A day in Savannah's life

Saturday morning

You wake up to the sound of your alarm, groaning as you stretch on your red mattress. You take a deep breath, feeling your muscles and feminine curves tense from your slender arms to your polished toes. A shiver runs down, starting from your nipples and ending into your pussy, making you sneer in amusement.

-Good morning, Savannah.- You say to yourself, loving the sound of your new name escaping your new lips. Savannah Totternam. Heh, it has a comical ring to it. You look down at yourself: a green-pink bra covers your modest chest, and matching panties hug your pelvic area, which already demanding attention.

"Well, I can indulge in a bit of morning fun before starting my day~.".

You pull down your bra in order to help your flat bosom to assume a rounder form, and use your lithe fingers to tweak your little brown nipples, relishing the electric jolts that warm your entire body.

Unlike Kim, who always had a love-hate relationship with her small breasts, the girl you're now inhabiting always appreciated her even smaller ones, which barely developed during puberty. After all, your body hasn't changed that much, so it's not like you're some model-like babe with a surfboard chest. Your charm is of another type; and besides, your little friends here are quite sensitive. You love how they make your flat, smooth stomach and your dainty toes wriggle and jerk at each pinch of yours.

-What time is it now?- You ask yourself, checking the clock. You can take 5 more minutes. Perfect, that's enough. You rummage in your closet and pull out a lollipop. Strawberry? Mmm, no, let's go for orange today.

You unwrap it swiftly and start sloppily sucking it, until the candy on the top becomes sticky and humid.

You slip off your panties and lie on your back, spreading your smooth-skinned legs on the bed, your pussy already bulging in anticipation.

-Let's see how it tastes down... there... mgh~- The lollipop's spheric head scoops up and down your cleft, your inner labia contracting around the foreign object. When you retract it, your vagina is clammy and wet.

When you bring it back to your mouth, the taste has changed, the fishy flavor of your inner thighs making the orange savor more like lemon. However, just as you're closing your eyes to lick it with more enthusiasm, the clock goes off again.

You roll your eyes and grunt, quickly covering the lollipop with its plastic wrapper and stuffing it back in the closet. Then you get up, grab your phone, and check today's schedule.

"Mmm... let's see, 8.00 there's Mr. Reese..."

You open your wardrobe and find what you're looking for: a checkered skirt, white shirt, blue ribbon, white socks, loafers, and a matching hairband. Plus, of course, new bra and panties.

You give a little twirl in front of the mirror and prepare the rest of your things. Minutes later, you're driving down the street towards the University. The events of yesterday still resonate in your mind, especially what happened after the 'incident' in the store. You were still getting acquainted with your new body when Kim called the emergency meeting, and she had all of you meet in that building to discuss some psycho with your same powers who, according to her, had basically declared war on all of you.

You, meaning Savannah, would have preferred not to be pulled into this mess; but on the other hand, it's because of this mess that you're her now, so you will do your part. Truthfully, you're not entirely convinced by Kim's leadership; sure, you - Tom - meaningfully selected her as hist first host, the mother from whom all of you descend, but this doesn't mean she has to be in charge. By logic, you, having been her as well and now also Savannah, should be more qualified.

You glance at the cell phone on the seat next to you. A text has arrived just now. It's Manon, asking if you're on your way. You grab it and send a voice message, telling her you're almost there; in fact, the college is in sight. Continuing your earlier thoughts, if you were Kim, you would be more concerned about Jessica, Robert, and overall Tom's location, since they're still AWOL with extremely suspicious timing.

But, as you reason passing the University and taking the first left, like your note said, it's not like you intend to stick your nose in the control room unless it's strictly necessary. As long as it doesn't bother you directly, Charity can do whatever she wants with other people: your only priority is that she keeps her hands off your old body, which you want to reclaim for yourself, as you suspect all your self-proclaimed sisters do. So you'll give Kim her chance to be the leader, until it suits your plan.

Anyhow, since you've arrived, it's time to focus on your job. You read your notes on your phone again and walk confidently to the main door. After knocking, you clear your throat and fix your hair, assuming your best smile when the door opens. Mr. Reese is a bald man, thinner than Robert, but not out of shape.

-Hello, Mr. Reese! May I enter?- You chirp with a high-pitched ring, fluttering your eyelashes.

-Yes, uh, please come in Miss, uhm, Miss Vegas.- He clumsily lets you in, but you pretend not to notice his nervousness.

-Thank you Mr. Reese, but please, call me Roxie! And thank you so, so much for these private lessons. I'm so nervous about the math test!- You step in, swaying your hips and making your skirt flush, knowing full well his eyes are fixed on your ass. You look around, feigning excitement for the incoming lecture: -Is Mrs. Reese at home?-

Harold - that's the name of the retired math teacher that contacted your profile days ago - hesitates at that question, looking at you with a mixture of panic and guilt. You almost suspect it's the wrong house, but more probably, you just need to take the lead.

