The Wicca Curse (TG Story)

It hit me like a fucking freight train.

One second I was panting, trying to catch my breath from the heat building in my gut—and the next, my cock was pulsing like it was about to cum lava. Thick, veiny, angry, standing straight up like it knew what was coming and wanted to fight it.

My hands flew down. Instinct.

“Shit—fuck—w-what the fuck—nnhh—!”

I wrapped both palms around it. It felt wrong. Too hard. Not like arousal, not like a regular jerk-off. No, this felt like my body was trying to get rid of it.

And then I felt it.

The pull.

That slow, aching tug from deep inside. Like my cock was being sucked back into me. Like my own body was rejecting it.

My breath hitched.

“Oh fuck. Oh f-fuck. No, no, no—!”

I moaned—high, broken, panicked—as the shaft in my hands shrank, twitching, withering, throbbing its last few pathetic pulses against my palms. I could feel the veins flattening under my fingers, the skin tugging back like it was retreating, like it was melting into my pelvis.

My dick was getting smaller. And smaller.

And smaller.

“Fuuuuck, I can feel it—ahhh, fuck—it's still so fucking hard—why the fuck is it so hard—?!”

I was drooling.

Literally drooling from my mouth as I whimpered, eyes glassy, tongue out, like some dumb heat-crazed animal in heat. My balls jerked once, violently, then started rising—tightening—pulling up into my body with a sick, wet squelch like someone was sucking them through a straw.

My thighs twitched. My hips jerked forward.

I was grinding the air like I was begging to be fucked.

“Fuck—ahhh—I can feel it—I can f-feel it curling inside me—no, no, I’m not ready—I’m not ready—!”

But my voice didn’t sound like mine anymore. It was higher, breathy, dripping with need. My moans weren’t even human. They were pornstar noises — filthy, wet, desperate.

My cock was almost gone.

Just a pathetic stub now, twitching like it didn’t want to die. I rubbed it with both hands like I could jerk it back to life—but all it did was make my whole body convulse with another wave of unbearable, confusing heat.

I screamed. Loud. Shameless.

And then it split.

Right beneath where my cock had been, my flesh peeled open, soft and slick and soaking wet. Lips formed. Puffy. Throbbing. Leaking already. The first twitch of my new clit sent me arching.

“Oh f-fuck—fuck—I’ve got a p-pussy—ohh—fuck me—fuck me—I’m leaking—!”

I was on my back now, thighs spread, cunt gaping, still twitching where my balls used to be. My fingers were inside me before I even realized it, grinding, thrusting, desperate to feel more, to make it stop or make it worse—I didn’t know anymore.

I was soaking the floor.

My moans had gone full bimbo. High, stupid, broken little squeals with every motion. And my head?

My head was spinning. Melting.

All I could think about was how good a cock would feel in me right now. How full I wanted to be. How much I needed it.

I clutched my tits—when had they grown?!—and screamed again.

My dick was gone.

And I wanted to be filled.

I thought the worst was over.
I thought losing my cock, screaming as my pussy tore itself open and leaked down my thighs, would be the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

The second I tried to move—tried to breathe—I felt it.

A deep, crawling pressure inside my hips. Like something was gripping my bones and pulling them apart from the inside.

I gasped.

“No—no—fuck—what now—?!”

Then I heard it.
A deep, wet pop—followed by a stretch, like something thick was tearing and reforming inside my pelvis.

And then the pain hit.

It burned.
Like someone had shoved a crowbar between my legs and started prying me open. My hips snapped outward with another loud, meaty pop, and I screamed—body twisting on the floor, hands clawing at the ground, fingernails dragging through the slick puddle I was still leaking.

“Aaah—fuck—fuck—it hurts—it hurts—!”

I looked down, eyes wide, lip trembling.

And I saw it.

My hips were widening.
Not just a little—violently. My waist was cinching inward like a belt was tightening, and beneath it, my hips flared out with each sickening pop, snap, groan of bone and muscle shifting. My pelvis cracked again and I wailed, back arching, cunt twitching.

It was so much.

I was getting wide. Made to carry. Built to take something massive.
I could feel my new womb pulsing like it was already begging to be filled.

“Oh god—oh fuck—this is too much—why does it feel good?!”

My thighs weren’t far behind.

