Jerked into Her (TG Story) - Part 7

Jerked into Her (TG Story)

From FemmeForge:

A Ritual. A Fantasy. A Transformation Too Hot to Survive.

Eli never felt at home in his body. Not in a tragic way—just in that horny, obsessive, aching way that builds in secret. In silence. In shame. Alone at night, jerking off to the women he envied more than desired, whispering the same question over and over:

“What does it feel like to be her?”

Not to live as a woman.
To fuck like one.
To be the kind of woman who moans, who clenches, who drips—who makes men lose their minds just by walking into the room.

When Eli finds a ritual online—a cursed rite whispered about in NSFW occult threads—he doesn’t laugh.
He lights the candles.
He draws the sigil.
He jerks off into the bowl.

And what begins as a filthy fantasy spirals into a full-blown, erotic, reality-breaking metamorphosis.

Link for the PDF File: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1mzTjDPq44yNFQcW6DFHPG76-W_Pfgki5/view?usp=drive_link

Seventh Part

She smirked wider in the mirror, lips glistening as her hands finally slid into view. Long, delicate fingers cupped the massive globes mashed against the glass, squeezing them in slow, indulgent kneads that made her tits bulge outward, flesh spilling between her fingers. Her nipples dragged lazy arcs, leaving wet trails that seemed to spell out filth Eli couldn’t look away from.

Her gaze never left his—those heavy-lidded eyes locked straight onto him as she moaned softly, theatrically, like she was savoring the weight in her palms.

“These are what you ache for, aren’t they, Eli?” she purred, voice low and taunting. Her fingers pinched her nipples, pulling them taut until they slipped free and slapped wet against the glass again. “The tits you wished you could wake up with. The ones you imagined bouncing while you rode cock, moaning in that voice you pretended wasn’t yours.”

Eli’s jaw worked uselessly, but no sound came out. His throat was too tight, his chest heaving too fast. His cock jerked helplessly, slick with pre, twitching with every bounce of her obscene display.

She gave her tits another squeeze, pressing them so hard against the mirror that the flesh flattened and spread wide, smothering half her own face in the reflection. She laughed breathily. “You can’t even answer me, can you? Can’t even get the words out. That’s how bad you want to be this.”

Eli made a strangled sound—half whimper, half groan—but no words followed. His tongue felt heavy, his brain static, all thought burned away by the sight of her—of him—fondling the body he wished was his.

The mirror-woman leaned closer, lips brushing the glass as if she were whispering through it.

“Don’t worry, baby. You don’t need to say it. Your cock already did.”

Eli whimpered again, thighs squeezing tight, every nerve on fire, unable to deny it, unable to even speak.

Her smirk widened as she kept her palms pressed into the mounds of flesh, kneading them like they were dough made only for sin. Each squeeze sent ripples through the glass, each bounce making her nipples drag with a high, sticky squeak.

“Look at you,” she cooed, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, cock twitching like it’s about to salute… and you still can’t say a damn word.”

Eli’s lips parted, but all that came out was a shaky breath. His chest hitched, his throat dry. His hands trembled at his sides, twitching like they wanted to rise but were too scared, too ashamed, too overwhelmed.

She pinched both nipples between her fingers, tugged hard, then mashed her tits together until they squashed into one obscene, heaving wall of flesh smearing the mirror. She moaned theatrically, eyes fluttering shut, tongue peeking out to lick her swollen lips.

“Mmm, so heavy,” she teased, rolling them in her palms like she was showing off fruit. “So full. Can you feel it, Eli? Can you feel what it would be like to wear them—your tits, your chest so heavy it bounces when you breathe?”

Eli whimpered—pathetic, high-pitched, wordless. His thighs pressed together, his cock drooling down his leg.

She laughed, low and sultry. “That’s all I need. You don’t even have to answer. You’re already mine. Every twitch, every drip, every little gasp says it louder than you ever could.”

She leaned closer to the glass, her tits squashing up so far they nearly covered her face. Her eyes peered through the jiggling swell, locking on his with predatory heat.

“Keep staring, baby. Let me show you what you really want.”

