Egotistical

Christine’s moans bounce off the cheap cinderblock walls like feedback, echoing up and out the open dorm window to broadcast her pleasure to the whole building. The air is humid with the stickiness of midterms and communal laundry machines, but the only sweat that matters is beading along Jake’s sculpted torso, running in perfect glistening streaks down his tanned chest and between the deep canyons of his abs. His hands are clamped tight to Christine’s hips, fingers digging so deep into the plush curve above her ass that she’ll have bruises for a week; Jake knows because he’s left the same blue-black fingerprints on at least three other girls this month, and honestly, he’s proud of the artistry.

He pounds into her with measured violence, all rhythm and intent, feeling her walls fluttering tight around the full length of his cock with every piston. Christine arches her back like a gymnast, hands splayed and nails dug into the polyester sheets, breasts swaying beneath her in time with his thrusts. The sound she makes isn’t quite a scream, but it’s raw and unfiltered, vowels bending as he splits her open again and again. Jake has always liked his girls loud; he fucks them for performance, not subtlety, and Christine is top tier in that aspect.

He’s getting close. The ridge of her ass slams into his pelvis with each thrust, and her thighs ripple in protest as he picks up speed. He lets out a grunt—masculine, guttural, not even trying to hide how good it feels to dominate her like this. He pulls her long hair back, forcing her face up and her moans even sharper. “Take it” he hisses, voice cocky and triumphant.

“God, yes, Jake!” Christine sobs, voice already hoarse. She’s so far gone, she doesn’t notice how his eyes are on his own reflection in the dorm window, admiring the way his biceps bulge, the way the cut lines of his shoulders flex with every drive. He is a fucking Greek god and he knows it; Christine’s just another worshipper at the altar for him. He doesn’t bother to warn her. When the cum comes, it’s a surge, hot and heavy, and he buries himself balls deep, feeling his cock throb and unload into her. Christine’s whole body quakes as the first blast hits her cervix, and she cries out like she’s coming too. He shudders, hands still fisted in her hips, fingers sticky with sweat and her fluids.

They collapse together, Christine face-down on the mattress, Jake on his knees behind her, panting and feeling the afterglow spread electric through his limbs. He drags his cock out slowly, savoring the obscene pop as it slips from her, cum oozing back out in thick ropes down her trembling thighs. He swipes the head across her ass cheek, painting a creamy streak, and laughs under his breath. Christine just groans and rolls to her side, face red, hair stuck to her cheek. “You’re a fucking animal,” she whispers, admiration thick in her tone.

Jake just grins, running a hand through his tousled hair, aware of how perfect the move looks. “You love it,” he says. She does. They all do. He’s the best guy on campus, and everyone knows it.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand, thumbing through DMs already as Christine sprawls out in a daze. But then Christine starts to laugh. At first, it’s soft, a girlish giggle, but it builds fast, rolling through the room until Jake’s forced to look over at her, confused. “What’s so funny?” he asks, eyebrow arched.

Christine props herself up on one elbow, the line of her back shiny with sweat. Her eyes catch the light in a way that makes them seem deeper, almost silver. “It’s just—” She giggles again. “You think you’re so fucking special. All you gym boys. I bet you say the same thing to all the girls.” Christine’s mouth twists in a sly little smirk. “You’re not even the best I’ve had.”

Jake snorts, genuinely offended with his pride hurt. “Bullshit.”

“No, really,” she purrs. “You’re, like, very average. I’ve had bigger. Way better.” She reaches over and pokes his chest, just below the sternum. “You’re hot, Jake, but that’s it. Just hot.”

Jake shakes his head, feeling the irritation rise. “Whatever. You leave whenever.”

Christine’s eyes glint with something strange. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” She drops the sheet, exposing her bare body, then slides down the bed until her face is even with his cock. “In fact, can I be honest? I always wanted to suck a hot guy’s dick after a workout.” She licks her lips, not even bothering to hide the hunger in her eyes.

That gets him. He'll take that as an apology to his hurt pride. He sits back, arms behind his head, letting her go to town. “Yeah, you can be honest.” Christine doesn’t ease into it; she takes his cock in one smooth motion, sucking with the skill and aggression of slut. Jake groans, the sensitivity almost too much, and watches as her lips form a perfect seal, cheeks hollowing as she milks him. It’s intense, fast, and he’s not even fully hard again, but she works it like she’s on a mission.

