FemmeForgie
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Dared into Her (TG Story) - Part 3
🕑 Added 2025-08-18 02:03:34 +0000 UTCDared into Her (TG Story)
By FemmeForge
It was supposed to be a stupid late-night joke — a drunk, mean-spirited dare to humiliate the shy virgin of the group.
One ritual. A mirror. A copper bowl. A “lust offering.”
Shy, dick-starved virgin Ethan never stood a chance once his friends found that shady “summon a succubus” ritual online.
They pin him in the spotlight, ripping into him with filthy jokes about how he’d look as a woman — huge, soft tits spilling over his hands, a fat jiggling ass you could bounce coins off, and a dripping little pussy just begging for the first cock that got near it.
Ethan knew it was fake. His friends knew it was fake. That didn’t stop them from pinning him down in the filthiest way possible — teasing him, taunting him, painting vivid pictures of what he’d look like with fat tits, a perfect ass, and a dripping little pussy. They laughed, they dared, they pushed… until he said yes.
By the time it’s over, Ethan’s gone — replaced by a wide-eyed, soaking-wet slut who can barely stand without rubbing her thighs together.
Now Ethan is about to find out just how far a silly dare can go… and how hot, humiliating, and irreversible becoming the perfect fuckable plaything can really be.
Link for the PDF File: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1BkHVnyL942ZNvhB74bBaKSMlR46j0nQ7/view?usp=drive_link
Part 3
Ethan just lay there, sprawled out on the floor, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin as the candles flickered around him. His hair was a mess, his thighs still trembling from what he’d just done. The copper bowl sat in front of him, the obscene evidence of his “offering” still fresh inside it.
“Jesus fucking Christ…” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I fucking did that. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Cass was already snickering, leaning back in her chair with a smug grin. “Oh, come on, Eth—don’t act like it wasn’t hot watching you squirm. You went all in. I mean, you really committed.”
“Yeah,” Mason laughed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You didn’t just do it, man — you put on a show. Like, if this was a porn site, I’d leave a tip.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Ethan snapped, still refusing to look at them. His cheeks burned, and he could feel every ounce of humiliation creeping into his bones.
Cass smirked. “Oh no, you already did the fucking, honey. Right into that bowl. And for what? So you could ‘summon’ your dream body? Please.”
Mason shook his head, still grinning. “Nah, I’m just impressed. All that shit you talked about this being fake, and you still knelt there and jerked off like the good little dare-slut you are. I mean… we really made you do it.”
Ethan swore under his breath, still sprawled out, wishing the floor would swallow him whole. Meanwhile, Cass and Mason were leaning back, trading satisfied glances — absolutely pleased with themselves that they’d talked him into humiliating himself like this for what they thought was just a dumb, late-night challenge.
They didn’t even try to hide their laughter. Every time Ethan shifted or swore, it just made them laugh harder. To them, it was already one of those “remember when” stories they’d be telling for years. To him, it was pure fucking shame.
Ethan was still sprawled out, red-faced and breathing hard, trying to convince himself it was over. Cass kicked her feet up, laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.
“See?” she said between giggles, leaning forward. “It was just a stupid prank, dude. Nothing’s gonna happen. No horns, no wings, no magic pussy popping into existence.”
Mason was chuckling so hard his voice cracked. “Yeah, man. You think some creepy-ass internet ‘sex ritual’ is real? Please. This was just about making you squirm—and it worked. We fucking nailed it.”
Cass nodded, still smirking. “Literally. You went full method-acting on us. Ten out of ten performance.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ethan muttered, still refusing to look them in the eye.
Mason leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, his grin smug as hell. “Come on, relax. You dumped a load in a bowl, we laughed, you survived. End of story. None of that transformation shit’s real. No one’s walking out of here with big tits and a fat ass except Cass.”
Cass threw a cushion at him, but she was laughing too.
They kept their tone calm, almost mock-soothing now, reassuring him like he was some skittish kid after a haunted house tour. “Seriously,” Cass said. “You’re fine. It’s over. Just a silly dare, nothing more.”
