TheInvisibleMan
Adult content. 18+ only.
This story is a continuation of a series. The previous part.
In this series, I deliberately play with genres, and the later entries include a fair amount of speculative fiction. However, the events take place in the near future, so I hope that can be forgiven.
Chapter 1
Emmy and Jack had been sitting in the café for hours. Emmy kept talking.
I dropped to my knees, wrapped my arms around Karina, and broke down crying. I tried to talk to her, but it was pointless…
Later, I got into the School of Art and Design — Wanda helped me with that. I was no longer dependent on my parents.
Wanda and I loved each other, and both of us carried this constant, aching pain for Karina. Wanda was ashamed of her condition, eaten alive by guilt, convinced it was her fault. I kept talking to Karina, trying to pull scraps of memory out of whatever was left of her past life. But the person who had once been the idol of my childhood was gone. Sometimes she would still respond — barely, like an echo.
Wanda tried to tone down their physical intimacy when I was around, but it was obvious to everyone that it was still there. Karina simply couldn’t be any other way. It was disturbing at first. Then I got used to it.
Eventually, I moved in with Wanda, and we started living together. Even though the house technically belonged to Karina — which made everything feel even more wrong.
I never treated Karina like a pet. To me, she was a person with behavioral differences. And she hated that reality just as much. The house split into two overlapping worlds. In one, Wanda and I were a family, taking care of a sick relative. In the other, Karina was her Mistress’s pet. I pretended that version didn’t exist. Everyone seemed to understand their roles and silently accept them.
Some evenings, Wanda and I would lie under a blanket, watching a show, while Karina sat alone in her room. Other nights, I’d be studying, Wanda would be watching something, and Karina would be on her knees, licking her owner. Whenever one of us wasn’t home, the roles snapped into place on their own.
Karina had it the worst.
Being alone with me was torture for her — answering questions, walking on two legs, sitting at a table and eating like a person. Every part of it seemed to hurt her.
And then there was the second thing: she started to feel like a burden.
Six months into living together, something changed. Unexpectedly, Karina got “better.” Though “better” isn’t the right word.
Something human started coming back. She spoke to me more often. She talked to Wanda. She gradually stopped calling herself “it.”
And at the same time, she became deeply, unbearably miserable.
At night, we heard her crying — low, broken, relentless — sometimes smashing her hands bloody against the walls. We were terrified she might try to kill herself, so we tried never to leave her alone.
When she stopped crawling on all fours, stopped eating from a bowl, stopped serving her Mistress, we tried to convince her to take antidepressants. Wanda knew enough to figure out what would work, and we would’ve found a way to get them.
Karina refused.
Her will came back — and with it, the full horror of what had happened to her.
Most of the time, she either cried or sat completely shut down, like she wasn’t really there anymore.
One evening at dinner, she said she didn’t want to live with us anymore — that it would be better for everyone.
She insisted on proving she was mentally competent and having the guardianship lifted.
A week before the evaluation, she stopped crying.
It felt like she stopped blinking, too.
She passed.
The guardianship was removed.
It was time to say goodbye.
We begged her to let one of us stay with her, promised we’d visit all the time. She wouldn’t budge.
“I’m better off alone.”
We moved out.
We never saw Karina again.
At first, we tried to visit. She spoke to us through the door, said she was fine — but that seeing us was too much, and asked us not to come back.
Wanda called. Karina would answer, say a few words, and hang up.
Then she stopped answering entirely.
The house stood empty.
She was gone.
Chapter 2
Before you, nothing really happened.
I studied. There were exhibitions, shows. Karina’s old words kept coming true — everything was falling into place exactly the way I wanted.
Wanda and I live together. She’s gradually stepped away from being a domina. She’s the closest person I have, but she’s almost forty now. A quiet, comfortable life — that’s exactly what she needs.
But I’m twenty-three.
I want something different.
Wanda and I have always had an open relationship — she never tried to control me. But before you, I’d never really been with a man. Just a few meaningless school dates.
I love you, Jack.
What’s happening to you — your transformation — isn’t some whim of mine, and it’s not about gain or control. This is my world. I just wanted you to become part of it.
Jack sat there, shaken.
Sometime during the first hour, he had absentmindedly eaten both of the ice creams they’d bought. The whole story — a surreal kaleidoscope of impossible people and events — had finally locked into place, forming a single, coherent world.
And now he was inside it.