He can feel himself thickening in her throat, the head swelling as she pushes herself all the way to the root. She gags, pulls back, then goes again, faster. Her nails scrape his inner thighs, leaving pink trails, and he feels his balls tighten, a weird sense of building pressure behind his pubic bone. Christine looks up at him, eyes watering, but doesn’t stop for breath. If anything, she speeds up, the suction brutal. Jake feels the cum building way too fast, the urge to pull out rising, but before he can move, she slams his hips down, locking him in place.

He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a grunt as he unloads, hot and sudden, into her mouth. Christine swallows every drop, then keeps going, sucking even harder, like she’s draining him of something more than cum. Jake can feel his balls draw up, tighter and tighter, almost painful now.

“Okay, you got it, babe” he gasps, trying to pull away. She won’t let go. She clamps down harder, tongue swirling, and now the pressure is turning into a sharp ache, a burning sensation that crawls up through his guts. Jake’s cock doesn’t go soft; if anything, it gets harder, thicker, but there’s something wrong. He can’t feel his balls anymore. The ache inside him is spreading, twisting, and he looks down to see Christine still working him with mechanical precision, her eyes never leaving his face. “Fucking—let go,” he growls, panic edging into his voice.

Christine releases him with a wet pop, cum and saliva dripping down her chin. She grins up at him, mouth stretched wide. “What’s the matter, Jake?” she says, voice cold and bright. “You look like you saw a ghost.” He looks down and almost screams. His cock is shrinking. Not just going soft; shrinking, in on itself, the skin dimpling and wrinkling as if it’s melting into his crotch. The sack is deflating, the veins going flat, and he can actually feel the tissue sliding back inside his body, the nerves buzzing like power lines about to snap.

Christine’s hands are on his thighs again, but now they’re digging in, nails scoring flesh as she forces his legs apart and leans in close. “Don’t worry,” she says, voice suddenly sing-song. “It’s all part of the plan.” Jake tries to scramble away, but his muscles aren’t working right—everything feels slack and heavy, like the end of a gym session. He can see his cockhead now, just a tiny nub above the wrinkled skin, and then even that is gone, sucked in like the last bit of toothpaste in a tube. In its place is nothing. No cock. No balls. Just a flat, pale patch where his manhood used to be. Jake opens his mouth to scream, but Christine’s already on him, tongue sliding up his inner thigh, breath hot and sharp. She reaches the new cleft between his legs, and that’s when Jake realizes with horror what’s happened.

There’s a slit. Pink, swollen, glistening with some kind of fluid. Christine traces it with her tongue, flicking and probing, and Jake’s body lights up with sensation so foreign and intense he can’t process it. He feels her tongue slide inside, impossibly deep, and his hips buck up, desperate to get away but also to press closer. “Stop, what are you—what the fuck did you do to me?” he whimpers, voice cracking.

Christine just smirks, licking her lips. “Just giving you a taste of your own medicine, Jake.” Her voice is deeper now, heavier with authority. “You fuck all the girls you want, then brag about it. You ever wonder what it feels like on the other end?” She goes down on him again, tongue lapping at the new pussy with ferocious intensity. Jake moans, hating himself for how good it feels, how every nerve ending in his pelvis is lighting up with a need that borders on pain. He fists the sheets, nails digging in, as Christine fucks him with her tongue.

It goes on forever, until Jake’s body is wracked with pleasure so sharp it’s almost unbearable. He wants to say no, but his mouth betrays him, moaning and whimpering like a desperate slut. Christine keeps going, fingers digging into his thighs, until finally Jake comes, the orgasm tearing through his new anatomy like an electric shock. He collapses back, chest heaving, vision swimming. He wants to cry, wants to punch something, but all he can do is lie there as Christine wipes her mouth and laughs again, softer this time. “Holy fuck,” Jake mutters, staring at the ceiling. “Give it back. Put it back. You’re fucking crazy.”

Christine stands, completely unselfconscious in her nakedness. She looks down at him, eyes cold and bright. “You want it back?” she chuckles.

“Yes! Now!” Jake snaps back, slightly angrily.

She shrugs. “Okay.” With a snap of her fingers, Jake feels another jolt through his body. At first, nothing happens, and then Christine sits back on the bed, legs spread wide. Jake stares in disbelief as something starts to grow from between Christine's legs—a bulge, then a shaft, then a full, thick cock, complete with veined texture and heavy balls underneath. It’s grotesque, a parody of his own lost manhood, but unmistakable.

