You wake up - your old self

You see him above you, his strong body pinning yours to the couch, sweat-slick skin sliding against skin. His cock—thick, veined, perfect—thrusts into you with raw, unprotected ****, stretching you open again and again....

...

You wake to soft morning sun filtering through the blinds in warm, golden stripes across your bed. Your eyes flutter open, body heavy with the remnants of restless sleep. You take a deep, steadying breath, the air cool against your skin—and something feels… off. Familiar, yet changed.

You sit up slowly, the sheet falling away, and look down.

Your chest is flat again, broad and masculine. The curve of breasts is gone, replaced by the lean muscle you remember. Your hips are narrower, legs longer and stronger, the softness vanished. Between your thighs, the aching wetness is replaced by the familiar weight of your cock, morning wood twitching slightly against your stomach.

Relief crashes over you like a wave, mingled with a strange, hollow pang you can't quite name. You flex your hands—bigger, rougher—and run them over your flat chest, your stubbled jaw. The curse is broken. You outlasted it. You're you again—John, not her.

It was a close call. Too close. The visions from the night linger like ghosts, your body still humming with echoes of what almost was.

You swing your legs over the bed, standing on solid, familiar ground. Downstairs, you hear the clatter of breakfast. Time to face him—and the awkward new normal.

You're back.

But part of you wonders if you'll ever forget how it felt to be on the edge of surrender.