You wake up to the smell of breakfast, a rich smell of bacon, eggs, biscuits, and gravy. Staring blankly up at the ceiling, it takes you a full minute to consider that you have no idea who is cooking. It take you another full minute to come to the groggy realization that you are not in your apartment. “This is far too nice,” you think, laughing at your own possessions in comparison. The furniture alone must be worth thousands of dollars. The bedroom is massive, and there’s a fireplace in the corner. The walls are painted a soothing blue, and the trim that lines the ceiling is rather ornate. The pictures on the wall are famous prints—you recognize them from an Art class you took as a college sophomore.
At least you got a good night’s rest. The bed is extremely comfortable. It’s one of those expensive Tempur-Pedic memory foam mattresses, and your body is snugly enveloped by it. The sand colored sheets must have a high thread count, as they feel silky smooth against your body. The blanket is pillow-soft, and it’s one of those that can make getting out of bed impossible. The feather pillow behind your head feels as though you’ve been resting on a cloud. For the first time in years, you have no aches, no pain, and no strain in your neck. If you had any idea about where you were, you’d be content with staying in bed all day.
As you peer around the room, looking for any clues as to your location, you try to relive the previous night’s events. It was your best friend Sara’s bachelorette party, and you had quite a lot to drink. You knew the bartender and he was pouring some seriously stout whiskey sours for you all night, and they were going down so easy—through one of those hilarious penis straws. You giggle at the thought of those penis straws, the entire group having made inappropriate gestures all night with them; none more entertaining than when Sara pretended to deepthroat hers, spitting out a bit of her white russian cocktail once she was finished.
You refocus. “Alright… think!” you say in your head as you try to come to your senses, “What’s the last thing you remember?” Immediately, you’re overcome with embarrassment, as you recall that you were dancing on top of the table at the second place the group went, a little piano bar on Main. You don’t really drink that much anymore, limiting yourself after several mistakes that you made in your college years, but last night you got caught up in a piano rendition of Jon Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer”. “That’s it,” you tell yourself out loud, “I’m never going to drink again,” in much the same way that you have dozens of time before, except this time you seem a bit more serious.
The truth is, last night, surrounded by old friends that had gotten hitched and started families in the last few years, you were reminded of your loneliness. While you’re happy for Sara, you can’t help but be a little jealous. She was the last of your single friends. She met her fiancée one night while you both were out drinking and dancing at a local dance club—and, she met him on her way to the bathroom, for God’s sake. You can’t help but to admit that the man is a real winner, too—he’s quite handsome and rich. As much as you’d hate to admit it, part of you secretly hopes that they don’t work out. There’s nothing more difficult to bear than to watch your best friend enjoy the love life you’ve always dreamed about.
Why can’t you be that lucky? Hell, you’re almost 30 and it’s been several years since you’ve been fucked, let alone had a relationship. Again, you try to regain your senses, and you realize at this moment that, oddly enough, you’re not hungover. But, where the fuck are you, exactly? Confused and frustrated you try desperately to recall what happened. You don’t remember meeting anyone, and you’re not the type of girl that goes home with random guys. Maybe one of the other girls in the group took you home because you were so drunk?
One of the other bridesmaids, a girl named Jamie, must have taken you home, you figure. You don’t really know her all that well, but last night you two were inseparable. You spent the better part of the evening screaming Katy Perry songs, much to the embarrassment of your friends, but some gentlemen sitting near your table seemed to really enjoy it. And, Jamie could really sing! She was hitting some of Christina Aguilera’s highest notes in “Lady Marmalade” and, in a display of supernatural ability, rarely seemed to need air. But, you remember, those guys left a few minutes later, because you recall the disappointment you felt as they were leaving. “Jamie?” you call out. Silence.
You climb out of bed, and as the cool air hits your entire body you realize that you are completely nude. “Uh-oh.”, you think, “this is bad”. Ok, calm down, where are your clothes? None of this makes any sense. As you begin frantically looking for anything that will give you a clue as to where you are or who took you home you realize you don’t recognize anything in the entire room. You begin to have an anxiety attack. “Clothes, clothes,” you think, “where are my clothes?” This is getting embarrassing. All you want to do is find your clothes, get dressed and sneak out the window. You start planning your escape—you can walk to the nearest main road and wave down a cab.