-Where should we sit? Is the kitchen okay?- You ask, shifting the subject.

Harold nods and mumbles some words, then guides you to the kitchen table, where you sit with a satisfied smile. You take out some books from your backpack while he sits next to you, his eyes wandering uncertainly.

-Uhm... I'm sorry, Mr. Reese, do you happen to have a pillow? My booty is quite sensitive...- You meekly complain, even though the seat is far from being uncomfortable.

-Well, yes, I think that...-.

-What if- You interrupt him, looking at him straight in the eyes with a begging face: -I sit on your legs? So it's easier for you to teach me things! I think I'm gonna need all of your help, ahah!-.

-A-Ahem, sure, w-we can do it this way.- He mumbles. You pipe up from your seat, almost throwing it away, and with a decisive sway of your skirted rump, you sit on his thighs, getting all comfy. You hear him holding his breath, and you suppress a giggle.

-Ah, so much better! You're so comfortable, Mr. Reese, thank you! So, can we start? I'm terrible with equations, can you teach me?-.

You open your exercise book, an unfinished one from your high school studies, and take a pen from your pencil case. You've already written some equations you found on an online site yesterday, just because you're scrupulous when it comes to your job.

-So, uh, should I do the divisions or the additions first?- You ask, looking up at him in phony expectation.

You can feel his breath on your cheek - ugh, it stinks, the guy didn't brush his teeth this morning - and grind back with your ass, feeling a bulging pressure starting to push between your buttcheeks.

-Well, you should start with the multiplications and divisions first, and then the rest.- He explains after some faltering. You pretend to light up in realization.

-Oh, you're right! What a klutz I am! Thank you Mr. Reese, you're so clever!- You look down at the paperbook, but instead of writing, you start mumbling in confusion.

-Uhm... but... why are there these letters? Is it like an anagram?-.

He's taken aback by your silly question, which would make any teacher think they're dealing with a student who has never opened a mathematics book. He babbles that you first have to move the letters to the other side of the equal sign, but you pout, feigning dejection.

-Oh no, it's really harder than I thought. Please, Mr. Reese, can you do the equation for me this time? So that I learn from you.- You grind back again, causing the chair boards beneath you to creak. His hand moves trembling toward yours, since you're still holding the pen, and instead of lending it, you let him encircle your entire hand with his warm, fat digits. At the same time, with a swift gesture, you grab his other hand and place it on your thigh, so that his fingertips barely brush the inner side.

You look up at him again with perfectly moduled anticipation and trepidation, and he starts guiding your hand along the paper. Yours is so small compared to his that, if he squeezed it, he would definitively crush it. But honestly, right now, he doesn't seem to have any strength to use.

As he mutters some explanations during the exercise, you let out some more praising comments while you keep rubbing his left hand with yours. The more he goes, the less voice he uses, as you feel his pants tightening under your ass and his warm breath moving your hair. When it's finally over, you let out an enthusiastic jubilee, jolting on his thighs and 'inadvertently' pressing your back onto his chest.

-Yay! I think I'm getting it! Now I want to try one alone, and then...- You stop mid-sentence and let out a theatrical gasp.

-Oh, no.- You whisper, panic filling your voice. Harold asks if everything is okay, his professional instincts kicking in. He's surprised when you respond with a sob, staring at him with tears forming in your eyes.

-M-Mr. Reese, I realize I forgot my wallet at home. I-I cannot pay you for this lesson. I'm so sorry...-.

You look down in shame, weeping and sobbing as he struggles to find words.

-Y-You're so kind to me, and now you must think I'm just a sponger... oh, I will never pass my math test if I'm this stupid! I will fail my year and my mom will be disappointed and no one will ever love me again! What will I do now? If only there was another way to...- You let the hint hang, hoping he'll react somehow. But apart from babbling, he seems incapable of doing anything. You roll your eyes and then feign a sudden realization.

-Oh! But, Mr. Reese...- You grind back further, feeling his erection creep up your pussy until he's between your legs. You poke at it with your finger, pretending to be confused.

-What's this? Do you have something inside your trousers? Oh, wait, Mommy told me about this, guys grow a third leg when they're with a girl they like. Uh, she said it's dangerous for me if it happens... but if it's you, it can't be a bad thing! You would never hurt me, right, Mr. Reese?- You inquire with pleading eyes.

-Of-Of course not, I just, this is...-.

-Mr. Reese.- You tease him again with your buttocks: -My mom also said it's painful for boys, but girls can help them in this situation. How about if, in exchange for the tutoring, I help you with your problem? But I'll need your guidance too...-.

