sslovoe
Well-Known Member
- May 11, 2017
- 1,328
- 5,094
Enlight432
Active Member
- Jan 4, 2024
- 786
- 1,476
Eager for this game to be released and to test/play it. I have a good feeling about it. Good luck!
sslovoe
Well-Known Member
- May 11, 2017
- 1,328
- 5,094
make new part story
pool event family
family enjoy time in pool
daughter boyfriend enjoy time and look to his gf mother
two side path
good wife normal swin suit / sexy bikni... couraption wife listen to therapy to act like women and enjoy life
father and daughter time / two path enjoy time with doughtier incest path
watch wife spy what happen with her and his daughter boyfirnd ( angery / cuck path )
pool event family
family enjoy time in pool
daughter boyfriend enjoy time and look to his gf mother
two side path
good wife normal swin suit / sexy bikni... couraption wife listen to therapy to act like women and enjoy life
father and daughter time / two path enjoy time with doughtier incest path
watch wife spy what happen with her and his daughter boyfirnd ( angery / cuck path )
sslovoe
Well-Known Member
- May 11, 2017
- 1,328
- 5,094
this part take long time with wife and daughter boyfriend
its fun and make lot idea create
wife be good
or bad wife
i start with meeting
and pool side story
now create spy bf to her
i think make two part
good wife / bad wife
is she be arouse with her daughter boyfriend sexually
then have other idea with spend night with family maybe think something make more sexually
the spy part take long render still more make i make 3 file so i not lost in making part to separate story with good / bad wife
just have fun build story and creat 3d art and chose art cloth room environment
its fun and make lot idea create
wife be good
or bad wife
i start with meeting
and pool side story
now create spy bf to her
i think make two part
good wife / bad wife
is she be arouse with her daughter boyfriend sexually
then have other idea with spend night with family maybe think something make more sexually
the spy part take long render still more make i make 3 file so i not lost in making part to separate story with good / bad wife
just have fun build story and creat 3d art and chose art cloth room environment
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sslovoe
Well-Known Member
- May 11, 2017
- 1,328
- 5,094
i spend month to creat this part of story
all image i make is worst than other
but its all test for me to learn
i Chang light colored render quality water skin
i plan make demo part not be from main story will be side story than my idea of how game want goes
this part be with relation with wife and bf daughter
spend long time render and still want make more to finish this part and look how make programing and coding to create VN game maker
i know its not be perfect for first time i learn daz studio everyday learn something
i try mange file to have good wife image than couraption wife.... so make two file for every chang on story
all image i make is worst than other
but its all test for me to learn
i Chang light colored render quality water skin
i plan make demo part not be from main story will be side story than my idea of how game want goes
this part be with relation with wife and bf daughter
spend long time render and still want make more to finish this part and look how make programing and coding to create VN game maker
i know its not be perfect for first time i learn daz studio everyday learn something
i try mange file to have good wife image than couraption wife.... so make two file for every chang on story
Last edited:
sslovoe
Well-Known Member
- May 11, 2017
- 1,328
- 5,094
make Chang in time line of story
and make all pic in dark then i make other render with light on
to not repeat or fix all render Chang make switch light add to make seance of different light
and make all pic in dark then i make other render with light on
to not repeat or fix all render Chang make switch light add to make seance of different light
sslovoe
Well-Known Member
- May 11, 2017
- 1,328
- 5,094
making last part of meeting bf daughter
i make random part of story but not from beginning its random story i make trip vacation be longest part make only 10 % / therapy meting 20 % / wife meet son friend 10 %
so i have no plan finish anything just jump from part to part
i see if finish meeting meeting bf i was think if make demo teas ,,,
after finish all render of meeting bf will think how creat VN game demo
i make random part of story but not from beginning its random story i make trip vacation be longest part make only 10 % / therapy meting 20 % / wife meet son friend 10 %
so i have no plan finish anything just jump from part to part
i see if finish meeting meeting bf i was think if make demo teas ,,,
after finish all render of meeting bf will think how creat VN game demo
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The Great Transformation
Part 1
Tara was born into a world that blended opulence with high expectations. This world wasn’t merely an oasis of luxury—it was a sanctuary of confidence, a place where self-worth was cultivated from the very beginning. Her mother, a talented psychologist with an stunning beauty, could easily have been mistaken for a supermodel or a movie star. With every step she took, heads turned, and her presence effortlessly commanded attention. Tara's father, a distinguished and successful lawyer, was equally captivating—not just for his professional acclaim, but also for the magnetic charm that radiated from him. Together, they formed a power couple, their allure undeniable and their influence far-reaching. Their financial standing was impeccable, their lifestyle the epitome of success.
Talented, fiercely intelligent, and free-spirited, Tara grew up believing that excellence was a birthright. She attended only the most prestigious schools, her education shaped by some of the brightest minds. For her, success was not a goal, but an inevitable byproduct of her natural rhythm in life. It was something that came with ease, as intrinsic to her as breathing. But there was another reason behind his effortless achievement of everything.
Tara's breathtaking beauty; it was devastating. Wherever she went, attention followed—unstoppable, like a tide that swept everything in its path. She didn’t simply walk into rooms, she dominated them with her presence. No one could remain indifferent to the aura emanating from her. Some claimed they could feel her even before she appeared—like an invisible force that reshaped the very atmosphere. At every school she attended, she was the one everyone looked to—the unchallenged captain of the cheer squad, the reigning queen of every dance, the center of every gaze. Her popularity wasn’t just a status; it was an empire built on beauty, charisma, and an undeniable presence. Among her peers, she was more than just a name; she was a legend and it was a privilege to be in her orbit.
The symmetry of her features was so perfect that it almost seemed unreal. Her eyebrows arched, lashes impossibly long, casting shadows on her porcelain skin, and full lips that parted just enough to make each breath feel like an delight. Her deep blue eyes didn’t merely observe—they scanned, disarmed, consumed. Men who met her challenging gaze found themselves undone, forgetting reason, morality, and loyalty. Her golden hair, long, wavy, and voluminous, cascading like a waterfall, catching the light, making it impossible to look away.
Her body... It was incredible. At 5'9", her figure wasn’t just attractive—it was crafted to torment. Her fit body, shaped by strict yoga and gym discipline, was a perfect balance of muscle and elegance. Her legs were long and sculpted, her belly were flat and tight. But it was the curve of her hips and the fullness of her breasts that drove men to madness. Those curves—impossible, unyielding—were not just seen, but felt. Her ass... just wow. Perfectly round and full, any item of clothing she wore simply highlighted it, clinging to the firm, perky, well-formed cheeks, while giving a hint of the delightful crevasse in between. Her each stride a visual promise, a silent invitation.
The fact that she had massive, perky double D-cup breasts was just... She was perfect, and they were perfect. They were real and they were jaw-droppingly firm and perky. They vaulted off her fit frame in almost cartoonish fashion, with zero sag. They were so massive and so firm that they rode close together, forming a natural cleft of eye-popping cleavage, while the outer sides of them remained visible from behind her. There was no way to hide them no matter what she wore.
She was aware of the impact her own existence had on her environment. This situation amused her from time to time. Especially seeing how men get themselves into stupid situations trying to impress her. Even the most confident ones often stuttered in her presence and had difficulty finding the right words. She wore her beauty not as an ornament but as an extension of her will. Each movement she made was deliberate, as if she was orchestrating her own reality. Her hips swayed with a calculated ease only a goddess could achieve, every step an undeniable assertion of power, every glance a silent command. She didn’t need to seduce; she simply existed, and the world bent silently, obediently, around her.
Tara, now 22 years old, could have chosen any path she desired—a supermodel, an actress, or anything her heart dreamed of. The world was at her feet, ready to yield to her every command. But despite the endless options before her, she was unwavering. With the same cold precision that defined her every move, she chose to follow in her father’s footsteps. Law wasn’t just a career for her; it was a challenge—one that would demand as much power, control, and intellect as she could give. So, she enrolled in law school, determined to carve her own path, not as a beauty or a legend, but as a force to be reckoned with in a world that demanded more from her.
It was during her second year at university that she met the love of her life—Mike. At that time, he was pursuing his master’s degree. He, 26, was an very handsome, charismatic and wealthy young man, but this was because of family money. His father owned a lucrative manufacturing and distribution company. The future had already been written for him—Mike was destined to inherit and lead the family business, his every move carefully orchestrated to prepare him for that inevitable fate.
Their connection was instant—magnetic, undeniable, as if the universe itself was trying to bring them together. From the moment they met, something shifted in the air around them, an invisible current pulling them toward each other. Falling in love was effortless, as natural as breathing. Soon, they became the kind of couple others both admired and envied, the epitome of perfection that others only dreamed of. As the days passed, their love only deepened—more intense, more certain, like a fire that refused to be extinguished.
Just before Mike’s graduation, he proposed. In that moment, Tara felt as though she were living in a dream—a dream made entirely of joy, where every waking moment felt like a perfect reflection of the future she had always envisioned for herself. There, in his eyes, she saw the promise of forever—a life built on a love that had already stood the test of time in the span of their months together.
************** ****************** *********************
For Tara, life had been nothing short of perfect from the day she was born—until it all came crashing down. Just months after Mike’s proposal, a scandal erupted that shattered the flawless world she had always known. Her father, the man she had admired and trusted above all others, had been having an affair with a young intern at his law firm—a girl barely older than Tara herself. The image of her family, once a beacon of strength and unity, disintegrated before her eyes.
The couple she had always viewed as the embodiment of love and loyalty—her parents—had turned into bitter strangers. Their arguments, raw and venomous, echoed through the house, tearing apart the quiet dignity they had once shared. The man who had been her rock, her moral compass, became a shadow of himself—unrecognizable. He was no longer the man who had built their world; he was a liar, a betrayer. She was filled with anger.
