Chapter Eight

Jen tripped, sprawling onto a rug when her knees became jelly. The itchy pricking intensified like ants burrowing into her skin while Jason’s recent criticisms echoed in her ringing skull:

If you’re gonna be my girlfriend…

Was she his girlfriend?

The mousy brunette suspected most girls wouldn’t let a man simply go along with such a bold announcement. Surely, she had a say in that arrangement. Women weren’t objects to be claimed. Not even by cunt-creaming ultra-hunks who literally walked out of her hottest shower time fantasies.

Especially not by them!

For reasons that didn’t come readily to mind as she lay groaning on the floor.

You gotta get good at listening.

Jen was a famously good listener. Everybody said so. It was one of her strengths.

And yet, somehow, Jason—her maybe, possibly, catastrophically ill-advised future studmuffin—had felt unheard. Guilt stabbed at her. No one was perfect, she reasoned (except perhaps him), and this was something she could work on. Hadn’t people always said there was value in being seen and not heard?

“It never hurts to try.” Jen wheezed, curling up into a ball.

She didn’t notice how soft her voice sounded—how the words emerged as little more than moaning breaths. She hadn’t felt it happening, her vocal cords atrophying, until they couldn’t muster more than a lilting, airy whisper.

And dress sexier. Like your friend Danielle.

Jen scarcely knew where to start.

Danielle was a cheerleader—the captain, no less. Athletically lean yet generously endowed in all the right places, she’d been honed like a blade by years of gymnastics and dance practice.

Thusly, the gorgeous blonde’s wardrobe had been painstakingly curated to best emphasise her supremely sleek, feminine figure.

Skinny jeans that traced the length of her legs and cupped her pert backside just so. Crop tops which clung to her full, buoyant chest while showcasing a narrow waist and toned midriff. Minidresses with daring cutouts were saved for frat parties; tiny skirts, strapless tops, and high-heeled sandals were everyday weapons, deployed freely when the summer heat turned the quad into a runway.

But the cheerleader uniform was Danielle’s most lethal weapon. That short, frippy skirt and razor-thin sports bra–emblazoned with the team logo–brought grown men to their knees when she and her squad sashayed onto the sideline on game days.

Then Jen’s drab, loose-fitting clothes began to shift.

Fabric shrank, hemlines receded, and the earth tones brightened. Her training bra and basic panties evaporated. Her shapeless sweater and knee-length skirt reknitted themselves into a red-and-white cheerleader uniform, right down to the white sneakers and frill-top socks. Skimpy and unmistakable, it hung awkwardly from her still-boyish frame.

“Heavens!” She chirped in her new girly girl voice. “I can’t wear this. It doesn’t fit.”

Those cheer babes are smoking. Be more like them.

The power struck again, but this time it didn’t stab or sting; it burned with wondrous heat, which simmered in her stomach then quickly spread.

“Oh… Ohhhhh~!”

Molten pleasure seeping up into her featureless chest, inflating her braless ant bites into proper perky knockers filling out the uniform sports bra like two ripe, gravity-defying grapefruits topped with stiff strawberry nipples that drilled through the thin fabric.

The delirious burning drizzled down over her narrow hips, scrawny backside, and skinny thighs like hot honey. They thickened, swelling with toned muscle, creating a distinctly pinched waist.

The brief pleated skirt no longer hung loose. Now it struggled to preserve Jen’s modesty, swishing a scant millimeter below her three-inch thigh gap. An errant breeze would flash any onlookers her plush booty or pink pussy.

Speak of which…

Scalding energy condensed there, sparking through that sensitive nerve cluster, fizzing and sparkling like pink lemonade.

Jen’s fingers–magically manicured with French-tipped nails–slid between those tightening folds.

Tightening for her beefcake beau, she realized. The reaction was immediate. Electricity arced through her at the first touch—a bolt of lightning from some hedonistic thunder god.

“HYAAAAA!!”

Quivering and convulsing on the rug, she didn’t register the changes occurring above her shoulders.

Bliss blitzed Jen’s brain, bleaching her mud-brown hair as it lengthened, spooling like liquid moonlight down her arching spine. It coiled into a voluminous, waist-long braid of purest platinum, yanking her years of study out by the roots to be replaced by thoughts about parties, cheer routines, social status, and hot guys.

