Out Of Options, Out Of Line

I glanced down, and I could see the red in her face - happy, slightly embarrassed, and loving it. Last night, we were swapped, and so we'd stayed away from saying anything other than the general 'fuck yes', but right now we were simply us. Free to do as we wanted.

Martin's fingers trailed through her hair as I watched her bring him to hardness with her chest, grunting slightly as Martin started to thrust up into the soft mounds.

'You guys know it's not my birthday yet, right?' he smiled, as Zara pushed her elbows together, capturing his cock in the crevasse of her bosom.

'You're just such a nice man,' I sighed into his ear as Zara played with him, lazy and casually. 'With such a nice cock. I'm lucky to get to fuck it daily. Zara's making up for lost time. Aren't you, Zara?'

She looked up at us, and slid down Martin's legs until his cock was pointing almost straight-up in front of her model-like features. Martin's legs fell open, and Zara happily settled between his thighs, her fingers finding the base of his length and easing him into her mouth. As he moaned, I leant in and kissed him, tongue on tongue, my fingernails tracing his cheek while Zara bobbed below.

'Fucking hell,' he muttered as our kiss broke, and I smiled into his lips.

'Good morning,' I smiled. 'By the way.'

'Good morning,' he smiled back, leaning his forehead against me, eye closed and twitching in response to Zara's expert touch.

'Morning,' she quipped, popping off him for a second, before hilting herself, taking his cock into her throat, her lips pushing into the tuft of manscaped hair he kept there. Martin laughed, then gasped as his cock vanished into his neighbour.

'Shuffle down,' I told them, and a short moment or rearranging took place. Martin was soon flat on his back, with Zara's knees on the floor and her torso between his knees. I straddled over Martin's head, facing Zara and enjoying the view.

'That's it,' I groaned as his tongue slipped against my clit, as I lowered myself down onto him. 'Taste me, baby.'

My hands on his chest bumped against Zara's, and she hooked a finger around one of mine in a moment of strange intimacy. It confused me, to an extent, but I made no fuss. Instead I just squeezed it, and pulled her up. She straddled Martin, and pressed his wet cock into her slick sex, moaning inches from my face as she, too, lowered herself onto him.

Our hands still linked, we slowly rode him as Martin's hands explored our bodies, groping curves and trailing lines. Appreciating each part of us.

When he came, Zara had enough sense to lift off him, quickly shifting away, and I flattened down and took his cum into my mouth - thick and warm and wet. The red, thankful head of his cock throbbed against my tongue until he was spent, and only then did I lift off him. Before I had unseated myself from his face, however, Zara grabbed each side of my head and kissed me, sucking the cum off my tongue and swallowing her share.

'Holy shit,' Martin mumbled when I lifted off him, his face soaked with me. 'That... that was...'

'Breakfast,' Zara said, pulling on her jumper from last night, 'will have to wait - Phoebe said we have somewhere to be?'

I nodded, slightly dazed. 'Oh... yeah... right. Yes.'

Martin stayed on the bed, watching appreciatively as we dressed, before we slipped out the door - a knot in my stomach and a slick mess in my pants.

'That was the best fucking night I've ever had,' Zara whispered to me as we left, passing her flat's door without a second thought to who was inside. 'And definitely the best fucking morning. But I have no idea what we're doing. What's the plan? More of that, I hope?'

I nodded. 'Sort of. I'm going to use my gift to... to embody Sylvia Wellons.'

Zara stopped dead halfway down the stairs. 'Fuck off.'

'And I'm going to ruin Martin with her.'

Zara nodded. 'Can I join?'

I laughed, and went ahead, stopping at the lobby doors. 'Can you drive? If I share with her, I won't be able to drive back.'

She nodded. 'If I can join.'

'FINE, yes,' I said, chipper in a way I'd never managed around Zara before.

'Hell. Yes,' she said, pulling out her car keys and beeping her black Mercedes open. God, I wished my car did that - mine still had a manual lock.

We settled into our seats, the possibly-real leather supple under me, and took to the road in a comfortable silence. After all, the evening before, and this morning, had served to use up both of our energy. I was, in all honesty, wiped.

But, the day had a goal, and I was intent on meeting it.

So, I told Zara the plan, and where to take me, and she did. Through the city, to a small office block I knew was being rented out by a subsidiary of the production company making the film. Once there, from the car park, I took a production worker -

*

- an American guy called Jeremy. Through him, I found out where Sylvia was today - she wasn't on-shoot, as they were focusing on a scene she wasn't in.

Literally couldn't be more perfect.

So, she was in her hotel, which Jeremy didn't know the name of. So, I skipped to his boss, Andrew - also American, who hated the weather. I stumbled through a meeting while sharing with him, before making an excuse and going to his office to look up her hotel and the room number, all of which he had access to.

*

'Carlyle hotel,' I said, snapping back into myself once I had what I needed. 'Royal suite, on the top floor.'

'Right,' Zara said, starting up the engine and pulling off the curb, heading back towards the city. 'Get my phone out, I'll need directions.'

~ 9 ~

With the help of a cleaner named Janice, it was relatively easy to get from the alley behind the Carlyle Hotel up to the penthouse. She had keys for everything, and knew how to avoid other staff and guests.

It was an impressive building - wide, open corridors with that old-style carpeting and decor that stank of 'old money'; at least it wasn't one of those uber-modern places, where everything was glass or white. Those places reminded me of airport hotels - completely absent of any personality, in the hopes of being forgotten in the meld of holiday/business travel.

No, this place was memorable. It was a destination in and of itself, near the river and on high ground, giving the guests on the top few floors what I imagined was a phenomenal view of the city.

And, as Janice and I stepped out of the service lift into the corner of Sylvia's suite, into a little on-site washroom that was accessible to guests but, largely, unused. Janice knew that, while they had the option to clean their own shit, the types who stayed up here tended to prefer just throwing it in the wash hampers and having it taken down stairs, mysteriously washed out-of-sight and returned promptly.

I lifted Janice's small body up onto her toes so I could peer through the window, and there she was. Obscured slightly by the glass, a half-human shape moving on the sofa as she - as she...

What was she doing?

*

I jumped from Janice to the 'shape' - feeling the all-encompassing shift of personality.

Some people, I'd found, felt more 'different' than others. Body shape, personality, age, gender - jumping from one end of a spectrum to the other came with certain adjustments that had to be made, and quickly.

Usually I was jumping from myself into someone, and I had a clear idea of what they looked like before I did so, so it was easy to make those jumps. Going from Zara to Alex, for example, was a little different, but they were both the same age, and fit, and - when I usually did it - in a similar state of arousal.

Jumping from Janice to Sylvia was... more than that. From work-mode, to luxury and boredom. From age-shrunk and joint-strained, to youthful and fit.

When I awoke within her, Sylvia Wellons was lazing in the chaise-longue that rested at the northern corner of this room of the suite. She detested TV, so it was switched off, even though she was facing it; the script was face-down on the table to her left, along with her left heel.

The most immediate change that impacted me, however, was how she was in a seemingly perfect stasis of pleasure. Her slender fingers gripped the back of the furniture, squeezing and relaxing as the tiny pleasures coursed through her celebrity sex.

She let out miniscule moans, tight in her throat, strangled, her right leg up over the side of the chaise-longue, her legs wide open. Her black jumper, oversized and comfortable, would usually have rested below her knees, but was instead hitched up above her hips. Between her slender knees, someone was 'tending' to her, kneeling on that expensive rug, kissing and licking and nibbling in the most perfect way.

I was taken aback by the sudden pleasure, that for a moment I didn't even question it. I just allowed myself to sit in the pleasure alongside her, wondering if this was all celebrities did all day. Rich enough not even to masturbate, but have their assistants - young, pretty things hand-picked for their commitment - masturbate for them. God, what a life.

'Look at me,' Sylvia's signature rasp said, her hand pulling up the assistant's chin above the horizon of her mons.

The assistant was an eighteen-year-old intern, local, called Marnie. She was ginger, and clearly spent a lot of time ensuring she looked that smart-sort-of-fuckable; sensible make-up matched with luscious red locks and a choker around her neck. As she sat back, I was treated to a look at her cleavage - she was much bigger than either me or Sylvia, who was known for being almost flat.

Sylvia had good taste.

But, I could feel her going to say something, and knew I needed to seize my opportunity. So, I took her, pressing the celebrity into the recesses of her own mind. I was careful, softer with her than I was with most. Still, she registered the loss of control, and the growing anxiety that inevitably brought.

'I need to meet a friend, outside.'

'Wh-who? Do you need me there?'

I shook my head. 'It's my business. Personal.'

'But - Ms. Wellons, you said that every part of your life is my bu-'

'I said,' I snapped, making her sit back. 'It's personal. For the record, you did very well, but I'm out of time.'

