Pushover

The soft chime of the microwave cuts through the lazy weekend silence of our suburban house. I shuffle into the kitchen, drawn by the promise of leftover pizza and root beer. Jess is already there, leaning against the counter in her unfashionably sensible cardigan, her nose buried in some ridiculously thick book.

"Slumming it with Arnold and Jerry later?" she asks, not looking up from her page.

"Slumming it, hanging out, you know, tomato, tomato," I reply as I pop open a cold can of root beer, the fizz sounding like miniature fireworks going off.

Jess sighhhs, as if my very existence has become an inexplicably tiresome chore for her. She lowers her tome and gives me the arched eyebrow. "You're going to spend another Saturday cooped up in Arnold's musty basement playing Magic The Geekening?"

I shrug, taking a gulp of my root beer. "Is there a law against it?"

She flips a page in her novel, "Maybe there should be. You could go outside, see the sun, breathe fresh air. Maybe talk to people who don't still live with their moms."

"No, thanks," I grimace, "I've heard about the sun. Sounds overrated."

Jess snorts. "All I'm saying is that you're not going to meet a girl in Arnold's basement surrounded by action figures."

"Who says I want to meet a girl?" I reply, my voice sounding more defensive than I wanted. "And they're valuable collectible action figures, Jess."

She only shrugs. "Suit yourself. But one day you'll realize that there's a whole world outside of action figures... or collectibles, whatever," she corrects herself, her eyes rolling dramatically.

I stuff a slice of pizza into my mouth. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my 'loser friends' are waiting."

As I head for the door, Jess calls out, "Let me know when you guys are ready to come out of the basement and meet real women!"

I roll my eyes and trudge out the door. Little did I know, Jessica's taunts were going to sound far more chilling in the days to come.

It was an ordinary start to what would become an anything-but-ordinary day. But for that moment, as I walked toward Arnold's place, my MTG deck in my backpack and leftover pizza in my hand, all was right in my world. I'm Timmy Johnson, living a below average life with my below average friends, and am perfectly fine with it.

—

I shuffle my deck of cards, the familiar motion offering a semblance of comfort as I sit across from Jerry and Arnold, my lifelong comrades in the unending battle of nerddom. The scent of stale pizza crusts and the lingering odor of body spray permeate my cramped apartment. Our battleground: the sticky surface of my secondhand coffee table, a landscape scattered with Magic: The Gathering decks and half-empty soda cans.

Jerry's booming voice cuts through the clutter of our setup. "You know who's got the finest ass in the entire city?" he barks with a smirk, slamming down a Mountain card with unnecessary force. "Serra from the comic store. Holy hell, I'd tap that like it's the last source of mana on earth."

Arnold snorts, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he assesses his hand with the over-inflated confidence of a self-proclaimed Casanova. "Pfft, Serra's nothing compared to Emily the barista. Every time she bends over to grab a new bag of coffee beans, it's like the heavens part and bless my day."

I roll my eyes from behind my hand of cards, already imagining the exaggerated tales Arnold might spin about 'conquests' that never happened. "Sure, Arnold," I mumble, playing a Plains card and summoning a modest creature, a Squire with a pitiful one power and one toughness. "As if Emily would give you the time of day."

Jerry cackles, a loud abrasive laugh as he casts a Lightning Bolt, instantly frying my poor Squire. "Timmy, always the realist. But let's face it, the only female attention you're getting is from your anime body pillow."

His words sting with the bitter truth, but it's drowned out by the more pressing ache of my diminished life points. I avert my gaze, pretending to be more interested in my dwindling hand than in the conversation. With a sigh, I pass the turn, signaling my inability to make a move.

Arnold, with his lanky frame hunched over his cards, draws and reveals a Swamp card with an over-the-top flourish. "It's all about the allure, gentlemen. You've got to entice them with a bit of mystery." He chuckles darkly, summoning a Gravedigger in what he believes to be a strategic move.

Jerry, unfazed, tosses another spell onto the stack with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. "Mystery, my ass. You just need to show 'em you're the alpha. None of that brooding, 'mysterious stranger' crap."

I can't help but wince at the thought of Jerry's brand of flirting – probably akin to a bull in a china shop. Still, my reticence to join the banter allows me to focus on my next play, though the nervous twitch in my leg betrays my discomfort in this overtly macho exchange.

My turn again, and I draw a card, hoping for a miraculous save that never comes. With a defeated sigh, I play another creature, a Paladin, as meek in presence as my confidence around women.

"I'm just saying, guys," I offer hesitantly, trying to steer the conversation away from embarrassing territory, "it's not just about looks or... or being alpha. What about a sense of humor or... or intelligence?"

The room falls silent for a moment, both Jerry and Arnold staring at me as if I've suggested we play Uno instead. Then, they burst into laughter, Jerry nearly tipping his chair backward.

"Oh, Timmy," he chortles, wiping a tear from his eye, "you're adorable. Women don't want the funny guy; they want the winner. And I'm winning this game."

Arnold nods, playing along with Jerry's bravado. "Exactly! Although, I must say, having a killer body doesn't hurt either," he says, poking fun at his own scrawny physique.

I slump in my chair, a resigned smile plastered on my face as I take the ribbing in stride. It's always been this way – the three of us trying to one-up each other with bravado we don't possess, masking the insecurity that clings to us like the Cheetos dust on Jerry's fingers.

As we continue to play, I lay down a spell card that I hope will turn the tide of the game in my favor. Arnold, on his turn, leans in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You know what would really shake things up? Those X-Change pills."

Jerry grimaces as though he's tasted something foul. "X-Change? That's for normies who can't get girls themselves. Man up, Arnold."

Arnold chuckles, undeterred. "Yeah, but think about it. They say chicks dig guys who seem popular, right? What if one of us became a girl—just for a bit? You know, to boost our street cred at the arcade."

I snort, almost choking on my soda. "Because a gender-bent version of us is suddenly gonna be the life of the party?"

Jerry throws his head back with a laugh, slapping a creature card down a little too hard. "Honestly, can you imagine? Me, rocking a miniskirt? I'd have legs for days, lads."

Arnold chimes in, clearly enjoying the absurdity. "What about me? I'd be a smoking hot redhead with curves that could cause a pile-up on the highway."

I try to join in on the joke but feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment. "And what? I'd be 'cute' with my glasses and all?" I mumble, the blush spreading across my face.

The guys roar with laughter, and Jerry claps me on the back. "Hell yeah, Timmy! You'd probably be a nerdy bombshell that all the comic book guys drool over."

The game starts to take a backseat as the idea seems to gain a bizarre kind of appeal despite our initial revulsion. That's when Arnold drops the bombshell.

"So, I've got a Basic X-Change pill," he admits with a quirky grin. "Snagged it from my brother's dresser."

Jerry's eyes nearly pop out of his skull. "Dude, you're messing with your brother's date night stash? That's cold... but also kinda hilarious."

Arnold shrugs, the corners of his lips turning up. "Isn't that what brothers are for?"

My mind races with the ridiculousness of it all, and yet, as Arnold sets the pill on the table, a sense of dread creeps up my spine. The game has suddenly taken on a new level of stakes.

"So... loser becomes the wing woman at the arcade?" Jerry proposes, an impish glint in his eye.

Arnold nods enthusiastically. "Exactly! We could even hit up the comic store—make Serra think we're the cool guys."

Despite myself, I'm drawn into the insanity of this plot. "And, uh, what? We take pictures with our new 'female friend' to prove we're popular?"

