Sparks Beneath the Waves, Part 2

Liesa had always loved shopping, but the Commissary’s options were on another level entirely. She stood at the touchscreen terminal, chin in her hand, scrolling through the endless, sometimes deeply weird, list of upgrades, add-ons, and “benefits” available to the contestants.

Some of them were silly—lip gloss that made you horny if you kissed someone, or random temporary transformations like cat ears or tails. Was Arabella obsessed with catgirls? Others were more dangerous: one-time-use power-ups, the ability to sabotage rivals, or ways to make a transformation permanent. She wasn’t tempted by those.

Instead, she went straight to the “Upgrades” section and hovered over the option she’d been considering for days: Approachable. There were two paths, Master and Harem. The Master upgrade read:

Heart on a Sleeve: Liesa can now verbally express her romantic and sexual desires to the Master specifically. She can tell him exactly what she wants, when she wants it, and how she's feeling, but only with him. But each time she does, she will become more devoted to him.

The Harem upgrade read:

Bold Heart: Liesa can now verbally express her romantic and sexual desires to the Master or any Harem member, but she will find herself sexually aroused by each such expression, and the arousal will be proportional to how significant the expression is.

Liesa grinned. “If it works, it works,” she said to herself, then selected the Harem upgrade and bought it. The screen flashed, congratulated her, and added a little sparkle animation to her current points balance. Then she switched to her second transformation, Paint Me Like One of Your French Girls. The Master upgrade read:

Naked Hunger: When undressed around the Master, Liesa’s arousal level will also translate into an equivalent increase in skills in bed, and in the desire to become pregnant with the Master’s child.

The Harem upgrade read:

Comfort in Skin: Liesa becomes more comfortable with casual intimacy and physical affection with other contestants when lightly clothed. Constant physical contact, or (even better) having sex with a Contestant or the Master will allow a brief decrease in arousal, proportional to the duration and extent of the physical contact.

She purchased Comfort in Skin. Neither upgrade seemed to remove the curse of becoming nearly mindless with arousal when she was naked, but the Harem upgrade could make it easier to fight through the haze when she needed to, without the logistical nightmare of having to change clothes in chunks, to avoid becoming a rutting beast.

She stepped back and checked herself in the mirrored elevator doors. She giggled. If it worked, the upgrade was worth every point.

Liesa 3500 BP - 2000 BP = 1500 BP

Her next stop was the Annex, the circular mall of the damned, as she and Sam called it. Most of the shops were empty or weirdly specific—one sold only swimwear—but her favorite was Bob’s. She wasn’t sure if the name was a joke, but it always made her smile.

Bob’s was staffed, as always, by Mildred. Or Bob, as she called herself here. Today, Mildred wore a severe black skirt suit and a pencil-thin mustache drawn over her upper lip, like she was auditioning for the role of “evil department store manager.” She greeted Liesa with a flat “Welcome to Bob’s,” then waited.

Liesa explained she needed something for tonight. “A dress,” she said. “But not too formal. Something that makes me look… mmm, how do you say, irresistible?”

Bob regarded her with the weary patience of a cat. “Do you have a color in mind?” she asked.

Liesa thought. “Not black. Maybe blue. Or—” She caught herself, realizing Arabella had probably cornered the market on scarlet. “Maybe something with flowers?”

Bob nodded, then walked off, reappearing in under a minute with a rack of dresses, all in her size, all suspiciously perfect for her build. She presented them with the air of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat.

Liesa tried on three, settled on a teal number with embroidered flowers along the hem and a daringly low neckline. She twirled in front of the three-way mirror, then blushed at how much she liked what she saw.

“Perfect,” she said.

Bob rang it up, eyes never leaving Liesa’s face. “Enjoy your purchase,” she intoned, like a curse or a blessing.

Liesa 1500 BP - 100 BP = 1400 BP

Liesa left, dress in a box, already imagining how Andy’s eyes would widen when he saw her.

