Models: Troy Francisco & Eliza Ibarra
Eloise couldn’t understand how anybody could even think about hiking or sunbathing when there were so many books to be read. Admittedly she had stumbled upon Fantasy Manor’s reading room by accident while on the hunt for the kitchen (to her horror she had run out of tea while reading back at the room, and like any good bookworm had immediately set off to find more) so it was possible nobody else even knew it was here. Still, she knew full well that she was the only member of the group who would jump at the chance to have her own personal library for the week.
Already she had a stack of half a dozen books wedged under her arm. At the rate she read they probably wouldn’t last her the week. Fortunately she hadn’t even finished perusing the first bookshelf yet, so there were plenty more to potentially add to her pile. Less fortunately, Eloise was as skinny as she was short, and her arms tired quickly under the weight of the books. Unable to maintain her grip, she forced herself to turn away and head over to the glass coffee table.
To her surprise, the table wasn’t empty. A single red book sat closed on the glass, neither a title nor author on the cover.
Eloise frowned; she was sure the book hadn’t been there when she entered. Then again, she had bolted for the nearest shelf so quickly she could easily have missed it, and she shrugged the confusion off as she deposited her stack on the tabletop.
Dropping down on the nearby sofa, Eloise found the book had no blurb either. Such a bland exterior would have prompted most other people to simply slip it back onto the shelf, but to Eloise it was the equivalent of stamping ‘READ ME’ in black ink across the front. It was an invitation to explore what lay within. Nestled amongst the cushions, she took that invitation.
Though the manor’s halls seem quiet the air is thick with lustful magic. It has been some time since the manor received visitors, yet already many have been subjected to its erotic power, a fate which their friends will soon come to share. One by one the manor is moulding them into the objects of their own desires, drawing out the deviants within, unstitching and reweaving the threads of reality around them.
In one room a busty blonde writhes on the bedsheets while her handsome lover feasts voraciously on her sex; the impressive flexibility of her frantic convulsions betrays her role as the manor’s yoga instructor, though today only one man is benefitting from her bendiness.
Out in the gardens a sensual couple make love amongst the flowerbeds, the fragrant grass caressing their naked bodies while the voluptuous woman whispers filthy promises in the rugged man’s ears, infusing his thoughts with dreams of a life together.
In an ensuite an attentive young woman rubs lotion into a guest’s skin as the steam of the shower curls around them. Her dainty maid outfit clings saturated to her body, hugging her nubile figure, and her little cock twitches beneath the material knowing it will not be long before the man gives in to the urge to take her against the tiles.
Though she would never have admitted it to any of her friends, Eloise was an avid erotica reader. She hadn’t expected to find anything steamy in the manor, though she certainly wasn’t complaining and eagerly continued.
While the manor watches over their depravity, so too does the quiet bookworm, nestled upon the sofa within the reading room and little knowing what gifts the manor has in store for her. Her name is Eloise.
Momentarily stunned, Eloise reread the paragraph half a dozen times to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But no, there was no mistake. Her pulse thumped as the sensation of being watched set her nerves on edge. Yet even as half of her mind rejected the notion that this book was somehow narrating reality, the remainder was racing to comprehend the previous paragraphs in a new light.
Which of her friends had the manor already transformed? Which of the rooms around her were occupied by strangers crafted from the bodies of people she had known for years? How could it be that the manor itself was corrupting them? The questions sounded so deranged she hardly dared think them.
And yet, unable to resist the temptation, Eloise turned to the book for answers.
Despite her confusion, the manor sees something special in Eloise. Hidden beneath the quiet bookworm is a raw potential – a fascination with the lustful and erotic that her friends do not possess. A kindred spirit. Such a spirit deserves more than mere transformation. Fortunately, the manor considers none of its current guests more worthy of wielding its power than Eloise.
Which is why, as she clasps the book with baited breath, hanging on its every word, the first tingles of metamorphosis crackle in her fingertips – the conduit through which every artist conveys their imagination.
Eloise’s hold on reality faltered as an electric sensation buzzed through her fingers. Her mind was split: on the one hand, the rational logician within her knew magic was not real; yet on the other, the whimsical fantasist wanted nothing more than to believe in sentient manors and reality-warping transformations.
Either way, there was no denying the tingling in her fingers. And it was spreading. Already her hands felt alive with energy while the strange sensation was steadily unfurling up her arms and across her torso.