And the hottest guy ever was her fella, Jason.

Gosh, she was burning up just thinking about him. Diddling her skin-tight cheerleader twat in the hallway, praying he would find her there. Maybe he’d drag her back to his bedroom, where she could suck him off while he showed off his trophies and sports memorabilia.

Jen’s lips plumped and became a glossy cherry red when she came again. All the body hair below her fastidiously plucked eyebrows faded into nothingness, leaving behind silken, poreless flesh that shone like fresh silicone.

“J-Jason… Oh, Jason!” She mewled in euphoric throes.

Lean muscle flowed beneath her rapidly tanning skin, sculpting miles-long legs and graceful arms–granting Jen several extra inches in height and reach. She took on the lithe, flexible physique of an Olympic gymnast or a star ballerina–one of those supremely athletic women whose bodies were trained to perfection, at least until their tits grew to pornstar proportions.

“Hey, where’d Naru go?” Jason wandered out of his room, still huge and naked and hard enough to pulverize stone. “I wasn’t done fucking her yet.”

Jen’s heart hammered at the sight of him.

Her Man.

Her knees automatically parted at the sight of him–spreading wide for that magnificent manpole. It would be an exquisitely snug fit, but a college football legend like her Man deserved the best.

Jersey Chasers threw themselves at him. Opposing teams' cheer squads often forgot who they were barracking for when he took the field. Collagen-stuffed MILFs tossed soaked panties from the stands with their phone numbers scrawled onto the lacy waistbands.

Jason had his pick of the horny bunch.

So Jen performed rigorous Kegel exercises multiple times a day to keep her pelvic floor taut for him. She could snap a large carrot with a flex of her internal walls.

She adored the way he stretched out her constricting cunt after every game and practice–howling like a banshee in the showers while the other cheerleaders strummed themselves silly, jealously wishing they were her.

“Hey, babe. Looking good. Like, totally banging.” Jason’s gravelly voice pierced her steamy reverie. “Have you seen Naru?”

Jen looked up to find him looming over her–colossal cock in one hand, the other cradling a brass lamp.

He was so massive, so masculine, so inhumanly hung, she could barely think in his presence. A fat droplet of precum oozed from his corpulent crown, monopolizing her attention.

“Naru?” She chirped. “Who’s that?”

Her tongue lashing out, tasting his intoxicating scent on the air.

Or like Naru—she’s crazy hot too, and an absolute firecracker in the sack.

Naru.

Jen found it difficult to recall anyone while drowning in Jason’s forceful presence with his gorgeous mancock leaking precious spunk. But he asked, and she was his girlfriend, so she tried to focus through the hormonal fog blanketing her mind.

Naru…

The Genie!

The air-headed, cow-titted hoe who’d fucked her Man and done… something to them both. Jen couldn’t rightly remember the details, but she had felt scared for some reason.

Be more like that sex-obsessed uber-skank?

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Jen whispered in her forever-breathy voice.

What energy remained didn’t take her opinion into account; it saturated her sleek, busty cheerleader form until she glowed pink. A rose-tinted corona radiated from her sun-kissed skin as the magic burned out in one last, toe-curling hurrah.

“Yeeeee~!” She trilled rapturously, toppling onto her back.

Jen’s already full knockers inflated like two hot air balloons. The team emblem on her sports bra distended as they kept expanding, rounder and heftier, until the straps creaked and soft titflesh bulged out from every side.

Her haunches flared, thighs thickened, and ass swelled, adding extraneous muscle mass and just enough fat to wiggle when she walked. The pleated cheer skirt became a useless affection riding high above those double-wide hips, essentially a ruffle around her tinyfied waist, leaving everything below exposed to the elements.

And Jason.

“Hell yeah, babe. Fuck! You’re, like, my dream girl now. Everything a red-blooded male could wish for.” He grunted, taking a knee between Jen’s quivering knees to dredge his drool-inducing immensity through her sloppy slit. “Here. Hold onto this for a sec, ‘kay?”

She barely registered Jason shoving something cold and metallic into her pillowy cleavage before he thrust inexorably forward.

The initial penetration breached Jen’s defenses like a battering ram, rocketing her to stratospheric heights of brainless bliss. His steely shaft stretched her out, mercilessly reshaping her insides into the ultimate cock-sheath.

