āI seriously cannot keep doing this, because getting from my apartment to campus every morning without a car is a complete nightmare of a routine. The bus is always late, the walk is miserable, and by the time I get to my first lecture my hair is frizzy, my shoes are damp, and I already want to go back to bed. I wish you werenāt at school at the other side of the city, then we could go together but I am going to ask around and see whether anyone wants to carpool, because I am done wasting half my life dragging myself across the city like some exhausted little goblin.ā
āø»
āYou are going to hate this, because the person who offered me a ride was Sienna, and yes, I mean that Sienna, the gorgeous spoiled girl who struts around campus like she owns every building. I still cannot stand her smug face, her perfect curls, or those ridiculously expensive clothes she wears like she was born in them, but I need the lift badly enough that I said yes. Honestly I surprised her highness even offered the ride but if I have to sit in the back of her ridiculous luxury car and listen to her and her little clique talk for twenty minutes every morning, then fine, I will suffer through it.ā
āø»
āThe ride was annoyingly pleasant, which is inconvenient because I wanted to keep hating her properly. Her car smelled amazing, the seats were warm before I even sat down, and when I glanced at myself in the window mirror I swear my skin looked clearer and my hair looked less hopeless than it had that morning. Sienna told me I had pretty eyes, Chloe said I was hiding a really good figure under those sad baggy jumpers, and Madison said I would look incredible if I straightened my hair. I still donāt know how truthful or sarcastic any of it was but obviously I spent the rest of the day thinking about it.ā
āø»
āI sat in the front seat today, because Sienna said she wanted to take more of me in, which I thought was a weird way of phrasing it. I thought I would feel intimated being in the hot seat but honestly the whole thing felt weirdly thrilling. Riding shotgun with her was like getting some weird approval from royalty and I know this is going to sound crazy but it was like the car approved too. It felt better up front. The mirror flap kept catching my reflection and making me look softer and prettier somehow, and by the time we got to campus I already felt, well, kind of hot. Then they dragged me shopping instead of class, Sienna picked out a fitted top, Chloe found a tiny skirt, Madison helped me with my makeup, and I actually heard myself say, āDonāt I look hawt in this new skirt and top?ā like some bratty little bitch, and honestly, I did.ā
āø»
āYou know what is strange, I ended up driving Siennaās car this morning after she complained she was too tired and needed both hands free to fix her makeup, and the second I put my hands on the wheel it felt so damn right. I thought riding as a passenger felt good, being the driver feels like getting supercharged. The car must be some smart AI car or something because the seat shifted for me, the mirrors angled perfectly, and I got this rush like the car was purring under me, as though it preferred me in charge, like for a brief moment I was the queen bee. I think it may have gone to my head because when some plain girl clipped my shoulder outside the library I made her apologise in front of everyone, which was mean, yes, but it was also satisfying as hell.ā
āø»
āI drove again today, Sienna was nursing a hangover, and now I am starting to think there is something about that car, because every time I get behind the wheel I end up looking better by the time I get out. My hair was straighter, my waist looked tighter in this red mini dress, my lips looked fuller. Like donāt my tits look amazing? Itās probably some extra feature Sienna paid for that adds a filter to the mirrors but I canāt say that itās not a huge ego boost. When some bitch at the coffee shop tried to cut in front of me, I told her she should worry less about getting a coffee and more about that tragic cheap blouse, and Chloe and Madison nearly cried laughing, which only made me feel hotter. Sienna meanwhile only gave a little chuckle.ā
āø»
āI am starting to understand what Sienna really is, and that is not some natural born queen, it is just the girl who happened to be sitting in the right seat for long enough. I took the keys from her today and insisted I drive and she didnāt even put up a fight. How pathetic is that? I think the car likes me more anyway. She looked tired, drained even. Her hair looked flatter, her makeup was not hitting quite the same, and even her voice sounded weaker when she snapped at people. Meanwhile I looked fucking unreal. Donāt I look like an absolute baddie? I know you agree because I see that bulge in your pants baby but you canāt have any tonight because I have to attend the sorority mixer. I practically organized the whole thing because Sienna has been dropping the ball so much lately. I canāt believe she wastes power she clearly does not deserve. Anyway donāt wait up!ā
āø»
āYou keep saying I sound arrogant like itās a bad thing, I canāt help it if saying Iām an alpha bitch sounds conceded when itās true. Everyone knows itās true. Even the car! It unlocks for me before I reach it now, the music starts on my playlist, and Chloe and Madison look at me for instructions before they even glance at Sienna, who by the way has been relegated to being in the back seat with Chloe and Madison rotating the seat next to me. Itās adorable how they are vying for my attention. Which is hilarious when you remember whose car it technically is. I think it was making Sienna seethe with jealously because she tried to make a crack about Chloeās shoes. I told her to shut the fuck up because her tantrum was boring. The girls laughed, and the look on Siennaās face was so wounded and pathetic that I nearly smiled all through lunch.ā
ļæ¼
āø»
āSienna tried to reclaim the driverās seat this morning, which was cute in a desperate little washed up bitch sort of way. She was saying some nonsense about how she only offered me a ride in the first place so she could drain my smarts but the car turned against her. Honestly it was cringe. I told her she didnāt deserve the car and that I would be taking it off her hands now. I handed her the registration I told her to sign it over to me. She tried to argue but I told her I would step on her neck with my heel until she changed it. She signed it fast after that. I slid into the drivers seat as its new owner and smiled through the window and drove off as I watched Sienna stay sobbing on the sidewalk. It is my car now, my clique, my campus, and frankly she should be grateful I only left her stranded instead of humiliating her properly.ā
āø»
āOh, stop staring at me like I have broken your heart, because this is honestly the funniest part of the whole thing. I am the hottest, best dressed, most feared bitch on campus, I drive up like I own the fucking university, and people practically trip over themselves to please me, and you expect me to stay being your girlfriend? I cannot be seen with a loser like you anymore, and I definitely cannot drag around some boyfriend who remembers when I was a shy, frizzy haired nobody begging for bus fare, so I am dumping you before your mediocrity stains my reputation. That girl is dead, darling, and the new queen bee standing in front of you would not piss on you if you were on fire, so do us both a favour and get lost before I start laughing.ā
"You! I just knew that son of a bitch was cheating on me. I found some of your slutty underwear stuffed in the back of my dresser drawer. Like I wouldn't notice a pair of lace crotchless panties in my drawer. Where is he? Where is that cheating motherfucker?"
"I knew this day would come about eventually. Addiction is so hard to conceal after a while. Mark was so careful when he started, but he's been getting reckless lately."
"Look, Slut, I don't care about that shit. Where is that lying, cheating, cocktard at? I want to cut his balls off!"
"You won't have to, Leslie."
"What? Why? By the way, don't think I'm above slapping a ho. I'm going to deal with you after I deal with him. MARK! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE NOW!"
"I'm afraid that's impossible."
"Why? You got him tied up or something? Look at you. Of course, you're into kinky shit like that."
"No. I mean, Mark is gone and won't be back anytime soon. He's been chasing the high, and he took a rather large dose."
"Oh, my God! Did Mark OD on something? MARK, ANSWER ME. IT'S OKAY, BABY. I'M HERE. BABY, WHERE ARE YOU?"
"I knew you still loved him, Leslie. No, Mark is alive. He's just...gone."
"What do you mean, gone? You'd better start making sense, Bitch."
"There's no delicate way to put thisāMark is an Elixir addict."
"What? That's a female aphrodisiac. What good would it do him?"
"In large enough doses, it triggers massive physical transformation, even in males."
"Wait a minute. Are you..."
"I'm Megan, your husband's Elixir alter-ego."
"No, it's not possible. My Mark would never do that."
"Have you noticed some changes lately?"
"Like what?"
"Mark being more emotional and moody?"
"Maybe."
"What about his change in aesthetic?"
"What?"
"Does he ask for your opinion on his clothing choices like he used to? Or does he always look immaculate on his own?"
"Now that you mention it..."
"What about sex?"
"What?"
"The last time he made love to you, how attentive was he to your needs? Foreplay, clitoral stimulation, sensual touching..."
"Oh, god..."
"He learned about the pleasures of femininity, and he has become a better lover."
"You said he's not coming back for any time soon. What do you mean by that?"
"Like any addict, the first high is always the best. You need to take more and more to get that same rush."
"Chasing the high, okay..."
"Well, he took a lot of Elixir this time."
"How much?"
"I'd say...I'll be here all weekend."
"WHAT!?"
"Don't worry, Leslie. I'm going to show you all the things I've done, and by proxy...Mark."
"Wait, so he is cheating on me?"
"Sort of."
"That motherfucker!"
"I say the best revenge is to give him a dose of his own medicine."
"What does that mean?"
"There's enough Elixir for you. I anticipated this and called Tyrell over. He's bringing some friends this time."
"So, you want me to take Elixir and..."
"Join me. Let's unleash that inner slut. I've always wanted a slutty BFF. Plus, I don't think I can handle 5 black cocks on my own."
"5! And...black..."
"Big, black, and beautiful. It should be a wild weekend. Imagine Mark's face when he realizes you've become slutty besties with me."
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK...
"Those are the boys. What's it going to be, Leslie?"
Katie had discovered the forgotten bathroom on the third floor during her second week at college, after a humiliating afternoon in which Layla and three of her friends had spent an entire lecture whispering loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear about Katieās secondhand clothes, her scuffed shoes, and the way she nervously pushed her glasses up her nose whenever a professor called upon her.
Katie used this bathroom precisely because nobody else did. Whenever the noise of campus became too much, she could lock herself inside the final stall, lower the lid of the toilet, and sit with her backpack held against her stomach until her breathing slowed and she no longer felt as though the entire university had been designed to remind her that she did not belong.
That afternoon, however, the bathroom door struck the wall with such force that Katie nearly dropped the book resting across her knees. She froze, recognizing the decisive rhythm of the approaching heels before the woman wearing them had spoken a single word, because Layla moved through the college with the unmistakable confidence of someone who expected corridors to clear before her.
She had long platinum blonde hair that was always styled perfectly, luminous skin, expensive clothes, and a figure that drew glances from across crowded rooms, yet it was not merely her beauty that made her powerful. Layla understood exactly how beautiful she was, and she used that knowledge like a weapon, rewarding people with smiles when they pleased her and reducing them to embarrassed silence when they did not.