He understood that his obsession, his overwhelming desire, this new identity that felt like it had stepped straight out of a comic book — it all traced back to that single moment. That tiny shift. The butterfly effect.
The moment Henry spoke to Karina in front of his painting.
He reached out and covered her hand with his.
Thirty seconds later, they were fucking in the bathroom of the ice cream café.
Chapter 3
Jack’s life had turned grotesque.
A frenzy of desire. Unreal sex. A strange love triangle. Media buzz. A career as a freak model. Shoots, ad contracts — all of it replacing what should have been a future in industrial design. Marvel was inviting him to promote new films. His social media following was exploding into the millions.
Emmy, once a modest designer, had transformed into something closer to a Brian Epstein or Malcolm McLaren figure. Her protégé wasn’t nearly as famous, but the sheer shock value did the work.
They lived together and apart at the same time — meeting, disappearing, spending nights in different places. Sometimes they would run into each other at some high-profile party and start flirting like strangers.
Jack met Wanda, but they barely spoke. They kept a polite distance, though there was a quiet sense of mutual respect.
After another intense night, Jack woke up in a hotel room. Emmy was staring at her phone.
“Morning. Looks like we’re actually getting famous. Not just tabloids anymore — urban legends too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone made a site. They post ‘reports’ about modifying girls. Someone asked me yesterday if it was mine.”
Jack leaned over her shoulder, looking at the screen.
“The Art of Modification. Some fetishist using AI — generates images, writes up fake reports. Weird that it’s getting popular.”
“Yeah… weird. But also… kind of hypnotic. The images are insanely well done. I ran them through a verification net — it flags them as real photos. There aren’t many profiles, but the stories… they stick.”
“You sure it’s not you?” Jack smirked. “So what did you do after Venom?”
“Project ‘Doggy.’”
Before: Jessie, 28. Submissive looking for a mistress. Photo.
Modifications:
Permanent removal of scalp hair, except for two sections
White hair grafted into those sections
Simulation of black-and-white spaniel ears
Body tattoo: Dalmatian spots
Face tattoo: black eye patch, black nose, black lips, dog whiskers
Transformation: suppressed will, absolute obedience, compulsive need to serve and sexually satisfy the owner, heightened libido, partial identification as a dog, eats from a bowl, moves on all fours, performs human actions only on command
After photo.
Status: Sold
Full report — subscription only
“Kind of boring for an avant-garde artist. Feels more like some horny nerd playing with AI. Bet there’s a pony girl in there too.”
“There is,” Emmy laughed. “Look.”
Project ‘Horse’
Before: Ellis, 23. Aspiring model. Photo.
Modifications:
Permanent hair removal from the sides of the head
Transplanting her own hair to the neck, forming a mane
Gradual surgical enlargement of the mouth
Gradual jaw expansion
Progressive enlargement of teeth
Surgery on feet and ankles — permanent tiptoe stance
Multi-stage rhinoplasty — wide, flattened “equine” nose
Surgical creation of a mobile subdermal appendage near the sacrum
Hair grafted onto the appendage — forming a movable tail
Transformation:
Suppressed will
Reduced cognitive function
Partial identification as a horse
Psychological need for riding work and related gear
Increased muscle mass and endurance
After photo.
Status: Sold
Full report — subscription only
“Suppressed will, impossible procedures… this guy’s just generating content and selling subs.”
“Not all of it is impossible,” Emmy said. “I don’t know about suppressing will, but hair tech has come a long way. Removal, regrowth — even different textures and colors, anywhere on the body. Mostly tested on animals so far. Rats have already had horns grafted, skin textures altered. A lot of what’s here… isn’t that far off.”
“Seriously…”
“Look at this one.”
Project ‘Rapunzel’
Before: Dorothy, 18. Naive girl. Recently moved from a farm to the city. Proud owner of unique hair. Photo.
Modifications:
Permanent removal of all body hair
Transplant of modified follicles from the scalp to the groin and armpits
Breast augmentation
Stimulated hair growth in those areas, braided into plaits
Large nose ring
Transformation:
Attention fixation on a specific fetish
Arousal from her own appearance
Formation of dependency on it
Fetish becomes central to her life, displacing everything else
Attraction to men who share it
Increased libido
After photo.
Status: Sold
Full report — subscription only
“Feels like this is turning you on too.”
“I don’t know… It’s just… mesmerizing. But there’s one body modification that really won’t let me go.”