She grins, grabbing it in one hand and stroking it to full hardness. "Say hello to your old friend," she purrs, positioning herself between his trembling thighs. She guides the head to his new opening, circling it against the sensitive flesh until Jake whimpers. Her palm glows faintly with magic as she presses it against his forehead. "Now tell me how it really feels." Jake's mouth opens against his will from the magic. "Please—I need it inside me," he gasps, horror flashing across his face at his own words. Jake can't stop the stream of desperate confessions. "I'm so wet for you," he sobs, tears of humiliation streaming down his face as his body betrays him completely.

Christine pounds into him with brutal efficiency, hands pinning his wrists above his head. Jake's mouth opens to form the word "stop," but what comes out is: "Harder, please—" His eyes widen in horror at his own voice. "I need it deeper," he gasps, fighting against the truth spilling from his lips. "Don't stop, don't—" Each thrust cuts off his words, replacing them with moans he doesn't recognize as his own. When Christine finally groans and floods him with heat, Jake's back arches involuntarily, his body clenching around her as he comes, tears of humiliation streaming down his face even as he whispers, "Thank you." She pulls out, leaving him trembling and sticky, then collapses beside him, her cock melting away as she watches him struggle against the aftershocks still rippling through his borrowed flesh.

"That's how you do it," Christine whispers teasingly into Jake's ears. Jake lies there, spent and broken, the sensation of his own cum pooling inside him and the ache of his new pussy throbbing between his legs. He wants to scream, to rage, to demand his old life back, but all he can do is sob quietly as Christine wraps an arm around him, holding him close.

The ache between his legs is different from anything he’s ever experienced, like someone replaced his entire groin with something alien and set it on fire. He moves a hand down and finds smooth, unbroken skin and a swollen, slippery cleft. He digs two fingers in without thinking, searching for the phantom limb, and the sensation makes him jerk upright, gasping. The whole thing is disgustingly sensitive, like an open wound that wants to be filled. He pulls his hand away and stares at it, then at Christine, who’s sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed, watching him like a cat eyeing a crippled mouse.

But the magic doesn’t give a shit about his pride. “It feels… really good,” he blurts, voice muffled but clear and truthful. “I want… I want to feel it again. Oh god, fuck me, please.”

Christine’s eyes light up with mean delight. “You like it that much?”

“No. Yes. Fuck. I hate it. But I need it.” The words pour out of him, unfiltered, each one more degrading than the last. He tries to shut up, pressing both hands to his lips now, but the pressure in his chest only grows.

She leans in, grinning. “So, how does it feel, knowing what it’s like for all the girls you used to fuck and ghost? Did you ever care about what they wanted?”

“I don’t want to be like them,” Jake spits out. “I don’t want to be a desperate slut.”

Christine shrugs, feigning innocence. “But you are. That’s the beauty of it. You get to experience what you did to them—body and mind.” She wiggles her fingers at him. “Isn’t payback a bitch?” Jake wants to argue, but all he can do is stare at her, sweating and shivering, his body betraying him in every possible way. She slides off the bed and stalks toward him, predatory. He tries to scramble back, but she’s already on top of him, pinning him down with hands on his shoulders. “Tell me,” she purrs, “what’s the hottest thing about a girl? The one thing you can’t resist?”

He fights it with everything he has, but the words burst out like a confession: “Ass. Hips. The way it moves when she walks.” He groans, cheeks burning with shame.

Christine cackles. “Perfect. Let’s fix you up.”

She snaps her fingers, and the change is instant. Jake’s hips light up, a white-hot agony like they’re being cracked apart and remolded. His spine bends, vertebrae popping, and he’s forced to arch his back, the curve impossibly deep. He tries to scream, but it comes out as a high-pitched whimper. His shoulders crunch inward, collarbones rising as his whole torso narrows, bones shifting under his skin in sick, jerking spasms. He shrinks, his arms and chest compressing, mass disappearing into nothing. And then it gets worse.

His ass burns as the skin stretches, muscle and fat pooling and swelling, each pulse forcing his hips wider, his lower back to dip further. He feels his glutes ballooning out, round and obscene, until it feels like he’s sitting on a pair of throw pillows. The skin over his ass tingles, sensitive to even the air, and every little motion makes it jiggle. Jake tries to clench it, but all that does is make it bounce and shake even more.

