Fun for Henry, Despair for Alice

And so Henry stepped into the throng of bodies, the music thumping in his chest, his hips already beginning to sway in a rhythm that drew eyes like moths to a flame, and he made sure to catch the gaze of every man in the room, his fingers trailing along their arms as he passed, his lips brushing against their ears as he whispered promises of a filthy good time, all while the real Alice watched from the doorway, her hands trembling at her sides as Henry pressed his borrowed body against a tall, bearded man, grinding his ass into the man's crotch while his hand found the chest of another, a blonde with a crooked smile, and he laughed, a light, airy sound that cut through the bass, as he moved from one to the next, leaving a trail of hard-ons and bewildered gazes in his wake, his own voice calling out over the music, "Who's next? I'm feeling generous tonight," and the men surged forward, a tide of eager hands and hungry eyes, while Alice stood frozen, a ghost at her own funeral, watching her body get passed around like a joint at a party, each touch a fresh violation she could feel but not stop, her skin prickling with the ghosts of sensations she hadn't chosen, the taste of another man's tongue in her mouth as Henry leaned in to kiss a stranger, full and deep, for her to taste, the sour sting of beer and the sweet tang of someone else's desire flooding her senses as she stood there, helpless, while her body played the whore. As she watched her own body writhe against the bearded man, his thick hands gripping his hips as Henry ground down against him in a slow, filthy rotation, Alice felt a treacherous heat bloom between her own untouched thighs, a slick, shameful throb, as she watched her body cavort, with every guy it could, sickened as the man buried his face in henrys borrowed neck, and she hated herself for the way her knees went weak, as her tiny cock stood up.

Henry was no fool, he knew the power of anticipation, the exquisite torture of a promise delayed, so he danced just out of reach, his body a tantalizing mirage that slipped through grasping fingers, his laughter a silver bell that rang above the bass, and the men, desperate and drooling, pressed drinks into his hands, shots of tequila and sticky-sweet cocktails that he accepted with a demure flutter of Alice's eyelashes, each sip a performance, his tongue darting out to catch a stray drop as he watched the men watch him, their eyes glazing over with want, their wallets emptying as they competed for his attention, and he would lean in close, his breath ghosting over their ears as he whispered, "Maybe later, if you're good," before spinning away, leaving them hard and frustrated, their hands full of empty glasses and their minds full of what they would do to him when they finally got their chance, while the real Alice stood helpless.

As Alice stood there, trapped in Henry's body, she glanced around, at the the other girls at the party, their faces twisted in disgust as they watched Henry cavort through the crowd, her own body a spectacle of shamelessness, and she felt their judgment like a physical weight, their whispered words of "slut" and "whore" cutting through the music, directed at the body she used to inhabit, the body that now writhed against strangers, and she wanted to scream at them, to explain that it wasn't her, that she was trapped in this useless male shell, but her voice came out as a pathetic croak, drowned by the bass, and instead she could only watch as the girls exchanged knowing glances, their lips curling in contempt as they watched her body press against another man, their disgust a mirror of her own self-loathing, a chorus of silent condemnation that echoed in her ears, each judgment a fresh wound, as she stood there, impotent, her borrowed hands trembling at her sides, her tiny cock a useless appendage that twitched with shame as she watched her own body debase itself, watched the other girls turn away in revulsion, their skirts swishing as they retreated from the spectacle, leaving her alone with the knowledge that even they, the strangers, had more dignity than she did now.

