"Babe, you sure about this?" I asked Becky, adjusting the camera. We were filming our entry video for "CoupleMorph," the hottest new reality show. The premise was simple: couples sign up, viewers vote on their desired transformations using these crazy Nantes and BAM, instant makeover. The cash prize was insane, and honestly, the idea of a little excitement in our marriage was tempting.
Becky grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Absolutely! Imagine you, Chris, all ripped and chiseled, a total stud. And me? A smoking hot goddess."
We both laughed, picturing the possibilities. We'd always been pretty average, you know? Good-looking enough, but nothing special. This was our chance to spice things up, both physically and in the bedroom. We thought it would be hot to experience each other in totally new bodies, and it was all for a good cause - the cash prize.
Weeks later, we got the call. We were in! The transformation process was intense, a whirlwind of scans, injections, and a lot of waiting. I remember lying in the pod, the Nantes coursing through my veins, and thinking about how amazing Becky would look. I imagined her with perfect curves, a killer smile, and eyes that would melt me.
Then, darkness....
I woke up disoriented, my head swimming. The first thing I noticed was the air felt… different. Lighter. I blinked, trying to focus. My vision swam, and everything seemed… huge.
Panic started to bubble in my chest as I sat up and looked down. My heart fucking stopped.
My body was tiny. Ridiculously tiny. I could barely reach the edge of the bed. And my skin? It was smoother than silk, sensitive to the slightest touch. I stood up, and almost lost my balance. My legs felt wobbly, weak.
Then, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room. I gasped.
I was barely five feet tall. My shoulders were narrow, my chest flat. My waist was tiny, cinched in like an hourglass. And my ass… oh god, my ass. It was huge, a massive, round bubble butt that looked like it belonged on a cartoon character.
I ran my hands over my body in disbelief. No muscle, no hair, just smooth, delicate skin and those enormous, jiggly cheeks. This wasn't the ripped, masculine stud I was supposed to be. This was… something else entirely.
What the hell had happened? Where was Becky? And more importantly, what was she going to think of this?
I laid back on the bed and examined my body further and found that my manhood was gone. Replaced by a smooth hairless pussy.
My breath hitched. No, no, no, this can't be happening. I frantically reached down, my hands trembling. My fingers brushed against smooth, soft skin, where my manhood should have been. My cock was gone. Vanished. Erased. In its place was a smooth, hairless pussy. A fucking vagina. And God was it sensitive.
I stood up and stared at my reflection in horror, tears welling up in my eyes. The reality of my transformation hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn't just small and curvy. I was a woman. Or at least, I had the genitals of one.
My mind raced. How could this have happened? What kind of sick joke was this? The voters must have gone wild, transforming me into some kind of petite, bubble-butted bimbo with a surprise between my legs.
The thought of Becky seeing me like this sent a wave of shame and panic through me. She was expecting a stud, a macho man. Now, she was going to find me like this. And a part of me was scared what she would think of me.
I stumbled out of the room, desperately searching for Becky. "Becky! Becky, where are you?" My voice sounded so high pitched and feminine. The corridors were sterile and silent. I finally found her in a lounge area, sitting on a plush sofa, staring out the window.
"Becky?" I squeaked, my voice cracking.
Becky turned, her eyes widening as she took me in. I could see a flicker of surprise, then confusion, then… something else. Was that amusement?
"Chris?" she said, her voice laced with disbelief. "Is that really you?"
Becky had been transformed as well. Her face still resembled her own but it was now completely masculine. To my shock Becky has been transformed into a tall muscular man. As I looked at her, or rather him, I realized something was terribly, terribly wrong. His face... it was still Becky's, but somehow… different. Harder. More angular. Masculine.
He stood up, and I gasped. Becky was gone. In her place stood a man who towered over me with my now much smaller body. His shirt was off, revealing a muscular chest. His arms were strong and masculine. Becky's eyes scanned me, her expression unreadable for a moment. He was wearing gym shorts, and my eyes were drawn to the unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric. The shape was undeniable – a large, thick cock pressed against the material, a blatant display of his newfound masculinity.
My breath caught in my throat. It couldn't be.
I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. Becky, my wife, was now a man. A big, muscular man with a massive cock under his shorts. I couldn't take my eyes off of it as I watched it begin to grow. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a mix of shock, confusion, and something else… something that made my new pussy throb with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal.
"Chris," he said, his voice deep and resonant, completely devoid of the feminine lilt I knew so well. "What… what happened to you?" He gestured to my body, his eyes lingering on my bubble butt, and then drifting lower, to the smooth, hairless patch between my legs.
"I… I don't know," I stammered, my voice trembling. "The votes… they must have… I don't know!"
He took a step closer, towering over me. The sheer size of him was intimidating, his muscular frame casting a long shadow over my tiny body. I realized then that I was nothing more than a petite, curvy woman in his eyes.
"I actually think our new situation is pretty amusing if you think about it", Becky teased. The sight of his massive bulge was making me feel things I didn't understand. Was this still my wife? Or was he something else entirely?
"Amusing?" I squeaked, my voice cracking. "You're amused? Becky, I have a fucking vagina now! And you're standing there with a goddamn python in your pants!"
His lips twitched, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well, you have to admit, it's... unexpected," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. He took another step closer, his eyes raking over my body, lingering on my chest, my waist, and of course, my ass.
"Unexpected?" I repeated, my voice rising in pitch. "Unexpected? This is a fucking nightmare! I'm a five-foot-nothing bimbo with a bubble butt and a pussy! And you're... you're a goddamn Adonis with a monster cock!"
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through my body. "A monster cock, huh? I like the sound of that." He reached out, his large hand engulfing my waist. "And you, Chris, you're... adorable. Like a little sex doll."
His touch sent a shiver down my spine. It was wrong, so wrong, but at the same time... it felt strangely exhilarating. The contrast between his massive hand and my tiny waist was almost overwhelming.
"Don't touch me," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "This isn't funny, Becky. This is our lives we're talking about."
