Chapter 4: The Teammate's Arrival
The smell of sex was a new layer in the stale air, thick and organic, mixing with the scent of cheap beer and cold pizza. Marcus loomed over Ally, her new body a breathtaking silhouette against the flickering neon from the dead TV. The harsh blue light cut across the sweat-slick curve of her hip, glinted in the dark, reflective pool of her eyes.
Ally lay beneath her, breathing hard, her own blonde hair fanned out on the stained carpet like a halo in a gutter. The power had shifted again, dizzyingly fast. One moment she’d been on top, driving Marcus to a screaming finish; the next, she was pinned, the immense, soft weight of Marcus’s new breasts pressing against her own.
“My turn,” Marcus had said. The words weren’t a request.
Now, Marcus just looked at her. The fury from before was gone, burned away in the chemical transformation and the raw physical release. What remained was a deep, unnerving intensity. Her gaze traced Ally’s face—Jake’s face, remade—with a focus that was almost clinical. Her thumb, surprisingly gentle, brushed a strand of hair from Ally’s cheek. The touch sent a shiver through Ally’s oversensitive body.
“You’re really in there, huh?” Marcus murmured, her new smoky voice quiet against the hum of the broken sign. “Hammer?”
Ally swallowed. Her throat was dry. “Yeah. I’m here. You’re… you’re in there, too.”
A ghost of Marcus’s old grin, sharp and wicked, touched the new, lush mouth. “More of me than there’s ever been.” She shifted her hips, the motion deliberately slow, grinding the hot, damp cleft between her thighs against Ally’s stomach. The contact was electric, a bolt of pure sensation that made Ally gasp and arch her back. “You feel that?”
“Fuck,” Ally breathed out, her head falling back against the floor.
“Yeah.” Marcus lowered her head, her black hair falling like a curtain around their faces. She kissed Ally again, but this was different from the frantic, exploring kisses before. This was slow, deep, and possessive. Her tongue slid against Ally’s, claiming her mouth with a languid confidence that was utterly, terrifyingly Marcus.
One of Marcus’s hands slid down Ally’s body, over the exaggerated dip of her waist, across the flare of her hip. Her fingers didn’t hesitate. They found the wet, swollen lips of Ally’s pussy, already slick from her own arousal and the leftover evidence of Marcus’s climax. Ally whimpered into the kiss, her hips bucking involuntarily.
Marcus broke the kiss, her dark eyes locking onto Ally’s. “Stay still,” she commanded, her voice a low thrum.
She didn’t use her fingers. Instead, she settled her weight more fully, aligning their bodies. The soft, hot mound of Marcus’s pussy pressed directly against Ally’s own. Marcus began to rock.
It wasn’t a grind; it was a slow, undulating roll of her hips, a sinuous wave that started deep in her core and traveled through the incredible chassis of her new body. The pressure and friction were maddening, a full, constant stimulation that had Ally digging her nails into Marcus’s back.
“Oh god… oh fuck, Marcus…” Ally choked out, her eyes squeezing shut.
“Look at me,” Marcus ordered, her voice strained now with her own building pleasure.
Ally forced her eyes open. Marcus’s face was a mask of fierce concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Beads of sweat traced the line of her collarbone, disappearing into the deep valley between her breasts. The sight of her, of him remade into this, riding her with such deliberate control, shattered something inside Ally.
Her orgasm built like a storm surge, deep and inexorable. There was no frantic race this time, just a rising, unstoppable tide. She could feel Marcus’s own rhythm starting to fracture, the smooth rolls becoming sharper, more desperate.
“I’m gonna…” Ally panted.
“Me too,” Marcus gasped, her nails biting into Ally’s shoulders. “Fuck… right there… don’t stop…”
The command was unnecessary. Ally was locked in, her body taut as a bowstring. The world narrowed to the point where they were joined, to the slick, hot glide of skin on skin, to the frantic beat of two hearts slamming against foreign ribs.
Ally came with a silent, breathless scream, her body seizing up in a series of violent tremors. A second later, Marcus followed, a ragged, guttural cry tearing from her throat as her back arched sharply, her magnificent breasts thrust forward. Her internal muscles clenched rhythmically against nothing, milking a phantom sensation as her climax ripped through her.
They collapsed together, a tangle of trembling limbs and heaving softness. The neon light buzzed overhead, painting their sweat-sheened skin in sickly waves of blue.
For a long time, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant, low thump of a bassline from a neighbor’s apartment.
