The Phases of One's Life
Copyright© 2026 by N.D.Tomes
Chapter 2: Breakfast With Daphne – Kate I .2 – Saturday
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 2: Breakfast With Daphne – Kate I .2 – Saturday - A controlled corporate attorney wakes tied to her own bed by a naked stranger who knows her name and claims it’s “for your own good.” The young woman has been quietly tangled in her life for months—leaving signs, steering events, and creating a strange current between them. What follows is a tense night of revelations about the firm, the last six months, and unsettling supernatural abilities. Dry, first-person, focused on the emotional shift more than explicit detail.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Fa/ft Consensual Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Humor Group Sex Interracial Black Female White Male White Female Oriental Female Hispanic Female First Masturbation Oral Sex
I woke up at my usual time, alone. That was one hell of a dream, I thought, a slow smile spreading across my face until I swung my legs out of bed. I was naked. Looking down toward my thighs, I was even more naked. My robe wasn’t in its usual spot on the chair near the bed; it was crumpled on the floor. Groaning, I glanced toward the headboard and saw a length of rope dangling from the post. The faint aroma of brewing coffee caught my attention next.
Picking my robe up off the floor, I slipped it on and followed the scent into the hallway. Daphne was standing in the kitchen wearing a chef’s apron—and absolutely nothing else. She greeted me with an enthusiastic, “Good morning!”
I stared at her, addressing the room at large. “Am I still dreaming?”
“Are you saying I look dreamy?” she asked coyly.
“Do you own clothes? Besides the apron?” I knew I didn’t own one like that. I didn’t own one at all.
“You really do have trouble focusing. I had no need for clothes until now.” Daphne turned back toward the counter, and that’s when I saw her backside. My handprint was clearly visible on her skin.
A sudden wave of remorse hit me. Walking toward her, I said, “I’m sorry ... I shouldn’t have hit you like that.”
Daphne twisted around, trying to inspect her own rear, then burst into amused laughter. Turning back to face me, she said it looked far worse than it felt. I still cringed, but she only smiled. “I hardly noticed last night, considering what else your hands were doing besides abusing my tender flesh.” She stepped closer, her fingers lightly brushing my bare arm, sending that familiar, warm hum through my skin. She slid my robe off my shoulders. I just stood there as it fell to the floor. She gave me an admiring look while telling me, “Go shower while I finish breakfast.”
When I bent down to retrieve my robe, she stopped me. “Leave it. There’s a new one hanging in the bathroom.”
Walking naked into the master bath, I saw, hanging on the back of the door was a gorgeous, floor-length floral silk robe. I held it up, admiring the delicate pattern, until a voice called out from the kitchen: “Make sure you shower before putting that on!”
I did as instructed, letting the hot water wash over me while the events of last night circled in my mind. The whole situation sat uneasily with me. It felt like something between winning an all-expenses-paid tropical island vacation and crashing my car. After washing my hair, I dried off and slipped into the robe. The silk felt incredible against my bare skin—luxurious, high-end, and far more indulgent than anything I would ever buy for myself. Standing before the mirror, I adjusted the tie. The silk draped beautifully, and I decided it hung best when left open down to the base of my sternum. I was looking at myself thinking how nice the fabric accented my body. When I started to smile at myself in the mirror, I realized what I was doing. I was ogling myself. Feeling a little disgusted and more than a little confused, I untied the robe and retied it more haphazardly.
When I returned to the kitchen, running a comb through my wet hair, Daphne looked up from her mixing bowl. “I knew you’d look great in that. Now pour yourself some coffee.” She flipped a pancake, +glancing back with an unmistakable look of admiration. “I’m making pancakes—you’ll love them. Almost ready.”
Pouring a cup, I took a sip. The brew was smooth, rich, and distinctly nutty. “What kind of coffee is this?”
“Caramel Pecan. I know you like pecan pie; I thought you might enjoy it.”
“Where did you get it?”
