Morph Into Your Dream You Pt. 01

"Honey, can you please come downstairs? Your dad and I want to talk to you about something," Linda called out, her voice soft and barely above a whisper. It was the closest she ever came to raising her voice.

At forty-seven, she still carried the kind of beauty that came from a life devoted to something greater than herself. Faith, family, and the quiet pride of doing what needed to be done without complaint. Shouting had never been part of her vocabulary.

Upstairs, Oliver rolled his eyes and groaned under his breath.

"What the fuck do they want now?" he muttered, half to himself, half to the walls of the bedroom he's spent 25 continuous years sleeping in.

He paused the sixth YouTube video essay of the day on his second monitor, then alt-tabbed to pause the video game running on his main screen.

"What do you want, Mom?" he shouted back, loud enough to carry but not loud enough to sound cooperative. Maybe, if he sounded annoyed enough, she'd drop it.

No such luck.

"Get your ass down here, Oliver. Don't make me go up there," his dad barked.

That was Greg Sterling's version of affection. Short, sharp, and just loud enough to remind him who's paying for the food he's eating.

"You guys fucking suck," Oliver mumbled, yanking off his headphones and tossing them onto the desk with a dull smack.

Oliver came down the stairs slowly, his bare feet heavy against the wood, each step sounding like protest. He turned the corner into the kitchen, where his parents stood in the middle of the room, hunched around a delivery box that sat awkwardly on the counter. It didn't look like a regular Amazon package. It looked... important.

"What's up? What do you want?" he said, flat and dismissive. It carried the same casual disrespect he always leaned on, like he owned the place. Like he wasn't a 25 year old college dropout mooching off the only people who still gave a shit about him.

"Honey, look. Your dad and I... we were thinking..." Linda's voice trembled as she tried to sound firm. She failed, of course. Her love for her kids always came first, even when disappointment curled at the edge of every word. Her youngest son, Matt, had moved out at nineteen. He paid his own rent. Had his own startup. He called every Sunday. And here she was, still folding Oliver's underwear.

"Look, Ollie," Greg cut in, sharp and deliberate. His voice didn't shake. It hit like a verdict. "I'm gonna be honest with you, son. This is not working out for us. You're twenty-five. You don't have any friends. You live in that room all day. We're cleaning up after you. Your mom is making your meals. You're supposed to be on your own by now. I have never even seen you with a girlfriend. It's... disappointing."

Oliver rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to respond but came up empty. The words never came easy when the truth was too loud to ignore.

"Well, yeah, so? What do you want me to do? We already talked about this. I'm applying for a couple of jobs. I'm still waiting for them to answer," he said, shrugging like that made it better.

"Well, baby, look..." Linda stepped in, her voice soft as a hymn. "Your dad found this." She motioned gently toward the box, her hands twitching slightly.

"You tell him, Greg," she added, quietly retreating behind her folded hands.

"Found what, Dad?" Oliver asked, brow furrowed. He looked at the box again. It didn't buzz or beep. It just sat there.

"Jack, the neighbor, and I were talking the other day," Greg began, matter-of-fact as always, "and he told me about this medicine that made his son more productive around the house. So much so that he's letting him live there for free. So your mom and I thought we'd give it a try."

Greg didn't flinch. He might as well have been talking about replacing the garbage disposal.

"A drug? Making someone more productive around the house? What does that even mean?" Oliver asked, echoing every sane thought that came to him.

"And even if it did, how does being more productive around the house change anything? It's just the three of us here. Kylie's barely ever home. There aren't exactly a lot of chores piling up."

"Well, baby," Linda said in the same soft, angelic tone that she always had, "the girls at church told me how delicious my cooking was. They said I should start selling it. Like an online business. They'd even help me set it up. But to do that, I'd need more time. I'd need to know that someone is taking care of things here."

"Okay. I'm so fucking confused right now," Oliver snapped. It wasn't even meant to be rude. It just... spilled out.

"Ollie. Baby. Language," Linda interrupted, instinctively.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." He waved her off. Then turned back to the box. "Back to the whole drug thing... can you explain? I don't really get it."

