Becoming the Dream "Prince"

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My Own Goddess

“She’s cute… I wish I could be with her… maybe forever…”

Another 3am, another night spent with the glowing screen. I was drowsing, drowsing like I would be out of the world, wretched. A few sheets of note are scatter around my desk, waiting for me. The mind was almost blank except for her. Praying in the deep. This tab, this item on Amazon… It’d change my life. No, it’d take me to a life I’d never dreamt of. Reborn, maybe. In the mirror I now see the reflection of her body, my angel’s body… my body.

I am my own angel. 

She was an angel. An angel in my heart. An angel from my first sight of her – when I was in a corner, far from the teacher and other boys. Her pristine voice penetrated me from outside the wall I made with my notebook, carrying me from my seclusion to her heavenly face… Love at the first sight.

The face… it was softly pressed on my brain, coming up from time to time. Day after day, even with her sitting over the corner, lively and fluttering, I’d better be left alone. I gazed her from behind my books, her aura radiantly shining – with her best pals, alone, or barely away. Not a boy in class ever approached her. She wasn’t just a lowly angel, she’d be too sanctified to be molested! I wasn’t brave enough to ask this goddess out even if I wanted to make a girlfriend out of her.

“I wish I could be with her… maybe forever…” One day, the classroom was emptied, except for a daydreaming me. The day was almost gone. What were left were light breezes, a tilting sun and drips of dew. I dreamt of her, the sunlight all over her, halo-like. And as I dreamt, she was really there, standing over the whiteboard… gazing at me. The face she had, I didn’t know if she’d be cozy with me… And she left, leaving me behind. I wasn’t going to ask her. I couldn’t… What’d she say? Would she even accept me? Her flowing hairs, still glittering under the gilded light, drifted away. Her voice echoes on… If I couldn’t be with her, I’d better get her. Her mind and body… What if I could get a hold of both of them, not by catching her by surprise, but… something else? With her, I’d be god-like…

I’d like to be my own goddess. 


That dream was strange, just like what I thought at the end of it, but I no longer lied to myself. My heart throbbed and the blood gushed every time I remembered the time I dreamt about a girl that almost never existed. I vowed find a way to reach her someday, and that day came when I was holding a strange vial, half a grand apiece. But even with the damning eyes of my other friends (real or online) I was determined. I gulped the honey-colored liquid down, fully. 

The memories of the process are haphazard when I think about it, now that the flurry frenzy is long over. At once my mind was wavering, hopping out and in consciousness, and quite trippy for seconds. If there were real ascensions I would have experienced the of it. Pretty quickly, the whole room around me wasn’t the same stuffed place I knew for months. It was still deep in the night, but under the mystical grey veneer bright wall paint and a few pastel plushes. I fell into her place. 

Getting to the bathroom and lighting the dim lamp over me, the amber eyes I see in the mirror are hers. I used to imagine seeing, or even touching her in close. But this was something else altogether. My mind was now a permanent part of her, elevated, now joined with me in the past and for the future. 

“Gorgeous me…” my pajama’s bottom piece was slipping off my thighs, leaving one side with only hole into my lushly colored panties. Suggestive of my body’s decent figures, eh? The whole of that had a dim, heavenly aura to it. I’m lucky enough to start owning and appreciating this body, or just more proactive than anyone in claiming the girl for myself. The 2-pieces easily stripped off…

“Aha…!” Just as I smiled “her” face also smiled in the mirror. A few more weird faces, and even an ahegao, the face in the mirror did nothing but followed, with “her” fresh cheeks. Her flesh felt miraculously real. “Cute me…” I closed onto the mirror to meticulously glean over every spot of my spotless body. The nearer my face was to the mirror, the girl in the mirror leaned closer to me, until we made a “mwwwu” with my lips and the lips in the mirror… “me kissing myself, my girl and myself, one and the same…” I finally got the kiss her in the least imaginable way her potential boyfriends could can up with, and with the kiss we’d forget time passing. 

What would her – my parents think when they would wake up in the morning? The mark of my drool, all over the mark on the glass? I’d tasted her “forbidden fruit” (remembering what I said when I first admired the body) – why shouldn’t I “fall into earthliness”? “Show me everything you have on your body”, I murmured to myself… And my right hand reminded me of my places I could touch. “Mmm… soft boobs… so soft… aww so soft and gigantic…” I moaned sweetly and lustfully while I grabbed and rubbed my chest. I’ve brought a goddess’ flesh into reality… so serenely… and I couldn’t wait to see how lewd I’m easily capable of! As all the cushioning on the top went on two fingers snap inside… “Ah!” louder I cried when a lightning shocked through my body and numbed every part except the most enticed ones. So touchy and addictive… Down here my slim fingers ticked and harnessed my sexuality, slipping and clicking, mixed with my singsongy moans in the bathroom. “Great, awesome, honey…” Calling my old name I’d be more than amused at experiencing sex the first time, in this unknowable way. “keep entering and seeding in me, I’m so lovely… mmm, mmm, ahhh~” I didn’t need a boner to get her aroused, just her own fingers finding their way, and being both sides of sex this time burned more intensely on my head, totally blinding me. “Ah, Ah~” Ascension in a split second… fumes of heat and pulsated from where I was on the tiles, and over it (and at my fingertips too) I found puddles of “drool” coming from my second mouth - my “nectar”.


