Chapter 4: The Artifact's Next Trick
The only sounds were ragged breathing and the slow drip of wine from the bottle Felicia tilted over the rim of a glass. She didn’t pour, just watched the droplet form and fall. Her green eyes, bright with predatory amusement, moved between the two figures on the rug.
Peter lay on his back, his—her—new body trembling with aftershocks. The taste of salt and bitterness coated the back of her throat. The physical memory of being filled, stuffed, used was a brand on her nerves. Her mind, fully her own again, recoiled from it, cataloging the sensations with a clinical horror that made her stomach clench. She could feel a trickle of semen leaking from between her thighs, cooling on her skin. She didn’t move to wipe it. The weight of the violation pinned her down more effectively than the men had.
Beside her, MJ cooed softly, drawing a finger through the mess on her own stomach and bringing it to her mouth. “Mmm. Still warm.”
The words were a knife in Peter’s heart. That’s not her. The spell. It’s the spell. But the rationalization was thin, ripped by the image of his wife’s vacant, pleasure-drunk smile.
“You’re both so adorable when you’re broken in,” Felicia said, finally setting the bottle down. She stretched, a lazy, feline movement. “But it’s getting a little… predictable. Two dumb sluts, two dumb cocks.” She picked up the artifact from the cushion beside her. It was still glowing, a deep, malevolent violet. “Let’s raise the stakes.”
She held the knotted metal ring aloft and whispered a guttural syllable that seemed to warp the light in the room. The air in the center of the living room crackled, splitting open with a sound like tearing canvas. A shimmering oval portal swirled into existence, edges bleeding mauve energy.
From it, a figure stepped naked onto the carpet.
Peter’s breath hitched. It was him. Or rather, the old him. His own body, lean and muscular, exactly as it had been an hour ago when he’d swung toward home. The face was his, but the eyes were empty, glassy pools of blank obedience. It stood passively, waiting, its cock already semi-hard as if pre-programmed.
“A little piece of home,” Felicia crooned. “For nostalgia’s sake.”
Then she turned the artifact on MJ, who was watching the duplicate with simple curiosity. Another pulse of light, this one a sickly pink, washed over MJ’s face. She blinked, shivered, and when her eyes opened, a new layer of hunger had been added to the vacancy.
“There,” Felicia said. “Now you appreciate the whole buffet, Red. Variety is the spice of life, after all.”
MJ’s gaze slid from the duplicate Peter to the woman lying beside her. A slow, different smile spread across her lips. “Pretty,” she murmured, reaching out. Her fingers, still sticky, brushed a strand of hair from Peter’s face. “You’re so pretty now, Petey.”
The touch, so familiar yet emanating from this hollow version of his wife, sent a new kind of shock through Peter. Before she could react, MJ leaned in and closed the distance.
MJ’s lips were soft, insistent. They tasted of sex and cheap wine. Peter froze, her mind screaming. This was wrong, a perverse funhouse mirror of a thousand loving kisses shared on this same rug. A small, traitorous part of her new anatomy responded, a flutter low in her belly. She tried to pull back, but MJ’s hand cupped the back of her neck, holding her there. The kiss deepened, MJ’s tongue slipping between her lips.
“Good girls,” Felicia encouraged. “Get each other nice and wet for them.”
The three nude men moved with unison, their arousal visibly thickening at the command. The two original studs approached from either side, their cocks now fully erect. The duplicate Peter moved behind MJ, his hands settling on her hips, pulling her back against his groin.
The dark-haired stud knelt between Peter’s legs, his broad shoulders pushing her thighs further apart. The smell of her own arousal and his previous release was pungent in the air. He didn’t hesitate. He lined up his thick head and pushed back into her still-sensitive, used pussy with a single relentless thrust.
Peter broke the kiss with a sharp cry, her head falling back. The fullness was immediate, a brutal re-stretching of tender flesh. MJ, undeterred, attached her mouth to Peter’s neck, sucking and biting as her hands came up to grope Peter’s new breasts, pinching the nipples through the suit.
