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MITOSIS

Dear Diary,

I think I’m going to do it.

Actually, let me back up a bit since a lot has happened since I last wrote here.

The first has to do with my roommate Carol. I came home from a late night studying (blah midterms) to find her sitting on the couch, topless and hugely pregnant. Which was quite surprising because when I saw her in the morning she had looked svelte and not-at-all-pregnant. I articulated my surprise in the traditional “what the actual fuck!?”.

Carol explained that she only looked 8 months pregnant and that she’d undergone a cosmetic transformation for work. Carol works at a maternity clothing store that encourages its staff to appear pregnant to showcase their outfits. In hindsight I should have clued into this while out with Carol’s work friends, who all looked pregnant but were slamming booze. Carol had apparently been putting off the transformation for some time, wearing a false belly or going skinny au natural, but they offered her a promotion to store manager with the condition that she take on “the company uniform”. And so she decided it was worth it.

But why look eight months pregnant, I wanted to know. Why not just get a cute little bump and a boob expansion? She said that during a trip to corporate headquarters she saw just how massively pregnant upper management appeared. It was pretty clear what shape ambitious ladder climbers had to take to reach the top. It shows commitment she said. “Besides,” she added, “if I’m going to look knocked up, I might as well really go for it.”

The one issue Carol has with her change is that a side effect has made her dramatically swollen breasts permanently lactate. A lot. She's trying to stay upbeat about it, but it was totally unexpected. She thinks she can use her lactating tits to demonstrate breast pumps to customers, which could help her promotional prospects, but she's also found that her breasts require almost hourly milking. She blushed and told me she was just about to pump when I walked in.

So I watched my round and splendid roommate milk her breasts. It was certainly a strange sight seeing Carol with her taught sphere of a belly filling her lap and her round swollen breasts with their thumb-tip brown nipples stuck into the plastic trumpets of a breast pump. The cho-cho-cho of the pump motor providing a surreal soundtrack... and yet. And yet, Carol was radiantly beautiful! Part of her treatment had changed the rest of her body to be firmer, tauter, and glowing. She looked like the hugely pregnant supermodel version of my roommate. But it was more than that; a part of me had to admit that there was something... fascinating about Carol’s bizarre new body. Some part of me thrilled at the kink of it all.

I haven’t been able to get it out of my head either. Transformation. What would it be like? Not to be cosmetically knocked up; that’s not for me. Nor would I want to look super bizarre, or be some kind of supersized walking genital. But to try something smaller? Extra arms or breasts? Grow a cute tail? Would that be fun? Be sexy? I was curious.

The second thing that happened has to do with poor old aunt Tabetha.

Growing up Tabetha was always one of my favorite aunts. Despite being elderly she was always such fun, always willing to let me stay up late or see a racy movie or try a small cup of wine. Rules, she had maintained, were for pussies and life was about coloring outside the lines. And maybe there was something to that? Despite living harder than medically advised, dear Tabetha had lived a long long life, finally dying in bed at the old age of ninety-seven. But dead she is and I will miss her.

Given her zest for life and contempt for the death industry, she opted out of a funeral. Instead her will asked everyone to write a letter celebrating her life instead. The letters will be collected by her estate, bound into a book, and sent to her friends and family. (Which is pretty cool, right?)

Anyway, the part that is relevant here is that Tabetha left me some money. Quite a lot of it, actually. Enough money to cover the rest of my tuition with a bunch left over for something fun. And I'm pretty sure Tabetha would want me to do something fun. I could go on a vacation or buy some sort of expensive toy, but.... but what if I spent it on a transformation? It would be an act of coloring outside the lines. I can't really think of a better tribute to my aunt. It's a huge decision though, one I'm not sure I have the steel ovaries to go for.

But... Demons, I'm so curious. I think I could do it.

Should I?

Yours always,
Emily

***

Dear Diary,

I should introduce myself. My name is Emma.

