Jerked into Her (TG Story) - Part 6

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/1tmoIBCvdjm1PSKcz8-CGoNdbAIozAtFX/view?usp=drive_link

Sixth Part

Eli tried to keep his eyes anywhere but on the mirror, but the way those massive tits kept grinding into the glass made it impossible. Every bounce sent a ripple through them, every smear of nipple left a wet little shine, and his throat tightened with each second he stared.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I—I don’t… I mean, they’re not even real, it’s just—just a trick. Just some fucked-up illusion.” His voice cracked, too high, too desperate. “I don’t even like tits that big…”

The words died on his tongue. His cock twitched again, humiliating him.

The voice giggled low and sultry. “Then why can’t you look away, Eli?”

“I—I…” His eyes flicked up against his will. The tits dragged slowly down the glass, the nipples flattening, smearing lewd little trails before bouncing back up again like they were alive. His breath hitched, and he let out this pathetic, sheepish laugh. “F-fuck… they’re just… they’re so damn big.”

The hands behind them squeezed harder, pushing them together until they swelled even more, obscene and overflowing. The glass squeaked under the weight.

Eli bit his lip. His face burned, but the words tumbled out anyway. “I mean… shit. Look at them. They’re… huge. Heavy. Like—like they’d just bury you if you tried to hold ‘em.” His voice dropped to a mumble, broken and shaky. “…God, they look perfect.”

The tits bounced again, sensually, almost like they were nodding in agreement. His reflection still showed his skinny chest, flat and bare, cock dangling beneath him like a mockery.

And the voice slid right into his ear, sweet and cruel. “Perfect for who, Eli?”

His jaw clenched. He stammered, tried to deflect, but his cock twitched again. His eyes stayed glued to the glass as those tits mashed forward, slow and sensual, nipples dragging in lazy circles like they were trying to hypnotize him.

He couldn’t deny the ache in his gut anymore. Not completely.

His whole body was trembling, caught between shame and hunger. The tits on the glass dragged down again in slow, sensual arcs, nipples smearing wet streaks across the surface before bouncing back up with heavy, obscene weight. The sound of it—the faint squeak, the imagined slap of soft flesh—had his ears burning.

Eli shook his head, voice cracking. “I—I don’t—this isn’t fair. You’re just messing with me. I don’t… I don’t…” His throat tightened, his lips quivering.

The voice purred, velvet and merciless. “Don’t what, Eli? Don’t want them? Don’t dream about them every night? Don’t edge yourself thinking how they’d bounce when you breathed?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. His cock twitched so hard it made his thighs jerk.

And then it just burst out of him—raw, cracked, humiliated:

“Fuck—I do! I want tits like that for myself!”

The words echoed through the dream-room, bouncing back at him from the glowing void. His chest heaved, his voice dropping into a frantic mutter. “I want ‘em. Big, heavy, sweaty, fuckin’ tits. Ones that jiggle when I walk. Ones that people can’t stop staring at. I—I wanna feel ‘em bounce, I wanna grab ‘em, I…”

He stopped, breath catching, eyes wide with the horror of what he’d just confessed.

The mirror tits bounced in reply, harder this time, smearing and squashing like they were laughing with him—or at him.

And the voice moaned softly, sultry and triumphant. “There it is. The truth. You don’t just want to see them, Eli. You want to be them.”

His knees almost buckled. His cock throbbed. And all he could do was stare at the glass, panting, horrified by how badly his body betrayed him.

The tits didn’t let up. They pressed harder, spreading wider across the mirror, every obscene jiggle taunting him like a slap. The nipples dragged lazy, wet circles, stiff as bullets, leaving smears like lipstick kisses on the glass. The hands behind them squeezed, lifted, mashed them together until they were one massive, heaving mound that looked ready to burst through.

Eli’s throat was dry, his mouth open in a half-whispered pant. He wanted to look away, but his eyes were locked, hypnotized.

The voice slid in, silk and smoke. “Imagine it, Eli. Not just watching. Wearing them.”

His gut clenched. “N-no, I—”

“Yes. Remember the ritual? Remember how they swelled out of your chest, how your nipples burned so bad you nearly cried, how you couldn’t stop squeezing them even as they grew heavier in your hands? You didn’t just look at tits that night—you had them. You felt them.”

Eli shivered, every hair on his body prickling. He remembered. God, he remembered too well.