"It's not really a drug, it's more of a..." Greg started, but the sentence stalled before it could find an exit. He stood there for a second, searching for another word, something softer maybe. But there wasn't one.

"Well. It's a drug. I'll let you read the pamphlet."

Without another word, Greg sliced open the box and pulled out a glossy pamphlet resting right on top. He handed it to Oliver, who took it hesitantly.

The cover was bizarre. A man and a woman stood side by side, but they looked... identical. Same eyes. Same face. Same smirk. Above them, a bold headline stretched across the top:

"M-9: Morph Into Your Dream You."

"Morph into your dream you?" Oliver read aloud, dragging out the words like they were written in another language. "You guys are losing me. I don't get it."

"Keep reading. You'll understand, baby!" Linda said with an excited clap, practically bouncing in place as she motioned for him to flip the pamphlet open.

He turned the page, brows furrowed, reading the bold print slowly, word by word.

"M-9, or Morph-9, is a next-generation... experimental gender transformation serum?" He stopped. Blinked. Looked up. "Excuse me, what?"

"Keep reading! It gets better. I swear," Linda beamed, her voice high with barely contained glee.

He stared at her for a second, then looked back down, continuing even though his brain was already tripping over itself.

"Designed to unlock the body's hidden potential. With a single two-ounce dose, M-9 initiates a complete biological transition, restructuring sex-specific anatomy, hormone levels, and neural responses... placing you in a new, fully-realized form."

He froze. Then let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"Alright. You got me. Haha. Nice one." He tossed the pamphlet onto the kitchen table and clapped his hands once with sarcastic flair. "All of this for a joke? Gotta admit, you really committed. I didn't think you guys had it in you."

"This is not a joke," Greg said. His voice was quieter now, but heavier than anything Oliver had ever heard from him.

Something about the way he stood. The way he looked at him. This wasn't a prank. This wasn't a weird intervention. This was something else.

Oliver stared at his dad. Waiting for the punchline. But it never came.

He picked up the pamphlet again, without even looking at it. His eyes stayed locked on his father's.

"A-alright," he mumbled, throat dry. "H... here goes."

He continued reading, his voice quieter now, like each word made the room colder.

"No two transformations are alike. With M-9, your journey is fully personalized.

Every vial of M-9 is uniquely formulated through our dual-component system, ensuring both physical and behavioral alignment with your selected identity profile."

He frowned, eyes narrowing on the word behavioral.

"Physical and behavioral alignments?" he murmured, more to himself than to them. "Dad, Mom, you're kinda scaring me. What is this?"

Linda opened her mouth to speak, but Greg raised a hand and gave her a look. Then turned that same look toward Oliver, motioning for him to keep going.

Oliver looked down again, hands a little shakier now. The text blurred for a second before coming back into focus. He read on, his voice slightly cracked.

"Component I: Psychological. This component installs new instinctual behaviors, habits, and cognitive frameworks--designed to help you become more than your past self ever allowed.

Component II: Physiological. This element determines your race. With over ninety-four percent of global racial and ethnic variations mapped, each transformation--even if selecting the same racial category--results in a distinct and fully unique identity."

He stopped. The words didn't make sense, and yet they made too much sense. A heavy pit formed in his stomach, sinking fast. He felt dizzy, disoriented. Like the kitchen lights had dimmed without warning.

He reached for one of the tall chairs at the island, missed the edge the first time, then finally sat down, barely looking.

"I don't get it... this medicine... it turns me into a woman?"

"Yes," Greg said flatly. No hesitation. No apology. Just truth.

"But more importantly, you'll know how to cook. Clean. Do laundry. All the things your mom is doing. Look at the bottom. You'll see what we picked for you."

Oliver glanced down and noticed his thumb had been covering a sticker. He peeled it back.

This serum is: HOUSEWIFE -- SAME RACE AS PATIENT.

You will awaken as a completely new woman--still your race, but no longer your face. You will feel at home in your body, eager to serve, clean, nurture, and belong.

He went still. The kitchen blurred again, this time harder. His mouth felt dry. He blinked.

"S... so, if I take this thing--whatever it is--my body will magically turn into a woman's body and I'll gain... what? New house skills?" His voice cracked halfway through. The words felt sticky in his mouth. Wrong. Too big to swallow.

