After Glow

Steven lay sprawled on the cool apartment floor, a quivering, sweat-slicked goddess of excess, his body humming with the aftershocks of obliteration. He couldn't believe it—seven orgasms, each one more shattering than the last, ripping through his core like lightning storms of pure, feminine ecstasy. Waves of pleasure had crashed endlessly from his stretched pussy, clit pulsing in rhythm with his hammering heart, inner walls fluttering greedily around Shana's invading cock even as she withdrew. God, no wonder I was jealous, he thought hazily, plush lips parted in a dazed, breathy pant. Women always looked like they were ascending to heaven during sex—their bodies arching, tits bouncing, moans escalating into symphonies of surrender. Now he knew: it was the most intense, all-consuming bliss imaginable, every nerve alight, pussy milking cock like a velvet vice, orgasms chaining into one endless, squirting crescendo that left him boneless, glowing, fulfilled in a way his old dick could never match.

Shana had pulled her massive 10-inch cock free with a wet pop, the veined monster glistening with his creamy nectar. Still throbbing, she gripped it in one meaty fist—biceps flexing like coiled pythons—and stroked the final, furious pumps. Her balls tightened, and she erupted in a guttural roar, thick ropes of hot cum blasting across the floor in a massive, pearly puddle—gallons of it, viscous and steaming, far more than Steven had ever produced in his life. It pooled obscenely beside him, the musky scent filling the air, a testament to her hyper-masculine potency.

Then—nothing. Without a word, without a caress, Shana bolted upright, her chiseled Adonis frame moving with mechanical haste. She yanked on her jeans over those tree-trunk quads, the fabric straining audibly, then shrugged into her tank top, muscles rippling as she zipped up. The door slammed behind her fleeing form, leaving only the echo of her boots in the hall. Little did Steven know, but that peak of savage lust had shattered instantly—men's post-nut clarity hitting like a freight train, plunging her into a void of nothingness. Horny as sin one second, utterly deflated the next; no lingering afterglow, no hours of simmering desire like a woman's body craved. Women stayed wet and wanting, pussies aching for round two, three, four. But men? Peak and plummet. And Shana—unprepared for the crash—felt the full weight of guilt slam into her like a tsunami.

What the fuck have I done? Crystal-clear regret clawed her gut as she fled down the stairs, heart pounding not from exertion but terror. The curse, the ****, the fucking—it all crystallized in that empty haze. He begged me to get fat... worshipped every pound I gained. If I'd just let myself balloon, stuffed my face till my ass wobbled like hers... he'd have stayed forever. Fucked me senseless, adored me as his BBW queen. The revelation from mid-thrust echoed mockingly: the intoxicating jiggle, the plush grip of thick curves enveloping her cock, the way his pussy sucked her in like liquid sin. I get it now—why he pleaded. It feels like godhood. But she'd ruined it—cheated, starved herself gaunt, cursed him into her fantasy body just to spite him. Shame burned hotter than any orgasm; she couldn't face him, couldn't explain. So she ran, boxers still transforming her below, glasses clutched in her pocket for the glamour disguise, vowing to never return... yet knowing the addiction would drag her back.

Steven remained on the floor, naked and radiant, his voluptuous form a masterpiece of lewd perfection: 102ZZZ tits splayed like overripe melons, nipples still stiff and rosy from ****; hips flaring into that three-foot shelf of ass, cheeks dimpled and flushed from spanks; thunder-thighs slick with cum and squirt, pussy lips puffy and gaping, drooling a steady trickle of mixed fluids onto the hardwood. He glowed—skin flushed pink, long brown waves tousled like a just-fucked siren, high cheekbones dewy with sweat. And the horniness? Still there, a low, insistent throb in his core, pussy clenching emptily, clit begging for fingers or tongue despite the satisfaction. Hours to go, he marveled, one hand drifting lazily to cup a massive breast, thumb circling the nipple—sending fresh sparks zinging to his slit, a soft, girlish moan escaping his plump lips. Fuck... I could cum again just thinking about it.

To his right lay the cursed duo: the white bra and panties, satin stained with sweat and juices, whispering their siren call. But beside them? A new bra—identical 102ZZZ size, but a vibrant, slutty pink, cups embroidered with delicate lace that screamed whore. "Did she leave that behind? What a cunt," he huffed in his high-pitched, adorable soprano—cute as a button, husky with lingering lust. The sound made his pussy twitch; he bit his lower lip, imagining how it'd feel to beg in that voice.

He knew the rules now, burned into his mind from Shana's taunts: Sleep without the garments tonight, and the curse fades by morning. Back to flat chest, cock intact, hips narrow—normal Steven, safe and un-jiggly. Just crash on the bed, ignore the ache. But as he shifted, ass cheeks spreading wide against the floor, tits wobbling hypnotically, pussy weeping fresh arousal... the pink bra seemed to pulse, promising even more—swelling curves, endless orgasms, a night of self-fucking fingers plunging deep while he moaned like a pornstar. His hand hovered, heart racing, the choice hanging heavy in the cum-scented air.