It was Saturday and Josh was standing at the counter eating toast when she picked him up.

She did it one-handed, forearm under his backside, and had him off the floor without breaking stride. The toast came with him. It was not the achievement she clearly thought it was: he was five foot six and she was six foot three, and she had worked out inside the first week that she could carry him around the flat like a bag of groceries, and she had not gotten bored of it once since.

"Put me down."

"No."

"Luna—"

"I've been thinking about the list," she said, and carried him out of the kitchen with his feet swinging at about the height of her knees.

He drew shapeshifter porn for a living. That was the actual job and not a hobby: six years of it, sixteen hundred pages, put out a page at a time to about two thousand people who paid him a few dollars a month, drawn on an iPad in a flat he didn't pay rent on. Then two weeks ago a real one had knocked on his door, and now she lived here, and used his phone, and ate everything in the fridge including the parts that weren't food.

He had stopped waiting for either of those facts to explain itself.

*

She dropped him on the end of the bed, stood over him in the gray tank top and the leggings she'd been wearing since Thursday, and turned the phone around so he could see it.

WHAT JOSH LIKES
face — mine. not discussing it
hair — doesnt matter. said doesnt matter x3
eyes — nothing. tried 6 colours + 2 different at once. said "nice" twice
hands — 6 fingers. said "cool." not scared of me at all, look into this
height — 6'3. He doesn't get a say in this. WAS LOOKING AT MY CHEST WHEN HE SAID IT
skin —
waist —
ass —
legs —
mouth —
inside —

IT'S BOOBS

"Look at it," Luna said.

"I've seen it."

"Five things. Five, out of eleven, and then you got your face in me and I stopped writing at about half two and never picked it back up." She scrolled down through all that white space with her thumb, standing close enough that her shins were against his knees. "That's not finished, Josh. That's abandoned. It's been sitting there all week annoying me."

"So delete it."

"I'm going to finish it." She sat down beside him and the mattress went down on her side and tipped him a few inches into her hip. "Today. All of it. Everything under the line."

Josh thought about that.

"Can we do the boobs one again."

"No."

"Just for a bit—"

"No."

"You said the list, and the boobs are on the—"

"The boobs are done." She got up and stood in front of him again, three feet away, and folded her arms under them. "They're the one thing on there that's finished. That's the whole reason we're doing the rest."

Then, because she had never in her life made a point she couldn't also make physically, she took the tank top off, and she did not touch it.

Her arms stayed folded. She did not put a hand anywhere near it. The tank top moved on its own: the hem let go of her waist and started climbing her, and it climbed steadily, at the speed of a blind going up. Her stomach came out from under it first, then her ribs. Then the hem reached her boobs and went over them, and each one came out from underneath and dropped an inch and settled, one and then the other, and the fabric did not catch on either of them on the way past.

It bunched under her chin. It went up over her mouth and her nose and her eyes. It cleared the top of her head without disturbing her hair at all, and then it went down her back, and Josh sat on the end of the bed three feet away and watched the whole gray thing sink into the skin between her shoulder blades and vanish, the way water goes into a sponge. It took about four seconds. There was no tank top anywhere in the room afterward, and her arms had not moved the entire time.

She stood there in just the leggings and let him have a second of it.

Then she took her boobs away, and she did it slowly, which was the cruel part, because she could have done it between one breath and the next and instead she made him sit three feet away and watch every stage of it. The weight went first: both boobs stopped hanging and drew up against her ribs. Then the size went, and it went from the outside in, the fullness shrinking back toward her sternum so that they got smaller and flatter at the same time.

The crease underneath each one closed over and left nothing behind. And then there were no boobs at all. Just her ribcage, flat, with the bone down the middle of it, and two pink nipples sitting on a plain surface with nothing underneath them to sit on.

She looked down at herself, and then down at him.

"There," she said. "Now can we get on with it."

Josh sat on the end of his own bed with his knees a foot from her shins and felt sad about it, far more sad than made any sense. He was aware that this was pathetic. He did it anyway.

*

"Right." She was scrolling again, standing over him, flat, in the leggings. "Today's the common ones. The obvious ones. The stuff every single person on earth wants and doesn't say."

"That's not—"

"Yours is boobs." She didn't look up. "Which is the most common one there is. You are the most standard man alive and I want you to sit with that."

"Okay."

"So the question is the other one." She put the phone face down on the chest of drawers. "Boobs or ass. Which is better."

"The first one."

"You didn't think about it."

"I don't need to think about it."

