Body Shifters: The Hitch-Hiker

((Special thanks to J Swafford for creating the Body-Shifters premise. This is a self-contained story, but it might help to read J Swafford's Body-Shifters first.))

please direct hate mail to the address in my profile.

*

It was difficult to say which of them was more foolish. The hitch-hiker or the guy who picks her up? These days, either or both could be modern-day highwaymen looking for an easy mark. But it was my groin that decided for me. She was there in my headlights, all sleek and slick from the pounding rain, the sheer white smock she wore seemed far more appropriate for a wet-T shirt contest than a lonely night on I-55 smack dab in the middle of Mother Earth's pissing match against the slickening asphalt.

She must have known that such flimsy rags couldn't hold up amidst such wind and rain, why wear them? It looked like a nightshirt almost, but clingy in a way that riveted attention to her jutting breasts.

"Where 'ya headed?" I asked. Doing my thirty-nine year-old divorcee best to sound sexy - yet not scary as I hoped my comb-over wasn't too conspicuous.

"Wherever you are, sexy." She purred, not seeming at all distressed. I was somewhat taken aback. Shouldn't she be cold, shivering, eager to get out of the rain. Rather than shaking, clutching or rubbing her hands to keep warm, she seemed mainly to thrust dripping wet chest out towards me.

"Ehrr...I'm headed to St. Louis..."

"Sounds great!" She smiled with ebullient energy.

*********

If mystery woman appreciated the fact that the heat in my economy sedan was turned up all the way, then she didn't seem to show it. She also didn't seem to appreciate the fact that her sopping wet negligee - see-through night-shirt should had dried out half-an-hour ago. She writhed in her seat, making moon-eyes at me and flaunting her cereal-bowl boobs (still dripping wet) in my general vicinity.

"S-so...uh...what do I call you?"

"Stacey..." she answered throatily, her hand gracing my inner thigh.

"Y-yeah... if you don't mind my saying so - you seem to be...a little bit...forward..."

"I know, that's 'cause I'm hoping that once you get me back to your place that you'll spend the whole night fucking me." She declared honestly.

*GULP*

Other than my increasingly hard cock, one thing odd that I noticed was the way that 'Stacey' seemed determined to tidy up the passenger seat. Straw wrappers and plastic bags she would neartly fold and compress out of sight when she wasn't jiggling herself at me. Her amber hair framed a face that was a saucy mix of sultry and petite that was too erotic to be innocent, but with a demure softness that off-set the nervousness some men might feel from approaching such an ultra-babe. Sometimes, night driving like this, it's easy to nod off - highway hypnosis they call it. But here, this was more like highway titnosis - I was actually so distracted by Stacey's groaning, moaning, and fondling of her own body that I swerved a few times - to which she giggled.

"Ok...Stacey, what's your story."

"I'm looking for a man."

"Any guy in particular, friend...brother?"

"Oh no, nothing like that - I need a man who craves sex."

*GULP*

The truth hit me like a bolt from the blue - or black and rainy, in this case. "Huh..... well, you're a long ways off the beaten path for a ...erh....working girl."

"Yes, I had no place to go - but I will work very hard....very, very hard." again came those soft hands dangerously close to my crotch. I wasn't sure we were speaking the same language.

"N-no ....no...I shouldn't get involved... I'm not paying you anything... I'll just...find a nice looking motel to drop you off at." She was visibly crestfallen - and still wet - in more ways than one.

"Ahh...c'mon please...just gimme one load! Just one load! Just give me a chance!" Her body seemed to flow towards me - and my pants were unzipped more deftly than I'd thought possible, by hands with considerable experience. It was totally unreal - this chick was a total hottie, with her figure, I would have thought maybe Olympic swim-team, so sleek and toned, but with breasts like that - no, she was too busty for anything that athletic, angelic face and hair like a cinnamon river - couldn't have been over thirty - and here she was, her face pistoning on my lap - her ruby-perfect lips licking and sucking my manmeat. The unsought blow-job was surreal - yes, her tongue teased and tormented my member with an incredible, slippery enthusiasm - yet there were also times when her mouth seemed to close around me like a vice - a wet prison of womanly pleasure almost like...like a pussy? Wait a 'sec, it sounded like this girl was asking for payment in...what my cum?

