Chapter 5: The Walk of Shame
The harsh fluorescent glare of the Walmart felt like a lifetime ago, replaced by the familiar, cluttered dimness of Vance’s studio apartment. The stale scent of old coffee and dust mingled uncomfortably with the sharper, muskier odor clinging to them – sweat, sex, and the faint metallic tang of dried come. Vance leaned heavily against Molly’s broad chest as she fumbled the lock, her large hands clumsy with residual tremor. Inside, the cramped space felt even smaller dominated by Molly’s new, powerful frame. Posters of obscure bands and faded movie prints watched silently as they stumbled towards the unmade bed in the corner.
Vance’s legs felt shaky, weak. The raw ache deep inside him pulsed with every step, a constant reminder of the brutal claiming in the changing booth. His new leggings, damp and sticky with Molly’s release cooling against his skin, chafed the swollen, hypersensitive nub of his new clit. He whimpered, a small, involuntary sound, pressing his ass back against Molly’s crotch as she guided him towards the bed. The thick ridge of her cock, already hardening again despite her recent climax, pressed insistently against the curve of his ass through the cargo pants. The cursed thrumming reignited instantly, a low-voltage current surging through his core, making his inner muscles clench reflexively around the lingering emptiness.
"Fuck, Vance," Molly groaned, her voice thick and strained. Her hands tightened on his hips, pulling him flush against her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling sharply. Her breath was hot, ragged. "Can’t… fucking stop… feel it… burning." Her hips jerked forward, grinding her burgeoning erection against his ass. The friction through the damp leggings sent sparks shooting up Vance’s spine.
"Eehhh… Molly," Vance gasped, arching his back instinctively, pushing himself harder against her. The chafing sensation morphed into a sharp, electric jolt of pleasure-pain centered on his clit. "What’s happening to us? I… I can’t stop thinking…" He twisted in her grip, turning to face her. His green-highlighted hair was plastered to his flushed cheeks, his eyes wide, pupils blown dark with a mixture of fear and desperate need. "About you… inside me. Again. Bare. Fucking me raw." The words tumbled out, raw and obscene, fueled by the curse’s relentless fire. He reached down, fingers trembling, and pressed his palm hard against the prominent bulge tenting Molly’s cargo pants. Her cock jumped violently beneath his touch.
Molly’s breath hitched. A low growl rumbled in her chest. Her transformed face, usually sharp with intelligence, was contorted with primal hunger. Her green eyes, now darker, fiercer, locked onto Vance’s. "Know," she rasped. "Feel it… tearing me apart." Her large hand covered his smaller one, pressing it harder against her cock. The heat radiating through the fabric was intense. "Bed. Now." It wasn’t a request. It was a command ripped from the depths of the curse.
They collapsed onto the tangled sheets, Vance landing on his back with Molly looming over him. The cheap mattress groaned under their combined weight. Molly’s movements were rough, urgent. She shoved Vance’s legs apart, the damp leggings stretching taut. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of both leggings and the soaked panties beneath, yanking them down his thighs in one brutal motion. Cool air hit Vance’s exposed sex, making him gasp. He was wet, swollen, the folds glistening, the raw entrance still slightly parted from their earlier coupling. The scent of their mingled arousal filled the small space, thick and heady.
Molly didn’t pause. She fumbled with her own cargo pants, shoving them and her boxers down just enough to free her cock. It sprang out, fully erect now, flushed a deep, angry red, veins standing thickly against the shaft, the head slick with fresh pre-come. It looked impossibly large, intimidating. Vance’s breath caught, a flicker of remembered pain warring with the overwhelming, cursed need to be filled. Molly spat thickly into her palm, slicking her length with rough, hurried strokes. Her gaze, burning with feral intensity, never left Vance’s exposed core.
"No condom," she stated, her voice guttural. "Fuck that rubber, because i need to feel you." She positioned herself, the broad, slick head pressing against Vance’s vulnerable opening. He braced himself, fingers digging into the rumpled sheets. The curse’s ache flared, a desperate suction pulling him towards her.
She shoved forward. Hard.