"Mm," Luna said. "I think I can change that."

*

The leggings came off like leggings.

She did that one entirely by hand, standing at the end of the bed about two feet from his face, which was not an accident. She hooked both thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down over her hips, and they went the way real clothes go, rolling in on themselves at the top edge and dragging on the way past her thighs, and she had to bend to get them under her knees and she did it slowly and she did it while looking at him. She lifted one foot out. Then the other.

Then she straightened up with them in her hand.

Then she pushed them into her own crotch.

That is what it looked like from two feet away and Josh did not have a better description for it afterward. She balled the leggings up in one fist, put the fist against herself between her legs, and pressed, and the whole bundle went in. It did not go into a pocket. It went into her. The fabric went soft and lost its shape and disappeared into the skin, and she pushed the last corner of it in with two fingers, and then her hand came away and there was nothing there and nothing on her at all.

"That's not—" Josh said. "How is that—"

"What."

"That can't be legal."

"Which part."

"I don't know," he said, with total honesty. "Any of it. Where did they go?"

"Laundry," said Luna, and got up onto the bed.

*

She threw him back down it, which took no effort at all, and he landed on his back with his head a foot short of the pillow and his t-shirt rucked up under his shoulder blades. He still had his jeans on. She left them.

Then she got a knee down either side of his chest and turned around.

He saw what she'd done to herself on the way over. She had gone up, and she had gone up a very long way. The whole of her backside had filled and widened and come out from her in a way it had never done in the two weeks he'd known her, and the hips had gone with it, and now she was kneeling astride his ribs facing his feet with all of that directly above his face and coming down.

Josh had one clear thought, and the thought was: my nose is going to break.

It was not an unreasonable thought. He had a rough figure for the mass and a rough figure for the drop, and he got his chin down and braced, and he was still bracing when she sat.

She came down fast and she came down heavy, and his nose did not break.

It went in.

That was the part he hadn't accounted for. His face didn't hit a surface. It went between, his nose sliding straight up into the cleft of her, and the two sides of it closed over his cheeks and his ears and the top of his skull in the same instant, so instead of an impact there was an enormous soft closing pressure arriving from every direction at once, warm, total, with about four inches of her on each side of his head.

He was fine. He was entirely uninjured.

He also could not breathe at all.

*

His arms were free. That was the difference this time and it took him a couple of seconds to remember it.

He got both hands up and out and onto her, one on each side of her hips, and took hold, and it was like taking hold of a sofa cushion with a person inside it. His fingers went in and kept going and found no bottom anywhere near as deep as he could reach. He got a grip on as much of her as his hands would take and pushed, both arms, from the chest, the kind of push that moves furniture across a room.

She did not move a millimetre.

It wasn't that she was resisting him. He couldn't tell that she'd registered it at all. Six foot three of shapeshifter, sitting down, with her weight exactly where she'd decided to put it, and most of it going through his face into the mattress. He was not going to move her today or on any other day of his life, and somewhere in the middle of working that out, his cock made its own position very clear inside his jeans.

So he went for the one thing that would definitely get noticed.

He worked both hands around and forward, along the insides of her thighs where they came together over his chin, up into the heat of it, and reached for her crotch. He did it deliberately. He was fully prepared to put an entire hand into her, because she was not going to be able to ignore that, and he needed her to look down.

There was nothing there.

Just skin. Warm, unbroken, closed skin, running straight up between her legs from back to front without one single feature anywhere in it, because she hadn't made one yet and had had no reason to.

His hands sat in that smooth nothing, on about eleven seconds of air. There was no hole. He could not put his hand into her to get her attention, because she had not installed anywhere to put it.

*

That was when she lifted.

She came up about four inches, and he got a lungful of air that tasted of her skin, and then another one, and he lay under her going at it like a man who'd come up off the bottom of a swimming pool.

"You're being naughty," Luna said, from above and behind, delighted. She hadn't got off him; she was holding herself up on her hands with her knees still either side of his chest, and every word came down through her. "Both hands. Straight for it. Two weeks of can we just cuddle and I sit on your face for eleven seconds and you go digging."

"I was—"

"I know exactly what you were doing."

"I was trying to breathe—"

She stopped.

He heard her stop. She went quiet above him for about three seconds, and with her, thinking was a physical event; he could feel her weight shift around on his chest while she worked at it. Then she said, mostly to herself, in the flat voice she used for solving things:

"Oh. Yeah. You need to breathe."

"Yes."