He ignored my plea, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip. "Relax, Chris," he said, his voice low and husky. "It's just a little bit of fun. Besides," he leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear, "I'm kind of curious to see what this little body of yours can do."
My heart pounded in my chest. He was teasing me, playing with me, and I was powerless to stop it. The sight of his bulging shorts, the feel of his hand on my body, it was all too much.
"Becky, please," I begged, my voice trembling. "This isn't you. We need to figure out how to change back."
He pulled away slightly, his eyes hardening. "Change back? Why would we want to do that? This is exciting, Chris. This is a chance to experience something new. To explore our desires in ways we never thought possible."
He stepped back, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Besides," he added, his voice low and suggestive, "I have a feeling we're going to have a lot of fun figuring out what this new body of mine can do to you."
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, trembling and confused. Was this really Becky? Or had the transformation changed him into someone else entirely? And more importantly, was I ready for what he had in store for me?
Driven by a mix of desperation and morbid curiosity, I hurried after Becky. My new, short legs felt awkward and unfamiliar, my center of balance thrown off by the sudden shift in my proportions. I stumbled slightly, my hips swaying with each step, my large, round ass bouncing in a way that was both embarrassing and strangely titillating.
"Becky, wait!" I called out, my voice sounding even more high-pitched and desperate than before.
He didn't stop, but I managed to keep him in sight, following him through a set of double doors and into a brightly lit studio. The air crackled with anticipation.
There, standing in the center of the room, was the host of the reality show, a slick, charismatic man with a practiced smile and a microphone in hand. He was surrounded by cameras, lights, and a small audience of eager spectators.
"Welcome to the stage Chris and Becky!" the host boomed, his voice amplified by the sound system. "Are you ready to start your journey on CoupleMorph?"
He paused, his eyes widening as he took in our transformed appearances. A look of surprise, then delight, spread across his face. "Well, well, well," he chuckled, "it seems the voters have certainly made their preferences known! Chris, you're looking... petite. And Becky, you're quite the hunk!"
The audience erupted in laughter and applause. I wanted to sink into the floor.
"Now, before we get started," the host continued, "let's get your reactions to your new bodies! Chris, why don't you tell us how you're feeling?"
All eyes turned to me. I could feel my cheeks flushing with heat. My body was trembling and I was overwhelmed.
"I... I don't know what to say," I stammered, my voice barely audible. "This is... unexpected."
"Unexpected, indeed!" the host exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm sure you'll both adjust. After all, this is CoupleMorph, where anything can happen! Now, let's get started with our first challenge..."
He launched into a series of instructions, but I couldn't focus. My mind was racing, my body buzzing with a strange mixture of fear, excitement, and shame.
Becky, meanwhile, stood beside me, his expression unreadable. He seemed unfazed by the attention, his muscular frame radiating confidence and power. I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, mixed with a heavy dose of lust.
As the cameras started rolling, I realized that I was trapped. Trapped in this bizarre new body, trapped in this ridiculous reality show, and trapped with a wife who was now a tall, muscular man with a massive hard-on.
The host's words hung in the air, each syllable a fresh wave of humiliation washing over me. "Well, Chris," he drawled, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "the crowd is certainly getting an eyeful! But I'm wondering if you might prefer something a little less... revealing?"
My cheeks burned as I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest, trying to shield my naked breasts from the prying eyes of the audience. My other hand instinctively reached down, attempting to cover the smooth, hairless patch between my legs where my manhood used to be.
The movement only served to accentuate the jiggle of my large, round ass, drawing even more attention to my exposed curves. The audience erupted in laughter and catcalls.
"Oh, don't be shy, Chris!" the host chuckled, his voice amplified by the sound system. "You've got a body to be proud of! But, I suppose we can't have you running around stark naked for the entire show. So, here's the deal: you can earn yourself some clothes by playing a little game. Are you up for it?"
My mind was racing. I wanted to say no, to run away and hide, but I knew that wasn't an option. I was trapped, both by the cameras and by my own desire for some semblance of normalcy.
"What kind of game?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
The host grinned, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth. "A simple game, really. A test of strength and agility. You see, we have a series of obstacles set up around the studio. Your task is to navigate those obstacles and reach the finish line. First one to the finish line gets a brand new outfit!"
He gestured to a rack of clothing, strategically placed near the finish line. My eyes widened as I took in the sight of the skimpy outfits on display: tight miniskirts, low-cut tops, and revealing dresses. It was clear that the producers were enjoying my predicament.
"And what if I don't want to wear those clothes?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"Then you can stay naked. It's your choice" the host shrugged.
I glanced at Becky, who was watching me with a mixture of amusement and anticipation. He didn't say a word, but I could see the challenge in his eyes. He wanted to see me squirm.
Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and nodded. "Okay," I said, my voice gaining a bit of strength. "I'll play your game."
"That's the spirit!" the host exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Now, let's get started! Chris, take your place at the starting line. And Becky, you'll be competing against her, of course!"
Becky smirked and stepped forward, his muscular frame radiating confidence and power. He looked at me, his eyes glinting with a predatory gleam.
"Good luck, Chris," he said, his voice low and husky. "You're going to need it."
The starting gun fired, and the game began. I took off running, my naked body jiggling with each step. The audience roared with laughter and encouragement. I knew that this was going to be the most humiliating experience of my life.
The first obstacle loomed before me: a series of trampolines strategically placed to maximize the jiggling potential of my newly acquired female form. As I took a tentative step onto the first trampoline, my breasts bounced wildly, and my large ass wobbled with each movement. The audience roared with laughter, their eyes glued to my every curve.
I gritted my teeth and tried to focus, but the trampolines seemed designed to amplify my embarrassment. Each bounce sent my body into a frenzy of jiggling, and the crowd's laughter grew louder with each passing moment. My ass seemed to have a mind of its own, bouncing and swaying in ways that were both humiliating and strangely arousing.
