Chapter 6
The weekend unfolded in a strange, surreal bubble of domesticity and simmering magical potential. After their super-powered escapade Friday night, Saturday was, by contrast, almost mundane. Fran had woken late, still feeling the phantom strength of a Kryptonian, and found Matt already awake, still wearing the collar, his handsome Julian Thorne body making her aroused. After a brief, incredibly intense bout of morning sex – where Fran delightedly discovered she could command Matt to be an impossibly attentive and skillful lover – they had settled into a comfortable, lazy rhythm.
They’d cautiously ventured out, using a small fraction of the stolen cash for groceries, rent, and a few other necessities. The crisp hundred-dollar bills felt illicit and thrilling in their hands. They agreed, Matt with the unwavering certainty of a man under a magical compulsion, that they would both quit their jobs on Monday. The hundred thousand wasn’t life-changing forever money, but it was a solid runway, a launchpad into a new life free from the daily grind. The problem of how to introduce larger sums into their bank accounts without raising red flags was a problem for another day. For now, the taste of freedom was enough.
Fran knew, in the back of her mind, that she was living on borrowed time. She’d made the calculated decision not to remove the collar from Matt. She knew that the moment she did, the twelve-hour countdown would begin. Twelve hours until the command to agree with her, to be thrilled about their casino heist, would evaporate, leaving her to face the real, cautious, ethically-bound Matt. The Matt who would, justifiably, freak the fuck out. He’d also probably freak out about how she was controlling him against his will. She wasn’t ready for that confrontation. It was easier to just… let him agree. Let him be happy. It meant she couldn’t use the collar on herself, couldn’t experience the thrill of transformation again, but it was a price she was willing to pay for peace. For now.
And Matt, of course, agreed with her decision completely. When she’d explained why she was leaving the collar on him, he’d simply nodded and said, “Makes sense, you’re right. Don’t want me rocking the boat, right?” The ease of his agreement was both a comfort and a constant, low-level source of guilt. She couldn’t resist the collar, the power it gave her over Matt. Was she a bad person for this? She shoved the thoughts to the back of her mind.
The dynamic was strange, too. They watched a movie Saturday afternoon, and Fran kept forgetting her power over Matt. She’d casually say, “Hey, can you grab me some more popcorn from the kitchen?” and Matt, unlike his usual self who might groan or say ‘in a minute’, would instantly spring to his feet with a cheerful, “You got it!” He’d return with the bowl, and she’d thank him, a little surprised at his alacrity. He’d just laugh and tap the black leather band at his neck. “Collar, remember? I literally have to do whatever you say.” And she’d laugh too, a sound that was slightly strained, remembering the invisible strings she was pulling. It was weird. Deeply, profoundly weird.
Now, it was Sunday evening. The last rays of sun painted the apartment in hues of orange and gold. The weekend was drawing to a close, and tomorrow loomed, the day they would sever ties with their old lives. They had spent most of the day just chilling, reading, talking, enjoying the simple pleasure of not having the Sunday Scaries. The duffel bag of money was tucked away in a closet, a silent, potent promise. They’d ended up on the couch, a lazy make-out session slowly building in heat. The sex had been frequent and incredible all weekend. Fran had discovered the sheer, decadent pleasure of being able to command a perfect lover. She could tell Matt to focus on her pleasure entirely, to know exactly what she wanted without her having to say a word, to go down on her with the skill and enthusiasm of a god. The results had been mind-blowing, leaving her breathless and utterly satisfied every time.
Matt pulled away from a deep kiss, his eyes dark with a familiar, easy desire. “Want to fuck again?” he murmured, his hand already sliding under her shirt. “We’ve got nothing else to do.”
“Yes,” Fran breathed, leaning in to kiss him again. But then she paused, her fingers finding the collar around his neck, tracing the smooth leather. A shadow of sadness, of envy, crossed her face.
Matt noticed the shift in her mood. “What’s up?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
She sighed, pulling back slightly. “It’s just… I want to experience it again, Matt. Properly. I’m jealous, you know? Of you. Your body changes to fit my desires, you get to become all these different people, feel all these new things. I can’t stop thinking about what it was like those few times I had it on… the transformations, the intensity. It was mind-blowing. It’s hard to go back to just… being plain old me, watching you have all the fun.”
