Wake Up

“Hey,” gentle pats on her cheeks. “Meghan. Wake up.”

She’d had so many dreams, it was hard to believe they’d all fit into the same night. They’d unrolled on double speed. Comically fast sex scenes, most of them. Her subconscious felt like she was ready to take center stage – she was the one licking dick in record time, the one tensing her ass to rapid-fire strokes. There’d been a whole lot of talking about the best way to please men, delivered very quickly in monotone.

“Meghan. Slut. Up you get.”

She opened her eyes. Trey. Trey was there. Meghan shifted her head – it was 6:05 in the morning, and Trey was there. He wore a different polo from yesterday, and his hair was combed. He wore a hat, in her bedroom. The hat read “WALLACE AND SONS : TCIAR!”

Bedroom? No, she had fallen asleep on the couch. Again. The TV was on, but softly, and had a cooking show rolling.

“Mwah?” she said, and pulled a hand out from her waistband. She felt– fuzzy. A full body bleary, her head stuffed with marshmallows. Her entire body felt sort of marshmallow-y, all those pancakes and other delights sloshing around inside of her. Meghan glanced down, and confronted two unwieldy tits. They were very big. Not in a porn star way, at least. Just a pair of fat tits, attached to her.

“Buh?” she said. Even her spit felt thick. She had to swallow it down. “My– boobs. What are these… boobs.”

“I wrote out a schedule but we are already slow on it,” Trey said. He seemed legitimately concerned. “Austin gets home tomorrow. I don’t think you’re— what do you most want to do, right now?”

Meghan stared at him. Her hands came up to knead at her boobs. Her big boobs. They felt good, although stroking them wasn’t doing much for the sludge in her head. She needed coffee, or a good dicking down. “I think I gotta pee,” she said.

“Yeah, okay, fair,” Trey conceded. “But first…”

He brought out the spray bottle that Meghan dimly recalled from – a few days ago? When she’d been – different? This time he sprayed the pink cloud right into her face. Meghan inhaled. It smelled like it looked, a bright cotton candy with all the nuance of a county fair. It was divine. Where it coated her face it smelled like raspberry candy.

“Okay, lets see. Meghan, why am I here?” Trey said. He knelt in front of her. Meghan was so distracted. Her boobs were not accurate to her body, that was clearly an entire thing. She had a nose full of the most amazing scent. Behind Trey, on TV, the cooking show was not as innocent as she’d earlier thought. The cook needed to put a top on. She could burn her boobs.

“I don’t… plumbing?” Why WAS he here? The cotton candy in her head hadn’t gotten any better once she’d inhaled even more. Was there something wrong about him spending the night? Or was that – her head buzzed with the unpleasant effort of thoughts – sorta elitist? “Can you just tell me?” she said, eventually. That seemed to make the pink mist happy. It rewarded her with generous doses of serotonin. Her new tits glowed, pleased.

“I’m finalizing for the customer,” Trey said. He seemed a little relieved. “But first, go pee.”

—

Meghan put herself back together while Trey did her makeup. Not actually did it– she did the actual work of application. But he brought in the enormous and well-organized kit full of every type of cream, tube, and powder. It was in a black nylon cube with heavy-duty zippers. He told her everything.

“Eight steps,” he told her, not for the first time. “I know its tempting to slather on lipstick and a bit of blush and call it a look. But no. Primer, foundation, concealer. Moisturize– how many times a day are we moisturizing, Meghan?”

“A lot,” Meghan recited back. She hadn’t– memories were getting a little fuzzy, but she felt pretty certain on this one – she hadn’t been a big girl for makeup. She’d gone for Standard Face, with no obvious blemishes. Trey was at an entirely different level.

“Eyes and lips are the key to the sexy, submissive, housewife look,” he told her, while she nodded, trying to take it all in. “They are always on. Always. The only question you need to ask is, how stupid and slutty do I want to look today?”

“Uh,” Meghan responded. This was such a departure from the nervous, uncertain Trey. He paced behind her, occasionally pulling out new product from his magic bag. None of them had brand names Meghan recognized – they were generally in clear packaging or had names like NEWTHOT in industrial writing.

She did her best, which Trey hated. He had her clean it all off, until her face stung from **** wipes. “Meghan, I want you to think of it this way,” he said, pursing his hands and sitting on the stool. “Austin is on his way home. He’s had a bad day at work. What is he going to see when he gets home?”

“Door,” Meghan answered. She giggled happily.

“Okay, maybe a little too strong on the spray,” Trey said. “Okay. He opens the door. You’ve got dinner ready, right?”

“Well— yeah,” Meghan said. She struggled to put her brain into gear. The entire morning felt like a carnival, a dream she wasn’t quite able to wake up from. Surely any moment now she’d actually wake up, in plain grey pajamas, and her face free of oils and creams. “No– I’m.. typically we get pizza…”

“Dinner is ready and it’s amazing,” Trey said. He took a tube of red lipstick, the shiniest, most candy-apple one on hand, and uncapped it. He handed it to her. “You’ve got a martini in a tumbler in the freezer. Everything is immaculate. You’re wearing– what?”

The fantasy sunk in. It was too vivid to ignore. “Fuck dress,” Meghan said. A sundress, but daringly short, in bright yellow stripes. Bright white heels, a burst of sunshine as he walked through the door. “No undies.”

“Great,” Trey said, encouraging. He made a motion with his hand, and Meghan copied it. She outlined her lips in bright red lipstick, and then smacked them together. Her new big boobs jiggled pleasantly. “And then?”

“I can’t—” the answer to the puzzle came clear, very suddenly. She couldn’t eat herself with all that lipstick on. It’d smear. So she had to suck his dick during dinner, underneath the table. Which also explained why she kept the floor so clean. “Oh. Right.” Another soft giggle, but pleased. It was all a nice puzzle.

Trey twisted her towards the mirror. She was adorned and perfect. Powdered and rouged, with just a bit too much mascara, to communicate that she was a bit of a whore. “Perfect,” Trey judged.