Chapter 7
The key turning in the lock felt unnaturally loud. Fran pushed the door open, her hand trembling slightly, stepping into the apartment that suddenly felt less like a home and more like a cage. The afternoon light slanted through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a picture of lazy, mundane peace that was utterly at odds with the frantic, terrified pounding of her heart.
She had done it. She had walked into her office, a place she’d spent years building a career, and had calmly, professionally, and irrevocably quit her job. The words had left her mouth with a smoothness that belied the screaming panic in her soul. She hadn’t wanted to do it, not really, not like this, but the collar had ensured there was no room for hesitation. The memory of her boss’s shocked face was a fresh, searing brand in her mind. Now, her last bridge to her old, normal life was a smoldering ruin behind her. And all that lay ahead was Matt. Matt, and his plan.
God, how had she let it get to this point? The thought echoed in her mind, a frantic, useless mantra. She should have been smarter. When she’d tossed the collar aside, so consumed by her commanded lust, she had sealed her own fate. She’d had the power, absolute and intoxicating, and she had squandered it, lost in a haze of manufactured desire. Now, the tables had turned with a terrifying finality.
He was on the couch, watching TV, a half-eaten sandwich resting on a plate on the coffee table. He looked up as she closed the door, his expression unreadable, his eyes holding a cool, detached calm that chilled her to the bone. This wasn’t the playful, easily flustered Matt she knew. This was someone else. Someone colder, harder. Someone in control.
He paused the TV with the remote. “So?” he asked, his voice even. “How did it go?”
Fran’s throat felt tight. She swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room. “I quit,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. “He… he was surprised. Tried to talk me out of it. But… I did it.”
“Good,” Matt said simply. He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly, deliberately, making her wait. He swallowed. “Me too. Emailed my resignation this morning. Effective immediately.” He gestured with the sandwich towards the empty space beside him on the couch. “Sit.”
It wasn’t a request. Her body obeyed before her mind could even process the indignity, moving stiffly to the couch and perching on the edge, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
He finished his sandwich in silence, then wiped his mouth with a napkin, his movements precise, unhurried. Finally, he turned to face her fully, his eyes boring into hers. “Okay,” he began, his voice low and measured. “Let’s talk.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Look, Fran. I love you. I need you to know that. What we have… what we had… it’s real.” His expression softened for a fraction of a second, a glimpse of the man she loved, before hardening again. “But what you did… Jesus, Fran. I can’t believe how you took advantage of me. How you twisted my mind, made me complicit in a fucking crime, all while knowing I was completely under your control.” He shook his head, a look of genuine, pained disbelief on his face. “I didn’t know you had that in you. But I guess power changes people, doesn’t it? It certainly changed you.”
His words were like knives, each one twisting in the raw wound of her guilt. Tears, hot and shameful, pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I love you too, Matt,” she sobbed, the words tumbling out in a desperate, pleading rush. “I’m so sorry! I swear, I never meant for it to go that far! I just… I got carried away! The feeling… it was so intoxicating! Please, just… take this thing off me. We can forget it ever happened. We can go back to how things were!”
He watched her cry, his expression unmoving. Then, a small, cold smile touched his lips. “Stop crying, Fran.”
The command was absolute. Her sobs hitched in her throat, cut off mid-stream. She tried to force them out, to show him the depths of her remorse, but the mechanism for tears seemed to have shut down. She could feel the sadness, the terror, churning inside her like a poisoned sea, but her face remained a placid, tearless mask. Her body had betrayed her once again.
“You are now unable to lie to me,” Matt stated, his voice flat. He leaned closer, his eyes searching hers, cold and analytical. “Now, tell me the truth. Are you truly sorry for what you did? Or are you just worried about what I’ll do now that you’re the one wearing the collar?”
The truth, raw and ugly, was pulled from her against her will. “I… I am kind of sorry,” she admitted, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. “But… mostly… I’m just worried about that. About you being in control.”
Matt’s expression tightened. “Hmm. So, if you got the collar back right now, if the roles were reversed again… would you still want to control me? Have you really learned your lesson?”
She struggled, fought against the compulsion, but it was useless. The honest, terrible answer spilled out. “If I had the collar again… I’d probably just use it on you again to get my way,” she confessed, her voice a horrified whisper. “It was so intoxicating, Matt. Having that power. I love you, I really do, but… with me in control, we were unstoppable. Powerful. I haven’t learned my lesson. Not really.”