He gasps, finding it hard to swallow. You feign misunderstanding his silence for rejection.

-Oh, of course, you must find me hideous. I'm just a silly, clumsy girl with no brains or boobs. Here,- You move his left hand to your chest, your shirt crinkling at his touch: -I'm sure a big, strong man like you could never find me attractive...- you sniff a couple of times until you finally feel his fingers groping your breasts.

-Mr. Reese...- You turn your head to welcome his kiss, while you nimbly unbutton your uniform and loosen your bra, exposing your bare mounds to his touches. You have to stifle a whine as his rough fingers pinch your nipples too hard, as if he mistook them for bubble wrap. You interrupt his fumbling by standing up, using the excuse of flaunting your sexy little form, also lifting your skirt for better persuasion.

-Do you really like me? I'm so happy! I love you Mr. Reese...- You loll in place, his eyes completely transfixed, following your every sway. You seductively slide the shirt off your shoulder, revealing the smooth, perfect skin beneath, until the white fabric dangles from your elbows.

-I want to fuck you.- He croaks, rather anti-climactically. You gasp in feigned shock.

-Mr. Reese! I can't believe you said that! But perhaps you mean it's time to move from math to sex education. Can you help me score an A in my next exam?-.

He nods, his jaw slack with astonishment. You take a length of rope from your backpack and hand it to him.

-But first, you need to make sure I won’t run away without rewarding you. I know I betrayed your trust. Please, punish me, Mr. Reese.- You offer your wrists. 'Wrists tied' was noted next to 'clumsy high school graduate' in Manon's message about him, and indeed, you soon find the rope scratching the skin of your forearms.

-I'm ready, Mr. Reese. Ah!- You act scared as he turns you abruptly, stripping off his trousers and boxers. His long, curved erection springs to life.

-Is this what hurt you before? That poor puppy, trapped in there all this time!- You caress it like a cherished pet, and Harold stands to facilitate your task. Fortunately, it’s thin enough to slip easily between your bound palms.

-There, you’re free now! But it must be so cold out here... Mr. Reese, do you think my mouth is warm enough?- You look up at him with doe eyes. He pushes you onto the seat, muttering for you to suck it. You tickle it with your fingertips, then engulf it in your mouth.

As you suspected from the smell, he hasn’t cleaned it in a while, and because of how it bends, his head continuously hits your uvula, preventing you from going deeper than a couple of centimeters. But judging by his rasps, he doesn’t seem to care. To him, you’re just a means to have a better wank than usual, so you just flicker your tongue around his shaft and make lewd, sloppy noises to keep him excited.

-Oh no, it looks like I made things worse...- You comment sadly, giving a tap to his stone-hard member.

-What can I do now? Mommy said that she can make Daddy super happy, but she didn’t tell me how!- You start sobbing again, while 'casually' leaning back and spreading your legs, revealing that you’re not wearing any panties anymore, having just morphed them away. He might wonder when you took them off, but he’d just assume he missed it.

-It’s your pussy.- He says.

-My pussy? Uh!- Harold lifts your skirt and starts rubbing his spongy head against your lips.

-M-Mr. Reese, I don’t think-AHH! Ohh, oh God, Mr. Reese, it feels so good!- He begins thrusting inside you, with you expertly clenching your walls to milk him faster, without him realizing.

-Oh n-no but th-that’s how ch-children are made, M-Mr. Reese, I don’t w-want to get pregnant!- You whine, your body and voice torn by the moans you’re skillfully faking. You try to guide his dick to stimulate your clit more, but he’s too immersed in his pleasure to consider yours.

-That’s your punishment for being a naughty student!- He roars: -I’ll make you conceive my kid, you bitch!-

Man, he watches too much porn. But guys like him, frustrated husbands with fantasies about women half their age, are your greatest sustenance.

-Y-You’re right! Please, fill me! Fill me with your babie-AAAHHHH!!!- You simulate a powerful orgasm, the ropes tightening on your wrists as you tense up, and he finally pumps his seed inside you.

You crawl backward, his flaccid penis slipping out of your pussy, sticky semen leaking out, and you make a disdainful grimace at the sensation. You're not worried about him seeing it—he paid for roleplaying sex, and he got it. Besides, he's too focused on catching his breath to look up at your face. You wait for him to recompose himself.

-I, uhm, I usually last a bit longer, it's just...-.

-Yeah, yeah, I get it.- You snort, then hold out your wrists to him. He awkwardly nods and unties the knot for you. You massage your reddened skin, then re-button your blouse and clean your vagina with a handkerchief.

-Erm, can I offer you some water, or...?-.