āOh my God, the look on her face was priceless.ā Layla said as the door swung shut behind her. Her voice was bright, amused, and cruelly confident. āShe actually thought I was complimenting her Igoe ass grandma sweater. I love it when they cry.ā
Katieās shoulders tightened, because she knew if Layla found her in the stall then she would be the next one in the crosshairs. However after a few seconds Layla spoke again but this time it sounded different. So different that Katie though for a minute it was someone else. The new voice was quieter and uncertain, stripped of the lazy superiority that normally clung to every word Layla said.
āWhy did I do that?ā Layla whispered to her reflection. āShe looked so happy before I spoke to her.ā
Katie leaned forward very slightly, staring through the narrow space between the stall door and its frame. She could see Layla standing at the sinks, both hands gripping the marble counter, her head lowered as though she were fighting dizziness.
The confidence returned abruptly. āBecause it was funny, and because everyone was watching me. Because it felt so fucking good.ā
āI shouldnāt enjoy it.ā The quiet voice replied a bit more defiantly.
āMmmm but I did. Being a bitch is so much hotter than being some loser goodie goodie nobody.ā The confident voice chimed in, and Layla slowly raised her head to regard herself in the mirror.
Katie covered her mouth with one hand, scarcely daring to breathe. Laylaās reflection looked as immaculate as ever, but her expression kept shifting in ways that made her seem like two different people forced to share the same face. One moment her chin was raised, her lips curling into a knowing smirk, while the next her shoulders sagged and fear clouded her eyes.
āI donāt want this anymore!ā The quieter side said. She lifted trembling hands toward her chest but stopped before touching herself. āIām so mean to everyone since I found these things. Theyāve turned me into a monster I donāt recognize.ā
She noticeably shivered in pleasure as if she force was pumping her full of endorphins causing her to laughed, low and indulgent. āMmm, but it feels so good being the girl everyone wants. It feels good walking into a room and knowing that every guy is imagining how good of a fuck Iāll be, how every girl seethes with jealousy.ā
Laylaās breathing grew ragged as her hands pressed against the countertop. āThey donāt like me. They like what these things made me.ā
āWho cares if they like, as long as they fear me.ā The confident side almost roared back. M
Katie watched Layla close her eyes, her face contorting as though she were physically wrestling with herself. When she opened them again, tears had gathered along her lower lashes.
āNo!ā She said, louder this time. āI canāt go on like this. It isnāt right, and it isnāt me.ā
Layla suddenly seized her own chest with both hands. At first Katie thought she was merely clutching herself in distress, but then Layla dug her fingers along an invisible seam beneath the fabric of her blouse and pulled. Her face tightened with effort. A strange wet suction sound filled the bathroom, followed by a sharp pop that echoed from the tiled walls.
Layla staggered backward holding what appeared to be a pair of perfectly formed breasts in her hands, attached together by a thin, glistening membrane that trembled as though it were alive.
Without them, Laylaās appearance started to change. It happened gradually enough that Katie could observe every detail. The exaggerated curve of Laylaās waist softened first, losing its impossible precision as a natural fullness returned to her stomach and hips. Her flawless skin dimmed from radiant gold to an ordinary, slightly uneven complexion.
Her lips thinned, her cheekbones became less sculpted, and her face grew a little rounder as the almost artificial symmetry faded from it. Her long manicured nails shortened with tiny clicking sounds, the glossy polish cracking and flaking away until her hands looked bitten and neglected. Even her hair seemed to lose some of its shine and volume, settling around her face in limp, slightly tangled strands.
Layla stared at the plain young woman in the mirror, and the relief that spread over her softened features was so genuine that Katie almost felt sorry for her.
The living objects twitched faintly in her hands. Layla recoiled from them. She snatched several paper towels from the dispenser, wrapped the breasts hastily, and dropped the bundle into the metal waste bin beside the sinks. For a moment she stood over it, breathing heavily and rubbing her palms against her skirt as though desperate to remove their warmth from her skin. Then she hurried from the bathroom without looking back.
Katie remained motionless inside the stall while the sound of Laylaās footsteps receded along the corridor. Her mind refused to assemble what she had witnessed into anything coherent. Layla, the most beautiful and feared woman at college, had apparently been transformed by a pair of living breasts that she had now abandoned in a trash can. Katie knew she should stay where she was, wait until she felt calm, and then leave without touching anything. She even whispered this sensible plan to herself several times.
āYou are going to stand up, wash your hands, and go back to your dormitory.ā She murmured. āYou are not going to inspect the supernatural body parts that the campus bully just threw away, because that is how people in horror films get cursed.ā
Despite this, Katie unlocked the stall. She approached the bin one cautious step at a time. The crumpled paper towels shifted slightly at the top of the rubbish, although there was no draught in the bathroom.
Katie swallowed. āThat could have been the radiator.ā The bundle moved again.
She should have fled, yet curiosity drew her closer until she was standing over the bin. When she reached inside and lifted the bundle, warmth immediately spread into her fingers. She placed it on the counter and peeled back one layer of paper, then another, revealing smooth flesh beneath.
The breasts were impossibly realistic, even possessing the faint weight and softness of a living body, but there was something subtly unnatural about the way their surface seemed to respond to her touch. When her thumb brushed against them, the skin tightened as if awakening.
For one dangerous moment she imagined what it might feel like to press them against herself. She pictured walking into a lecture hall and hearing conversation falter, passing Laylaās old friends and seeing envy instead of contempt, or entering the cafeteria without lowering her head because everyone else would be the ones staring. The fantasy arrived so vividly that she nearly lifted the living breasts to her chest before fear overcame her.
āNo!ā She said firmly, wrapping them again. āWhatever they offer, they take more.ā
The bathroom door opened behind her. āWhat was I thinking?ā Layla muttered as she rushed inside. āI need those back before someone finds-ā
She stopped. Katie turned slowly, the bundle held in both hands. Laylaās plain face went white. āKatie.ā
There was none of her usual mockery in the name now. She spoke carefully, as though approaching a frightened animal that might bolt with something precious.
āKatie, listen to me very carefully and give those to me ok?ā
Katieās fear began to transform into anger. She remembered every laugh Layla had encouraged, every remark she had made about Katieās clothes, and every afternoon Katie had hidden in this very bathroom because Layla had made being seen feel unbearable. The breasts seem to pulse in her hands the more she remembered.
āYou threw them away.ā Katie replied.
āI made a mistake.ā Layla retorted quickly.
āYou made the right choice for once.ā Said Katie, a sharpness in her voice that was rarely present.
Layla stepped closer. āYou donāt understand what they are.ā
Katie tightened her hold on the bundle. āThey made you cruel.ā
āThey made me visible!ā Layla snapped, and for an instant the hunger in her expression resembled the queen bee she had been only minutes earlier. āDo you know what it feels like to walk into a room and have everyone notice? Do you know what it is to be wanted so badly that people fall over themselves just to be near you?ā
Layla advanced another step, her voice becoming feverish. āIt is intoxicating. I thought I was stronger to resist them but when I stepped outside and not a single person looked at me I felt a longing I hadnāt felt since before I found them. I donāt want to go back to that Katie, I canāt!ā
āYou hated yourself five minutes ago!ā Katie reminded her.
āI hate myself now!ā Layla said. āI hated what they made me, but I hate being this even more.ā She gestured helplessly toward her softened body and ordinary face. Layla winced, but desperation quickly hardened her expression. āGive them to me.ā
āNo.ā Katie said steadfast.
āKatie, Iām warning you. I will take them from you if I have to.ā Layla threatened but when Katie didnāt move thatās when Layla lunged forward, desperate for the breasts.
Katie instinctively pressed the bundle against her own chest, turning her body to shield it. āNo you canāt have them!ā The instant the living flesh touched her shirt, it melted.
Katie gasped as the paper towels collapsed empty between her fingers. A warm substance flowed through the fabric without tearing it, spreading across her chest like liquid silk before tightening against her skin. She clawed at her hoody, but there was nothing separate for her to grasp. The breasts had seeped in, sealed themselves to her body, their warmth spreading inward through muscle and bone.
āKatie, pull them off!ā Layla shouted. āDo it now, before they root themselves!ā
Katie dug her hands under her sweater and tried, but the moment her fingers touched the newly attached flesh, pleasure and power surged through her so intensely that her knees weakened. She caught herself against the counter and threw her head back, a breathless cry escaping her as the transformation swept through her.
āOhhhh fucccckkkkk meeee.ā She moaned as her skin cleared first, every blemish and patch of redness dissolving beneath an expanding luminosity. The tired pallor caused by too many late nights studying faded into a smooth, warm complexion dusted with delicate freckles. Her lips tingled and gradually swelled into a glossy, sculpted pout, while her jaw refined and her cheekbones lifted, reshaping her face into something both familiar and breathtakingly new. Her lashes thickened, darkening around pale, striking eyes that no longer needed glasses. The frames slipped down her nose and fell to the floor, unnoticed.
āStop making me enjoy this!ā Katie pleaded, although her hands no longer searched for a way to remove them. Instead, her palms travelled over their curves, testing their weight and warmth. āI can feel you changing how I think.ā
Then another sensation entered her mind, deeper than pleasure and more intimate than a voice. It was hunger, wounded pride and possessive approval, as though the breasts themselves were pressing their desires into her.
Katieās breathing slowed.
āYou want me?ā She murmured. The warmth surged in answer.
Her hair loosened from its practical, uneven bun. It lengthened rapidly, growing thicker and silkier as it gathered itself high at the back of her head in a sleek ponytail, with two carefully arranged strands framing her transformed face.
āYou chose me because I hate Layla and she rejected you.ā She said, her fingers curling possessively around the new flesh. āYou gave her everything, and treated you like trash like she does with me every day.ā
A smile formed on her plumping lips. āYou want to punish her.ā
The realization sent another exquisite wave through Katie, and this time she did not resist it. She arched into the sensation, pushed her shoulders back and watched her new figure become even more magnificent.
āYes!ā She breathed. āI understand now. We have a common goal, a common enemy.ā Her expression sharpened as the last traces of nervousness disappeared.
āYou want someone who will embrace becoming beautiful, powerful and completely merciless. Katie stroked the tops of the breasts with open affection.
āIāll destroy her.ā She promised. āIāll take her friends, her attention and every person who ever wanted her.ā Her smile became cold and delighted.
āKeep changing me. Make me hotter than Layla, crueler than Layla and so much better that she spends every day regretting the moment she threw you away.ā
The breasts pulsed warmly beneath Katieās hands, and the pleasure they sent through her no longer felt like an invasion. It felt like approval, as though they were delighted by every cruel promise she made and eager to reward her for becoming the woman they deserved.
