Part 3

Quantum Bound

Part 3: Crossover Event

(Story by Indigocarmine; Artwork by KSG.)

I feel a twitching pulse in what would have been my forehead if I actually had one right now. I cannot believe this bullshit! “You wished for help with this?!”

“Well, come on, like, I had no clue this was gonna happen...”

Okay fair. I sigh, which makes our combined chest rise and fall alarmingly. “So what you need to do is enter your gross income in the field...”

“Field?”

“The typey box...”

“And do you mean gross like nasty or...”

“Gross as in the total amount of money you made this year.”

My bodymate giggles which makes me ripple. “Right! Duh.” And they say I’m just a nice pair of tits...

As Tiffany, the woman I’m currently stuck to, hesitantly types her income into TerminalVelociTax (The fastest achievable tax filing!) I wish I could shake my damn head. Since my face is currently fused into Tiffy’s gigantic right tit, the most I can manage is an unsatisfying jiggle. I settle for rolling my eyes. “How do you not know how to do your taxes? It’s just filling out web forms...”

I feel Tiffany lick her plump lips, “Sal would always do them for me, y’know?”

“Sal who is doing time for tax evasion?”

“Well, yeah, which is why I wished for help doing my taxes right! I don’t want to accidentally end up in prison too!”

I roll my eyes again. I doubt Sal’s tax dodging was accidental and get the sense it might be the least of his crimes. “Okay, Tiff, check the box that says ‘standard deduction’.”

“Okay,” cursor motion and click. So close to freedom! I hate a conjoinment without my own neck!

Tiff stops and runs her hands over our huge, soccer ball sized tits. Aside from my face and pussy being plastered onto them like decals, growing giant breasts is her only magical alteration. It’s as if all of my ghostly body mass has been dumped directly into her tits. “Say Coach, do you think I’ll get to keep these jugs when you move on?”

“I actually don’t know? Once we’re done doing your taxes, poof, I’m outta here, so I only ever get to see the before in this particular makeover situation. I guess it’s possible?” Although I hope not for the sake of some of my weirdly configured former bodymates.

“I kind of hope they stay? I think they’ll be really helpful when I go back to dancing; y’know, now that Sal is out of the picture...”

“Huh, I thought Sal or his... ‘associates’ would look after you?”

Tiffany giggles, “No silly, they only do that for wives!”

“Not girlfriends?”

“Not mistresses...”

“Oh!” Aren’t I a boob. Stuck to a gangster’s Side Piece! Wild! Oh the people that you meet in the conjoinment business.... I cough to clear my throat, “Okay Tiff, now all you have to do is click ‘submit’ and ‘accept’ and you’re all finished! Congrats!” Welcome to adulthood.

“Thanks Coach! Good luck with your next person!”

*click*

And suddenly....

*** 

...I’m somewhere new.

And looking at the beautiful reflection of a shocked and speechless woman whose face is half slathered with shaving cream. From the shaving cream free side I can see she has a model perfect face, high cheekbones, an elegant little nose, and Cupid bow lips currently opened in an ‘o’ of shock. Her wide, slightly vacant eyes are a glorious blue, almost matching her long electric blue dyed hair, which falls luxuriously down her shoulders. She has six large, perfectly formed breasts arranged in three pairs that fill her chest. I’m attached to her by a very long neck that is sprouting from her butt like a tail with my face at it’s tip. Which is weird, but too much neck is way better than none, so no complaints here. She has long arms, beautiful legs, and just an enormous penis and balls. Wait... a cock? We have a cock. “Well that’s new.”

“Ah! What the fuck!” 

Good she isn’t completely catatonic. “Hi. I’m Coach.”

“Seriously! What the fuck is happening!?”

“Is this about the penis? Because I’m confused about that too.”

“No! It’s about everything else! Why do I have tits!?” Blue-girl paws at our breasts and I note she is wearing blue nail polish. “Why am I a girl!?”

“What?”

“I’m a fucking guy!!!”

Dang! This hot chick is a guy? Was a guy? Suddenly the face half covered in shaving cream and the very pink leg razor in our hand makes sense. But that means I’m conjoined to a dude! Which eww, but also woah! This has never happened before. Does this mean my curse just gave him a sex change? Well, partial sex change. What else did the curse do? Oh this is going to be bad... 

“I can explain?” I smile a very plastic looking smile, and the woman, man, whatever, frowns at me beautifully with their blue tinted eyebrows. “The bad news is you’ve been caught up in my curse. The TLDR here is that magic is real, witches are vengeful, and now my disembodied head appears on strangers. We’re stuck together until I help you solve a problem.”

The... person quirks their head, “Like in Quantum Leap?”