She hummed as she walked, the anticipation running like electricity through her veins.

Dawn was elbow-deep in eggshells and flour when Emi burst into the kitchen with a shopping basket and a face full of mischief. “I got the list!” Emi announced, waving a wrinkled sheet of paper overhead. “And, uh, maybe a few extra things.”

Dawn looked up from her mixing bowl, eyebrows raised. “What kind of ‘extra’?”

Emi dumped the basket onto the counter. Out rolled a bottle of pomegranate syrup, three unfamiliar spices, and a block of what looked suspiciously like high-end dark chocolate. “Everything we need for the ‘Love Spell’ menu,” Emi said, sorting the loot with all six arms. “And… these.” She held up a box of animal-shaped marshmallows, which made Dawn laugh so hard she nearly dropped the bowl.

“I told you, we’re supposed to be making real food, not a Hogwarts experiment,” Dawn said, setting the eggs aside.

“Love spells are real food,” Emi countered, already peeling open the chocolate. “Also, you promised I could pick the dessert.”

Dawn surrendered, hands raised in defeat. “Fine. But we’re sticking to the recipe for the chicken.”

“Agreed,” Emi said, solemn as a judge. Then she grinned, and Dawn couldn’t help but smile back.

They worked side by side—sometimes literally, when Emi’s extra arms darted in to help Dawn with a task, or just to swipe a taste of batter. Emi’s transformations were no longer a source of embarrassment; if anything, she’d made them her superpower. She could whisk two sauces at once, dice vegetables with alarming speed, and plate an entrée in half the time anyone else could.

Dawn admired her for that. It took guts to make a curse into a blessing.

As they chopped, mixed, and tasted, the kitchen filled with the smell of caramelizing onions and roasting spices. “This is going to be the best dinner yet,” Dawn said, more to herself than to Emi.

Emi, however, heard it. “You think the girls will like it?”

“They’ll love it,” Dawn said, confident.

Emi nodded, then glanced at the clock. “Do you think anyone else will show up?”

Dawn shrugged. “Probably. It’s a party night.”

Right on cue, Erin and Sam appeared in the doorway, arms full of groceries and, in Sam’s case, a bag of chips already open.

“Hey, chefs,” Sam called. “Need more hands?”

Dawn pointed at Emi. “She’s got six. What do you have?”

“An infinite capacity for eating snacks,” Sam replied, popping a chip in her mouth. She set the bag down and started unloading their haul: more eggs, a pound of butter, a loaf of day-old bread. Erin moved with efficient grace, scanning the scene and immediately grabbing the sifter to start prepping dry ingredients.

“Is this the famous aphrodisiac dinner?” Erin asked, dusting flour onto the counter.

Emi grinned. “We’re testing it for science.”

Sam made a face. “Just don’t put any of that stuff in the bread, okay? I want at least one dish that doesn’t get everyone humping by dessert.”

Erin snorted. “It’s not that strong. I looked up the ingredients. Most of it is just placebo. At most, you'd feel a tingling.”

“Still,” Sam said, “we should keep a control group.” She winked at Dawn, who rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.

The four of them worked in tandem, the kitchen becoming a flurry of motion and jokes. Dawn took lead on the chicken, her grandmother’s recipe, guiding the others through each step. Emi handled the dessert, a chocolate-pomegranate mousse that set up beautifully in the fridge. Erin and Sam teamed up on the bread, kneading dough and shaping it into uneven but charming loaves.

They talked as they worked—about the show, the challenges, and the weirdness of living on an island that sometimes felt like a cross between a spa resort and a supernatural zoo. Emi confessed that she still had dreams about her old life, but they were fading. Dawn talked about her brothers and how much she missed them, even when they drove her crazy.

Erin kept a watchful eye on Sam, noticing the shift in her mood. After a while, she pulled her aside under the pretext of checking the oven.

“You’re different today,” Erin said, voice low.