Mason nodded in mock seriousness. “Yeah, you’re still the same old Ethan. Unfortunately.”
Mason’s laugh settled into a crooked grin as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Y’know,” he said, voice low and teasing, “even if it wasn’t real, I’m still kinda disappointed.”
Ethan shot him a look, already bracing for whatever was coming next.
Mason didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. I mean… I was kinda getting into the idea of you with some big fuckin’ tits. Like, can’t-fit-in-a-bra big. A fat, wet, needy pussy just begging for me to pound it. And that big ass—oh man—slapping against my hips every time I drove it in.”
Cass let out a bark of laughter, shaking her head. “Jesus, Mason.”
“What?” Mason said, smirking at Ethan like a cat toying with its prey. “Tell me it wouldn’t be an upgrade. You’d actually get fucked for once. Hell, I’d make it my mission to keep you satisfied. Wouldn’t be so bad being my little cumdump, would it?”
Ethan’s face was burning, his voice tight. “You’re fucking disgusting.”
Mason grinned wider. “Yeah, but admit it—if the ritual worked, you’d be on your knees thanking me in about five minutes.”
Ethan’s ears burned, his hands twitching like he was ready to throw something at Mason, but all he could do was spit out, “You’re a horny, fucked-up perv who’d fuck anything with a hole—”
He stopped mid-rant.
Something… weird.
A faint, crawling heat spread across his chest, sharp enough to cut through his embarrassment. His nipples tingled—no, itched—like someone had dragged warm breath over them. He glanced down without thinking, catching the faintest stiffness in them, the kind you only got in cold weather or when—
Mason caught the glance and grinned slow. “Ohhh… what’s that, Ethan? Your little man-nips getting perky already? What did I say—tits in the making.”
Ethan shook his head, muttering “Shut the fuck up,” but the itch wasn’t going away. It was deep, almost pulsing, and the heat kept pooling outward in small, unsettling waves. Cass tilted her head, watching him a little too closely now, that smirk creeping back like she’d just noticed something she shouldn’t have.
Ethan kept rubbing at his chest, but it wasn’t helping. If anything, it was making it worse — every swipe of his fingers made the heat spread and the itch dig deeper, like it was coming from under the skin.
“Why the fuck are my nipples like this all of a sudden?” His voice cracked, pitched with a mix of embarrassment and real worry. He pushed his palm against one, trying to numb it, but it only made the sensitive little peak throb.
Cass’s teasing smirk wavered for the first time. She leaned forward, squinting at him. “Uh… dude. They’re… kind of puffy.”
“Puffy?!” Ethan’s head shot down, eyes wide. Sure enough, the skin around his nipples looked swollen — not red, not rashy, but plumper, like they’d been sucked on for an hour straight.
Mason snorted. “Maybe the ritual’s giving you slut-nips already.”
Cass shot him a look, but her own voice had gone a little more serious. “No, seriously… it almost looks like you’ve got some kind of… I dunno, reaction? Infection?” She sat back, crossing her arms. “That’s not normal.”
Ethan’s pulse spiked. “Okay, wait—what the fuck is happening?!” He kept scratching, but the tingling heat just built and built, spreading in tight, prickling waves over his chest. The more he touched them, the harder the little peaks got, almost aching now, like they were waiting for something.
Ethan’s voice cracked into a borderline panic. “No—seriously, guys, what the fuck is happening to me?!” He was clawing at his chest now, nails dragging over the swollen areolas, but it didn’t do a damn thing to stop the maddening itch.
Cass was halfway between standing up and sitting back down, eyes darting from his face to his chest like she couldn’t decide if this was still a joke. “It’s—shit, it’s getting worse. They’re bigger than they were thirty seconds ago.”
“Bigger?!” Ethan’s pitch shot up another octave. He yanked his hands away just enough for them to see—his nipples were jutting out, fat and dark, ringed by areolas that looked fuller than they had any right to be. The flesh around them was warm, flushed, and so sensitive that even the air brushing across them made him twitch.
Mason’s smirk had thinned into something closer to a raised brow. “Okay, uh… yeah, that’s… not normal.”
