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A Sequel to the tale on Beautification Tales
The first thing Dan noticed when he walked into the dimly lit bedroom was the way Wilma's fingernails dug into Jake's shoulders—not his. That detail stuck like a splinter under his skin. His own hands were damp around the half-empty beer bottle he'd been clutching for twenty minutes now, sweating more than Jake ever could, even with Wilma grinding down on him like that.
“Pp please Wilma. Just let me go. I can’t take this treatment any longer.” Dan’s voice cracked as he stared at the ceiling—anywhere but at the bed—where Jake’s heavy breaths filled the room like a metronome keeping time with Dan’s humiliation.
Wilma threw her head back and laughed, the sound sharp as shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, rolling her hips deeper into Jake’s lap without breaking eye contact with Dan. “You *deserve* this. All of it.” Her grin widened as she traced Jake’s collarbone with her tongue. “Remember when you took 3 years of my life? Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
“It’s because you were an insufferable bitch! I had to stop your bullying somehow!”
Wilma arched her back as Jake’s hands slid up her thighs, her laughter dissolving into breathless moans. “God, that’s rich—coming from the guy who used to cry when I called him *calculator breath*.” Her hips stuttered as Jake hit the angle she liked, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “Oh fuck—right there—see, Dan? *This* is what a real man feels like.” Her head lolled toward him, lips curled in a smirk. “And you’re still here. Still watching. Pathetic.”
Dan looked down at his own erection. She was right—he was pathetic. His cock strained against his jeans, betraying him, while Jake buried himself deeper inside Wilma without hesitation. That’s when it hit him: Jake didn’t overthink angles or permission. Jake just *took*. The realization burned hotter than shame—this wasn’t about revenge anymore. This was about evolution.
The next morning, hunched over his lab bench with bloodshot eyes, Dan twisted the cap off his asthma inhaler. His fingers trembled around the modified cartridge—a cocktail of synthetic testosterone, adrenal stimulants, and something darker he’d stolen from the university’s restricted storage. The math was flawless: 12 hours from first dose, his muscles would swell with unearned strength.
Wilma strutted into the apartment hours later, reeking of Jake’s cologne and strawberry vape juice. Dan’s grip tightened around the inhaler hidden in his pocket as she tossed her purse onto the couch without glancing at him. “You’re still here?” she yawned, stretching her arms overhead—a careless display of the bruises Jake’s teeth had left along her ribs. Dan exhaled through his nose and thumbed the inhaler’s release valve.
The first hit tasted like chemical mint and vengeance. His lungs seized, then expanded beyond natural limits as the cocktail hit his bloodstream. Wilma froze mid-stretch when she heard the wet crack of his knuckles realigning. “The fuck are you—” Her words died as she heard the Dan’s shirt rip.
Muscles erupted across his frame with grotesque precision—his shoulders broadened like tectonic plates shifting, veins snaking up his forearms like ivy on steroids. Dan’s breath came in ragged bursts as his spine straightened for the first time in years, vertebrae popping into place beneath skin stretched taut over new muscle. Wilma staggered back when he turned toward her, her smirk faltering at the way his shadow now swallowed hers whole.
“Yes! Yes!”
Dan’s cock strained against his jeans—thickening, lengthening, pressing against the fabric until the seams split with a sharp tear. Wilma’s breath caught mid-insult as her gaze dropped to the monstrous outline now tenting his ruined zipper. She swallowed hard, fingers twitching at her sides like she wanted to reach out—to test if it was real. “Fuck,” she whispered, her voice hoarse for the first time since this began. “That’s… not possible.”
“If I could turn you into a nerd. I could turn myself into an Adonis.” Dan’s voice rumbled deeper than his own throat should allow, fingers flexing as new tendons slithered beneath his skin. Wilma took another step back, her heel catching on the rug—a stumble she’d never allow anyone to witness before today. Her pulse hammered visibly at her throat, but her lips twisted in familiar spite. “You’re still just a—a fucking calculator-breath freakshow—”
“Oh yeah? Do these abs look like a freakshow to you?” Dan growled, grabbing Wilma’s wrist and slamming her palm against his rock-hard stomach. The contact sent a jolt through both of them—her fingernails instinctively dug in, just like they had with Jake, but this time Dan didn’t flinch. He *grinned*. Wilma’s breath hitched as her fingers flexed against his sweat-slick skin, her hatred warring with something far more dangerous: hunger.
