Generally speaking, Frankie tried to stay away from competitive games. She tended to not enjoy her time with them, but in that very specific way you don’t enjoy playing a game where you end up playing it even more specifically because you’re not enjoying it. Competition riled her up, and because she didn’t play them often she tended to lose. A lot. Which, of course, pissed her off because she was riled up and so she’d play again but because she was pissed off she’d play worse and lose which pissed her off more which made her play even worse in a vicious cycle that only ended when she physically forced herself to go do something else. Or, on occasion, someone else physically forced her to go do something else. Which she hated because it was so fuckin’ embarrassing. Like she was a child. And so she just preferred to avoid it altogether.

But, well, she always found herself coming back. Something about it, she couldn’t really put her finger on what because lord knows it wasn’t that she was enjoying herself or that the games were good. Maybe if she were playing fucking Guilty Gear or Street Fighter or something, but no, her games of choice tended to be fucking military shooters. As if she wasn’t making herself suffer enough, she had to go out of her way to favour a genre that was mostly known for pubescent boys screaming slurs and obscenities. So, like, not only did the very fucking nature of the game lead inevitably to getting tilted, but that was then compounded by almost everyone on the voice chat being a dick.

Which sort of led neatly into the other big problem Frankie had with competitive games. That being that, in addition to getting tilted easily, she also had a tendency to get... vindictive. When she lost at, like, Dark Souls, the worst she could do is swear at whichever nebulous game designer decided that this particular fucking boss needed an infinite range attack that ignored cover, lasted for twenty fucking minutes, and that didn’t stop him from doing other attacks while he was doing it god dammit what were they thinking when they made this bullshit fucking fuck fuck she’d died like twenty times and she didn’t want to go grind or change her build and there wasn’t anywhere else to go until she beat this boss fucking bitch-ass fuckcunts. But when she was playing a competitive game and she started to get tilted, there was a very specific person for her to blame. And that person very often seemed to go out of their way to be as unsympathetic as fucking possible.

She still did her absolute best to not take things too far. Just, like, a little curse. Some bad luck, maybe crank up his libido a bit but remove his ability to get it up for a couple of weeks, maybe just make him really fucking gassy. Nothing extreme – she wasn’t a psychopath or anything.

“God you’re so fucking terrible at this. Why don’t you go actually learn how to play the fucking game before jumping into comp.”

“I know how to play the game, I just can’t concentrate because you won’t shut the fuck up.”

“Don’t blame me for the inadequacies of your gender, bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off, are you even a real person or just a cartoon caricature of a gamer.”

“Why don’t you go play something more your speed, like Putt-Putt Saves the Zoo.”

“Eat shit eat shit eat shiiiiiiit!”

“The only one who’s gonna eat shit here is- What the fuck?”

“Ha, fuck you! Headshot, bitch. What happened to the inadequacies of my gender?”

“Lucky shot.”

“I’m not lucky, you’re just fucking trash.”

“Says the bitch with a fucking point zero five KD ratio.”

“The only bitch here is you. Mine.”

“Try saying that to my face in real life and see what happens!”

“Oh my god, Gregg, Newbie, please stop shitting up the voice chat with your stupid pissing contest? Some of us are trying to play the game.”

“Fuck you,” both of them replied to the interloper in unison. That turned out to be a bad move on Frankie’s part as said interloper was the server’s owner and she very quickly found herself banned. Again. But whatever, at least this meant she didn’t have to force herself to stop this time. And besides, she had more important things to do.

Okay, yes, maybe going to the guy’s home was taking things a bit far. And, again, normally she’d just curse him with bowel problems. But, in her defence, he literally asked her to call him her bitch to his face in real life. She wasn’t the only one he’d done it too, either – both voice and text chat had been filled with him demanding people fight him IRL. Technically this was just taking him up on his internet tough guy word.

That being said, she wasn’t going to fight him. It did at least begin with “f”, though.