"We could even photoshop her into some of our group shots," Arnold adds with a mischievous smirk.

"Yeah, 'cause nothing says 'cool' like a photoshopped girlfriend," I quip, but there's a nervous laugh hidden in my tone.

We shuffle our decks again, the air heavy with the unspoken agreement. I pick out my best deck, the one I've painstakingly curated and know like the back of my hand. This is one game I cannot afford to lose—the prospect of becoming a girl, even temporarily, is terrifying and surreal.

The three of us are silent, save for the sounds of cards slapping against the table and the occasional gulp of soda. It's clear we're all scared, though none of us will admit it. Each turn is more strategic than the last, the tension in the room palpable.

As the game progresses, the ludicrous plan begins to feel real. The possibility of needing to act as a wing woman, of putting on a skirt and heels and strutting into the arcade or the comic store, sends shivers down my spine. The jokes have stopped now, and we're playing in earnest, the atmosphere charged with a fear-driven focus.

The Basic X-Change pill sits at the edge of the table, a pink harbinger of transformation and high-stakes Magic: The Gathering. Each of us glances at it between turns, our expressions betraying the gravity of what the pill represents.

Before we even start, we assess our opening hands like seasoned generals contemplating the battlefield. Jerry's twisted grin tells me he's got something nasty up his sleeve, and Arnold's barely-contained glee hints at a trick or two. Me? I feel the chill of uncertainty crawling up my spine—I need to mulligan.

"All right, boys. It's game on," I announce after my redraw. "Let's see who's gonna be the belle of the arcade."

My newly drawn hand is promising—a curve of creatures that can escalate quickly, and I have the lands to make it happen. I play an Island and pass, a smirk dancing on my lips. I've got this.

Jerry tosses a Mountain onto the field with the same force as a wrestler entering the ring. "Let's go, baby! Feel the burn!" His opening play is aggressive, a low-cost creature that comes out swinging.

Arnold follows suit, laying down a Swamp and casting a spell that reeks of future troubles. His deck is as tactical as he is sneaky. "Just you wait. I'll have you begging for mercy soon enough," he vows, eyeing Jerry's creature with disdain.

The game unfolds, creatures clashing and spells flying. I keep my cool, as the quiet one usually does, playing my cards with strategic precision. When Jerry aims a removal spell at my emerging threat, I counter with a spell of my own. "Not today, Jerry. Not today."

The banter is relentless. "Come on, Timmy! You don't want to be wearing a skirt and batting your eyelashes at Serra, do you?" Jerry teases, as his creatures carve a swath through our life points.

Arnold chimes in, chuckling, "I'd pay to see that. Timmy, the unexpected seductress!"

I can't help but laugh along, even as that nervous thrill shivers through me. "As if you wouldn't kill to see Jerry in a crop top, working those thunder thighs," I retort, flipping a card that draws me into a better position.

As the game marches toward its climax, my initial confidence starts to wane. My combos are landing, but not as powerfully as I'd hoped. Arnold's sneaky tactics are slowly eroding my board presence, and Jerry, that human incarnate of a blazing inferno, is just non-stop aggression.

I'm doing my best to be the Beatdown, putting pressure on them, while Jerry's brute-force strategy keeps him comfortably in the Aggressor role. Arnold, as always, lurks in the shadows, playing the midrange game, looking for a crack in our defenses.

We're deep into the game now, and the atmosphere is thick with tension. Every card draw feels like it has the weight of destiny behind it, every move a potential game changer. Luck and skill collide in a dance as old as Magic itself.

"Timmy's sweating, look at him! He knows he's gonna be the one picking out nail polish colors soon!" Jerry guffaws, slamming down another hulking creature.

But fate has a sense of humor. Despite my careful planning, my moves are countered, my threats neutralized. My life total is dwindling. Jerry's board is crowded with creatures too big to handle, and Arnold's spells are breaking my will.

It all comes crashing down when Arnold plays a card that wipes out several of my key creatures. My defenses crumble. In desperation, I cast a spell to regain some footing, but it's not enough.

Jerry laughs maniacally, dealing the final blow. "And down goes Timmy! Looks like you're our wing woman, buddy."

Shock ripples through me like a bad electric charge. I stammer, "I—I can't believe it."

Arnold claps me on the back, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Don't worry, Timmy. You'll make a cute addition to the group. And hey, next time it'll be one of us - promise! You're just first."

The cruel reality sets in. I've lost. My heart pounds as I reach for the peachy-pink pill that promises an earth-shattering change. The guys watch, their excitement a mix of genuine curiosity and brotherly torment.

"Guys, c'mon, it was just a joke! I'm not actually gonna take the pill," I protest, waving my hands frantically as if to erase the very idea from existence.

Jerry leans forward, his leer almost a caricature of salacious interest. "A bet's a bet, Timmy. You wouldn't want to be known as a welcher now, would you?"

Arnold nods in agreement, his smirk practically audible. "Exactly, Timmy. We're all men of our word here. You lose, you transform. If I had lost, I would've done it. No backing out now."

I feel the walls closing in as they'll use any logic to corner me. "But... but it was a joke! We can't—No! This is crazy, right?" My voice is a feeble whine against their assertiveness.

Jerry snorts, a sound like a buzzsaw cutting through my feeble defense. "Oh, come on, Timmy! It's only for 24 hours. You'll be back to your dorky, dude self by tomorrow. Besides, think of the story you'll have!"

Arnold piles on, relentless. "Yeah, imagine you as a girl. You'd be hot—without the beard, obviously." He bursts into laughter at his own joke, as though the vision of me sprouting facial hair as a woman is the pinnacle of comedy.

"Hot or not, I'm not doing it!" I counter, my resolve thinning like wet tissue paper. "Look, if it's cards you want, I'll give you my Black Lotus or my foil Charizard. Those are worth a ton! Way more than this stupid bet."

But they're having none of it.

"Timmy, Timmy," Jerry taunts, shaking his head with an exaggerated tsk. "We're not after your nerd gold. We want to see you... blossom."

"And think about it, Timmy," Arnold continues, ignoring my obvious discomfort, "you'll be the ultimate wing woman. We'll be swimming in chicks thanks to you! And next time, it'll be one of us."

Their eager, slovenly smirks tell me they're not letting this go. I'm the the pushover, and they know it. They prod and poke with their leering comments, mock encouragement dripping from their voices like drool from a starved animal.

"Fine!" I explode, standing up so fast my chair rocks back on two legs. "Fine! I'll take the stupid pill! But you two better be ready to honor your word next time!"

They cheer, a cacophony of crude jests and laughter, as I snatch the pill from the table and stomp towards the bathroom, the weight of my defeat heavier than any Magic deck I've ever held. The door slams behind me, muffled cheers still seeping through as I down the pill with a swig of water from the sink.

A bet's a bet, but as the cool liquid washes down the X-Change pill, I can't help but wonder if our friendship will ever be the same after this.

Okay, let's do this. I grip the edges of the sink, waiting for the pill to kick in. Nothing happens at first, and there's a moment of absurd hope that maybe this won't work, that I'll walk out of here still Timmy, with his unremarkable 5'8" frame and a life that's the epitome of geeky male mediocrity.

But then it hits—a searing, scalding heat that radiates from the pit of my stomach and surges outwards like a thermonuclear wave. I gasp, my breath hitching as the heat engulfs me, consuming every cell.

