From Bro to Hoe: A Werebimbo Story - Part 4

From Bro to Hoe: A Werebimbo Story

By FemmeForge

It was just supposed to be a night of beers and bro-talk. But when the full moon rose, his best friend didn’t grow fur — he grew tits.

One second, Kyle was crushing a beer can. The next, his chest was ripping open a shirt with two massive, dripping tits, nipples so hard they cut through fabric. His cock didn’t get hard — it shrank away, leaving a smooth, soaking slit that quivered and leaked under the moonlight. His screams cracked into filthy moans, his voice going high and slutty as his ass swelled into a fat, fuckable bubble that begged to be grabbed.

On his knees, grinding in the dirt, Kyle’s body betrayed him — hips snapping, pussy drooling, tits bouncing heavy with every shudder. His hands clawed at his new curves while his mouth spilled out shameless cries for cock.

Trent could only watch, cock throbbing in horror and lust, as his best friend transformed into a pink-lipped, cock-hungry werebimbo moaning his name. Every full moon, the curse takes over again — turning his buddy into a dripping fuckdoll desperate to be filled, fucked, and ruined.

Now Trent has a choice: fight the curse… or give in and use his best friend’s new body the way it begs to be used.

Now every full moon is a nightmare soaked in tits, pussy, and horny flesh. Every howl is a moan, every scream a cry for cock. And Trent has to face the truth: you can’t save your best friend when the moon wants her holes filled.

Link for the PDF File: https://drive.google.com/file/d/12NdTgZzQMPTKIimoCPWSPLG_1LPVx2mr/view?usp=drive_link

Part 4

Trent sat frozen, his back pressed against the passenger door like he needed as much space as the cramped van would allow. His eyes were wide, pupils darting over the grotesque display in front of him, but there was no escaping it — Kyle’s entire body was right there.

The thick slabs of his pecs heaving and twitching with every breath. His abs, eight sharp ridges slick and glistening with sweat and smeared pre-cum, looking like some obscene parody of a fitness poster. His massive cock jerking wet against his stomach, pulsing so violently that each spurt of slick left his belly shining, dripping down between the muscular valleys. And those hands — clawing and scratching desperately at his own nipples like he was losing his mind, moaning out loud, guttural and obscene.

Trent’s throat worked, dry, his stomach knotted in disbelief. His voice finally ripped out of him, louder than he meant, cracking.

“Kyle! What the fuck, man?!” His hands flew up in exasperation, his voice half-scolding, half-panicked. “You’re—you’re fucking naked! Sitting here like—like this!” He pointed at the obscene display of cock and muscle and sweat, his face twisted between shock and anger. “Do you even realize what the hell you’re doing right now? You’re jerking around, moaning, scratching your fucking nipples with your cock out in front of me! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Kyle whimpered through clenched teeth, back arching as his fingers raked his swollen nipples again, another moan breaking free despite his shame.

Trent recoiled, eyes widening even more. “Jesus Christ—you sound like—” He cut himself off, shaking his head violently, refusing to even finish the thought. His voice broke, a note of pleading bleeding through the anger. “You gotta pull yourself together, man! This isn’t you! This—this is insane!”

But the more Trent barked at him, the clearer it was: Kyle couldn’t stop. His body was locked in, thrashing against something far bigger than his will, his voice spilling humiliating sounds that made Trent’s gut twist.

And for the first time in his life, Trent — the guy who’d always known what to do, what to say — realized he had no idea how to save his best friend from what he was watching now.

Trent’s words still echoed in the cramped van, his voice sharp with scolding disbelief. But Kyle barely heard him anymore. The itch in his chest surged, violent, unbearable, setting every nerve on fire.

“Ahhh—fuck—my n-nipples—” Kyle gasped, his voice cracking, almost squeaking on the word. His fingers clawed frantically at his chest, rubbing, pinching, scratching like a man possessed.

And then it happened.

Right there, in the pale moonlight, both of his nipples swelled further, puffing up obscenely. The areolas stretched wider, darker, the tips jutting outward with a raw sensitivity that made Kyle shudder. They weren’t masculine anymore. They weren’t the flat buds that capped his broad pecs. No — they were rounding, shaping, ripening into the soft, swollen peaks of a woman’s chest.

Trent’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck…” His voice was barely audible, hollow with disbelief. His best friend’s nipples — Kyle’s nipples — were changing right before his eyes, transforming into something alien and humiliating.

