A/N: Please read before you read the story. It's VERY important.
The original summary: Bella Swan thought she was an ordinary, plain Jane kinda girl. Until a vampire bit her in a ballet studio and she was rescued by her boyfriend's brother. Now, Bella is seeing the world differently. Her body is changing in ways she didn't expect. Her breasts are lactating a strange shimmery golden substance. People aren't who they say they are. Edward's becoming more and more aggressive every day. She wants to run, but how? When her boyfriend is telepathic and his sister is psychic, leaving is no easy feat! Then there's Jacob Black threatening her! What did she ever do to him? To top it off, she can't stop thinking about a certain sexy cowboy who disappeared after he saved her life in Phoenix. Where did he go? And why can't she get him out of her head?
This is Bella's journey to discover what she's becoming, why her body is changing in very unusual ways—lactating tits, anyone?—and accepting her place in the supernatural world. With her True Mate at her side, can they stop the rising evil that's threatening the supernatural world and Bella's life before it's too late?
This story is OOC in the extreme! AU. Jasper/Bella. And eventually Jasper/Peter. Jasper/Bella/Peter. Bella/Peter. Bella/Edward. And possibly more. Sharing is caring, after all!
It's out of the box. It's weird. There will be lemons and smut. BDSM themes. Kinky times for all. Breasts that lactate a strange gold substance that sends all vampires into a frenzy! And yes, breast play and horny vamps who can't get enough of the gold coming from Bella's tits!
Like I said, out of the box! If this is not your thing, that's cool! If it is or you're curious, read on and find out what the heck is going on with Bella!
It is more plot than smut and kinky times!
The chapter title 'The Past is Prologue' comes from Shakespeare's The Tempest. I haven't read it myself. I heard it from Captain Rip Hunter on The Legends of Tomorrow and found it very fitting for this story.
I'm posting this first chapter now, even though Don't Start Now isn't quite finished because I lack patience. I've been writing this one for months and, even though I'm terrified to share it with you—because it's so out of the box and weird—I can't wait any longer.
– Bella's POV –
My body jolted to life as a godawful noise blared through my silent bedroom.
Groaning, I reached out blindly to silence the headache-inducing sharp, shrill noise. Eventually, my fingers landed on my cell phone and I gave the screen a few aggressive pokes with my index finger, hoping to hit the snooze button. I must have found it, as the shrieking abruptly cut off.
Whoever changed my alarm tone from its soothing, Christmas-like twinkling bells to that earsplitting alarm—a muted, metallic Bell-type sound that reminded me of an air raid siren and shot my anxiety to hell—was going to die a most painful bloody, bloody death! They will rue the day they disturbed my sleep!
Irritated, I peeled my eyelids open and blearily stared at the screen of my iPhone. "You've got to be shitting me!"
The oversized, bright white numbers told me it was only 5:45 AM. On a Saturday.
5:45 AM.
On a Saturday!
What moron gets up at the butt crack of dawn when they don't have to?
Never mind! I know just who changed my alarm setting. An interfering, thinks-he-knows-what's-best-for-me-annoying-little-boy!
Breath, Bella. Deep breaths.
My heart was frantically pounding in my chest. My breathing was heavy. My body was covered in sweat from the erotic dream I'd been having.
I took several deep breaths, hoping to calm myself.
Now I'm awake and pissed off, I'll never get back to sleep!
I tossed my cell back onto the bedside table and rolled onto my back. Stretching my arms above my head, I shuddered as my hard nipples brushed against the silk camisole I'd worn to bed last night. My breathing spiked as the lust swept through my body.
My breasts ached something awful! I've never felt pain like it. They were heavy. Swollen. And full. My nipples were so sensitive, just one touch of my fingertips and I'm gushing! My camisole was soaked through with the amount of liquid leaking from my tits.
Lightly, I touched my pebbled nipples with the tips of my fingers and my whole body shuddered in response.
Taking another deep breath, I closed my eyes as I continued gently massaging my breasts.
Lately, I've been having the most erotic dreams. I've had sex dreams before, but it's never been like this. I'm not sure if they're dreams or fantasies, but good grief, they're going to be the death of me! Hugh Hefner and his bunnies would've blushed at the things I've been dreaming about!
And even worse, along with the dreams is a new, almost constant arousal. I'm horny.
All.
The.
Damn.
Time!
And no amount of masturbating helps!
I've never felt anything like it.
It was a need that ached deep in my core. To be taken. To be entered. To be fucked. To rut and mark and mate!
Every night I go to bed and dream about the same hunky cowboy. In my dreams, I've never seen his face. I've heard his voice—sexy, deep, and southern, with a drawl that makes my panties wet with every word—and felt his hard, muscular body pressed flush against my own. But I've never seen him!
