Chapter 10: The Narcissus Curse
When Mark woke Lisa was there. But it was a Lisa reconfigured, her body a testament to impossible anatomy.
Her spine was a graceful, impossible arc, bending backward . Her legs were splayed wide. And from this grotesque bow, her own neck was craned, her face tilted upward between her thighs.
Her tongue, impossibly long and prehensile, snaked down from her mouth. It was a slick, pink muscle, glistening under the harsh bathroom light. It moved with a purpose that was not her own, lapping at the engorged, dripping flesh of her own exposed clit.
A raw, guttural moan vibrated through her, the sound muffled by her own body. “Yesss… right there… fuck…”
But that wasn’t all. As Mark watched, his stomach churning, two hands materialized in the air above her pelvis. They were her hands.
One of these hands plunged two fingers deep into her soaking pussy with a wet, smacking sound.
“Deeper,” she gasped, her real hands gripping the sides of the sofa, knuckles white. The fingers obeyed, curling inside her, fucking her with a brutal, practiced rhythm.
The other ghostly hand found her nipple, pinching and twisting it hard. She cried out, her back arching even more sharply, a line of strain and pleasure.
Her eyes were open.
She whispered to her reflection, her voice a husky duplicate of her own. “You filthy slut. You can’t get enough of your own cunt.”
Mark tried to speak, to form her name, but all that came out was a dry, rasping click.
Lisa’s new fingers worked faster, plunging in and out of her with a squelching cadence. Her own tongue lashed at her clit like a whip, a constant, frantic stimulation.
“I’m gonna come,” she chanted, her eyes wide, fixed on the mirror. “I’m gonna make myself come. Watch me. Watch me come all over my own fucking face.”
The orgasm that ripped through her was violent. Her body seized, trembling violently, a scream tearing from her throat that was half agony, half triumph. The phantom hands shimmered brightly for a second, their movements becoming a blur as they wrung the last shocks of pleasure from her. Her tongue flickered wildly, and then she collapsed, the impossible tension in her spine releasing all at once. She slumped into the tub, breathing in ragged, sobbing gasps.
The extra hands dissolved into motes of light and were gone.
Silence, broken only by her panting and the drip of the faucet.
Mark finally found his voice. It was a broken thing. “Lisa?”
Her head lolled to the side. Her eyes, glazed and distant, focused on him standing in the doorway. There was no recognition, only a faint annoyance. The kind you’d show a fly buzzing near your ear.
“What?” she breathed, the word thick with satiation.
“The ring,” he managed, pointing a trembling finger toward the sink. “I need it. This has to stop.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. She pushed herself up, moving with a new, languid grace. She was completely naked, slick with her own sweat and arousal. She reached out, not for the ring, but for a towel. She draped it around her shoulders with a casual indifference that was more terrifying than any scream.
“Stop?” she echoed, a low laugh in her throat. “Why would I ever want it to stop?” She looked at her reflection again, admiring the sheen on her skin. “I’m just getting started. There’s so much more I can do. So much more I can feel. By myself.”
She turned her gaze back to him, and it was like being assessed by a predator. “You’re in the way, Mark. You and your… neediness. Your tiredness.” She said the word like it was a disease.
She took a step toward him, and he instinctively backed into the hallway. She followed, a predator herding its prey. The scent of her—sex and ozone and power—filled the corridor.
“You wanted adventure,” she purred, still advancing. “You got it. This is my adventure now. And I don’t need a spectator.”
She backed him all the way into their bedroom. The sanctuary of soft lighting and plush linens felt like a mockery. He stumbled against the foot of the king-sized bed.
“Lisa, please,” he begged, the last of his dignity dissolving. “This isn’t you. The ring is doing this. Give it to me. Let me fix this.”
“This is more me than I’ve ever been,” she said, her voice flat and certain. She stopped just in front of him, her eyes dropping to the bulge in his pants. A flicker of contempt crossed her face. “Still getting hard watching this? Even now? Pathetic.”