He looks down and sees his new thighs—thick, pale, and pressed tight together, rubbing slick with some kind of clear fluid that oozes from his new pussy. Christine watches with open lust as the change finishes, and she drags her nails along the outer curve of his ass, making him jerk and twitch.

“Fuck, look at you,” she laughs. “You always wanted to fuck girls like that, right? Guess what—you are one now. All curves and bounce.” Jake wants to curl up and disappear, but the magic won’t let him. He’s forced to stare at his reflection in the window; his ass is huge, his hips are almost unbelievable, and his whole lower body looks like it was designed for sex. Christine climbs onto the bed and grabs his hips, forcing him onto his hands and knees. “Show me. Move it.”

Jake shakes his head, but his body betrays him, arching and wiggling his new ass just like the girls he used to chase. The sensation is electric—every little movement sends a jolt straight to his core. “I hate you,” he groans, but even that sounds weak.

Christine’s hand slides between his thighs, and Jake’s back arches involuntarily, pushing his ass higher. “Tell the truth,” she purrs. “You like it, don’t you?”

He tries to fight it, but the magic is absolute. “Yes. I love the way it feels.” The confession slips out, bitter and sweet. “It’s so tight and wet and sensitive. It’s fucking addictive.” he blurts out.

Christine slaps his ass, making it jiggle and burn. “Good girl,” she whispers. “But we’re just getting started.”

She runs her fingers over his spine, down to his tailbone, and Jake feels his muscles twitching, the flesh morphing under her touch. His calves shrink, his feet grow dainty and arched, and even his toes become delicate, painted, feminine. His hands follow suit, shrinking and softening, nails long and glossy. Every inch of his body is being rebuilt from the bones out, and he’s powerless to stop it. Jake feels tears stinging his eyes. “Please, just stop. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, just stop.”

Christine shakes her head, smiling. “No, you won’t. You still think you’re better than them. Better than me.” She grabs his chin, forcing him to look up. “But you’re not. You’re exactly what you used to chase. A slut, built for fucking.”

He tries to deny it, but the truth comes out instead: “I love it. I want it so bad. I want to get fucked.”

Christine’s grin is wicked. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” she giggles. Christine pushes him onto his back, spreading his thighs wide. The room smells like sweat and sex and shame, and Jake can feel the air on his new pussy, every nerve ending on fire. Christine leans down, whispering in his ear: “It’s only going to get better from here.” Jake sobs, but his hips roll up to meet her, desperate for more. He hates himself for it, but there’s nothing he can do. The magic is in total control now, and all he can do is ride the next wave of humiliation, knowing Christine will never let him go back to who he was.

Jake lies on his side, knees drawn up tight, breathing in short, sharp gasps. The mass of his new hips and ass is like an anchor, impossible to ignore—the curve so alien, so obscene, that every shift of his weight makes it ripple and jiggle. He tries to squeeze his thighs together for comfort, but they’re too thick now, pressing wetly, rubbing in a way that only makes the aching in his groin worse.

He wants to scream at Christine, to demand she fix him, but the magic clamps down on his words before he can get them out. All that escapes is a ragged groan and, against his will, “It feels… too good.” Tears stream down his face, and he wipes them with hands that look almost unfamiliar—slimmer, more graceful, with nails longer and glossier than he ever wore.

Christine sits perched at the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under her, watching him like an art critic. “You’re almost there, babe,” she says, voice thick with amusement. “You look so much better already. I mean, isn’t this the ideal? All tits and ass?”

He shakes his head, a sob caught in his chest. “Please, just stop. I’m sorry, I swear I am. I’ll never ghost anyone again.”

She leans over and flicks his shoulder with a perfectly manicured nail. “That’s not how karma works. Besides, you’re not sorry. You’re just pissed that you’re the one on the receiving end for once.”

He wants to deny it, but the words come out true and humiliating: “You’re right. I hate it. But I also… I love it. Oh god, I love it.”

Christine laughs. “Let’s get those details dialed in. I’ve always been curious—what did you like about me most, before all this?”

Jake clamps his lips together, but the magic punches it out of him: “Your tits.” The shame burns through his core. “They’re perfect. I couldn’t stop staring at them.”