I should explain. So I... or I guess I should say Emily decided to get a transformation. She went for it! And she went bigger than I think any of us were expecting (herself included). Emily wanted a transformation obvious enough to notice but mild enough that it would be easy to live with and wouldn't weird anyone out. She had all but decided on an extra pair of arms and an extra set of breasts. She thought it would be handy! Haha! But seriously, Emily thought the extra breasts would be sexy and fun, and the extra arms would be too noticeable to hide but something everyone would understand. That was the plan right up until the final alchemist appointment, when she was struck by a whim...

Emily had always been an only child, and a pretty lonely one. Her parents were seldom around, her father being a merchant sailor and her mother an overworked nurse. She had been close to her aunt Tabitha, but the dear old woman was dead. She had trouble making close friends and dating never went well. She and Carol were besties, but Carol had already gotten another promotion and could afford to move out of their shared apartment. Plus, the pregnant-looking woman had somehow managed to land a serious boyfriend: some combination of her enhanced good looks and her cosmetic pregnancy had struck an erotic nerve with the guy who, despite clearly having a fetish, was actually pretty cool. He even cooks! So Emily figured it would only be a matter of time until she was living alone again. But it occurred to Emily that maybe she didn't have to be alone. That maybe through Alchemy she could have a friend/roommate/sister for life. And well…

The transformation Emily sprung on the alchemist was to still get the extra arms and breasts, but also, if possible, to have her head and mind duplicated. The alchemist was happy to improvise (which is actually pretty terrifying in hindsight) and made it happen. So here I am, one head on a two-headed body. I'm the left-sided head specifically, the Emma from Emily. I have all Emily's memories and a copy of her physical brain, so I'm basically her. But so is my 'sister' Lily, the right-sided head. Which makes it problematic to say who the 'real' Emily is and is why we decided to act as new people. This is all mostly semantic right now, since we are so in mental lockstep that we’re still essentially the same person. But we've been told that as time goes by our minds and personalities will start to diverge and that eventually we will be more like (very) close twin sisters. Which is what Emily wanted; I know since I have her memories.

So hello Diary, I'm a new me! It's great to meet you!

Yours always,
Emma

***

Dear Diary,

I should introduce myself. My name is Lily.

I should explain. So Emily (me sort of) decided to get a transformation. She went for it! And she went farther than I think anyone was expecting. Emily picked out a transformation that was obvious enough to see, but mild enough that she could live with it and no one would find it too offensive. She had decided on an extra pair of arms and an extra set of breasts. Emily thought the extra breasts would be kind of sexy and fun, and the extra arms would be too noticeable to hide, but something everyone would understand. And that was the plan through her consult with the Alchemist, right up until the transformation appointment itself when she was struck by an idea...

Emily was an only child, and a pretty lonely one. Her parents were seldom around, her father being a sailor and her mother being a busy nurse. She’d been close to her aunt Tabitha, but the dear old woman was dead. She had trouble making close friends and dating never satisfied her. She and Carol were besties, but Carol had gotten another promotion and could afford to move into her own place. Plus, the pregnant looking woman had managed to land a serious boyfriend: some lucky fetishist who found in her enchanted perfect looks and cosmetic pregnancy his living wet dream. (He is pretty charming though, and he’s a decent cook, so call that a win for Carol.) Emily figured it would only be a matter of time until she was living alone again. But it occurred to Emily that maybe she didn't have to be alone. That maybe with Alchemy she could have a friend/roommate/sister for life. And well...

The transformation Emily sprung on the alchemist was to still get the extra arms and breasts, but also, if possible, to have her head and mind duplicated. The alchemist was happy to improvise (which I found quite impressive) and made it happen. So here I am, one head on a two-headed body. The right-sided head specificically, the Lily from Emily. I have all her memories and a copy of her physical brain. So I'm basically her. But so is Emma, the other head on my body, which makes it pointless to say who the 'real' Emily is. We decided to act like new people. This is all mostly semantic right now, since we are so in mental lockstep that we are still essentially the same person. We've been told that as time goes by our minds and personalities will start to diverge and that eventually we will each be our own individual. Which is what Emily wanted, I know since I have her memories.

