Julian was an ordinary worker who lived in a small apartment in the city. He wasn’t poor—he simply preferred not to waste money unnecessarily. For years he saved, made successful investments, and took out carefully calculated loans until he was finally able to buy his own house in an elegant suburban neighborhood.
The only drawback was that all his neighbors were extremely wealthy people: successful entrepreneurs with dream salaries, many of them owning houses twice the size of his or even second residences. Julian didn’t care. After so much effort, nothing felt more rewarding than owning his own home. He lived well and felt proud.
However, the Brundles, his immediate neighbors, were not pleased that a “mere salaried employee” had moved in next door. Although the purchase was completely legal, they felt superior and began making his life difficult in the hope that he would leave. They were the only family that paid him any negative attention, and they did it constantly.
Every night they threw parties at varying levels of volume. During the first week, Julian barely slept. If it wasn’t loud music, it was a barbecue with smoke blowing straight into his window, or birds that—for some inexplicable reason—only defecated on his car every morning. Julian wasn’t stupid: he knew perfectly well it was intentional. But he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of leaving. He had put too much effort into that house and wasn’t about to let them take it away from him just because of his social class.
Determined to get revenge, he took matters into his own hands. That afternoon, on his way home from work, he stopped at the market. He originally intended to buy noise-canceling headphones, but a strange little trinket shop caught his eye. The atmosphere inside was heavy, almost oppressive. The seller—a handsome man who could have been a model—greeted him by name before he even spoke.
“Welcome, Julian. I have exactly what you need,” he said with a confident smile. “My name is Engie.”
Startled but intrigued, Julian asked what he sold. Engie offered him an amulet that, according to him, transformed willpower into absolute power. You only needed a clear objective, and the rest would take care of itself. At a ridiculously low price, Julian bought it. When he stepped outside, the shop had simply vanished.
Over the following weeks he endured the Brundles’ attacks while studying the amulet. Days turned into months, and the harassment never stopped for a single day. But every annoyance only fueled his determination. Finally, he felt ready.
The Brundle couple usually traveled for one week each month to their private island, leaving their son in charge of the house. Julian took his vacation time and waited for that moment.
His first plan was to leave an enchanted maid outfit at the young Brundle’s door and hypnotize him from the window so he would put it on and transform into a submissive maid. But right after he left the package, an unknown thief stole it. Frustrated, Julian decided to infiltrate directly.
That night the young Brundle cranked the music to full volume as usual. He didn’t hear Julian enter. Within minutes, the young man’s body transformed into that of a very attractive woman. At first he screamed in terror, stared at himself in the mirror, vehemently denied what he saw, pounded his new breasts, and cursed through sobs. He tried to cover himself, flee from Julian, even threatened to call the police. But the amulet didn’t just change his body: slowly, waves of unfamiliar heat and pleasure invaded his mind. Every touch from Julian, every command, weakened his resistance. Shame burned, but his body betrayed him by responding. Julian, pants down, took her mercilessly against the floor. Her moans began as stifled protests and ended in involuntary pleas. That afternoon they fucked like animals, without limits. Julian came inside her while she trembled on her parents’ bed, feeling his semen drip out—and for the first time, part of her didn’t want it to end.
“From now on you know your place,” Julian said. “You’re no longer the spoiled young man who had everything easy. Now you’re my bitch, and you’ll stay my bitch until your parents return. If you talk, I’ll leave you like this for the rest of your life. Understood?”
“Y-yes…” she replied in a trembling voice, still fighting tears.
“Yes what?”
“Y-yes, Master,” she murmured, lowering her gaze, her face flushed with humiliation and something new beginning to awaken.
“That’s better. Now go to the kitchen and make me something. I’m starving.”
Over the following weeks, Julian dedicated himself exclusively to fucking her in every corner of the house: the patio, the bathroom, the parents’ bedroom… No spot remained unmarked. At first she resisted silently, covered her face in shame after each encounter, told herself it was temporary, that she hated what was happening. But the pleasure was constant, overwhelming. Day after day, waves of ecstasy eroded her pride. She began anticipating Julian’s visits, touching herself while thinking of him, feeling empty when he wasn’t there. The addiction grew slowly: first denial, then guilty acceptance, finally desperate craving. She reached the point of anxiously waiting for him to shower so he would take her hard against the shower wall, moaning his name without him even having to ask.