My legs buckle, the sweatpants suddenly too long, pooling around my ankles. I watch, horrified and fascinated, as my toes and feet shrink down, the old size 10 sneakers now clown shoes on my dainty feet. My legs tingle, a sensation of pins and needles on steroids, and before my eyes, they slim and curve into the soft, feminine limbs of a girl.

I thrust my hands against the mirror to keep from collapsing, my fingers slimming, nails growing slightly—just enough to be noticed, not enough to be impractical. My arms follow suit, losing their lazy gamer musculature and gaining a slender elegance I've never known.

A sudden tightness grips my chest, and I throw my head back with a strangled cry as two mounds of flesh begin to balloon beneath my ratty t-shirt. It's like someone's inflating balloons in there—jiggly little B-cup balloons. The fabric stretches around my burgeoning breasts, and I can actually feel the nipples forming, blossoming into existence with an ache that's half pain, half something else.

It's not long before the changes cascade further. My hips begin to widen with a sensation that's akin to growing pains, but dialed up to eleven. The bones stretch and shift with sharp, punctuated discomfort, my sweatpants suddenly becoming snug in places they were once loose. My waist cinches inward as if an invisible belt is being pulled tight, every notch of constriction making me gasp.

My face is next. It feels like a thousand tiny ants march across my skin, each one carrying a piece of my masculinity away with them. I can literally feel my jawline softening, the skin smoothing out as blemishes and the shadow of facial hair vanish like they were never there.

My nose pinches slightly at the bridge, shrinking to a more petite model, and my lips plump up as if I'm going through some sort of real-time cosmetic surgery, no injections needed.

I'm shorter now, dizzyingly so, my eyes barely clearing the bottom of the mirror. My hair itches as it recedes to a bob, tickling the nape of my neck and brushing against my cheeks, no longer mousy but a radiant hazel.

And then there's the weird, almost alien sensation between my legs—like my entire groin is being hollowed out and reshaped. My boxer briefs go slack, and there's an emptiness for a split second before a new anatomy asserts itself with an intimate, blossoming heat.

Goosebumps prickle across my newly smoothed skin, the texture shifting from rough to silky in seconds. My thighs rub together with a softness that's startling, and I can feel my calf muscles diminishing, my stance becoming less stable as my new, smaller feet teeter inside my oversize sneakers.

I finally dare to look in the mirror, and there she is—Tammy? Ugh, I hate that name. Cute, fucking adorable with short, softly styled hair that doesn't fall past my shoulders. My glasses still sit perched on my nose, but they frame my face differently now, highlighting big hazel eyes that seem wider, more innocent. My cheeks are flushed with the remnants of the transformation, and a spark of horror and fascination flickers in my reflection as I take in my new reality.

My mind races. This is me. This is who I have to be... for the next 24 hours. I press the palms of my hands against my new form, the jolt of unfamiliarity coursing through me with each rapid heartbeat. I'm smaller, softer, and undeniably feminine. And I have to go back out there and face Jerry and Arnold like this. I press my newly delicate hand against the cool glass, my breath fogging up a tiny circle on the mirror.

I gingerly touch my features, the round, cute-cheeked visage.

Taking a shaky step back, I grimace as my bare feet touch the cold tile. Everything feels intense, raw, like I'm a walking nerve ending. The confines of my sweatpants and t-shirt now sag in some places and strain in others.

"Timmy?" Jerry's crude voice hollers from the other side of the bathroom door. "You done yet? We're dying out here!"

"I'm... coming," I call back, the sound of my own voice sending a shiver down my newly curved spine.

I can't believe I'm doing this. Gathering every last shred of courage, I pull open the bathroom door and step back into the room, where Jerry and Arnold are practically salivating with anticipation. My blush is instantaneous and fierce, my face burning like it's caught the full brunt of the sun's rays.

***

The guys rush over immediately, their eyes wide and lecherous. Jerry circles me like a shark that's scented blood in the water. "Holy shit, Timmy—uh, Tammy, you look... damn!"

Arnold, in typical fashion, is all hands, reaching out as if to poke and prod me. "Wow, Timmy's gone. You're a full-on gamer girl now! Though, you've got short hair. We like girls with long, flowing locks, don't we Jerry?"

My indignation spikes. "It's not like I wanted this, you know! It's not like I had a say in how long my hair got!"

They're completely undeterred by my discomfort, ogling my body, trying to guess my new attributes. Jerry leans in, squinting at my chest with the analytical gaze of someone defusing a bomb rather than looking at a pair of breasts. "Are those B cups or... no, C cups?"

Arnold squawks in agreement, his curiosity mingled with a shameful kind of glee. "Definitely Bs. Not quite Cs, I think."

As if they're experts. I can feel my face grow even hotter.

I fidget with the hem of my t-shirt, painfully aware of how different—and how observed—I am.

"Whoa, Timmy's got a nice ass too!" Arnold exclaims with a gross sort of wonder in his voice, and before I can react, I feel his hand grip my plump butt through the thin material of my sweatpants.

"Hey! Stop it!" I shriek, swatting his hand away with a slap that echoes with my indignation. "Nothing's changed! I'm still the same person. And I'm going to the arcade with you tomorrow, but that's it. That's all the bet was!"

But they're on a roll, totally immune to my protests. Jerry's being his typically pushy self, nudging Arnold with his elbow. "Don't you think it would be a waste not to enjoy the transformation? I mean, those pills are expensive, dude."

I cross my arms defensively, pressing them against the foreign feeling of my new breasts. "No. Just no," I insist, but my voice lacks conviction, drowned out by their laughter and leering comments.

Arnold, ever the instigator of the group, tries to push it further. "C'mon, can't you at least show us what's under the shirt? We're your buds, right?"

I recoil, wrapping my arms tighter around myself as their eyes bore into me. Inside, I'm screaming. They've never seen a girl naked—hell, they've barely spoken to one without stuttering—and now they're making these crude requests of me?

I try to stand my ground. "No. I won't. That's not happening, and you two need to back off," I say, attempting to assert myself even as I feel small and out of place in my own skin.

My internal voice is a litany of affirmations. I'm still Timmy. I'm not some sideshow for them to gawk at. I don't have to give in to their pressure.

Jerry and Arnold exchange a look—part disappointment, part unspoken challenge. "Fine, fine," Jerry relents, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. "No need to get your panties in a twist."

Arnold backs off as well, though his gaze continues to dart to my newly feminine form with ill-concealed fascination. "Yeah, alright. Chill."

But the tension hangs in the air, thick and muggy, as I try to ignore the unwelcome attention and focus on the excruciatingly embarrassing situation I've found myself in.

"Alright, fire up the Mario Kart. Let's see if Timmy's skills got swapped along with everything else," Arnold says with a sly grin, fetching the controllers as Jerry powers on the console.

I sink into the couch, taking the middle seat as always. But now, the space feels cramped, the cushions swallowing me whole. I glance between Jerry and Arnold, the two of them hulking figures flanking me on either side. Jerry's 6'2" frame and flabby girth press against me on one side, his arm occasionally bumping against my delicate shoulder. Arnold's lankier presence, though less imposing, seems more expansive than before, his long legs sprawling into my personal space.

Their looks are furtive, but I catch them staring, their glances lingering with a brazen sort of curiosity. I feel small, delicate even, tucked between their broad shoulders and meaty arms. My own thighs press together on the couch, the unfamiliar softness causing a flush of discomfort and vulnerability.

