**”Becoming Hers”**

It started with the pills. She handed me the first dose with a smirk, those little blue estrogen tablets looking so innocent in her palm. “Swallow,” she said, and I did, because I was hers—even if I didn’t fully understand what that would mean yet.

The first month was subtle. My skin got softer, my muscles a little less defined. She noticed before I did, running her hands over my arms while we fucked, whispering in my ear, “You’re already changing.” She made me come with her fingers inside me, slick with lube, her other hand jerking my cock until I spilled over her fist. But even then, I could tell—my orgasms felt different. Lighter. Like the pleasure was spreading through my whole body instead of just my dick.

By month two, she had me in chastity. The cage was cold when she first locked it on, pressing a kiss to the metal. “This isn’t yours anymore,” she murmured, tapping the bulge where my cock strained uselessly against the bars. My balls ached, but she just laughed and pushed me onto my knees, guiding my mouth to her pussy. I licked her like a good boy, my tongue flicking her clit while she moaned, her fingers twisting in my hair. “See? You don’t need to come to make me feel good.”

Month three brought the soreness. My nipples were tender, my chest swelling just enough that she could pinch them and make me whimper. She loved that—loved seeing me flinch when she rolled the sensitive buds between her fingers. “They’re growing,” she’d purr, squeezing them until tears pricked my eyes. Then she’d kiss me, slow and deep, her hand sliding between my legs to rub the cage. I’d beg, my voice high and desperate, but she’d just shake her head. “Not yet.”

By month six, I had tits. Small, but real—enough to fill her hands when she pushed me onto the bed and straddled my face. I licked her cunt while she played with me, pinching my nipples until they hardened, teasing the soft flesh that had once been flat. “So pretty,” she cooed, grinding against my mouth. When she came, her juices dripped down my chin, and she wiped them away with her thumb before pushing it between my lips. “Taste yourself on me.”

The hormones were working fast now. My hips rounded, my ass getting fuller. She spanked me sometimes, just to watch the flesh jiggle, her handprint red against my skin. “You’re almost there,” she’d say, her fingers tracing the curve of my waist. Then she’d bend me over and fuck me with a strap-on, her hips slamming into me while I moaned, my caged dick twitching with every thrust.

Month nine was the surgery. I was shaking when she drove me to the clinic, my stomach in knots. But she held my hand, kissed my forehead. “You’ll be perfect after this,” she promised. And when I woke up, sore and groggy, she was there—stroking my hair, whispering how good I’d look once I healed.

Now, a year later, I’m hers completely. My cock is gone, replaced with a smooth, swollen cunt that drips when she fingers me. My tits are full enough to bounce when she fucks me from behind, her strap grinding against my clit until I scream. And when she unlocks the chastity belt—only sometimes, only when I’ve been good—she lets me come on her fingers, my pussy clenching around them while she laughs.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, licking my wetness off her hand. “My pretty girl.”

And I am.

I’m hers.