“Yes Bambi,” he responds.

You clutch your towel to your front as he enters naked, huge cock swaying. It looks tasty. You want to suck it on your knees. You shudder and fight against your new urges. “You and I. We are both John Smith.”

“Bambi. There is only one John Smith. Me. You’re confused.” He says as he takes your scant towel. You cover your heavy breasts with one slim hand, flesh spilling over your forearm. Your other hand covers your pussy. You can feel your nipple crinkle erect, the hot, moist throbbing of your sex.

“No sir. I’m You... you’re me.” You explain.

He grips your arms and pins you naked against the glass door of the shower. It’s cold. “You are a breeder. My breeeder. A stupid cunt. You always have been. I bought you two years ago at a **** auction. I get that the typewriter made you like this, that there was a different reality. And I might have listened to you ... but you made me sick your cock. You’re staying like that. Get used to it,” he says.

You find him talking down to you is turning you on. You breath heavily. Hell a carrot would turn you on. His closeness. His big yummy cock. Him telling you you’re a breeder.