A brand new Susan Dinsmore

DRIN DRIN

The bell above the boutique's door chimes melodiously as you step inside. The seasoned hairdresser glances up, a well-practiced smile gracing her features.

-Welcome! How can I assist you?- She chants. She's a woman around your age, with long brunette hair and a polished appearance, while a young black girl stands next to her—a likely assistant.

-I've come for a cut and style, if possible.- You reply. Miss Brenda (as you assume the boutique is named after her) gestures for you to take a seat in front of a mirror.

-What do you have in mind?-.

You gaze at the reflection, studying the woman behind the glass, her brown hair falling asymmetrically on the side of her face. Last night, you made a decision: Susan, the real one, would never break free from her predicament, torn between her desires and fears. You could have easily dispossessed her, temporarily moving inside Patrick or Reginald; but that would have condemned her to an oppressive fate; and even though you haven't known Susan well until now, aside from sporadic greetings, becoming her for a couple of days led you to develop a certain affection toward her. The mistreatment and disregard she endures from everyone in her life have fueled your anger, and you couldn't stand the idea of leaving her in such a predicament. No, it was up to you to initiate genuine change; so that, once you relinquish control, she can continue her new life without any doubts. Reflecting on Tina's behavior, you were confident in your choice: with great power comes great responsibility.

And so, here you are.

-I was thinking about something new...-.

An hour later, you scrutinize yourself in the mirror, lightly touching the ends of your freshly cut hair. Behind you, Miss Brenda eagerly awaits your impression.

Your composed expression subtly transforms into a grin.

-Splendid.-.

---

The first person you spot upon entering the bank is him. Achille.

He's at the counter, engrossed in a discussion with an elderly customer. His eyes casually drift to the source of the door's thump as it closes heavily. Initially, he doesn't recognize you, turning back to the customer. However, he glances your way again, bewilderment crossing his face. Only a query from the (luckily still oblivious) customer diverts his attention.

Maintaining a bold gaze, you patiently wait in line. When it's your turn, Achille seems to have regained his composure, attempting the utmost formality. Yet, the agitation beneath the surface is evident.

-Good morning Mrs. Rachett. How can I help you?-.

-Good morning. I'm here to finalize the opening of my personal account.-.

He exhales, a sigh not entirely masking his relief: -Of course. Aehm, do you have the modules with you?-.

In a span of five minutes, it's done. As he awaits, you can discern the unease lingering beneath the surface, as if you are more than just a bank employee and a customer.

-Thank you, Mr. Keebler. Just in time; I have an interview with a colleague of yours for a job here right now.-.

His eyes beam with joy, and cannot suppress a smile: -That's awesome, Mrs. Rachett! I hope to have you keeping me... us, company! W-Well, see you soon then.-.

-Have a nice day.- You gracefully take your leave, striding away with pride and measured steps, your hair swaying to the rhythm of your heels. You can sense his gaze fixed on your swaying hips, but you're genuinely taken aback to hear him call out once again. Turning around, you catch the next person in line freezing, uncertain about whether to step back. Achille, however, is completely focused on you, clearing his throat to speak.

-You have beautiful hair, ma'am.-.

You respond with a complacent smile, curling the corner of your lips.

-Thank you.-.

---

You step out of the car, shopping bags swinging around your elbows. Of course the hair was just the beginning, and tomorrow you've scheduled an appointment with the beautician. Nevertheless, the impact of your bearing today has been notable. More than once, you caught quick, and sometimes not-so-subtle, glimpses from men of various ages as you passed by.

It's incredible what effect a plump ass and some swaying have on them. Regarding the interview, well, the remnants of your mother's memories have been of great help, as she's only been working as a real estate agent for a couple of years, thus remembers quite well her job application. You left a good impression of yourself, and you're sure they will call you in a pair of days at most. Up to now, even if it's not even midday, you can say you're achieving the top score.

Back at home, after putting away the clothes, you decide to call your son, Reginald, on the phone. He picks up after some rings, and he sounds quite taken aback by your unexpected calling.

-Uh, hello? What's up Mom?-.

-Hi Reggie.- You reply with an artificially corny tone: -Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to make sure that you weren't coming back home until this evening.-.

