BratBlock
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 – 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 tonight—tonight 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 seconds—no 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 out—date 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 pink—so bright it lit up the whole bathroom when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Then his phone went dark.
"Wait—did it crash? Did I just brick my ph—"
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.
"Mmmmmh… ohhh fuckkk" he moaned, and the sound of his own voice made him freeze. It was higher. Softer. Still his—but not. Like someone had reached into his throat and plucked a string, tuning him up a semitone.
His fingers were next. He watched—transfixed, terrified—as 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 again—pink, glowing, the shield icon pulsing steadily. And on the screen, text scrolled:
Protection active. Reality field establishing…
User profile: JOE → recalibrating…
New profile: JOJO. Status: ALPHA.
"What the f—"
His shoulders cracked inward. Both of them—CRACK POP—and 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 it—ribs shifting, organs rearranging, fat redistributing. His stomach flattened, toned, like he'd done a thousand crunches in two seconds. Then his hips popped—both sides, simultaneous, a wet grinding sound that made him grip the sink so hard his new nails left marks in the porcelain.
"Fuck—fuck— yesssss, ooooh what's happening to me— 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 waves—platinum 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't—confident, 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 fabric—soft, 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.
"Oooooh…" 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 shifted—rewove—became 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 lips—naturally 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 jewellery—a necklace, a bracelet, small hoop earrings.
She looked like the kind of girl who had never been told "no" in her entire life.
(I'm… 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 followers—her 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 hers—a 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 gloss—three shades.
Yummy, three perfect colours for sucking dick.
Her room had changed too. She peeked out—no 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 😤
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 transparency—faint 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 💕
She hit send. Then she laughed—bright, bitchy, musical.
This was going to be fun...
___
Tiffany's bedroom. 8:47 PM.
Tiffany was a brunette in a tight pink dress—gym-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 it—which, in a way, she had. Every bitchy comment felt natural. Every eye-roll felt earned. The old Joe was still in there somewhere—faint, muffled, like a TV playing in another room—but JoJo didn't care. JoJo was alive.
(This isn't you. This isn't—)
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 loud—music 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 wide—then 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 underneath—something 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 you—)
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 her—on 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 her—hard, 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 breasts—huge, round, perfect—bounced free. Brad stared like he'd found religion.
"Fuck… you're so—"
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, veined—the 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.
"Please—please suck it."
She felt her pussy clench with pleasure.
"Mmmmh much better."
She dropped to her knees. Took him in her mouth. The taste—musky, salty, male—flooded 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.
"Fuck– fuck yes–" she groaned.
He was so deep. Stretching her in ways she didn't know were possible. The fullness was overwhelming—intense, almost painful, but good. So good her eyes rolled back.
Oh god, right there– 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 now—entitled, 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 yelped—then 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!
"YES—fuck—"
The headboard cracked against the wall. She could hear the party still going on downstairs. Could hear people laughing, music thumping. And here she was—getting 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 gonna—" 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 building—building—
Yessss. My pussy is gonna explode. I'm so hot, I'm so perfect. I love it. Ohhh fuck I'm gonna... gonna...
"OH FUCK—"
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 back—hot, 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:
⚠️ LOW BATTERY – 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 again—she'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...