Then it hits me—their smells. The musk of Jerry's unwashed laundry mixed with the tangy residue of hot sauce is more pungent than I remember, distinct and overpowering. Beside him, Arnold's cologne, usually a faint background note, assails my senses, a heavy cloud of cheap fragrance tinged with the musk of a body that's no stranger to skipped showers. The odors are strangely amplified, and I realize my sense of smell has heightened along with everything else.

As we select our characters and gear up for the race, I try to concentrate on the screen, but their chuckles at my obvious discomfort gnaw at my focus.

"Hey, Timmy—Tammy, sorry," Jerry starts, his voice dripping with amusement. "How about a little wager on this race?"

"Yeah," Arnold chimes in, "if you win, we'll back off for tonight. We won't bug you again until it's photo time tomorrow." His smirk tells me there's a catch coming.

"And if you win?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent, though my heart is racing.

"We get to see what's under that shirt. Just a quick look!" Jerry declares, as if he's proposing the most normal thing in the world.

"Oh, come on! You can't be serious," I groan, elbowing for room as their girth seems to close in on me.

"It's just a bit of skin," Arnold prods, egging Jerry on. "We've seen boobs before, right, Jerry?"

Jerry nods emphatically, almost dislodging the controller from his lap. "Hell yeah, loads of 'em. Online, anyway. It's no big deal, Tammy."

I narrow my eyes at them, analyzing their expressions. They're laughably pathetic, but they're not backing down. And there's a thread of resolve in me that's itching to wipe those smug looks off their faces with a victory.

"Fine. But when I win, no more comments, no more bets for the rest of the night. Agreed?" I demand, gripping my controller like a lifeline.

"You got it," they agree in unison, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

Okay, focus. It's just Mario Kart, the same game I've dominated countless times before. Except now, the Switch controller feels tiny in my newly delicate hands. My fingers are slender and maybe more precise? Will it give me an edge?

On my left, Jerry's already getting into his usual, over-the-top racer's stance, leaning into every turn as if his entire body's will can force his character forward on the screen. His large figure shifts with each twist and turn, nearly elbowing me in the face with each enthusiastic jerk of the controller.

Arnold's on my right, long legs jutting out awkwardly, controller clutched in his gangly hands. He's notorious for being a dirty racer, ready to throw bananas and shells without a second thought, and now he's teamed up with Jerry, their shared mission to sabotage my lead.

I hunker down, trying to claim my space on the couch, keenly aware of the heat from their sides pressing in on me. I miss my old body's broad shoulders, the way I used to fill out my side of the sofa. Now, I'm wedged in, my softer frame squeezed between these two hulking masses of man-child.

"Get ready to flash us!" Jerry hoots as the countdown beeps begin. He's like a big, rowdy bear beside me.

"No way I'm losing," I retort, nailing the boost start, shooting off the grid like a rocket. Thank you, muscle memory.

"No way she's pulling this off," Arnold mutters, but his usual cocky tone is tinged with uncertainty. His fingers fumble with the controls, his bulky thumbs almost covering the buttons entirely.

I let myself sink into the racer's high, the outside world narrowing to the glowing screen in front of us. The first lap is a rush, a blur of color and sound, and I'm threading the needle through the track, drifting with precision around sharp corners and collecting every coin in sight.

"Damn, Tammy's in the zone," Jerry comments, wide-eyed as my kart zips through a shortcut I know like the back of my hand.

"Gotta give it to her. She's got mad skills," Arnold admits, trying to feign indifference but clearly sweating as he watches my character lead the pack.

The growing pressure from their knees against mine reminds me of my smaller stature. I squirm, trying to maintain some sort of personal space, but it's a losing battle. Jerry's loud, commanding voice and Arnold's scheming whispers create a cacophony that echoes around the cramped living room.

"Whose bright idea was it to to bet on MARIO KART?" Jerry grumbles, mashing buttons in a way that suggests brute force might help him catch up. "This is Timmy's specialty. Should've done Soulcalibur."

"Dude, shut up and focus!" Arnold hisses.

I've played these tracks so many times, I could do it blindfolded—the optimal racing lines are burned into my brain. I skirt through another drift, the controller vibrating in my hands, the tiny R button taking a beating as I hop over a ramp, earning a stunt boost.

Each of their movements sends waves through the couch, jostling me. Jerry's heavy thigh moves with his exaggerated leans, pressing against mine, while Arnold's elbow grazes my side every time he throws a shell or banana. The contact sends shivers up my skin, goosebumps racing across the surface.

"Watch it, Tammy! I got a red shell with your name on it," Arnold warns playfully, but I can tell he's desperate to make good on that threat.

"In your dreams, Ardvark," I snap back, confidence surging as my kart flies off another jump.

End of the first lap, and my kart crosses the line first, the guys' characters trailing behind in a clutter of items and desperate attempts to take shortcuts they've never mastered.

As the second lap begins, I'm already basking in the glow of my victory. A little devilish instinct takes over, something I've never really indulged in before.

I let them catch up just a smidge. Then, as they draw near, I unleash a barrage of green shells with an expert flick of the thumb. The shells ricochet off the walls with a satisfying thunk before finding their targets.

"Oops!" I giggle, a high-pitched, unfamiliar sound that only riles them up more. "Can't even beat a girl, huh? What's the matter, guys?"

Jerry's face is red, spitting curses every time his character spins out. "This isn't over, Tammy! You're just getting lucky, that's all!"

Arnold, usually cool and conniving, is in full incel meltdown. "RNGesus hates me! Why am I only getting coins? She's right there!"

Their rage is almost palpable, the heat from their bodies growing suffocating as they lean in, fingers stabbing at the buttons with a fury that might break the poor controllers. I keep dodging and weaving, grace in polygonal form, darting just out of reach each time they try to land a hit.

"You know, for a nerdy girl, you sure are ruthless," Jerry grumbles.

"Admit it, you love it," I tease, switching gears to avoid Arnold's last-ditch red shell. "Are you guys even trying?"

As I maneuver the controller, the sides of my newly acquired breasts brush against my arms, a sensation that's as distracting as it is novel. My thighs are pressed tightly together, my form compact yet unfamiliar on this couch that used to fit me so well.

With one lap to go, I toss another cheeky glance their way, practically feeling their nerd rage simmering like a pot about to boil over. It's clear that while I'm usually the pushover, when it comes to Mario Kart, these guys can't hold a candle to me.

Then, in what can only be described as a heinous act of treachery, one of them reaches back while pretending to scratch his neck and pinches my newly ample backside. "Hey!" I yelp, the sound high-pitched and startled, my kart swerving dangerously.

Jerry grins, his eyes crinkling with glee at the successful distraction. "Gotcha!" he crows, nudging Arnold, who chuckles alongside him.

Focus, Tammy, I tell myself. But a warning indicator at the top of my screen flashes: incoming blue shell. My heart pounds; it's a harbinger of doom in Mario Kart, the great equalizer, and there's rarely any escape. I grab an item box in desperation, but it yields a useless coin.

I shriek as the blue shell slams into my kart, sending it spinning into the air. Jerry and Arnold high-five above my head, their cruel delight thickening the air. Still, I'm not done—my eyes catch the glinting prize of a mushroom on the track. I snatch it up, fingers trembling with hope and adrenaline.

Speed boost! My kart lurches forward, reclaiming ground, but Jerry and Arnold are relentless now, consumed by the race. Another red shell whistles through the air, and I can almost feel the heat as it slams into me.