They twitched once—then surged.
The muscles swelled under my skin, fat layering on like I was being stuffed with dough. My legs quivered, squishing together, thighs slapping wetly as they thickened beyond recognition.

I tried to spread them—couldn’t.

There was too much meat.

“Fuuuck—my thighs—look at my fucking thighs—!”

I sobbed, watching in horror as they kept swelling, jiggling with every tremble, every clench of my dripping cunt. I slapped them, desperate, trying to feel that they were still mine—but they weren’t.

They were hers. The werewoman’s.
Built to ride. To straddle. To squeeze a cock until it blew its load inside me.

“I’m not—this isn’t—fuck—I’m turning into a fucking bitch in heat—!”

My hands gripped my own ass, feeling it beginning to swell now too—soft and massive, spilling over the backs of my thighs, building into a shelf made to bounce on someone’s lap. My hips jerked again, legs kicking from the growing weight of my own body.

And still—I moaned.

I moaned like a filthy little thing, drooling, clenching, grinding my soaked cunt into the floor as my lower half became something obscene. Every shift, every crack of bone and rush of fat and curve made me wetter, made my brain more fogged, made my mouth babble with nonsense:

“F-fuck me—someone—please—I need it—I n-need a c-cock—please—fill me—stretch me—ruin me—”

I was still changing.
And I knew I’d never be the same.

I didn’t think it could get worse.

I was already on my back, legs spread, thighs still twitching, hips ruined and swollen beyond reason, my cunt leaking like a faucet. My mind was a twitching haze of pain and heat and need—

—and then my chest twitched.

I froze.

My nipples—

They tingled.

No. Not tingled. Burned.

Like someone had lit firecrackers just beneath the skin.

“Wh—fuck—what the—what the fuck is—ah—!”

I clutched my chest. Too late.

The flesh beneath my nipples swelled. I felt it happening. Like something pushing from inside, bubbling up, warping my ribcage. My chest heaved, bones cracking softly as they spread, making room for the obscene weight that was coming.

“Oh—fuck, it’s happening—”

My nipples throbbed. Hard. Sensitive beyond belief. They weren’t even nipples anymore — not like they used to be. They were buds, nubs, swelling, darkening, stretching outward like obscene little beacons begging for a mouth.

I looked down—and screamed.

My tits were growing.
Flesh ballooning under my skin, surging outward with each heartbeat. They jiggled violently as they expanded, spilling over my sides, slapping against each other, wobbling with every twitch of my soaked body.

“No no no—no—stop—stop growing—!”

But they didn’t.
They throbbed bigger. Swelled rounder. My skin stretched tight across the surface, glistening, flushed red from the pressure building underneath. Veins showed through like glowing rivers of lust. My fingers sank into the sides and came away slick.

I couldn’t lift my arms without them bouncing. Couldn’t move without the sound of wet slap slap slap echoing in the room.

My nipples were the worst part.
They just kept growing. Inch by inch. Sticking out obscenely, painfully erect, fat and swollen and aching for attention. Every time the air hit them I shuddered, cunt twitching, moaning like a back-alley whore in heat.

“F-fuck—they’re so sensitive—!”

I clawed at them.

I couldn’t stop.

I needed to touch them, to squeeze them, to suck them if I could. They felt too full, like they were swelling with something—milk? Heat? Need?

I didn’t care.

I groped myself like an addict, panting, whimpering, tits overflowing my arms, nipples brushing together and sending shocks down to my womb. I was drooling, eyes glazed, tears running from the sheer overload.

I looked in the mirror.

And what I saw wasn’t me.

It was a monster. A bimbo. A dripping, curvy, moaning fuckdoll with tits too big for her own chest, nipples that begged to be used, and a slick cunt still twitching from the last wave of change.

And I was still moaning.

Still grinding.

Still growing.

I had to move.
I had to stand up.
I had to… do something. Anything. Or I was going to lose what little was left of me.

So I pushed myself up. Hands shaking, legs trembling. My new thighs rubbed together—slick, sensitive, soft—and I winced as my pussy clenched just from the friction.

“Okay… okay… just walk. Just take one step. Don’t look down. Don’t think about the way your tits feel—”

Bad idea.

The moment I stood fully upright, my tits dropped like wrecking balls. They bounced. Slapped against each other. Jiggled so violently I almost fell over. My back arched from the sheer weight, and my nipples brushed the air with a sharp flick that made me moan through my teeth.