The next obstacle was even worse: a series of low-slung barriers that forced me to crawl on my hands and knees. As I lowered myself to the ground, I could feel the eyes of the audience on my exposed ass, their gaze lingering on the curve of my hips and the outline of my pussy.
Finally, I reached the last obstacle: a tall, imposing wall that seemed insurmountable given my diminutive stature. I tried to jump, but my short legs barely lifted me off the ground. I tried to climb, but my fingers couldn't find purchase on the smooth surface.
Despair washed over me as I realized that I was defeated. Becky, meanwhile, had easily cleared each obstacle, his muscular frame gliding effortlessly through the course. He reached the finish line with a triumphant grin, claiming his prize: even tighter shorts that were clearly designed to accentuate his bulging crotch. As I stood there, defeated and humiliated, I couldn't help but wonder what I had gotten myself into. This reality show was turning into a nightmare, and I had no idea how to escape.
"I'm feeling generous" I heard Becky say to the host. "Chris can have my prize".
A wave of relief washed over me as Becky announced his "generous" offer to gift me his prize. I had braced myself for the worst though, expecting him to choose the skimpiest, most revealing outfit possible. Something that would further amplify my humiliation in front of the audience.
My heart leaped with surprise when he pointed to a pair of short gray shorts and a white tank top. My mind raced, trying to understand his choice. The outfit seemed almost... normal. Then it hit me: I recognized the clothes. They were an outfit Becky used to wear around the house, a casual ensemble she had probably taken from her closet before the show. The producers must have dug it out for this segment. A wave of gratitude washed over me. Finally, some actual clothes! Something that would cover my nakedness and provide a small measure of dignity.
I eagerly grabbed the outfit and hurried to the dressing room, shedding my nakedness with a sigh of relief. But as I slipped on the tank top, I quickly realized that it was far more revealing on my body than it had been on Becky's. My small tits strained against the thin fabric, their outlines clearly visible beneath the white material.
The shorts were even worse. The skin-tight gray fabric clung to my curves like a second skin, hugging my hips and emphasizing the fullness of my large, round ass. The shorts rode up my cheeks with every step, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of my ass.
I stared at myself in the mirror, a mixture of relief and dismay swirling within me. Yes, I was covered, but the outfit was far from modest. The tank top accentuated my breasts, and the shorts showcased my ass in a way that was both flattering and incredibly provocative.
As I stepped back out onto the stage, I could feel the eyes of the audience on me once again. They were no longer laughing, but their gaze was no less intense.
Becky smirked as he took in my appearance. "Looking good, Chris," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I always knew you had a great body." I blushed and tried to tug the shorts down, but they refused to budge. My ass felt exposed and vulnerable, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
I realized that Becky's "generosity" was nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt to control and humiliate me. He had chosen an outfit that would both cover my nakedness and accentuate my curves, turning me into a living, breathing object of desire.
The host's voice sliced through the tension like a hot knife through butter, shattering the uneasy silence that had settled over the stage. "Alright, folks, let's not get carried away here," he said, his tone shifting from playful to serious. "As fun as that little obstacle course was, we need to remember that this is a reality show, not some silly game show."
He paused for effect, his eyes scanning the audience. "The point of 'CoupleMorph' is to explore the new roles that have been voted on by our viewers. To see how our contestants adapt to their transformed bodies and relationship."
He turned his attention to Becky and me, his expression hardening. "So, Becky and Chris, you now have two choices. You can choose to change back to your original forms and leave the show with your dignity intact, or you can continue to play out your new roles with each other, with the potential of winning a huge cash prize if you can convince the viewers that you're committed to the experiment."
My heart pounded in my chest. I wanted out. I wanted to go back to being Chris, to being a man. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell the host that we wanted to change back, but before I could utter a word, Becky cut me off.
"Of course we want to try to win the prize," he said, his voice nonchalant. "We're not quitters."
My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Becky wanted to stay? But why? Becky had always been so conservative, so traditional. What had changed? I shot him a questioning look, but he avoided my gaze. He seemed determined to play along with the show, no matter the cost.
"Are you sure, Becky?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "This is insane. We can't possibly go through with this."
He turned to me, his eyes hardening. "Don't be a coward, Chris," he said, his voice low and menacing. "We're in this together. We're going to play the game, and we're going to win."
The host beamed at us, his eyes twinkling with delight. "Excellent! I'm so glad to hear that you're both committed to the experiment. Now, let's get started!
He clapped his hands together, signaling the crew to prepare for the next segment. I stood there, frozen in place, as the reality of my situation sunk in. I was trapped. Trapped in this female body, trapped in this crazy reality show, and trapped with a partner who seemed determined to exploit my humiliation for his own amusement.
A chilling realization washed over me: I had accepted Becky's decision far too easily. Why hadn't I fought back? Why hadn't I stood up for myself? The answer was unsettling: my mind, still adjusting to my new female form, was becoming increasingly submissive, almost eager to please Becky.
"Lucky for you two," the host continued, his voice dripping with insincerity, "we have a special room set up just outside. It's rigged up with cameras to watch you interact, and it even has a TV where the viewers can make suggestions. If you play the part and make the viewers happy, that big cash prize will be waiting." The host's words sent a shiver down my spine. A special room rigged with cameras, where viewers could make suggestions? It sounded like a twisted, voyeuristic nightmare.
He gestured towards a door leading to the outside. "So why don't the two of you take a walk together? We'll all see you on the other side."
Becky smirked and grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the door. "Come on, Chris," he said, his grip surprisingly strong. "Let's give the viewers what they want." As we walked towards the door, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking into a trap. The room outside was a stage, and we were the performers, forced to act out the viewers' twisted fantasies. I glanced at Becky, his face unreadable. What was he thinking? What did he want from me?
After a short walk outside we stepped through the door and into a small house. The interior was surprisingly well-furnished, a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the studio. The house consisted of a single, spacious bedroom, complete with a large, inviting bed, soft lighting, and tasteful décor. But as my eyes adjusted, I noticed something unsettling: the cameras. They were hidden, expertly concealed within the walls and furniture, but they were there, watching our every move.