"Now you get it, sport!" Greg said, grinning now. There was actual excitement in his voice, like he had just handed Oliver the keys to his first car.

"I mean... this can't be safe, right?" Oliver pulled out his phone, desperate to latch onto something sane. "Let me Google these people at least."

He searched the company. The site loaded instantly. Same branding. Same wording. Same eerie confidence. And thousands of reviews.

My husband is more helpful than ever. Thank you M-9.

My girlfriend and I were experimenting with the Asian and the Indian M-9 serums. They've helped us spice our sex lives.

I never knew women's bodies are so... fun!

Thanks to M-9, I've met the man of my life... and he doesn't know that I'm a man!

Oliver stared at the screen. Everything inside him went still. His hands, his thoughts, his breath.

"What the fuck is going on?" he whispered. "This can't be real. I don't want to be a girl. Ew."

He turned back to them, pale and nervous. His voice softened, no longer defensive, just shaken.

"Y-yeah, Dad," he said, trying to sound polite, almost begging. "I'm not feeling comfortable taking this... whatever this is. I'm sorry."

"Plus... one vial is a thousand dollars. How did you get that money, Dad?" Oliver asked, trying to sound reasonable, trying to build a case for why all of this was insane.

"The company agreed to give me a twelve-month supply for free in exchange for regular feedback on their new serum," Greg replied. His voice was casual, like this was a smart deal and not a life-altering decision involving his own son. He didn't acknowledge that the serum was untested or experimental.

"Sorry, what was that last part? New?" Oliver squinted. "Based on their website, it looks like they've been doing this for a while now."

"Yeah, well," Greg shifted, clearly avoiding the fine print. "This housemaid component is pretty new, along with several others they're planning to send weekly. In exchange for all of those at no cost, they'll meet with you once a week before you change back. Just to run some tests. Nothing extreme."

"Oh, hell no. Dad, hell no. I'm not okay with this." Oliver backed up slightly, like the air was pressing in from all sides. "I'm not doing this. No can do. Sorry."

Greg sighed, and the tone in his voice dropped like a brick.

"I really didn't want to do this, Ollie..." He paused, then looked him dead in the eyes. "But you're not giving me any choice. Your mom and I have tried. We've begged. We've supported you through everything. But you refuse to work, refuse to change, and if you don't take this, we'll have to ask you to leave the house."

Oliver froze. He stood there, staring at the floor, his mouth slightly open. Somewhere deep down, he had always known this would come. He just didn't think it would look like this. He always imagined a dramatic fight, shouting, maybe slamming a door. Then a call two days later where everything went back to normal.

But this? A serum? A transformation? Tests?

He turned to Linda like she was his last lifeline.

"M-Mom. Mom. You can't allow this. This is blasphemy, isn't it? God made me a man. No human can change that, right?"

"Honey..." Her voice was quiet and full of sadness. "Your dad is right. We just don't see any progress. Even when Matt wanted to help you, you pushed him away. We're out of ideas. And these serum things are only temporary. They only last one week. It's not like we're changing who you are forever."

He blinked hard, his eyes stinging. His brain was scrambling for options.

"L-look, I swear I'll get a job. I'll flip burgers. I'll do whatever. I'll take whatever job I can find. Just not this. Please, Mom. Please." He turned fully toward her, hands clasped like a child begging not to be left behind.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said softly, clutching the cross around her neck. "But your dad and I are firm on this. We really believe this could change your life."

He felt the weight of those words land on his chest. The final nail in the coffin of his free, unbothered life. There was nowhere to go. No couch to crash on. No friends to call. No one to rescue him.

"F-fine, Dad," he muttered, eyes fixed on the box. "I'll take whatever you want me to take. Okay. If that'll make you both happy... sure... why not."

Greg smiled, a crooked, proud grin. He reached over and gave Oliver a pat on the shoulder.

"That's my boy."

Greg pulled out a second pamphlet from the box and began reading it aloud with practiced ease.