She felt the very foundation of her world tremble, the ground beneath her split open. The unshakable security her parents had always provided, the unwavering certainty that had been the bedrock of her existence, was gone. It left behind only an anger, a hollow feeling that nothing could seem to fill. The values she had once embraced so wholeheartedly—family, love, trust—now felt like empty promises, words drained of their meaning, their substance, their weight. It dawned on her that her entire life had been built on a polished illusion—a perfect family portrait, carefully crafted, meticulously displayed, but a deep fake beneath the surface.
Tara began to question everything: had she truly become the woman she was by choice, or had she been shaped, molded by the expectations of those around her? Had her path, her success, her confidence all been products of her own making—or had she simply been living out a script written by others? For the first time in her life, everything she had believed in—her identity, her path, her purpose—felt like an empty vessel, something imposed upon her, not something she had chosen for herself.
And in that moment, Tara felt adrift, untethered, a ship lost at sea in a vast and uncertain world where nothing felt solid, nothing felt secure. She was wondering who she truly was, and who she was meant to become.
**************** *************** *****************
Mike’s situation added yet another layer of chaos to Tara’s already unraveling life. He had finally graduated and was poised to step into his role as heir to his family's business.. But his father, a man whose expectations were as rigid as they were unyielding, had other plans. Instead of passing the reins of the family business, he demanded that Mike start at the bottom—learning the ins and outs of the business from the factory floor to the boardroom, a process that could take years.
As part of this grueling initiation, Mike was sent to manage one of the company’s remote manufacturing plants in the gray-skied town of Brackmoore, a place that felt as cold and distant as the decision itself. He was expected to remain there for an entire year. The decision wasn’t up for discussion. It was tradition—a tradition as old and inflexible as the family business itself, passed down from father to son like scripture, with no room for rebellion.
Anxious and uncertain, Mike finally explained the situation to Tara, his voice faltering, afraid his stunning fiancée might refuse to follow him into the unknown. Tara’s reaction was immediate—a sharp stab of disappointment that lodged itself deep in her chest. The weight of the news hit her harder than she expected. This unexpected twist had torn apart the future she had so carefully planned. She had always been focused, driven, ready to complete her studies and forge a life of her own, on her own terms. She was one year away from graduating. But now, she stood at a crossroads: follow Mike to Brackmoore, abandoning her ambitions for the sake of their relationship, or stay behind and risk growing apart. The thought of abandoning her path, of putting her dreams on hold for someone else, felt like a betrayal—not just of him, but of herself, her potential, and everything she had worked so hard to build. Yet, the idea of losing Mike, of letting go of the man she loved, was equally unbearable.
Tara replayed the scenario in her mind a thousand times, turning it over, analyzing every angle, trying to find a way to make sense of the impossibility of her situation. Her mind told her to stay and pursue her own future, but her heart, raw and yearning, whispered for her to follow him, to be with him.
After days of wrestling with doubt, Tara made the hardest decision of her life: she would leave behind everything that was familiar, everything she had ever known, and follow the man she loved into the unknown. The fact that this was a temporary process made it easier for her to decide. After all, they would return after a year and continue their glorious lives. Also her family’s collapse had left her feeling unmoored, like a stranger in her own life. Maybe she thought, a change of place, a change of scenery, could help rebuild what had been broken inside her. She didn’t know what lay ahead but somewhere deep within, a voice whispered that this journey could be useful for rediscovering herself and establishing her identity.
***************** ************** ********************
After a relentless, exhausting journey, the couple finally arrived in Brackmoore. As their car slowly meandered through the sun-bleached streets, Tara felt a suffocating weight of disappointment press heavily on her chest. She hadn’t expected paradise, but this place was worse than anything her lowest expectation had envisioned. The air was stagnant, heavy, as though even the town itself were holding its breath, waiting for something that would never come. The faded storefronts, their windows lifeless, lined the main road, with signs barely legible—a whisper from a forgotten past. It was as if time had stopped here.
Mike, too, felt the knot in his stomach tighten as he took in the grim surroundings. He could feel the silence radiating from Tara beside him, and when their eyes met, the truth was undeniable—disappointment, discomfort, and disillusionment reflected back at him. He hated this. He hated bringing her to a place that already felt like failure. But he forced a calm smile, clinging to the hope that somehow, things would improve—that Tara would find something to hold on to here.
Finally, they reached their new home. For the first time since arriving in Brackmoore, Tara felt a flicker of relief. The house was an old, two-story structure, with a faded elegance that seemed to stand as a defiant symbol against the desolation surrounding it. In the backyard, a modest pool shimmered beneath the late afternoon sun, its still surface catching the light like a forgotten treasure. It was something familiar, something real—a small piece of luxury tying her to the life she had left behind. But even this fleeting comfort didn’t last.
Tara couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that she didn’t belong—not in this house, not in this town. Everything about it felt alien, detached from the future she had once imagined with Mike, from the dreams that now seemed impossibly distant. The silence within it was deafening, louder than any words. This was not the life she had prepared for—it was something else entirely. A single, faint echo of beauty—a reminder of the luxury she once knew—wasn’t enough to soothe the unease gnawing at her.
***************** *************** ****************
The day after their move, Mike plunged himself into his new role. When he returned home that evening, it was late, and his energy had been completely drained. At first, Tara chalked up his exhaustion to the demands of his first day, but it didn’t take long for her to realize how wrong she was. Each day, Mike returned later, his fatigue so palpable it seemed to cling to him, the heavy thud of his steps, the distant look in his eyes. He was consumed by the crushing weight of his family's expectations, giving everything he had to earn his father’s approval, yet no matter how much he sacrificed, it was never enough.
Even on weekends, Mike vanished into the unforgiving pull of his responsibilities, leaving Tara alone to face the expanding emptiness that consumed her. The loneliness seeped into her like the biting silence of Brackmoore, a chill that settled into her bones, growing colder with each passing day.
She threw herself into trying to create warmth, desperately attempting to transform their house into something resembling a home. But no matter how many times she rearranged the furniture, no matter how many delicate touches of beauty she added, the house never felt like anything more than four walls. The oppressive air of Brackmoore had seeped into every corner, every room, suffocating everything in its indifferent grasp. No matter how much effort she put in, no matter how sincere the intention, the discomfort of the place clung to her, weaving itself into the very fabric of their lives.
********* ************ **********
Almost a month had passed since their move, and Tara had yet to make a single friend. The townspeople, like the town itself, were dull, sulky types. The neighbors were cold and distant. They had only ever seen someone of her beauty and class on TV or magazine covers before. They had no experience in how to communicate with someone like her. All they could do was admire and scrutinize her. Tara had always been aware of her effect on people. But this was something else. It was different from the elite social circles and their standards that she was used to. The curious gazes of these people made her feel like an object.
Tara’s days became an endless blur of monotony. Every morning, she would wake and stare out the window, her gaze lost in the vast, empty landscape stretching endlessly before her. It felt more like a prison than an open world—a silent, desolate expanse frozen in time. There was no hurry, no noise, no life. Everything outside seemed to be suspended, frozen in place, waiting for something, anything, to shift, but nothing ever did.
The only moments Tara found any relief were during her workouts and yoga sessions, when she could force her body to move, to feel something—anything—other than the creeping emptiness that threatened to consume her. But even in those fleeting moments of physical exertion, her mind was a storm, restless and chaotic, spinning in a relentless whirlwind of thoughts. Afterward, she would dive into the cool pool, its water offering a brief escape from the suffocating heat of the day and the ever-present swirl of her thoughts. The contrast of the cold water against her heated skin was soothing—momentarily—but it couldn’t calm the storm inside her. The emptiness remained, lurking just beneath the surface, like a shadow that refused to leave. The calm was fleeting, a thin veneer over a void that nothing could fill. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t outrun the deep, nagging dissatisfaction gnawing at her soul.
*********** ********** ************* ************
Tara knew she couldn’t remain trapped in the suffocating cycle she had found herself in. It wasn’t leading anywhere, and she could no longer pretend she was content. The life she was living felt hollow, drained of purpose, and she was desperate for change. There had to be something she could do for herself, something that could reignite the fire she once had.
Determined, she began to research local law firms online, hoping to find a way to bring meaning back into her life. It might do her good to do something for her career. However, when she found only a handful of law offices in town, disappointment crashed into her like a cold wave. The options were scarce, but there was one that stood out: Jones Law Firm. The fact that the owner was a woman felt like a small yet empowering connection to her own aspirations, a lifeline in a town that seemed to stifle her spirit.
That evening, she waited for Mike to come home. As usual, he returned late, drained from the weight of his day. She told him about her decision to intern at a law firm, hoping it would make her time here more purposeful. She needed something that was hers—something she could control, something to feel like she was moving forward. But Mike’s reaction hit her like a slap. He didn’t say it outright, but his silence, his coldness, spoke volumes. He didn’t want her to work. They didn’t need the money, and he believed she should stay home, be the perfect fiancée he had envisioned.
For Tara, it wasn’t about the money. It was about holding on to a piece of herself, about maintaining her independence, about having the power to make her own decisions. Mike’s selfishness, his complete disregard for her needs, ignited a searing anger inside her. For the first time, she found herself questioning everything about their relationship—wondering if she had been living in a dream, one that wasn’t hers at all. That night, their argument erupted like a violent storm. The disagreement grew so fierce that, in the end, Mike ended up sleeping on the couch in the living room.
The following days felt unbearable. The weight of the constant, suffocating routine pressed down on her. Each passing moment felt heavier, like she was sinking deeper into quicksand, stuck in a life she hadn’t chosen. The sense of helplessness was overwhelming, and the emptiness gnawed at her like a constant ache in her chest. She could return to the city, to her elite environment where she belonged, and leave Mike and this damned town behind as a memory she wouldn't recall. However, this would be an escape, a giving up. For Tara, failure was not an acceptable option.
One morning, Tara woke up with a sudden, overpowering urge to act. She couldn’t wait any longer. She couldn’t let herself drown in this miserable town, in this miserable life. She had to break free. Without a second thought, she grabbed her phone and dialed the number for Jones Law Firm. The decision felt like a jolt—a freeing break from the relentless pressure that had been suffocating her. It was like a fog lifting, the first breath of fresh air she had taken in months. As she hung up the phone after scheduling the appointment, something inside her stirred—an ember of excitement, a flicker of hope. For the first time since arriving in Brackmoore, she felt alive. It was the exhilaration of doing something entirely for herself. It was the sensation of taking control again, of no longer being tethered to a life that didn’t belong to her.
