The Spare Twin

My mother, Isabella Thompson, owned an adult novelty boutique. That afternoon, utterly drained, I stopped by her shop to rest and somehow managed to get myself trapped in one of the display pieces.

When Benjamin from the antique shop next door walked in, he mistook me for the newest line of intimate companion and began tugging at the waistband of my sleep shorts.

“Sophia, I have to run out for a warehouse pickup. Mind the store for an hour or so?

“Benjamin from next door will be by later to clear his tab. The invoice book is in the top drawer, and make sure you verify the totals.”

I half-heard my mother’s instructions, grunted an acknowledgment, and sank into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

I’d been pulling consecutive all-nighters to finish my dissertation.

The exhaustion was bone-deep. Instead of going back to my apartment, I came straight to Mom’s shop, stumbled into the backroom storage, and collapsed onto the first padded surface I found.

I’m not sure how long I was out before a peculiar, unsettling sensation pulled me awake. I was lying prone, but my wrists were secured by something plush and flexible.

The surface beneath me had contorted, molding to my form with an intrusive precision. I was acutely aware of my hips being elevated, my legs parted.

I didn’t need to see to understand the mortifying posture I was locked in.

The light was muted, as if a drape partially covered my head.

What in the world…?

A spike of adrenaline shot through me. I thrashed against the bindings, but they gave no quarter, no matter how fiercely I fought.

Then, it clicked.

My mother’s business was adult novelties.

This must be one of the new ‘interactive’ beds from her latest shipment.

It had integrated mechanisms that could only be deactivated by an external remote.

In my earlier stupor, I’d apparently chosen a demo unit from the storage area without a second thought.

I’m a stomach-sleeper and a restless one. In my sleep, I must have activated the system. The bed had bifurcated from my waist downward, cantilevering my pelvis upward.

The frame had divided, hoisting my lower body, leaving my rear presented in a shockingly vulnerable arch—posed like a mannequin, utterly on display. What was I supposed to do now?

I called out a few times, but only silence answered.

Then I recalled—just before I drifted off, Mom mentioned she was leaving for a warehouse run and asked me to cover the store.

“Isabella?”

A voice sounded from the shop entrance.

Benjamin. And his footsteps were approaching.

Oh, god.

Mom said he was coming to settle his account today.

Fresh panic surged. I strained against the restraints with all my might, but the soft-looking material was unyielding.

“She here? Thought today was settlement day.”

His voice grew nearer. He was just around the corner now.

Locked in this disgraceful pose, my face burned with humiliation. Paralyzed by dread, I didn’t dare even twitch.