Slowly, the reality of their situation, of their bodies, seeped back in. Ally’s mind, hazy with endorphins and dislocation, began to turn over. The prank was supposed to be over. They were even. But they weren’t. They were further from even than they’d ever been. The scoreboard in her head was broken, the numbers replaced by the feel of Marcus’s new skin, the taste of her new mouth.
A reckless, stupid idea, born of panic and a perverse need to keep winning, to control the uncontrollable game, took root.
Her phone was just a foot away, discarded after she’d shown Marcus the dealer’s text. She shifted, extracting an arm from under Marcus’s dead weight.
Marcus murmured a sleepy protest, her face nuzzling into Ally’s neck.
“Shhh,” Ally whispered, her heart hammering again but for a new reason. Her fingers closed around the cool plastic of her phone. She unlocked it, the screen blinding in the dim room.
She opened her contacts. Scrolled past family, past coaches. Landed on “Nate the Great.” Nate was the team’s offensive lineman, a mountain of a man with a laugh that could shake concrete and a libido that was the stuff of locker-room legend. He was also, conveniently, an unobservant idiot.
Marcus felt her movement and lifted her head, her dark eyes bleary and questioning. “What’re you doing?”
Ally didn’t answer. She hit the call button and put the phone to her ear, her other hand drifting down to the small of Marcus’s back, urging her to keep moving, just a little.
The line rang twice.
“Yo, Hammer!” Nate’s voice boomed through the speaker, tinny and loud. “You’re alive! Where the hell’d you and Flash disappear to? Party’s dying over here.”
Ally took a breath, summoned every bit of the “Ally” persona she’d created, and purred into the receiver, “Hey, Nate. It’s Ally.” She pressed her body up against Marcus’s, resuming that slow, undulating roll of her hips. Marcus stiffened against her, comprehension dawning in her widening eyes.
“Ally? Who—wait, the chick from before? With the…?” Nate’s voice shifted, immediate interest replacing confusion. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Mmm, yeah, her,” Ally breathed, making her voice husky. She locked eyes with Marcus, a defiant challenge burning in her own. “You wanna see something wild, big guy?”
Marcus’s mouth fell open in silent shock. Then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. She understood the game instantly. Her hips began to move in time with Ally’s, their bodies sliding together again, reigniting sparks in their oversensitive flesh.
“Wild? Hell yeah, I’m always down for wild,” Nate chuckled. “What’s up?”
“We’re over at Marcus’s place,” Ally said, gasping slightly as Marcus’s hand slipped between them, her fingers finding Ally’s clit with unerring accuracy. “We’re… bored. Just us girls. Thought you might wanna come play.”
On the other end, Nate’s breath hitched. “Play? What kinda play we talkin’?”
Ally moaned, loud enough for the phone to pick it up, as Marcus’s fingers worked a cruel, perfect magic. “The kind where you don’t have to use your hands,” she managed, her voice breaking. “Just your eyes. For now. Hurry.”
She gave the address and hung up before Nate could respond, dropping the phone as if it had burned her.
The room was silent again, save for their renewed panting. Marcus had stopped her movements. She was staring down at Ally, her expression unreadable.
“You’re fucking insane,” Marcus whispered, her voice full of awe and something like horror.
“Double or nothing,” Ally panted back, her body screaming for the friction to continue. “You wanted to see who owns the game. Let’s see how he looks at you.”
Marcus studied her for another long second. Then, the competitive fire, the one that had always defined their friendship, blazed back to life in her dark eyes. It was a madness that matched Ally’s own.
“He’s five minutes away,” Marcus said, a plan visibly forming behind her eyes. “He’s gonna walk in, see two strange, ridiculously hot chicks going at it on his best friend’s floor.”
“And?” Ally prompted, her own mind racing.
“And he won’t have a fucking clue,” Marcus finished, a wicked grin spreading. “He’ll just see a party he wasn’t invited to.” She leaned down, her lips brushing Ally’s ear. “Let’s give him a show he’ll never forget.”
They rearranged themselves with a frantic, silent urgency. Marcus pulled Ally up to kneel, then turned her around, facing the door. Ally went willingly, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Marcus positioned herself behind Ally, her front pressed against Ally’s back, her heavy breasts a warm weight against Ally’s shoulder blades.
One of Marcus’s hands snaked around Ally’s waist, her fingers diving back into the wet heat between Ally’s legs without preamble. Ally cried out, the sound echoing in the trashed room.