Ethan’s breathing went sharp and shallow. “It—it feels like it’s under my skin, like something’s pushing from the inside—” He stopped, grimacing hard as another shiver ran up his spine.
Cass bit her lip, glancing at Mason. “Maybe… maybe it’s some weird circulation thing? Or—fuck, I don’t know—hormone spike?”
Ethan’s head was shaking before she even finished. “No. No. This isn’t… it’s not right. It’s like—” His voice broke into a low, involuntary groan as the itch deepened into a heavy, throbbing pressure, like his chest itself was swelling under their eyes.
Ethan froze mid-motion, his fingers still halfway digging into the fabric of his shirt where it clung to his chest. The itching in his nipples was maddening—raw, electric—and now something else had happened.
His last words hung in the air, but they didn’t sound right. The tone had shifted—higher, lighter, and with a faint breathy lilt that didn’t belong in his voice at all.
Cass’s smirk melted into a frown. “Uh… wait. Did your voice just change?”
Mason’s grin faltered, his brow knitting as he tilted his head. “Yeah, that… that was higher. Like—noticeably.” He stood and took a step toward Ethan. “Say something again.”
“I’m not—” Ethan began, but the sound that came out wasn’t the protest he’d meant. It was softer. Too soft. And it cracked in the middle like his voice was learning a whole new register.
Cass’s eyes widened, a little spark of unease cutting through her earlier amusement. “Oh shit… Ethan… your voice—”
He swallowed hard, his hand going straight to his neck like he could press the change out of it. “No. No, no, no…” His fingers traced the cords of his throat, which felt strange under his touch—smoother somehow, less rough at the edges.
The itching in his chest flared again, sharp enough to make him wince. “What the hell is happening to me?”
Cass exchanged a look with Mason, and for once neither of them had a quip ready. “Maybe it’s just—like—adrenaline? Or an allergic reaction?” she said, but the uncertainty in her voice didn’t help.
Mason, still scanning Ethan’s face like he was trying to spot another change, added, “Dude, you’re seriously freaking me out. First the voice, now…” He gestured vaguely toward Ethan’s chest. “Does it hurt?”
“It itches,” Ethan said, his voice pitching even higher on the last word. His eyes went wide at the sound. “Why does it sound like that?!”
Cass stepped closer, her joking demeanor completely gone now. “Okay, okay, just… breathe. You might be having some weird reaction to—hell, I don’t know—maybe the incense?”
Ethan shook his head violently, his heart thudding. “This isn’t normal. This isn’t—” His voice cracked again, and hearing it made panic surge in his stomach.
Mason crouched down to his level, trying to make eye contact. “Hey—stay with us. We’ll figure it out. Just… try to calm down before you make it worse.”
But Ethan couldn’t calm down—because the itching in his nipples was now swelling into a hot, heavy sensation, and no one in the room could deny something real was happening.
Ethan’s nails were still raking over his swollen nipples when it happened — a sharp, wet pop deep in his body that made him seize up like a live wire. Every muscle locked. His breath caught halfway in his throat.
The pain wasn’t like a bruise or a pulled muscle — it was deeper, in the bone, a jolt that radiated right down the base of his spine and into his thighs.
Cass froze mid-step. “Was that your… hip?” Her voice wasn’t teasing now, it was edged with real alarm.
Before Ethan could even get his jaw unclenched to answer, another, louder CRACK tore through his pelvis, echoing in the small room. It was followed by a deep, grinding shift — a nauseating sensation, like his own skeleton was being pried apart from the inside.
“F–fuck!” he gasped, staggering. His knees buckled and he caught himself on the edge of the ritual circle, fingers digging into the floor. The copper bowl rattled from the force of his movement.
Cass darted closer. “Ethan, what the hell—?”
His posture changed right in front of them — hips slowly rolling wider, spine bowing under some invisible pressure. His thighs spread involuntarily, his whole lower frame tilting, almost swaying, as if something inside was forcing his stance open.
The pain made his voice crack into something higher, more desperate. “It—hnngh—feels like something’s pulling me apart!”