************ ************* **************
As the pale light of morning bled across the silent streets of Brackmoore, a cheap plastic alarm clock unleashed a shrill screech from an old-fashioned nightstand. With a grunt of frustration, a calloused, hairy hand emerged from beneath the stained, crumpled covers and slammed the offending device silent. It was the sixth time. Terry mired in stagnant existence—had no real intention of facing the day. Or any day, for that matter.
He rolled over on bed with a wheezing exhale, his shapeless body peeling off the stained mattresses. He was, at most, 5'6" and the view was a disaster. His head was a patchy landscape of greasy, unkempt hair, desperately clinging to the sides while the crown remained bald. His chest hung loosely over his bloated beer-belly. His arms and legs were a little frail compared to his torso. His belly, chest, back, and butt cheeks were covered with thick curly hair.
He scratched absently, then stumbled towards a pile of dirty clothes scattered across the floor, pulling on a worn pants and a wrinkled shirt that reeked of stale sweat and mildew. His smell was an entity in itself: sour, oppressive, unmistakable. He showered rarely—once every few weeks at best—and only when his own stench became unbearable, even to him. His teeth, crooked and yellowed, peeked out from behind cracked, sullen lips as he yawned.
Terry—58 years old, was the epitome of a lonely loser. His life was full of failures and disappointments. His education life was almost non-existent. He had never been successful in anything he tried. Even though he had lived in this town his entire life, he didn't have a single real friend. This was because of his character, which was as repulsive as his appearance and smell. Empathy, manners, basic decency—these were foreign concepts to Terry. In a constant exercise in selfishness, he judged people solely by what he could get from them. He had no respect for any value, anyone or anything. He didn't bother to disguise his vulgarity; it was a badge he wore with pride. If a flower came his way, he would not bother to change his path but would indifferently crush it under his heel.
When he shuffled into the kitchen, the cockroaches scattered from the light, disappearing into the shadows. The sink overflowed with dishes, cemented with the remnants of forgotten meals, while a half-eaten donut lay abandoned on a plate. He grabbed it with two fingers, sniffed it briefly, and then shoved it into his mouth, chewing with messy, open-mouthed bites.
As he stepped out from home to work, lighting a cigarette, he spat a thick, yellow glob of phlegm onto the ground, the wet splatter echoing in the silent morning. The bitterness within him oozed from his pores, leaving a foul trail wherever he went. It was almost impossible to imagine anyone ever having loved him— even his mother probably didn't like him. But Terry seemed utterly indifferent to such thoughts. He was long past shame.
Part 1
Tara was born into a world that blended opulence with high expectations. This world wasn’t merely an oasis of luxury—it was a sanctuary of confidence, a place where self-worth was cultivated from the very beginning. Her mother, a talented psychologist with an stunning beauty, could easily have been mistaken for a supermodel or a movie star. With every step she took, heads turned, and her presence effortlessly commanded attention. Tara's father, a distinguished and successful lawyer, was equally captivating—not just for his professional acclaim, but also for the magnetic charm that radiated from him. Together, they formed a power couple, their allure undeniable and their influence far-reaching. Their financial standing was impeccable, their lifestyle the epitome of success.
Talented, fiercely intelligent, and free-spirited, Tara grew up believing that excellence was a birthright. She attended only the most prestigious schools, her education shaped by some of the brightest minds. For her, success was not a goal, but an inevitable byproduct of her natural rhythm in life. It was something that came with ease, as intrinsic to her as breathing. But there was another reason behind his effortless achievement of everything.
Tara's breathtaking beauty; it was devastating. Wherever she went, attention followed—unstoppable, like a tide that swept everything in its path. She didn’t simply walk into rooms, she dominated them with her presence. No one could remain indifferent to the aura emanating from her. Some claimed they could feel her even before she appeared—like an invisible force that reshaped the very atmosphere. At every school she attended, she was the one everyone looked to—the unchallenged captain of the cheer squad, the reigning queen of every dance, the center of every gaze. Her popularity wasn’t just a status; it was an empire built on beauty, charisma, and an undeniable presence. Among her peers, she was more than just a name; she was a legend and it was a privilege to be in her orbit.
The symmetry of her features was so perfect that it almost seemed unreal. Her eyebrows arched, lashes impossibly long, casting shadows on her porcelain skin, and full lips that parted just enough to make each breath feel like an delight. Her deep blue eyes didn’t merely observe—they scanned, disarmed, consumed. Men who met her challenging gaze found themselves undone, forgetting reason, morality, and loyalty. Her golden hair, long, wavy, and voluminous, cascading like a waterfall, catching the light, making it impossible to look away.
Her body... It was incredible. At 5'9", her figure wasn’t just attractive—it was crafted to torment. Her fit body, shaped by strict yoga and gym discipline, was a perfect balance of muscle and elegance. Her legs were long and sculpted, her belly were flat and tight. But it was the curve of her hips and the fullness of her breasts that drove men to madness. Those curves—impossible, unyielding—were not just seen, but felt. Her ass... just wow. Perfectly round and full, any item of clothing she wore simply highlighted it, clinging to the firm, perky, well-formed cheeks, while giving a hint of the delightful crevasse in between. Her each stride a visual promise, a silent invitation.
The fact that she had massive, perky double D-cup breasts was just... She was perfect, and they were perfect. They were real and they were jaw-droppingly firm and perky. They vaulted off her fit frame in almost cartoonish fashion, with zero sag. They were so massive and so firm that they rode close together, forming a natural cleft of eye-popping cleavage, while the outer sides of them remained visible from behind her. There was no way to hide them no matter what she wore.
She was aware of the impact her own existence had on her environment. This situation amused her from time to time. Especially seeing how men get themselves into stupid situations trying to impress her. Even the most confident ones often stuttered in her presence and had difficulty finding the right words. She wore her beauty not as an ornament but as an extension of her will. Each movement she made was deliberate, as if she was orchestrating her own reality. Her hips swayed with a calculated ease only a goddess could achieve, every step an undeniable assertion of power, every glance a silent command. She didn’t need to seduce; she simply existed, and the world bent silently, obediently, around her.
Tara, now 22 years old, could have chosen any path she desired—a supermodel, an actress, or anything her heart dreamed of. The world was at her feet, ready to yield to her every command. But despite the endless options before her, she was unwavering. With the same cold precision that defined her every move, she chose to follow in her father’s footsteps. Law wasn’t just a career for her; it was a challenge—one that would demand as much power, control, and intellect as she could give. So, she enrolled in law school, determined to carve her own path, not as a beauty or a legend, but as a force to be reckoned with in a world that demanded more from her.
It was during her second year at university that she met the love of her life—Mike. At that time, he was pursuing his master’s degree. He, 26, was an very handsome, charismatic and wealthy young man, but this was because of family money. His father owned a lucrative manufacturing and distribution company. The future had already been written for him—Mike was destined to inherit and lead the family business, his every move carefully orchestrated to prepare him for that inevitable fate.
Their connection was instant—magnetic, undeniable, as if the universe itself was trying to bring them together. From the moment they met, something shifted in the air around them, an invisible current pulling them toward each other. Falling in love was effortless, as natural as breathing. Soon, they became the kind of couple others both admired and envied, the epitome of perfection that others only dreamed of. As the days passed, their love only deepened—more intense, more certain, like a fire that refused to be extinguished.
Just before Mike’s graduation, he proposed. In that moment, Tara felt as though she were living in a dream—a dream made entirely of joy, where every waking moment felt like a perfect reflection of the future she had always envisioned for herself. There, in his eyes, she saw the promise of forever—a life built on a love that had already stood the test of time in the span of their months together.
************** ****************** *********************
For Tara, life had been nothing short of perfect from the day she was born—until it all came crashing down. Just months after Mike’s proposal, a scandal erupted that shattered the flawless world she had always known. Her father, the man she had admired and trusted above all others, had been having an affair with a young intern at his law firm—a girl barely older than Tara herself. The image of her family, once a beacon of strength and unity, disintegrated before her eyes.
The couple she had always viewed as the embodiment of love and loyalty—her parents—had turned into bitter strangers. Their arguments, raw and venomous, echoed through the house, tearing apart the quiet dignity they had once shared. The man who had been her rock, her moral compass, became a shadow of himself—unrecognizable. He was no longer the man who had built their world; he was a liar, a betrayer. She was filled with anger.
She felt the very foundation of her world tremble, the ground beneath her split open. The unshakable security her parents had always provided, the unwavering certainty that had been the bedrock of her existence, was gone. It left behind only an anger, a hollow feeling that nothing could seem to fill. The values she had once embraced so wholeheartedly—family, love, trust—now felt like empty promises, words drained of their meaning, their substance, their weight. It dawned on her that her entire life had been built on a polished illusion—a perfect family portrait, carefully crafted, meticulously displayed, but a deep fake beneath the surface.
Tara began to question everything: had she truly become the woman she was by choice, or had she been shaped, molded by the expectations of those around her? Had her path, her success, her confidence all been products of her own making—or had she simply been living out a script written by others? For the first time in her life, everything she had believed in—her identity, her path, her purpose—felt like an empty vessel, something imposed upon her, not something she had chosen for herself.
And in that moment, Tara felt adrift, untethered, a ship lost at sea in a vast and uncertain world where nothing felt solid, nothing felt secure. She was wondering who she truly was, and who she was meant to become.
**************** *************** *****************
Mike’s situation added yet another layer of chaos to Tara’s already unraveling life. He had finally graduated and was poised to step into his role as heir to his family's business.. But his father, a man whose expectations were as rigid as they were unyielding, had other plans. Instead of passing the reins of the family business, he demanded that Mike start at the bottom—learning the ins and outs of the business from the factory floor to the boardroom, a process that could take years.
