Bodyy Balm - Part Two

I continue around the room for a bit, my eyes darting between the box, the balm in my hand, and the apartment at large. With a deep breath I finally make my decision, I'll make someone a suit, stealing their life permanently.

My gaze flits through my apartment, the degrees hanging in the wall and the books in the shelves all of which I had spent tens to hundreds of thousands of dollars to amass. For what? To be fired out the gate and to struggle to find anything worth my time and education afterward? To live in an overheating little shoe box of an apartment, to be cooked inside my own skin?

With each passing thought my drive to follow through with the sick plan grows. It'd just take a single canister of Bodyy Balm, dumping it into an unattended load of washing and then BAM. They didn't even need to know I did it, I could just be helping them live a normal life afterwards, a real good Samaritan filled with self-sacrifice.

That would be difficult if I planned to sell the rest of the Bodyy Balm though, but that bridge can be burnt when we come to it. Or if we come to it, six canisters meant six suits, six lifetime's to live through someone else. The thought was heady, worrying, and strangely exhilarating as I imagine drifting from one life to the next over the years, decades even.

Wringing my hands I try to formulate a plan, eager to get out of this sweltering death trap as soon as I could for someplace cooler and as someone hopefully better suited to the heat.

The washing machines on the ground floor were the obvious target, though it would limit the number of targets somewhat. There were plenty around the building, and even those who came by just to do laundry for free, and the ease of access was simply too tantalizing.

I could dump the balm in while it was unattended, maybe dirty up the dryer once they placed their sodden clothes in it or force them to change some other way, and then it'd just be a matter of being close by when it all went down.

The real plan would need to be more specific, tailored to the target, but the real question was who would that be...

Kelly Richards down the hall was simply the first thought that came to mind. Standing slightly taller than most young women her age, the sweet artistic eighteen-year-old had only just started college. It had been frustrating seeing her excitement as she flounced off to the campus I should have been at, her style constantly changing as she dabbled with switching up her fashion choices as she came into her own.

Recently it had been light and loose tops with shorts, showing off her slender and lightly tanned legs. Her long wavy brunette hair always shimmered with some sort of extensive hair care regimen, draping over her modest and relatively average assets. Her chest was relatively average, with her behind being less than, though she never seemed to care when standing around those blessed with more.

Margret Richards was another choice simply due to proximity, the doughy and slightly older florist living in the same apartment as Kelly and her father while doing the majority of their washing. She had married into the family a while back, being the image of a sweet and doting stepmother as I woman without children of her own.

Standing an inch or two taller than her step-daughter she was also quite a bit heavier, the years having added on the pounds to the kind woman. Her belly bulged slightly, her arms being covered in a soft cuddly layer of flab. Her face was rounded, often framed in a wiry messy of blonde hair.

The weight however also filled out her assets far more, the sagging mounds in her chest dwarfing those of her step-daughter while her behind was truly eye-catching as it swayed with her childbearing hips. Many a man around the apartment had been caught sneaking glances at what Mr. Richards got to fondle and play with in the privacy of their home.

Emily soon came to mind as I thought of Margret, the horrid young woman having made the poor sweet thing frustrated to the point of tears on more than one occasion. Tall and athletic twenty-three year old with dyed redhead often dressed to show off her remarkable assets, her wide hips and full thighs painted in yoga pants while her muscular arms and firm abs, as well as her rather large perky chest, being shown through tight colorful tank tops.

She was the landlady's granddaughter, one of the two that lived locally at least, and she knew that one word about a tenant to her grandmother would cause them more trouble for the tenant than it was worth. As such, she treated most everyone in the building just however she wanted, mostly extremely poorly. Not a single person hadn't found their clothes laying on the floor of the laundry, their machine having been taken by Emily while every other was available. The tall strong woman often smirked with her large pillowy lips and sneered with her innocent face as she explained that she 'just likes this one the most' and that she could always just talk to 'gam gam' about the incident.

She was in desperate need of an attitude adjustment, the cruel young woman having been 'finding herself' on a 'break' from college for approaching four years at this point. However, while most people would have needed to support themselves her grandmother simply let her stay at a nearby apartment rent-free, the redhead using the laundry here simply due to it being free and in part to mess with others for laughs.

Annabelle also came to mind as I thought of Rachel's granddaughters, the soft and meek young woman with the body of a roller coaster being the stark opposite of her older sister. She showed up far less often than Emily, only doing so when she really couldn't avoid taking the help from her wealthy grandmother.

She was slightly shorter than Emily, only standing around 5'6" compared to the artificially redheaded gym bunny's 5'8", her frame being downright plush in comparison. Where Emily had muscles Annabelle had soft supple fat, her curvy frame being dotted with stretch marks and subtle pouches of flab. However, where Emily had simply wide hips and an amazing rack Annabelle blew her out of the water. Her hips were downright childbearing, though the word seemed to fall short of describing them, her rear being somehow both massive and soft while remaining taut and perky. Her chest must block the sight of her body beneath her, the overwhelming mounds jiggling with her every move and constantly brushing against her arms as she went about her day.

The twenty-one-year-old had recently finished up with college, leaving her unsure where to go next with her life and now without her scholarships. As such she had been coming to the apartment building far more often to wash her collection of heavy and loose clothing that largely acted to hide her body.

Gracie had recently moved in above my apartment, the sound of her thick and heavy boots waking me early as she prepared to get herself to morning shifts at my usual coffee place. I'm if I still worked close by I would have relished the sound, knowing that a good barista was about to start their duties, but to a nearly broke unemployed neighbor it was simply annoying at best.

While her build was nothing to write home about what she had done to it certainly was. The girl appeared to be some girl-next-door turned alternative goth, with dyed black hair and more ink and piercings than I could count. Her arms were a canvas, covered in colorful sleeve tattoos that branches up and over her shoulders. Her lip, nose, ears and who knows what else was adorned with rings and metal bars.

I didn't know much about her, the young woman in her early twenties having only moved in a few months back. Living in the same building didn't necessarily mean we would ever cross paths, and as of yet we had only met once or twice.

Pacing the room I ponder my options, certainly around the apartment building there were a decent amount of options. From the young and the relatively free it would be easy to cover up any slip-ups, hopefully keeping me from being pulled free from the suit until I was ready to move in and start again.

On the other hand they were all quite close to the missing person, me, in one degree or another. Not only that but they would be close to the box if Bodyy Balm, at least until I could find someplace better to hide it, and if I were caught or even suspect then it would certainly be far more likely to be discovered.

Perhaps looking further out would be better, scoping laundromats and anywhere else I could potentially dose a target for someone more distant and hopefully less likely for any connections to be drawn from.

After no small amount of thought, the morning soon turning to afternoon as I fumble and fiddle with the canister in my hands, I finally make a decision. I swallow hard, pushing the box of spare Bodyy Balm under my sofa as I race out the front door and downstairs to set a trap for...