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Jerked into Her (TG Story) - Part 5
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 09:55:51 +0000 UTCJerked into Her (TG Story)
From FemmeForge:
A Ritual. A Fantasy. A Transformation Too Hot to Survive.
Eli never felt at home in his body. Not in a tragic way—just in that horny, obsessive, aching way that builds in secret. In silence. In shame. Alone at night, jerking off to the women he envied more than desired, whispering the same question over and over:
“What does it feel like to be her?”
Not to live as a woman.
To fuck like one.
To be the kind of woman who moans, who clenches, who drips—who makes men lose their minds just by walking into the room.
When Eli finds a ritual online—a cursed rite whispered about in NSFW occult threads—he doesn’t laugh.
He lights the candles.
He draws the sigil.
He jerks off into the bowl.
And what begins as a filthy fantasy spirals into a full-blown, erotic, reality-breaking metamorphosis.
Link for the PDF File: https://drive.google.com/file/d/193L4EkuqbM4hgznpZd7sFbQrNtSt0MCK/view?usp=drive_link
Fith Part
He stood there, hugging himself, chewing on his lip like it might stop the shame bubbling up his throat—when suddenly, something moved.
A shimmer. A flicker.
And then, just like that, a mirror slid into existence right in front of him. No sound. No warning. Just there, tall and wide, its frame stretching upward so high he couldn’t see the top.
Eli jolted backward with a gasp, heart hammering. “The fuck—?!” His heel skidded on the smoke-stone floor, and he almost lost his balance.
For a moment, the glass looked empty. Just a dull, silver surface that caught the glow of the room but showed nothing back. Blank. Like it was holding its breath.
He swallowed, still staring, chest tight.
“…Okay,” he muttered, voice low, nervous. “Don’t freak out. It’s just a mirror. Just a mirror. Nothing to—”
Curiosity overpowered fear. Slowly, hesitantly, he edged closer. His bare feet made no sound, his reflection still refusing to appear. He leaned in, eyes narrowing.
And then—there he was.
Not her. Not the curvy, dripping goddess with fat tits and wide hips.
Him.
Eli.
Fully naked.
The flat chest. The awkward frame. The limp cock hanging down, his balls shifting when he breathed. Every insecurity staring back at him, blown up to life-size, impossible to look away from.
He froze, breath catching. His own reflection looked… fragile. Exposed. Like the mirror wasn’t just showing him—it was judging him.
“Shit,” he whispered, stumbling back a step, hand covering himself instinctively. “That’s me. That’s really me.”
And suddenly, he hated it more than ever.
Eli stood there frozen, staring into the mirror like it was some cruel joke. His reflection just stood, slack and pathetic, cock swinging slightly, ribs faintly showing, every flaw magnified by the silvery glow. His lips curled, and he muttered under his breath, almost like a catchphrase to himself—half-angry, half-disbelieving:
“I swore I’d have big fucking boobs…”
He cupped his flat chest with both hands, pressing, squeezing, like maybe the weight would just appear if he wanted it badly enough. His eyes burned. “They were right here. Huge. Bouncing. I felt them. I had them. Where the fuck did they go?”
The silence stretched—too long, too heavy.
Then, from nowhere, a sultry voice slid across the air like smoke:
“But this is you.”
Eli jolted so hard he almost toppled backward, stumbling with wide eyes, clutching his chest as though the voice had touched him physically. “What the—fuck?!” His gaze darted around the endless glowing void, heart slamming. “Who—who the hell is that? Who’s there?”
The voice came again, calm, smooth, female, dripping like honey.
“I am you, Eli. I am your subconscious.”
His throat tightened. The words barely registered—because all he could think about was the sound.
It was a woman’s voice.
Soft. Seductive. Unmistakably female.
And hearing it made his knees weaken, his body buzzing with both fear and something darker he didn’t want to name.
“Subconscious…?” he echoed, voice shaking. “But… you’re… a girl.”
The voice chuckled low, velvet over steel.
“Of course I am.”
Eli’s chest rose and fell, ragged and uneven, as he kept spinning in place like the voice might reveal itself if he turned fast enough. But there was nothing—just the glowing void and the mirror reflecting his scrawny, naked body back at him.
He swallowed hard. “What… what does that even mean?” he asked, voice cracking.
The voice giggled, light and teasing, almost like it was amused he’d even asked. “Oh, Eli,” it purred, smooth as silk, “isn’t it obvious?”