And she gave her nipples another tug, grinding them against the mirror in lazy, wet circles, smearing the surface with every filthy drag—while Eli stayed frozen, shaking, mouth open, too wrecked to even speak.

Her teasing giggles melted into a low, throaty moan that rolled through the dream-room like smoke. Slow, sensual, drawn out, the kind of sound that curled into Eli’s ears and sank straight down his spine.

“Mmmmhhhhhahhh!”

Then she whispered, sultry as sin: “But it’s not enough just to stare. I need you to prove it to me.”

Eli’s stomach flipped. His knees dug into the smoky floor, trembling. He tried to form words, but his mouth only opened and closed uselessly, a strangled sound stuck in his throat.

The mirror-woman’s smirk sharpened as she shifted, arms rising gracefully, deliberately slow—like she wanted to savor his every shaky breath. She lifted both hands high above her head, wrists crossing against the glass, stretching her body so her tits jutted forward even more.

Then—slam.

Both massive breasts squashed flat against the mirror, flesh spreading wide and obscene, nipples flattening so hard they left perfect, wet little circles on the surface. She pressed in harder, grinding them with a moan that dripped heat into the room.

Her eyes fluttered shut as her lips parted, tongue grazing her teeth before curling into that wicked, knowing smile again. She arched her back, making her tits mash and wobble in huge, jiggling waves against the glass.

And then she beckoned him—crooking her fingers just above her head, nails dragging down slowly over the glass as if she were calling him closer.

“Hhhhnnn…”

“Come on, Eli,” she purred, her voice practically dripping. “Touch them. Show me you want them. Prove you want these tits for yourself.”

Eli’s cock twitched violently, leaking down his thigh. His hands shook at his sides. His breath came in ragged gasps.

He couldn’t even say no anymore.

The only question left was whether he dared to move closer.

He inched forward without even realizing it, bare feet shuffling against the smoky floor. His breath fogged faintly in front of him, and with every step closer the mirror seemed to come alive.

The tits squashed against the glass jiggled harder, obscene waves of flesh rippling out with every tiny movement of his body—as though they were feeling him approach. The nipples dragged wetter circles, glistening trails smearing across the surface until it looked painted in sweat and lust.

And then lower—he saw it.

The pussy. Pressed tight against the mirror beneath those heaving breasts. Slick already, but now it glistened wetter, dripping, grinding in subtle little rolls as though it was aching for him. Each step closer pulled a fresh streak of wetness down the glass, sticky and shameless, like it was marking the distance he’d closed.

Eli froze halfway there, trembling. “N-no way… it’s reacting to me?” His voice cracked, barely a whisper.

The mirror-woman’s face tilted, her pouty lips curling into a knowing smile. “Of course it is. We’re the same, Eli. These tits, this pussy—your tits, your pussy—they know when you’re near. They want you.”

His knees wobbled. His cock jerked, drooling down his thigh. The tits bounced harder, the cleft smeared wetter, until the sounds of squeaking glass and dripping slick filled the air.

Eli swallowed hard, chest heaving, every nerve screaming at once. He couldn’t deny it anymore. The closer he leaned, the hotter the mirror responded. It was like the body he dreamed of was begging for him to close the gap, to press into the glass, to claim it.

His arm moved like it was possessed, trembling in jerks, but he couldn’t stop it. Eli’s palm hovered just inches from the mirror, his breath catching ragged in his throat, chest rising and falling like he was drowning on dry air.

And then—press.

The glass wasn’t glass anymore. It was flesh. Warm, slick, pliant. His fingers sank into impossible softness, spreading the fat of a tit that flattened and bulged outward around his hand. A wet squeak filled the air as his palm slid across it, leaving a shiny streak on the mirror’s surface.

Eli gasped, head snapping back. “F-fuck—oh, fuck!”

The mirror-woman moaned like she’d been waiting all her life for this—low at first, then breaking into a sharp, high-pitched whine that sent his cock jerking against his thigh. Her tits mashed forward harder, nipples flattening so tight against the glass they squeaked with every jolt. “Yes—yes, Eli, that’s it—ohhhh God, touch your tits—touch your tits!”

Her voice cracked with pleasure, throaty and obscene. Each word dripped filth, soaked in heat, like she was seconds from begging.

