Each subsequent owner has helped me hone my skills until I can capture the tiniest little details in seconds—provided I’m not distracted.
Tonight, I expect to be extremely distracted. It’s a Tuesday, and that means Aggie will get into bed early in one of her fancy bathrobes and matching nighties and read until she falls asleepwith her head on her book or, sometimes, her little black reading device covered in stickers.
Tonight is the first night Aggie comes to bed with the book and sits on top of the covers, breathing tight and fast.
Sweet little morsel. This isn’t the first time something in her books has brought her passion bubbling to the surface, but it’s always been hidden by bedclothes and bad lighting.
This time, the light stays on and Aggie leans back, a knee-length piece of pink floral silk dipping between her knees—riding high between her thighs.
I remain slick and still, watching her and trying not to feel guilty when Berry wants me to put on a moth and mouse show and I won’t oblige. Watching Jane, the white-haired and wrinkled, never excited me like this.
There’s no harm in toying with Aggie tomorrow—after the show.
Pages flip and thighs flex, shutting and opening around her hand.
Where she can’t see me, my tentacles writhe, shadows turning solid. The thickest one is shorter and hides between two long, dark coils, only easing into being when I’m aroused.
It’s been ages since I felt the familiar pain and pleasure mingling, stiffening the rubbery, flaccid member until it’s hard and seeking something hot and wet to plunder. My fist has to do the job for now, wrapping around the stout, wriggling tentacle, thicker and longer than the human cock I used to have.
As I squeeze, a confused sort of shame and lust washing over me and leaving me in a fog, Aggie slips her gown over her body and reclines, her book flung to the side. Her fingers circle over her dark curls, slick pink petals flashing from under warm, honey-brown lips.
My form slips and shimmers, my turgid length changing into a throbbing clitoris and all the pretty little pieces that shield it,then slipping back to my own form, shifting back and forth as I come to grips with what’s happening.
Iwanther.
I want her body to hold, not to break. I want her mind to shatter.
Look who’s talking about shattering, Lucius... you’re a master of torture, of madness, of inflicted pain with no remorse—and now you’re the one who’s lost, tempest-tossed from the sight of a pretty piece of flesh.
With a ragged hiss, my body is hers in appearance once again. My hands play over the form that looks like hers now, but it’s just an illusion, a dark, dangerous one that can never bring me joy. My hips thrust, and I’m a mockery of two forms, Agatha’s lovely, delicate limbs up top and a grotesque shadowy mass of phantasm at the bottom.
She peaks with a short, gasping cry, and I follow her with a harsh, grunted curse.
There’s a waiting silence in the room.
Did she hear me? She’s not supposed to hear me! Not until I speak to her, call her name—but I guess she’s already seen me in some fashion.
“Berry, did you hear that?” she whispers.
Berry looks at the mirror, the little traitor. No more crickets and wrens for the cat. Well... not until she looks at me with those big pleading eyes, anyway.
I’m silent. Aggie leaves her bed, shivering, wrapping the robe around her as she looks around with big, frightened eyes.
“Please... Please be someone. Someone real. A burglar. Someone I can mace,” she whispers, fat tears suddenly on her cheeks.
Wait, what?
She’d rather face an intruder than a random, untraceable noise? Surely one is more dangerous.
“Ohhh, Berry. Berry, I don’t want to get worse. Don’t want to go back. Everything was going so well. New friends. New job. You! I have to hold it together until Dad and June come back. I’mnotleaving you with Arnie.”
She scoops up the kitten and cuddles it in one arm before marching into the bathroom. I can hear her frustrated sobs through the walls, the thumping of her helpless fist on the tiles.
They’re so sad. So despairing.
It’s not fear, and I don’t like it.
Ten minutes later, Berry, not quite as scrawny as she was even two weeks ago, stalks across the floor, hops nimbly to the edge of the bed, and stares at my mirror’s empty surface with a cool, calm malice.
