Just one look

 

Ryan was sweating, pacing the living room with that frantic, manic energy he always got when the topic of the magic ring came up. He looked sick, pale and shaking, clutching his right hand to his chest like it contained a grenade.

"You don't get it," he spat, running his free hand through his messy hair. "It’s not a costume. It’s not a fucking disguise. When I put it on, the old Ryan—your mate, the guy who plays FIFA with you—he gets shoved into a dark little box in the back of the brain. And she comes out."

He turned on me, eyes wild. "Rhiannon isn't just a girl. She's a magical parasite constructed from my darkest fantasies and every toxic impulse I’ve ever repressed. The magic—it’s ancient, heavy stuff. It rewires reality. If you see her, the air around you changes. Pheromones, psychic suggestion... it hits you like a truck. She doesn't just attract men; she corrupts them. She turns straight guys into drooling, wallet-emptying, dignity-shedding worshipers. And she laughs while she does it. She gets off on it. She’s a bratty, cruel, dominant monster, and I won't let her do that to you. I love you like a brother, man. I can't have you becoming her slave."

I stared at him, my heart pounding—not with fear, but with a voracious, burning curiosity. A monster? A creature that dominates men completely? The warning should have scared me off. Instead, it made my blood run hot. I wanted to see the power. I wanted to see the creature that could terrify my best friend so much. That's why I'd told him it just needed to be a single image. That's all... just one look.

"Come on, Ry," I said, leaning forward, trying to keep my voice steady. "There's no way a picture can do that. You said yourself, the magic is in the air. In the presence. If I just see a photo, I’m safe. I just... I need to know. I need to see what you're hiding."

Ryan groaned, rubbing his face. "You're an idiot. You're such a fucking idiot. If this goes wrong, if you start feeling the pull, you have to smash your phone. Promise me."

"I promise. Just send it."

He glared at me, then gritted his teeth. "Fine. But when you're begging to lick her boots in ten minutes, don't say I didn't warn you."

He stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door. I heard the lock click home—a heavy, final sound. Then came the silence. It stretched on for agonising minutes. I sat on the edge of the sofa, my hands clenched into fists. Then, I heard it.

A wet, slick sound, like raw meat slapping against stone. A groan, deep and guttural, that shifted pitch, cracking upwards into a high, breathless gasp.

Yessssss... The voice was muffled by the door, but it was unmistakably feminine—and dripping with venomous delight. More... give me MORE.

There was a sound like bones popping and rearranging, a sickeningly loud crack, followed by a giggle. It wasn't Ryan's giggle. It was the sound of a mean girl discovering a new toy.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I snatched it up, my fingers trembling so badly I nearly dropped it.

The notification was a simple image file. No caption. I opened it.

The world tilted sideways.

She was sitting, one leg tucked up beneath her, showing off the ridiculous curve of her thigh. She was wearing Ryan's red and cream striped pyjama bottoms but on her, they looked like designer couture. They clung to a hips that had flared out violently, the waistband digging into soft, tanned skin.

But my eyes were instantly dragged upward.

She was wearing a flesh-coloured bodysuit, thin and tight as a second skin. And beneath it... God. Her tits were enormous, heavy, perfect globes that defied gravity, straining the fabric so hard I thought it might tear. They created a shelf of cleavage that looked deep enough to get lost in forever. She wasn't wearing a bra; you could see the faint outline of nipples pressing against the material, hard and demanding.

I dragged my gaze up to her face, and my heart stopped.

Chocolate silk. Her hair was a thick, luscious curtain of dark brown waves that cascaded over her shoulders, shining with a health and vitality that Ryan’s hair never possessed. Her face was softer, the jawline refined, the cheekbones high and sharp. Her lips were inflated, plump and glossy, painted in a shade of 'fuck me' red that made my mouth water.

And her eyes. They were gorgeous. They weren't looking at the camera; they were looking through it, straight at me. The expression was a mix of boredom and malice.

I should be immune, I thought, panic flaring in my chest. It’s just pixels. It’s just Ryan.

But the magic was already working. I could feel it—a pressure behind my eyes, a warmth spreading through my limbs. The air around the phone seemed to shimmer with a scent that wasn't there; vanilla and expensive perfume and sex.

Mmmmmh, I groaned aloud, the sound slipping out before I could stop it.

I zoomed in on her face. Those sneering lips. That cruel, arrogant brow.

She’s perfect, the voice in my head whispered. The voice that used to be my rational brain was rapidly turning into mush. Look at her. She’s a Goddess. A nasty, beautiful, mean Goddess.

Oooooh, the pleasure washed over me, intense and humiliating. My knees felt weak. I slid off the sofa onto the floor, my eyes never leaving the screen.

Ryan was gone. The friendship was dead. How could I ever respect him again when this was lurking inside him? This superior, dominant, alpha bitch?

The phone buzzed in my hand. A text message from Rhiannon.

Well, well, well. Look at the little simp on the floor. I can feel you, you know. I can feel your will dissolving. It’s delicious.

I bet you’re hard, aren't you? I bet you’d give anything to be in this room right now, so I could use you as a footrest.

My breath hitched. A tear of shame and want rolled down my cheek. I was trapped. I was caught.

I am, I typed back, my thumbs shaking. I’m hard. I’m yours.

I know, she replied instantly. You’re just like all the others. Weak. Pathetic. Easy. Ryan tried to protect you, but the dumb boy didn't realise you were already begging for it. Did he?

No, I typed. No, I wanted this. I wanted you.

Good boy, came the response, followed by a selfie of her blowing a kiss, her eyes narrowed in mocking affection. Now, be a dear and send me your bank balance. Mommy wants a new purse. And don't keep me waiting. You know what happens to bad boys who keep Goddess waiting.

I stared at the demand, my pulse hammering in my throat. I should block the number. I should run.

Instead, I opened my banking app.

It was over. Ryan was a prisoner in his own mind, and I was a prisoner to the body on the screen. As I typed in the numbers, I looked back at her photo one last time—at those massive, tempting tits and that cruel, hateful sneer—and I knew, with absolute certainty, that being her simp was the best thing that would ever happen to me.

Now come to my bedroom... we're going to have so much fun together...

I would never be able to look Ryan in the eye again...