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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Conference Play"  Yeah, I'd like to fuck you, you think. Fuck you over and then— But you're caught short by the hard thrill that runs through you. It's like a thread has been pulled in your guts, and your sinews are unraveling. Your mind goes back to Friday night, in the portables. Chelsea, naked, with your fingers inside her. And then you, unbuttoned, as she took you in her mouth. You shake your head, trying to force the temptation behind you. Y u do this to us guys? Dots. The suspense of waiting is terrible. It is worse after they disappear, and no text appears. You're thumbing in another message when your attention is caught by a shadow high up in the bleachers on the far side of the gym. Lightly the figure hops down the creaking bleachers until it stops, wobbling on its feet, on the lowest bleacher. It's Chelsea. And she is naked. She really is glorious, even in the shadow-draped gym, and your imagination and memory can fill in what your eyes can't quite make out. Her silhouette is small, with strong but shapely legs under wide, bowl-like hips, and a curved stomach. Her breasts are invisible in the dark, but in your mind's eye they are large and ripe and firm. Her face is lost in shadows, but streaks of gold glint where her loosely curled hair tumbles around her shoulders. "Will," she mewls across the gulf that separates. "I'm here for you." "You're not Chelsea," you croak back when you've found your voice. Your legs ache as you rock rigidly in place. She spreads her arms. "No," she says. "Except for all practical purposes." For a long moment neither of you move. Then you wrench a foot from the floor and take a step toward her. What you intend, you do not know, for your mind is a whirlpool of lust, anger, bewilderment, and fear. But she hurls herself from the bleacher and rushes at you. You just have time to open your arms when she throws herself at you and hugs you tightly. She buries her face in your chest. You don't know what to do with your hands, so you rest them lightly on her shoulders. Your cock rises stiffly to attention, poking at her. She raises her face, and in the dark you can just make out her wide, smiling mouth, her button nose, and her half-closed eyes. "Take me upstairs, Will," she murmurs. "Take me upstairs and ... take me!" Instinct—but whose? yours or Steve's—overwhelms you, and even though you can't quite believe it, you sweep her up into your arms. She gasps, then shrieks with laughter and clasps her hands around your neck as you carry her to the stairs, and up them to the door. "Hang on," you mutter at the top, and drop her so you can get the keys from your shorts pockets. You unlock the door and are about to usher her in, but she clasps her hands around your neck and pulls at you. So you pick her up and carry her like a bride over the threshold. * * * * * "Oh my God," she moans afterward as she is resting atop you. "Oh my God." She she slides down your torso by an inch or so, and mumbles pleasurably as your cock, still turgid, slips back up inside her by that same inch. You lift your hips and try a little throb. But you're too spent. She didn't waste time, but lurched from your arms after you had her over the workout mat. She didn't let go of you, though, and dragged you down with her, and pulled you onto the mat while shrieking and giggling with delight. "Now, let me unpeel you," she purred, and slipped your clothes off you one shoe and one sock—and hoodie and t-shirt, shorts and boxers—at a time, gasping and cooing. Then she stroked you up and down your inner thighs while you laid back and reached for her. But she held back as she worked at you until you had risen, then used a single fingertip on the underside of your shaft until you were aching with anticipation. Then, when you were good and stiff, she hopped over to straddle your stomach and giggle down into your face. You touched and pinched and plucked at her breasts and their hard, erect tips, and tickled the small of her back with your bobbing prick. After a little of this, she got up on her knees and let you slide your fingers in and out of her while she groaned. After she was loose and wet and warm, she scooted back and lowered herself onto you. She wasn't too shy to scream when she came, throwing her head back and really putting her diaphragm into it. And now here she is, resting her cheek on your matted chest and fingering the hair over one of your ears. You loosely rest your palms on her back and stare at the dark ceiling. "You like this, don't you, Will?" she murmurs sleepily. "Yeah," you admit in a