Mason’s smirk had dropped, but his eyes were locked on Ethan’s waist like he couldn’t tear them away. “Jesus… his hips…”
Another bone snapped — not sharp this time, but drawn out, a slow creeeeak as his pelvis widened another inch. Ethan grunted through clenched teeth, the sound raw and ragged, every nerve screaming as his body reshaped against his will.
He could feel it — bone scraping, shifting, locking into a new place. And for the first time, the pain came with a hot, alien weight in his lower gut that made his stomach twist for a whole different reason.
The sound came first — pop-crack, pop-crack — deep inside him, a rhythm of snapping bone and slow, grinding shifts. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t ignorable. It was in him, crawling up from the base of his spine into his hips, vibrating through muscle and marrow.
“AHHH—! F-FUCK, WHAT—?! OH GOD—HELP!” His voice pitched high, breaking mid-word as if his own throat didn’t recognize it.
Mason lunged forward and grabbed his shoulders, meaning to hold him steady, but froze when he felt Ethan’s waist spreading beneath his grip — not soft flesh, but the hard, alien push of bone forcing its way outward. “Holy shit—he’s—he’s getting wider—”
Ethan’s whole body bucked against him, knees nearly giving out. “NO—NO—STOP IT—PLEASE—FUCK—IT HURTS!”
Cass, wide-eyed, hovered just out of reach, her hands twitching like she wanted to help but didn’t dare. “Ethan—your stance—look at your legs—”
He did, and his panic doubled. His feet were inching apart on their own, dragging across the floor with a dull scrape, his knees rotating inward as his hips flared with every horrific grind-pop.
Another snap tore through him, sharp enough to rip a ragged cry from his throat. “FUUUCK—! IT’S—IT’S TEARING ME—OH—OH GOD—HELP ME!”
Mason tightened his grip, feeling the unnatural outward pressure against his fingers. “Jesus—his bones—”
Ethan clutched his sides, his nails digging into his skin as if he could hold his pelvis together by force. His back arched, his voice cracked again into something disturbingly higher. “MAKE IT STOP! OH—FUCK—PLEASE!”
Cass stepped closer now, her voice trembling. “It’s still going—Ethan, it’s not stopping—”
Another deep, grinding shift forced his hips even wider, the motion slow and obscene, dragging a guttural moan-scream from him. His legs trembled violently, barely able to hold him upright, every breath a choked sob of pain and disbelief.
Cass’s face went pale. “Mason… this—this is from the fucking ritual,” she blurted, already scrambling toward her laptop like it might have an emergency brake for whatever was happening. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up the page they’d mocked earlier. “There’s no way this is random—no way.”
Ethan staggered, one hand gripping his hip, the other clawing at the floor like he could ground himself. “W-what the fuck’s—happening to me?!” His voice cracked high, panicked, almost unrecognizable.
Mason didn’t answer right away. He was staring—really staring—at the way Ethan’s hips had flared, at the way his thighs were shifting shape, at the curve starting to take form in his waist. It was horrifying, sure… but under the horror, something filthy coiled in Mason’s mind, unshakable. He could already imagine the rest—the way that waist would tuck in, the way a fat ass would fill out under his hands, the way a new pussy might look between those trembling legs.
Ethan saw his expression and swore shakily. “Mason—what the fuck—is this a joke to you?!”
Mason finally swallowed, forcing his gaze up, but his voice betrayed that same dirty undercurrent. “I—I’m just saying… if this keeps going the way it looks like it’s going…” He let the implication hang, heavy and filthy, until Cass whipped her head up from the screen and snapped, “Don’t—don’t say it right now!”
But Ethan’s horror was already spiraling. “Cass, tell me—what’s happening to me?!”
Cass’s eyes darted wildly across the glowing laptop screen, pupils blown wide with panic as her fingers scrolled in frantic, jerky motions. She was muttering under her breath, the words barely audible, like she was afraid saying them aloud would make them more real. Every few seconds she’d pause—read—then whip the scroll wheel again, faster, as if the answer might be buried just one more paragraph down.
