They add on

Everyone in this story is 18+

**[CONTINUATION]**

**Day 4, Later — The Glue Situation**

The breasts had been on for six hours when Kevin started to notice something.

They didn't hurt, exactly. But they felt... *stuck*. More stuck than they should have been. The spirit gum was supposed to hold for a day, maybe two, and then dissolve with alcohol and come off clean. That was the plan. That was what the internet had said. That was what the packaging said.

Kevin poked at the left breast. It moved. It jiggled. It was very much still attached to his chest.

He poked it harder.

"Chloe," he said. "Chloe, they're not coming off."

Chloe came over and examined the situation. She tugged at the edge of the silicone. Nothing. She pulled a little harder. Kevin winced. The breast stayed.

"That's weird," Chloe said.

"It's glued *on*," Kevin said.

"That's what the glue does."

"No, like — it's *really* glued on."

Chloe went and got the bottle. She read the back. She read it again. She turned the bottle around and read the front. Then she went very quiet.

"What," Kevin said.

"So," Chloe said, "this isn't spirit gum."

"What is it?"

"It's... it says 'permanent adhesive for prosthetics and special effects.'"

"Permanent," Kevin repeated.

"It says permanent."

"How permanent?"

Chloe read further. "It says 'can be removed with adhesive remover or, if necessary, medical-grade solvent.'"

"Do we have either of those?"

Chloe looked at the bottle. She looked at Kevin's chest. She looked at Madison, who had wandered over and was now reading over Chloe's shoulder with an expression that was slowly shifting from curious to delighted.

"We have nail polish remover," Madison offered.

"Will that work?" Kevin said.

Nobody knew.

They tried. They soaked cotton balls in nail polish remover and pressed them against the edges of the breasts. Kevin hissed. It stung. It smelled like a chemical spill. The silicone lifted a *tiny* bit at the edges and then snapped back down like it had never left.

"That's not working," Madison said.

"We need the real stuff," Chloe said.

"Can we get it tomorrow?"

"Stores are closed."

"So Kevin has boobs until further notice," Madison said.

Kevin looked down at his chest. At the two soft, heavy, undeniably *female* shapes attached to his body. They had been a costume. They had been a joke. And now they were, at least for the foreseeable future, *him*.

"I have boobs until further notice," Kevin said.

"You have boobs until further notice," Chloe confirmed.

Madison, helpfully, patted one of them.

Kevin felt it.

He felt it *a lot*.

**Day 4, Night — The Ambush**

Kevin fell asleep on the couch that night. It wasn't planned. He was tired. The day had been long. The boobs were heavy and warm and weirdly comfortable and he had sunk into the cushions and closed his eyes and then he was gone.

He woke up — or rather, he *half*-woke up, the way you do when it's the middle of the night and something is happening but not enough of something to fully pull you out of sleep — and he heard whispering.

"...don't wake him..."

"...hold the brush steady..."

"...this one's going to be so good..."

Kevin made a small sleepy noise and went back under.

The girls continued their work.

They had a plan. They had had a plan since the moment they saw the photo of him in the red bodysuit, and it had been refined over the last few days, and tonight was the night they were going to execute the final phase of it. They had gone to the craft store that afternoon — the same trip that had produced the breast forms and the permanent glue — and they had picked up three additional items that Kevin had not noticed and had not asked about.

The first was a bottle of henna.

The second was a wig.

The third was a small, pink, plastic, locking device.

They started with the henna.

**Day 4, Night — The Henna**

Henna is a plant-based dye that stains the skin a reddish-brown and lasts one to three weeks. It is typically used for elaborate designs on hands and feet and arms. It is typically not used on the chest, stomach, and lower back of a sleeping teenage boy. But Kevin was not typical. Kevin was a sissy. And the girls had a vision.

Chloe held the henna cone. Madison held a flashlight. Kevin held still.

Chloe started at his collarbone and worked downward.

On his upper chest, just above the breasts, she wrote — in careful, looping script — the words **"SISSY"** across his sternum, and beneath it, smaller, **"property of Chloe & Madison."**

On his left breast, she drew a small heart with an arrow through it. On his right breast, she drew a small flower. On his stomach, just above his navel, she wrote **"0.25"** in a circle, with a tiny arrow pointing downward. On his hips, she drew little bows. On his lower back, right above the waistband of his panties, she wrote **"GIRL"** in capital letters. On his left thigh, she drew a small garter. On his right thigh, she drew a matching one.

Then she drew a little arrow on his lower stomach pointing down toward his crotch and wrote **"clit"** at the end of it.

Madison cackled. Chloe shushed her.

Then they did the wig.

The wig was a cheap one from the craft store — synthetic, shoulder-length, dark brown, with bangs. They fitted it to Kevin's head with a wig cap and bobby pins and a bit of the permanent glue at the temples, because they had learned their lesson about temporary adhesives. When they were done, Kevin had hair. Real-looking hair, framing his face, brushing his shoulders, bangs covering his forehead.

He looked, even asleep, even in the dim light, like a girl.

Then they did the nails.

Press-on nails. Pink. Almond-shaped. Medium length. They glued them to his fingers one by one, careful, precise, working in the dark by flashlight. Ten nails. Two hands. When they were done, Kevin had long, pink, feminine nails.

Then they did the last thing.

**Day 4, Night — The Cage**

The last thing was the hardest, because Kevin was asleep and his penis was, as usual, small and soft and tucked away, and they had to get a cage on him without waking him up.

The cage was small. It was pink. It was a "micro" cage, which meant it was designed for men who were, to put it gently, *not gifted*. It had a ring that went around the base and a little tube that went over the shaft and a lock that clicked shut at the end. It came with a tiny padlock and two tiny keys.

Chloe held the cage. Madison held the flashlight. They worked together.

The ring went on first. It was snug. Kevin stirred. They froze. He settled. They continued.

The tube went on next. Kevin's soft, quarter-inch penis slid into the pink plastic tube like it was made for it. Which, honestly, it was. The tube was barely longer than the cage itself. There was room to spare.

Then the lock.

The lock clicked.

Kevin made a noise. A small, soft, confused noise. Then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

Chloe and Madison looked at each other.

They looked at Kevin — at his wig and his henna and his nails and his boobs and his cage — and they looked at each other and they started to laugh, silently, hands over mouths, shaking with it, because this was the funniest thing either of them had ever done and they had done it together and it was *perfect*.

Then they went to bed.

**Day 5 — The Morning After**

Kevin woke up at 9 AM.

The first thing he noticed was that his hair was in his face.

This was confusing because his hair was short. His hair had always been short. His hair had been short since he was a child and his mother had decided that a bowl cut was the way to go and he had never fully recovered. His hair did not go in his face.

Kevin reached up and touched his head and felt *hair*. Long hair. Soft hair. Hair that went past his ears and down to his shoulders and had *bangs*.

"What," Kevin said.

He sat up. The boobs moved. He had forgotten about the boobs. The boobs reminded him that they existed. He looked down and saw them, and then he saw the henna, and then he saw the nails on his fingers, and then he felt — *felt*, in a way that was impossible to ignore — something small and snug and *locked* around his penis.

Kevin lifted the blanket.

There was a pink cage on his crotch.

Kevin looked at the cage. He looked at the henna. He looked at his hands. He looked at his boobs. He looked at the hair falling in his face.

He sat there, in bed, in his pink panties, with a pink cage and pink nails and pink breasts and brown hair and henna tattoos that said **SISSY** on his chest, and he did the only thing he could do.

He called for Chloe.

"CHLOE."

Chloe's door opened. Chloe appeared, bleary-eyed, in a t-shirt.