Frankie had done all of this on impulse. Or at least that’s what she told herself – it made her feel a little better about the whole thing. But in spite of that she’d somehow managed to put a lot of thought and effort into her appearance. She pointedly ignored the disconnect there, and instead took this last opportunity to make sure everything was perfect. Makeup? Just a bit of lipstick and some mascara, not heavy enough to make it look like she was trying but also not going completely bare. She wanted to look hot without looking like she was trying to look hot. Similarly, her boobs were significantly bigger than normal without crossing into outright hyper. Well, okay, maybe crossing a bit into outright hyper. Head-sized or so. Hyper-lite. She accentuated them by wearing a tank-top that was sized for her normal, more svelte proportions. At her current size it was struggling to stay intact, and copious amounts of purple and pink froggy cleavage oozed out of the top and the sides. Meanwhile, she didn’t need to do anything to make her ass look fucking great, just wear some tight-fitting hotpants.

Satisfied that she was going to drive any red-blooded gamer wild, Frankie knocked on the door to the apartment. There was a loud clamour inside, the telltale sounds of someone who didn’t expect any guests having to abruptly get up and put pants on. Which, like, good! Mild inconvenience was the least of what he deserved. A part of her considered just fucking off and cursing him to hear phantom knocks and/or doorbell rings every time he tried to relax. But he would eventually get used to that, and anyway she’d come all this way. The cost was sunk. She was going to confront him, god dammit.

With the fact that she’d literally caught him with his pants down in mind, she didn’t begrudge him taking a while to open the door. It was annoying, but she didn’t begrudge him. Or at least not any more than she already begrudged him for other things. She could hear him scrambling to put clothing on and get to the door before whoever was there (her, in this case) decided to leave. Including the inevitable loud thud followed by muffled swearing – she didn’t need to see inside the room to know he’d hit his knee on something while trying to put a shirt on.

Eventually, the door lurched open. Where Frankie had put significant effort into the minutiae of her appearance, Gregg obviously had not. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants, a slightly crusty white tee-shirt (that, Frankie noticed, was on inside-out and backwards). His hair, dyed a sickly purple, was greasy and unkempt – though, on the other hand, she wasn’t entirely sure if that was the result of not having bathed or if that was the intended effect. The rest of his fur was a dull, grimy grey. Extremely fitting for a rat.

He glared blearily out of the door, but Frankie didn’t give him the opportunity to do much more than that. She shoved the door open all the way and barged in. “H-hey!” he stammered, not having had the chance to properly process what, exactly, was going on. Which was the goal. Frankie wanted him confused and overwhelmed. Catch him off guard, and keep him off guard, prevent him from properly fighting back. The absolute most basic fundamentals of femdomming a random stranger – the boss lady would be proud. She stormed her way into the cluttered apartment, far enough that getting her out would be much more difficult than if she stayed by the door. And speaking of the door, she also made sure to keep Gregg between herself and it. Gregg stumbled his way after her, stuttering and stammering at the sheer audacity of this person just barging into his home. “You- you can’t just-”

Frankie turned around and crossed her arms – making sure to do so in such a way as to squeeze her tits together. Whatever objections Gregg had immediately dried up as it finally clicked with him that whoever had barged into his home was a hot girl with huge tits. And not just that, but huge tits that were almost perfectly at eye-level. That was a nice little bonus. She’d not gone into this intending to be that much taller than him. Just a fairly reasonable six foot two. But hey, it turned out he was a bit of a manlet, short and scrawny. Good. She could use that. Smirking smugly, she leaned down to glare him directly in the eyes. “You,” she said, jabbing him in the chest with a single finger for emphasis with every word. “Are. My. Bitch.”

Gregg’s eyes widened with horror as it slowly dawned on him. “Wh- wait, y- hold, on, you- you’re- you’re her?” Frankie pulled away, returning to her full height to better intimidate him. “What are- how did you even- what????”

“Don’t look at me, you literally asked me to do that. Bitch.”

