"Calm down, darling! Don't get your new panties in a bunch," I chuckle into the receiver, holding it away from my ear as the voice on the other end launches into another hysterical outburst. I lean back in my chair, spinning the dial on my bulky rotary phone.
"Randy, you fucking sleazebag, I'm a woman!" he—I mean, she—shrieks. Larry, a local mob boss. More muscles than brains, that's for sure. Far too easy to take advantage of - I couldn't resist!
"You're welcome, darling. You always were a right ornery twat. Now you've got the physical parts to match," I reply, guffawing at my own wit.
My scuffed office is a wash of pastels from a decade long past. Retro rock blasting from a jukebox in the corner, wooden paneling on the walls, and a towering CRT television with rabbit ears. It's 2028, but here in 'Sea Breeze', it might as well be the 80s. An era when men were men, women were objects of desire, and no one batted an eye at the shenanigans of a sleazy motel owner like yours truly.
There's a moment of silence on the other end. Then, it's like the floodgates open, and Larry's on a warpath.
"And I'm PREGNANT, you bastard!"
"Well, I reckon that's one way to get out of the 'family' business, eh?" I quip, snorting into my hand. I can almost imagine the steam coming out of her ears, the tightening grip around the phone. But hey, I didn't MAKE her swallow the pill. She did it herself. Whether or not she knew what it was…
And I sure as hell didn't make her take the roll between the sheets with me. Or did I? Hard to say, really.
"Listen, Larry... Linda? Do you like Linda?" I continue, ignoring the volley of expletives. "Linda is good."
"I'm not Linda, you absolute fucking degenerate! My name is Larry!" she shrieks, voice cracking in indignation. She tries to sound menacing, but really, she just sounds like a squeaky toy that's been squeezed too hard.
"Larry? Nah, you're too pretty for a Larry," I respond with a nonchalant shrug, twirling my sleazy mustache and grinning at the phone. Oh, how I wish I could see her face!
"Well, you're too ugly to be a motel owner, but here we are!" she shoots back.
"Aha! There's that fiery spirit. Let's see... how about... Loretta?"
"I am not a fucking Loretta!"
"Laurel?"
"No!"
"Lucia?"
"Fuck no!"
"Ooh, feisty. Definitely not a Lucia then, sorry that was a mistake for me to suggest," I muse, spinning in my chair and scanning the room. My eyes land on a blonde Hawaiian doll sitting on the corner shelf. "How about... Barbie?"
There's a beat of silence. Then, a roar. "I will chop off that hideous mustache of yours and shove it where the sun doesn't shine, Randy!"
I laugh, a hearty, belly-deep laughter that fills the office. "Oh, Barbie, you sure know how to make a man chuckle. But seriously, you need a new name, darling. You can't just prance around with a baby bump, calling yourself Larry. It just wouldn't do."
"I am not your 'darling'. And if you ever call me Barbie again, I'll—I'll—"
"What? Throw a tea party? Oh, wait. Maybe a baby shower?" I suggest, a devilish grin plastering my face. This is more fun than a wet T-shirt contest on a hot summer day. "Now you've got a nice little money bun in that oven—a Lovejoy special—and as far as I see, you hit the jackpot. Just sit back, put your swollen feet up, and let the government benefits roll in. They take good care of single mommies."
There's a loud slam on the other end, and the line goes dead. I hang up the rotary phone, a grin on my face. I don't know if it's the satisfaction of putting one over Larry—Barbie—or the excitement of creating havoc and cutting through it like a hot knife through butter that gets me going.
I rummage through my mixed box of X-Change pills, my fingers tracing over the different shapes and textures. Small, colorful capsules that hold worlds of change inside them. I give them out as 'complimentary candies' to my guests. The rude ones mostly, or the arrogant pricks who think they're too good for my humble establishment.
Open a box of chocolates, and you never know what you're gonna get. Open one of Randy Lovejoy's candy boxes, and I'm not even sure what the fuck you'll turn into. I mean, I know they're all going to change the guy into a girl, but the little details? I leave those up to fate.
Some of them, like the ones with small heart-shaped marks, Passion X-Change, make you horny as a rabbit on steroids. The Cum-Cure ones, identified by a small droplet, well, they're a nice touch for when you want to taste something... different.
Then there's the Bimbo X-Change that turns you into a sex-crazed bimbo - the ones with the little lipstick kiss mark on them. How quaint. And, of course, the Breeder X-Change. I guess Larry... Barbie, rather... got one of those.
I chuckle to myself, pulling out a pink pill with the tiniest of markings. A simple circle with a plus sign inside. A Breeder X-Change, a cruel joke in a pretty pastel.
I glance up from the box as the bell rings over the entrance door, my little slice of heaven interrupted.
"Hello, darling," I purr to the blonde bombshell as she saunters up to the counter, her tan, chiseled beau trailing behind her tight jean shorts. Named Brad, as I soon find out. Brad and Lana.
Lana is a total smoke-show. A classic beach babe, straight from a glossy magazine cover. Platinum-blond hair tumbling down in waves, gentle curves that make a man weak in the knees, and eyes bluer than the Gulf on a sunny day. And those lips, painted a sinful red, are just waiting to be... appreciated.
Brad, on the other hand, is a prick. The kind with overblown muscles and a tanned exterior, thinking he's God's gift to mankind. He's already eyeing me with disdain. Clearly, my charming mustache and snazzy Hawaiian shirt don't impress him. The feeling's mutual, buddy.
As I watch them settle into their ocean-view room - the best one in the 'Sea Breeze', if you ask me - I can't help but start planning. My fingers toy with a random pink pill from the box.
Oh, the possibilities, darling! The wicked smile on my face says it all. I just can't wait to see what unfolds.
—
Beautiful people are all the same. So vain, so oblivious.
They're a real treat to watch though, always putting on a show. Brad is lying on the deck chair, his muscled chest glistening under the sun, all oiled up like a Christmas turkey. Lana, an equally tantalizing feast, is perched on the edge of her chair, carefully applying sunscreen on her long, shapely legs. It's a sight that would make a saint sin.
And I'm not exactly a saint.
"So - California," I say, sauntering over with my belly leading the way. "You're a long way from home."
"Yeah," Brad grunts, flexing his bicep as he applies more sunscreen. "Figured Florida could use some of our charm."
"Oh, I'm sure Florida can handle it," I quip, winking at Lana who offers me a polite, if somewhat vacant, smile.
She's currently fixated on my mustache, as if she's never seen one before.
"Did I forget to offer you welcome drinks? Must be my age catching up," I say, feigning a sheepish grin. "What can I get you two sun-kissed West Coasters?"
"I'll have a Cosmopolitan," Lana says, brushing her golden hair back. So, she thinks of herself as the classy sort.
"And for you, big fella?" I turn to Brad and can't keep the snark out of my voice.
"Your music sucks, dude," he grunts, rubbing his temples as the thumping rhythm of Def Leppard's 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' blares from the jukebox.
I spin around, arching an eyebrow at him. "What was that, sunshine?"
"Yeah, you heard me. Got any Imagine Dragons or something? You know - real rock."
I bite back a hiss. Imagine Dragons? This tattooed beefcake has the audacity to shit on my legendary hair metal tracks and requests for bloody Imagine Dragons? That's like asking a five-star chef to make a sandwich with soggy bread and plastic cheese.
"Def Leppard is the epitome of rock. They're raw, they're real, unlike your factory-processed autotuned Imagine Dragons," I snap back, my finger jabbing at the jukebox with each point I make. "I'll stick to my pure, undiluted rock anthems, not musical fruit salad."
"Whatever you say, dude. I do like 'Talk Dirty To Me,' though. Same band, right?"
I try not to combust on the spot.
He continues with what he considers to be a final nail in the coffin of my pride. "But maybe if you spent less time with that kinda music and more time on buying decent booze, you'd have a better place." An arrogant smirk stretches across his stupid face.