 
I only gained all her memories when I threw myself on the bed. Maybe if her mind was still around in my head, used to be hers, she’d be listening to all my lewd thoughts and be truly loving to who her body ended up with. 

The desk of my old self was empty the next day I entered my classroom. He’d finally found his goddess, and I’m finally with her forever, a perfect couple with my mind and her body.

A Try at being a Bunny

A veiled moon lays low, outside the mansion...

The terse leggings on her poorly plushed legs are sliding again, like they are going to be left behind on the oily floor, even though they are fast strapped on her and pulled by the suit she’s wearing. But then, the suit is just as stuffy as she never expected when she first entered the gate of this dreamy place. Under the ebony leather, many dots of her own sweats are rubbed over her unprotected skin, lubricating the suit for stark but soft touches. Hot for the tensely-backed stretches hugged by the leather, and hotter for the two’s gazes. Strange sensations - she has never embraced the skin and flesh in this body before, let alone really doing anything titillating with it. But the diffusing excitement besides, this isn’t the best time to enjoy. They’ve got two particularly prized patrons to serve. And it starts among the orgies...

The dirty blonde beauty juggles a dish-sized plate among the clamoring mist of desire, towards the three faces she has seen so many times. Hesitating for a bit if the two bulges in front of her can support a roundel, the flashes of broken shards in her mind keep the glasses off her narrow cleavages and on the lightly spread hair of one of the laps. At least, the sound of shattering is replaced by chirps of two streams of a malt-yellow alcohol - like what we will always drink, hand on lap or not. Proficiency with her body. She has to learn the handling of this fresh body from her now blonde pal, who’s been through so many times of being the chick she is now. And look at their old bodies, who are just as fuming as they should have been. Is she, “Gina”, the only one out of place here? Like, any of those guests who’ll never guess so, complete with the blush?

“Ya know, he gotta get some unsober fun going~” being in that body, especially for months on end, makes her the real “Mel”: even the way she talks is the Mel “Gina” knows. Sweet, light lips. As Emil he’d never suspect Mel was not Mel and Chris not Chris. They never showed any sign of being “out of their character”, like someone you’ll see in fiction. Definitely being in a girl’s body gives you all the ways of coping with your body, ways to please the other sex and even the whole mindset! But not Emil, not yet. Having to talk like Gina, after all the intimate time with the real deal, gives her a stammer. “No worries, Gina. Ever seen the Mistress? Sure she had no for your sweating and huh-ings!” The first glass filled, the second half-full. “And she won’t mind for us to be who we secretly wanted to be, and even more for Cutie, yeah?” Hearing her or not, Tim’s eyebrows jolt with the remark, then signalling for another glass without words. 

“Get prepared, ‘Gina’,” “Emil” quickly nibs one of the leaves on her chest, "you never know how great they're doing like us now..." slowly penetrating under the shining leaf, down onto the modestly milked, and fondles the still-unsucked nipple. "This every night, months on end..." "Emil" reminds both of the pair, half intoxicated and slurring, still with half a mouthful of simmering beer on his tongue. "The beer, my finger, everything..." "Mel" goes on with cuddling and forcing her hand-moulded body onto her "boyfriend", his face crushing under the pair of h-cups. When the leather comes out, some ambiguously white foam are dripped over the polish. "Tim" would rather bury his head under the embrace of this pair, over her hourglass belly. The music in the background, between a whirlwind of piano and saxophone, clatters wildly.

"And so the eyes roll aside," "Emil" aptly quips. By now, even with the hands crossing over "Mel"'s waist, "Tim" would take a few looks on the girl at the pole, now and then. "Right at home here." All the bodies twisting so shapely, contorting and revealing all the feminine curves. Even "Mel" has joined and slithers her spine to the silent rhythm that is moving the pole dancer, fluttering. "Tim" needs more than the twists and grabs "Mel"'s ass, cushier than the pair of breasts he just smelled, and then thrusts her in place. “Gina” realizes, like her own “boyfriend”, they’re best served by her instead of the one already being the prize of “Tim’s”. Two more tall glasses later, the bottle is empty, and dutifully “Gina” ships the plate off the scene. Now, even “Mel” turns her head over to that dancer, barely pubescent, tying herself around the axis, the axis gaining almost all the attention in the pool for her to flex her joints. Her limbs are like the heads of snakes entangled and weaving together, meeting all the bewildered faces, and returned with even more gymnastics on a leather bikini. The couple, even “Emil”, would rather turn towards the marvel over a few glurps, than really be content just to be served.

Better served? Better served by her. A moment later, that little girl is dislodged by the side. From now on the metallic axis is Gina's. And everyone's eyes, some recognizing this chick, some not, is even more fervent in seeing every swing this new "hottie" might bring about. 

