Confront the man

"Let her go!" I shout as I sucker-punch the man. My fist connects with his temple—a sloppy, **** swing—and his grip loosens just enough for the woman to gasp, saliva dripping from her swollen lips. The man staggers but doesn’t go down, his dark eyes snapping to me with a feral intensity. The woman collapses forward, coughing, her nails scraping against the pavement as she tries to crawl away. The man’s nostrils flare, his muscles tensing as he takes a step toward me. I can smell him—sweat, musk, something primal—and my own body betrays me, my pulse hammering in my throat. He lunges.

Seeing that he is 6'4" and jacked, I know I can't take his direct attack, and shift left, preparing to give him gut punch on the return. As he falls back, he tries to use the wall for support, allowing me to grab him from behind and shove him against the surface while he's distracted. On gut instinct, I begin asserting verbal dominance.

"Not only am I going to steal your slut," I snarl, pressing my fist hard into his gut until he whimpers, "I'm going to see how much you enjoy being one." The heat radiating off him is dizzying—muscle twitching under sweat-slick skin as my cock strains against my own tight jeans, prodding between his cheeks. He grits his teeth, hips jerking when I grind against him, but the groan that tears from his throat isn’t just pain.

I can feel myself becoming stronger, more masculine, even as he begins to plead. "PLEASE! I'm sorry! Don't... I was just.... FUUUUUCK!" he begs as he feels his muscles weakening, his penis rapidly shrinking as I pin his legs and start rubbing against an ass that is rapidly becoming a sexy bubble butt.

His pleas turn to ragged gasps as I grind against him, my cock throbbing against his now-plush ass—each thrust making his body twitch. His once-powerful thighs tremble under my grip, muscles softening, his dark skin glistening as his frame shifts, curves swelling where hard angles used to be. His shrinking cock jerks pathetically against his thigh, dribbling pre-cum as mine grows harder, thicker, straining against fabric that barely contains me anymore. "F-Fuck, no—" His voice cracks, higher now, breathy. His hands scrabble at the wall, fingers slender where they were rough before, nails scraping brick as his hips arch involuntarily against mine.

I smirk as his voice cracks again, higher now—almost melodic. His throat bobs with a whimper, his Adam’s apple shrinking beneath my grip. His chest heaves, skin stretching taut as two swollen mounds push outward, round and heavy, the nipples darkening to stiff peaks. The bastard’s sneer twists into a gasp as his new tits jiggle with every ragged breath, the weight of them dragging him forward until his forehead presses against my shoulder. His fingers scrabble at my arms, but there’s no strength left in them—just soft, manicured nails digging half-moons into my skin.

I let him notice my gaze as I appreciate the changes caused by my victory, before giving his/her new fat, round tits a hard slap that causes my own engorged cock to twitch in satisfaction, even as her hair grows longer, as the transition to female reaches conclusion.

My fingers dig into the soft flesh of his—no, her—hips as she whimpers against my shoulder, her breath hitching when I finally pull back enough to let her see my gaze raking over her. Her once-fierce eyes are wide now, lashes fluttering as they dart between my face and the obscene swell of her own chest, the dark nipples stiffening under my scrutiny. A choked sound escapes her throat when I drag my thumb over one pebbled peak, her back arching as if torn between resisting and pressing into the touch. I don’t let her decide.

"That's what I want." I find myself growling, before slapping her tits again—the sharp crack of flesh on flesh making her jolt, her swollen nipples pebbling harder as a whimper shudders through her. Her body trembles, still caught between defiance and surrender, but her thighs press together instinctively, slickness betraying her. "You, both of you, come over here." My voice drops lower, rougher, as I finally tear my gaze from her to the woman I’d "rescued"—the one who’d fled but hadn’t gone far, her breath shallow as she watches from the alley’s shadows.