"Ohh...oh man...I..I never." Tires screeched - she wasn't helping my concentration. But when she moaned, and started blowing air on my cock to add stimulation, well then It just....didn't seem to matter. Psycho-nympho from an insane asylum - or hooker on a bad luck streak - I was taking this chick home with me.

**********

There were more things that didn't seem to make sense - if I took time to think about it - which I didn't. She didn't seem to mind the old papers and disarray of the furniture in my cramped bachelor's pad - I was worried that a lot of chicks would get turned off by a lot of disorder - but her only concern was what was in my pants. It was unreal - she practically lead me through the door by my cock! Hand down my pants she pulled me while I tried to point to the direction of my bedroom. For a babe so hot - so eager - well sure, I would have shelled out a couple hundred bucks for the experience. But it wasn't like that; this chick had some kind of pressing, physical need - like...like she had to get my dick in her for relief! Well, whatever the story - that's what she was getting! Strange, when I tore at her flimsy, soaked nightshirt, it seemed to flow away from me. And as I pressed myself against the tight curves and moist silkiness of her aroused, feminine perfection, her clothes seemed to...vanish? If there wasn't another pressing concern, it would have bothered me the way her garments just melted away somewhere. But she was naked now, and I savored her spectacular, jiggling-rippling titflesh, the softness of her neck - the toned sleekness of her thighs. I wasn't even paying attention to whether we had landed on my bed - or collapsed in passion on the floor. Probably a lot of both. And when I finally released - when finally I blew my load into a cunt more eager, more grasping than I had dreamed possible - she seemed even more relieved than me.

***********

And man was I late! I had to rush out the door hopping as I tried to get my pants on for another day of Insurance Claim adjustments, with no time to check on my erstwhile lover. She might have been in the bathroom, couldn't check up on her - no time! Well...could be some kind of grifter or thief - did I dare leave her alone in my house? Ehh...hardly anything worth stealing anyway....

And hours later, I certainly expected her to be gone when I got home from work. The unbelievable night before had practically been erased from my mind - and it was easier to convince myself that the whole impossible episode had been just a wet dream. Nothing could have prepared me for the unlikely sight that greeted me upon trudging in through the door after another day's semi-honest work: The place was spotless! All the bills, envelopes, discarded paper was gone! Someone had swept the floor, reorganized the furniture, and there was a steaming-hot steak dinner on the table! The apparent culprit, Stacey stood smiling eagerly, expectantly with her hands behind her back, wearing a black and white french-maid's outfit with an unusually low-cut skirt.

"W-wow.... you did all this while I was at work?"

Her head bobbed in agreement. "I hope you like the way I arranged the furniture; I'm going for something of a Feng Shui effect."

"I don't know what to say....you didn't have to do that...I just thought you'd gather your things and leave."

"Well....I was hoping that if I stayed and tidied up, you'd be grateful and fuck me again. "

"I uhh...no, no...I've got to budget carefully on my salary - there's just... you what? You cleaned my place so you could have more sex with me?" She nodded, smiling with her pearly whites.

"And if you don't mind my saying so, the place certainly needs a woman's touch."

My next words died on my lips as what she was saying seemed to hit me. Women that do chores and clean houses in exchange for sex just didn't compute. As my brain struggled to process this insanity, I began arguing without really thinking about what I was saying.

"I can't afford to pay a Housekeeper right now." She raised her eyebrow in puzzlement.

"Sure you can pay me! I know from personal experience that you've got sperm!"

"And...you mean to say my...sperm can be used as payment?" The gleam that lit in her blue eyes was almost desperate.

"Of course! Just gimme a week - I'll cook and clean and organize in exchange for your hard cock and your delicious sperm!"

"I don't...." I wasn't sure if I meant to say that I don't believe her or don't believe in my own sanity after hearing such a proposal.

"Just one week, Master." she pleaded.

"Excuse me - Master? And...and...where did you get that frilly little french maid outfit?" Stacey shrugged.

"It seemed appropriate." was her non-answer. "I promise, you won't regret it! One week!" Still fearing some voyeristic version of candid camera I felt a great deal of suspicion - yet what could I do but nod in mute agreement?

"Oh! But where are my manners; you must be hungry!" she beckoned towards the steaming hot steak-dinner on the table, complete with place-settings and red wine. I hesitated uneasily for several interminable moments before I sat down. This behavior was so surreal, I was caught so offguard that I moved in sort of a hopeful haze as if afraid it might all be a wonderful dream.