You roll your eyes: -No, thank you, I've got to go now, so...- Your tone is a clear hint for the cash. Harold flinches and searches for his wallet, eventually producing your fee. You grab it, quickly check it, then put it away and collect your things.

-W-Wait.- He calls out before you can leave.

-Can we make this a regular thing?-.

A smirk lifts the corner of your mouth, and when you turn toward him, you're back to being the vapid Roxie Vegas.

-Well, of course, Mr. Reese. I still have to pass my oral exam!-

Finally back in your car, you make a quick call to Manon, then check to see who your next client is.

---

-Oh God, ohh it feels so good!!!- You moan as the dick inside you spasms and tugs, before suddenly relaxing. Mr. Lawton—Anthony, a plumber, married with two daughters (Sarah and Julia, if you’re not mistaken)—loosens his grip on your hair and neck, allowing you to straighten up while his penis oozes out of your cunt. At least he requested a condom, though you suspect it was more to avoid you showing up in a year with a little bundle of joy featuring his traits than out of respect for his rented onahole.

Aside from the rough doggystyle, his requests were nothing particular, and you think that he could have just called a cheap whore instead of you. Well, there was also the fact that you did it in the living room where, in a few hours, his wife and her daughters will sit, oblivious to Daddy's indiscretions on the couch.

-Mmm, fuck, it was great, right? I bet your other clients aren't like me.- He flaunts while you collect your green dress from the floor. You flash your most trained smile and confirm it’s the case.

-That’s how things are supposed to work, right?- You comment while readjusting your hair: -A strong, alpha male like you with a pretty girl like me.-. He takes the bait just like you took his cock in your mouth earlier, that is, without even flinching.

-Finally, someone who understands! Things nowadays are completely out of control, with all those women pretending they don't like men. But it’s just because they haven’t had a real fuck yet, I’m telling you.-.

-So true.- You check your appearance in the mirror, satisfied with the result.

Of course, you think everything he's saying is completely nuts. But it doesn't concern you anyway, so it's easy to ignore. After all, he's doing it all on his own. As soon as you're out, you check your schedule.

Lunchtime, good. You drive back to your condominium, and just as the elevator reaches the ground floor, you hear the front door of the building opening behind you. The person who walks in is the girl living on the fourth floor (you're on the fifth, the last one). You know her name is Keira, but you've never talked to her, nor have you felt the desire to. She's a cute blonde girl, currently wearing a pink crop top with a choker, tight blue jeans, and a grey beret. She seems quite thrilled about something, and you tighten a smile at her, hoping it will be the only contact you'll have.

-Hello!- She greets you eagerly.

-Hello to you too.- You open the doors and politely let her in.

-Fifth, right?- She asks, pressing the button.

You shift to face the elevator door, signaling her not to disturb you.

-I'm Keira, by the way. Keira Ashley.-.

You roll your eyes and turn around with another fake smile, shaking hands and introducing yourself with your real name. First floor.

She's biting her lips and swaying her hips, showing all her excitement and probably expecting you to ask why. Second floor.

-I can't believe you're the first person I'm telling this,- She eventually blurts out: -but I can't keep it in any longer! I had an audition this morning, and they chose me!-

-Congratulations.- You say, hoping that's all she wants to share: -I'm really happy for you.-.

-Gee, thanks! It's just a minor part, but it's my first time, and it's an important production, and it's always been my dream to become an actress since I was a kid, so...- Third floor. Come on, please.

-But I'm sorry, I must be bothering you.-.

You wait for the elevator to reach her floor before responding.

-Not at all.- You step aside to let her exit: -And good luck with your role.-.

-Thank you!- She chirps, hugging you in excitement before stepping out of the elevator.

When you get back to your apartment, you puff and eat some salad you left in the fridge last night. Thinking back on your encounter with Keira, you mentally tally the tenants you're aware of. On the first floor, there's a trio of students and a lesbian couple; on the second, a goth chick and you think a computer scientist; the third is empty; the fourth has Keira and a yoga instructor; and then there's you and a family of four, whose surname is 'Simpson'—an easy one to remember.

For the most part, you keep contact to a minimum. It's hard enough to fool Krissy and the others into believing you're a university student, so the fewer people you have to manage, the better. As far as you know, the other tenants believe that lie too, so you're satisfied with that.

You prefer not to risk them finding out that, in reality, you're ten years older than you appear, a rising sex worker in her early thirties, pretending to be 21 because the world is filled with perverted old men who only want to fuck a college student, preferably a spoiled brat or some shy virgin, and they demand accurate acting. You smile, imagining telling Keira that if she really wants to become a famous actress, she just needs to open a JustFollowers account like you did when you were her age.

Of course, you can't deny the satisfaction of knowing that everyone around you thinks you're in your that younger: you're a woman, after all. But you didn't expect to end up in a den of backstabbing vipers still caught up in teenage dramas. Were you that dumb once? No, you don't think so.