There's something familiar . . . I just can't place him.
This has been going on for the last six months. In that time, I've gone through a lot of changes. But the strangest of them all has got to be my breasts.
I've always had small breasts. Little a-cups. For as long as I can remember, I've dreamed of having bigger boobs. I didn't want breasts like Pamala Anderson or Kim K. I just wanted a little more than what I had.
I hoped and prayed and wished, but when it didn't happen, I figured, oh well, you get what you're given. Then overnight, everything changed. I went to bed with little apricot breasts and woke up the next morning with cantaloupes attached to my chest!
That's no exaggeration.
And not only do I have larger breasts, but get this, I also lactate!
Yeah. That's a thing I can do now!
Even weirder, I'm not producing milk! Now, I don't know much about breast milk, but I'm pretty damn sure it's not supposed to be golden! Uh-huh. That's right. Whatever is coming out of my new cantaloupe-sized breasts, looks like thick, shimmery liquid gold!
I'm not talking about a little dribble here and there, either. Oh no! I'm talking about enough strange gold liquid to feed the whole town of Forks Washington!
During just one session with my pump, I can produce a gallon of gold liquid!
A fuckin' gallon!
That shits not normal!
I've seen my doctor. And I went to the specialist he recommended. And the specialist, the specialist recommended! But, get this! When they examined me, the gold liquid turned white! Like regular breast milk.
I didn't mention it's normally gold and sparkly! That's got to be supernatural, right? Women don't typically produce gold liquid from their tits, do they? And if they do, breast milk doesn't magically change color! Does it? I don't know. I don't have any experience with breast milk! I'm not even sure I was breastfed as a baby!
Anyway, I figured it was best not to tell the doctors whatever I'm producing is usually gold and sparkly and seems to magically know when a human is around and changes color. If I had, I imagine I'd be locked in a padded cell awaiting my dissection right about now.
I'm not sure why I bothered going to a human doctor. It was a waste of time. I guess I just hoped they'd be able to give me some answers or at least an idea. But, after dozens of tests, each doctor determined I was perfectly healthy and my breasts were empty.
Uh-huh.
Empty.
According to three highly trained medical professionals, my tits are as dried up as the Sahara Desert! There is no medical reason behind what's happening to my body.
Even when they could see the liquid coming from my body, when they held in their hands a bottle of whatever the hell it is, they were convinced my breasts were empty!
What. The. Hell?
I figured, whatever this liquid was, maybe it somehow altered their minds. Which, frankly, is as alarming as having gold coming out of your tits.
It's not natural. Obviously. It's supernatural. It can't possibly be anything else. I'll be eighteen this month. I've never been pregnant. I've never even had sex! So, whatever is happening to my body, there must be a supernatural explanation.
But, even accepting that it's supernatural, there's still the question; what the hell is this gold liquid coming out of me and why am I suddenly producing it?
Oh, and another thing; why does it turn me on?
I'm aroused all the time!
My whole body aches to be taken and fucked!
Every time I attach the suction cups to my nipples and pump, I end up masturbating my way through it.
Is that normal?
I don't think so!
Thankfully, my door has a lock, because I'm pretty sure Charlie would have a heart attack if he walked in to see me frantically thrusting my favourite dildo in and out of my gushing pussy as my tits are being milked!
How the hell would I explain that?
I'm not sure why the changes are happening or what's caused them. I've got no clue what'll come next! I just hope I don't suddenly sprout horns and a tail! Or turn into a unicorn and shoot sparkles out my ass!
– XOXO –
After breakfast, I threw on my black bikini and headed out into the garden to get some sun on my skin. It was early September, the warm weather wasn't going to last much longer, and I wanted to soak up as much of the sun's rays as I could before the dreaded winter months hit.
I placed a blanket on the grass, then went back into the house for my book, a glass of sweet tea, and the fruit salad I made last night. Charlie scoffed and turned up his nose at the scrummy dessert, preferring his usual six-pack.
Once I had everything, I dropped down into the grass and closed my eyes, loving the feel of the heat on my bare skin. I considered taking off my bikini—because of tan lines—but decided against it. I don't want Charlie to come home and find me naked in the garden. Though, from the way he's been ogling my breasts recently, I'd say he wouldn't mind taking a peek at my goods.
Yeah. It's weird. But trust me, it's about to get a lot weirder. Consider this your two-minute warning.
. . .
. . .
. . .
It's okay. I'll wait.
. . .
. . .
. . .
My story isn't for everyone. If it's not for you, that's cool No hard feelings.
. . .
. . .
. . .
You still there?
. . .
. . .
. . .
Still wanna know my story?
. . .
. . .
. . .
Okay, kids. Buckle up. On second thought, maybe you should send the kids outta the room. This one is for adult eyes only!