Emmy smirked, playful and sharp. She stepped closer to Jack and pulled his underwear down.
They started fucking again.
Chapter 4
Emmy had already been asked about the site several times — and it kept pulling her in.
The idea of suppressing someone’s will, of exploitation, disgusted her. But as a fantasy… it drew her in. Almost aroused her.
She followed the updates. They appeared irregularly, unpredictably. Paying for a subscription felt like crossing a line — admitting this wasn’t just curiosity. And she refused to cross it. She told herself she was only interested in the author’s imagination.
A new update appeared.
Project “Pinhead”
Before: Margo, 30. BDSM enthusiast with ten years of experience. Aspiring domina. Photo.
Modifications:
Permanent removal of all body hair
Head tattoo: solid white coloration
Scleral tattooing — eyes turned completely black
Gradual full-body texturing and tattooing to simulate exposed flesh
Wire implantation: formation of a non-healing facial grid, insertion of pins
Complex tracheostomy: installation of a controlled throat valve; when open, speech becomes impossible
Transformation:
Total fixation on pain as life’s sole purpose — both giving and receiving
Extreme sadomasochistic behavior
Submission to a dominant under established control
After photo.
Status: Sold
Full report — subscription only
This time, Emmy decided to write to the site.
She asked what tools the author used to generate the content, and whether they planned to reveal their identity. The constant questions about her connection to the site were starting to wear her down.
The reply came quickly.
The author thanked her for her interest, expressed admiration for her as an artist in body modification, and claimed that everything on the site was completely real.
No, they weren’t planning to reveal themselves.
But they would be happy to answer any of her questions — in person.
A hotel room was specified.
Emmy didn’t respond. But the curiosity gnawed at her.
That evening, she went to a social event. Jack wasn’t there. Before bed, she called Wanda. Sleep didn’t come. The images from the site kept resurfacing in her mind, over and over.
In the morning, she decided to go.
She wasn’t particularly afraid of the anonymous author, but just in case, she set up an automatic alert to be sent to people close to her — where she was going, and that something might happen.
She got into a taxi.
The driver greeted her, watching her through the rearview mirror.
“Wake up, miss. We’re here.”
Emmy blinked, disoriented.
She didn’t remember falling asleep. Not how, not when. Maybe the motion of the car had lulled her under. Or maybe she just couldn’t recall the moment it happened.
The driver helped her out. A faint discomfort lingered in her body, but she couldn’t place it.
She approached the reception desk.
“Hello. I have a meeting in room 101. Are they expecting me?”
“Yes, they are.”
“I have a request. If I don’t come back down within two hours, call me at this number. If I don’t answer — call the police.”
“Of course, miss. We’ll keep an eye on it.”
Emmy knocked.
A voice from inside:
“Come in.”
She stepped inside.
The curtains were drawn tight. The room was dim.
“Sit.”
The voice was female. Slightly hissing, stretched on certain sounds — and strangely familiar. It carried an unsettling warmth.
A figure sat in the far corner, half-hidden in shadow, a hood pulled low.
Emmy sat down in a faintly lit chair.
“I’m very grateful that you’ve taken an interest in the Art of Modification project.”
The voice slipped into a whisper, lingering on its sibilants.
Suddenly, a wave of euphoria hit her — tangled with something deeper, sharper. It felt like her consciousness was sinking into the sound itself, while her body tightened, on the edge of release.
“You’ve always been drawn to modification, Emmy. Since that moment at the doorway, when you were eleven. It stayed with you. Pulled at you.”
The voice softened, curling around her thoughts.
“When you saw Wanda’s tattoo — it turned you on. When you got your own — your underwear was wet. The more Jack changed, the more you wanted him. When he fucks you, that’s all you think about. You can’t stop coming back to the site… because this is what you want.”
The stranger knew everything.
Even the things Emmy had never admitted to herself.
And it was all true.
There was no arguing with that voice.
Emmy felt herself giving in, ready to dissolve into it — into the rising, inevitable orgasm.
“I’m glad you chose to become part of the project.”
Chapter 5
Jack hadn’t seen Emmy for three days.
She was nowhere. She wasn’t answering calls. No posts, no activity, no one had heard from her.
He contacted Wanda. She was deeply обеспокоена too.
Jack filed a missing person report. A day later, he got a call.