In the center of the room, a large TV screen dominated one wall, its blank surface promising a constant stream of suggestions and demands from the viewers. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. This wasn't just a room; it was a carefully constructed set, designed to maximize our discomfort and exploit our vulnerability.
"What is this place?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Becky grinned and draped an arm around my shoulders. "This, my dear Chris, is our new home," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "A place where we can truly explore our new roles and give the viewers what they want." He gestured towards the bed. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure the viewers will have some ideas for us soon."
He sauntered over to the TV screen and picked up the remote. "Let's see what they have in store for us," he said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. I stood there, frozen in place, as the reality of our situation sunk in. We were trapped, not just in our new bodies, but in this carefully constructed prison, forced to perform for the amusement of a faceless audience. Becky turned on the TV.
As the TV screen flickered to life, my anxiety ratcheted up another notch. I braced myself for whatever twisted suggestion the viewers had concocted. Becky, ever the eager participant, watched the screen with a predatory gleam in his eyes.
The message appeared in bold letters: "First suggestion: Becky should kiss Chris passionately." My breath hitched in my throat. A kiss? It seemed innocuous enough, but I knew that nothing on this show was ever simple. This wasn't just a kiss; it was a performance, a spectacle for the viewers to consume.
Becky turned to me, his expression unreadable. "Well, Chris," he said, his voice low and husky. "Looks like I have my orders."
He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine. I could feel his breath on my face, the warmth of his body radiating towards me. I wanted to pull away, to escape this absurd situation, but my body seemed frozen in place, unable to resist his advance.
He reached out and gently cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs caressing my cheekbones. "Relax, Chris," he whispered. "It's just a kiss." But it wasn't just a kiss. It was an invasion, a violation of my personal space, a symbol of my loss of control.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the contact. His lips were soft, surprisingly gentle, and his kiss was tentative at first, as if testing the waters. But as the seconds passed, his kiss grew more insistent, more demanding. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of my lips, begging for entry. I hesitated for a moment, then opened my mouth, allowing him to explore my mouth with his as he wrapped his arms around me.
His tongue danced with mine, a sensual tango that sent shivers down my spine. I could feel my body responding, my nipples hardening beneath my tank top, my core clenching in anticipation.
The kiss went on and on, a seemingly endless exploration of our new dynamic. I found myself lost in the moment, forgetting the cameras, forgetting the viewers, forgetting everything except the feel of Becky's lips on mine.
Finally, he broke the kiss, his breath ragged. "Well," he said, his voice slightly breathless. "That was... interesting."
I stared at him, my mind reeling. What had just happened? Had I actually enjoyed that kiss? Was I starting to succumb to the viewers' manipulations, to embrace my new role?
Becky's initial kiss was just a prelude, a gentle introduction to the new reality we were inhabiting. As he continued to kiss me, the passion intensified, and I found myself spiraling into a vortex of unfamiliar sensations. His lips became more demanding, his tongue exploring every corner of my mouth with a possessive fervor. The taste of him, the scent of his cologne, the feel of his hands on my face – it was all overwhelming, yet undeniably intoxicating.
As he moved his kisses down my neck, a shiver ran down my spine. The delicate skin of my neck was incredibly sensitive, and his lips and teeth sent jolts of electricity through my body. I arched my back, giving him better access, reveling in the sensation of his warm breath against my skin.
As if sensing my internal struggle, Becky whispered into my ear, his voice a low, husky growl. "Play the part, Chris," he murmured. "Give them what they want."
His words, spoken with such authority, had an immediate effect. My body responded instantly, my muscles relaxing, my inhibitions melting away. I no longer felt like Chris, the reluctant participant; I felt like a woman, eager to please her man. With his hot lips on my neck, a new sensation washed over me – a wetness between my legs. My pussy, a foreign appendage just hours ago, was now throbbing with desire, slick with arousal. It was an uncontrollable urge, a primal instinct that I couldn't deny.
Without thinking my hand moved of its own accord, reaching down the front of Becky's shorts. Through the fabric, I could feel the outline of Becky's hard cock growing bigger, straining against the material. Without thinking, I began to rub, my fingers caressing the length of his shaft, teasing the head, sending him into a frenzy. Deep inside of me, I ached for him.
As I fought a losing battle with my new body's confusing urges, Becky's hands, which had been gently wrapped around me, now dropped lower, sliding down my torso until they reached my hips. He gripped my waist, pulling me closer, and then his hands moved lower still, cupping my newly acquired ass. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, squeezing and kneading, and I couldn't help but moan softly as I turned my head and pressed my lips against his once again.
What was happening to me? It was absurd, ludicrous, that I was getting turned on by this. Just moments ago, I was Chris, a man, repulsed by the idea of being touched in this way. But now, in this new body, with my female hormones raging and my senses heightened, I was experiencing a primal, undeniable arousal.
Becky groaned, his grip tightening on my ass. "Fuck, Chris," he breathed. "You're driving me wild." I knew I should stop, that this was all wrong, that we were playing a dangerous game. But I couldn't resist. The sensation of his hard cock in my hand, the feel of his body pressed against mine, the knowledge that we were being watched and judged by thousands of viewers – it was all too intoxicating.
As my hand continued to stroke Becky's throbbing cock, a new message flashed across the TV screen: "Viewers' Choice: Becky should bend Chris over the bed and play with her sexy bubble butt."
A jolt of anticipation shot through me, followed by a wave of apprehension. This was escalating quickly. Just moments ago, we were sharing a passionate kiss; now, we were about to engage in something far more intimate, far more degrading.
Becky grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Well, Chris," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Looks like the viewers have spoken." He gently took my hand away from his crotch and turned me around, guiding me towards the bed. I stumbled slightly, my legs feeling weak and unsteady.
