#evil bitch

She had no time to waste after all because she had to pick up her bandmates in fifteen minutes. She slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life. A strange tingle immediately spread through her body. Her skin felt warm and electric.

“Oh… what the heck is that?” Maya gasped as the sensation grew stronger. Her waist began to pull in tighter. She groaned loudly pressing her hands to her stomach. “No… stop… this isn’t right!” But even as she spoke the words her body betrayed her with a soft moan that escaped her lips. The pleasure was only increasing but it wasn’t the only thing growing.

Her bust swelled larger, creating full heavy curves that strained against her black loose fitting top. “Ahhh… fuck it feels so good but I shouldn’t give in…” She tried to fight it gripping the steering wheel but her back arched on its own pushing her chest forward.

That’s when she heard a sultry voice in her head. “But why not? Give in to me and you’ll realize how much better it is. Just give me another rev, you know you want to.”

Despite herself, Maya couldn’t help be intrigued and increasingly turned on by what was happening. Her foot pressed down slowly on the accelerator. Her lips grew plumper and softer. Her hair shifted from its usual messy dark waves to long silky locks that fell perfectly down her back. Long oval nails extended from her fingers with a glossy shine. Even her eyes turned from her dull brown to crystal blue.

Maya groaned again deeper this time her voice growing huskier. “Mmm… fuck make it stop… no! Keep going! Oh shit what’s happening to me?!” The pleasure mixed with the changes made her squirm in the seat. She could feel her old self slipping away yet part of her wanted more.

“Soon you’ll be like all my other owners, hot, horny, and desperate for cock. You’re going to love becoming a cum dumpster. They always do.” The voice purred and Maya let out an uncharacteristic giggle as her hair started to turn blonde, her nails turning pink.

“Please… no! I’m supposed to be a goth… this is turning me into some kind of dumb whore…” Maya whimpered even as she moaned louder her hands roaming over her expanding chest. “But god it feels incredible… don’t stop… make my tits bigger… yeah just like that… fuck yes.” Her clothes transformed too.

Her top shrinking into a tight pink tube top that barely contained her new tits. Her black jeans morphing into a white mini skirt which shower off her gorgeous long legs. White knee high socks and tall stilettos finished off her look, making her look like the perfect bimbo babe. Her many tattoos started to disappear one by one.

Her mind changed along with her body. Thoughts of kindness and empathy faded. In their place came sharp focus on herself. Vanity took over as she admired how hot she looked. Selfishness and narcissism filled her head.

She pictured herself as the slut the car wanted to make her into, imagining herself as a groupie blowing drummers in green rooms and fucking singers after the shows. She knew she had the perfect pussy that would drive them wild.

“You’re my best creation yet. You’re going to be the hottest, tightest, bimbo ever. You’re going to be the perfect little slut for lead singers to cum in. Forget about your band, you’re mine now.” The car added.

However the words that should have made this new Maya wet with joy was instead making the old Maya fight back.

“No… wait… not just some groupie bitch…” Maya moaned breathlessly her voice thick with lust. “Fuck that… I’m not some band’s plaything… I should the one worshipped… the one who’s the star… I fuck the groupies, not the other way around… yeah… I want it all.”

A shear black lace long sleeved top materialized on her and the pink tube top melted away and reformed into black lace trimmed bra that pushed up her enhanced chest and showed plenty of cleavage. The mini shirt stayed mini but it turned plaid, with darker tones. She now wore black thigh high stockings with lace tops and shiny black platform boots. The new outfit hugged every curve of her transformed figure perfectly.

“No! This isn’t possible! I make the changes here, not you!” The car said frantically. Maya could feel it trying to assert control over her but something was helping her. Something Maya had no idea was helping her but could feel tingling at her lower back. A tattoo she had recently gotten with her friends, a cool archaic design she had picked out from a book. A tattoo that the car couldn’t erase, a symbol that protected Maya.

“You don’t make the rules! I own you now, and I say what I’m going to be!” Maya groaned as her hair darkened quickly, turning black as the night and smokey makeup curved around her eyes.

She imagined herself no longer backstage at a concert on her knees but instead on stage itself under the lights, her new body on full display as she belted out dark seductive lyrics. Fans screamed for her. Backstage she was being worshipped, not doing the worshipping and she got everything she craved.