Eli’s hand squeezed, kneading the massive weight, dragging his thumb over a stiff nipple that pulsed against the glass. Her moan shot higher, slutty and raw, her voice stuttering like she was losing control. “Ohhh—fuck—ahhhhnnngh—yes, harder—hnnnhhh, squeeze me, Eli!”

He shivered all over, eyes wide, cock dripping trails of pre down his leg. He wanted to stop, wanted to not want it—but the sounds she made… God, the sounds.

Each moan was different: a breathy gasp, a high whine, a guttural groan that curled right into his spine. Her lips parted in the reflection, her mouth making perfect cock-sucking shapes as she whimpered his name between gasps.

Without realizing it, his hand slid lower. Across the under-curve of those tits, down the slick streaks smeared over the glass, until his fingertips brushed something wetter.

Hot. Slick. Pulsing.

The cleft.

Her pussy mashed tight against the mirror, and the second his fingers dragged over it, she screamed—a high, shaking cry that melted into a whimpering moan. “Ahhhhhh—ohhhh fuck, Eli, that’s it, ohhhh yesyesyes—!”

Her hips rolled against the glass, smearing sticky wetness across his hand, making the mirror drip like it was alive. Eli’s fingers trembled against it, sliding just enough to spread the wet shine, and every tiny motion earned him another filthy noise—rasping gasps, sharp squeaks, moans that cracked into broken, breathy whines.

“Th-that’s… that’s me?” Eli whispered, horrified, turned on, dizzy.

Her moans answered for him, rising, rolling, building. “It’s yours, Eli—it’s always been yours—your tits, your pussy, your voice moaning like a dirty little slut—nnnhhhhnnghh—ohhh God—!”

Eli whimpered, body shaking, his cock twitching helplessly as he pressed harder into the mirror, drowning in her moans, her cries, the obscene sound of flesh and wetness squashing against glass like it was begging to be touched.

And he couldn’t deny it anymore. He wanted it.

Eli’s cock was iron-hard now, so stiff it ached, drooling down his thigh in messy strings. Every pulse of blood in it made him dizzy, every beat of his heart synced to the obscene squeaks and smears of tits and pussy mashed against the mirror. He couldn’t take it anymore.

His hands clawed up over the glass, palms sinking into phantom weight. God, the tits— heavy, hot, and obscene. His fingers spread wide, groping, squeezing, kneading, pinching the swollen nipples until they flattened against the glass and snapped free again with wet little pops.

And for the first time, Eli started to moan.

Not a grunt. Not a nervous whimper. A real moan—breathy, high, cracked with shame and need. His lips parted and the sound spilled out against his will, pathetic and raw. “Uhhhnnn—f-fuuuuck…”

The mirror-woman lost it with him, her moans wild and feral now, echoing in the dream-room like a choir of filth. “Yesss—yes, Eli, squeeze them, make them yours—ohhh fuck, that’s it—hnnnnnhhh!” Her voice broke into a gasp, then slid into a low, filthy laugh.

And then she said it—dirty and profound, raunchy and philosophical all at once:

“Do you feel it? The truth in your hands? This is what you are, Eli. Not the limp cock you hate. Not the sad boy jerking off in the dark. This. Flesh meant to bounce. Nipples meant to ache. A pussy meant to drip. You were never jerking off to her—you were always jerking off to yourself. Your real self. The slut hiding underneath.”

Eli’s knees buckled, his forehead thunking softly against the glass as he groped harder, his own moans tangling with hers in a messy duet. “Uhhhnnn—ohhh God—ohhhh fuuuuck—”

The mirror smeared wetter, tits dragging and wobbling under his hands, nipples squealing across the surface.

Her voice rose, triumphant, breaking between sharp gasps: “Every stroke, every moan, every fantasy—it wasn’t about wanting to fuck her. It was about wanting to be her. You don’t just want these tits, Eli—you want the moans that come with them. You want the hunger. You want the ruin.”

Eli moaned louder, cock throbbing painfully, his whole body trembling as he gripped the glass like it was the only thing holding him upright.

