Zoey stood, triumphant over her felled foe. An abomination of nature, crafted to look and speak human, to lure and entice with its bright, blonde hair and erotic figure. Yet, at its core, the creature embodied darkness. Its foul stench, made to replicate strawberries, twisted her insides. She had wanted this moment for so long. No longer would this monstrosity that called itself a human torment her.
No more.
Zoey's eyes burst open at a sudden bang. Early morning sunlight seeped into her room, illuminating reality in its warm glow. She groaned and propped herself up on her elbow to see her nightstand. Her phone had fallen during the alarm, leaving it cracked around the frame, still it persisted, vibrating on the hard wood floor. The athlete deactivated it, sat up, yawned and stood. A new day, she thought, with new tortures.
She brushed her hair from her brow and rubbed at the crust in her eyes. Last night had been horrible. Gretchen insisted that they celebrate the day's activities with a trip to a woman's strip club. As always, the cruel girl had no trouble getting them in without ID or questioning. All she had to do was flash her fake boobs or take the bouncer, bartender and/or cop away from prying eyes and everything became fine. Zoey groaned at the mere thought of drinking another martini.
The fact she didn't have a hangover was a miracle. Although her head still pounded in the background, not egregious but insistent, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep through the day. But she couldn't. Gretchen would want her. And what Gretchen wanted, she got. Regardless of what it took.
What would she have her do this time? Zoey wondered as she headed to her bathroom. Her parents were downstairs, preparing for work and discussing plans for a vacation, while her sister's door remained shut tight. She tip-toed in front of it. The floorboards creaked underfoot. As if waiting for such a sound, Megan's door flew open to reveal the shorter sibling.
She shared Zoey's dark, red hair and green eyes, and nothing else. Megan ran a hand through her hair, long and messy unlike Zoey's controlled cut, while she yawned and scratched at her naked belly, avoiding her latest piercing. Neither said a word as Zoey hurried into the bathroom, thankful for the lack of interaction. Perhaps today wouldn't be so bad, she thought and sat on the toilet, keen to empty her bladder. She froze, then, as she felt the cold rim of the seat against something other than her toned thighs and buttocks.
Slowly, as if terrified to confirm what she might see, Zoey tilted her head. Short locks of auburn fell over her eyes. She'd need to get a haircut soon. Or maybe she could let it grow out? She couldn't recall the last time her hair went past her shoulders. While she was at it, she should get a makeover, something extreme so no one would recognise her. Then she could run away without issue.
She could never do it, though. Living by herself, the mere thought passed a shudder down her spine and into her legs, which made the... the thing sway. Zoey's blood ran cold. She strained to breathe against the tightness in her chest, as if she'd ran half a marathon. None of her zen training worked. She inhaled, held it tight, and released.
Again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. She closed her eyes, envisioning a vision of serenity, no Gretchen, no Megan, no worldly concerns, and counted to ten, slow and methodical. The tightness in her chest dwindled. In its place, she allowed peace to comfort her.
She had seen nothing but an illusion, brought on by her fears and sleep deprivation. It couldn't be real. She sighed, releasing the last of her tension. It couldn't be real. Her eyes opened, intent on seeing the world for what it really was. It couldn't be real.
Then why did she still see it? Why did her abs lead down into her bald, feminine groin which mutated into... into a penis?
Zoey gulped and repressed a second quiver. Panic achieved nothing. After she finished her business here, then she could worry in the sanctity of her room. She trained her focus on the tiled, turquoise walls. Nestled between the oceanic colour was the door, painted a stark white, while the PVC floor resembled sand. Her mom decorated most of the house and had a theme for each room, this being the 'beach house'. Mercifully, she'd spared Zoey and Megan this treatment.
Her distraction dissipated as her bladder relieved itself. She stared down at her body, at the strange, phallic lump on her crotch, and watched as it twitched with the stream. Every inch offered a new sensation, each strange and unwelcome yet intriguing. When the flow subsided, she stood and yelped at the wet slap against her thigh.
"Ugh," Zoey grimaced and wiped at the dampness left behind. She stared at her penis, uncertain how to proceed. Another drop fell from its tip. How did guys do it? She thought and recalled what she knew. Her fingers curled around the shaft and squeezed, forcing the straggling droplets to fall. A high gasp escaped her lips. She squeezed again, this time moaning as she did so.
She tightened her grip. If any drops remained, she didn't care. Zoey stroked along her flaccid length, watching the motion as if another person was responsible. Faint palpitations throbbed against her hand, growing stronger after each one. Her considerable length swelled, forced her fingers apart and throbbed before her perturbed gaze. Blood tightened the shaft with each stroke. Its veins took on a stark contrast as they rose across its form.
The growth waned and ended. Zoey's hand slowed as it reached the top, where a purple crown of sorts bulged out from the already thick shaft. Skin bundled beneath it in a lewd mock of a nest. Her veins supplied the broad, spongy zenith with all the blood it needed. Two distinct shapes hung from the base, pale skin wrapped tight around the spheres.