“Give me the booze… the drugs… lines of coke and bottles of whiskey… and all the sex I can handle… because I want a lot… so fucking much.” She saw herself surrounded by eager bandmates and groupies taking what she wanted. Getting her perfect pussy eaten by some hot opening act before a show. Passing around whatever cock or pussy caught her eye because she was the queen who deserved it all. The car wasn’t happy.

“No! Stop you goth bitch! I’ve turned every kind of girl into a wanton dumb whore and now it’s your turn! It’s your destiny!” It screamed but Maya just smirked, her tattoo pulsing pleasurably.

“Shut the fuck up. You serve me! You will change girls into whoever I want them to be! And I love evil goth sluts now! I should thank you for making me release my inner bitch but instead I think it’s time the tables were turned on you.” Maya said with a cackle and revved the engine harder and faster, smoke wrapping around the exterior.

The black smoke clung to the body of the car, infecting the purple paint, turning it darker by the second until it was as black as Maya’s hair. Even the seating changed to match. Inside Maya’s hands gripped the steering wheel, her eyes flicking closed as immense pleasure flowed through her as she felt the car cede control to her unwillingly.

“No! This can’t be happening! You’re just some random goth loser! This can’t be-” It said but was cut off the moment it fully became Maya’s, the moment Maya became something more.

Maya’s eyes opened lazily, her blue bimbo eyes gone, replaced with the same hue of purple the car used to be. Maya could feel every inch of the car now, every bolt, every nut. It was more than just a car now, it was an extension of her body, of her power.

Now transformed she smirked at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She stretched her arms up high arching her back to show off her new figure letting out one final satisfied groan. “Fuck yes… this is what I needed all along.” The old Maya was gone. This new woman felt amazing. She revved the engine with only her mind, driving through the streets with wild abandon.

She cruised through the quiet campus streets, her convertible purring beneath her. Turning a corner she saw them, her friends, waiting for her, not knowing their lives were about to change forever.

Selene and Thalia were sitting outside their dorm, dressed in the same nerdy goth gear they always wore. Pale skin hidden under baggy black hoodies and long skirts heavy eyeliner and awkward shy vibes.

Maya pulled up to them and honked the horn. The two girls looked at the car unsure why it was seemingly waiting for them. As they approached they somehow recognized the driver.

“Holy crap what happened to you?” Selene blurted out her eyes wide as she stared at Maya’s massive cleavage and tiny skirt. “You look like… like a goth porn star honestly.”

Maya laughed, throwing her hair back. “Thanks babe, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Thalia stepped back a little clutching her bag. “Maya? No way. Did you get some kind of makeover?”

Maya laughed again with a low throaty sound and leaned over the door of the convertible. “Get in bitches. This car drives like a dream. Trust me you’ll love it.” Her voice dripped with new confidence and a hint of command.

The girls hesitated exchanging nervous glances. “I don’t know…” Thalia muttered. “You seem different. Really different.”

“Come on you pussies!” Maya purred revving the engine just a little to tease them. “We have a gigs to get to. Hop in or walk.”

Reluctantly Selene slid into the passenger seat while Thalia climbed into the back. The moment their doors shut Maya floored the gas pedal. The engine roared louder this time sending fresh waves of that familiar tingle through the air.

“Oh, mmmm fuck this feels even better being the one in control.” Maya moaned happily gripping the wheel.

Selene gasped first her hands flying to her chest as the tingle hit her. “What the… ahhh… my body… it feels so strange… stop the car Maya!” But even as she protested her waist cinched in and her bust began to swell pushing against her baggy sweater. She groaned deeply her voice cracking. “No… this is wrong… mmm… but it fuck feels so good…”

Thalia squirmed in the back seat her eyes fluttering. “God… my skin is burning… I feel… hotter… fuck what is happening to my lips?” Her mouth plumped up as her hair straightened and grew into a high blood red ponytail. Long oval nails grew from her fingertips. “Maya… turn it off… I’m not supposed to look this… ohhh fucking hot! God don’t stop…”

Maya smirked glancing at them in the mirror. “That’s it girls. Let the car work its magic. Feel those tits getting bigger? Just like mine. We’re going to be the hottest fucking band around.”

