His Perfect Servant

The next morning, a loud knock at the door woke them. Tim was the first to get out of bed, his small, curvaceous body moving instinctively. The moment he opened his eyes and looked around—at the changed room, at his soft, feminine body, and at the muscular Eric lying beside him—anxiety hit him like a heavy wave. He realized clearly that everything that had happened last night wasn’t a nightmare or a hallucination: the changes were real. His body, the memories filling his head, and the uncontrollable urge to fulfill his role—all of it was reality.

Eric woke up too, sitting on the edge of the bed, the muscles in his arms and chest tightening in a natural motion. The knocking sounded again, loud and persistent. Tim, still completely naked, started walking toward the door automatically, driven by the urge to respond to any call from outside. But before he reached it, Eric stopped him in his deep, new voice: "Tim, you’re naked."

Tim froze, his face flushing with intense embarrassment. He turned and looked at Eric’s closet, picking a large, loose shirt hanging there. He put it on quickly, but because of his small body and narrow waist, the shirt was markedly oversized on him. The hem flapped around his curving thighs and reached mid-hips, exposing his plump, completely smooth ass with every movement. The loose fabric clung slightly to his soft skin, and the image reflected in the nearby mirror emphasized the gap between his small, feminine body and the masculine, oversized garment surrounding it. He tried putting on pants from Eric’s side, but no pair made it past his hips. Tim wondered if something from the feminine side of the closet would fit him, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his head.

Eric, for his part, got out of bed and started dressing slowly. He put on tight underwear that covered his thick erection, followed by loose pants, but didn’t bother with a shirt. His muscular chest, defined abs, and arm muscles remained exposed, making him look like a naturally dominant figure who didn’t need to hide. The two stood there, half-naked, facing the persistent knocking.

Tim stood next to Eric, his hands clutching the hem of the oversized shirt trying to cover his body, his gaze full of embarrassment but also the urge to continue fulfilling his role. The shirt, which barely covered his plump ass, couldn’t hide his feminine curves, and the feel of the loose fabric against his smooth skin only reminded him of the change that had overtaken him.

Tim and Eric, still half-naked, approached the front door and released the latch. When they opened it, standing before them was the same goth girl from the bar—the woman who had rejected Tim and caused what they were experiencing. She stood there in the same torn black dress, heavy makeup, and a triumphant look in her eyes. A wide, teasing smile spread across her face. "Can I come in?" she asked in a smooth voice, as if it were a normal request.

Tim, flooded with rage, tried to lunge at her in a burst of anger. "You! You did this!" he shouted, trying to grab her arm. But his new body—small, soft, and curvaceous—didn’t allow him the strength he once had. He looked like a little girl trying to pounce on an adult. The goth woman stopped him easily with one hand, her long fingers painted black gripping his soft wrist and holding him in place without effort. "Calm down, cutie," she said in a calm but firm voice. "If you ever want to break this curse and go back to what you were, you need to listen to what I have to say. Otherwise, this is the state you’ll stay in forever."

Tim tried to shake off her grip, but his body couldn’t compete with her strength. Eric, standing beside him, nodded slowly. "Say what you have to say," he said in his deep voice. Tim, despite his anger, had to agree, and the goth woman released her hold and entered the apartment.

She scanned the space with a satisfied look, her eyes wandering over the framed photos scattered on the walls: Tim on his knees in front of Eric, Tim cleaning the apartment in tight clothes, Tim preparing a meal in a revealing apron. "What a lovely apartment," she said with a sweet smile. "All these photos… so cute. You can really see your love. Tim is so loyal, so perfect in his service to Eric. It’s almost touching."

Tim flinched as if pinched. "Cute? This isn’t love, it’s a spell! You turned me into… his loyal bitch!" His high, soft voice only emphasized the change that had overtaken him, and he stepped forward, Eric’s oversized shirt flapping around his curving thighs and framing his plump ass. "What do you want? What do we have to do for you to release us from this?"