"That's going to ruin the whole thing. Every three minutes I have to get up so you can have a go on the air." She shifted, which moved his entire head. "That's not going to work at all. Hang on. I could put some holes in it."

"In what?"

"In my ass. Two little ones, either side of your nose, lined up with it. You'd breathe through those and I'd never have to get off you."

Josh lay there with her knees either side of his ribs and got ready to explain why he'd rather she didn't put new holes in the thing that was going to be sitting on his face for the next hour.

Then she said, "Oh. Hang on."

"What."

"There's already one," said Luna.

*

"Breathe through my asshole," she said.

Josh looked up at the ceiling, which he could see for the first time in about a minute, and let that sit in the room.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because—" He gestured. She was facing his feet and couldn't see it. "Because that's where the poo comes out."

There was a pause. Then she laughed, properly, the whole bed going with it, and it went on long enough that he started to go red underneath her.

"Oh my god," she said. "You're a virgin."

"I'm not a—"

"You are. Listen to what just came out of your mouth." She turned herself around on top of him without getting off, one knee at a time, until she was straddling his chest facing him and looking down at his face from two feet up. "That's the single most virgin sentence I have ever heard, and I've heard a lot of them. You don't know anything. Sixteen hundred pages and you don't know anything."

"That's a normal thing to—"

"It's not a normal thing to think, Josh, it's a thing you think because you've never once asked anybody." She was still grinning down at him. "Right. Lesson."

"I don't want a lesson—"

"It's clean. It's not a pipe with things sat in it. It's a muscle, and it's empty, and the only thing down there is the same air you're already breathing, plus me."

"There's still—"

"And anyway." She sat back on her heels on his chest, entirely at ease, six foot three of her folded up on top of him and none of it in any hurry. "I'm a woman. I don't poop."

Josh opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

He had, he realized, absolutely no data.

He did not know. He had never seen her do it. He had never seen any evidence of her doing it. He lived with her, he shared one bathroom with her, and in two weeks of paying close attention to almost everything about her he had observed nothing whatsoever that contradicted what she had just said, and now that the idea was in the room he could feel it settling in and making itself comfortable and starting to look a great deal like a fact.

He filed it. He would take it out and look at it properly later, at three in the morning, for about an hour.

Right now there was a more pressing matter, which was that he needed air and she was going to sit back down either way, and she could make anything about her body true if she felt like it. He wasn't being asked to accept a claim about anatomy. He was being asked whether he trusted her to build him something that worked.

She wasn't just a woman. That was the entire point of her.

"Fine," Josh said.

"Say it properly."

"No."

"Say fine again, then. With the face."

"Fine."

"Good boy," said Luna, and turned back around, and got into position over his head.

*

She took her time over it, because she wanted it right.

She came up onto her knees with her shins either side of his ears, reached back between her own legs with one hand, and used two fingers to draw herself open, so that the cleft his face had been jammed into came apart and he was looking straight up into it from about eight inches away with the bedroom light still on. Her other hand went flat on his forehead and held his head still, and turned it a few degrees until the angle was the one she wanted.

Then she came down slowly, and stopped when the tip of his nose was resting directly against her asshole.

She held it there. He could feel exactly where he was: the whole small tight ring of it pressed against the end of his nose and nothing else, and around that, in every direction, nothing but heat.

"Ready," she said, and let go of both.

Everything closed at once. Her cheeks came in and sealed over both sides of his head, his ears, his eyes, his forehead, and his top lip and his mouth were mashed flat against the skin just below where his nose was, and the room went black and silent in the same instant.

Then she relaxed the ring.

He felt it give. It opened around the end of his nose and took about half an inch of him, and then the muscle closed again, snug, holding him where he was, and then squeezed once and let go. On purpose. As a hello.

Josh breathed in.

The breath came. It came down through her from somewhere further in, warm, slower than air had any business being, and it tasted faintly of nothing at all. He took a second one and it worked. He took a third and got greedy about it, and she clenched hard, which cut it off completely, and he felt her laugh rather than heard it, through about a foot of her.

"See," Luna said, from a long way off.

He said something. It went into her and stayed there.

"Yeah, that's the other thing. You can't talk." She settled down onto him properly, all of her weight, both his ears under her thighs. "Which is honestly an improvement, so we're keeping it. Right. Feedback."

*

The feedback system took her about ten seconds to design and she designed it out loud while sitting on his face.

"You can't talk, you can't see, and you can't move me," she said. "So: once for yes, twice for no. Slap my ass."

He got a hand out from under her thigh and slapped her ass once. It went in about two inches and made almost no sound at all.