As part of this grueling initiation, Mike was sent to manage one of the company’s remote manufacturing plants in the gray-skied town of Brackmoore, a place that felt as cold and distant as the decision itself. He was expected to remain there for an entire year. The decision wasn’t up for discussion. It was tradition—a tradition as old and inflexible as the family business itself, passed down from father to son like scripture, with no room for rebellion.
Anxious and uncertain, Mike finally explained the situation to Tara, his voice faltering, afraid his stunning fiancée might refuse to follow him into the unknown. Tara’s reaction was immediate—a sharp stab of disappointment that lodged itself deep in her chest. The weight of the news hit her harder than she expected. This unexpected twist had torn apart the future she had so carefully planned. She had always been focused, driven, ready to complete her studies and forge a life of her own, on her own terms. She was one year away from graduating. But now, she stood at a crossroads: follow Mike to Brackmoore, abandoning her ambitions for the sake of their relationship, or stay behind and risk growing apart. The thought of abandoning her path, of putting her dreams on hold for someone else, felt like a betrayal—not just of him, but of herself, her potential, and everything she had worked so hard to build. Yet, the idea of losing Mike, of letting go of the man she loved, was equally unbearable.
Tara replayed the scenario in her mind a thousand times, turning it over, analyzing every angle, trying to find a way to make sense of the impossibility of her situation. Her mind told her to stay and pursue her own future, but her heart, raw and yearning, whispered for her to follow him, to be with him.
After days of wrestling with doubt, Tara made the hardest decision of her life: she would leave behind everything that was familiar, everything she had ever known, and follow the man she loved into the unknown. The fact that this was a temporary process made it easier for her to decide. After all, they would return after a year and continue their glorious lives. Also her family’s collapse had left her feeling unmoored, like a stranger in her own life. Maybe she thought, a change of place, a change of scenery, could help rebuild what had been broken inside her. She didn’t know what lay ahead but somewhere deep within, a voice whispered that this journey could be useful for rediscovering herself and establishing her identity.
***************** ************** ********************
After a relentless, exhausting journey, the couple finally arrived in Brackmoore. As their car slowly meandered through the sun-bleached streets, Tara felt a suffocating weight of disappointment press heavily on her chest. She hadn’t expected paradise, but this place was worse than anything her lowest expectation had envisioned. The air was stagnant, heavy, as though even the town itself were holding its breath, waiting for something that would never come. The faded storefronts, their windows lifeless, lined the main road, with signs barely legible—a whisper from a forgotten past. It was as if time had stopped here.
Mike, too, felt the knot in his stomach tighten as he took in the grim surroundings. He could feel the silence radiating from Tara beside him, and when their eyes met, the truth was undeniable—disappointment, discomfort, and disillusionment reflected back at him. He hated this. He hated bringing her to a place that already felt like failure. But he forced a calm smile, clinging to the hope that somehow, things would improve—that Tara would find something to hold on to here.
Finally, they reached their new home. For the first time since arriving in Brackmoore, Tara felt a flicker of relief. The house was an old, two-story structure, with a faded elegance that seemed to stand as a defiant symbol against the desolation surrounding it. In the backyard, a modest pool shimmered beneath the late afternoon sun, its still surface catching the light like a forgotten treasure. It was something familiar, something real—a small piece of luxury tying her to the life she had left behind. But even this fleeting comfort didn’t last.
Tara couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that she didn’t belong—not in this house, not in this town. Everything about it felt alien, detached from the future she had once imagined with Mike, from the dreams that now seemed impossibly distant. The silence within it was deafening, louder than any words. This was not the life she had prepared for—it was something else entirely. A single, faint echo of beauty—a reminder of the luxury she once knew—wasn’t enough to soothe the unease gnawing at her.
***************** *************** ****************
The day after their move, Mike plunged himself into his new role. When he returned home that evening, it was late, and his energy had been completely drained. At first, Tara chalked up his exhaustion to the demands of his first day, but it didn’t take long for her to realize how wrong she was. Each day, Mike returned later, his fatigue so palpable it seemed to cling to him, the heavy thud of his steps, the distant look in his eyes. He was consumed by the crushing weight of his family's expectations, giving everything he had to earn his father’s approval, yet no matter how much he sacrificed, it was never enough.
Even on weekends, Mike vanished into the unforgiving pull of his responsibilities, leaving Tara alone to face the expanding emptiness that consumed her. The loneliness seeped into her like the biting silence of Brackmoore, a chill that settled into her bones, growing colder with each passing day.
She threw herself into trying to create warmth, desperately attempting to transform their house into something resembling a home. But no matter how many times she rearranged the furniture, no matter how many delicate touches of beauty she added, the house never felt like anything more than four walls. The oppressive air of Brackmoore had seeped into every corner, every room, suffocating everything in its indifferent grasp. No matter how much effort she put in, no matter how sincere the intention, the discomfort of the place clung to her, weaving itself into the very fabric of their lives.
********* ************ **********
Almost a month had passed since their move, and Tara had yet to make a single friend. The townspeople, like the town itself, were dull, sulky types. The neighbors were cold and distant. They had only ever seen someone of her beauty and class on TV or magazine covers before. They had no experience in how to communicate with someone like her. All they could do was admire and scrutinize her. Tara had always been aware of her effect on people. But this was something else. It was different from the elite social circles and their standards that she was used to. The curious gazes of these people made her feel like an object.
Tara’s days became an endless blur of monotony. Every morning, she would wake and stare out the window, her gaze lost in the vast, empty landscape stretching endlessly before her. It felt more like a prison than an open world—a silent, desolate expanse frozen in time. There was no hurry, no noise, no life. Everything outside seemed to be suspended, frozen in place, waiting for something, anything, to shift, but nothing ever did.
The only moments Tara found any relief were during her workouts and yoga sessions, when she could force her body to move, to feel something—anything—other than the creeping emptiness that threatened to consume her. But even in those fleeting moments of physical exertion, her mind was a storm, restless and chaotic, spinning in a relentless whirlwind of thoughts. Afterward, she would dive into the cool pool, its water offering a brief escape from the suffocating heat of the day and the ever-present swirl of her thoughts. The contrast of the cold water against her heated skin was soothing—momentarily—but it couldn’t calm the storm inside her. The emptiness remained, lurking just beneath the surface, like a shadow that refused to leave. The calm was fleeting, a thin veneer over a void that nothing could fill. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t outrun the deep, nagging dissatisfaction gnawing at her soul.
*********** ********** ************* ************
Tara knew she couldn’t remain trapped in the suffocating cycle she had found herself in. It wasn’t leading anywhere, and she could no longer pretend she was content. The life she was living felt hollow, drained of purpose, and she was desperate for change. There had to be something she could do for herself, something that could reignite the fire she once had.
Determined, she began to research local law firms online, hoping to find a way to bring meaning back into her life. It might do her good to do something for her career. However, when she found only a handful of law offices in town, disappointment crashed into her like a cold wave. The options were scarce, but there was one that stood out: Jones Law Firm. The fact that the owner was a woman felt like a small yet empowering connection to her own aspirations, a lifeline in a town that seemed to stifle her spirit.
That evening, she waited for Mike to come home. As usual, he returned late, drained from the weight of his day. She told him about her decision to intern at a law firm, hoping it would make her time here more purposeful. She needed something that was hers—something she could control, something to feel like she was moving forward. But Mike’s reaction hit her like a slap. He didn’t say it outright, but his silence, his coldness, spoke volumes. He didn’t want her to work. They didn’t need the money, and he believed she should stay home, be the perfect fiancée he had envisioned.
For Tara, it wasn’t about the money. It was about holding on to a piece of herself, about maintaining her independence, about having the power to make her own decisions. Mike’s selfishness, his complete disregard for her needs, ignited a searing anger inside her. For the first time, she found herself questioning everything about their relationship—wondering if she had been living in a dream, one that wasn’t hers at all. That night, their argument erupted like a violent storm. The disagreement grew so fierce that, in the end, Mike ended up sleeping on the couch in the living room.
The following days felt unbearable. The weight of the constant, suffocating routine pressed down on her. Each passing moment felt heavier, like she was sinking deeper into quicksand, stuck in a life she hadn’t chosen. The sense of helplessness was overwhelming, and the emptiness gnawed at her like a constant ache in her chest. She could return to the city, to her elite environment where she belonged, and leave Mike and this damned town behind as a memory she wouldn't recall. However, this would be an escape, a giving up. For Tara, failure was not an acceptable option.
One morning, Tara woke up with a sudden, overpowering urge to act. She couldn’t wait any longer. She couldn’t let herself drown in this miserable town, in this miserable life. She had to break free. Without a second thought, she grabbed her phone and dialed the number for Jones Law Firm. The decision felt like a jolt—a freeing break from the relentless pressure that had been suffocating her. It was like a fog lifting, the first breath of fresh air she had taken in months. As she hung up the phone after scheduling the appointment, something inside her stirred—an ember of excitement, a flicker of hope. For the first time since arriving in Brackmoore, she felt alive. It was the exhilaration of doing something entirely for herself. It was the sensation of taking control again, of no longer being tethered to a life that didn’t belong to her.
************ ************* **************
As the pale light of morning bled across the silent streets of Brackmoore, a cheap plastic alarm clock unleashed a shrill screech from an old-fashioned nightstand. With a grunt of frustration, a calloused, hairy hand emerged from beneath the stained, crumpled covers and slammed the offending device silent. It was the sixth time. Terry mired in stagnant existence—had no real intention of facing the day. Or any day, for that matter.
He rolled over on bed with a wheezing exhale, his shapeless body peeling off the stained mattresses. He was, at most, 5'6" and the view was a disaster. His head was a patchy landscape of greasy, unkempt hair, desperately clinging to the sides while the crown remained bald. His chest hung loosely over his bloated beer-belly. His arms and legs were a little frail compared to his torso. His belly, chest, back, and butt cheeks were covered with thick curly hair.