His hands had clutched at the weight exploding on his chest, trembling as those huge, hot orbs had pushed out under his fingers, nipples stiff and swollen. He remembered the bounce, the ache, the way his moans had pitched higher when he squeezed them.

“Stop,” he croaked, his voice barely holding together.

But the mirror doubled down—those same tits grinding forward, nipples dragging like they were syncing to his memory.

The voice purred. “You wanted to know what it felt like to have them, and you did. The weight. The heat. The jiggle with every breath. That wasn’t a dream, Eli. That was you. That was real.”

His knees hit the smoky floor. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling like they wanted to clutch at a chest that was still flat here, still bare. He could almost feel phantom weight dragging him forward.

“I… I remember…” he whispered, horrified at how small and needy he sounded.

The tits on the glass bounced harder, slick and heavy, nipples smearing one last long streak down the mirror.

“Then admit it,” she whispered. “You don’t just want tits like that. You want to wear them again. Forever.”

Eli shook his head weakly, but the memory was too raw. He could feel them even now.

Eli’s whole body was trembling. His flat chest ached like it remembered being heavy, remembered bouncing, remembered throbbing nipples begging to be touched. The phantom sensation gnawed at him until he let out a ragged gasp, folding forward onto his hands like his own weight had doubled.

The tits smeared against the mirror jiggled in mocking rhythm. The voice purred, velvet and vicious: “See how easy it is? You can still feel them. You’ll always feel them. You never stopped.”

Eli squeezed his eyes shut. “I… I…” His throat worked, dry and raw. “…I want them back.”

The words echoed, too loud, like the dream itself wanted to make him hear it over and over.

But the voice wasn’t done. It slid lower, dirtier. “And it wasn’t just tits, was it?”

Eli’s eyes snapped open. His breath hitched sharp. “D-don’t—don’t you dare—”

“The pussy, Eli.” Her tone was a sultry knife, cutting straight to the nerve. “That hot little slit you begged for. That dripping hole you couldn’t stop grinding your thighs around when it finally opened up between your legs. You miss it, don’t you?”

His whole body jerked like she’d slapped him. He shook his head frantically, stammering. “N-no—I don’t—I didn’t— it wasn’t—”

The mirror pulsed, and for an instant, he saw it—a pink cleft pressed to the glass, swollen and wet, dragging a smear of shine as hips rolled against the surface.

Eli choked on his own breath. His hands curled into fists. “F-fuck…”

The voice giggled, cruel and knowing. “Go on. Say it. Admit what you’re really aching for.”

His whole body fought it, teeth gritted, face red, words tangled in shame. But the ache was there, pulsing between his thighs, a ghost-pussy flexing in memory where his limp cock now hung.

His voice cracked, soft and hoarse, the confession spilling like blood from a wound:

“…I miss it.”

He winced, shook his head, tried to take it back—but the words kept coming, broken and sheepish. “I miss… my pussy. I miss being wet. I miss how it… it clenched. How it ached. I—I…” His eyes burned as he looked up at the glass. “…I want it back.”

The mirror’s cleft smeared harder, dripping, almost purring with him.

And the voice moaned with delight. “That’s it, slut. That’s the truth.”

Eli was still on his hands and knees, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his hair onto the smoky floor. The phantom ache between his legs was unbearable now—like a hole that should’ve been there, but wasn’t. His cock hung limp, useless, and for the first time in his life he looked at it not with shame or denial… but with disgust.

The mirror didn’t give him a break. It pulsed again, the cleft grinding harder into the glass, slick smearing in wide, wet arcs. Above it, those massive tits dragged their stiff nipples down until they squeaked against the surface, bouncing like they were daring him to compare.

The voice was a whisper against his ear. “Say it, Eli. Stop running. You don’t miss that cock. You never loved it. You hated it. You’ve always wanted to trade it for something wet, something aching, something made to be used.”

Eli’s lips trembled, but this time there was no fight left. No excuses. No sheepish mumbling.

His head jerked up, eyes wide, voice breaking into a raw shout:

“I don’t want a dick!”

The words ripped out of him, echoing off the endless space. His throat burned, but he kept going, louder, clearer, more desperate with every syllable.

“I fucking hate it! I don’t want it, I never did! I don’t wanna jerk off like some sad loser—I wanna drip, I wanna be wet, I wanna cum like her! I want tits, I want a pussy, I want it all! I don’t want this useless fucking cock between my legs—I want it gone!”