“I- I’m not your bitch, bitch!” Apparently, the indignity had finally reached the point where it overwhelmed his social awkwardness at being faced with a hot girl. That was fine – sometimes it was fun to let your victim regain his footing, only to pull it out from under him again. “You got one lucky headshot! A-and anyway, you got banned too so don’t go pretending you’re better than me!”

Speaking of pulling his footing out from under him, Frankie decided that was enough of that. She rolled her eyes before grabbing him by the back of the head and burying his face as deep into her cleavage as she could manage without taking her tank top off. Which, really, was surprisingly deep. He squealed and flailed desperately, but Frankie was decidedly stronger than he was so escape wasn’t even slightly an option. She held him there exactly long enough that when she finally released him he let out a desperate gasp for air, practically choking on it. “W-what the fuck was that, you psycho bitch?!”

“What, don’t you like my tits? What are you, a fag or something?” Not that she had anything against gay people, of course. Most of her friends and coworkers were some stripe of gay or bi or whatever, pointedly including herself. But, well, given Gregg’s personality, it was a safe bet that he had something against gay people.

Sure enough, she could see his earlier indignity come swelling right back up. “I’m not a fag!”

“Oh?” Frankie said with a smirk. “Prove it.”

“How the fuck do you want me to prove I’m not gay?!” Gregg replied, the implication clearly flying over his head. Frankie rolled her eyes, before calmly holding her arms behind her back and taking a deep breath.

SHHHHHHRIP!

Fwoomp!

Gregg stared at Frankie’s bared tits. Now that she’d torn through her tank top, they almost seemed bigger – probably because they actually were, in fact, a solid half-head’s worth bigger than they had been a few moments ago. Frankie, being a frog, had the ability to increase the size of certain body parts as a sort of mating signal. Her boobs, her butt, her dick (if she had one at the moment), or even just her entire body at once if she felt like it. But, well, Gregg didn’t need to know that. “Pants off, bitch.”

“Wha-”

“You heard me. Or maybe you’re a fag after all?”

“F-fuck you, fine!” Gregg scrambled with his sweatpants, a mix of anxiety and excitement and raw terror doing a number on his manual dexterity. Eventually he managed to get them off, revealing that he’d not bothered to put on any underwear in his scramble to get ready.

Which meant Frankie immediately got a look at his dick. It was erect, of course. In terms of size it was decidedly average. Not above average, not below average, just... average. Frankie had obviously seen much, much bigger, but also given her line of work she had seen plenty more that were smaller. But, once again, Gregg didn’t need to know that. “Is that all?”

“Wh- what the fuck do you mean by that?!”

“I mean you’re dick’s tiny, bitch,” she replied. “Definitely not enough for a proper titfuck, you’d get fuckin’ dwarfed. Guess I’ll just hafta blow you instead. Sit down.”

Gregg stammered and sputtered indignantly, but also pointedly obeyed. He climbed over a small pile of discarded clothing, before sitting awkwardly on his couch. He frowned and blushed, pointedly not looking in her direction. It was actually almost kind of cute. Honestly, if he worked on the repellent personality, she’d be willing to remove that ‘almost’ qualifier. Yeah, okay, he was kinda grimy, but she was a prostitute, she’d fucked significantly grimier. With Gregg, there were at least some appealing traits behind the griminess. Hell, if he could maybe just stop being such a shithead internet tough guy for five fucking seconds then he might even be her type! He wasn’t some rich asshole with more money than sense. Just some kid who didn’t know how to deal with girls because none of them had given him a chance. Their loss, as far as she was concerned – virgins were great fun. They were awkward, yes, but that just meant you had to take the lead. And her work had thoroughly demonstrated to her that taking the lead was the best part.

Not that she’d ever tell him that, of course. For the same reason she made fun of him for having a tiny dick when his dick wasn’t really all that tiny, or why she was calling him gay like that was at all a negative, or why she was keeping the fact that she made her boobs bigger to herself.

“No need to be so fucking awkward. What are you, a virgin? Don’t answer that, I already know.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the idea, Bitch~”

Gregg blushed all the more furiously as Frankie made her way over the various bits of clutter and knelt in front of him. “Honestly, you really should have made any effort to make your home presentable before inviting me over.”