The goth woman sat on the couch, her smile unmoved. She crossed her legs and looked at them with sparkling eyes. "Who are you?" Tim asked. "I’m many things. But for you, I’m someone with powers beyond your imagination. And if you want to undo the curse I cast on you, you need to do one thing. But it won’t be as simple as asking for forgiveness. I need you to understand—truly understand—what the things said in that bar mean. About women and gays, about roles in a relationship, about what a man is supposed to be and what a woman is supposed to be. Only when you prove you understand that, I will release you both." She paused, looking at them expectantly, while Tim stood trembling with anger and embarrassment, and Eric remained quiet, his gaze fixed on her.

The goth woman locked eyes with Tim, who crossed his arms over his chest, trying to preserve some of the pride he once had. Eric’s oversized shirt, which barely covered him, only emphasized his soft, curvaceous body, and she smiled a cold smile as she spoke directly to him.

"You, Tim," she said in a low, measured voice, "spent your whole life belittling women. You talked about them as if they only exist to serve men—to clean, cook, satisfy them sexually, be the ‘perfect woman’ without questions. You said it was their biological duty. At first, when I heard you talk like that in the bar, I thought about turning you into exactly that: the perfect woman for Eric. But then I realized something—you hate gays so much, so sure that a real man can’t be gay, that the real punishment for you would be to become what you believe women are supposed to be and what men are forbidden to be: soft, loyal, ready to serve his man in every way. To be Eric’s perfect femboy. That’s much more fitting."

Tim stood frozen, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment. Eric, standing beside him, half-naked with his muscular, exposed body, raised his gaze and hurled a question at her: "And me? What did I do? I didn’t say anything about women or gays. Why was I cursed too if I did nothing?"

The goth woman turned to him, her gaze piercing. "That’s exactly the problem—you did nothing. Not in the bar, and not throughout your whole life as his friend. You heard him talk like that about women, about their role, about masculinity, and you didn’t stop him. You didn’t object, didn’t try to change his mind, didn’t tell him he was wrong. You stayed silent and let him continue. But if what you told me in the bar was true—that you have no problem with gays—then what happened to you isn’t a curse at all. Becoming a big, strong man with a loyal partner who only wants to serve you sounds like a dream. If it doesn’t bother you, if you feel comfortable with it, then it’s no punishment for you."

She paused again, looking at both of them as someone who knows her words are unraveling the foundation of everything they’re experiencing. Tim stood trembling, his hands clutching the hem of the oversized shirt, feeling the weight of her words—that his punishment stems exactly from the beliefs he himself preached. Eric, on the other hand, looked more lost, his gaze wandering between his new body, Tim, and the goth woman.

The goth woman leaned back, her smile faint. "If you want to break the curse, you need to prove you understand what happened to you. Not just say it, but truly internalize the consequences of what you said." She leaned back on the couch, her gaze cold and determined, and said in a steady voice, "You’ll be given a period of one month. By then, hopefully you’ll understand what the things you said mean, what it means to be on the other side of what you preached your whole life. Only then will I undo this state and you can return to your old lives."

Tim exploded in rage, his red face trembling. "A month? You’re ruining my life for a whole month? Undo this now, you cum-guzzling whore!"

The words barely left his mouth when the goth woman straightened, her eyes narrowing in cold anger. With a sharp, swift hand motion, as if tearing the air, she whispered sharp words, and Tim’s body trembled uncontrollably. His ass—already plump and curving—swelled rapidly. The smooth skin stretched around two enormous, full, juicy globes that grew quickly until Eric’s oversized shirt, which barely covered him, tore at the hem and became useless. His new ass was massive, round, and glossy like that of a top Brazilian butt model—something any woman would have to work years in the gym and on diets to achieve.

Tim looked down in shock, trying to cover his monstrous ass, but to no avail. "Is that all you got?" he barked. "Just giving me a bigger ass? That’s your punishment?"