“Jason… gawd! Ahhhh~!” She squealed, squirting pussy juices down his delving dick. “You’re such a stud… Nnnrgh! Mess me up, baby!”

“Alright, sugertits.” He chuckled, settling into a hard, deep rhythm. “Shit, you’re tight and check out those hooters. I like you a lot more this way. Super fuckable.”

Sugartits.

Jen loved it when Jason called her by her favourite pet name.

A pink choker appeared around her throat, with “Sugartits” spelled out in sparkling rhinestones.

But what she loved more was when he pinned her down under his towering bulk and pounded her lights out.

He was huge in every regard. A giant, muscle-bound powerhouse whose hammering blows knocked brain cells clean out of her head–fucking her dumber until all she could do was moan like a whore and worship his amazing bitch-splitter.

“Awww, yeah. Look at those titties bounce.” Jason planted a hand on either side of Jen’s spinning skull, pumping away like a pneumatic piston. “You’re gonna be a good fuckdoll cheerleader for me, aren’t ya? You’re gonna be my obedient little cumdumpster girlfriend from now on, right?”

The very idea was obscene. Outrageous. Misogynistic. She should have, like, slapped him. Rejected him then and there. No modern, educated woman would accept such a subservient role.

Instead, Jen nodded vigorously, bucking her broad hips to meet Jason’s brutal thrusts. She wanted to feel every inch of his totally mind-blowing manpole plundering her clingy depths.

“Yaaassss~! Just for you, baby. Your personal fucktoy. Anything for you… Mmmmph! Never stop fucking me!”

Thoughts of the various ways he might use her bimbo body invaded Jen’s increasingly lurid imagination as another bone-shaking climax crested her ecstatic event horizon.

Getting railed publicly on game days–Jason exorcising his excess aggression by taking her roughly on the sideline while she smiled, giggled, and waved at the cheering crowds.

Sucking and slurping oh-so-prettily under a desk as he pretended to pay attention during class, knowing full well her hunky beau would bully some weedy dork into writing his assignments.

Attached to his arm every day like a glittering ornament. The perfect trophy–scantily attired in teensie micro-dresses, and sky-high heels to flaunt her hyper-feminine figure.

A total bimbo fuckpet.

Only for him.

“Yes, yes, yes! I’m all yours, baby! Nyaaa! You own this stupid cumslut body!” Jen blathered, her hefty honkers bursting free of her uniform top to rebound off her chin. “Oh gawd, I-I’m gonna cum again… Gaaaah~!”

Unable to help herself, crammed the gills with his riotous ramrod, swamped by euphoria, Jen flew apart.

The world became white noise. Her soul floated on clouds of sweet nothingness. Her physical form was ravaged by a hundred lifetimes of carnal gratification compressed into a single mind-melting orgasm.

Was this what people called a life-altering moment?

Because she, like, totes got it now!

Jen returned to reality to find Jason nearing his own lascivious limit. She could almost hear his heavy balls rumbling like two supercharged engines as he jacked into her faster and faster.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” He grunted, handsome face twisted into a mask of bestial lust.

She reached up to gently cup his stubbly cheeks, batting her lavish lashes and gnawing her plump bottom lip. The action smooshed her jumbo jugs between her outstretched arms.

Something lodged in her cleavage began to thrum.

“Give it to me, baby.” She whispered sweetly. “Feed your fuckdoll girlfriend that yummy load.”

Jason’s eye met hers, wide and wild.

Jen smiled, shot him a wink, then squeezed her inner walls like she did during her Kegel exercises.

The pussy hug pushed him over the edge.

“AAAAARGH!!”

He came with a roar, slamming to himself to the base in her constricting cunt, and exploded. She cried out too. Cumming again as his hot sticky deluge blasted her insides.

Because a good bimbo fuckslut always came with her Man.

She shuddered through a whole body spasm, revelling in the gut-stuffing sensations of being filled with Jason’s virile spunk. Wave after wave jetted out of him, bloating her belly until it visibly swelled.

Jen simply giggled and cooed when her belly button popped like a turkey timer. She basked in a dreamy afterglow, not a worry in her vapid, spunk-drunk skull.

Then the thrumming thingy between her titties pulsed with a deafening thunder clap and a flash of blinding light before smoke began spouting from her cleavage.

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