Regmore Rigmin
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Made For The Screen TG
🕑 Added 2025-03-27 10:07:37 +0000 UTCThe last thing Josh remembered was laughing at the bar, his voice loud and slurred as he mocked the woman on screen. The group of guys around him had chuckled along, nodding as he took another sip of whiskey and ripped into the performance of a well-known adult actress.
"Come on, it’s not even real work!" he had scoffed. "What, looking hot and pretending to enjoy it? Please, I could do that in my sleep."
That was the last thing he said before everything went black.
When he woke up, it was to the sensation of soft silk sheets against his skin. Something was wrong. The air smelled different—sweet, perfumed. His body felt too warm, too soft.
His eyelids fluttered open, and his stomach twisted.
The room was unfamiliar, dimly lit, with plush velvet curtains covering the walls. A massive vanity mirror stood in front of him, surrounded by glowing bulbs, a scene straight out of a dressing room. But it wasn’t the room that made his breath catch in his throat.
It was his reflection.
Staring back at him wasn’t Josh—not the tall, scruffy guy who had laughed at the bar a few hours ago. No. In the mirror sat a woman—a jaw-dropping, impossibly curvy bombshell.
Blonde waves cascaded over bare shoulders, framing a delicate, flawless face with plump lips and long, sultry lashes. Her eyes—his eyes?—were lined with dark liner, giving them a seductive, bedroom look. His breath hitched, and in the mirror, the woman’s chest heaved, her huge, round breasts barely held in place by a lacey gray lingerie set.
Josh’s hands trembled as he reached up, touching his face, feeling the smooth, silken skin. His fingers traced the curve of his new lips, the slender jawline, the petite nose that wasn’t his own.
Then his hands moved lower, down his slim, delicate neck, over his narrowed waist, the flat, toned stomach. And lower still—wide, feminine hips, soft thighs, and a body that felt entirely foreign.
"No… no, no, no." The voice that left his lips was breathy, high-pitched, undeniably feminine.
Josh scrambled out of the bed, nearly toppling over as his legs betrayed him. His balance was completely different—his hips swayed naturally, his center of gravity shifted. His breasts bounced with every desperate movement, their weight entirely unnatural to him.
Frantic, he grabbed at the lingerie, trying to pull it off, only to find that it wasn’t coming off. The straps dug into his shoulders, tight but comfortable, like they belonged there. He reached for the *wig—*except it wasn’t a wig. He yanked at his long blonde locks, only to feel the sharp sting of his scalp.
It was his hair.
His breath came shallow and rapid as panic crept in.
Then, from nowhere, a voice crackled over an intercom.
"Welcome, sweetheart."
Josh froze, his heart hammering in his chest.
"You had a lot to say about the adult film industry, didn’t you?" The voice was sultry, teasing. "Mocking the hard work it takes, laughing at the performers. Well, darling, it’s time for you to learn firsthand what it’s really like."
Josh’s stomach dropped.
"You are now Jasmine, one of the hottest rising stars in the industry. And today… is your first shoot."
Josh whipped around, searching for a way out, but the moment he did, the room changed.
Suddenly, red lights flickered on, illuminating cameras mounted in every corner. A low, sensual music began playing through hidden speakers, and the vanity lights dimmed to a sultry glow.
The doors clicked open.
And he walked in.
A tall, muscular man, dressed only in low-hanging jeans, his expression smoldering and unreadable. He was handsome in a rugged way, with sharp features and piercing blue eyes that locked onto Josh—Jasmine—like a predator sizing up its prey.
Josh took a step back, shaking his head, his blonde locks bouncing with the movement. "No—no, no, I’m not supposed to be here!"
The voice over the speaker only chuckled.
"Lights. Camera. Action."
Josh’s legs wobbled as the cameras zoomed in, their red recording lights blinking. His breathing was ragged, his new body hyperaware of every sensation—the soft silk against his skin, the warmth of the lights, the way his hips swayed involuntarily as he tried to move away.
The man stepped closer, his voice low, controlled. "Relax, Jasmine. Just follow my lead."
Josh’s heart pounded.
This wasn’t funny anymore.
This wasn’t a joke.
And as the cameras flashed, capturing every moment, every movement, he realized the truth:
He was trapped.
And there was no way out.
