She returned the favor — licking Blake's cum from Rylee's upper lip, then lower, then down to her collarbone, then down to her breast.

Rylee moaned and tilted her head back.

Tandi sucked the cum from Rylee's nipple. Then moved to the other one. Rylee returned the favor — leaning down to lap the pool of cum from Tandi's cleavage, her tongue dragging slow and hot between those enormous, perfect breasts.

"You're so hot," Rylee whispered.

"You're hotter," Tandi whispered back.

They kissed — deep, slow, cummy — and Blake watched from the pool edge with a satisfied smile.

—

Later. Sun loungers. Towels. Diet Cokes.

Tandi lay on her back, still naked, cum drying on her skin in places she couldn't be bothered to clean. She felt incredible. Every nerve ending was alive. Her body felt like a weapon. Her skin felt like silk. Her tits felt like two perfect, heavy trophies.

She picked up her phone. The Blackout app was still open. The toggle read ON. The text below now said: 2 transformations active. Snowbunny protocol: stable.

She didn't know what any of that meant.

She didn't care.

Rylee reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Best day ever, babe."

Tandi squeezed back. "Literally the best."

Her phone buzzed. A text from a number she didn't recognize: hey Tandi, it's Jake from the gym. Blake said you were looking for a workout partner?

Tandi grinned.

"Oooooh," she said. "Rylee. Rylee. Look at this."

Rylee leaned over, read the text, and her eyes went wide.

"Jake? Jake Jake? The one with the—"

"Yep."

"Oh my God." Rylee grabbed Tandi's arm. "Invite him over. Right now."

Tandi's thumb was already moving.

The sun was warm. The pool was still. Two perfect, bratty, cum-drunk blonde girls lay side by side in a mansion that existed because a filter had rewritten the world, and neither of them remembered being anyone else.

Life was definitely better when you live it through the right filter.

Read More

Kaylee Comes Home

Sarah and Mike Harlow sat at the kitchen table, phone propped between them, the glow of the Gen-Z Genie app casting pink light across their worried faces. Their daughter Emma had gone off to Westbrook College three months ago, and the calls home had gotten shorter, colder, stranger. She sounded different. Vague. Evasive. She'd always been a quiet girl—mousy, bookish, the kind of plain that fades into wallpaper—but now she barely texted back at all.

"She's not telling us everything," Sarah said, chewing her thumbnail. She was forty-four, still pretty in that soft, tired-mum way—brown hair going grey at the temples, comfortable cardigan, reading glasses pushed up on her head. "I just want to know she's alright."

Mike nodded. He was forty-six, broad and balding, the kind of dad who coached Sunday league and thought a pint solved most problems. "What if she's in with a bad crowd? Drugs, or—"

"Or worse," Sarah finished.

They'd found the app through a friend of a friend—some new thing the kids were using, supposedly just a bit of fun. You typed a wish, and a genie named Lexi granted it. Stupid, really. But desperation makes people stupid.

Sarah typed: I wish there was a way we could keep an eye on Emma at college.

The screen pulsed—then flared, and the phone let out a sharp, bratty laugh that sounded like it was coming from inside the room. Pink smoke poured from the screen. It coiled, thickened, shaped itself into something—someone—and then she was just there, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter like she owned the place.

Lexi.

She was maybe nineteen, maybe twenty—impossible to tell with girls like this. Platinum blonde hair pulled back in a high, tight ponytail that swung like a weapon when she tilted her head. Tan skin. Gym-toned body crammed into a tiny pink crop top and leggings that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Big round tits. Perfect ass. Acrylic nails. Glossy lips pulled into a smirk that said I'm better than you and we both know it. She was chewing gum. She popped a bubble and looked at them like they were bugs.

"So," Lexi said, voice dripping with that particular Gen-Z vocal fry—every word both a question and an insult. "You two sad old people want to spy on your loser daughter. That's adorable."

Mike stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor. "What the—who the hell—"

"Lexi." She examined her nails. "Your genie. Duh." She looked at Sarah, then Mike, then back to Sarah, and her smirk widened. "God, you guys are old. Like, aggressively old. No wonder your daughter doesn't call. I wouldn't call either."

Sarah's face flushed. "Now look here—"

"Shh." Lexi held up one perfectly manicured finger. "Adults talking. Well—" she gestured at herself, "adult talking. You two are just… background noise."

She hopped off the counter and circled them slowly, ponytail swishing. Sarah smelled her perfume—vanilla and something sharper, something electric that made her skin prickle. "Here's the thing," Lexi said, stopping in front of them. "I could just, like, tell you what Emma's up to. But that's boring. And I'm not boring." She popped her gum again. "I'm gonna do something way more fun."

She raised one hand, clicked her fingers—

SNAP.

—and a pink package materialised on the kitchen table, wrapped in tissue paper, appearing from absolutely nowhere. Inside, folded neatly, was what looked like a bodysuit—flesh-coloured, impossibly realistic, with a seam running up the back and a small tag that read: KAYLEE — SIZE: HOT — WEARER BECOMES KAYLEE. ONE SIZE FITS ALL. REMOVE SKIN BY PULLING TAB AT NAPE OF NECK.

"What the hell?" Mike held it up. It was uncannily detailed—perky breasts moulded into the chest, a flat stomach, the suggestion of toned arms and legs. It felt warm. Almost alive.

Lexi perched on the counter again, legs crossed, bouncing her foot. "It's a skin. You put it on, you become Kaylee. Hot little thing. Eighteen. Total bitch. Fits right in at college." She grinned. "Perfect for spying on your sad daughter."

Sarah touched it and shivered. The texture was wrong—too real, too warm, yielding under her fingers like actual flesh. Her thumb brushed the curve of one moulded breast and she felt a jolt low in her belly that had no business being there. Maybe I should try it on. Just to see. Just to see what it feels like to be young again. She blinked. Where had that thought come from?

Lexi's eyes flicked to Sarah's face and her grin sharpened, like she'd heard the thought. Like she'd enjoyed it.

"I'm going to try it," Sarah said.

"Sarah, no—"

"Oh my God, yes," Lexi interrupted, clapping her hands together. "This is gonna be so good. Go on, mum. Put it on. You know you want to." She leaned forward, ponytail swinging. "I dare you."

Sarah was already pulling off her cardigan. Mike opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "That's insane."

"That's parenting," Sarah said, not looking at him. Not looking at Lexi either, though she could feel the genie's bright, cruel eyes on her. "I'm doing this."

Lexi popped her gum and whispered, "Finally."

---

The suit slid on like silk and gripped like a second skin. Sarah stepped into it feet-first, pulling it up over her calves, her thighs—oh God—the way it cinched and tightened, smoothing away cellulite, reshaping muscle. She tugged it over her hips and felt her pelvis click inward, narrower, sharper. The suit climbed her torso and she gasped as her stomach flattened, her waist nipped in, her old mum-body swallowed whole.

"Sarah—" Mike watched, horrified and transfixed.

"Keep going," she breathed, though she wasn't sure if she was talking to him or herself. She pushed her arms into the suit's sleeves and felt her fingers slim, her nails grow—long, acrylic, painted pink. She pulled the chest panel up and over her own modest breasts and moaned as the suit's moulded pair swelled against her, fused with her, became hers—round, heavy, impossibly perky, each one a generous handful that defied gravity.

The neckline sealed itself. She pulled the hood—the face—up over her head. And the world shifted.

POP. CRACK. MMMMH.

Her jaw reshaped. Her cheekbones lifted. Her nose refined. Her eyes—she felt them change colour, felt the irises lighten to a bright, icy blue. Her hair—grey-brown and lifeless—erupted in a cascade of platinum blonde, thick and glossy, falling past her shoulders in perfect beachy waves. The seam at her back sealed itself with a sound like a zip closing on its own. The tab at her nape tucked itself flat.

And Sarah Harlow was gone.

In her place stood Kaylee. Eighteen. Maybe nineteen. Five-foot-six, gym-toned, tanned, flawless. Big round tits straining against nothing because Sarah had pulled the suit on naked and now Kaylee was standing in her kitchen bare-ass naked and grinning.

Mike's mouth fell open.

From the counter, Lexi let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Oh damn. Look at you, mummy. You're a whole snack." She tilted her head, examining her work. "Tits are perfect. Ass is ridiculous. God, I'm good."

Kaylee looked down at herself and laughed. "I'm so fucking hot." She grabbed her own tits and squeezed them, giggling. They felt real—more real than real, heavy and sensitive, her nipples hardening instantly. She ran one hand down her flat stomach to the bare, smooth pussy between her legs and shivered.