And her laughter—dirty, victorious—wrapped around him like chains. “And that’s why you’re moaning like me now. Because you are me.”

Eli’s body gave out. There was no fighting anymore—just his naked, trembling frame grinding against the mirror like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His cock throbbed painfully, drooling onto the smoky floor below, every twitch of it sending fire racing through his belly.

And then it happened—he moaned. Loud. Shameless.

“AHhhhhhhnnnnn—f-fuuuuck—ohhh God, yesssss—!”

It tore out of his throat raw, almost breaking his voice, a slutty cry that echoed so loud it bounced off the endless dream-space around him.

The mirror-woman lost it right along with him. Her head snapped back, lips parted, eyes half-lidded with ecstasy as she screamed into the glass. “OHHHH—ohhhhhh Eli, yes—yesss, squeeze me harder—fuck, yesss!”

Her tits bounced and smeared wildly under his hands, each grope louder, wetter, sloppier than the last. Every pinch of her nipples earned a shriek, every drag of his palms flattened more sweat and slick across the glass.

And Eli matched her.

Every moan she gave, he gave one back—just as filthy, just as broken.

Her: “Uhhhhhhnnnghh, I’m dripping for you—”
Him: “UHHHHhhh fuckkk, I’m gonna lose it—!”

Her: “Yessss, ruin me, baby—ohhh God!”
Him: “Yesssss, ruin me—fuck, I’m your slut—!”

It was obscene, two voices tangled in perfect rhythm—one female, sultry and wild, the other his, cracking higher, collapsing into slutty cries until they sounded almost the same.

Eli’s forehead pressed harder to the glass, his moans spilling in ragged waves. “Haaaahhh—ahhhhhhhnnnn—ohhhh, tits, f-fuck those tits—fuck I want them—ohhh God—ohhh fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck!”

The mirror-woman clawed at her own tits from behind the glass, smashing them together for him, nipples squealing as they slipped past each other, her moans breaking into sobs of ecstasy. “This is you, Eli! This is what you are—hear yourself—sound yourself—slut, slut, slut—!”

Eli howled with her, every sound dripping filth, shameless, depraved. His voice cracked high, breaking into a squeal so pornographic it made his own ears burn, yet he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.

It was a moan-fest—two Eli’s, male and female, locked in obscene harmony, screaming the truth into the void: that he was hers, because she was him.

Their moans crashed together, loud and filthy, echoing through the endless dream-room like a chorus of pure sin. Every squeeze of phantom titflesh under his hands made Eli’s voice crack higher, every roll of her soaked pussy against the glass drenched his fingers wetter, every squeal she gave, he matched with a cry of his own.

“Ahhhhhnnn—fuckkkk—ohhh, I can’t—I can’t—!” he sobbed, forehead pressed to the slick mirror.

The mirror-woman’s moans sharpened into laughter, throaty and triumphant, even as she writhed for him. “You can, Eli. You will. Say it. Say what you want.”

“I—I don’t—” His words fell apart, throat convulsing around another raw, needy moan.

Her tits slammed into the glass so hard the squeak echoed like a scream, nipples leaving obscene, wet circles that smeared into streaks as she ground them. Her voice cracked into a pornographic cry, then hardened into command: “SAY IT. Tell me what you are. Tell me what you want.”

Eli wailed, his moans shattering into wild, slutty cries that echoed hers in pitch and cadence. His cock leaked nonstop, dripping down his thighs, but his hands never left her phantom curves. He squeezed, tugged, kneaded, his fingers slipping lower into slickness that made obscene squelches against the glass.

“I—I—ahhhhnnnn—ohhh fuckkkk—!” His back arched, his moans rising higher and higher until they were indistinguishable from hers.

Her laugh tore through the noise, sharp, guttural, victorious. “Say it, Eli! Admit you don’t want that useless cock! Admit you want to be this—tits, pussy, moans and all! Admit you want to be a hot, dripping, desperate woman!”

Eli’s mouth fell open, his scream breaking into sobs of filthy pleasure. His moans bled into words without his permission. “I—I w-want—ahhhhnnnghh—I want to be—ohhhh God—I want to be THIS! I want the tits—I want the pussy—I want to be a woman!”