Emil was never the most athletic kid in the lot of college kids, and not even so, a few years after graduation. Gina has a hard time of thinking the right way to start moving. It's easier to be standing at the pole, watching all the greedily waiting eyes, than really taking her place for being an actual gymnast. But so naturally she starts raising one of her legs, and the leg, even though as sharp as a pen, is light enough for good movements. So quickly she lifts her petit torso off the ground, all her weight flinging around easily, and pretty soon she's waving her legs, making a T-pose with the lower limbs like a ballet in the air, all the private but covered part being on the top of the cheering crowd. A surprisingly easy start. Rolling her center of gravity back, a swirl later, she is making a perfect stretch of her legs right on the ground. 

Even Mel and her boyfriend is running to the stage, getting a better sight of Gina's newly gained proficiency. Great, the first steps of belonging here, Gina tells herself silently. Emil is already at the front of the crowd, so whenever Gina ends one of the throws or spins, clearer and clearer she thinks of what to do with the three of them, and more and more she realizes how many of the ways to please are in her muscle memory. She's gonna show who's the boss in sex. She'll drag the three of them one by one onto the platform, then act like what Emil did to her, until the stage is all wet…

Then her boyfriend, Emil, might just wishes the swap to be permanent for being so perfect. Great, who'll know? 

Maybe their dreams are in fruition, in this night of silhouettes... 

This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt. But who'll care? 

Reposition

For Lina, all the preparations beforehand can’t calm her nervousness down. Not that it shows on her face, like her usual blank smile or her aqua eyes with a nightly aura, quite fitting for someone used to hiding all her real expressions under them.

She’s nervous not because Juxtaposition demands too much. She’s ready to send her body and chastity to the next customer in the club or throw away her self-image of decency built up in her previous jobs. When she met that shady agent (who nonetheless talked her into this place and explained everything about the deal), she has expected all those.

Not the maid dress, her new “uniform”. Granted, it was probably unacceptable for “clean” jobs and “only a bit” revealing, her bust cropping out on the otherwise modest violent-and-white pattern. She’d heard of even more exposed “bunnies” who has barely a bikini under her bunny ears. And even that can be stripped whenever the customers need her.

She’s nervous because of meeting the one who’s holding the club together. Her new employer, someone enigmatically called “The Mistress”. It’s good to know your new employer well. But the agent told her surprisingly little of this woman, except her name, and so her treatment of the club she owns seems a mystery to her. Is that intentional? Is there something she (or they) has to hide, for the club, or for herself? What kind of boss will she be, other than demanding all those from her? She’ll see her sooner or later and reminds herself: be careful and hope for the best in her.

The walk to the whitewashed mansion’s doors is tough, even with all those times of standing in her past jobs. She’d better be accustomed to it, Lina thinks. She has a sigh of relief when she sees a girl posted there. Her hair has a fluffy, hoppy feel to it, and the smile’s understandably tame. “Are you the newbie? … I’d seen you from the photo the Mistress gave me, that agent took one from you she said.” “I remember…” “Call me Rab, K? Everyone in here calls me this nickname. You’ll see me every time you’re coming to work here… but yeah, seldomly, you know that.” She’s right, and “nothing’s” bad with staying overnight, especially if it’s sexually “rewarded”. “Come with me…” Even as real people and tangible furniture before her, they fade in and rarely flicker whenever Lina sees them.

The new girl has a pressing first question. “It’s a bit blunt, but are we going to see the Mistress right away, Rab?” “Nah, not for now. The Mistress said the agent told you everything you need to know up to this point, and it’s better to leave you with some on-job experience first, she told me. Besides, she’s sorting out things with a patron – yours only one tonight!” Easy or not, that’s a lot for her first night.

Crisscrossing the halls and galleries, she can’t stop noticing how bewildering all those co-working girls’ and male customers’ images cross with each other, as deep as they can. She’ll have a hell lot of tales to tell after the stint here! And so, knowing the club better from Rab, they’re at the private room where she’ll be until the sun returns. “Get yourself ready here and wait, I’ll be back at the doors,” Rab tells her before pushing and sliding the cabin door shut. Seems like Lina’s prey, a rewarding one. Unzipping the protective blue jacket for her new uniform, she takes out little packs of perfume and cosmetics from the jacket pockets – for them to be meshed all over later on. She’s just finishing herself when the time Rab scheduled comes, and like a dream ending, she fades away…

Waking up is strange. The mind’s still on the sofa when she was, but on that mirror – that’s only noticed now – is the reflection of Lina’s. The body poses in front of that mirror, not just one narrow one, but a wall covered in reflections of her. Lina at first ducks, the thighs shaping itself like a duck’s hinds (so gross), the rims barely covering the blue bottom trying to be uncovered. One hand grabs the gigantic right breast, like the hand of another lewd man, and the other hides under the umbrella cover and gropes inside, seeking her own self. She’s making a satisfying face, half making the same sardonic smile and half the penetrating gaze on her own reflection; half embracing herself and half gaining so much from this body.

If Lina’s there, who’s here? This is when he realized the belted pants he’s on. Semi-hard, perhaps, and lightly wetting. Did Rab ever mentioned a body swap Lina had only imagined in fiction? Having this body is confusing, and he can’t even rise from the awkwardly spread weight of all the bones and muscles inside him. The tie’s half undone by the open buttons, like his senses right now. Almost every time one of those muscles will ache from pulling himself too hard, and there Lina just slips up, turning herself so nimbly, and walking towards the sofa. A knowbie facing the newbie!