"Sarah—"

"Sarah's not here, babe." Kaylee popped her gum—where had the gum come from?—and blew a pink bubble. "It's just me. Kaylee." She looked at Mike with those icy blue eyes and smirked. "You like?"

Mike was hard. He couldn't help it. His wife was gone and in her place was this—this creature—this pornographic parody of youth and femininity, and his body was responding before his brain could catch up.

Kaylee saw it. Of course she saw it. "Ew. Down, boy." She said it sweetly, mockingly.

Lexi cackled from the counter. "Oh my God, he's hard. That's your husband, you nasty little— actually, no, that's hilarious. Keep going."

Kaylee sashayed to the hallway mirror and spent five full minutes admiring herself—turning, posing, pouting, snapping selfies on Sarah's phone. I should be horrified. I should take this off. I have a husband. I have a daughter. I'm forty-four years old. But I look so fucking good. And I feel so fucking good. And Emma doesn't need me. Emma's a loser. I'm Kaylee now.

She found clothes in Emma's old room—jeans that hugged her ass like a second skin, a crop top that showed off her pierced navel (when had that happened?), chunky sneakers. She applied lipstick she found in Sarah's drawer—a shade she'd never have worn before, a slutty pink—and smacked her lips.

"I'm going to campus," she announced.

"Sarah, please—"

"Kaylee." She fixed him with a look. "And don't wait up."

Lexi hopped off the counter and sauntered past Mike, patting his cheek condescendingly as she went. "Don't worry, dad. I'll check in on her." She winked at Kaylee. "Go get 'em, girl. Make me proud." She clicked her fingers and vanished in a puff of pink smoke, leaving behind only the scent of her perfume and the echo of her laugh.

—

Westbrook College was exactly what Kaylee expected—red brick, green quad, clusters of kids who thought they were the main character. She walked across campus like she owned it, and the thing was? She felt like she owned it. Heads turned. Boys stared. Girls sized her up and looked away. She's here to find Emma. Remember Emma. Your daughter. Emma's probably in some sad little corner being boring. Whatever. I'll find her eventually.

She found her in the cafeteria, alone, eating a sad salad, wearing a shapeless grey hoodie. Emma Harlow: nineteen, mousy, forgettable. The kind of girl who apologised when someone bumped into her. Kaylee watched from across the room and felt… nothing. No maternal warmth. No concern. Just a vague, bitchy contempt. God, she's pathetic. No wonder she doesn't call home. She's got nothing to call about. That's your daughter. That's a loser. And I'm Kaylee.

She was about to walk over—maybe to say something cruel, just to see the girl flinch—when a shadow fell across her table.

"Hey. You new here?"

He was tall. Black. Gorgeous. Broad shoulders, easy smile, the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly what he looked like. Marcus. Captain of the basketball team. How did she know that? The suit. The suit knew things.

Kaylee looked up at him and popped her gum. "Maybe. You gonna show me around?"

Marcus grinned. "I can show you whatever you want."

—

His dorm was small and smelled like cologne and dirty laundry, and Kaylee didn't care because she was already on her knees.

"Fuck, girl—" Marcus groaned as she pulled his cock out. It was big. Bigger than Mike's. Bigger than anything Sarah had ever touched. Kaylee wrapped her pink-lacquered fingers around it and stroked, looking up at him with those icy blue eyes.

"You like that?" she purred. She didn't wait for an answer. She licked a long stripe up the underside and his hips jerked. She swirled her tongue around the head, then took him into her mouth—inch by inch, slow and deliberate, gagging slightly just to make it look good. Sarah never did this. Sarah thought blowjobs were degrading. Kaylee thinks they're power.

She sucked him deep, one hand working the base, the other braced on his thigh. She could feel him getting harder in her mouth, could feel him losing control, and it was intoxicating. This big strong athlete, reduced to groaning and shaking because of her.

"I need to fuck you," he gasped.

Kaylee pulled off with a pop and a string of saliva. She grinned. "Condom. Now."

He had one on in seconds. She bent over his desk—textbooks scattering, a lamp crashing to the floor—and he shoved her jeans down and pushed inside her.

"OH—fuck—"

She was tight. Impossibly tight. The suit had made her new, untouched, and the stretch of him was almost too much—almost. She braced herself and pushed back and took it, and the pleasure hit her like a wave. He fucked her hard. She loved it. She egged him on—harder, deeper, don't stop, make me feel it—and when he came, she came with him, clenching around him, screaming into her hand.

After, she lay on his narrow bed and checked her phone. Mike had texted fourteen times. She ignored every one. And in the corner of the room, invisible to both of them, Lexi sat cross-legged on Marcus's desk, chewing her gum, watching the whole thing with bright, delighted eyes.

"That's what I'm talking about," Lexi whispered to no one. She clicked her fingers and vanished.

—

Kaylee came home at 2 AM. Mike was asleep on the sofa, phone still in his hand. She woke him by dropping her jeans and stepping out of them.

"Sarah? Where have you—"

"Kaylee," she corrected. She straddled him on the sofa and kissed him—deep, wet, tasting like another man's cock. He didn't know that. He just knew his wife was suddenly young and hot and grinding on him.

"I spoke to Emma," she lied. "She's fine. Now stop asking questions and enjoy this."

She unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock—smaller than Marcus's, she noted with a flicker of contempt—and started stroking. Slow. Teasing. She brought him right to the edge—

And stopped.

"What—" Mike's hips bucked. "Sarah, please—"

"Kaylee." She smiled sweetly. "And no."

She let go. His cock twitched, leaking, and he came—not properly, not satisfyingly, just a weak ruined spurt that dribbled down his shaft while he groaned in frustration.

"Aw." Kaylee wiped her hand on his shirt. "Poor baby."

She laughed. It wasn't kind. And somewhere, unseen, Lexi laughed too—louder, meaner, delighted.

---

In the bathroom, Kaylee found the tab at her nape and pulled. The skin split—shhhhhk—and she peeled it off like a wetsuit. It was harder than putting it on; her body resisted, clinging to the shape, and for a moment she felt a pang of genuine loss as her curves deflated, her hair darkened, her face softened back into Sarah's tired features.

She looked in the mirror and almost cried. Forty-four. Grey. Soft. Nothing. She folded the Kaylee skin carefully and placed it back in its box.

Mike was waiting in the bedroom, still hard, still confused. "What happened to you tonight?"

"I told you. The suit. It works." She climbed into bed beside him, not touching him. "Emma's fine. Don't worry about Emma."

What have I done? I cheated on my husband. I laughed at him. I— But you were Kaylee. And Kaylee doesn't care. And isn't that the point?

She lay awake for hours, replaying every moment. Marcus's cock in her mouth. The ruined handjob. Mike's face. The power. She wanted to be Kaylee again. She wanted it so badly her teeth ached.

---

It was three days before Sarah caved and told Mike everything. The cheating. The blowjob. The ruined handjob. She told him because she couldn't stand the guilt—and because some sick part of her wanted him to know, wanted to see his face crumble.

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said: "I want to try the suit."

"Mike—"

"You got to be her. You got to feel what she feels. I want to know what that's like." His jaw was set. "And I want to know what you did. From the inside."

Sarah didn't stop him.

Mike put the suit on in the guest bedroom. He stepped into it with shaking hands—and the transformation was different for him. More violent. More complete. His body shrank. His hips widened. His chest swelled. He felt his cock—his cock—pull inward, invert, reshape into something wet and tight and hungry. He moaned and it came out high and breathy and wrong.

POP. CRACK. SHHHHHK.

The face sealed. The hair grew. And Mike Harlow disappeared.

Kaylee stood in front of the mirror and moaned. "Oh my God," she whispered. She was touching herself before she'd even finished the sentence—fingers sliding between slick folds, exploring the new architecture of her body. She came in thirty seconds, biting her lip, legs shaking.

And then the memories came. Not Sarah's memories. Kaylee's memories. The suit's memories. Every time it had been worn, every body it had touched, every cock it had taken—

Marcus. She fucked Marcus. She sucked his cock and she loved it and she came on his dick and she came home and ruined mine and laughed at me and—

Kaylee's eyes narrowed. "That bitch," she said. And her voice was perfect—bratty, musical, cruel.

She pulled on clothes—different from what Sarah had worn, sluttier, a tiny skirt and a bralette that barely contained her tits—and she called a car. And in the mirror's reflection, just for a second, she saw Lexi leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, ponytail swinging, grinning like a wolf.

"Have fun," Lexi whispered. And clicked her fingers.

—

She found Marcus at a frat party. He was already drinking, already loose, and when he saw her—her—his face split into a grin.

"Damn, girl. You came back."

"I came for more," Kaylee said, and she meant it in every way.

But she wasn't just here for Marcus. She was here for control. She was here to outdo Sarah, to prove that she was the better Kaylee, that her version of this body was stronger, hungrier, more deserving.