“Quieter,” Marcus hissed in her ear, her other hand coming up to cover Ally’s mouth. “He needs to see it before he hears it.”
Ally nodded, biting her lip. She braced her hands on the grimy carpet, presenting herself. Marcus’s fingers plunged inside her, fucking her with a rough, steady pace that had Ally seeing stars. She rocked back against the invasion, her own need eclipsing her fear.
They stayed like that, moving together in a lewd, practiced rhythm, waiting. Every creak of the old apartment building made them freeze. Every set of headlights that passed the window sent a jolt through them.
Then, a heavy fist pounded on the door. Three booming knocks.
“Hey! Ally? Flash? You in there?” Nate’s voice, muffled but eager, came through the wood.
Marcus’s fingers stilled inside Ally. She leaned forward, her lips against Ally’s ear. “On three,” she breathed, her voice trembling with adrenaline. “We scream.”
Ally nodded, her body coiled tight.
The doorknob rattled. It was unlocked.
“Hello? I’m coming in, sick of missing the party…”
The door swung open.
Nate stood framed in the doorway, a hulking shadow blocking the light from the hall. He froze, his jaw going slack. His eyes, small in his broad face, took in the scene: the destroyed living room, the empty pill baggie on the table, and the two naked women on the floor in front of him.
Ally, blonde and curvy, on her hands and knees. And behind her, a dark-haired Latina goddess he’d never seen before, her body a masterpiece of impossible proportions, her hands intimately buried between the blonde’s thighs.
For a beat, there was pure, stunned silence.
“One,” Marcus whispered, her voice a thread of sound.
Nate took a stumbling step forward, his beer-addled brain trying and failing to process.
“Two,” Ally breathed, her eyes locked on Nate’s shocked face.
Marcus’s fingers curled, hitting the spot that made Ally’s vision white out. At the same instant, she bit down gently on Ally’s shoulder.
“Three.”
Their screams were not faked. They tore from their throats in unison, raw and real, a symphony of feigned ecstasy that echoed in the small space. Ally’s body convulsed around Marcus’s fingers in a shockingly genuine climax, triggered by adrenaline and skilled manipulation. Marcus threw her head back, her back arching dramatically, her own cry piercing the air.
Nate stopped dead, his face a masterpiece of stunned arousal. He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking. “Holy shit,” he mumbled. “Holy fucking shit.”
The bright flash of his camera phone illuminated the room for a split second, freezing them in a grotesque, beautiful tableau: two transformed best friends lost in a performance for their audience of one, the ghost of their old lives watching from the shattered screen of the TV, and the key to their future—or their ruin—glittering mockingly in a baggie on the coffee table.
The afterimage of the flash burned in their vision, a stark white ghost superimposed on the neon-blue gloom. Their performed screams died in their throats, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing and the low, stunned whistle from the doorway.
“Fuck me sideways,” Nate breathed, his voice hushed with awe. He lowered his phone, his thumb instinctively hitting the button to save the image. He took another step into the apartment, his huge frame making the floorboards creak. His eyes, wide as dinner plates, crawled over Marcus first—the impossible cascade of black hair, the shelf of her ass, the dramatic swell of her breasts pressed against Ally’s back.
Then his gaze shifted to Ally, to the familiar curve of her cheek now profiled in the half-light, to the blonde hair he vaguely remembered from the party. A flicker of confusion cut through his arousal. He knew this room. The deflated couch, the specific brand of cheap beer cans littering the floor, the team jersey draped over the armrest.
“Holy shit,” he muttered again, but the tone had changed. It was flatter, more analytical. His eyes darted from the women to the room’s familiar details, then back again. He sniffed the air, catching the unique, funky mix of sex, spilled lager, and pepperoni.
Ally held her position, frozen on her hands and knees, Marcus’s fingers still lodged inside her. The shock of the flash had sharpened everything into painful clarity. The sticky carpet fibers under her palms. The cool draft from the open door on her sweat-slicked skin. The slow, thick drip of Marcus’s arousal down her inner thigh.
Marcus remained pressed against her back, a statue of warm, pliant flesh. Ally could feel the frantic, rabbit-quick pulse of Marcus’s heart where their bodies connected.
Nate took another cautious step, his sneaker crunching on a potato chip. He squinted at Ally’s face, his brows knitting together. “Wait a sec,” he mumbled, more to himself than to them. He glanced at his phone, at the frozen image on the screen. Then he looked at the coffee table, at the empty baggie beside the half-empty bottle of bourbon—Jake’s specific, terrible bourbon.