The pain’s almost gone, and hovering over his body’s Lina, glancing over the half-formed boner. Her face (used to be his own) is one he’d never seen before, tempting herself and him. “Thank you master for giving me the best body I’ve… The softest breasts I’ve ever played with, my own… lean but still bouncing thighs I’d like to flex, my own… Don’t you want me, my half-lame master? Don’t you see me from my back? Down here my ‘master’…” Even with all those impulses sent towards his brain, the sponge on his groin is never solid even with the images of Lina. Harder, harder, but no, a mind hard-wired to gaining excitement from being penetrated can’t start to imagine having a fertile, meaty boner on himself, not even with all the tips and tales from other girls. The head rolls, silently, against her eyes, not willing to face the superiorly adjusting “subordinate”.

“My master, get aroused… get hard… nothing bad with it, master… love your and my husks like never before, my master…” And since this isn’t enough, the maid helps by extending two of her fingers to rub and gently squeeze the part of fabric touching the foreskin. Once and twice, until she flicks the contours under the master’s member, droving mindlessly, but drooling from its mouth until the fabric’s just-dried mark wets again. This time, the master manages much better. The maid’s quick to reach his belt, first unclasping the metal ring on the belt, then unwinding the leather from the, and finally, a zipper, a button and a quick flash of underwear. Now, his member is out in the chilly air, and with all the help Lina has given him, it’s hard as rock and prepared to race their hearts.

“And now, master, have the best of your maid’s body~” as she says, she descends, still standing aside him, and holding her sizable chest with hands, forces her cleavage on his boner. The boobs are squishy, but still a nice pair to hold the boner upright. “Now brace your precious part for my precious parts,” Lina as she waves the spongy pair between a slowly dripping boner. All the blowing and stoking in his groin adds to the master’s confused senses, like something he’s never felt before. Not as Lina, not as this man before coming to the club. They’ve overwhelmed him in the start of an ecstatic stupor. “Don’t hurry, my master, hold and be patient…” from the boobs pressing against his cock, they’ve only seen their sizes until now – juxtaposing them leaves a good comparison of watermelons with thick water pipes. One place is drained, and another overfilled, everywhere flaring up, and every sense even more bewildering to the master, more than he’ll ever have outside the club! “Master, my whole body’s working for you, my top shelfs’ laboring for you, only for you and your crotch to be amazed by me!” Inside the cabin (the surroundings’ no longer clear), they’re over the Seventh Heaven, under the Seventh Hell, and the burning hearts blurs Lina’s fiddling self, and the rapid stream over him. “Amazed like you’ve never been…” a knowbie says to the newbie.

Finishing the boob job quite well, the maid knows the next step to serve her master – rolling the boobs from the assault position, while carefully not to deject the now-full boner. The deep trench that’s her cleavage is now stained with a few marks of his fertility, nicely and viscously scattered. Lightly shaping her mouth, the maid blows her mildly humid and cool air onto the tip of his shaft, preparing for a final step in placating her master. Now that the boner is up, even a light touch sends a tingling sensation down the touchy part of the foreskin, onto the spines and up to his brain. “Feeling it, master? The best is coming…” the maid remarks before mouthing the whole boner with a single dive, the master’s head now back with the attention on his “maid”. Such a boner he has, his maid’s face’s muscles are stretched until they limp on the hard pillar, only to suck. And he blows, rewarding the maid as much as himself. The maid has his white juice, down her throat and maybe the stomach, and all the salty nutrients of that. Meanwhile, he’s too off-put, the senses are now overwhelmingly and only from the boner, that his mind’s exploding with lewdness. His balls fondled by the same delicate fingers, meekly yet nimbly, is the final tip on the balance. “Auch… Agh… Aw… Ah…!” With a red-hot and gaping face, he has finally broken his total silence after landing into this confusing body and assailed by even more confusing yet exhilarating sensations. With the roar comes even harder blows, all swallowed by the maid.

A few seconds in, and the boner is already leaking its strength from the sudden blast. Not that they have enough, but the blow has gone from rapids to a drizzle. The maid slowly extracts her sucking device – she means the mouth – from the place, the face full of dripping cum, the cock full of dripping saliva. With half the load still in her mouth, all he can make out is a few slurry praises. “Congratulations on popping your man-cherry” is the clearest, and “You’ve done pretty well, my ‘new’ master” is less so.

She’s so well satisfied… and while the fervor hasn’t gone in him, the sight of her, still in her half-exposed uniform, isn’t enough to satisfy him. Not even another sucking, or a thousand suckings. The fruit’s tasted. Lina’s now the prey, and this is a better dream than he’s ever imagined.

