Roger -

American Dad – Possession Story Chapter 2: What the Hell Just Happened?

Stan lowered his newspaper completely, his mustache twitching. “Francine? Honey? You look… off. Did you burn the eggs again? It’s okay, I’ll still eat ’em. A real American man doesn’t complain about his wife’s cooking. That’s how the liberals win.”

The woman who looked exactly like Francine slowly turned her head toward him. Her posture was a little straighter than usual, her smile a little too wide, a little too… Roger. She ran her hands down the front of her sundress, smoothing it over her chest and hips with obvious fascination.

Stan blinked. “Uh, babe? You feeling alright? You’re acting kinda… handsy with yourself there. Not that I’m complaining — a wife should take pride in her God-given assets — but we got kids in the house.”

“God-given?” the woman said in Francine’s voice, but the tone was pure Roger — dramatic, theatrical, with that signature alien flair. She cupped her breasts lightly, giving them a gentle, appreciative squeeze. “Oh, Stanley, these are magnificent. So full, so perky… I had no idea your wife was hiding such treasures under those frumpy mom outfits.”

Stan’s eyes widened. He shot up from the table, knocking his chair back. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Francine Smith, you watch your mouth! That’s my wife you’re talking about — I mean, that’s you you’re talking about! A real American woman doesn’t talk about her own… her own… lady parts like that in the kitchen!”

He pointed a finger at her, face turning red. “And stop touching them like that! Those are… those are for me to appreciate in the privacy of our bedroom, like a proper traditional marriage! Not for you to… to… fondle in front of the cereal!”

The woman (Roger in Francine’s body) tilted her head, still gently running her hands over her chest as if testing the weight. “Mmm, they’re even better than I imagined. So soft. So responsive. I could play with these all day. Tell me, Stanley — does she let you motorboat them on special occasions? Because if not, we’re fixing that immediately.”

Stan’s face went from red to purple. “Motorboat?! That’s it! I don’t know what kind of liberal hippie nonsense Roger put in your head this time, but you are not my wife right now! My Francine would never — ”

He stopped, eyes narrowing as he stared at her hands still lightly cupping her chest.

“Wait a minute… Roger? Is that you in there, you damn space queen? Get out of my wife this instant! A real American man does not share his wife’s body with an alien cross-dresser!”

Down in the basement, Roger’s original body remained slumped **** over the workbench, completely still.

The woman just smiled wider, giving her breasts one last appreciative squeeze before lowering her hands.

“Oh, Stanley… this is going to be a fabulous day.”