-Uh... what? What do you mean?- He asks, genuinely confused. Poor fella was probably about to leave the university to go home for lunch.

-Well, it's about what we said to your father yesterday. I think it's better if you truly pass your afternoon outside, just in case this evening we have another discussion. You know how your Dad is when he thinks you're lying, don't you?-.

Silence follows on the other end of the call, interrupted only by some gasps.

-But... I mean... maybe you're right, b-

-Awesome! I'll see you later! Have a nice afternoon, sweetie!- You chirp, closing the call.

You take a deep breath, then giggle, and soon enough, you burst into laughter.

"Oh Jesus, it felt awesome!".

It crosses your mind only now that Reginald has a crush on your sister, Kim. This piece of information emerges from Susan's mind without apparent reason; perhaps a suspicion that, apart from gaming, Reginald spends his lonely afternoons fantasizing about her. But not anymore, thanks to you: today, he'll have to study for real, away from his console and handkerchiefs. Perhaps in the future, if he behaves, you can use your power to help him get a date with Kim.

You frown at this last thought.

"That would mean staying inside Susan to monitor him? But that's not what I'm planning.".

Anyway, lunchtime arrives, and with neither your husband nor your son coming home today, you leisurely savor every morsel of your spaghetti with mussels, without any hurry. It feels refreshing in a way you cannot fully describe. Even doing the dishes later feels satisfying.

As for the afternoon, you realize you have no concrete plans. Knowing this evening will be challenging, you consider preparing yourself for the best. Then, your eyes fall upon your cellphone, and a thought begins to nibble at your mind.

You swiftly dial a number and wait for the other person to pick up.

-Hello, Marcel! How was school?-.

---

-Good afternoon Mrs... woah!- Marcel's reaction is one of spontaneous surprise when you open the door for him. With your hair dyed blonde and cut into a bob, a hyper-fitted red blouse, and a skirt above the knee equally tight, you appear to be a completely different woman than yesterday.

-What's wrong, Marcel? Cat got your tongue?- You ask with a slightly seductive hint that he's too stunned to notice.

-S-Sorry Mrs. R., you look really good. Ah, you said Regs wanted to play videogames with me, right?-.

-Oh, silly me, I was already forgetting!- You exclaim, feigning clumsiness: -Please, come in, you can go in his room.- and you let him in. He rushes past you, eyes lowered, with the urgency of someone who desperately needs to use the bathroom, and you're not sure if it's just because of the eagerness to play video games. Perhaps there's something else he wants to play with...

Giggling silently, you unbutton the top of your blouse and you quickly follow him upstairs.

The oblivious boy is looking around confused, as there's no trace of Reginald in his room. Indeed, he could search all the house, and wouldn't find your son. Hearing you opening the door, he spins around, and his eyes pop out of their sockets at the sight of you blocking the only way out, with your jubblies roundly disclosed and clasped by a kinky floral bra.

-M-Mrs. R.!- He immediately looks away, his face having assumed the tonality of a tomato puree: -I-I think you lost a b-button.-.

-Oh, don't mind it, since you're such a fitting guy you have no idea, but women's fat areas need some air to stay vital with age. I hope it's not a problem for you...- You insinuate with a forked tongue. The poor guy pants several times, then babbling inquires about Reginald's whereabouts. You nonchalantly reply that he's away for the afternoon.

-W-What? But you said that...-.

-I said- You step in and close the door behind you, Marcel's head turning like an owl as you get dangerously closer: -to come here if you wanted to play in my son's room. And it's exactly what I was planning for you. For us.-.

Much to your delight, you constate a giant bulge forming between his legs. You know that, out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't but peek at your knockers bouncing at each of your movements.

-M-Mrs. Rachett, I-I don't know what you mean but I think it's better if I leave now.- He says all in one breath. Unfortunately, you have no intention to let him.

-But Marcel, you can't leave now. Don't you see? I still have to give you the private lecture of the day!- You violently push him and, caught off guard, he falls on Reginald's bed and struggles to sit up. But as he sees you standing there with a seductive gaze and a hand on your hip, his legs refuse to move.

-W-What lecture? We have no lectures today!-.

