Whitney was already off to class when Jesse woke up. He took his showers, got dressed, helping himself into his black lingerie set, then went to make breakfast. He was in no rush - he knew it would come soon, and he was ready.

The laptop started to buzz when the first bite of toast crossed his juicy lips. Jesse finished his meal, eating slowly and sipping on his coffees, before bothering to open it.

::What the fuck man!? I’ve been alerting for ten minutes!:: The cherub was fly-pacing the screen, cigarette between its tiny fingers.

“Yeah, I heard you,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m not your boss’ monkey,” he said from across the table.

::Whatever man! It’s time for your next project! Do you have an idea? Are you ready?::

“Oh yeah, I’m ready.” The cherub nodded in relief, but paused when he saw the look in Jesse’s four eyes.

It only took ten minutes for him to create his next project, a simple imitation of an email.

::No fucking way man, I can’t submit this! This is nothing!::

Jesse was resolute. “I made it with every goddamn ounce of my passion. SEND IT.”

The cherub sighed, clearly unconvinced, but did it anyway. His face went slack with shock.

::Project accepted! What the fuck have you done, man?::

“Nothing. Yet.” Jesse closed the laptop, grabbed his bags and left the apartment, splitting up as he left the front door. It was time to finish this.

—

To: Jesse Fisher (jfisher@amberfield.edu)
From: Dean of Students (dean@amberfield.edu)
Subject: Meeting

Mr Fisher,

Please report immediately to my office. We have to discuss your future at this school.

Dean of Students,

Amberfield School of the Pornographic Arts

—

Jesse entered the Administrative Office, went up to three, and entered the Dean’s office, marching right past the protesting secretary. The Dean’s chair was rotated towards the window, big leather back blocking everything.

Jesse was unimpressed.“Really? You’re gonna rotate around for the big reveal? What are you, Dr Evil?”

The chair spun around slowly. Dotty sat in its rich leather in a skin tight gray business suit, long black hair tied up in a messy bun.

“You have no flair for the dramatic, Mr Fisher.”

“Spare me. I’ve done everything you’ve asked, but I’m done. You said we’d settle up later - well, I say later is now. Tell me what you want from me.”

Dotty bridged her fingers over her face. “What I want from you, Mr Fisher, is passion. It’s all I’ve ever asked from anyone. So tell me, do you have passion? Did you follow my command? Did you strive?”

Jesse looked her dead in the eyes. “Yes.”

“Let’s find out.” She opened her desk drawer and removed the laptop, handing it to him. “I know it’s rather early, but it’s time for your final project. It’s time to impress me.”

“How much does this count towards my grade?” he asked.

“It’s the final test, Mr Fisher,” Her smile was entirely without joy. “It counts for everything.”

He cracked open the laptop and started to work. After a minute, he looked up with a scowl. “I can’t work if you’re watching over my shoulder.”

Dotty sighed dramatically. “Oh very well.” She spun the chair around, and Jesse continued.

Jesse spent half an hour working, typing furiously and clicking like mad. Dean Dotty never made a noise or moved. “Done,” he finally declared.

She turned, mild annoyance on her face. “Finally. Let’s take a look and see how you’ve done.”

“No.” Jesse said it coolly, confidently. “It’s going to be read to you. The reader should walk through the door right… now.”

Jessi and Whitney entered the room, the secretary shouting at them from the anteroom.

“Jesses, what’s going on?” Whitney caught sight of Dotty and jumped. “Dean Dotty! What’s happening?”

Dotty raised a single eyebrow, her annoyance now mixed with curiosity. “I’m not sure myself, Ms Choi. Your lover apparently wants you to read his project aloud. Please do so - now.”

Whitney was deeply confused, but Jesse handed her the laptop and Jessi patted her on the shoulder. “Just read,” he said in unison. She nodded, cleared her throat, and began.

—

My name is Jesse Fisher, and graphic design is not my passion.

Drawing hentai is my passion. I love making pictures of beautiful people having crazy impossible sex and being transformed in sexy ways - and I am fucking great at it.

Making pornography is my passion. My body is beautiful, and I fuck with skill and artistry. I want people to see me fuck on video. I want people to pay to see me fuck on video. I want people to see my name and know I fuck on video. I want to win awards because I fuck on video.

Helping people live happy and healthy lives is my passion. I will change the world, twist it into knots and shatter the past, so long as people are able to live their truth without fear or shame.

But most of all, above all things, above even my life, my passion is Whitney Choi. She is my light, my love, my heart. I will fight for her, kill for her, die for her. What she wants is what I want, what she loves is what I love.

Which is why I brought her here, so I can know what she truly wants. I free her mind from all the changes my projects have wrought. Once she’s free to make an informed decision, I will honor her wishes, whatever they may be.

—

“Jesses, what does this mean? What changes - “ she stopped mid sentence, eyes rolling back in her head and shuddering. She collapsed into Jessi’s arms, then took a deep breath and focused.