“The cabinet,” she said casually, pointing with a spatula.
“How did it get in the cabinet? I never bought it,” I growled.
“I put it there,” was her flippant response.
I gave her a measured look. “It’s beginning to sound like you want your other cheek to match the red one. That apron isn’t going to offer much protection once I bend you over my knee.”
“Promises, promises.” Then, adopting a look of exasperated patience, she set the spatula down. “I’ve been shopping for you for a while now. Do you ever actually look in your cabinets? They’re finally stocked enough to do some real cooking. I’ve been cleaning this place, too. Again, you’re welcome.”
“What...” I started, my voice dripped with skepticism.
“When was the last time you bought food? Not carry-out on your way home, but actual groceries? The last time you bought toilet paper? That isn’t even your normal brand of shampoo. I liked the smell of this stuff better,” she interrupted smoothly.
I sat there, speechless, as she continued. “When was the last time you vacuumed? Cleaned your bathroom? Need I go on?” She went back to stacking pancakes onto a wide plate.
“Ha!” I finally countered. “About two months ago, I bought a couple of peaches and coffee. And I vacuumed. Yes, I’m positive I vacuumed at least once—”
“In how many months?” Daphne cast a pitying glance over her shoulder. “The one time you vacuumed was when I was gone following those corrupt executives from that firm.” She brought the plate over and sat down, offering me an extraordinarily patronizing smile. “I’m proud of you, Kate. You shopped once and vacuumed once—without ever actually deep-cleaning—in how many months? Trust me, you are not a neat person.” She leaned forward across the table. “You’re lucky I’m here. Without me, this place would have been designated a hazardous waste site. Condemned by the city. Vermin everywhere, and the smell would have had your neighbors assuming you died weeks ago.”
“Enough!” I cut in.
She gave me a sideways grin, casually spearing a pancake off my plate. I glared back, defending myself by saying I’d been extremely busy and distracted lately.
Her expression softened into something genuinely sweet. She reached across the table, resting her hand over mine. “That’s an understatement. The way you handled that acquisition was nothing short of remarkable, Kate. I was truly impressed.”
Coming from her, the praise landed with surprising weight. I dug into the pancakes, which were incredible. “Apple cinnamon,” I said, delighted. “Where did you get the fresh apples?”
Daphne shook her head with exaggerated disappointment. “For someone so smart ... I used to think you were as brilliant as you were beautiful. Now I’m starting to think: thank goodness you’re at least beautiful.”
I tried to ignore her, a laugh caught in my throat instead. “So, you like them?” she asked.
“They’re amazing.”
“My mother taught me to cook. She was incredible at it. I haven’t cooked in a very long time, and your kitchen setup was much more modern than what I was used to, but it’s hardly the first time I’ve had to adapt to a new kitchen.”
Catching her phrasing, my fork paused midway to my mouth. “How long have you been using my kitchen?”
“Months.”
The sheer extent to which this girl had invaded my personal life long before I even knew she existed was finally settling in. My appetite evaporated. Setting my fork down, I leveled my sharpest lawyerly gaze at her. “Okay. Breakfast is over. Now we’re talking. First off: who the hell are you, and where did you come from?”
She smiled easily, answering that she was originally from what is now modern-day Greece.
“Care to go into a bit more detail than just the country?” I snapped. “And did you leave your accent there when you left?”
She just offered a knowing smile, deflecting smoothly. “It will probably make more sense once I answer your other questions.”
“Fine,” I said, leaning back. “Where did you find the time to spy on all those corporate targets, leave me those notes, and maintain my pig sty?” I gestured vaguely around the room.
“It’s surprisingly easy,” she explained. “When you’re invisible, you can follow anyone anywhere. You hear every conversation, watch every move, read every document over their shoulder. It also helps that I don’t need to sleep.”
Maintaining a flat, skeptical expression, I said, “You slept last night.”
“That was the first time I’ve slept since I was changed.”