. . .
. . .
. . .
Let's begin with a little backstory, shall we?
My name is Isabella Marie Swan. I was born right here in Forks, Washington on September the thirteenth two-thousands and four.
My parents, Renee and Charlie, were together for roughly a minute before calling it quits. Theirs was a lust-fueled relationship.
They both attended a party on First Beach, on the La Push Reservation. Met. Got drunk. And had sex on the hood of Charlie's car. Then they went their separate ways, thinking they'd never see each other again.
Oh, how wrong they were.
Renee found out she was pregnant. She did the semi-decent thing and got in touch with Charlie. I say semi-decent because I'm pretty sure she only did it to see how much money she could get out of him.
So, Charlie told his parents. His mother, grandma Helen, insisted they get married. Never one to upset Mummy, Charlie proposed.
Renee got swept up in the romance, as you do. They had a small wedding here in Forks and moved into the house Charlie still lives in today.
In September, I came along.
Once she had the screaming newborn, the husband who works all hours, the house, the mortgage, and the minivan, reality set in for Renee.
I was five weeks old when they divorced.
Renee moved us to Phoenix to live with her mum, grandma Marie, and that was the end of her whirlwind romance with the small-town boy who knocked her up because she was too drunk to remember the condom.
It is what it is. I was an oopsie baby.
Let's see . . . I think we'll skim over most of my childhood. You don't want to know how old I was when I first cleaned vomit out of my mother's hair, do you? Or the time she left me in the supermarket? Or the time social services were called and I found my mother in bed with the social worker who was supposed to be checking on me not thoroughly investigating mother's nether regions. With her tongue.
Hmm.
Let's see . . .
Where to start . . .
Where to start . . .
Oh, I know!
Phil Dwyer. Balding. Middle age. Craptastic minor league baseball player.
I was seventeen when my mother brought him home. He wasn't the first male to waltz into her life and I figured he wouldn't be the last. They'd only been together two weeks when he told me he had no interest in raising a teenage girl. That was fine. By that point, I'd practically raised myself while taking care of Renee, I didn't need this strange man trying to play Daddy.
A week into their relationship, Renee asked me to leave.
Yeah.
That's my mother for you.
Perfectly happy to raise a child as long as she's getting the child support checks from her ex but as soon as she's got a new man between her legs, her daughter is shoved aside.
I'm used to it.
It's happened plenty of times before.
She's just never shoved me as far as Washington State.
That was new.
But then, Phil was different from all the others. Phil had money. As soon as he appeared on the scene and started making demands and flashing his good, steady job and paycheck in her face, I was no longer needed.
The day she shipped me off to Forks, Washington to live with my estranged father, Phil moved into our house. He's turning my room into a gym.
Her behavior and regard for me weren't a surprise at all. This isn't the first time Renee has thrown me out because a man entered her life. It will, however, be the last. No matter how much she begs—because she will, sooner or later, come crawling back—I have no interest in returning to Phoenix. Or Renee.
There's only so much a girl can take, you know?
All I've ever wanted was to be a normal girl, with parents who want me to be around! Was that so much to ask? I envied other girls and their mothers. While they were off shopping, getting their nails done, and doing whatever mothers do with their daughters, I was taking care of our house, cooking dinner, doing laundry, and wondering where my mum was and if she was going to come home.
I've been in Forks a year and I've yet to speak to my mother. I think we can all agree that relationship has run its course.
As you can already tell, I haven't had a normal, cookie-cutter, life. My upbringing was vastly different from that of my friends. And it made me realize, at a very early age, I am alone in this world. If I don't take care of myself, nobody else will.
I don't believe either of my parents ever really wanted to be parents. I was the inconvenience that came along after a night of unprotected sex.
I've often wondered, knowing Renee and her sexual history, if Charlie is my father. I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't.
It would explain why he's always been so distant. He never tried to fight for me. He never pursued a relationship with me. And he certainly never wanted me around. Until I moved to Forks, I hadn't seen or spoken to him in eight years.
Having parents just wasn't in the cards for me. I accepted that a long time ago. With a mother who's more interested in her next orgasm than her daughter, you learn early in life to take care of yourself.
Charlie was no better. Even when I'd come to Forks for the summer. He was more interested in his job or his next fishing trip than spending time with his kid.
When I was six, I figured out, that if Charlie and I went on vacation, instead of me coming to Forks, he would spend time with me. I was just a little girl. I wanted my Daddy to love me, to want to spend time with me. Is that so wrong?
It worked for the first few summers. We went to Disneyland in California. The following summer we went to Walt Disney World in Florida. But by the third year, when I was eight, Charlie spent more time in the hotel bar watching sports on the big screen or off fishing on his own, than with me.
