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.
