If you like my art, sketches, stories, transformations you can find more like this on my Patreon page or in DeviatArt Premium Early Access folder for subscribers here. Every bit of support is truly appreciated, but just having you here means the most to me - without you, none of this would have been possible. Thank you very much!
Check also my shop at DeviantArt for other works
If you can’t find the story on Patreon and you’ve already subscribed, look for it on my Discord server for Patreon supporters (or just message me privately if it’s not there either)
— Well. What did you see there? — Harlan’s quiet but commanding whisper, while he holds my waist like I’m not a person at all but just a prop for this photoshoot.
God, how I hate this disgusting old fart, whose breath stinks of old age even if he just brushed his damn teeth with that three-hundred-bucks special paste. And you, damn it, can’t even imagine how awful that smell is.
It’s like someone tried to mask rotten whiskey with the scent of hay, only making it even worse. A smell that spent a decade trapped in a sealed bottle of elderly decay, and then someone opened it right under your nose.
I barely stop myself from flinching. Barely.
But Harlan, the bastard, notices the slightest movement in my face when it concerns his Aesthetic.
— Bridget, — again his whisper, again his hand on my waist, but this time rougher and more confident. — I think I asked you. What did you see there?
What did I see?
My own damn doom.
Honestly… shit… maybe I just imagined that that sly bitch, Liza, or whatever her name is. That fucking free djinn. Sitting up there somewhere and laughing at me.
I swallow, trying not to show my feelings, and as always, it works. A small, almost invisible movement I mastered over this year, but inside everything shakes for a second, like someone yanked a nerve. I need to pull myself together. Before… damn… the kiss. Yes. And no, this isn’t our first kiss. If you only knew the crap I do in bed with this old man just to keep him happy so he doesn’t start yelling again about the “ungrateful bitch” who forgot who dragged her out of the dirt, you’d be surprised I’m just wrinkling my nose here.
Like yesterday, for example. I spent almost half an hour on my knees on the carpet in his office while he sat in his leather chair, slowly, almost mockingly, puffing on his damn cigar, staring at the city through the huge glass windows. And I don’t even know — at some point I thought he fell asleep, and I was already about to stop because my cursed mouth was aching from exhaustion. But no. The second I slowed down, he grabbed my hair, and I knew — time to run my tongue all the way along, just to catch my breath and show I’m trying. I did it slowly, circling the head, sucking a bit harder at the base the way he likes, and only then did his grip ease a little.
Shit. And just a year ago I would’ve puked at the thought of a dick ever being in my mouth. And if someone had tried to convince me of that? I would’ve just punched that idiot in the face — or worse. Because despite my easygoing nature, I was tall, almost two meters. Yeah, awkward. Yeah, balding at forty. And yeah, just one of countless office clerks sitting his ass in some third-rate insurance company in Ohio. But I, damn it, I — Thomas Brown — had pride and, despite my age, even dreams.
'Well, if you really are a Djinn, though I still doubt it, then let’s go with something classic. Money, youth and… that I never work again, I mean like this, in a shitty office, sitting on my ass for pennies and counting the days to a retirement I won’t even live to see in a normal state.'
That bitch Liza just snorted then, like she couldn’t even be bothered to waste breath answering, and simply snapped her fingers.
*Snap...Full story (9 700 characters - 3 parts and additional images) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon