Who actually die?

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“How does it feels, my love?”

“It-it feels good, darling?” I cried as the man I have to call husband now kept pushing his rod inside me, filling me with a nasty pleasure.

How did I end like this?

How could he do this to me?

This is so heartbreaking, so obnoxious, so cruel, and the worst part is that something inside me was enjoying it.

This began one year ago, when I failed to enter college. At that time, I didn’t know what was going to do with my life. My father was disappointed of me. While my mother tried to comfort me, encourage me to keep moving forward, to not give up.

But fate is a cruel ruler.

It was around the end of my first summer as a NEET that it happened.

A fatal accident took place, stealing my mother’s life.

I didn’t cry, but I felt like dying myself. On the other hand, my father cried alone as he claimed that he would get her back. And little did I know what did he have in mind.

I became a total shoot in. Never going out, never contacting anyone outside. I got lost in my grief. I stood in my dark room playing games online and surfing the net anonymously without motivation.

When did it started, I don’t really know, but it is obvious that it was all my father’s plan after all.

Little by little my body began to change, but as I kept ignoring my surroundings and myself, I didn’t notice it until it was too late.

My body changed. At first, it was my skin which became smooth. Next body hair almost disappeared, my facial hair stopped growing, and my hair grew faster and silkier. But those were the changes I ignored the most.

After that I started to lost weight and muscles, though I just attributed it to my lack of proper nutrition and exercise. I even ignored the fact that my waist was becoming slender, while my hips started to expand.

I kept sulking in my bed, observing the screen of my computer with dead eyes. I couldn’t careless.

However, something started to bug me. My chest was aching. Though I accept that I thought that it might be the death calling for me. I even thought one of those days I would end dead in my bed do to a heart attack. But it was not that.

It was already near winter when I noticed the changes in my body.

“I… have boobs…” I gulped when I undressed to take a bath for the first time in who knows how many time.

They ached when I rubbed them, trying to prove that it was just a dream, a hallucination. But it was not.

I faced myself in the mirror and finally recognized the change. It was not just my chest which changed. By that moment, I already have a nice hourglass figure, wide hips, small waist, soft limbs. I was almost a woman. Even my hair changed from a deep dark brown to a more reddish brunet tone. And my face, it was not my face anymore, that was the face of a girl, a girl that resembled that of my mother.

I panicked and ran to my father.

I should have figured out when I saw his little surprised reaction, but I was blind because of the fear to the change.

He calmed me down, he comforted me and then said something I didn’t expect. When I asked if we should go to the hospital, he said that it might not be a good idea. That something like this would attract to much attention over us. That I might end as a research subject in the spot light of the scientific world. That he, the so called genius researcher would solve the problem before anyone else could found out about me.

I trusted him and stood still, waiting for him to find the answer to my transformation. For him to find a cure.

The time passed and spring knocked at out door, and there was no answer despite all the test he made to me.

I was anxious, specially because day by day I kept looking more and more like my late mother. The worst part was that because of my new silhouette I was already un able to wear my own clothes, I have to wear that of my mother’s.

It was driving me nuts to see her face as my face in the mirrors of the house. But I kept waiting. I kept praying for the cure to be found.

The spring ended with not just the failure of finding any answer to my problem, but with the insane fact that my penis started to retract in itself.

I cried, I cried like a baby the day that the last piece of me disappeared inside me turning me into my late mother’s clone.

I was completely lost in my despair.

That night, when I looked for my father’s compassion and support, all I found was the truth in a single line: “You came back to me, my love”.

I fought. I tried to resist. But at the end, he forced me to face the mirror as he kept holding me like a lover.

Since that night, my father kept doing advances over me. He kept touching me and playing with me. He kept repeating that I have always been my mother, that the fact that I could see my self as a woman meant that I was finally accepting that dead of “our son”, “my dead”.

I rejected him, I denied his words, and I kept repeating that I was me.

It was all in vain.

Once I took the courage to leave the house, everyone I met saw me as my mother. Everybody told me that it was good that I could finally leave the house after the tragic dead of “my son”.

I was dizzy. I was going crazy.

Who am I?

Today, reluctantly, I accepted to visit the tomb that should have been that of my mother just to find my name on the stone.

Who actually died then?

I surrender. I stopped fighting back. I was broken inside to the point I didn’t care any more and finally accepted my “father’s love”.

He forced me to suck his thing. He cum over my breast. He got his tongue inside my mouth and his fingers inside me. He did as he pleased while complimenting my beauty, my sex appeal. And at the end, he finally penetrated me while saying: “I love you so much, my love. I would do anything to protect you, to keep you secure by my side. And I ensure you that even our useless son in heaven would feel happy for us connecting again as man and woman as it should be.”

I wanted to cry, to scape, but instead I moaned as I felt him filling me with his cum. I faced my red face at the mirror, observing my nasty condition and just said with everlasting resignation: “I love you too, my dear.”


I hope you have enjoyed this little short story.
See you next time.


  1. A most disturbing beautiful story. It is a horror story, one of betrayal and murder, a life in enslavement to a monster who acted out of love (at least the way he sees it). Short but damn it's nutritious. Great job.


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