“F-fuck—nnghh—stay together, stay together—I-I’m still me—I’m still a man, I’m still—”

Bounce.

Another step.
My thighs wobbled.
My hips swayed on their own, wide and loose, built to roll. My walk wasn’t a walk — it was a sway, a fucking strut — no matter how hard I tried to keep it straight.

“Shit, my legs—I can’t even walk right—why does it feel so good—?!”

I took another step.

And my tits bounced again.
So heavy. So round.
Slapping together with obscene, pornographic rhythm. Every time they moved, my whole body jiggled. My nipples dragged against the air, stiff and sensitive, sending jolts down to my clit like electric shocks.

I couldn’t stop looking down.

“Jesus—how are they this big—?!”

They were monstrous.
Oversized. Overflowing. Hanging like two ripe, glistening weights just begging to be groped. And I had them. I had them. Me.

My arms shook as I tried to cup them.
They spilled out of my hands.
Too much.
Too soft.
Too fucking perfect.

“Oh god—what am I—what the fuck am I—?”

I tried to breathe.

Tried to focus.

But the next step made my thighs clap.
The bounce made my tits smack.
And the moan that slipped out of my lips?

High.

Breathy.

Female.

I stopped walking.
I stood there. Trembling.
Breasts heaving. Hips swaying with every shaky breath.

My voice cracked.

“…I’m not a man anymore.”

I stumbled forward.

My steps were clumsy, hips swaying too wide, tits bouncing too heavy, thighs rubbing too wet. I winced with every step — not from pain, but from the sickening realization that this new body moved like it was made to fuck.

But I kept going.

“I’m okay… I’m o-okay… I’m still—”

Still what?

My voice cracked on that last word. Higher than it should’ve been. Softer.
I froze.

No. No no no. That wasn’t—
That wasn’t me.

“I-I’m f-fine—just need to… to get outta this—get o-outta this b-b-bitch body—”

There it was again. That tone.
Breathy. Feminine. Flirty.

My hands flew to my throat.

“Wh-why d-do I sound l-like th-this?!”

Every syllable was a moan.
Every word ended in a whimper.
I sounded like some cartoon porn girl trying to beg for cock while pretending to be shy.

And the worst part?

I couldn’t stop saying more.

“F-fuck, it’s s-so h-hard to t-talk n-now—w-what’s h-happening—mmnhh~”

That noise. That fucking noise I just made—

What the fuck was that little whimper?! I didn't mean to do that—why did my voice tremble like that? Why did it make my pussy clench just hearing it?

“Stupid—this is so fuh—so fucking wr-wr—ohhh~”

Oh god.

I couldn’t even finish a sentence without sounding like I was getting fingered.

And my thoughts—

They were unraveling.

At first I thought it was just panic. Just trauma. A bad reaction.

But then I heard myself thinking:

I hope nobody sees me like this… unless they’re big and rough and know how to use me…

What?

No.

That wasn’t me. I would never think that. That’s not my voice. That’s not how I think. That’s—

God, what if he pinned me down and just shoved it in—

“NO!”

I screamed. But it came out as a cracked, high-pitched, moaning shriek.

Like a needy girl being teased too long.

I slapped my own cheek.

“Shut up! Focus! Think like a man. Think like—like—like…”

Like a good girl?

“NOOO—n-no I-I’m n-not a g-girrrrl—ahhh~”

My knees buckled.

My voice sounded like sex. Like breathy porn-star whimpers melting out between helpless gasps. It wasn’t mine anymore. It had that musical curl at the end of every word, that girly lift, that wet, inviting tone that begged someone to pin me down and test how deep it could go.

And worse… my inner voice started to match.

You’re still you, right? Just… a cuter, hotter, wetter version?
Maybe if you just play along until someone fills you up, it’ll stop hurting…

I slapped myself again.

But my pussy clenched.
And I moaned.
And my voice let out a little shaky, breathy giggle.

“I-I d-don’t wanna be a girl—b-but I’m s-so wet and my tits are j-jiggling and I s-sound like a f-fucking bimbooo~!”

I collapsed to my knees, tits bouncing, mouth open, drooling just a little as my body throbbed in heat and my mind cracked.

And my last thought before my hand slid between my thighs again?

Maybe just one little touch won’t hurt…

My voice cracked again — high, shaky, way too sexy to belong to me — and I slapped a hand over my mouth, terrified of the sound coming out of me.