"Mmph! You're an...excellent...cook..." I muttered between mouthfuls. She beamed, as if she lived for the praise of others. But it was unlike any meal in recent memory - the chef seemed determined to seduce me during the course of the meal. She moaned in the seat next to me, her hands caressing her own chest. Her french maid outfit didn't have any visible buttons, yet somehow it seemed to part in the middle to allow me glimpses of cleavage and - I could swear her boobs where bigger - great bulging slopes that could easily contain a canteen's worth of liquid volume. She leaned back, and I knew what was coming - footsie. Her left foot slid into my chair to graze my crotch, quickly teasing me into growing hardness but...but...something was wrong, her foot seemed to become...unusually agile, and I could feel her unzipping me! I nearly choked on my steak. I could feel her grabbing through my underwear and then - then my cock! It felt just as it did yesterday when she had wrapped her hand around my aching penis. But - it was her foot! It was as if....as if she had a demure, delicate hand on her foot! And I could see that she was sticking her leg out towards me under the table. That was the last straw.

"Mmmmhhhhh....don't know...what kind of crazy game you're playing lady....but if you wanna get screwed - you got it." I was beyond restraint. I leapt up, cock dangling and grabbed her thighs right there. Where some women would have been frightened, she only cooed with delight as I bent her over my kitchen table and positioned my rod before a gaping, sopping pussy. Somehow, her skirt had disappeared - and she wore no panties. I grasped at a bulging tit - and found nothing between me and her bare skin. Gurgling with delight, I thrust my rigid meat into her naked slit from behind. I knew this was wrong - she was wrong - but I'd decided to stop asking myself questions. I closed my eyes with the pleasure, and when I opened them the entire Maid's outfit was gone, as if it had never been, just sleek and toned nude womanly flesh. As suspicious as it was, I was afraid that if I sought an answer, it might interfere - I might find some reason why I couldn't empty my cock into her - and that was what mattered now. She was twisting and writhing with boneless grace and flexibility - contorting herself until - "AHHHH!!" she had bent downwards into a circle - and licked me. A sinuous tongue licked my exposed cock and balls while I reamed her from behind, her body forming a perverse circle. I surrendered fully - strange that I seemed so much more virile than normal - I had yet another full load of jizz - and she was getting it all. Pumping again, and again into her spasming feminine core. My seed was practically wrenched from me. And again. And again.

**********

I barely heard the stern, predictable lecture from Mr. Tightass, my thoroughly depressing superior in the company. (Not his real name, but it might as well have been.) I shambled to my dingy cubicle for another thrilling day of figuring out loopholes the company could use to prevent having to pay back on our policies. I was late, unusually so - and it had been worth it. The girl was on fire! I couldn't hope to analyze anything that had happened, my mind couldn't grasp the how and why of my good fortune, though the cause of my exhaustion was easy enough to figure out. My cell phone throbbed in my pocket.

It was the Ex....a low grumble escaped my throat.

"Hey - Jake's taking me to the Bahamas this weekend, and Kailey says hi - good luck in Court...heh!" Bitch. The wrenching proceedings of divorce court and divvying up who gets what was almost worth a bullet to the head to avoid...almost. And the Ex was flaunting her 'irreconcilable differences' at me, differences named 'Jake', a rich urologist from Kansas City. She was always like that; trying to flaunt her new Dr. Boyfriend as if to prove that she didn't need me - rubbing it in my face. But then - maybe I didn't need her; maybe I had something to rub in her face....

Home at last - spic and span and terribly conspicuous. She cleans my house in exchange for sex? Don't question....don't doubt...ask too many questions and I might lose the chance! So Stacey wanted one week to prove herself. Prove what? That she's some kind of slut? She proved it; over and over. On the living room couch, the kitchen table, bent over the kitchen sink. It was the fastest, most desperate week of my life. We mated with a mission. She seemed determined for my cum! And I'd always heard that men cum before women, and that the female orgasm is supposed to be harder to reach but this chick... it's like the touch of my sperm was enough to set her off into back-scratching, pussy-clencing climax!