“I didn’t invite you over, you somehow tracked down where I live and then barged in! I-”

That was enough out of Gregg, Frankie decided. She firmly grasped his shaft, and he immediately came. “Wow, you really are a virgin,” she teased. “It’s no wonder you can’t get laid if you cum just from being touched. Assuming you’ve ever even gotten that far, you’ve definitely never satisfied a woman.” Naturally, once again she was leaving out crucial details for the sake of her teasing. Of course Gregg had cum at the slightest stimulation. Frankie wasn’t just any frog, after all. She was a poison dart frog. Her whole body was coated in a thin layer of neurotoxic mucous. Not deadly, of course, but even so much as touching her was enough to set just about anyone’s libido to maximum immediately. And she’d shoved his face into her cleavage for a good minute – not only was it no surprise he’d cum so easily, she was frankly impressed that it had taken so long for him to erupt.

And boy, did he erupt. Gout after gout of cum. Each individual shot wasn’t really anything to write home about, of course – at least, not from Frankie’s admittedly extremely skewed perspective. But there were a lot of shots. Cumulatively, it was way more cum than any normal person should really be able to put out in one go. A telltale sign of the curse that Frankie had put on him before coming to his apartment. Because of course she’d cursed him. Just not with the kind of curse she normally broke out in this kind of situation.

She’d set the trigger to him orgasming, of course – silently, she thanked whatever higher power might be listening that he’d not decided to watch some porn in between her activating the curse and arriving at his front door. No, everything had gone exactly according to plan. She could feel his dick slowly shrinking in her grip. The more he came, the more it dwindled. And the smaller it got, the faster it shrank. “Good girl,” Frankie cooed as she felt it slip out of her grip entirely, the first phase of the curse finally wrapping up.

Now to move on to the second phase. Gregg stammered and sputtered in a cross between further indignity and abject horror, starring down at his brand new plump, juicy, hungry pussy. “Wh- you- What did you do to me you fucking psycho bitch?!?!” He continued to swear and rant, threatening bodily harm and lawsuits and other impotent nonsense. She let him get it out of his system while she stood up and calmly removed her hotpants, allowing her massive fucking horsecock to flop down on his face.

She might have tweaked herself a foot or two bigger to help ensure she got that exact effect. It definitely worked – all of his defiant words immediately died in his throat and his eyes widened like dinnerplates.

“Relax, Bitch. It’s not like it’s permanent. I just figured that since your dick’s so fucking minuscule then you might as well just be the girl.”

“Wh...” was all he managed to get out before all words completely dried up. The rest was just a quiet croak of horror.

“Now, what hole do you wanna use first? D’ya wanna jump right into using your new cunt, or would you rather try your hand at a blowjob? Oh, or since you’re a fucking fag, maybe you’d prefer I fuck your ass.”

“I’m not gay!” he snapped, briefly breaking free of his intimidated-by-hyper-horsecock fugue by the implication that he wasn’t straight. “A-and anyway, that’s gotta be bigger than I am, and it’s not even hard! What are you, some kind of freak? Th-there’s no way it’ll fit.”

“Oh, please, it’s only two feet you big baby. That’s just about average.”

“L-like fucking hell it is!”

“God you talk too much. Shut up, bitch,” Frankie snapped, shoving her balls into his face as her cock throbbed and let out a spurt of precum for emphasis.

“Y-yes’m.”

Fuck, that actually felt pretty good. “Mmm, good girl,” Frankie cooed, reaching down to gently stroke his purple hair. “Your mouth is much more suited to licking my balls like the slut you are.”