His stomach knotted. Of course he knew what she meant—of course he did. It was buzzing in the back of his skull, pulsing through every humiliating beat of his heart. But saying it? Admitting it? His mouth went dry.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said quickly, sheepishly, eyes flicking away from the mirror. His tone was thin, unconvincing, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You—you’ve got the wrong guy.”
The laugh that came back was low, sultry, almost pitying.
“You can’t deceive me,” she said. “I’m your subconscious. Lying to me is lying to yourself.”
Her words wrapped around him, hot and suffocating. The mirror shimmered faintly, his reflection twitching at the corners, like something else—someone else—was pressing to come through.
And Eli couldn’t shake the sinking truth that she was right.
Eli shifted on his bare feet, arms crossing instinctively over his flat chest like it would somehow cover more of him. His reflection in the mirror looked just as awkward, hunched and miserable, cock hanging like a punchline.
“I seriously don’t… I mean, I don’t even know what you’re hinting at,” he stammered, waving one hand vaguely at the air. “Like, you’re talking all cryptic and—uh—I don’t… I don’t get it.”
The voice giggled again, musical this time, like a girl laughing at someone who’d just told a really bad lie. “Eli,” she cooed, “you do get it. You’ve always gotten it.”
His cheeks burned hot. “Nope. Uh-uh. Not me. Totally clueless here. I’m just… y’know… a guy. Standing naked in a freaky glowing room. With, uh…” He glanced down, grimacing at his limp cock. “…with all my guy parts intact. Nothing weird to see here.”
The voice practically purred, drawn out and teasing: “Mmm, nothing weird, he says.”
“I—hey, don’t do that,” Eli snapped, flustered. “Don’t—don’t say it like that.” He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, eyes darting away from his reflection. “You’re making it sound like I… like I want… something.”
Another soft laugh filled the void, this one smug, sultry, the kind of laugh that said she already knew the answer.
“Eli,” she said sweetly, “you can’t deceive me. You know exactly what you want.”
He winced, squirming in place, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like a kid caught in the world’s most humiliating classroom question. “Nope. Nope. Not me. Don’t know what you mean at all. Total mystery. Big ol’ blank space up here.” He tapped his temple with two fingers, forcing a laugh that came out thin and manic.
The laugh faded, and for a moment the silence pressed heavy, like the whole void was leaning in. Then her voice came again, sharper this time—no more playful dodge, no more sugarcoating.
“Eli,” she said, firm and sultry at once. “You want to be a woman.”
The words landed like a punch to the gut. His throat seized. He actually coughed, choking on nothing but his own breath. “Wh—what?!” he croaked, eyes wide, hands flying up like he could block the accusation out of the air. “N-no, no, that’s not—no! I don’t— I never—!”
His reflection stared back at him, just as naked, just as pathetic, cock dangling between his legs like proof he was lying.
“Don’t you dare say that,” he sputtered, shaking his head violently, curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. “That’s—that’s insane. I’m not— I don’t want to— I never said that!”
The voice chuckled, low and knowing, cutting through his panic like a knife through silk.
“You didn’t have to say it. I’ve heard every thought. Every fantasy. Every little moan you’ve bitten down on, wishing it was a woman’s voice coming out of your mouth. I know you.”
His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled back a step, covering his chest with one arm and his cock with the other like that would protect him from her words. His face burned scarlet, his eyes darting anywhere but the mirror.
“I—I don’t— You’re wrong,” he stammered. “You’re wrong! I’m just— I’m just a guy, okay? Just a—just a guy who—who jerks off too much. That’s it! That’s all it is!”
But even as he said it, his voice wavered. Because deep down, he knew she wasn’t wrong at all.
Eli stood there trembling, trying to cover himself, trying to breathe, but her voice didn’t give him a chance. It slid in again, sharper, hungrier, every word hitting like it was carved out of him.
“Oh, really?” she purred. “Just a guy? Just a guy who, what—used to shove a pillow between his legs and hump it while imagining he had a pussy? Just a guy who’d press his fingers down there, pretending it was a slit, whispering how he wished it felt wet instead of sticky?”
His mouth fell open. His whole body stiffened. “Shut up—”
But she didn’t. She wouldn’t.
“Just a guy who used to sneak bras from the laundry basket, hold them against his chest, and imagine what it would be like if they fit? Just a guy who almost came the first time he saw himself in the mirror with socks stuffed under his shirt?”
“Stop—” Eli’s voice cracked, high and broken, face hot with shame.