But it was only when her hands transformed before her very eyes that Eloise’s grasp on reality truly failed. She watched entranced as pink gloss painted itself over her bare nails, as her fingers subtly extended, as the childhood scar on the back of her right hand faded away. Holding up hands that were no longer her own, she allowed herself to feel the manor’s magic tingling in their tips. Though the changes were subtle, the skin of her new digits was a few shades more tanned than before even while the skin of her arms remained the same, the two tones blending together around her wrists.
Yet the transformation did not spread. Not yet. It seemed to be waiting. And in her heart, Eloise knew why.
Her friends had not had a choice in their transformations. The manor had rewritten their lives before most of them even realised what had happened, bringing out the deviants within in ways they never could have done alone. It had made the decision for them knowing that even though they would be grateful in the end, they would never have accepted such an offer of their own volition.
But Eloise was different. She was one of the few members of the group who could appreciate the manor’s true power – one of the only ones who could use it to weave her own worlds of desire. All she had to do was accept that power.
Slowly, her lips curled into a smile. ‘Okay then, you manor of mischief. Tell me a story.’
And so, sinking down onto the broad white armchair, Eloise picked up where she had left off.
With acceptance given, the changes that overcome Eloise’s body are among the manor’s finest work. What began in her hands spreads up her arms like silken evening gloves drawn elegantly into place; the tan of her new skin is healthy and golden, the softness unparalleled.
Through her shoulders and torso it persists, a pleasant warmth flushing within her tissues as they shift beneath the skin. The heat mounts in her bosom, intensifying and engorging along with the expansion of her flat chest. Though not colossal, her supple tits briefly bulge over the top of her pyjama vest, which is now entirely incapable of containing them.
The discomfort is only brief, however, for before the inflation has even finished the vest itself is restitching to accommodate. The plaid pattern fades to pastel pink even as the material itself thins to mesh and lace, complete with elegant floral design. The straps narrow; the bustline sinks; the hem rises. By the time the vest settles, it enwraps a lean, lithe figure, with the cropped design subtly emphasising her soft midriff.
Eloise’s long plaid bottoms face a similar fate. Like a silk sheet pulled away from a magician’s hat, they retreat rapidly up her legs. Once the hem is cupping her ass the patterned cotton has given way to plum-coloured crushed velvet. In their wake lie smooth, tanned legs and dainty feet – yet it is their contents that truly draw the attention. As if following the example of her plump breasts, her rump swells to fill her skimpy shorts, the underside of her cheeks peeking out from beneath the edges.
Despite these changes, perhaps the most striking enhancement comes with the elongation of her limbs. Creaks and groans ring out as bones and muscles and ligaments stretch, yet there is no pain, only glee: with each inch added Eloise’s intrinsic jealousy of all her tall female friends fades further into obsolescence.
Though the pleasure of transformation is intoxicating, it is only when she feels it rising up her neck that Eloise lets out a groan. She can feel the manor probing her mind, drawing out the desires she has so long kept silent, satisfied only by late-night erotica. Deviance infuses her thoughts while her features shift to enhance her beauty: plucked brows and large eyes; rosy cheeks and a soft jawline; juicy lips and sweet, deep dimples. Her new appearance is equal parts innocent and seductive, cute yet conniving – a visage one might expect from the lovechild of a cherub and a succubus.
The final quivers of corruption manifest as a darkening of her hair, the straight locks bending into gentle waves as the sunlight reflects off their glossy surface.
The woman Eloise has become is a living vessel of the manor’s power. Leggy, luscious, and just a whisper under six feet tall, she is the mortal incarnation of desire itself.
She is Eliza. And she has a score to settle.
In her mind’s eye she sees her friends. She sees the hiking group out in the woods, all oblivious to the fate awaiting them upon their return. She sees Jasmine and Christiana gorging on Jason’s manhood in the lounge. She sees Anya, eyes rolling as she is fucked from both ends by her studs.
Yet there is one member of the group she focuses on in particular: Taylor. Arrogant, boisterous, egotistical Taylor. During all her years in the group, he has always been her least favourite. Forever teasing her and the other quieter members of the group, perpetually embodying the stereotypical jock even while believing himself superior to the rest.
Eloise had always been too shy to retaliate. But those days are over. Taylor’s reality is now clay in Eliza’s hands. And with the manor’s magic at her command, she gleefully starts to sculpt…
Taylor never knew what hit him.