You pull back the blanket hoping to find the matching lace panties and bra you bought from Victoria’s Secret the day before to cheer you up before the party. You remember standing in the dressing room, critically examining yourself, looking for the perfect set that would make you feel just as sexy and desirable as you did back in college, before you had to stand by and watch one by one as all your friends found their perfect guy and got their dream wedding and their happily ever after. You settled on a semi-scandalous, slightly see through, black lace set with enough extra straps that it almost looked like lingerie. Sure no one was going to see it, but you would know it was there, and that was enough.
To your dismay, the bed is completely clear of any underwear. “ Dammit!” you think, “those were expensive!”. You run across the room to check inside the walk-in closet, and immediately you feel even more bewildered. One side of the closet is full of a man’s clothes, the majority of them business suits. The other side is obviously female clothes—designer dresses, resort season blouses, and a ton of really nice shoes–was that really a whole shelf of nothing but Louis Vuittons? Suddenly, a horrifying thought crosses your mind. Did you go home with a married man? You pray that this is Jamie’s house, but deep down you know that she isn’t married. You definitely went home last night with a married man, you think.
You return toward the bed, frantically looking for anything that may provide any information about your host or your location. On the nightstand, you spot a picture of a happy wedding photo—a petite, gorgeous blonde with a tall, dark-haired man. Your stomach rises up to your throat and you rush to the bathroom, a pit deep inside your stomach causing you to feel nauseous. There is no other explanation. You went home last night with a married man, and he didn’t have the damned decency to put his wedding photo away. A stream of emotions overtakes you as anger joins confusion and embarrassment.
You feel extremely flustered by all of this uncertainty, rattled by what you perceive must have been poor choices, but multiplied by your lack of answers. Why did you drink so much? Why would you have gone home with a complete stranger? Why wouldn’t one of your friends stop you from going home with him? “This is absolutely horrible,” you think to yourself. Your mind wanders, careening with images of a happy marriage, brought to shambles by your decision. “I’m a homewrecker!” you think out loud. At the sound of those words, you begin to feel very ill, coming to terms with your predicament. You rush to the bathroom just in time to gag over the toilet, disgusted by your irresponsibility. Hadn’t you learned by now? You start to dry-heave. Hadn’t you matured?
As you look down at your toes, you’re alarmed by something even more troubling than anything else so far: you don’t recognize your toes. In fact, those are not your feet! Is this body yours? What the hell? Your skin looks different. Your breasts seem bigger. Your heart rate instantly doubles as you nearly hyperventilate, dealing with this newfound shock. You regain your control and rush to the mirror, your eyes closed, not exactly sure as to what you’re about to see.
Slowly, you open your eyes, squinting at first, terrified as to the face that is about to be revealed to you. Your breathing and heart rate intensify. “Please God,” you say, “please let me be myself.” You open your eyes, slightly, You drop to your knees, below the counter and let out a silent cry. You’ve never seen the face that you’ve just laid eyes on. You sheepishly peer over the counter, tears running down your face, trying to make sense of it all. Whose body is this? What happened to yours? You’re absolutely dumbfounded. Clearly, you’ve lost your mind.
Trembling, you slowly stand back up and take another tentative look. You have long, straight bleached-blonde hair. Your eyes are splendidly blue, brightly colored in a way you’ve always wanted. But, that doesn’t mean you expected to have completely different eyes, not to mention an entirely new body! As you begin to accept your new face, you have to admit to yourself that you’re not ugly. In fact, hell, you look pretty damn good. You’ve never really been one to lust over other women, but your face and skin is soft and smooth, free of any impurities. For just having woken up, your hair is fairly even and straight. You take a hard look at your body. You’re about 5’4”, no more than 120 pounds. You have nice perky breasts, a fit and slim waist, and a firm ass. You began to think to yourself that maybe, just maybe, this is a blessing and not a curse.