-Oh, Marcel, Marcel, Marcel, of course we have. You see, I think I know why our lessons are going so bad. Math, physics... a young, virile guy like you is not interested in such boring subjects, is he? But then, maybe...- You unclip the last buttons of your blouse and toss it away: -Maybe I can teach you something else, something that will be much more useful in your life than some stupid formula.-.

-Mrs. Rachett, I really think it's not opportune iffffff...- He loses his words as you slowly, teasingly, drop your skirt down your legs, revealing the fattiest, bubblies ass he may ever seen, even considering the ones he usually masturbates on. Also, he realizes only now that your lingerie, the bra too, is not flesh-colored, but rather see-through.

-M-M-Mrs. Rachett...-.

-Call me Susan.- With a sudden tug, you take off his trousers and boxers all at once and then go on your knees. While the big Marcel is still hesitating, the little Marcel has clearly made his decision.

-S-S-Susan, please, this is Reginald's room!- He cries, then yelps as you grab his dick, and instinctively places his palm on your torso. You glare at him with a stern, tilted-head look, the kind that makes every child instinctively settle down.

Marcel eventually surrenders and retreats his hand, and you start mechanically jerking his circumcised cock. It's smaller and thinner than Achille's, but it reacts much more rapidly, the energy of youth being its most resourceful perk.

-Ahh, oh God, Mrs. Rachett please, ohh... I'm your son's friend...- He begs one last time.

-That's right, I could be your mother.- You state severely, violently increasing the speed of your thrusts: -So, since you apparently don't want to call me by my name, you may address me as 'Mommy'. Now be a good kid and let Mommy have her fun.-.

-Mrs. Rach-Sus-MAMI, MAMI!!!- He screams as you suddenly take his member in your mouth.

For a second, you're afraid that he's already cumming. But it's a false alarm. That was probably just his mind crumbling over the pressure. You, instead, are rewarded with a stiff rod, which lovely slides between your tongue and your palate without the incumbrance of being excessively wide. It has been decades since you've tasted a penis like this, when both you and Patrick were much younger, and much more pure.

Your nipples are tingling, constrained by the thin texture of your bra. You discard it, grabbing your naked boobs as you continue moving and groaning. Marcel's uncontrollable gruntings suggest that it must be his first time that a woman gives him a blowjob, which makes it even hotter for you. **** by his private teacher, in her son's bedroom.

With a last SCHWLOMP, Marcel's cock waves out of your mouth, glistening with precum and saliva. He's breathing hard and he has stopped protesting for a while, by now the need for relief overcomes his reticence.

-Lay down.- You instruct, and he immediately complies. If only your son was this obedient. His cock springs upward, and you stick in between your breasts, mashing and squeezing as if to shape it, with a bit of the tip poking out. The noises he makes now are a mixture of gargling and gurgling, plus some exclamation in Spanish that you cannot quite comprehend, but that you can figure the meaning.

-You're a good boy, Marcel. I bet your real mommy doesn't have these bazoongas, has she? Do you like having your dick squashed between them? Answer me, kid.-.

-I, I, I do! Oh Dios mío! I'm coming, I'm coming!-.

You frown and release his shaft, with giggles like a spring, and then shoot out squirms of sperm that end up on the floor and on his crotch. Marcel's face is twisted in an expression of wild pleasure, and then he collapses on the mattress, puffing and panting. You glare at his flaccid cock, but your annoyance quickly turns into mischief.

-Susan, I... I have to go now...-.

-Oh, not yet sweetheart.- You refute: -What kind of teacher would I be if I didn't teach you how to satisfy a woman?- you forcefully pin him down and crawl on the bed, slipping off your panties and lying belly up. You spread open your legs, Marcel startling at the sight of your perfectly trimmed pussy.

-You wouldn't want to leave and waste such an opportunity, would you?- You provoke him.

He swallows down, then objects: -But m-my dick is...-.

-Don't be silly, there are plenty of ways to satisfy a woman's thirst.- You reply with a smirk: -For example, we can receive a blowjob too.-.

