Bloody Marie (Patreon)

*ding*

He was already semi-conscious but the incoming text message pushed him the last inch out of sleep. He had a splitting headache and felt the overall fatigue and shittiness of a heavy night out partying. But he couldn’t recall any party, nor any drinking. Last he could remember was walking to the grocers early Friday afternoon. It had happened again.

“Shit” he said to himself, and rolled towards the phone. It wasn’t on the night stand. He had no idea when it started, but it was clearly getting worse. Initially it was just a few seconds he lost. He could be talking to someone and then everything shifted ever so slightly, like he had been frozen for a few seconds. But he hadn’t. He would continue talking even when he wasn’t aware, and usually say things that made him look like a fool in one way or the other, though that took him weeks to realize. He could read his own text messages and see that he had ruined any chance of getting into the pants of any of the girls he’d been fishing for.

He would then notice longer gaps, an hour or so, although it was really difficult to keep track. Best he could come up with was setting a vibration alarm for every hour, and take a look at the time whenever he felt the vibration. It was exhausting, error prone and still told him nothing on what his body did when he wasn’t there. But his other self was getting sloppier over time, having him wake up at places different from where he lost consciousness. He couldn’t be certain of anything anymore. He imagined that people he didn’t know suddenly was staring at him. Strangers were winking, whispering or greeting him, as if they knew him. He did worse in school, as could be expected, but he couldn’t see that it was because of anything “he” did, but rather just normal stress.

It had been going on for about two-three months when he suddenly found himself on a city bus, with all of his body feeling like it hot sunburn. He couldn’t figure out what was going on until he arrived home 20 minutes later and could strip and look over his body. He was completely hairless below the head, and his body was glowing in an irritated pink after having been waxed or whatever had been done. Smooth chest, armpits, arms, legs, and not a single pube left. Should he seek help? A psychiatrist? But having this level of split personality surely would be grounds for institutionalization, right?

Just a week later he would lose two hours and, as he later discovered, ended up with a belly button piercing and a ring piercing behind the ball sack. A “guiche piercing” according to Google. He didn’t even know those were a thing.

And now it had happened again. A really long one. As he got up to look for the phone he realized he was dressed in a weird, way too short T-shirt saying “Daddy’s Boy” in large print, and pair of shimmering trunks. He’d seen neither before. Perhaps getting locked up wasn’t as bad of an idea after all.

He found the phone across the room and unlocked it, only to find 40 text messages from unknown numbers. Everything from “I’ll be ur daddy anytime” to “thx c u”. Then he saw his own latest public post was a photo of himself in his current clothes. A photo of him sitting in the outdoor beach chair, with the caption “Will be sucking dix @ The Regal tonite. U cumming? owo”. It wasn’t even a selfie, but someone else had taken the photo.

He just stared at the screen, and ran his tongue around in his mouth, as if it could prove if he had given a blow job or not. There wasn’t just a barrage of text messages, but an unread email as well. He clicked it.

Hi!

Do you remember Marie Lewis from Green Hill High? She was only in your class during freshman. You had hard cider for the first time at the Halloween party and then decided to fuck her while she was passed out. Rape, I suppose. But then when you went around and bragged about having fucked her, she denied it. You got all your friends to also claim they had fucked her, and by February it was common knowledge she was the biggest slut in school, across all years. She began to skip school and barely attended at all month before summer recess.

She didn’t actually move to a different school. She took some aspirin, drew a warm bath and the cut her arms. Not across the wrists, but down lengthwise. It stings a bit, but the loss of blood pressure makes you lose consciousness almost immediately. How do I know?

I’m Marie. It would only be fair if I fucked you without consent, wouldn’t it? It’s been a fun couple of months, hasn’t it? People talking behind your back. “Dude, I think I saw him on Grindr” or “I swear. He has naked photos on slutfrat.com”. That kind of thing. How does it feel slowly becoming the biggest slut on campus? Not stud, no no. You won’t fuck anyone ever again. Slut.

But I’m not without mercy. On the kitchen table is a chastity device. Brass, heavy and impossible to miss. As long as you keep it on your dick and balls, and perform one blow job per day, I will not possess you again. You can dress how you like, say what you want, do your hair how you like. You should have a pretty good list of interested in you text messages to give head to. And if you don’t, I’ll start recreating porn photos, and have you wake up when everything is just in place.