Kyle’s head snapped back against the seat, sweat flying from his hair, his mouth falling open in a guttural groan. “Nnnghhh—ahhh—fuck, no—no, no—oh god they’re—ahhh—they’re changing—”

His broad chest heaved, pecs flexing and twitching under his desperate fingers, and every time he rubbed those swollen buds, a shock of raw sensation made his hips buck, cock twitching violently against his abs. His breaths came fast, short, ragged little huffs, each one breaking into moans he couldn’t choke back.

“Hhhhnn—ahhh—f-fuck—too sensitive—ahhh, I c-can’t—” His voice cracked again, a note of girlish breathlessness slipping through, making Trent’s stomach twist.

Trent threw a hand up as if to shield himself, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, Kyle—stop touching yourself! Stop—what the fuck is happening to you?!”

But Kyle couldn’t stop. His hands were glued to those swelling, womanly nipples, rubbing, squeezing, moaning with each ragged breath as if his own body was forcing him to indulge in its betrayal. Every gasp and grunt made the horror worse — made it clear to both of them that his pecs weren’t just twitching anymore. They were starting to give.

And for the first time, Trent’s denial faltered. This wasn’t sickness. This wasn’t delirium. Something impossible was happening right in front of him.

Trent slammed his palm against the dash, the crack of flesh on plastic loud in the suffocating silence of the van. His voice came out sharp, almost cracking under the weight of his fear.
“Alright, enough of this shit! You’re losing your mind, man. I’m calling a fucking doctor right now!”

Kyle jerked his head up, eyes wide, wild, drenched in sweat. His hand shot out, fingers clamping tight around Trent’s wrist with a grip that trembled but still carried desperate strength. His face was twisted, pale, every vein in his neck standing out as his voice ripped out of him, raw and broken.

“No!” he barked, the word tearing from his throat like a plea. “No doctor can cure this!”

Trent stared at him, stunned. “What the fuck are you talking about—”

Kyle cut him off, his words spilling too fast, almost hysterical, each one cracked by the tremors running through his chest. “I’ve tried, Trent! You think I haven’t?! I’ve gone to doctors, specialists, anyone who’d listen—nothing works! Nothing can work!”

Trent blinked hard, confusion and anger swirling in his face. “What the hell does that even mean, Kyle?!” His voice rose to a shout now, the fear breaking through. “You’ve tried before? Tried what? What the fuck is going on with you?!”

But Kyle couldn’t answer, because right then his body betrayed him.

It started deep in his chest — his pecs, massive and proud slabs of muscle, twitched violently beneath his swollen nipples. The twitch wasn’t a normal spasm, not a cramp. It rolled through the muscle like a ripple, one side jerking, then the other, hard enough to shake his shoulders. He slapped a hand over them with a strangled grunt, but it didn’t stop. The twitching intensified, rapid pulses firing like sparks under his skin.

“Ahhh—f-fuck!” he swore, voice cracking. His body lurched in the seat, his cock jerking against his abs with every convulsion.

Then it spread downward.

His abs — those perfect, ridged bricks he’d carved with years of sweat — clenched and released in random spasms, each ridge twitching as though something was pressing up from beneath. Sweat and slick from his leaking cock made his whole stomach shine, every contraction glistening as the muscles jumped. The twitching crawled outward into his obliques, sharp, ugly pulses that made his whole torso quake.

Kyle’s head whipped back, eyes squeezed shut, blonde hair plastered to his damp forehead. Spit flew from his lips as he gasped, moaned, swore between each convulsion.

“Nnghh—shit—ahhh—no—no, not here, not now—fuck—” His voice cracked high, humiliating, breaking between groans.

Then his arms joined in.

His biceps, thick peaks of meat he’d sculpted obsessively, twitched in grotesque pulses, jerking up and down as though the fibers were short-circuiting. His forearms flexed and released in spasms, veins bulging and crawling like they were alive under his skin. His shoulders rolled in harsh, uncontrollable jerks, making his whole torso shudder.

Every muscle he had built, every inch of his golden-boy body, was betraying him. The temple he’d carved with iron and sweat was unraveling, convulsing as if mocking him.

Trent sat frozen, the bravado drained out of him, horror dawning in his wide eyes. His voice came out thin, unsteady. “Kyle—your body—it’s… it’s spasming—it looks like it’s tearing itself apart—what the fuck is happening to you?!”

Kyle arched against the seat with a ragged howl, his cock slapping wetly against his abs, painting them with another streak of slick. His chest rose and fell in sharp, ragged jerks, sweat running in rivers down his skin.