"Here's how it works: After ingestion of the M-9, the body enters a temporary unconscious state lasting approximately one hour. During this time, the compound initiates a complete physiological restructuring at the cellular and hormonal level. You will awaken feeling fully rested, similar to the effect of eight hours of deep sleep, with no pain, disorientation, or memory loss.

Upon waking, your body will have fully transitioned into its new sex-specific form, complete with corresponding anatomical structures, hormone profiles, and neural adjustments for sensory and motor function. The transformation lasts up to seven days, gradually stabilizing over the first twenty-four hours.

If desired, a negating dose--NM-9, included in the package--may be taken at any time to revert the changes within thirty minutes. Without intervention, the effects will automatically expire after one week, returning the body to its original form with no residual side effects."

Oliver stood there, numb, still trying to figure out if this was an elaborate prank or if he had somehow woken up in an erotica written by fucked up people with sick fantasies.

"See?" Linda said cheerfully, clapping her hands together. "You've got nothing to worry about, baby. You're going to be just fine. They're so professional."

Oliver glanced at the vial inside the box, then quickly looked away like it had teeth.

"Alright, look, I'll do it. Just... not today, okay?" He tried to sound calm, but the words came out shaky. "Let's do it tomorrow. Tomorrow would be great. I just need time to process."

Greg was already shaking his head before Oliver finished the sentence.

"No, Oliver. It has to be today."

Linda stepped in, her voice warm but final. "Your dad & I already agreed that it'd be today, honey."

"But why? What difference does one day make?" He looked between them like maybe one of them would show mercy, like maybe someone would blink.

Greg leaned in slightly. "Because if we give you one more day, you'll find a way to avoid it. That's what you do. We are done waiting."

Before Oliver could come up with another excuse, the front door opened. Kylie walked in with a tote bag over her shoulder and earbuds dangling from her neck.

"Sup," she said casually, kicking her shoes off.

Her eyes scanned the kitchen, landing on the open box on the counter. She strolled over, peered inside, and gave a small snort.

"Oh damn. M-9?"

Oliver blinked. "Wait. You know what this is?"

Kylie picked up the vial and turned it in her hand like it was just a weird energy drink. "Yeah. A couple of kids in my art theory class take it. They say it's fun. One guy used one for a week and said getting fuc- oh sorry mom. Yeah, I know it."

Oliver's face dropped. "You're serious?"

She shrugged. "I mean, I've never tried it. Not really my thing. But yeah, people mess around with it. Why? What's up, bro?" She raised an eyebrow, then cracked a grin. "Wait, are you going to take it?"

When he didn't answer, she burst into laughter.

"Oh my god. You're actually gonna do it. That's hilarious." She turned to Linda and Greg. "Are you guys serious right now? You're turning Oliver into your housewife?"

Oliver sank lower into the chair, mortified. His face was burning and his stomach twisted like it wanted to fold in on itself.

Kylie just laughed harder, completely unbothered. "This is the best thing that's happened all week."

"Stop teasing your brother like that," Linda said gently but firmly, turning to Kylie with that polished mom-tone she always reserved for moments of correction. "You should be grateful. He's going to help around the house now so I can focus more on church, and on starting my little online business. The girls at Bible study think it's such a blessing."

Kylie pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, eyes darting to the ceiling as she forced herself to stay quiet. The moment her mom turned away, she smirked again.

Greg reached over and took the vial from Kylie's hand. He held it out to Oliver like it was medicine for a stubborn illness.

"Here. Take it. Go lay down on the couch. Drink it up."

Oliver looked at the vial like it might explode. His hand trembled as he reached out, fingers curling around the smooth glass. It felt heavier than it should have. Like a decision he couldn't unmake.

He moved slowly toward the couch, each step dragging. Behind him, the soft shuffle of footsteps followed--his mom, his dad, and his sister all walking in unison, watching him like they were attending a ceremony.

Oliver sat on the edge of the couch, hands shaking, breath shallow. He stared at the vial, ready to open it up.

Then Kylie spoke up again.

"Wait. Instructions say you need to take off all your clothes before you drink it."

He turned toward her, panicked.

"What?"

"Yeah," she said, barely containing her laughter. "Your body's gonna change completely, right? You don't want your clothes to rip or something. It's part of the instructions. Swear."