You return to reality. What about your friends and family? None of this makes any sense. How did this happen? Is this your house? Well, not your house, but the persons you’ve become? Again, you look for some kind of sign that you belong in this house—that this new person that you’ve taken over is at home. Of course! The photo on the nightstand! You walk frantically over to the picture, studying it intensely. The woman in the picture matches your new appearance, alright. “Oh shit,” you exclaim, “it’s her… I mean, me.” The photo reads, “Mr. and Mrs. Carson Mitchell.” You gaze upon the groom, a tall, dark haired man, running your finger over his image. He appears to be in pretty good shape. His eyebrows are dark, his teeth pearly white, and his smile—God, his smile. It’s absolutely dreamy, and it melts away some of your hysteria. Is he the one downstairs in the kitchen?
“Ok, relax,” you tell yourself, “there’s no need to panic.” You don’t feel crazy. You still have all of your old memories. But there’s no denying that you are trapped inside a completely different person now. Still completely naked, you sit on the edge of the bed deep in thought, pondering your reaction to the revelation that you are no longer yourself, but a complete stranger.
You could run downstairs, and tell whoever is cooking (most likely Carson) what has happened. He’d probably think that you’re bat-shit crazy, and you’d find yourself in a mental hospital in no time. Of course, you’re not entirely convinced that you don’t need some kind of medical attention. Are you dreaming? You pinch yourself, and it hurts. This is real. Who in their right mind would believe you? You realize that your other alternative is to go downstairs and pretend like nothing strange has happened. You could kiss Carson, and live your new life as… wait, what is your name now? You’re haunted by the fact that you don’t have the slightest clue about your name.
“Okay, one thing at a time,” you tell yourself. You have to make a choice. Come clean as being crazy, or try and hide it. You can’t help but think that you’re completely stuck in this new body. What would anyone be able to do about it? That last question really hits home. There is nothing that anyone could do about it. It’s not like you could find your old body and have a brain exchange. Tears well in your eyes as you think about your former self. After more consideration, you admit to yourself that the right thing to do is to come clean, figure this out with the help of medical experts, and live some kind of abnormal life. At least you will know that you’ve done the right thing. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you can find the old you.
That’s it, you’ve decided. You’re going downstairs, by God, and confronting the handsome man from the picture with your dilemma. You hastily grab the closest article of clothing, a blue dress shirt, out of the closet. You put it on and you pull a bright pink thong out of the dresser, slipping it on. You take a deep breath. Time to find out what Carson looks like now, in person. You pause by the bathroom mirror to fix yourself, and hesitantly tiptoe down the stairs to investigate the intoxicating smell of breakfast and the man that you believe is now your husband.
Downstairs, Carson is cooking bacon in a skillet and putting biscuits in the oven. You pause halfway down the stairs to admire him in action. He is paying special attention to the bacon as if it were being prepared for royalty, and you can’t help but think about how much of a turn on it is to see a man in the kitchen. In fact, everything about him, from his looks to his prowess in the culinary arts, is extremely hot. You can’t help but feel a little turned on. “No!” you scream in your head, “I have to tell him!” You gaze upon him again, observing his entirety. He has one of those chiseled jaws, and he must have shaved this morning, because his face looks silky smooth. He has dark, spiked up hair, and his eyes are adorable, focused intensely on his task at hand. He looks like he must work out, because you can see his muscle tone, barreling out of his dark blue bathrobe. You try to regain your composure.
You casually approach him, ready to lay your burden on his strong shoulders. He directs his undivided attention toward you, and you lose yourself in his eyes as he smiles and slightly tilts his head. He pulls you in close before you have a chance to say anything and he kisses your lips passionately. He’s a fantastic kisser. Your mind is lost by the touch of his tender lips to yours, his hands rubbing up and down your back. His body feels so wonderful against yours, and you’re reminded what it’s like to be held by such a strong man for the first time in years. Instinctively, you raise your right foot in response to the satisfying early-morning kiss. Should you wait and enjoy him for just a little while first? It has been a long time, and he’s pretty irresistible. You could always go crazy a little later, you decide.