"It's huge," Zoey whispered. A proud smirk slipped onto her face at the sight, before fading as her lips parted into a low moan. Her hand slid back to her body. The sack below jostled against her fingers, leaving a sheen of sweat and a coating of its potent aroma. She pushed along her member, gripped the head and bit her lip at the sensation. Moisture brimmed at the tip, pleasure accompanied it, urging her to stroke again. She did, falling to her unfathomable desires.
Sultry moans reverberated in her throat as she gave her first handjob. To herself. This shouldn't be possible, she thought. Her spare hand found its way under her loose belly-shirt to her breast, meagre by comparison to the size of her cock. She kneaded her breast, pinched and pulled her nipple as her other limb raced to and fro. A familiar heat called her away from her breast, down past her balls, to her unaffected pussy. Her relief passed as she fell into her usual routine.
She sat back on the toilet and spread her legs wide. Her back arched as her hips bucked, thrusting her cock into the makeshift pussy of her hand, while her real snatch clamped around three of her fingers. Any sense of rhythm, of savouring the sensations, was absent. Zoey moaned and panted in her pleasure. A fourth finger stretched her cunny wider. Drops of her juices fell into the water below.
Pre-cum covered her hand and cock in moments. Fitting, given her insane size. She glided along it, faster by the second. Her fingers plunged into her snatch, curled and scratched at the sopping wet insides, as her thumb massaged the plump orbs above. Higher moans slipped out. Zoey pumped her hips in tandem with her lewd noises.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Zoey wheezed. Her toned abdomen clenched, her eyes rolled and her hips lifted in a final thrust. She wrenched her hand from her pussy and clapped it over her mouth, ignorant to her juices being smeared across her face. The spicy musk of her fem-cum saturated her sinuses. Her cock lurched and, with a muffled roar, Zoey came. Yet her bliss couldn't go untainted.
"Hurry the fuck up, Zoey! Some of us actually have important shit to do in there!" Megan's harsh voice bit through the door, frothing with distaste. Violent jerks sent viscous streaks of white sailing throughout the bathroom. One slammed into the mirror cabinet, another knocked Megan's toothbrush down and a third rocketed into the light switch. Zoey moaned and shook with her orgasm, each moan accompanied by the alien sensation of semen flying from her girl-meat.
Megan banged on the door, yet she went unheeded. For every blow upon the wood, Zoey's prick twitched and unleashed another volley. Several jets splashed against the door, as if aimed at Megan. The moaning athlete grinned behind her hand. She'd love to get back at her and Gretchen, make them suffer for all the times they degraded her. But she wouldn't.
She would stay the timid younger sister and subordinate. Such was her place. Zoey gripped her cock tight, blocking the next burst of seed. Yeah, she'd always be the weak one. If she stepped away from her role, the world would punish her for it. Whether it be by Gretchen's or Megan's hand, she would suffer, regardless of how she deserved it.
"Are you giving birth in there? Hurry up, shit-stain!" Megan snarled.
"Yeah, yeah," Zoey growled back, quiet so her sister didn't hear. Her legs quivered under her weight, muscles lax after her climax. She ripped off sheet after sheet of toilet paper and surveyed the mess she'd made. Hidden by the walls, she revelled in how prolific her orgasm had been. Half a roll later and she'd wiped up the worst of it, all while Megan threatened and insulted her. Nothing new.
She stuffed her dick back into her shorts. Folds fabric turned smooth as her large member occupied the space, leaving a sizable bulge any observant individual would notice. Except Megan. Zoey pulled open the door and her sister stepped inside, showing no acknowledgement for the girl, aside from a biting comment.
"God, they must be desperate to put you on the track team."
Zoey inhaled, a deep gust of semen scented air. She held it, took a sliver of pride in the odours strength, and released, saying nothing as she stepped out. Megan slammed the door behind her. A gust of air ruffled Zoey's shirt, brushing the fabric against her nipples. Her sigh turned to a gasp. Heat flooded her body, went cold and, finally, faded. She studied herself, brow scrunched tight, in search of any other changes. Nothing jumped out at her. She shrugged and returned to her room.
Door locked. Blinds drawn. Naked in front of a mirror. Zoey stared at herself, moving her eyes across her familiar figure, tracing the tan lines around her chest and hips to an unwelcome guest, though it looked no less natural than her breasts.
"Why aren't I freaking out?" Zoey pondered aloud, hoping for someone or something to provide an answer. If she could go to sleep a girl and wake up as a... a whatever she was now, then anything could be possible, even a disembodied voice guiding her through this strange time. No response came. Of course.
She had an answer, though. She was horrified. Anyone would be. A mixture of last night's consequences and her lingering afterglow dulled her horror, but it was there on her face, in her tense jawline, twitchy nose and dancing eyes. They all portrayed the singular emotion. Yet she refused to look away from her reflection, fascinated by what should be a portrait of ruined femininity.
Tomboy made for an adequate description of her figure. Slender breasts, toned arms and stomach, and a set of legs Chun Li would take pride in. An exaggeration, but Zoey had no insecurity about her body. Until now. Where once her tight lipped pussy had laid, smooth and cute and nestled between her muscular thighs, now hung a long, conspicuous slab of meat over a pair of apple-sized orbs. It had a darker tone than her natural complexion, and nothing else to distinguish it from her body. A stranger could look at her and think she was born this way.
