Ashley knew there was something wrong with her. Like she could feel it deep down in her bones. But she couldn't identify what it was.
Much like the aftermath of her granny dying, the days blended together with nothing to distinguish one from the other; the big difference being that rather than being lost in sadness, she was lost in lust. Her nights lived in dreams that she couldn't remember but that left her body aching and her hormones on high. Mornings were full of bacon and waffles and naked, groping masturbation on the floor of every room in the house. Then lunch of burgers or pizza or mac and cheese before putting on her increasingly skimpy bikini and laying out in the backyard. She always had an audience in Dale, and it grew easier to picture someone else up there watching her. WHo she pictured never had a face, but she suspected it was the owner of the voice she kept hearing in the dreams she struggled to recall.
And all she had to show for these days was a killer tan and a body that was morphing into unnatural proportions. None of her bras fit anymore, and all her shorts—the only non-dress bottoms that still fit over her rear—showed the edges of her buttcheeks. Until now, it hadn't been a problem. But as she dug around in her fridge, and then her cupboards and pantry, she found herself in a quandary: she was out of food. That meant she had no choice but to venture out of the house.
So she dug around in her closet, desperate for something decent to wear. In the end, she ended up with a mishmash of items. The pale blue sundress she pulled over her head only fit because it was stretchy rather than buttoned, and the bust was just this side of decent. And between the pull at the chest and the flare of her butt, a pair of pastel floral leggings were needed. She hated how they fit now—it seemed they barely pulled up far enough in the crotch—but they looked okay when she checked herself in the mirror. And they ended just below her knees, so her tan looked darker in the white strappy sandals she added.
Her stomach growled as she finished getting ready. She giggled at her reflection as she wrestled her curls up into a somewhat manageable ponytail. It brushed the bottom of her neck, which earned an annoyed "huh" from her. Guess it was time for a haircut soon, too. At least all the sun she was getting meant she didn't need any highlights this year. It rapidly was moving from a dark buttery color to a pale platinum look.
Before she could leave, she still needed to grab something to take the edge off her hunger. "C'mon, there's gotta be something here!" she growled. She yanked out the last of the orange juice and slurped what was left straight from the carton. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the counter when the dream she had the night before crept into the forefront of her mind.
"Ashley, food won't curb your hunger for much longer. Or, at least, not food alone."
"I don't know what you mean," her voice gasped back.
A dark laugh, and a ripple of excruciating pleasure slid up her body. "Yes, you do. I am remaking your body as well as your mind. And, of course, building a narrative that will keep anyone from questioning it when I come to collect you." Something akin to a hand caressed her face, but rather than skin she felt something soft and oily move against her cheek. "You're pretty enough, and sweet in your own way. But good little girls have never been my preference."
Ashley snapped back to the present and gave a shaky laugh. Clearly she'd been watching too many soap operas. That could be the only explanation for such a bizarre, dark dream. Still, dark or not, it was pretty hot to think about. Hot enough that she found she was groping her unfettered breasts through the dress. "No," she told herself as she forced her hands away. "Food, then store. Then you can touch as much as you want."
In the end, she settled for some cereal. Ugh, raisin bran was so boring and not even close to sweet enough for her tastes these days, but it was better than literally nothing else. She scarfed down three bowls before taking enough of an edge of that she thought she could make it through the store without ripping into the packages before getting them home.