Lana, sensing the growing tension, tries to intervene. "Brad, honey, maybe we should just—"
"Shut up, Lana!" he snaps before turning back to me. "And for you, Randy, when's the last time your 'epitome of rock' charted, huh?"
I can feel my blood boil at his impertinence. I have to remind myself to keep up the jovial facade. Still, a trace of my anger slips into my grin, turning it into a snarl. "You're so amusingly ignorant."
I turn back to the bar counter, shaking with suppressed rage. This over-inflated bag of muscles has the audacity to critique my taste in music? At my own bloody motel? I'll show him a real change of tune.
"But hey, I'm not one to hold grudges," I lie, a fake chuckle punctuating my words. "How about I make it up to you with a special 'Sea Breeze' Mai Tai?"
Brad grunts in affirmation, going back to oiling his muscles. Lana shoots me an apologetic smile, but I wave it off. Nothing to worry about, darling.
Anger blazing like a wildfire inside me, I mix up the drinks. Lana's Cosmopolitan is a simple affair, but Brad's Mai Tai gets a special touch. I slide my hand in my pocket and pull out a random X-Change pill.
With a wicked grin, I drop it into his drink. The pill dissolves instantly, leaving no trace. Only I know the savage twist that awaits the poor idiot.
"Coming right up, darling," I call out, a wicked gleam in my eyes. I serve the cocktails with a flourish, my heart pounding with wicked anticipation. "Enjoy!"
Lana accepts hers with a polite thank you, sipping and making a face. Oh, darling, if only you knew how a Cosmopolitan really tasted. Brad, on the other hand, barely glances at me as he grabs his glass, raising it to his lips.
"To a memorable stay at the 'Sea Breeze'!" I cheer, raising an imaginary glass and saluting them with a smirk.
I watch as Brad downs his entire drink, the pink pill disappearing down his throat. I can't suppress the outburst of laughter, patting my belly as I turn away. Oh, this is going to be a show worth watching.
Brad's eyes widen as he feels it. An unbearable tightness in his chest, an uncomfortable swelling sensation in his buttocks. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
"Guh... I don't... I don't feel so good," he stammers, his voice higher than it should be. Startling even himself.
His hand moves instinctively to his chest, cupping the flesh that's rapidly filling out his shirt.
"What the fuck...?" He gasps, his eyes bulging as he feels the soft, tender flesh beneath his fingertips. His once flat pectorals are burgeoning into a pair of heavy, jiggling mounds. Breasts. Breasts on his chest.
"Holy shit! Brad, what's happening?" Lana cries out, standing from her chair with a shriek. "Randy, do something!" She pleads, her eyes wide with terror as she watches her macho boyfriend morph into... a woman.
"I'm not sure, darling," I reply, slapping Brad's back a bit too enthusiastically. "Could be some bad shellfish. You know, food poisoning comes on fast. Or maybe sunstroke?" I suggest helpfully, doing my best to keep my voice steady.
Meanwhile, Brad—time to think of a new name—is having what seems to be a full-blown, tit-bearing panic attack. His broad shoulders are shrinking in, his waist cinching. His once tight abs soften and his hips expand, rounding out into a curvaceous figure that many women would kill for.
His previously stubble-coated face is now smooth, his jawline softening, his cheeks rounding out. His thick brows thinning into delicate arches above widening, mascara-framing eyes. His nose slims down, his lips plumping up and turning a juicy shade of pink. Hair, previously cut into a neat fade, grows out until it cascades down to his shoulders in shiny waves, still maintaining that jet black hue.
And then comes the ass. His gym-crafted glutes vanish, replaced with two cushy globes that jiggle ever so slightly when he moves, barely contained by his tight swimming trunks.
It's dreadfully fascinating. The bewilderment in his eyes, the way he's touching himself as if he's a stranger in his own skin. Lana, poor girl, looks like she's about to pass out.
"Oh my god," the newly-minted woman gasps, her newly feminine voice a soft, shocked whisper. She's feeling herself up, her fingers groping her own breasts, wandering down to her curvy hips, to her jiggling backside.
There's a momentary pause, then a horrified yelp.
"Oh. My. Fucking. God." Her words are punctuated by three sharp intakes of breath, her eyes bulging out of their sockets.
She claps a hand over her mouth, her fingers trembling.
"What... what have you done to me, you sick fuck!" she screams, squeezing her newfound assets with fury, her eyes shooting daggers at me.
"Yup," I nod, turning the empty can of pineapple juice over in my hand. "I reckon it might be the fruit juice. We've had a couple of dodgy batches coming in lately."
I glance at "Brad" who has switched from panic to anger in the time it took me to speak. She's holding her shirt up, still checking out her new breasts with a sort of horrified wonder.
"Seems like some X-Change manufacturing residue got mixed in with the juice," I continue, keeping my voice steady. I'm absolutely pulling this out of my ass, but they don't need to know that. "It's been happening all over Summer City for a while now, with all those factories around."
"X-Change?" she croaks out. "You're telling me I'm a fucking woman because of contaminated pineapple juice?"
"Seems to be the case, darling," I affirm with a sympathetic nod. Brad, meet irony.
"How... how can I change back?" she demands, her voice almost breaking as she fights back the panic.
Now, this is going to be tricky. I can't guide them to any real doctor, lest my little prank be exposed. But I think I know just the man for the job.
"I reckon I know a top-notch medical expert who can help you out," I say, scratching at my mustache. I've got to be convincing – this is the most crucial part of the plan.
"Who?" she gasps, clutching a hand to her chest in desperation. Lana, who's been too shell-shocked to say anything, echoes the question with a tearful call of "please, tell us, Randy!"
"Well, you'll have to go and see Dr. Dazzle Galore. He's the best in town for this kind of thing," I add, rubbing at my temples as if the stress of the situation is getting to me.
"Dr... Dazzle Galore?" Brad echoes and I can feel her eyes boring holes through me.
I shrug nonchalantly, "Yeah, he's pretty great. Changes his own genders back and forth like he's switching socks. If anyone knows how to reverse this, it's him."
"But... what kind of a doctor is called Dr. Dazzle Galore?!" she shrieks, throwing her hands up in frustration.
"An ex-rockstar turned genderologist, darling. He's the best in the business."
"Can we go see him now?" Lana finally pipes up, wringing her hands together.
"I'm afraid it's not that easy, sweetie," I say, putting on my best comforting voice. "Dr. Galore only sees patients in the mornings, due to the tide, and his clinic's a fair bit out of town. I'd say it's best for you two to turn in for the night, and head out first thing tomorrow."
"But… but…" she sputters in dismay, gesturing at "Brad", who is now hyperventilating.
"But nothing, darling. It's the best we can do right now. And it's going to be alright, you'll see," I say, my voice a soothing balm. "The good doctor will sort everything out."
Brad's eyes, wet with tears, meet mine. The desperation in them almost makes me feel bad. Almost.
"Okay," she acquiesces, her voice barely a whisper. "We'll do that."
Brad's ass, peachy and firm, sways back and forth as she shakily makes her way up the stairs. I follow close behind, my eyes drifting over her newly-acquired curves, like a predator stalking its prey.
"What do I do now?" female Brad asks, her voice filled with distress.
"First things first," I say, grinning at her. "You need a proper woman's name. 'Brad' just ain't gonna cut it anymore."
"Wait, what?" she stammers, looking at me like I've grown a second head. "I'm not picking out a woman's name! This is temporary... right?"
"Sweetheart, with your new rack and that juicy ass of yours, trust me, you're gonna want a name that fits," I counter, winking at her.
Lana, who's been eerily quiet through this exchange, finally speaks up, "Maybe he's right, Brad," she says, her voice shaky. "Until we figure this out, going by a female name might make things easier."