I sat up, pulling down the jumper so it covered her famous rump, and ruffled out her hair - glossy and brunette, expertly layered and coloured. A mirror caught my - her - reflection, and it was a sight. Sylvia Fucking Wellons, in casual dress, and yet looking as glamorous as ever.

But, it wasn't for me to enjoy. This was Martin's gift, and I had already had a taste. Well, the intern had, anyway.

Heh.

Within a minute, Marnie reappeared, and I realised I'd barely heard her left. Maybe she was an expert at evading my attention, or maybe Sylvia was just so used to ignoring people. Either way, she stood behind me out of the way, and spoke quietly and with intention.

'Staff are ready to escort you through the working lift, so that you needn't see any other guests.'

I nodded. 'Fine,' I said, trying to upkeep the slightly cold demeanour she had naturally. 'Lets go. Get my phone.'

Marnie nodded, and grabbed it from a side table somewhere, putting into my hand as I followed her the way Janice had come in - through that little service area, and into the lift.

In Janice, it had seemed natural, even fitting, to use this as a way to get around. In Sylvia, however, it was... odd. Like I was all of sudden out of place; unfamiliar despite having been here minutes ago.

'This way,' Marnie said, and I noticed a glint on her chin; Sylvia was easily a foot taller than her, like a supermodel standing next to a diminutive little thing. As we stepped into the lift, with no one else around, I put my thumb to the slickness on her face, wiped it off and, keeping eye contact, sucked it into my mouth. Marnie's mouth fell slightly open, and I hoped it was a moment she'd remember for a while. If nothing else, I had given her that.

I winked, and looked away, and we rode the rest of the way down in silence.

I realised, perhaps stupidly, that I hadn't put on any underwear - and that, beneath the thick jumper, Sylvia wasn't wearing a bra. Or anything else, for that matter. In fact, save for the stylish flat shoes, the jumper was my only current piece of clothing.

As the lift doors slid open, into the back-end of the lobby, a gush of cool wind slipped through me, shocking me as I felt it course through Sylvia's still-wet lips. Sensitive and unsatisfied, her body was aching for release. And, while I planned to give her it, it wasn't going to come off the back of a gust of wind.

'This way, Ms. Wellons,' Marnie whispered, and I followed her to the rear exit. The door cracked open, and she followed me out onto the back road, where I expected Zara to be waiting, a unconscious me in the passenger seat, ready to whisk me away for a day of birthday-fucking with Martin.

Only, the car wasn't there.

Zara wasn't there.

The spot on the road, the small layby between the shoe-makers next door and the staff parking behind it, where she agreed to wait, was empty.

However -

'That's my phone,' I said, almost on instinct, as I saw the white-backed device on a bin bag, right where Zara's driver window would have been facing.

'But, I gave you your phone,' Marnie challenged, even as I left her to grab the thing. On it was a missed call from Martin, then a text saying he'd been 'called into work', despite him say he'd take it off.

Then, there was one from Zara.

Z // Alex came, said he'd kill me, injected you and said you wouldn't know

I realised, with a mix of horror and comfort, that Zara had realised I was in trouble, and threw my phone knowing I would need it. The horror, of course, was that I was apparently in trouble.

I focused, deciding that it would be better for me to jump back than to stay here, stuck.

*

Opening my eyes to the same roadm the same bins, the same backside of a hotel, made me feel a little woozy.

'What...' I muttered, trying to clear my head and try again. Not that I'd ever had to try twice before.

*

Again, I opened my eyes to the road, the bins, the hotel.

*

Again.

*

Again.

*

Again.

The same place.

I wasn't going anywhere.

Holding my phone in-hand, I felt the heavy knowledge sit in me. I couldn't get back to my body. I was stuck.

The phone buzzed in my hand, making me jump out of my stupor. It was ringing - and it was Martin.

'Hello?' I asked, answering. 'Martin?'

'No,' came the voice. Female. Confident. 'But he's here.'

I paused, looking over my shoulder at Marnie, who was watching me like I was insane. 'Ava?' I asked, hesitant.

'Your neighbour called me this morning,' she said. 'He told me... everything. Said you and his girlfriend were in his car, so I invited myself along. When we got to you, thankfully you were sharing, so the blocker Martin had been faithfully working on was easy to administer. Wherever you are, you'll be able to jump back in an hour or so. When you can, I recommend you do so. Then we'll talk.'

The line went dead, and I was left in the alley, in a body that wasn't mine, with no way home.

Well. No way home yet.

As might be obvious, to be continued...

A massive thank you to:

Obi

Marnie_RSF