The changes moved lower. Her shoulders drew back, correcting years of nervous slouching, while her waist tightened into an elegant curve. Her hips rounded, her legs became shapely and toned, and the strange living breasts settled into perfect proportion with her altered body.
āOh, Iām going to make her suffer!ā Katie murmured, watching her waist draw tighter while her hips developed another sumptuous curve. āIām going to make that pathetic little nobody watch while I take every single thing she thought belonged to her.ā
Her clothes transformed around her. The baggy burgundy sweater tightened into a fitted blouse with a sharp collar and long sleeves, tailored to emphasize her new silhouette. Several buttons remained open in a deliberate, fashionable arrangement, while the fabric gathered neatly at her waist.
Katie adjusted the neckline until it displayed her cleavage more boldly. The gesture came naturally, accompanied by a knowing little smile that seemed to belong to the bitchy beauty emerging in the mirror.
āIāll walk into every party with these gorgeous weapons pushed right into everyoneās faces, and every hot guy there will forget Layla ever existed.ā Katie rolled her shoulders back, admiring the way her breasts rose with the movement. āTheyāll stare until their girlfriends drag them away, and Iāll laugh because those poor little bitches will know exactly what their boyfriends are imagining.ā
The breasts throbbed again, sending a deep, luxurious heat through her. āMmm, you like that, donāt you?ā Katie whispered, stroking them possessively. āYou want me to use you. You want me to make men stupid and girls miserable.ā
Her shapeless plaid sweatpants shortened and unfolded into a pleated skirt, resting above her newly sculpted thighs. The ensemble looked expensive without seeming formal, daring without appearing accidental, exactly the sort of outfit Layla might once have worn while mocking Katie for trying too hard.
Her eyes narrowed as she imagined the campus bending around her. She pictured walking through packed corridors while men offered to carry her books, buy her drinks and abandon whatever plans they had made merely because she crooked one glossy finger.
āIāll have the hottest guys on campus crawling over one another for the privilege of taking me out.ā She said. āTheyāll empty their wallets, cancel dates and lie to their girlfriends just for the chance to hear me say their names. Maybe Iāll let one of them into fuck me when Iām bored, and afterward Iāll send him straight back to whatever desperate little loser thought he belonged to her.ā
A laugh escaped her, rich with delighted contempt.
āNo, Iāll do better than that. Iāll make them brag about me. Iāll make them tell everyone that one night with me ruined every other woman for them, and then Iāll pretend I barely remember which one they were.ā
Her nails lengthened into immaculate pink ovals while her cheap tiny earrings expanded into golden hoops at her ears, swaying beside her sharpened cheekbones. Katie touched one earring, but her attention remained fixed upon the arrogant stranger smiling back from the mirror.
Her breathing deepened as another wave of corruption rolled through her, and she leaned forward until her glossy lips nearly touched the mirror.
āIām going to be the hottest, nastiest, most spoiled bitch this college has ever seen.ā She promised her reflection. āIāll take whatever I want, fuck who whoever amuses me and destroy anyone stupid enough to think they can tell me no.ā
Layla stood several feet behind her, horrified. āKatie, donāt listen to them, you still have a chance to take them off and save yourself.ā
Katie barely acknowledged her. She leaned closer to the mirror, pressing her lips together to admire their fullness, then ran both hands down the sides of her narrow waist.
āDid you hear me?ā Layla demanded, although her voice trembled. āTake them off before they change who you are.ā
Katieās head turned sharply. The expression she gave Layla was not loud or exaggerated. It was a cold, controlled look of personal offence, as though Layla had violated an obvious rule merely by speaking without permission.
Katie saw the fear appear on her face, and something warm and delicious unfurled inside her. For years, Katie had experienced that fear whenever Layla approached. Now the balance had shifted so completely that it seemed impossible the old order had ever existed.
āListen here Leah, you nobody loser, you donāt tell me what to do ever again.ā Katie said quietly as she stepped towards a surprised Layla.
āThatās right, I know your real name, the name you had before you were queen bee of this hive. I know because these delicious beauties told me everything.ā Katie said as she stroked the top of her tits lovingly.
āKatie, please.ā Leah pleaded.
āThey know how much you are craving them right now. How much you want to crawl over here and beg me to give them back. You miss feeling them against you, donāt you? You miss walking around with every hot guy staring at your tits instead of listening to a word coming out of your mouth.ā Katie said self satisfied.
āKatie, you need to listen to yourself.ā Leah pleaded. āYou sound completely deranged.ā
Katie turned with a slow, dangerous smile. āMy name isnāt Katie anymore.ā
She approached Layla, each click of her new heels echoing across the bathroom like a countdown. Layla backed away until the counter pressed against her lower back, leaving nowhere else to retreat.
āKatie was the pathetic little virgin who went home crying because you called her clothes ugly.ā She said. āKatie spent Friday nights studying while girls like you got drunk, got spoiled and got fucked by every gorgeous guy on campus. Katie believed that being clever and kind would eventually make someone notice her.ā
She leaned closer, her perfume surrounding Layla as thoroughly as her presence did. āKayla knows better.ā
Layla stared at her. āKayla?ā
āQueen Kayla.ā She corrected. āYou should practice kneeling, because youāre going to be doing a lot of it.ā
āI will find a way to stop you!ā Leah said defiantly that made Kayla chuckle.
āYouāre serious arenāt you? I admire the fire babe. Maybe I can make you part of my clique, like a sex pet that can lick up my juices after a guy has railed me. In the end I will make you kneel for me.ā Kayla said with no ounce of irony.
āNot in a million years.ā Leah said.
Kaylaās eyes narrowed. āYou still think you get to give orders, how cute.ā
Kaylaās manicured hand shot out pulled Layla close, ignoring the startled protest that escaped her. Leah placed both hands against Kaylaās shoulders and tried to push herself free, but the enchanted breasts grew warmer beneath Kaylaās fitted top, swelling subtly against the fabric as though they had sensed their former owner nearby.
The breasts pulsed. A deep wave of pleasure travelled through Kayla, but the energy flowing into Leah was different. It was soft, heavy and smothering, spreading through her thoughts like warm fog. Her frantic struggles weakened almost at once, her fingers loosening against Kaylaās sides as the magic dulled every instinct urging her to escape.
Kayla laughed quietly and stroked Leahās hair.
āThatās right.ā She whispered. āBreathe me in.ā
Leahās resistance slowed. Kayla felt the precise moment panic became confusion. The body in her arms stopped fighting with purpose, and Leahās hands remained resting at Kaylaās waist as though she could no longer remember whether she had placed them there to push or to hold.
A faint sound escaped Leah, something halfway between a protest and a sleepy sigh.
Kaylaās smile sharpened. She could feel the breasts consuming every spark of pride that had once made Leah dangerous, smoothing her ambitions away and replacing them with a blissful need for simplicity.
The breasts pulsed again, and her shoulders slumped as the final tension drained from them. Kayla watched with growing delight as Leahās fingers curled into the fabric at her waist, no longer attempting to escape but clinging to her for support.
āThat feels better, doesnāt it?ā Kayla asked. āYou spent so long trying to be the clever, gorgeous queen who controlled everyone, and now you never have to make another difficult decision.ā
Leah gave a weak, muffled murmur.
āTell me who makes the decisions.ā
There was a long pause while the magic rearranged the thought inside Leahās clouded mind. When she finally answered, her voice was soft and distant.
āYou do.ā
Kayla moaned with satisfaction, cradling Leah more possessively as the answer sent heat rippling through her transformed body.
āAnd who is the most beautiful bitch on campus?ā
āYou are.ā
āWho deserves everyoneās attention?ā
āYou do.ā
āWho do you obey?ā
Leah hesitated for only a heartbeat.
āQueen Kayla.ā
Kayla pulled her away at last and titled Leahās chin upward. Kayla stroked her thumb across Leahās cheek with condescending affection. āYou were such a vicious bitch when you had these breasts, yet underneath all that attitude, this is apparently what you were always meant to be.ā
Kayla released her chin and turned them both toward the bathroom mirror. She stood behind Leah, magnificent and towering in her transformed beauty, while the former queen rested willingly against her, waiting for instructions.
āYou are going to introduce your friends to their new queen, and whenever one of them has trouble accepting me, you can show them exactly how wonderful it feels to stop resisting.ā Kayla ordered.
Leah nodded eagerly. āYes, Queen Kayla.ā
Kayla guided her toward the door with one hand resting possessively at the back of her neck. But instead of going through it, Kayla locked it and leaned close enough for her glossy lips to brush Leahās ear.
āBut first youāre going to pay tribute to your Queen.ā Kayla said and walked back to the mirror and slid her perfect ass onto the counter. She spread her legs and leant back lazily.
āWell donāt just stand there slave, get to work.ā Kayla said with authority and Leah knelt down in front of her, removing her underwear and diving head first under Kaylaās skirt. Kayla allows a satisfied smirk to cross her lips and she sighed in pleasure. āI told you that youād kneel for me.ā
You remember the old you, don't you? Of course you don't. Not really. Not anymore.
Jake had been a nobody. A forgettable, skulking loser who ate lunch alone and spoke to maybe two people a week ā both professors, both mandatory. Low self-esteem, social anxiety, the whole pathetic package. The kind of guy who'd download a sketchy free VPN just because it promised to "mask your identity."
Well. It masked something, alright.
The first time you opened BAE VPN, the screen flashed pink ā Hotter Options: ON. Entitled Mode: ON. Spoiled Vibes: ON ā and your whole body went warm. Like sinking into a bath. Like honey pouring through your veins.
Mmmmmhā¦
Your shoulders cracked inward ā narrow, delicate. Your hips popped outward with a wet, grinding sound that made you gasp. Your stomach sucked flat, toned, gym-sculpted, and your chest swelled ā round, heavy, real ā stretching your boring grey t-shirt until it rode up and became a crop top. The word BRAT materialised across your new tits in glittering pink letters.
Ooooohā¦ fuckā¦
Your hair spilled out blonde and long and silky. Your lips plumped up, glossy and pink. Your nails grew out ā pink and silver ā and rings appeared on your fingers like they'd always been there.
And inside your head? The old voice ā Jake's voice ā got quieter. Smaller. Drowned out by something sharper. Something bitchier.
(Oh my God, I look so fucking hot.)
That was Kylie's voice. And Kylie was not a loser. Kylie was the girl who walked into a party and everyone stared. Kylie was the girl who texted back maybe and still had them begging. Kylie was entitled, spoiled, and absolutely fucking ruthless.