Okay, calling him a slut kinda clashed with making fun of him for being a virgin. But, if he noticed, he didn’t seem to react. He was distracted by inhaling the deep sexual musk of her balls – and, in the process, getting another few good whiffs of her aphrodisiac neurotoxin. His body quivered and convulsed as he experienced his first female orgasm. “Mnnnnn,” he groaned, reaching up to heft her nuts and to shove them more firmly against his face. For someone who kept protesting his heterosexuality, he sure did seem to be enjoying her balls a lot. Part of that was probably the result of the horny juice overwhelming his better judgment, but she’d still kinda expected it to take a bit more time for him to reach the ‘smelling her testicles of his own volition’ stage of things.

Not that she was gonna complain, mind. If he wanted to squeeze her balls then, hey! She got her balls squeezed. Win-win.

“S-so big,” he muttered, just barely loud enough to be audible. Frankie briefly considered making fun of him for that, but she ultimately decided to let that particular one slide. She had to be precise about when she got under his skin and when she let him go with the flow. And anyway she kinda liked having her balls complimented. Yeah, okay, technically they were the result of magic and thus their size was entirely arbitrary. She had specifically chosen to make them just about the size of his head, fat and heavy and full of cum. But fuck it, she wasn’t gonna say no to someone stroking her ego. Even if, you know, it was Gregg. Hell, if anything, the fact that it was coming from this little shithead kinda made it better because she’d be able to lord it over him. Assuming she bothered to ever interact with him again, which was in question.

Meanwhile, Gregg was enjoying himself. Squeezing and groping and sniffing and, pointedly, not licking just yet in spite of what she’d told him to do. “Hey, slut,” Frankie grunted. “I toldja to lick, so fuckin’ lick.”

“Mn.”

“An order’s an order, slut.”

“Y-yes’m.”

In spite of Frankie’s clarification that no, she wasn’t making a polite request, Gregg remained tentative and nervous. She didn’t really blame him for that one. Not only was he a virgin after all, he was a heterosexual virgin. Or at least one who assumed he was heterosexual – in Frankie’s experience, most people were at least a little bit Bi. It was very rare that she’d met a man who couldn’t at least kind of appreciate a nice ladycock given fair warning and enough prompting. But also it was very rare to meet a man who had considered that possibility beforehand. Not only did he definitely have no experience with handling a penis that wasn’t his own penis, he’d almost certainly never considered doing so. “Lick,” she repeated more firmly. “Come on, open your bitch-ass mouth, stick your bitch-ass tongue out and lick.”

“Y-yes’m,” he repeated. This time, however, he actually obeyed. Slowly and nervously, but his mouth opened, his tongue stuck out, and he licked.

And then he immediately collapsed backwards as the fresh dose of neurotoxin, directly ingested, made him cum like hell.

Frankie took this opportunity to back off a bit and take in her handiwork. Gregg’s hips bucked and his whole body convulsed, sending arcs of femcum across the room. Of course, Frankie had specifically cursed him to have a juicy pussy so being a squirter just made sense. Similarly, it only made sense that his build had gotten more slender and feminine. Slightly longer, daintier fingers – all the better to explore his new body with. Now that he wasn’t feeling up Frankie’s giant nuts, his hands had been freed up to play with himself. One awkwardly but furiously pressed against his cunt as he tried to figure out how to finger himself, while the other groped at a budding breast. Because of course the curse had moved all that excess bodyfat to where it belonged.

Sadly, he wasn’t all that overweight, so while his butt was pert and fuckable and his tits were there at all, they weren’t much to write home about. But there was an obvious fix to that; give the curse more bodyfat to work with.

Frankie circled around to the other side of the couch. Gregg’s head lolled over the back while his mouth hung open in ecstasy. Which, naturally, left him perfectly positioned for Frankie to shove her cock right into his waiting mouth before he had a chance to object. Not that he would have objected, of course. Frankie was pretty sure he’d reached the point where he was willing to admit to being into it, even if he’d probably pretend it was the curse later. It wasn’t, of course, but he seemed like the kind of person who would never ever ever admit that he was kinda bi without some kind of excuse.

In the moment, though? He didn’t really seem to care. Not only did he not resist even sightly but he actively reached up and grabbed her butt, attempting to pull her in deeper. “Geeze, you really are a slut. Fine, if you want my cum so badly, let’s just skip the foreplay and get to the fun bit.”