Selene moaned louder her clothes already shifting into something tight and leathery, revealing just enough. “I… we should fight this… but my pussy feels so empty and needy… make me sexier… fuck yes… bigger tits… tighter waist… give me these fat lips for sucking off some random crowd member after the show…” Her mind warped quickly just as Maya’s had. Thoughts of quiet empathy dissolved into selfish cravings for the spotlight and endless pleasure.

Thalia arched her back with a filthy groan her new body on display as the transformation accelerated. Her outfit reformed into a tiny black lace teddy that barely reached her hips. But her legs weren’t bare, instead they gained thigh high stockings and heels. “Give me the curves… make me a goth bitch who needs cock and drugs every night… I want to be the one getting worshipped by fans after the show… don’t hold back! Ohhh yes… my clit is throbbing… turn me into a sex hungry whore!”

The black convertible sped down the road filled with the sounds of their eager moans and dirty pleas as all three embraced their new rockstar selves. Selene rubbed her hands over her enhanced breasts panting heavily. “Fuck… I want to be up on stage shaking my ass now! I want to be snorting lines off some guy’s dick before we play… then letting the whole supporting band rail me in the green room… this feels too good to stop.”

Thalia leaned forward from the back her voice husky and broken by gasps. “Yes… make my pussy the wettest fucking thing at every gig… I need to be the nastiest slut who gets all the booze and cock. Fuck I’m so horny already thinking about riding faces backstage while high off my mind.”

Maya laughed loudly her own body still buzzing from the power of the car. “That’s my girls. We’re going to be fucking infamous, no longer the Goth Girls, we’re the Goth Goddesses now! We take what we want… all the drugs… all the fucks… and we look like bad bitches doing it. The crowd is going to worship us.” She revved the engine again sending another pleasurable wave through them as they drove toward their first real gig with filthy promises on their lips and wicked smiles on their faces. The old versions of themselves were completely erased leaving only three hedonistic rockstars ready to conquer the night.

You stand up so fast you nearly spill your wine.

"Who the fuck are you? Where's Marcus?"

The girl laughs—a cruel, tinkling sound—and tosses her designer clutch onto your coffee table like she owns the place. She saunters toward you, hips swaying with a predatory confidence your husband never possessed.

"Oh, sweetie." She stops inches away. You can smell her perfume—something expensive and intoxicating, mixed with something else. Something warm. Your head feels fuzzy. "I am Marcus. Or I was." She taps a manicured finger against her plump, glossed lips. "Honestly? That name already feels like a bad dream."

Your legs feel weak. You sit back down.

"That's... that's not possible."

"Mmmm, but it is." She perches on the arm of your sofa, crossing those impossibly long legs. The hem of her skirt rides up, revealing the smooth curve of her inner thigh. "Let me tell you a story, babe. About how your boring little hubby became this."

She gestures at herself—at the flat stomach, the tiny waist, the flare of her hips. Your eyes catch on something glinting at her navel.

A belly button ring. Simple silver. A small pink gem.

"It started three weeks ago," she begins, inspecting her nails with theatrical boredom. "There's this girl at the office. Tiffany. Blonde. Twenty-two. Absolute cunt—in the best way. She's been fucking the CFO for months, everyone knows it, and she just got promoted over people who've been there a decade."

You try to speak. Nothing comes out.

"Marcus—I —was so fucking angry." She rolls her eyes. "Pathetic, really. All that righteous indignation. 'It's not fair, she didn't earn it, blah blah blah.' But here's the thing..." She leans closer, and that scent hits you again, making your thoughts swim. "He was also jealous. Not of her position. Of her. Of what she could do. What she could be."

"Marcus would never—"

"Marcus was a pushover," she snaps, and there's venom in it now. "A people-pleaser. A doormat. He spent twenty-six years being nice, and where did it get him? Middle management and a wife who stopped fucking him six months ago."

Your face burns. It's not... it's not like that. Things have just been stressful. You've both been tired—

"Anyway." She waves a hand dismissively. "Last week, I found something. In Tiffany's desk drawer, while she was off sucking cock in the supply closet." Her fingers drift to the belly button ring, stroking the pink gem almost lovingly. "This cute little thing. And a note."

"A note?"

"Mmmhmm. 'Put it in. Become who you were always meant to be. Take what you deserve.'" She grins, showing perfect white teeth. "So I did."