“Come on, come on… fuck—” she hissed, tapping the trackpad hard enough to rattle it. “Here—this part—” Her voice cracked, half in shock, half in disbelief. “‘Offering accepted…’” she read slowly, like she was trying to convince herself she was hallucinating the text. “‘Subject entering initial… physical restructuring.’”
Her breath caught, and she actually leaned back from the screen like the words themselves had heat. She blinked, once, twice—then forced herself to look back at Ethan. The glow from the monitor lit her face, washing it pale.
“Oh my God…” She shook her head once, sharply, as though trying to dispel it, but the next words still came out low, urgent, trembling. “Ethan… it’s not stopping.”
She swallowed hard, eyes darting between his face and the widening flare of his hips, the subtle shifting of his posture, the way his frame was no longer his. “It’s not even slowing down.”
The keyboard clattered faintly as her fingers hovered uselessly above it—like she wanted to type something, anything, but knew it wouldn’t change what was happening right in front of them.
Mason, still holding him steady, couldn’t stop glancing down at his friend’s widening frame—and thinking about just how far it could go.
Ethan’s head jerked toward Cass, eyes wide and frantic. “W–what won’t stop?!” he demanded, voice already cracking high again.
But the answer wasn’t in her words—it was in the fire blooming in his gut.
The pain stabbed first, sharp and white-hot, forcing a strangled cry out of him. But then it changed—mutating into a deep, fevered throb that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat, low in his stomach. His hands shot down instinctively, clutching himself like he could hold his own body together.
“My bones—” his voice broke into a gasp, “—my bones are moving.”
Cass froze, eyes darting down his frame. Even through the chaos, she could see it—Ethan’s outline was… wrong now. The slope of his hips was starting to soften outward, curving where there’d never been curve, and the line between his thighs was opening wider with each passing second.
The heat was spreading lower, wrapping around his legs like molten lead, making his knees shake uncontrollably. He stumbled forward, catching himself with one hand on the floor, the other still gripping his side. His gait shifted without him meaning to—hips rolling just slightly, legs spacing apart like they were being rewired for a different balance.
Mason’s breath caught. The way Ethan’s pelvis was tilting now—angled forward, the arch in his lower back starting to deepen—made something in Mason’s chest tighten. His jaw clenched, torn between the alarm screaming in his head and the dark, fascinated part of him that couldn’t look away.
Ethan’s breath hitched hard, his eyes going wide as the final deep cracks from his hips faded into an awful, suffocating silence. For a second, he thought it was over—until he felt it.
Not the pain, not exactly. Something worse. A cinching, almost like a rope tightening from inside him, pulling his waist in above the hips. His skin prickled as his stomach hollowed inward, the new curve forcing his lower body into a shape he didn’t even want to name.
“The fuck—what—no… no,” he stammered, staring down at himself as if sheer denial could undo what was happening. His hands went to his sides, fingers trembling, tracing the unfamiliar slope inward before flaring out again over his hips.
“Your hips—holy shit, they’re wider,” Mason blurted, voice thick with disbelief.
Ethan’s head snapped toward him, jaw slack in shock. “Don’t say that! Don’t fucking—” He broke off, the words swallowed by a ragged gasp.
Cass’s expression drained of all color, her panic sharpening into pure horror. Her eyes darted from Ethan’s waist to his hips, as if watching an invisible sculptor force his frame into something else entirely. “Ethan… your… your proportions—” She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. The feminine outline was starting to scream through his clothes, through him.
“Stop looking at me like that!” he barked, the edge in his voice cracking into something high and shaky. His pulse hammered so hard it was making him dizzy, a cold sweat rolling down his temple. “This isn’t—this can’t—”
Then his spine lurched. A heavy, rolling shudder tore upward through his back, dragging his ribcage along with it. The sound that followed was worse than the hips—slow, deliberate creaks, like wood under strain, except this wood was him. He doubled over with a guttural groan, clutching at his ribs as the cracks climbed higher, his shoulders twitching unnaturally.
“Fuck—fuck—what’s it doing to me?!” His voice was raw now, breaking between the words, and somewhere deep in his gut, the knowledge was dawning—this wasn’t stopping. Not here. Not now. Not until it had taken him further.