As he positioned me on the edge of the bed, bending me over so that my ass was facing him, my mind raced. This was insane. I was Chris, a man, about to be treated like a sex object by my former wife, who was now a muscle-bound stud. But as much as my mind protested, my body seemed to be relishing the experience. The anticipation, the vulnerability, the sheer audacity of the situation – it was all incredibly arousing.
Becky stepped closer, his hot breath caressing the back of my neck. "Ready for this, Chris?" he whispered, his voice laced with a playful malice.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "I... I don't know," I stammered.
He chuckled softly. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll make sure you enjoy it."
His hands landed on my ass, his fingers spreading across the soft flesh. He began to knead and squeeze, his thumbs digging into my glutes, sending shivers of pleasure through my body. It was surreal, this reversal of roles. Just weeks ago, I was the dominant one, the one in control. Now, I was completely at his mercy, my body his to command. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was starting to enjoy it. The feeling of his hands on my ass, the knowledge that he was in control, the sense of surrendering to his will – it was all strangely liberating.
But beneath the surface of arousal, a deep-seated unease lingered. Was I losing myself in this new role? Was I becoming the submissive woman the viewers wanted me to be? The thought terrified me. I didn't want to lose my identity, to become a puppet controlled by the whims of strangers. But as Becky's hands continued to work their magic on my ass, I found it harder and harder to resist. He began to slap my ass, his open palm making a loud, echoing sound in the room. Each slap sent a jolt of pleasure through my body, intensifying my arousal.
"That's right, Chris," he said, his voice growing more insistent. "Let go. Surrender to the pleasure. Give yourself to me." His words were like a mantra, a hypnotic suggestion that chipped away at my resistance. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensations, allowing myself to be swept away by the tide of arousal.
"That's it, Chris," Becky said, his voice laced with a dark satisfaction. "Let go of your inhibitions. Embrace your new self. Be the woman you were meant to be." And with each word, my resistance crumbled a little more. The arousal surged through me, eclipsing my doubts and fears. My body, traitorous and eager, yearned for his touch, for his domination.
As I teetered on the edge of complete surrender, a new message blazed across the TV screen: "Viewers' Choice: Chris should turn around on her hands and knees on the bed and worship Becky's cock with her mouth." My breath caught in my throat. This was it. This was the ultimate act of submission, the complete abandonment of my former self. To fellate Becky, to pleasure him with my mouth – it was a violation of everything I once held sacred. But as the shock subsided, a strange sense of excitement began to bubble up within me. The thought of performing such a taboo act, of giving Becky complete control over my body, was undeniably thrilling.
Becky chuckled, sensing my internal struggle. "Well, Chris," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation. "Are you ready to worship?"
He gently turned me around, guiding me onto my hands and knees on the bed. My ass was now raised high in the air, exposed and vulnerable. I could feel Becky's eyes on me, assessing me, savoring the moment.
"That's a good girl," he said, his voice a low, husky growl. "Now, show me how much you want it." My heart pounded in my chest, my palms sweating against the soft sheets. I lowered my head, my eyes fixed on the bulge in Becky's gym shorts. The scent of his arousal filled my nostrils, a heady mix of musk and sweat. I licked my lips, my mouth watering in anticipation.
Slowly, hesitantly, I moved my head towards Becky's crotch and kissed the outline of his hard cock through the thin fabric of his gym shorts. His strong male scent excited me deep down between my legs. My fingers trembled with a mixture of fear and excitement.
As I pulled down his shorts, Becky's huge cock sprang free, engorged and throbbing inches from my face. It was massive, thick and veiny, a stark reminder of his newfound masculinity. I stared at it for a moment, mesmerized by its size and power. It was both intimidating and alluring, a symbol of his dominance over me. And then, without thinking, I tentatively started to kiss Becky's bare cock with my lips.
As I began to kiss and lick the length of of Becky's cock, a jolt of electricity shot through me. His taste was raw, primal, a combination of sweat, musk, and something uniquely his. It was both repulsive and intoxicating, a testament to the bizarre reality I now inhabited. As I finally wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, my mind struggled to reconcile the present with the past. I was Chris, a man, performing fellatio on my former wife, who was now a virile stud. It was an act of utter submission, a complete surrender of my former identity. I had never been so horny in my life.
As my tongue danced across his skin, a disturbing thought began to take root: I was starting to enjoy it. The sensation of his throbbing cock in my mouth, the power I held to pleasure him, the knowledge that I was fulfilling his desires – it was all undeniably arousing. And then, a new wave of confusion washed over me. I found myself fantasizing about Becky, about his muscular physique, his dominant demeanor, his sheer masculinity. I was starting to see him as a desirable man, a sexual object, and the realization both horrified and excited me.
Becky moaned, his grip tightening on the back of my head. "That's it, Chris," he groaned. "Suck it good."
As I continued to lick and suck, Becky reached down and tugged at my tank top, silently communicating his desire for me to remove it. Without hesitation, I reached up and pulled the shirt over my head, my petite breasts flopping free. The sudden exposure sent a jolt of self-consciousness through me. My breasts were small, a far cry from the voluptuous curves of some other women. But as I dropped back onto my hands and knees, resuming my worship of Becky's cock, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in my new body.
I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, sucking and teasing him with my tongue. I tried wrap my lips further down the girth of his shaft. As his cock hit the back of my throat, my sudden gag reflex only turned me on more. Becky groaned again, his body tensing with pleasure.
"Fuck, Chris," he breathed. "You're driving me crazy."
I continued to suck, my focus entirely on pleasing him. The world outside of this moment ceased to exist. There was only Becky, his cock, and my desire to fulfill his every need. My inner voice, once so insistent, had fallen silent. I was no longer Chris, the man, the husband, the individual. I was a submissive woman, a plaything, a vessel for Becky's pleasure. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was completely enthralled.