However, you unwittingly became part of one of those dramas when one of your clients turned out to be Krissy's infamously cheating boyfriend, Mark. That was an embarrassing moment, especially because he had a kink involving flutes, and now you have to deal with someone aware of your double identity—a stupid boy who could spill the truth to Krissy if they ever break up for real. Not that you wouldn't like to see her face when she finds out her supposed wingwoman has always lied to her, but you'd rather avoid her becoming a problem. After all, you've seen what happens to girls who cross her. And she's also a great source of inspiration for your Roxie Vegas character when you have to be a low-blowing bitch.

Although, among all these considerations, you're almost forgetting that you're not the real Savannah but a piece of Tom's goo possessing her, and another is in Christine's as well. Perhaps you shouldn't be concerned about all this. Or, you could just turn Mark into your servant to keep him in line. Yeah, what Kim did to you changes all your plans, especially since she catapulted you into the war with Charity.

On the positive side, it's becoming far simpler to pass for a college junior and to move from one disguise to another, thanks to the shapeshifting powers. You're also starting to consider the idea of becoming Krissy or Kim once or twice, but you prefer to take it step by step. And finally, the constant arousal provoked by the spiral of deception that came with this cute feminine body of yours is a more than appreciated bonus.

You do the dishes and then get ready for the afternoon. Your next client is a gym owner who wants to do it in the ring. Initially, you pretend to be there for kickboxing training...

...and one thing leads to another, and you to ride him raw.

The following one... ugh, wants you to play a workaholic wife. You hate switching to your real age, but you have to admit you look good in a business suit.

-Hello, honey, how was your day?-.

-I'm sorry we're not spending more time together... maybe there's a way to make it up to you...-.

-Oh yes, yes it feels so good!-.

And the next one... is a woman. It doesn't happen often, but it's not as rare as you might think. Unlike horny guys who just want to fuck, women usually seek a more intimate connection, a way to fill the loneliness in their lives. With this one, things are no different, and by her nervousness, you realize it must be her first time.

-Please, come in. ...May I offer you some water? Or, or a drink?- She asks. You shake your head.

-No, thanks. Don't worry, there's nothing bad in what we're doing now. So, tell me, who do you want me to be? Your friend, maybe? A girlfriend?- You get closer to her, sensually brushing her hips.

-Everything you say, I'm all yours~...-.

-I... I... I'm not married and I always wished... to have a daughter...- She stammers. Your lips curl in a sardonic grin. Typical, a strong maternal instinct must find an outlet when it's denied by circumstances.

-Of course, mother. Mom? Mmm, you like mom better, I see.-.

You both sit on the couch, and you begin to recount what you pretend was your school day (it actually happened a few weeks ago, again, thank you Krissy for being a source of school drama), while caressing her thighs and pulling her closer. As your moves become more daring, so does her palpitation, until she takes courage and leans over to you, meeting your lips in a shivering kiss.

-Mom, what are you doing? Oh, this is wrong but... I can't stop either...-.

She shows more experience with what follows, her skillful tongue eliciting sincere moans from your mouth. You knew that women were more attentive to each other's pleasure, but Savannah's heterosexuality has always been a limit in these situations. But not anymore, now that you're in control.

-Mmm, Mom, you're much better than my boyfriend... can I become mommy's secret girlfriend from now on?-.

She alternates making out with lewder actions until she ends up eating out your pussy while you're sitting on her face. You need only a little push with your body-control power to squirt some juice directly into her mouth, with white sticky droplets running down her cheek.

-Thank you.- she says after everything is done, after a moment of disorientation. You take the money and leave.

Once back in your car, you stretch your limbs, relieved that this has been your last client of the day. Just as you rest on the seat for a minute of relaxation, however, Manon sends you a message. Your social media manager is telling you that she just found you a new client, and he wants you to go to him immediately. You annoyedly question her why she accepted such a last-minute request, since she knows that your policy forbids them: your job relies on your evanescence, or you'd just be some hooker.

The answer arrives in the form of his identity: Mr. Oliver Adams, the businessman. You groan and ruefully reply to Manon that you're on the road. From the outskirts of the city, you move towards the wealthier districts, where the row houses lining the street soon give way to private homes and then to lavish villas. You arrive near a grand mansion with a spacious garden all around, and a silver Bentley parked in the alley. Before getting out of your car, you need to change your clothes, and since you weren't prepared for this, you decide to try using your powers.

With a little focus, your clothes melt into a reddish goo and reform into a skimpy pink bikini with a white polka-dotted lower part, pink loop earrings, pink knee-highs, and white sneakers. You also twirl some jelly between your fingers, forming two hair elastics and using them to comb two pigtails out of your mane.