Ethan’s cries tore through the room, ragged and frantic, each one breaking higher in pitch as his body betrayed him. The deep, rolling cracks along his sides and lower back finally slowed, but now there was a sickening new rhythm—bones tightening, ribs shifting inward in little staccato pops. His waist drew in with every grind, cinching like an invisible rope was being pulled tighter around him.
His breathing came sharp and shallow, each gasp forcing his chest forward while the space above his hips narrowed further, the difference between top and bottom growing obscene. Mason’s wide eyes locked onto that narrowing midsection, the kind of curve that didn’t belong on a guy’s body—ever. Ethan caught the look and shook his head desperately, grunting, “N-no, no, this can’t—ugh—this can’t be—ahhh—fuck!”
Cass didn’t look up from the laptop, her eyes darting wildly over lines of text, the screen’s glow casting pale light over her furrowed brow. She scrolled faster, lips moving silently until she froze, mouth hanging open. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the room like a blade.
“Oh my god… Ethan… it’s—it’s real. The ritual—” her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, “—it’s true. You’re… you’re becoming a woman.”
Ethan’s entire body went rigid, his hands clutching at his sides like he could physically hold himself together. “What the fuck are you talking about?! Make it stop! Cass—make it fucking stop!”
Cass’s knuckles were white around the laptop, her voice trembling. “It says ‘initial restructuring of sexual dimorphism patterns’—and it’s… it’s not reversible.”
Mason muttered something under his breath, his voice half in awe, half filthy curiosity. Ethan’s head snapped toward him, eyes wild. “Don’t—don’t you fucking dare—” But another deep, slow crack rolled through his frame, hips flaring wider still, and his waist pinched in further until his outline was unmistakably hourglass. That was the moment Ethan’s face twisted into sheer horror—because for the first time, he could feel it wasn’t just pain. There was something else creeping in under it. Something warm. Something wrong.
Ethan’s face crumpled, his eyes glassy with raw panic as the reality sank in. “I don’t want this—I don’t wanna be a fucking hot woman!” His voice cracked again, pitching unnaturally high on the last word, making him wince like even his throat was betraying him. Tears rolled down his flushed cheeks, streaking the sweat that dripped from his temples. He clutched at his cinched waist like it might stop the changes if he just held tight enough. “Make it stop, please—make it stop!”
Mason just stared at him, mouth half-open, clearly thrown but unable to hide the flicker of fascination in his eyes. His gaze drifted down over Ethan’s reshaped silhouette—the narrow pinch of the waist, the flare of his hips—and for a second his expression almost softened. Then he let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus, Ethan… you’re not just turning into a woman—you’re gonna be a hot one.”
That hit Ethan like a slap. He turned on Mason, still crying but furious through the panic. “You’re fucked in the head! You think this is—ahhh—funny?!” Another spasm gripped him mid-sentence, his legs trembling as the heat and ache swelled in his lower belly. Mason’s smirk faltered for a moment, but his eyes still roamed over the changes like he couldn’t help himself.
Cass, pale and tense, snapped at Mason without looking away from the laptop. “Shut up. He’s scared out of his mind, and you’re making it worse.” But her voice was tight, and even she couldn’t unsee the way Ethan’s frame was shifting into something undeniably, unnervingly feminine.
Ethan whimpered, folding his arms over his chest like he could protect what little masculinity he had left. “I don’t wanna be some… some curvy, fuckable bimbo for you to stare at,” he spat through his tears. But the look in Mason’s eyes said he was already imagining it.
The cracking in his ribcage came fast now—pop… pop-pop… CRACK—each one stealing his breath and forcing his chest outward in jerky bursts, like his body was trying to inhale for him. At first, it was just an uncontrollable expansion, ribs stretching wide. Then it shifted—his pecs softening, rounding, the muscle losing its definition in exchange for something warmer, heavier.