The goth woman smiled a cold, dangerous smile. "It’s not just a big ass, Tim. It’s the perfect anal ass. It will always be completely clean, ready at any moment to take Eric’s cock, no need for prep. Every part of it knows exactly how to clench, relax, and milk to give him maximum pleasure. You’ll naturally know how to move your body, how to arch this ass, how to twerk it to heighten his enjoyment. But I didn’t just upgrade the ass. You’ll discover you have incredible skill to sexually satisfy Eric with every part of your body. Like your mouth, which has become a professional cock-sucker—knowing exactly how to use your tongue, throat, and lips to bring Eric to climax and make him cum. And Eric’s cum will be the tastiest thing you’ve ever tasted, something you’ll always want to swallow to the last drop."

Tim opened his mouth to bark again, but the goth woman raised her hand in a threatening motion. "If you talk to me like that one more time," she said in a voice cold as steel, "I’ll change the curse entirely. You’ll become a street whore, dressed only in torn lace panties, earning your bread through sex with homeless people, dogs, and human trash. Every day you’ll be filled with strangers’ cum, not Eric’s, with no apartment, no comfort, just nonstop desire to be filled at any cost. That’s the next punishment waiting if you open that mouth again."

The threat cut off Tim’s response like an axe to a tree. He closed his mouth, his eyes burning with anger but also fear. His enormous ass, now completely exposed and impossible to cover with the torn shirt, reminded him of the truth in her words. He stood there trembling, feeling the weight of his new ass, the strange yet familiar sensation of his anal muscles instinctively clenching, as if they already knew exactly how to please Eric.

Eric stood quietly beside him, looking at the goth woman, while Tim was **** to submit to her. The goth woman’s gaze moved between Tim and Eric, a faint smile of satisfaction on her face. "Now that that’s settled," she said calmly, "let me explain your new urges."

Eric, still half-exposed, raised an eyebrow and asked, "What does that mean?" The goth woman nodded toward them. "Your minds belong to the original universe you came from, with all your memories and beliefs. But your bodies now belong to a parallel universe where you live as a couple. In this universe, you love each other, and your bodies recognize that relationship as real and natural."

Tim opened his mouth to shout that they don’t love each other, that it’s all **** on them, but the threat—of becoming a homeless whore—stopped him. He restrained himself, took a deep breath, and muttered quickly, "We don’t love each other. This isn’t a real relationship." The goth woman let out a short, dry laugh. "That’s not up to you. The body has its own needs, and it will **** you to feel them, even if your mind resists."

Eric, catching the contradictions in her words, asked, "What needs exactly?" The goth woman smiled wider. "One urge you’ve already experienced, judging by the smell of sweat filling the room, is the sexual urge. Your bodies are drawn to each other like magnets. If you try to get away from each other—to the other side of the world—it won’t help, and your urges will **** you to be together. The urge isn’t active at the same intensity all the time. After you satisfy it once, there’s a break. But if you try to suppress it, it will only grow stronger over time. The more you delay it, the stronger and more impossible to ignore it will become."

She turned directly to Tim. "And you, Tim, have a wider range of urges. You’ll soon discover you really are Eric’s perfect femboy. The urges include not only the need to pleasure him sexually, but also the urge to clean up after him, cook for him, prepare the home for him, and be available for all his needs. And a variety of appearance urges. Which gives me an idea."

Before Tim could react, the goth woman raised her hand in a smooth motion. The fabric of Eric’s oversized shirt began to change. It shrank and tightened around Tim’s body, turning into a tight, glossy crop top that hugged his curves like a second skin. It emphasized his narrow waist, his slightly swollen chest, and the lines of his enormous ass. At the same time, the lower part of the garment tore and transformed into an extremely thin thong, like a stripper’s—nothing more than a narrow strap that threaded between the monstrous cheeks of his ass. The thin strap barely contained his small erection, which leaked out with every movement.

Tim looked down in shock, his hands touching the tight fabric that exposed almost his entire body. The thin thong disappeared completely between the two enormous globes of his ass, and the crop top left his lower belly, thighs, and ass exposed. He stood there, exposed and ashamed, while the goth woman continued to look at him calmly. "What did you do to me now?" he asked in a distressed, frightened voice, his gaze moving between the new clothes and the goth woman.