His voice broke as he shouted through the convulsions, his words desperate, panicked, obscene.
“F-fuck—oh god—it’s starting—I can’t—I can’t stop it! Trent, don’t watch this! Don’t fucking watch me—!”

But there was no stopping it now.

The twitching was spreading everywhere, a storm of spasms firing through every vein and muscle. His golden body was convulsing violently in the pale moonlight, and Kyle knew—knew in his bones—what came next.

And there was no hiding it from Trent.

Kyle writhed in the seat, every vein in his neck and arms bulging as if he could hold himself together by sheer will. His fingers dug into the steering wheel, vinyl squeaking, knuckles white. His body convulsed in jerks and spasms, each one dragging guttural sounds out of his throat.

“F-fuck—nnnghh—ahhh—no, no, not like this—!” His voice cracked between deep grunts and high, broken whines. “Not in front of you, Trent! God, please—don’t watch me—”

But Trent couldn’t move. He sat frozen, pressed against the passenger door, eyes wide in shock. His best friend, the golden boy of the team, the jock who’d been his shadow since freshman year, was unraveling in front of him. Sweat streamed down Kyle’s body, glistening in the moonlight, every ridge of his abs twitching, his cock jerking violently against his belly with each convulsion.

Trent’s mouth hung open, his breath shallow, as though even he was afraid to breathe too loud. What the fuck is happening? his thoughts screamed, but he couldn’t form the words.

Kyle gasped, sobbing as another wave of spasms rolled through him. His massive chest flexed once, hard enough to bounce, and then… it loosened. His pecs, swollen slabs of power, trembled and began to sag, just slightly, the edges softening under the swollen nipples he still clutched in horror.

“No—oh god, no, no, no!” Kyle’s scream tore through the van, his voice wobbling too high. “Not my chest—don’t take this from me!” His fingers dug into his pecs, squeezing as if he could hold the muscle in place, but under his grip, the flesh twitched, shifted, deflated.

The ridges of his abs followed, spasming violently, then flattening, the valleys between them slick with sweat and leaking pre-cum. Each breath made them less rigid, less defined, as though the stone-cut body he had carved was melting from the inside out.

“Fuck—fuck—no, I worked for this!” Kyle sobbed, every word broken by grunts as his arms twitched uncontrollably. His biceps clenched and released, jerking under the skin, until even they seemed to lose volume, the peaks softening ever so slightly, like air leaking from a balloon. His forearms shivered, veins fading back as the muscle underneath twitched and loosened.

Trent shook his head slowly, lips trembling. His voice came out thin, almost a whisper.
“Oh my god… your body—it’s—it’s shrinking…”

Kyle’s eyes snapped up to him, wide and desperate, tears and sweat streaking down his face. “I told you—I told you this was worse than a fucking wolf!” His voice broke again, high and frantic. His chest hitched, and he cried out in a mix of agony and shame. “It’s stripping me, Trent! Piece by piece—it’s turning me into something else—”

Another spasm hit him, harder, his entire frame jolting as his cock slapped wetly up his stomach. His pecs bounced once more and sagged further, nipples jutting like obscene markers of what was coming.

Trent could only stare, frozen in place, as his best friend’s muscles — the very pride of his golden body — slowly began to betray him.

Kyle’s body shuddered with another violent spasm, his chest heaving, the steering wheel groaning under his white-knuckled grip. His voice cracked raw as he screamed through clenched teeth.

“Fuck—ahhh—stop! Stop this! Not my body—please, not my body!”

Trent couldn’t even answer. He sat paralyzed, eyes wide, every vein in his neck standing out as he stared at the grotesque spectacle unfolding inches away. Kyle’s sweat-slick muscles — the same ones he’d spotted countless times at the gym, admired on the field, envied in the locker room — were… shrinking.

It started in Kyle’s arms.

His thick biceps, once swollen peaks that split sleeves and strained against fabric, suddenly convulsed like they were tearing themselves apart. They flexed violently, jerking, and then — to Trent’s horror — the size began to bleed away.

“No—no, fuck—no!” Kyle shouted, his hands flying off the wheel to clutch at his arms. He squeezed his own biceps desperately, fingers clawing into the trembling meat as if he could hold it in place. “Don’t shrink—don’t fucking shrink! I worked for this! Years—ahhh, years—!”

But his pleas were useless. Under his palms, the massive bulges began to soften, deflating slowly, subtly at first, then more obviously with each spasm. His biceps lost their proud curve, the peaks sinking, the veins fading from the surface as though his body was mocking him.