He scratched absently, then stumbled towards a pile of dirty clothes scattered across the floor, pulling on a worn pants and a wrinkled shirt that reeked of stale sweat and mildew. His smell was an entity in itself: sour, oppressive, unmistakable. He showered rarely—once every few weeks at best—and only when his own stench became unbearable, even to him. His teeth, crooked and yellowed, peeked out from behind cracked, sullen lips as he yawned.
Terry—58 years old, was the epitome of a lonely loser. His life was full of failures and disappointments. His education life was almost non-existent. He had never been successful in anything he tried. Even though he had lived in this town his entire life, he didn't have a single real friend. This was because of his character, which was as repulsive as his appearance and smell. Empathy, manners, basic decency—these were foreign concepts to Terry. In a constant exercise in selfishness, he judged people solely by what he could get from them. He had no respect for any value, anyone or anything. He didn't bother to disguise his vulgarity; it was a badge he wore with pride. If a flower came his way, he would not bother to change his path but would indifferently crush it under his heel.
When he shuffled into the kitchen, the cockroaches scattered from the light, disappearing into the shadows. The sink overflowed with dishes, cemented with the remnants of forgotten meals, while a half-eaten donut lay abandoned on a plate. He grabbed it with two fingers, sniffed it briefly, and then shoved it into his mouth, chewing with messy, open-mouthed bites.
As he stepped out from home to work, lighting a cigarette, he spat a thick, yellow glob of phlegm onto the ground, the wet splatter echoing in the silent morning. The bitterness within him oozed from his pores, leaving a foul trail wherever he went. It was almost impossible to imagine anyone ever having loved him— even his mother probably didn't like him. But Terry seemed utterly indifferent to such thoughts. He was long past shame.
The Great Transformation
Part 2
Tara sat in her car for a few moments, her eyes fixed on the address she had entered into the navigation system. The building before her was nothing like the grand, polished office she had imagined when she thought of a law firm. It stood on the ground floor of a dilapidated four-story building, the upper floors abandoned. The exterior, its paint peeling and faded, the windows grimy and fogged over, screamed neglect. Tara blinked in disbelief—how could a place of such professionalism, at least in her mind, appear so utterly uninspiring? For a brief moment, doubt crept in, and she wondered if she had made a mistake. But that thought quickly dissolved. She had come here with purpose, and she wasn’t about to turn back now.
She opened the door, stepping out of the car. Her heels clicked decisively on the cracked pavement, each step echoing in the air. She wore a black skirt, a crisp white blouse, and a custom-tailored blazer that highlighted her grace and poise. Her presence was striking—out of place in a town like this. The contrast between her polished exterior and the run-down surroundings was jarring, almost enough to make her second-guess the authenticity of her mission. But Tara wasn’t here to blend in. She was here to create change, to transform this place, to carve out a space for herself. Every movement she made was deliberate, and there was an undeniable confidence in her posture.
As she entered, the first thing that caught her attention was the narrow staircase leading down to the basement. The office was was tasteless and unpleasant, sparsely furnished with mismatched desks and old, battered file cabinets. The air hung heavy with silence, broken only by the hum of an old, outdated computer. Dim lights cast long shadows across the room, making it feel like she had stepped into another time—a forgotten place, lost in the past. Tara hesitated for a moment, a fleeting thought about whether she could thrive in such a place. The silence was pierced by the sound of approaching footsteps. A short, plump woman emerged from the kitchen area, a cup of coffee in hand.
“How can I help you?” she asked, her voice high-pitched with surprise. The way she looked at her, like she was staring at a stranger from another world. It was clear that she had never seen anyone as beautiful and charming as Tara in Brackmoore before.
She introduced herself quickly, mentioning her scheduled appointment. The woman, still trying to process the sight before her, nodded and pointed toward the door behind the desk. "Ms. Bridget is expecting you."
Inside the room, Tara was greeted by a warm, welcoming smile. Bridget, the owner of the firm, was in her early sixties and a seasoned attorney who had spent many years in the fast-paced world of Chicago before moving to her hometown of Brackmoore five years ago in search of a quieter life. Although the transition had somewhat dulled her, she still carried the fire of a seasoned attorney who had fought for civil rights and handled important cases. When she looked at Tara, she couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast: Tara’s flawless beauty, her impeccable style, and the massive diamond ring on her finger against the backdrop of the humble office. Bridget’s curiosity grew with every passing second, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had brought this striking woman to such a place.
“So, darling, what brings you here?” Bridget asked, her tone warm and inviting.
Tara briefly explained her situation and shared her desire to do an internship. She added that she had no salary expectations. Bridget paused for a moment, taken aback—working for free wasn’t something she encountered often. But after speaking with Tara for a while, understanding the drive behind her decision, Bridget found herself intrigued and impressed. She saw something in the young woman—an ambition and purpose that made her stand out.
“Welcome to Jones Law Firm, Tara,” Bridget said with a firm handshake.
Tara’s smile lit up the room. “Thank you, Ms. Bridget.”
“Please, just call me Bridget,” she replied with a friendly grin.
As they continued to talk, Bridget couldn’t resist pointing out Tara’s formal attire, noticing how out of place it seemed for the town. “Darling, this isn’t Chicago,” she said casually. “You don’t need to dress like that here. Relax a little.”
Tara’s shoulders eased at the suggestion. The oppressive heat of Brackmoore had a way of weighing down on her, and the thought of being able to dress casually, to feel comfortable in something less formal, was like a small breath of fresh air.
Later, Bridget took Tara to the office entrance, where she was introduced to Betty, the secretary, who welcomed her. Betty, while not particularly well-educated or skilled, managed to get things done. She was more than enough to meet the low standards of this forgotten town.
Meanwhile, the door creaked open, and in walked a short man. His balding head gleamed under the light, beads of sweat dotting his broad forehead. His shirt was stuck to his body, soaked, with dark stains under his arms. He stared directly at Tara with an intensity that felt almost overwhelming. It was a gaze like no other, raw and unfiltered. She could feel him trying to make sense of her presence, trying to reconcile the beauty and elegance she carried with the unpleasant atmosphere of Brackmoore.
“This is Terry,” Bridget said, her voice casual, almost indifferent, as if introducing him were no more significant than pointing out a piece of furniture. When she returned from Chicago, this old building she had inherited was in need of repair, so she hired Terry, who had some experience in the field. Over the time, his duties had expanded to managing the office’s more menial tasks. He had been around since the beginning, fixing the leaks and cracks in old plumbing, maintaining and handling mail and simple paperwork.
As she looked at him, Tara couldn’t help but compare him to a goblin. She was used to attention, used to commanding the room. But this felt different—his stare wasn’t admiration; it was something far colder, like an examination. There was something about him she couldn’t quite place: something disturbing, something wrong.
Bridget, completely unaware of the tension that was now thickening the air, turned to Tara with a welcoming smile. “So, when can you start?” she asked, as if it were the most natural question in the world.
Tara blinked, trying to clear her mind from the disturbing intensity of Terry's gaze. “Monday,” she said, her voice steady.
“Great,” Bridget said with a warm smile, before turning back to her office.
As Tara walked out of the office, Terry's lingering gaze felt like an invisible weight on her back. Despite the promising start with Bridget, a shadow had been cast, a subtle yet distinct warning that Brackmoore held more than just faded buildings and stifled dreams. As she reached her car, the image of Terry's unwavering scrutiny flashed in her mind, a silent question mark hanging over this unexpected new chapter.
************** *************** *********************
When Mike came home later that evening, Tara was eager to share the news of her internship. She imagined his supportive smile, a shared moment of optimism in the grayness of Brackmoore. But Mike’s disinterest was palpable, a thick wall between them. His responses were clipped, almost begrudging, his gaze drifting around the room, never quite meeting hers. He seemed miles away, lost in some internal landscape, his eyes distant as if she were speaking a language he no longer understood.
For the first time, a coldness formed inside Tara. It wasn’t just the oppressive atmosphere of Brackmoore that was alienating her—it was Mike, too. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow, stealing her breath. He seemed like a stranger now, his familiar warmth extinguished. A disquieting thought flickered through her mind: how long had this been brewing, this silent drift, without her noticing? The anger settled deep inside her.
What Tara didn’t know was that Mike’s indifference wasn’t because of his feelings for her. He still adored her, still looked at her like she was the center of his world. But the weight of managing the factory had become unbearable. Workers were on strike, deliveries were delayed, and his father’s constant berating had pushed him to the brink. But none of that mattered to Tara. She was not a woman to be ignored. She was a Goddess. She had been treated that way her entire life. And to feel neglected was as unbearable as suffocation.
*************** *************** *****************
That evening, Terry tore down the backroads of Brackmoore in his sputtering, rust-bitten car, the engine coughing like it wanted to die. The cracked windows rattled with every bump, and the driver’s side mirror was held on with duct tape and a prayer. His destination loomed at the edge of town—an old shack, half-swallowed by weeds.
The car screeched to a halt, dust mushrooming behind it, then he staggered out, red-faced. Sweat poured from his scalp, darkening the collar of his shirt. He slammed the door behind him and quickly took off his shirt as if it were suffocating him—yanking his pants down before he’d even reached the stained couch.
Terry, 59, had never known peace. His body was a furnace of ceaseless craving, a machine wired wrong. He had an innate quality that could be considered a gift to some and a curse to others. His testosterone level was almost five times that of the average man. He also had trouble cumming, and even when he did, he couldn't feel satisfaction. His mind was never quiet. His urges never slept. Most days, he drowned them in hours of filthy porn videos and magazines, chasing a satisfaction that always disappeared the second he found it. But now, he didn’t need them. He had another thing.