“And don’t even try to deny the porn, Eli. Hours of it. Not just watching the girls—wanting to be the girls. Wishing every moan, every scream, every bounce of tits and thighs was yours. You’d stroke yourself raw dreaming of their bodies being your body. Don’t lie. I was there. I am you.”
Eli stumbled back, shaking his head violently, curls sticking to his sweaty face. “I—I was just horny! That’s all it was, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, but you did,” she cut in, velvet and merciless. “You meant it every single time. Every time you closed your eyes and begged for hips instead of that flat waist. Every time you cried after jerking off because your body felt wrong. Every time you whispered, ‘I wish I was her.’ You think I didn’t hear that?”
His knees buckled. His arm slipped from his chest, leaving him exposed in the mirror again, cock dangling like proof of everything he despised. His reflection stared back at him, red-faced, trembling, humiliated.
“Shut up,” he whispered, weak. “Please, just… shut up.”
But the voice only laughed softly, dripping with triumph.
“You can’t shut me up, Eli. I’m you. I’ve always been you.”
“I said no!” Eli shouted, his voice cracking so badly it came out more like a squeak than a roar. He winced at his own sound, cheeks burning. “You’re twisting it, that’s all you’re doing. You’re… you’re making shit up!”
The voice hummed, low and amused, like a cat toying with a mouse. “Making it up? Oh, Eli…”
Her tone dropped to a sultry whisper, warm against his ear even though there was no one there. “Then tell me—why did you save that folder on your phone? You know the one. Girls bent over, getting railed from behind, tits bouncing. You didn’t just want to watch them. You wanted to be them.”
Eli’s face went scarlet. His lips flapped soundlessly before he choked out, “I—I just thought it was hot! That’s what guys do, okay? They watch porn. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Mmhm,” she teased. “And that time you put on your mom’s lipstick in the bathroom mirror, just to see how your mouth would look? That was nothing, too?”
He staggered back a step, clutching his head with both hands. “That—! I was a kid! That was—fuck, it was a joke! It didn’t mean anything!”
Her giggle rang out, sharp and sweet. “You really are adorable when you lie to yourself.”
“I’m not lying!” His voice cracked again, shrill. His reflection stared back at him, naked, cock swinging every time he shifted, his own expression twisted in shame. “I don’t… I don’t want that. I don’t want to be some girl with—” His voice faltered. “…with big tits and a fat ass and…”
“And a wet little pussy?” she finished for him, velvet smooth.
Eli’s jaw clenched. “Stop it…”
“You can’t even say the words without your cock twitching,” she purred.
He looked down—and sure enough, the pathetic length between his thighs had given a tiny, involuntary twitch. His gut dropped, horror and humiliation flooding him.
“Fuck… no… it’s not—” He squeezed his thighs together, trying to hide it. “That doesn’t mean anything!”
But the voice just laughed again, long and low, filling the glowing void with the sound of his own undoing.
The laughter faded into a purr, warm and filthy.
“Do you know why I sound like this, Eli?” the voice cooed, dripping with raunchy sweetness. “Why your subconscious doesn’t sound like some gruff old man… but like a slutty little minx moaning in your ear?”
Eli’s stomach dropped. His throat closed. He shook his head frantically. “Don’t—don’t say it—”
“It’s because this is what you want,” she purred. “Every dirty thought, every time you stroked yourself raw wishing you could feel what she felt, every late-night fantasy about moaning with a pussy stretched full—this voice? It’s the one you wanted begging out of your own mouth. It’s the woman you keep trying to kill and jerk back into life at the same time. I am her.”
Eli’s whole body seized, face hot with shame. “N-no! That’s not me! I don’t want that! I don’t want to be her—I don’t want to be a—”
The words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t even say “woman.”
The silence stretched long and cruel.
And then, with a shimmer, the mirror in front of him… went blank.
No reflection. No cock. No ribs. No skinny, naked body to scowl back at him. Just an empty sheet of glowing glass, waiting.
Eli froze, chest heaving, eyes wide.
“…What the fuck…” he whispered.
The blank glass shimmered, and her voice slid through the silence, deeper now, dripping with smug filth.
“Fine,” she purred. “If you won’t admit it, I’ll prove it. I’ll show you the dirty, dark secrets you’ve been choking down for years.”
Eli’s stomach twisted. “Wh-what do you mean—”
The mirror rippled, like water, and then the image began to take shape.
At first it was just his old room—dim light, messy bed, laptop screen glowing in the dark. And then the figure on the bed came into focus.
Him.
Naked.
Sitting cross-legged with his cock in his fist, eyes locked on the laptop.