The master gathers his whole body, and with his full strength, gets up pounces onto the maid. “Lina!” a pair of now-loosened arms clutch onto her voluminous figure, at first trying to pull every decoration and fabric of the maid dress away, until barely the blue bikini’s left, then doing away with the bikini, altogether. The eyes of the master burns on hers with full fierceness. In haste, a few buttons on him are ripped apart, the whole pants hanging loose. Lina’s barely surprised by the whole rush, but less so with how her master’s treatment. Like straight out of Eden and into the wild jungle, the two thrusts from one posture to another posture, often rabidly and often feebly, with all the cosmetics and drool flying over them. Once Lina’s breasts are squeezed and the nipples sucked, repaying the master. Each other’s asses are grabbed a few times, and every inch of their progressively nude skin are mopped over by the two pair of hands, one strong and one weak. Not to mention all those penetrations, jobs and every carnal lust their minds are wallowed in, everything else now irrelevant…

She doesn’t know how long has passed after both of them passed out. And she found herself on the top of the couple, the soaked pair of breasts hanging on her frame. Which means everything is in a bodyswapping dream, yet they’re at the same time real. The two worlds fuse and mingle together, like nowhere else. Thinking of any of the details will put a mild blush on her face, now back with the same blank smile. “Sorry, I’m really sorry… We could have done much better, and I’d done badly. Everything is still, quite a lot of fun!” She’s finally in the right mind to work here, and nothing’s going to scare her off this job. This time’s the best induction, even when a first-timer as her had gotten to their new senses. Even when a big shower, maybe a bath, is needed to rid herself of the cum-and-juice stench! The day’s breaking, and daytime is her off-time, the agent said. 

And Lina, now totally soaked and thoroughly chilly with loss, needs no answer. Don't ever try, don't catch her.

As for the Mistress? She’s in her room, replaying and watching everything happening in the cabin with an ethereal screen, a sherry cocktail in hand. “The best introduction is an introduction by labor,” she says at how Lina’s getting herself quickly with the norms of this club. After this night, she thinks, it is time to greet and induce her into Juxtaposition.

This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt. But who'll care? 

Juxtaposition

There is a street on the edge of the urban sprawl, where some short storefronts, monotonous suburbia and a swamp leading into the wild converge. A few cars frequent the road, some of them commuting back and forth, some carrying loads for the shops, and one or two of them heading inside the corrugated gate on the perimeters of the swamp, treading this humble dirt path. Let us follow one of these cars inside.

The car’s owner has a glimpse of the setting sun, still radiating a fiery luster under the magically transmuted filament, a telling sign of the world to come. A few figments of what was possible, and what will be possible in this bleak unassuming mansion – a perfect place to hide this microcosm of pulsing sensations – float out of his cluttered mind. The mansion houses a club, not advertised by a sign except for the wooden “Juxtaposition” on the gate. Behind the wooden door, as he imagines, a lot of cuddling and embracing and take place, over a few pieces of green cash. So many lives cross with each others’ here, entangled and united in pleasure, and so many intimate memories are craved into flesh and psyche, juxtaposed over each other’s minds. Hence the indicative “Juxtaposition”. Now that he has a chance to approach to his dreamy passions, it is time to embrace…

The sun, with its worldly businesses, contacts and conferences, has finally set. The glass and concrete towers are firmly behind him, only to return when sun rises in their midst. In its place is the wild, silent night among shrubs and little ponds, where a mundanely grassy odor has permeated until the strong oils have overwhelmed it. From this mansion, glowing from its many dark blinds, a womb-colored magic is seeping into the cold amethyst of the horizons. The presence is almost delirious, as if it is transposed from the collective imaginations of the carnal-minded to this real-world location, or a deliberate trap for the saccharinely lustful…

Holding one of the gilded but worn-out handles on the tarred doors is an adolescent girl, tightly cladded in shining leather. He has a casual glance of her – the same leporine blonde hair, tied at the back with the same charcoal ribbon, the same muted ruby eyes, the same bunny suit without the ears, and the same smile probably strained by months of being at the door front. But yes, she is still the same “lady” that received her – a pretty but forgettable one. Because the ones inside are even better, and he has seen or even sensed them from within. “Is it Claude Weismann?” Her pair of rubies tail after his own’s. “Yes,” Claude leaves it here, since a lot are best told without words.

“Welcome back, our Mistress has willed to greet you in person after such a long absence – or this is what she said.” The girl mutters the exact wordings of this Mistress whom he has a lascivious impression of her in mind: a few buttons hang loose on her shirt, and under those are a pair of meat gourds. They are punctured by the crow-shaded lingerie slipping inside the same shirt under the nondescript grey jacket, tightly covering the areolae. Then her right leg – the most motherly and noble of all legs in this mansion – crosses over her other side, leaving the entrance to her bosom occulted between her thigh skin, pillars and gates from the sacred. She would remove her bright red pair of glasses and give a damning glare for the face he would be making, like a grade school teacher would do to a mischievous boy. But even the face belongs to a young, unwearied one more fitting of a supermodel than someone of experience as her.

That is the owner of this mansion and club, who has so much at her command. He will meet her again when they reach the usual reception where the most prized patrons, of which he is among their ranks, are personally serviced by the hands of the Mistress. But before that, he knows he is in for a better time seeing girls bustling around to serve. All the joyful screams have a special kind of alacrity not in any other club…

And soon, the girl opens the entrance he has seen twice or thrice, and as he has expected the Mistress is sitting. But he did not expect her to sit backwards – or sitting on the simple chair reserved for guests, still facing him. Not how he has imagined: 2 sheets of scarlet are sewn together on her side, wrapping her succulent figure. The same mounds are rightly covered by the dress, much less revealing than in his picture, but no less tantalizing. And where she has covered, she has revealed even more in other parts: Other than her shoulders suggesting more than the unclothed skin, with such a short flap over her private parts, he has a better view of the same thighs – and those pillars are opened to him, legs forced to the side by the back of the chair, draped only with a blind and the flat plate of the seat. Rather than the pretense of formality the image provides him, this dress has nearly freed her body of any imperfections that is “clothing”, totally. And already noting Claude’s face, her grin is one of approval – such a dress must be appreciated by as many males as possible.