She didn’t touch him. Instead, she turned and crawled onto their bed, presenting herself to him, her back arched, her ass in the air. A blatant, cruel invitation she knew he could never truly accept.
“You can’t have the ring, Mark,” she said, her voice muffled by the duvet. “And you can’t have me. Not like this. I belong to myself now. Completely.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes glowing with that same ancient light he’d seen in the garden. “I’m not done yet.”
Mark stood frozen, the command echoing in the silence she left behind. Her dismissal was a physical blow, but the moans that followed were worse—they came from down the hall, a duplicate of her voice, layered over the one still smirking at him from the bed.
"Can you hear me still fucking Delores while I taunt you?"
“I wish I didn’t need to touch,” she breathed, the words a prayer to the ring on her finger. “I wish I could feel everything without my hands.”
A shudder wracked her frame as the wish took hold. Her hovering palms passed over her breasts, and her nipples hardened into aching peaks on their own, a visible ripple of sensation making her gasp. “Oh god, yes.” Her fingers danced above the swell of her ass, and the muscles there clenched and released, a deep, internal caress that made her knees buckle.
She threw her head back, a string of obscenities pouring from her mouth. “Fuck, just like that. Right on my clit without even… ah!” Her hips jerked forward, riding the nothingness, a slick sheen of arousal already coating her inner thighs. The air itself seemed to be fucking her, an invisible, relentless pressure working her over without a single physical touch.
Mark watched, horrified and aroused, as she came apart without anyone or anything touching her. Her back arched, her mouth open in a soundless scream as the first orgasm ripped through her, so intense her eyes rolled back. She panted, recovering for only a second before a second, more powerful wave began to build.
The air around her cunt thickened, a palpable pressure that made her gasp. “I want to feel myself,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “I want to fuck my own tight, wet pussy. I wish I could.”
The change was instantaneous and grotesque.
The skin of her lower abdomen rippled, then tore open with a sound like tearing canvas. From the new, raw opening, a glistening, pinkish protrusion emerged, lengthening and hardening into a perfect, veined cock. It was her own flesh, reshaped into a new organ, slick with internal fluids and pulsing with her heartbeat.
“Oh, fuck yes,” she moaned, her hands guiding the new appendage. The tip, swollen and sensitive, rubbed against her soaked outer lips. She positioned herself, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Gonna fuck myself so deep.”
With a single, powerful thrust of her hips, she impaled herself on herself.
A choked scream of pure ecstasy ripped from her throat as her own cock filled her completely. Her back arched off the bed, every muscle taut. She began to move, a frantic, rocking rhythm, fucking her own cunt with her own transformed body. The wet, slapping sounds of penetration filled the room, a brutal counterpoint to her guttural cries.
“Your own cock feels so good, doesn’t it?” she panted, one hand clawing at her breast, the other working her clit in frantic circles. “Nobody can fuck you like you can. Nobody!”
Mark watched, paralyzed, as his wife became her own lover. Her movements became more savage, more desperate. The bedframe groaned in protest. Her duplicate cock plunged in and out, glistening with her arousal, stretching her with each thrust.
“I’m coming!” she shrieked, her body seizing. “I’m coming on my own fucking dick!”
Her whole body convulsed, a violent tremor of self-induced pleasure. A gush of fluid slicked the length of her new cock as her internal muscles clamped down rhythmically. She collapsed onto the mattress, breathing in ragged, sobbing gasps, the strange appendage still buried deep inside her.
A profound silence descended, broken only by her panting. She slowly, languidly, withdrew from herself. The cock-like growth began to recede, shrinking back into the raw, weeping fissure in her abdomen, which itself sealed shut, leaving only smooth, unbroken skin behind.
She turned her head on the pillow, her eyes finding Mark’s. They were devoid of any humanity, only a flat, satiated hunger.
“See?” she breathed, a trickle of sweat running down her temple. “I don’t need you at all.”