Shower first

I was still panting when he finally let me go.

My legs trembled as I slid off him, cheeks flushed, body soaked in sweat and cum and magic. He gave me a soft kiss behind the ear and whispered, “Go clean up, baby.”

So I did.

I grabbed a towel and stumbled to the bathroom, my body buzzing from everything. The mirror fogged as the water ran hot, steam curling around me like a blanket. I stepped inside and let it all melt off—the need, the ache, the wild energy he’d left me with.

The first thing I noticed?

No stubble.

Not on my legs. Not under my arms. Not anywhere.

My skin was completely smooth. I ran my hands down my thighs, marveling at the soft glide of my fingers over skin. No razor burn. No itching. No hair.

Just me—perfectly clean.

I bit my lip and let my hands wander.

The water hit my back and rolled over my ass, now plump and curved, and I let out a soft moan as I arched into the stream. My chest tingled as I cupped my breasts, nipples peaking instantly under the spray.

God, I’m so sensitive.

But something else was happening.

I leaned forward, bracing against the shower wall—and paused.

The tile looked a little higher up than it did yesterday.

I blinked, looked down at my feet, then stood straight again.

My heart pounded.

The changes weren’t done.

I wasn’t imagining it. I was shrinking.

Not dramatically. But it was there. My center of gravity felt lower. The showerhead, just above my head yesterday, now hovered at eye level. My legs looked shorter. More delicate. My waist tighter.

I gasped and pressed a hand to the wall for balance.

The change was slow but constant. And it made me ache.

I reached down between my legs, brushing my small, sensitive cock—and whimpered. Even touching myself felt like too much. My hips rocked into my hand without thinking. My thighs trembled.

I sank to my knees in the tub, the water raining down, and let my fingers explore everything.

My body was perfect.

Smooth. Small. Feminine.

My chest bounced slightly with each breath, the water making everything slick and shiny. My ass spread against the tub floor as I shifted, squeezing my legs together, teasing myself with the slow glide of my fingers.

Every part of me responded.

I moaned, high and sweet, and kept stroking.

This was what I was becoming.

Smaller.

Softer.

His.

And as I came again, hard and helpless, I knew I wouldn’t go back.

I didn’t want to.

I belonged to this transformation.

To him.

To everything he was making me.

When I finally rinsed off, I stood up shakily, clutching the wall for balance. Even that had changed. My limbs felt lighter, more delicate—my center shifted again, like I was getting used to a brand new body.

I stepped out, dried off slowly, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My chest was red and swollen, my nipples sensitive and proud. My waist was so tiny now. My hips flared out wider than ever. And my cock… barely visible between my thighs unless I spread them.

I looked beautiful.

I looked like his dream.

And when I heard him call softly from the bedroom—“Logan, baby… come show me what you look like now”—

I smiled.

Because I couldn’t wait.