Then Marcus emerged from the crowd, his hand finding the small of Henrys back, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered something that made Henry's borrowed eyes light up with malicious glee, and Henry's fingers went to the hem of the top that clung to Alice's curves, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he peeled it up and over her head, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of fabric, leaving Alice's bare breasts on show to everyone, much to the men in the the crowds delight, as a chorus of cheers and wolf-whistles as Henry arched his back, thrusting Alice's chest forward, his hands cupping the weight of her tits through the lace as he looked out at the sea of hungry faces, he held them up, and offered them to the crowd with a lascivious wink, while the real Alice stood at the doorway, her borrowed body trembling, her tiny cock straining against her pants as she watched her own naked breasts jiggle with every movement Henry made, watched the men reach out to touch, to grope, to squeeze, their rough hands leaving red marks on her pale skin, and she felt each phantom touch like a brand, a searing heat that traveled from her stolen breasts to her borrowed groin, and she hated herself for the way her body responded, the way her cock throbbed with a sick, shameful arousal as she watched her own tits get passed around like party favors, watched Henry throw his head back in a moan as a man took a nipple between his fingers, watched the other girls turn away in disgust, their judgment a silent chorus that condemned her to this hell of her own making.

And then Marcus leaned in close, his lips brushing against Henry's ear, and Alice watched her own face break into a grin that was all Henry's malice, watched her own hand slip into Marcus's as he pulled her toward a door, and as they disappeared, the crowd erupted, a roar of approval that shook the walls, glasses raised in a toast to the slut who had finally gotten what she deserved, while Alice stood frozen in the doorway, her borrowed body trembling with a cocktail of shame and arousal, her tiny cock a painful reminder of her powerlessness as she watched the door swing shut behind them, the cheers still ringing in her ears, her own body now a ghost in the room, invisible and impotent, left to wonder what they were doing , what Henry was letting Marcus do to her flesh, and the thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her borrowed frame, a sickening thrill that made her stomach churn even as her cock twitched with unwanted interest, and she hated herself for it, hated the way her mind conjured images of her own lips wrapped around Marcus's cock, of her own hands gripping his shoulders as he took her from behind, the fantasy playing out behind her eyes even as the reality unfolded just beyond the door, the sound of muffled laughter and the clink of a bottle reaching her ears, the party going on around her as if nothing had happened, the other girls still shooting her dirty looks, and she could only stand there, trapped in Henry's useless body, her tiny cock pressed against the seam of her pants, waiting for the inevitable.

Marcus's hand was firm on Henry's back as he guided her through the door, the wood clicking shut behind them with a finality that cut through the bass of the party, and the room they entered was dim, lit only by a single lamp on a nightstand that cast long shadows across a bed that dominated the space, its sheets rumpled and waiting, and Henry let out a breath that was part relief, part anticipation, his borrowed body thrumming with the power he held, the power of Alice's flesh, as he turned to face Marcus, his fingers already working at the button of his jeans, a slow, deliberate movement that made Marcus's eyes darken with want, and he felt a thrill race down Alice's spine as Marcus stepped closer, his hands coming up to cup Henry's face, tilting it up to meet his gaze, and Marcus's voice was a low rumble as he said,

"You've been such a good girl tonight, haven't you? Showing everyone what this body is really for," and Henry preened under the praise, a coy smile curving Alice's lips as he pressed his borrowed body against Marcus's, feeling the hardness of him through the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat that radiated from his skin, and he let his hands slide down Marcus's chest, tracing the lines of muscle through the cotton, before dropping to his belt, his fingers nimble as he worked the buckle, the leather sliding free with a whisper, and Marcus's hands were in his hair, tugging gently, guiding him down, down, until Henry's knees hit the carpet, the plush fibers soft against Alice's skin, and he looked up at Marcus through Alice's lashes, his tongue darting out to wet her lips, and he could feel the real Alice's horror like a distant echo, a faint vibration in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the weight of Marcus's cock as he freed it from his pants, the thick length of it heavy in his borrowed hand, "Its so big daddy," Henry sultry gasped to him, the skin warm and smooth as he stroked it, once, twice, watching the way Marcus's head fell back, the way his breath hitched, and he leaned in, his lips parting, his tongue flicking out to taste the tip, salty and male, and he heard Marcus groan above him, felt a hand tighten in his hair, and he knew that this was just the beginning, that the night was still young, and that Alice's body had so much more to give.