"I can't believe I'm even considering this," Brad mumbles, looking pained. "Fine, let's figure out a name."
I rub my hands together in glee. "Alright, then. Let's get to it. How 'bout Angelina? Y'know, Brad and Angelina."
Brad shudders, "No way, man. That's just... no."
"Alright. Megan?"
Brad looks at me like I'd just suggested she dress up like a clown. "Hell no, Randy!"
Lana pipes in, "What about Leslie? Like Leslie Knope from Parks and Rec?"
Brad glares at her, "I am NOT going to be named after some sitcom character, LANA!"
"Hey, I was just suggesting…" she trails off, a little hurt.
I intervene, throwing Brad a smirk. "Fine, darling. How about Phoebe then?"
Brad looks at me, her mouth opening to argue. But Lana chimes in before she gets a chance, "Oh, Brad, that's a great idea! Phoebe is such a fun character and I love Friends!"
Brad gives a long suffering sigh, looking between Lana and me as if we're two aliens she can't quite understand. But even she can see the rushing river she's up against.
"Fine," she relents, throwing up her hands. "Phoebe. Happy now?"
I can't hold back my grin, reveling in this moment. "All right, Phoebe. See you both bright and early tomorrow morning. We'll head out to Dr. Galore's by boat. It's quicker – and a hell of a lot more scenic."
"By boat?" Phoebe echoes, her brows shooting up in surprise. "Are you serious?"
"As a heart attack, darling." I shrug nonchalantly. "Unless you fancy spending a couple of hours stuck in the gridlock of our lovely city, I'd suggest the boat. It's a straight shot down the Intracoastal Waterway, and with the tide on our side, we'll be there in no time."
"Okay then," Lana sighs, her shoulders slumping. "What time do we need to meet you?"
"Meet me at the dock at six in the morning. We've to get ahead of the tide, ladies."
They nod reluctantly, and I give them a little wave as I turn to leave. "And you two kids have a blast tonight!" I call out over my shoulder, rubbing my hands in glee.
The door closes behind me and I press my ear to it, eavesdropping on the chaos unfolding inside.
"Oh my god, Lana! I… I have a hairy… a hairy… " Phoebe cries out and I could almost picture her panicking like a schoolgirl on her first period.
This kind of thing never gets old.
"Oh god…" Phoebe continues, her voice muffled through the door. "What do I do now? Do I… do I wash it? Shave it?"
"Calm down!" Lana's voice sounds strained, trying to reassure her panicking, female boyfriend. "We can figure it out, okay?"
As I hear them try and talk through the 'horrors' of female hygiene, I can't suppress a grin. God, they sounded like they were planning a military operation.
"Hey, Lana?" Phoebe's nervous voice floats through the door. "If I asked you to… you know… make out with me… would you do it?"
There's a pause, the silence so palpable, I could almost hear Lana's eyes widening.
"Ew, oh hell no, Brad—I mean, Phoebe," Lana exclaims. "I am straight, and there is no way I will be making out with you!"
I hear a dejected sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I figured. But hey, you could lend me some of your clothes, right?"
The door muffles their further conversation. I leave them to their squabbling and head back to my quarters, my thoughts simmering with the next stage of my delightful plan. My fingers itch to draw the unsuspecting pair into the whirlpool of my ploys.
With a dark chuckle, I move away from their room. Let them have their little sleepover. Tomorrow's going to be a day they'd never forget. Not so fun for them - a lot of fun for me.
***
Stepping onto the dew-kissed docks, the sun's first light draping Summer City in a shimmering pink and orange glow, I spot my two reluctant sailor girls. They're looking like they've just witnessed the fall of the Roman Empire, both adorned in Lana's bright, summery clothes that would have been cheerful on any other occasion.
"Ahoy there, ladies! Ready to set sail?" I holler, my voice echoing through the still morning air.
They shoot me twin glares, both radiating a level of hostility that would make a seasoned pirate quiver.
But not Randy Lovejoy - no, I am cut from different cloth.
Lana manages to mumble a half-hearted "morning", while Phoebe simply huffs.
"Great spirit, girls. Love the outfits!" I say, taking a moment to appreciate the view. The tank tops cling to their bodies, revealing the tantalizing contours of their respective sets of cleavage, while the booty shorts leave little to the imagination.
I beckon them onboard.
"Alright, girls, lend a hand. Need to let this baby loose."
As I instruct them to untie the ropes, their hushed murmurs and awkward fumbles provide a comic backdrop to the glistening sea of pastel hues and the symphony of seagulls caw-cawing overhead. A light breeze rustles through the palm fronds, carrying a soft symphony of the bustling city awakening—car engines purring, shop shutters opening, the distant clatter of breakfast dishes. The city, much like my humble boat, creaks and groans itself awake.
"Another day at sea," I pat the salty hull of the weather-beaten boat, grinning at the two girls who've reluctantly agreed to play deckhands.
"Why is it called the 'Never Again IV?'" Lana manages to grind out, her voice laced with incredulity. "What happened to the first three?"
"Let's just say they've retired from their seafaring days," I respond.
The boat engine rumbles to life, interrupting her next question. With a final inspection of the ropes and the fuel gauge, I push off from the dock, the Never Again IV crying out her joy as she cuts through the calm morning waters.
"I hope this Dr. Galore guy knows what he's doing," Lana says finally, sounding like she's swallowing a bitter pill. Phoebe—dressed in a tight pair of shorts and a pink tank top that is a few sizes too small, god bless her heart—just nods, her arms hugging her new assets.
"Trust me, darlings, Dr. Galore is the king of the X-Change world. He'll be able to diagnose exactly what varietal you have been subjected to," I chuckle, a devilish glint in my eyes. "And he'll figure out how to stuff you back into your old self in no time."
Phoebe just grunts, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. I can't help but smirk at her, my eyes drawn to the way her nipples poke through the thin fabric of her tank top.
"Well, we'd better get there quick, then," she grumbles, the wind whipping her beautiful hair around her face.
"Oh, we will, darling," I cackle and the Never Again IV roars louder, the shore turning into a blur of pastel buildings and swaying palm trees. "I just hope that your new tits don't cause us to capsize."
Lana rolls her eyes at that, but I catch a hint of a smile. Phoebe, however, is too occupied clutching her chest and shooting daggers at me to find the humor.
The morning sun blazes down on us as we navigate through the clear waters, their voyage to redemption being nothing more than another sunny day in paradise. And as I kick back, feet propped up on the wheel, the wind in my greasy hair, I can't help but think: Ah, life is good.
—
As the Never Again IV water taxis its way across the calm aquamarine shore, we spot our destination jutting out of the calm sea like a sun-bleached monolith - the stilt house of the one and only, "Doctor" Dazzle Galore.
His house is a peculiar sight - a shabby, A-frame structure, lifted high above the lapping waves on a set of wobbly stilts. The stilts are gnarled and barnacle-encrusted, a testament to their continuous battle with the salty sea winds and rising tides.
"Welcome to the abode of Doctor Dazzle Galore, the finest medical practitioner in all of Summer City," I announce, swinging the door open with a flourish.
Inside, the house is a disturbing mix of leftover Halloween props, cheap, discounted Christmas lights, and what should have been a doctor's clinic. Medical posters—a combination of human anatomy and motivational quotes—are haphazardly plastered on the walls.
Dr. Galore himself is a wiry man with a toothpick-thin mustache. His hunched shoulders are cloaked by an oversized white coat - a relic from a donation dumpster, no doubt - which reaches his ankles and drowns his skeletal form like an ill-fitted lab rat.
"Ah! Randy! My man!" He greets me with a sly wink and an ill-fitting grin, revealing a smoker's yellowed teeth. He attempts to snap the latex gloves onto his hands with a dramatic flair but only results in one bouncing off to the corner of the room. A snicker escapes Lana.