That’s when it hit me.

A memory.
A stupid, stupid memory I had completely brushed off.

“Fuck… no… n-no fucking way…”

It slammed into my brain so hard I staggered.

Her.
That Wicca chick from campus.
The one with the dark lipstick, moon necklace, and that creepy, knowing smile.

The one who caught me staring way too long at a girl’s panties in the laundry room.

“Duuude… no way… it can’t be—”

But it was.

I remembered the way she’d cornered me with that smirk — playful, sharp, a little pissed off but weirdly amused.

“Careful staring at those too long,” she’d teased, twirling her fingers in some weird sigil.
“Soon enough, you’ll be the one needing them.”

I’d laughed in her face.

I literally laughed.

“Sure, sure, whatever, Sabrina. Gonna curse me into a crossdresser? OoOoOh, spooky.”

She didn’t laugh.

She just leaned closer, eyes glinting, and whispered something in that strange, honey-thick language.
A chant.
A curse.
Or, at the time, what I thought was her being a dramatic weirdo.

I had waved her off and went about my day.

I didn’t even care when, two days later, my nipples started twitching randomly during class.

Didn’t care when my dick felt… sore, like something inside it was moving, crawling.
I just joked about needing to stop watching so much porn.

“Fuck—f-fuck—oh god—this—this is her—this is her—!”

My voice cracked again.
Higher.
Sweeter.
Like a slutty little gasp.

I clutched my tits — they overflowed my arms now, nipples huge and throbbing — and I felt my knees weaken with panic and shame and heat.

“No, no, she didn’t—she fucking didn’t—this is a joke—some—some kind of—mmh—fuck—spell—oh my g—god—”

My thoughts turned syrupy again.

Images of panties.
Soft ones.
Lacy ones.
On me.

And the worst part?

My pussy clenched at the idea.

“No—no no no—she cursed me—she fucking cursed me—!”

I remembered her last words as she walked away, giggling softly:

“Let the moon decide how much of a boy you really are.”

I had brushed it off.

I had mocked it.

And now here I was —
hips wide,
tits bouncing,
voice breaking,
pussy dripping,
mind cracking open —

and all I could do was ramble in a trembling, feminine whine:

“She—she warned me—oh fuck, she warned me—she warned me and I laughed—oh god I’m turning into exactly what she said—f-fuck—mmnh—w-what did she do to me—?!”

I stumbled, tits slapping against my chest, thighs trembling, pussy leaking down my legs, voice high and ruined.

And for the first time…

I felt like I needed those panties she joked about.

I tried to walk.
I tried.

But my new body didn’t move like mine.
Not anymore.

Every step made my hips swing — this big, wide, obscene sway I had no control over.
My thighs slapped together with wet sounds that made my pussy twitch.
My tits bounced so violently it was like someone was grabbing them from below and jiggling them on purpose.

“C-come on—just walk—just fucking WALK—!”

But I couldn’t.

My balance was all wrong.
My center of gravity had dropped into my hips and ass, pulling me forward with every uneven step. My tits were so massive they kept throwing me off, bouncing up into my chin, wobbling, smacking together with loud, fleshy slaps that made me groan like a slut every time.

“Stop—stop bouncing—s-stop—! Oh fuck, I c-can’t even—ahhh—”

My legs buckled.

I stumbled sideways, trying to steady myself on a table, but my breasts knocked into it first, sending everything sliding and shattering on the floor.

“Shit—shit—oh god—my body’s too—t-too—big—!”

One more step.

My thigh slid the wrong way.
My hip jerked too far.
My tits swung out of rhythm.

And I crashed.

Straight into the full-length mirror.

It wobbled—
tilted—
and slammed back against the wall as I sagged to my knees, tits bouncing violently against my chest, my breath coming in girly, broken gasps.

“Mmmnh—f-fuck—ow—ugh—why does everything make me moan now—?!”

I lifted my head.

And froze.

The reflection staring back at me—

wasn’t me.

Not anymore.

My face…
was changing.

My jawline had softened, the angles melting into smooth curves.
My cheekbones were rising, pushing up under the skin like something hard and beautiful was trying to force its way out.

My lips—

“Oh no—no, no, n-no—”

My lips were plumping.
Slow.
Wet.
Swelling outward with each trembling breath.
They looked kiss-swollen, fucked-swollen — obscene, glossy, flushed.