His head snapped up. He looked at Marcus’s hand, the one not buried between Ally’s legs, braced on the carpet. He stared at the fingers, at the knuckles, at a faint, familiar scar across the back of it from a long-ago bike accident.
Recognition dawned, slow and horrifying, wiping the lust clean from his face. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked from the scar to the room, to the jersey, to the two breathtaking, alien women locked together on his friends’ floor.
He lifted his phone again, not to take a picture, but as if it were a piece of evidence in a crime scene. He stared at the number on the recent calls list: “Hammer.”
His voice, when it finally came, was a low, disbelieving rasp that filled the silent, charged space. “Jake? Dude, thanks for calling me, but…” He blinked, his gaze locking directly onto Ally’s wide, panicked eyes. “Who the fuck is this, bro?”
Nate’s question hung in the air, a blunt instrument smashing through the performance. The neon buzz was the only sound for three thudding heartbeats.
Ally felt Marcus’s fingers twitch inside her, a reflexive clench. Her own mind, slick with panic and residual pleasure, scrabbled for purchase. The game had shifted again, the rules evaporating under the harsh, unblinking eye of Nate’s confusion. He wasn’t buying the fantasy. He was sniffing around the edges of their reality.
She turned her head, the movement stiff, and looked over her shoulder at Nate. His face was a collapsed monument of horny bewilderment. He wasn’t seeing “Ally,” some random groupie. He was seeing Jake’s living room, Jake’s shitty bourbon, and a phantom of a story that couldn’t possibly fit together.
“Bro,” Ally said, and she didn’t bother with the purr this time. She used Jake’s cadence, the flat, slightly gravelly tone he used when he was shit-faced and serious. “You know it’s me.”
Nate’s eyes bugged. He took a half-step back, his size thirteen sneaker scraping on a pizza box. “No fuckin’ way.”
“Way,” Ally said, the word simple and heavy.
Nate just stared, his mouth hanging open. The phone slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the linoleum of the entryway. He didn’t even seem to notice. His brain, trained to read offensive line shifts and blitz packages, was processing a completely different kind of impossible formation.
“That’s not… your voice is all…” He gestured vaguely at Ally’s throat, his eyes wide with a kind of terrified fascination. They swept down her kneeling form, the narrow waist he’d slapped a thousand times in celebration now a soft curve, the powerful linebacker’s ass transformed into something out of a rap video. His gaze jumped to Marcus behind her, and new confusion wiped across his face. “And… Flash? Where’s Flash?”
A low, smoky laugh came from behind Ally. Marcus eased her fingers out slowly, making Ally shiver, and rested her chin on Ally’s shoulder. She looked at Nate, her dark eyes gleaming in the neon flicker.
“Hey, Nate,” Marcus said, using her new voice but with Marcus’s exact lazy cadence, the one he used when he was about to explain why a prank was hilarious.
Nate’s head swiveled between them. He looked at the empty baggie on the table, then back at the two obscenely gorgeous women on his friend’s floor. The pieces, insane as they were, slammed together in his head. “No,” he breathed. “No fucking way. The pills? From the gym rat? They… they actually…”
“They work,” Ally finished, her voice flat. She pushed herself up to her knees, turning to face him fully. The movement made her new breasts sway, and Nate’s eyes helplessly followed the motion before snapping back to her face. “It’s us.”
Silence stretched, thick and cloying. Nate took it all in: the beer cans he’d crushed with Jake last weekend, the pizza box from their usual spot, Marcus’s favorite team hoodie discarded on the deflated couch. And in the middle of it, two strangers wearing his friends’ lives like borrowed skins. His initial lust had curdled into a deep, unsettling awe.
He rubbed a massive hand over his close-cropped hair. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He let out a long, slow breath. “You guys look… you feel…”
“We feel everything,” Marcus interjected, her voice a husky murmur next to Ally’s ear. She ran her hands possessively down Ally’s sides, over the swell of her hips. “Everything.”
Ally watched Nate’s face, saw the war happening behind his eyes. Disgust, curiosity, a dawning, staggering arousal. The same war she’d felt watching Marcus that first time. She knew that look. It was the look of a man seeing a door he never knew existed, and the knob was turning on its own.
She knew this game. It was a leverage play. Third and long. You didn’t hesitate.
“Bro,” Ally said, locking eyes with him, using Jake’s old toughness to sell the new, softer mouth.