Though he had been briefly disturbed when Aaron left with the hiking group that morning, the need to sleep off his hangover headache had soon dragged Taylor back to bed again, and he had not stirred for several hours after. Eventually the warm sunlight shafting through the balcony window had prompted him to kick off the covers, but even then he had simply laid in bed on his phone.
It was in this very position that Eliza’s magic found and engulfed him.
Like Eliza’s own transformation, Taylor’s started in his hands, brown skin darkening by several shades while the bones of his fingers shifted into a slightly broader grasp. Playing on his phone as he was, Taylor noticed immediately, and with a startled cry he gave an instinctive jerk that sent the device sailing out the open window.
Springing up, he swiped frantically at his hands as though trying to beat out a fire. But the effects were already around his shoulders and advancing across his bare chest. His eyes bulged as he caught sight of himself in the mirror; wherever the darker skin tone touched fresh muscle bubbled up in its wake, the pitching of his flesh as they grew giving the impression that his inner demons were desperately trying to break free. Within seconds his athletic physique was swollen with abs and pecs and biceps, every fibre infused with intoxicating power.
By the time the corruption reached his hips, his boxers had literally burned away, the material withering to dust like dry leaves against the forest fire of magic searing through his body. As such, Taylor had an unobstructed view of the abrupt engorgement that overcame his genitals.
A primal howl tore from his lungs as both his cock and balls almost doubled in size, all while his pubic hair rapidly retracted into a sparse lining trimmed short across his loins. His new manhood was instantly hard, the undeniable arousal of his transformation raising it to attention and filling him with such pleasure that a small part of his panicking mind begged for more.
Even so, the rest of him was still in a state of numb terror. Before his dick had even finished extending the changes had already reshaped his legs, packing them with just as much firm muscle as his torso, the combination of which gave him the overall proportions of a time-displaced gladiator. At any other time Taylor might have admired his new physique, but given that the changes were encroaching up his neck his panic was reaching a fever pitch.
Yet while his reforming chin sprouted cropped facial hair and the bones of his skull creaked and cracked as they rearranged his outer appearance, Taylor was far more alarmed by the fact that he was no longer alone in his own mind. Deviant laughter danced through his thoughts as a strange presence seemed to embed itself in the very core of his psyche, a tainted seed rooting itself ever deeper. He could feel those roots clawing outwards, swiftly reaching every corner of his subconscious, all while the stem wound upwards, breaking through into his conscious mind where it grew and branched until it felt as if the canopy was pressing against the inside of his skull, the limbs studded with fresh buds. Only when there was no crevice of his consciousness left to infiltrate did those buds open.
To Taylor’s horror, inside there was only darkness.
For one single heartbeat Taylor’s eyes went wide as he realised he was being erased. Then there was nothing left, not even the corruptive tree, all personality swept aside to leave only an empty vessel. The new man stood impassively: blank-faced, naked, chest rising and falling evenly. The only echoes of the man he used to be were the designer watch Taylor had forgotten to remove before falling asleep the night before, the gold chain about his neck, and the ear and nose piercings that the magic had left untouched.
A minute passed. Another. Another.
Then the man stirred without warning. Heading for the door he did not bother to make himself decent before stepping into the hall. Without closing the door behind him he strode off slowly, drawn by a force he could not explain and without any recollection at all of the dramatic transformation that had just consumed him.
Nobody stumbled on the naked man roaming the halls. Nobody heard him pass outside their bedroom, or descend the main staircase, or pad across the tiles of the entrance hall. And when he passed by occupied rooms the manor made sure the doors were conveniently closed to avoid the deviants within becoming distracted from their own indulgences.
The door to the reading room, on the other hand, was left invitingly open. And the woman waiting for him inside was more inviting still.
Eliza wore a small, satisfied smile as her transformed puppet entered the room. She had considered leaving her clothes on and having him strip her once he arrived, though she had abandoned the idea while watching his transformation in her mind’s eye, the act of magical voyeurism whipping up her arousal far too much for her to manage such restraint. As a result she was already naked as she stood by the window with the book held against her bare torso.
‘Hello, handsome.’ She tilted her head slightly as she admired his hypermasculine physique, the motion sending rivulets of dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. ‘My name is Eliza. What’s yours?’
‘I have no name,’ the man replied evenly.