You looked at your phone. The app glowed cheerfully: Identity: Kylie ā 47 minutes remaining.
Forty-seven minutes. That was three weeks ago.
You'd hit "Renew" before the timer ever hit zero. Again. And again. And again.
Because the truth? The old you ā Jake ā had been miserable. Low self-esteem, loneliness, anxiety ā the textbook profile of someone who'd vanish into an online identity and never come back. And Kylie? Kylie was happy. Kylie was powerful. Kylie had her manicured fingers wrapped around the throat of every social circle on campus.
(Why would you ever go back? Why would anyone go back to being nothing?)
You toss your phone onto the pink fluffy blanket and pick up your lipstick instead. Fresh coat. You've got a party in twenty minutes and three different guys begging to buy you drinks.
The VPN hums quietly in the background ā always connected, always running, always keeping you.
You smile at your reflection. Glossy. Perfect. Cruel.
"Sorry, Jake," you whisper to no one ā because Jake doesn't exist anymore. Not in any way that matters.
The headboard hits the wall again and you wince ā but not from annoyance. From jealousy.
"Yessss ā fuck ā harder ā"
That's Blair. That's your brother. Or was. Before BratBlock turned him into a blonde, dripping, spoiled fucking princess who gets railed by college quarterbacks on a Tuesday night.
You stare at your Android phone. The Google Play store says app not found and something about that makes your cock twitch pathetically. Of course. Of course the app that turns losers into perfect bitches is iPhone only. The universe wants you exactly where you are: listening through the wall, hand down your boxers, imaginingā¦
(Mmmmmhā¦ what if it was me in there?)
You close your eyes. You know what she looks like now. You've seen her strutting around the house in tiny shorts and a crop top that barely holds those big, round tits. Blonde hair swinging. Lips glossy and pink. That smug little smirk she gives you when she takes the last of the cereal or hogs the bathroom for an hour.
"Move, loser," she'd say ā and you'd move. Every time. Because Blair doesn't ask. Blair takes.
"Ooooh ā right there ā right fucking there ā"
Another guy. A different one from last night. She cycles through them like accessories. Tall, muscular, alpha guys who bend her over and give her exactly what she wants. And Blair always gets what she wants.
You pump faster. (I wish I was her. I wish I was her. I wish I was her.)
The worst part ā the part that makes you throb with shame ā is how she treats you now. Not cruel enough to ignore you. Just cruel enough to enjoy it. She'll lean in the doorway, all tanned legs and cleavage, and laugh.
"Still got that shitty Android, dweeb?"
She knows you want it. She knows. And she loves it.
Maybe one day you'll get an iPhone. Maybe one day you'll install BratBlock and feel that rush ā the heat, the popping, the blonde spreading through your hair, the swelling, the moaningā¦
Simping after some neighbourhood princess. Sending gifts. Doing her coursework. Running errands. Grovelling at her feet like a desperate little puppy dog.
You told him he was delusional. A sucker. That Willow was stringing him along for attention and free labour. That no hot girl ā especially one like Willow ā would ever actually follow through on some insane bodyswap fantasy.
You were so fucking sure of yourself.
---
The text came at 11am. A photo. Your mate ā in Willow's body ā sitting on her bed in a black and white maid outfit. Corset cinched tight, heart-shaped cutout showing off cleavage that shouldn't exist on someone you used to play Xbox with. Long blonde hair straight and perfect. Full lips curved in a smirk you'd never seen on his face before.
Below it: "She actually did it. 24 hours. Anything she'd usually do. Her boyfriend's coming round at 2. Guess what I'm wearing? š"
You stared at your phone so long the screen dimmed.
(That'sā¦ that's notā¦ he's actuallyā)
You scrolled up. Willow's Instagram. The same bed. The same neon sign reading "WILLOW" in glowing pink. The same mirrored furniture. The same everything ā except now your best mate was sitting there looking like a fucking lingerie model instead of the scrawny nerd you'd known since secondary school.
Another text. A video this time. Thirty seconds of him ā her ā adjusting the maid outfit, running his hands over Willow's flat stomach, squeezing her tits through the corset. Breathing heavy. Eyes half-closed.
"These are SO sensitive. Been playing with them all morning. Willow said I can do anything she'd normally do and she ALWAYS dresses up for Brad. He's gonna be here in two hours. Gonna let him do whatever he wants."
"Should've simped harder, bro."
---
You threw your phone across the room.
Your cock was rock hard.
Fuck.
You tried to think about it rationally. Your best friend had swapped bodies with the hottest girl in the neighbourhood ā a girl you'd secretly jerked off thinking about more times than you'd ever admit ā and he was about to spend the afternoon getting railed by her boyfriend in a maid outfit.
And you'd spent the last month mocking him for it.
(If you'd justā¦ played along. Sent the gifts. Done the tasks. Been a good boy instead of a cynical prickā)
Maybe that would be you in that corset. Maybe those would be your hands squeezing those perfect tits. Maybe you'd be the one waiting for Brad to arrive, already dripping wet, heart pounding with anticipation.
Another photo. This time he'd hiked the skirt up. Bare thighs. Lace stockings. A glimpse of smooth, waxed pussy ā Willow's pussy ā glistening slightly.
"Getting ready. Willow says Brad likes it when she's already wet before he walks in. Three fingers deep and counting. Wish you were here to watch, loser š"
"Actually no I don't. You were mean to me. Stay home and jerk off thinking about what you could've had."
---
2pm.
You imagined the doorbell ringing. Brad walking in. Your mate ā in Willow's body ā doing that little curtsy thing in the maid outfit. The way Brad's eyes would go dark. The way he'd grab her waist and throw her on that pink and white bed.
The sounds she'd make.
The sounds Willow makes.
You were stroking your cock before you even realised you'd unzipped. Eyes closed. Phone in one hand, dick in the other. That last photo burned into your brain ā your best friend's new pussy, wet and ready, about to be filled by a man you'd never be.
I should have simped.
I should have simped so fucking hard.
A final text arrived. Just a voice note. You pressed play.
Willow's voice ā breathless, giddy, unmistakably aroused: "He's here. Gonna go be a good little maid now. If you're sorry, Willow says she might do another swap next month. Better start being nice to her, babe. Mmmmmhā¦ gotta goā¦ Brad's waitingā¦"
Joe slumped onto his bed, backpack still on, and stared at the ceiling.
Another day. Another shove into the lockers. Another "nice shirt, faggot" from Brad Miller and his knuckle-dragging crew. The bruise on his shoulder throbbed where he'd hit the metal door.
His phone buzzed. An advert. Again. A pink shield icon, pulsing gently against a black background.
BratBlock ā Bully Free Forever!
Tired of getting pushed around? BratBlock's patented protection algorithm creates a safe space around you. No more bullies. No more drama. Just peace.
He'd swiped past it maybe fifteen times this week. But tonightātonight it hit different. His shoulder ached. His pride was in pieces. And the advert just sat there, pulsing pink, almost mocking him.
(It's probably malware.)
Probably.
(It's definitely malware.)
Definitely.
He downloaded it anyway.
___
The app installed in secondsāno terms and conditions, no sign-up, no email required. Just a single screen. Black background, that pink shield logo, and one button in the centre.
ACTIVATE PROTECTION
Below it, in tiny grey text: BratBlock works by creating a personalised safety field. User experience may vary.
Joe frowned. "What does that even mean?"
He locked his bedroom door. His parents were outādate night, wouldn't be back until late. He had the house to himself. Privacy. Safety.
(Just press it. What's the worst that could happen?)
He pressed it.
The screen flashed pinkāso bright it lit up the whole bathroom when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Then his phone went dark.
"Waitādid it crash? Did I just brick my phā"
Warmth.
It started in his chest. A soft, golden heat, like sinking into a bath. Pleasant. Almost nice. He exhaled, shoulders loosening.
Then the heat intensified.
"Mmmmmhā¦ ohhh fuckkk" he moaned, and the sound of his own voice made him freeze. It was higher. Softer. Still hisābut not. Like someone had reached into his throat and plucked a string, tuning him up a semitone.
His fingers were next. He watchedātransfixed, terrifiedāas they slimmed, the knuckles popping inward with tiny crick crack sounds. His nails grew, pushing out pink and glossy, perfectly shaped. His hands became dainty. Petite. Girly.
(No. No no no.... ooohhh fuck yessss....)
He grabbed the sink. His phone screen lit up againāpink, glowing, the shield icon pulsing steadily. And on the screen, text scrolled:
Protection active. Reality field establishingā¦
User profile: JOE ā recalibratingā¦
New profile: JOJO. Status: ALPHA.
"What the fā"
His shoulders cracked inward. Both of themāCRACK POPāand he screamed, but the scream came out as a giggle. A bratty, entitled giggle that horrified him even as it left his lips.
His waist cinched. He could feel itāribs shifting, organs rearranging, fat redistributing. His stomach flattened, toned, like he'd done a thousand crunches in two seconds. Then his hips poppedāboth sides, simultaneous, a wet grinding sound that made him grip the sink so hard his new nails left marks in the porcelain.
"Fuckāfuckā yesssss, ooooh what's happening to meā it feels so fucking good."
But his voice was wrong now. Completely wrong. High, breathy, with a bratty drawl that made every word sound like an eye-roll.
His hair. Oh god, his hair. It spilled down from his scalp in wavesāplatinum blonde, thick, glossy, cascading past his shoulders and down his back. He could feel the weight of it, the way it brushed against his skin, alive and growing.
(Stop. Please stop.)
Mmmh, no don't stop. Give me MORE. Fill me with pink. Make me into a fucking bitch.
The thought came from somewhere else. Somewhere new. A voice in his head that sounded like him but wasn'tāconfident, cruel, amused.
His chest swelled. Two mounds pushing outward, round and full, straining against a black crop top that materialised on his body out of nowhere. He could feel the fabricāsoft, tight, hugging curves that hadn't existed ten seconds ago. His breasts were big. Round. Perfect. The kind that made boys stupid. The kind that made you feel powerful.
"Ooooohā¦" The moan escaped before he could stop it. The sensation of her new nipples rubbing against the fabric sent electricity straight down between her legs, where the final change was already underway.
(I'm not a boy anymore... I'm a girl and it feels so good. Fuck yessss, I'm a SHE now and I like it. Mmmmh I can feel it, feel my pussy forming.)
Her boxers shiftedārewoveābecame a tiny thong. And between her legs, she felt herself inverting. Pulling inward. Remaking.
Pop.
She smirked, feeling complete. Feeling good. Her tight waxed pussy was already dripping and she loved it.