I froze. I had completely brushed past the whole invisible act from the night before, my brain prioritizing the physical reality of what we’d done in bed. I’m turning into an empty-headed nymph, I thought. I had been willing to accept that she was an impossibly skilled intruder, but total invisibility? In the full light of morning, sitting in my sunny kitchen, it sounded like a theatrical trick.
Pointing my fork at her, I shook my head. “I can accept how you could spy on people, break into my apartment, and bring in groceries. But I do not believe you can simply—”
She vanished. Her chef’s apron fluttered to the floor, empty.
“Crap,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. I had been desperately hoping for a hidden trapdoor or a trick of light. But three feet away, in broad daylight? It was real. Closing my eyes, I groaned, “Please don’t reappear behind me and grab me.”
Reappearing in the exact spot she had vacated, Daphne offered a sly, triumphant grin. “You just wanted me out of the apron.”
Trying to gather my composure, I stammered, “How long have you ... I mean, how old were you when you were struck by that lightning in the cave?”
“No idea.”
“You don’t know your own age?”
“We didn’t track birthdays where I grew up,” she said simply. “But I’m likely much older than you’re imagining.”
Attempting to inject some levity to hide my rising panic, I said, “You look anywhere between twenty and ninety.”
Daphne wobbled her hand in a maybe-yes, maybe-no gesture.
“Too young or too old?” I asked.
“Both.”
“How can it be both?”
“Are you asking about my physical body, or how long it’s been since I was born?” she replied. “Your guess is wrong on both counts.”
A cold weight settled in the pit of my stomach. Until this moment, the actual passage of time hadn’t truly registered. I looked at her in the morning light—bare, confident, utterly unbothered. She wasn’t acting. She genuinely believed she could handle any crisis, any environment, and any person. Including me.
“How long ago was that storm?” I asked softly.
“I don’t know the exact year,” she said quietly. “My best estimate is somewhere around year one thousand.”
I let out a breath. “You’ve been wandering like this for a thousand years?”
Her tone went flat. “Sorry. That’s BC.”
I felt the color drained from my face. I stared at her. My mind telling me this was all hooey. Reflexively I said, “Bull.”
Her expression never changing, she shrugged her shoulders. Her meaning clear, believe me or not it’s up to you. Thinking, I realized there was no way to prove or disprove her. I honestly believed she could vanish. Was this claim that unbelievable?
Wandering around, alone, for three thousand years, no one could stay sane. Admittedly, I was questioning my own sanity, but things were getting out of hand. I didn’t mean to, but I said aloud, “Okay, I’ll play along.”
The sanity issue was the first thing that came to mind, so I asked, “How did you stay sane?”
Her expression instantly melted into a bright, teasing smile. “What, you don’t think I’m a Psycho Nymph?”
“I’m serious,” I said. Tapping a finger on the kitchen island counter.
“Short answer? I lived with families. I would find young couples who were genuinely happy together, expecting a child. I’d stay in their homes, watching the child grow and pretend to interact with the family. When they spoke to the baby, I pretended they were speaking to me. It was how I learned languages. It sounds strange, but it kept me grounded. Most of the time, I didn’t feel alone.” She paused, looking out the window. “Other times, I just walked the earth. East to west, north to south. A single trip could take a year. I have endless stories, Kate. Watching the world reshape itself is quite fascinating.”
Not feeling as smug as a minute ago, I had to admit it sounded reasonable. “How many languages do you speak?”
“Modern? Dialects too? Dead languages?” She looked at me questioningly, then said, “WILT thoo that itch hit thay at-EE-weh?”
I stared at her.
“Kim tvum maam dar-sha-yi-tum ich-cha-si?” She said, eye brows raised.
“Okay, what were you speaking? What did you say?”
“Old English and Sanskrit. Would you want me to demonstrate?”
“Didn’t you just do that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, but what did you say?”
“Would you want me to demonstrate?”
