Well, fucking great. Just fucking great. And what the hell do I do now? Where could she have stashed it? Samantha, that bitch… Of course, she’d hide everything in the dumbest place possible. I’ve already torn apart her bedroom, crawled under the bed, opened every single box. I even checked the fridge — and what? Nothing.
The dumbest part is, even that took insane agility. My ankles were killing me, because these damn heels feel like they were designed just to torture. Every time I bent down, these monster-sized tits, which just yesterday seemed insanely attractive to me, kept trying to drag me off either into another galaxy or into some fucking whirlpool of discomfort and pain. They got in the way, pulled me down, banged against the edge of the table, the boxes, even the closet doors. And, fuck, it wasn’t “her tits” anymore — they were mine. My tits. My body. Samantha left me stuck with this.
I collapsed into the chair, pissed off at the very pose I was stuck in. This fucking skirt was digging into my thighs, the pantyhose itched, and my legs just slammed together on their own, because, fuck it, there’s no other way to sit in this skirt. It was sewn as if on purpose to keep my knees together, like I wasn’t even in control of myself anymore, but some circus clown with a prescribed pose. I yanked the hem down — useless, it only cut deeper into my thighs, and now my nails hurt again. Nails, for fuck’s sake. These long, shiny, red claws I couldn’t cut no matter what.
I tried to cut them — no fucking way! Nothing works on them! And with them I can’t even grab shit properly. Can’t even make a proper fist, and opening a beer can? Forget it. They’re long, greenish, sharp, like plastic witch claws. I tried scissors, clippers, I even slashed at them with a kitchen blade. All fucking useless.
And not just the nails. At least I could take off these fucking… shoes!
I leaned down, almost falling off the chair, and pulled at the strap. Yeah right, no fucking chance. It felt fused to the skin. That movement only made the bra stretch tighter, cutting into my shoulder so hard I flinched, while a nail pressed painfully into my fingertip.
Fuck, again!
The pain was sharp, throbbing, and I cursed, jerking my hand back. My tits pressed against my knee, spreading inside the cup, and I almost groaned at how it all felt. Too soft, too heavy, too… real. Fuck, I could even hear the bra fabric straining and creaking a little.
And no. Goddamn no! I can’t take any of this off. It’s like this isn’t even clothes, but a cursed uniform I was shoved into without a choice. I pressed my palms to my temples, those stupid long green claws scraping my forehead, and I exhaled angrily again.
— Samantha… bitch… — but even that whisper came out too soft, too feminine, like the air itself was out to finish me off. I bit my lip, but that was another trap — it was plump, juicy, and fuck, I couldn’t even bite myself hard enough. All I felt was the slick smear of lipstick sliding, and inside everything twisted.
I looked at the table. A mess of papers, scattered, like it was some office desk, not a bedroom. I’d already searched everything… or had I? My eyes shot up to the top shelf of the closet. Maybe check there again. Maybe… Ah, fuck it! My ankles already ached. Do I really have to go out like this and live through this fucking day here?
I stared at my legs. My eyes caught the shine of a ring. Golden, smooth, tight on the ring finger. It gleamed so bright in the lamp light it almost blinded me. But it wasn’t my eyes that went blind — it was my brain. Because it took me a couple of seconds to realize: this wasn’t just jewelry. It was a symbol. A wedding ring.
— No fucking way… — everything inside me clenched. I hadn’t even thought of that before. Could she really be that insane?! Does she actually want me to live out her day not only as this whorish version of Samantha, but also play the fucking wife?! That… that means, if I understood it right, tonight I’d have to sleep with her husband?!
I twisted up at that thought. Inside it was like something clenched and turned itself inside out. God… no. I didn’t even want to think about it.
— She’s lost her fucking mind… completely lost it… — I muttered, gritting my teeth and lowering the hand with the ring between my thighs. Though even that wasn’t easy. These huge thighs didn’t let me even move my hand down properly. The skirt dug in, the pantyhose stretched, and it felt like I was wearing some fucking corset, only down below. I tried to make a fist — well, kind of — with these claws it looked more like some pathetic Barbie doll gesture than a real fist. Still, I jabbed the ring against my thigh.
— Fucking bitch… — I exhaled, sinking deeper into the chair.
The ring turned hot. Not just warm — really hot, like there was a soldering iron under it. I jerked my finger, tried to shake off that damn gold, but it didn’t budge. Instead, something inside my lower belly shoved outward. I gasped, almost moaned.
— No… no, fuck no! — I nearly yelled, but my voice cracked, sounding too… soft.
I pressed my elbow to my cheek again. Looked over at the clock on the wall. Still the same, 8:00. Same as it was, fuck knows how many hours ago. I’d already lost count. I knew this was all her tricks. Time would only start moving once I left the apartment. And no. If it were that simple. I had to leave the apartment the right way. That meant going to her office, taking the subway there instead of a taxi, and then…
— Fuck… this really is the only option, — I thought, digging my claws into my cheek, feeling them scratch the skin in a sickening way. — To go out. To go out like this, as if I’m… her.
I yanked the skirt down, but the fabric only stretched tighter across my ass, showing off its size. My legs squeezed shut on their own, the pantyhose gave a faint squeak, and the heels… God, the heels, fucking heels! I stood up and instantly staggered to the side, catching myself on the table. Something twisted inside, not just from the pain in my ankles, but also from the way my tits swung down, heavy, like they were trying to drag me with them.
— Holy shit… — I whispered, staring into the mirror on the closet door.
She was staring back — Samantha. Flushed, with the red top slipping off her shoulder, with those massive breasts bouncing on their own, with wide hips the skirt turned into a hill. I saw a bead of sweat at the temple, and that only made the sight more humiliating.
I stepped toward the door. The heels clicked so loud I thought the whole building heard it. My hips swayed side to side, the skirt stretched, my tits bounced and almost spilled out of the neckline.
I reached the entrance, struggling to take each step, and grabbed the handle. My heart was pounding like it would explode. The ring on my finger burned.
And I stepped outside.
Cold air instantly hit my legs through the thin pantyhose. The heels clattered on the tiles again, my tits jiggled, and my hips carried me forward, swaying side to side and making me catch my balance each time.
This was going to be a hard day…