He looked at her, and the last flicker of warmth in his eyes died completely, leaving only a cold, hard fury. “I knew it,” he hissed. She opened her mouth to plead, to try and explain, but the inability to lie made any attempt at placating him impossible. The truth was out, and it was damning. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath, his composure returning. “The ‘unable to lie’ command is now removed. I don’t need it anymore. I have my answer.”
He leaned back, a thoughtful, almost distant look on his face. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone shifting from angry to pragmatic. “All day. About what to do next. You were right about one thing – we can’t go back. But your way… robbing casinos, grand heists… it’s way too high-stakes. Too messy. Too much risk of exposure. But what about something more legal? By the books, at least on the surface. Something equally lucrative, but infinitely safer.”
Fran watched him, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach. His new, cold logic was more frightening than his anger had been. “What… what are you talking about?”
He looked at her, and the full weight of his plan landed on her. “OnlyFans,” he said, the words simple, yet carrying the weight of a life-altering decision.
Fran just stared at him, confused. The name was familiar, but in the chaos and distress of the moment, the implication didn’t immediately register. “What?”
Matt saw the distress clouding her comprehension. He sighed, a flicker of something almost like pity in his eyes. “Okay, you’re still a mess. Let’s fix that. Stop your worrying, Fran. From now on, you have completely accepted the reality that you are under my control, and your emotions are back to their baseline. You are calm, neutral, and receptive.”
The change was like a cool wave washing over a raging fire. The churning sea of fear, guilt, and anxiety inside her instantly settled, becoming a placid, still lake. She blinked, the world coming back into sharp, clear focus. A profound sense of calm, of acceptance, descended upon her. It was a familiar, if unsettling, sensation. “Wow,” she admitted, her voice even, devoid of its earlier tremor. “Okay. Back to normal. Relatively speaking.”
“Great,” Matt said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. He leaned forward again, his demeanor now that of a businessman pitching a new venture. “Now, as I was saying. OnlyFans. The platform where creators sell content directly to their subscribers.”
Even with her emotions artificially balanced, Fran’s core personality recoiled at the idea. “What? You want me to… to whore myself out for online creeps? That’s your big plan?” The words were sharp, judgmental, her natural reaction unfiltered by the emotional dampener.
Matt actually laughed, a short, sharp sound. “First of all, let’s not be so dramatic. They’re not creeps. The creeps are the ones lurking on pirate sites. The people who pay are fans. Supporters. They’re seeking a service and directly supporting the person providing it. It’s a transaction. A business.”
“Call it whatever you want,” Fran retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “How is that going to make us rich? Thousands of girls do it.”
“Ah,” Matt said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “But that’s where the collar comes in. We can do something no one else can.” He turned his laptop around, showing her the screen. He had multiple tabs open – Reddit forums like r/transformation, various online communities dedicated to body modification fantasies, breast expansion stories, gender-bending art. The sheer volume of it was staggering.
“I spent all day researching,” he explained, his voice filled with a new, focused energy. “There is a massive, and I mean massive, untapped market for what we can do. People write stories about this stuff, they draw pictures, they make crude animations. It’s all fantasy. But we… we can make it real. We can use the collar to physically transform your body, live, on camera.”
Fran stared at the screen, then back at Matt, the sheer audacity of his plan beginning to sink in. “Whoa… you want to… do the transformations, live? Won’t that… you know, attract the wrong kind of attention? Men in black suits kicking down our door?”
“We just say it’s a new kind of special effect,” Matt countered smoothly, having clearly thought this through. “A proprietary in-house filter we developed. Incredibly realistic CGI. Plausible enough for people who want to believe. The idea is to do a livestream. People can donate money and in their donation message, they type a transformation request. You read the message, and your body changes, live, to fit their will. Imagine it, Fran. A fan donates fifty dollars and says ‘grow your breasts to D-cups.’ And they do. A hundred dollars for ‘give yourself elf ears.’ Done. ‘Change your hair color to pink.’ Instantly. People would lose their fucking minds. They would pay a fortune to feel like they have that power, to see their fantasies enacted in real-time. We could make millions. I could give you a command to alter your body based on the donations coming in, and boom, the collar does its thing as you stream.”
She saw it then. The chilling, undeniable brilliance of it. It was safer than bank robbery, used their unique asset perfectly, and targeted a niche, high-paying audience. It was a perfect, diabolical business plan. Despite herself, despite the horror of it, a part of her had to admit… it could work. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I… I see the vision. And yeah. It could make a lot of money.” She paused, a final line of defense from her true self asserting itself. “But I don’t feel comfortable with that, Matt. There is no way in hell I’m showing off my body on camera for a bunch of strangers.”