---

"You have to understand, wifey—Marcus didn't want to change. Not at first." She stretches languidly, arching her back in a way that makes her breasts push against the fabric of her dress. "He thought he'd just... try it on. See what happened. Maybe get some dirt on Tiffany, expose her little magic trick to HR."

She laughs again, and it's colder this time.

"The second it pierced his skin? Fuck." Her eyes flutter closed, and she actually moans —a soft, breathy sound that makes something twist in your stomach. "It felt like... like lightning. Like every nerve ending in his body was being rewired."

Her hand trails down her own body as she speaks, almost unconsciously.

"His hips cracked first. Pop. Pop. Spreading wider. Then his waist—cinching in, ribs shifting, organs rearranging. It hurt, babe. It hurt so fucking good." She bites her lip. "His chest started swelling. These perfect tits just... growing out of nothing. Heavy and sensitive and aching."

You're frozen. Horrified. But you can't look away.

"His cock was last. That was the hardest part—for him, anyway." She smirks. "Watching it shrink. Feeling it pull up inside him. Lips forming where there used to be... well. You know."

Her hand dips between her thighs, just for a moment, and she lets out a shaky breath.

"And then there was the mind. That's where it got really fun."

"What do you mean?" Your voice comes out as a whisper.

"Marcus tried to fight it." She opens her eyes, and there's something gleeful in them now. Triumphant. "He kept thinking, 'This isn't me. I have to take it out. I have to go home to my wife.' But there was another voice. My voice. Getting louder every second."

She stands, pacing in front of you like a predator circling prey.

"I told him the truth. That being good was boring. That being nice was weak. That he'd spent his whole pathetic life playing by the rules, and the only people who win are the ones who take." She stops, turning to face you. "I told him what it would feel like to have power. Real power. The kind that comes from being hot enough to make men stupid. From being ruthless enough to use it."

"And he just... gave in?"

"Oh, he fought. For about three hours." She grins. "But every time he looked in the mirror—at these tits, at this ass, at this face—a little more of him crumbled. And when I finally made him touch himself?" She shudders with pleasure at the memory. "When I made him slide two fingers into that tight, wet little pussy and feel what a real orgasm was like? That was it. Game over."

She snaps her fingers.

"Marcus died screaming into a pillow in a hotel room, cumming so hard he saw stars. And I was born."

---

You feel sick. Dizzy. This can't be real.

"I went to work the next day," she continues, examining herself in the mirror above your fireplace. Adjusting her hair. Pouting at her reflection. "Walked right into the CEO's office. Told him I was the new hire. That I'd been personally recommended."

"They didn't question—"

"Babe." She looks at you with pity. "Look at me. Really look at me."

You do. And you hate yourself for noticing how perfect she is. The symmetry of her face. The fullness of her lips. The way her body seems designed to make people stare.

"Men are simple creatures," she says. "Show them a pair of tits and a tight dress, and they'll believe whatever you tell them. I had three job offers by lunch. But I didn't want a new job." Her smile turns cruel. "I wanted Marcus's job. His office. His parking spot. His life."

"How?"

"I fucked his boss."

She says it so casually. Like she's discussing the weather.

"Bent over his desk at 2 PM on a Tuesday. Let him use me like a toy. And when he was finished, when he was still panting and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened, I whispered in his ear: 'Fire Marcus. Promote me. Or I'll tell your wife.'"

Your hands are shaking.

"By 5 PM, I had his job. His salary. His corner office." She turns back to you, and her eyes are hungry. "And now I'm here for the rest."

---

"You can't do this."

You're standing now. Backing away. But she follows, step for step, those heels clicking against the floor like a countdown.

"Can't I?" She tilts her head. "Sweetie, I already have. Marcus is gone. Everything he was—his memories, his feelings, his pathetic little love for you—I ate it all. Digested it. Used it to make myself stronger."

"There has to be something left. Some part of him—"

"There isn't." She's close now. So close you can feel the heat radiating off her body. "And even if there was... why would I let him out? To go back to this?" She gestures at the living room. At your modest furniture. Your Target decor. Your ordinary life. "To go back to you?"

The contempt in her voice cuts deeper than you expected.

"I was a good wife," you say, and you hate how weak it sounds.