The mirror-woman shrieked with him, their voices twisted together in one depraved harmony. Her tits bounced violently under his grip, her soaked pussy grinding into his fingers like it was already his. “Yessss—yes, Eli! That’s it! That’s the truth—you’re mine, because you are ME!”

And Eli screamed it back, broken and wild: “I’M YOU! I WANT TO BE YOU! A HOT FUCKING WOMAN!”

Their moans spiraled together, louder, filthier, until the whole dream-room was nothing but the sound of Eli breaking and becoming.

The words tore out of him raw, and the moment they left his lips, his body snapped.

His cock jerked so violently it hurt, swollen veins bulging as if it couldn’t take another second of denial. And then—detonation.

“HHHHHHNNNNNNGGGHHHHHH—FUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKK!”

Eli’s howl ripped through the dream-room, guttural and feral, nothing human left in it. His back arched hard, forehead smashing against the slick mirror as his cock erupted—thick, violent ropes of cum blasting the glass, splattering across the squashed tits and dripping pussy pressed against it.

The sound was obscene. Wet slaps as spurt after spurt hit, sliding down in sticky streaks that smeared into his own trembling hands as he clawed at phantom flesh. His balls clenched so tight they ached, unloading years of shame and want in one impossible climax.

The mirror-woman screamed with him, her voice pitched high and pornographic, moaning his name, his truth, their truth. “Yessss—cum for it! Cum for ME! Cum for what you really are!”

And he did.

Eli howled again—no, he screamed—loud and broken, the sound tearing out of him like his lungs were giving birth to it. It wasn’t just a moan. It wasn’t just release. It was a feral, guttural roar of a man unmade, cracking high until it blurred into the shrill, desperate cry of a woman in heat.

His cock exploded against the glass, spurting so hard the first jet splattered up across the mirror-woman’s tits, streaking down over her mashed nipples. Another shot slapped wetly across the dripping slit grinding against the surface, until the whole reflection was painted in white—running, smearing, glistening in obscene rivulets. The mirror looked like it had been baptized in cum.

His thighs shook uncontrollably, muscles seizing, trembling so hard his knees nearly gave out beneath him. Toes curled into the smoky floor, desperate for any anchor as wave after wave wracked him. His hips bucked without rhythm, rutting against the glass like an animal trying to breed its own reflection.

And the sound—God, the sound.

Every pulse of release dragged another noise out of his raw throat. At first, guttural grunts, then cracking higher, breaking into moans so slutty they could’ve been dubbed from porn. He couldn’t even tell if it was his voice anymore or hers—because they were moaning together, their cries woven into one depraved harmony.

“AAAHHHHHHHHH—hnnnnnnghhh—fuuuuUUUCKKKK—ohhhhhhhnnnnnn—!”

The mirror-woman screamed with him, pressing her tits harder, grinding her pussy so furiously it squeaked and smeared in sticky trails. “Yesssss—scream it! Cum with me! Be me!” Her voice rose and broke in ecstasy, her moans layered perfectly over his until they were indistinguishable, one endless howl of lust vibrating the dream-room itself.

The glass dripped with the evidence of him—fat white ropes sliding down across the soft outlines of tits, belly, thighs. Each spurt smeared as he kept groping, squeezing, clawing at the phantom flesh he could feel under his hands, every squeeze milking another moan out of him.

His throat was shredded, voice gone raw, every sound breaking higher until it wasn’t even male anymore. Just whines, cries, squeals that sounded like begging. Like surrender.

By the time the last pathetic dribble of cum smeared down the mirror, Eli was still howling, his moans cracked to ruin, his cock twitching weakly against glass painted in his own filth.

And still he couldn’t stop. His lips parted in one more cry—half sob, half orgasm—until his forehead collapsed forward, sticky and wet, breath fogging the cum-slick surface as he whimpered like a broken animal.

When the last weak dribble smeared down the glass, he collapsed against it—sweaty, spent, still panting ragged moans. His cock twitched limply against the smeared reflection of tits and pussy, his forehead pressed to the sticky surface as his breath fogged the glass.

And all he could do was whimper, broken and low: “I… I want to be her…”

To be continued...