I blink my eyes, “Yes! Exactly! So I’m conjoined to you now, and that comes with some extra... accessory changes for magical reasons. Which is usually extra breasts or arms or something. In your case I guess the curse came with feminization?” I smile my best retail apologetic smile, “Sorry, this is my first time fused to a dude, so this is new territory for me too.”

“You said this is the bad part, which implies there is also a good part?” The person looks skeptical.

“Well... the curse changes reality so that everyone thinks you’ve always looked like this. People will notice your extra boobs and um, body, but no one will think it’s weird. The curse also means that I’m basically invisible: people don’t notice me, can’t hear me, and won’t listen to anything you say to me. So, despite this being a very weird situation, to everyone around you, you’ll just be normal. So you’ve got that going for you.”

“I guess that’s a small relief,” the person says, looking unconvinced. They scrape the last of the shaving cream from their face, and turn our body in the mirror, posing a bit, pushing our six tits out, piling their blue hair aside, mouing for the mirror. I feel a strange sensation in our crotch, which must be the penis. “You said we’re stuck until you solve something, then you move on. So do I just go back to normal afterward? Is this permanent?”

“I, uh, don’t actually know?” I do another apology smile, “Once the curse decides the job is done, poof, I’m gone. So I don’t really have any experience with the aftermath. Since the curse is directed at me, I hope none of my past ‘clients’ are being punished, but, well, I was cursed by a witch who didn’t seem the type to be overly concerned with collateral damage.” I think of some of the more improbable bodies I’ve shared and wince.

My body mate rests their elegantly manicured hands on the bathroom sink and tilts their head down, blue hair cascading to hide their face. In a lovely alto voice they say, “This is just absolutely fucked...”

“Look, I’m sorry.” This is no picnic for me either. “What do you need help with? The sooner we fix your problem, the sooner I’m on my way and your life is back to normal. Hopefully.”

My bodymate frowns, looks startled, and slaps the sink in rage before storming out of the bathroom. I yelp as my head is yanked in her wake, neck-tail whiplashing painfully. I twist the long sinuous limb to dodge around the doorframe as we stride into a very small but tidy studio apartment. My angry bodymate walks straight to the small nightstand next to the bed-mode futon and starts angrily rummaging in a drawer. I take the chance to scan the tiny studio, notice the small space is filled by bookshelves full of tall magazine-sized books and see the walls are hung with cute pinup drawings of superheroic women in spandex costumes. My bodymate yanks out a small box and snaps it open revealing a solitaire engagement ring. “This is what I need help with!”

“Uh?”

My bodymate still looks angry “I need to ask my girlfriend to marry me!”

Oh shit, this is going to be so awkward...

***

I am behind the counter at a tiny comic book shop with Tracy, my bodymate. He, since he insists that I use male pronouns despite all evidence to the contrary, owns and runs the joint. Since it’s Wednesday, which is new comic book day, he absolutely has to be here unless the world is literally ending. Waking up to find yourself conjoined to a stranger and suddenly a well hung chick apparently doesn’t qualify. “So... in this new reality you’re a girl,” I say as tactfully as I can.

Tracy just grunts and hunches over the paper he is drawing on. I try to stretch my long neck over for a peek, but he swats at me like a fly. Fine, don’t show me.

I feel for the guy, I do. Waking up to find yourself not only in a new body, but in a new world where you are and have always been a woman has to be deeply uncanny. His tiny apartment, while still a shrine to geek culture, is now decidedly girly. The bookshelves are still filled with comics, but now they sport painfully cute figurines and tchotchkes: cutesy skeletons, cutesy robots, cutsey mutant monsters, and cutesy Cthulhu’s all impishly smiling. The walls are covered in pinup drawings of lady superheroes, which Tracy insists aren’t his art from before.  The drawings are by the right artists, but ‘it’s creepy for dudes to go around requesting good girl art’ so his original collection had featured fewer sexy ladies posing. Apparently Lady Tracy had executed the ‘it’s fine for girls to like cheesecake loophole’. There is a sewing machine and a rack hung with costumes, many still works in progress. Alt-Tracy seems into cosplay, something original Tracy had always been too shy to try. There is makeup scattered side tables, a collection of popfiction purses, dried flowers, and a great many scented candles. And then there’s the closet...

It seems that Femme-Tracy is something of a fashionable geek princess with the flirty, gothy clothes to go with it. Tracy’s magically warped closet is brimming with clingy, strappy tops with plunging necklines, mostly in black. New Tracy has a whole collection of witchy little black dresses and even a few of what can only be described as gowns. There are abundant tiny skirts, corsets, garter belts and stockings, and even a very expensive looking black latex catsuit. For someone who went to bed last night as a jeans and t-shirt kind of dude it’s a lot to take in.