On the last day, Julian transformed her back into the original boy and left. But far from feeling relieved, the young Brundle entered withdrawal. The following days were internal hell: memories of the pleasure assaulted him, his new body ached for it, he masturbated obsessively but nothing was enough. That same night he sneaked out and knocked on Julian’s door on his knees, begging in a broken voice to be turned back into a woman and fucked again. Julian didn’t refuse.
The screams of pleasure filled the house and reached the ears of Mr. Brundle, who had just returned from his trip. Frustrated by the erotic moans that sounded like they came straight out of porn and robbed him of sleep, he tried to ignore it at first, thinking it was just one night. But the routine lasted almost the entire week.
Finally, one night, fed up, he decided to go knock on Julian’s door in the middle of the night. It wasn’t Julian who opened: a woman with a familiar yet unrecognizable face greeted Mr. Brundle with obvious agitation and a repetitive motion that left little to the imagination. The girl was being fucked from behind while partially opening the door. Julian mocked the neighbor, calling him untimely, while increasing the thrusts. The pounding caused the door to slam shut, releasing much louder, more erotic moans.
Mr. Brundle felt deeply humiliated and uncomfortable. Determined to end it all immediately, an idea occurred to him that would get rid of his annoying neighbor. The next day, using all his connections, he arranged everything so that Julian would be fired from his job effective immediately.
When Julian arrived at work the next day, he received a call to the boss’s office: he was fired. Furious over losing his job, he went to confront Mr. Brundle, but the man had anticipated Julian’s reaction and had fled. Mrs. Brundle told him her husband had left for a two-day business trip and wouldn’t be back for a few days—a bad decision. Julian unleashed his anger in the only way he knew how.
With a flash of the amulet, Mrs. Brundle became unable to disobey. At first she appeared confused and embarrassed, tried to reason with Julian. But the amulet awakened fantasies she had secretly repressed for years: being treated as inferior, serving without question, losing control. Day by day, as Julian used and gently humiliated her, those fantasies bloomed. She became docile, almost eager to please, accepting the role of submissive maid with a mix of blushing and growing excitement.
During those two days, Julian took over the house. He declared to the mother and daughter:
“From today, I am the owner of everything. You belong to me.”
The daughter, already completely broken after weeks of conditioning, couldn’t be happier. The mother, with her latent desires now unleashed, surrendered without apparent resistance, finding pleasure in submission.
Days later, Mr. Brundle returned home. However, the atmosphere felt strange. Upon entering through the front door, he was greeted by his wife in a cute, sexy maid outfit. It was odd, but at first he thought she was trying to surprise him with a gesture like that. She smiled, took his luggage, and immediately handed him a somewhat strange drink. Despite its appearance, the taste was normal. But after drinking it, his physical form began to change: his body shrank, his hair grew, his proportions became more feminine, and his voice turned higher-pitched. His clothes also shifted slightly—his boxers and undershirt transformed into feminine underwear, leaving him only in his now enormous shirt over his new appearance.
Mr. Brundle felt terrified and frightened; he demanded an explanation from his wife. She looked happy and told him he would soon be part of the family too. She directed him to the kitchen where her “Master” was waiting while talking with their daughter, then continued cleaning as if nothing was happening.
His wife’s strange behavior only filled his head with doubts and fear about what was occurring. After all, it was bizarre that she acted normal in the face of something as strange as his body suddenly changing shape. With nothing else to do and understanding his wife wouldn’t give answers, he decided to go to the kitchen to find the cause of it all. He was still worried about the person his wife referred to as “Master.” The moment he reached the kitchen, the sight made him recoil. It was his neighbor—the same one he had tried to drive out of the neighborhood, the one who got him fired, the one he had mocked for being a mere worker. Now he was in his kitchen having sex with the same girl he had seen that night. Realizing the reason for the resemblance and remembering his wife’s words when she referred to his “daughter,” it all clicked.