As I continued to fellate Becky, my mind spiraled into a vortex of confusion and arousal. The salty taste of his pre cum, the feel of his throbbing shaft in my mouth, the sound of his moans – it all combined to create a sensory overload that both thrilled and repulsed me. My tongue danced across the head of his cock, teasing and tantalizing him. I sucked on his shaft, my cheeks puffing out with each motion. I ran my hands up and down his thighs, feeling the muscles tense and flex beneath my fingers.
But beneath the surface of physical sensation, a maelstrom of emotions raged. I couldn't shake the memory of our former life, of the times when I was the one being pleasured, when Becky was the one on her knees. I used to fantasize about Becky in this position, about having her worship my cock with the same fervor and intensity. But now, as I found myself in that very role, the reality was far more complex and disturbing than I could have ever imagined.
The reversal of roles was doing something to me, something that went beyond mere physical pleasure. It was challenging my sense of self, my understanding of gender, my very identity. I was a man, yet I was playing the part of a woman. I was a husband, yet I was servicing my former wife with my mouth like a porn star. I was an individual, yet I was being controlled and manipulated by the whims of strangers.
The cognitive dissonance was overwhelming, tearing me apart from the inside out. I wanted to stop, to reclaim my former life, to escape from this twisted reality. But at the same time, I was drawn to it, seduced by the forbidden pleasure, the thrill of submission, the allure of the unknown.
As I continued to suck on Becky's cock, I could feel my skimpy shorts riding up between my curvy ass cheeks, further accentuating my feminine form. It was a constant reminder of my new identity, a physical manifestation of my loss of control. And then, Becky arched my back, his hands landing on my ass. He began to play with my cheeks, squeezing and slapping them with increasing force. Each slap sent a jolt of pleasure through me, making my ass bounce and jiggle. I moaned, the sound a mix of pain and ecstasy.
"That's right, Chris," Becky said, his voice a low, husky growl. "Let it all out. Let go of your inhibitions. Be the woman you were meant to be. Be my wife."
His words were like a key, unlocking a hidden part of myself, a part that reveled in the sensation of being dominated, of being used, of being nothing more than a sex object. As I continued to worship Becky's cock, I felt myself slipping further and further away from the man I once was, embracing the woman I was becoming.
The head of Becky's cock pressed down on the back of my throat, triggering a gag reflex. My eyes watered, and I instinctively tried to pull away, but Becky held me firmly in place, his grip unyielding.
"Easy, Chris," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Don't stop now. You're doing great." Despite my discomfort, I forced myself to continue, determined to please him, to fulfill my role. I swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to gag, and resumed my rhythmic sucking. But as I focused on the physical sensations, I failed to notice a new message scrolling across the TV screen, a message that would soon change everything.
"Viewers' Choice: Becky should flip Chris around and give her some love."
Becky saw the message and smirked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Without warning, he kissed me on the lips. Then grabbing me by the hips, Becky flipped me around onto all fours, leaving my legs spread, and my body fully exposed to his gaze.
The sudden movement left me breathless and disoriented. I blinked, trying to regain my bearings, but before I could speak, Becky had already begun to peel off my skimpy shorts, his fingers expertly navigating the fabric.
In a moment, I was completely naked, my ass raised high in the air, my petite breasts swaying with each breath. I felt a surge of self-consciousness, a desire to cover myself, to hide from his gaze. But Becky didn't give me a chance to react. He knelt down behind me, his eyes fixed on my exposed pussy.
"You're so wet, Chris," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "I can't wait to taste you." And then, without further ado, he pressed his face against my vulva, his tongue darting out to lick my clit.
A jolt of electricity shot through me, igniting a firestorm of pleasure. I moaned, my body arching involuntarily, my hips thrusting towards his mouth. His tongue danced across my sensitive flesh, teasing and tantalizing me. He sucked on my clit, his lips creating a vacuum that sent shivers down my spine. His tongue penetrating my sensitive folds. I was completely lost in the moment, consumed by the raw, primal pleasure. I had never experienced anything like this before, not even in my former life as a man.
The reversal of roles, the complete surrender of control, the sheer audacity of the situation – it all combined to create an experience that was both terrifying and exhilarating. As Becky continued to lick my pussy, I felt myself teetering on the edge of orgasm. My body trembled, my muscles clenched, and my breath came in ragged gasps.
"That's it, Chris," Becky said, his voice muffled against my skin. "Let go. Let it all out." And with a final push, I surrendered to the pleasure, my body exploding in a wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
As my body erupted into its first female orgasm, a wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy washed over me. My muscles clenched, my breath came in ragged gasps, and my senses were flooded with a symphony of pleasure. I pressed my pussy against Becky's lips, savoring the feel of his tongue against my sensitive flesh. The contractions pulsed through my body, each one more intense than the last. But as the orgasm subsided, I realized that something was different. This wasn't the same as the orgasms I used to experience as a man. There was no sense of release, no feeling of completion. Instead, the orgasm had only ramped things up further deep within me, intensifying my desire and leaving me craving for more.
I was still quivering from my own orgasm when the TV screen flashed a new message: "Viewers' Choice: Becky should make Chris his."
Becky saw the message and smirked, his eyes burning with lust. Without a word, he stood up and positioned himself behind me, his thick, hot manhood poised between my legs. I gasped as I felt the head of his cock press against my aching pussy, spreading my sensitive lips. The sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent shivers down my spine.
Then, with a single, powerful thrust, Becky entered me, my sensitive folds stretching around the girth of his cock. A sharp pain shot through me, followed by a surge of heat and pressure. I moaned uncontrollably with pleasure, my body arching involuntarily, my hips thrusting towards his as he pressed himself deep inside me.
The sensation of being fucked by Becky doggystyle was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was both invasive and intimate, a complete violation of my body and a profound expression of his dominance. My mind reeled with confusion, struggling to reconcile the present with the past. I was Chris, a man, in the body of a woman, being fucked by my former wife. The role reversal was dizzying, challenging my sense of self, my understanding of gender, my very reality of who I was.