The invasion was brutal, immediate. Vance cried out, a sharp, ragged sound torn from his throat. The raw, stretched muscles protested violently, a searing burn radiating outwards. Molly groaned, a deep, shuddering sound of agonized relief as she buried herself to the hilt in one relentless thrust. The sheer, overwhelming fullness stole Vance’s breath. He felt split open, conquered, every inch of her thick cock stretching him impossibly wide, the burning heat of her bare skin branding him from the inside.
"Fuck! Molly! Too… much!" Vance gasped, tears springing to his eyes. The pain was sharp, undeniable.
"Take it," Molly snarled, leaning her heavy weight onto him, pinning him to the mattress. Her sweat dripped onto his chest. "You wanted it raw. Take my fucking cock." She pulled back almost savagely, the drag of her bare shaft against his sensitized walls excruciating. Then she slammed forward again, grinding deep. The pain didn’t vanish, but beneath it, amplified by the curse and the shocking intimacy of skin-on-skin contact, a terrifying wave of pleasure surged. It was deeper, hotter than before, centered on that raw, stretched place inside him. Her cockhead rubbed directly against something that sent blinding sparks through his nervous system.
Molly didn’t wait for adjustment. She set a punishing rhythm, her hips pistoning with raw, animalistic power. Each deep thrust drove the breath from Vance’s lungs. The wet slap of flesh on flesh filled the small apartment, louder than the distant city sounds outside. The bedframe banged rhythmically against the wall. Molly’s grunts were guttural, primal. "Yeah… fuck… so hot… so fucking tight…" she groaned, her voice thick with lust. "My cock… belongs here… buried in your cunt…" Her large hand groped his breast through the soft tee, squeezing roughly, her thumb finding his hardened nipple and pinching. The dual assault – the deep, grinding penetration and the sharp pain-pleasure on his nipple – pushed Vance towards the edge.
The cursed energy crackled between them, a live wire connecting Molly’s thrusting cock to the core of Vance’s being. The initial agony blurred, subsumed by the terrifying intensity of sensation. The fullness, the heat, the raw friction of her bare skin moving inside him, the possessive growls in his ear – it fused into a white-hot maelstrom of need. Vance’s moans escalated, high and desperate, losing coherence. He wrapped his legs around Molly’s thick waist, heels digging into the small of her back, trying to pull her deeper, harder. "Yes! Fuck! Harder! Please, Molls… deeper! Fill me!" he begged, the words ragged, torn from him by the curse’s relentless demand.
Molly roared, a sound of pure, unleashed ferocity. Her thrusts became shorter, harder, jackhammer-fast, focused solely on burying herself as deep as possible with each punishing drive. Her balls slapped against Vance’s ass with wet smacks. The pressure built unbearably inside Vance, coiling tighter and tighter at the base of his spine, fed by the brutal friction and the cursed firestorm. He felt Molly’s cock swell impossibly thicker inside him, pulsing violently against his deepest, most sensitive spot.
"Gonna… fucking… come!" Molly gasped, her voice cracking. Her body locked rigid over him, hips grinding in tight, desperate circles. "Inside you! Filling your tight little cunt!" Her grip on his breast was crushing.
The grinding pressure, the raw declaration, the sheer overwhelming force of her release triggering his own – it detonated Vance. His back arched violently off the mattress, a silent scream tearing through him as his orgasm ripped through his transformed body. It was a convulsive, blinding wave, different from anything he’d ever known – deeper, more consuming, centered entirely on the pulsing cock buried inside him. His inner muscles clamped down in fierce, rhythmic spasms, milking Molly’s shaft.
Her roar echoed his silent scream. Her hips jerked erratically as her own climax tore through her. Vance felt the hot, thick jets of her come erupting deep inside him, flooding his core in pulsing waves. It felt primal, claiming, a searing heat that momentarily drowned out the cursed ache. Molly collapsed onto him, her full weight pressing him deep into the mattress, her body shuddering violently with the aftershocks. Her softening cock remained lodged inside him, twitching weakly, still leaking warmth.