Julian noticed Mr. Brundle’s presence, so he hurried and came inside his daughter. Once finished, he ordered her to prepare the bath, to which she smiled happily while walking away with semen still dripping between her legs. Seeing the scene, Mr. Brundle confronted Julian:
“What the fuck did you do to my son, you fucking bastard?!” he shouted in his new high-pitched voice, yet still loaded with the same authority he used in board meetings. “Let him go right now! This is an abomination! I’m going to destroy you! I’ll call the police, my lawyers—I’ll leave you penniless on the street!”
He tried to advance with determination, pushing Julian’s shoulder with his now delicate, small hands. He tried to shove him away forcefully, punch his chest, reclaim some of his former imposing presence. His mind still felt like that of a powerful man: the one who gave orders, who solved problems with checks and connections. He wasn’t going to let a “mere salaried worker” humiliate him like this.
But the amulet glowed faintly against Julian’s chest. An intense heat coursed through Mr. Brundle’s transformed body, making his knees buckle and a treacherous pleasure mix with his rage. His pushes grew weak, almost involuntary caresses. He tried to curse again, but it came out as a choked moan when Julian, without stopping, grabbed him by the hip with one hand and turned him toward the counter.
“I’m not giving anything back,” Julian said calmly. “Not your body, not your authority, not your pride. What I will give you are the papers you must sign. Everything that was yours is now mine as compensation for everything you’ve put me through.”
On the counter lay the deeds, bank transfers, stocks, and the private island—all prepared. Julian positioned himself behind, calmly and possessively stroking his exposed ass.
Mr. Brundle clenched his teeth, still fighting. “I’m not signing a damn thing! I’m the owner here, not you! Get your hands off me, you faggot!” He tried to twist away, struggle, but every movement only arched his body more, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
Julian thrust in with a firm but controlled push. The ex-patriarch let out a stifled moan of surprise and contained rage. Julian leaned over his back, one hand gripping the hip, the other pushing the pen toward his trembling fingers.
“Sign,” he whispered in his ear. “Every page. While I fuck you. So you’ll always remember exactly who’s in charge now.”
The thrusts were slow, deep, rhythmic. Each one made the former man of the house shake against the counter, the pen scratching irregular lines across the paper at first. He tried to resist: clenched his fist, shook his head, muttered insults between gasps. But the pleasure built relentlessly, eroding his pride layer by layer. The humiliation grew: seeing his wife cleaning the opposite counter as if nothing was happening, feeling his own body betray him with unwanted response, hearing the high-pitched voice that escaped his mouth when he moaned. Page after page, the resistance dissolved. The final signature came out barely legible, accompanied by a long, broken moan as Julian came inside him, filling him completely.
“Good girl,” Julian murmured, giving his ass a soft slap. “All signed. Now you’re officially mine… and everything you had is too.”
The Brundle mansion—now simply Julian’s house—shone under the elegant suburban sun. Julian, dressed in impeccable suits he once only dreamed of, conducted video-call meetings from what had been Mr. Brundle’s study. His investments had grown exponentially with the transferred capital; he was no longer a simple employee but a discreet yet powerful magnate. His financial genius was obviously thanks to the amulet—after all, his will had shifted from mere revenge to pure power—and he made that very clear when he took Mr. Brundle to the bathroom, where together with his son they would give him love until he passed out.
Months later…
Downstairs, the three Holes carried out their daily routine. Hole-2 (the ex-wife) cleaned in her short maid uniform, the collar with the plate “Property of Julian – Hole #2” gleaming at her neck. Hole-3 (the ex-daughter) waited on her knees by the front door every afternoon, eager for the Master’s arrival to give him an oral welcome. And Hole-1 (the ex-Mr. Brundle), the most broken yet also the most devoted, spent mornings in the kitchen preparing breakfast with precise movements, his ass marked by faint pink bruises from the night before, quietly repeating his personal mantra: “I am Hole-1. My pleasure is serving the Master.”
There were no more loud parties or barbecue smoke. Only controlled moans, soft commands, and the absolute certainty that, in that house, Julian was the undisputed king. And the Brundle Holes… his perfect bitches, happy in their new roles.
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