Manager Turned Porn Star

You grin, looking forward to the man getting his own comeuppance. In the mean time, you take a moment to admire your new body. You run a hand down your bare chest, feeling the rippling muscles, and you try flexing them. It comes naturally, easily.

"Woah"

Looking further down, you see (and feel!) the huge bulge in the jeans you find yourself wearing. What would it be like to use this cock on someone? Hopefully you don't have to wait long to find out. You're about to reach down and see exactly what you're working with when the sound of a high-pitched scream echoes from somewhere deeper in the motel.

*That didn’t take long.*

You bolt out of your room, barefooted, the carpet rough under your soles as you sprint toward the source of the noise—the manager’s office. You skid to a stop just outside the door, hearing a frantic, breathless voice inside, confused and panicking in a way that can only mean one thing.

"It's—no, what the hell is—*WHAT THE HELL?!"*

You push the door open, and there he is—or rather, *she* is.

The manager had transformed into one of the porn stars from the DVD—a thick, busty, plush-hipped brunette with a waist that looked poured into her outfit. His tiny hands—manicured nails now—were squeezing unrestrained, voluptuous breasts, the sheer weight of them spilling between his fingers. The cheap, unbuttoned collared shirt the manager had been wearing now strained against a figure that could barely be contained, the fabric stretched taut over pillowy curves. His slacks were pooled around his ankles, revealing thick, quivering thighs and the shadow of a thong digging into soft flesh.

You have a passing thought about what clothes swap in and out of the DVD, but are interrupted by the high pitched growl.

"You—*what did you do to me?!"* The manager's voice was ****, indignant, and cracking as he grabbed fistfuls of his own tits. "Why the fuck do I have TITS?"

You hold up your hands, suppressing a smirk. "Hey, man—*whoa.*" His wild, disbelieving glare snaps up at you. "Not my fault. You took the DVD, remember?"

"BUT IT WAS JUST PORN!" He looks down, shaking his head in disbelief, then peeks under the hem of his shirt at the thong that barely covers what is now undeniably a *pussy.*

You shrug. "Yeah, well. Guess we both learned something today." You can’t help but glance at his chest again—damn, those were *impressive.*

He follows your gaze, *horrified.* "HEY! My *eyes* are up—oh my god, I can't believe I just said that..." His hands fly to his face, prodding his thicc lips, cheeks flushing deep red. "This is *impossible.* What the hell kind of *monster* DVD puts tits like this on a—a *guy?!*"

You snort. "To be fair, you're not exactly a guy anymore. Look at you."

He pauses, then slowly drags his hands down his (her?) body—pinching the soft swell of his stomach, groping the ridiculous fullness of his chest again, even curiously pressing a finger between his thighs—before shuddering violently.

"I think I’m gonna be sick," he mutters.

You smirk. "Want me to hold your hair back for you?"

He scowls back at you. "Fix this. *Now.*"

"Well, I miiiight have some ideas on how to go about that"

You stare at his tits again, and you can feel your own monster stirring in your pants.

"But first we could put that body to good use."

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