They lay fused, slick with sweat, breathing in ragged, explosive gasps. The only sounds were their harsh breathing and the frantic pounding of their hearts. The scent of sex, sweat, and Molly’s release was overpowering in the small room. Vance felt utterly wrecked, filled, the raw ache inside now mingled with a deep, trembling exhaustion and the shocking wetness leaking out around Molly’s softening cock. He buried his face in the sweaty hollow of her neck, trembling uncontrollably. The cursed itch was momentarily silenced, replaced by a profound, bone-deep fatigue and the terrifying realization of how completely the transformation had rewritten their desires. Outside, the city hummed on, oblivious to the monstrous hunger temporarily sated in the cramped studio apartment.
Exhaustion hit Vance like a physical blow, heavier than Molly’s transformed body still partially pinning him to the damp sheets. The frantic energy of the curse, momentarily appeased by Molly’s brutal claiming, receded, leaving a hollow, trembling fatigue. His new body felt alien and wrecked, raw inside where Molly’s thick cock had stretched him wide open, her spend leaking warm and sticky onto his inner thighs. The apartment smelled overpoweringly of sex, sweat, and cheap laundry detergent. Molly’s breathing beside him deepened into ragged snores almost immediately, her powerful arm flung possessively across his waist, her softened cock still nestled against his ass. The city’s distant hum outside felt like white noise against the pounding echo of his own heartbeat. He closed his eyes, desperate for oblivion to swallow the impossible reality.
Sleep dragged him under swiftly, a black tide pulling him down. Then, jarringly vivid, a memory surfaced – sharp, bright, and utterly wrong. It was their first time, a year ago. Vance saw Molly’s familiar face, flushed and beautiful beneath him, her dark curls fanned out on his pillow, her soft breasts rising and falling rapidly. He felt the familiar weight of his own cock, hard and eager against her thigh, the thrilling friction as he slid into her welcoming heat. He heard her gasp, felt her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him deeper. The sensations were intensely real: the tight clasp of her body, her moans vibrating against his neck, the triumphant surge as he came inside her. His cock. His release.
But then, like ink bleeding through water, the memory twisted. The perspective shifted violently. Suddenly, he wasn’t above her, driving into her warmth. He was her. He felt the mattress against his back, saw Vance’s familiar lanky frame looming over him… no, over her. Except Vance’s face blurred, hardened, morphing into Molly’s transformed features – the heavier jaw, the buzz-cut hair, the fierce green eyes now burning with predatory hunger. The cock pressing insistently against his thigh wasn’t his own familiar hardness; it was thick, intimidating, veined – Molly’s monstrous new cock. Vance tried desperately to claw back the original memory, to feel himself as the man fucking his girlfriend, but it dissolved like smoke. All he could feel was the terrifying vulnerability of being pinned beneath Molly’s massive form, the anticipation of that thick invasion, the phantom ache blooming deep inside his own transformed core. He was the woman beneath the man, receiving, not giving. The sensation of penetration wasn't a remembered triumph; it was a visceral echo of the brutal fullness he’d just endured on Vance’s bed.
"No!" Vance gasped aloud, jerking violently awake. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Sweat plastered his hair to his temples. He stared wildly into the dimness of his apartment, Molly’s heavy arm still anchoring him. The phantom sensations lingered – the crushing weight, the thick intrusion, the helpless moan ripped from his throat. He tried frantically to reconstruct the real memory, the one where he was Vance, male, fucking Molly. He grasped for the feeling of his own cock, the control, the release. Nothing. It was gone, replaced entirely by the vivid, horrifying imprint of being Molly’s fucked woman. The curse wasn’t just twisting their bodies; it was rewriting their past, erasing who he was. Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through the lingering fog of exhaustion and spent lust. He turned his head slowly, dread coiling in his gut, to look at Molly’s sleeping face, monstrously familiar yet terrifyingly alien in the gloom. What else had it stolen? What else would it change? Why is it that happening?
