Blackout II

Another flash hits you, sharp and bright, cutting through the haze. You aren't in Donna's body anymore. The memory shifts, and now you inhabit Julia, the goofy, slim bartender. You feel the faint, silvery lines of stretch marks on your hips, a ghostly map of a pregnancy that wasn't yours. But the goofiness is gone. In its place is a hungry, calculated heat. This is Julia as she should be, you think. Not a girl, but a woman ready to be used.

William is there, watching you from across the room, his eyes lingering in a way they never did on the real Julia. He approaches, his voice a low rumble. "There's something different about you tonight." You smile, a slow, knowing curl of the lips that feels alien on this face. You let your hand drift down to the V of your shirt, tracing the line of your sternum. He watches, mesmerized. You know this is what he secretly wants, what he imagines when he's upstairs in your parents' house, listening to them sleep. You lean in, whispering, "I'm just finally being honest."

His hand finds your waist, pulling you close. You imagine your mother watching, your father watching, both of them on their knees as William takes you, his new favorite woman, against the sticky vinyl of the booth. "You're so much better than them," he groans, and you don't know if he means the real Julia, or your mother, or every other woman in the world. You just know you've won.

Then the scene shatters. You're on your knees, the rough carpet of the bar's back room scratching your skin. You look up and see Tran, the older Pacific Islander bartender, standing over you. She isn't smiling. Her hunter's eyes are fixed on you, cold and appraising. You remember the rumor that she'd made porn, and suddenly you know it's true. She reaches down, not to her waist, but to the front of her jeans. She unbuttons them, and from the dark fabric, she produces a thick, uncut cock.

"You just want to be a hole, don't you?" she says, her voice flat. "A place for a real cock to get off." She slaps it against your cheek, and you flinch, saliva already pooling in your mouth. You hate her for this, for her power, but the hatred is twisted up with a desire so sharp it makes you ache. You open your mouth like a good girl, ready to be a cum dump, ready to take it like you need it.

But just as your lips touch the head, the vision dissolves again, leaving the taste of metal and want on your tongue. Now you're impossibly tall, impossibly thin. You feel the jut of your own hip bones and hear a cackle that you realize is coming from your own mouth. You are Michelle. You feel wasted, used up, like the ****-ravaged body of Elsa you used to fantasize about. Jed is there, his face leering above you, his hands clumsy as he pushes into you. You are a woman again, but this time it is not about power or being better; it is about being a thing to be used, a gangbang queen in a room of one. You hear your own voice, thin and reedy, cackling as he fucks you, the sound bouncing off the walls of the grimy bar restroom. You look past his shoulder and see the other bar patrons watching, their faces blurring into a single, hungry audience.

You shake your head, the real one, back in the strange room. The lacy bra digs into your skin. The visions haven't stopped, and you know they won't. Was that a memory of what they did to you? A wish for what they could do? Or a warning of who you are becoming? You touch the cheap lace again. It feels real. Too real.

You find your hand drifting to your cock as you think about what happened or might have happened last night. You shiver to think of Jacklynn again. Her giant tits would look so good bounding in front of you.

The vision of Jacklynn riding you, calling herself "daddy," dissolves into the scent of stale beer and old wood. You’re behind the bar now, looking down at your own hands, but they aren’t yours. They’re wrinkled, with long, lacquered nails. You feel the heavy, low-hanging weight of breasts against your ribs, a familiar ache that reminds you of Llora. You are Mama.

Julia and Tran are on their knees in front of you, not like employees, but like worshippers at an altar. Their faces are blank with devotion. "We are yours, Mama," Julia whispers, her goofy smile gone, replaced by a hungry vacancy. "Take what you need from us."

"Take my youth," she offers, and you feel her slim, tight waist become yours, her perky B-cups replacing the soft sag on your chest. "Take my strength," Tran says, and her hunter’s thighs merge with yours, powerful and tense. You are a collage of them, the perfect woman built from their offerings, but still wearing Mama’s face—a sex goddess elected by her followers.

Then the door to the bar creaks open. It’s your father. He doesn’t look surprised. He looks… home. "I knew I'd find you here," he says, but his eyes are on the body you wear, the perfect form you've assembled from all the women in the room.

"You're so much better than all of them," he says, and the words are a prayer you’ve waited your whole life to hear. He steps forward, his own cock already hard against his jeans, a sight you’ve imagined countless times.

Tran unzips her jeans, her own cock springing free, slick and ready, just as you’ve always fantasized a woman should have. "For him?" she asks, nodding at your father.

You shake your head, a slow, cruel smile spreading across Mama’s lips. "For me," you command.

You bend over the bar, offering your father Mama’s ass, while Julia kneels to take Tran’s cock in her mouth. You are the center of it, the director of this perfect, filthy play. Your father fucks you from behind, groaning that he’s finally found the woman he was always meant to have, the Asian wife he secretly craved. As he pounds into you, you watch Julia gag on Tran’s dick, their spit mingling in a holy offering to you. You are the object of everyone's attention, the one being used, and you have never felt so powerful.

The vision shatters, leaving you gasping on the floor of the strange room. The lace bra is still cutting into your skin. Was Mama’s body just another stop on this tour of your own ruined desires? You push yourself up, your ass aching with a phantom fullness, and wonder which of these women you’ll become next when your eyes close again.