Examine the grimoire again.

You step out of your overlarge clothes and approach the altar to look at the book. It sits open now. You finger yourself with one hand as you try to think. You can’t read its ancient text now because of the feeblemind spell. Still the unreadable letters are strangely engaging. You stare at them as the grimoire’s magic nudges your thoughts somehow.

• Deeper. Up a bit. Good girl. - it compels you.

Under its guidance, your fingers find the overly sensitive cluster of nerves that is your G-Spot and you sway, grabbing the altar for support. That felt incredible. “Fuck… me…” you gasp.

You need to think your way through this. Maybe… You need another wizard to undo this. Someone who can be your master and who has a big cock and can… you moan at the train of thought. Images of being a submissive, obedient fuckpet bent over the alter and fucked from behind enticing you.

No. You have to do this yourself. Unless… wait. You have magic items. Don’t you? Yes. Magic items. You struggle to remember but it’s really hard to think with your fingers jammed so deep in your hot new pussy. And your g-spot craves attention. You can think after you cum, maybe.

You take a deep breath, heart pounding in your chest. You had to obey. You needed to obey the geas. "I don’t want to be a girl…" you whined softly, the words sounding uncertain to you.

"But it feels so good," your pussy clenched around your fingers as the words left your lips, and you felt a surge of pleasure wash over you. It’s seductive, better than anything you’ve ever felt. "Do I want to be a girl?” you moaned, your fingers moving faster as you felt the pleasure build. "I want to be a good girl," you panted, your body writhing in pleasure.

You had always been curious about what it would feel like to be a woman, hadn’t you. But you’re not nearly enough of a woman. You reach out and touch the book again and felt your body change, the weight of your breasts pressing against you as they grew larger and fuller, the softness of your skin as it smoothed out and became more feminine. You grew shorter. Less than five foot now. Tiny.

"What am I doing!" You gasp.

“I was wondering the same thing…” you hear a male voice observe. You know that voice. Your rival. Houser. You turn. Fingers still crammed in your tight little snatch. Guilty and embarrassed. But you don’t remove them.