I couldn't shake the memory of our former life, of the times when I was the one doing the fucking, when Becky was the one on all fours beneath me. Now, the tables had turned, and I was the one being penetrated, the one being dominated, the one being made a woman. The psychological impact was immense, tearing me apart from the inside out. I wanted to resist, to fight back, to reclaim my former masculine identity. But at the same time, I was drawn to it, seduced by the forbidden pleasure, the thrill of submission, the allure of the unknown.
As Becky continued to fuck me, his movements becoming more and more frantic, I felt myself slipping further and further away from the man I once was, embracing the woman I was becoming. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensation of Becky's strong hands on my hips, to the pleasure of my pussy stretched around his cock. I felt myself surrendering to Becky's dominant power over me. I was no longer Chris, the husband, the dominant one. I was the wife, a vessel, a submissive plaything, a sex object for his pleasure. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was completely enthralled.
As Becky continued to pound into me, doggystyle, I became acutely aware of the sensations coursing through my transformed body. The feeling of being a woman being plowed was both alien and intensely arousing. My pussy stretched around Becky's girthy cock, a sensation that was both invasive and incredibly pleasurable. I could feel every inch of him deep inside me, filling me completely, stretching me to my limit.
Each thrust sent a jolt of electricity through my body, making my curvy ass bounce with each impact. The rhythmic motion was hypnotic, drawing me deeper and deeper into a state of primal arousal. I could feel Becky's cock grinding against my G-spot, a sensation that sent shivers down my spine. I could feel his heavy balls bouncing against my sensitive clit. My nipples hardened, and my breath came in ragged gasps as I teetered on the edge of another orgasm.
The feeling of being filled, of being penetrated, of being taken – it was all so new and so different from anything I had ever experienced as a man. As a man, I was the one doing the filling, the one doing the penetrating, the one doing the taking. Now, the roles were reversed, and I was the one being filled, the one being penetrated, the one being taken.
As much as my mind struggled to reconcile this new reality with my former life, my body reveled in the sensation. I arched my back, thrusting my hips onto Becky, urging him to go deeper, to fill me more completely. The pain was still there, a sharp, burning sensation that reminded me of my vulnerability, of my loss of control. But the pleasure was overwhelming, drowning out the pain, eclipsing all other thoughts and feelings. I was a woman being plowed, like the pornstars I had fantasized over in a past life. And in that moment, I didn't care about anything else. I didn't care about my former life, about my former identity, about the twisted reality that had brought me to this point. All that mattered was the feeling, the sensation, the raw, primal pleasure of being fucked by Becky. Being fucked by my husband.
As Becky's thrusts grew more and more intense, I felt myself spiraling towards another orgasm. My body trembled, my muscles clenched, and my breath came in ragged gasps. I felt myself uncontrollably bucking my hips onto him like a bitch in heat.
"That's it, Chris," Becky said, his voice a low growl. "Let go. Let it all out." With a final, earth-shattering thrust, I surrendered to the pleasure, my body exploding in a wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, my mind going numb. As I became lost in the whirlwind of sensations, a maelstrom of pleasure intertwined with the unsettling role reversal I was undergoing, I failed to notice the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the silent cues that dictated our next move. The TV screen, our silent director, may have flashed instructions for Becky to switch positions, but my mind was too consumed to register the change. I did not notice until Becky pulled his cock out of me with a wet slurp.
The abrupt withdrawal of Becky's cock left my pussy feeling achy and strangely empty, a void that craved to be filled once more. My new body needed him so badly. Without conscious thought, driven by an instinct I barely understood, I climbed atop him, my movements seemingly guided by an unseen force. I could feel my own slippery wetness between my smooth thighs as I settled onto him.
As guided his cock into my aching pussy, gravity took hold, my body slidi down onto his waiting cock. A gasp escaped my lips as I felt the familiar stretch, the satisfying fullness as he filled me once again.
Needfully, I began to bounce, riding his cock with a desperate intensity. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through my body, igniting nerve endings I never knew existed. I could feel my massive ass bouncing with each up-and-down motion, a visual testament to the raw, unbridled passion that consumed me.
Though I was the one riding, the one in control of the rhythm, Becky remained the master of our dance. His strong hands gripped my hips, guiding my movements, dictating the pace of our lovemaking. He used his strength not to restrain me, but to enhance the experience, to push me further into the depths of ecstasy.
With each thrust, I felt myself transforming, shedding the remnants of my former self, embracing the woman I was becoming. The sensations were overwhelming, a potent cocktail of pleasure and confusion, desire and surrender. I was a paradox, a man trapped in a woman's body, riding another man with reckless abandon. Yet, amidst the chaos, there was a sense of liberation, a feeling of breaking free from the constraints of my past. I was no longer bound by the expectations of society, by the limitations of my former identity. I was free to explore, to experiment, to revel in the raw, untamed desires that had been unleashed within me.
As I rode Becky harder and faster, my body trembled with anticipation. I could feel the climax building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to consume me entirely. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment, allowing myself to be swept away by the tide of sensation. In that moment, while millions of viewers watched, the tension within me began to coil tighter and tighter, a spring wound to its breaking point. The building climax was a storm gathering on the horizon, a tempest of sensation threatening to engulf me entirely.
Each thrust of Becky's cock deep into me sent shivers of anticipation through my body. My muscles clenched and released around him, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My nipples hardened, and my skin tingled with a raw, electric energy. I could feel the heat building between my legs, a molten core of desire that threatened to erupt at any moment. My pussy throbbed with a primal need, craving the release that only Becky could provide.
As I approached the edge, my senses sharpened, the world narrowing to a single point of focus: the feel of Becky's cock inside me, the rhythm of his thrusts, the sound of our ragged breathing. Then, it hit me like a tidal wave. An explosive orgasm ripped through my body, sending shockwaves of pleasure from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. My muscles contracted violently, my hips bucking against Becky's, my head thrown back in a silent scream of ecstasy. I clung to him, my body quivering and shaking on his huge cock as the orgasm washed over me in wave after wave. I was lost in a sea of sensation, my mind blank, my body completely consumed by the pure, unadulterated pleasure. As the sensations overwhelmed me, I rolled off of Becky onto my side, my body like jello next to him on the bed.