*Unbeknownst to Molly and Vance. The curse worsens every time they have sex multiple times within 24 hours. Making it as though their whole lives were this way. Changing their memories and those around them. They will never know this side of the curse though, as Ophelia made it so. If they ever did figure it out they immediately forget about it. Also Thad's curse of fertility never seemed to stick. Like someone protected them of that fate. At least for the time being, however Ophelia’s curse where they get horny every time they touch stayed with them.*
The cloying scent of sex hung thick in Vance’s cramped studio, mingling with the stale coffee aroma and dust motes dancing in the weak sunlight filtering through grimy windows. Dawn painted the chaos of his apartment – band posters, discarded clothes, the rumpled sheets where they’d collapsed hours earlier after the brutal, rubber-less fucking. Vance stirred, consciousness returning like a slow, unwelcome tide. He felt crushed. Molly’s transformed body was a solid, warm weight pinning his smaller frame, one thick arm flung possessively over his waist, her face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing deep and even. Her powerful legs tangled with his. He couldn’t move, immobilized by her sheer mass. The phantom sensations from his nightmare – the memory rewrite where he was the one being relentlessly fucked by Molly – echoed uncomfortably. He tried to shove it aside, the panic receding slightly. Yeah, just a fever dream. Stress. Not real. He exhaled shakily, the movement making his sore inner muscles twinge where she’d filled him raw last night. He closed his eyes, sinking back into exhausted sleep beneath her.
A few hours later Molly was still asleep with a very prominent boner, and Vance was the one awake. He felt like he need to ride Molly. Much like she did on the morning of their one year anniversary. Molly rode Vance awake, rubbing her boobs across vances chest as she bounced up and down. Vance took this memory as inspiration for what he need to do.
Morning light, stronger now, warmed Vance’s face. He woke again, blinking against the glare. Molly still pinned him, her breathing deep and rhythmic. But now, the simple reality of their contact ignited the curse like gasoline. Every point where her massive body pressed against his new, softer form – the solid weight of her arm on his waist, the heat radiating from her broad chest against his back, the insistent ridge of her morning erection digging into the curve of his ass – sent electric currents of need crackling through him. It wasn't just arousal; it was a physical demand, a deep, gnawing hunger radiating from the core of his cursed transformation. Her cock, already thick and stiff against him even in sleep, pulsed against his sensitive skin, igniting a matching fire low in his own belly. He could feel himself getting wet, slick heat gathering between his thighs, his new clit throbbing insistently. He needed relief. He needed her.
The twisted anniversary memory flashed again, vivid and undeniable: Molly straddling him, her soft breasts brushing his chest, bouncing eagerly on his cock. Like a blueprint, an imperative. The curse’s demand overrode logic, overrode fear. He had to ride her. Now.
He squirmed, managing to shift enough to slide out from under her arm, the loss of her immediate heat making him gasp. His leggings and panties were still bunched around his knees, discarded from the night before. He kicked them off entirely, the cool air hitting his wet, exposed sex. He knelt beside her sleeping form, his gaze fixed on the prominent bulge tenting her baggy sweatpants. Her cock was a rigid line beneath the thin fabric, the head leaving a damp spot. Vance’s mouth watered. He hooked his fingers into her waistband, peeling the sweatpants and boxers down over her hips, freeing her cock. It sprang up, thick and flushed, veins pulsing, a bead of pre-come glistening at the tip. The sight, the musky scent, made his inner muscles clench with desperate emptiness.
Molly stirred, a low groan rumbling in her chest as the cool air hit her skin. Her heavy eyelids fluttered open, blinking in confusion. "Vance…?" Her voice was thick with sleep, deeper than ever. Her eyes focused on him kneeling naked beside her, then dropped to her own exposed cock. Her breath hitched.
Vance didn’t hesitate. He swung one leg over her thick thighs, straddling her waist. He felt powerful, predatory, driven by the curse and the vivid, implanted memory. "Morning," he murmured, a sultry edge to his high voice. He reached down, his smaller hand wrapping around the base of her thick cock. It burned hot in his grasp, jerking violently at his touch. He guided the broad, slick head towards his soaking wet entrance. He positioned himself, the swollen tip pressing against his opening, already slightly parted and slick from his arousal. He locked eyes with her, seeing the dawning comprehension, the cursed hunger instantly overriding her sleepiness, blazing in her transformed green eyes. He sank down.