“I fucking hate you. Geekzilla” Wilma hissed as Dan yanked her closer—close enough to feel his new cock throbbing against her thigh through the shredded remains of his jeans. But her fingernails raked down his chest with the same desperate fury she’d used on Jake, her breath ragged with the kind of hate that could only exist inches from lust. Dan’s laugh was a dark, unfamiliar sound—low and rumbling—as he gripped her chin hard enough to bruise. “Bullshit. You hate that you want this.”
“You don’t know what to do with it, virgin.” Wilma spat, but her thighs squeezed together involuntarily as Dan’s monstrous cock throbbed against her hip. The scent of her arousal punched through the stale air between them—sharp and unmistakable—betraying her sneer. Dan dragged his free hand down her side, fingertips leaving raised welts on her skin, and reveled in the way her breath hitched when he cupped her ass with brutal possessiveness. “Like hell I don’t,” he murmured against her ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “I’ve watched you long enough to know exactly where you like it.”
“You don’t have the balls.” Wilma’s breath was hot against his jaw, her hips grinding against his thigh in a mockery of resistance. Dan’s grip tightened—his transformed fingers leaving indents in her skin—and for the first time, he saw genuine fear flicker behind her fury. But fear wasn’t what made her wet. It was the way he didn’t back down, the way his monstrous cock twitched against her as if it had a mind of its own, hungry for the fight she’d always picked with him.
Dan shoved her onto the couch, the fabric tearing under her nails as she scrambled to brace herself. He didn’t give her time to adjust—just yanked her hips up and buried his face between her thighs with a growl that vibrated through her bones. Wilma’s scream was half-curse, half-moan as his tongue lashed against her clit with punishing precision. “Fucking—nerd—” she gasped, thighs trembling around his head, but her hips bucked into his mouth like she couldn’t stop herself. Dan laughed against her skin, the sound dark with triumph. “Still talkin’ shit,” he muttered before biting the inside of her thigh hard enough to bruise.
Wilma’s back arched off the couch as Dan flipped her onto her stomach, his knee forcing her legs apart with a roughness that would’ve shattered the old Dan. Her nails clawed at the cushions as he dragged her hips up, his cock—thick and angry and *hers* now—pressing against her entrance without ceremony. “This what you wanted?” he snarled, slamming into her with one brutal thrust. Wilma’s cry fractured into a sob as her body stretched around him, her muscles clenching in a war between resistance and ravenous need. Dan gripped her hair, wrenching her head back to watch her face twist. “Tell me,” he demanded, hips pistoning with a rhythm that left her breathless. “Tell me you fucking hate it.”
“I h.. I haaa Ungh Fuck! I hate it!” Wilma screamed into the couch cushions, her fingers tearing through the upholstery as Dan’s monstrous cock split her open with every thrust. But her hips rolled back to meet him instinctively, her body arching deeper into each punishing stroke—betraying her words with every slick, obscene sound between them. Dan’s fingers dug into her waist hard enough to leave bruises darker than Jake’s teeth marks, his breath ragged against the sweat-drenched curve of her spine. “Liar,” he growled, yanking her head back by the hair to watch her lips tremble around another moan.
Dan made her cum over and over again—relentless, unforgiving—each orgasm ripped from her like a confession she refused to voice. Her thighs shook around him as the first wave hit, her cunt clenching around his cock with a violence that would’ve shattered the old Dan. But this Dan only grunted and drove deeper, his free hand sliding around to press rough circles against her clit until she came again with a broken scream, her nails splintering the wood of the coffee table. “S’not—I’m not—” Wilma gasped, her voice raw as another climax crashed into her, her body convulsing around him like a live wire. Dan laughed—a dark, guttural sound—and bit down on her shoulder as he fucked her through it. “Yeah you are,” he snarled against her skin. “Again.”
Dan and Wilma collapsed onto the sweat-soaked couch, their bodies spent and trembling in the aftermath of what neither could deny—the most explosive, all-consuming sex either had ever experienced. Wilma’s chest heaved against Dan’s, her nails still embedded in his forearms, her thighs sticky with evidence of their ferocity. Dan’s breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, his transformed muscles twitching with residual tension, his cock still half-hard inside her as if refusing to admit defeat.
“I still hate you calculator-breath. Hmmm but that cock of yours … I think I’m in love.”