Giving her a frown, I said, “Smart ass. There’s no way I can know what you just said. You could speak any gobbledygook and I would know the difference.”
She went and got my tablet computer. Turning it and after it booted, she entered a password. It must have been mine because it display my home screen. I glared at her. I was about to say something when she held up a finger. She typed on the screen and a minute later she looked at me expectedly. I asked, “How did you get my password?”
She said, “A-drish-yah sma-ra. Ta-va skan-dha-sya u-pa-ri drish-ta-vaan.” to the tablet, not to me. She tapped the screen, a moment later the words “Remember the invisible. I looked over your shoulder.” came from the tablet’s speaker.
She showed me the tablet’s screen. Apparently Google translate does Sanskrit. While I stared at the screen, she asked, “Convinced?” I scrolled through the screen and randomly clicked on a source language at random. Showing it her, she rolled her eyes and spoke something I could not understand. Looking at the translated English text, I cursed. It said, ‘we can do this all day if you like.”
Trying to think of some way to poke a hole in her story, I threw out a statement. “You must have witnessed so much history.” It was a throwaway statement and my tone conveyed it, but her answer made me think.
Ignoring my tone, Daphne said, “People only call it history after the fact. When you’re in it, it’s just daily events. Most of it is forgotten unless something dramatic follows. Without the war that came after, who would remember the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand? It would just be a murder.” She shrugged softly. “Live for today, keep an eye on tomorrow. Honestly? The past few months with you have been the best period of my entire life. You’re one of the finest people I’ve ever been around.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m the only person you’ve been around.”
She chuckled. “I’ve been around people in every corner of the globe. You’re just the first in a very long time to be around me.”
“I suppose so,” I murmured. I wonder if anyone else would be reacting the same as me. I don’t feel in control. It’s more than the situation not making sense. I don’t make sense. My thoughts feel like I’m herding cats.
Daphne’s smile faded. She looked down at her hands, a sudden heavy silence filling the kitchen. When she finally looked back up, her eyes were shadowed with sadness. “I’m going to tell you everything I know, everything I suspect, and everything I don’t,” she said quietly. “But first, the part that directly affects you. If you want me to leave forever after I tell you, I will. If you need a day, a week, or a year to think it over, I’ll go.”
I tried to keep my voice steady. “Is it really that bad?”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t think so. If I did, I would have stopped long ago. But I see now, I made a huge mistake not revealing myself earlier. I’m sorry.”
She sounded dejected. She also sounded sincere. Reaching across and touched her hand. “It’s a little late for that and I don’t think it would have made much of a difference.”
“It might have,” she replied.
“You seem to know a lot more than I do. Why don’t you bring me up to speed.”
She led me to the couch, where we sat cross-legged, facing each other. “The bad news...” she began, her gaze locking onto mine. “What was the very first thing you did after lunch last Wednesday?”
I frowned, confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just trust me. You’ll see the point in a moment.”
I paused, searching my memory. “I reviewed the Disclosure Schedules for the acquisition.”
“Did you read the entire document?”
“No, only certain sections. It’s over a hundred pages.”
“Can you recite the first section you reviewed, exactly as written?”
I opened my mouth to tell her that was impossible—and then the text appeared in my mind. “Except as set forth on this Schedule 3.21...” I recited the entire paragraph, word for word, including the placement of every comma and sub-clause. It was hyper-vivid. I could see the exact coffee stain on the top corner of one page, remember the slight itch in my left knee as I turned to that page, and recall the precise hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. I fast-forwarded through the rest of that day in my mind. Entire spreadsheets, emails, and fleeting glances at documents flashed past with crystal clarity.
I snapped back to the present, staring at her in shock. “I’ve always had a good memory, Daphne, but ... not like this. This is photographic. It’s perfect.”
“I have the exact same thing,” she said quietly.
“Is this going to damage my brain long-term?”
She tilted her head. “I’ve been like this since the day I was changed. I feel completely normal, whether I’m phased-in or phased-out. Do I seem brain-damaged to you?”