Claude is not after her, luckily. Having her is only near the middle range of all choices possible. “Claude, I heartfeltly welcome your presence back in ‘Juxtaposition’,” the Mistress captures his attention from her own breathtaking sight. “The affairs of the other world have dealt a few small creases on your face…” While rather bluntly observing him, Claude has only realized how the past weeks – no, months – has been a hectic time for his business: while the profits have grown immensely, all the initiatives of his own and his secretary’s have already been second nature to them, until reaching this place. “Um, yeah? That’s how the outside world works us executives,” he follows for a bit the weird terminology he has only started to notice. Her beauty is otherworldly, her senses more so. “A few creases on your flesh can be exchanged – a few creases on your heart, smoothened.” As if a few cracks in Claude’s heart are widened by her words, and ready to be remedied. “You’re quite right. I’m here to leave the figures behind, for another kind of figure, you see. It’s both a body thing and a mind thing, like what you’ve said,” he remarks. Her silken left leaf extends to wave and caress her nightly thorns around the warped shirt, and slowly into strokes. The oily scent, all too unnoticeable in this mansion, is now seeping onto Claude’s self.

“Then, what of the method?”

“… The usual, please, the usual.” He cannot wait.

Her sight is mesmerizing. Claude is indeed being mesmerized into a chair besides her and facing her unpolished yet unrivalled femininity, her sapphire amulets of the mind’s light.

“This, for your long absence…” followed by a few of unintelligible incantations…

After a brief sleep, the eyes open again, only to see the Mistress’s back, fully opened to her view. But the woman in scarlet is closing the door to this room without looking behind her, and the one on the bed is left with a duo of servant girls. She, indeed, she can sense her own sexuality by the lack and gain of things. Her arms are crushing into her new pair of breasts, decently sized, and big enough to stand on their own instead of being closely stuck onto the chest. They are the first thing to be noticed when she inspects her new body. That’s intriguing enough for her to get up and take a better look of her new self in the girl-sized mirror. With the reflective face, the curves are clear to her, the skin tone of hers is darker and closer to a mix of olive and amber. The ass is puffy to sit on, and the legs are fine for a few positions of crossing each other. And finally, there is nothing extra standing in the way between her and the boner of every patron.

“How’s this girl called?” She asks one of the servants besides the wardrobe. “The body’s name is Fuyuka. What do you want to be dressed in?” Immediately she has an answer after recalling the reception. She will be another “bunny”, having a pair of bunny ears and a “tail”, but seeped in the magic of the night and with a cute, love-filled, sexy twist. Instead of the usual bunny suit, she will have something exposing, which means a pitch-black bikini, a pair of with garterbelt, and the white collar faintly calling back to the typical “bunny”. She won’t mind a pair of sunglasses to cover her eyes from the fire within. And finally, a head of fluttering dark hair, important if she is going to charm with mundane “exotic” beauty. That’s a stretch for any self-respecting girl, but they feel just right for this body. Those appear on the wishes of the newly swapped girl, and are immediately on her body with swift hands. Only by now does she realize the true extent of the Mistress’s taste in girls and by giving her the best in “the usual”. A show is coming, and like every time before entering the playing field, the servant girl produces a little rubber stamp, feline-edged, inked and pressed against the point on her chest she points to. That’s the sign of a masculine mind juxtaposed onto a show girl!

Like a lustful drop in the fiery ocean, Fuyuka passes through the back alley she’s treaded many times, to the “ball room”. It is called a “ball room”, but closer to the playground of the many, a ground for orgies. One girl, with slightly hopping steps, an almost ironic maid headdress on strip-bare bikini, and the feline sign on her right arm, pours out a tonic into cups for her eagerly waiting “master” in loungewear, one hand leveling the silver plate. A few nearly nude bodies, masculine, feminine or intersex alike, fling to wild flute and drum beats under those straying purple lights, as in the depths of a hellish paradise; as the music drifts off, so spreads the wiggling of bodies. A pool of liquor baths a pair of flesh “lovers”, drenching in intoxication and passionate touches, until the burn within their heart, the dizzy and blurry senses dissolves into the pool, emptied for another pair. Even more blurred between the real and the unreal is the bowing of this black cat, with all the human features and proportions below the neck (a mask?), awaiting to be given milk, even jolting to the “pump” of the nearest “cow” and feeding from it. Such a role-play! One spot of egregiously tasty acts flashes in as another fades out. An almost unknown world unlike any other, where reality follows the sexual impulses of those within, and playful bits abound. Happily hot bodies, many with the same sign, are sprinting from one place to another, to be touched and felt in the same oily scent as the patrons and add their own ones to this greater blend. Is that oil coming from orgies?