So hello Diary, I'm Lily. Let's get started.

Yours always,
Lily

***

Dear Diary,

Today Lily and I had our first real fight.

It's been a few weeks since I've written and things have gotten a bit turbulent as we sort out our new arrangement. Emily had always been stubborn and headstrong, and apparently putting two of her on a single set of shoulders leads to a lot of disagreements. What could there be to disagree about since we are basically the same person? Well, just about everything it seems. Should we sleep in or go for a jog? I like to sleep in longer, but Lily insists we discipline our body. Should we skip desert? I love a good chocolate but Lily thinks we would be healthier without it. What should we wear? I feel like we should dress a little conservatively, at least until people get more comfortable with our new body. It's a lot to take in. Lily wants to show off our form, dress us in revealing tops that highlight our double cleavage and tight pants or short skirts. She had her eye on this one latex dress that was truly shocking... ugh, I don't know where she gets these ideas from!

You might think we could compromise. I want most of these things too, to be fitter and sexy and more confident. We grew from the same personality! She must understand my desire to enjoy the simpler things and to fit in. We could find a place in the middle or trade days! But no, Lily doesn't believe in compromise. And if she doesn't back down, well, how can I?

Which led to our fight. It was about masturbation of all things. We each have our own pair of arms, mine are the top pair, and 'our own' breasts (despite us feeling sensations from both pairs), but we only have one pair of legs and one pussy. Which is why I was startled to wake up one night with Lilly stroking our pussy without even asking me! I felt so angry and a little violated. But... admittedly aroused. It still felt good... and (I'm blushing) the loss of control was a bit stimulating. But still! Lily argued that it was her pussy too, and that she should be welcome to it whenever she wanted. She told me I could enjoy the ride and participate, or close my eyes and try to ignore it. I argued and shouted and cried, but when it was over... I caved in. I fingered us while Lily whispered instructions to me and played with our breasts.

It was actually pretty nice.

But I'm worried about what this means.

Yours always,
Emma

***

Dear Diary,

Last night I think I finally broke Emma. Two people can't share a relationship, let alone a body, without one becoming dominant. And since we both started from the same place, it was really up for grabs over who would be the body boss. I've decided it's going to be me.

So I’ve started initiating conflicts. Emma wants to sleep in, I guilt her into jogging. Emma wants to eat desert, I shame her into skipping it. And the clothes! Emma picks out the pretty but comfortable clothing Emily would always wear, then I insist we put on the sexy, dangerous clothes Emily always looked at, but didn’t have the courage to actually try on. There was this one sexy latex mini dress that Emma claimed she couldn't stand, but I could feel her response to it, her arousal, and since we share so much experience I could guess what she was really thinking. (It’s like game theory where the adversary has perfect theory of mind.) At the end of the day we went for a run, skipped desert, and bought the sexy dress.

What finally broke Emma was sex, or maybe just masturbation. I woke up feeling her shift her head on our shared body (sleeping with a bodymate is an adjustment) and a thought struck me. Could I dominate Emma sexually? That struck me as a fine way to assert my control and was, I must admit, a rather stimulating idea. We were already wet by the time my fingers first caressed our labia. I began to stroke our pussy with my free hand, trying to breath quietly, get us nice and revved up without waking Emma. Emma moaned in her sleep. I pinched our clit, slipped a finger inside our cunt, and Emma’s eyes fluttered open. Her face was flushed and her breathing rapid as she looked around in a sleepy fog. I bit my lip and pressed my hand against our pussy.

Of course she was mad! I knew she would be. She shouted at me, indignant. Claimed she felt shocked and violated. I calmly told her that it was my pussy and that I had a right to pleasure myself. I told her that she could participate, I knew she wanted to, or she could try to ignore me, which I knew she couldn’t. She of course capitulated, stretching out and not-so-secretly savoring my handiwork. At least until I suggested she join in. Hesitantly at first, she touched us, but I told her what to do, and together we fingered ourselves. Gradually I pulled back and did less, still telling her what I wanted her to do, until Emma was doing all the work, obediently fingering us until we came, her fingers buried inside of us, my hands clutching at the bed.