"Oh, fuck!" Molly gasped, her head snapping back against the pillow as Vance impaled himself on her cock. He took it slow, agonizingly slow, letting the thick head stretch him wide open, the burn intense but mixed with a searing wave of relief. He lowered himself inch by torturous inch, feeling every vein, every ridge of her massive shaft filling him, stretching him exquisitely wide. He moaned, long and low, tilting his hips, seeking the deepest angle. His new breasts swayed with the movement. "God… you’re huge… filling me up…" he breathed, finally seating himself fully, her cock buried to the hilt inside him. He felt impossibly full, stretched, the deep ache momentarily soothed by the sheer, perfect pressure.
Molly’s large hands shot up, grabbing his hips roughly, her blunt fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Jesus, Vance… riding me… so fucking tight…" she groaned, her voice rough with lust. "Move. Fucking move that perfect ass."
Vance obeyed, bracing his hands on her solid chest. He lifted himself slowly, the drag of her thick cock along his sensitized inner walls making him whimper. He paused when only the head remained inside, then slammed back down hard, taking her deep in one smooth stroke. Molly cried out, her hips bucking upwards to meet him, driving deeper still. Vance gasped, the force punching the breath from his lungs. He found a rhythm, rising and falling, his hips grinding in tight circles as he bottomed out each time. The thick shaft rubbed directly against that spot deep inside that made stars explode behind his eyelids. "Fuck! Yeah! Right there!" he cried out, his moans escalating. "Your cock… fucking owns me…"
Molly’s hands roamed greedily, sliding up his sides to cup his breasts through the thin t-shirt. She squeezed roughly, her thumbs finding his hard nipples and pinching. "Ride it, baby," she growled, her own thrusts becoming more insistent, driving up into him as he came down. "Ride my cock like you fucking need it." Her grip tightened, pulling him down harder onto her. The wet slap of flesh on flesh, the rhythmic creak of the cheap bed, Vance’s high, desperate cries, and Molly’s guttural groans filled the small space. Vance threw his head back, green hair clinging to his sweaty neck, lost in the curse-fueled frenzy. He rode her with abandon, driving himself onto her thick shaft, chasing the blinding friction, the feeling of being utterly filled and claimed. His inner walls began to flutter, tightening rhythmically around her cock.
"Gonna… cum!" Vance shrieked, his body locking up, back arching wildly. "Filling me! Molly! God!" He slammed down hard one final time, grinding his clit against the base of her shaft as his orgasm detonated. It was a white-hot convulsion centered entirely on her invading presence, his inner muscles clamping down in fierce, milking spasms around her pulsing cock.
The fierce clenching triggered Molly instantly. She roared, a raw, animal sound, her hips pistoning upwards erratically, burying her cock impossibly deep. Vance felt the hot, thick jets of her come erupting inside him, flooding his core with searing pulses. She held him down, grinding him onto her throbbing length as she pumped him full, her body shuddering violently beneath him. Wave after thick wave filled him, the primal heat momentarily silencing the curse’s deeper ache.
They collapsed together, slick and trembling, Vance slumped forward onto her broad chest, her softening cock still snug inside him, leaking warmth. Their harsh breathing filled the silence. Vance nuzzled against her neck, a profound, bone-deep satisfaction warring with exhaustion. The brutal fucking, the claiming… it felt right. Then, like a switch flipping, the memory of their actual anniversary resurfaced. The romantic dinner, the soft kisses… it fragmented. Except… the perspective shifted. He was the one bouncing. He was the one filled. He was riding Molly’s massive cock. The image was sudden, visceral, undeniable. It wasn't a nightmare; The dominant image now was this: him riding her awake, taking her thick cock deep into his eager body, her powerful hands gripping his hips. The memory solidified, sharpening. It wasn't just like their anniversary anymore. In his mind, it was their anniversary. He’d always ridden her like this. The feeling of being beneath her, being fucked raw last night… that faded, replaced by the visceral certainty of always being the one taking her cock, always riding her to ecstasy. A flicker of unease tried to surface – how? – but it dissolved instantly, washed away by the lingering warmth of her release inside him and the profound, cursed conviction settling over him like a heavy cloak. He belonged on her cock. The curse was making them fuck like rabbits, and it hasn't even been 24 hours since they transformed. This was Saturday morning, more than 36 hours remaining.