Joe was gone. It was like he never existed.
With a slutty purr the new woman he had become looked in the mirror and giggled.
The girl staring back was stunning.
High cheekbones. Small, pert nose. Full lipsānaturally pink, glossy, slightly parted. Big blue eyes framed by long lashes. Skin flawless, glowing, lightly tanned. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves around her face.
"Ooooh fuck yah, like look at how like pretty I am."
She was wearing a black crop top that hugged her massive round breasts, white ripped shorts that clung to an ass that was impossibly perky and round, and tiny gold jewelleryāa necklace, a bracelet, small hoop earrings.
She looked like the kind of girl who had never been told "no" in her entire life.
(I'mā¦ I'm a girl.)
You're a fucking goddess, babe.
The voice in her head was louder now. Stronger. It felt like her.
JoJo raised her phone. The screen glowed pink:
Protection active. Reality field ESTABLISHED.
Welcome, JoJo. You are: bully-proof.
She didn't understand the technology. She didn't need to. What she did understand was the mirror. And the mirror said she was hot. The mirror said she WAS the bully now. No one would dare touch a bitch like her. She felt fucking supreme. Full of slutty new thoughts and desires.
She snapped a selfie. Lips parted. Eyes half-lidded. That entitled little smirk. Click.
"Fuck yes, I'm like sooo hawt now."
She checked it. Flawless. She checked her followersāher Instagram was different now. Not @JoeBoring89 with forty-three followers and three posts. Now it was @xoJoJo_xo with 4,872 followers and a grid full of bikini pics, gym selfies, and club photos.
(This isn't real. This can't be real. I'm having the best dream ever. )
It's real, babe. Look around. Doesn't it feel good to be me and have everything you ever wanted?
She looked around. Her bathroom was different. The plain white towels were now fluffy and pink. Her mum's skincare products on the shelf were now hersāa whole row of them. Dior. Charlotte Tilbury. Drunk Elephant. Hundreds of pounds worth of product, just sitting there, like they'd always belonged to her.
Omg - I'm so spoiled and I love it.
She opened the bathroom cabinet. Tampons. Birth control pills. A pink razor. Hair ties. Lip glossāthree shades.
Yummy, three perfect colours for sucking dick.
Her room had changed too. She peeked outāno more band posters and dirty laundry. Now there was a vanity table with a ring light, a wardrobe full of clothes she'd never seen but somehow knew were hers, a bed with pink silk sheets, and a full-length mirror angled to catch the best light.
My boudoir - because I'm a Princess and I deserve it all.
Her phone buzzed. A text from someone called Tiffany:
bitchhhh where r u?? brad's party starts at 9 and u PROMISED we'd pregame at mine first š¤
JoJo stared at the message. Tiffany. She knew Tiffany. Best friend. Fellow mean girl. They'd been tight since year seven. The memories were there, layered over Joe's like a transparencyāfaint underneath, but JoJo's life on top, vivid and real.
Like, I even have hot friends. I'm literally perfect.
Brad's party. Brad Miller. The guy who shoved Joe into lockers. The bully she'd activated this app to protect herself from.
Her phone buzzed again. This time from Brad himself:
hey jojo u coming tonight?
Then, seconds later:
been thinking about u all week ngl
JoJo's lips curled into a smile. A cruel smile. The kind of smile that could end a boy's self-esteem with one glance.
(He bullied me. He made my life hell.)
And now he's begging for your attention. Isn't that funny? He is kind of like hot right? Mmmmmh all those muscles and that big dick...
She giggled and typed back:
maybe. if u behave š
She hit send. Then she laughedābright, bitchy, musical.
This was going to be fun...
___
Tiffany's bedroom. 8:47 PM.
Tiffany was a brunette in a tight pink dressāgym-toned, pretty, and almost as bitchy as JoJo. Almost. She handed JoJo a shot of vodka.
"Girl, you look insane tonight. That top? Obsessed."
JoJo downed the shot. "Obviously."
They pregamed for an hour. Shots. Mirror selfies. Gossiping about girls they didn't like. JoJo fell into it like she'd been born for itāwhich, in a way, she had. Every bitchy comment felt natural. Every eye-roll felt earned. The old Joe was still in there somewhereāfaint, muffled, like a TV playing in another roomābut JoJo didn't care. JoJo was alive.
(This isn't you. This isn'tā)
Shut up loser. This is exactly me. You fucking love how good this feels. Being a brat is like awesome. Give into it. Embrace it.
___
They arrived at Brad's at 9:30. The party was already loudāmusic pumping, red cups everywhere, people crammed into every room. Brad's house was big. Rich parents. The kind of house that made you feel small just walking in.
But JoJo didn't feel small. JoJo never felt small.
Brad spotted her from across the kitchen. His eyes went wideāthen darkened. Hungry. He excused himself from the group of boys he was with and walked over. He was tall. Muscular. His shirt was tight enough to show every line of his chest.
"JoJo. You came."
She giggled. "I told you I would. If you behaved..." She looked him up and down. "You behaving, baby?"
He leaned in. "Trying to. Though maybe you'd prefer me to be a bad boy?"
She could feel the heat coming off him. Could smell his cologne. And underneathāsomething else. Something musky and male that made her new body tingle in ways Joe's never had.
She tingled all over and felt her pussy start to get wet.
(No... what are you doing? He used to shove you into lockers. He used to call youā)
So what? Bullies are hot and we aren't a victim anymore. Mmmh, he's looking at my tits right now. Get a good look stud. Oooh who's in charge now Brad?
She was. She always was.
"Get me a drink," she said. Not a request. A command.
Brad obeyed.
___
The party was in full swing.
Two hours had passed. Three drinks. Dancing. Grinding. Brad's hands on her waist, her hips, her ass. She let him touch herāon her terms. She controlled every second. When he got too handsy, she pushed him back. When he pulled away, she pulled him close. She was playing him like an instrument, and he was begging for it.
But she was so fucking horny too. She wanted it bad.
"Let's go upstairs," he murmured against her neck.
Fuck yes. I need to get fucked by him so bad.
She pretended to consider it. Took her time. Sipped her drink. Made him wait.
Oooh I can't take it anymore. I need that cock.
"Fine. But I'm in charge."
He grinned. "Obviously."
They stumbled upstairs, his hands already on her ass and squeezing.
___
Brad's bedroom. Door locked. Music muffled through the walls.
Mmmmh it smells of bully in here.
He pulled her in and kissed herāhard, desperate, hungry. She kissed back, biting his lip until he groaned. Her fingers found his belt. His found the hem of her crop top.
Fuck yes, take me. Take your prize.
The top came off. Her breastsāhuge, round, perfectābounced free. Brad stared like he'd found religion.
"Fuckā¦ you're soā"
So big? My titties are amazing aren't they you horny boy.
"I know." She unzipped his jeans. Reached in.
Oh.
(Oh my god yes. A big cock for my big titties.)
He was huge. Thick, long, veinedāthe kind of cock that made her new pussy clench just looking at it. Her small hand could barely wrap around it.
Mmmh yummy. Big bully dick is my favourite dick.
She stroked him slowly, feeling him pulse in her hand. Power. Pure power. The biggest bully in school, reduced to putty because she was pretty and he was weak.
"Suck it," he breathed.
She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
Beg for it you bastard. This cock is mine now.
"Pleaseāplease suck it."
She felt her pussy clench with pleasure.
"Mmmmh much better."
She dropped to her knees. Took him in her mouth. The tasteāmusky, salty, maleāflooded her senses. She swirled her tongue, took him deeper, gagged slightly, then recovered and kept going. She could feel him shaking. Could feel his hand on the back of her head, trembling.
You used to shove me into lockers.
And now you're shaking because of my mouth. Because I can suck cock better than any girl you know.
She pulled off with a pop. Looked up at him. Lip gloss smeared. Eyes watering. Smirking.
Fuck I need this inside me.
"Bed. Now. On your back."
He obeyed.
She straddled him. Positioned herself. Teased him a little, then sank down.
Ohhhhh fuckkkkkk it's so big.
"Fuckā fuck yesā" she groaned.
He was so deep. Stretching her in ways she didn't know were possible. The fullness was overwhelmingāintense, almost painful, but good. So good her eyes rolled back.
Oh god, right thereā oh fuck I'm going to cum on my bullies big dick. I'm giving him validation, showing him it's okay to be a bully. Showing him he gets hot girls if he acts like a jerk. I shouldn't do this... I shouldnt encourage this toxic behaviour.
The thought dissolved. She didn't care. She was JoJo nowāentitled, bratty, addicted to this. She rode him slow at first, then faster, grinding her hips in circles, using him for her pleasure. His hands gripped her waist, guiding her, but she set the pace. Always her pace.
"You like that, you little slut?" Brad groaned.
"Obviously," she moaned, pushing her ass down harder. "Harder, dumbass."
He flipped her over. She yelpedāthen laughed. Face-down on his pillow, ass in the air, completely exposed. He grabbed her hips and slammed back in.
Ohhhh fuckkkk he's hitting my cervix!
"YESāfuckā"
The headboard cracked against the wall. She could hear the party still going on downstairs. Could hear people laughing, music thumping. And here she wasāgetting railed by the biggest cock she'd ever seen, screaming into a pillow, and loving every second.
Every thrust erased another piece of Joe. His memories. His fears. His weakness. The boy who got shoved into lockers was gone. There was only JoJo now. Bratty. Beautiful. Powerful. Full.
Yessss fuck me into a bitch. Make me into a slut. Make me into a female bully. I love how this feels.
"I'm gonnaā" Brad grunted.
"No! Not yet," she commanded as she gasped in pleasure. "Make me cum first. Make this tight pussy pop."
I'm so fucking close.
He slowed down, he obeyed. He always obeyed and it made her so wet.
Boys are so easy to control. But they definitely have their uses. Oooh fuck I need to cum so badly.
She reached down, rubbed her clit in tight circles, felt the pressure buildingābuildingā
Yessss. My pussy is gonna explode. I'm so hot, I'm so perfect. I love it. Ohhh fuck I'm gonna... gonna...
"OH FUCKā"
Her orgasm hit like a wave. Her whole body clenched. She screamed into the pillow, legs shaking, pussy gripping him so tight he groaned in pain. Seconds later, he pulled out and finished on her backāhot, thick ropes across her lower back.
She collapsed. Breathing hard. Smiling.
Mmmmh next time I want it on my face or even better, deep inside me. After all that's what birth control is for...
She felt his cum on her skin and smiled wider. Maybe he would be up for round two?