I think I really like telling her what to do.

I wonder what this says about me?

Yours always,
Lily.

***

Dear Diary,

My goal when this all started was to be the dominant mind on this body, but I’m finding what I really want is to dominate Emma. I wonder if this makes me a bad person?

I’ve continued my campaign of bossing Emma around and I’m finding her easier to bend to my will. I can tell she’s enjoying the game, so I’ve started to push the envelope to keep her uncomfortable and our conflicts meaningful. (Telling her to wear a short skirt, when she has already capitulated clothes to me is hardly an act of dominance.)

Which is why I took Emma to a dance club this weekend. I made us squeeze into that very tight red latex minidress I bought to show off our double bust and put on impractical fuck-me-pumps. I had Emma wear a choker and I wore long black gloves on my arms, leaving her arms bare. I also insisted that we not wear any underwear. When we got to the club I picked out a guy who was clearly married and clearly looking to score. He was fit and handsome, but definitely not Emily’s type, our type, but I could see him watching us. I flirted with him and told Emma to dance with him and eventually I invited him home with us.

Emma protested in the club bathroom, pointing out all his obvious flaws. I told her I wanted a one night stand and reminded her this was my body. Nostrils flaring, she told me she didn’t understand why I was doing this. I told her because I wanted to.

We took the man home. At first Emma didn’t want to participate, so I took the lead, kissing him and letting him touch us, waiting until he was good and hard and we were nice and hot and wet. Less from the man and more from our game, me doing what I wanted, Emma powerless to stop me. And then it was time for the test.

“Emma,” I said, “suck the man off.”

She hesitated, looked at me uncertainly.

“Emma. Do it.”

She stared at me defiantly, lip in a grim line, but trembling. Like she wanted to fight me, but also wanted to give in.

“Emma…”

And then she did it.

She gave the man a blowjob because I told her to.

I was so turned on I fingered us the entire time.

I am definitely a bad person.

Yours always,
Lily

***

Dear Diary,

I am such a slut! I can’t believe what Lily made me do! What I did! Ah!

I should explain. The other night Lily insisted we go out clubbing. She knows I hate clubs, that I hate the noise and the crowds and the relentless hookup culture. Is there anything less sexy than being shouted at by a drunk guy who just wants to get into our panties? Well… if we were wearing any. If I was wearing any.

Oh Diary, Lily dressed us up in that ridiculous latex dress and fought with me about wearing underwear. I tried to hold my ground, but, well, she was so insistent and I knew it would make her happy. So I gave in and let her peel us into that tiny red latex sleeve and nothing else. I… it made me feel so naughty! When Lily stood us in front of the mirror I could see how sexy we looked, the way the dress showed off our four tits, braless and ripe, nipples visible through the sheer rubber, the too short skirt hugging our hips and showing off our long legs and just barely covering our ass and bare pussy. We looked like sex. I… it made me feel sexy and dirty. Like a slut. But turned on too. And then Lily put a collar around my neck, like I was her slave or pet, and well…

Anyway. We went to the club “dressed” in that slutty red latex outfit, which meant we were sending out all kinds of come and fuck us vibes. Which I guess was what Lily wanted since she started flirting with this guy almost immediately. He was good looking I guess? Not my type, too macho try hard, and… I think he might’ve been married? Oh Demons. And then Lily wanted to bring him back to our apartment for a one night stand. I wasn’t into it but was all flustered. I felt sexy and it was kind of a turn on that Lily wanted to have sex. I hadn’t really considered that part of sharing a vagina before, that Lily would have desires and want to fuck and that I’d be there having sex too. I mean, it’s obvious, but it never really clicked until we were fighting about it and Lily explained she wanted to have a one night stand. And I mean, what could I do? Lily has every right to a sex life. If I’d found someone I wanted to have sex with, she’d have to let me, right? It was only fair. But… maybe I wanted to have sex too? It had been a while, even when we were still Emily, and I was horny from the slutty dress and the collar and Lily’s confidence. I thought, maybe it would be nice to get laid? Maybe I could have sex without it being my responsibility. I could get fucked by a rando, but actually it was Lily who was the dirty slut. I’m just an accessory. I can’t be blamed for a second hand orgasm, right?

