If you are reading this, you are reading the last words I will ever write and I can only hope you learn from my actions as I was murdered by my own hubris.
In writing this I summarize my descent into darkness, trying my hardest to make sure these final hours are spent ensuring that someone might be able to see this and prevent it from happening again.
Tucker's sister Whitney had always been a focus of my life. A deep abiding crush that had weighed on my heart since the both of us were children. It hurt me deeply to see her having fallen in love with someone else, and it was devastating to know she was getting married this year.
Knowing my chances were well past and ruined I found my thoughts dwindling to dark places, trying desperately to find a way to have her, to have my Whitney.
Fate would have it then, that a woman named Izzy would find me. She said she felt the pain in my heart, and knew I loved someone who would never return my feelings, and in her mercy she blessed me with a written spell. Instructing me to cast it on a family member of the person I loved and through them I would have my beloved.
I held on to the spell for weeks. Not sure how it would work, if it even would work. Thoughts perpetually racing, could I do this to one of Whitney's family? And how would it work?
after holding on to the spell for a month I chose to use it.
While Tucker visited me for a day to ourselves, with an anxious pit in my stomach, I chose to cast it while he was using the restroom.
Near instantaneously he screamed, rushing out of the restroom, yelling about the burning feeling in his groin, the searing in his back. and as he tried to tear his clothes off I heard the loud crackling as his hips expanded, driving him to his knees before an echoing rip as the seams of his pants gave way to his sisters bountiful thighs.
In a terrified daze I found myself staring transfixed, unflinching as his body rapidly shifted itself, a tight intense arousal building inside me as the form of my sweet Whitney became recognizable in that perfect way I envisioned her in my daydreams.
Her hair cascaded along her shoulders and back, breasts pushing out as Tuckers voice sang in rising octave, only driving my arousal and anticipation higher as I awaited.
He let out a quivering moan as his cock spurted the last of it's cum, shrinking away into a pussy that hid under a lightly trimmed mound his eyes fluttered, hands reaching to soft hair, I watched with intense rapture as he pleaded with me, against himself..herself before a feminine coo purred out of her lips
In that evening I felt the wonder of Whitney's mouth as her tongue caressed my length. I found myself plunging my cock into her tight pussy as it held me. My errant daydreams never once erred close to the feelings I felt in that night as she moaned and cried my name, her love for me as I watched her breasts bounce with my every thrust into her accepting body.
It was perfect.
The next morning I woke up alone, finding my phone over run with voice mail and text messages filled with vile hatred. Tucker remembered everything.
"How the fuck did you do this!"
"You were my friend!"
The hatred in his words were deep, with how much he despised me evident in every word. And in my present state those words anchor me.
You wouldn't be wrong to assume he'd never see me again. I thought so too.
And yet. Three weeks later after silence and refusal to answer my calls Tucker was at my apartment once more, moaning with agony. He needed me...she needed me. over the past three days he could hear Whitney in his head, the memories of our evening together, the images and feelings of her perfect feminine form calling to him. He hated me, and yet he could not deny his desires.
I cast the spell on him once more, and with an unnatural fluidity not present in the first change his body shifted away, giving way to the supple wondrous shape of his sister.
We embraced again. Making love across every surface and room of my apartment, I became wondrously addicted to her as she did me. The valley of her breasts, the taste of her cunt were mine and mine alone
Whitney stayed with me for three days on that second casting before Tucker groaned and painfully squirmed his way back into existence on my bed, body nude as the day he had been born.
He didn't leave my apartment. He hated me, but he told me he felt that he knew that if he left he would only be here days later begging again. And so he resigned himself to living with me.
One week later he pleaded with me to be Whitney again, and offered to suck my cock as he transformed.
I want to believe that knowing he was more Whitney mentally made the feeling of a mans tongue bearable for me.
Whitney's stay lasted a week. Tuckers return stay lasted an equal week after that.