"Good. Now."

Then she reached back down the length of his body without turning around, found his waistband by feel, and started on his jeans.

It did not go smoothly. She got the button on the second attempt and the zipper on the first, and then she had to haul, at an angle she couldn't see, one-handed, from a position where every bit of her leverage was wrong. She got them to his hips. She got stuck on his hips. She braced her free hand on his stomach and pulled again and dragged him four inches up the bed with them, which pushed his whole face further into her and cut the air off, and he slapped her ass twice with some urgency.

"Sorry."

She got them down past his knees on the third go, took his boxers with them, and left the whole lot bundled around his shins. His t-shirt stayed on. It had been rucked up under his shoulder blades since she threw him down and neither of them had thought about it since.

His cock came up out of all that and she made a small approving noise at whatever she could see from up there.

"Actually, forget the slapping," Luna said. "I'll just watch this one. This one never lies."

*

She started smaller than she really was.

He felt her take it all down at once: the pressure coming off the sides of his skull, the mass receding, everything loosening until there was much less of her and what there was sat firm and neat and close across the middle of his face. His ears came free of her thighs. He could hear the room again. She stayed like that about ten seconds, weight still on him, one hand down by his hip.

Nothing much happened at that end.

"No," she said. "Right."

Then she started to build.

The first stage was pure size. He felt her ass come up all around him at once, the mass of it crowding out under the skin and pushing back and outward from her hips, spreading across his forehead and down past his ears until the room went quiet again, and the crack his face was buried in got deeper as the two cheeks got further apart and taller. His nose went further in. His whole head went further in. The pressure came back on and this time it arrived from above his hairline as well as from both sides.

"That's four inches," she said. "There's a lot more than that."

She gave him a lot more.

By the third stage his ears were buried and the sound of the bedroom was gone, and everything he could hear was the inside of her: her voice arriving through her body instead of through the air, low and blurred and slightly behind itself, and something deeper in that might have been her heart.

By the fourth his jaw was being held shut for him. By the fifth there was so much of her on either side of his head that he'd lost track of which way up the room was, and the only thing tying him to any of it was that one channel of warm air still coming in through his nose, in and out, steady, held open on purpose by a woman who was not currently thinking about it.

Then she stopped.

"That's size," Luna said. "Size is obvious. You're leaking on my hand. Next one's harder."

*

Softness came next and she took it in both directions.

She started by making her whole ass firm. He felt the give go out of it, everything packing in tight under the skin until there was nothing left to sink into, and the two enormous cheeks either side of his head went hard and smooth and stopped giving at all. It stopped being something he was inside and turned into something he was pressed against. It was still huge. It just didn't move for him.

He didn't like it, and he couldn't say so, and he didn't have to.

"Nothing," she reported from somewhere above the small of his back. "Went down, actually. That's rude."

Then she went the other way, and she went a very long way past normal.

The firmness came out of her all at once, and everything around his head fell inward and closed over him. There was no structure left in it anywhere. His face went in and it kept accepting him, molding around his forehead and his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, filling in every gap it could find, and where his hands were still holding on from underneath the flesh had come up over the backs of them past the wrist. When she shifted her weight, nothing moved at the same time as anything else.

Josh made a sound that went nowhere and every muscle in his stomach locked.

"Oh," said Luna. "Okay. That's a big one. That's a very big one, that jumped in my hand."

She held it there a while. He was fairly sure she was enjoying herself, and stopped being fairly sure and started being certain when her breathing changed above him and her thighs came in tighter against his ears.

Then she took it back to somewhere between the two and asked about that, and it was better than the firm one and nowhere near the soft one, and the thing in her hand told her so without being consulted.

"Bounce," she said. "Last one. This is the bit you got wrong on page nine hundred, so pay attention."

*

She lifted about eight inches off his face and dropped.

Her ass landed on his face all at once and then kept going. He got the impact through his whole skull, then the settle, then the travel: it carried on past where it had landed, spreading sideways across his head, coming back, going out again a little less, and rolling to a stop somewhere around a second and a half after it first hit him. He got all of that through the bones of his face and none of it through his eyes.

She did it again.

She did it eleven or twelve more times and adjusted something between every one, and it was somewhere around the eighth that he understood she was changing the rebound and not the size. Same weight, same height, every time. What was different was how long it kept working afterward, and the difference between a landing that stopped dead on his face and one that was still moving on it two full seconds later was, for him, the difference between an interesting sensation and having to put real effort into not finishing.