So maybe I didn’t fight it quite as hard as I could have.

Then Dear Diary, we had this stranger in our bed and Lily was kissing him and he was touching her, touching us, touching me. I tried to stay out of it and let Lily have her fun, but it felt really good. I could feel how turned on we were, how breathless and hot and wet. I wanted to be fucked so bad! I wanted it! And then out of nowhere Lily told me to suck this man’s cock. This random man’s hard cock, right there in front of me. I wanted to say no! To tell her this was fucked up and wrong! That I wasn’t just some slut for her to boss around! But… Demons, I was so fucking hot! The whole situation was! I wanted to be a slut! Not for the man, but for Lily. In that moment I wanted to be Lily’s dirty slut! So… so I sucked the man’s cock. I did it! I wrapped my lips around his penis and gave him a blow job, just like Lily told me to. Like a dirty filthy whore. Lily’s whore.

I sucked the married man’s cock and Lily fingered our cunt until the man came right in my mouth!

I swallowed his entire load.

I orgasmed.

Demons, I think I liked it.

I think Lily did too.

I am such a dirty filthy slut!

Yours always,
Emma.

***

Mate! You’re not gonna believe it!

So you remember that place I was telling you about? The real kinky one with all the transformed folks? I finally went and the craziest thing happened!

I go in, trying to act cool, and they give you a menu, right? A shop like that has folks available to act out all kinds of fantasies, and since they’re all changed, they can make a lot of otherwise impossible stuff happen. Well you know me, I have a thing for being trussed up and abused by a strong woman. Even better if she’s a little unconventional too, if you know what I mean. So I lay down my stipend and am brought to a little dark room.

The Madame, herself this wonderfully handy naga-type chick; six arms, eight tits, scales, a pair of prehensile hemi-cocks the size of my arm; she tells me to take off my clothes since I shan’t be needing them. I shed my skin faster than a snake and she smiles a fangy grin. Eager, she says, a comment not a question, and then claps my hands in manacles attached to a chain. The chain is hanging from the ceiling and she hits a winch and suddenly I’m dangling by my arms, right? Toes just barely on the floor. Needless to say, I’m a little uncomfortable and vulnerable, which of course gets my motor running, so I’m hard as a fucking rock. The Madame gives my cock a playful little springy tap and tells me not to run away. And then she slithers out of the room leaving me hanging in darkness.

Now I’ve played these sorts of games before, so I know hanging around is part of the act, but let me tell you, it’s still a bit scary all the same. You’re trapped there, naked and alone and powerless to escape. What if you hang there for hours? For days? What if they never come back? It’s frightening! So I’m horny and scared, full of adrenaline, blood rushing through my body. And then a light snaps on, a spotlight up above. I’m bathed in light, right? Exposed. And I can’t see a thing around me.

“What have we here?” A voice purrs. A woman’s voice. Confident and in charge. I feel myself getting even harder.

I hear a muffled grunt too, which is weird. Like maybe someone else is there too. “Hello?” I ask.

“Hello, Mistress.” The first woman snaps and fuck yeah, that’s the stuff!