As the aftershocks continued to rock through me, I became aware of the mental turmoil raging within me. The role reversal was taking its toll, chipping away at my sense of self, challenging everything I thought I knew about myself and my relationship with Becky. I still felt the ingrained desire to be the dominant man, the one in control, the one calling the shots. But the reality was that I had quickly and surprisingly adapted to the submissive, womanly role. The humiliation of what I was becoming, exposed for millions of viewers to see, was undeniable. Yet, it was overshadowed by the overwhelming lust and sensation that consumed me whenever Becky touched me.
I knew I should be fighting this transformation, resisting the pull of my new desires. But a dangerous thought took root in my mind: I was becoming addicted to Becky's male persona, his muscular body, his perfect, big cock. The idea both terrified and thrilled me. Was I losing myself completely? Was I becoming someone I no longer recognized?
As the afterglow of my previous orgasms began to fade, a new wave of horniness washed over my female body. It was as if my transformation had unlocked a primal, insatiable desire within me. I felt an urgent need to feel Becky's cock deep inside me, to be filled once again with his presence. My pussy throbbed with anticipation, aching for the intense pleasure he provided.
Without a word, Becky seemed to sense my renewed desire. He rolled me off the side of the bed onto all fours with one leg propped up, positioning my fat ass high in the air, my legs spread wide in invitation. The pose was inherently submissive, exposing my vulnerability, and yet, I found myself reveling in it.
As I adjusted to my new position, my gaze fell upon the TV screen. The words that flashed across the screen sent a jolt of adrenaline through my veins: "Time for them to choose." The realization that our time in these transformed bodies was coming to an end filled me with a mixture of excitement and dread.
The game was about to change, and the stakes were about to be raised. Would we choose to revert to our original forms, abandoning the newfound desires and experiences we had discovered? Or would we embrace our new identities, risking everything for the chance to continue exploring the depths of our transformed selves?
Before I could dwell on the implications of the choice, Becky's cock found its mark, sliding effortlessly into my waiting pussy. The sensation was both familiar and exhilarating, igniting a fresh wave of pleasure that coursed through my body. With each thrust, I felt the tension mounting, the anticipation building. The choice loomed before us, a decision that would define the future of our relationship, the trajectory of our lives. But in that moment, as Becky pounded into me with relentless passion, I found myself forgetting about the game, about the viewers, about the looming decision. All that mattered was the feeling, the raw, primal connection between us.
As Becky thrust deeper, the TV screen flickered once more, morphing into what appeared to be a legally binding contract. The terms were stark and undeniable: to consummate our transformations, I, in my female form, must allow Becky to ejaculate inside me, sealing the deal with the very essence of our altered states.
The contract further stipulated that upon completion, my name would legally be changed to Christy, and Becky's name would legally become Brad. We would be awarded the grand prize of one million dollars, a fortune to begin our new lives. The catch? We would be bound to live out the rest of our days with Brad as my dominant husband and me as his submissive wife.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. Deep down, a part of me screamed to stop, to reject this twisted fate that was being thrust upon us. This wasn't who I was, who I wanted to be. This was a perversion of our relationship, a mockery of our love. Yet, overriding that rational voice was an undeniable, primal urge. My body craved Becky's cum, yearned for the completion, the culmination of this transformation. It was as if the nanites had reprogrammed my very being, rewriting my desires, twisting my will.
I knew I should resist, but the need was too strong. It consumed me, drowning out the last vestiges of my former self. I wanted his cum, needed it more than anything in the world. With a guttural moan, I surrendered to the inevitable. I dropped my face to the floor, arched my back, and pressed myself further against him, urging him deeper, surrendering to the moment, to the overwhelming desire that consumed me. He responded with a primal growl, thrusting into me with renewed vigor, his body a coiled spring ready to unleash its energy. I could feel the tension building within him, the anticipation of the release that was about to come.
And then, it happened. Becky's body tensed, his muscles contracting as he unleashed a torrent of cum deep inside my pussy. The sensation was overwhelming, a flood of pleasure that washed away all doubt, all resistance. As his seed filled my womb, a new life began. Christy, the submissive wife of Brad, the dominant husband. Our fate was sealed, our identities forever altered. The contract was complete, the million-dollar prize secured, but at what cost.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Months after the show, life as Christy and Brad had settled into a bizarre routine, a twisted version of domestic bliss funded by their winnings. The cash prize certainly eased the transition, but nothing could truly prepare them for the magnitude of the shift.
Brad, now fully embracing his role as a dominant alpha male, found a particular thrill in seeing me, Christy, wear Becky's old female clothes around the house. These garments, now stretched and strained to accommodate my substantial curves, served as a constant reminder of my former life. A visual representation of the transformation I had undergone. The ill-fitting clothes accentuated my voluptuous figure, showcasing my breasts and hips in a way that ignited Brad's possessive lust.
Our families, though outwardly supportive, struggled to reconcile the reality of our new lives. They tried to act normal, to treat us as they always had, but I could sense the discomfort, the unease that lingered beneath the surface. My parents, in particular, seemed freaked out and ashamed. Their disappointment palpable despite their best efforts to conceal it.
As my body grew curvier from the pregnancy, my hormones raged, fueling my already insatiable libido. As my body got curvier, Brad started lifting weights and getting even bigger, stronger. As he grew a beard, my hormones made me even crazier with lust over him. Lately, all I could think about was Brad's big muscles, his massive cock, and the way it made me feel when he filled me. The craving was constant, a nagging hunger that only he could satisfy.
I was trapped in this new reality, bound to Brad, bound to this life. Yet, despite the challenges, the shame, the uncertainty, there was a part of me that was strangely content. I was Christy, Brad's submissive wife, and I was pregnant with his child. This was my life now, and I had to find a way to make it work.