The moment he saw Tara this morning, something inside him had detonated. Her skin, tanned and glowing, like silk stretched over warm curves. Her scent—fresh, intoxicating, the deep trace of perfume mixed with something uniquely her, a scent that made his groin throb. And her eyes—deep, like a storm waiting to swallow him whole. The way she moved—fluid, effortless, the subtle sway of her hips that promised untold pleasures. The elegant curve of her neck begging to be touched. The tension in her posture as she walked, highlighting the proud lift of her breasts under that crisp white fabric—it was like watching a flame flicker in the wind, unpredictable and hot. She was a waterfall of pure, unadulterated desire in his twisted mind. Her beauty was like something out of a fashion magazine, her hot body like the product of the perverted mind of a master sculptor. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way her black skirt hugged her long legs, the precise curve of her ass as she moved, how her white blouse strained ever across the fullness of her chest, hinting at the perfect, ripe mounds beneath. His mind was a relentless slideshow of her body. She couldn’t be real. But she had spoken. She had breathed the same air. Her soft, perfect voice still echoed in his skull, each syllable like a lewd suggestion.
He setted onto his stained couch, his breathing ragged. His greasy fingers trembled as he conjured her image, focusing on the way her breasts must feel, the firm, yielding softness. He imagined the smooth, tight curve of her ass under his palm. The room around him—the moldy walls, the stench, the buzzing flies—disappeared.
In his mind, she was there. Close. Untouchable. Untamed. And every thought, every crude image of her only fed the hunger that clawed at him. His chest tightened, his pulse quickened. Her imagined form made him burn with a desperate, animalistic need.
He pulled down his stained, torn boxers with trembling fingers. The sight that emerged was shocking. He was genetically trash, but his cock, rising like a pole from the forest of pubic hair, was an absolute beast. It was at least eight inches long, maybe nine inches, and very thick. It was extremely gnarled with thick purple veins running along its entire length. The giant hairy sack that contained his tangerine-sized testicles hung between his legs. He was inhumane in every way. He gripped his massive cock in his calloused palm and began to rub it like crazy. He had only one thing on his mind: The Blonde Goddess.
Part 2
Tara sat in her car for a few moments, her eyes fixed on the address she had entered into the navigation system. The building before her was nothing like the grand, polished office she had imagined when she thought of a law firm. It stood on the ground floor of a dilapidated four-story building, the upper floors abandoned. The exterior, its paint peeling and faded, the windows grimy and fogged over, screamed neglect. Tara blinked in disbelief—how could a place of such professionalism, at least in her mind, appear so utterly uninspiring? For a brief moment, doubt crept in, and she wondered if she had made a mistake. But that thought quickly dissolved. She had come here with purpose, and she wasn’t about to turn back now.
She opened the door, stepping out of the car. Her heels clicked decisively on the cracked pavement, each step echoing in the air. She wore a black skirt, a crisp white blouse, and a custom-tailored blazer that highlighted her grace and poise. Her presence was striking—out of place in a town like this. The contrast between her polished exterior and the run-down surroundings was jarring, almost enough to make her second-guess the authenticity of her mission. But Tara wasn’t here to blend in. She was here to create change, to transform this place, to carve out a space for herself. Every movement she made was deliberate, and there was an undeniable confidence in her posture.
As she entered, the first thing that caught her attention was the narrow staircase leading down to the basement. The office was was tasteless and unpleasant, sparsely furnished with mismatched desks and old, battered file cabinets. The air hung heavy with silence, broken only by the hum of an old, outdated computer. Dim lights cast long shadows across the room, making it feel like she had stepped into another time—a forgotten place, lost in the past. Tara hesitated for a moment, a fleeting thought about whether she could thrive in such a place. The silence was pierced by the sound of approaching footsteps. A short, plump woman emerged from the kitchen area, a cup of coffee in hand.
“How can I help you?” she asked, her voice high-pitched with surprise. The way she looked at her, like she was staring at a stranger from another world. It was clear that she had never seen anyone as beautiful and charming as Tara in Brackmoore before.
She introduced herself quickly, mentioning her scheduled appointment. The woman, still trying to process the sight before her, nodded and pointed toward the door behind the desk. "Ms. Bridget is expecting you."
Inside the room, Tara was greeted by a warm, welcoming smile. Bridget, the owner of the firm, was in her early sixties and a seasoned attorney who had spent many years in the fast-paced world of Chicago before moving to her hometown of Brackmoore five years ago in search of a quieter life. Although the transition had somewhat dulled her, she still carried the fire of a seasoned attorney who had fought for civil rights and handled important cases. When she looked at Tara, she couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast: Tara’s flawless beauty, her impeccable style, and the massive diamond ring on her finger against the backdrop of the humble office. Bridget’s curiosity grew with every passing second, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had brought this striking woman to such a place.
“So, darling, what brings you here?” Bridget asked, her tone warm and inviting.
Tara briefly explained her situation and shared her desire to do an internship. She added that she had no salary expectations. Bridget paused for a moment, taken aback—working for free wasn’t something she encountered often. But after speaking with Tara for a while, understanding the drive behind her decision, Bridget found herself intrigued and impressed. She saw something in the young woman—an ambition and purpose that made her stand out.
“Welcome to Jones Law Firm, Tara,” Bridget said with a firm handshake.
Tara’s smile lit up the room. “Thank you, Ms. Bridget.”
“Please, just call me Bridget,” she replied with a friendly grin.
As they continued to talk, Bridget couldn’t resist pointing out Tara’s formal attire, noticing how out of place it seemed for the town. “Darling, this isn’t Chicago,” she said casually. “You don’t need to dress like that here. Relax a little.”
Tara’s shoulders eased at the suggestion. The oppressive heat of Brackmoore had a way of weighing down on her, and the thought of being able to dress casually, to feel comfortable in something less formal, was like a small breath of fresh air.
Later, Bridget took Tara to the office entrance, where she was introduced to Betty, the secretary, who welcomed her. Betty, while not particularly well-educated or skilled, managed to get things done. She was more than enough to meet the low standards of this forgotten town.
Meanwhile, the door creaked open, and in walked a short man. His balding head gleamed under the light, beads of sweat dotting his broad forehead. His shirt was stuck to his body, soaked, with dark stains under his arms. He stared directly at Tara with an intensity that felt almost overwhelming. It was a gaze like no other, raw and unfiltered. She could feel him trying to make sense of her presence, trying to reconcile the beauty and elegance she carried with the unpleasant atmosphere of Brackmoore.
“This is Terry,” Bridget said, her voice casual, almost indifferent, as if introducing him were no more significant than pointing out a piece of furniture. When she returned from Chicago, this old building she had inherited was in need of repair, so she hired Terry, who had some experience in the field. Over the time, his duties had expanded to managing the office’s more menial tasks. He had been around since the beginning, fixing the leaks and cracks in old plumbing, maintaining and handling mail and simple paperwork.
As she looked at him, Tara couldn’t help but compare him to a goblin. She was used to attention, used to commanding the room. But this felt different—his stare wasn’t admiration; it was something far colder, like an examination. There was something about him she couldn’t quite place: something disturbing, something wrong.
Bridget, completely unaware of the tension that was now thickening the air, turned to Tara with a welcoming smile. “So, when can you start?” she asked, as if it were the most natural question in the world.
Tara blinked, trying to clear her mind from the disturbing intensity of Terry's gaze. “Monday,” she said, her voice steady.
“Great,” Bridget said with a warm smile, before turning back to her office.
As Tara walked out of the office, Terry's lingering gaze felt like an invisible weight on her back. Despite the promising start with Bridget, a shadow had been cast, a subtle yet distinct warning that Brackmoore held more than just faded buildings and stifled dreams. As she reached her car, the image of Terry's unwavering scrutiny flashed in her mind, a silent question mark hanging over this unexpected new chapter.
************** *************** *********************
When Mike came home later that evening, Tara was eager to share the news of her internship. She imagined his supportive smile, a shared moment of optimism in the grayness of Brackmoore. But Mike’s disinterest was palpable, a thick wall between them. His responses were clipped, almost begrudging, his gaze drifting around the room, never quite meeting hers. He seemed miles away, lost in some internal landscape, his eyes distant as if she were speaking a language he no longer understood.
For the first time, a coldness formed inside Tara. It wasn’t just the oppressive atmosphere of Brackmoore that was alienating her—it was Mike, too. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow, stealing her breath. He seemed like a stranger now, his familiar warmth extinguished. A disquieting thought flickered through her mind: how long had this been brewing, this silent drift, without her noticing? The anger settled deep inside her.
What Tara didn’t know was that Mike’s indifference wasn’t because of his feelings for her. He still adored her, still looked at her like she was the center of his world. But the weight of managing the factory had become unbearable. Workers were on strike, deliveries were delayed, and his father’s constant berating had pushed him to the brink. But none of that mattered to Tara. She was not a woman to be ignored. She was a Goddess. She had been treated that way her entire life. And to feel neglected was as unbearable as suffocation.
*************** *************** *****************
That evening, Terry tore down the backroads of Brackmoore in his sputtering, rust-bitten car, the engine coughing like it wanted to die. The cracked windows rattled with every bump, and the driver’s side mirror was held on with duct tape and a prayer. His destination loomed at the edge of town—an old shack, half-swallowed by weeds.
The car screeched to a halt, dust mushrooming behind it, then he staggered out, red-faced. Sweat poured from his scalp, darkening the collar of his shirt. He slammed the door behind him and quickly took off his shirt as if it were suffocating him—yanking his pants down before he’d even reached the stained couch.
Terry, 59, had never known peace. His body was a furnace of ceaseless craving, a machine wired wrong. He had an innate quality that could be considered a gift to some and a curse to others. His testosterone level was almost five times that of the average man. He also had trouble cumming, and even when he did, he couldn't feel satisfaction. His mind was never quiet. His urges never slept. Most days, he drowned them in hours of filthy porn videos and magazines, chasing a satisfaction that always disappeared the second he found it. But now, he didn’t need them. He had another thing.
