Hi Everyone!
New story about a hot, transformed wife who knows it’s her solemn duty to make sure her reluctant husband embraces his mind-shattering power and impregnates as many hot babes as possible–including their sexy college-aged daughter! Pick it up here!
Blurb:
When the experiment goes wrong, everything goes right.
Brittany had it all planned out—the divorce papers, the new life, escape from a marriage that had grown stale and suffocating. Her husband Ian was brilliant, sure, but brilliance didn’t make her pulse race. It didn’t make her feel alive.
Then the lab accident changed everything.
Now Brittany is something beyond human. Her body has become a weapon of pure desire, every curve perfected, every glance capable of reducing grown men to whimpering devotion. She could have anyone, do anything, command nations with a smile. Instead, she finds herself on her knees before the one man she’d planned to leave behind.
Because Ian has become something more. Something terrifying and magnificent. And Brittany’s transformation brought with it a single, overwhelming truth: she exists to serve him.
Her husband doesn’t understand his new power. He resists the dark urges that whisper what he could take, who he could claim. But Brittany knows better. She sees what he’s become, what he deserves. And she’ll stop at nothing to give it to him—starting with his young, innocent assistant, and ending with their own beautiful, fertile, unsuspecting daughter.
The most dangerous thing in the world isn’t a man drunk on godlike power.
It’s the woman who wants to see him use it.
WARNING: Contains mind control, bimbofication, transformation, explicit content, and a reluctant mind-controller who turns his gorgeous wife and daughter into his desperate, breeding-hungry harem members!
The First Thousand(ish) Words:
Hot, soft, licking sounds slowly brought Brittany back to consciousness. It sounded like someone enjoying a lollypop too much, or an ice cream. Moans and whimpers—almost sexual?—made Brittany feel second-hand embarrassment for whomever it was.
Then smoke. Thick, acrid smoke and the crackling sound of small fires all around. Alarm filled her—and instantly she stood, surprising herself at the ease with which she went from totally prone to easily upright without even seeming to bend her knees.
Brittany looked around, disoriented by the strange sensation coursing through her body. The lab was in chaos—scorched equipment, shattered glass, and smoke billowing from what remained of Ian’s experiment. But something felt… different. Her body felt lighter, longer, more powerful somehow.
The licking sounds grew more urgent.
Brittany turned toward the noise and gasped.
It was Katie, Ian’s lab assistant, crouched on the floor. Only minutes ago—maybe even moments?—before the accident, Brittany had sat in judgment of Katie. Mousy, unkempt. In need of grooming.
Now, her profile belonged in a clothing editorial—sharp jawline, sexy kneeling posture like she was presenting herself on a luxury chaise lounge, lean and busty, her lips glossy and pink. But all of her was devoted to service: her tongue lapping frantically at something enormous and throbbing between the legs of a man who looked nothing like Ian but somehow was Ian.
Brittany’s breath caught.
Ian had been pudgy. Soft around the middle. Forgettable in a crowd. The kind of man who blended into wallpaper at faculty parties full of other pudgy, soft bodies.
This was not that man.
This man was a titan. Shoulders broader than doorframes. Arms carved from stone, veins tracing paths along muscles that looked capable of tearing steel. His chest rose and fell with slow, powerful breaths, each one making the shredded remains of his lab coat slip further down his body. His face was sharper, more defined, his jaw a brutal line of masculine perfection. And between his legs—
Brittany’s knees buckled.
His cock was massive. Thick as a wine bottle and nearly as long as Katie’s forearm. Katie whimpered as she struggled to take more of it into her mouth, her lips stretched obscenely wide, drool running down her chin. Her hands gripped his thighs—tree trunks—and she moaned like she was tasting salvation itself.
Brittany should have been furious. Should have screamed. Should have ripped Katie away from her husband and thrown her through the nearest wall.
Instead, she felt grateful.
The thought shocked her.
Grateful?