There were certain skills that Azure demanded all of her employees master before she’d let them actually take on clients. A wide variety of useful abilities for a high-end magic prostitute to have in their back pockets. The pocket dimension spell, some aptitude in growth magic, the ability to skip past refractory periods, a good solid repertoire of gender bending spells, and relevantly; the ability to control your orgasm. Not just the ability to hold back from climax, but also the ability to do so on command. After all, not every client wanted a slow buildup to climax. Sometimes, you needed to cum and cum and cum, and this was definitely one of those situations.

The end result was that Frankie went from zero to Vesuvius with a snap of her fingers and Gregg responded with some extremely contented sounding gurgles and some more of his own climax. Really, she’d expected to have to do a little more work before he went full cum-hungry slut, but she wasn’t gonna complain. Instead, she just reached down and ripped off his shirt. It was gonna get destroyed one way or another and this way was probably gonna be more comfortable. Besides, she wanted a good look at the results of her climax.

His tits were not particularly big, for now. Just about enough to not be outright flat-chested. But they were already starting to get just a bit bigger as his enhanced digestion kicked in on Frankie’s absurd output. And speaking of which, his tits weren’t big, yeah, but right below them his gut sure fuckin’ was. Inflated like a balloon with frogcum, and getting more and more inflated by the second. Fucker already looked nine months pregnant, and Frankie didn’t intend to stop any time soon. And the bigger it got, the bigger he’d get once the curse kicked in again.

“Let’s see... What do you think, do you want bigger tits or a bigger ass? Or should we go for a full-on hourglass?” Gregg did not respond, obviously – his mouth was occupied. Not that Frankie intended to give him any input either way. His enjoyment was beside the point, although he was very obviously enjoying himself. Once again, she’d not been expecting him to get to this point so quickly but he had and it was very funny. Either way, she already knew exactly how big she intended to make him. “Fuck it, mama Denton didn’t raise no quitter. Let’s shoot for watermelons. Prize-winning watermelons. Record-breaking watermelons! Big and juicy, just like your slutty little cunt.”

Gregg’s body convulsed as he came again, sweet-smelling wetness arcing out from underneath her gut. “Holy shit, did you just cum?” Frankie grinned, reaching down and slapping his taut belly. “Which was it that got you off, the thought of record-breaking watermelons on your chest or reminding you of your slutty little cunt?” Whichever it was, Gregg came again. He let out a low gurgle, completely limp except for the convulsions of his climaxes. Frankie would have probably assumed he was running out of air, except she’d made triple-certain that he didn’t need to breathe when he was sucking cock. “Maybe it was me smackin’ your fat slut-gut. Fuck it, maybe it’s all three. I don’t really care. You’ve probably got enough cum in ya’ to make your tits and ass the bare minimum, so I’m gonna stop for now. We can always make you suck my cock again later if I decide your tits are too small.”

Frankie backed up a few steps, letting her cock slide its way out of Gregg’s tight throat. The rat let out a few low gurgling noises, about as close to talking as he was gonna be capable of for a while. “Anyway, let’s get to the meat of things. The curse needs bodyfat to enhance your curves.” She could, of course, just use sorcery to make his tits and ass bigger. It was easier and quicker than working around the limitations of a curse to get the result that she wanted. But where was the fun in that? If she used sorcery to shortcut the process then she wouldn’t have gotten the chance to fuck Gregg’s throat and inflate him to the point he looked hyper-pregnant. Yeah, witchcraft required a bit more creativity to use, and yeah, it took longer. But that’s what made it fun. Frankie liked having to get creative, and liked the delayed payoff.

She was gonna have to use a little sorcery, though, or else he’d probably still be digesting cum by the time the curse wore off. But as long as she didn’t expedite the entire process with sorcery, then she was happy. “So we’re gonna have to boost your digestion a bit. Don’t worry, cum is super fattening and thanks to the curse it’s all gonna go exactly where it needs to.” Frankie snapped her fingers and then circled around in front of Gregg to get a better look at the result of all her hard work and planning.

