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Printed from https://writing.com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1944869-Possession-and-Transformation/cid/1787900-Bob
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by Hyral Author IconMail Icon
Rated: XGC · Interactive · Erotica · #1944869
Various stories of possession and the corrupting transformations they cause.
This choice: Bob  •  Go Back...
Chapter #3

Bob

    by: Unknown
Bob maneuvered his blue work van through the quiet streets of the neighborhood toward the house of his next client. The rolling mass of metal and rust rolled unsteadily on as gears grinded and big metal tools rattled about in the back of the old beat-up van. Hitting the occasional pothole brought strange noises from the metal monster and, without fail, a mighty jiggle from Bob’s potbelly as his rotund form strained against the greasy blue work suit. Bob had been doing this job for years and had gotten fairly good at it, and he was even able to make decent money at his work, but the recent divorce from his wife had rattled his finances and forced him to postpone the purchase of a new vehicle, which he really needed.


The van rolled to a grinding stop in a driveway close to Bob’s own house. He reached down, grabbed a rag, and wiped his hands, but of course this did little to make him presentable. He wiped the grease and sweat from his face, only a slight improvement on his image. He gazed into the rear view mirror at himself, almost like a kid planning to go out on a big date. Looking back at him was his 43-year-old face, one that had aged beyond its years because of the physically demanding nature of his job. His smile was wide, but his hair had thinned recently. He tried to cover his balding with a comb-over, which made it more obvious. He smiled at himself in the mirror, gazing upon his pudgy, unshaven face and double chin.


Bob opened the door and ungracefully exited the van. He began to walk slowly to the door, each step labored because of his weight. He always carried a bag of M&M’s; he could hear them rattling around in his pocket, and, without even thinking, he would reach down every minute or two and grab a handful with his left hand. That contributed to his weight problem, of course. His right hand carried a rusty orange tool box.


Bob reached the porch and knocked on the door. He tensed up as he waited for a woman he had harbored a crush on for years—Natalie Redford. She was a beautiful woman of 38, with hair as red as fire hanging down past her shoulders. She is about 5 feet 8 inches tall, a good 5 inches taller than Bob. Natalie’s body was the stuff of legend to him. She’d gained some weight recently, what with her nearing 40 and having carried 3 children, but this had served to make her all the more curvy and voluptuous to the hapless plumber. She had fair skin and a set of breasts so large they jiggled with every step and threatened to burst through her shirt. She had a slight pouch in her belly that was downright cute and a lovely bit of thickness in her arms and legs. She had a narrow waist that flared out into a set of wide, child-bearing hips and a lovely ass.

Bob just finished munching nervously on a handful of M&M’s as the door opened. Bob smiled as the beautiful Natalie received him warmly. “Hey, Bob!” she said, “How have you been?” as she motioned for him to come inside the house. She was clad today in a figure-hugging green skirt that matched her beautiful eyes. Covering her top half was a thin white blouse against which her breasts strained mightily. Bob could barely tear his eyes away from her long enough to say “Oh not bad, Natalie; how are you?”

“Well I've had some bad luck lately, Bob,” she explained, telling him to follow her upstairs. Bob waddled after her as he stared at the sway of her hips as she climbed the stairs. “See,” she continued, “we’ve got this noise that we hear when we turn on the warm water; it’s like the whole house is groaning.” The two reached the top of the steps, and Natalie took Bob into the bathroom nearby. She reached down with her dainty hands and turned the left faucet, and suddenly the plumbing seemed to groan or roar or…whatever the word was…it wasn’t something plumbing should do. “That is a problem, Natilie,” Bob declared good-naturedly, “have you called anybody else about it?” “No, Bob,” she said, “you’re the go-to guy around here for plumbing” she said.


Bob smiled as he slowly bent down and prepared to get on his back to gaze under the sink. “The kids are at school, so I’ll be here if you need anything. I took the day off from my receptionist job. I’ll leave you to your work, Bob, and I’ll be downstairs doing some yoga,” Natalie said, “I’ve got these few Christmas pounds I’m still trying to get rid of,” she said with a slight laugh as she patted her belly. Bob quietly hoped Natalie stayed just as she was. “Natalie, I’ve got weight hanging on from about 1988; if you figure out how to get rid of it, you let me know,” he declared as he motioned to his own gut. “Will do, Bob,” Natalie declared with a laugh as she headed down the stairs. Bob watched her curvaceous form disappear down the stairs longingly…and munched on some more M&M’s.