Well well well, look at this. A great saving of time and resources, you could get used to it. Oh, you almost forget the final request, morphing this time a heart-shaped jeweled buttplug. You lower your costume and stick it in.

-Ugh! Fuck, it hurts! And yet it feels... kinky...- You murmur, adjusting your appearance. The cumbersome presence in your tight anus makes you tremble all over, and your fingers instinctively grasp your breasts to provide some relief.

You feel all hot and bothered, just how your client wants you to be. Speaking of who, though it’s not the first time someone of his caliber has called you, you’ve never met Oliver Adams; which is good—it means your circle is expanding. Manon only told you the details of the service and that he’s rich, powerful, and has a trophy wife. You suppose the luxury of this villa is her price, just like the large pool in the backyard you’re walking by, where she probably sunbathes and stuff like that.

The French window opens, and Mr. Adams walks out. He’s in his late forties, but unlike Harold and the others, he’s still a good stud. You shiver at the sight of this bearded, muscular man walking toward you, the shudders making the wall of your butthole pulse harder, causing you to whine just as he reaches you.

-It’s really you.- He comments, eyeing you like an eagle with a mouse.

-I’ve seen some of your videos on your page. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.- Mh, a businessman even on this occasion.

-Anything for a loving fan~- You chuckle. Instead of just assaulting you, he nods at the area.

-Do you like this place? Carrie is always complaining it's too small, but it should give the right atmosphere.-.

-Small?- You ask, bending to touch the water of the pool, but actually to flaunt your ass at him. You grit your teeth as the plug moves deeper, sensing Oliver’s eyes fixed on your stretched costume.

-I find it quite beautiful, Mr. Adams. And I’d love to come back here more often...- You sneak up on him with a look full of desire.

-Well,- He sits on the couch at the edge of the swimming pool, spreading his knees in invitation: -live up to expectations and I might become a repeat customer.-.

This was the phrase to get the ball rolling. You sashay closer to him, jumping on his legs and kissing him passionately. As you do so, you nimbly unfasten his belt, feeling a preview of his manhood.

"Holy... shit, is it padded or something?".

You break the kiss and drop his trousers, gasping as his cock is released into the air. You thought your old body was well-endowed, but this... fuck, it’s thicker than your arm!

“Oh well.” You gulp it down your throat, your mouth being filled only by the tip.

Your pussy is already glowing in anticipation, and the plugged pressure inside your butt makes everything just kinkier. When he makes you understand it’s time for the real deal, you look up at him with pleading eyes, your cheek pressing on his shaft, and for once you’re not entirely playing a part.

-Show me.- He commands. You stand up with a giggle, turning around and pulling off your bikini briefs with a practiced swing of your bum, leaning forward to give him a full view.

-You horny slut. You were wearing it all this time.-

-Yes~- You turn to the side, giving him a sensual look out of the corner of your eye: -I love having my poophole all stuffed under my panties~ I love walking around among people without anyone suspecting that I’m just a depraved hoe~~-.

-But you also need something more, right?- He stands up and grabs you from behind, leaving a trail of kisses on your neck and cupping your modest bosom with his manly hands.

His cock slides between your legs, pushing against the plug and teasing your wetness.

-Yes, I need your cock, Mr. Adams...-.

-Call me Oliver.-.

-Mmm... Your cock, Oliver, I need it in my tight little butt~~-.

Your anus suddenly releases the plug, and you gasp as Oliver pulls you onto his lap. As you settle, something else slides into your rear, something warm, fleshy, and pulsing.

-Ahh!- You exclaim as you land on his thighs, your buttocks brushing his balls.

It feels like being impaled by a blazing spear.

You thought the plug had prepared you for this, but his cock is so much thicker and longer that you’re convinced you wouldn’t have been able to take it without the plug first. Right now, shivers are racing down your spine, and you feel as though something has exploded inside you.

"Oh, fuck! I never do anal! This hurts!!!" You want to scream, but only incoherent moans escape. Oliver grips your hips and starts thrusting, and you think that a thunderstrike would be less painful.

Instinct kicks in, tears welling up in your eyes—fuck Manon and her stupid ideas, this isn’t okay, you might need a hospital, are you dying?—but then, with each thrust, you begin to get used to the sensation. The pain starts to fade, replaced by a feeling you’re familiar with.

Pleasure.

Your grimace of pain shifts into a wicked grin as your entire body moves with his thrusts. His strong hands grip your waist and play with your labia, rough and unrefined, but adding a new layer of bliss to the ache.

Maybe you’re losing your mind, maybe the pain has twisted your perception. This isn’t the first time you’ve had anal sex, but never like this, never with this... ahh!!! Intensity!