Eli’s real body jolted, hands flying to his mouth. “No… no, no, no, don’t show me that—”
The mirror didn’t care.
The screen on the laptop glowed bright, showing exactly what he remembered: an insanely hot pornstar, big tits bouncing wildly as she got railed from behind, moaning like her soul was being fucked out of her. Her ass clapped with every thrust, tits swinging, mouth wide open in bliss.
On the bed, his past self’s breath hitched. His hand stroked faster, precum shining along his shaft. His lips moved, whispering something into the empty room.
Eli shook his head violently. “Stop it. Turn it off! Stop!”
But he remembered. He knew. He knew exactly what he had whispered that night, hunched over in the dark with his cock in his hand, eyes glued to the screen.
I wish that was me.
The voice giggled, low and cruel, sliding into his ear.
“See? Even then. You didn’t just want to fuck her. You wanted to be her. Tits bouncing, pussy dripping, moaning for every inch. That was always you, Eli. Always.”
He stumbled backward, heart hammering, face red as fire, unable to look away as the mirror forced him to relive the truth.
The mirror shimmered again, the scene dissolving like smoke before Eli could even catch his breath. His chest was heaving, his hands trembling at his sides, but the glass didn’t give him time to recover.
Another image snapped into focus.
This time it was brighter, clearer—his room again, sheets kicked halfway off the bed. And there he was: younger, sweat-slick, jerking his cock so furiously it looked painful.
On the laptop screen in front of him, a pornstar with massive tits was getting titfucked—her huge, soft breasts pressed together around a thick cock sliding between them, spit and precum slicking her cleavage as she moaned and giggled like she was in heaven.
Eli’s past self was a wreck, panting, eyes glazed, hips bucking into his own hand in perfect rhythm with the porn. His lips moved, whispering, almost chanting—words he thought no one had ever heard.
“I wanna be her… oh fuck, I wish I was her…”
The real Eli’s stomach dropped through the floor.
“No—no, no, no—” He slapped his hands over his ears like it would muffle the sound, but it was no use. The voice carried the words back to him louder, clearer, like a cruel echo.
“I wish I was her.”
The pornstar on the screen moaned, squeezing her tits tighter as cum spurted across her chest. Eli’s mirrored self groaned in reply, cock twitching in his fist as he came hard, shuddering, whispering through clenched teeth:
“I want those tits—I wanna feel them—I wanna be them—”
The mirror froze on that moment: his past self slumped against the sheets, cock dribbling cum, eyes glassy with shame and relief.
The voice laughed, sharp and sultry.
“See, Eli? You’ve always wanted it. Not just pussy. Not just hips. You begged for tits. You wanted to bounce, to moan, to drip. You didn’t want her—you wanted to replace her.”
Eli staggered back, shaking his head so hard it made him dizzy. “No… no, that’s not— I didn’t mean it! I was—I was just horny, I didn’t—”
“Liar,” she hissed, amusement dripping from her tone. “You came to that fantasy again and again. Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t.”
Eli’s legs wobbled under him. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go—just endless glow, that towering mirror, and his own shame staring back.
The glass rippled again. Another memory slammed into focus.
His bedroom again, dark, only the glow of his phone this time. He was sprawled on his back, cock in hand, his voice coming out in a high-pitched whimper as he bucked into his fist. The phone screen showed some blonde pornstar bouncing on a cock, tits spilling everywhere as she squealed like a slut.
And then his past self moaned—loud, fake, pitched higher—her moan, copied straight from the video.
“Oh god—yes, yes—fuck me harder—”
The real Eli clapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. “No—oh, fuck, no—don’t—”
The voice purred, smug as ever. “Oh yes. You practiced. Over and over, trying to sound like them. Trying to moan like a woman. You wanted it to be real so badly you faked the sound just to hear it in your own throat.”
The scene shifted again before he could breathe.
Now he was sitting in front of the mirror in his mom’s bathroom, shirt hiked up, two rolled socks stuffed under the fabric, cupping them with both hands like they were real tits. His face was flushed, his lips parted, whispering to his reflection:
“Fuck… I’d let them grab me right here… I’d ride them with these… I’d—”
The real Eli stumbled back with a strangled gasp. “Stop! Stop showing me this shit!”
But the mirror didn’t care.
It jumped again—his younger self face-down in his pillow, grinding his hips into it desperately, breathless and squealing into the fabric. His words muffled but unmistakable:
“Fuck me—please—fill me—make me cum—”
Eli shook violently, hands tangling in his hair, voice cracking with panic. “No! That’s not me! I never— I wasn’t—”
Her laugh cut through him, cruel and honey-sweet.
