(18+!)
Blake Evans is king of the tennis court at Westbridge University...and he's also a prick, a womanizer, a player, and an asshole. He's touted as one of the next stars of tennis, building hype and excitement around the program with every win...
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Savannah's bedroom. Blake lay on the bed, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and alertness. The physical transformations seemed to have slowed, his body now accustomed to its new form. Savannah, ever the meticulous observer, was sitting beside him, a notebook in hand, documenting every detail.
"The physical changes appear to be...continuing," Savannah noted, her tone clinical. "Your body has adapted remarkably well. How are you feeling, Blake? Any differences mentally?"
Blake hesitated, trying to keep his voice steady. "No, I feel the same."
But as the words left his mouth, unwanted images flashed through his mind—vivid scenes of being bent over a gym bench, of being fucked sideways, of Josh's cock in her mouth, his body responding eagerly to every touch. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts, forcing them back into the recesses of his mind.
Savannah's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing his hesitation. "Are you sure, Blake? No changes at all?"
Blake swallowed hard, his heart pounding. "Yes, I'm sure."
Savannah watched him for a moment longer, her gaze piercing. Then she seemed to accept his answer, turning her attention back to her notebook. "Alright then. Let's get you dressed. I have something special planned for today."
Blake felt a knot of anxiety form in his stomach. "What is it?"
Savannah walked over to the closet, pulling out a pristine white tennis outfit. "After yesterday, I want to see if you can even hit a tennis ball any more."
Blake's hands trembled slightly as he pulled the Westbridge tennis skirt up over his hips. The soft fabric clung to his body, emphasizing the feminine curves he had developed. The skirt flared out at the bottom, leaving his legs exposed in a way that made him feel vulnerable and exposed. He glanced at himself in the mirror, the sight of his slender legs and the short skirt driving home the reality of his new uniform.
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"This is too small," he said, the fabric barely covering his rear.
"No. It's not."
"Fine." He slipped into the matching white top. The fabric stretched over his chest, hugging the swell of his breasts and accentuating his narrow waist. Blake felt a pang of loss as he remembered the days when his wardrobe had been filled with clothes designed to highlight his strength and masculinity. Now, he was dressing in this--showcasing every inch of his new, softer form.