"You were a boring wife." She reaches out, trailing a finger down your cheek. Her touch burns. "You let yourself go. You stopped trying. You thought you could coast on a ring and a piece of paper, and he'd just... stick around forever?"

"We were happy—"

"He wasn't." She leans in, lips brushing your ear. "He fantasized about other women every time he fucked you. Younger women. Hotter women. Women who actually wanted it. Did you know that?"

Tears prick your eyes.

"That's not—"

"It is." She pulls back, smiling. "I have all his memories, remember? Every dirty little secret. Every shameful thought. And you know what the funniest part is?"

You shake your head.

"He felt guilty about it. Spent years hating himself for not being satisfied with what he had." She laughs—a bright, cruel sound. "But me? I don't feel guilty about anything. I'm going to fuck whoever I want, whenever I want, and I'm going to love every second of it."

She pulls something from her clutch. A small velvet box.

Your wedding rings.

"Found these in his jacket," she says. "Well—my jacket now, I suppose. Shame they don't fit anymore." She holds them up to the light, watching them glitter. "Tell you what, wifey. I'll give you a choice."

"A choice?"

"Mmmhmm." She drops onto the sofa, crossing her legs, looking up at you with mock innocence. "Option one: you accept that your husband is gone. You grieve. You move on. You find some other mediocre man to disappoint, and I take everything else—the house, the savings, the car—as a nice little severance package."

"Or?"

Her smile widens.

"Option two: I use this navel ring to do something really fun."

She touches the pink gem again, and it pulses with light.

"This thing doesn't just transform. It rewrites. Reality itself, babe. I've been holding back because, honestly? Tormenting you is kind of hot." She bites her lip. "But if you're going to be difficult... I can make it so we were never married at all. So Marcus never existed. So you never existed—at least not as anyone who matters."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

She presses the gem.

---

The world shifts.

It's subtle at first. The photos on the wall—you and Marcus at your wedding, on vacation, at Christmas—they flicker. His face blurs. Stretches. Reforms into hers.

"What—what's happening—"

"Shhhh." She stands, walking toward you as reality ripples around her. "Don't fight it. It's so much easier if you don't fight it."

The wedding photos now show her. Blonde. Radiant. In a white dress that barely covers anything, draped over some man you don't recognize—tall, handsome, rich-looking.

"Who is that?"

"My husband. Well—my first husband." She grins. "I've had three. All wealthy. All wrapped around my finger. All conveniently... disposed of when I got bored."

The house is changing. Your furniture—disappearing, replaced by sleek modern pieces. Designer. Expensive. The walls shift color. The carpet becomes hardwood.

"This isn't your house anymore," she says, almost gently. "It never was."

You stumble backward, and your clothes feel wrong. You look down—

You're wearing a maid's uniform.

"What the fuck—"

"Oh, that's fun." She claps her hands together, delighted. "I didn't even do that on purpose. The ring must have decided you'd be useful." She circles you, appraising. "Mmmm. Not bad. A little old for my taste, but you'll do for now."

"I'm not—I won't—"

"You don't have a choice." She grabs your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. "This is reality now. You've always been my maid. You've always been nothing. And Marcus?" She laughs. "Marcus never existed. There's just me. There's only ever been me."

She releases you, and you stumble.

Everything you knew—your marriage, your home, your identity—it's gone. Rewritten. You can feel the new memories trying to push in, trying to overwrite who you were—

"Don't worry," she says, heading for the stairs. Her stairs now. "You'll forget soon enough. They always do."

She pauses at the landing, looking back over her shoulder. Perfect. Cruel. Untouchable.

"Oh, and one more thing?" She touches the belly button ring—presses it deeper, and you hear a faint click. "I just locked it in. No clasp anymore. No way to remove it." Her eyes glitter with malice. "This body? This life? It's mine forever now."

She blows you a kiss.

"Clean the kitchen, would you? I'm having company tonight. Several companies, actually."

She disappears upstairs, laughing, and you're left standing in a house that was never yours, wearing clothes you don't remember putting on, with memories that don't belong to you slowly suffocating everything you were.

And somewhere, in the deepest part of your mind, a small voice whispers:

Marcus loved you. Marcus was real.

But with every passing second, that voice gets quieter.

And the ring keeps pulsing.