My eyes widened as my lashes lengthened, fluttering with every panicked blink.
My brows thinned, arching into a feminine shape.
My nose was narrowing, shrinking, softening into a cute little slope.

I slapped my cheeks with both hands.

“NO—stop—stop—don’t you dare, don’t you fu—hnnh~—don’t you dare get pretty—!”

My voice broke again.
Higher.
Breathier.
Sweet.
Humiliatingly girly.

I watched in horror as my throat slimmed, the structure tightening, the Adam’s apple fading, my neck elongating into something delicate and… pretty.

Pretty.

God, I was becoming pretty.

“No—fuck no—fuck this—this is her—this is the curse—oh god I look like—like—like—”

Like a girl.

My pussy throbbed so hard I almost collapsed forward onto all fours.

I pressed my hand to the mirror, panting, tits hanging low and heavy, swaying with each trembling breath.

My reflection blinked at me with big, glossy eyes.

My voice came out as a soft, helpless, terrified whimper:

“…I’m turning… into a girl…”

Another blink.

Another shift of my lips.

Another crack of my voice.

“…a hot one…”

My nipples brushed the cool glass and I moaned loud enough to echo.

I was slipping.

Breaking.

Changing.

And the mirror wouldn’t stop showing me exactly what I was becoming.

I clung to the mirror like it was the last thing tethering me to reality. My fingers slipped across the glass, smudging it with sweat and slick as my body swayed — hips still rocking too wide, tits still bouncing with every shallow breath.

And then I saw it.

My face.

Changing.

Right in front of me.

“No—no—don’t—don’t you fucking dare—” I tried to growl, to scream.

But it came out soft. Shaky. Girly.

A breathy whimper.

Like I was begging to be kissed.

My jaw twitched first — bone shifting beneath my skin, tightening, slimming.
I felt the sharp, masculine edge I used to have melt into a gentle curve.
My chin pulled in, rounded.
My cheekbones pushed up, reshaping my whole profile into something sleek, soft, and painfully attractive.

“Mmh—n-no, not my face—don’t take my face—!”

But even that sounded sweet.
Breathy.
Like some innocent little girl who’d just been caught playing with herself.

I watched in the mirror as my eyes stretched wider, my brows arching into delicate feminine curves. My lashes grew longer with every terrified blink, fluttering like I’d applied mascara I never asked for. My pupils dilated. My irises shimmered — brighter, clearer, more inviting.

I couldn’t look away.

My lips were last.

And I felt them go.

Like heat rolling under the surface, like two little sausages swelling slowly, obscenely, right there on my face. They plumped outward with every moan, forming a pout I couldn’t undo — thick, wet, fuckable lips.

And I knew.

I knew the moment I saw them…

I could never speak like a man again.

“P-puh—plea—God—puh—please—stop this—”

My words came out a moan.

There wasn’t even fear in it anymore.

Just soft, sultry desperation.

My voice had given up.
All I had left was breathy, slutty, high-pitched gasping little sounds that sounded like I was begging for cock even when I was pleading for mercy.

I gripped the sides of my new face — my pretty face — and sobbed.

Not even loud sobs.

Just broken little girly hiccups that made my tits bounce as I cried.

“Guh—g-god… please… help me…”

Nothing.

No thunder.

No light.

No miracle.

Just my reflection, panting, trembling, gorgeous.

A slutty, soaked, ruined woman, trying to remember how to beg for help with a voice too sexy to be taken seriously.

“P-please… I-I don’t… I don’t w-wanna be h-hot…”

Another moan.

Another clench of my dripping pussy.

My knees gave out.

I slid down the mirror, tits pressed against the glass, tears streaking down my blushed cheeks as my voice cracked again and again into sweet little whimpers.

He wasn’t listening.

No one was.

Just me.
Me and my pretty new face.

I stood there, trembling, bare, soaked — staring at the full-length mirror like it had just slapped me in the face. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

I was in total, sick, overwhelming horror at the bombshell I had become.

This wasn’t just a girl’s body.
It wasn’t just “feminine.”
It was pornographic.

Every inch of me was built to seduce, to bounce, to bend.
Tits too big to ignore. Hips too wide to hide. An ass so round and perky it looked like it was sculpted in a porn lab.

I turned slightly, and fuck—there it was.
My ass.