The moment he saw Tara this morning, something inside him had detonated. Her skin, tanned and glowing, like silk stretched over warm curves. Her scent—fresh, intoxicating, the deep trace of perfume mixed with something uniquely her, a scent that made his groin throb. And her eyes—deep, like a storm waiting to swallow him whole. The way she moved—fluid, effortless, the subtle sway of her hips that promised untold pleasures. The elegant curve of her neck begging to be touched. The tension in her posture as she walked, highlighting the proud lift of her breasts under that crisp white fabric—it was like watching a flame flicker in the wind, unpredictable and hot. She was a waterfall of pure, unadulterated desire in his twisted mind. Her beauty was like something out of a fashion magazine, her hot body like the product of the perverted mind of a master sculptor. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way her black skirt hugged her long legs, the precise curve of her ass as she moved, how her white blouse strained ever across the fullness of her chest, hinting at the perfect, ripe mounds beneath. His mind was a relentless slideshow of her body. She couldn’t be real. But she had spoken. She had breathed the same air. Her soft, perfect voice still echoed in his skull, each syllable like a lewd suggestion.
He setted onto his stained couch, his breathing ragged. His greasy fingers trembled as he conjured her image, focusing on the way her breasts must feel, the firm, yielding softness. He imagined the smooth, tight curve of her ass under his palm. The room around him—the moldy walls, the stench, the buzzing flies—disappeared.
In his mind, she was there. Close. Untouchable. Untamed. And every thought, every crude image of her only fed the hunger that clawed at him. His chest tightened, his pulse quickened. Her imagined form made him burn with a desperate, animalistic need.
He pulled down his stained, torn boxers with trembling fingers. The sight that emerged was shocking. He was genetically trash, but his cock, rising like a pole from the forest of pubic hair, was an absolute beast. It was at least eight inches long, maybe nine inches, and very thick. It was extremely gnarled with thick purple veins running along its entire length. The giant hairy sack that contained his tangerine-sized testicles hung between his legs. He was inhumane in every way. He gripped his massive cock in his calloused palm and began to rub it like crazy. He had only one thing on his mind: The Blonde Goddess.
The Great Transformation
Part 3
It had been two weeks since Tara began her internship. Most of her time was spent buried in case files, trying to absorb every scrap of knowledge she could. Her desk sat directly across from Betty’s—the overweight, overly chatty secretary whose words poured out like a leaky faucet that couldn’t be shut off. Betty had a talent for turning the most mundane detail into an epic saga, often gossiping about people Tara had never met and would likely never meet. Tara would nod absently, eyes on the pages, though her mind was usually miles away.
But it wasn’t Betty’s endless chatter that truly disturbed her.
On her very first day, Tara had noticed Terry hovering near her desk. He looked like he was about to say something, but no words came. He just stood there. Staring. His silence loaded with something unspoken. It pressed on her skin like humidity, thick and inescapable.
Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Did you need something?” she asked, voice sharp and professional.
The question jolted him. He blinked as if coming out of a trance, muttered something she couldn’t catch, then turned and shuffled away. Tara watched him go, unease prickling down her spine. Something about him felt deeply wrong, like what she’d seen so far was only the tip of something darker.
And she was right. In the days that followed, his presence became a persistent shadow. No matter how hard she tried to focus on her work, she always caught him in her peripheral vision. Even though Terry's place was the archives room in the basement, he was always finding excuses to be on the main floor—checking a broken light, organizing supplies. But it was obvious. He wasn’t there for work. His eyes were always on her. And there was no mistaking the intent in his gaze. His bulging eyes were filled with crude, unapologetic lust. They didn’t look at her—they devoured her. His gaze stripped her down layer by layer, consumed her. It wasn’t the look of a man. It was the look of a hyena imagining how she might taste. It disgusted her. She had only known him for a short time, but it was long enough to grow a deep, visceral loathing.
************** *************** ********************
Tara’s weekends were no better than her weekdays—just lonelier. Mike was often nowhere to be found, buried under a mountain of stress that he rarely spoke about. And even when he was home, his presence felt distant, like a fading shadow rather than a lover. The pressure of managing the factory and living up to his father’s impossible expectations was taking a toll on him. It was hollowing him out from the inside, leaving him drained and emotionally unavailable.
Their moments of intimacy had dwindled to almost nothing. The few times they attempted closeness, it fizzled before it could ignite into anything real. The silence afterward hung thick in the air—awkward, heavy, unresolved. For Tara, who had always been adored, pursued, and admired, this indifference was more than a disappointment. She was definitely not a woman to be ignored. She was young, vibrant, and alive. And with each passing day, the emptiness and anger inside her grew.
To keep herself grounded, Tara had doubled down on her routines. Her workouts grew more intense, her yoga sessions longer. The burn in her muscles, the ache in her limbs—these were things she could control. She welcomed the pain, let it drown out the anxiety and resentment that gnawed at her mind.
That morning, she pushed herself harder than ever. After the final set, she dove into the pool with an elegant arc, the cold water wrapping around her like a blanket of relief. She swam until her body gave out, then pulled herself onto a lounge chair, soaking in the sunlight. For a brief moment, she felt calm. But the peace didn’t last.
A strange sensation crept over her—subtle at first, then slowly growing, like a shadow sliding across her skin. She sat up, scanning the yard. Everything seemed normal: the trees swayed gently, birds chirped overhead, the sun beat down without mercy. Yet something was off. She felt watched. Touched by something invisible. She gathered her towel and went inside, her stomach tight with unease.
Soon after, her phone rang. It was Rachel—her best friend since childhood, the one person who still felt like a tether to her old life. They had grown up side by side, shared everything, and even though they hadn’t seen each other in a while, their bond hadn’t changed.
As soon as she heard Rachel’s voice—witty, sharp, familiar—Tara felt a crack form in the wall she’d built around herself. They talked for a long time. Tara spoke about Mike, about the cold silence between them, about how disconnected this town made her feel.
Rachel, who was a bit of a flirtatious and always sarcastic person, listened and offered just humor. By the time they hung up, Tara felt lighter. Not fixed. Not whole. But not entirely alone either. Rachel had a way of reminding her who she was—someone strong, someone real, someone who didn’t belong in the shadows.
************** ************ ********************
Over time, Tara had worked her way through most of the case files in the main office. But the remaining documents were stored in the basement archive room—a place she had intentionally avoided. And for one reason only: Terry. She hated him. Countless times she had caught him staring at her with disturbing boldness, his eyes roaming shamelessly over her breasts and hips.
One afternoon, when Bridget sent Terry out on an errand, Tara saw her chance. She stood at the top of the narrow staircase that led down to the basement, hesitation twisting in her stomach. She took a deep breath and went downstairs, the old wooden stairs creaking under her feet as if they too did not want her to go.
The moment she opened the archive room door, the smell hit her—thick, musty, and offensive, like the air hadn’t been changed in years. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. She turned on the light because the windowless room lacked natural light. The only light came from a single dim bulb, casting long shadows across the cramped space. The shelves were overstuffed with disorganized case files. In the corner, Terry’s desk sat like a monument to chaos—papers, wrappers, and tools strewn carelessly across every surface. The entire room felt wrong. Claustrophobic. Heavy.
Tara moved quickly, scanning the shelves for the files she needed, determined to be in and out as fast as possible. However, as she searched, she muttered in disappointment. There was no order to the system. Files were shoved haphazardly onto the shelves with no labels, no logic. For a moment she thought, "This place needs an overhaul." But the idea quickly faded. "To be here with him? Forget it."
After some time, she finally found what she was looking for. She was ready to leave, hand already on the folder—until something pulled her attention sideways.
It wasn’t a sound or a movement, just a creeping sense of curiosity that slithered under her skin. Her gaze shifted toward Terry’s desk. She told herself to leave, to ignore it. But her feet were already moving.
The closer she got, the more the atmosphere shifted. The stains came into view—large, yellowish smeared across the desktop and soaked into the seat of the old chair. Suddenly the room felt smaller to her, the air heavier. The sight turned her stomach.She knew, instinctively what those stains were—the residue of a primal, desperate depravity that mirrored the man himself. A surge of nausea rose in her throat, hot and bitter.
She turned on her heel and climbed the stairs with haste, her breath shallow, her mind reeling. She didn’t stop until she was back in the open, away from basement. She was in a state of complex emotions: disgust, hatred, but surprisingly, excitement. It was as if she had secretly entered a forbidden zone and escaped without being caught.
************** ****************** ***********************
That evening, when Tara got home, Mike was nowhere to be found. After a long shower, she didn’t bother getting dressed. She remained wrapped in her bathrobe, the soft fabric clinging to her damp skin. The time she had spent in the archive room that day still lingered in her nerves like static electricity, buzzing just beneath the surface. She poured herself a generous glass of wine. She needed to unwind—badly. She called Rachel.
They spoke for a long while, like they always did. From Mike’s growing distance to how suffocating Brackmoore still felt, Tara laid it all bare. At some point, almost unconsciously, she started talking about Terry.
She described his strange behavior—the way he lingered near her desk without saying a word, the way his eyes didn’t just look at her, but seemed to consume her.
“I hate him,” she said, her voice tinged with heat.
“Are you sure about that?” Rachel asked playfully.
Tara blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Girl, you’ve been talking about him for, like, an hour. Maybe he’s gotten under your skin more than you think,” Rachel teased.
“That’s disgusting,” Tara snapped—but couldn’t help laughing.
They both laughed hard, the tension loosening its grip. Rachel always had a way of pulling her out of her head. When they finally hung up, Tara felt a little lighter.
But when the quiet settled over the house, a shadow returned to her mind. She didn’t want to admit it but something in Terry’s gaze had stuck with her. It wasn’t admiration. It was something darker. Something that made her skin crawl... yet refused to let go. She walked to the bedroom, the wine warming her blood, her steps slow, slightly unsure.
The sleep wouldn’t come easily. Each time she shut her eyes, strange and fractured images flashed through her mind—like distant memories from a life that wasn’t hers. When she finally slipped into sleep, it was restless. Her body twisted beneath the sheets, caught between waking and dreaming. Then suddenly, she woke, gasping. Her skin was damp with sweat, her heart hammering wildly. Her entire body trembled—a strange cocktail of excitement and something she dared not name. She curled, her nipples hard, her breath ragged, the heat clinging to her. Mike’s side of the bed was empty.