Doctor Galore quickly recovers and gestures Phoebe towards an examination table that looks suspiciously like a repurposed massage table.
"Now, my dear, we must closely inspect your... transformation," he murmurs, his voice wriggling with an unsettling mixture of thrill and 'scientific' curiosity.
"Now, lift your top, dearie." Doctor Galore orders, brandishing an old stethoscope.
Phoebe's eyes bulge like an over-inflated beach ball, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
"Lift... my top?" she stammers, looking at me with a plea for help.
I shrug, "If you ever want to be Brad again, darling."
Reluctantly, she lifts her tank top, her face a hue of scarlet. Doctor Galore's thin eyebrows climb upwards as he ogles, the stethoscope hanging mid-air as he takes in the sight of her newly minted boobs.
"Hmm, impeccable mammaries, excellent... development. The pill… er, the contamination… really surpassed itself this time," he muses, eyes wide as saucers.
He then places the chill stethoscope against her breasts, Phoebe gasping at the cold touch. He moves it around, seemingly picking random spots to prod, while babbling medical jargon that makes less sense than a monkey performing brain surgery.
He "checks" her pulse by putting his clammy, skeletal fingers on her wrist, humming a vague approval. He then measures her waist with a worn-out tape, nodding along as if every inch validates some make-believe scientific theory.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" Phoebe finally snaps, her patience wearing thin.
Doctor Galore feigns shock, "Why, my dear, I am only conducting a comprehensive examination to determine a suitable treatment for your... predicament," he retorts, his mustache twitching in indignation. "Now, do you want my help or not?"
His eyes glint with the same faux authority I've seen him use countless times, every time he's put on the spot.
For all the ridiculousness, I must say - nobody does it quite like Dr. Galore.
He gestures me over with a languid flick of his wrist. "Now, Mr. Lovejoy, I require your... expertise. We need to assess the parts in detail to ascertain the exact effect of the pills."
With a knowing smirk, I approach Phoebe, who's swaying on the examination table like a deer in the headlights. "Don't worry, darling, just a little... tactility check," I coo, as I gently cup her breasts.
With every squeeze, her tits jiggle hypnotically, my fingers sinking into the soft mounds. They're firm, perky and damn it, fit perfectly in my hands. As I run my thumbs over her pert nipples, she gasps, a blush creeping down her neck.
"Er, Doctor? Is this... really necessary?" Lana stammers.
"Absolutely, my dear," Doctor Galore nods from his corner, all scientific seriousness, "We must ensure the complete transformation to... pinpoint the solution."
I continue to fondle and cop a feel under the guise of "medical examination", my dick twitching at the thought of all the fun this "treatment" offers.
With a grand flourish, Doctor Galore fetches a contract from his side drawer, its contents as ludicrous as the man himself. It's filled with legal jargon, obscured by his inscrutable handwriting, and topped with an ominous line, "Scientific experimentation for reversal of transformation effects."
With one last theatrical gesture, he places it on the table, a crooked smirk playing on his lips.
"Miss Phoebe, you must understand the essence of this... agreement," he says, pointing at the document. "You see, the reversal isn't a mere pill away. It requires a male participant willing to provide... er... physical aid."
"Oh, hell no! Randy can't possibly..." Lana starts, but Dr. Galore interjects, "Now, now, we mustn't undermine the noble heart of Mr. Lovejoy. He's merely stepping up to assist in a complicated, medical predicament."
I nod along with a solemn expression, "Absolutely, Doctor. Girls, I'm willing to undertake this... sacrifice, out of the goodness of my heart." The words leave my mouth with a surprising sincerity.
Dr. Galore, with his uncanny knack for dramatic timing, flips open the contract, his bony finger pointing at the dotted line. "All we need is your consent, Miss Phoebe, and we can commence the extraction... er... examination process promptly."
Lana and Phoebe share a dubious glance, both clearly uncomfortable, but given the circumstances, the options are rather scarce. I suppress a wicked grin, watching the dilemma play out.
"Just to clarify, Doctor," I ask, playing along, "Which X-Change varieties are we suspecting?"
"Ah, yes, based on my initial assessment, I suspect Cum-Cure, Quota, or Surrogate," he declares, adjusting his glasses. My smile widens at the possibilities.
"In every case, it seems we require a willing male participant to activate the reversal effects. And, of course, my good man, that would be you," he says, giving me a congratulatory pat.
"Well then, girls," I smirk, "For science, for your sake, I'm willing to play my part."
As they pore over the contract, their expressions look incredulous.
"Hey, what does this mean - 'parties involved are subject to a series of invasive processes deemed necessary as per the nature of transformation?'" Phoebe squints at the legalese.
Doctor Galore, ever the smooth operator, waves his hand dismissively, "Oh, it's nothing but technical jargon, my dear. Simply refers to the... er... in-depth investigations required for determining your pill variant."
"Hmm... 'The signees acknowledge they engage willingly in all activities outlined and waive rights to litigation against the medical practitioner and all legal entities connected therein...'" Lana murmurs, her brows furrowing.
"That, dear Lana, is but a formality to ensure you understand the nature of our remedial process," Doctor Galore explains in his most convincing baritone. "A necessary precaution to ensure we work together in harmony, without fears of... unnecessary misunderstandings."
Then comes the best part, "The undersigned accepts that Doctor Galore operates under alternate medicinal practices and does not possess formal medical credentials."
Lana looks up, clearly taken aback, "Wait, you're not a real doctor?"
"Ah, what is 'real', my dear?" Doctor Galore muses, puffing out his chest. "I am a certified naturopath, a holistic health practitioner, an alternate medical guru! Traditional labels do little justice to my vast expertise."
"And what's this about 'willingly engaging in physical acts as per the determined therapeutic procedure?'" Phoebe asks, her voice trembling.
Doctor Galore exchanges a knowing look with me before turning back to the girls, "Ah, that's related to the... erm... specific nature of your predicament. As we've discussed, the nature of certain X-change variants demands a... hands-on approach."
"You mean..." Lana starts, her eyes wide as saucers.
"Yes, my dear, an intimate... er... exchange, if you will," Doctor Galore confirms, his words slipping through the air with a smug satisfaction. He shares a triumphant glance with me and I can't help but admire his audacity.
For all his eccentricities, Doctor Galore knows how to sell his impossible solutions.
"But... with HIM?" Phoebe squawks, her wide, emerald-green eyes darting from me to Lana, pure disbelief etched on her pretty face.
"Yes, darling," I answer with as much paternal sincerity as I can muster, "I'm here to provide the necessary aid. For science... and for you. Before you know it, you'll have your 'Brad' back."
Phoebe and Lana exchange a doubtful glance, their faces reflecting pure desperation and uncertainty. But hey, they want a solution and who else but me, Randy Lovejoy, and my trusty sidekick Doctor Galore to offer one?
Finally, they each pick up a pen, their fingers trembling as they sign their names on the dotted line. Ah! The scratch of pen on paper never sounded so damn sexy.
Galore, bless his theatric heart, makes a production out of tucking the contract away. His next revelation has them both blanching. He explains the nature of X-Change Cum-Cure. He holds a heavy silence before whispering, "You must ingest... seminal fluids."
I can't resist chiming in. "Oh, you mean spunk, jizz, nut butter, population paste?" The horrified expressions on the girls' faces is priceless.
Galore shoots me a stern look, then, with a theatrical flourish, produces a supplement, claiming it will increase my semen output. There's no way I'm turning down that offer.
Phoebe, looking like she's about to hurl, spits out, "I am NOT drinking cum, Randy."
"Alright then darling, just stay a woman. It's no skin off my nose," I say, shrugging nonchalantly.
But then, the dam breaks. Trembling and teary-eyed, Phoebe says she's willing to "slurp the slurries," but from a cup. Doctor Galore, ever the showman, reels back in horror, saying that the seminal fluid must be consumed straight from the source.