Gregg gurgled some more, lying limply on the couch as he idly rubbed at his distended belly. Getting less and less distended by the second, though. And, in the meantime, his hips widened slightly – but most of the excess mass went right to his tits. Pert and small no longer, rubbery stretching noises filled the apartment as they slowly swelled bigger and bigger. A cups became B cups became D cups became G cups became K cups, dominating her dainty, waifish torso with overwhelming titflesh. Prize-winning watermelons indeed, these were easily blue ribbons already, and still getting bigger. It was easy, indeed, to overlook the other changes because they stood out so fucking much, but Frankie had seen enough giant tits in her time that she wasn’t too distracted – you know, disregarding the entire internal monologue she’d just had about them getting bigger. Aside from that.

Still, the changes were striking. She’d already noticed the longer, more slender fingers, complete with longer nails – like he’d gotten a fucking manicure, paint and all. His facial features were a bit softer and more feminine, though frankly he’d already been a bit of a femboy. But now he was a femboy with giant tits, and also a pussy. And, back on topic, with fuller, purple lips. Purple? Purple, like he was wearing lipstick. And eyeshadow, and mascara, all of which matched his longer hair. Longer and also, like, cleaner? It was still shiny but less in a ‘has Gregg showered yet this week’ kind of way and more of a healthy, luxurious sheen. His fur also looked much cleaner and healthier.

None of that had been intentional, of course. That was the thing about witchcraft – you didn’t really have all that much direct control over how it actually turned out. You gave the spell a general purpose, pointed it in the right direction, and then left the rest to the magic’s discretion. In this particular case, she liked how the magic thought. Very minimal interference, but what interference there was resulted in a much better final product. Gregg made a good girl. Gregoria, she supposed, although god that was not an attractive name. Whatever, she’d just stick with Gregg for now and let him come up with a girl name on his own discretion. If he even wanted to take that step. Not everyone was secretly trans, after all. Cindy was a statistical anomaly, even if the end result was significantly more tolerable than the original version. Still, Frankie couldn’t help but hope. He made too good of a girl not to lean into that. Ideally she’d at least awaken his inner femboy, though even that was probably pushing it.

While she’d been busy with her stream-of-consciousness musing, Gregg’s Greggs had finished growing. They were, unsurprisingly, enormous, easily filling the couch and covering all of his torso and much of his lower body to boot. He had his arms wedged awkwardly around them, buried firmly in his puffy pussy, pumping them in and out eagerly as he used the sides of his arms to awkwardly squeeze his beanbag tits. “Mnnnnnn fuuuuuuck~” he groaned, which was honestly more eloquent than Frankie had expected. Things were going much faster than she’d expected in general, which was just a bit disappointing? The faster it went, the sooner she’d be done. But whatever, the point of this wasn’t to have fun it was to teach this little shit a lesson. Maybe he’d be less of an internet tough guy now that he wasn’t, strictly speaking, a guy anymore.

Gregg’s eyes wandered to Frankie’s dick, and a vacant grin spread across his face. Slowly, he pulled his hands out and then spread his juicy puss wiiiiiiide open, wordlessly inviting Frankie to join in on the climax.

“Nah.”

That one word was enough to once again cut through the haze. Gregg’s mindless horny expression vanished, replaced with one of indignance and anger. “The fuck do you mean ‘nah’.”

“I mean that I’m trying to teach you a lesson, not give you a free sesh. Normally I’d charge you like fifteen hundred bucks for just what you’ve gotten so far, let alone putting it in you!”

“Wh- You can’t just do this to me and then leave!!!!!!”

“I think you’ll find that I very much can, Bitch.”

“F-fuck you!”

“Already did, babe. Where d’ya think your chest came from.”

“P-please! I’m literally begging you to just put it in me, I can’t think straight without a cock in me!”