Matt just smirked, his eyes glinting with the cold, hard light of absolute control. “Oh, really?” he purred, his voice dropping into that familiar, irresistible, commanding tone. “Fran, you love this idea.”
She stopped. Her mouth opened to protest, to scream, to fight back. But the words died in her throat. The command slammed into her, a wave of pure, unadulterated enthusiasm that washed away every last vestige of her resistance. Her horror melted away, replaced by a giddy, thrilling excitement. This plan wasn’t just brilliant; it was perfect! It was exciting! It was… hot.
“Hey!” she chirped, a bright, genuine smile spreading across her face, though a distant, tiny part of her screamed in protest. “I know what you’re doing! Stop it!” But even her protest sounded playful, flirtatious.
“What?” Matt asked, feigning innocence. “You do, though. In fact, it turns you on. The idea of being transformed by other people, of showing off your beautiful, ever-changing body on camera. You LOVE it. It’s the ultimate exhibitionist fantasy, and you can’t wait to live it.”
The second command layered over the first, reinforcing it, twisting her desire into something even more potent. Oh god. He was right. She did love it. The thought of thousands of eyes on her, of their desires shaping her flesh, of her body becoming a canvas for their fantasies… it sent a jolt of pure, white-hot arousal straight to her core. Her nipples hardened against her shirt, and a slick wetness bloomed between her legs. What was the harm? No… the real Fran would hate this. But the real Fran was boring. Scared. This Fran, the Fran Matt was creating… she was exciting. Powerful. Sexy. Yeah, she could just give in for a bit. Lean into it. Until he decided she’d learned her lesson. It would be okay. It would be fun.
Her entire demeanor shifted. She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with genuine, commanded eagerness. “Okay, Matt,” she purred, her voice dripping with sensuality. “You’re right. I love it. So… where do we start?”
Matt’s smirk was triumphant. “Excellent. The first livestream will be tomorrow night. But before then, we need to build some hype. Create a buzz. So, listen carefully, Fran…”
He leaned back, now the director, the mastermind. “First, your persona. We need a new face, a new identity. Anonymity is key. I want you to transform your head into someone completely different. Someone cute, but in a real, natural way. Nothing too over-the-top. And give yourself a new hair color.”
Fran concentrated, a thrill shooting through her at the thought of the transformation. An image popped into her head – a famous actress she’d seen recently, known for her girl-next-door beauty and incredible body. With a shimmer, her head morphed, her face restructuring itself into the recognizable, stunning features of Sydney Sweeney.
Matt burst out laughing. “Oh my god! Fran! Someone who isn’t a real, incredibly famous person, you idiot! The whole point is anonymity!”
Fran, now wearing Sydney Sweeney’s face, giggled, the sound light and carefree. “Well, you should have been more specific next time! It’s not like I consciously pick a face, the collar works its magic and my body just reacts to your common!”
Matt laughed, then refined his command, specifying someone who doesn’t exist, and he added purple hair too, just for even more anonymity. She closed her eyes again, picturing a face from her imagination this time – heart-shaped, with large, expressive eyes, a dusting of freckles across a cute, button nose, and full, soft lips. For the hair, she imagined a vibrant, punkish shade of purple, cut into a stylish, shoulder-length bob. With another shimmer, her head reformed into this new, entirely unique, and undeniably adorable persona.
“Perfect,” Matt said, his eyes approving. “Pretty, cute, but not unobtainable. Real, but not traceable. We’ll call her… Karma. I think Karma is a fitting name.” As he spoke, Fran felt her voice shift subtly, becoming a little higher, a little sweeter, to match the new face.
“Now,” Matt continued, his directorial vision kicking in. “Karma needs to make her debut. Take your phone, go into the bedroom, and film the best, sexiest, most intriguing teaser video possible. Demonstrate your abilities. Give yourself some cute elf ears, then make them vanish. Grow your breasts a couple of cup sizes. Make your arms super muscular, then return them to normal. Thicken up your thighs and ass too. Keep it quick, flashy, mysterious. And then finish by promoting your new OnlyFans, telling everyone you’ll be streaming live tomorrow night, where anyone can donate to change your body in real-time.”
