Her current life...

"Oh, fuck, I'm such a hotie," Mary muttered under her breath, her thumb hovering over the screen as she scrolled through the flood of notifications. Her Instagram post—the one with her arched back against her bedroom mirror, the curve of her ass barely hidden by lace had hit a thousand likes in under an hour. DMs pulsed in like a live wire, a relentless stream of fire emojis, thirst traps, and outright propositions. She bit her lip, scrolling past a dick pic from some gym bro with the caption u could break me.

The ring on her finger was thick, silver, and pulsing faintly with an unnatural warmth as felt heavier than usual. She twisted it absently, remembering the dull ache of her old body, the sweat-stained shirts and receding hairline, the way cashiers used to call her "sir" without a second glance. Now, when she walked into a coffee shop, heads turned. Now, men tripped over their words. Now, she could post a single pic and make half the internet whimper.

"This ring’s got taste," Mary murmured, turning her wrist to admire the way the dim bedroom light caught the silver band. It wasn’t just the body it had given her as the hips that swayed like a pendulum, the lips that looked perpetually swollen...it was the details. The way her eyelashes curled without mascara, the way her skin stayed smooth no matter how little she slept. She traced a finger along her collarbone, shuddering at the memory of how it used to jut out sharp and angular, buried under a layer of neglected flab. Now, it was a fucking sculpture.

"I cannot fucking believe I was Mark," Mary laughed, rolling her eyes as she stretched out on the bed, her toes curling into the silk sheets. The name tasted like ash in her mouth now...

Mark, the sad, balding accountant who ate microwaved dinners alone, whose only excitement was jerking off to camgirls. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, the strands catching the light like spun gold. The ring had known what she wanted before she did. It had peeled away that pathetic existence like old wallpaper.

She remembered the antique shop...dusty, smelling of mothballs and regret and the way the ring had called to her from behind the smudged glass case. The shopkeeper, a withered thing with yellowed nails, had grinned when she asked about it. "One promise," he'd wheezed, "and it'll give you the opposite of what you are." She'd laughed then, imagining becoming some Adonis. The joke was on her. The ring had taken her vanity and spun it into something far more delicious.

The ring burned hotter now, responding to the dopamine rush flooding her system. Mary inhaled sharply as this wasn't just memory. The scent of her sweat was different tonight, sweet and musky. She pressed her thighs together, remembering how last week she'd let that bartender with the snake tattoo fuck her in the club bathroom. His hands on her throat. The sticky floor against her knees. The way he'd gasped when she took him deep, her new throat designed to swallow. She hadn't even needed to practice.

She remembred the exact moment the ring clicked onto Mark's- finger. The cold metal had seared hotter than a branding iron for one dizzying second, then the pain dissolved into liquid heat, flooding up her arm, down her spine, between her thighs. Mark had gasped, clawing at his collar as his throat tightened...and reshaping.

The sound that came out was a moan, high and wanton, and when she looked down, her shirt was straining over new curves, buttons popping as flesh swelled beneath. The ring pulsed once, twice, and then she was on her knees, shuddering as her old body sloughed off like dead skin.

Mary ran her hands over herself now feeling nothing but smooth skin and softness. No trace of stubble, no wiry chest hair, no awkward bulk of muscle that never quite filled out right. Just the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the kind of body that made strangers lick their lips without thinking. She pressed her fingers between her thighs and laughed, giddy, at the wetness already there. "Fuck, I'm dripping," she whispered, dragging her fingers up to her mouth just to taste it.

The mirror showed her everything the ring had erased...no shadow of Mark, no hesitation in her movements. She arched her back, watching the way her breasts lifted, the pink nipples pebbling under her own gaze. She wasn't just female now; she was designed, every curve calibrated for maximum effect. The ring hadn't just changed her body; it had rewritten her instincts. She didn't just look like she knew how to take cock...her body craved it, thrummed with the memory of every thick inch she'd swallowed since the transformation.

"God, I can't wait to get another big one down my throat," Mary groaned, tilting her head. Her reflection smirked back, the girl who'd sucked off three strangers in a club bathroom last weekend and still woke up hungry. She grabbed her phone, scrolling past the dick pics flooding her DMs with some pathetic, some promising until she paused at one from a guy named Tyler. Thick forearms, a smirk that said he knew exactly how to use his hands...and the promise of a party tonight. Her fingers danced over the screen: "save me a drink and your dick, I'm starving."

The ring pulsed against her finger, hotter now, like it approved. Mary licked her lips, imagining Tyler's grip on her hips, the way his breath would hitch when she took him deep. She shimmied into a dress so tight it might as well have been painted on, the fabric clinging to every curve the ring had carved for her.

"Ready for my daily dose," Mary winked at her reflection, blowing a kiss at the mirror before strutting toward the door. Her hips swayed with practiced ease, each step a promise of what she’d do to the first man who looked at her twice. The dress whispered against her thighs like an accomplice. She didn’t need a purse, just her phone and the ring, its heat throbbing in time with her pulse. Tonight she was about being devoured. This was her liturgy, her worship...her life now.