“Thaaaaat’s the point! Won’t be able to think straight without a cock in you for another three weeks, five days, fourteen hours and twenty three minutes. Exactly. Might wanna set up a couple of hookup app profiles now, while you’re still lucid. Might I suggest Breedr? Great app for finding fuckmonsters that wanna put a baby or three or three hundred in ya’.”

“Eat my entire asshole!”

“That costs extra~” Frankie said with a flirty wink, before snapping her fingers in order to re-clothe herself. “Have fun, Bitch~”

“Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck yoooooouuuuuu!!!!!!”

Frankie could probably have fit in another parting barb or two, but she wasn’t exactly invested in getting the last word. She’d had her fun, and the rest was up to Gregg. She made her way out of his apartment, pointedly leaving the door open. After a moment’s thought and another snap of her fingers, a sign that read “Free Use Slut” materialized off to the side. “Bye, Gregg. See ya’ in a month~”

~~~

A month went by surprisingly quickly. Frankie was more excited to see the fruits of her labour than she would care to admit out loud. She couldn’t help herself, really! She was an artist, after all. What the fuck kind of artist wasn’t interested in seeing the final product? The wait was agony, but anything she could do to speed it up would just ruin the piece. So she waited, for the full month – to give him some time to get used to changing back before she returned to bully him further.

Once again, she dressed up for the occasion. Same outfit as last time, same proportions as last time. Saved a bunch of time, which was good because she’d waited long enough at this point and dammit she wanted to see how it turned out. She’d made a list of potential outcomes, an actual physical-ass list, handwritten. She hadn’t brought it, of course, because that’d be weird, but it existed. She’d also considered taking bets, but as funny as that’d be she ultimately decided against it. Partly because she didn’t know what to do if no one guessed the actual result (call it a wash, she supposed?), partly because there was the possibility that she’d end up losing the bet to Poppy which was of course unacceptable. But mostly because she wasn’t stupid enough to do casual workplace gambling in a workplace that employed like three fucking half-dragons. That would be actual straight-up financial suicide. So she just made the list for fun, to see if she could guess how Gregg would react to slightly less than a month as an insatiably horny cumslut girl with immobilizingly huge tits.

It was, it turned out, scenario 32-b – Gregg, dressed as a cheerleader and with his hair in pigtails, was getting fucked in the butt by a seven foot tall musclebound stallion in about half of a football uniform. “Huh. I guess he really was gay.”

“Bi at most! The balls haven’t touched!”

“Oh. I thought I locked the door, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Frankie said, closing the door behind her. “I’m invited.”

“No you’re not! Fuck off, this is all your fault!”

“Oh. You’re the one who, ah. Y’know.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, hey, thanks to you I met my girlfriend. Or boyfriend.”

“Oh, congratulations. Does the distinction matter?”

The horse shrugged. “I mean, I miss the tits a lot, but a nice ass is a nice ass.” He reached over and gave it a good solid smack for emphasis, prompting a breathy gasp from the rat.

“H-hey! You! At least turn me back into a girl!”

“Why the fuck should I do that?”

“To make this less gay!”

“Okay, so first off? I don’t give a shit what you do in your free time or how gay it might be.”

“Yes but I do.”

“And that should matter to me... why?”

“B-because!”

“Anyway, secondly it’d last at most a week. It’s really hard to permanently transform other people outside of very specific situations. The best I can offer you is temporary solutions, which I am not doing for free. If it’s that big of a deal, just go out and get implants. They’d be cheaper and permanent. Or just figure out how to do it yourself.”

“F-fuck you!”

“And thirdly, who am I to deprive this nice equine gentleman of his boy pussy?”

“Don’t call it that!”

“Boy pussy,” Frankie replied, prompting more angry sputtering from Gregg. “Hey, horse dude, y’mind if I fuck his face?”

The horse began to respond, but paused as Frankie dropped her pants and unleashed her massive horsecock – same size as last time, of course. His thought process was visible on his face, but eventually he settled; “Only if I get to touch your tits.”

“Deal.”