"I'm just not sure I can cope with the embarrassment," I sigh, running a hand through my thinning hair.
Doctor Galore, in his faux-bravado, implores me, begging me to 'do this for Brad.' I give one long, dramatic sigh, then stand, unzipping my pants. Out flops my nine-inch trouser snake, my hairy balls flapping in the air-conditioned breeze.
Phoebe recoils, utter disbelief painted on her face. Lana stares, aghast, exclaiming, "Oh my god, Phoebe, you're really going to drink cum?!"
Phoebe, her horrified eyes locked on my dick, whispers, "I have to, babe."
Lana crosses her arms under her own perky tits, her pout deepening. She mutters under her breath, glancing away, but I don't miss the flicker of curiosity in her eyes as they dart back to my slowly engorging member.
I motion downwards.
"Um... I'm not touching it, Randy," Phoebe protests, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
Dr. Galore, always prepared, pulls out a box of gloves from his medical cart. "No need for direct contact," he assures her, handing her a pair of gloves with a wink. He then produces a bottle of lubricant and declares it will make the process smoother. I can't help but chuckle at the clever old fox.
Tentatively, Phoebe slips on the gloves, her face pale. She dabs on some lubricant, her fingers trembling noticeably. Lana, watching this spectacle unfold, shakes her head. "I can't believe you're about to jerk him off, babe."
The good doctor resumes directions. "Alright, darling, first squeeze the base," he directs, his voice purely clinical. "Then, apply the lube liberally and start giving gentle strokes."
Phoebe looks at him, horror welling up in her eyes. "Are you serious right now?"
Galore just shrugs, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. "Only if you want to change back, dear."
My cock jolts in anticipation as she slowly grips it, her touch feather-light through the latex gloves. I gasp, trying to keep my voice steady as the supplement pill kicks in, filling me up. It's like feeling your balls in hyperdrive, a strange expanding sensation that grows with each passing minute.
"Now remember, Phoebe, always maintain a steady rhythm," Galore coaches, sounding like a bored college professor.
"Thank god my grandma can't see this," mumbles Phoebe, her cheeks reddening as she begins to stroke me.
Looking down at her, all flushed and mortified, I can't contain a triumphant chuckle.
The fear and humiliation in her eyes is just... exquisite. There's something so satisfying about seeing the mighty Brad reduced to this. The pure girlish shock and the blush creeping up her neck, mixed with the sensation of her tender, inexperienced hand on my cock.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Lana watching us, silent but her eyes betray the shock and, dare I say it, the curiosity. She's biting her lip, her eyes wide as saucers as Phoebe works her 'magic'.
I'm not gonna lie, it feels good. Her hand is light, her touch hesitant, but the sight of her on her knees, serving me, is more than enough to get me worked up.
Looking at the two of them, I can feel a sense of satisfaction settle over me. It's the delicious taste of power, and my, does it feel good. Lana, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of me, and Phoebe, reduced to a reluctant minx under my control.
Ah, I couldn't have planned it any better.
Galore, that sly old dog, continues instructing Phoebe as if this were a perfectly normal conversation. "Remember dear, pay attention to the... ah... top."
Phoebe grimaces, but her hand obeys, her touch sending me into overdrive. My balls feel heavy and full, like they're about to burst.
"Oh, that's it, darling," I moan, unable to contain a grin, "Just imagine it's a Popsicle. Only a lot... bigger."
Lana snorts. "Are you seriously enjoying this?"
"More than you know, sweetheart," I wink. "You should try it sometime."
"Shut up, Randy!" Phoebe growls, a blush creeping up her neck. But she doesn't let go. In fact, her grip tightens just slightly, enough to send a delicious shudder up my spine.
The room fills with the obscene squelching sounds of a gloved hand sliding up and down a slick, engorged shaft. Phoebe's terrified and disgusted face is mirrored perfectly by the randy anticipation of the men in the room.
I, meanwhile, revel in the sight. Lana, the unlikely coach, shouts instructions from the sidelines, one minute berating Phoebe for her technique and the next staring at my cock like it's a prime cut of meat.
Her criticism is harsh, jabbing at Phoebe's 'sloppy' and 'unenthusiastic' technique. But as she watches her boyfriend-turned-girlfriend choking and sputtering, her sneering remarks start to fade away. The sight of her boyfriend, now a busty black-haired girl with green eyes, his – no, her – hand sliding up and down my member, seems to hit her like a truck.
She watches, horror and disgust battling for dominance on her face. She cheers Phoebe on but her false bravado is no match for the harsh reality of the situation. Hell, I'd be surprised if she didn't throw up.
But things are about to get a whole helluva lot messier.
Phoebe's breath hitches, her hand jerking frantically now, her face flush with humiliation. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she mutters, her eyes clenched shut.
I groan, my warning barely a whisper. "Better get ready, darling. Here it comes!"
Phoebe yelps, the realization striking her like a brick. But before she can pull away, a thick rope of my hot cum splatters her right in the face. The first blast hits her eye, the next her nose.
Phoebe squeals, her gloved hands coming up to shield her face. But then Lana is there, her own hands pushing Phoebe's away, forcing her back onto me.
I'm groaning, my balls pumping out load after load of thick, gloopy cum. It's like a fire hydrant that's been jammed open on a hot day.
Dr. Galore yells over the chaos, "You must swallow it, Phoebe! It's the only way!"
Lana pushes Phoebe forward, her hands winding in her hair. "Open your mouth, babe!"
Phoebe coughs, choking as the next jet of cum flies straight into her mouth. Her wide eyes lock onto mine, a mixture of utter fear and disgust bubbling up within them.
The room falls silent as we watch her gag, her throat working hard to swallow down my load. But it's a losing battle. Phoebe's eyes widen, then narrow. She splutters, spitting out a mouthful of my cum, her face ashen.
"Phoebe!" Lana shrieks, "Swallow it!"
But it's too late. Phoebe's bent over, coughing and retching, her body shaking. The sight is both horrifying and delightfully gratifying.
She'd been so cocky, so assured of her 'masculinity'. And now, here she is, on her knees, cum dripping from her chin, her chest heaving with the effort of not throwing up.
Oh, the humanity!
"Really Phoebe, it wasn't that hard, and you still failed," Lana snipes, her sapphire eyes twinkling with a mixture of disdain and amusement. Even as she licks her lips subconsciously, her gaze flicks from Phoebe's cum-soaked face to me, her eyebrow arching. Phoebe, in contrast, is a mess - her black hair sticking to her face in cum-streaked chunks, her mascara leaving gothic trails down her cheeks.
The room reeks of sex and debauchery, an undercurrent of my musky scent enveloping us. My cum, thick and viscous, clings to her face and chest, the film of it giving her skin a grossly appealing shine. Her once-pink crop top is now stained with splotches of my pearly seed, the fabric transparent where it clings to her heaving, cum-coated breasts. She's a debauched, porno version of herself, the sight of her defilement making my spent cock twitch with renewed interest.
"Alas, dear Phoebe," Dr. Dazzle Galore sighs dramatically, "Remember, you must INGEST the entire load. What you have experienced… well, it's not enough, cupcake. You need to try again."
"Damn it, Galore, I can't!" Phoebe whimpers, wiping at her face furiously, flinching as some of it trickles into her mouth, the taste of my seed making her gag.
"Crap, Phoebe," Lana says, throwing her hands in the air. "Do we have to do everything for you?"
The room suddenly takes on a tense air, Phoebe staring at Lana wide-eyed. "You wouldn't…"
"Oh, wouldn't I?" Lana says as she sidles up to me, her hand landing casually on my still semi-hard length. What a fucking rockstar, ready for round two. "I can jerk him off, and you finish up, Phoebe. Sound good?"