“Oh god.” She stared at the room, mind reeling. “You did all this?”

“I did,” he admitted in unison. “I didn’t mean to hurt you and I don’t think I did. But I can’t know for sure if you think the world was always this way. I need you to know what I did, so you can decide how you really feel.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Wherever and whoever you are, I’ll be there - I promise.”

They embraced, but after a moment Whitney pulled gently away. “You really turned yourself into two people? Sweeties, I love you - but that is fucking crazy.”

Jesse smiled and shrugged in stereo. “I thought it was a creative solution to my problems.”

Dotty gave a sarcastic golf clap, and they all turned.

“Yes, yes, very romantic, love conquers all. Only love doesn’t conquer all. Love fades, withers, dies. It’s hack, Mr Fisher, and I’m not impressed.”

“You fail. I expel you from this university. You and your slut.” She raised a hand imperiously.

The sound of shattering wood interrupted her monologue. Jessi had smashed the nearest chair against the floor, shattering it and leaving two spikes of lumber in his hands. He threw one to himself.

“No.” Jesse stared down Dotty hard. “I won’t let you.”

Dotty’s face filled with fury. “You would challenge me!?”

Both Jesses nodded. “I’ve read the stories - men challenge the gods all the time, and I remember something about a guy named Diomedes challenging you specifically.”

“You didn’t read those stories to the end,” she snarled. “Men who challenge the gods die! I will flay the flesh from - oof!”

An Amberfield paper weight smacked into Dotty’s temple. Whitney scooped up a book from the desk. “The man said ‘fuck you!’ What part of that don’t you get?”

Dotty rose above the desk, lifted up by divine fury. She pointed a finger at them both, and they dropped to their knees, the weight of her will driving them to the ground.

“FOOLS! You would die for your love? You would challenge a god for your tiny, pathetic love?”

“YES!” they said together.

Dotty laughed, a laugh of pure and wholesome delight. Whitney and Jesse fell back, orgasms rocketing through them. They bucked and thrashed, Jesse’s futa cum splattering on the ceiling.

Once they recovered, Dotty helped them to their feet. “You have passion, Jesse Fisher - all the passion I sensed in you and more. You pass, pass with flying colors. I salute you. I’m proud of you Jesse - proud of you both.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Jesse made sure Whitney was ok before continuing. “So, what happens now?”

“Now I will undo all your changes and send you both home. Your phone numbers haven’t changed - you can reconnect and do whatever you want with your lives.”

“NO!” Jesse and Whitney both shouted.

“No?” Dotty seemed genuinely confused.

“No,” Jesse repeated in stereo. “This world is way, way better than the old world!”

“People aren’t ashamed of sex!” Whitney started counting off reasons on her fingers. “We’ve cured disease, solved organ failure and limb loss! Ended gender dysmorphia, body dysmorphia, homophobia, transphobia! Millions and millions of people are alive because of the changes Jesse made!”

“We’re happy here! We want to be porn stars!” Jesse turned to Whitney. “Right? You do want that right?”

She smiled at him. “I had two hundred subscribers on my OnlyFans before any of this started. I’m a freaky slut in any world - but I can be a proud freaky slut here.”

Dotty put her hands up in defeat. “You’ve made your point. Frankly I prefer your changes as well, but I didn’t want to assume.” She paused. “Are you sure about the Pemberton-Rivers Syndrome? That’s a rather extreme change, even by my standards…”

Jesse wrapped two pairs of arms around Whitney. “I can hardly double team my girl with only one body. She’s a freaky slut, after all.”

“Who am I to stand in the way of unalloyed lust?” Dotty nodded in approval. “What about your futanari form? You will suffer if you stay divided as you are. I can fix that, reconcile the disconnect. You can keep your current shape forever if you like.”

“You know what? No.” Whitney turned, raised a surprised eyebrow. “Being futa is intense. I see the appeal, but I won’t get anything done if I’m like this all the time. I’m going to change back when my time elapses.”

He gave a slutty grin to Whitney. “I’ll change back every December as a Christmas gift to you.”

Then he turned to Dotty. “I’d appreciate it if you made it less painful though. It seemed realistic when I wrote it, but I’m done with snapping bones.”

“So be it, Jesse Fisher. You’ve made bold choices. I give this world the gift of comfortable transformation as a salute to your boldness. And now, we are done.” She gestured and the laptop flew into her hand. “I have to go. It’s time to reprimand our tiny friend here. He was extremely lax in keeping his nature a secret.”

“Farewell to both of you. I wish you happiness and success in your pornographic futures.”

Then she was gone. In her place, an elderly gentleman sat in the big leather chair. The plaque on the desk said ‘Dean Stockwell,’ and he was in the middle of a sentence.

“...wanted to thank you personally for your performance at the Orgy. We had a record number of donations, and Doctor Lovelace and I agree that’s in large part to the work you did. So if there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

“Actually, there is something you can do.” Jesse turned to look at Whitney.

“Can you help me break my lease? I don’t need my own apartment any more.”