Ethan’s eyes went wide, and his hands shot up instinctively to clutch his ribs, trying to hold them together—but his palms landed right on the flesh that was swelling beneath them. Heat radiated out from the spot, the skin stretched tight and sensitive. The second he felt the weight pressing against his own hands, he flinched like he’d touched something burning. “No—no, no, no, no—!” His voice cracked high, panicked and raw.
The new weight kept blooming under his touch, a slow, steady pressure that made him want to claw his own chest. “Oh my God, it’s—fuck—what is happening?!” he gasped, pressing harder like he could push it back in.
Mason’s eyes lingered far too long, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t belong in a moment like this. “Jesus… you feel that?” he said low, almost to himself, before chuckling. “Can’t wait to see what those are gonna look like when they’re done.”
Ethan’s head snapped toward him, face twisted in disbelief and outrage. “You’re fucking sick, Mason! I’m—ahhh—dying here!” The protest was broken by another sharp crack in his ribs, forcing his chest to puff out further, the curve of his swelling breasts now undeniable under his trembling hands.
Cass looked like she wanted to slap Mason, but her gaze still flicked down at Ethan’s chest once before she forced herself back to the laptop. “Shut up and help him,” she snapped, though even her voice betrayed how hard it was becoming to ignore what was happening to him.
Each crack in his upper body punched the air right out of him, forcing his breaths higher and shallower. He was panting now—short, quick draws of air that made his swelling chest rise and fall in rapid rhythm. His ribs had shifted enough that every inhale pulled tight against his narrowing waist, his torso reshaping itself to match the flared sweep of his hips.
Ethan’s grunts came in between those gasps—low one second, then unexpectedly sharp and high the next. It wasn’t just pitch anymore; there was a softness, a smoothness creeping into the sound, bending it away from anything that could pass as masculine.
Cass froze mid-scroll, the laptop slipping slightly in her hands as she heard it. Her eyes darted up, locking on him.
“…Oh my God,” she murmured.
Ethan was too busy clutching his sides to notice her expression, still writhing as the pain forced another stuttered gasp from him. But to her, it was undeniable—his voice already had the shape of something feminine.
Mason noticed too, though his reaction was a slow, wolfish grin instead of horror. “Holy shit… you hear that?” he said under his breath, like the change in Ethan’s voice was just another dirty twist to enjoy.
Cass shot him a glare, but she didn’t deny it. “Ethan… your voice…” she said, her tone half-panicked, half in disbelief.
That made him finally stop scratching at his ribs. His head snapped toward her, eyes wild. “Wh—what about my—” His own words cut off as he heard himself, really heard it, the softer edge, the higher resonance. His stomach lurched, his face paling. “No. No, no, no…” He backed up a step, trembling all over. “It’s not—It’s not fucking happening—”
Another loud crack in his sternum cut him off, making his new voice spill out in a pained, breathy cry that only made the horror sink in deeper.
His voice kept slipping, each word melting further from raw panic into something that carried a sultry, breathy edge he didn’t want—and couldn’t control.
“Wh-what the fuck is… happening to me?” he gasped, and the last word came out with a smoky lilt, his vowels longer, softer. Even as he trembled, there was a warmth in the sound, the kind of unintentional allure that made Mason’s eyes light up.
“Jesus… you sound like you’re about to start moaning,” Mason muttered, half-joking, half turned on.
Ethan’s panic spiked. “Shut the fuck up!” he snapped, but it didn’t matter—the curse twisted even his anger into something breathy and feminine, the consonants softer, the tone sliding toward bedroom-smooth.
Cass’s expression was stricken now, caught between trying to help and watching in stunned disbelief. “Ethan, it’s getting worse. Your… your voice isn’t just higher—it’s changing how it feels when you talk.”
He clutched at his throat like he could strangle the sound back into something manly, but another sharp crack from inside his chest made him arch forward with a groan—low at first, then betraying him halfway through with a husky, womanly tremor.
“No, no, no, no—ohh—f-fuck!” he whimpered, horrified at how easily it slid into something that sounded like a moan. Mason actually bit his lip at that, looking him up and down with shameless fascination, while Cass just shook her head, her voice breaking when she said, “Ethan… you’re becoming her.”
To be continued...