Matt’s expression softened with understanding. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I get it. It’s hard to go back to vanilla when you’ve tasted… well, everything.”
“But we can’t,” she said, her voice laced with frustration. “If I take this off you, the timer starts. You’ll revert, and you’ll be so mad at me about the casino, about… everything.”
He looked at her, then at the collar, then back at her. “We have twelve hours, remember?” he said, the logic clear and simple in his mind. “That’s a long time. As long as we put it back on me before the twelve hours are up, the commands will remain active. You could have your fun, and I’d still be… agreeable… when you put it back on. No harm, no foul.”
Fran stared at him. It was true. A loophole. A dangerous, tempting loophole. She could have her night, feel that incredible power of transformative sex again, and still put the genie back in the bottle before Matt’s true feelings on the matter re-emerged. The temptation was too strong to resist. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “You know,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. “That… is a very good point.”
He grinned, sensing her excitement. “So, what did you have in mind? What new experience are you craving tonight?”
Her smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a specific, potent desire she’d been harboring. “I want something… different. Something intense.” She leaned in close, her voice a low, commanding whisper, already outlining the parameters for him, her future controller. “Listen carefully, Matt. Enhance your penis so that it always perfectly fits whatever vagina it enters. Perfect size, perfect shape, for maximum pleasure. And when it’s not… occupied… make it an even twelve inches long. Just for the visual.”
Matt’s eyes widened, but he just nodded eagerly, his own desire already stirring at the thought as he felt his pants tighten around his growing appendage.
“Two,” she continued, her voice gaining momentum, “become fit and strong Matt again. Not a superhero, just… peak human condition. Like you were before. I liked that version of you. And you will have the sexual stamina to keep up with me all night, no matter what. But,” she added, a crucial detail, “the moment I’m done, the moment I fall asleep, you will also be done. Your energy will vanish, and you’ll fall asleep instantly too.”
The commands were already settling in his mind, pre-programmed, waiting for the power shift.
“And lastly,” she said, her voice dropping even lower, her eyes intense, “once I take this collar off your neck, you will immediately place it on me. And you will give me a very specific set of commands. You will tell me to completely lose my gag reflex. You will tell me to become obsessed with breasts – mine, other women’s, the very concept of them. You’ll make it so I see them through your eyes, just like before. You’ll also tell me that I love the taste of your cum, that it’s the most delicious, addictive substance in the world. And here’s the fun part: the more of your cum I consume, the more my breasts will grow.” Her voice was trembling with excitement at the thought. “And to top it all off, you’ll turn me into a total, insatiable nymphomaniac, driven by the need for sex and the desire to grow my tits. BUT,” she concluded, locking her eyes with his, “the moment you are finished giving me all of those commands, you will take the collar off me. We can’t have your mind-changes expiring just yet. Not until we quit our jobs tomorrow. I can’t take it off me, so you need to take it off me so I can put it back on you.”
Matt stared at her, his mind processing the sheer, decadent eroticism of her plan. His body was already reacting. He felt a surge of energy, a tightening in his muscles as the ‘fit Matt’ command took hold. He glanced down at his crotch, where a formidable bulge was already straining the fabric of his sweatpants. It was working. He felt hot, powerful, and ready.
With a deep breath, Fran reached up and unbuckled the collar from his neck. The twelve-hour countdown on his ‘agreeableness’ had begun. Matt took the warm leather from her and, without hesitation, fastened it around her waiting neck. Click. The power shifted.
He repeated her instructions back to her, his voice a low, commanding baritone. “Fran, you have no gag reflex. You are completely obsessed with female breasts, especially your own. You find my cum unbelievably delicious, and for every time you swallow a full load, your breasts will grow in size. And you are now an insatiable nymphomaniac who needs to be fucked constantly. Now,” he finished, reaching for the buckle, “I’m taking the collar off.”
He unfastened it. Fran’s own twelve-hour timer had begun. He held the collar out to her, expecting her to immediately put it back on him as planned.