Marcus had a friend. Tyler. White, stocky, offensive lineman type. Not as hot as Marcus, but big. Big where it counted.

Kaylee didn't bother with foreplay. She pulled Marcus into his dorm and told Tyler to follow. When they were inside, she dropped to her knees and unzipped Marcus with one hand and reached for Tyler's belt with the other.

"Both of you. Now."

They didn't argue.

She sucked Marcus while Tyler fucked her from behind—on all fours on Marcus's bed, her blonde hair swinging, her big tits swaying, her mouth full and her pussy stuffed. The rhythm was brutal, overwhelming, and she loved it—loved being used, loved being the centre of attention, loved the wet slap of skin and the grunts and the way they both called her Kaylee like it was the only name that mattered. Sarah only had one. I have two. I win.

Marcus came in her mouth. Tyler came inside her—she'd told him to, didn't care about condoms, didn't care about anything but the feeling—and she came twice, once from the spit roast and once from the sheer wicked pleasure of it.

After, she lay between them and smoked a cigarette she didn't remember buying. "That was fun," she said. "Same time next week?"

---

Mike took the skin off at 4 AM. He sat on the guest bed, male again, soft and hairy and nothing, and he cried. Not from guilt. From loss.

"I want to be her again," he told Sarah the next morning.

"So do I."

They stared at each other across the kitchen table. The box sat between them like a grenade.

"You already had your turn," Mike said. "Two turns."

"And you had yours. You fucked two guys."

"You fucked one first!"

"I was spying on our daughter—"

"You cheated on me—"

"You cheated on me with two men and you came inside one of them—"

"You came inside one too! Or don't you remember? The suit remembers. I felt it. I felt what you felt. You loved it. You loved every second."

Sarah's mouth opened. Closed. "So did you."

"Yeah." Mike's voice cracked. "I did. And I want it again. I want to be her again."

"So do I."

The box sat between them. One suit. Two people. Both desperate.

"It's mine," Sarah said. "I wished for it. Lexi gave it to me."

"I'm the one who—"

"You're the one who got spit roasted in our daughter's college dorm, Michael. Don't talk to me about ownership."

They screamed. They threw things. They didn't eat. They didn't sleep. And in the corner of the kitchen, invisible, Lexi sat on the counter again—cross-legged, ponytail swinging, chewing her gum, watching the whole thing unfold with the bright, satisfied eyes of a cat watching mice tear each other apart in a box she'd built.

"This is so much better than I planned," she murmured to herself.

---

They locked the suit in the hall cupboard. Mike did it himself—turned the key, pocketed it, looked at Sarah with red-rimmed eyes. "We need to figure this out," he said. "Who gets it. When. How. But until we do, nobody touches it. Deal?"

Sarah nodded. "Deal."

They shook on it. A tired, brittle handshake between two people who had already betrayed each other and would do it again in a heartbeat if given the chance.

Three days passed. They didn't talk about the suit. They didn't talk about much at all. Mike went to work. Sarah stayed home and stared at the hall cupboard and thought about nothing else. She could feel it in there—could feel the pink skin waiting, warm and patient, like a lover holding its breath.

I agreed. I shook on it. I—

But it's mine. Lexi gave it to me. It's mine and I want it and I'm going to take it.

On the fourth night, Mike went to the pub with his mates. Sarah watched his car pull away from the window, waited ten minutes, then took the key from his coat pocket (she'd known where he'd hidden it—she'd watched him, memorised the motion) and unlocked the cupboard.

The box was there. The suit was inside, folded neatly, warm to the touch. She held it against her chest and shivered.

"I'm sorry, Mike," she whispered. She wasn't.

She took it to the bedroom, stripped naked, and put it on.

---

POP. CRACK. MMMMH.

The transformation was faster this time—her body remembered, moulded itself willingly, eagerly. Sarah vanished in minutes, and Kaylee stood in front of the bedroom mirror, eighteen and flawless and free.

"Oh, baby," she breathed, running her hands over her body. "Mummy's home."

She dressed slutty—tighter than before, more deliberate. A tiny black dress that barely covered her ass. No bra, nipples pressing through the fabric. Heels that made her legs look endless. Heavy makeup, smoky eyes, glossy pink lips. She looked like she was going clubbing, because she was.

She called a car and went out.

---

The club was downtown—heaving bass, sticky floors, bodies pressed together in the dark. Kaylee walked in like she owned the place, and within thirty seconds, someone had bought her a drink. Within five minutes, she had a cigarette between her fingers (menthol—she didn't even smoke, but Kaylee did, and Kaylee's lungs didn't care about Sarah's health anxieties). Within ten minutes, she was on the dance floor, grinding against a tall, gorgeous black guy named Jay, his hands on her hips, her ass pressed against his crotch.

"You're fucking wild," he shouted over the music.

"You have no idea," she shouted back, and turned around, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

They ended up in the bathroom. She didn't even make it to his place—couldn't wait, didn't want to. He lifted her onto the sink counter, hiked her dress up around her waist, and pulled her panties aside. No condom this time. She didn't ask. She didn't care.

He fucked her hard and fast, her legs wrapped around his back, her nails digging into his shoulders, her moans echoing off the tile. She came twice before he finished inside her, and when he pulled out, she felt his cum trickle down her thigh and she laughed.

"Again?" she asked.

"Give me five minutes."

She gave him three, then sucked him back to hardness right there on the bathroom floor, on her knees in a club bathroom, and she loved every second of it. He fucked her again, slower this time, from behind, bent over the sink, and she watched herself in the mirror—platinum hair, smeared lipstick, big tits bouncing, eyes glazed with pleasure—and thought: This is me. This is who I am now. This is who I was always supposed to be.

She got home at 3 AM, cum-stained, sweat-damp, reeking of smoke and sex and cheap vodka. Mike was awake. Sitting on the sofa in the dark, waiting.

"Sarah—"

"Kaylee." She kicked off her heels and stood over him, legs apart. The hem of her dress was ridden up. She could feel the cum—Jay's cum, still inside her, still wet—and she didn't cover herself. "And I'm not taking it off."

"What do you mean—"

"I mean I'm not pulling the tab. I'm not peeling it off. I'm staying like this." She looked down at him and smiled. "Unless you want to make me."

Mike stood up. He was bigger than her—still a man, still broad-shouldered, still strong. But Kaylee didn't flinch. She just looked up at him with those icy blue eyes and popped her gum.

"Go on then," she said. "Take it off me. I dare you."

He reached for her. She caught his wrist—her grip was stronger than it should have been, the suit giving her something extra—and twisted his arm behind his back. He gasped.

"Listen to me, Daddy," she whispered in his ear, mocking. "I'm Kaylee now. And Kaylee is in charge. And if you're a good boy, maybe I'll let you have a turn later. Maybe. But right now—" she released him and pushed him back onto the sofa— "right now, you're going to do what I say."

Mike sat there, stunned, hard despite himself. Kaylee straddled him, grinding her bare, cum-filled pussy against his thigh, leaving a wet streak on his jeans.

"I fucked someone tonight," she said conversationally. "A big, hot black guy named Jay. He fucked me in a club bathroom. No condom. He came inside me. Twice." She leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. "And it was amazing."

Mike's breath hitched. His cock was straining against his jeans. Kaylee could feel it.

"You're hard," she observed. "That's so pathetic. Your wife is telling you she cheated on you again and you're hard." She slid off his lap and stood up, hiking her dress higher. "Get on your knees."

"Sarah—"

"Kaylee." She grabbed his hair and pulled his face toward her pussy. "And I said get on your knees."

He went. God help him, he went. He knelt on the floor in front of her and she pulled his face into her crotch and he tasted it—salt and musk and another man's cum, slick and warm, coating her folds. She was drenched. Jay's load, her own juices, all of it mixed together and dripping down her thighs.

"Clean me up," Kaylee said. "Be a good boy."

Mike licked. He licked because she told him to, and because some sick part of him wanted to, and because she was so beautiful and so cruel and so powerful that he couldn't help himself. He licked her clean, tongue sliding between her folds, tasting every drop of what another man had left inside her.

"Good boy," Kaylee purred, grinding against his face. "Deeper. Get it all."

He pressed his tongue inside her and she gasped, clenching around him, riding his face with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling his head exactly where she wanted it. Her thighs were trembling.

"Don't you dare stop," she breathed. "Don't you fucking dare—"

She ground harder, faster, chasing it, using his face like a toy. Her big tits bounced under her dress. Her head fell back. Her mouth opened in a silent moan.