drawl. "But—" "Mm-hmm?" She lays very still, but she doesn't tense. "Do you like me or do you like Steve?" And when she lifts her head to peer into your face: "Or do you like Jack?" "What do you mean?" "If you wanted me, like the other night—" You have to swallow; the words seem to be thick and sticky and they cling to your throat. "Well, why'd you do the thing to me and Steve? Why'd you do it to me and Jack?" "Don't be jealous," she says, and lays her head back down. "It's just convenient this way." "Steve wouldn't screw you," you muse. "Well, he wouldn't screw Chelsea." She giggles. "He wouldn't now. He might wanna Gordon, maybe." You ignore her joke. "So why ... switch them?" "I didn't switch them, I switched you!" "Okay, why me?" "So we could be here like this!" You're silent. She lifts her head to peer down at you again. "Why are you confused?" she asks. "This way, like this, we can come up here anytime we want!" "When you can get away from Gordon." When she stares, you add, "Or is he in on it too, and giving you permission." Still she stares. Then she bursts out laughing. "Oh, God!" she gasps. "You think that—! Why do you think that?" "Think what? That Gordon—?" "That I'm Chelsea! Jesus!" "I know you're not Chelsea! But you switched with her—" "I didn't switch with her! I only look like her, Will! I don't know where Chelsea is. Probably at home figuring out new ways to make the other cheerleaders cry!" * * * * * She quickly explains: There is no "body swapping" or "soul swapping" going on. Just some magical metamorphing. "So I just made myself look like her, for you," she concludes, "and I'll have to change back before I go home." "Can you change me back?" You and the others, too, have only been metamorphed. "Well, I could," she says. "But I'm not going to." "Why not?" She giggles. "Because there's already someone at your house who looks like you!" "I know th—! So change us all back!" "Why?" "So we can be ourselves again!" She sits up, but continues to straddle you. "But I told you, Will," she says. "This way we can hang out here whenever we want. I can't get us in here. I don't have a key! But you can get us in here, because Steve does! And he's always messaging Gordon, asking him to have the loft so he can— Pfpt!" "How do you know?" She gives you a look. "Because Gordon's always telling Chelsea that 'Steve-o' needs the loft some night or other. And I know what she knows!" "Yeah, how does that work?" you ask. "You made us look like each other, but how come we have each other's memories?" "I dunno. Mm!" She hunches over to kiss your chest. "Just the way the spell works, I guess." "But you gotta change us back sometime." "Do I?" "Sure!" "How come?" When you don't answer—because the answer seems obvious: she just does!—she says, "Wouldn't you rather stay like this? Be all tall and—" She slides backward, over your junk, to sit on your knees. "On the basketball team and—?" She cradles your balls and gently strokes your cock. "Be one of the big, popular guys?" Oof. You're starting to harden again, and not just from her touches. Steve has seduced a lot of girls—especially since moving into the loft his senior year—and when he wants he goes out and gets laid at a bar, like you did last night. No one hassles him—rather, he hassles whoever he wants—and he's even known around town as one of the high school stars who is probably going to take Westside High to the state championships this year. And Steve is smart, smarter than you. When you packed his books this afternoon, there was both a chemistry and a physics textbook, the latter for an AP class, when the only science class you're taking is the blow-off Astronomy class. Steve is confident, he's ambitious, and when you asked Stephanie if her brother is saving a place for him at Duke, you were only half joking. No, only a quarter joking. Duke is on Steve's list of places to try to get in to, and he's arrogant enough to think he's got a solid shot at it. Why would you want to give this up, and return to what you were before? But Chelsea apparently thinks you're only thinking about the girls. "There's only one way I'll ever change you back, Will, and if I do change you back, it'll be into a frog. And that's if you cheat on me. It's gotta be me, Will," she says, and lifts herself so she can guide your member back toward her clit. She teases your tip with it. "You've got to be exclusive to me. "And why would you want any other girl anyway?" she adds when you say nothing, for your throat is in danger of closing up. "When I can turn myself into a copy of any girl you'd want?" Next: "Dreams and Temptations" |
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