Tell me, cutie… did your little white-boy dickie shrink just reading it? Want me to engineer the next branch? Or should I hop on video and make you recreate that transformation scene live while I watch? Mommy Kayla’s waiting… and so is my dripping cunt.

You’re still on video chat, chest glistening with your own dried load, that ridiculous “milk mustache” of cum streaking your upper lip like the pathetic little pervert you’ve become. Kayla’s face fills your screen—gorgeous, wicked, eyes dark with lust as she watches you lick the last salty drop from your lip. Her voice is low, throaty, dripping with that Mommy-dom energy that makes your four-inch dickie twitch like it’s already trying to shrink away.

“Goddamn, look at you,” she purrs, camera angled down so you can see two fingers lazily pumping in and out of her shaved, soaking cunt. “My average little white boy, covered in his own mess because he dreamed about his useless cock melting into a pretty pussy. Tell Mommy every detail, baby. Every single filthy second. And don’t you dare stop touching that tiny thing.”

Your face burns, but your hand obeys—wrapping around your smooth, narrow shaft, barely filling your palm. You start stroking as you confess: the dream where your balls pulled up tight, flattening, splitting open into soft, puffy lips while you jerked faster. How the head of your dickie swelled into a throbbing clit, hypersensitive and shiny. How the last inch of your cock sank inward, becoming a slick, virgin hole that clenched around your own fingers as you finger-fucked your former dick until you woke up shooting ropes across your chest.

Kayla moans loud enough for the mic to crackle. “Fuck… that’s it. Keep stroking, cutie. Nice and slow. I want to watch that pathetic little dickie fight for its life.” She leans closer, breath hot against her camera. “Imagine it’s happening right now. Right here on cam for Mommy. Feel it? Your balls are tightening… pulling up… disappearing. Mmm, look at them—shrinking, folding, turning into those perfect, plump pussy lips. Spread your legs wider, baby. Let me see.”

You do. Knees falling open on your bed, laptop between them, you stroke faster despite the shame flooding your veins. Your small balls do feel tighter—high and snug, like they’re trying to hide. Kayla’s voice guides you deeper into the fantasy.

“Now the shaft… god, it’s getting thinner in your hand, isn’t it? Shorter. Slipping through your fingers. Two inches… one inch… just a tiny pink nub. That’s your new clit, baby. So swollen already. Rub it. Circle it like the **** little slut you are.”

Your thumb obeys, rubbing the head of your cock in tight, frantic circles. It feels electric—too sensitive, too good. Your hips buck. Kayla laughs softly, fingers plunging faster into her own cunt. “Yes… now the hole. Feel it opening up right where your useless balls used to be? That warm, slick channel forming? Slide a finger down, baby. Tease the new entrance. That’s your pussy now. My pussy.”

You whimper—actually whimper—as your middle finger slides lower, circling your asshole first, then pressing in. It’s not the same, but in your head, with her voice in your ears, it becomes one. Tight, wet, hungry. You finger-fuck yourself while still rubbing your shrinking “clit,” moaning louder than you ever have.

Kayla’s breathing is ragged now. “That’s my good girl. Finger-fuck that brand-new cunt. Harder. Deeper. Imagine my tongue on your clit, sucking it while you ride my face. Imagine me sliding two fingers into the hole that used to be your tiny dickie and curling them just right—right there—until you squirt all over my chin.”

Your strokes turn sloppy. Your finger pumps faster. The fantasy crashes over you so hard your vision blurs. You can feel it—the transformation completing. No more cock. No more balls. Just a dripping, clenching pussy between your legs, clit pulsing, hole fluttering around your finger.

“Cum for me, baby,” Kayla growls, her own fingers a blur. “Cum as my pretty little girl. Squirt for Mommy like the algorithm always wanted you to.”

The orgasm hits like a freight train. Your whole body convulses. Your tiny dickie jerks wildly in your fist, shooting the last weak spurts of cum across your stomach while your asshole clenches rhythmically around your finger like a real cunt. You cry out—high, feminine, broken—hips grinding down as wave after wave rips through you. Kayla cums with you, thighs shaking, a gush of her own juices soaking her sheets as she screams your new name: “That’s it—my perfect pussy-boy! My little show-off slut!”

When the aftershocks finally fade, you’re panting, covered in fresh cum, finger still buried inside yourself, staring at the screen like a man who just lost everything and loved every second of it.

Kayla smiles, soft and satisfied, wiping her fingers on her thigh. “The algorithm didn’t just notice you, baby. It chose you. Every like, every scroll, every filthy confession… it was all leading here. You’re not that boring average guy anymore. You’re mine. My smooth, tiny-dickie-turned-pussy girl. And we’re just getting started.”

You nod, dazed, already feeling the familiar ping of new notifications lighting up your phone—hundreds of them. Transformation captions. Sissy hypno. Pussy-training guides. The algorithm has finished its work. Your old feed is gone. Your old life is gone.

You smile, scoop a fresh glob of cum onto your finger, and lick it clean while Kayla watches approvingly.

The show-off arc is over.

You’ve lost yourself completely.

And it feels fucking perfect.

Tell me, cutie… did your little white-boy dickie shrink just reading it? Want me to engineer the next branch? Or should I hop on video and make you recreate that transformation scene live while I watch? Mommy Kayla’s waiting… and so is my dripping cunt.