Oliver blinked. Then blinked again. He looked at his mom, then at Greg. No one was saying anything.

Not knowing how to tell a joke from the truth anymore, he stood up and began undressing.

Shirt. Pants. Boxers. Socks. All of it.

By the time he was down to nothing, he glanced back with hesitation one last time.

Then, eyes closed, he tilted the vial to his lips and chugged it.

Linda immediately gasped and placed both hands over Kylie's eyes.

"Greg," she said, voice strained, "do the instructions really say that?"

Greg looked over at Kylie, eyebrows raised.

Kylie shrugged, grinning.

"Nope. I was just messing with him."

Greg sighed. Linda kept her hands in place.

Oliver had already collapsed backward onto the couch, fully unconscious.

The transformation had begun.

All three of them stood side by side, eyes fixed on Oliver's body as it lay motionless on the couch. The room felt unusually still, as if time had taken a breath and held it.

The first change was his hair.

His messy, frizzy curls began to loosen, shifting strand by strand. The texture smoothed out, the volume evened. What once looked wild and unkempt now flowed with soft, deliberate waves. It lengthened past his ears, then to his shoulders, shining like it had just left the chair of a professional stylist.

"Okay. Guys... are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Kylie whispered, stunned. "This is insane. Holy shit."

"Kylie. Language," Linda corrected, gently but automatically. Then her tone softened into something reverent. "And yes. This is... truly... wonderful. Like a miracle from God."

Greg didn't say a word. He just watched. His arms were crossed, his jaw set, his eyes sharp. Not cold, not warm. Just focused.

Then Oliver's body began to shed.

Tiny strands of facial and body hair lifted from his skin like dust caught in sunlight. They floated upward, disappeared into the air, gone. His skin now looked untouched, completely smooth. His legs, arms, chest, even his face--completely bare.

As the transformation progressed, something shifted deeper. Muscle softened. Edges rounded. His figure began to take shape in places it never had before.

His breasts started rising.

At first, it was subtle. A small lift beneath the skin. But then it continued, swelling gently, slowly, until full, round curves formed where a flat chest had been. They moved with each quiet breath, soft and undeniably feminine. The skin there was smooth and tight, the new form symmetrical and--strangely--perfect.

Kylie squinted, tilting her head.

"Is it just me, or is his skin getting darker? Like... caramel? And his face... it's kind of getting more... Latina?"

Greg and Linda both nodded at the same time, still watching.

"They did say it was experimental," Greg said with a low voice. "But that's fine. That wouldn't change anything. I've always wanted a Latina maid."

Kylie turned to him. "Dad. That's racist."

Greg shrugged. "Maybe. But I get to finally have help around here."

Kylie rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable."

Back on the couch, the transformation continued. Oliver's face had softened. His jawline curved inward, his nose slimmed, cheekbones rising under his glowing new complexion. His eyelashes had thickened, lips fuller and pinker than before. His expression was peaceful, serene. Almost like he was dreaming.

They kept watching, each in their own state of amazement, disbelief, or awkward acceptance.

And then, the final part of the change began.

His penis kept shrinking and shrinking, until it no longer existed. It was replaced by a plump, beautiful, smooth pussy any man would kill for.

Kylie folded her arms and let out a low whistle. "This is going to be a wild week."

Greg checked his watch, eyes still fixed on the couch.

"Alright. We can't wake him up," he said, stepping back. "He needs to get through the full hour. That's part of the process."

He looked over at Linda, then Kylie, then back at the couch--now occupied by something almost entirely unrecognizable from the son he'd raised.

"So let's get back to business. We'll come back when it's time. Let him finish."

Linda gave one last long glance toward Oliver's new form, her expression caught somewhere between awe and motherly anxiety. She gently smoothed her skirt, nodded, and turned toward the hallway.

Kylie lingered a moment longer. Her eyes were wide, full of thoughts she didn't say out loud. Then she let out a slow breath and followed them both out of the room.

The house went quiet again, except for the faint ticking of the clock and the hum of a ceiling fan.

And Oliver--or whoever he was becoming--slept on.

Forty-five minutes later--fifteen minutes earlier than expected--Oliver's eyes fluttered open.

