Marcus

Later that day, after a long, hot shower where I spent at least ten minutes just appreciating the simple, uncomplicated joy of having a dick again, after a tearful, relieved reunion with Liam (who looked like he hadn’t slept in days), we found him.

Marcus Thorne. In the boys’ shower room after soccer practice, just as I had been. He was alone, toweling himself off, his back to us. He looked... different. Softer. His usual arrogant swagger replaced by a strange, hesitant uncertainty. He turned, and my jaw dropped. Liam gasped beside me. Marcus Thorne, the king asshole, the bully, my tormentor... had breasts. Small ones, yes, just budding beneath his skin, but undeniably, unmistakably female breasts. His face was softer, prettier. His hips held a new, subtle curve. The curse was already at work. And judging by the look of dawning horror and confusion on his face as he stared down at his own chest, he was just beginning to understand.

And then, he saw us. Me and Liam, standing in the doorway, watching him. His eyes widened with a new, dawning terror. He knew. Somehow, he knew we were connected to this. I stepped forward, a cold, predatory smile on my face. Liam flanked me, his expression grim but resolute.

“Well, well, Marcus,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “Looks like you’re having a bit of a... hormonal imbalance yourself. Funny how karma works, isn’t it?”

Marcus stumbled back, clutching his new, unwelcome breasts. “What... what did you do to me, Riley?!” he shrieked, his voice cracking, already taking on a higher, more feminine pitch. “Just passing on a little gift,” I purred. “A little something to help you... explore your sensitive side.” I took another step closer. Liam moved to block the exit. “Now, Marcus... or should I say, Marcie?... I seem to recall you being very interested in what it’s like to be... used. To be fucked. To be someone’s little bitch.”

His eyes widened further, pure terror reflecting in them. He knew what was coming. And then, I felt it. Or rather, I saw it in his eyes. The urge. The curse, now his, flaring to life, triggered by our proximity, our maleness. His face flushed. His breath hitched. His body began to tremble. He tried to fight it, I could see the struggle in his eyes. But it was too strong. Too new. Too overwhelming. He looked at me, then at Liam, his gaze ****, hungry, utterly, hopelessly... female.

“I...” he whispered, his voice a broken, feminine plea. “I need you...” Liam and I exchanged a look. A dark, knowing, triumphant look.

“Oh Marcie,” I said softly, unbuckling my belt. “I think very much yes, you do.” The tables, as they say, had well and truly turned. And this time, Ethan Riley was going to enjoy every goddamn second of it.