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Chapter 78 by Romanorgy Romanorgy

What's next?

Take Mike's place

In the deep, velvet silence of the dream, the towering bronze idol of Mike Carter begins to ripple like heat rising off asphalt. Kenzie watches, her breath hitching in her chest, as the familiar features of her neighbor melt away. The skin darkens slightly, the muscles broaden and become more defined, and the hair recedes until a powerful, bald man with a dark goatee stands before her.

You aren't a neighbor or a fantasy anymore. You are the Master of the House.

You step toward her, and the ruined, flooded house transforms into a high-end photography studio. The lighting is dramatic—stark whites and deep, obsidian shadows.

You gesture toward the center of the room. Cherie appears there, dressed in sexy, teal lingerie, with black stockings and a shor, black robe. She looks lost, her eyes searching the shadows until you step into the light beside her.

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Kenzie finds her fingers moving over the camera controls with a confidence she’s never felt in the waking world. “Chin up, Mom,” she hears herself say, her voice echoing with authority. “Look at him. Don’t look away. He owns this room. He owns you.”

Under Kenzie’s direction, the poses become a study in surrender. You wrap a hand around Cherie’s throat—not to hurt, but to claim—and Cherie arches back, her expression one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Kenzie’s shutter clicks like a heartbeat, capturing the exact moment her mother’s “faithfulness” dissolves into a hunger for the supernatural.

The dream-camera feels heavier in Kenzie’s hands, turning cold. Suddenly, the perspective flips. Kenzie isn't behind the lens anymore. She is the one standing in the pool of white light.

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Lisa is now the one behind the camera, the flash blindingly bright. Kenzie is stripped of her artist’s armor, standing in a pose that is both **** and provocative. She feels Your hands—large, cool, and unmistakably real—sliding up her thighs, guiding her into a position of complete exposure for the camera.

"It’s me. I’m the art," she thinks. "I’m painting a masterpiece with my own body, and Lisa is capturing every second of it. This is the truth. This is what he wants."

She climaxes in the dream as the camera flashes one last time, a burst of white light that shatters the dreamscape and sends her spiraling back toward consciousness.

What's next?

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