Trophy Wife

— O-oh my Goff, whaff are theffe lipff?! — Crayson mumbled, staring at the mirror with wide, panicked eyes. His nails, seemingly endless, touched his lips—massive, inflated, lifebuoy-like things that swallowed half of the woman’s face staring back at him from the reflection. "Is that... me?!"

He leaned forward, gripping the sink unconsciously, feeling how the massive breasts unexpectedly pressed against the hard surface, while his newly acquired ass gave an involuntary bounce.

— W-whaff the…… — he stammered, frantically grabbing at his enormous curves from both sides, unable to believe the sensation. — Thiff... thiff iff a f-fuffing niffmare!

Crayson jerked away from the mirror, unable to ignore how the enormous, heavy mass jiggled with every movement, as if it had a life of its own. A strangled squeak almost escaped him as he felt his hips sway uncontrollably, his oversized tits pressing against his ribs, making breathing difficult.

— H-hholy fuff… — he rasped, gripping the sink again. His long, claw-like nails tapped against the marble, while those monstrous lips once again clumsily took over the lower half of his face, making it almost impossible to speak clearly.

His breath hitched, and he spun around, feeling his entire body quiver from the smallest motion. The massive tits bounced with a terrifying autonomy, his hips moved like they were on springs, and his ass… oh God, that ass! It felt bigger than anything his past male logic could have ever imagined.

Finally, his brain started piecing things together. The office. The spam. That goddamn "Apply" button in the email. Holy shit. What had he done?! It was just spam!

Looking around, he suddenly realized he was in a bathroom—probably inside some luxury hotel. The walls were covered in expensive brown tiles, silver faucets gleamed under soft lighting, and the marble sink counter stretched elegantly beneath his trembling hands.

— Fffuhh… n-need to fink… — he mumbled, stepping toward the exit, but he barely took a step before those damn hips! It felt like two unbalanced weights swinging wildly under his skin, dragging him side to side. And that ass—fuck, it felt like it was trying to rip itself off his body with every move.

Crayson nearly tripped, stumbling forward, clutching onto the doorframe for dear life just to stay upright.

Finally making it out of the bathroom, he found himself in a lavish bedroom, bathed in soft sunlight streaming through delicate lace curtains. Ornate paintings hung on the walls, and a massive bed, covered in pastel-pink silk, sat in the center of the room, looking like something meant for a spoiled princess.

— Whaff da fuff iff goffing on here?! — he squealed, feeling the jiggling mass on his chest knock the last remnants of his male composure out of him.

"Breathe… Just breathe, Crystal…"

He froze at the sound of his own internal voice.

"WHAT?! Crystal?! NO NO NO! My name is Crayson! Crayson Gallagher, CEO of an international corporation, a man who built his empire with... uh... sex? NO! Fuck no, what the hell is this—"

A sudden click of the door snapped Crystal’s attention away from her spiraling thoughts. She froze.

Her husband was about to walk in.

— Oh n-no… — Crystal sucked in a sharp breath, feeling her obscenely massive tits rise with the motion.

She stood there, paralyzed. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, each beat echoing in her skull. Seconds stretched into eternity as she tried to figure out why the fuck she was panicking so much.

"Oh God, I’m still in my lingerie! Why am I not ready yet!? I don’t want to disappoint my dear husband!"

Frantic, she bolted toward the nearest wardrobe, shuffling through clothes in desperation.

— N-no, not thiff... not thiff either! — she muttered in panic, flipping through delicate dresses and scandalous nightgowns. Her long nails scratched against silky fabric, her ridiculously plump lips once again getting in the way of proper speech. But there was no time to dwell on that.

The doorknob turned.

Crystal froze.

A sharp inhale. A pause. Another second. And then the door opened.

A man stepped inside.

Tall. Tanned. Sharp features, clad in an expensive suit, his presence radiating control—ownership. His hair was slightly tousled, his gaze intense.

— You’re not ready yet? — his voice was deep, commanding, yet possessively gentle. At least, that’s how it sounded to Crystal, who stared up at him, feeling something tighten inside her. Something foreign.

A strange warmth trickled down her spine. Lower.

"Fuck… he’s HUGE."

The realization hit like a truck, and her knees buckled, trembling slightly.

The man in the doorway tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as if assessing her. His gaze swept over Crystal from head to toe—her messy blonde curls, her trembling fingers clutching delicate lace underwear.