The goth woman burst into laughter. "I wanted to give you as much freedom as possible to deal with the situation yourselves. But I couldn’t resist adding another layer to your curse, Tim. From now on, if you try to wear clothes that don’t fit your new body—meaning anything too modest or covering—the garment will automatically start changing. It will become a more revealing outfit, more seductive, more suitable for who you’ve become. The material will shrink, tear, shorten, or expose until it fits your place. And most importantly: no one except you and Eric will notice the change. In everyone else’s eyes, the new garment is exactly what you were wearing from the start. They won’t see anything unusual."

Tim exploded in rage, his hands clutching the hem of the tight crop top. "I can’t go out on the street like this? With this ass jiggling with every step, in a thong hidden between the cheeks and a top exposing my whole belly?" The goth woman laughed loudly, her gaze full of satisfaction. "Of course you can go out on the street like that. But don’t worry, you’re not just a slut for anyone. You belong to Eric. You have a variety of clothes in your closet—short skirts, tight shorts, crop tops, stockings, lace panties, and corsets—clothes you can leave the apartment in if you want. But don’t expect anything modest. Any garment you try to wear will adjust itself to emphasize your body, make it more attractive, expose more. The world around you will accept it as natural. No one will think anything is wrong, hopefully. Only you and Eric will know the truth."

Tim stood frozen, thinking about the closet in the next room. The thought that any attempt to wear something covering would lead to a spell turning it into something more revealing, and that the whole world would see it as normal, stirred in him a mix of rage, embarrassment, and fear. He tried to imagine himself leaving the apartment, his enormous ass jiggling, dressed in clothes fit for a woman.

Eric, still half-exposed with his muscular body, looked more confused than ever. He took one step forward, his gaze fixed on the goth woman. "And what about our family? People at work? How are we supposed to explain… all this to them?" He gestured with his hand toward his own body and toward Tim, whose soft, exposed body in the minimal clothes looked completely alien.

The goth woman sighed, frustrated at having to explain things that should be obvious. "You two really don’t understand what a changed reality means, do you?" She leaned forward, her eyes locked on them. "Reality has changed. Not just you— the entire world around you has changed accordingly. Your parents, your coworkers, everyone you’ve ever known—they all now live in a reality where you’re a couple. Eric, everyone sees you as this sexy, big, strong man. And Tim, everyone thinks you’ve always been this femboy, the loyal and devoted one who lives to serve Eric. No one will think anything is strange or wrong. For them, this has always been reality."

Eric shuddered, his hands clenching into fists. "But how are we supposed to live like this? Everything’s different. We don’t know where we work or how people expect us to behave." The goth woman smiled, a smile both reassuring and threatening. "Use the urges. Like I said, your bodies are adapted to this reality, and they know what to do. You have many urges, and they’re not there to punish you—they’re there because that’s what your bodies know. If you’re not sure where your workplace is, let the urge lead you. Feel where the body wants to go, and it will take you there. If someone asks you a question about the past—about meeting, about the relationship, about shared life—let the urge answer. The memories you need will flow to you the moment you open your mouth. If you work with the urges, they won’t control you. But always remember: you can’t just ignore them. The more you suppress them, the stronger they’ll grow and **** you to act."

Tim stood quietly, his hands clutching the hem of the tight crop top, feeling the thin thong cutting between the cheeks of his enormous ass. He wanted to shout, to say he doesn’t want to fit into this reality, that he doesn’t want these urges to control him. But the goth woman’s earlier threat—of turning him into a street whore—echoed in his head, and he restrained himself. Instead, he just looked at her, his eyes full of a mix of rage and helplessness.

Eric took a deep breath, trying to process her words. "So we just have to… be like this? Pretend we’re this couple?" "Not pretend," the goth woman corrected. "Live. Your bodies already know how. Let them show you."

The goth woman rose from the couch in a smooth motion, her gaze scanning them one last time. "That’s enough explanations for today," she said decisively. "Surprise is the spice of life. You’ll learn to know your urges yourselves." Tim saw that the goth woman was about to leave but still had so many questions. Trembling with a mix of rage and confusion, one question escaped his mouth: "What’s your name?"