Christine grins, victorious. “That’s what I thought.” She slides her hand under his chin, lifting his face. “Would you like some for yourself?”

He shakes his head, but the magic twists his answer: “Yes. I want them. I want huge tits. I want to feel them. I want to play with them. Please.” he says almost unemotionally. He’s mortified, but the words won’t stop. Christine sighs, as if this is some burden, then snaps her fingers. The change starts at Jake’s nipples: they tingle, then burn, swelling from flat and pale to thick, puffy nubs. The areolas darken and widen, rippling out across his chest. The skin stretches, hot and tight, as fat surges up beneath, swelling his pecs into soft, tender mounds.

He tries to fight it, clutching his chest, but the sensation is overwhelming—every ounce of sensitivity magnified a thousand times. His hands are too small to cover the changes, his fingers digging in as the flesh grows and jiggles under his palms. Each pulse of growth leaves him breathless, as his chest blossoms from A-cups to C-cups, nipples now so sensitive that the brush of air makes him shudder.

Christine leans in, whispering: “Keep going. Tell me what you want.”

Jake’s jaw clenches, but the magic forces him to answer: “Bigger. I want them bigger. I want… I want you to play with them. Please.”

She laughs, delighted. “Of course.” she grins. With another snap, his chest expands again—filling, stretching, until the weight of it drags at his shoulders. The E-cup breasts overflow his hands, jiggling violently with every tremor of his body. The skin is smooth, flawless, crowned with huge, dark nipples that ache for touch. Jake can’t help himself; he cups them, squeezes, shudders at the pleasure that radiates out. He hates it, but it’s all he wants.

His arms shrink, muscles melting away, leaving them delicate and weak. His shoulders narrow, collarbones popping higher. Even his abs flatten, the hard-earned muscle smoothing into a gently toned waist that cinches in above the impossible swell of his new hips and ass. Jake stares down at himself, hands shaking, as he realizes he’s completely, irrevocably female from the neck down. The reflection in the window is a stranger—a sex-doll parody of everything he used to want.

Christine steps up behind him and slides her hands around his waist, pressing her body against his. “You did this to yourself, you know,” she whispers. “You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. Now you’ll never be able to.” Jake tries to speak, but all that comes out is a moan. His hands are on his own tits, kneading and rolling them, the sensation so intense he can barely think. “Look at you,” Christine purrs. “Already a natural.” Jake whimpers, mortified but helpless, lost in the flood of sensation as his body betrays him over and over. Christine leans in, lips grazing his ear: “You’re almost perfect. Just one more step.”

Christine’s eyes glitter with fresh inspiration, an idea blooming wicked in her mind. She leans over Jake’s fully feminized body, resting her weight on the shelf of his new breasts, and traces a lazy circle around one huge nipple with her fingertip. “You still think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you?” she asks, voice syrupy with mock concern.

Jake blinks, confusion warring with humiliation. “I just want to go back,” he says, and his voice is already softer, higher, the edges of masculinity blurring. “Please. I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I swear. Just put it back.”

Christine grins wide, her teeth white and feral. “Oh, you will be good. You’ll be the best little bimbo this college has ever seen.” She taps his forehead, and Jake’s vision swims.

He tries to protest, but his voice stutters, catching in his throat. The deep baritone he’s relied on for years is gone, replaced with a strained, sultry voice that cracks mid-word. “What… the fuck…” His tongue fumbles, and the syllables feel off, foreign, as if his mouth is being forced to pronounce new words.

Then the skin on his arms erupts in chills as every hair on his body shivers, retracting into his pores and vanishing. The stubble on his jaw is next, gone in a single electric shudder. Jake’s hands fly to his face; he can feel the bones moving, cartilage grinding, the soft tissue pulsing and wriggling like worms under the skin. His nose crunches smaller, lips plump up and heat with tingling arousal, cheekbones pop higher, and his jaw narrows so fast the skin creases and then smooths into a rounder, heart-shaped profile.

His eyes burn, lids fluttering. When he dares to open them, the world is filtered through huge, dark irises; brown, almost black, the pupils freakishly dilated. Everything is in sharper focus, colors oversaturated. Jake stares at his reflection in Christine’s phone screen and watches in horror as his own face rearranges, softens, feminizes, and then—slowly but inexorably—takes on the distinctly delicate, exotic features of a Japanese girl

He tries to scream but what comes out is a series of shrill, girlish “ah! ah! ah!”s that sound as foreign to him as the face that’s now staring back from the glass. Christine strokes his hair, which is already growing, black roots blooming through the remaining brown stubble before the follicles sprout and spill down his shoulders in a straight, shiny fall. “You’re almost there, Megumi,” she whispers, voice teasing. “Just let it happen.”