"There," Luna said, on the twelfth. "That one."

He slapped her ass once. He had forgotten the system existed and it came out of him anyway.

"Yeah. Thought so." She reached back and patted his thigh, which was patronizing. "Right. That's the ass. Legs."

*

"Do you want me to crush your head with my thighs," she said, in the voice she used for asking about takeout.

She'd gotten off his face for this, and he lay there with the room back around him, blinking at the ceiling, red and damp, t-shirt still rucked up under his shoulders, jeans still bundled around his shins, cock standing up out of all of it.

He knew about this. Everybody knew about this. It had been a joke on the internet for as long as he'd been on the internet, and he had drawn it, twice, and neither time had he thought of it as something a person could actually be offered.

"Yeah," Josh said. "Yeah, alright."

"That was fast."

"It's — everyone knows that one."

"It's the second most common thing men ask me for," Luna said. "After the boobs. You are the most standard man alive."

Then she moved up the bed on her knees, put one leg either side of his head, took his skull in both hands and turned it a few degrees until it sat where she wanted it, and closed her thighs.

*

She started gentle, which lasted about two seconds and was clearly only so he could work out how he was lying.

There was a lot of leg. That was the first thing. Her thighs came in at his head from both sides at once, warm and heavy and enormous, and the insides of them were the softest part of her he had ever had against his skin, and they came over his ears and his jaw and the whole back of his skull, because she had turned his head until they would.

Then she squeezed.

The pressure came on evenly and it did not stop where he expected it to stop. It went past comfortable. It went past interesting. His ears folded flat, the sound of the room shut off entirely, and everything dropped to a low booming hum that was partly her pulse against his temple and partly his own blood. His jaw was pressed shut. His temples were being pushed toward each other by a force that had nothing to do with romance, and behind that force were two legs belonging to something that could lift a grown man off a kitchen floor with one arm and had never once mentioned finding it heavy.

She could have kept going. That was the thing he couldn't get past. There was no suggestion anywhere that this was the top of her range: she was somewhere in the low middle of what she could do, his skull was already creaking, and if she changed her mind he would get no vote in the next four seconds.

He was not scared, and he went looking for why he wasn't.

The reason turned out to be very simple. Being crushed to death between those particular thighs was, on any honest accounting, the single best death available to any man alive. If it happened, it happened. He'd have gone out miles ahead.

His hands were free. He put them flat on the outsides of her thighs and did absolutely nothing with them.

"You alright?" she said.

He couldn't hear her. He got the shape of it through the bone of his jaw.

She let off a fraction, enough for one ear to come back, and asked again.

"Yeah," Josh said, and his own voice arrived in his head from somewhere down the hall.

"Do you want more?"

He thought about lying.

"Yeah."

She gave him more.

She gave him a great deal more and held it there, and somewhere in the middle of it she started rocking her hips, slowly, so the whole grip worked backwards and forwards across his face while it crushed him, and the two things together did something to him that twenty minutes of sitting on his face had not managed.

He got about eleven seconds of that.

He was going. He could feel the whole thing gathering low and hard with nothing anywhere near his cock and no way at all of getting a word out to say so, and his hands closed on the outsides of her thighs and his back came up off the mattress.

Then she let go and got off him.

*

"Nope," Luna said.

Josh lay there. His ears were ringing. His face was hot and there was a red line across his cheekbone where the inside of her knee had been.

"You—"

"Two things left on the list."

"I was—"

"I know what you were." She was already sitting back on her heels beside his shoulder and reaching for the phone on the chest of drawers, entirely unbothered. "You'd have gone off, and then you'd have been useless for twenty minutes, and we'd never have got to the end. I've seen you afterwards. You go to sleep like something being switched off."

He put an arm over his eyes.

"Foot," she said.

*

She swung around and put her foot out and held it about six inches above his face.

It was a foot. It was a very good foot, on the end of a leg he had personally drawn four hundred times, and it was clean and warm and it had been on his bed for the last half hour.

"Lick it," Luna said.

"No."

She waited a second.

"What?"

"No. I'm not doing that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a foot," Josh said.

She sat up properly, and the foot came down onto the comforter by his ribs, and she looked confused, which was rare enough that he wanted to keep it.

"You just breathed through my asshole."

"That was different."

"How was that different—"

"That was — that was a problem and you solved it and it worked." He got up onto his elbows, which put his face about level with her knee. "This is a foot. It's a foot, Luna. It's been on the floor. I know the leg's great, the leg is genuinely great, the leg is the best thing you've got after the obvious ones, but the foot is where the leg stops being a leg."