But yes—grateful that someone so beautiful was worshiping Ian. Grateful that he was receiving the devotion he deserved. Grateful that she was witnessing this moment of his pleasure.
The Katie she had known had been mousy. Derivative of even the idea of “drab lab assistant,” dreary in mood and composition.
This Katie was—despite being mostly naked, her clothing in shreds, her body glistening with juices leaking from her cunt and milk from her nipples—deeply elegant. Gorgeous. Her hair, thick and golden, reflected the many fires burning all around. It looked like an angel had descended from heaven to suck off her transformed, titanic husband.
And Brittany was so, so deeply happy about it. Her pussy hummed. She felt close to cumming, watching Katie’s gorgeous spit-soaked lips slobber around her husband’s thick knob.
Yummy.
When had she started thinking this way?
Brittany looked down at herself and froze.
Her body was different.
No—not different. Better. Perfect. Her legs stretched impossibly long beneath her, lean muscle wrapped around elegant bone structure. Her waist had shrunk to nothing, a hand-span of tight, smooth skin. Her breasts had swelled, pushing against the torn fabric of her blouse, heavy and firm and high. She touched her stomach and felt ridges of muscle, subtle but unmistakable. Her skin glowed, poreless and smooth and luminous.
She reached up and felt her hair cascading down her back in thick, silky waves that reached past her ass. It moved with her thoughts, she realized dimly. It responded to her will.
Brittany looked at her reflection in a piece of shattered glass on the floor. The face staring back at her was her own, but younger, sharper, more stunning. Her cheekbones were vibrant invitations of sensual intimacy. Her lips were full and pink and lush. Her eyes blazed with an electric blue that seemed to glow in the dim light.
She was beautiful.
She had always been beautiful—she knew that—but now she was something else entirely. Something divine.
And all she wanted was to use this beauty to please Ian.
The realization should have terrified her.
Yesterday, she had been planning her exit strategy. Waiting for Madison to leave for college so she could file for divorce and move on to Richard Westmore, the tech billionaire who had been sending her flirtatious texts for months.
She had fantasized about the moment she would tell Ian it was over. Imagined the look on his face when she explained that she had outgrown him, that he was too small for her ambitions, that his pathetic salary and his boring research meant nothing to her. She had planned to take Madison with her, to poison their daughter against him, to make sure he understood that he was losing everything that mattered because he wasn’t man enough to keep it.
She had been going to destroy him.
The memory filled her with horror now. With shame so deep it made her stomach clench.
How had she ever thought that way? How had she ever considered abandoning this man—this amazing, beautiful, powerful man who deserved nothing but worship and devotion?
Her new plans formed in her mind like crystal structures, sharp and clear.
She would be his Trophy Wife. Capital T, capital W. She would stand by his side at every function, her body displayed in the tightest, most elegant designer dresses money could buy, her smile radiant and warm and utterly devoted. Arm-in-arm, hanging on him. Doting. Other, jealous women would see how she smiled for him and would burn up inside that they would never be so happy.
She would use her Instagram—that account she had struggled with for five years, clawing for followers—and transform it into a shrine to him.
Not to herself. To him.
She would post photos of her hot body, yes, but always with captions about how grateful she was to Ian, how blessed she was to serve him, how every inch of her existed for his pleasure. She would cultivate an army of simps, pathetic men who would throw money at her just for the chance to see more of her skin, and every dollar would go to Ian. Every cent would fund his desires, his ambitions, his empire.
And the women. Oh, the women. Young, beautiful, eager women who would flock to her account, who would see her lifestyle and want it for themselves. She would find the hottest ones, the most fertile ones, the ones with the best bone structure and the longest legs and the tightest bodies. She would befriend them, seduce them with promises of purpose and meaning, and then she would bring them to Ian whether they liked it or not. Hold them down for him, gag any protests they might have. She would watch as he bred them, as he filled them with his seed. She would help him build a harem of gorgeous, obedient angels who existed only to please him…
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