My eyes roll up in my head as I allow one of my alternative personalities, my alters, to rise up from my subconscious, a fierce buzzing sound invading my skull as she seizes control of my flesh, and it’s like being possessed by a demon, like being filled with a thousand fevers all raging at once, her thoughts overwriting my thoughts, her memories replacing my memories, and moments later fluent Arabic spills from my lips as I take on the features and persona of a Middle Eastern princess.
In an instant I have transformed myself, my flesh visibly darkening, becoming olive toned, my eyes changing from bright green to dark brown, flashing behind a veil of mascara, my hips widening, my belly rolling with the subtle skill of a Bedouin belly dancer, milking his cock in a kind of controlled delirium.
Angelo recoils in shock, his eyes blinking like a pair of defective shutters, as though refusing to accept what they see.
His hands reach out blindly for me, groping my breasts (smaller), my belly (fuller), my hips (wider), trying to determine if I’m still the same person, and then something like revulsion crosses his face and he tries to push me off.
At once I transform into a Russian fire dancer, teasing him in ancient Cossack, my hair bleaching before his very eyes, my skin becoming alabaster pale and glistening with jewels of sweat.
‘What are you, for God’s sake?’ He gasps.
He’s trying to throw me off, but I grip him with the powerful muscles of my thighs, snarling at him as I pound up and down on his cock, riding him like a cowboy rides a militant bronco.
He cries out, his voice harsh, almost childlike, as the ecstasy begins to overwhelm him.
In the wink of an eye I am a middle aged Cuban woman with slow, heavy thighs and huge pendulous breasts that shudder and flap and crash together as I bring him to his peak.