The Good Debt

The penthouse suite's bathroom was all covered in grey, and Frankie stood in front of the mirror checking the last touches for the night. She was wearing a very revealing black dress with white pearls attached. The top of it was just two strings of fabric over her breasts, leaving her arms, her shoulders and most of her waist and belly exposed. She had to tape her nipples to the dress, to avoid them from popping out of the dress. 

She looked at the woman staring back.

Blonde now. Six months ago it had been dark brown, the same shade as her daughter's hair. The same shade as Mia's hair. That had been too much. Every time she caught her reflection, she'd seen her own little girl looking back, and her stomach had turned itself inside out.

So she'd changed it. Blonde hair, long and wavy. Heavy eyeliner that winged out at the corners. Thick lashes, false and dramatic. Lip filler that made her mouth look pouty and full, nothing like Mia's natural lips. Nothing like the face she'd kissed goodnight a thousand times when Mia was small.

The stranger in the mirror was easier to look at.

She held her hair up against her head, wondering if she wanted to have them in a hairbun. She wondered if Dante preferred her like that. A thought that Frank never would have done. She wore crop tops and low-cut dresses and heels that made her calves ache for him. For Dante. She showed skin because she could, because this body was young and firm and turned heads wherever she walked. And because it made Dante hard.

"I'm starting to get used to being a broad," she said to her reflection, and her voice came out light, almost teasing. "Dressing sexy. Showing off."

She turned side to side, watching the way her tight belly caught the light. Not bad. Not bad at all.

It was still strange, sometimes. Seeing a face that belonged to her daughter, even with all the changes, the foundation was still there. The shape of her cheekbones. The curve of her jaw. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. Those were Mia's. They'd always be Mia's.

But the rest? The platinum hair, the heavy makeup, the lips that were fuller now than any twenty-one-year-old's had a right to be? That was Frank's. That was the woman he had chosen to become.

She'd walked into Dante's casino still as a man named Frank, fifty years old.. Four hours at the baccarat table had peeled away everything, savings, mortgage, and pride. Four hundred and seventy-three thousand dollars in debt. Then Dante had shown him a photograph of his own daughter and made an offer so strange it should have been insane. Become her. Live in her body. Every time we fuck, ten grand off the tab. Frank had said yes before the whiskey finished burning in his throat. He'd become a copy of his own little girl, and that first night in this very room, he'd let Dante take him apart on the bed where they'd spent countless nights since. 

He'd never once looked back. Sometimes, while Dante thrust inside her until she reaches a thundering orgasm, Frankie thinks with the back of her pretty little head that she will never come back. That her economic ruin was actually a good thing. 

Dante's voice came from the bedroom. "You almost done in there? I've got champagne."

She turned towards the door, leaving her hair down. She looked back at the mirror, at the reflection of a woman who looked nothing like the man she'd been six months ago.

"Definitely down. I look so much sexier this way," she whispered to herself before going to the room to cancel another piece of Frank's debt and another piece of Frank's life. 

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The idea for this story was a request by gmbcw on Deviantart. Follow me there too!