For some reason, neither of my parents wanted to spend time with me. Even now, it's a chore just to get Charlie to eat dinner with me every night!
I don't know why. Am I that much of an inconvenience?
I didn't bother planning a fourth holiday with Charlie. And, either he didn't notice or he didn't care. I'll admit, I waited for his call. All summer, I waited. But it never came.
The phone calls stopped.
And then birthday cards stopped coming. And the Christmas cards. It got to the point where a year had passed, then two, then three, and I hadn't spoken to my father.
I tried.
For a while.
I called. I left messages on his machine. I called him at work and left messages with his secretary. I wrote emails and letters. I even called his best friend Billy Black to make sure he was still alive. Eventually, even Billy stopped answering my calls.
You get to the point when enough is enough. There's just too much disappointment and pain.
Despite my parents and my shitty home life, I was doing surprisingly well.
The first time I cleaned vomit out of my mother's hair, I knew I would have to work my ass off to make a better life for myself.
And that's exactly what I did.
In Phoenix, I got excellent grades. I took as many Advance Placement classes as I could. I even took a few classes at the local community college.
Going to college seemed like the only way out. The best way. So, I did everything I could to ensure my future education.
Moving to Forks completely derailed my life.
Forks High doesn't offer Advance Placement classes. And the credits I've already earned won't transfer, so I'm having to retake classes I've already completed. When I suggested testing out or taking a placement test, maybe skipping my junior year altogether, the principal looked at me like I was nuts.
I tried getting Charlie's help, and, for a moment, I thought, maybe, he'd show up to a meeting with the principal.
Oh, how wrong I was.
I was left sitting with the principal who, I'm pretty sure, thought I was the one wasting his time.
Since Charlie couldn't be bothered to show up, I tried talking to the principal. It's not like I haven't had to advocate on my own behalf—oh, I don't know—my entire life! It's nothing new. But the principal refused to speak on the matter without my parent or guardian present.
When I told him he would likely have to get in touch with Charlie, because I can't get the man to have a simple conversation let alone show up to a meeting about his child's education and future, he acted like it was some big inconvenience!
Seriously? Is there something wrong with me? I genuinely want to know.
For the most part, school is beyond frustrating. I'm bored out of my skull every day, forced to repeat material I've already learned.
I'd only been in school a month when I took matters into my own hands. Since I couldn't attend college classes without Charlie's permission, and I couldn't hire a tutor without him throwing a hissy fit because I was spending his precious money, I began learning on my own. Every day after school and on weekends, I parked my ass in the library and read everything I could get my hands on. I studied until the librarian was telling me it was time to go home.
It wasn't quite the same, but right now, I'm leaps and bounds ahead of my peers. If they'd let me, I'd test out and be done with it. Go to college early. Start my life away from this dreary little town. But, as a minor, I needed Charlie's permission and—for God only knows what reason—he refused to give it!
What. The. Fuck?
When it's a matter of my health and safety—when I'm fighting off my mother's boyfriends or racing her to the emergency room after finding her beaten black and blue on our front porch, or paying off a man I can only describe as her pimp with my babysitting money—the Chief of Police is nowhere to be found.
But try to graduate early and go to college—to better my life!—and he won't sign the fuckin' papers!
"You're not old enough to go to college! End of story!"
Really? That's his excuse. I'm seventeen, therefore I'm not old enough, or mature enough, to attend college.
But at SIX, I was old enough to take over the household chores and began paying all of Renee's bills and balancing her chequebook just so we could eat and have some hot water.
At SEVEN, I was old enough to walk to the grocery store by myself—miles from our home, across busy streets—just so I could eat.
At EIGHT, I was old enough to be left in a hotel all day while my father went off to get drunk and watch sports.
But at SEVENTEEN, the absentee father who's spent roughly an hour with me in the handful of months I've been living with him doesn't think I'm mature enough to go to college.
Really?
What. The. Fuck?
If I thought he was stopping me from leaving to get a little more time with me, to bond and get to know one another, I'd be happy to stay.
Pathetic, isn't it?
After all these years. All the pain and disappointment. All he'd have to do is make just a small, teeny tiny effort, and I'd cave.
. . .
. . .
. . .
I hate that.
I really hate that.
. . .
. . .
. . .
But he's my father. And all I've ever wanted is to feel like I belong. That I'm wanted. That I'm worth loving.
I'm their child.
Why don't they love me?
A/N: I know it's weird. I debated whether I should post this one for a long time but, I don't know, this Bella is funny. She makes me laugh. Yes, it's weird. It's gonna get a lot weirder. But it's not all sex and lactating breasts. There is plot and mystery. If you can get past the weird, I think it'll be a good story! Give it a try.
If it's not for you, that's cool too! No hard feelings. There will be other stories. xoxo