"No, no…" she whimpers, her horrified gaze switching between Lana and me.
Lana merely shrugs, her hand starting to move on me, her touch quite different. Not like the shy, uncertain exploration of Phoebe but a well-practiced, deft touch.
My gaze on Phoebe, I watch her eyes widen, the gut-wrenching realization sinking in. She's a deer in headlights, watching her own girlfriend stroke me back to life. Her full lips part in a soundless gasp, her humiliation clearly sketched across her face.
"Ah, there, see?" Lana announces, her other hand cupping my balls. "All it takes is a little coaxing."
Phoebe's emerald eyes are glued to the scene, torn between her disgust and reluctant fascination. And then Lana's leaning forward, her lips parting as she takes me in her mouth.
Fuck. This was unexpected.
I throw my head back, a hiss tearing from my throat as she slides her lips down my length, her warm mouth enveloping me. But then I catch a glimpse of Phoebe, her horrified eyes on Lana and me, and damn if that isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.
Lana's tongue runs circles around the swollen head of my cock, her moans vibrating against my skin. Her eyes lock onto Phoebe's, a spark of defiant satisfaction in her gaze. And as Lana's bobbing her head, sliding me in and out of her mouth, she gives Phoebe a thumbs up, her grin wicked around my dick.
I can't help it - I groan, my fingers sinking into Lana's golden locks, my hips instinctively bucking up. And as Lana's mouth works its magic, her eyes never leave Phoebe, the silent message clear, "This is how it's done, babe."
The lewd slurping noises fill the room, Lana's shameless blowjob only serving to heighten the erotic atmosphere. Lana is relentless, her strong, petite hand working in sync with her mouth, her tongue teasing every sensitive inch of me.
Through the haze of pleasure, I hazard a look at Phoebe, tears streaking her cum-streaked cheeks, her face a beautiful mess of humiliation and disbelief, as Lana starts deep-throating me.
"Urk- GLURRK! Uhk-"
Phoebe chokes out a cry, "Babe! You... you never did that to me."
Lana's laughter vibrates against my cock, her lips brushing against my sensitive tip. Glancing up, she smirks at Phoebe, "Well, Brad just wasn't long enough to deep-throat. Sorry!"
My inner voice cackles with glee even as my desire-soaked mind struggles to process Lana's words. The room swims before me, the onslaught of pleasure from Lana's expertise making me dizzy.
My balls tighten, my stomach clenches, and I know I'm teetering on the edge. "I'm... I'm gonna..." I groan, the words muffled as Lana grips Phoebe's hair, pulling her face towards me.
And then, like I would've imagined, Lana lifts her mouth off me, leaving my cock glistening with her saliva. Using her grip on Phoebe's hair, she forces the brunette's mouth on me.
"Swallow, darling," she orders, and I can hear the slap of her hand against Phoebe's ass, the woman's startled gasp around my cock sending me spiraling into oblivion.
"Love Bites" by Def Leppard hums in my mind as the tension builds, my muscles coiling as the pleasure ripples through me. I roar out, the lyrics of the song melding with my cry as I pump my seed directly into Phoebe's throat.
"Love bites, love bleeds, it's bringin' me to my knees, love lives, love dies. It's no surprise, love begs, love pleads, it's what I need," I chant, bucking up into Phoebe's mouth, Lana's grip on her forcing her to take it all in without a protest.
My ejaculation is more like a volcanic eruption, intense and violent, gushing out in waves as Phoebe's gurgle of surprise gets smothered by my cock. Lana voice is a feather on my skin, sweet and soothing as she whispers words of encouragement, her fingers woven into Phoebe's hair to keep her from pulling away.
"Swallow it all, darling," Lana commands, her voice firm. "You want this, remember? You need this."
And as the orgasmic tremors die down, leaving me panting and sated, I grin at the sight of a teary-eyed Phoebe, my cum dripping down her chin, an object lesson in karma's warped sense of justice.
The sight of Phoebe - the new-born bombshell, cum oozing down her chin, her eyes wide with horror and shock - sends a shiver of sadistic delight down my spine. Her emerald eyes are bloodshot, contrasting starkly against her skin. A single strand of her raven black hair sticks to her tear-streaked cheek, her face reflecting the perfect blend of humiliation and ire.
And I fucking love it.
Beside her, Lana looks slightly askew. The usual fire in her baby-blue eyes is dimmed, replaced by a hint of disillusionment. Her lips, lipstick quite smeared, form a tight line as she turns to Dr. Dazzle Galore.
"How long does it take for the pill to wear off?" Lana asks, her voice betraying a hint of trepidation.
"Well," Dr. Dazzle straightens his lab coat that's probably seen better days, "the process should've been immediate, if it was in fact a Cum-Cure. But considering the...well, circumstances," he chuckles, glancing at a disheveled Phoebe, "It likely means we're dealing with a Quota or Surrogate pill, which requires, erm, additional measures."
A choke. A gasp. A stifled sob. Three sound effects emerge from Phoebe's cherry-red lips as she sputters, "So, you mean... that was all for NOTHING?"
Dr. Dazzle's laughter is a grating sound, irritatingly leisurely. "Oh no, darling! Of course not! It was a critical step in the process of elimination."
Phoebe's sunken cheeks turn an even shade of red, the harsh reality setting in.
"Our next step," the good doctor continues, "if it is indeed a Quota pill, involves, ahem, copulation. By default... three sessions."
"Copulation? Sex?" Phoebe shrieks, the horror clear in her emerald eyes.
"Correct, my dear." Dr. Dazzle nods, "And the first session must commence this very evening."
A stunned silence follows the doctor's declaration, broken only by the raucous laughter of a bunch of seagulls perched on the dock. The scent of salt and sex lingers in the air, a potent mix of arousal and fear.
With the direction set, we all pile back into the 'Never Again IV'. As we cast off, the doctor holds me back, a conspiratorial twinkle gleaming in his eyes.
My smirk widens as I slide a $100 bill into his greasy palm for his 'services'.
"My friend," he chuckles, pocketing the bill, "I would do it for free."
***
"Why are you listening to this asshole, Lana? He's clearly full of shit!" Phoebe yells, her voice echoing around the pastel pink walls of their motel room. Her freckle-dusted tits bounce up and down with her rage, and I can't help but appreciate the view.
"Phoebe, I want Brad back just as much as you do," Lana sighs. Her baby-blue eyes are filled with a mixture of hurt and frustration.
"You have a funny way of showing it." Phoebe retorts, crossing her arms over her chest, unintentionally pushing her tits up into a delectable cleavage.
"You don't trust me?" I put on my best hurt puppy look and fail miserably.
"No, Randy. I don't trust you." Phoebe snarls.
I feign shock, placing a hand over my heart. "But darling, I'm just trying to help you!"
"By making my girlfriend suck your dick?" Phoebe snaps, her emerald-green eyes blazing.
"Hey! It was my idea!" Lana cuts in, sounding offended.
Phoebe shoots her a disgusted glare. "And you're okay with this?"
Lana just shrugs. "If you're not up for it, maybe I should give it a try, and show you how it's done. I think you need a few pointers."
"Don't joke, Lana." Phoebe snaps. I can't help but laugh. Oh, this is too good.
"Who says I'm joking?" Lana retorts, her pretty baby-blue eyes glinting with defiance… and something else. Interest, perhaps?
I lean back, letting the two of them argue. The afternoon sun is setting, bathing the room in warm orange. God, Summer City is a paradise.
"Come on, Phoebe. Just three 'sessions,' and Brad will be back to his old self," I coax, pouring myself a glass of cheap bourbon.
Phoebe's gaze lands on me, her emerald eyes searching for ulterior motives. Too bad, darling, my motives aren't just ulterior, they're practically extraterrestrial.