Before you have another second to consider it, Carson quickly and forcefully spins you around, embracing you from behind as he begins to suck on your neck near your collarbone. You shudder with approval. He wraps his strong arms around you, as you feel his bulging cock against your naked ass. “You know,” he begins, “you’re wearing my favorite shirt again.” You naturally give him a malicious smile. He hastily unbuttons the shirt and pulls it off of you. You’re left standing in nothing but the thong you picked out, and he pauses briefly to admire your figure. Strangely, you feel really shy about your new body before giggling to yourself about the mind-bending experience.
“What’s so funny?” asks Carson, and you can tell that he thinks that you’re laughing at his attempt to be sexy. “He’s adorable,” you mutter to yourself before instinctively announcing, “Nothing, honey.” He gives you a confused look, and you wonder if this person you’ve become has ever called him “honey” in the past. You want to tell him the truth. He deserves the truth. But, before you have time to think about it anymore, he lifts you up by your round, firm ass and sets you down on the counter. He spreads your legs wide open, and wraps them around his waist while sucking on your neck. You exhale loudly, his fingertips tracing at your sides.
He starts to nibble at your ear, whispering, “Last night was amazing.” You pause to consider the irony in that statement. His hands start to explore every square inch of your body. His right hand creeps ever so slowly toward your inner thighs, and you freeze with anticipation. It’s been so long since you felt the touch of a man like this. He kisses your neck again, your head responding to every touch. He kisses the other side of your neck as you feel all your resolve to resist and come clean melt away. Then, he bends down, licking each of your nipples until they’re hard in his mouth, his hand reaching higher and higher between your thighs. He massages you slowly, his free hand grabbing your left breast as he sucks on the right. Your hand grabs at his wrist, reinforcing its placement. He bends further, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he kisses your stomach.
Carson licks just below your belly button, pausing just above your thong, teasing you. He drops down , and immediately licks your inner left thigh from your knee up to the strap of the thong. You shudder again, as he presses his mouth so close to its destination. With a calculated move, he then switches to your other thigh, your breath completely taken away, begging for him to replace his fingers with his tongue. You cannot stand to be teased anymore.
You run your hands through his hair, and he smiles at you as he spreads your legs open, and rips the thong off your body. He inches his mouth closer and closer to your clit and you gasp for air as he lightly brushes it with his tongue, broadly sweeping at it back and forth. He nibbles at it now, pulling it with his teeth before easing his finger inside you. Your back arches and your head tilts back with excitement. He increases speed, thrusting his finger faster and faster.
You start to moan loudly, your legs trembling. Noticing your obvious pleasure, he thrusts two fingers inside you, slamming them deep as as his tongue thrashes wildly. His fingers massage your g-spot, your hands firmly grasping his hair. He pushes three fingers inside you now, and you feel yourself tightly stretched around them as his palm slaps against you, his fingers thrusting deeper. His tongue pressed hard against you, he reaches underneath your body, grabbing your ass, and dangling your legs over his shoulder. You can barely restrain your moans now, almost screaming with satisfaction.
With a mischievous grin flashing across his gorgeous face, Carson suddenly picks you up off the counter, throws you over his shoulder and starts to carry you up the stairs toward the bedroom. You laugh as he remembers to turn off the oven and stove. Breakfast will have to wait.
You continue to giggle as he carries you up the stairs. Playfully, he throws you onto the bed, raising above you, his hard cock protruding toward you. You can’t help but to reach out and grab it, more than a little impressed by its size and firmness. He rubs the tip of his cock gently against you, then forcefully slaps his dick against your pussy, and you sit up, giving him a look that says, “Get inside me, now.” He pushes his cock slowly inside you, you gasp as you feel yourself stretching around it.
He hunches over you, your legs wrapped around him as he thrusts his cock deep inside you. As you take all of it, he repositions himself and starts to force himself into you with more intensity. He interlocks his fingers with yours, pinning your arms at your sides. He grabs your waist and forces your torso toward his throbbing cock, fucking you with a hard rhythm. He presses his full weight between your legs, his abdomen clapping against you. You dig your nails into his back. He raises up on his toes, ramming even deeper inside you, the bed slamming against the wall. As he leans over to suck on your neck, thrusting harder and harder, he raises your legs into the air, pushing your ankles back over your head.