"Oh—oh fuck—fuck yes—"

She came with a shudder, clenching around his tongue, and then—again—harder, a second orgasm crashing through her, and this time she squirted, a hot rush of fluid splashing against Mike's chin, his neck, soaking into his shirt. He choked, sputtered, tried to pull back, but she held him in place, riding it out, grinding through the aftershocks until she was shaking and satisfied.

She released him. He fell back, face soaked, gasping.

Kaylee looked down at him and laughed. "Oh my God. You're drenched." She stepped over him and walked to the bedroom. "Don't follow me. I need my beauty sleep."

---

She took the skin off in the morning. Not because Mike asked—because she wanted to feel the loss again, the awful deflation, the reminder of what she was without the suit. It was a punishment. A kink. She wanted to hate being Sarah so that being Kaylee felt even better.

Mike was in the kitchen when she came out, still in last night's clothes, still damp-faced. He looked at her—really looked at her—and something in his expression shifted.

"We need to talk," he said. "About the suit. About what you did. About what I did. About all of it."

"There's nothing to talk about. I took it, I went out, I had fun, I came home—"

"You cheated on me. Again. And then you made me—" His voice cracked. "You made me eat—"

"You loved it." Sarah's voice was hard. "Don't pretend you didn't. You were hard the whole time, Michael. You came in your pants."

"I did not—"

"Check your jeans."

He didn't check his jeans. He didn't need to. He knew.

"This has to stop," he said. "We can't keep doing this. We can't keep—"

"Keep what? Fighting over who gets to be young and hot and free? Fighting over who gets to feel something?" Sarah's voice rose. "You want to know what the real problem is, Mike? The problem is that there's only one suit and there's two of us and we both want it."

"Then maybe we should get rid of it. Destroy it. Burn it—"

"No." The word came out too fast, too sharp. They both heard it.

Mike stared at her. "You can't even let me suggest it."

"Because it's mine. Lexi gave it to me. I wished for it. It belongs to me and I am not burning it because you can't handle the fact that your wife is a better Kaylee than you'll ever be."

"There it is." Mike's face darkened. "There's the truth. You think you're better at being her than me."

"I know I am."

"You fucked one guy. I fucked two. At the same time. I took them both—"

"And you cried afterwards. You cried, Mike. You sat on that bed and you sobbed because you couldn't handle how good it felt. I came home and made you eat another man's cum out of me and you loved it. Don't talk to me about who's better at this."

"You are unbelievable—"

"And you are weak." Sarah stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You're weak and you're jealous and you want to be her again so badly you can taste it. Well, guess what? So do I. And I'm not giving her up."

"Then what do you suggest? We share? Take turns? Schedule it like a fucking timeshare—"

"I suggest you admit that I'm the one who should wear it. That I'm the one who knows what to do with it. That I'm the one who—"

"You're the one who broke our agreement. You took the key, you took the suit, you went out and fucked a stranger—"

"And you got spit roasted by two college boys! In our daughter's dorm! Don't act like you're the victim here!"

They were screaming now. Really screaming. The kind of screaming that makes the neighbours call the police, the kind that rattles windows and leaves throats raw. They circled each other in the kitchen, two middle-aged people who had tasted something impossible and were now destroying each other for a chance to taste it again.

"Give me the key," Sarah said. "Now."

"Absolutely not—"

"GIVE ME THE FUCKING KEY, MICHAEL—"

"NO! You don't get to just take it whenever you want—"

"I already DID. And I'll do it AGAIN. And there's nothing you can do about it because you're too pathetic to stop me—"

"I'll destroy it. I swear to God, I'll burn the fucking thing—"

"TOUCH IT AND I'LL LEAVE YOU. I'll take it and I'll go and I'll be Kaylee forever and you'll never see her again—"

"You wouldn't—"

"TRY ME."

—

Emma came home on Friday.

She walked into the house expecting her parents to be worried about her, or maybe relieved, or maybe just normal—and instead she found them in the living room, red-faced, hoarse, surrounded by broken plates and crumpled tissues, screaming at each other over a pink box. The cupboard was open. The key was on the floor. The suit was visible inside—pink and warm and waiting.

"What the fuck?" Emma stood in the doorway, backpack slipping off her shoulder. "Mum? Dad? What's—"

"Emma, stay out of this—"

"No—no, what's happening? You've been weird for weeks, you barely call, and now I come home and you're—what is that?" She pointed at the box. "What's in the box?"

"Nothing, sweetheart—"

"Don't lie to me!" Emma was crying now, really crying, the kind of ugly cry that only happens when you're nineteen and your parents are broken and you don't know why. "Please. Please just stop fighting. I don't care what it is, I don't care what happened, just stop. I wish you would just stop fighting."

The air shifted.

Pink smoke curled from nowhere—from everywhere—and Lexi materialised in the middle of the living room, sitting cross-legged in mid-air like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, Emma," Lexi said, and her voice was honey and poison. She twirled a strand of blonde hair around one finger and popped her gum. "You have no idea what you just wished for."

She clicked her fingers.

SNAP.

---

The suit launched itself from the box—pink flesh rippling, stretching, alive—and wrapped around Emma before she could scream. It sealed around her body in seconds, fusing with her skin, her muscle, her bone. Her mousy brown hair turned platinum. Her flat chest swelled. Her hips widened. Her face reshaped itself into the same perfect mask both her parents had worn.

POP. CRACK. FUSE.

But this time, there was no tab at the nape. No seam. No way out.

Kaylee stood in her parents' living room, eighteen and flawless and permanent, and she looked down at herself and laughed.

"Oh my God," she said. "I'm hot."

She wasn't Emma anymore. She wasn't mousy or quiet or forgettable. She was Kaylee—spoiled, entitled, slutty, mean—and she had all of Kaylee's memories. Every cock. Every fuck. Every cruel, perfect moment. Marcus. Tyler. Jay. The club bathroom. The frat party. The dorm. The ruined handjob. The cum-eating. The squirt. All of it, hers now, every dirty secret her parents had tried to hide.

She looked at her parents—her parents—and smirked.

"So," she said, popping gum that materialised from nowhere. "You both wanted to be me?"

Sarah and Mike stared, horrified.

Lexi floated down from mid-air and landed beside Kaylee, slinging an arm around her shoulder like they were best friends. Which, in a way, they were now.

"Meet the new and improved Emma," Lexi announced, grinning at the parents. "Permanent upgrade. No refunds. No take-backs." She tapped Kaylee's chin with one manicured nail. "She's got all the memories, by the way. Marcus. Tyler. Jay. The dorm. The club bathroom. The spit roast." Her grin widened. "The ruined handjob. The cum-eating. God, Dad, that was pathetic."

Mike made a sound like he'd been punched.

"And Mum—" Kaylee picked up where Lexi left off, eyes bright and cruel. "You broke into the cupboard, stole the suit, went out and fucked a stranger in a club bathroom, came home and made Dad eat his cum out of you, squirted on his face, and then told him he was weak." She licked her lips. "That's so fucking evil. I love it."

She sauntered to the hallway mirror and admired herself. "I'm going to be so much better at this than either of you."

"Emma—" Sarah reached for her.

"Kaylee." She didn't turn around. "Emma's gone. Lexi made it permanent, yeah? No tab. No seam. This is me now. Forever." She finally looked at them over her shoulder. "And I'm going back to college. And I'm going to fuck so many people. And there's nothing you can do about it."

Lexi clapped her hands together, bouncing on her toes. "Oh my God, I love her. She's worse than both of you. This is the best wish I've ever granted." She turned to the parents, still grinning. "You're welcome, by the way. This is what you asked for. A way to keep an eye on your daughter." She winked. "Now she's right here. Forever. You're welcome to watch."

Kaylee grabbed her old backpack—Emma's backpack—and emptied it on the floor. Books, notebooks, a sad little lunchbox. She kicked it all aside and slung the empty bag over one shoulder.

"You can't— you can't just—" Mike was shaking.

"Watch me." Kaylee blew them a kiss. "Bye, losers."

She walked out the front door and into the afternoon sun, blonde hair swinging, ass bouncing, every inch the alpha bitch.

Lexi watched her go, then turned back to the parents. She popped her gum one last time.

"Fun fact," she said, leaning in conspiratorially. "She's going to be so much sluttier than either of you. Like, aggressively sluttier. And there's nothing you can do about it, because she's your daughter and you made her." She straightened up, smoothed her crop top, and smiled the smile of someone who had won completely. "Anyway. I've got places to be. Boys to ruin. You know how it is."

She clicked her fingers.

SNAP.

And vanished, leaving behind only the scent of vanilla, a curl of pink smoke, and two parents who would never stop being jealous of the thing their daughter had become.