I had coached a stunned Tracy to dress our body in underwear that were essentially boxer briefs decorated with lace and a tiny bow (but were still covered in onomatopoeia of Bams! And Pows!) and to put on a nice black lacey bras: one normal and two strapless (because epic tits like this need support damnit, Tracy). Tracy picked out the alternate reality version of what had been his favourite t-shirt: a navy tee with a captain America shield emblazoned on the front, which Alt-Tracy had made more form-fitting by braiding the side seams. He paired this with torn black skinny jeans, converse sneakers, and a red checkered plaid shirt that was too tight to button over our six tits. The effect was much more casual than most of Tracy’s options, but dang if he still didn’t look effortlessly hot.

Thankfully the morning was busy enough to keep Tracy occupied and not freaking out. Bundled up in an X-patched olive surplus jacket we walked down rainy, foggy streets to Tracy’s favourite hipster donut shop for a treat and coffee to go. The guy at the counter gawked at us like a horny idiot until his punky manager slapped him gently upside the head instantly making me like her moxy. Then it was a few more cold wet blocks to GUTTERSNIPE COMICS, a tiny storefront squeezed into an alleyway lined with little shops. Tracy unlocked the shop, flipped on the lights, and drank his coffee while printing out a ream of cryptic lists. Then a courier arrived to deliver a great many heavy white boxes filled with comic books which Tracy signed for, hefted awkwardly into the store, carefully unpacked, and started comparing to an invoice. Tracy spread the new comics along the counter lining one wall of his tiny store and started working through his printed lists, snatching up itemized comics and placing little stacks of books aside in reserve boxes, ‘savers’ according to Tracy. Then he merchandised some new books onto the magazine racks along the other wall of his shop, sat down at his desk, and started drawing while we waited for customers. My bodymate can compartmentalize like a champ. 

While I’m pretty happy Tracy is keeping his shit together, I’m also anxious to get working on his problem, and frankly more than a little bored. There is only so long a head can gawk at an 800 square foot store, even one absolutely packed full of visually interesting comics and collectibles. “You know, you’re going to have to deal with this eventually,” I say gently. “I mean, even your drivers license has you listed as female...” Which given our magically enchanced cock is actually pretty interesting. Tracy just grunts and keeps drawing.

An antique shop bell tinkles as a customer furtively enters. Yes! Tracy is distracted! I lunge my neck like a snake to get a view of Tracy’s drawing, but he quickly folds it over and weights it with an empty spider-mug. Rats! “You suck.”

“Hey Tyler,” Tracy says, cheerfully ignoring me. Tyler blushes and mumbles, averting eye contact. The twenty-something guy in a batman tee shuffles into the store looking every bit the extremely awkward nerd. “I got some new stuff for your saver,” Tracy says, standing gracefully and turning to the longboxes filled with reserved comics. He bends over to rifle through a box and I smirk as Tyler ogles his butt, staring at the place just above my neck-tail where Tracy’s shirt rides up, exposing the small of his back and a hint of his shapely ass below. “Here it is,” Tracy sings, standing. Tyler blushes crimson and abruptly looks elsewhere. Smoooth there kid. 

Tracy, completely oblivious to the effect our body is having on Tyler, places his hands on the counter and leans forward, making our six breasts even more prominent. Tyler swallows and fights to maintain eye contact. “How did you like the new FF last week?” Tracy asked in what I’m sure was a playful tone in his old voice, but which sounds downright flirty now. Tyler blushes again and mumbles that it was good, looks pointedly away. Tracy, now sporting a pretty frown, rings up Tylers order and watches him leave. “What’s up with him? I usually can’t shut him up about the Fantastic Four...”

I resist the urge to say ‘his penis’ and decide to let my bodymate down gently, “I think Tyler has a crush on you. This you.”

Tracy just groans. He takes us back to his desk and returns to his secret drawing. “Are you ever going to let me see that? You better not be drawing me getting my head cut off or something.”

“Don’t give me any ideas...” Tracy licks his plush lips, “I’ll show you when I’m done, okay? Drawing is part of how I cope with shit, and my extra head yabbering at me is definitely fucking with my mojo...”

“Fine....” 

The door tinkles again and in walks a stunningly beautiful young woman wearing barista drag. “New comic booooook dayyyy,” she sings badly with a bright smile. She is in her early twenties, long limbed and lithe, with a heart shaped face and cascading black hair. Her presence in a comic book shop might say geek, but her body says maybe modeling with a serious ballet habit on the side. “Hi Tracy!” she says excitedly, bouncing on her toes. 

Tracy looks surprised, “Melanie, right?”

Melanie fondly rolls her eyes, “Of course, you weird dork. Where are my comics!?”