The goth woman smiled. "Hildi," she answered, and in that moment vanished as if she had never been there, leaving the apartment quiet and empty.

Tim and Eric remained alone in the living room, their gazes meeting in an atmosphere of complete uncertainty. Eric took a deep breath, his muscular body moving with determination. "Maybe we should try," he said. "These urges can guide us if we let them. Let’s try releasing the body and see where it takes us."

Eric closed his eyes for a moment and let go of the resistance. His body began to move naturally, as if it knew exactly what to do. He walked to the shared bedroom, opened his closet, and pulled out a workout set: a tight sleeveless tank top, short, stiff training shorts. He stripped off the underwear and pants he was wearing, exposing his fully athletic body—broad chest with defined abs, strong thighs, and a heavy erection resting between his legs. When he put on the tank top, the fabric stretched over his chest and shoulder muscles, emphasizing every line and bulge, while the short training shorts hugged his thighs and drew attention to his prominent erection. His body felt natural in this outfit, as if it was always meant for it.

At the same time, Tim let go of his resistance, but his body took him in a completely different direction. His legs carried him to the kitchen, and he felt the weight of his enormous ass moving with every step—two plump, juicy globes that shifted his center of gravity backward, causing his waist to sway and his thighs to rub together. The sensation was strange and bizarre: every movement caused the cheeks to part and come together again, as if his body moved around a massive point of attraction, yet at the same time it felt surprisingly familiar, as if he’d always known how to move this ass to emphasize its curves. Part of him found something sexy in it—the natural motion that made him feel exposed and arousing.

When Tim reached the kitchen, breakfast recipes began flowing into his head: scrambled eggs, perfect toast, fresh coffee. He immediately understood that the dominant urge was telling him to make Eric breakfast. "No," he muttered to himself, fighting the feeling. "I’m not his servant." He tried to ignore the urge, to turn and walk away from the counter, but his body kept pulling him forward. His hands trembled as they took an egg from the fridge, as if the action was inevitable. He fought with all his strength—tried to put the egg back, tried to walk away from the stove—but the urge grew stronger, and Tim felt as if he was being torn apart from the inside. Finally, after an exhausting struggle, he reached a compromise: he wouldn’t make a full meal, just one fried egg. Just a small action, just to ease the unbearable pressure.

He turned on the pan, cracked the egg, and let it cook. With every motion he felt his enormous ass jiggle and sway, pulling his body backward and forcing him to balance himself with natural, slightly seductive movements. The internal struggle didn’t disappear—he hated the fact that he was cooking for Eric—but the feeling of partially fulfilling the urge brought some relief, like releasing pressure that had built up too much. The fat ass, despite its strangeness, gave him a certain sense of control over his movements, as if his body knew exactly how to move those curves to look attractive and devoted.

Tim placed the plate on the table in front of Eric, who was sitting in the dining corner. On the plate was one fried egg, perfectly cooked, with a runny yolk and a golden ring around it. Eric looked at the plate in surprise and said, "Thanks." Tim, standing in front of him with his enormous ass exposed under the tight crop top, replied with clear frustration: "Hope you enjoy it, because this is the last time I make you anything."

The moment the words left his mouth, a sharp stab flashed in his head, like an internal warning. He knew it was the urge—a quiet threat reminding him that resistance wouldn’t come without a price. He tried to ignore it, leaning on the table and trying to maintain control.

Eric picked up a fork, tasted the egg, and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "This is a really good egg," he said. "I’m not sure if it’s my urge to enjoy everything you make, or your urge to cook turned you into an expert chef. But it’s really tasty." Tim snorted in disdain. "Doesn’t matter. The main thing is we get through this damn month." He averted his gaze from Eric’s bulging muscles and his new, attractive face, but an invisible pull began working inside him. He tried to resist, to stay on his feet, but his soft legs gave in and he fell to his knees in front of Eric, his trembling hands pulling down Eric’s workout shorts.

