Chapter #35Who's Number One? by: Seuzz   It's a kiss Chelsea gives you: tigerish, alive with a fury of desire. Her tongue is hot as a coal as she explores the inside of your mouth. For a very long moment you are too thunderstruck to react.
Then you come alive yourself, and kiss her back.
It doesn't last long, though. You're too self-conscious—and too surprised still—to keep it up, and with a sound like tearing burlap you rip your lips from hers. She growls at you and grins, and snaps hard teeth at you.
"Chelsea!" you squeak. "Number One!"
Her arms fall from your neck. "Yes, boss," she sighs.
What the fuck? you want to yell, but you're shaking too hard, and barely have the coherence to form the thought, let alone the words. You straighten up, and find that in the shock of her attack, you have lost most of your erection. Your own eyes seem to be bulging from their sockets, but Chelsea's lids have drooped half shut, and from behind them she is studying you and waiting with that same languid curiosity she showed when you first stepped into the bedroom.
"Okay, just hold still," you stammer at her. "I need to— Well, just hold still!" You lay a hand across her brow, gripping her firmly by the temples, then pause. You are half expecting her to protest, but she remains limp. Then you have to reorder your own mind before you can recall the magic syllables that will remove the mask. Even then, your hand slips three times before the mask comes away in your grasp.
But it's still Chelsea there, naked in all her golden-skinned glory, on the bed. Her eyes are closed, and she breathes deeply as you lay the mask beside her. Got to get this finished, you think even as lustful thoughts well up inside you again. Aside from having to finish before her mom or someone else comes up and knocks, you have to get the other mask onto her before she wakes up. Because the girl lying on the bed isn't "Number One." She is the real Chelsea Cooper, and she will straight up murder you if she ever wakes up again.
You skip awkwardly back into the bathroom, to scoop up Kim's clothes and mask. Your heart is beating hard again as you lay the latter onto Chelsea's face.
It vanishes, falling through Chelsea's face like a stone slipping quietly under the surface of a pond, and then it isn't Chelsea's face anymore, but Kim's. It's also Kim's slimmer, more boyish body. Her eyes click open, and her gaze focuses on you as you straighten up from over her.
She sits up, and looks around with an alert look. You lick your lips. "Er ... Number Two?"
"Yes?"
"Just checking. Um, get dressed."
With robotic efficiency, Number Two picks up Kim's clothes and starts to dress. Her expression is calm and her voice toneless as she asks, "Is there a change in our plans?"
"Just a reorganization," you stammer, for you are still rattled from earlier. "Er, you're still, um, Number Two. But I'm still boss."
Number Two nods as she expertly hooks her bra together and twists it around to tuck herself into it. "What happens to Number Six?"
Number Six? you wonder in your confusion. Who is—? Oh! "Uh, he stays where he is?" You feel yourself blushing to your roots. "I'm, er, I'm going to become Number One." A look of faint puzzlement shows on the doppelganger's face. "You'll see," you assure her. I hope. You didn't think you'd have to explain things to the girl you were imitating when you came up with the plan.
"Just wait in here while I change in the bathroom," you continue as you scoop up Chelsea's clothes and mask. "If Mrs. Cooper comes up, tell her that, uh, Chelsea is in the bathroom."
"Yes, boss." Number Two's gaze is distant but blank as she pulls on her sweatpants.
In the bathroom you rest a moment on the toilet, trying to recover your wits and calm your nerves. Why is this so hard? you wonder. All you have to do is switch from one mask and set of clothes to another. Well, maybe that's it, you speculate with a sigh. You turn Chelsea's mask over to study the glowing name that floats over its inner surface. I'm tearing myself out of one body and putting myself in another. No wonder I feel as naked as a— a— The phrase "naked as a skinned caterpillar" doesn't actually occur to you, but it's a good description for how small, soft, raw, and vulnerable you feel.
With a sigh you drop back onto the bathmat and lay on the floor with your knees in the air. Well, you assure yourself as you balance the mask over your face, if that's the problem, the sooner I get into Chelsea's mask, the sooner I'll be over it.
You draw a deep breath and try to keep your eyes focused on the burning letters as you lower the mask slowly to your face. Your eyes roll shut as it sinks into the front of your skull ...
* * * * *
Your eyes roll open, and you feel tense and alert all over when you wake. For a second or two you stare at the ceiling, recalling yourself and your position. Oh, right, you think as the world organizes itself around you.
Then, as you sit up, you freeze. Oh. Right! you think with a wicked grin.
You lever yourself easily to your feet and turn to the mirror. Chelsea Cooper gazes back with a pert, mischievous light in her eye.
For only a few short moments do you let your gaze rove hungrily over her face and hair, her neck and bosom, her curved torso and the shallow scoop of her bellybutton. Then you lift your arms and run gentle fingertips over them; you shiver pleasurably as you touch yourself. I am Chelsea Cooper, you think. The boss got rid of the original girl, and gave her face and body and memories and everything else to me! You suppress a gurgling shriek. Lucky me! I get to be Chelsea Cooper!
Just the smallest shadow of doubt crosses your mind, though, as you think of "the boss," and you glance around with a sense of mystification. He was here a minute ago, with our clothes off. And—Mmm!—for a minute I thought we were going to do it on Chelsea's bed. But now he's— He's—
You shut your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. There's a thought trying to form. Just on the edge of consciousness. With a little coaxing, you can grasp it. The boss and me. He was here, and he brought me into the bathroom. No, wait. He came into the bathroom. But now I'm here and—
"Ohhhh!" You groan as you lift your face back to the mirror. Your eyes are wide with memory and realization. You stare at your face with something like shock. Then:
I'm the boss! you silently squeal. The masks! I switched into Chelsea's mask! And now I'm—! And the boss is—!
You grasp the edgy of the vanity and hike yourself onto the corner, pressing your pussy onto it as it fires to life as though touched by a hot coal. Oh my God! you gurgle in the back of your throat. I'm inside Chelsea Cooper! And the boss is inside me! You almost swoon as the mind and memories of Number Two twine themselves around and inside your own. And she—! Chelsea—! Number Two—! You grind yourself onto the vanity corner as the blood pulses hungrily there.
She's fucking Number Six, up in the loft, every day, every night, every chance she gets!
* * * * *
You have to wet a washcloth and give yourself a cooling douche in order to calm yourself. Me and Will. Will and me. You can hardly believe it. Me and my little scruffmonster!
That's what she calls Number Six, what she called him even before you had given him that number, when it was just her and him, meeting behind your back and Gordon's back and all the other doppelgangers' backs for hot, back-breaking sex. From the moment you put Number One in for Chelsea, in fact. That very first night, when you trapped her inside a mask. You had kissed her then, but you had forgotten about it. Same as you had forgotten how you surprised Number One and Number Six out in the bedroom when you emerged from this same bathroom after first putting on Kim's mask. But they hadn't forgotten, and from that night on, any time they could manage it, they had gotten together. To kiss and pet and ruffle each other's hair, and to pull their pants off or down and impale themselves upon each other. Who's my little scruffmonster? Number One liked to coo at him while snuffling her nose in his hair before and after an explosive performance. My own little scruffmonster! The memories leave you feeling hot and foamy.
Well, that's something to worry about later, you tell yourself as you drop from the vanity and back onto your feet. Like, tonight, you add with a giggle, after I'm in bed and under the covers. With another titter, you sniff your fingertips, then lick them with the tip of your tongue. Like every night since the boss added me to the team!
But I'm the boss now, you remind yourself. And I've got to get rid of Kim. Number Two, I mean. With a sigh of resolution, you twitch your panties off the floor and start to get dressed.  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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