No grogginess. No headache. No heaviness in the limbs. Just... clarity. Energy. Like someone had poured espresso into his bloodstream and pressed a reset button on his nervous system.

He blinked once. Then again. The ceiling above him looked exactly the same. Nothing had changed.

Then he sat up.

The moment he moved, he felt it--two weights tugging gently at his chest. Foreign. Soft. Heavy. Like small bags of sand anchored to him, moving with every breath.

And then there was the hair.

Long strands brushed against his shoulders, silky and unfamiliar. Some clung to his collarbone, some slid across his face. They smelled faintly floral. Definitely not his shampoo.

He looked down at his arms. Smooth. Lighter. Slimmer. The skin looked softer, glowed warmer. No stubble, no roughness. Like they belonged to someone else entirely.

His hand rose to his face. The nails were clean, shaped, slightly glossy. The jaw felt rounder. The skin, impossibly soft. The absence of anything masculine hit him like a cold slap.

This had to be a dream. A really intense, hyperrealistic dream.

Desperate for proof, he dug his hand between the couch cushions and pulled out his phone. His grip was off. His fingers were shorter, his nails longer. He found the camera app, flipped it to front-facing.

A stranger looked back at him.

Tan, glowing caramel skin. Thick, dark lashes. Full, soft lips. Hair like it had just been blow-dried by a pro. Large breasts rising with each breath, pressed together by the curve of her upper body. Her eyes were wide, confused, almost pleading.

She looked like a woman. A real one. Gorgeous. Impossible.

He blinked. She blinked back.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, but the voice that left his mouth was soft, higher, feminine. Almost melodic.

His chest clenched. He dropped the phone. His breath quickened.

Without thinking, he jumped up and bolted for the stairs. Each step felt alien--hips swaying, thighs brushing, feet lighter. He clutched his chest as he ran, trying to hold himself in place.

He reached his room, slammed the door behind him, locked it, and pressed his back against the wood.

Sliding down to the floor, gasping for breath, he curled into himself.

A knock broke the silence.

Then another. Firmer. Rhythmic.

"Honey, open the door. Don't be scared. We're here for you," Linda's voice called softly through the wood, sweet and calm as ever.

"Ollie, open it," Kylie added, with a little more edge in her voice. "I wanna see your tits."

Oliver's new body trembled slightly. He wasn't cold. Just... exposed. Still sitting on the floor, still hiding parts of himself with his hands, unsure what to do with this new skin that clung to him like a costume he hadn't agreed to wear.

Another knock.

He swallowed. Then slowly stood, legs unsteady, arms still crossed over his chest. He padded to the door and reached for the lock. His fingers hesitated, then turned the knob.

The door creaked open.

Linda, Kylie, and Greg stood just outside. Their eyes widened in perfect unison.

Linda stepped forward, one hand to her chest. "H-honey... you're... gorgeous. Like a supermodel."

Kylie's jaw dropped. "Holy fucking shit, Ollie. Your body is fucking perfect. What the fuck."

Even Greg raised an eyebrow. "Looking good, son."

Oliver took a step back, still clutching himself, unsure where to look. "I-I don't know... how to feel right now, guys," he murmured. "I just feel... confused."

He didn't even recognize the voice coming out of his mouth. It sounded smooth, soft, almost melodic. Every word embarrassed him a little more.

"It's understandable," Greg said, his tone steady, grounding. "There's no need to worry. We're here for you."

Then he turned to Linda without missing a beat. "I want you to start writing a list of your daily chores. Everything you do. Oliver will be taking over now."

Linda nodded, already halfway toward her notebook.

Greg turned to Kylie. "And Kylie, help him find something to wear. Something... fitting."

Kylie stepped forward, eyes still scanning Oliver's body with open disbelief. "Wait. He can't be Oliver anymore. He's a girl now."

She tilted her head, smiling a little.

"We should call her Olivia. And, you know--refer to her as her. Since she's a girl now."

Linda lit up like she'd been waiting for someone else to say it. "You're right! Olivia... what a beautiful name for a beautiful son... erm, daughter now... I guess."