Again a week. and his return lasted three days
the longest we managed to hold off on changing Tucker, was two days. The time spent as Whitney took its toll on him mentally. I could see the erosion of his identity now. Even as a man he walked in a way that didn't befit his bulky shape, and moved with a manner more fitting his other self
Another change. This one lasted a month.
Tucker's stay lasted a few hours this time. Long enough to tell his family he was taking a trip to Europe.
I wouldn't see Tucker again for two months.
My love for Whitney grew by the day, my heart feeling wondrously fulfilled as she became my live in wife in all but legality. I should have felt guilty. Disgusted. I would. But not soon enough.
what I had not known at the time was that Whitney had grown lonely, desperately so. And that what I hadn't realized was that Whitney, the woman I coveted, had a lecherous heart, and that being trapped in my apartment all day had only allowed her mind to wander. And it would come to light that she had desires that included more than just me as her sole companion.
When eating dinner she kissed me before going to our room to freshen up. I had thought nothing of it until minutes later I was brought to my knees, clutching my chest in pain. Feeling a distinct tickle in my scalp as I realized my shoes were rapidly outgrowing my feet.
The recognition was instant as Whitney smiled at my shifting form. She confessed that she'd always had a crush on my mother, something that had lead her to understanding herself as bisexual she said these words with the confidence of the true Whitney. I realized then as the collar of my t-shirt gave way to my chest that I was truly, deeply fucked.
Lana. My mothers name was Lana. and I turned into her. or at least. The idealized, youthful, deeply sexualized version of her. My memories were hazy, but yet so vivid as I felt her tongue intertwined with my own. Our legs tangled as we scissored so intently, staring into each others eyes. I hated her. I loved her.
I hated myself. I loved every second of it. The sensation of how my flesh yielded to her lips, her tongue swirling over my nipples. everything about Lana shone vividly, sensually, powerfully in contrast to the way I felt waking up the next day; dull, broken, weak.
Tucker and I got into a shouting match with one another that morning. Tucker was torn hideously with his love for me, and his hatred of what I had done to him, and yet he wickedly praised his other half for paying me my just deserts.
There was that part of me, the greedy part of me that wanted to recite the incantation, send Tucker away for good, knowing I could be rid of his hateful words with a simple utterance. But I hesitated. I knew Whitney now knew the spell, and I could no longer satisfy her as myself. and that saying the spell now would set off a domino effect that would lead me to my own ruin.
I despised Tucker. I envied him. Worse, my time spent as Lana had skewed my perception. I couldn't help but stare lustfully at his habitual nudity, the curiosity of what it would be like to accept his cock into my body. He couldn't help but stare at me. I had been only momentarily submerged into the entire ocean that he had been drowning in. And that hungry look in his eyes was an eerie foreshadowing of what I could not deny to be my own fate.
Hours later Tucker begged and pleaded. Apologizing for what he said, claiming I didn't deserve any of what was happening, that he needed to be Whitney again, that he couldn't stop hearing her voice, that she needed me, that she loved me that Tucker was not a disguise she could maintain any longer
I tried to fight my own urges. My body ached, and I could practically hear Lana's own voice pleading along side Tucker; to see Whitney, to be with her again so we may make love as only two women could.
Sexually overloaded, the words left me before I could stop myself and with the tantalizing memory of Whitney's fingers in my pussy I heard her just as readily whisper the incantation as I blacked out along side my friend.
Before I knew it a week had past and I awoke naked with a man between me and Whitney as I stifled a shriek. I panicked and hid.
He was gone in an hour, but the memories lingered. I could still feel the pleasurable pain of accepting a man for the first time, and how the void between my thighs had opened to accept him. I hadn't even known his name and yet Lana had kissed him as though he were her anchor to the world.
I could hear Whitney's goading in my head clear as day as she encouraged Lana to embrace it. And I could still feel the bounce in my chest as Lana rode him, the wet warmth of cum inside my cunt as she licked my nipples.
Whitney remained, and confessed she no longer felt Tucker at all.
My best friend was gone. and I had killed him. His stinging words of hatred weighed on my heart. I hated myself.
And worse still I could see in her eyes that Whitney was intent on making sure Lana would return again.