I hear heels click on the cement floor. So sharp and so loud in the quiet space. The woman walks into the light and… she’s transformed, mate, and it’s the damndest thing. She looks like two women stuck together: she’s got two heads and four arms and four tits, but only one pair of legs and one cunt, y’know? She’s like one of those conjoined gals you sometimes see. Except her faces are totally identical, perfect twins. Clones maybe. Which is pretty exciting already, right, who doesn’t want to have a kinky threesome with twins? But there’s more! One of the heads, the one that was speaking to me, has her long hair tied up in a tight ballet bun and is wearing crisp makeup and is smiling at me in this smug bossy way that makes me shiver. Like I’m a plaything. The other head has her hair cut real short and her mouth is stuffed full of a ball gag. She’s looking at me with these wide wild eyes and is drooling down her chin like that gag’s been in there a minute. And she’s wearing this thick slave collar around her neck. I look their body over and realize they’re wearing something odd. They have sexy thigh high boots and a latex bustier thing where their lower tits are covered, but their top tits are totally exposed. Which is weird, right? Their arms are like that too, one pair is free and wearing long latex gloves, but the top pair is restrained behind their back in an armbinder. And then I notice the nipples on those top tits are wearing nasty little clamps. It was like half the woman was a dominatrix and the other half was a sub.

Now this has me real curious, obviously. I’m dangling here expecting to be dominated by a woman and instead I’m joined by two, one of whom seems just as trussed up as myself. This wasn’t exactly on the menu, but I’m game, right? I’m here to try new things. I’m eager to see how this is going to play out.

“Look Emma,” the mistress says quietly. “We have a new toy.” The conjoined women walk up to me and Mistress effects a thoughtful pose while Emma looks a bit afraid but real turned on. Like looking into a funhouse mirror. The women’s free hands reach up and unlatch the ball gag and pull it out of Emma’s mouth. Emma lets out a ragged gasp and starts working her jaw to loosen it up. Then Mistress takes that gag and shoves it right into my mouth and starts to close the collar around my head. I’m totally surprised, right? I can’t even get a surprised word out. The gag is still warm and wet with Emma’s spit and I’m well, gagging on it. Mistress gives me a cunning grin and tells me “To be quiet now.”

In my head I’m like here we go! Time for some wicked teasing! Sure we never negotiated a safeword or terms, but fuck me up! I’m so fucking ready!

But instead of starting in on me the two women just stand in front of me, real studiously. Mistress strokes Emma’s cheek and looks at her with a kind of possessive affection. “Emma,” she says, “I want you to suck the client’s cock.”

Emma blushes and shakes her head,  “No… please don’t make me?”

Mistress’ voice is a warning, “Emma.”

“Lily, this has gone too far. What are we doing?”

“Exactly what I want you to.” Mistress says, grabbing the ring on Emma’s slave collar and giving it a yank. “Exactly what you want to do too. You’re a dirty slut, Emma, a filthy naughty whore. You fucking love this, you want to debase yourself and be used. To be humiliated. To be a plaything. To be fucked. I can tell! I can feel your desire!” Mistress turns her head and licks Emma’s face, so intimately close, “Your burning need to do whatever I tell you. To be given permission to act out your kinky filthy fantasies. To be my slave. To be mine.”

“Lily…” Emma said, but it was more like a moan than a protest.

“Mistress.”

The two conjoined women stared at each other then, I guess in a contest of wills. But just whose desires were being tested, well, that’s a question that’ll have to be up to our imagination, right? All I know is that eventually the women stepped closer to my dangling body and Emma opened her lips and took my hard cock in her hot mouth, her pair of arms still pinned behind their back. Mistress purred and started to caress and abuse their tits, whispered sweet filthy things to Emma. Called her horrible names, gave her commands, encouraged her like a coach. Emma blushed and dutifully kept sucking, deep throating me, fucking me with her face. When she opened her eyes, she always looked to her Mistress and never up at me. Mistress ignored me too, kept her rapt focus on Emma the entire time. This was between them, the mistress and her conjoined sub. I was just there, a kinky piece of equipment, a tool for Mistress to challenge her slave with. A test. Fuck, I felt so used! Fuck it was so hot! Fuck I came so hard! And Emma dutifully slurped up every fucking drop of cum like a champ!

And then the women just left me there dangling and gagged, Mistress praising her beautiful, wonderful whore.

Fucking wild right?

I’m definitely going back for more!

Want to come?
-Darin

***

The End.