"Come on, Tammy! What happened? You can't keep up?" Arnold mocks, his voice edging into a falsetto as he leans over me, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

I'm furious, battling to regain my lead, but then Arnold lands another sneaky smack to my backside, throwing me off once more. The shock sends a wave of heat up my spine, and in that moment of flustered frustration, Jerry, with a whoop of triumph, edges past me at the finish line.

They're ecstatic, nerd glee personified as they hop from foot to foot in their awkward victory dance, hands slapping and bodies jostling in unrestrained celebration.

"You lost!" Jerry chants, his tone one of mock sympathy laced with vindication.

"And we get to see some boobies!" Arnold adds, his voice cracking with excitement as they turn their fervent gazes on me.

I'm blushing furiously, cheeks burning with embarrassment and humiliation. Their raucous laughter fills the room, echoing off the walls and settling heavy in my ears.

I'm desperate, anything to avoid the embarrassment that's about to unfold. "N-no... Double or nothing..." I stammer, my voice a tiny wisp of air against their booming excitement.

"No way!" Jerry nearly shouts, his face flushed with the thrill of victory. "We won fair and square! We want to see! We want to see!"

"Please," I press on, my voice barely above a whisper as I clutch the controller like a life preserver. "One more race. If I win..."

Their laughter dies down to a pair of smirks as they exchange a look. Arnold's greasy, ginger hair seems to bristle with mischief. "And what if we win, huh? You gonna give us some... oral service?" His eyes glitter with a crude anticipation. "With those cute lips..."

My heart plummets, sinking like a stone in a still pond. The thought of giving my friends a blowjob is nauseating.

"Come on," Jerry goads, leaning in too close for comfort, his breath reeking of old pizza and arrogance. "You win, you don't have to do anything. It's an easy out for you."

No, it's not that easy. Not at all.

"If you're so confident, then show us the goods!" Arnold chimes in, his laughter spiking my anxiety to new heights.

My hands shake, the controller slick with perspiration. I feel trapped, the heat of their bodies like walls closing in. One more game could make all of this go away, and despite everything, I'm sure I can win.

I swallow the lump in my throat, determination edging out fear. "Fine. One more game!"

With a shaky breath, I confirm my character choice and start the race. My heart is pounding, echoing in my ears as the familiar countdown blares from the TV speakers.

3... 2...1... GO!

The kart jerks forward, my trembling thumbs pressing down on the buttons with force. My mind whirls with the stakes at hand. The race track, a familiar stomping ground I've seen a hundred times, suddenly feels alien. Every twist and turn, every pixel, every trick ramp carries with it a suffocating weight.

My opponents, once harmless AI, now symbolize my impending doom. I can feel Jerry's and Arnold's eyes on me. Can they see my thighs clenching? My breasts trembling underneath my oversized t-shirt? My pulse throbbing in my narrow throat?

The scent of stale chips and grease fills the room, making me want to gag. Jerry's brutish, overpowering stench mixes with Arnold's cheap cologne, creating a nauseating cocktail of male sweat and arrogance.

As I struggle to keep my kart on track, my gaze flutters to their laps. Their bulges are visible even under the fabric of their worn-out jeans. A wave of dread washes over me, replaced quickly with a pang of humiliation. Sucking them off... The mere thought turns my stomach.

Another violent turn has my kart spinning out of control. Whoa! Get it together, Tammy!

Their lewd laughter fills the silence every time I make a mistake, adding to my mounting tension. Mocking, crude comments rebound off the walls of my small living room, making me want to scream.

But instead, I bite my lip, re-center myself, and push forward. My mind is a mess of scattered thoughts and raw emotions. How did I let things get this far? Why did I agree to this stupid bet?

I feel my heart pound in my chest like a wild animal trying to escape its cage. My tits jiggle in time with the beat, distracting me further. Fuck, was that ANOTHER blue shell?

I swerve to avoid it, but it's too late. An explosion sends my kart spiraling as the other characters zip past me. "No, no, no!"

I lose the race. The room is filled with their victorious whoops and hollers. Jerry and Arnold practically vibrate with excitement, their guffaws echoing in my ears as reality crashes down on me.

No. This can't be happening. What the fuck did I just get myself into?

My heart feels like it's stuck in my throat as I sit there, frozen. I've lost. The room echoes with Jerry's and Arnold's jubilant laughter, their crude comments about my impending humiliation stinging like a slap.

"Fuck, guys, I can't... I can't..." I stammer, my voice trembling. I stand suddenly, my intention to flee. But Jerry grabs my arm, pulling me back onto the couch.

"Calm down, Tammy," Jerry pleads, his usual aggressive tone replaced with a softer one. It's unnerving, like a predator trying to soothe its prey. "It's okay...it's just us."

"Yeah, Tammy," Arnold joins in, his weasel-like grin making my skin crawl. "We're your buds, remember?"

As they both console me, memories of our friendship emerge - late-night gaming marathons, shared inside-jokes, and countless shared experiences. Sure, they're jerks, but…

Their imploring eyes meet mine, and I see the desperation lurking there.

"Please, Tammy..." Jerry whispers, his grip tightening around my arm. He wasn't just asking for a blowjob. He was asking to fulfill a fantasy, a craving that had been denied to him for so long. None of us has ever gotten a girl before. And now, there's a girl right here in the room with them.

I feel a strange mixture of emotions bubbling inside me - pity, fear, confusion. My mind races, trying to find a way out of this predicament. But their words echo in my ears: "A bet's a bet."

I resign myself to my fate. My friends... my friends want this. I'm their only chance... God, what am I doing?

My resolve hardens. I'm the pushover, always have been. I've always yielded to their demands, their jokes, their pranks. This was just another prank, right? It's not... it's not my real body, or anything like that…

With a shaky breath, I sink back into the couch, sandwiched between them. Their bodies radiate heat, their masculine scents wafting over me in overpowering waves.

"Okay," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Alright."

Their eyes light up with victorious glee. "Yeah, Tammy!" Arnold whoops, his hand giving my thigh an encouraging pat. It feels strange, unfamiliar.

"Now..." Jerry grins, mirroring Arnold's excitement. "How about you show us those tits, huh?"

"Fuck..." I mutter under my breath, my hands trembling as they clutch the hem of my oversized tee. They're watching me, Jerry and Arnold, like two predators waiting for their prey to reveal itself. I feel the overwhelming urge to run, to escape this horrifying situation, but I'm trapped by my own weakness.

I muster the courage, closing my eyes as I lift my shirt. My skin prickles with a mixture of fear and anticipation. And then, there they are. My breasts spill out, free from the confines of my shirt.

I open my eyes, gasping at the sight. My tits are... Actually kinda big. Or maybe they just look big because my body's so small now? They're pale, quivering with each shaky breath I take. The nipples, prominent against the soft mounds, are a soft shade of pink.

Holy shit. I have tits.

The audience reaction is instantaneous.

"Whoa!" Jerry exclaims, his eyes practically bulging out of his head.

"Fuck me, they're real," Arnold breathes out.

Shock morphs into embarrassment as they both move in closer, their heads leaning in for a better look. I can smell them - the stink of stale chips and sweat. My stomach churns.

"Whoa, whoa, stop!" I squeal as Jerry's hand shoots out to grab one. His fingers dig into the soft flesh, kneading it like dough. A gasp tears from my throat. It's so weird, so fucking sensitive!

His laughter echoes in my ears as he gives my tit a good squeeze. "Holy shit, it's so soft!"

