Day 8

You woke to the soft ding of your phone on day eight.

Morning light cut across the sheets. For a few disoriented seconds everything felt normal—until the familiar heavy softness on your chest shifted with the breath you took. Your hands rose on pure reflex and cupped the new weight. The boobs had grown again overnight. Full, sensitive, the nipples already tight against the soft cotton of the sleep shirt you had started wearing because anything rougher felt like too much. You squeezed gently and a low, involuntary sound left your throat. The tissue was denser than yesterday, the shape rounder, the underside heavier. Whatever the clinic’s compound had done to your endocrine system was still rewriting you while you slept.

You reached for the phone with one hand still cupping a breast.

The blood-work results sat at the top of the encrypted portal.

Testosterone: 63 ng/dL

Estradiol: 363 pg/mL

The numbers stared back at you in clean clinical type. Male range for testosterone started at three hundred. You were at sixty-three. Female follicular range for estradiol topped out around two hundred; you were at three hundred sixty-three and climbing. The accompanying note from the lab was brief: *Consistent with ongoing endocrine transition. Monitor for further soft-tissue development and gonadal atrophy.*

You set the phone down and pushed the sheet aside.

Your cock—if you could still call it that—lay soft and useless between what remained of your testicles. The shaft had become a smooth, hooded piece of flesh no longer than a large fingertip, the head almost completely covered by the tightened foreskin that no longer retracted properly. The testicles themselves were small, tight, and high, the scrotum already contracting into something that looked more like outer labia than a sac. You pinched the hooded stub between thumb and forefinger and rubbed slowly, trying to force blood into it the way you used to. Nothing happened. No thickening. No lift. Just the same soft, sensitive button of flesh that stayed flaccid no matter how you stroked.

Frustration and a deep, liquid heat pooled low in your belly.

You pinched your nipples instead.

The sensation shot straight down your spine and detonated. Your back arched off the mattress. A wet, broken cry tore out of you as the orgasm slammed through your body with no warning and no participation from the hooded stub between your legs. Your empty, atrophied balls tightened. Your asshole clenched rhythmically. Clear fluid leaked from the tiny slit in weak, watery pulses while your new breasts heaved and the nipples stayed diamond-hard under your fingers. The climax was longer and deeper than anything your old cock had ever produced—wave after wave of pure, prostate-centered pleasure that left your vision white and your thighs shaking.

You passed out with your hands still locked on your tits.

---

When you surfaced again the light in the room had shifted. Your phone screen showed forty minutes had passed. The sheets under your hips were damp. Your nipples throbbed in time with your heartbeat. The hooded little stub between your legs remained completely soft, a shiny, useless piece of flesh nestled in the reduced folds of what used to be a scrotum.

Another notification waited.

Steffy.

The message was short and filthy the way all of hers were.

*Free tonight? Been thinking about that tight little hole of yours. Want to feel it stretch around me again. Say yes and I’ll send a car.*

Your asshole clenched at the memory of her. Steffy was six-foot-one of long muscle and dark skin, voice low and amused, cock a thick, heavy eleven inches that had already ruined you twice in the last week. The first time she had bent you over her kitchen counter and opened you with nothing but spit and patience until the fat head popped inside and you sobbed into your own forearm. The second time she had made you ride her in reverse while she casually scrolled her phone and told you how pretty your new tits looked bouncing. Both nights had ended with her cum leaking out of you in thick ropes while the hooded stub between your legs stayed soft and ignored.

You reached behind yourself with two fingers, found the still-sensitive rim of your asshole, and rubbed in slow circles.

The second orgasm built faster than the first. Your nipples tightened without being touched. Your empty balls drew up. Clear fluid leaked from the tiny hooded slit while your fingers worked the rim and your mind filled with the exact shape and weight of Steffy’s cock. You came with a high, broken sound, asshole fluttering around nothing, new breasts heaving, the soft little stub between your legs twitching uselessly through the entire climax.

When the tremors faded you typed a single word with a shaking hand.

*Yes.*

The reply was almost instant.

*Car in twenty. Wear something soft. No underwear. I want that hole ready.*

---

The car dropped you at her building just after seven. You wore a thin gray sweater that clung to the new weight of your chest and soft black joggers that sat low on your hips. Nothing underneath. The cool evening air touched the bare skin of your ass and the soft hooded stub every time the fabric shifted. Your nipples were already hard from the friction of the sweater.

Steffy opened the door barefoot, wearing only a pair of dark compression shorts that did nothing to hide the heavy outline of her cock. She looked you up and down, eyes lingering on the soft swell of your chest, and stepped aside.

“Boobs got bigger again,” she said by way of greeting. “Come in. Shirt off. I want to feel them.”

You pulled the sweater over your head. The new breasts settled with a soft bounce. Steffy’s hands were on them immediately—large, warm, thumbs brushing the nipples until your knees went weak. She squeezed, weighed, pinched just hard enough to make you gasp, then leaned down and took one nipple into her mouth. The suction was slow and deliberate. Your hooded little stub stayed completely soft between your legs, but your asshole clenched hard and a fresh bead of clear fluid leaked down the inside of one thigh.

Steffy pulled off with a wet sound and smiled.

“Sensitive as fuck. Turn around. Hands on the counter.”

You obeyed. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of your joggers and pushed them down. The cool air hit your bare ass and the soft, hooded piece of flesh that no longer deserved the word cock. Steffy’s palm settled between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward until your new breasts flattened against the cold marble. Her other hand slid down, two thick fingers finding your hole and rubbing in slow, proprietary circles.

“Still open from last time,” she murmured. “Good. I didn’t feel like being patient tonight.”