The silence in the house pressed down on her, heavy and absolute. She tried to remember the dream, but it was gone, slipping through her like water. All that remained was a feeling—raw, electric, inescapable.
And somewhere deep inside, she knew: Her dream wasn’t about Mike. It was about this place. This damn town.
Part 3
It had been two weeks since Tara began her internship. Most of her time was spent buried in case files, trying to absorb every scrap of knowledge she could. Her desk sat directly across from Betty’s—the overweight, overly chatty secretary whose words poured out like a leaky faucet that couldn’t be shut off. Betty had a talent for turning the most mundane detail into an epic saga, often gossiping about people Tara had never met and would likely never meet. Tara would nod absently, eyes on the pages, though her mind was usually miles away.
But it wasn’t Betty’s endless chatter that truly disturbed her.
On her very first day, Tara had noticed Terry hovering near her desk. He looked like he was about to say something, but no words came. He just stood there. Staring. His silence loaded with something unspoken. It pressed on her skin like humidity, thick and inescapable.
Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Did you need something?” she asked, voice sharp and professional.
The question jolted him. He blinked as if coming out of a trance, muttered something she couldn’t catch, then turned and shuffled away. Tara watched him go, unease prickling down her spine. Something about him felt deeply wrong, like what she’d seen so far was only the tip of something darker.
And she was right. In the days that followed, his presence became a persistent shadow. No matter how hard she tried to focus on her work, she always caught him in her peripheral vision. Even though Terry's place was the archives room in the basement, he was always finding excuses to be on the main floor—checking a broken light, organizing supplies. But it was obvious. He wasn’t there for work. His eyes were always on her. And there was no mistaking the intent in his gaze. His bulging eyes were filled with crude, unapologetic lust. They didn’t look at her—they devoured her. His gaze stripped her down layer by layer, consumed her. It wasn’t the look of a man. It was the look of a hyena imagining how she might taste. It disgusted her. She had only known him for a short time, but it was long enough to grow a deep, visceral loathing.
************** *************** ********************
Tara’s weekends were no better than her weekdays—just lonelier. Mike was often nowhere to be found, buried under a mountain of stress that he rarely spoke about. And even when he was home, his presence felt distant, like a fading shadow rather than a lover. The pressure of managing the factory and living up to his father’s impossible expectations was taking a toll on him. It was hollowing him out from the inside, leaving him drained and emotionally unavailable.
Their moments of intimacy had dwindled to almost nothing. The few times they attempted closeness, it fizzled before it could ignite into anything real. The silence afterward hung thick in the air—awkward, heavy, unresolved. For Tara, who had always been adored, pursued, and admired, this indifference was more than a disappointment. She was definitely not a woman to be ignored. She was young, vibrant, and alive. And with each passing day, the emptiness and anger inside her grew.
To keep herself grounded, Tara had doubled down on her routines. Her workouts grew more intense, her yoga sessions longer. The burn in her muscles, the ache in her limbs—these were things she could control. She welcomed the pain, let it drown out the anxiety and resentment that gnawed at her mind.
That morning, she pushed herself harder than ever. After the final set, she dove into the pool with an elegant arc, the cold water wrapping around her like a blanket of relief. She swam until her body gave out, then pulled herself onto a lounge chair, soaking in the sunlight. For a brief moment, she felt calm. But the peace didn’t last.
A strange sensation crept over her—subtle at first, then slowly growing, like a shadow sliding across her skin. She sat up, scanning the yard. Everything seemed normal: the trees swayed gently, birds chirped overhead, the sun beat down without mercy. Yet something was off. She felt watched. Touched by something invisible. She gathered her towel and went inside, her stomach tight with unease.
Soon after, her phone rang. It was Rachel—her best friend since childhood, the one person who still felt like a tether to her old life. They had grown up side by side, shared everything, and even though they hadn’t seen each other in a while, their bond hadn’t changed.
As soon as she heard Rachel’s voice—witty, sharp, familiar—Tara felt a crack form in the wall she’d built around herself. They talked for a long time. Tara spoke about Mike, about the cold silence between them, about how disconnected this town made her feel.
Rachel, who was a bit of a flirtatious and always sarcastic person, listened and offered just humor. By the time they hung up, Tara felt lighter. Not fixed. Not whole. But not entirely alone either. Rachel had a way of reminding her who she was—someone strong, someone real, someone who didn’t belong in the shadows.
************** ************ ********************
Over time, Tara had worked her way through most of the case files in the main office. But the remaining documents were stored in the basement archive room—a place she had intentionally avoided. And for one reason only: Terry. She hated him. Countless times she had caught him staring at her with disturbing boldness, his eyes roaming shamelessly over her breasts and hips.
One afternoon, when Bridget sent Terry out on an errand, Tara saw her chance. She stood at the top of the narrow staircase that led down to the basement, hesitation twisting in her stomach. She took a deep breath and went downstairs, the old wooden stairs creaking under her feet as if they too did not want her to go.
The moment she opened the archive room door, the smell hit her—thick, musty, and offensive, like the air hadn’t been changed in years. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. She turned on the light because the windowless room lacked natural light. The only light came from a single dim bulb, casting long shadows across the cramped space. The shelves were overstuffed with disorganized case files. In the corner, Terry’s desk sat like a monument to chaos—papers, wrappers, and tools strewn carelessly across every surface. The entire room felt wrong. Claustrophobic. Heavy.
Tara moved quickly, scanning the shelves for the files she needed, determined to be in and out as fast as possible. However, as she searched, she muttered in disappointment. There was no order to the system. Files were shoved haphazardly onto the shelves with no labels, no logic. For a moment she thought, "This place needs an overhaul." But the idea quickly faded. "To be here with him? Forget it."
After some time, she finally found what she was looking for. She was ready to leave, hand already on the folder—until something pulled her attention sideways.
It wasn’t a sound or a movement, just a creeping sense of curiosity that slithered under her skin. Her gaze shifted toward Terry’s desk. She told herself to leave, to ignore it. But her feet were already moving.
The closer she got, the more the atmosphere shifted. The stains came into view—large, yellowish smeared across the desktop and soaked into the seat of the old chair. Suddenly the room felt smaller to her, the air heavier. The sight turned her stomach.She knew, instinctively what those stains were—the residue of a primal, desperate depravity that mirrored the man himself. A surge of nausea rose in her throat, hot and bitter.
She turned on her heel and climbed the stairs with haste, her breath shallow, her mind reeling. She didn’t stop until she was back in the open, away from basement. She was in a state of complex emotions: disgust, hatred, but surprisingly, excitement. It was as if she had secretly entered a forbidden zone and escaped without being caught.
************** ****************** ***********************
That evening, when Tara got home, Mike was nowhere to be found. After a long shower, she didn’t bother getting dressed. She remained wrapped in her bathrobe, the soft fabric clinging to her damp skin. The time she had spent in the archive room that day still lingered in her nerves like static electricity, buzzing just beneath the surface. She poured herself a generous glass of wine. She needed to unwind—badly. She called Rachel.
They spoke for a long while, like they always did. From Mike’s growing distance to how suffocating Brackmoore still felt, Tara laid it all bare. At some point, almost unconsciously, she started talking about Terry.
She described his strange behavior—the way he lingered near her desk without saying a word, the way his eyes didn’t just look at her, but seemed to consume her.
“I hate him,” she said, her voice tinged with heat.
“Are you sure about that?” Rachel asked playfully.
Tara blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Girl, you’ve been talking about him for, like, an hour. Maybe he’s gotten under your skin more than you think,” Rachel teased.
“That’s disgusting,” Tara snapped—but couldn’t help laughing.
They both laughed hard, the tension loosening its grip. Rachel always had a way of pulling her out of her head. When they finally hung up, Tara felt a little lighter.
But when the quiet settled over the house, a shadow returned to her mind. She didn’t want to admit it but something in Terry’s gaze had stuck with her. It wasn’t admiration. It was something darker. Something that made her skin crawl... yet refused to let go. She walked to the bedroom, the wine warming her blood, her steps slow, slightly unsure.
The sleep wouldn’t come easily. Each time she shut her eyes, strange and fractured images flashed through her mind—like distant memories from a life that wasn’t hers. When she finally slipped into sleep, it was restless. Her body twisted beneath the sheets, caught between waking and dreaming. Then suddenly, she woke, gasping. Her skin was damp with sweat, her heart hammering wildly. Her entire body trembled—a strange cocktail of excitement and something she dared not name. She curled, her nipples hard, her breath ragged, the heat clinging to her. Mike’s side of the bed was empty.
The silence in the house pressed down on her, heavy and absolute. She tried to remember the dream, but it was gone, slipping through her like water. All that remained was a feeling—raw, electric, inescapable.
And somewhere deep inside, she knew: Her dream wasn’t about Mike. It was about this place. This damn town.
Seven paragraphs of pure praise for Tara.
I don't know what to say about Tara's father, and the decisions you made even made Mike, David's predecessor, seem very selfish, but that's okay. I don't know what to say about Terry. I know it's your story, but for me, Terry would be a simple character, somewhat harmless, who wouldn't hurt a fly. But how can I put it? Even introverts become dangerous when you give them that kind of trust. It's like giving a sheep to a domesticated wolf, but be careful, this wolf is a predator by nature.
You made Terry a dwarf XD, that's new, a reference that reminds me of something.
I liked the part between the clashes of glances and being left in uncertainty, it reminds me of movies and novels, great detail on that, and I praise you.
I can understand the meaning of machismo or sexism on Mike's part, it's one thing to be tired and overwhelmed by work and listen, but it's another thing to have such an egotistical mentality.
nmnm Terry reminds me of Kevin from The Office in his attitude and behavior.
And I don't think Tara hates Terry, she just treats him like a stranger, weird and a bit “who is this guy?”
All the scenes and Tara's behavior towards Terry remind me of Resident Evil Requiem. Are you basing this on the game?
The novel was good, but it no longer feels like something homemade; rather, it feels like a horror, suspense, and mystery game. nmnm