From an outside perspective, I feel it may be only appropriate that I become condemned to the same fate I placed upon my best friend. that I now feel the same burning self loathing. I tried to use that to fuel my self control. To resist that siren call of Lana's feminine form.
Even now I feel the weight of her breasts on my chest like a phantom limb. Her hips. The way her lingerie cups her pussy. I...have to focus
I couldn't help myself. My psyche had been broken and I couldn't help it. I masturbated constantly. Men. women, everything in between my forays into womanhood and the planting of Lana as part of my identity had ruined me. and ohhh was it delicious. it felt so silly when I let my mind wander.
With out even realizing I had sidled along side her and nuzzled my dearest Whitney's cheek and playfully begged to be free from my masculine prison. To be "right" once more.
My black out lasted a month. Filled only with flashes of sex, Whitney and Lana had taken many lovers across all genders. In time we...they had became the sexual focus of everyone around them. and terrifyingly I couldn't figure out why no one questioned the mysterious absence of my former self.
When I come to again, I'm alone. and I'm being kissed and caressed by my beloved Whitney, and a familiar woman. Izzy, and her lover Claire. I had became the focus of a foursome. and they so goaded me and teased me. Even as her hands rubbed along my thighs Izzy tutted at how much sexier I had been, it filled my head with a dizzying euphoria she told me she knew this was likely to happen, and that she was sorry for how my fate had been sealed, but told me there was nothing to be done, and only unless both myself and Whitney had exercised extreme willpower would I be able to continue to exist as I originally did.
Izzy, as a parting gift allowed me to have my last male orgasm inside Claire. A weak, unhappy five minutes of petulant groaning, taunting giggles and disgusting twitching dribble of orgasm brought on by the taunt that Lana had been the better of the two of "us"
And then we were alone. Not Whitney and Myself. Lana, and I.
She teased me quietly. Not saying anything and yet the memories of being her, of being a being of pure sex, ready and willing to allow myself to take or be taken by anyone around me. A fertile goddess made to arouse and goad anyone into devouring me whole.
I tried. I tried so hard, you have to believe me. I only lasted an hour after we were both alone. I grit my teeth, I held my breath I didn't want it. I didn't. I didn't.
I did.
I've spent the time I have had awake writing this. My skin is crawling with goosebumps as I recall the last cock my body took, the phantom sensations of my breasts...I don't know where I will hide the letter. but I know I need to, I need it to also be somewhere someone might see this.
Please, if you are reading this leave this place now. I want your cock...or your pussy. I'll love you no matter who you arem I'm so horn-NO!
I can't help myself. you know? a girl like me...no..I'm not...a man....not...
not a man.
if you're reading this, run, or burn this building to the ground. Barring that find some means to undo the magic that has killed me and my friend Tucker. Anything I beg of you neither of us are safe to be around as anything more than flings.
I beg of you, I can stop thinking about what those cocks feel like in my pussy..between my breasts....oh...oh, help me...god I need to get off.
I need to get off.
If you are reading this, I hope I can meet you. I'm afraid he wasn't exactly clever in his hiding spot, he had it too well hidden. Not that it matters of course, a dying animal isn't thinking clearly when they're desperate for a way out. I've taken the liberty of putting this somewhere much more "discreet."
My poor other self is gone now. And now that he is gone, I confess; Whitney and myself have been considering polyamory. We think having a third as a live in house maid might be very sexy.
Our Landlord certainly has a hot daughter.
--
I don't know who said it but it's been paraphrased a million times "one persons worst fear, is another persons deepest fetish" The line between horror and kink is thin, frequently hopped over and under by many a writer.
One of the earliest stories I had ever read was the story series "The Day Tucker Became his Sister" written by Wolverine who's stories always behaved with the prior mentioned "tap dancing all over the line" So this story is in it's way a tribute to him as it's my take on a combination of the stories he's written.
And further, with it being the season for all things spooky it felt no less apropriate to dip my toe into the deeper darker waters of this genre again.
I hope that you have liked this story.
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