You heard the soft sound of her compression shorts hitting the floor. The heavy, hot weight of her cock settled against the cleft of your ass—thick, already half-hard, the skin smooth and burning against yours. She spat once into her palm, stroked herself, then pressed the fat head against your rim.

“Breathe.”

She pushed.

The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. Your hole opened around the broad head inch by inch while your mouth fell open against the marble. Steffy worked herself inside with short, controlled thrusts, each one seating more of the thick shaft until her hips finally met your ass and the entire eleven inches were buried. The pressure against your prostate was constant and perfect. Your soft little stub leaked a thin string of fluid onto the cabinet door below while your new breasts dragged against the counter with every small movement.

Steffy stayed fully seated for a long moment, one hand on your hip, the other reaching under to cup and squeeze a breast.

“There it is,” she said quietly. “That little hole stretched around me again. You feel smaller every time I’m inside you. Softer. More open.” She rolled her hips in a slow circle, grinding the thick shaft against your prostate. “These tits are getting heavier too. Pretty soon you’re going to need a real bra. Maybe I’ll buy you one. Something lacy so I can pull it down when I want to suck on them while I fuck you.”

She started thrusting.

Deep, steady strokes that dragged every thick inch across your prostate on the way out and punched against it on the way back in. The wet sound of her cock moving inside you filled the kitchen. Your nipples scraped the marble. Your soft, hooded stub swung and leaked with every impact. The first prostate orgasm built like a wave and broke without warning—your hole clamping down hard around the thick shaft while clear fluid pulsed from the tiny slit and a broken, high cry left your throat.

Steffy didn’t stop.

She fucked you through the orgasm and straight into the next one, pace never changing, one hand now locked on your shoulder so she could pull you back onto every thrust. Your second climax left you shaking and drooling against the counter. The third made your vision blur. By the fourth you were sobbing with overstimulation, new breasts bouncing, soft little stub twitching and leaking in continuous watery pulses while Steffy’s cock kept splitting you open.

She came with a low, guttural sound, burying herself to the hilt and flooding your guts with thick, heavy spurts. You felt every pulse. You felt the way your hole milked her. You felt the warmth spreading deep inside while your own soft flesh stayed completely flaccid and ignored between your legs.

When she finally pulled out, a thick trickle of cum followed and ran down the inside of your thigh. Steffy caught some on two fingers and pushed it back inside you, then wiped the rest across the soft, hooded stub as if marking it.

“Bedroom,” she said. “On your back. Legs open. I want to see those tits while I go again.”

---

You spent the next three hours in her bed.

Steffy fucked you missionary with your knees pushed to your chest so she could watch your new breasts bounce and your soft little stub leak. She fucked you on your side with one long leg hooked over her hip while she reached around and pinched your nipples in time with her thrusts. She made you ride her, hands braced on her abs, so gravity could drop you all the way down the thick shaft until your ass met her hips and your prostate was crushed under the constant pressure. Every position ended the same way: you coming first in long, shaking prostate orgasms while the hooded piece of flesh between your legs stayed soft and useless, then Steffy filling you again until cum leaked out around her cock in thick white ropes.

Between rounds she played with your chest.

She sucked the nipples until they were dark and swollen. She squeezed the new tissue and told you how much heavier it felt than last week. She made you hold your own breasts and push them together while she fucked up into you so she could watch the soft cleavage form and disappear. When you tried to touch the soft stub between your legs she slapped your hand away and told you it didn’t get attention anymore—only your hole and your tits mattered now.

At some point she had you on your stomach with a pillow under your hips, her full weight covering your back, eleven inches buried to the root and staying there. She moved in short, grinding rolls that kept constant pressure on your prostate while she spoke low against your ear.

“You’re going to keep changing,” she said. “Tits getting bigger. Hole getting softer. That little hooded thing between your legs getting even more useless. And every time it does, you’re going to come over so I can stretch you open and fill you up. You’re going to fall asleep with my cock in you. You’re going to wake up still full. And when you check your blood work next week the numbers are going to be even more fucked and you’re going to get wet just thinking about how much deeper I can get when there’s even less of a man left.”

Your fifth or sixth orgasm of the night rolled through you while she spoke—slow, deep, endless. Your hole fluttered around the thick shaft. Clear fluid leaked from the soft stub onto the sheets. Your new breasts were crushed into the mattress under her weight. You floated in the aftershocks while Steffy kept the same slow grind, not chasing her own release yet, just keeping you open and full and owned.

Eventually she stilled.

The room was quiet except for your shared breathing. Her cock remained buried inside you, still half-hard, the heavy thickness holding your hole open in a perfect, continuous stretch. Cum from earlier rounds had been fucked so deep it felt like it belonged there. Your soft, hooded little stub rested against the sheets, completely ignored, a shiny button of flesh that no longer responded to anything except the residual pulses of your prostate.

Steffy reached down, found one of your hands, and laced her fingers through yours against the mattress.

“Sleep,” she murmured. “I’m staying inside. If I get hard again in the night I’ll fuck you slow until you come, then go back to sleep. Don’t pull off. I want to feel that hole twitching around me while you dream.”

You were too far gone to answer.

The last thing you felt was the thick, living weight of her cock shifting slightly deeper as she settled her hips, the stretch constant and complete, the heat of her body covering yours, the soft new weight of your breasts pressed into the mattress, and the absolute absence of anything between your legs that could still be called a cock.

You fell asleep with Steffy’s massive dong buried in your ass, her breath slow against the back of your neck, and the quiet certainty that when you woke the numbers would be worse, the tits would be heavier, and the only thing that still worked the way a man used to work was the soft, open hole she was currently occupying.

The night held you there—full, soft, owned—and did not let go.