Tracy uncertainly digs out another saver pile of comics from a box, pulling out a healthy stack of books. Melanie rifles through them with obvious delight, pausing and frowning at the end, “Where’s my X-force?” Tracy sighs and tucks a loop of blue hair behind his ear “Sorry, we got shorted again...” Melanie smirks at Tracy conspiratorially, “Fucking Bastards! You’ll grab me my copy when it comes?” Tracy blinks, “Of course.” “Beautiful,” Melanie purrs. I can tell Tracy is confused, but Melanie seems to be completely at ease.

As she is paying Melanie asks Tracy, “Do you want to see my costume for tonight? I have process pics.” She smiles and thrusts her phone into our hands, and I peer over Tracy’s shoulder to see. In the open photo app I see a picture of purple fabric patterns splayed on a table. Tracy flips ahead and the fabric gets gold trim and brocade, and then is sewn into what has to be too little clothing. Then there are pictures of Melanie posing in front of a full length mirror wearing only a newly made purple one piece swimsuit, cutaway to be little more than a thong and very minimalist bra. I feel heat in our body’s shared crotch and an alien swelling. Oooh weird. Tracy hastily flips through pics of Melanie checking her profile and ass in the costume. As the selfies progress, Melanie’s costume gains purple chaps, gold painted high heels, some purple straps, and a tight purple sleeve on her right arm. She looks sexy and I can tell from Tracy’s physical reaction that he agrees. “It’s supposed to be Ivy Valentine from Soulcalibur,” Melanie says happily, taking back her phone.

Tracy stammers and blushes like a Tyler. Smooth there dude. Smoooth...

Melanie ignores him, “I’m stuck on what to do about armor for the left arm. I’m about to hit up the craft store, but I really suck at that stuff.” She frowns, “Hey, you and Alexa have done armor a few times. Have any tips for me?”

Tracy blinks and comes back to himself. “Uh, yeah, actually? Have you thought about crafting foam? It’s super easy to work with and you can buy cheap patterns online. Just find something close to what you want, print out the pattern, and cut out the shapes. Then you just heat it up, bend it into shape, and let it cool. Glue the pieces together, give it a layer of gold paint, and you’re good to go.” Tracy frowns, “You just need like, a pauldron and a few panels, right? That should just be easy enough to finish. But geez you’re gonna have to hurry.”

“Obviously,” Melanie sticks out her pink little tongue. “You and Alexa are coming to the Fight Club party right?”

Tracy frowns, not sure how to answer. “Just assume it’s the same answer as it was before the curse,” I suggest while Melanie looks blankly at us.

“Yyessss?”

Melanie rolls her eyes. “Oookay? Who are you guys going as?”

“I don’t know? I’m not sure I was planning to wear a costume.”

Melanie laughs, “As if! Fine, keep it a surprise.” She picks up her bag of comics, flips Tracy a little salute, and sashays out the door. “See you toniiiiight!”

“That was so weird,” Tracy says after the door to the shop closes.

“What do you mean?”

“Melanie has been a regular here for like three years and that was by far the longest conversation we’ve ever had.” Tracy rubs his gorgeous face, “She was always so impersonal before; just quietly picking up her comics with the minimum polite chitchat. And now she’s acting like we’re friends and showing me pictures of her in underwear.” Tracy blushes and I try not to think about that feeling of phallic arousal. “What the fuck?”

“She obviously sees you as one of the girls now.” I stretch my neck around so Tracy can see my face, “Young women who look like Melanie have to cultivate a sort of aloof distance when dealing with men in public, probably especially in geeky spaces like this. She was probably Ms. Cool Cucumber before so you and all the Tyler’s in the world wouldn’t get any funny ideas. But now that you’re Team Lady, she’s probably comfortable letting her hair down and showing you her real, dorky self.” 

Tracy grimaces, “Great! So Tyler has the hots for me and some borderline stranger is my gal pal! I am so fucked!”

“Calm down, I’m sure this’ll all get worked out...”

“Calm down? Calm down!” Tracy grabs the paper he had been drawing on and finally shows it to me. It’s a half finished drawing of a guy with short hair hair and a trimmed beard, a hawkish nose and kind eyes. He’s a bit overweight, but in a chill not unhealthy way, and is wearing a familiar Captain America t-shirt and the sketchy start of a flannel shirt. It’s a very good drawing; Tracy is apparently something of a talented artist.

“It’s you isn’t it?”

Tracy sighs, clenches and unclenches our fists. “How I was, yeah. Just some average guy with a comic book shop. And now I’m a ravishingly beautiful woman with six tits and everyone is treating me differently. Like I’ve always been this whole other person. How am I supposed to ask Alexa to marry me like this? What does our relationship even look like now? Is she gay now? Like what the fuck?”

I open my mouth to reply and close it. I don’t really have an answer for him. Usually reality doesn’t really change much when I’m stuck to someone, especially when it comes to other people. This situation is totally new to me too. “I don’t...”

I’m saved by the shop bell tinkling as someone new enters. “Hey babe,” a woman says brightly.

