Stripper Curse

— Baby, please! This was all a mistake! — John squealed, staring at his wife Rita, shrinking his shoulders and trembling from the cold and pure terror. — I swear I’ll change! I’ve realized everything! I mean it!

His eyes darted between his wife and his tits, glancing from her to his chest and back again. The lace corset squeezed his ribs painfully tight, but even worse were those huge tits, jiggling and bouncing like they had a mind of their own no matter how hard he tried to control them. It was hopeless.

— Yeah, sure, I know… of course you’ll change, — Rita smirked, placing her hands on her hips, staring at the terrified, overly sexy girl in front of her, barely managing to stay upright in high heels, desperately trying to cover her breasts with her arms — though it was useless. — I’m sure you won’t last long as just a stripper.

— I… I’m not gonna work as a stripper! You’re insane if you think turning me into this means I’ll play by your rules! — John shouted, but his voice cracked into a high-pitched squeal by the end of the sentence.

He froze, covering his mouth with his hand, only to accidentally bump his enormous tits with his elbow. They jiggled tightly in the corset, shaking with every heavy breath.

— Oh, baby… — Rita stepped closer, running her finger down his… her cheek. — If only you could hear yourself right now. “I’m not gonna!” — she mocked in a squeaky little voice. — I’m sure in a month you’ll be just another moaning little slut, crawling on your knees begging for a chance to lick someone’s cock.

— Rita… — Johna whispered — the name already sounded way too natural in her head — backing away unsteadily on her heels. — This… this is insane…

— No, baby, — Rita’s voice turned cold, almost businesslike. — This is justice. For all your cheating. For all your lies. For years of pretending. And now — you’ve got a choice. Either you get out there and start working — like the filthy whore you are now — or your IQ’s gonna drop, and your libido’s gonna spike with every second you waste.

— Y-you’re bluffing… — Johna whispered, feeling her knees weaken. The cold from the tiled floor crept through her thin stockings, forcing her to wiggle her toes in her heels just to keep from collapsing. But something else… something strange stirred inside her head. Like a word she’d always known just vanished, erased like it never existed.

— Already starting, huh? — Rita leaned in closer, staring into her eyes. — You’ve got no idea how fast your brains melt away when your head gets filled with just one thought: how to get off as fast as possible. But hey, you’ve still got a shot to save what’s left of that brain of yours. The faster you book a shift at the club, the faster this all stops.

— I… — she bit her lip, immediately feeling something rise inside her — a weird, tingling sensation between her legs that definitely hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. — Fuck!

Johna spun toward the door, grabbed her little red purse, and stumbled toward the exit as fast as she could on those unsteady heels. Her damn tits bounced with every step. They were heavy and way too sensitive. Her heels clicked loudly across the floor, completely out of rhythm, making her look like some drunk bimbo as she finally stumbled into the hallway and, without thinking, flung the front door open.

The cold night air hit her bare skin like ice. The wind instantly wrapped around her exposed shoulders, slid across her thighs, and teased her belly. Only then did Johna, panting, realize: she was still wearing nothing but the corset, tiny panties, stockings, and sky-high stilettos.

— Wh-what the… — she turned around, clutching her arms over her breasts, trying to cover up as much as she could. — Rita?! Rita, for fuck’s sake!

Rita was already leaning casually against the doorframe, not in a hurry, smirking with that nasty little grin, staring at her “husband.”

— What? — Rita asked, pretending to be surprised.

— Give me… — Johna started to speak, but Rita was already reaching back, and with a lazy flick of her wrist, slammed the door shut right in Johna’s face, just as she whispered softly — … some clothes…