---

Sarah and Mike sat in the living room for a long time after they both left. The box was empty. The app was dark. Their daughter was gone—replaced by a creature they'd created, a version of themselves they'd both coveted, a slut who knew their secrets and would never come home.

They didn't fight anymore. There was no point. The thing they'd been fighting over was gone.

But they both wanted it back. Every day. Every night. They'd catch themselves looking at the empty box, or at photos of Kaylee on social media—she was everywhere now, thousands of followers, viral posts, stories from frat parties and football games and hot girls and hotter guys—and they'd feel that ache. That hollow, desperate need.

Their daughter was the most popular girl at Westbrook College. She was fucking the entire basketball team. She was happy.

And somewhere, in a pink cloud of perfume and cruelty, Lexi watched it all and laughed.

Read More

No One Escapes the Gen-Z Genie

Kate Morrison was the kind of woman who baked casseroles for new neighbours and meant it. Forty-five, soft around the edges, with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile that made everyone feel welcome. Her husband Richard was a broad-shouldered, confident man—successful in business, supportive at home. Their son Riley, nineteen and home from college for the summer, had his father's easy charm and his mother's kind heart.

They were, by any measure, a good family.

So when Kate found a strange app on her phone—pink sparkles and a logo that looked like a manicured nail tapping a crystal ball—she almost laughed. Gen-Z Genie. What the fuck was this? The icon pulsed like a heartbeat.

She tapped it cautiously.

The screen exploded with pink smoke and glitter, and suddenly there she was—sprawled across Kate's kitchen island like she owned it. Lexi. Platinum pigtails. Crop top reading BRAT. Eyes the colour of bubblegum, sharp as glass.

"Omg, hiiii!" Lexi waved, her long nails catching the light. "I'm Lexi, your totally fab Gen-Z Genie! You get one wish, babe. Rules are: no take-backs, and you can't wish for more wishes. Duh."

Kate stared. The app felt... warm in her hand. Inviting. Like a door cracking open to somewhere tempting.

"Come on bitch, haven't you ever like seen a genie story before. This is your chance to fulfil your hearts desire. You could have anything you want. Ummm like money, power... sex. Come on bitch, let me juice you up," purred Lexi.

But Kate Morrison was content.

"No thank you," she said softly.

Lexi gaped. She blew a wet bubble and it hung from her astonished lips. She'd never ever been refused before. Mortals always wanted to wish for something.

"Ummm, did you hear me right bitch? I said you can like wish for..." 

Kate tapped at her screen and she deleted the app. She didn't know if she was going mad or if this was real, but she was happy with her life and she wanted nothing to do with this.

Lexi's shriek echoed as she vanished along with the app—"Fucking hag! You'll regret this, you basic bitch! I'll be back!"—and then silence.

Kate put her phone down and went to finish dinner. She felt like she'd had a lucky escape and decided not to tell anyone about this.

Maybe she was just losing her mind?

---

It started small. A few days after the incident with the genie.

Kate caught her reflection in the microwave door and flinched. When had the lines around her eyes gotten so deep? She leaned closer, pulling at the skin near her temples—there, the faint web of crow's feet. Had those been there yesterday?

She touched her cheek—soft, yes, but... soft the wrong way. Doughy. Tired. The kind of skin that looked like it had given up.

She felt tired. All the time.

The mirror in the bathroom seemed harsher the next morning. The grey at her roots more obvious—when had that spread? The skin on her hands—when had she started looking like her mother? Like her grandmother?

You're being silly, Kate. You're forty-five. This is normal.

But the thought didn't comfort her like it should have. The reassurance felt hollow, like words spoken to a child who knows the monster is real.

By Wednesday, she was staring at other women in the supermarket—younger women, women with smooth skin and bright eyes and that effortless energy—and feeling something ugly twist in her chest. A girl in the produce section, maybe twenty-two, was wearing a crop top and low-rise jeans. Her stomach was flat and tanned. Her skin glowed. She laughed at something on her phone, and the sound was like a bell.

Kate looked down at her own outfit—sensible beige cardigan, mom jeans—and felt something shrivel inside her.

By Friday, she felt grey. Faded. Like a photograph left in the sun too long. She caught Richard looking at her across the dinner table and wondered if he saw it too—the ageing, the fading, the slow decay of the woman he'd married.

He smiled at her, warm and loving, and she wanted to scream.

She didn't connect it to the app. How could she? The app was gone. Deleted. Just a strange dream.

But in the back of her mind, something whispered: You could have been young again. Maybe next time you won't be so hasty...

---

The app reinstalled itself.

Kate was reading in bed when her phone buzzed and there it was again—pink sparkles, pulsing heartbeat. She hadn't downloaded anything. She hadn't even been in the app store.

She should have thrown the phone across the room.

Instead, she opened it.

Lexi materialised with a smug grin, legs crossed, floating on a pink cloud of glitter. "Miss me, grandma?"

"How did you—"

"So here's the thing, babe." Lexi examined her nails—long, pink, immaculate. "Nobody—nobody—rejects Lexi. Like, ever. So I've been thinking about you. A lot." She leaned forward, eyes glittering with something sharp and hungry. "Maybe you just need the right incentive to use me. So how about this? Unlimited wishes. One a day. And reverse wishes too—if you don't like something, you can undo it. I'll even make sure nobody questions the changes. Reality can bend, babe. Nobody will think twice."

Kate's throat was dry. "Why would you—"

"Because I'm generous." Lexi's smile was a razor blade wrapped in cotton candy. "And because you need me, Kate. I can see it. You're tired. You're old. You're fading." She whispered the last word like a kiss. "Don't you want to feel alive again?"

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm...

Kate looked at her hands. At the veins, blue and raised. At the wedding ring that seemed to sit looser than it used to, her knuckles swollen with age. At the liver spots she'd never noticed before.

"Okay. I didn't think I wanted anything, but I guess if I can undo things it should be safe. I have been feeling my age a bit recently. Maybe you could help? I wish..." She swallowed. "I wish I was young again."

Lexi's laugh was a delighted squeal. "OH EM GEE, yes! Wish granted, babe!"

Pink light exploded from the phone and Kate was engulfed...

Kate gasped as heat flooded her body—not painful, but intense, like stepping into a hot bath after years in the cold. Her skin tightened, smoothed, the wrinkles melting away like frost under morning sun. The ache in her lower back vanished. Her joints popped and resettled, bones shifting with soft clicks that echoed through her skeleton. Her spine straightened. Her knees unswelled.

She stumbled to the bedroom mirror and gasped.

An eighteen-year-old girl stared back at her. Brown hair, yes—still hers—but lush and thick, falling past her shoulders in waves that caught the light. Smooth, unlined skin that practically glowed with youth. A body that hadn't known childbirth or gravity's slow pull—perky little breasts under her oversized nightgown, the nipples visible through the thin fabric. Long legs that seemed to go on forever. Wide eyes that looked shocked.

Her face was heart-shaped, pretty in a girl-next-door way. No wrinkles. No age spots. No tiredness.

"Oh my God," Kate whispered, and her voice was higher, clearer, untouched by decades of worry. "This isn't—I meant—"

She'd meant her thirties. Maybe late twenties. A little boost, a little refresh. Not eighteen.

You can wish yourself back tomorrow. Just... calm down. Breathe. Besides this isn't so bad.

Her heart was racing, and not just from shock. She looked good. Young and fresh and full of energy she'd forgotten existed. She bounced on her toes experimentally and felt the spring in her step, the vitality that had been draining away for years.

Wow, I do look good. I'd forgotten how good it feels to be young.

She spent the rest of the night trying clothes on and enjoying how much better they looked now she was young. Then again, they were a little... boring. Maybe she could do better?

Richard came to bed an hour later, and he didn't blink. Just smiled at his wife—the same way he always had—and rolled over to sleep. It was like he didn't even question the 30 year age gap between them. The genie was as good as her word.

Kate lay awake, vibrating with something she hadn't felt in years.

She felt restless, she felt horny. With a moan she slid her fingers between her legs and with Richard snoring next to her... she began to finger herself.

---

The next morning, Kate decided she might as well enjoy it. Just for a day. She'd wish herself back to normal tomorrow.

She took a long shower, marvelling at her tight, responsive body. The way the water sluiced down smooth skin that didn't sag or wrinkle. The way her nipples hardened at the slightest touch—pink and pebbled and sensitive. The way her pussy—shaved, somehow, though she hadn't done it—throbbed under the spray, warm water hitting her clit and making her gasp.

She leaned against the tile and let the showerhead do its work, the pulsing spray sending little shocks of pleasure through her core. Her young body was so responsive. Every nerve ending seemed to sing.

She got out, toweled off, and caught her reflection again.