— You’re shaking, baby. — His voice was low, deep, dark, sending a ripple of something through her body.

She swallowed hard.

But even that simple motion felt different—sensual, almost obscene, as her oversized, plush lips pressed together with a soft, wet sound.

— I-I… N-no… — her tongue tangled, voice small, weak, almost pleading.

"Oh fuck."

What the hell was happening to her?

Why did his voice pierce straight through her bones? Why, when he looked at her like that—cold, assessing, confident—did something inside her seem to melt, spreading hot and sticky, like dripping honey?

"Get a grip, for fuck’s sake!"—her remaining male consciousness screamed, but her body refused to obey.

The man—no, her husband—took a step forward, and the very air in the room changed. Her thoughts shut down, as if someone had flicked off a switch. And before she even realized it, a warm, tender, sensual smile had formed on her lips.

— Dfarling... I miffed you, — her hand rested on his arm while the other gently slid down to his crotch. Crystal felt her fingers, despite her long nails, start moving on their own, stroking, exploring. Something inside her tightened, then melted into a warm wave rising from her stomach to her breasts, making her breath quicken. She didn’t want this. No, she—Crayson—would never allow such thoughts, such actions! But now… now this was something else. Now, this was the only thing she wanted, to apologize for not having pulled herself together yet.

Edward—because now Crystal was sure his name was Edward—leaned in closer. The scent. God, that scent. It was sharp, expensive, slightly spicy, laced with leather and something else—something dominant, something woven into the very essence of a man who knew this world belonged to him.

— Crystal… — his voice was deep, low, almost scratching, vibrating inside her chest. — We need to go.

"GO?! WHY?! We just started, I…" her inner voice screamed in protest, burning with desire, but at the same time—"NO! What the fuck is this!? I don’t want this at all!"

Her entire body tensed instantly, like a drawn string. Crayson tried to stop it, to shake it out of his head, to find a way back. But with this man so close, even thinking was nearly impossible. Fuck! He had to break free! Find a way! But… instead, his lips trembled, forming a stupid, flirty smile—the very one he’d never make willingly, but which now, from Crystal, felt so fitting.

— Oh, dfarling, — she whispered, lowering her lashes and tilting her head slightly. "What the fuck am I doing?!"—panic clawed at her from the inside, but she knew exactly what she was doing—she had to be a good wife… Her hand remained where it shouldn’t. Her fingers pressed gently as they slid toward his crotch, finding the bulge there and feeling something inside her burn even hotter.

Edward smirked.

He caught her wrist and slowly moved her hand away, but he didn’t push her back—no… He did it in a way that made it clear he was enjoying her touch. He liked that she was like this, that she was his.

Crystal felt a wave of something humiliatingly warm rush through her body. As if everything inside her melted for a moment, turning into a slow, dripping heat.

God. What was this feeling? What the fuck was this feeling? Why did she… why did this body, her body, her lips, her hips, her tits—huge, trembling at the slightest movement—like being near this man?!

She took a sharp breath and stepped back, trying to hold on to at least some shred of self-control. Her thighs shook again, her breasts rippled like water in a glass slammed onto a table.

Edward smiled, tilting his head.

— Are you sure you’re okay, baby? — his fingers brushed too easily, too lightly along her cheek, over that unnaturally soft, velvet skin, and she liked it. It was obvious from the way she instinctively pressed her cheek into his palm. — You’re shaking.

"Because I WANT YOU, GODDAMN IT!"—she screamed inside, but her lips curled into a soft, warm smile, while her eyes grew hazy.

— I… j-just miffed you… — her voice was quiet, gentle, warped by that damn defect, by those lips that were too big for normal speech.

Edward smirked.

— I was gone for ten minutes. Get ready. We’re leaving in half an hour.

He turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the bedroom in nothing but white lace lingerie, feeling her knees grow weak. When the door shut, Crystal collapsed onto the bed, suddenly realizing what had just happened and grabbing her head.

"God… God, what was that… What the fuck did I just do… WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

Her breasts were still rising and falling heavily, her body still pulsed with strange, hateful sensations, and inside, something slithered and burned. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge at all.

She shot up and ran to the mirror.

— W- whaff da fffuff?! — her voice cracked, almost sobbing. She stared at the reflection. At those lips, those eyes, that fucking Barbie with an ass that could suffocate a man.

And now all of this—Crystal. The trophy wife of this Edward, whose very name was already making it hard to breathe…