I feel our heart beat faster and Tracy’s mouth go dry “Alexa...” Oh shit.

Alexa is a short woman with a spiky blonde pixie cut and a playful smile on her lips. She stands a bit over five feet and has a body that is somehow compact and generous all at once. She has thighs and a butt and surprisingly prominent breasts, but is also clearly quite fit and springy in a way that makes me think of gymnasts and trampolines. It’s like someone had taken a taller woman and concentrated her into a smaller, vivacious package. She is wearing a smart business sweater, tight slacks, and nice riding boots and is carrying a garment bag draped over one shoulder. She marches up to us, stands on tip toes, and gives Tracy a quick but unchaste kiss. “I brought your costume for tonight,” she says, handing us the garment bag.

“Okay?” Tracy says.

“I’ve got a little time before I need to be back at to the courthouse. Want to join me for a quick... lunch?” Based on the look I don’t think she means food.

Tracy blushes and shakes his head, blue hair flailing. “No, um, the customers?”

“Wednesday, right,” Alexa says with amusement, shaking her head. “I guess I’ll just have to catch you later then.” She turns and walks out the door, being sure to put a little extra into her walk. Let us see just what Tracy is missing. She really does have a nice butt. And based on the feeling from our loins, Tracy agrees.

***

“Okay, so why haven’t you proposed exactly?” 

Tracy is walking us back to his apartment after closing up shop, costume bag draped over one of our shoulders. Business picked up not long after Alexa left and Tracy had been busy selling comics and chatting with regulars, most of whom seemed to treat my bodymate normally, although there were a few notable outliers falling on the Melanie-Tyler spectrum. I mostly kept my mouth shut and enjoyed the show, tried to be as unobtrusive as an animated extra head could. Now that we’re walking home I figure this is a good time to try for a more serious conversation. Start working on that exit strategy. “Seriously, is there something wrong between you guys? Do you doubt she’s ‘the one’?”

Tracy stops us, sighs, “No, Alexa is amazing! She’s really smart, fun, and I’m super attracted to her.” I could tell. “And we have a ton of common interests. It’s not like there aren’t a lot of girls into geeky stuff, but Alexa is the first woman who I’ve really been into who has all the same hobbies. It really is like being in love with my best friend.”

“That sounds pretty perfect to me. So what’s the problem?”

“Aside from me being a well endowed lady?”

Nice try dude. “Yes, aside from that. Why did you need my dumb head and help to propose?”

“It’s a me thing.” Tracy pulls our field jacket, which I now know is covered in X-men team patches, tighter around our body.  “It’s just... I’m really happy right now.”

I quirk my eyebrow, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Tracy starts us walking again, but in kind of a pacing, agitated way. “You are always supposed to want more, y’know? To be ambitious and successful and to always grow as a person. But, why? Things are perfect for me right now. I run my own comic shop, which is kind of a dream job. I get to think and talk about comics all day, with cool people who share my interests, and I get to be like, the nucleus of a community. It’s a bit like being a nerd priest, I guess? And it’s a job that gives me plenty of time to draw and work on making my own comics. And sure it would be cool to become a professional comic artist or whatever, but breaking into the industry is hard and honestly I just love doing it. So I’m doing what I love. And I have an amazing girlfriend who loves me and likes all the same geeky stuff. It’s perfect.” Tracy kicks an empty beer can which rattles onto the street, “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Why would marrying Alexa fuck it up?”

“Because running a comic book shop isn’t a career. Sure I make enough money to keep the shop going, pay my rent, and keep myself fed; but I also live in a shitty tiny apartment and don’t really make money. It’s a break even business, and really one that isn’t even going to last forever. The Direct Market is fucked.” Tracy turns us at his building’s entry, digs out his keys. “That’s all fine for just me, but will it be enough for Alexa after we’re married? A year from now? Five?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Tracy walks us into his buildings dark little stairwell and starts trudging up the stairs, “I didn’t start Guttersnipe comics. I shopped there as a teen, and this great guy Ray was the owner. He loved that place and ran it like a second home for all the awkward nerds who needed a place to belong. But then he got married and had a kid, and hired me to help on weekends so he could spend more time with his family. His family grew and so did his expenses, and suddenly running a comic shop wasn’t enough anymore. Ray had obligations, responsibilities, and so he sold the shop to me for 100 bucks and a promise I would keep it going for his customers as long as I could.” Tracy stopped in front of his apartment door, looked back at my tail suspended face. “Ray sells insurance now. I can tell he hates it.” He shakes his head, “I don’t want to end up like that.”