Trent’s voice finally ripped out of him, horrified, loud in the small space.
“Jesus Christ, Kyle—your arms—they’re—they’re shrinking!”

Kyle’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide and wild, tears streaking down his sweat-shiny face. “I know! You think I don’t fucking know?!” His voice cracked high, a humiliating squeal breaking through before it dipped back down into a grunt. “God, I can feel it—I can feel myself getting smaller—ahhh!”

The twitching traveled down into his forearms, once thick and veined, strong enough to curl plates that Trent couldn’t even budge. They pulsed once, twice, then thinned in grotesque waves, the veins receding, the meaty mass hollowing into narrower, more slender shapes. His wrists looked thinner already, his hands trembling as he reached out toward Trent in horror.

“Look at me!” Kyle begged, his voice splintering. “Trent, look at me—my fucking arms—they’re wasting away!” He flexed hard, veins popping for just a second, but even that movement made the muscle twitch and sag, the definition bleeding out of it.

Trent’s stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat. He wanted to look away, needed to look away, but he couldn’t. His best friend — the golden, dominant jock, the one he’d always seen as a wall of muscle — was deflating in front of his eyes like a balloon with a slow leak.

Kyle’s sobs broke into curses, his words shaking apart between moans.
“Fuck—fuck no—I can’t—I can’t lose this! Not my arms, not my strength—don’t do this to me!”

But there was no stopping it. The biceps that once swelled like boulders were already halfway gone, melting into something softer, weaker, less him. And Trent could only sit there, horrified, as the curse stripped Kyle piece by piece.

Kyle’s arms were still twitching, biceps already a shadow of what they’d been minutes before, when the convulsions in his chest grew sharper. His swollen pecs flexed once, violently, his swollen nipples jutting stiff against the moonlight — and then they sank.

“No—oh god, not my chest—!” Kyle screamed, clutching at himself with trembling hands. His fingers dug into the thick slabs of his pecs, nails raking the sweat-slick skin as if he could hold the muscle in place. “Please—fuck, please not this—I built this—I earned this!”

Trent recoiled against the passenger seat, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. “Jesus Christ…” His voice shook with disbelief. “Your chest—it’s… it’s shrinking…”

And it was.

Under Kyle’s desperate grip, the heavy, rounded meat of his pecs began to deflate. The proud thickness softened in slow, humiliating pulses, each spasm making the muscle quiver before it bled away. The hard shelf of his chest — the one that had made cheerleaders stare, the one that bounced when he flexed — collapsed by inches, flattening against his ribs.

Kyle clawed at himself, moaning, sobbing, his face twisted with shame and terror. “No! Don’t take this from me—I worked every fucking day, I killed myself for these pecs—don’t strip me down like this—ahhh!” His voice cracked higher, a humiliating squeal bursting through the masculine groans.

Sweat and pre-cum glistened across his chest, rolling down into the shrinking valleys of his pecs. His nipples — now swollen, obscene, unmistakably feminine in shape — stood out even more as the muscle beneath them gave way, leaving them perched atop softening flesh.

Trent shook his head violently, his hands gripping his hair, his voice cracking in horror. “This—this isn’t real. This can’t be fucking real! Kyle, your pecs—they’re melting away—!”

Kyle’s chest spasmed again, a grotesque ripple running from shoulder to sternum. He sobbed, clutching at himself harder, squeezing as if he could pack the muscle back in, but his hands only sank deeper into the flesh that moments ago had been solid, firm, immovable.

“F-fuck!” Kyle cried, his whole body jerking. “It’s slipping through my fingers—I can’t hold it—I’m losing everything!”

His chest, once the proud armor of a golden jock, now looked pitifully hollow, slabs of meat turned to trembling softness, his swollen nipples twitching atop the deflating muscle.

Trent could only watch, pale and shaking, as his best friend’s proudest feature dissolved before his eyes.

Kyle’s chest heaved, hollowing where proud pecs once sat, when the next wave of spasms shot lower. His core seized violently, every ridge of his eight-pack flexing hard for a final time — sharp, glistening in the moonlight.

And then, one by one, they began to soften.

“No—no, no, not my abs—!” Kyle’s scream cracked into a sob as both his hands shot down, slapping against his glistening stomach. His fingers dug into the slick valleys between each muscle, clutching desperately like he could hold them in place. “Not these—god, don’t take these from me—they were perfect—every girl loved them—I worked for these—ahhh fuck!”