I smirked. “I’m hardly a judge of normal right now, but physically, you seem fine.”
Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Right back at you.”
I gave her a little look. She continued, “I don’t believe the enhanced memory causes any physical harm.”
Her specific choice of the word physical landed heavily between us. She was carrying thousands of years of human history: wars, plagues, betrayals, and losses. No wonder she sought out happy families to anchor herself.
“Right,” I said softly, pushing back the wave of sympathy. “No physical harm. What else?”
“How do you feel right now?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you tired? Sluggish? Rested?”
“I feel completely energized,” I admitted. “Would it be easier if you just told me what you’re driving at?”
Daphne shook her head firmly. “No, Kate. You need to process this yourself so you can decide if it’s something you can live with.” I nodded for her to continue. “How much sleep have you gotten over the last month?”
I stopped to calculate. I’d been operating on insane energy lately, attributing it to all the stress surrounding the merger. But looking back now with absolute recall, I realized I’d been sleeping barely five to six hours a night while simultaneously doubling my morning workouts. “Okay...” I said slowly. “I see what you mean.”
Daphne explained that she’d noticed the shift about a month after she started “holding” me while I slept.
I caught the word immediately. “Holding? I thought you said you just touched my foot or my face.”
Daphne looked away, suddenly very interested in the pattern on the couch cushions. “More skin-to-skin contact seemed to accelerate the effect.”
I leaned forward, dropping my voice an octave. “Daphne. Explain what you mean by ‘holding.’”
“It’s not bad!” she said quickly.
“Define ‘not bad.’”
“I would touch your foot until you were deep in sleep,” she admitted, her voice dropping. “Then ... I’d pull the covers back.”
“Go on.”
“It’s not like I could undress you easily!” she protested, holding her hands up defensively. “You weigh a lot when you’re unconscious!”
I bristled. “I weigh a normal amount for my height.”
“You’re almost six foot tall!” she corrected rapidly. “You’re too heavy to maneuver around without waking you up! Why do you think I had to cut your clothes off last night?”
I closed my eyes, letting out a long, slow breath, before gesturing for her to continue.
“When we have prolonged physical contact, part of what happens is that your vitality spikes. You need less sleep, your physical endurance increases, and your body is more efficient.”
“And that’s the bad news?” I asked. “I get extra time in my day and better stamina?”
“The bad news is that I don’t know if there are long-term trade-offs,” she said earnestly. Before I could say anything, she continued, “But I have a theory.”
“Professor Daphne has a theory. Is it ‘Daphne equals M E Screwed.”
She gave me a smirk, then a reluctant smile. “Whenever we touch ... I’m fairly certain you stop aging.”
Not sure what I was feeling after hearing that, but I kept my voice calm and analytical. “Why do you think that?”
“Because of how my own physical body operates,” she explained. “I only age when I am phased-in. When I phase-out and phase back in quickly, my physical state resets to its last locked baseline.” She held up a hand before I could interrupt. “Once, while I was in your kitchen, I sliced my finger fairly deep with a chef’s knife. I immediately phased-out to avoid bleeding on your counter, walked into your bathroom, and phased back in over the sink. The cut was completely gone. My skin was restored to the exact state it was in before the blade touched me.”
My eyes widened. “Wait. So if you stay phased-in for fifty years, age naturally, and then phase-out and back in ... do you instantly snap back to being a teenager?”
“Not quite,” Daphne clarified. “A quick phase-out and phase-in resets me to my last established baseline. That baseline only updates and locks in when I stay continuously phased-out for at least twenty-four consecutive hours. When we first met, I had never stayed phased-in or phased-out for a full twenty-four hours straight. So every single time I phased-in, my body was in the exact same state it was in the moment that lightning struck me. Right before I followed those corporate executives, I had spent the entire day deep-cleaning your apartment—you were exceptionally messy that week.”
I gave her a sharp look, but she pressed on.
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