"You don't have a foot thing."

"No."

"At all?"

"I don't get it," he said. "I've never gotten it. I don't even know what it's supposed to be doing. Ignore the foot."

She sat there another moment with her ankle in her hand, looking at it like a returned package, and then let it go and picked the phone up and started typing with her thumb, and he watched her decide not to argue and write him down instead.

Then she said, without looking up, "What if I stepped on you."

"Oh."

He heard himself say it. He wished, instantly and completely, that he had said it in any other tone of voice.

"Well," Josh said. "That's — that's a different thing entirely, isn't it, that's not really the same—"

She was still typing. She hadn't heard him. She was two items down the list already and had moved on, and he watched her not notice, and lay back down, and shut his eyes, and was for about four seconds more relieved than he had ever been about anything in his life.

He could not have handled being stepped on today. There was one thing left on the list, he had no idea what it was, and there was approximately nothing left in him.

"Right," Luna said. "Last one. Lie flat."

*

He lay flat.

She came up over him and knelt with a knee either side of his hips, and lowered herself until her crotch was about four inches above him, and his cock stood up out of the bundle of denim around his shins and pointed at her and got nowhere near.

He looked up the length of himself at it.

Her crotch was smooth. Completely smooth, from her navel down between her legs and back up again: no line, no fold, no lips, no hole, nothing. There was no pussy on her. There was not even a mark where one would go. It was the same blank skin his hands had found on her twenty minutes ago and had had opinions about ever since.

And about a second after that, lying flat on his back with it four inches over his face, Josh worked out where the leggings had gone.

"Luna."

"Mm."

"Where are my—" He stopped. "Where did you put the leggings."

"Don't worry about the leggings."

"Last thing on the list," she said, "is the pussy."

"Okay."

"Pay attention, because I'm only doing this once."

And then hair came out of her.

It arrived in about a second: a whole neat dark triangle of it pushing up through the smooth skin four inches above his face, every hair rising and lengthening and settling into place at the same time, and Josh had just enough time to register that it had happened and none at all to have a thought about it, because it went straight back in again. Every hair retracted at once, drawn down into her, and the skin closed over flat and bare, and it was as though it had never been there.

"Yeah, no," Luna said. "I like it shaved. So it's shaved. Always. Forever. Never coming back. Sorry."

She waited.

Josh, who had been shown a thing for approximately one second and had it taken off him before he could form an opinion, said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, shaved's good."

Her face did something.

"You like it shaved."

"Yeah."

"You actually like it shaved." She sat back on her heels above his hips. "So that wasn't — hang on. That was supposed to annoy you. That was the whole bit. I was going to show you the thing and then take it away and you'd sulk about it and I'd get to say too bad."

"Sorry."

"You've ruined that."

"Put it back, then."

"No," said Luna. "I said never. I'm not going back on it now, it'd look weak." She scowled down at her own perfectly bare crotch, four inches from his face. "Fine. Shaved. Forever. Because I said so and for no other reason."

*

Then she made one, and he watched the entire thing from underneath at a range of about four inches and did not blink once.

It started as a line. A seam came up under the smooth skin, running front to back, showing first as a faint depression and then as an actual crease, and then the crease opened. The two sides drew apart and thickened as they parted, coming up into full soft lips that had not existed four seconds earlier, and between them a whole pussy built itself out of nothing, four inches above his face: the deep part first, then the inner lips, then the surface. The color came next, pink flooding up through all of it from underneath. The wet came last, and it turned up everywhere at once instead of working its way out, because she was not doing this the way a body does it.

And she was coming while she did it.

He worked that out about two-thirds of the way through. Her thighs had started shaking either side of his ribs. Her stomach was going hard and soft above him, and she'd put one hand flat on his chest with the fingers spread, taking her weight down through him, and she was making a low continuous sound with her mouth shut that had been going for some time before he identified what it was.

"Are you—"

"Mm."

"You're—"

"Making it," she said, with almost nothing behind her voice. "It's — nn. Everything switches on at once. All of it. Every nerve arrives at the same time and they all work immediately and there's nothing gradual about any of—"

She stopped talking and finished, hard, on her knees above him, hand pressed down on his sternum, head down, hair hanging onto his chest, a whole new set of muscles clenching around nothing at all four inches from his face.

Josh lay under that and tried to think.

He got as far as: she can make one whenever she wants. Then: she comes from making it. Then: which means she can do that as many times as she likes, anywhere, at no cost, with no upper limit on it, and she has been able to do this the entire two weeks and has never once mentioned it, and there is no reason at all for her ever to—

She sat down on him.