The ridges twitched violently under his palms, then collapsed, the definition blurring into trembling, smooth flesh. Sweat and pre-cum smeared beneath his frantic fingers, making his abs shine as though mocking their own unraveling.

Trent stared in frozen shock, his voice breaking with disbelief. “Oh my god… they’re—they’re melting…”

Kyle gasped and sobbed, pressing harder, as though he could shove the muscle back into existence. His hands smeared the slick across his skin, each ridge slipping further beneath his palms. “No—don’t you fucking dare!” he howled. “Not my abs—I earned these—years, Trent—years in the gym—they made me—ahhh god, they made me who I was—”

But his pleas dissolved into moans as his fingers met nothing solid anymore. The once-rigid eight-pack flattened with every pulse, the deep cuts fading to shallow ridges, then nothing but a trembling, sweaty plane.

His hips bucked involuntarily, his massive cock smacking wetly against what had once been a perfect stomach, smearing more precum across the softening surface. The sight only deepened his shame.

Kyle wailed, voice breaking girlishly for a moment. “F-fuck! I can’t—I can’t stop it—it’s slipping through me!”

Trent’s gut twisted, bile rising in his throat, but he couldn’t look away. He had seen Kyle show off those abs a thousand times — at parties, at the pool, basking in the attention of girls who fawned over every ridge. And now, in the claustrophobic dark of the van, he was watching them vanish, erased like they’d never been there.

Kyle slammed a fist into his own stomach, a wet slap ringing through the van as sweat and slick sprayed. He stared down at himself, horrified, tears blurring his vision. “Goddammit! They’re gone—they’re fucking gone—what’s left of me now?!”

His voice cracked again into a high-pitched sob, his trembling hands sliding helplessly over the smooth, twitching surface where his eight-pack had been.

And Trent sat frozen, heart hammering, watching in horror as the golden boy’s prized core — the symbol of his strength, his masculinity, his vanity — dissolved right before his eyes.

Trent couldn’t stop staring, even though every part of him screamed to look away. His mind reeled, dragging him back to nights where Kyle was the cocky golden bastard every girl wanted.

He remembered the parties, the poolside get-togethers, the aftergames when shirts came off and the crowd went wild. Kyle always front and center, grinning like a goddamn porn star, flexing those thick pecs until girls squealed, bouncing them like toys. He’d let them paw at him, let their dainty little hands trace over the hard, sweaty slabs of his chest. They’d rake their nails down his abs and coo about how they felt like a washboard, while Kyle tilted his head back and laughed, soaking up every gasp and moan.

Trent had been right there with him. Both of them standing side-by-side like gods in the flesh, women pressing in, fingers sliding over ridges of muscle, palms cupping their pecs like they were squeezing fucking trophies. Trent remembered Kyle winking at him over some blonde’s shoulder as she ran both hands down his shredded eight-pack, whispering how she could come just from touching him. Good friends, Trent thought, bitter bile rising. Good friends who let women worship their bodies together.

And now?

Now Kyle was falling apart.

His cock — that fat, veiny monster that used to swing like a prize in the locker room — slapped wet against his softening stomach, leaking ropes of slick that smeared across the fading ridges of his abs. His pecs, once proud and massive, twitched and sagged, nipples swollen and obscene, jutting like pornographic targets. He was clawing at himself like a lunatic, groaning and whining, his hands sliding across his own sweat-soaked skin as if trying to save what was melting away.

Trent’s stomach lurched. It was grotesque. It was humiliating. It was obscene.

And Kyle’s words wouldn’t leave his head: It turns me into a woman.

Trent’s chest heaved as he shook his head violently. “No—fuck, no. You’re delirious. You’re sick. You’re not—you can’t be turning into a fucking woman! That’s insane!”

But the sight in front of him said otherwise. Those tits of pecs were shrinking under Kyle’s own desperate hands, nipples blown up into slutty little buds. His abs — the same eight-pack girls once licked shots off of — were flattening, one ridge after another, leaving behind a trembling, glistening stomach smeared with pre-cum and sweat. His moans were slipping higher, wetter, more desperate, like a whore already learning how to sound.

Trent’s breath caught, his cock twitching sickly in his jeans against his will. What if it’s true?

What if his best friend — the golden boy, the muscle god, the cock-swinging alpha who had ruled every party — really was being stripped down into a hot, moaning, cursed slut right in front of him?