But the commands hit her like a tidal wave. The nymphomania slammed into her first, a wave of pure, molten heat that made her gasp, her knees weak. Her entire world narrowed to a single, desperate need: sex. Right now. Then, the breast obsession kicked in. Her eyes, wide and glazed with lust, immediately dropped to her own chest. She saw her small, familiar breasts not as herself, but through a new appreciative, male-coded gaze. They were… incredible. So soft-looking, so perky. She needed to touch them, to feel them, to make them bigger. The thought of growing them, of making them huge and heavy and magnificent, was the most erotic concept she could imagine.
She took the collar from Matt’s hand, her fingers trembling. The plan to put it back on him was a distant, unimportant whisper in the back of her mind, completely drowned out by the roaring tide of her new, manufactured obsessions. Breasts. Cum. Sex. Growth. That was her entire universe now.
She looked from her own chest to the massive, twelve-inch bulge in Matt’s sweatpants, her mind making the connection with startling clarity. That was the key. The fuel. The source of the growth she so desperately craved. The collar, the plan, the consequences – all forgotten. She tossed the collar carelessly aside, where it landed with a soft thud on a nearby armchair, its leather gleam ignored. A low, guttural moan escaped her lips.
“Matt…” she breathed, her voice a husky, desperate rasp. “Oh my god… I need you. I need… that.” Her eyes, burning with a feverish, nymphomaniac hunger, were locked on his crotch.
A flicker of concern crossed Matt’s face. “Fran? The collar… you’re supposed to…”
But she wasn’t listening. She lunged for him, her hands tearing at the drawstring of his sweatpants, her movements driven by a primal, overwhelming urgency. Matt, still under the influence of her prior commands – to be a powerful, insatiable lover – found his concern instantly swept away by a matching wave of lust.
Fran fell to her knees before him, pulling his sweatpants down, freeing his ridiculously large, thick erection. It sprang free, a full foot of hard, veined flesh. She gasped, her eyes widening not with fear, but with pure, avaricious delight. “So big…” she whimpered, her hands wrapping around the base, her touch reverent. “So perfect…”
Without another thought, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. The lack of a gag reflex was immediately apparent. She took him deeper than she ever had before, her throat opening, accommodating him with an expert ease that was both shocking and incredibly arousing to Matt. Her tongue and lips worked on him with a frantic, desperate energy. A bead of precum, thick and pearlescent, welled at the tip. She lapped it up greedily.
The moment it touched her tongue, her eyes widened. “Mmm! Oh my god!” she mumbled around his cock. “So… so good! So sweet!” It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. She sucked harder, more desperately, a low growl of pleasure rumbling in her throat. At the same time, she felt a distinct, tingling warmth spread through her chest. She pulled back for a second, looking down. Yes! Her breasts, her small, familiar breasts, were visibly fuller, pushing more firmly against the fabric of her thin camisole. The tiny amount of precum had been enough to trigger the first, small stage of growth.
“It’s working!” she cried, a wild, ecstatic look on her face. “Matt! It’s working! Look!” She cupped her slightly larger breasts, squeezing them through her shirt, a moan of pure, narcissistic pleasure escaping her. The combination of the taste, the growth, the feel of her own enhanced flesh… it was a feedback loop of pure bliss. “More!” she demanded, her eyes wild. “I need more!”
She attacked his cock again, her desperation renewed, her only goal to drain him, to consume the magical catalyst that would grant her the body she so intensely craved. Matt, his stamina magically enhanced, his desire stoked by her feral passion, gripped her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, and surrendered to the onslaught. This was going to be a very, very long night. And in the corner, forgotten, the collar lay on the armchair, its power dormant, the two twelve-hour timers ticking silently, relentlessly, down.
The sex was a fever dream, a blur of motion and sensation driven by Fran’s insatiable, commanded needs. After she’d drained him with her mouth, swallowing every last drop of his first, powerful orgasm, she’d watched in rapturous delight as her breasts had swelled, pushing past their initial small growth, filling her bralette to a full, firm C-cup. The sensation of the skin stretching, the feeling of the new weight settling on her chest, was a drug. But it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.