Massive. Round. Fuckable.
Two soft, bouncing globes that jiggled even when I breathed.
I couldn’t stop staring.

“Oh god—this can’t be real—this can’t be me—”

I spun toward the mirror, tits swinging with the motion—
and I snapped.

“FUCK!”

I slapped both of my massive tits in blind frustration — a sharp, wet SMACK — and they bounced back at me like twin wrecking balls, wobbling, jiggling, mocking me with how heavy and obscene they were.

“Stop moving! Fucking STOP—!”

But they didn’t.

They just kept bouncing, soft and full and too perfect, nipples hard and sensitive and impossible to ignore.

I staggered back, panting, cheeks red, hair sticking to my face, legs trembling under the weight of curves I never asked for.

I looked like a fucking sex doll.

Like a walking, moaning, dripping fucktoy someone designed to break beds and melt minds.

And I was meant to be taken seriously? Like this?
What the hell would people think if they saw me now?

“Th-think I’m a—fucking—bimbo—just some horny little bitch—! God, I look like I belong on the cover of a cum-soaked DVD—”

I felt it building again. That helpless rage. That spiraling humiliation. That heat that wouldn't go away, no matter how much I tried to stay angry.

And all of it came back to her.

That witchy little smirking Wicca chick.
With her cryptic words. Her smug chant. Her “you’ll need them soon” panties comment.

She did this to me.
She wanted this.
She made me into this moaning, bouncing, dripping mess of a woman.

And now?

Now I could barely speak without panting.
Couldn’t move without bouncing.
Couldn’t even think without my pussy twitching and my tits brushing against something sensitive.

I grabbed my reflection by the sides of the mirror, knuckles white, breasts pressed up against the cold glass, nipples stiff and leaking heat.

“I swear to god,” I hissed in a voice too high, too breathy, too porn-star soft to sound threatening,
“if I ever find that bitch again… she’s turning me back. I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care how far I have to go.”

Another wobble of my ass reminded me I could barely even walk straight anymore.

“I’m not staying like this. I’m not living like some sexed-up doll version of myself.”

I snarled — or tried to.
It came out as a broken, girly moan.

And I hated how good it sounded.

I actually heard myself ask it out loud — in this new, breathy, fuck-me voice I couldn’t even control anymore:

“C-Can someone really… have this kinda power? Just… turn a guy into a—into this?”

And the second I said it, my nipples fucking twitched.

Of course they did.

Because apparently, my own voice turns me on now.

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost fell over. “Great. That’s just fantastic. Not only do I sound like a phone sex operator choking on breathy moans, but now my goddamn tits are listening too.”

I groaned — high-pitched, of course — and turned toward the dresser, needing something to wear before I lost the last shred of dignity I still had.

Except, plot twist: I couldn’t even walk like myself anymore.

Nope.

The moment I moved, my hips sashayed.

Not “swayed.” Not “rocked.”

Sashayed.

Full-on runway-model, hips-swinging, thighs-rubbing, ass-bouncing sashay. And I wasn’t even trying.

“Motherfu—oh my god,” I muttered, dragging my hands down my face as my hips rolled with every step like I was auditioning to be bred in slow motion. “I’m not even walking anymore, I’m wiggling. I’m a fucking side of meat with rhythm.”

Each bounce of my tits felt like another slap in the face. They just wouldn’t stop — wobbling, jiggling, swinging like they had minds of their own and were proud to be here.

“Yeah, sure, just go ahead and make me look like a fuckdoll with a personality,” I muttered, yanking the drawer open, still cussing under my breath. “Why not? Let’s just keep the humiliation rolling.”

And of course, what’s the first thing I see in the drawer?

Panties.

Not boxers. Not briefs.
Just a neat little pile of lacy, pastel-colored fucking panties, sitting there like they’d always been mine.

I stared at them, jaw slack.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I reached down, grabbed a pair — pink, of course — and held them up like they were radioactive.

“This is what I’m supposed to wear now? This tiny scrap of fabric? My whole dick used to be bigger than this waistband!”

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
My tits bounced again.
My hips shifted, uninvited.

And all I could do was clutch the panties in my dainty new fingers, still half-naked, still dripping from whatever the hell my body was doing, and mutter:

“Goddamn Wicca bimbo-curse bullshit. I’m gonna find her. And when I do, she’s turning me back — after I scream at her through this fucking pornstar voice she stuck me with.”