Oliver--Olivia--stood frozen, still unsure how much of this was real and how much was just one long fever dream.

Greg stepped in closer, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "You're right. I want you both to help Olivia get familiar with the house and the chores. But first--"

He looked at Linda and Kylie.

"I need a word with her alone. Father to son."

The door clicked shut behind Linda and Kylie.

Silence stretched between them for a moment. Greg didn't speak right away. He just stood there, eyes locked on Olivia like he was studying something he didn't expect to turn out so well.

Olivia shifted her weight, arms still crossed tightly over her chest.

Greg stepped closer.

"You're even more perfect than I ever imagined," he said, voice low, almost reverent.

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean, dad?"

He paused, then exhaled slowly through his nose. "Jack said that the best sex he's ever had was with his son, Carl, after he transformed into Carol."

"He said this stuff, M-9... it doesn't just change your body. It perfects it. Makes the kind of woman men dream about. You don't just look the part, son. You feel like it too. In every way."

She blinked. Took a small step back.

"I thought this was about helping out. About chores. About Mom..."

Greg's face changed slightly. Not ashamed. Just done pretending.

"I don't give a fuck about chores. Or your mom's church and online shop. I told her what she needed to hear. Truth is, if you're here with me, always around, I wouldn't need to sneak off anymore. No one would suspect anything."

He stepped forward again. She stiffened.

"You're so much more perfect than I pictured. Look at you."

His eyes dropped toward her chest. She pulled her arms tighter, backing up.

The energy in the room shifted.

"B-but Dad," Olivia said, voice cracking slightly.

Greg tilted his head, "No buts, Ollie. It's simple. If you want to stay in this house, you'll have to do what I say. Plus, you don't even know how good it'll feel yet. Jack says that Carol became addicted to his cock."

Greg's voice became firmer, "He did say that I'll have to train and tame you at first. That you'd resist and all that. But it's such a simple decision for you, isn't it, Ollie? If you don't let me touch those perfect tits of yours, you'll sleep in the streets tonight. What do you say?"

Olivia stayed silent for a moment. Then gave him a slow, defeated nod. "Alright."

She didn't look at his eyes. Couldn't.

Her arms fell from her chest like a surrender.

The air hit her nipples first. They reacted instantly, taut and hard, traitorous.

Greg exhaled something close to a laugh. "Holy shit," he said. His hands came up slowly, reverently, like he was about to touch something sacred. Then they were on her. Palms cupping the full weight of her breasts, thumbs brushing across her nipples with deliberate slowness.

Olivia's breath hitched again. She hadn't known it would feel like this. Not like before. Not even close.

"These," Greg murmured, eyes wide, voice low, rough, like he'd been holding something back for a long time. "These are the best tits I've ever had in my hands."

Her heart skipped.

He squeezed a little, then more confidently, massaging them with both hands, thumbs flicking, circling.

"Firm, heavy, perfect." His eyes flicked up to meet hers, then back down. "Better than your mom's in her prime."

She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she let them hover at her sides, fists clenching.

"And you... of all people," he said, still fondling, still talking through a smile that was part disbelief, part hunger. "Oliver. Fucking Oliver. To have these perfect tits"

She bit her lip. Her legs felt shaky. She wanted to cover herself again but didn't. Didn't dare.

He leaned forward, still holding her. Still worshipping what wasn't his, what wasn't even hers until just now.

"You've got no idea what you're doing to me right now."

"But we don't have time for this right now," he said, his tone dripping with lust and disappointment. "We'll have to continue this later."

Olivia blinked. Her breath caught for a moment.

"For now, you've got to get ready. Your mom and sister are waiting. You've got a lot to learn. Chores, routines, expectations. You better do a fucking good job."

She shifted slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the bed before looking back at him.

"Oh," he added, turning halfway as he walked away, "And it's only a matter of time until I'm in that fucking tight pussy of yours. We'll have the house for ourselves in due time. I promise."

And then he was gone, leaving the door open.

In the distance, Olivia could already hear Linda's cheerful hum in the kitchen and the distinct sound of Kylie's boots clacking down the hallway.

"What have I gotten myself into?" Olivia says out loud, as her hair brushes over her caramel bare tits.