And she was tall, well over six feet and...no, no she wasn't. I was sure she'd been about five-seven when I'd picked her up...but towards Thursday, she was looking like a draft-pick for the WNBA. Taller chicks usually don't dig anybody of lesser stature - but if anything her manic hunger for my cock and sperm only grew! As Stacey grew taller, most toned and strong, there seemed a subtle attitude shift - before she would posture her naked sex and wait to be penetrated, but once she blossomed into a taller-than-me uber babe, she seemed to take the initiative - grabbing me by the hands, or the cock and wrapping her limber body around me - she still cooked and cleaned, but in sex many times she would become the aggressor.

But I found myself wanting more; I had to let someone else know what I had... What did I have? Was she my girlfriend? Close enough. I had to take this sweet thing for a night on the town! She agreed; (she seemed unable to deny me anything!) She stood, and her perpetual nudity vanished - a red spaghetti-strap sequined cocktail dress seemed to flow outwards from her skin complete with ruby-red stilleto heels.

"I...I've seen you...do that but...how? What - what are you?" I couldn't avoid asking. Stacey smiled sharkishly.

"Is there any answer I could give that would make you stop wanting to have sex with me?" Hmm....she has a horrible venereal disease? Well, if so I've got it too by now. Anything else that would make me go soft for Stacey?

"Not really."

"Alrighty then."

**********

Yes, of course I went past all the boutiques and shops that the Ex used to visit, I knew her friends would gossip. (Though clothes shopping seemed pointless) Took in a movie; (Brave One with Jodie Foster) Stacey seemed not to really react strongly to any of the big-city sights; she just absorbed and studied everything with pure, perfect curiosity. Soaking it all in.

We almost made it through dinner. It was one of those classy bistros with a frenchy name, and I reveled in the stares. This sumptuous goddess with me! ME! But I could tell Stacey was growing increasingly restless. She shifted in her seat and....and no, no her boobs weren't getting bigger were they? I must have had too much champagne; no woman can just inflate her tits three whole inches in girth in just ten seconds! Valleys...acres of cleavage. She did the footsie trick again - without taking her shoes off. Even though I knew it was her leg she was pushing into my lap - it seemed to become a slim, dainty hand that began to jack me off!

Stacey took her wine glass in hand, ran her fingers down the shaft, then balanced it between the vast slopes of her tightly bound cleavage.

"I wish this was your cock..." she declared honestly. Then she spilled the champagne down, down the front of her dress. The fabric (or whatever it was) clung to her flesh, perfectly outlining each erect nipple. The beverage stain spread out in her groin - a wet, suggestive stain at her crotch. "I wish this was your cum."

"Check please!"

*********

Enough was enough...I told myself as I stumbled back home, back up the steps after an exhausting days' work totally distracted by my domestic situation. I had to get Stacey to tell me what she was. Where did she come from, why did she have these...abilities? I tolerated the weirdness for fear that I might lose the sex, but I still needed answers. If nothing else, I needed to know that I wasn't completely insane.

But the house, if anything was even cleaner, more orderly than usual - Stacey had been busy! A succulent meal wih three plates of barbecued beef ribs with buttered mashed potatoes had been prepared, and I could smell that the spices were just the blend I preferred. The T.V. was on to my favorite channel, and it was almost time for my favorite show - Law & Order, Special Victims Unit. The newspaper had been half-folded on the armrest of my recliner to the political cartoons, just like I liked. Never, ever did the Wife go to so much trouble as this crazy nymphomaniacal hitch-hiker with the magic powers. And I...wait a sec....three place settings? Was Stacey expecting company?

"MASTER'S HOME!" Spoke two girlish voices in unison. Bounding out from around the corner came two teenage girls dressed in those frilly french-maid outfits with the scandalously short skirt. They were pale, with thin and elegant faces and night-black hair, they seemed to be Eastern European in heritage. Yet they were in my house, seemed to have cooked me dinner, and called me 'Master'.

"I'm sorry...what the hell is all this?" The girls snickered.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't remember?" Both girls spoke in perfect unison, and the french-maid suits flowed and morphed before my eyes into a white, filmy nightshirt, seemingly soaked through with water - the curves of their sleek bodies plastered vividly. Then, their bodies - and faces changed! Flowing and shifting, they assumed a slightly taller stature and amber-brown hair - each becoming identical to Stacey! It was surreal, like a revolving mirror of the past as they walked a circle around me, smiling broadly.

"I'm Tracey," said the clone in front of me.