Matt, his stamina magically limitless for as long as she was awake, was hard again in an instant. She tore at her sweatpants and panties, her movements frantic. She threw herself onto the couch, spreading her legs wide, her core aching with a need that was almost painful. “Now, Matt! Fuck me now!” she screamed, her voice raw.
He plunged into her, and she cried out as his magically-enhanced penis filled her completely, perfectly. He moved with a powerful, relentless rhythm, and she met his thrusts with a wild, bucking abandon, her nymphomania driving her to seek a release that seemed always just out of reach. The pleasure was so intense it was almost unbearable, yet she craved more.
They moved from the couch to the bedroom, a trail of discarded clothes in their wake. He fucked her in every position imaginable, his energy seemingly endless.In missionary, she could watch her own breasts jiggle and sway with each of his powerful thrusts, her hands constantly cupping and squeezing them, her obsession with them almost as powerful as her need for sex. When she felt him getting close, she’d scream, “Pull out! My mouth!” And he’d do it, pulling out at the last second to empty his thick load into her waiting mouth. She’d swallow greedily, then lie back, panting, as a fresh wave of tingling warmth spread through her chest, her breasts swelling again to a full, heavy D-cup.
Each growth spurt was accompanied by a fresh wave of arousal, a renewed, desperate need to start the cycle all over again.
Hours blurred together. At one point, he had her bent over the edge of the bed, her ass high in the air, his hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her from behind. “Look at them, Matt!” she panted, looking over her shoulder, her eyes wild. “Look how they hang! They’re getting so heavy!” Her now-massive F-cups swayed like heavy pendulums with each deep, powerful thrust.
As he neared his climax, she scrambled away, dropping to her knees on the floor, her head thrown back, her mouth wide open. He stood over her, his hands on her head, and blasted his seed down her throat. She took it all, her lack of a gag reflex allowing her to drain him completely, her eyes squeezed shut in a mixture of ecstasy from the taste and the intense anticipation of the growth to come.
Lying on the floor, she felt the familiar, beloved tingling start again, stronger this time. She moaned as her F-cups swelled with agonizing, delicious slowness, the skin stretching taut, the weight increasing, until they settled into a truly magnificent, voluptuous E-cup. She cupped them, her hands barely spanning their new fullness. They felt incredible. So soft, yet so dense and heavy.
But the nymphomania was a cruel master. The satisfaction was fleeting, instantly replaced by a gnawing, aching hunger for more. More sex. More cum. More growth. They went again, and again, her body a willing vessel, her mind a slave to the commands. By the time they finally collapsed in a heap on the ravaged bed, their bodies slick with sweat, the first hints of dawn were breaking outside the window. Fran’s pussy ached with a deep, throbbing friction burn, but her breasts… her breasts were colossal. At least H-cups, maybe bigger. They were glorious, heavy orbs of flesh that dominated her petite frame, their skin stretched taut, their large, dark nipples exquisitely sensitive.
She lay on her back, her hands cradling their immense weight, a look of blissful, exhausted satisfaction on her face. Her breathing slowed, her body finally succumbing to the hours of relentless, super-powered exertion. Matt, his own command fulfilled, fell asleep the instant she did, his body collapsing beside hers.
– The Next Morning –
The shrill, insistent blare of Fran’s work alarm shattered the silence. She groaned, swatting at her phone, her body screaming in protest. Every muscle ached. Her throat was raw. Her pussy felt tender and swollen. She blinked, her mind foggy, trying to piece together the wild, hazy memories of the night before. The sex, the hunger, the growth… She looked down at her chest, expecting to see the magnificent, colossal breasts she’d worked so hard for.
But they were gone.
Her chest was flat. Her familiar, B-cup self. The nymphomania, the breast obsession, the addiction to cum… all gone. Replaced by a dull, throbbing headache and a profound sense of confusion. She was back to normal. The twelve hours were up.
A cold dread began to seep into her, cutting through the post-sex haze. The collar. She’d forgotten the collar. She’d tossed it aside, so consumed by her commanded desires that she had completely forgotten the most crucial part of the plan: putting it back on Matt.
Her eyes flew to the other side of the bed. It was empty. The sheets were cool. Matt wasn’t there.
