A social outcast finds a magic spell that allows him to get revenge on the hot MILFs in town by cloning his mind into their bodies and making them think every sexy, degrading thing he makes them do is their own choice in Homewrecker, available only on Body Swap Stories or Smashwords.

Wyatt is a loner working a summer job in a town full of the extremely rich and the extremely entitled. When he finds a magic spell that allows him to clone his mind into other people's bodies, he instantly uses it to exact his revenge.

First he possesses his boss, then the overbearing blonde MILF that insulted him that morning, then her nerdy daughter. Even better, he discovers that when he removes his mind from their bodies, they continue along as if everything he'd made them do is their choice.

With all this power, there's no end to the humiliation Wyatt can inflict. And no end to the pleasure he can wring from his new harem.

Wyatt

I plastered on a fake smile as I handed the ice cream cone to a middle-aged woman whose expensive outfit probably cost more than I made all year.

“This is sugar free?” The woman asked. Her botoxed face prevented her brow from furrowing but I heard the suspicion in her voice.

“And gluten free, fat free and dairy free,” I assured her, my cheeks starting to ache from the smile as I silently wished for her to go the hell away.

She took the ice cream from me and tapped her platinum credit card on the card reader before shuffling off to join her group of other rich fucks at a table near the window. I puffed air through my lips and shook my head. Why was it that when people got rich enough they wanted to extract all the flavor from their food? The other shops along the fancy main street all hung signs attesting to their ‘natural’ and ‘organic’ products. And yet those same customers would head down the street to the dessert café where I worked to get their artificially flavored treats that had been specially ultra-processed to remove any hint of sugar or fat or – as far as I was concerned – taste.

I thought they were a bunch of out-of-touch stuck-up douchebags and I’m sure they didn’t think of me at all. This was a small town full of the uber rich, busy only during the tourist season. That’s when minimum wage workers like me would head up here for the summer for a better paying job. The pay was nothing to them but twice as much as I could make anywhere else without a college degree. These rich fuckers desperately needed people to serve them and cater for them as they flitted around in their perfect lives. God forbid they should have to cook their own meal. The horror.

It was a warm day and the swarm of the after-lunch crowd seemed to be thinning. Thank Christ. If I had to deal with one more old biddy demanding a taste of all three flavors of soft serve I was going to lose my shit.

The bell above the door jingled and I turned to see Helen walk in. She owned the store, though I’m certain it was just a hobby for her. Some sort of girl-boss outlet just to prove she could do it. Something to occupy her time in between galas and luxury cruises or whatever else she did in her spare time. She sure as hell didn’t need the money. Every morning I gazed out at her massive house from the loft over her garage where she’d put me up for the summer.

I would have been more grateful if she didn’t treat me like a fucking charity case. She clearly saw herself as a do-gooder, helping the little guy out to make herself feel better for fleecing society out of all of the wealth. Every now and then I would return home and find a cardboard box with some junk in it sitting by the stairs up to my room. Something Helen was going to throw out – an almost expired can of beans, or some mismatched silverware – that she thought I might be able to use. I wasn’t fucking homeless, Helen. Though I did eat the beans because, my god, this town was expensive to live in, even just for the summer.

Helen pushed her oversized sunglasses up onto her forehead and loudly greeted some old guy with an air kiss to both cheeks. Her bracelets jingled as she hugged him, the wispy wrap she wore drafting gently against her curvy body. Helen stood out, not only because she was one of the few rich Black people in this otherwise lily-white town, but because she wore the most brightly colored outfits.

She was also pleasingly plump, with a curvy figure and ample breasts. Such a contrast from most of the surgery-enhanced stick figure bodies I saw every day. I guess that was testament to the fact that even eating everything-free food didn’t make a person skinny. It was also nice that I wasn’t the only fat person in town. Though her weight was more pleasantly distributed, not concentrated in her gut, like mine.

“Hi, Wyatt,” Helen said, aiming her wide white smile at me.

“Hi, Helen,” I replied, putting on my best ‘ready to serve’ voice.

“Oh, looks like there are some sprinkles spilled on the toppings counter,” she said.

I looked where she was pointing. Three. Three fucking sprinkles. I thought that was pretty damn good having just been swamped by customers. But it wasn’t Instagram worthy apparently.

“Oops, I’ll get those,” I said cheerily, wiping them into my hand.

“Thank you, Wyatt,” she said, smiling broadly as she gave my arm a squeeze. “You’re the best.” She turned and went to say hello to some more friends.

Helen’s fakeness really grated on me. You never knew whether she was being real or if it was just an act. Everything was ‘wonderful’ and ‘perfect’ and ‘the best’. That act would get wearying to keep up real damn quick. Was there anything behind that immaculate façade?

The bell jingled again and I turned to face my next horror. She was a new face. A stunner. Immaculately dressed. Blonde hair curled down to her shoulders. She looked to be somewhere in her thirties, with an incredible motherly figure, squeezed into yoga pants that hugged her hips and a tight top that pushed her impressive cleavage up into huge mounds. Slender nose and enticing blue eyes, though her expression hinted at a scowl. Behind her was another blonde who looked like a nineteen-year-old version of her, except for her thick-framed classes. They had to be mother and daughter.

The daughter had her hair tied back in a ponytail. She gave off definite nerd vibes and remained a few steps behind her mother. Where the mother seemed to march through the room, daring anyone to look at her, the daughter floated along in her wake, her whole demeanor seeming to apologize for even existing.

The mother marched up to the counter and surveyed the menu above and behind me imperiously. “Let me taste the chocolate swirl,” she demanded.

No please. No niceties. Definite ‘Karen’ vibes rolling off her.

“Sure,” I nodded agreeably.

I grabbed a thumb-sized sample cup and squeezed the lever of the soft serve machine to drop a dollop of ice cream into it. I handed it to her and she looked at it. Her scowl deepened.

“That’s all I get?”

I glanced at the daughter, who seemed to shrink in embarrassment.

“Just a sample,” I explained, forcing a smile.

“How am I supposed to eat this?” She demanded, thrusting it back at me.

With your fucking mouth? I didn’t say. Instead, I took it from her and returned to the soft serve machine. She wanted more? I’d fucking give her more. Shove it down her fucking throat. I pulled the lever, piling up ice cream until it rose high above the rim of the cup. It towered precariously as I carefully handed it towards her. The bitch refused to take it.

“Is this a joke?” she glowered.

“Mom,” her daughter behind her gently touched her arm.

The woman shrugged it off. “Laura, stop.” The woman looked around the store. I didn’t know what she was looking for until she called out, “Helen!”

Of course they knew each other. Small town and all.

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