Sam shrugged, but her face betrayed a small smile. “I figured some things out.”

Erin leaned against the counter. “Want to talk about it?”

Sam considered, then said, “I don’t have to fake it anymore. With Andy, or anyone. The points system got changed. I get to just… be the friend. And it counts.”

Erin smiled, genuine. “Good. That’s what you always were, anyway.”

Sam hesitated, then asked, “Is it weird if I want to see what happens with Liesa? Even if I’m not, like… the main character in the story?”

Erin shook her head. “Not weird. Brave, actually.” She looked at Sam, then at Emi and Dawn, laughing over a spilled cup of cocoa. “None of us are main characters. We just… make it work.”

Sam laughed. “That’s pretty deep, coming from you.” She paused. "Also, I'm pretty sure you're a main character in Andy's mind."

Erin blushed slightly, and nudged her. “Just don’t mess it up, okay?”

Sam saluted. “I’ll try.”

Back at the counter, Emi had assembled the marshmallows into a ridiculous pyramid and was trying to balance a cherry on top. Dawn, meanwhile, tasted the sauce and declared it “suspiciously good.”

When the bread came out of the oven, everyone crowded around to tear off a piece. It was soft, warm, and perfect with a smear of butter. Even Sam, who had low standards for anything not coffee or chips, was impressed.

They set the table together, then sat, plates heaped with food. For a moment, they just ate, savoring the flavors and the warmth of the kitchen. It was the most normal any of them had felt in weeks.

Emi broke the silence. “Should we save any for Andy?”

Dawn grinned. “He can have whatever’s left. Tonight is for us.”

They clinked glasses—water, juice, and a little wine from the stash under the sink—and ate until they were stuffed.

Afterward, Sam looked around at the happy, flour-dusted faces and said, “We should do this more often.”

“Agreed,” Erin said, already reaching for a second slice of bread.

Dawn nodded, content. “Next time, we’ll try the love spell cake.”

Emi pumped a fist in the air. “Yes! And I’ll make a double batch of marshmallows.”

The others groaned, but they were all smiling.

In the kitchen, the mess could wait. For now, they just enjoyed being together, and looked forward to whatever came next.

Chloe arrived at the hotel gym fifteen minutes before her scheduled session with Marissa, partly to avoid being late, but mostly because she wanted to scout the place for potential disasters. The gym was immaculate, every machine gleaming and lined up with military precision. There was a faint lemon-cleaner scent undercut by something wilder, maybe eucalyptus or a synthetic cousin.

Chloe was halfway through a nervous lap of the cardio area when Marissa entered, ponytail sharp enough to cut glass, leggings and tank top as crisp as a business suit. Her perpetually erect nipples tented her tank top, which had a daringly low neckline for a sports garment, but Marissa was used to it by now. She carried a notebook, which made Chloe smile—she would have bet anything that Marissa took notes on her own workouts.

“Hi, Chloe,” Marissa said, voice warm but just a notch above clinical.

Chloe waved, then remembered herself and said, “Hi. Thanks for meeting me here.”

Marissa smiled, setting the notebook on the towel rack. “Of course. I thought we could start with something light and go from there. How are you feeling?”

Chloe’s brain tried to answer three different ways, but she managed, “I’m okay. A little nervous. I haven’t really done gym stuff since high school.”

“That’s fine,” Marissa said, professional again. “We can take it slow.” She moved to the treadmill, gesturing for Chloe to join her. “Walking’s a good place to start.”

Chloe mounted the machine, fiddled with the buttons until it hummed to life. They walked side by side, neither pushing the speed above a gentle stroll.

Marissa kept the conversation easy. “How’s the teaching?”

Chloe shrugged. “It’s okay. I miss the kids, but it’s nice not to have to, you know, supervise recess in March.”

Marissa chuckled. “I never thought about that. But you strike me as someone who’d rather be indoors, anyway.”