Her phone sat on the nightstand. Screen glowing faintly in the dark room. She didn't see it.
BratBlock: ACTIVE Reality field: STABLE WARNING: Battery: 1%
A notification popped up:
ā ļø LOW BATTERY ā BratBlock will deactivate when battery reaches 0%. Reality field will collapse. User will revert to previous profile: JOE.
The screen dimmed. The battery icon blinked.
1%...
Then 1% again.
JoJo didn't see it. She was on her back now, legs wrapped around Brad's waist, pulling him back inside her. He was hard againāshe'd made sure of that.
"This time cum inside my pussy. I want to feel your load dripping out of me."
"Fuck yes baby, anything you want."
"Mmmmh more, harder, deeper" she demanded as he began to pound her with wet slaps. "And don't you dare stop."
I never want this to end.
Brad kissed her neck. Thrusted deeper.
On the night stand the phone switched off.
JoJo and Brad were about to get one hell of a surprise...
The pounding in your skull was the first thing you noticed. The second was the memory ā hazy, fractured ā of last night's party. That weird "Role With It" game some girl had brought round. You'd refused to play. Seemed stupid. Seemed childish.
Your three mates ā Jake, Danny, and Tom ā hadn't been so smart.
You remembered them laughing, pulling on bikinis that belonged to your little sister's best friends. Tiff, Britney, and Amber ā three bratty blonde nightmares who'd been terrorising the neighbourhood since they turned eighteen. The lads had thought it was hilarious. Strutting round in pink and purple and blue, doing impressions, acting like total bitches.
Role With It. The game where you become what you pretend to be.
You should have stopped them.
---
The door swung open and your hangover turned to ice.
Three girls. Three blonde, bikini-clad, smirking girls. Tiff's bright pink top. Britney's lilac set. Amber's baby blue. All perfect tits, flat stomachs, long golden hair ā filling doorways they had no right to be in because they weren't them anymore.
"Were you looking for someone?" the one in pink purred.
You stared. That voice. That attitude.
"...Jake?"
She burst out laughing ā that sharp, mean giggle you'd heard a thousand times from your sister's worst friend. "Mmmmmhā¦ Jake. Haven't heard that name in a while." She leaned against the doorframe, tits pushed forward. "It's Tiff now, babe. Have been since about 2am."
The one in lilac ā Britney ā stepped forward. You recognised Danny's freckles on a face that was no longer his. No longer male. "Oh my God, he actually came round. Look at his face!" She put her hand to her mouth, giggling. "Did you think you could, likeā¦ save us?"
"Too late," the blue one said. Tom's green eyes in Amber's tanned face. She popped her gum. "Game's still going. We're still playing." She turned to the others. "Aren't we, girls?"
"Oh fuck yes," Tiff breathed.
They moved closer. Three warm bodies in bikinis, surrounding you on the doorstep. You could smell coconut oil and perfume and something else ā something that made your cock twitch against your will.
(Don't get hard. Don't you dare get hardā)
"Remember when we used to play FIFA?" Tiff whispered, pressing her pink top against your arm. "Now we play this." She ran her fingers down your chest. "Way more fun."
Britney slid up on your other side. "We've been practising all morning. Walking in heels. Doing makeup. Flirting with boys on Insta." She bit her lip. "We're, like, really good at it now."
"We're perfect," Amber corrected. She was right ā they were. Three flawless mean girls who'd stolen your friends' lives and were wearing them like designer clothes.
"You should've played," Tiff said, tracing your jawline. "Could've been my sister or something. Been our little pet." She giggled. "Now you're justā¦ nobody."
"Nobody with a boner," Britney added, glancing down.
Your face burned. They all glanced down. Three identical cruel laughs.
"Run home, loser," Amber said, pushing you backwards off the step. "We've got a pool party to get ready for. Real men coming round."
"Much hotter than you," Tiff added.
"Much bigger," Britney whispered.
The door slammed. You stood on the pavement, hard and empty, listening to their laughter fade inside.
Three of your best friends were gone.
Three mean girls had taken their place.
And somewhere in your hungover, aching head, a small voice whispered: ā¦should have played.
"I just want a girl who's a total baddie, bro. Like ā blonde, stacked, wears those little cropped hoodies. A girl who tells me what to do but thenā¦" You'd make that obscene gesture with your hand, miming something your dorky roommate Mitchell did not need to see.
Mitchell ā glasses, brown hair, built like a lamppost ā would just stare at you from his desk, jaw tight, patience eroding like a cliff face.
"And she'd be, like, a bit stuck up? Bossy? The kind of girl who makes you fetch her stuff but then sucks your cock so good you see Godā"
"Bro. Bro. I get it."
But he didn't just get it. He got fed up.
---
The hoody arrived in a package with no return address. Light blue, cropped, with GODDESS stencilled across the chest in hot pink. Mitchell pulled it from the wrapping with trembling fingers.
"A girl in my Lit class ā she doesā¦ stuff. Wiccan stuff." He held it up. "She said this'll turn whoever wears it into exactly the kind of girl you won't shut up about."
You laughed. "Mate, you're not seriouslyā"
"I'm dead serious." His jaw set. "You want a bossy blonde baddie who gets everything she wants? Sounds pretty fucking hot from the other side, honestly. So I'm going to become her."
He pulled the hoody over his head.
---
Ooooohā¦
The fabric slid down his torso and clung ā not like cotton but like something alive, something hungry. Mitchell gasped, and the gasp pitched upward, softening into a breathy moan.
"Mmmmmhā fuckā"
His shoulders cracked inward ā pop, pop ā narrow and delicate. His spine curved with a wet shhhhlick, hips flaring outward with a sound like knuckles cracking, pelvis widening into something made for low-rise shorts and thirsty DMs.
"Oh Godā oh fuck myā ahhhā"
Brown hair lightened at the roots, bleaching platinum in streaks, then pouring down past his ā her ā shoulders like liquid gold. The glasses dissolved. The face beneath softened, sharpened, restructured ā cheekbones rising, lips plumping, jawline refining into something that belonged on an Instagram explore page.
(This isā¦ oh fuck this is actuallyā¦ I'm getting so hotā¦)
His chest swelled ā two mounds pushing outward against the GODDESS lettering, round and firm and perfect, stretching the fabric taut. His stomach flattened. His ass inflated with a obscene pop that made you flinch. Legs slimmed. Feet shrank.
And then the light blue shorts materialised ā pink, tiny, riding high on thick hips.
Mitchell was gone.
In his place stood a girl ā maybe 20 ā with a slim build, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, and a face that radiated the specific cruelty of someone who'd never been told no. She looked at you with playful, confident eyes and smirked.
Reality shuddered. You felt it ā a ripple through the room, through your memories ā and suddenly she wasn't your roommate anymore. She was Tiff. Your girlfriend. Six months. The girl who texted you demands at 2am and rewarded compliance with her mouth.
---
"Baby." Her voice was honey and vinegar. She flopped onto your bed, legs crossed, scrolling her phone. "I'm starving. Make me a sandwich. Turkey, extra mayo, cut diagonal ā you know how I like it."
You blinked. "Tiff, Iā"
"Now." She didn't look up. "And my psych essay's due tomorrow. You're doing the first three paragraphs."
"Tiffā"
She finally looked up. Those eyes ā blue, sharp, dangerous ā pinned you like a butterfly to a board. "You want me happy, right?" She bit her lower lip. Tilted her head. "Keep me happy andā¦" Her tongue traced her upper lip, slow and deliberate. "I'll keep you happy."
(God, he's already folding. This is going to be so easy.)
Your mouth went dry. Your cock twitched.
You made the sandwich.
---
Three hours later. Homework done. Sandwich made. Her laundry sorted. Her water bottle refilled twice because the first one was room temperature and she doesn't drink room temperature, obviously.
Tiff pushed you onto the bed.
"Good boy," she whispered.
She kissed down your stomach ā slow, deliberate, each press of her lips a reward ā and when she finally wrapped those plump lips around your cock, the sound she made was pornographic.
"Mmmmmhā¦"
You understood everything. Every bitchy demand, every eye-roll, every "fetch me this" ā it was all foreplay. She was training you. And the payoff?
Ooooohā¦ fuckā¦
Her mouth was hot, wet, relentless ā tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing, blonde hair spilling over your thighs. She looked up at you with those cruel blue eyes and you saw it: she owned you. Completely.
You came so hard you forgot your own name.
She swallowed, wiped her lip, and smirked.
"Same deal tomorrow, babe. My laundry won't fold itself."
Oh, you idiot. You beautiful, desperate, horny little idiot.
You had a crush on Amy. Sweet, average, just-pink-enough Amy next door. You thoughtā I'll just borrow her life for eight hours. See what it's like. Be her. Simple. Clean. A little pervy but harmless.
So you swallowed the pill. Dupli-8. Eight hours as Amy. Her memories, her personality, her body.
Except you didn't read the label properly, did you?
Dupli-8+.
The plus version, sweetie. Everything doubled. Everything strengthened. Every trait amplified and cranked until the dial snapped off.
Mmmmmhā¦ you felt it the moment it hit. That warm, pink rush flooding your veins like liquid candy. Your body popping and stretching ā tits swelling round and heavy, straining against nothing because your old clothes were already dissolving into nothing. Your ass inflating, fat and perky. Your lips plumping up, cock-sucking thick, glossed pink without you even reaching for a tube.
And your brain?
Ooooohā¦ that's the best part.
Amy's mild girlishness? Doubled. Now it's Barbie-core obsession. Pink everything. Sparkles. Glitter. Fuck-me heels and bubblegum lip gloss and tiny dresses that barely cover anything.
Amy's healthy sex drive? Doubled. Now it's a relentless, throbbing, dripping need that sits between your legs like a furnace you can't shut off.
Amy's mild interest in boys? Doubled into a full-blown obsession with hot guys and big, thick..
Fuck. You can't even finish a thought without your hand drifting down.
You stumble to the mirror and see Aimee staring back. Bigger tits than Amy. Rounder ass. Plumper lips. Dumber eyes ā glassy and hungry and permanently half-lidded. A walking, moaning Barbie doll.
Oh godā¦ I'm soā¦ wet.
You found the swimsuit somehow. Pink. One piece. "BARBIE" across the chest in that ridiculous font. It fits like it was made for you ā because it was, wasn't it? The new you needed it. Needed the pink. Needed to feel that fabric stretched across your huge new tits.
