Cursed: The Domestic Disturbance

This one's a little on the darker, meaner side. Guess it's just a case of my bad mood about going back to work, lol. My apologies if anyone is offended by this or finds it uncomfortable.

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Officer Michael Reynolds had always been a beacon of dedication and honor in his community, tirelessly working to maintain order in a in the city that he called home. The hours were long and the work could be brutal and dangerous, but it truly felt as if he was making a difference in his community. Well, most of it, anyway. There was on neighborhood that often tested his resolve, full of gang violence, drugs and more than a few murders; the slums. Most of the time the cops stayed away from it, appearing every so often just to remind the people within that the police did, in fact, exist. Otherwise the cops, Michael included, stayed away. But one night a call about a domestic dispute came in and Mike was, unfortunately, was on patrol. He had to respond, and outside of the typical dangers of the neighborhood, he actually felt a little relief at the fact that it WAS a domestic disturbance; it meant that outside of the typical 'looky-loos', the other potential troublemakers would stay away.

"Car one-four on scene" Michael sent to Disptach before he put the car in park and exited the vehicle, a steady hand on both his holster and his night stick. Just in case. The apartment building in front of him was like all the others in this part of town; worn out, run-down and borderline condemned from lack of public funds. Not that the city hadn't tried in the past, but it was hard to revitalize a community that seemed determined to steal or demolish anything that was brought in from the 'outside'. It was simply easier and cheaper for the town to wait until rising rent prices and horrible conditions just removed the residents on their own terms rather than try to fix something that was irreparably broken. But that was beyond the scope of what Mike was there to do, and after scanning most of the shadowed doorways he spotted the apartment he needed; 4H. The officer carefully climbed the filthy stairs, making sure his path was free of any potential traps, ignoring the glares and staring faces from the apartment windows around him. Before long he was standing outside the noted apartment, wishing the light on the exterior worked. Mike summoned up his courage and pounded his fist on the door, shouting with an authorative voice "POLICE!"

The door swung open and the dim apartment light revealed a towering African-American man, almost a full head taller than Mike and definitely stronger, clad in a white tank-top and underwear that did nothing to hide the man's clearly large penis. The behemoth eyed the police officer for a moment and Mike felt his body tense...But then the man shrugged and stepped back from the door and motioned Mike inside the filthy, small dwelling. "You'll do" He growled.

Mike tried to ignore the strange statement. "Good evening, sir. We had reports of a domestic disturbance here. Are you the only one present here right now?" Mike said after his skin stopped crawling.

"Does it look like I am, bitch? Michonne, what the fuck you high on now?" The towering man said with a derisive laugh that filled the small home and made Mike's head pound.

"Who are you? What's going on?" Michael's confusion grew, a rising tide of bewilderment that overwhelmed his thoughts. His memories danced like fleeting shadows, and his perception of reality began to waver. The trained officer fumbled for his gun but found himself suddenly collapsing against one of the apartment's walls. He glared at the even larger man, brushing long black hair out of his eyes with a long-nailed hand, and suddenly knew the stranger in front of him. It was Damien, of course.

"Chill, Michonne. Quit the act, the game is over, you know what I want now" Damien's voice was gruff, commanding and overpowering as he continued to talk down to Mike's crumpling form.

"Michonne? No, I'm...I'm Michael. What'chu talkin' 'bout?" Michael's voice trembled as he tried to grasp the situation, his voice shaking with disbelief and the officer was entirely unaware of it's sudden change in pitch and accent.

Damien's gaze locked onto Michelle's, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm talkin' 'bout you dressed all skanky like that and not expectin' me to want a taste. Show me what you got, girl!"

Michael felt sick to his stomach and he let out a moan that sound far more sensual than he intended. He slapped a tiny hand against the wall and leaned into it as the feeling rippled out from his stomach as he panted in his new husky, feminine voice. And then the feeling stopped just as quickly as it had begun, and Michael...Michonne blinked away tears as he...and she stared down at the floor and the hanging form of her large breasts as they strained against the costume's cheap material. She slowly rose up and shook her long-haired head as a dizziness threatened to take her off her feet, and saw her reflection in the mirror on the other side of hte apartment's small living space. Looking at her reflection, Michonne saw a woman staring back at her, adorned in a cheap and highly revealing police officer stripper costume. The sight was jarring, terrifying even if it looked familar, and her massive chest began rising and falling quickly as the new woman began to hyperventilate, her large, plump lips trembling.

"This... this ain't real! I'm a white dude name Mike! I went to th' police academy an' everythang!" Michonne stammered, trying her best to deny the flood of memories pouring into her brain. A life of growing up in this neighborhood instead of the suburbs, being poor, using what little advantages she had to turn a few bucks before she could get on as a stripper and call girl. Meeting her man Damien. But it wasn't real!

Damien stepped closer to the quivering, trembling woman and loomed over her. "Listen, Michonne, its been real fun an' all, but time for you to do what you do best. Be my bitch"

"How is any o'this possible?" Michonne's voice held a desperate note, her frustration growing as she struggled to grasp the fragments of her old life and deny the overwhelming evidence of her new one. And then the hot burning she felt in her groin, and when Damien touched her and pulled her into his muscular arms she felt her heart jump into her new throat.

Damien snorted, a hint of amusement in his voice. "See? Y'all just playin' the dumb game when I can give you what you really want. Whachu always want. Now, officer, maybe I need to take YOU into custody and shit". With that Damien kissed Michonne right on her huge lips and she moaned with pleasure. The two began making out, slowly stumbling as one towards the small, dark bedroom that Michonne KNEW she hadn't woken up in this morning but was having immense trouble trying to care. This man, HER man, felt so good! But yet there was a part of her that was both looking forward to, and terrifed by, the enormous rod that was tenting Damien's underwear.

"Naw, naw this...this ain't right!" Was the last thing she managed to say before Damien lifted the formed cop into the air and threw her, a little painfully, onto the bed. Then he was on her, pulling the cheap costume off with primal, lustful fury, shredding it in several places. The badge, now cheap plastic, clattered to the bedroom room along with the plastic night-stick as Damien began ravaging his prize...And she couldn't help but scream in pleasure as he entered her.

And that was Michonne's life from then on.As weeks turned into months, Michonne's resistance began to wane. Her attempts to reclaim her former identity proved fruitless. She danced during the days and when Damien had a job or was 'out', she'd be working through her client list in any number of costumes and roles. Not to mention dodging the cops, who didn't know of a 'Michael Reynolds' and there'd never been someone on the force by that name. She'd gotten out of there before they found a reason to arrest what they saw as just another black streetwalker. And then it was back to the shitty apartment, back to Damien and his massive dick. A sense of resignation settled over her like a heavy fog as that fateful night faded into the distant past. And every time she tried to ask her man why he'd done this, he acted like she was just crazy. And maybe she was. It was harder and harder to remember being anyone but herself. Just sexy Michonne, Damien's girl.

"Course you're my girl. Whole damn reason yer here!" Damien snarled when she'd told him before once again fucking her brains out.