An hour had rolled by, and sweat rolled down Bob’s rough and whiskered face. “Still can’t find the problem,” he said to himself as he exited the space under the sink. Bob began to slowly make his way, his joints stiff, toward the door of the bathroom because he needed another tool down in his van. As he stepped slowly toward the door, Bob’s feet suddenly flew out from under him, going up where his head should be as his rotund and overweight body thumped loudly on the slippery tile floor. Bob hit his head hard.


Suddenly, Bob’s eyes shot open. Instinctively, his hand shot to his head as he rubbed it. “Dammit,” he said, “I gotta be more careful…this ol’ body can’t take much more of thi…” Bob stopped himself. He realized his head didn’t hurt at all. It should have been throbbing, but there wasn’t any pain. Bob looked around confused. Suddenly, he beheld something on the floor—his own unconscious body! “Oh my god!” Bob said as he leaned over his own sweat-covered body as it lay in a heap on the floor. Bob staggered back in shock. “What the hell happened to me?” he asked himself. After a few seconds, he inched forward, seeing his belly move up and down slightly…apparently his body was still breathing--alive. A dozen or so M&M’s were spilled on the floor.


Bob slowly stepped over his body as he tried to grasp the situation. He looked in the mirror and got another start when he saw no one looking back at him. “What’s wrong with me?!” he said, panicked.


Bob slowly and uneasily made his way down the stairs. “Natalie?” he called out, “you’re not going to believe this…I don’t know what the hell’s happening.” No answer. He looked about the house until he heard the TV, up quite loud, coming from the other room. “Natalie?!” he called out as he moved toward the sound. He found Natalie in her living room in a wonderfully tight-fitting spandex suit, her ass in the air as she assumed various positions, imitating the movements of the people on the screen. “Natalie,” Bob called. Nothing. “Natalie, help me,” Bob demanded as he ran over between her and the TV. Still nothing; she looked right through him. Bob still found himself a bit distracted by her heaving cleavage.

Natalie stood up, breathing heavily, apparently wanting a break from her work-out. Sweat rolled down her beautiful body. She sat down gracefully in a chair. Bob, beginning to panic, decided to try once more. He went over and carefully knelt down right in front of the beautiful woman. “Natalie, you gotta help me. PLEASE!” he begged. Ignoring Bob entirely, Natalie looked right past him and flipped the channel on the TV.

Bob was despondent. Natalie laughed as she gazed at the television. “I’m in my Mom’s body,” came a voice from the TV. “I loved Freaky Friday when I was a kid,” Natalie said to herself. Bob, fearing he would never recover, began to stand up slowly. Suddenly, though, he lost his balance. “Shit!” Bob screamed as he fell in the direction of the oblivious Natalie as she sat on the couch. The strangest thing happened; Bob did not crash into Natalie or hurt her as he fell. Instead, his form fell into Natlalie’s body, merging with it and forcing its way inside.


Natalie’s sweaty body convulsed and shook for a few seconds. Her breasts jiggled, and her belly shuddered slightly. The woman groaned and grunted momentarily; it was as if something was inside Natalie, and her own spirit and mind were working to force it out. After about five seconds, all that stopped.


Bob suddenly felt that he was sitting again. He opened his eyes slowly and cautiously. His eyes darted about the room as he looked for Natalie. “Where did she—“ Bob stopped upon hearing his voice. His hand shot to his mouth, as the voice seemed not to be his. He could see bits of red hair hanging down into his field of vision. Looking at his hands, Bob noted that they were dainty and fair-skinned, with jewelry adorning the fingers. Bob put his hands on the arms of the chair and very slowly stood himself up. He struggled to do so, as he looked down and saw, hanging from his chest and barely contained by a black spandex top, a wonderful, sweaty, and heaving pair of breasts that rose and fell with every labored breath. “Oh my god,” Bob said as he beheld them and slowly moved toward a nearby mirror. His hips swayed as he walked. He felt that hair bobbing around the back of his neck.


Bob looked in the mirror and beheld the body of Natalie Redford, the curvy, beautiful woman he’d loved for years. Her face was a strange combination of blank and chocked as Bob gazed upon his new body. He reached up and cupped the breasts he had admired for so long, moaning as he did. He slapped himself on his full and motherly ass. “An interesting day at work I guess,” Bob mused to himself in his host’s shocked voice and stared into the mirror.

1) Bob hears a knock at the door, and it’s Janice (the lady from down the street who is obsessed with the paranormal).
2) Bob feels a slight urge to call his friend Amy (who Bob doesn’t know, but Natalie does)
3) Bob can’t resist exploring his body.
*Noteb* indicates the next chapter needs to be written.
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