A flutter of glee whirled through Eliza’s insides; she could not deny the naughty thrill that came from seeing Taylor so helpless. During his transformation she had considered manipulating his mind as well as his body – after all, with her power it would have been effortlessly easy to imbue him with an entirely new psyche devoted to her satisfaction.
Yet even that seemed too merciful.
Taylor had spent years taunting and teasing her. What’s more, he had relished every sarcastic comment and belittling jibe that made her feel small, or nerdy, or like she didn’t belong, each one fuelling his ego and solidifying his sense of superiority over the other members of the group.
And after enduring all that torment, Eliza realised that the only thing more humiliating for Taylor than having that ego ruined was having it erased entirely – that the coldest act of revenge would be to leave him empty and dumb. Unable to resist the temptation of such an idea, she had taken great pleasure in stripping away everything Taylor once was and discarding it into the ether, leaving only a shell behind. This new man was no more than a drone for her to control.
At least for now. Because while leaving him hollow was an undeniably enticing prospect, Eliza was still a creative soul – it was why the manor had singled her out in the first place. Having written her own erotica from time to time she knew well enough that the author is never truly the one in control, but instead it is the characters who guide things along, with the author simply being the one to put their story down in words.
Yet now their story was one written between the lines of fantasy and reality. There were no limits on where their desires could take them, and she knew that sooner or later she would want more than just a mindless puppet to play with. True, she didn’t yet know where their story would take them – but wasn’t that part of the fun?
Still, wherever their story went, he was going to need a name.
‘Of course you have a name, silly. You’re Troy, remember?’ She smiled as he nodded, the name planting itself as a seed in his otherwise barren mind. ‘Do you remember why you’re here?’
Troy shook his head, prompting Eliza’s smile to spread: time to get creative.
‘You’re here to apologise, of course. You overslept, so I had to come here and find some erotica just to get myself off – you know how horny I get in the mornings. That’s why you always wake me up every day with your lips on my tits.’ Leaning over, she made sure Troy had a good view as she set the book down on the table and moved onto the armchair. ‘But maybe if you come over here and show me how sorry you are I might be able to forgive you.’
The machinations of Troy’s brain were almost visible as her words sank in, watering the seed of his new psyche. She watched him accept them, the memory of their daily wake-up ritual and the recollection of finding himself alone in the bed that morning taking bud. Even so, the rest of his mind was still cavernously empty, his persona just a frail sapling amidst the nothingness.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, regret etched into his handsome features as he moved to join her. ‘I don’t know what happened.’
Without another word he dropped to his knees and latched onto her closest breast with warm, wet lips.
Eliza gasped as his tongue ran over her nipple, lavishing it with oral attention and rendering it hard in a heartbeat. Clearly the memory of waking her up this way each morning had also imbued him with the skills of an experienced tit-sucker, for his tongue danced across her areola with both speed and purpose. As he suckled devotedly he made sure not to leave her other breast wanting, and Eliza gave another groan as his broad hand closed over her bosom to grope her sensually.
Troy’s free hand looped around her back and came to rest on the crown of her ass, which he used to pull her in closer.
Though Eliza was a vessel of sin, Eloise definitely wasn’t used to such doting sexual attention, and it took several seconds before her eyelids stopped fluttering, followed by several more before she managed to regain control of her slack jaw.
When her senses returned, however, they came with a buzz of sordid delight. ‘That’s it,’ she encouraged, resting one hand on Troy’s nape and the other against his broad, muscular chest. ‘This is where you belong, handsome. Your only desire is to satisfy me. It’s your happy place, isn’t it?’
Troy did not reply. Instead he simply closed his eyes and continued to worship her rack as her words became his reality.
The longer he knelt before her, the more Eliza found herself relishing the control she wielded over him. It wasn’t dominance exactly – she had no wish to start donning latex and cracking whips. Instead it more of a satisfying superiority, the kind only experienced by deviants in complete command of their partner’s desires. Troy could have snapped her in half with ease, yet here he was kneeling before her desperate to satisfy her needs. The knowledge that she could reduce him to such a state was an undeniable power trip.
Nevertheless, Eliza wasn’t interested in forcing him into whimpering subservience. For one thing, she had little interest in reversing their roles and becoming the bully Taylor once was. But more importantly, all the desires Eloise had kept at bay with erotica were now within her grasp, and one in particular had been calling to her since the moment Troy and his big, juicy cock strode into the room.
Eliza didn’t realise what she was doing before she had done it. One second she was kneeling on the chair with Troy suckling her bosom; the next she was nestled between his thighs while he lay on his back, his big black rod jutting up like a flagpole before her.