Chloe laughed, and the tension in her shoulders eased. “Guilty.”

They talked about small things: favorite books, the best way to make a cup of tea, which streaming service had the least-worst original shows. As they hit the twenty-minute mark, Marissa shifted gears.

Marissa slowed her treadmill, thumb hovering over the “cool-down” button. “Can I ask you something?” she said, voice just loud enough to be heard over the drone of the machines.

Chloe’s nerves prickled. “Sure.”

“Is it ever strange, being on the outside now? I mean—" Marissa paused, awkwardly, and Chloe realized she was looking for the right words, not the clinical ones. "I always picture you as the heart of the room. The one everyone else wants to orbit. But since you arrived, you’ve been…” Marissa hesitated, the blank filled in with “adrift,” but she didn’t say it.

Chloe tried to think how to answer. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s weird. Sometimes I feel like everyone else is so much more… suited to being here? Like I’m a summer intern who wandered onto the set by accident.”

Marissa laughed, a short huff. “You’re not an intern, Chloe. Don't sell yourself short.”

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Marissa eyed her, then upped the treadmill a half-click. “If you had a wish, what would it be?” she asked.

Chloe smiled at the question, relieved to have an answer at the ready. “I’d wish for a big, messy house full of kids. No drama. No reality show. Just, like, dinners with too many people and a dog that’s always barking at nothing.”

Marissa nodded, considering. “Why not wish for something grander?”

“I like ordinary things,” Chloe said. “I like the idea of not being important to the world. Just to a few people.”

Marissa’s lips curled into a smile. “That’s a beautiful wish.”

Chloe’s cheeks flushed. She blamed the incline.

They walked another mile in near-silence. Chloe watched the numbers creep up on the display, certain Marissa was still evaluating her, but when she looked over, the therapist had her eyes closed, face serene. Chloe wondered if Marissa ever truly rested, if she ever let herself be just a person instead of a specialist on call.

When Marissa opened her eyes, she stepped off the treadmill, grabbing a pair of towels. “Ready for circuits?”

Chloe gulped, then nodded. “Lead the way.”

They hit the mats for a light set of lunges and crunches, then moved to free weights. Marissa talked her through the motions, not as a teacher, but as a teammate—gently correcting her stance, never condescending. Whenever Chloe struggled, Marissa’s encouragement was effortless: “You’ve got this,” or, “That’s better than my first try, honestly.” Chloe was careful not to look too often at Marissa’s chest, but her gaze kept wandering; the outline of Marissa’s nipples was distracting, but also weirdly comforting, like proof the other woman was made of the same stuff as everyone else.

After a few rounds, Chloe said, “Can I ask you something?”

Marissa smiled. “Please do.”

Chloe hesitated. “Does it ever get… exhausting? Being the one everyone dumps their problems on?”

Marissa surprised her by answering instantly. “Absolutely. Sometimes I wish I could just shut it all off. Not be the therapist, or the big sister, or whatever role the world is demanding that day.”

Chloe chewed on that. “Who do you talk to when you need to vent?”

Marissa picked up a heavier weight, curling it with easy precision. “I used to talk to my mother, before she got sick. Now it’s mostly just me and my journals. Or Sarah, when she’s in a good place.” She looked at Chloe. “You?”

“Me?” Chloe blinked. “I used to have Nina, but she moved away. And now I just… bottle it up, I guess. Or I bake until the feeling goes away.”

Marissa laughed. “That’s a very wholesome coping mechanism. I’d suggest it to my clients, but I’m pretty sure most of them would end up diabetic.”

Chloe giggled, almost dropping her dumbbell. “It works, though.”

“I believe you.”

They moved to the stationary bikes for a “recovery ride,” which was a lie; within five minutes, Marissa had the resistance jacked up and Chloe’s thighs were on fire.

“Is it true,” Chloe panted, “that exercise is as good as therapy for some people?”