“Every fantasy. Every moan. Every time you begged into the dark for tits, for a pussy, for a body that wasn’t yours… I remember. Because I am you.”
The mirror flickered, flashing all of it at once—him jerking to porn, him moaning high into a pillow, him with socks in his shirt, him staring at big tits on a screen whispering I wish I was her.
The real Eli dropped to his knees, shaking, his voice hoarse.
“Please… stop…”
But the voice only giggled. “Why stop? We’re just getting to the good part.”
The mirror didn’t go dark. It multiplied.
Images rippled across the glass like a slideshow from hell, each one brighter, rawer, dirtier than the last.
There was Eli, younger, sitting on the bathroom counter, his face red as he pressed two shampoo bottles to his chest, staring into the mirror and whispering, “Yeah… yeah, they’d be huge on me… I’d bounce ‘em just like her…”
Another flicker: him in bed, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other pinching his nipples hard, muttering through clenched teeth, “God, make them real, make them big, I swear I’ll be good…”
Then again: him with a blanket draped around his shoulders like a dress, hips swaying clumsily in the dark, cock bobbing uselessly between his thighs, his whisper sharp and bitter—“Why couldn’t I just have been born her instead?”
Eli was shaking his head, tears burning in the corners of his eyes, palms pressed so hard to his ears it hurt. “No, no, no, no—stop showing me that! I don’t wanna see it! I don’t wanna remember!”
But the voice was relentless.
“Oh, you do want to remember. You’ve always wanted this. Look at you—pathetic, cock in hand, begging to be a girl while moaning like one. Stuffing bras, grinding pillows, crying into the dark because you’d never have a pussy. You think you can hide that from me?”
The mirror flashed again: Eli hunched over his laptop, porn blaring, his own voice whispering desperate filth. “God, if I had tits like hers, they’d never stop touching me. If I had a pussy like that, they’d never pull out.”
The real Eli slapped the floor with his palms, hard, like he could wake himself up by force. “I didn’t—I never— I didn’t mean it like that!” he shouted, raw. “I was just—fuck—I was just—”
The voice cut him off with a vicious, girlish laugh.
“You were just being honest. That’s what you were. Every time your cock twitched while you said it, every time you came wishing you had tits, every time you cried because you didn’t… that was the truth.”
The mirror glowed brighter, scenes overlapping now—Eli moaning into his pillow, stuffing his shirt, grabbing his chest, groaning, “Where are my tits? Where’s my pussy?”—layer after layer, a chorus of his own humiliating voice.
He crumpled to his knees, covering his face.
“Please,” he croaked. “Please, stop… I can’t… I don’t wanna see anymore…”
But the mirror kept flashing.
And the voice purred, almost tender now, though still cruel at the edges:
“You can beg me to stop all you want, Eli. But you’re only begging yourself.”
The mirror shimmered, all the overlapping memories bleeding out until it went white-hot, glowing like a screen about to burn. Eli held his breath, shaking, waiting for the next humiliation.
And then—
tits.
Two massive, heavy, sweat-slick tits crashed against the mirror, so sudden and obscene Eli actually flinched back like the glass itself had come alive. The sheer weight of them flattened against the surface, nipples diamond-hard, smearing wet streaks as they squished and spread like dough under pressure. Every tiny bounce made the fat of them shift and spill outward, so round and full it looked like the mirror could barely contain them.
The sound was almost there too—this faint, lewd squeak of skin dragging across glass, wet with sweat, as if those tits were desperate to push through into his world.
Eli’s mouth fell open. His knees locked. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, just stood there with his cock hanging limp and his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile.
Then he saw it—faint shadows moving behind the glass. Hands.
Not his hands. Feminine hands. Long fingers tipped with nails, grabbing at that obscene swell of flesh from behind, kneading it, mashing it, shoving it harder into the mirror like they were trying to make him drown in tit. The nipples dragged across the surface, stiff and swollen, leaving faint streaks of shine as if begging to be sucked.
The tits jiggled under the assault, rippling with every squeeze, heavy globes of flesh that bounced back even as the hands crushed them forward again. They looked indecently alive, smearing, squashing, bouncing like they were showing off just how much mass there was to worship.
It was lewd. Shameless. Over the top.
Like the mirror was taunting him with the biggest, hottest set of tits he’d ever jerked off to in his life—only now they weren’t some pornstar’s, weren’t some stranger’s.