“Oh, fuck,” she whispered, the full weight of her catastrophic mistake crashing down on her.
She scrambled out of bed, her limbs stiff and sore, and pulled on a robe. She stumbled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. And there he was.
Matt was sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. He was wearing his own clothes, and his body was back to normal. He looked calm. Too calm. His face was a cold, unreadable mask. On the table, to his left, was the duffel bag of money, zipped shut. To his right, gleaming innocently under the morning light, was the black leather collar.
He looked up as she entered, and his eyes were like chips of ice. The agreeableness, the playful lust, the shared excitement – all gone. This was the real Matt. The Matt whose twelve-hour timer had also expired. The Matt who was no longer under her influence. The Matt who remembered everything.
“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice quiet, devoid of any warmth. “You’re finally up.”
Fran’s stomach plummeted. “Matt…” she began, her voice a weak, trembling whisper. “I… I can explain. I got… distracted. The commands… they were so strong…”
“Distracted?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. He took a slow sip of his coffee. “You got ‘distracted’. You used a magical artifact to rewrite my personality, to make me complicit in a felony. You violated my mind, Fran, made me agree to something I never would have. And then, for your own selfish, kinky fun, you got so lost in your own fantasy that you forgot the one simple rule that was keeping me from… well, from this.” He gestured around the room, at the collar, at the bag of stolen money. “From waking up clear-headed and realizing my girlfriend drugged me with magic and turned me into a thief.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that!” she cried, tears welling in her eyes.
“Didn’t mean for it?” he shot back, his voice finally rising, cracking with anger and betrayal. “Do you have any idea what I woke up to? The memories of the last two days, but with my own mind back? The feeling of agreeing with you, of being excited about all this, and then the sickening realization that none of it was real? That it was all just you, pulling my strings?”
He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’ve been up for hours, Fran. Thinking. Trying to process the fact that the person I trust most in the world used a mind-control device on me for her own gain.”
Fran was openly sobbing now, guilt and fear churning inside her. “I’m sorry, Matt! I’m so, so sorry! I never wanted to hurt you! I just… got carried away. The power… it’s so much…”
He stared at her, his anger seeming to slowly cool, replaced by a weary, grim resolve. The heat of the argument faded, leaving a cold, hard reality in its place. He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I know,” he said, his voice tired. “I know it is.”
He sat back down, his expression unreadable. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone flat, pragmatic. “And as much as my own mind is screaming that this is wrong, that we should go to the police, turn in the money, try to forget this ever happened… I can’t. It’s too late. We know too much. And…” A flicker of something – ambition? Pragmatism? – entered his eyes. “You were right about one thing. Quitting our jobs. We have to. We can’t go back to that life, not now.”
Hope, fragile and tentative, flickered in Fran’s chest. “So… you agree? We can still…?”
“We can still use the collar to build a new life,” he confirmed, his voice cold. “But we are not going to be reckless, amateur-hour supervillains. We are not going to steal. There are other ways. Smarter ways.”
“What do you mean?” Fran asked, taking a hesitant step closer. “How are we going to make money?”
Matt didn’t answer. Instead, he moved. Faster than she could react, he lunged across the small space between them, snatching the collar from the table. Before she could even process his intent, he had snapped it around her neck.
Click.
“HEY!” she yelled, her hands flying to her throat, clawing at the buckle. “Matt, no! Get it off!” But it was no use. She couldn’t remove it now. He had her.
“I think,” he said, his voice utterly calm, a chillingly dominant glint in his eyes as he stood over her, “it’s my turn to have a little fun. My turn to take control.” He looked down at her, his expression a mixture of anger, hurt, and a terrifying, newfound purpose. “You are to go to work today, Fran. You’re going to have a totally normal day. And then, at five o’clock, you are going to walk into your boss’s office and quit, just like you planned. I’m going to do the same. And then you’re going to come home.”
Fran stared at him, her heart pounding with fear and a strange, unwelcome flicker of submission. “What… what do you have planned, Matt?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He smirked, a cold, hard expression that held no humor. “It’s my turn to be in charge for a while,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, commanding whisper. “Since you clearly can’t be trusted with power.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “Time to do things my way.”
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