"What are you doing?" Eric asked, his gaze surprised but not distant. "I’m not in control," Tim breathed, his voice trembling. "It’s the urge." He kept resisting, trying to stand, but the sexual urge was far stronger than the cooking one. He couldn’t take his eyes off Eric’s thick, long cock that was revealed before him. Without full control, he leaned forward, his lips wrapping around the head of the erection, and in that moment began working as if he were a born expert.

His mouth operated with perfect precision: his tongue stroked the entire underside of the shaft, circled the head with every suck, and his throat relaxed to take greater depth. He knew exactly how to move his head—back and forth in smooth, measured motions, mixing fast movements with deep sucks—and that knowledge filled him with uncontrollable pleasure. Every moan from Eric sent a wave of satisfaction through his body, as if Eric’s pleasure was the only goal he had. He tried to fight the feeling, to try not to cum himself, but every suck intensified the pleasure.

After a few minutes of professional sucking, Eric shuddered and came in his mouth. The cum erupted forcefully, filling Tim’s throat, and the taste—rich, salty, and addictive—was exactly as Hildi had described: the best thing he’d ever tasted. He swallowed every drop, his body trembling with uncontrollable satisfaction.

Eric breathed a sigh of relief, and then, as if by instinct, raised his hand and delivered a hard slap to Tim’s enormous ass. The smack sounded like a whip, and Tim’s huge ass jiggled and bounced. The slap was the straw that broke the camel’s back: Tim moaned loudly and came in the thin thong, his small erection spurting its load and leaving a small, wet stain on the narrow strap.

Tim remained on his knees, breathing heavily, his body trembling from the mix of humiliation and pleasure. The sexual urge calmed temporarily, but he knew it would return. Eric took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on Tim sitting on his knees, his face flushed and eyes confused. "I’m sorry," Eric said in a low voice. "I didn’t mean to do that."

Tim shook his head, stood on his trembling legs, and raised his gaze to him. "It’s okay. These urges make us do things we have no control over. Let’s just survive this damn month." He averted his gaze toward the shorts Eric was starting to pull up. "What are you even wearing?"

Eric looked down at the tight workout clothes hugging his muscular body. "Workout clothes," he answered. "Don’t know why I chose them. Just… the urge led me to the closet, and my body knew what to wear. But I think the urge wants me to go out now."

Tim sighed. "Then let the urge take you out. Go explore this reality. Maybe you’ll learn something that’ll help us figure out how to break this curse." Eric raised an eyebrow. "You sure?" Tim nodded firmly. "Yeah. Better you go out into the world than me. Who knows what could happen to me out there, with these clothes and this ass." He gestured toward his enormous backside. "I’d rather stay here in the apartment, try to understand the situation from the inside."

Eric agreed, closed his eyes for a moment, and let go again. The urge led him to the bedroom, where he took a large black gym bag, put in a water bottle, towel, weight belt, and a pair of sneakers. He left the apartment without further hesitation, leaving Tim alone.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind Eric. He was alone, for the first time since it all began. Then he looked down and noticed a white, glossy drop of cum left on his tight crop top, near where his mouth had touched Eric’s erection. The urge awakened immediately—an uncontrollable need to lick the drop, to taste that flavor again. He tried to resist. "No," he muttered to himself, trying to move away from the stain. "I won’t give in." But the urge grew stronger and took over his body. His hand rose involuntarily, his finger touched the drop of cum and brought it to his lips. He licked it, and the taste—rich, salty, and addictive—flooded his sense of taste again, exactly as Hildi had promised. The pleasure was immediate and impossible to ignore, causing his body to tremble slightly.

Tim breathed heavily, now understanding the full scope of the problem. The sexual urge was far stronger than any other urge he’d felt so far. While the struggle to make an egg required effort but allowed compromise, the urge to respond to Eric’s cum or pleasure him was almost impossible to stop. He concluded it wasn’t accidental: Hildi had surely planned it that way, to ensure he couldn’t completely ignore the role **** upon him.