I bite my lip and frown, time to take one for the team. “Before I was a cursed head, I had a guy in my life. I loved him so much, more than I think I realized at the time.” I swallow a lump in my throat, allow myself to think about his quiet confidence and how fucking hot it was that he built his own furniture. “I think I have the opposite problem that you do: I’m a striver, I buy into the you gotta make your life better, want more than you have. When I was with Jack, my guy, I was always hustling, trying to get my coaching career going, volunteering, counseling, and working the weird collection of odd jobs that paid the bills. I loved Jack, but he was never my priority.” Damnit Coach, you will not cry right now. “I could tell he wanted more, but he was too respectful of my goals to be pushy about it. Now that I’m a Quantum Hobo...”

“Quantum Hobo?”

“Now that I’m cursed, the thing I regret most is that I didn’t try harder with Jack; that I wasn’t more serious about our relationship.” I give Tracy my level best Coach look, “You never know when life will throw you a curve ball, fuck you up, or turn you into a ghost head. There won’t always be more time and nothing lasts forever.” I smile wistfully, “If you really love someone, go for it. Everything else will work itself out.”

Tracy stares at me while I blink back tears. “That’s heavy.”

“Yeah well...” 

Tracy finally opens the door to his tiny studio apartment, hangs the costume bag on a hook by the door, and kicks off our sneakers and wiggles free of our coat. “Oh thank god, I thought you were never going to get here...”

“Alexa?”

There was Alexa sitting naked in Tracy’s folded out futon, her breasts somehow even larger unclothed. She smiles crookedly at us, tosses the graphic novel she was reading onto the floor. “I told you I’d catch you later,” she said, voice husky. 

Tracy stammers, our heart beating faster in our chest. Alexa slides gracefully out from under the covers baring her tightly packaged body, all curves and fitness. I feel butterflies in my chest, the sensation of six nipples getting hard, and blood rushing bizarrely to my crotch. I feel our penis swell, growing so much longer, harder, being squeezed by our tight feminine jeans. It’s feels so hot, so much larger than it actually is, like half our body is cock. Alexa pushes herself off the bed, rolls to her feet, walks to us. I stare, dumbstruck. I’m not especially attracted to women, but I can feel Tracy’s arousal, his attraction. Our body wants to fuck so bad. I lick my lips in anticipation. 

Alexa walks to us, pulls Tracy’s head down for a long deep kiss that leaves him gasping for air. Alexa doesn’t pause, reaches under our shirt, pulls it up to our throat, exposes our six breasts snug in their bras. She runs her hands over our chest, unhooking clasps, baring our lower four tits which she leans in to kiss, to caress. Tracy moans, we both do, and Alexa guides us to the bed, pushes us onto it, helps us pull off our shirts and last bra. She opens the fly of our jeans, pulls it open a little to reveal the hard bulge of our huge cock straining against our feminized boxers. Alexa purrs and straddles our lap, presses her hot wet naked crotch against our clothed cock, grinds against us. The feeling is electric and weird and I moan. Tracy and Alexa kiss and touch, explore each other’s mouths and breasts with their lips and hands, while Alexa aggressively drags her pussy against us. I want to be inside her so much. Alexa pulls back, breathing hard, lips quirked in a naughty smile. “You’re so fucking hot,” she whispers as she pulls herself back, helps Tracy wiggle us out of our pants and underwear. My eyes go wide at the sight of our cock, it’s huge, a towering plinth of flesh; easily the biggest cock I’ve ever seen outside a porno. Alexa bends down and runs her tongue along our cock, making Tracy squirm and me mewl at the alien pleasure. She kisses the tip, briefly wraps her mouth around the bulge of our glans, and then Tracy is pushing her over, crawling on top and pressing Alexa down onto the mattress, gripping her wrists, pushing our enormous cock against Alexa’s pussy. “Mmmm, easy Tiger,” Alexa says, moving her hips, working her vaginal lips around our urgent erection. It feels amazing, like fate. Somehow Tracy keeps it together, goes slowly, presses us firmly but slowly into Alexa, who groans and writhes as she is impaled by us. We gasp, feeling the hot wet heat of the inside of Alexa’s cunt, the pressure of her pussy straining against our girth. A part of me reels, I am sexually penetrating someone for the first time! Our six breasts hang heavily below us, our top-most nipples almost brushing Alexa’s. I stretch my long neck-tail over to the side, finding a crane cam vantage, trying to get out of the way. “Ohhhh fuuuuck,” Alexa gasps, looking up at us with eyes alight with love, a smile tugging at her lips. Tracy is panting and smiling back, still pushing forward, straining to somehow fit more of our cock inside her. “Fuck me Tracy,” Alexa whispers, “fuck me hard.” And so Tracy does, thrusting into his would be fiancée with an intensity bordering on violence. Alexa moans and pants, bracing herself on the futon, pushing back against us. Waves of unfamiliar pleasure wash over us, over me, buffet with me the experience of fucking someone with a cock. My long neck flails and I groan. Tracy pushes his angle lower, grabs Alexa’s plush ass for more leverage, fucks Alexa harder, our six breasts pressing against her with every thrust. Alexa clutches at us and shrieks, digs her nails into our back and arches, orgasming. Tracy suddenly groans and I feel whatever force was holding us back break open and suddenly we’re boiling, pulsing, surging inside of Alexa as we come. It seems to go on forever and I actually scream a little. And then we are laying bonelessly on the futon, on Alexa, gasping.