Still eighteen. Still plain, though. Mousy brown hair. Average figure. The kind of girl who blended into the background at parties. The kind of girl guys looked past to get to the hot friend.

Richard found her in the kitchen, making breakfast. He kissed her cheek—her young cheek—and didn't notice a thing. Riley came downstairs, grabbed toast, said "Hey Mom," and left to meet Joe, his best friend.

Normal. Everything was normal.

Except Kate kept catching glimpses of herself in reflective surfaces and feeling that twist again.

Plain. Boring. Invisible.

She spent the day shopping. No one looked at her twice, it was almost disappointing. She had expected some male attention but soon realised that by modern beauty standards she was just kind of boring. Out at the mall she couldn't help but feel jealous of the bougie young bitches with their perfect gym toned bodies and ultra feminine outfits. They were the ones the guys wanted.

She wondered what it would feel like to be one of them?

That night, Richard reached for her in bed, and Kate flinched.

He was... old. Forty-seven and handsome, yes, but old. His chest was hairy and starting to go grey. His skin was weathered, rough. The lines around his eyes were deep. She felt nothing looking at him. Less than nothing—a vague distaste, like finding a hair in your food.

"I'm tired," she murmured, and rolled away.

Instead, she waited until he was asleep—until his soft snores filled the room—and touched herself.

Her young body responded like a struck match. Wet almost instantly—soaked, actually, her pussy dripping with arousal the moment her fingers found her slit. Sensitive in ways she'd forgotten. Her clit was swollen, eager, and she rubbed it in tight circles, biting her lip to keep from moaning.

She came twice, biting her pillow, her hips bucking against her own hand. Her orgasms were sharp and intense, nothing like the muted pleasure she'd experienced in her forties. Her whole body shook. Her pussy clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled.

Afterward, lying in the dark, her fingers still wet with her own juices, she thought: I should wish myself back tomorrow.

Things had already gone too far...

---

The app was waiting the next morning. Lexi's face appeared before Kate even opened it.

"So? Loving the new you, right?"

"Yeah, it's amazing to be young again, but... I look kinda plain." Kate hated the whine in her voice, but she couldn't stop it. "I guess I should be happy with what I have though."

"Why be happy? You have me... you can be anything you want to be," Lexi grinned. "You've got another wish. Use it. You know you want to."

Kate thought about the girls she'd seen at the mall. The ones with glossy hair and perfect makeup and bodies that made heads turn. The ones who walked into a room and owned it. The ones who mattered. It might be fun to see how that felt. She could always reverse it after all. Where was the harm.

"I wish I was prettier and more attractive. I wish I looked better than other girls. I wish I was... stunning."

Lexi's eyes lit up with a predatory gleam. "Now that's a wish. Granted!" She snapped her fingers and the room exploded with energy.

The pink light hit Kate and she moaned.

Kate's breasts swelled—oh fuck—from modest B-cups to firm, round D-cups that strained against her pyjama top, the fabric stretching to contain them. They were perfect—high and round and fake-looking, the kind of tits that made men stupid. Her nipples were pink and prominent, pressing against the thin cotton.

Her ass lifted and rounded, becoming a perfect heart shape that would look incredible in tight jeans. The kind of ass that bounced when she walked. The kind of ass that made other girls jealous.

Her waist nipped in dramatically, creating an hourglass figure that was almost obscene. Her hips flared. Her thighs became smooth and toned, with just the right amount of curve.

Her hair lightened, platinum blonde spreading from the roots until she was a golden goddess—glossy, thick, impossibly shiny. Her lips plumped, becoming soft and pink and kissable, the kind of lips that looked made for sucking cock. Her eyes shifted to a vivid, sexy blue—bright and cruel and knowing. Her cheekbones sharpened. Her jawline refined. Every flaw vanished.

She looked in the mirror and saw a wet dream.

"Oh my God," she breathed, and her new voice was higher, breathier, designed for moaning. She sounded like a porn star. She looked like a porn star.

Her body was a sex machine. Built for fucking. Every curve an invitation. Every feature designed to attract and arouse.

She cupped her new tits, feeling their weight, and her pussy throbbed. They were so sensitive. She pinched her nipples and a jolt of pure pleasure shot through her, making her gasp.

Fuck this feels amazing.

She spent the rest of the day shopping and buying new clothes. Now she was drowning in male attention. She felt their hungry stares and she felt... aroused. Proud and turned on that they wanted her. THIS was more like it.

That night Richard tried to kiss her and she moved away. The thought of him touching her perfect new body was just too fucking gross. She insisted he sleep in the other room.

She came three times that night, her new tits bouncing as she rode her fingers, her tight pussy clenching around nothing. She looked at herself in the mirror as she came—watching this gorgeous creature writhe and moan—and barely recognised the slut staring back.

Richard was asleep in the other room, Riley was next door. They could probably hear her moaning and gasping like a slut.

She didn't care.

---

Joe came over the next afternoon to study with Riley.

He was twenty. Tall. Athletic. The kind of guy Kate would have scolded Riley for bringing home late when she was... before. Sandy hair, blue eyes, shoulders that filled out his t-shirt.

Now, watching him from the kitchen doorway—her tight jeans hugging her new ass, her low-cut top showing off those perfect tits—she felt something different. Something hungry.

Joe looked at her. Really looked. His eyes traveled from her face down to her chest, lingering on the deep cleavage, then lower to her tight stomach and the swell of her hips.

"Mrs. Morrison, you look... different."

"Call me Kate." She smiled, and her new lips curved perfectly. "I feel different. Better. Maybe you and I should talk. Riley, will you do Mommy a favour? I ate all the ice cream. Would you nip to the store and get more?" 

Riley left aand Kate was alone with Joe.

It took only a few seconds to seduce him.

She pressed herself against him—her firm tits against his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken, her hand finding the hardening bulge in his jeans—and kissed him with her soft new mouth. Her lips were incredible—plush and warm and skilled, somehow, like her body knew exactly what to do.

"Mrs. Morrison—Kate—what are you—"

"Shut up," she whispered, and sank to her knees.

She pulled his cock free and it was beautiful. Young and hard and thick, jutting out from his jeans, already leaking precum. She took him in her mouth and sucked like she'd been born for it, her plump lips sealing around his shaft, her blue eyes looking up at him with a look of pure worship.

Her mouth was made for this. Her tongue swirled around the head, teasing the sensitive underside. She took him deep, relaxing her throat, feeling him hit the back of her mouth. She bobbed her head, establishing a rhythm, her new tits swaying with the motion.

Joe groaned, his hands fisting in her platinum hair. "Holy shit, Kate—"

He came down her throat in three minutes flat, and she swallowed every drop, her throat working around his cock.

They fucked on the kitchen counter —her legs wrapped around his waist, her skirt hiked up around her hips, her thong pulled to the side. His strong young cock buried in her tight new pussy, stretching her open, filling her completely.

She was so wet. Dripping. Her pussy gripped him like a vice, the muscles clenching and releasing as he thrust into her. Her moans echoed through the empty house—high, breathy, desperate.

"Oh fuck—yes—harder—deeper—"

Her new tits bounced with every thrust, and she watched them in the reflection of the microwave door, mesmerized by her own body. By how good she looked getting fucked.

It was amazing.

Better than Richard had ever been. Better than anything she could remember. Her pussy was so tight, so sensitive, every stroke sending waves of pleasure through her body.

And the cheating—the secret, the wrongness of it—made her cum even harder. She was fucking her son's best friend on the kitchen counter where she'd made breakfast that morning. Where she'd packed Riley's lunch. Where she'd kissed Richard goodbye.

"Same time tomorrow?" Joe panted, zipping up.

Kate licked her lips, tasting his cum. "Fuck yeah, how about every day baby...?"

It was the start of something beautiful...

---

Joe wanted to take her out. A double date—him and Kate, his friend Sam and Sam's girlfriend Ashley.

Kate looked at herself in the mirror. Stunning, yes. But she still talked like a middle-aged woman. She still thought like one. Her vocabulary was wrong. Her references were outdated. Ashley would see through her in seconds—some Gen-Z girl with the vocabulary of a PTA mom.

The app buzzed.

"Having fun, babe?" Lexi's smirk was knowing.

"I love that I look hot now, but I need to know more. If I'm going to hang out with these eighteen year olds I need to fit in. I need to—"

"Say it."

Kate swallowed. "I wish I knew more about Gen-Z culture. Fashion. Slang. I wish I could become Gen-Z. I was I had a mind to match this body."

Lexi's smile turned savage. "Wish granted."

The pink light hit her brain first.

Knowledge flooded in—TikTok trends, fashion brands, makeup techniques, slang, music, the whole cultural lexicon of a generation. But it wasn't just information. It was personality. It was values. It was a complete rewrite of who Kate Morrison had been.