"Forget it! Roxie Vegas is done with anal! I’ll kill Manon when I, ahh, AHH, oh God, why does it hurt and feel good at the same time? He’s tearing me apart, I’m falling apart, I'm breaking!!!"

Oliver suddenly spins you around, pushing you onto the couch and pulling out. You’re left crumpled, drooling, feeling like your insides are on fire, yet all you can think about is how empty you feel. You look up at him, silently pleading, and he teases you by running his finger between your ass cheeks, making you shudder.

-Your phone is ringing.-.

-W-What?- What's a phone? R-Right, it's in your purse, you dropped it on the ground when he arrived. You stretch your arm to grab it, but a jolt in your stomach makes it nearly impossible to move. Oliver tosses you the purse, and you retrieve your ringing phone.

-Hello? Oh, Brandon, it's you...- Meaning, Brandon Gregory, the guy you, Savannah, have been seeing for a couple of months. Tattoo artist, decent in bed, he knows about your JustFollowers account but nothing about your platinum services. He thinks you’re just a secretary working Saturdays.

-Y-Yeah, I'm still at work, my boss has-AH!- The phone slips out of your hands as Oliver literally backstabs you, your hands futilely reaching for his raging member.

-S-Sorry, my p-pen fell on my foot...- You manage to mumble as your phone lands next to your head.

-This evening? I...- Your eyes roll back as you open your mouth in a silent scream, struggling to finish the sentence.

-...I’m really wiped tonight, can we meet tomorrow? Sorry, I have to hang up, my boss is... khh... calling me...- You end the call with a strained grunt. You look up at Oliver, frustration mingling with the storm of emotions.

-That was... urgh! Really unprofessional, Mr. Adams!-.

Oliver’s face is contorting with effort, but his speech is still far smoother than yours.

-My apologies, I’ll double your fee for this.-.

You falter, and for once, it’s not just because of the jackhammer in your ass.

-F-Fuck you! I’m not a whore you can just buy off!-.

-I’ll add a 0 at the end.- He grunts, grabbing your legs and flipping you into a shoulder stand. Now he’s thrusting up and down, your rectum perfectly aligned.

"What? Is he... screw it, I’ll deal with it later!".

Summoning all your willpower, deciding it’s time to end this, you tighten your buttocks, and just when you thought he was an unstoppable ****, he grits his teeth and fills you with his cum.

Your poor bum is so wrecked that you don’t even realize Oliver has pulled out until you catch him cleaning his shaft with a handkerchief. You’ll be limping and sore for a week, or at least, you would if you couldn’t just morph that battered crater back into your normal self. Right now, though, you don’t even have the energy to clean up the mess, letting the semen slowly ooze out on its own.

-You’re such a jerk, Oliver, you know that?- You grumble, shifting to a slightly less scandalous position.

He lifts an eyebrow, then his wristwatch beeps.

-I’ll offer you a drink, but Carrie will be back in half an hour. You’ll find the payment in your account, Mrs. Vegas, along with the agreed adjustment.-.

-Yeah, yeah...- You try to get up, but wince and flop back onto the pillow.

-Can I borrow your driver?-.

---

-Yeah, sorry about before. No, I’m really beaten, my boss... yeah, Manon’s a real pain in the ass.-

Sitting on the swivel chair, you rock back and forth, your feet propped up on the desk for stability. Never thought you’d find such comfort in just lounging here in your office. Well, ‘office’—it’s really the studio apartment you’ve turned into one. Not that you need it, but since you’re planning to manage a team of camgirls in the next decade, you’ve got to start somewhere.

-Yes, I’m home now. Just a hot chocolate and Flixgrid. Missing you too, babe. Bye.- You hang up with Brandon and stretch your fingers behind your head, a satisfied grin spreading across your face. You glance at your office attire, a replica of the outfit you saw in the store window yesterday, and which, with just a thought, had replaced your bikini.

"Face it, old me, you’ve hit the jackpot."

The door creaks open, and since only one person besides you has a key, you don’t need to turn around to roll your eyes and groan.

-Here are the resumes from our latest chats. I’ve highlighted the most promising ones, as you asked.- Manon drops the papers at your feet, and her tone suggests she overheard your comments about her. Contrary to what you told Brandon, Manon isn’t your boss but more like your secretary, social media manager, and financial advisor. Though she can be bossy, so it wasn’t a total lie.

Among her duties is selecting subscribers who might be ripe for the next level, the one you spent your day after, since on your page there's no option of a real-life encounter. If it were, then you'd be just another call girl, since for some reason see online services as entrepreneurship, but physical encounters? That’s just whoring. And, you know, one thing is a button 'subscribe here for 1h of roleplaying sex per month', another one is, in between a dense DM chat where you guided the jerk to dance on your thumb, coming out with 'you know, I usually don't propose this, but what about...'. Money flows so much smoother when you gradually heat things up.