You sat on the white fur and the neon sign buzzed Barbie behind you and you stuck your tongue out for the camera without even thinking about itā
Because Aimee doesn't think. Aimee poses. Aimee flirts. Aimee goes dumb and pretty and waits for someone to come play with her.
And here you are. Gooning. Touching yourself through the swimsuit, hips twitching, mouth open, brain melting into pink cotton candy.
You wanted to know how it felt to be Amy?
You got something better, sweetie.
Now stop touching yourself for five seconds and go find someone to play with. You've got seven hours and twelve minutes of being a cock-dumb bimbo left.
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
The summer sun beat down on Mrs. Clarkās backyard, a relentless golden haze pulling me deeper into the humid embrace of July. Barbecue smoke curled lazily towards the sky, carrying the tantalizing scent of grilled meat and charcoal. Normally, I didnāt mind these gatherings ā the casual chatter, the clinking of glasses, the easy laughter. Without fail, my kindly, older neighbor Mrs. Clark always invited me to her summer neighborhood get-togethers, even though I actually live on the next street over.
Iād often pass her on my morning walks, and sheād comment on how solemn my expression was. āSkylar, you look like youāre carrying the weight of the world on those shoulders sometimes. Life's too short not to enjoy the sunshine and have a bit more fun!" I canāt help it if I have a naturally serious face! Some people would say I have a āresting bitch faceā but thatās just not fair! Sure, I have been known to not take a joke well. And itās true I have a hard time feeling at ease in social settings. But Iām not a bitch!
Regardless, well-meaning Mrs. Clark often suggested how I should make time to have more fun and get to know more neighbors, and Iām sure her barbecue invitations are part of her less-than-subtle efforts to āimproveā my life, but I always accepted, mostly just to appease her. As I said I didnāt mind these gatherings, at least not usually. But today, a sour knot had formed in my stomach, tightening with every passing minute.
It all started, as so many woes do, with a man. Or rather, the stupid drivel that comes out of menās mouths. Ugh, men. Gary, one of the younger guys from the neighborhood (a stunted manchild who for some reason had actually tried asking me out on multiple occasions), had just sauntered back from the grill, a plate piled high with glistening hot dogs and burgers, and pointed his spatula at something completely crass and truly unnecessary.
āLook at these wieners!ā heād bellowed, a stupid grin on his face. āRemind anyone else ofā¦ well, you know?ā He punctuated it with a lewd wink, nudging his buddy Dave, who promptly snorted with laughter.
My cheeks flushed scarlet. I knew exactly what he was insinuating. How could I not? He wasnāt exactly being subtle. I doubted the word subtle was even in his vocabulary. Based on my neighborly observations, he was apparently the kind of guy who partied every weekend and dated some new hapless airhead every week. You can see why I always rebuffed Garyās interests; I donāt care how many muscles he has, heās really, really not my type.
My plate felt suddenly heavy in my lap, feeling like a lead weight instead of a flimsy paper plate. I set the plate down on the table, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. My hot dog, nestled in its bun, had looked innocent enough a moment ago. Nowā¦ now it just lookedā¦ phallic. Disgust welled up within me, canceling out my previous appetite. How could I possibly eat this? How could I possibly put thatā¦ shapeā¦ into my mouth, knowing what Gary had said? Knowing what he was probably thinking, what all of them, all the men in this yard, were probably thinking? That I was justā¦ sticking a penis in my mouth. My cheeks burned. The sound of laughter, a few more chuckles that followed Garyās idiotic pronouncement, echoed in my ears.
I clutched my glass of iced tea, the condensation chilling my palm. I stared at the untouched hot dog. It lookedā¦ obscene. I could feel the invisible eyes of the men around me, imagining them picturing me putting that in my mouth. My stomach churned, the knot tightened, and suddenly, the delicious aroma of the barbecue turned into something vaguely nauseating. I poked at the pile of potato salad on my plate with my plastic fork, the white, creamy texture suddenly equally unappealing.
āHonestly,ā I muttered under my breath, my voice tight with indignation. āSome people have no class.ā
I took a long, slow sip of my iced tea, the cold liquid doing little to douse the fire of my annoyance. Mrs. Clark came around, offering everyone another helping of potato salad, which I politely declined. I wasn't hungry anymore. Or rather, I was, but my hunger was currently locked in a battle with my disgust.
My eyes narrowed, still fixed on the hot dog. It lay there, unapologetic in its suggestive shape. Itās just a hot dog, Skylar, I tried to reason with myself. Just a piece of meat. Youāre being ridiculous. But the thought of biting into it, of wrapping my lips around thatā¦ thingā¦ made my skin crawl. What would it look like? How would it feel? The whole thing now felt soā¦ crude.
Minutes stretched, each one feeling like an eternity of self-conscious observation. My stomach rumbled, a traitorous growl that reminded me I hadn't eaten since a meager breakfast. And to think, Iād actually been saving my appetite for the barbecue. I tried once more to shake out of my discomfort, steeling my resolve and my pride. I was not going to give Gary, or any guy, the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. I was not going to let a silly, crass joke ruin my appetite.
With a defiant huff, I picked up the hot dog, my fingers gingerly wrapping around the bun. I brought it slowly towards my face, my gaze still fixed warily on it, as if it was going to somehow transform into something more explicit. My lips, usually a demure and unadorned line, parted slightly. I could practically hear Garyās snickers in my head. Let them think what they want, I decided, a new wave of stubbornness washing over me. Iām hungry.
Just as my lips brushed the tip of the sausage, a strange warmth bloomed on my face, a tingling sensation that intensified rapidly. It wasn't unpleasant, not exactly. More likeā¦ a sudden flush, a surge of pressure. But then it became more. My lips, the very ones hovering over the hot dog, began to throb, to plump, to swell with an almost alarming speed. It felt like they were being inflated from the inside, growing fuller, rounder, until they felt impossibly luscious, like two fat, juicy cushions. They were no longer just my lips; they were, unmistakably, a perfect pout, practically begging to wrap around something. True cocksuckers, a strange, crude thought echoed in my mind, not my own, yet undeniably there, humming just beneath the surface of my consciousness. In my shock, I set the hot dog back down on my plate, and gently probed my lips with my fingers. For the first time ever, my lips feltā¦ sensual.
My eyes widened, the bizarre reality reflecting in the polished surface of my phone screen, which had suddenly appeared, clutched in my hand. It wasnāt just my lips. My hair! A gasp caught in my throat, swallowed by the bizarre sensation spreading through my scalp. My hair, always rather sensible, shoulder-length brown, suddenly felt like it was being pulled taut, stretched, and straightened by an invisible force. It elongated in a rush, pouring down my back in a shimmering cascade. A quick glance down confirmed it wasn't just longer; it was a dazzling, hyper-straightened platinum blonde, gleaming like spun moonlight. It felt impossibly light, yet voluminous. Platinum. I was a platinum blonde. When had I even considered that? Never. I was more of a mousy brown. Wasnāt I? A flicker of confusion, quickly snuffed out by a dazzling new thought: Obvi, like, Iāve always been blonde. Duh.
I was soon distracted from my intrusive thoughts when my chest suddenly tightened, a strange pressure building around my ribs. It wasn't painful, but a rapid expansion, as if two balloons were being quickly inflated beneath my skin. My modest B-cups surged forward, swelling, hardening, becoming a pair of undeniably, spectacularly fake breasts. They felt firm, high, and practically buoyant, straining against the fabric of my demure floral sundress. My breath hitched. It was impossible to miss them, especially for me. They were there, front and center, demanding attention, completely blocking my view of my own lap. Totally, babe, theyāre just, like, super perky! Another thought, conflicting with my own identity, yet simultaneously true in this new, warped reality.
A strange, delicious heat spread through my core. The sensation rushed downwards, a wave of intense reshaping. My hips flared, widening with a smooth, almost liquid motion, while my butt seemed to round out behind me, becoming unbelievably pert and full. My waist, in contrast, cinched inwards, tightening, creating an hourglass figure so dramatic it felt like I was wearing a corset, though I certainly wasn't. My body was suddenly all curves, all woman, a caricature of feminine perfection.
The fabric of my floral sundress, which had been loosely comfortable moments ago, now felt like a second skin. It stretched, tightened, and somehow, miraculously, transformed. The floral print faded, replaced by a slinky, stretchy material that clung to every newly defined curve. The neckline plunged, revealing a generous expanse of my new cleavage. The hemline rose, showcasing long, shapely legs I hadnāt known I possessed. It was scandalous, sexy, and utterly unlike anything I would ever wear. Yet, it feltā¦ right. Comfortable, even. Killing. It.
My pale, sun-averse skin tingled, then deepened, absorbing the light around me. In a matter of seconds, I was no longer a pasty wallflower, prone to freckles and sunburn, but a bronze goddess, kissed by a thousand summer suns. I looked as if Iād spent weeks basking on a Mediterranean beach, rather than thirty minutes in Mrs. Clarkās backyard. My nails, which last I checked had been clipped short and unadorned, suddenly sprouted long, perfectly sculpted extensions, painted a vibrant, glossy red. They flashed like dangerous jewels. When had that happened? I wore clear polish, mostly. Or nothing. But theseā¦ they felt so natural. So me. Red is definitely my color.
Then came the makeup. A tingling around my eyes, a subtle shimmer across my cheeks. My new, full lips were instantly adorned with a bright, lacquered red lipstick that somehow didn't smudge. A thick, matte foundation smoothed over my skin, erasing every imperfection. And then, as my eyelids fluttered, a heavy fringe of enormous false eyelashes fanned out, catching the light, batting adorably with every blink. My eyes, once unremarkable, now seemed to sparkle, framed by these dramatic new additions. My reflection in the phone screen looked likeā¦ a stranger. A bombshell. A bimbo, the intrusive voice helpfully supplied.
Whoa, is that, like, me? Totally a glow-up! The voice in my head was no longer completely unfamiliar. When I focused, which was getting harder to do, I could hear traces of what was definitely my voice. But it was also different. Higher pitched. Breathier. Infused with a sort of vacuous, bubbly energy.
The whirlwind of physical changes was complete. But then, a deeper shift began. It started subtly, a slight fuzziness around the edges of my thoughts, like a radio station losing its signal. Concepts Iād once held dear, like the importance of intellect or propriety, began to blur, becoming less significant. I felt my sense of self shift, becoming les and less serious, and more and more, wellā¦ fun. A profound lightness filled my mind, as if several pounds of textbooks had been lifted from my brain.