And Lexi, who had never been rejected before, who had spent a week nursing her wounded pride, who had made Kate feel old and grey and desperate—Lexi interpreted the wish with maximum malice.

Become Gen-Z? Oh, babe. I'll make you the worst of us.

Kate's mind warped. Her kindness curdled into cruelty. Her warmth became a weapon. Her empathy evaporated, replaced by a sharp, cutting bitchiness that found weakness and exploited it. Her sense of duty became entitlement. Her love for her family became contempt.

Her nails grew long, acrylic,—talons that could scratch and claw. Her wardrobe reorganised itself—crop tops, mini skirts, platform heels, lingerie that cost more than her old car. Her makeup collection exploded across a new vanity. Her phone filled with apps she'd never heard of—TikTok, Depop, various hookup platforms.

Her vocal fry deepened. Her inflection shifted. "Like" and "literally" and "omg" became her native tongue. Her tone became mocking, dismissive, cruel.

She looked in the mirror and saw a stranger.

Kaylee.

The name appeared in her mind fully formed, and it fit like a glove. Like it had always been there, waiting.

"Omg," she said, and her voice was pure bratty perfection. "I look hot."

Her bedroom had transformed. Pink and black and leopard print. A king-size bed with silk sheets. A dildo collection that would make a porn star blush—vibrating, thrusting, some of them terrifyingly large. A full-length mirror and ring light for content creation. A closet full of designer clothes and slutty outfits.

The old Kate was still in there somewhere—a tiny voice screaming that this was wrong, that she needed to stop, that she should wish herself back—

Kaylee told it to shut the fuck up.

She got dressed. Tiny skirt—black, leather, barely covering her ass. Crop top showing underboob, the lower curve of her tits visible. Platform heels that made her legs look insane and her ass even more pronounced. Long blonde hair in a high ponytail. Makeup that said fuck me in every language—smoky eyes, glossy lips, contoured cheekbones.

She didn't recognise herself.

She loved it.

---

Joe's jaw dropped when he saw her. Sam's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Ashley—brunette, pretty, dressed like she was trying to be sexy but not quite committing—looked at Kaylee with instant jealousy.

Good, Kaylee thought. Know your place, bitch.

"Omg, hiiii!" Kaylee air-kissed Ashley, leaving a faint lip gloss mark near her cheek. "I'm Kaylee. Love your top. So vintage."

Ashley's smile tightened. "Thanks. I like your... everything."

With her new knowledge and experience, Kaylee blended in perfectly.  Gen-Z dating was different. The hotel room was already booked. The "date" was always going to end here. They all wanted to fuck. She loved it.

It took exactly four drinks before Ashley's inhibitions vanished and Sam's hands were everywhere—up her skirt, in her top, pulling her onto the bed. Joe pulled Kaylee onto the adjacent bed, and then—

An orgy. Pure and simple.

Kaylee pushed Joe onto his back and straddled him, her skirt hiked up, her thong pulled aside. She sank down onto his cock with a moan, feeling him fill her inch by inch. Her tight pussy stretched around him, gripping him like a glove.

"Oh fuck yes," she moaned, her vocal fry cracking with pleasure. "Your cock feels so fucking good inside me—"

She rode him hard, her perfect tits bouncing, her ass slapping against his thighs. She was loud—deliberately so—making sure Ashley could hear every moan, every slap of skin, every wet sound of cock entering pussy.

Ashley was on her hands and knees nearby, Sam fucking her from behind, but her eyes kept drifting to Kaylee. To those perfect tits. To that flawless body taking Joe's cock like she was born for it.

"Come here, babe," Kaylee commanded, crooking a finger at Ashley. "Eat me out while I ride him."

Ashley hesitated, but Sam pushed her head toward Kaylee's ass. Her tongue found Kaylee's clit—oh fuck—and Kaylee screamed, her orgasm hitting her like a freight train.

They switched. Kaylee on her hands and knees, Sam behind her, his cock sliding into her soaked pussy.

And when Sam's cock entered her—fuck, he was huge, bigger than Joe by at least three inches, thick enough to make her eyes water—she saw heaven.

"Oh my God," she screamed, her vocal fry cracking with pleasure. "Your cock is so fucking big—it's splitting me open—yes—"

He hit her cervix and she saw stars. Her pussy stretched around him, taking every inch, her body accommodating him like it was made for this. Like she was made for big cocks.

She came harder than she ever had. Size mattered. She was instantly a size queen.

Ashley watched with wide eyes as Kaylee took every inch, begging for more, cumming again and again. The other girl looked almost scared—intimidated by this blonde goddess who could take a cock that would make most women cry.

Afterward, lying in a tangle of limbs, cum leaking from her well-fucked pussy, Kaylee knew: she was never going back. This was who she was now. A bratty, slutty, size-queen bitch who loved young cock and didn't give a fuck about anything but pleasure.

---

Sam came over the next day. Ashley didn't care—they had an "open" relationship, apparently, which meant Sam fucked whoever he wanted and Ashley pretended she was fine with it. He wanted her and that was good.

Kaylee didn't judge. She just enjoyed.

She was face-down on her bed, Sam's massive cock buried in her pussy, his hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by her breathy moans and his guttural grunts.

"Harder," she demanded, her face pressed into the pillow. "Fuck me harder, you—"

The front door opened.

"Kate? I'm home early—"

Richard.

Kaylee didn't stop. She looked over her shoulder—her perfect ass still in the air, Sam still pounding her, his cock glistening with her juices—and saw her husband standing in the doorway. His face was a mask of shock and horror.

She should have felt guilty. She felt nothing but annoyance. Richard screamed at her. He threw stuff. Sam wanted to stop fucking her, this wouldn't do.

She reached over and grabbed her phone. "OMG Lexi, get out here. I need your help." 

The app buzzed.

"Hey, want me to help fix this, babe?" Giggled Lexi as she instantly assessed the situation. Kaylee nodded. "I need this loser to stop making such a fuss." 

"Hmmm, then why don't you make Richard here more appreciative of the situation, then you can carry on uninterrupted." 

Kaylee smiled. Lexi always had the best ideas. "Fuck yeah, in that case I wish Richard was a sissy cuckold loser who can only get hard if he's watching me get fucked or I'm being mean to him."

Pink light.

Richard's expression shifted—confusion, then something else. Something hungry. His pants tented, his cock straining against the fabric of his slacks despite the fact that his wife was getting railed by another man.

"K-Kate—" His voice was higher. Weaker. Pathetic.

"It's Kaylee, now get over here and watch," Kaylee commanded. "And don't you dare touch yourself until I say."

Richard—Richie—shuffled forward, his eyes locked on Sam's cock plunging into his wife's perfect pussy. His own dick throbbed in his pants, leaking precum, harder than it had been in years.

"That's it," Kaylee moaned, pushing back against Sam. "Watch him fuck me. Watch him make me cum on his big cock. You could never do this, Richie. You're too old. Too small. Too pathetic."

Richard whimpered. His cock spurted in his pants, a wet stain spreading across the front of his slacks.

"Did you just cum from watching me get fucked?" Kaylee laughed, cruel and bright. "Omg, you're even more pathetic than I thought."

Sam grabbed her hips and fucked her harder, turned on by the humiliation. He pulled out at the last moment and came all over Kaylee's ass—hot, thick ropes of cum decorating her perfect cheeks, dripping down her thighs.

"Clean it up, Richie." Kaylee pointed at the mess. "Lick it all off."

Richard fell to his knees and obeyed. His tongue lapped at her cum-covered ass, tasting Sam's seed, his own cock still hard and straining in his ruined pants.

"Good boy," Kaylee said mockingly. "Maybe I'll let you watch again sometime."

---

The next day, Sam and Joe were taking turns fucking her—Joe in her mouth, Sam in her pussy—when Riley came home.

"Mom? I heard voices and—oh my God."

Riley stood in the doorway, his face pale with shock and horror. His best friend's cock in his mother's mouth. Another guy he barely knew pounding her from behind. Her perfect tits swinging with every thrust.

"Mom, what the fuck—"

Kaylee pulled off Joe's cock with a pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the head. "Don't call me Mom, babe. It's Kaylee now." She rolled her eyes. "And don't be such a prude. You're just mad you're not getting any."

Riley's face twisted with disgust and anger. "This is sick. You're sick. You're my mother—you're supposed to be—you're fucking my friends—"

"Was your mother," Kaylee corrected, her voice dripping with contempt. "That boring old bitch is gone. I'm Kaylee now, and I do what I want."

"You need help." Riley's voice cracked. "Serious help. This isn't you—"

Kaylee felt a flash of irritation. Then something darker—a cruel satisfaction at the look on his face. The judgment. The moral outrage. It was so pathetic.