Of course, to keep things under wraps, the selection needs to be meticulous, and that’s where your dutiful assistant comes in.

-Good, I’ll review them. Push Harold Reese aside for now, he’s infatuated with me. Actually, ignore him for a bit, let him stew. I can get him to double the price later.-

-How did it go with Mr. Adams?- She asks, her brow furrowing.

-Aside from ripping my ass apart? He should learn his limits, but he’s quite a performer. I’m pissed off, so make him grovel, but keep him as a priority.-.

-I didn’t mean that. I meant...-.

-Wanna fuck him?- You interrupt her. She pauses.

-As me, I mean. I allow you to shapeshift into me, if he wants only doing anal. You like anal, don't you?-.

You see her cheeks bulge with the suppressed urge to respond. Of course, you know exactly what she likes.

-Speaking of, it makes sense for you to cover for me—two of me means twice the income. What’s with the face? Thought you liked my body.-.

-I should never have told you!- She exclaims, blushing furiously. -Y-You were just pretending to reciprocate so you’d have a free assistant!-.

-Free? Please, don’t be unfair, Manon.- You say, standing up and walking toward her. -Why don’t you just leave then? I can create a copy of you to handle your job. And a bit of mine too; I mean, there must be someone that finds your body attractive out there, right? While you, you can make a copy of me and live your dream, happily ever after.- you blow a breath against her lips.

She diverts her eyes, her voice broken.

-You’re the worst.-.

-I know~.-.

-You’re the one who took over my body. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?-.

-Mmm... not really~.-.

She clenches her jaw, a mix of pain and anger.

-You knew I’d keep your memories, but you thought so little of me that you assumed I’d just follow along without question, didn’t you?!-.

-Yes, exactly~.-.

-ARGH!!!-

-Oh, come on, quit being so dramatic.- You sigh. -You love it when I treat you like this!-.

You stroll back to your desk, but instead of sitting, you lean casually against the chair.

-You’re getting warmer, keep this up and I might just fall for you eventually. Until then, I assume you’d rather not sit here and listen to me recount all the filthy encounters I had today with those repugnant men and their revolting cocks; I’m guessing you'd prefer to leave some things to your imagination when you’re alone. Now, if there’s nothing else…-.

-Actually, there is.- She hisses, venom dripping from her tone.

-Charity has captured two of us, Kim called for another meeting.-.

-Of course she did. Well, that’s a real shame, I pray for their safety. If you excuse me...-.

-For fuck's sake, Savannah!- She stomps her heels on the floor: -This is more important than whatever you and I are squabbling about! If you can’t show me respect, at least remember that Kim is still our sister!-.

-Wow, what's this, you want me to fuck her?-.

-You... argh! I can’t even... argh!!!- She’s fuming, practically vibrating with rage. You’re close enough that you worry she might headbutt you. You take a deep breath and tilt your head.

-Okay, sorry, I went too far. Yes, you’re right. I should care more. It’s just that, frankly, I don’t. But for the record, I’ve done my share today. I got a little goo in that pervy math teacher,- with your first kiss, that is: -the misogynistic plumber,- right after you took his money and surprised him with a passionate, no-charge lip-lock: -the gym guy, and... damn it, I forgot Oliver.-.

-Oh, and I also squirted us down that Phoebe woman's troath while she was eating me, left a bit of jelly here and there for Carrie and the plumber's bitches. Plus, I even slipped some goo into that wannabe actress’s purse when she hugged me. So, cheer up: now her sweet, innocent soul will be forever locked away in her mind while another version of us will live her bright future and, well, suck a lot of dicks, or whatever.-.

-See, Manon? I might be a bitch, but I’m a loyal bitch. What’s that? Cat got your tongue?-.

Turns out, the cat didn't get her tongue.

-Aww shit, you're good Manon! Bet you spent last night lapping a clone of mine!-.

Her eyes are still grim, but she doesn't stop her ministration, nor for the small break that you take to move back on the seat from the desk she had sprayed you on.

-Remind me why you haven’t joined me in my videos? Oh right, you’re a prude. Well, Manon Weathers was, but you’re just a dirty parody of her, right? Mmm, you know that, me and you, we're equal.-.

She gets a turn too, of course. The old Savannah had her once, seduced her, only to let her feel the starve, but now it’s your decision to make, as Savannah Totternam.

One thing hasn’t changed: she’s under your control, your personal little ****. Stick and carrot, you know?

You end up kissing while rubbing against each other. You break off for a moment before diving back in.

-So, am I getting warmer?- She whispers. Your lips curl into a wicked smile.

Being Savannah is so damn fun.