He winces and takes the hint, then cautiously puts his face between your legs. You tweak your nipples in expectation, feeling his breath pinching on your excited clitoris. Finally, he starts using his tongue to lick your juice directly from the source, a little whimper leaving your lips in approval. His inexperience is more than counterbalanced by his frenzy, and even if you'd like him to be less messy and more precise, he's doing an excellent job on you.

-Can you feel it, Marcel? Gh! My pussy is becoming wetter and wetter!- He looks up at you and continues his doing, looking like a dutiful puppy. After some minutes, however, you tell him to stop. He straightens up, aroused and confused, and a bit aching on his maw. You ask him how's his dick now; but there's no need for words, as you both can see that it's more vigorous than ever.

You cross one elbow with your knee, your stretched cunt radiating its thirst a pair of centimeters from his crotch. The realization of being about to fuck his friend's mom in his friend's room suddenly hits Marcel, causing him to go from red to pale as a rag. His panicking eyes wander around and on the door, fearing that someone is going to burst in at any moment.

-I can't, I can't do this!- He cries.

-Oh, shush, of course you can. Come on, Marcel, you're going to become a real man, don't fret right now! You've tasted my mature pussy, you know how warm, how comfy it is! Imagine having it all around your cock, mmm, imagine washing my vagina with your filthy sperm... there, there it is, come closer, come closer...- You finally make contact with his head, though it doesn't stay still and is brushing all along your slit. What could be an experienced teasing technique for anyone else, for him it's just the incapacity of staying calm in this situation. You aid him, gently moving forward and forcing the tip to slightly insert in your hole.

-Ohh, I can feel it, I can feel it, you have just to push in, it's only that, push in my boy, push in-OH!!!- He pushes in, nay, he goes in all at once, the palpitations in his chest subsiding to a long, raspy moan. Since his penis is not that long it doesn't hurt that much, rather you find amusing his chaotic reaction.

-Not much for foreplay, huh? Now pull out, slowly, savor the moment...- You feel his chunk sliding more softly until the glans is right at the entrance of your fanny. You tell him to stop, and then to push again. The boy may be slow in understanding math, but in this circumstance he proves himself to be a fast learner. In no time, he's acquired a rhythm and is making you feel quite good.

-That's it, Marcel, you're doing great... ohh, it surely feels better than my tits, doesn't it?-. He nods with a grunt, but the more he goes on, the more you see the doubt returning in his eyes. You start fearing that he may cum again and run away before you can react, and nonono, this is something you absolutely can't allow.

-Now for the next phase!- With a surprise attack you yank him backward and move on top of him. Marcel wiggles for a few seconds, but then he has to surrender, to the lust or to the evidence, it doesn't really matter. You strip him of his shirt and lean in, causing your breasts to brush against his face. Then, you start pumping up and down, and if before it felt like a stick poking inside your tight, now it feels like a real piston.

He makes an 'O' face like he's being drained from within.

-Sorry for the weight, but I'm sure a young man like you can stand it for a bit. Ohh... surely your cock doesn't mind it that much!-.

FAP FAP FAP FAP

Each time your groins make contact, it's a new wave of pleasure through your insides. Marcel doesn't know where to put his hands or his mouth, he eventually decides (or finds himself unable to do otherwise) to have you fully take the lead. At a certain moment in which you're towering him, however, you stop midair, making him gasp.

Passing your tongue over your teeth, you groggily wheel around, using his shaft as a pivot, until you're squatted over him, hands on his tights, the lewdest expression on your face.

"This is Susan Rachett now. This is what I made her become.".

Like on a rollercoaster after the highest ascent, this brief pause only makes the subsequent thrusts even more euphoric. His groans are now screams, yours are immoderate laughter, as you ride him reverse-cowgirl-like. Even greater than the carnal pleasure is the knowledge of how deeply wrong it's all of this. If only Reginald or Patrick could see you now: the woman of the house, attired like a whore and flashing her brightest smile while on the top of this young newly-turned adult; in all senses.

-Mami, Mami, it's about to come again!!!- He bays out of breath. You avidly lick your lips.

-You wouldn't want to finish like this, right? Get up and take me like a real man! Pound me like a fucking breeding bitch!!!-.