Where is Fuyuka going? Fuyuka is Fuyuka, not Claude. Claude is somewhere else, maybe lying with other the girls, or in a self. Fuyuka is here, an unfettered “bunny”, jumping, bouncing and wanting to make noise around. The 3 poles there? One of them is empty, waiting for a girl to be perfectly matched. A forerunner of herself, with a head of red hair and much more darkened for her gyaru past, is clung around the other pole, trying to entice, and gaining a big crowd for her baseness. The other pole… an underage? Or not? She can’t tell. And this pole, there’s a magnetic pull of her bones and her mind to it, until they are inextricably entwinned. That Claude’s far, far away. So far away, in fact, that she is Fuyuka in body, and Fuyuka in spirit; anyone, if they ever know her, know her as this pole-dancing bunny, and not as that half-famous and stern Mr. Weismann. This alone lavishes their attention to this body, and not to that half-gone man.

A lift, a slide, slithering and coiling around the pole… this body is naturally attuned to maneuvering with a pole, isn’t it? Without any practice, her sexuality is easily unraveling and unwinding around. A fire rising from the crotches of the “onlookers” burning up, to the heartbeats she can ear with the pair of bunny ears, and into their cloudy minds. The roof of this part of the “room”, while high up above, is already hanging low, with a few hints of cyan among magenta. Maybe Fuyuka has done a lot of pole dancing while under other “pilots”? Yet this is the first time the body is used by her (them?), and for this first time, she is doing great. Even better, and maybe adding to the excitement of being revealed, is being Fuyuka, dancing as Fuyuka, and exposing as Fuyuka until only a little bit of modesty remains. Maybe that “modesty” can be left out altogether. Not Mr. Weismann, not with an eye from his subordinates that will ruin his reputation.

Subordinates – she recognizes one from afar! There’s Wilsbury from the middle management, the collar hanging loose, but still the shrewd Tom Claude recognizes. His taste in sex is decent, and for that he should know almost nothing of this club. But pulling his arm is “Claude”, or whoever’s controlling the body. He mutters something into Wilsbury’s ears, maybe something about this sexy pole dancer and how “she’s cute and sexy”. This “Claude” could even be the real Fuyuka all along, judging from the fact that she was swapped with him, and she’s on the smug face of seeing this body being enjoyed from without and within. The lewder she gets, the merrier everyone is; the hotter Fuyuka poses, the prouder Claude gets. All too well. Better, the bigger the crowd is, the more attentions she gets, and more and more of the faces the real Claude recalls from outside the club pop up this crowd, all picked up by “Claude”: That Coolings from HR who has been to many clubs under the table, John something down on the junior level, and a few more he has definitely met before. And both of the swapping pair have almost gotten the most out of their new bodies, while the ground burns from the hearts of everyone witnessing…

“C’mon, is that all the club has? Better poses? Sexier dances?” One of them in the crowd shouts. Is it the end of their dreams? Far from it. Those men barely have the scent of the oils, only having some lighting projected on them. Being a snake on a pole has already attracted this crowd, and Fuyuka thinks it is time to up her game seeing Wilsbury’s wide eyes and Coolings calling out “yeah, hot, yeah!” unrestraining his working self. Many more in the crowd are woo-ing and ah-ing at every move Fuyuka makes to flex her soft skins and swing the 2 puffed parts of her torso. After the last swing, to the same rhythm, she removes her right hand from the pole, swaging her ass step by step down the platform of the 3 poles, and mingles into this crowd. Finding one of the males who twists himself to the same beats, she synchronizes her swags to his, and approaches him until only a slim and dangerous distance is left. Face-to-face, their bodies zig-zag and wiggle, still like the snakes, but more and more intimate, until the belly’s skin slides with the shirt’s fabric, touching gently and wiping the sweat on it. “Nice moves…” He is backing down, and Fuyuka turns back with a few swirls. Her butt is right in front of his legs, waving to the pants and belt, as if inviting something underneath it to react. “Go, go, go on!” “Yeah, he’s gotten the best butt!” All the eyes and mouths can’t stop noticing and clamoring! A few steps back, and the man finds himself sitting on a sofa. Fuyuka gets the upper hand in the dance by posing her spine over his, while withholding her own ass from sitting on his lap. The shaking body has a few hands slipping onto the straps of the bikini, a few small sheets sliding in, ten by ten, hundred by hundred, until several scores of green cash press are clamped onto the fat. When the panties are filled, they move onto the top, and finding the cleavage empty, quickly filled it with pleasure (not the viscous kind) and putting a smiling face on Fuyuka. Someone even showers a mixed bunch of bills adding to the shower of cheers, and have a good stash of cash from a wallet stacked on her chest – Fuyuka’s too excited to notice the wallet being “Claude’s”!

Will they realize her self that’s not yet known? Will they? Their minds are too deep into her flesh than to realize.