Fran felt a surge of exhibitionistic glee. “On it, boss!” she chirped in her new, sweet voice. She practically skipped towards the bedroom, her mind already buzzing with ideas for the perfect poses, the sexiest angles.
She returned a few minutes later, holding her phone proudly. And she was no longer wearing her lounge clothes. She was now in a simple, tight-fitting black bikini, her body morphed into a ‘thick’ but still athletic build – big breasts, a small waist, and lush, powerful thighs and a round, substantial ass. She looked incredible.
“Wow,” Matt breathed, his eyes widening.
“Thought I should look the part with this bikini,” Fran said with a wink. She played him the video. It was perfect. The persona of Karma came across as playful, mysterious, and incredibly sexy. The quick-fire transformations were seamless, each one demonstrated with a flirty little pose.
She started by talking to the camera hyping up her “ability” with a playful tone, and then she demonstrated it by giving herself elf ears.
Next, after changing back, with a sly grin she hinted at something more sexy, before she enlarged her breasts from Fran’s modest size to something much larger, at least a few cup sizes bigger. Her acting was spot on. “They can go MUCH larger, but we don’t want to give away all the fun upfront” she teased.
The next two transformations were her increasing her muscularity, before finally finishing with her thickening up her entire body, leading to the look she now possessed standing in front of me as I watched the recording.
The video ended with Karma looking directly into the camera, biting her lip, and whispering, “Want to play God? Tomorrow night. Link in bio.”
“Well done,” Matt said, genuinely impressed.
“Well, I didn’t really have a choice, did I?” Fran replied, her voice sweet, but with a hint of underlying sarcasm. “And thanks to you, I absolutely LOVE this whole idea now.” She giggled, a sound of pure, commanded delight.
Matt laughed. “Good.” He took the phone. “Alright, I need to set up the OnlyFans account, get the crypto wallet linked, post this on TikTok, Reddit, a few other places… get the word out.” He looked up at her, still standing there in the black bikini, her ‘thick’ Karma body looking delicious. “What to do with you in the meantime?”
Fran raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I can think of a few things…”
Matt thought for a moment, then a slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “Alright, you can revert back to your normal Fran self now. Body, head, voice… all of it.”
With a shimmer, the purple hair darkened to brown, the cute, freckled face softened into Fran’s familiar features, and the lush, thick body streamlined back to her own petite, athletic form. She blinked. “Whoa,” she said, looking down at her normal body, then at the bikini she was still wearing. “Back to me again.”
“Just for a little while,” Matt said, his smile widening. “Fran,” he said, his voice dropping, “you now have all the knowledge and skills of a world-class, Michelin-star Italian chef. And you love cooking more than anything else in the world. I want you to go into that kitchen and cook us the best, most authentic Italian pasta dinner you can imagine. From scratch. After you’ve prepared it, you will morph your outfit into a classic, sexy Italian waitress uniform, and you will serve me my dinner while speaking with a perfect, flawless Italian accent. The moment I take the first bite of the pasta, these commands – the chef knowledge, the love of cooking, the waitress persona – will reset, and you’ll join me to eat this amazing meal you’ve made.”
The commands hit Fran, overriding her previous state. Her eyes lit up with a fiery, Italian passion. “Mamma mia!” she exclaimed, her own voice now tinged with the beginnings of a perfect accent. “Pasta! Si, si! The greatest art form! I must go! The dough, she will not wait!” She scurried off towards the kitchen, a woman possessed by the spirit of a thousand nonnas, leaving Matt to laugh and get to work setting up their new empire.
While the incredible aromas of garlic, basil, and simmering tomatoes began to fill the apartment, Matt worked efficiently. He created the OnlyFans and TikTok accounts under the name ‘KarmaIsReal’. He uploaded the teaser video, tagging it with every relevant hashtag he could think of: #transformation, #bodymod, #live, #cgi, #magic, #onlyfansgirl. Then he sat back and watched.
The views started trickling in, then pouring. Tens, then hundreds, then thousands. The comment section exploded. “FAKE,” one said. “Amazing deepfake tech!” said another. “Holy shit if this is real I’m dropping my whole paycheck,” wrote a third. “Those tits OMG.” The hype was building, fast.
A while later, a sultry voice with a perfect, rolling Italian accent called out from the kitchen. “Signor Matt! La cena è servita! Your dinner, she is ready!”
Matt looked up from his laptop. Fran – her normal self, but now dressed in a ridiculously sexy Italian waitress outfit, complete with a tiny apron and a red-checkered bow in her brown hair – stood there, holding a steaming platter of what looked and smelled like divine pasta.