He doesn't need to be told twice. Using a strength you didn't know he had, he reverses the situation again, and now you're on your four with Marcel fastly pounding you from behind. You turn around, inciting him to do more, that's it boy, seal our love together, show me how a man you are!!!

He orgasms. One, two, three shots. His nails dig into your asscheeks, his mouth emits a rattle, then he becomes all rigid, like having an epileptic attack. You sneak out of him, turning around and skillfully slipping between his widened legs, until his cock is pointing right at your face, and you squeeze it with your tits. You know there must be still something that... oh, her it is. His last seeds finish on your neck.

-A panacea for my skin.- You giggle.

That's funny. The real Susan hates to have sperm on her body, it was fastidious to clean off, and felt sticky and dirty. Oh, well. There's not much she can do about it.

You don't have to move Marcel away, as he autonomously falls on the head pillow. You, instead, jump on your feet and move to your son's desk, returning back with something on your hands. Marcel firstly doesn't understand what it is, but as you smile and use it to take a selfie, he realizes that there's something wrong.

-I must say, Marcel, you've surpassed my expectations. You are such a well-behaved and diligent young man... sigh, I wish my Reginald exhibited a semblance of your qualities.-.

He gulps, sensing that your compliment might be a prelude to an unpleasant twist.

-Mrs. Rachett, why did you put your phone there?- He inquires, aware that you never approached the desk after entering. With a sly grin, you reveal a recording, freshly saved in the memory. Of course, there's him shagging you.

-I'm sorry for this little deception of mine, but rest assured, this recording will remain confidential between us. Well, except...-.

His heart skips a beat as you wickedly look up and run your index finger across your lips.

-E-Except?-.

-Except if you cease to behave as a well-behaved and diligent man. For instance, I would be considerably disappointed if you don't achieve, let's say, a 9 on the upcoming test. Well, an 8 might suffice, I suppose.-.

-An eight???- He exclaims.

-Think about how your real Mamacita would react to hearing you call your teacher "mommy" while screwing her.- You continue nonetheless: -Oh no, I really hope we don't get to this!-.

-Mrs. Rachett! Please! There's no way that I score an eight!!!- He pleads. You place your hands on your hips, wearing a stern expression.

-Well, of course not, if you persist in spending your afternoons playing rather than studying. Chop chop, my charming boy, it's time to head home and hit the books.-.

He looks at you like to a ghost, then he takes the hint and quickly redresses. A minute later, you're observing him from the window as he swiftly departs from your house.

And that's taken care of as well.

You check the time and note that it's still early in the afternoon. Excellent: you meticulously tidy up your son's room and then take a soothing shower, cleansing both your neck and your intimate areas, before dressing back in the same attire as before.

When they return for dinner, you've already arranged everything. You've prepared Patrick's favorite dish: veal steak. Reginald, exhausted from the intense study session, barely registers surprise at your new appearance. After eating, he retreats to his room, seemingly earned an evening of video games and adult content, if only you weren't certain that won't be the case for him, unfortunately.

Patrick, your husband, on the other hand, eyes you suspiciously; enough so that he refrains from questioning Reginald about his afternoon, accepting his word at face value. A new appearance, an enticing one, steak seemingly conjured from thin air, and an overly accommodating smile that you maintain throughout the entire dinner. As Reggie isolates himself in his room, Patrick finally broaches the subject.

-I hope all of this is not related to what we discussed last night.- He says. You cross your fingers under your chin. Oh, so that is what he's suspecting.

-I'm sorry- He continues, wiping out his mouth with the napkin: -but today was more exhausting than usual, and I'm really tired.-.

You remain silent for a couple of seconds, as if digesting the information. Then, you form a small pout.

-Don't worry darling, for I didn't plan on having intimacy with you. In fact, it's quite the opposite.- You then open the drawer under the table and present him with a stack of papers, which he eyes with confusion and furrows his brow.

-Here, I signed my portions. All we need is your signature, and then we're done.-.

He takes one of them in his hands, then another, then he asks: -I don't understand, what's all of this?- which is quite paradoxical, being an esteemed university professor.

-Don't you get it, dear? We're getting a divorce.- You declare. He bats his eyelids a pair of time, then erupts in a nervous chuckle.