They were supposed to be his.
Eli couldn’t look away. He tried—his eyes darted to the edges of the mirror, to the flickering glow around the frame, even down at his bare feet on the smoky floor. But every time he blinked, his gaze snapped right back to them.
Those tits.
Flattened against the glass so obscenely he swore he could feel the weight of them in his own chest. The way the fat spilled outward, straining against invisible limits, the nipples so hard they dented the mirror with every faint jiggle. They weren’t just tits—they were an onslaught.
“Jesus Christ…” he whispered without meaning to, his voice breaking in the empty room.
The hands behind them didn’t stop. They squeezed and kneaded and lifted, mashing those massive globes together until they swelled out even more, tits spilling wide across the glass like soft, wet dough. The nipples dragged, smeared, popped free and re-flattened, stiff and swollen like they’d been waiting for his mouth.
Eli’s throat went dry. His cock gave the faintest twitch, humiliating in its betrayal.
He tried to laugh it off, nervous and broken. “Heh—I mean—c-come on, they’re not even real, it’s just—just glass, right? Just…” His words faded. His chest hitched. “Fuck, they’re so big.”
He shifted his weight, thighs pressing together without thinking, as if that could smother the ache creeping between them. His reflection—skinny, awkward, flat-chested—looked even more pathetic in contrast.
And the worst part?
He wanted them.
His eyes roamed every bounce, every squish, drinking it in even as shame clawed at his gut. The voice didn’t even have to say anything now—the mirror itself was screaming the truth at him with every lewd jiggle, every smear of nipple against the glass.
Eli’s lips parted. His voice came out a breathless whisper.
“…God, what if they were mine?”
The tits jiggled harder, as if laughing at him.
Eli’s breath hitched. His whole body went stiff.
The mirror pulsed again, and just when Eli thought he couldn’t take another second staring at those obscene tits squashed against the glass, the glow slid downward.
The curve of a waist appeared beneath them. Tight. Pinched. The kind of hourglass dip that sucked in so sharply it looked sculpted. A sliver of belly showed, smooth and flushed, sweat beading along the faint crease where toned stomach met flaring hips.
Eli’s breath hitched.
And then he saw it.
Lower.
Between those wide, fertile hips, a perfect cleft pressed flush against the glass.
A pussy.
Not hinted at. Not blurred. Plain as day. Swollen lips gleaming wet, smearing the glass with slick every time the hips gave a subtle grind forward. The cleft dragged across the surface in slow, lewd strokes, leaving faint streaks of wetness like a signature.
Eli’s knees almost buckled.
“Holy fuck…” he whispered, barely able to breathe. His cock twitched again, humiliating him, hanging like it already knew its replacement was staring back at him.
The voice came back, rich and smug.
“See? The tits you begged for. The waist you cried for. The pussy you moaned into pillows about. All right here. All waiting. All meant for you.”
Eli shook his head weakly, trembling, backing a step away like distance could undo what he was seeing. “N-no… no, that’s not… it can’t…”
But his eyes betrayed him. They stayed locked on the fat, glistening lips grinding into the glass. On the way the waist cinched and flared, pulling every line of the body into a fuck-me curve. On the bouncing tits still mashed against the surface above it all, nipples dragging lewd circles.
It was porn. It was a mirror. It was him.
And he couldn’t stop staring.
Eli’s stomach lurched. He stumbled back, hands trembling, cock hanging uselessly between his legs.
The voice purred like a lover, hot and merciless.
“Look at it, Eli. Everything you begged for. The tits you used to stuff socks to mimic. The waist you dreamed of tracing. The pussy you moaned about into your pillow. Right here. Waiting. Yours.”
He shook his head violently. “N-no, I—I don’t—” His words died in his throat. His knees knocked together, his lips trembling. “I don’t…”
“You do,” she whispered. “Say it.”
His mouth opened, then closed. His reflection stared back at him, caught between the heavy tits on the glass and his own pathetic frame, cock dangling like an insult.
“Say it, Eli.”
He let out a weak, broken laugh, shame burning through his whole body. His voice came out thin, sheepish, almost inaudible:
“…Maybe… maybe I did…”
“Did what?” she pressed, her voice sharp with delight.
He swallowed, face red as fire. “Maybe I wanted… maybe I wanted big tits… and a pussy.”
The tits on the glass bounced as if in approval, nipples smearing the surface, the pussy glistening wetter against the mirror.
The voice giggled low, triumphant.
“There you go, slut. Finally honest.”
To be continued...