*

His whole cock, in one go. No easing and no hunting for the angle, just her weight coming down and her pussy taking every inch of him at once, and the inside of it was hot in a way that had nothing to do with warmth, and the whole thing was less than a minute old.

Josh's back came off the bed.

"Good?" said Luna, from directly above him.

He couldn't answer.

"Yeah," she said. "I know."

She was still loose from the coming. He could feel that too, her pussy soft and open and shaking around his cock, and she stayed seated on him and breathed and got hold of herself, and then leaned forward with a hand either side of his head and her hair hanging down onto his face and said:

"Did you know I can reshape the insides of my pussy?"

*

Something in Josh's head came off its hinges.

Of course she could. Of course she could. She'd built the entire thing from scratch in nine seconds four inches above his face, so obviously she could adjust it afterward, and the fact that he had not put those two things together until this exact second was going to bother him for the rest of his life.

It was cheating. That was his actual thought, in those words. A cheat code. She wasn't doing a sex thing, she was standing outside the whole system everybody else had to live inside, reaching in through the back of it and changing the values, and there was no rule anywhere that said a body was allowed to do that.

He got about two seconds with that before she started.

He felt it happen from the inside and had no words for any of it. She started at the base and worked up. The inside of her pussy began to move and take shape around his cock, closing in here and easing out there, finding the exact width at every point along him and then holding it, following the flare of the head and narrowing again behind it, fitting itself to him like a mold setting. It went on for a good ten seconds. He could feel each part set as it finished while the next one was still working further up, and by the end there was no bit of his cock that wasn't in full contact with her.

Then she started to move, and it stayed like that. It moved with him and kept the fit while it slid, because of course it did.

Right, Josh thought, from a long way away, flat on his back with her hands either side of his head. That's it, then. That's the whole thing decided. No other woman alive can do this and I'm finished.

*

He fought it.

He knew it was coming, he had a good ten seconds of warning, and he seriously tried to hold it. He got his heels into the mattress and locked everything down and thought about the gas bill, and he was still fighting it when it went anyway, straight up through the middle of everything, and he shouted and grabbed her hips and his cock went off inside her so hard that his heels came off the bed entirely.

It went through her pussy, and she was not ready for it.

That was the part he only understood afterward. She had been busy demonstrating. He felt her whole body take the first pulse and stop dead above him, and she said "oh — oh" in a voice that had gone completely out of her control, and the second pulse took her with it, and she came on top of him for the third time in ten minutes and this one got away from her entirely.

It came out of her pussy. There was no other way to describe it and he did not try. It came out around his cock and it kept coming, hot, far more of it than he would have believed a body could hold, running down over both of them and soaking straight through into the mattress, and she was shaking and swearing with her forehead pressed into his collarbone and her stomach going against his in hard waves.

It went everywhere. Both of them, his t-shirt, the sheet, most of the comforter.

*

She stayed down on him a long moment afterward, breathing.

Then she lifted her head, and her hair was stuck to her face, and she looked at him from about eight inches with an expression he had not seen on her before, which was something very close to having been caught out.

"You," she said, "are really, really naughty."

"I didn't—"

"You made me lose it. Right in the middle. I was demonstrating."

"I was trying to hold it—"

"So," Luna said. "Punishment."

And she tightened.

He felt her pussy close on his cock along the whole length at once, the entire fit she'd just built drawing in and getting smaller, narrowing past comfortable and then narrowing further, until she was gripping him so hard that every small movement she made afterward registered somewhere up in his teeth. She kept going for another second after he made a noise about it. Then she stopped, and settled, and looked extremely pleased with herself.

Josh lay in the wet with her sitting on him and thought about this.

She had, by his understanding, got it exactly backward. If she'd wanted to punish him she should have gone the other way. Loose. Enormous. Nothing to push against at all. That was the punishment. She had instead made it small and tight and unbearably good and called it a penalty, and he was not going to be the one who pointed that out.

"Is this meant to be worse," he said.

"Yes."

"Right."

"Shut up," said Luna, and started grinding.

*

It went on a long time after that and it stopped being any kind of negotiation.

She ground down onto him in slow hard circles at first, keeping the grip exactly where she'd set it, both hands flat on his chest with her whole weight coming through them. Then when he started making noise she stopped being slow about it. She came twice more in the next stretch and did not stop moving for either of them, and somewhere in there she got his t-shirt up over his head and it stuck around his elbows and she left it, so he spent a while with his arms above his head and no say in where they were.