“Mr. Rogers, good afternoon. Lieutenant Dan, police department. You filed a missing person report. Miss Stone has been found. She came in herself and stated that she’s fine.”
“What do you mean — herself? No one’s been able to reach her for four days.”
“Yes, Mr. Rogers. Miss Stone mentioned a disagreement between you and said she’s been ignoring you intentionally. At this point, we consider this a mutual misunderstanding. But I should warn you — filing a knowingly false missing person report is an административное offense. And harassment is a criminal one. Keep that in mind. Good day, Mr. Rogers.”
The line went dead.
Jack hurled his phone into the wall. It shattered on impact.
Emmy had left him. Without a word. And worse — she had painted him as some kind of stalker to the police just because he was worried about her.
He couldn’t imagine a more cynical betrayal.
A couple of hours later, he managed to calm down.
Still — something didn’t add up.
Wanda. Friends. Social media.
Fine — say she found someone else. Say she left him and Wanda at once, blocked everyone, disappeared, went completely off-grid.
Then how did she just walk into a police station?
Jack called Wanda.
“Hey, Wanda. The police called. Said Emmy showed up, told them she’s fine — that we broke up, and I’m harassing her. I guess you too… But something’s off. None of this makes sense. Maybe you’ve got something — anything that could explain it?”
“Hi, Jack. Emmy and I have had location sharing on for years. When I got worried, I checked. She definitely went home — and turned it off there. That part looks deliberate. But we didn’t fight. We were drifting a bit, yeah… mostly because of you. If she’d found someone new, I wouldn’t have stopped her. No reason to block me. It doesn’t make sense.”
“What did you talk about last time?”
“Nothing unusual. Just normal stuff. Though… she kept mentioning some website.”
“Yeah. That AI modification site. She talked about it a lot — that’s not new. Not a lead.”
Jack paused.
“Alright. I’ve got one more idea.”
He made a post on social media: that he couldn’t find Emmy, that if anyone had seen her in the last four days, they should contact him.
The replies flooded in.
Questions. Old sightings. Nothing useful.
Then, a few hours later, a comment appeared under the post.
From Emmy.
“I wasn’t missing. Learn to accept that we’re over. It’s done.”
And then everything exploded.
Messages poured in. Questions. Media. Bloggers. Followers demanding answers. His phone started ringing non-stop. News about it began spreading across feeds.
Jack felt crushed.
Chapter 6
A few weeks later, one of Jack’s followers messaged him: Emmy’s profile had appeared on The Art of Modification.
Jack was still angry at her. He wanted to forget her — badly. But he couldn’t. And the worst part was the silence. No updates. No appearances. No interviews. No sightings. Nothing.
She had vanished.
That was what wouldn’t let go.
He opened the site. A new profile had been posted.
Project “Doll”
Before: Emmy, 23. Successful designer. Fashion creator. Obsessed with modification. Photo.
Jack wrote to the contact listed on the site:
What the hell is this supposed to mean?
A reply came a couple of hours later.
Thank you for your interest in my website. The use of Emmy’s likeness for image generation has been approved by her. The future “modification” was designed personally by her.
All documentation has been properly оформлено and can be provided upon official request by authorized authorities. Disclosure to third parties is prohibited under a non-disclosure agreement.
I highly value your contribution to body modification culture, but I must warn you: any further involvement may be interpreted by my business partner as interference in her private life.
Sincerely,
The Author of “The Art of Modification”
The next day, Wanda called him.
“Jack. We need to meet.”
They sat together in an ice cream café, a laptop open between them, the site glowing on the screen.
“Yesterday the news picked it up,” Wanda said. “The theories are all over the place. Some say it’s AI. Others — chasing shock value — say it’s real. Some think the site belongs to her. Others think her will’s been… altered somehow.”
“It’s obviously AI,” Jack said. “I wrote to the owner. They claim Emmy approved it.”
“Maybe. But two things bother me.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“First — I recognized two of the girls on the site. Jessie was my client. I trained her as a submissive. Margo too — she had sessions with me. Their descriptions match reality. Maybe only their faces and stories were used. But then what about the others?”
Jack didn’t answer.
“And second,” Wanda continued quietly, “one of the modified girls has shown up in the real world. Her ‘project’ was completed recently.”
She turned the screen toward him.
Project “Succubus”
Before: Mary, 18. Devout Christian. Virgin. Photo.