I experience the strange feeling of our cock wilting inside of a woman, slowly shrinking, and then all at once popping out of her, wet and sticky. “Mmmmmm,” Tracy says, feeling relaxed for the first time since I conjoined to him. Alexa reaches up and brushes Tracy’s messy blue hair from his delicate face, looks at him lovingly. “As lovely as this is,” Alexa says fondly, “you really have to get off me.” Tracy rolls over with a grunt, almost crushing me, to stare placidly at the ceiling. 

Alexa crawls out of bed, begins pulling on her work clothes from earlier. “Where are you going?” Tracy mumbles.

“I left my wig at home,” Alexa says with a can-you-believe-it smile, “So I gotta run over there and finish getting ready. I’ll just meet you at Quarters, okay?” She slips on her boots, gives Tracy a long, hot kiss and leaves, “I can’t wait to see you in your costume tonight...”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tracy says in wonder.

“You really need to ask that girl to marry you.”  

***

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Tracy says, fumbling with the buttons of our trench coat with his costume gloved hands. 

“When a woman fucks you like that and tells you to put on a costume, you put on the damn costume.” I say, smiling playfully.

Tracy blushes as he hands our coat over to the coat check girl and accepts the ticket which he puts into the small purse he brought. “Yeah, but this is *barely* a costume.”

I giggle, “Yeah but we are totally pulling it off.” I nod my head at the magically oblivious bystanders who are clearly checking us out. Tracy just groans.

Tonight we are dressed as, or in cosplay speak ‘coming as’, someone named Felicia from something called Darkstalkers. Which means we are *very* scantily clad as a blue haired catgirl. Tracy’s long blue hair is pulled back by a white headband with huge, cartoonish cat ears and on our arms are white opera gloves with big cat paw mittens and some tufts of fake white fur. On our legs is a similar setup with big catpaw slippers connecting to thigh high white stockings also decorated with fur. And that’s really about it as far as actual clothing. The rest of the costume is made of bulging white bikini bottoms, a disguised garter belt to hold our stockings up, and straps of furry fabric glued to our body to hide our six nipples. Oh and my long tail-like neck has a sleave of white fabric since tonight I’m doubling as ‘Felicia’s’ cat tail. It’s easily the sluttiest costume I’ve ever worn in public, so I get Tracy’s discomfort, but this body we share is definitely sexy enough to make it look good. 

We are in a bar that is also an arcade (a barcade?) called Quarters. There are old fashioned game consoles everywhere, your mister and missus Pac-Man, your ride-a-fake-motorcycle in front a screen deals, and whole banks of themed pinball machines, from your Indianas Joneses to your Terminators. Lights flash, theme music and sound effects fill the air, and people holding colourful drinks laugh and mingle. The main space of the bar, what would normally be a dancefloor maybe, has tables in front a big projected screen with two characters locked in two dimensional mortal combat. Big speakers play heart-pounding techno theme music and taunting voices shout at us to “Get over here!” and “Finish him!”. A pair of laughing gamers sit on a little karoake stage with Nintendo controllers, probably the players of the projected game. The walls around this central area are lined with fighting games like Mortal Combat, Street Fighter, and a big cabinet with Spider-man, The Hulk, and a picture of our catgirl Felicia on it, like a total synthesis of my day. Marvel-vs-Capcom, apparently. I kind of want to play it? A blonde waitress dressed in a green cap and tunic with a toy sword and shield on her back slips by carrying a tray of drinks. This place looks pretty fun actually. Tracy stops by a pair of guys wearing red and blue karate uniforms who are stamp-dancing on a colour coded platform game called Dance Dance Revolution in front of a crowd of other cosplayers. Melanie, dressed in her purple and gold bathing suit outfit, now with a golden sleeve adorned with chunky gold armor plates and carrying a golden skipping rope, smiles and waves at us. “Meee-owww” A voice says behind us. 

