Master has company.

A week from then, Ayaan found himself sitting in front of the tube, watching a documentary about the Iraq War. It was very engaging, and the experience was aided by the feeling of Fatima’s soft tongue lathered all over his bare feet.

Dogs were filthy creatures in Arab culture, so Ayaan only saw it fitting that his stepmom should take on the personality of one. She was on her hands and knees, naked, and pleasing her Master-Son to no end. The transformation was simple; all Ayaan had to do was install Helpless Puppy Mode, and Fatima’s robotic voice buzzed back at him:

“Affirmative!”

As Fatima cleaned her son’s soles with her mouth, his girlfriend Zara lay motionless on the living room floor. She was on her back, her arms and legs lying stretched out alongside her. Zara was in Blow-Up Doll Mode, as indicated by the puckered “O” shape her lips were in at that moment, which her boyfriend-turned-God had been shamelessly abusing. He had gotten tired of her many nefarious suggestions when she was his partner in crime, though he reasoned that he could change her back to that whenever he wished.

Leila, the last of the toys, was currently trapped in her bedroom, totally immersed in Kidnapped Princess Mode. While Fatima and Zara were instructed to stay nude, Ayaan decided to have a bit of fun with his sister. She wore a beautiful orange dress that was large and flowing at the bottom, with a little crown and flower earrings and dainty white gloves to complete the look.

At first, Leila had taken to pounding her fists on the bedroom door, demanding to be released from her prison. Of course, it was just a mental prison, as the door wasn’t locked and she could leave anytime she wished. But Ayaan had made sure she believed the room was impenetrable, unescapable, and later that day she had simply given up, sulking on her bed until the young man periodically walked in and fucked her, dropping some cold leftovers on the floor for her to eat.

As Ayaan nuzzled his feet into his mother’s face, forcing her to double her licking speed, a jingling sound could be heard at the front door. In the ecstasy of the past week, the boy had let the power get to his head, and his whole attitude changed as his father, Omar, turned the knob and came into view.

“Fatima?” Omar said, bewildered, as his eyes darted from his wife to his son, to the stranger on his floor. His face filled with an unmistakable rage, and he pointed an accusatory finger at Ayaan.

“BOY! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

With the adrenaline surging through him, Ayaan glanced at Omar and let out a smirk.