As their words engulf the room, mingled with the distant sound of crashing waves, I slide a worn-out cassette into the tape player. The opening chords of 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' fill the room, stirring up memories of sweat-soaked concert nights and wild, reckless sex.
"Are you serious, Randy?" Phoebe's voice breaks through the nostalgic haze.
I smirk at her, my eyes glinting with mischief. "Well, darling, Brad ain't here to stop me."
Phoebe flushes a deep shade of red, and I can't help but chuckle. Oh, this is good.
Pouring myself another glass of cheap, gut-rot bourbon, I kick back on the sun-kissed balcony, letting the girls' heated argument wash over me. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, casting long shadows over the beach. In the dwindling light, the glistening ocean looks more like a sea of molten gold.
The girls simmer down, their words becoming a mere whisper in the wind.
I push through the sliding glass door, reentering the room with a swagger. Lana and Phoebe glance up from their fight, their eyes alive with a mixture of rage and anticipation.
"Ready to do this?" I ask, feigning compassion with my tone.
Phoebe merely glowers from her corner, her arms crossed in defiance, and her bronzed skin glowing against the neon palm tree wallpaper. She's got that wildcat look about her, and God help me, I find it hot.
But it's Lana who surprises me. She straightens, locking her baby-blue orbs onto me. "Yes," she says, her voice firm and unyielding.
Turning to Phoebe, her eyes soften slightly as she grabs the hem of her crop top. In one swift motion, Lana pulls the fabric over her head, revealing a lacy white bra that does little to hide those perfect tits. She smirks at Phoebe's gasp, followed by her hiss of indignation.
Still smirking, Lana then drops those booty shorts, unveiling a matching pair of lace panties, hugging her round, sun-kissed ass. I take another long gulp of my drink, feeling a familiar stirring in my Bermuda shorts.
You see, Lana's like a ripe summer peach, deliciously juicy with curves that would make any red-blooded man drool. Her tan lines accentuated her luscious tits and firm ass, a testament of her many sunbathing sessions. And the way she was unashamedly exposing herself, a subtle hint of arousal glinting in her eyes... it was a sight to behold.
I set my bourbon on the marble countertop, my eyes never leaving Lana. The tension in the room could cut through a steel beam. Phoebe watched with wide eyes, her mouth agape.
"Maybe," Lana begins, her voice oozing with bitterness, "if you're too cowardly to change back to Brad, then I should find a real man." The words hang in the air, heavy and hurtful.
Stalking towards me, Lana takes my drink, bringing the crystal glass to her pink lips. She takes a slow sip, never breaking eye contact with Phoebe.
Placing the glass back down, Lana steps into my personal space. Our bodies mere inches apart. She looks up at me, her baby-blue eyes twinkling mischievously. Without warning, she reaches up, wraps her arms around my neck, and pulls me into a deep kiss.
I'm taken aback, but it only takes a moment to recover. Her lips are soft and sweet, laced with the harsh burn of the cheap bourbon. Lana moans, her body pressing closer to mine, and I can't help but groan into her mouth.
As we part, I glance over Lana's shoulder. Phoebe's standing there, her body rigid, her face a mask of shock. The hope drains from her eyes, and I can't help but feel a pang of guilt. But that feeling is quickly drowned by the heady taste of Lana on my lips and the scent of coconut oil in the air. This is Summer City, and I am Randy Lovejoy - the king of debauchery.
With Lana in my arms, I fall onto the bed, making it shake under our combined weight. The scent of suntan lotion and sweat fills the room, making the air heavy and thick with desire. Lana squeals as I land on top of her, her hands clutching onto the wrinkled sheets.
My greedy hands roam over her body, tightly clutching her ass. Lana yelps and I press my hips to hers, grinding against her in response. My lips find hers again, the kiss more intense this time, fueled by lust and the tantalizing promise of what's to come.
"Okay, okay! I'll do it!" Phoebe's voice cuts through the fog of passion, hesitant yet determined. A part of me is surprised - I didn't expect her to give in so quickly. But most of me just feels triumphant.
Lana pulls away from our kiss, smirking at me. "Better hurry up," she purrs, her baby-blue eyes filled with anticipation.
Without wasting a moment, Phoebe starts stripping out of her clothes, tossing them on the pristine white floor of the motel suite. The sight of her frantically undressing lights a fire in my belly and I let out a low chuckle.
As if on cue, my cock springs free, long and thick, ready for the show. Lana wraps her slender fingers around it, causing me to shudder. The sensation of her touch sends a wave of pleasure through my body, a delicious craving that needs to be satiated.
Phoebe, now fully naked, rushes to the bed, trying to push me off Lana. She's not strong, not with her new, feminine body - it's a futile attempt, but a brave one nonetheless.
"Join in," I say, my voice laced with amusement. My hand reaches out, grasping one of her tits. I compare it with one of Lana's, the playful squeeze earning me a moan from both women.
"Jesus Randy! What are you, a meat inspector?" Lana squirms under my touch, shoving my hand away.
Phoebe's mortified, the blush staining her cheeks a testament to her humiliation. But I can see she wants to get this over with. I can work with that.
"Alright, ladies," I command, a wicked grin playing on my lips. "On your hands and knees, side by side."
They exchange a glance, an array of emotions dancing in their eyes - resentment, embarrassment, uncertainty. But they comply, each taking their position, their bare asses pointed towards me.
Oh, what a sight! Two gorgeous women, one factory, one modified, their asses up in the air, just begging to be taken. This is heaven.
"Who's wetter, ladies?" I purr, the anticipation making my heart pound in my chest.
Lana looks over at Phoebe, a smirk on her face. "Well, I'd bet it's Phoebe. Poor thing's probably dripping, aren't you darling?"
Phoebe scowls, but stays silent. She avoids my gaze, her cheeks a delicious shade of pink.
I reach out, my fingers sliding between both their thighs. They gasp as my digits invade their intimate spaces, the contrast striking. While Lana's slick, Phoebe's hair-trigger wetness sends a thrill down my spine. But it's Lana's wanton lubrication that wins.
"Oh, Lana," I drawl, pulling my fingers from her slick folds. "Seems like you're more hyped up about this than you're letting on. Is it my massive cock that's turning you on? Or seein' 'Brad' here, all embarrassed and shit?"
Lana's glare is enough to scorch a hole in my Hawaiian shirt. But I just chuckle, patting her ass cheek, enjoying the soft jiggle. Phoebe seems to have lost any ability to respond, her eyes wide and lips quivering.
"Alright darlings," I order, my hand landing a firm smack on each ass cheek. They cry out at the sting, the sounds echoing through the room, their bodies instinctively jolting forward. "Don't get too feisty now."
Phoebe's protest is cut short when I slide a finger back into her. She squeals, her body jerking, but I just laugh it off, giving her ass a solid squeeze. "Your time'll come, darling," I assure her.
Focusing on Lana, I align my cock against her glistening slit. Lana shudders, her knees digging into the soft sheets. "Hey Lana," I purr, a wicked grin plastered on my face as I press the head of my cock against her entrance, "You're first."
Phoebe's protest is drowned out by Lana's wanton moan. "WHAT? But-"
"No, Phoebe. I need this," Lana interrupts, her voice strained with need. She arches her back, making her ass stick out even more. "Don't you dare ruin it for me."
With a firm grip on her hips, I push forward, sinking into her warmth. Lana cries out, her body arching beneath me, her ass pressing into my hips. The sensation is phenomenal; she fits me like a glove, her pussy hot and tight around my cock.
With every thrust, the squelching sound of her wetness fills the room, punctuated with her loud moans as I push deeper. Phoebe lies next to us, watching with wide eyes, a strange and tantalizing mix of fear, humiliation, and inexplicable lust etched on her face.
"Such a b- big cock," Lana screams, her voice echoing around the room, the words vile and so obscenely perfect. Her tits sway with each of my thrusts, the sight so lewd it adds fuel to the inferno burning in my gut.