"Sam, Joe—stop for a second."

The guys pulled out, their cocks glistening, still hard. Kaylee sat up, her perfect body on full display, and looked at her son with cold eyes.

"You know what your problem is, Riley? You're weak. You're soft. You're a whiny little bitch who can't handle the fact that his mommy likes getting fucked." She stood up, naked, and walked toward him. "You tried to ruin my fun. You tried to make me feel bad about it."

"Someone has to—"

"Shut up." Kaylee grabbed her phone. The app was already open.

Lexi appeared, grinning. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

"I wish Riley was a trans girl with a small cock and a pretty body who loves sucking dick."

Riley's eyes went wide. "Mom, no—please—"

Pink light.

Riley's transformation was beautiful, in a cruel way. His shoulders narrowed, the muscle melting away into softness. His hips widened, becoming feminine and curvy. His ass plumped up, becoming round and squeezable. His face softened into delicate femininity—high cheekbones, full lips, long lashes. His hair grew out, falling past his shoulders in soft waves.

His cock shrank—tiny now, barely three inches hard, a pathetic little nub that would never satisfy anyone. His body became smooth and pretty and fuckable—the kind of body that was made to be used.

She blinked, confused for only a moment, and then her eyes found Joe's cock. Her tiny dick twitched.

"Can I...?" Riley—Ri-Ri—bit her lip, looking up at Joe through her lashes. Her voice was soft and breathy. "Can I touch it?"

"Go ahead, babe." Kaylee gestured. "Show me what you can do."

Ri-Ri sank to her knees and took Joe's cock in her mouth with practiced ease, her pretty lips wrapping around the shaft, her tongue swirling around the head. Her own little dick—her clitty, as Kaylee would call it—was rock hard, spurting precum as she worshipped him.

"Look at that," Kaylee said, watching with satisfaction. "My son is a natural cocksucker. Who knew?"

Ri-Ri moaned around Joe's cock, her hips wiggling, her tiny dick bouncing. She was desperate for it. Humiliated and loving every second.

"Sam," Kaylee commanded. "Give her something to suck on too."

Sam moved to Ri-Ri's other side, and soon she was taking turns—Joe's cock, then Sam's, then back again—her pretty face getting messier and messier with spit and precum.

"Let's give her what she really wants," Kaylee said. "Bukkake style."

The guys stroked themselves, standing over Ri-Ri as she knelt between them, her mouth open, her tongue out, her eyes glazed with submission.

Joe came first—thick ropes of cum splashing across Ri-Ri's face, coating her cheeks, her nose, her lips. She moaned and tried to catch it in her mouth.

Sam followed, his load even bigger, painting her forehead, her chin, dripping down onto her flat chest. She was covered—a cum-drenched mess, her pretty face barely visible under the glaze of semen.

"Omg, you look amazing," Kaylee giggled, snapping a photo with her phone. "Such a good little cum whore."

Ri-Ri's tiny dick spurted without being touched, her own pathetic orgasm triggered by the humiliation. She came all over herself, her little load adding to the mess on her stomach.

Richard watched from the corner, his cock straining in its cage, his eyes glazed with submissive bliss. He'd watched his son become a cum-covered slut and it had made him hard.

---

The next morning, Kaylee made her final wish.

"I wish my family was totally subservient and dedicated to supporting my needs."

Pink light.

And just like that, it was done. Richie—her sissy cuckold husband—cooked and cleaned and worshipped the ground she walked on, his cock permanently caged, his only pleasure derived from serving her. He did her laundry, ran her baths, prepared her outfits. He was her maid, her butler, her slave.

Ri-Ri—her pretty little trans daughter—was her personal assistant, arranging hookups and shopping trips and spa days, her tiny cock always hard when Kaylee called her a good girl. She was also available for entertainment—whenever Kaylee's hookups wanted a warm-up, Ri-Ri was there, eager to please.

The house ran smoothly. Kaylee wanted for nothing.

It might have ended there, but Lexi had one last surprise...

---

Three days later, Kaylee was getting ready for another hookup—tight dress, high heels, makeup perfect—when her phone buzzed.

The app opened on its own.

Lexi's face appeared, but her expression was different. More intense. More hungry.

"Hey, babe. I've got a surprise for you."

"Omg, what?" Kaylee checked her lipstick in the mirror. "I'm kind of busy—"

"Reverse."

The word hung in the air like a guillotine.

"What?"

"I'm reversing all your wishes, babe. Temporarily." Lexi's smile was a knife. "Just for a little while. Just so we can... talk."

Pink light exploded from the phone, but this time it was different—colder, harsher, like being doused in ice water.

Kaylee felt her tits shrink—no no no—her D-cups deflating back to modest B-cups. Her ass flattened. Her platinum hair darkened to mousy brown. Her perfect face aged, wrinkles appearing like cracks in porcelain, her skin sagging, her eyes dimming.

She was forty-five again. Plain. Grey. Old.

She looked around and the room had changed—her slutty bedroom was gone, replaced by the sensible master suite she'd shared with Richard. Her designer clothes had vanished, replaced by beige cardigans and mom jeans.

Downstairs, she heard Richard's voice—deep, confident, male. And Riley—her son, Riley, male and whole and unbroken.

Kate Morrison stood in her bedroom, old and tired and grey, and she wanted to scream.

Lexi appeared, lounging with a satisfied smirk.

"There she is. The woman who rejected me." She leaned forward, her bubblegum eyes glittering. "How does it feel, Kate? How does it feel to be you again?"

Kate's hands were shaking. Her body ached. Her skin was loose and wrinkled. Her tits sagged. Her pussy was dry and unused. She felt nothing—no arousal, no excitement, no vitality.

Just the grey, creeping emptiness that had been consuming her for weeks before Lexi came.

"Change me back," Kate whispered.

"Say please."

"Please."

"Say it properly." Lexi's voice was silk over steel. "Tell me what you want to be, Kate. Tell me who you really are."

Kate swallowed. The old voice in her head—the one that had been screaming for weeks—was silent now. Or maybe it was just drowned out by the deafening need.

"I want to be Kaylee."

"Who's Kaylee?"

"I am." Kate's voice cracked. "I'm Kaylee. I'm a—I'm a bratty, slutty, Gen-Z bitch with big tits and a tight pussy and I love—I love—getting fucked by big cocks."

"What else?"

"I love cheating. I love cuckolding Richard. I love humiliating my family. I love being cruel." The words poured out of her, ugly and true. "I love being mean. I love making Ri-Ri suck cock. I love making Richie eat cum. I love being a—a size queen—I love being a whore—"

"What are you begging for, Kate?"

"I'm begging to be evil!" Kate sobbed. "I'm begging to be a wicked, toxic, bratty slut who doesn't care about anyone but herself! I want to be Kaylee forever! I want to be permanent!"

Lexi's smile was radiant. Triumphant. Cruel.

"That's what I wanted to hear, babe."

She snapped her fingers.

Pink light hit Kate like a wave of pure pleasure. She was falling—no, flying—her body transforming again, but faster this time, more intense. Her tits swelled, heavy and round and perfect. Her ass inflated. Her waist narrowed. Her hips widened. Her hair turned platinum blonde and grew past her shoulders, thick and glossy.

Her face reshaped itself—higher cheekbones, fuller lips, sexier eyes. Her skin tightened, becoming smooth and glowing. Her nails grew long and pink. Her vocal fry deepened.

But the biggest change was inside. The last remnants of Kate Morrison—kind, loving, selfless Kate—burned away like morning fog. In their place was pure, unadulterated Kaylee—cruel, selfish, greedy, horny, wicked.

And this time, it was permanent.

Kaylee opened her eyes and looked in the mirror. She was even hotter than before. More perfect. More evil.

"Omg," she breathed, and her voice was pure bratty perfection. "I'm back, bitches."

Downstairs, she heard Richie's high, pathetic voice calling up to her. "Kaylee? Do you need anything, mistress?"

And Ri-Ri: "Mistress Kaylee, Sam's here. Should I... warm him up for you?"

Kaylee smiled. A slow, cruel, satisfied smile.

"Send him up, Ri-Ri. And then come watch. Both of you."

Lexi vanished in a puff of smoke and her voice echoed from the phone one last time: "No one rejects the Gen-Z Genie, babe. No one. I always win."

Then she was gone, and Kaylee was alone with her perfect, permanent, wicked self.

She ran her hands over her big tits, down her tiny waist, over her perfect ass. Her pussy was already dripping, aching to be filled.

It felt so good to be bad.

And it was going to feel good forever.

---

The once-kind mother was gone. Only the wicked teenage bitch remained. And she would never, ever go back.

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