He fell forward onto his elbows, panting, hair sticking to his sweaty face. His reflection in the mirror mirrored him—same scrawny chest, same limp cock—but it was surrounded, smothered by tits and pussy grinding into the glass like a vision of what he could be.

The voice moaned, pleased and hungry. “Finally. That’s the Eli I’ve been waiting for.”

The moment the words left his mouth—raw, broken, undeniable—the mirror seemed to shiver. The glass rippled like water, and the view pressed against it shifted.

Those massive tits didn’t move away. If anything, they pressed in harder, squashing and spreading like they knew they’d won. The nipples dragged up and down in slow, sensual arcs, leaving wet streaks across the glass. Each jiggle was deliberate now, a performance, the tempo of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

And above them—slowly, agonizingly slowly—a shadow started to take shape.

At first it was just the outline of a chin. Then the curve of lips, plump and glossy, curling into a sultry little smirk. A nose. High cheeks. Long lashes lowering over heavy, fuck-me eyes. Her face emerging like it had been hidden behind fog, unveiled piece by piece, until Eli could finally see her.

The woman.

The one he’d always dreamed about. The one his ritual had teased him with. His fantasy, his curse, his reflection.

And she was hot enough to ruin him.

Eli’s breath hitched violently. His cock twitched between his legs, humiliatingly stiffening again, even as he crouched on the smoky floor, bare and trembling. He tried to cover himself, but the second his hands brushed his lap, the tits smeared harder against the glass, and the woman’s smirk widened.

“Caught you,” she purred, her voice the same female tone that had been haunting him. “All it took was the truth. Now look at you. Naked. Hard. Staring at me like you’re starving.”

Eli’s cheeks burned red. “I-I’m not—I don’t—” But his eyes never left her. Not the tits, not the smirk, not the way her lips pressed against the glass like she was kissing it just to tease him.

Her tits kept grinding, nipples squeaking against the mirror, leaving wet arcs that framed her face in filth. She tilted her head, lashes half-lowered, eyes locked on his. “You confessed you don’t want a dick, Eli. So why is yours so hard watching me? Why is your body already betraying you?”

He groaned, squeezing his thighs together, his cock jutting stiff between them, slick with pre. His voice broke, pitiful. “Because—you’re—you’re so fucking hot.”

Her laugh was low, rich, triumphant. “Wrong answer. Try again.”

Eli swallowed hard, cock pulsing, chest rising and falling. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Because… because I wanna be you.”

The tits squashed harder into the mirror, nipples dragging slow and sensual, as her smirk turned wicked.

“Exactly.”

The fog cleared fully now, the glow in the glass sharpening her features until every curve of her face was undeniable.

Eli froze.

His breath hitched so violently it almost choked him. His whole body went stiff, cock twitching hard against his thighs. Because the face staring back at him wasn’t just some random pornstar goddess, wasn’t just the fantasy woman he’d jerked to for years.

It was him.

But feminized. Transformed. Perfected.

All the awkward edges smoothed away—his jawline softened into a delicate curve, his nose narrower, his lashes long enough to fan against her cheeks. The lips were the worst of it, full and plush and dripping with invitation, cock-sucking lips parted in a sultry half-smile.

Eli’s gut flipped. He stumbled back a step, eyes wide, voice cracking. “Wh—what the fuck—?”

The tits pressed harder into the glass below that face, nipples flattening and smearing circles while her cock-drunk lips curled wider, playful, cruel, knowing. She tilted her head just slightly, hair tumbling down over one cheek, and when she spoke the sound wrapped around his spine like silk:

“Do you like what you’re seeing, Eli?”

Eli’s whole body jolted, his cock leaking against his thigh, his chest heaving like he’d been sprinting. He tried to shake his head, but it was useless—the heat in his gut betrayed him, the way his thighs pressed together, the hungry ache that hollowed him out.

He croaked, pitiful: “That’s… that’s me?”

The mirror-woman licked her lips slowly, her tits grinding in lazy, obscene circles against the glass. Her voice dripped honey and venom.

“Not yet. But it could be.”

Eli’s knees nearly buckled. He was caught between horror and raw, uncontrollable arousal, completely undone by the sight of his own feminized face asking him if he liked it.

And the truth was…

God help him, he did.

To be continued...