He got hard again eventually, with no decision involved anywhere, and she felt it happen from the inside before he did.

"There you are," she said, and did not loosen off by a millimetre. She had set the fit as a punishment and she was keeping it as a punishment, so his cock came back up inside a pussy that was already too tight for it, and every part of getting hard happened against her grip instead of into any room of its own.

The second one took a long time and hurt from the first second. There was nothing good in the build at all. She rode him in short hard drops with both hands flat on his chest and all her weight coming down through them, and that narrow fit dragged on every inch of his cock on the way up and again on the way down, and it was too much and too soon and there was no slowing her down. He said so. He said so twice, out loud, in whole words.

"I know," said Luna, and carried on at exactly the pace she had picked.

When it went it went sideways, nothing like the first one: no gather, no drop, just a hot cramping pull that started up behind his balls and emptied him in short painful pulses while she ground down through all of it. There was not much of it. It made no difference. His whole body went through the full performance anyway, the arch, the lock, both hands closing on the sheet, and a long shudder afterward that went down both legs and took a while to finish.

Her pussy went off around him somewhere in the middle of that and she did not mention it.

Then she went again.

The third one was a long way later and by then the room had come apart a bit. His arms were still above his head in the t-shirt where she had left them. His face was wet. He had stopped being able to tell which parts were her doing something to him and which were his own body reacting, and when she finally worked it out of him it was barely an event: two thin pulses, almost nothing coming out of his cock at all, his hips lifting off the mattress without being asked and hanging there and dropping.

It hurt more than either of the others and went on longer than both, and it took everything he had left. He came out the other side of it crying a bit, quietly, not sadly, and she wiped his cheek with her thumb and said nothing about it and did not get off him.

And she was not tired.

That was the thing he took away from the whole afternoon. He was face down on a ruined mattress with his arms not working and his t-shirt around one wrist, and she was kneeling up above him with her hair a mess and her chest heaving and nothing in her running low at all. Whatever she had instead of stamina, it did not run out. She'd been going for two hours and could have gone another two, and the only reason any of it ever ended was that he ran out first.

He always ran out first. It was starting to look like the permanent structure of his life.

"Okay," Josh said, into the mattress.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Done. That's—"

He did not finish the sentence. He went out like a light, face down, in the wet patch, with one sock on.

*

He woke at ten the next morning, alone, on a mattress that had dried into something he preferred not to examine.

The entire bedding set went into a trash bag. He didn't attempt to save any of it. He stood in the bedroom in yesterday's t-shirt holding a comforter at arm's length, made a decision about his life, took the bag down to the trash, and came back up to find her at the kitchen table with his phone.

She was growing a top on the way to the chair while he watched from the doorway. It came up out of her shoulders and spread down over her chest and back in one continuous movement, thin and pale at first and then settling into gray cotton with a hem and a neckline and everything, and by the time she sat down she was wearing a t-shirt that had not existed forty seconds earlier and had no seams anywhere in it.

"There you are," Luna said. "I've written it up. Sit down. You're getting the results."

*

"Boobs first. Obviously boobs first. Boobs are so far in front it isn't a competition, and I want it on the record that I spent an entire afternoon trying to move you off them and completely failed."

"Mm."

"Second is this." She gestured vaguely at her own lap under the table. "Not the pussy. The made-to-measure pussy. That's a separate item and it goes second, because you went quiet in a way you have never gone quiet."

"Yeah."

"Third is the ass and the thighs, joint. I'm not splitting them. You went about equally stupid for both, and the thigh one nearly finished you in eleven seconds flat, which I have noted down." Thumb moving. "And no on the foot."

"No on the foot."

"You're the only person I've ever met who said no on the foot."

"I'm at peace with it."

She finished typing. Then she stopped, and looked at the screen a moment longer, and made a small noise of discovery.

"Oh," she said. "Hang on. I've still got a heading left."

Josh put his tea down.

"No you haven't."

"Mouth." She turned the phone around and pointed at it. "Look. It's right there. It's been on that list since day one and we have never once done it, and that isn't one thing, is it. That's three, minimum. That's the mouth, that's the tits, that's the hands."

"Luna, I have physically nothing—"

"Oh, not now." She put the phone face down and stretched, and she was smiling in a way he did not care for in the slightest. "Later."

And she said it with her tongue out, resting on her lower lip, entirely relaxed about it, and it was a good three inches longer than it had any right to be.