Carson relentlessly pounds you harder and harder, and you scream with joy as you grab his ass and pull him between your legs adding power to every thrust. You place your hands on his chest, feeling his pectoral muscles, as he leans over again, cradling your neck forward, drilling his cock harder and deeper inside you. He stares into your eyes, as you both gasp for air, your mouth stuck open as his cock punishes you over and over again. He lifts up, still inside you, and lies back, pulling you on top of him. You can hardly control yourself as animal instinct overcomes you, and you begin to bounce on his rock solid shaft.
You reach out and grab his hands, placing them onto your breasts. He clinches them, as you lean back, screaming wildly. He grabs your waist, thrusting hard into you from underneath. You grind yourself against his body, and he pulls you forward. He wraps your waist with his arms, pinning you down by your lower back. He fucks you intensely while you’re pinned, held motionless as you bounce uncontrollably from the impact of his thrusts. Your breasts are in his face, and he sits up to suck on each of them, continuing to pound you from underneath as you brace yourself for more.
Carson bites your neck now, fucking you more roughly than before. You let out a scream, still bouncing hard on his cock, the bed now violently slamming against the wall. You grab the headboard, riding him as he thrusts harder and harder inside you. He massages your breasts, admiring the amazing view. He spins you around on top of him, spanking your ass as you continue bouncing. He pulls your hair tightly, your back arches as you lean back, your neck strained from his forceful pull on your hair. He reaches his hand around between your legs, massaging you gently, before suddenly forcing you forward.
Instinctually, you grab his ankles with each hand, holding them for support as he continues to fuck you from underneath, your ass bouncing on his cock as he spanks you again. You rock onto your feet, squatting low as you glide up and down, his hard cock pushing deeper inside you with every bounce. Your ass smacks against his torso, and he spanks you again before rising and placing you on all fours. He positions himself behind you, and you can barely restrain yourself, you want him back inside you so bad. He grabs each of your ass cheeks, drawing you in reverse, closer and closer. You reach underneath yourself to stroke him, but he roughly swats your hand away and slides himself inside you all in one motion. You moan in pleasure as he grabs you by the waist and forcibly slams himself into you. He spanks you yet again, your ass pink from the beating he has provided to it. He grabs a handful of your hair, arching your back yet again, straining your neck with his firm grip.
Carson reaches around and underneath you, massaging you as your bodies collide in unison. He grabs your breasts firmly, increasing the intensity of his thrusts. He pulls you by your breasts toward him as he continues with his relentless penetration. You scream loudly. Mid-scream, he pushes your torso down, your head into the pillow, muffling your scream. He slams his cock harder and harder inside you, pinning your body down by pushing on your lower back. The pillow has effectively silenced your shrieking, and you can feel it vibrate against your face as you moan into it. He reaches down to grab each of your arms, using them like the handles of a plow to pull you back and forth toward him with every increasing intensity. Your ass cheeks slap against him as he pushes further and further inside you. He spanks you again, gripping your hair, and pulls your head up, fucking you so hard that it hurts. You let out a loud moan, the pain superseded by an incredible amount of pleasure.
Sensing that you are close to coming, he flips you onto your back quickly. This is going to be your finale. He pushes his cock powerfully back inside you. You extend your arms out, grasping the sheets, clutching them tight as he thrusts deeper and harder inside you. You moan loudly again, and he begins to grunt like some kind of wild beast. He presses his full weight between your thighs, slamming into you, pushing your body deep into the mattress. “Mmmmm, fuuuckk… Jessica!” he yells. You start to tense up, shaking violently. Your feel your legs stiffen and hear yourself let out a piercing scream as your entire body betrays you. As you reach orgasm, you can feel Carson explode inside you. Spent, he falls by your side, and as he leans down to kiss and embrace you. You smile as you look up at the ceiling, having finally learned your new name.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vk24t5/heres_something_i_wrote_a_while_ago_i_thought
I certainly did enjoy that!