Kyle’s hands clawed desperately over his torso, fingers sliding uselessly across the mess of sweat and pre-cum that smeared his skin. His abs convulsed in grotesque ripples, the last of their definition jerking beneath his palms before softening.

“F-fuck—no, not my abs—not my fucking abs—!” His voice cracked into a higher whimper, guttural curses breaking into humiliating moans. “God, please, I need them—I worked for these—I fucking lived for these—!”

He tried to brace, to flex hard like he was back in front of a mirror at the gym, showing off. For a moment, the deep grooves of his eight-pack bulged against the sheen of his skin — but then, like wax in heat, they collapsed. The valleys blurred smooth, one ridge at a time disappearing beneath his trembling hands.

Trent’s stomach flipped, bile rising in his throat. His best friend’s golden abs, the ones that girls had drooled over, the ones that had made Kyle the cocky center of every room, were melting away into nothing but slick, quivering flesh.

Kyle sobbed, his head thrown back, blonde hair plastered to his sweat-soaked forehead. His cock twitched violently with every shudder, smearing more sticky wetness up the trembling canvas of his stomach. “Ahhh—f-fuck—it’s slipping—Trent, it’s fucking slipping away—I can’t hold it—!”

His fingers dug into his stomach, nails raking across the surface, desperate to carve the ridges back into place. But the more he touched, the smoother it became — every frantic scrape of his nails leaving nothing behind but glistening, trembling skin.

“Goddammit!” he screamed, voice splintering into a squeal. “They’re gone—they’re all gone!”

His once-proud eight-pack, the wall of muscle he’d flaunted and flexed in front of women who moaned just to touch it, was now completely flat — a smooth, sweat-slick plane that trembled with each convulsion of the curse.

Kyle cradled his stomach in both hands, shoulders shaking with sobs, his voice wobbling helplessly between curses and obscene moans. “I’m nothing—I’m fucking nothing without them—ahhh—f-fuck, Trent, don’t look at me!”

But Trent couldn’t stop looking. His eyes were wide, hollow, locked in disbelief as his best friend, the golden god of their world, sat trembling half-naked in the glow of the full moon, cock twitching wetly against the smooth, stripped ruin of his stomach.

Kyle’s chest and stomach were already ruined — his pecs sagging, his abs melted smooth — when the curse clawed deeper, down into his thighs.

It hit hard. Both legs jerked violently, knees knocking against the steering column as the muscles seized. His quads flexed once, huge and meaty under the denim, bulging the fabric taut… and then they spasmed again, trembling, collapsing with a sickening shudder.

“Ahhh—fuck! Not my legs—!” Kyle howled, clutching at his thighs with shaking hands. He kneaded at them through his open jeans, as if squeezing the muscle would keep it in place. But his fingers only sank deeper, the once-hard quads softening and losing mass under his touch.

Trent’s eyes widened, jaw falling slack. He could see it happening — the denim that had always stretched tight across Kyle’s thighs now sagged, folds forming where there used to be muscle straining for space. The proud lines of his legs, the thick cords of power that carried him downfield, were shrinking away into weaker shapes.

Kyle sobbed, his voice cracking higher with each groan. “Goddammit—I trained these too! Every fucking squat, every sprint—gone—just gone! Ahhh—nnnghh—”

His calves twitched, once bulging ridges now flattening, his jeans loosening as his legs narrowed. His socks slouched as his ankles thinned, trembling in grotesque pulses. His whole lower half looked like it was deflating, his jeans once painted onto his thighs now hanging looser, almost sagging around the diminishing muscle.

Kyle cried out again, words breaking apart with sobs. “Trent—I tried! I swear to God, I fucking tried—I looked everywhere—for doctors, for cures—for anything!” His nails dug into his thighs, dragging across denim as if he could stop the collapse. “But nothing worked! Nothing fucking worked!”

His cock twitched violently against his stomach, spraying another strand of pre across his trembling abs as his voice cracked into a broken squeal.

“I’m—ahhh—fuck—I’m sorry!” he moaned, tears streaking his face. “I failed—I can’t stop it—I’m turning into a bitch… into a fucking chick!”

His words hung in the humid air of the van, thick with the stench of sweat and pre-cum, as his thighs trembled smaller under his palms.

Trent sat frozen, his face drained of color, his voice weak, barely audible. “Jesus… Kyle… oh my god…”

And Kyle could only sob, gripping at his softening legs as the curse stripped away the jock he had built, inch by inch, turning him into something obscene under the silver glow of the moon.

To be continued...