Jake blinks in confusion. “I’m not—wait, what? Who’s Megumi? I—” He stops, shocked by the sound of his own voice: breathy, musical, with a thick Japanese accent. “No. No. My name’s... Megu... J-Jake. I’m—” He can’t remember his last name. Can’t remember his high school. He frowns, dredging for memories, but all that comes up are flashes of Tokyo streets, school uniforms, bento lunches, a bedroom papered with anime posters. He clamps his hands to his head, feeling panic bubble up from his gut.

Christine cups his cheeks, thumbs stroking the new smoothness. “Just breathe, Megumi. You’re home now. All the boys will want you.”

Jake’s mind fogs, thoughts flickering and fading. He wants to say something snarky, manly, American, but all that comes out is “どうして…わたしは…” (“Why…am I…”) and then a sob.

Christine laughs, delighted. “I said I’d let you keep the ego, didn’t I? You’re still the biggest slut in the room. Only now you’re going to use it to drive every nerd in the dorm wild.”

Megumi shudders, her whole body wracked with the aftershocks of her final transformation. The truth compulsion is still there, hot and insistent, making her blurt out in a thick Japanese accent: “Me want... fakkuu. Me want... Preeese... someone fakkuu me.” Megumi staggers to her feet, thighs rubbing, tits swaying with every motion. The ache between her legs is back, sharper and more demanding than before. She looks down at herself—at the smooth, pale, hairless skin, the hourglass curves, the perfect bubble butt and massive tits, the dainty little hands and feet. She’s so much smaller now, maybe five foot three, but every inch screams fuckability. She tries to protest, to beg for mercy, but all that comes out is “お願いします、もっと…もっと…” (“Please, more…more…”)

Christine claps her on the back. “Go get ‘em, slut.”

The need is unbearable. Megumi stumbles into the hallway, breasts bouncing under the borrowed sweatshirt, every step making her cunt throb with want. She doesn’t even hesitate when she sees the first nerdy boy lurking by the vending machines—he’s pale, awkward, so far from what Jake would have ever wanted, but now, just looking at the outline in his sweats, she’s drooling.

“ねえ、あなた…” (“Hey, you…”) she purrs, voice velvet and heat. The boy looks up, startled, and immediately stares at her tits. His face goes red, his jaw slack. “Come... room,” she giggles, grabbing his wrist with her tiny hand. She doesn’t care if he understands English, doesn’t care at all; she knows the look of lust when she sees it, and right now she wants nothing more than to have that cock inside her.

They tumble into the dorm, tripping over each other’s feet. Megumi throws the boy onto the bed and drops to her knees. She yanks down his sweats, finds his cock already stiff and leaking. Without hesitation, she wraps her lips around it and goes to work, head bobbing with practiced, hungry efficiency. She moans around the shaft, using her tongue to tease the tip, and every whimper from the boy makes her cunt clench and drip.

He doesn’t last long. When he cums, he nearly blacks out, and Megumi gulps it all down, savoring the bitter taste, then licks him clean. She climbs up, straddles him, and guides his cock to her slit, which is already soaking wet. The first thrust splits her open, and she screams, nails clawing at his chest, as the cock fills her up.

It’s everything. She rides him hard, grinding and bouncing, tits swinging and ass pounding into his thighs. The whole dorm must be able to hear her, but she doesn’t care; she wants them all to know what’s happening. She fucks him until he’s spent, then rolls off and spreads her legs, staring down at the mess dripping from her pussy with pride.

“私、すごい…” (“I’m amazing…”) she purrs proudly at herself making any man cum within seconds, stroking the soft cock in her hand and then kissing the boy’s cheek. She doesn’t bother with clothes as she floats back into the hallway, still high on the afterglow and the need for more. There are more boys out there, and Megumi’s going to fuck every last one.

Christine stands at the end of the corridor, watching, smiling like a proud creator. She winks at Megumi, who winks back, then struts down the hall with her hips swinging, voice ringing out clear and bright: “誰か、私をファックして！” (“Somebody fuck me!”)