Taking Stock

So I stuck my arm down my throat (when you’re a vore, it’s not as simple as just using your finger) and coughed all that stuff back up. The keys were all right, and so was most of the stuff inside the wallet. I dropped the half-digested belt and shoes in the trash.

As I cheerfully jingled the keys, I felt my skin crawling. Or trying to, anyway. Nadia wasn’t very happy about being my skin, as it happened.

“Give me my body back!”

“Oh, pipe down.” I snorted. “You belong to me now, and it’s just about what you deserve. Get used to it.”

I looked at myself in the mirror, and let my body expand back out to her proportions. There was no doubt about it; she was a lot more full-figured than I had been. She carried it well, too; I’d give her that. And predator or not, she had the skill sets for her position—all of them.

I wasn’t sure I cared for what else came with the job, though. Because if I chose to take up where Nadia left off, I would be a millionaire’s pampered plaything—with all the duties that entailed.

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