I laugh, pounding into Lana with increasing speed, the sound of our skin slapping filling the room. The sight of Lana's bliss and Phoebe's humiliation mixing into a heady cocktail of pleasure, my own desire racing towards a fever pitch.
My hand on the small of Lana's back, I hammer into her, the slap of our bodies echoing in the hotel room. Every thrust rattles the bedframe; every cry that escapes her is music to my ears.
"Randy!" Lana squeals, her body shaking as I plow into her. Smacking her ass, I watch it ripple, the sight sending shivers down my spine. My eyes never leave Phoebe, the once-cocky man laying there, defeated and undoubtedly turned on.
"My, my Lana," I drawl, slowing down the pace but never letting up on the force. I watch her, the blonde's ass red from my ministrations, her pussy clenching around me, practically begging me not to stop. "I'm just helping you gals bond. That's the Summer City way, ain't it?"
Lana moans, desperation seeping into her voice. "Please... more…"
Easier said than done. Because as much as I enjoy her pliant beneath me, a new temptation awaits. Pulling out, I leave Lana panting on the bed, a whimper of protest escaping her. "Oh, hush darling. Don't tell me you've forgotten Phoebe here."
Phoebe startles, her eyes wide. But before she can bolt, I have her flipped on her stomach. She's still slick from my fingers, her pussy invitingly wet as I line up my cock with her entrance. With one hand on her hip and the other on Lana's, I thrust into her, making Phoebe scream.
"God yes!" I revel in her torment, the tight warmth of her wrapping around me. It's so wrong, yet so right. "You see, darling," I pant, my thrusts uncoordinated now, "I've done you a favor. Your pussy juices mingling? That's the ultimate intimacy."
Phoebe's protests die in her throat, replaced with low moans. I don't know if it's her body betraying her, or the sight of Lana, still writhing in pleasure, that breaks her. But she relents, her ass pushing back against me. "Fuck. Fuck. Randy…"
The crescendo builds, the room filling with guttural cries and the obscene smack of flesh against flesh. Their bodies dance to the primal rhythm, Lana's fingers intertwining with Phoebe's as I lay claim to them.
Under the neon lights reflecting off the tacky motel wallpaper, I reign supreme, their overlord. Phoebe arches her back, her protests drowned out by her own climax as I fill her with my essence. Her pussy clamps around me, squeezing me hard.
"God, you're such a bitch now, Phoebe," I growl, my voice a gravelly rumble that sends shivers down her spine. "My bitch."
A strangled moan escapes her, her body shuddering under me. Her protest dies in her throat, replaced by a gasping cry.
"Look at you," I taunt, my hands gripping her hips, my thrusts now brutal and rough. "You're just a horny little slut now, aren't you?"
Her response is a blubbering sob, each word punctuated by a sharp cry as I continue to abuse her.
"Randy…" she begs, her voice a pitiful whimper, every word another admission of her defeat.
"Darling…" I say, pushing deeper into her. "I'm going to ruin you. You're going to remember this, remember me, every fucking time you look at your pretty face in the mirror."
The humiliation, the degradation - it's all too much. Phoebe's body convulses, her pussy clamping down on me as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a series of shuddering waves.
After the reality of having a soul-crushing orgasm while filled with my cock sets in, her body goes rigid beneath mine, fight or flight clearly kicking in - a doe caught in the headlights; too stunned to do either.
"But I... I..." she stammers, her body quaking beneath me, as she clutches the sheets tightly, her watery eyes looking up at me.
I 'shush' her gently, patting her shoulder with an almost paternal touch. "Easy there, darling. Just let it happen."
A second of silence, almost deafening in the dim motel room. The sheets rustle beneath us, the whir of the cheap, 80s-style standing fan the only sound breaking the thick tension.
Then, a traitorous whimper escapes her, faint as a kitten's mewl. It's so deliciously sad, so desperate, it makes my dick jump. God, the sheer humiliation of making her cum, the utter degradation - it's almost too much.
But in actual fact, it's just right. I love how Lana's looking at her.
"Fuck," I growl under my breath, resuming my thrusts, my balls tightening as the inevitable climax approaches with the force of a freight train. The feeling is akin to the unbearable tension of a rubber band stretched to its absolute limit.
Phoebe's body clenches around me, a silent plea, a final resistance. But it's too late. She's in too deep and there's no turning back.
The rush of warmth floods me as I unload inside her, rope after rope of my cum injecting her virgin insides with my hot, sticky ropes. The smell of sex hangs heavy in the room.
"Fuck!" Her cry pierces the silence, a heart-wrenching wail filled with as much submission as it is filled with defeat. It sends chills down my spine, a sadistic thrill that matches the base satisfaction of cumming insider her.
With each pump of my cum, her whimpering intensifies. The heavy, putrid sperm fills her, my orgasm not missing a beat. Even in her transformed state, the innate dread of an unwanted pregnancy is poignant.
Lana is eerily quiet next to us, her eyes wide, her body quite still - is she even breathing?
What had started as a show of poetic justice has swiftly spiraled into a terrifying and visceral insemination, the implications just now sinking in. Her baby-blue eyes flick from my contented smirk to Phoebe's tear-streaked face.
"Want a taste, darling?" I ask, pulling out of Phoebe. The sight of my cum leaking out of her, the white trails marring her sun-kissed thighs, has me grinning like a kid in a candy store.
I line up my cock with Lana's entrance, my supplement-enhanced dick still throbbing, cum still splurting out in heavy, lazy blasts. It glistens in the dim light, marking me as the dominator of one, now two. My far-from-spent balls twitch expectantly as I thrust into Lana.
With a gasp, her body arches off the bed, her pussy welcoming my cum-filled cock with surprising enthusiasm. The heady pleasure of her tightness milks out the second wave of my orgasm. My cum paints her insides, thick, heavy ropes of putrid Lovejoy sperm spilling into her. The smell of it intensifies, a debauched mixture of Phoebe's and Lana's cunt-syrup, and my off-white seed.
As I finally pull out, their combined juices follow, a thick trail of my cum connecting their pussies. The sight is obscenely fascinating, a testament to my conquest - raw, carnal, and utterly satisfying.
Phoebe is a broken mess, her quiet moans a testament to her humiliation.
Lana, on the other hand, props herself up on her hands, her gaze fixed on me.
"Oh Lana... that was…" Phoebe's voice trembles, the words coming out as a plea.
Lana chuckles, rolling over onto her back, her body still heaving from the exertion.
"Fuck, baby, that was INCREDIBLE." Her honey-glazed eyes find mine. "Seeing you like that, my tough, macho boyfriend turned into a..." She hesitates, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "...little cock-craving bimbo. It does things to me."
"But babe..." Phoebe whimpers, her eyes watering. Her body twitches, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through her. "I..."
"Keep trying, darling," Lana drawls, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "One day, you might sprout a cock again. Who knows, you might even become a real man." Her words are laced with sadistic glee, the betrayal in her tone almost palpable.
"Babe, didn't you say we'd always be together?" Phoebe's broken whisper fills the room, the echo of her hopelessness bouncing off the walls.
"Aw, come on Phoebe, it's not so bad," I interrupt, pulling on my shorts with a satisfied smirk. "You'll get used to being a girl."
The despair in her eyes is tangible as she turns to Lana. "But babe?"
"I told you the truth, sweetheart. I'm not into girls," Lana replies coldly, her gaze meeting Phoebe's. "And as much as I like you, I can't force myself to be a lesbian."
I step out of the room, leaving my cum-drenched bimbos to their own devices. "See you lovebirds tomorrow, darlings," I call over my shoulder, the motel room door slamming behind me.
As I stride away, my chuckles echo down the empty hallway. Another day in paradise, another victory for Randy Lovejoy. The Summer City god of mischief strikes again.