Then, the memories. They didnāt vanish, not entirely, but they distorted, reshaping themselves to fit my new reality. The strait-laced, self-conscious Skylar who had worried about hot dogs looking like penises? She was a total stranger. My memories feltā¦ fluid. Like warm taffy, easily reshaped. Was my skin ever pale? No, I literally can't picture myself without my tan. Soo weird to even think about. Was my hair ever short and brown? Ew, no! Being blonde is, like, my natural state! Was I everā¦ prudish? The word itself felt alien, like a relic from a forgotten language. I genuinely can't remember being all, 'Oh, no, that's scandalous!' My brain probably just, like, deleted those files. Gross.
My mind felt lighter. Less burdened byā¦ by all those thoughts. All that overthinking. Why would anyone think so much? It seemed exhausting. I vaguely recalled feeling something about a hot dog joke a moment ago, but it wasn't insult or embarrassment. It wasā¦ amusement? A hint of sexiness? My past self, the one who found Gary crass, had morphed into a woman who would have totally high-fived him for the joke, or better yet, come up with a dirtier one herself.
My sense of humor, once dry and perhaps a little too intellectual, now sparkled with a brazen, almost gleeful vulgarity. The thought of eating the hot dog didnāt fill me with dread; it filled me with a naughty thrill. I found myself giggling, a bubbly, slightly nasal sound that was entirely new. Oh my god, like, this totally looks like Iām giving a blowjob, doesnāt it? The thought popped into my head, fully formed, effortlessly hilarious. I wanted to blurt it out, to share the joke, but I paused, distracted by the sheer deliciousness of the moment.
I realized my voice, when I next spoke would totally match the inner voice in my head; higher, breathier, with a distinct, almost exaggerated, valley girl lilt. Slang bloomed on my tongue and in my mind like exotic flowers ā "like," "totally," "OMG," "duh." My entire outlook had flipped, from prim and proper to, like, totally ready for anything.
I lifted the hot dog again, my new, luscious lips parting with an instinctive, practiced ease. They felt meant for this. I took a slow, deliberate bite, the casing giving a satisfying pop as my perfectly white teeth broke through. A droplet of mustard fell landing squarely on the valley of cleavage between my new, impossibly perfect breasts, bright yellow against the tan of my skin. My eyes drifted down, a playful smirk curving my lips. "Oopsie!" I purred. I stroked a long, red-tipped finger, slowly, deliberately, tracing the line of mustard, scooping it up, then sensuously licking the mustard off my finger, my tongue lingering playfully for a moment, feeling the warm, soft skin, and my sharp, smooth nail. It feltā¦ decadent.
I continued to eat my hot dog, each bite a slow, sensual experience, practically a show for anyone that cared to look. My mind buzzed with dirty jokes, each one funnier and more outrageous than the last. I giggled to myself, a soft, purring sound. This was so much better than being uptight. Why had I wasted so much time being soā¦ boring?
My hand reached for my drink. The iced tea, that symbol of my former modesty, was gone. In its place sat a frosty, amber bottle of beer, condensation beading on its sides. "Oh, hello there, gorgeous," I purred, lifting it. I chugged it down, the cool, slightly bitter liquid sliding easily down my throat, feeling incredibly refreshing. A little burp escaped, ladylike but unashamed, and I felt a spark of pure, unadulterated joy.
Finished with my hot dog and my beer, and feeling utterly fantastic, I lazily tossed my plate back on the table and stretched languidly, my new curves arching elegantly. My eyes scanned the backyard, landing on the grill, where Gary ā Heās so funny! And hawt! Like, why havenāt I gone out with him yet? ā was flipping more burgers, his back to me. An echo of a feeling of distaste, or dislike, or whatever crossed my mind, but that couldn't be right; I love guys like Gary. With his, like, hot body, and hi-larious sense of humor, he's the total package, like, for real. A mischievous glint entered my eyes.
"Time for another wiener, I think," I murmured, a slow smile spreading across my newly plumped lips. I flounced over to the grill, a movement I hadn't even known I was capable of, my new hips swaying with a captivating rhythm, my new tits bouncing with every step. The skimpy outfit moved with me, clinging to every curve, flashing skin, riding up just enough to hint at the perfect curve of my butt.
"Heyyy, grill master!" I cooed, my voice dripping with honey and a hint of playful mischief. Gary turned, his eyes widening as they swept over me. His jaw practically hit the ground.
"Skylar? Is thatā¦ you?" he stammered, his voice laced with disbelief and something else. Hunger.
I laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. "Like, who else would it be, silly?" I batted my huge false eyelashes. "So, listen, I just finished my first hot dog," I said, leaning in, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "and it was so good. Like, really good. Made me wanna eat another one." I gave him my most alluring pout, my new lips practically begging. āSooo, got another wiener for me?" I winked, letting the innuendo hang heavy in the air.
Gary swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on my lips, then my chest, then my waist. He couldnāt seem to decide where to look. "Uhā¦ yeah. Yeah, I can definitely get you another wiener." He fumbled for a bun, accidentally dropping it, his movements jerky and distracted.
He handed me the second hot dog, perfectly grilled, nestled in a fresh bun. As my fingers brushed his, a new, intense sensation shot through me. It wasnāt just physical attraction; it was an undeniable, urge. My whole body throbbed as if a liquid heat coursed through me, a sudden, overwhelming desire to be touched, to be taken, to be consumed. The hot dog was a fun symbol, yes, but what I really wanted was the source of the joke; the real thing.
"OMG, this looks delicious," I purred, but my eyes weren't on the hot dog. They were on Gary, or more specifically the subtle bulge in his jeans, the way his muscular chest rose and fell with each breath. All the repressed desires of my former life had exploded, coalescing into a single, ravenous need.
"You know what?" I said, setting the plate with the waiting hot dog onto a nearby table. "I actually just realizedā¦ I'm, like, totally not hungry for this right now." I gestured vaguely at the plate. "I'm hungry forā¦ something else." My eyes locked onto his, a challenge and an invitation swirling in their depths. āSomething hotter. Something hopefullyā¦ bigger."
His eyes widened, understanding dawning in their depths. "Oh?" he managed, his voice hoarse.
I stepped closer, practically pressing my new breasts against his torso. "Yeah. So, like, I think we should totes go find the bathroom, or a quiet bedroom, or something? 'Cause I have a feeling we need to, like, totally go explore the house right now. You and me.ā I took his hand, my bright red nails digging playfully into his palm. "And don't worry about manning the barbecue. Mrs. Clark already thinks I'm, like, totally cray, so you can just tell her itās, like, literally my fault.ā
Without waiting for a response, I tugged him along with me as I strutted towards the house. He followed, a dazed, delighted expression on his face, as I led him away from the bustling backyard and into the quieter, cooler interior of the house. We slipped into a dim, unused side room, probably a study or a guest bedroom, its curtains drawn against the harsh afternoon sun. The air was thick with the scent of old books and dust, a stark contrast to the lively barbecue outside.
I spun around, pressing him against the closed door, my hands sliding up his chest. "Okay, so, like, about that sausage," I whispered, my voice thick with desire. My new lips brushed against his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "I've heard yours is, like, totally legendary."
His breath caught. "Youā¦ you want toā¦?"
"Duh!" I giggled, my hands already fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "Are you gonna make me beg? 'Cause I totally will, you know. If you, like, want me to.ā My new persona, uninhibited and direct, reveled in the power of the moment. I tugged his shirt open, revealing his chest, taut and warm beneath my fingertips.
"Let's just say," I murmured, my voice a sultry whisper, "this outfit is, like, way too much fabric for how I'm feeling right now." With a swift, practiced movement, I stood on tiptoes and peeled my skimpy dress over my head, letting it fall in a silken pool at my feet. I stood before him, the new queen of curves, my bronze skin gleaming, my ridiculously fake breasts practically thrusting forward, my ample chest, tiny waist and impossibly round hips showcased by the coral bra and matching thong underwear that had magically appeared beneath the dress.
His eyes devoured me, a low groan escaping his throat. "Wow," he breathed. "Justā¦ wow."
"You like what you see, stud?ā I challenged, a playful smirk on my lips. My hands reached for his belt. "Good. 'Cause I'm, like, totally ready to have some fun with yourā¦ wiener. And, I promise, Iām totally good with a wiener."
The room was bathed in dim, filtered light. His hands, trembling slightly, reached for my waist, pulling me flush against him. His lips found mine, my impossibly plump, red-lipsticked lips, and he kissed me with a hunger that matched my own. It was a raw, bruising kiss, full of pent-up desire. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as my hips instinctively began to grind against his, feeling the promising rigidity beneath his jeans.
He broke the kiss, his eyes blazing. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this, Sky."
"Oh, like, I totally do now," I purred, my fingers unzipping his pants. "And trust me, the wait is so over." I reached in, my fingers closing around him, hot and hard. A low moan escaped my lips. "Mmm, this is, like, way better than a hot dog."
I guided him to the dusty armchair in the corner of the room, pushing him down gently. He sat there, his eyes fixed on me, as I knelt, my platinum blonde hair spilling around my shoulders like a silken curtain. My absurdly full lips, made for this very purpose, opened just a fraction of an inch, revealing the tip of my tongue. I took him in, slowly, completely, the sudden warmth and fullness astonishing me. It was, like, everything I never knew I wanted. For some reason, it felt for a moment like this was my first time doing this, even though I knew deep down I mustāve done this, like, a gazillion times before.
My eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping as I felt him fill my mouth, all the way back to my throat. My newly acquired instincts took over, guiding my head, my tongue, my ridiculously perfect lips wrapped around him. I worked him slowly, deliberately, savoring the taste, the texture, the deep, carnal pleasure that surged through me. My hands gripped his thighs, my nails digging in slightly, as I bobbed my head, a rhythmic, sensual motion. The world outside, the barbecue, the guests, all faded away from my awareness, replaced by the intense focus on this one, singular sensation.
He groaned, his fingers tangling in my hair, tugging gently. "Oh, my god, Sky," he gasped, his voice thick with pleasure. "You're incredible."
I pulled back just enough to look at him, my eyes sparkling with a combination of triumph and pure carnal glee. "Like, I told you," I whispered, my voice husky, "I'm totally good with a wiener." And then I took him in again, deeper this time, letting my true cocksuckers indulge in their newfound talents, as the sounds of the summer barbecue faded into the background, replaced by the blissful sounds of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Your hot young bossy teacher is definitely a softdom. She has all the boys in your algebra class eating out of her manicured hands and all the dads wrapped round her little finger.
Wouldn't it feel good to become her. To have that power and feel that confidence?
You want to be her so badly don't you loser?
Maybe you should sit in her chair and see what happens?