Modifications:
Permanent removal of all body hair
Transplant of modified fast-growing black hair into a mohawk
Full-body tattoo: solid red
Implantation of studs for horn grafting
Grafting of horns grown from modified biological material
Frenulum cut and root split: elongated tongue
Yellow lenses installed
Body covered in symbols and inscriptions (full list behind paywall)
Transformation:
Memory and cognition preserved
Original personality replaced with a succubus archetype
Libido maximized
Constant, insatiable need for sex
Satisfaction achieved only through total exhaustion of a partner
After photo.
Status: Single and looking for fresh meat
Full report — subscription only
“I bought the subscription,” Wanda said. “There’s a full diary — every stage of her transformation.”
Jack scrolled.
The clinic. The equipment. The procedures.
He recognized them.
The same ones used on him.
If this was fake, someone had gone to insane lengths.
“And she’s been seen,” Wanda continued. “Tagged everywhere. Photos. Reports. Public indecency charges. News articles. Even a statement from her church: ‘Our daughter has been taken by the devil.’ Her parents are real. She’s real.”
Jack swallowed.
“This is too elaborate to be marketing,” Wanda said. “I’m almost certain the modifications are real.”
Jack stared at the screen.
“So… they’re modifying Emmy?”
Wanda met his eyes.
“They already started.”
She opened the paid profile.
So far, only one entry:
Complete permanent body hair removal.
A photo attached.
“That can still be reversed,” Wanda said quietly. “But the project name… it doesn’t sound like it ends there.”
“What do we do?” Jack asked. “The police won’t take me seriously.”
“I have a plan,” Wanda said. “I’ll use my connections and file a report. You go to this address.”
She sent it.
“The hotel Emmy went to — right before she turned off location sharing. They might have camera footage. Get it.”
That evening, Jack called her.
“I’ve got good news. They have hidden camera footage from the room. They’ll send it to me — from the day she was there. I’m not supposed to talk about it. And I owe them… a few hours at some kid’s birthday party.”
Wanda didn’t react.
“I have bad news,” she said instead. “They accepted my report. If Emmy is found, she’ll be evaluated — mental state, external influence.”
She paused.
“But Mary Grace — the ‘succubus’ — passed that evaluation. They say nymphomania and body modification aren’t grounds for psychiatric confinement. She’s real, Jack. Red skin. Horns. Exactly like the ‘after’ photos.”
Jack felt something cold settle in his chest.
“That’s not the worst part,” Wanda said.
“They started looking. And they’ve already confirmed — Emmy left the country.”
They sat together, waiting for the footage.
Finally, it arrived.
No sound.
The video began.
A figure entered the room first — draped in a black robe. Female silhouette. Hands hidden in long sleeves. Face concealed by a hood.
She closed the curtains, plunging the room into darkness, then turned on a small lamp near a chair.
She sat in the far corner.
Time passed.
Then Emmy entered.
She sat down.
They talked.
The figure remained in shadow.
Emmy’s body twitched strangely in the chair.
Then the figure stood.
Stepped into the light.
Dropped the robe.
It didn’t look human.
A translucent dress clung to a pitch-black body. The face — pale white. Eyes — yellow.
No real nose.
No ears.
Her bald head was ridged with rows of raised, subdermal crests running from forehead to nape.
Watching the footage, Wanda went pale.
The creature approached Emmy.
Took her face in one hand — firmly, possessively.
Three fingers.
Wrong.
Not human.
It leaned in, whispering something into her ear.
Emmy’s body convulsed — over and over — like waves of orgasm tearing through her.
The creature extended its tongue.
Long.
Split.
It licked her ear.
Not a human tongue.
Something reptilian.
The creature straightened.
Pulled the robe back over itself.
Left the room.
Emmy remained seated.
Motionless.
After a while, she stood.
Eyes wide.
Unblinking.
And walked out.
To be continued…
Author’s Afterword
I can’t shake the feeling that I may have chosen the wrong platform for this series. Even though haircuts are consistently present in the stories, they’re barely noticeable against the overall backdrop.
If you’ve made it this far, I’d really appreciate your feedback — criticism, suggestions, or any thoughts you’d like to share.
Despite the relatively small audience, I intend to finish and publish the next part of the series here as well.
Sorry you don’t have a bigger audience. I loved that series, I find it very original, and I’m looking forward for more. Thanks for sharing your stories
Thank you for reading. Sorry that I sometimes complain.