-Ok, Susan, I don't know what strange roleplay you're engaging in, but I told you that I'm really tired this evening.-.

-Yes, I heard you. But I'm tired too. Tired of being treated by everyone in this house like a cleaning lady. Tired of pretending not to know of the two sluts you're banging during your office hours. I'm tired, Patrick, I'm really tired.-.

Silence. You hear a rustling sound as Patrick vehemently clenches the sheets, and his face contorts into a furious scowl.

-Susan, this is not funny.-.

-No, Patrick, it is not.-.

He slams his fists on the table and gets up, throwing his chairs behind: -That's enough! I don't know what's gotten into you, but this farce ends now! Whatever this is, we will discuss it tomorrow, and be grateful that I'm overlooking your slanderous accusations!- he ends up, pointing a finger at you.

You calmly stand up as well, responding with tranquility to his fury.

-Patrick, stop making yourself ridiculous. We both know that all you're good at is barking and shouting. Accept the reality; it's over.-.

-How dare you!- SLAM: -Insult me!- SLAM: -In my house!-.

-It won't be yours for much longer.- You rebut: -I'm taking both the house and our son with me. And before you ask, if you even care, I already found a job and opened a personal bank account. This dinner, it was my farewell gift to you. I hope you enjoyed every last bite.-.

He remains agape, but not for long. He crosses the distance between you with two large strides, and for the first time tonight, you're genuinely afraid. You see his hand rising above your head, and you realize you've gone too far. You've underestimated his character, confused his disinterest in you with an inability to be violent.

You feel the rush of air driving towards your cheek, but then something clicks inside of you. Your own hand pipes up and grabs his wrist, and somehow, against all the odds, you stop it on his track. Your husband is shocked, he tries to move, but you're made of iron. You tighten your grip, and he screams out in pain.

You have no idea how you're doing it. Susan's body is even weaker than your original one, and you doubt you could get an easy win against Patrick as Tom. Yet, you're feeling incredibly strong. Like you could push a mountain away.

Since there are no mountains available, you set up with him. He flies backward, impacting on the wall with a thump; his breath is cut, and he stares like you as a monster.

-Get out of my house!- You command imperative: -Find yourself a hotel, you're not welcome here any longer!-.

His shock turns into anger, then into frustration. He insults you, calls you a whore, and then runs away with his tail between his legs. With this, he's out. Out of your house, out of your life.

You turn around, looking upstairs. Your son, Reginald, is staring down at you. He's holding a joystick and his headsets are around his neck, and he... he has no idea what to think.

You straighten up your appearance, slightly disheveled by the commotion.

-From now on, this is my house, and you'll follow my rules.- You state.

-Since you're 18, I have no legal obligations to you anymore. If you won't behave, I'll kick you out exactly like I did to your father. Am I clear?-.

He nods.

-Good. Now, resume your gaming. You deserved it.- You shift to a dulcet tone that makes him shiver. He then silently walks back into his room.

That leaves you alone. You look at the table still set, with dirty dishes not yet removed. Five minutes ago, you were sitting there, and everything seemed like any other dinner. Now, your life, Susan's life, has drastically changed.

You look down at yourself, your view being obstructed by the two mounds on your chest. You grope one of them with this aged, feminine hand that seems to recognize you as its owner. After all of this, you needed confirmation that it was all real, that currently, you're not Tom, but Susan Dinsmore, his neighbor. And that everything that happened is not a product of your imagination.

Your other hand travels between your legs, giving you a pleasurable feeling. Soon, you have to sit down on a chair, your fingers probing and stimulating the most sensitive parts of your borrowed body. Borrowed... yes, you should return it. But after everything you've done in these two days, maybe you're not ready. After all, you haven't just lived Susan's life: you have molded it to your will, you did things that she would never have found the courage to do. These two days, this new life, they are not hers, but yours. And so is this immense pleasure that is rocketing along your body.

Perhaps you could stay in Susan for a bit more. Explore this new leisure that you've imposed on her. Your real body is literally next door, and Tina will not fuss for sure. But, anyhow, you'll decide tomorrow morning, since right now you just want to bask in this exciting sensation you're experiencing.