The bald stud positioned himself at Peter’s face. She saw the glistening tip hover before her eyes, and the compulsive fog began to smother her thoughts again. Her mouth watered. She turned her head, a final act of defiance, seeking MJ’s lips once more to hide from the sight.
It worked. The intellect remained, forced to witness through a haze of building physical sensation.
MJ kissed her ferociously, grinding her ass against the duplicate Peter’s cock. Peter could feel the duplicate’s hands roaming over MJ’s body, could hear MJ’s muffled moans of pleasure against her own mouth. It was a feedback loop of violation. The stud in her cunt settled into a deep, pounding rhythm, each drive jolting her body up the rug, his balls slapping against her.
Then she felt another presence. The bald stud, rejected by her mouth, had moved. She felt his hands on her hips, lifting her, angling her. She felt the blunt, hot pressure of a second cockhead, this one pressing against a place that had never been touched.
Panic, pure and cold, shot through her. “No,” she gasped against MJ’s mouth. “Not there—”
The stud pushing into her cunt held her hips immobile. The bald one spat into his hand, slicked himself, and pushed.
The pain was exquisite, a sharp, tearing burn that dwarfed everything. Peter screamed, the sound swallowed by MJ’s kiss. The invasion was slow, inexorable, a stretching beyond capacity. Her body locked up, resisting, then was forced to relent. He buried himself to the hilt in her ass, a fullness that felt like being split in two.
She was full beyond belief, stuffed in both holes, the two men finding a rhythm that rocked her between them. The pain in her ass blurred, transformed into a searing, full sensation that merged with the deep fucking of her pussy, creating a terrifying overload of stimulation. MJ’s tongue in her mouth, MJ’s hands on her tits, were just additional points of fire.
The duplicate Peter, seeing MJ aroused and ready, gripped her hips and entered her from behind. MJ cried out, breaking the kiss, her head thrown back in delight as her own husband’s double took her. “Yes! Oh, fuck, yes!” she chanted, her bimbo persona reveling in the feel of the familiar-yet-alien cock.
Felicia watched from her perch, one hand idly toying between her own legs, her eyes dark with voyeuristic pleasure. “Look at you, Parker,” she breathed. “Taking two at once like a common whore. And your wife… she always did like you from behind, didn’t she?”
The words were arrows. Peter tried to disassociate, to retreat into a corner of her mind, but the dual penetration was too overwhelming, too absolute. The stud in her ass picked up pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder. The one in her pussy grunted, his rhythm faltering. She felt him swell, pulse, and then the hot flood of his release filling her channel again.
As he pulled out, spent, the bald stud in her ass took over completely, his thrusts becoming brutal and final. The pain was gone, replaced by a crude, punishing friction that grated against her raw nerves. She felt her own body betraying her, a coiling tension building low in her gut, fed by the relentless assault and the twisted sight of MJ being joyously ravaged.
The duplicate Peter was fucking MJ with steady, mechanical force, his blank face a horror over her shoulder. MJ was mewling, begging for it. “Come in me, come in me, please!”
The bald stud gripping Peter’s hips stiffened, snarling. He slammed home one final time, and Peter felt the wet, internal heat of his orgasm erupt deep in her bowels. The degrading sensation, the utter violation, tipped her over an edge she didn’t know existed.
Her own climax ripped through her, a silent, seizing earthquake that clamped her muscles around the invading cock and left her vision spotted. It was pleasure without joy, a mechanical release born of abuse.
The stud pulled out of her ass with a wet sound. Peter collapsed onto her side, hollowed out and dripping from both holes. She was facing MJ, who was also being filled by the duplicate, his body shuddering in a mimicry of orgasm.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and dripping fluids.
Felicia stood up, smoothing her suit. The portal behind the duplicate Peter flickered. “See?” she said, her voice light, conversational. “It’s more fun when everyone gets a turn with everyone.” She glanced at the artifact, its glow now dimming to a faint ember. “But the magic’s running low. Can’t keep the party going forever.”
She looked down at the two broken women on the floor, then at the three vacant, sated men.
“We’ll have to make the last act count.”