Call your best friend

You grab your phone with trembling fingers and pull up Mike's contact. He's been your wingman for years—surely he'll help you through this nightmare. As you press call, another wave of heat washes through your new body, making your thighs clench involuntarily.

"Hello?" Mike's groggy voice answers. He sounds like he just woke up.

"Mike, it's me—" you start, then falter as your melodic feminine voice surprises you again. "It's Daniel. Something fucking insane has happened. I need your help."

"Who is this?" Mike sounds confused, then interested. "Daniel doesn't have a sister... or does he? Because you sound hot as fuck."

"No, it's ME. Daniel. I woke up like this. There's some kind of family curse and—" You stop speaking abruptly as a powerful throb pulses between your legs. Your free hand unconsciously moves to your breast, squeezing it through the thin white t-shirt. The sensation makes your back arch and a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

"What was that?" Mike asks, suddenly fully awake. "Are you... are you touching yourself right now?"

"N-no," you lie, forcing your hand away from your breast. Your nipples are painfully hard against your shirt. "Listen, I need help. I've been transformed into a woman and there's this letter saying I have 24 hours before—"

"Is this some kind of prank call?" Mike interrupts. "Because if it is, it's working. I'm getting hard just listening to you breathe."

The crude comment reminds you of conversations you've had with Mike about women—conversations that now make your stomach turn with their callousness. But before you can respond, another intense wave of arousal crashes over you. Your new pussy throbs with need, growing slick with desire. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve the pressure, but it only intensifies the sensation.

"Oh god," you gasp into the phone, unable to control the needy sound of your voice.

"That's it," Mike says, his tone changing to something darker, more predatory. "Keep making those sounds. I'm coming over. Text me your address."

"No, that's not—I'm at my place," you say without thinking. "But don't come over, I need advice, not—"

"Your place?" Mike sounds confused. "You mean Daniel's place? What are you doing there? Are you fucking with him right now?"

"No, I AM Daniel!" you insist, frustration mounting alongside your unwanted arousal. "Something happened on my birthday and—"

"Sure, whatever game you're playing, I'm in," Mike cuts you off. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't start without me."

The line goes dead before you can protest further. Panic rises in your chest as you realize what you've done. Mike is coming over, and he clearly doesn't believe you're his friend. He thinks you're some random woman in his friend's apartment, making sexual noises over the phone. And worse, your body is responding to the idea with a fresh surge of wetness between your thighs.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you mutter, dropping your phone on the bed. You have fifteen minutes to either barricade yourself in your apartment or figure out how to convince Mike of the truth. Your mind races with possibilities, but your body has other ideas, your hands drifting unconsciously toward your aching breasts and throbbing sex. It takes all your willpower to pull them away, but the need remains, an insistent pulse demanding satisfaction.