Unsurprisingly, the next sound to grace the room was the salacious slurping of a slut feasting on her stud.
Warm contentment blossomed through Eliza’s insides as her lips glided along Troy’s shaft. Her tongue swirled around and around with a mind of its own, her actions guided more by the sordid instincts the manor had rooted into her psyche than by rational thought. Easing closer she splayed her hands across his thighs and assumed a sensual rhythm, the erotic ache of his dick sinking down her throat setting her eyes fluttering once more.
For several minutes she was overcome by depraved hunger and could not help but lose herself to the slutty gluttony filling her thoughts. Gorging herself with increasing urgency she soon had Troy’s cock lathered in a thick layer of saliva, and on the rare occasions she paused for breath she massaged the sinful balm into his shaft before promptly diving back in for more. Even when her temples throbbed and her lips ached and her throat felt fit to burst, she simply couldn’t resist the blissful sensation of swallowing him as deep as her body would allow.
Given that the reading room looked out upon a secluded garden Eliza knew there was little chance of anybody hearing them – although with the ability to transform any unexpected voyeurs, she didn’t much care if anybody did. Still, as both Troy’s moans and her own wet slurping grew ever louder, she sensed the breeze pick up outside, helpfully carrying away the sounds of depravity that drifted through the windows. In the same moment the door to the reading room slid softly shut, enclosing them in an intimate bubble of sin.
Eliza wasn’t sure how long it took before conscious thought seeped back in. When it did, she was satisfied to find that not everything was quite the same as she’d left it.
During her distraction, a pale filigree had crept across the skin of Troy’s hips: stretchmarks. Several more decorated the underside of his arms, while the occasional thin thread could be seen tracing through his short patch of chest hair.
Eliza smiled. Troy’s persona was beginning to write itself. What was once a seed was growing into something more, roots sinking deeper, branches spreading wider, buds beginning to open. True, if she had wished to do so Eliza could have uprooted his growing personality and churned his mind to pulp.
But the opportunity to water his sapling psyche was far more enticing.
Finally pulling away, Eliza traced the delicate lines with a crimson fingertip. ‘You know what I love about these marks, baby? They remind me of who you used to be. Do you remember the first time we met?’
Troy shook his head, though she could see him trying to piece together the memory. Her creativity taking hold, she offered him the pieces he was searching for.
‘Back then all you ever wanted to do was pump iron day in, day out. Nothing else mattered to you. You were way more jacked, but all that muscle couldn’t make up for the fact that you couldn’t imagine loving anybody more than yourself.
‘That was when we met,’ she went on. ‘You fell for me the moment you saw me, but you were the last guy I wanted. You and your friends were such dumb himbos. They were such a bad influence on you that you had no idea how to treat a woman, and I wasn’t interested in a guy who knew more about protein shakes than passionate sex.’
Eliza watched Troy accept her words, and she smiled as they took root in her own mind too. ‘But then you asked me out. I’d already guessed you were going to, and I was so ready to say no, but then I realised how nervous you were. I always thought you were just another arrogant ass like you friends, but there you were stuttering out the question like you were asking your crush to prom. And I started to wonder if maybe there was something more beneath all that bravado. So I said yes.’
Moving closer until her legs were pressed against the side of the chair, Eliza held herself low over Troy’s reclined figure, her hands abandoning his dick to caress his broad chest.
‘Tell me, baby, do you remember what we did that night?’
This time when Troy frowned there were flickers of recognition behind his eyes; half-remembered things dancing on the tip of his tongue. ‘I… think so,’ he said.
Eliza’s smile was sweet and sinful all at once. ‘Here, let me jog your memory.’
Time seemed to slow as she sank down onto Troy’s erect rod.
With her eyes closed and her mouth open in a long, low, lustful groan, she savoured every drawn-out heartbeat of the descent. Erotic ecstasy arced through her, flaring as bright and slow as a lightning bolt viewed in slow motion. Locked in a state of bliss, Eliza was fully convinced that if she had opened her eyes she could have watched each individual wingbeat of the insects droning through the foliage outside.
Though Eliza had guided him into position, Troy had taken hold of her plump ass of his own volition and now his grip helped pull her down while his lips pressed to the flesh of her breasts. There was still an uncertainty to his movements, as if he wasn’t quite sure he remembered how to make love to her correctly, but with every moan that passed her lips she could sense his confidence building.