Arnold, not to be outdone, follows suit. His grubby hand lands on my other tit, sending another jolt of shock through my system. "Fuck, they're so fucking bouncy!"

They start commenting on my breasts like they're some kind of experts, their jargon filled with so much enthusiasm that you'd think they've done this before. But they haven't. Neither of them had ever touched a girl before. They're incels…

"Stop, it tickles!" I protest feebly, squirming as they prod and poke at my tits like they're a fascinating new toy.

"Tickles, huh?" Arnold smirks, his fingers moving to pinch my nipple. I yelp, the sensation making me jump. "Bet this feels better."

It does, in a weird sort of way. And it's so fucking embarrassing. I bite my lip to muffle a groan, the raw sensitivity sending little sparks of pleasure through my body. My head is spinning.

The room is electric with the raw anticipation as they start arguing about who gets to go first. I'm the subject of their vulgar negotiations, my cheeks flaming hot in embarrassment. For a moment, I'm stunned into silence, caught in the whirlwind of their crude jargon and degrading conclusions.

"But what if she does both at once?" Arnold suggests, smirking.

"Nah man, two blowjobs at once? That's not gonna work," Jerry retorts, shaking his head. "It's not like Tammy's gonna be good at it, especially the first time."

"Wait, should we show her some porn or something? Get her some tips?" Arnold suggests, his brows furrowing in thought.

I wish I could disappear. The room feels incredibly small all of a sudden. I'm mortified, my face burning as they talk about me like I'm not here, like I'm some kind of lab rat for their perverted experiment.

"Hey!" I try to protest, but my voice is drowned out by their boisterous laughter. I glare at them, feeling a spark of anger. I'm not their toy!

Their argument rages on, heated and disgusting. They weigh the pros and cons of going first. They actually believe the first one will get the 'worst' blowjob because I have no experience, while the second one has the potential to be 'better' if I learn something from the first. They consider the 'prestige' of taking my 'mouth virginity.'

Their casual objectification is overwhelming. I sit still, topless with goosebumped skin, my nipples standing at attention against the cool air. Their lecherous stares burn into my exposed skin, making me feel like a piece of meat.

Finally, they decide to use rock-paper-scissors to determine who goes first. It's a humiliating spectacle, and I can barely stand to watch. My gaze flickers between them, blushing hard as they shake their fists in readiness.

After a few tense moments, Jerry's rock smashes Arnold's scissors.

I swallow hard, my mind racing.

My heart trills in my chest as Jerry undoes the button on his pants, a wicked smile twisting his lips. His pants slip down with a slither of fabric over skin, revealing his cotton boxers.

"All right, Tammy," he grins, hooking his thumbs under the waistband, "Ready for your prize?"

There's a brief moment of silence, anticipation prickling at the air around us as he shoves his boxers down. And then, it's there, right in front of me.

His cock.

***

It's an unimpressive sight at first, flaccid and somewhat lost in a bush of unruly pubic hair. But then it stirs, twitching to life like some monstrous beast. The mere sight makes me feel faint.

Before my eyes, it grows - expanding to a full seven inches. The skin is an uneven shade of tan. It's girthy, so much thicker than I would have expected. A twisted vein runs down the side, lending a grotesque appeal to it. The tip is a brighter pink, peeking from the foreskin. It's covered in a thin layer of precum, the droplets catching the dim light.

I can't help but smell it. Its pungency hits me like a truck. It reeks of sweat and stale lube with a hint of piss. It's repugnant, making my stomach churn.

As much as it disgusts me, I can't look away. This is Jerry's cock.

Arnold whistles lowly from the side, his eyes wide. "Man, didn't know you were packing such heat."

"Yeah? Well, maybe next time, I'll unleash it on your mom," Jerry retorts, a smug grin on his face.

Despite the crude joke, I can't pull my eyes away from the burgeoning hard-on in front of me. This is real. This is happening. My mind spins with the reality of the situation, the humiliation and emasculation hitting me full force.

"Oh fuck," I whisper, the weight of what's about to happen settling heavy in my gut. "Fuck…"

I'm frozen in place, sitting on the couch with the monstrous appendage in front of me. The humiliation is unbearable, a bitter taste at the back of my throat. A chill of mortification runs down my spine. I feel my pulse in my ears, the blood rushing in a drumline symphony of fear and bewilderment.

"Come on now, Timmy," Jerry teases, his voice thick with mocking amusement. The use of my male name is a cruel reminder of my lost agency, my past life, and the reality of my present situation.

I stutter, opening my mouth, but no words come out. I feel Arnold's hand on my back, a harsh shove against the softness of my newly-transformed body, pushing me forward. I let out a squeal as I am forced against Jerry's distended beer belly. My glasses smack into the firm surface, dislodging and skewing my vision.

I adjust them hastily, my hands trembling with nerves. As I lean forward, I feel my new breasts hanging down, their weight and the sensation of my erect nipples brushing over Jerry's hairy leg creating a strange and unfamiliar tingle.

Arnold is behind me, his hands shamelessly groping my ass, giving it a squeeze. I squeak, startled. "Hey, do you have to do that?" I squeal, feeling violated.

"What the fuck else am I supposed to do right now?" Arnold growls from behind me. "Get on with it."

The closeness of Jerry's girthy cock is nauseating. The smell is even worse up close. But what truly sends my stomach churning is the intricate marbling of darker and lighter shades of skin across the length, the twisted vein standing out prominently. The tip glistens with a sheen of precum, like a rude, awaiting mouth.

Jerry's chuckle rings in my ears, burying me deeper into humiliation. "That's right sweetheart, stare all you want. You're gonna be real up close and personal with it soon," he leers, swaying his cock ever so slightly.

I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe I'm doing this. The humiliating realness of the situation is making my heart pound double-time, matching the throbbing in Jerry's hefty cock. God, this is absolutely embarrassing. I feel beyond emasculated in the face of Jerry's newfound confidence... and his cock.

The first touch of Jerry's cock on my lips is jarringly hot. The skin is hot, warmer than I'd ever imagined a penis to be. It's... incredibly male. A gruff pungency fills my nostrils and I grimace, tasting the sour, salty taste as his cockhead brushes against my lower lip. The coarse hair of his pubic bush tickles against the sensitive skin of my face. I suppress the urge to pull away.

Arnold's hand trails up my thighs, groping and pulling at my new anatomy. His cruel laughter echoes in my ears, "Look at that, you've got a fucking camel toe!"

My chest tightens, the heat between my legs only intensifying as his fingers trace over my pussy, separated by the thin fabric of my pants. I let out an involuntary moan as he rubs his fingertips against my lower lips.

Jerry's large, sausage-like fingers weave into my wispy hair, gripping it as he guides my head forward. His cock pushes inside my mouth, forcing my jaw open painfully wide. I pleasure him, sucking obediently on his throbbing length.

"No teeth, sweetheart," he hisses as I accidentally graze his cock.

"Sorry," I mumble, my words muffled against his girth. I focus on using only my lips, trying to avoid any more teeth-to-skin contact.

The taste is... ghastly. It's harshly masculine, a mix of sweat, urine, and something bitter that I can't place. There's also a faint hint of his cologne, a dated, musky scent that stains my taste buds. Every taste note is an assault on my senses.

But Jerry doesn't seem to notice or care. He's in his own world—my mouth, a playground for his pleasure. His laughter and crude comments spread out through the room, intertwining with Arnold's equally demeaning remarks.