Marissa grinned. “Depends on the person. But in my case, yes.” Her voice lost a little of its polish. “Sometimes I think I only got into psychology because I couldn’t figure out my own life. It’s easier to solve other people’s problems.”

Chloe nodded, feeling braver. “I get that. I always thought I’d be a good mom because I liked fixing things for my students. But when I’m alone, it’s like I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Marissa looked at her, really looked, and said, “You will be a good mom, Chloe. You already are, to everyone here.”

The words hit harder than Chloe expected, and she suddenly felt her panties vanish. She realized, belatedly, that Marissa’s compliment had triggered the transformation, and blushed with embarrassment. She tried to play it off, but the flush traveled from her ears down her chest. She was suddenly very aware of the bike seat between her legs, rubbing against her pussy.

Marissa noticed the change, of course. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, tone gentle.

Chloe shook her head, but the world had gone soft-focus. She tried to pedal through it, but the friction only made the sensation worse. “It’s just—” she started, then cut herself off.

Marissa waited, patient as a cat.

Chloe gave up. “It’s the transformation,” she said, voice barely audible over the bikes. “Whenever someone says something nice, I, um, lose a piece of clothing. Uh, on the bikes, it… um, has side effects.”

Marissa’s face went through three expressions in two seconds: confusion, recognition, then delight. “Oh. Oh! That’s… well, that’s certainly on-brand for this place.”

Chloe tried to laugh, but it came out more like a whimper. “It’s fine. I just—I never really know when to expect it.”

Marissa eased off her own bike, turning the tension dial down. “You know, I get the same thing. The physical transformations, I mean. I was mortified, the first time I realized my nipples would never, ever behave again.” She tugged her tank top, as if to demonstrate.

Chloe snorted. “At least yours are, like, beautiful. I’ve seen you. They look like they belong on a Renaissance statue.”

Marissa blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week,” she admitted, her cheeks coloring just slightly.

The compliment hung in the air, fizzing.

Chloe recovered first. “Sorry. I think the endorphins are making me honest.”

Marissa shrugged, but there was a new openness in her posture. “Honesty’s underrated. And you’re right: sometimes the transformations are a curse, but sometimes they make you see yourself differently. I used to hate my body misbehaving in public. Now, I don’t even think about it. Not really.”

Chloe nodded, then said, “I wish I had your confidence.”

Marissa cocked her head. “Why? You’re one of the most self-possessed people here.”

Chloe blinked, unsure what to say.

“I mean it,” Marissa said. “You walk into a room and people notice. Not just because you’re cute—though you are—but because you make people feel safe. That’s not something you can fake.”

Chloe’s transformation surged again, and her sports bra vanished, her breasts shifting in her top. She wondered if it was possible to pass out from being too mortified, but she doubted Marissa would let her. She **** a smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

They cooled down, walking the perimeter of the gym. For once, neither felt a need to fill the silence; it was enough just to be together, two women unburdened by expectation or role.

At the water fountain, Marissa surprised Chloe by saying, “Would you like to hang out after this? Not as a therapy session. Just… maybe bake something? Or watch a terrible movie?”

Chloe grinned, the warmth in her chest outshining the side effects of her transformation. “I’d love that.”

Marissa nodded, then added, “You pick the movie. I promise not to analyze it.”

“Deal.”

They lingered a moment longer, then drifted out of the gym, the world outside brighter than when they entered.

In the hallway, as they parted ways to shower and change, Marissa called over her shoulder, “You know, I think I could get used to being a bad influence.”

Chloe laughed, her body lighter than it had felt in weeks. She knew she’d replay this morning in her head all day: not the workout, but the feeling of being seen, the certainty that she mattered, not as a contestant or a storyline, but just as herself. She had rarely felt this way with other people, even in school. Friendships had been short-lived, one-sided. Myra had been a prime example.

She jogged to the elevator, already thinking of which recipe to try first, and wondered if this was what being a real friend felt like. She decided it was, and that she wanted more.