After what felt like an age Eliza’s thighs pressed against his lap. His manhood was buried inside her, stretching her tight sex, and the sensation flooded the transformed bookworm’s body with euphoric pleasure; all the arousal she had ever felt masturbating to erotica could not hold a candle to the bright, blazing orgasmia burning through her soul now.
Despite the intensity, the longer she spent in this body, the better she found she could tolerate the pleasure, and this time she managed to gather her senses faster than before.
Peering down at Troy, she clutched his broad shoulders to ground herself. Then, rolling her hips to take him slow and deep as she did so, she filled his head with magical memories.
‘That night was like a dream. I’d never met anybody who could truly satisfy me before, but you devoted yourself to my pleasure. I hadn’t expected it, but once you were in my bed you were a completely different man. It was like being alone with me made you forget about everything else: those goons you called friends, your addiction to the gym, the constant need to be the biggest, beefiest guy around – none of that mattered when you were with me. Your biggest turn-on was making me feel good, and that’s what you spent every second of that night doing.’
Pausing for breath even as she maintained the sensual rhythm of her hips, Eliza was about to continue – but she never got the chance.
‘I’d never met anybody like you, either,’ Troy said. The trepidation was completely gone from his voice. ‘Until then I’d only ever slept with girls who wanted me to take control. My friends always liked that – they’d joke about making sluts beg for their cocks – but I wanted something different. I wanted someone to worship. Better yet, someone who deserved to be worshipped. Except I’d stopped believing anyone could become that person for me, so I just tried to make myself into the man they already saw me as anyway. My friends, the gym, they were just ways to try and push aside the things I really wanted.’
Troy paused, his hands clamping tighter over Eliza’s sumptuous ass. ‘But then you showed me I could make those desires a reality after all.’
A rush of victory zipped through Eliza’s nubile figure – the slightly egotistical thrill of a writer congratulating themselves on a well-written character.
Already it felt strange to imagine Troy as the arrogant, egotistical jerk he had been until so recently. By crafting their shared backstory and infusing it into his memories, Eliza had pushed his budding psyche past the point of no return so that now she no longer had to shape his thoughts at all. The roots were so deep and the branches so broad that now they were growing of their own accord, new wants and needs and wishes sprouting to fill in the gaps between the ones Eliza had planted within him. Like the gardens outside, Troy’s once-barren mind was now lush and flourishing.
All of which boiled down to one crucial fact: Eliza could stop playing god now.
Of course, moulding her former bully into her ideal lover had been deeply enjoyable. But by now her arousal was burning so hot she felt ready to combust with it, and all she wanted to do was stop thinking and allow her doting stud to fulfil her every desire.
So that’s exactly what she did. Closing her eyes, wrapping her arms around her man and pressing herself against his broad chest, Eliza basked in the warmth of their kissing skin and then simply let go.
Troy didn’t need telling what to do next. With every detail of their relationship now fresh in his mind, her soft embrace was a wordless request he heard loud and clear: make me moan.
He obliged by embracing her in his muscular arms and easing her down onto her back while he rose to his knees, all without ever removing himself from her sex. With her nubile body spread out before him, he took her feet in his hands and spread her legs, her flushed folds twinkling with arousal as he did so. Eliza’s hand rushed up to touch his chest, her supple tits jiggling with the motion. And then he was thrusting again and sensual groans were spilling from her lips.
As an avid reader, Eliza was of course aware that most stories typically followed a seven point structure. At the same time, she also knew that extending any one of those for longer than it needed to be could seriously detract from the quality of the narrative. And yet, as Troy continually lavished her with erotic attention, it seemed as if their story had skipped the crisis entirely and was now locked in a climax that simply would not end.
Each new position felt better than the last. Troy’s roving hands infused her body with mounting arousal as he continued his relentless pumping rhythm, and Eliza felt her horniness building with every smooth thrust until she found herself teetering on the brink of orgasm, yet never quite tumbling over the edge.
What was more, even with Troy’s lovemaking prowess on full display, a significant part of the pleasure came from the thrills of her own body. With the memories of her old life still intact, Eliza savoured her new form in ways her amnesiac friends could not. The sensual ache of her engorged tits as they bounced and jiggled on her once flat chest, the erotic sting of her fleshy ass colliding with Troy’s thighs over and over in ways Eloise had only ever dreamed of – even the simple sensation of muscles and tendons shifting beneath her cloud-soft skin, the sinuous writhe of her nubile figure making her feel sexier than she ever thought possible.
