He felt it. The last of himself slipping away. Voluntarily. Every thrust converting him into her.

She felt his strong hands clutched around her hips, pulling her into him, knowing she could never un-feel this. Knowing she would never want to.

She had put up a good fight — at least that’s what she told herself. She thought of all the excuses she had thrown up during the night.

-It’s just a little flirting.
-It’s just a touch on the leg.
-It’s just one drink in my apartment.

Now, with his dick a reality inside of her, she knew she had wanted this all along.

Her tits jiggled beneath her with each impact. She gazed through the frame of her blonde hair at the bottle of blue liquid across the room. The antidote. Her way out. She would open it later, hesitating for only a moment, before pouring it down the drain and returning to bed to meet her future.


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