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Anti-Tolerant Boyfriend
🕑 Added 2026-01-10 13:53:32 +0000 UTC— And… now a little to the left, yeah, just like that, — drawled Dustin, scratching his short beard and clicking the shutter of his camera. His way of talking, with that slow, lazy smoothness, was already getting on Marcus’s nerves.
Marcus stood to the right, shoulders squared, pulling in his stomach, glaring at the photographer from under his sunglasses. His massive chains nearly clinked against his chest as he adjusted his t-shirt.
— Hey, take it easy with your 'left-right' bullshit, — he muttered through clenched teeth, watching Dustin carefully study the pose of the girl beside him.
That girl — Alexis. Just three years ago, her name was Alexander Reed. A successful mogul, co-owner of an investment fund, father of two kids, and a walking nightmare for competitors. And now… she carefully adjusted the strap of her denim overall, and her tits, heavy and damn tight, lifted slightly.
Alexis tilted her head just a little, giving the camera a playful half-smile. She had learned that long ago — presenting herself like everything around was a game, even though inside, strange excitement and anger bubbled together.
— Come on, sweetie, smile too, — Dustin kept going, cracking his knuckles and snapping a few more shots like his camera was firing a machine gun.
Marcus frowned. Somehow, that little suggestion from the photographer hit him in exactly the wrong way, touching some raw nerve inside.
— Who the fuck did you just call sweetie, you little rooster?! — Marcus squinted, his massive tattoo-covered fingers instinctively curling into a fist.
Dustin, tall, slim, with perfectly styled blond hair and that mocking sparkle in his blue eyes, tilted his head slightly, pretending not to notice the rapper's tense stance.
— Relax, Marcus, — he drawled, like chewing gum stretched from his mouth. — It's just words to loosen up. Alexis gets me, right, babe? — He playfully winked at the girl.
Alexis smiled a little wider, automatically adjusting the belt of her overall. The tight cups squeezed her tits, and every breath reminded her what she had become… and who she used to be. Her nipples could feel the fabric even through the thick denim.
Three years ago, she was Alexander Reed.
A wall of steel and money, a millionaire who crushed people at the negotiation table with just one look. But that deal… that fucking Professor Martinez… He promised youth, a second life, but in the end, gifted her with tits the size of melons, a doll-like waist, and constant desire. Desire that washed over her like a wave, especially when someone like Marcus was around.
Yeah, Marcus… now her boyfriend, a rapper from Atlanta, stage name L-RAW, pumped-up, cocky, with that raw macho energy so strong he had no clue who he was wrapping his arm around at night. And of course, he couldn’t stand 'all that shit,' just like Alexander Reed couldn’t back then… feminine mannerisms, gays, identity games.
— Let me explain to you real quick who the fuck you called sweetie, — Marcus took a step toward the photographer, the chains on his chest swinging. — I don’t like the shit you're saying.
— Hey, hey… guys, chill, — Alexis leaned forward, and the tight overall immediately stretched, emphasizing her tits. She felt it again, that heat, that trembling under her skin when the fabric slid over her new curves… How strange, she noted to herself, that it turned her on again… How this guy was protecting her, even though everything inside screamed against it, but it was hard to argue with her body.
She placed her hand on Marcus's forearm — so strong, heavy, like iron — as if trying to remember what it felt like to be a man… and how far that was now.
— Listen… — she started, her breath catching, her legs slightly giving out. She wanted to keep talking, but the words got stuck somewhere inside.
— Baby, don’t stress yourself, — Marcus’s voice suddenly got softer, but that only made it sound more dominant. His hand landed on her lower back, and Alexis shivered at the touch, almost instinctively pressing closer to him, feeling that craving again — the craving to have his cock between her legs. She pressed her lips together, desperately trying to keep her face straight, but inside everything boiled up again — contradiction, anger, that strange, sticky arousal. Ever since that night — the first night she woke up in this body — female, unfamiliar, sweet like fire — her body lived like it had a mind of its own.
— That’s it, girl… relax.
Alexis inhaled sharply through her nose, her face holding that light, practiced half-smile — for the camera, for the people around them. But inside… inside everything was tearing apart. She was turned on by this humiliation. That word "girl," especially coming from him in that condescending, dominant tone. It echoed in her head, a harsh contrast to the memory of who she used to be — Alexander Reed, the man who could fire, ruin, destroy someone with one phone call. And now…
Marcus gripped her tighter, his fingers digging into her waist.
Dustin raised the camera again.
— That’s it… gorgeous… Now kiss each other, — Dustin said, bringing the camera back to his face.
— Heh… now that’s more like it, — drawled Marcus, yanking Alexis by the waist, pulling her closer so her tits pressed against his solid chest, the chains rattled, and the smell of cologne and sweat wrapped around her.
Alexis instinctively leaned forward. Her body reacted on its own again, lips parting slightly, eyes half-closed, heart racing. She hated this. Hated that three years ago, she could humiliate guys like this rapper with one word. Alexander Reed — billionaire, business shark, feared on Wall Street. Sixty years of experience, influence, money. And now… now…
Now she was Alexis. Twenty-six years old. Brunette with tits that didn’t fit into any standard top. No capital. No connections. Everything burned to ashes in the first two years when she tried to build some kind of new life. Most of the money went to sex. She told herself it was to "distract herself," but her body… her body wanted something else. It wanted to be fucked, wanted to be held, squeezed, called "girl." And she still fucking loved it.