"God damn, Tammy, who would've thought?" Jerry grunts, his grip tightening in my hair. "Always knew you were good at video games. Guess you've found a new joystick to master, huh?"

The comment makes my cheeks burn with humiliation, every word a blow to my pride.

"Remember how Timmy always used to fight for his turn at the controller in the N64 days? Now look at her," Arnold mocks, his tone sharp with amusement.

"New joystick," Jerry grunts in agreement.

Their words hang thick in the air, a stark contrast to the muffled sounds coming from me. Their laughter only adds to the growing heat and embarrassment filling the room. It's a toxic blend of mockery, debasement and... arousal?

For some unfathomable reason, my pussy clenches in response to Arnold's touch. There's a warmth spreading through me, a tingling sensation radiating out from between my legs, a most unwelcome intrusion on my already overwhelmed senses. It's almost enough to drown out the harsh laughter and condescending comments of my one-time friends, now tormentors. Almost.

I tighten my lips around Jerry's thick cock, working to keep my teeth out of the equation. But god, it's fucking hard. His girth is stretching my mouth uncomfortably and I have to keep reminding myself to breathe through my nose. My jaw aches while drool leaks from the corners of my lips, trailing in slick rivulets down my chin and onto my bare breasts.

The vulgar sounds of my mouth trying to accommodate Jerry's cock reverberate in the living room. Each of his thrusts comes with a wet squelch as he humps into my mouth. There's a thin string of saliva hanging between my lips and his shaft each time he pulls it out a little before ramming back in.

"Fuck, Tammy, you're fucking sloppy," Jerry cackles, clapping Arnold on the shoulder.

I try not to let his words get to me, but it's futile. The words echo in my mind, each syllable a punch to my gut. I can feel my face burning, the embarrassment only making the room feel hotter.

"Yeah, slow down, Tammy," Arnold chimes in, amusement clear in his voice. "You're acting like you're starving, and that's Jerry's dick, not a bag of Doritos."

Laughter erupts from both of them and I have to shut my eyes tight, wishing I could block out their voices.

"All that drool," Jerry continues, waggling his eyebrows at Arnold, "You think she's enjoying it?"

The remark jolts me out of my shame. Enjoying it? The very thought makes my heart rate spike. But a quick glance at Jerry's smug grin and my trembling body is enough to sow seeds of doubt.

Armed with this newfound suspicion, Jerry tilts my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes. "Say my name, Tammy. I want to hear it from your pretty, little mouth."

My mouth is full of his cock, how the hell does he expect me to say his name? But Jerry doesn't seem to care about the impossibility of his request. Instead, he lets out a low laugh, his eyes twinkling with cruel delight.

It's all so much to handle. The taste of his cock on my tongue, the chill from the AC causing goosebumps to rise on my exposed skin, the drool running down my chin and onto my small, sensitive breasts... it's all too fucking much. I choke on a sob, my body shaking with the force of my humiliation.

"God, man," Arnold chokes out between laughter, "She's terrible at this."

"Christ, Tammy," Jerry wheezes, mirth coloring his voice. "Couldn't you... at least... try to keep it together... Your drool's fucking everywhere!"

His words hit me like a physical blow, the humiliation coursing through my veins like a debasing drug. My cheeks are aflame with embarrassment, a hot flush spreading down my neck to color my heaving chest.

I can feel the sloppy mess between us. My drool has dribbled down his cock, staining his balls, soaking the coarse fabric of his jeans. The smell of it, the wetness combined with his masculine musk, is pungent in my nostrils.

Loud, wet sounds fill the room, the obscene soundtrack to my degradation. My inexperienced mouth struggles to accommodate his girth, my lips stretching wide around the invading mass.

I can taste him, the unmistakable flavor of Jerry Patterson's cock. It's a heady mix of sweat and skin, a bitter aftertaste that coats my tongue. My eyes water, my throat protesting against this crude invasion.

Behind me, Arnold is cackling, one hand gripping the plumpness of my left ass cheek. His touch is rough, his palm slapping against the softness of my flesh, causing ripples of shock to jolt through me.

"Hurry it the fuck up, Tammy!" Arnold's voice is a sharp bark, his words tinged with impatient disdain. "It's my fucking turn next!"

His words sink into me, seeping beneath my skin. I shudder, a tremor of something that feels dangerously close to excitement curling in my gut.

Behind my glasses, my vision blurs, Jerry's laughing face swimming before me. His voice taunts me, each word another nail in my masculinity's coffin.

"Say my name, Tammy. Let me hear it. Mumble it while you suck me off. And don't forget to smile!"

The cruel demand sparks something within me. I pause, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye. The expression on his face is a mixture of shock and amusement, the sight of it filling me with a strange sense of empowerment.

Deep down, something stirs within me, a tiny flicker of rebellion. "Fuck off, Jerry." Despite everything, the words come out stronger than I ever imagined. It's a small victory, one that brings a moment of solace amid the storm of humiliation.

But that victory is short-lived. Before I can revel in my defiance, I feel Arnold's hand come down hard on my ass, his laughter booming in my ears.

"Open up wider, Tammy! Hmm, yeah...tastes good, doesn't it?"

"UNGG-"

"And stop fucking using your teeth. Teeth ruin a perfectly good blowjob!"

"I'm TRYING, okay? Shut up!"

"Hah! No, try talking in a higher pitch, Tammy. Like the girls in your Hentai. The submissive, cutesy ones."

"But-"

"Just do it, fucking loser!"

"N-Nyaa..."

"Ah, hell! That's fucking hot! Now, arch your back. Push out those melons. Yeahhh."

"But-"

"Just do it! Fuck, this is way better than I imagined."

"Wish they were bigger though."

"Geez! Can't I-"

"Nope. Your tits are dangling. It's damn hot, of course I'm gonna play with them. We're making you wear a miniskirt tomorrow, you know."

"But I-"

"Shut it! We're checking my sister's closet. She's your size, petite and all. I know just the one for you."

"No way! I can't- mmmmf!"

"Oh, shit... Your mouth! So tight and soft. Fuck!"

"Don't-"

"Jerry, hurry the fuck up! Seriously, dude!"

"I've saved up for this. No hentai for weeks. Monster load incoming."

Tightness grips Jerry's body. I feel it in the tension of his thighs, quivering under my clutching fingers. His grip on my hair tightens painfully, a guttural groan rumbling from his throat.

"No, wait- not in my-"

"Gonna nut, Tammy. Swallow it."

Then, the first jet of semen explodes into my mouth. It's like being shot with a gross, hot, gooey bullet. The taste is immediate, overwhelming, a flood of sensory experiences that drowns all sense of reason.

"Ofuk-! Oblrrg-"

"Nice, Tammy! You're doing great! Fuck yeah!"

The saltiness has the intensity of a tidal wave, battering against my taste buds with shocking power. It's like downing a shot of pure sea water, but far more potent, the flavor absolutely permeating every corner of my mouth.

"Gurrglrk-"

Then there's the consistency, so incredibly viscous it's appalling. It clings to everything, a sticky, gooey mess that wraps my tongue in a slimy blanket. It's like warm, salty pudding, a clumpy mixture that has an obscene weight to it.

The bitter aftertaste is quick to follow, subtle but noticeable, a sharp tang that is almost metallic on my tongue. It's jarring in its intensity, pungent like a mouthful of raw horseradish.

Intertwined with it is a cloying sweetness, a sickly, artificial flavor that makes the salty experience all the more nauseating. It's like having gorged on an entire bag of cheap, artificially sweetened candies – stomach-churning in its own right.