We turn and there is Alexa smiling in absolute delight and dressed in her own sexy costume. She’s wearing a sage green wig with long straight bangs and big cartoony bat wings sticking out of it. On her body is a tight one piece bustier with a plunging neck line and heart-shaped cut out, pushing her already impressive breasts up into a spectacular décolletage. The cups of her bustier flow into a furred fringe that attaches to fine, fishnet sleeves that open at her fingers, which have long, sharpened pink acrylic nails. Under the high thong cut crotch of her one piece, Alex is wearing sheer purple tinted pantyhose with cute batshapes painted on them that show off her ass and curvy legs until they disappear into kneehigh black stiletto boots. Finally Alexa has a pair of larger cartoon batwings attached to the small of her back, bigger versions of those in her wig. These wings are easily as wide as Alexa is tall, but she’s bent them to be partially furled, so that they only double her width. I recognize the character as Morrigan from Darkstalkers, a succubus and main character according to Tracy. It might only be bleed through from Tracy, but Alexa is looking very sexy and I can feel our loins starting to stir. Which makes me wonder if our tight white furry panties are up to the task or if we are destined for a major wardrobe malfunction.

Alexa looks us over, up and down, studying our costume. “I’m glad you made me wait to see the whole thing,” she said, biting her lip and blushing a little. I could feel Tracy blush too and shyly mumble. “Dressed like this,” Alexa says, voice husky, “there is something I really want to do with you right now...” She grabs us by the arm and pulls. “Come on!” Alexa-as-Morrigan drags us through the bar, making people separate around her wingspan, until she brings us to a game cabinet labelled Marvel-vs-Capcom 2: New Age of Heroes. Alexa glares at us with a mock seriousness, “Now, we must duel!” Tracy laughs and the two quickly select teams of three game characters and start to fight. All I can do is watch, because y’know, conjoined head, but the pair dive into the game with a real zeal, mashing buttons, and thrusting joysticks. On the screen a cartoon Felicia and Morrigan punch and kick each other, while the IRL costumed versions of them laugh and swear at each other. A health bar runs low, and suddenly both teams start swapping fighters: Alexa cycling between Morrigan, a woman in a green and yellow unitard and cute jacket, and the Hulk; while Tracy has a team of Felicia, Spider-Man, and a metal doofus in a green cloak. Cartoonish superpowered violence ensues and Tracy pretty handily wins, maybe the better gamer of the pair. Alexa sticks out her tongue and demands a “Rematch!” They pick the same characters and go again, Tracy managing to defeat his bat-winged girlfriend a second time. “Again coward!” Alexa demands with a smile, and they play a third time. This time Alexa starts to jostle us, to poke and tickle, which in our scanty costume is super effective. I snicker as Tracy squirms; it turns out we have sensitive sideboobs, a critical vulnerability. With the added distraction Alexa manages to squeeze out a narrow win. “Best three of five!” She howls. Tracy and Alexa play again, but this time both players are shoving, poking, tickling, butt pinching, and borderline groping. Somehow the game is forgotten and the pair come together in a passionate kiss. Alexa pulls back and looks up at us, eyes glowing, “I love you Tracy.”

“I love you too.”

Alexa fumbles with her purse, digging for something inside. “Do you know what my happy place is? What I think about when I’m having a tough day at work or hear something soul crushing in court? I think about Sunday morning in bed with you at your shitty apartment, surrounded by all your stuff, reading comics in bed, drinking coffee and tea while it’s raining outside. I love that.” She looks at Tracy, blushes, “I need that. And I want it forever, well not your apartment obviously, it’s a shitty little box with one room and one window... but you, I want you and your world. I want to live in planet Tracy for the rest of my life.” She pulls out a little box from her purse. A ring box! “I know you have the penis in our relationship, but well...”

“Nooooo!” I say, unsure of how this would effect the curse.

Tracy puts his giant pawed hand over the box, stopping Alexa. “Hold on, okay?” Tracy picks up his purse, fumbles the zipper with his kitty paw hands. “Here,” I say, leaning over and biting the zipper tab, tugging it open. Gotta earn my Coach points somehow. Tracy awkwardly lifts out his own tiny ring box, balances it awkwardly on a gloved hand.

Alexa’s eyes go round and she squeaks. “Oh my god!”

“Alexa? Will you marry me?” Tracy says while dropping to one shapely knee. “Sorry, you’ll have to open it. Paws...”

“Yes! Of course!” The succubus is crying as she swoops down for a hug. “I mean, I was trying to ask you....”

Around us people are clapping.  Alexa pops open the ringbox, pulls out a solitaire ring, slips it onto her finger, eyes still shining with tears. I smile, maybe a little teary myself. Coach you old softy.

And suddenly...

***

I’m elsewhere.

“You have to tell them I’m not crazy.”

I blink my eyes, look around. I’m a second head attached to the shoulders of a woman with blazing bright eyes who is staring at me intensely. Our body is wrapped in some sort of tight, constraining jacket. The walls of the white room are covered in padding. Where am I? Oh. “Oh no.”

My straitjacketed new bodymate smiles at me, slightly unhinged. “You have to help me get out of here.”

***

Part 4: For The Long Haul