“Grazie, bellissima,” Matt said, playing along.
She served him with a flourish, her movements graceful, her accent impeccable. He took the first bite. The flavors exploded on his tongue – rich, complex, utterly perfect. It was, without a doubt, the best pasta he had ever eaten in his life. The moment the food touched his tongue, the persona vanished from Fran. Her Italian waitress uniform shimmered back into the black bikini she’d been wearing underneath, and she immediately dropped the accent, blinking as if waking from a dream.
“Whoa,” she said, looking at the incredible plate of food in front of Matt. “Holy shit, I completely forgot how to make that. The mental stuff is such a trip.”
“It really is,” Matt confirmed, taking another blissful bite. “But this meal… it’s goddamn amazing.” He gestured for her to sit. “Join me. You’ve earned it.”
They ate together, the reality of their day settling in. “The video is going viral,” Matt said between mouthfuls. “We’re at over fifty thousand views on TikTok already. People are losing their minds.” He read her some of the comments, a mixture of disbelief, thirst, and rabid curiosity. A thrill of genuine excitement, uncommanded this time, ran through Fran. This was actually happening.
After dinner, as they were clearing the plates, Fran turned to him, her eyes holding a familiar, sultry glint. Her baseline emotions may have been neutralized, but her commanded love for their new plan made her bold. “So,” she purred. “What now, Mister Director? The night is still young.”
Matt smirked, his own desires stirring. “Now,” he said, his voice dropping low, “now I get to enjoy you the way you enjoyed me when I had the collar on. Now, we have some fun of our own.”
She looked a little excited, her lips parting slightly. “Are you… going to transform me?”
“Oh, yes,” he confirmed, his eyes dark with intent. “We’re going to make some art.”
They moved to the bedroom, the air thick with anticipation. “Strip,” he commanded simply. Fran obeyed instantly, peeling off the black bikini.
“Get on the bed,” he instructed, and she did. “Now, Fran,” he purred, his voice a hypnotic whisper. “I want you to start riding me. And with every single upward stroke, your breasts are going to grow, just a little. They will swell and bloom with the rhythm of our fucking.”
Her eyes widened, a gasp of pure, ecstatic delight escaping her lips. “Yes,” she whimpered. “Oh, yes, please.”
He entered her, and she immediately began to ride him, her movements slow, deliberate, her eyes fixed on her own chest. With the first upward lift of her hips, she felt it – the unmistakable, delicious tingle of growth. Her small tits swelled, the skin tightening, becoming a fraction fuller. She moaned, a low, guttural sound, and rode him again, faster this time. Her breasts grew slowly as they fucked, increasing by a fraction with each thrust. It was like he was pumping up her tits with his cock. The direct, rhythmic correlation between the pleasure of sex and the pleasure of expansion was a potent, addictive cocktail. She threw her head back, her moans becoming louder as she fucked herself bigger and bigger, her breasts growing from C, to D, to E, to a magnificent, heavy pair of F-cups, bouncing and swaying with each powerful, deliberate stroke.
When he was close to his climax, he grunted, “Stop.” She froze, mid-stroke, panting, her body slick with sweat. “Turn over,” he commanded.
She obeyed instantly, getting onto her hands and knees, presenting her lush, round ass to him. “Now,” he said, his voice rough as he entered her from behind, “with every thrust, your ass is going to grow. Thicker, rounder, juicier.”
He began to pound into her, and with each deep, powerful stroke, she felt her ass swell, her thighs thicken, the flesh plumping and rounding out beneath his hands. It was a different kind of growth, a heavy, grounding sensation that made her feel incredibly, primally feminine. She cried out as he filled her, her mind lost in the dual sensations of being fucked and being forcibly, erotically reshaped.
They came together in a final, explosive rush, their bodies collapsing onto the bed in a heap. He lay beside her, admiring his handiwork. Fran’s body was a masterpiece of exaggerated femininity – the huge F-cup breasts, the tiny waist, the colossal, perfectly round bubble butt. She was a living pin-up, a fantasy made flesh.
They lay there, drifting off, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to them. Before they succumbed to sleep, Matt whispered one last command into the darkness. “Revert to your normal Fran body. And tomorrow, we begin.”
He watched as her fantastical curves melted away, leaving the familiar, beloved form of Fran sleeping peacefully beside him. It had been one hell of a day. And tomorrow, the real show would begin.
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