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“Your father married a supermodel.”
“My father...my fath-huh?” You’re so, so confused as you ask that. Your mom was a middle school teacher. How would your dad even meet a supermodel? You wouldn’t even want a model for a mom anyway; she would never be around.
“Your father married a stunning supermodel.”
“My f-father...married...” you begin, suddenly unsure how to finish. Of course you remember your mom. Her name was Audrey. She taught middle school. She was sweet, always there for you and one hell of a woman who kicked breast cancer’s ass a couple years ago. You have so many memories with her...but you suddenly start remembering Stephanie, that supermodel that dad...dated? No...why would Stephanie drive you to school or to friends’ houses if she was only dating your father? She had a freakin’ modeling career for Pete’s sake! As your mind goes back and forth, your features begin to change: your hair gets longer and blonder, your face refigures itself to match what your soon-to-be actual mother (Stephanie) looks like. Your body gets a little bit thicker, with your breasts popping out and your ass widening.
“Your father married a supermodel, and she is your mother.”
“My father married a supermodel...my mother...” you say with a large exhale. You remember now: Audrey was your middle school teacher. A nice woman that would have made a good wife, but nothing more. Your mom is a freakin’ supermodel, and while she isn’t always around, she is so awesome. She’s so confident in a way that just rubs off on you, and that’s why you have always been so confident. She dresses so wonderfully, and she helped you outgrow that meekness you had in your dress. Plus, because of her wealth, you and her had the best times shopping for the most high end clothes, though you kept cute stuff like your floral dress in your wardrobe, too. The best part about your hot supermodel mom was that you looked just like her!
“You are a supermodel like your mother.”
“I’m a supermodel...like my mother...” you say. And it’s true. Right after middle school, your mother set you up with an agency and you’ve been at it for two years now. You took a while to warm up to it, but the idea of being a full-on celebrity one day excites you, and that’s why you always thank your dad, an average guy, for getting with a supermodel. As you recall these memories, makeup appears on your face, nail polish on your nails, and your dress morphs into a very expensive and very sexy crimson gown that shows a lot of boob. On top of that your house becomes a full-on mansion.
The man looks at you in awe.
“My father...my fath-huh?” You’re so, so confused as you ask that. Your mom was a middle school teacher. How would your dad even meet a supermodel? You wouldn’t even want a model for a mom anyway; she would never be around.
“Your father married a stunning supermodel.”
“My f-father...married...” you begin, suddenly unsure how to finish. Of course you remember your mom. Her name was Audrey. She taught middle school. She was sweet, always there for you and one hell of a woman who kicked breast cancer’s ass a couple years ago. You have so many memories with her...but you suddenly start remembering Stephanie, that supermodel that dad...dated? No...why would Stephanie drive you to school or to friends’ houses if she was only dating your father? She had a freakin’ modeling career for Pete’s sake! As your mind goes back and forth, your features begin to change: your hair gets longer and blonder, your face refigures itself to match what your soon-to-be actual mother (Stephanie) looks like. Your body gets a little bit thicker, with your breasts popping out and your ass widening.
“Your father married a supermodel, and she is your mother.”
“My father married a supermodel...my mother...” you say with a large exhale. You remember now: Audrey was your middle school teacher. A nice woman that would have made a good wife, but nothing more. Your mom is a freakin’ supermodel, and while she isn’t always around, she is so awesome. She’s so confident in a way that just rubs off on you, and that’s why you have always been so confident. She dresses so wonderfully, and she helped you outgrow that meekness you had in your dress. Plus, because of her wealth, you and her had the best times shopping for the most high end clothes, though you kept cute stuff like your floral dress in your wardrobe, too. The best part about your hot supermodel mom was that you looked just like her!
“You are a supermodel like your mother.”
“I’m a supermodel...like my mother...” you say. And it’s true. Right after middle school, your mother set you up with an agency and you’ve been at it for two years now. You took a while to warm up to it, but the idea of being a full-on celebrity one day excites you, and that’s why you always thank your dad, an average guy, for getting with a supermodel. As you recall these memories, makeup appears on your face, nail polish on your nails, and your dress morphs into a very expensive and very sexy crimson gown that shows a lot of boob. On top of that your house becomes a full-on mansion.
The man looks at you in awe.
What do you do?
- He changes his mind
- He makes you a fuckdoll
- He makes you a maid
- You do nothing as your mom stumbles in
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