Their conscious thoughts dwindling to a trickle, both Eliza and Troy soon lost count of the various positions they shifted through. On the rare occasions they briefly regained their senses they would find themselves tangled up in some new way: Eliza bracing herself on the chair arms while riding his flagpole cock; Troy thrusting slow and deep while spooning her warm body; Eliza kneeling on the chair while Troy ploughed her from behind, their united groans washing up against the spines of the room’s many books like swirling floodwater.
Yet those flashes of clarity were invariably fleeting, and within seconds their minds would tumble back into the abyss of arousal once more.
It was only after countless revolutions of this sordid cycle that Eliza – lying back on Troy’s chest with her man pumping up into her dripping pussy from below – finally felt her orgasm reach a breaking point.
‘Oh yes, yes, that’s it, don’t stop,’ she babbled as she clung to him desperately. A heartbeat later the shackles of her climax shattered completely. ‘Oh fuck, I’m cumming!’
Eliza’s entire body tensed as blissful release roared through her nether regions before unfurling up through her torso and filling every extremity with pleasure. However, her sex-addled mind was too detached to cut off her babbling, and as she went on her words shifted to address Troy instead.
‘I’m cumming. I’m cumming. You’re cumming. You’re cumming.’
The words had barely left her lips before Troy’s load erupted inside her. Grunting with release he gripped her tight and sank in balls deep, his throbbing cock swamping her insides with his thick, hot seed.
But though her energy was fading, Eliza still couldn’t stop repeating herself. ‘You’re cumming… You’re cumming… You’re… cumming…’
And so Troy just kept on filling her up. Soon enough he had emptied more cum inside her pussy than any ordinary man was capable of. Rivulets of his seed leaked from her hole and yet there was still more to eject when he pulled out to splatter pearly ribbons across her stomach and tits. Only when Eliza slumped down too breathless to speak was he finally able to stop.
Eliza wore a delirious grin as she basked in orgasmic afterglow. The impossible size of his load was a delicious reminder that while his mind was now his own, his body still belonged to her. Whatever fantasy she wished to explore she had only to imagine it and he would indulge her, even if that involved being transformed into some other lustful form.
Still, she wasn’t ready to transform Troy again just yet. Not when being railed by this version of her former bully felt so good.
Peering down at her body, she admired the way the strings of cum decorating her flesh twinkled in the light. After finishing, Troy had set her down on her back with a fluffy brown pillow supporting her head and upper back. He, on the other hand, was up on his knees, his athletic figure looming over her as he stroked his rigid cock.
An impish smile twisted Eliza’s lips as she looked up at him.
‘What is it, beautiful?’ Troy asked.
Eliza’s smile spread into a wicked grin. ‘I didn’t say you could stop. In fact from now on, you can’t stop, not unless I say so. Now be a good boy and get back to work while I start planning the next chapter of our story.’
Her stomach flipped as she watched her magical words sink in. His stamina reinvigorated and his hunger for her glittering in his eyes, he followed her commands without question. Leaning over her he slid back into her tight cunt and began to pump, his grunts of lust like music to Eliza’s ears.
Happily, she always found creativity easier with a little music in the background. So with the sordid soundtrack of Troy’s obedient fucking to inspire her, Eliza settled back into her cushion and watched her lover worship her, all while new ideas of how she could corrupt him next bubbled up in her lust-soaked mind…
Thanks for reading!
At this point it is basically a trope that any character in a Fantasy Universe who is an avid reader or writer will be granted reality-warping powers, so when I found this gallery I knew there was no way I could pass up the chance to continue that trend. As always I love infusing elements of the writing process into stories that include readers of writers, so the chance to do so again here – for example the reference to the seven point story structure – was just too enticing to resist. Moreover, having been writing in one form or another for well over a decade at this point, I will die on the hill that the characters are the ones that tell the story, not me – I’m just here to chronicle how that story pans out – and so I thoroughly enjoyed being able to include that reference in the story too.
In the interest of avoiding repeating myself by gushing about how much I love every model in this series, all I’ll say about Ibarra is that this isn’t the first time she’s has shown up on my blog and I hope it won’t be the last!
That’s all for today, but remember to come back on Monday for chapter 8!
Image gallery: https://www.pornhat.com/albums/25587/lazy-day/