Then there's the heat. It's alarmingly warm, like a shot of whiskey going down your throat. Except, this is not whiskey. This is cum. Jerry Patterson's cum. The reality of it brings a flush to my cheeks.

And, God, the smell. It's acrid, a musky scent that comes with an undercurrent of body odor and stale beer. It's not just in my mouth, it's in my nose, permeating my senses. It's all-encompassing, an offensive aroma that taints everything.

His cock is still in my mouth, rigid and pulsating. Each jet of cum is a violent ejection, squirting into my mouth with shocking force. It fills me up, each rope thicker and heavier than the last.

His spunk spreads across my palate, the texture of it shockingly clumpy, like a mouthful of salty, melting gelatin. It clings to the roof of my mouth, the insides of my cheeks, the back of my throat, a relentless, slimy film that refuses to be swallowed or spat out.

The next spurt is just as potent, the flow of his cum becoming a steady rhythm of squirts and gushes. It's unending, each new rope thicker and hotter than the last, splattering against the back of my throat, filling my mouth to near bursting. It's like a grotesque, lewd fountain, spurting up from the base of his cock, cascading in heavy blobs over my tongue, painting my taste buds in its vile flavor profile.

As the spray begins to taper off, a disturbing sweetness begins to emerge, cloying and thick on the tail end. It's reminiscent of artificial sweeteners, a saccharine aftertaste that clashes horribly with the tidal wave of salt, adding a nauseating lilt to the already repugnant cocktail of tastes.

His throbbing cock unloads with a force that reverberates throughout my skull, my jaw aching from the strain of keeping him fully enclosed. Each ripple of pleasure that shakes his body, every guttural moan that he utters, is a mocking testament to my degradation.

Jerry is in a world of his own, his hands firmly gripping my hair as he thrusts erratically, chasing his high, oblivious to the mess he's made of me. The groans he makes, the vulgar encouragements he grunts out between ragged breaths, only make the humiliating reality more agonizingly clear. I am being used, my mouth nothing more than a receptacle for his pleasure.

There I am, right between the two of my friends, my mouth packed with a hot, heavy load of Jerry's cum. The stuff is ghastly, more than just a little off-color, and the sensation of it is unlike anything else - like little wriggling worms are squelching around the inside of my cheeks. The heavy load keeps shifting, oozing, threatening to leak out as I clench my teeth and lips shut.

Every breath that I take is a struggle, and every second that passes is a new depth to my humiliation. I squirm in my spot on the couch, sandwiched between Jerry and Arnold, feeling the weight of their leering gazes on me. My chest is bare, tits on full display, bouncing slightly with each hitched breath.

Jerry's cum drips from my mouth, thick and ropy, leaving a hot trail down my chin that drips onto the exposed swell of my chest. My skin feels searingly hot, an uncomfortable flush creeping up my neck as the room around me echoes with their laugh-filled banter.

Suddenly, I bolt upright, the taste of Jerry's cock-cum overwhelming my senses. Desperation surges like a tide, and I make a dart for the bathroom. But they grab me before I make it, hauling me back to sit on the couch with my mouth still full of cum.

"No you don't, Tammy!" Jerry pipes up first, a note of mischief in his tone. "Can't let you spit out that precious jizz."

I glower at him but I'm stopped from responding by Arnold, who chuckles and adds, "Stop being a drama queen, Tammy. It's just a mouthful of cum. Jerry's right, swallow it down like a good girl."

Jerry nods, his arm snaking around my shoulder, squeezing me into him. "That's right, Tammy. Swallow. No need to make more of a mess. Besides, it's just extra protein," he spurts out between fits of laughter.

"But I- Mmmf!" Their words hit me like slaps to the face. I feel my cheeks heat up even more, my gaze dropping to my lap. The pain in my chest spikes, a sharp sting accompanying the thump of my racing heart. I choke back a sob, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. But I refuse to let them see me cry, not now.

I gather all my courage and tip my head back, attempting to swallow. The cum is sickening, thick and heavy as it slips down my throat. My mouth still tastes bitter and my stomach churns with the effort of trying to keep it down. The guys cheer me on, their laughter ringing louder in my ears.

I raise my hand, signaling them to stop, to let me focus. I try to gulp the remainder down but it's too much. I can't do it.

Suddenly, I pitch forward, shooting a mouthful of cum out onto their messy living room floor. No vomit, mind you, just a grotesque splatter of off-white, ropey goop, gooey and thick, sparkling slightly under the harsh light. There's an immediate outbreak of laughter. "Gross, Tammy! Fucking disgusting!" Jerry hollers with a roar of laughter.

Something shifts in me then, a sensation not entirely unfamiliar, yet drastically different than before. A prickling, pulsating feeling that originates from my new pussy, an instinctual response to this obscene situation. My body is doing things that I can't control, reacting to stimuli differently than before. Why am I feeling arousal in this moment of extreme humiliation? Is it the way their eyes are glued to my glistening, cum-covered tits, or the way Jerry's semi-hard cock twitched at the sight of me nearly choking on his load? I don't know, and that's what scares me even more.

Arnold, grinning like the cat who got the cream, wipes at his eyes, howling with laughter. "She's a natural!" He whooped, pumping a fist in the air. The X-Change pill is a Godsend, the best fucking thing that's ever happened to their pathetic lives.

Arnold towers over me, standing tall with an obnoxious grin plastered on his face. His pants descend to the floor, revealing his chub of a cock, already hard and throbbing in anticipation. It's a solid, veiny 5-inches, not as long as Jerry's but absurdly thick, like a soda can.

"Time for round two, Tammy," he announces, his voice laden with excitement and malicious glee. He's always been the show-off, desperate to outshine everyone in the group, and this situation is no different. Yet, his exhibitionism is so over the top it's got a ludicrous, comical edge to it.

Arnold straightens up, his chest puffed out like a proud peacock. His hands are on his hips, displaying his cock like a prized trophy. His eyes hold a dominant glint, scanning my body with unadulterated desire. "You're gonna love this, baby," Arnold praises himself, his tone brimming with smug satisfaction. He steps forward, his thick cock bobbing with each stride, making the crudest of jokes about my new sexual role.

As his cock approaches my face, Arnold casts a sidelong glance at Jerry, who's slumped on the couch, nursing his spent cock. "This is how an alpha does it, Jerry," he declares, like this is some kind of competition of male superiority.

Arnold then turns his attention to me, his gaze unmistakably predatory. His hand is on my head now, gripping my hair tightly, forcing me to look up at him. There's a vile sense of triumph in his eyes, a perverse delight in my humiliation. "Open up," he orders. I cringe at the command, my stomach churning with the anticipation of what's to come. But I obey. I open my mouth, looked up at him with watering eyes, and wait.

Arnold guides his cock to my waiting mouth, his dickhead prodding my lips. I taste the salty pre-cum and feel the hot, pulsating vein as it enters my mouth. The girth of it stretches my lips wide, wider than I've ever opened my mouth before.

Suddenly, Arnold grins, pulling his cock out of my mouth. "You know what, Tammy," he begins with a smirk, "Blowjobs are fun, but what about something else?" He looks at Jerry, who perks up at the mention of a new idea. "How about we give her a real taste of being a woman? Think Tammy's ready to lose her cherry?"

A chill runs down my spine. I look up at him, my eyes widening in panic.

"What?" I gasp, my heart pounding in my chest.