Cash is good, and seeing the subordinates is also good. The crowd fades out of her sight, the lowering moon in the midnight adding to the charm. Soon the sofa is empty, except herself and 3 men: Wilsbury, Coolings and “Claude Weismann”. All others have turned their backs to them, and the time for intimacy comes. Coolings starts with “we’ve caught this ‘bunny’ right, do everything we want!” And everything Fuyuka will accept. Fuyuka circles between the embrace of them, the plushy ass at once among those 3, letting their arms into her bottom. Inch by inch, those and the eyes advance over the “fluff” until the most sensitive part is near their reach. “We’re waiting for you to moan…” Without even fingering that, Fuyuka’s heart is racing and flaring up with passion, and they don’t have to wait. One of the arms pushes her whole waist onto their thighs, her own legs clicking with theirs. She is overlying on a bed of three teasing pair of legs, noiselessly making love with her own body. But no, not hugs, but a jerk and a flip, then a pair of arms clamp her torso to Cooling’s, the balloons popping up on his ribs. They’re squeezed, a little bit of wetness coming out on her areolae (“the body already had fertile sex!” Fuyuka knows). Fuyuka, meanwhile, wishes for something else, hand on hand, face to face, and lips to lips: “Y’all wanna some bonus after this? For a bit of extra cash!”

Fuyuka’s the special “bunny” of today, and she’s very willing to jump into any fantasies they will ask. She, alone, just begs for them to be brave and get the most out of her. A few Franklins spent and placed aside (for now), they’re beginning their greatest operation…  

The distance of her head from their pants feels just right, just an inch away waiting for the thrill their cocks will bring… There’s only a quite thin sheet of their pants and a narrow gap covering the cock, all three of them now removed. Two of the cocks are spared for her, for her fingers to entwin with. And grab, and pull, and shoot, until all their creamy “love” for her’s fully on her face, her mouth gaping. For that, the boners’ owners have a hard-on and gazing at Fuyuka with the meanest of eyes. “Keep going…” Their chilling “love” is also on their faces, mouths open for enjoyed chatter.

One arm crush into her shiny black hair, caressing and forcing her head to face his groin. Fuyuka glances up into his eyes… Claude’s. Her soul races from her own eyes to his, then back to her own, rushing the bolt of shock over her ducking body. Claude unzips the same pants he is in when he parked his automobile outside the club, and Fuyuka has the cock flagrantly aiming at her mouth. Full of hair and slinkiness. “I don’t try to say what I want to do exactly… Have this!” Claude proclaims. “More… More! Keep going!” Fuyuka tries saying those again, but she’s muffled by blowing something in her mouth and drinking from it…

She loves Claude, needless to say. Or that, Claude as Fuyuka loves Fuyuka as Claude, since the old body’s cum are given back to the new body’s mouth, for free, and she finally gets to taste the old body’s cum; it’s not like a manager with the least self-respect would give something like the two are having right now. Both of them have finally met again, after being swapped, and juxtaposed themselves over each other. In the unlikeliest and fantastic place, doing the most likely yet twisted thing!

After a short while, they are all exasperated, the males filled with fulfilled lust and gust, and Fuyuka, a shower of smelly cum and another pool in her mouth. “This girl’s got the best skills for a ‘bunny’,” compliments Coolings, “especially talking about a bunny girl like this. You suck, and you blow, like no other! I mean, you’re the best in getting yourself fucked up! Those’re good things for club girls!”

Wilsbury follows, “Great time with this girl and my dick – I’m in for coming again, Jay,” and Coolings lets out a proud smile of “knowledge”. Fuyuka just flaps with the flaccid dicks, no waiting for them to be aroused again though.

Finally, it’s Claude, almost revealing something about Fuyuka: “This girl gets some surprising skills for girls of their kind. You’ve seen her dancing on a pole, and neatly with some other guy. She’s so natural when she sees several dozens of cash, not like she’ve never been paid that much. And she’s doing everything for us just now. She knows what everyone wants, and that’s even more impressive when you know her.”

Fuyuka’s blushing less and less with all those praises after being reminded of what she has done so far. “Right, right,” the other two agree. “Do we have any more to do with her, Claude? I don’t have enough,” Wilsbury replies.

“She’s good enough. More than good enough for a ‘bunny’ girl of her kind. Do you want to know what kind of ‘bunny’ she is?”

Fuyuka’s world blurs around her as Claude goes horribly wrong. “look at her boobs, see that black feline stamp? That means this girl used to be another guy. A guy who wants to become one, has the skills and knowledge, paid and succeeds so well, that we’ll leave her here, as long as she wants.” Fuyuka’s heart crashes when they know. As if most of the magic on the sofa, and all over the club, fades away; the lights dim, and all those other girls appear sick of all those glitters. Some other patrons have also left other girls, with stamps or without, but all too dazed and drained of all life. The dreamy club has been replaced with all those flying cash and sexual humiliation, when Fuyuka realizes that she’s trapped in this body. And Claude’s getting away with, well, Claude’s body.

The two worlds have finally been juxtaposed over each other, one illusory, and one material. the macrocosm reclaims the microcosm: he night is at its deepest, when the first rays of dawn breaks out from the horizon and reclaim everything under it, including this humble mansion, and blinding (or rather opening the eyes of) those inside. Will the Mistress know?

But what? She’s Fuyuka, and Fuyuka’s supposed to stay, like a serving bunny girl. She has to keep the façade up to this end. “Like a private and intimate time? Come back next time!” She said, with the obviously fake face, as the three shakes off their bizarre oily scents and return to those tall towers…

This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt. But who'll care?