Ethan’s grip on the dice tightened, his knuckles whitening as the cool plastic pressed into his palm, the edges biting against his skin. The air in the cramped dorm felt thick, suffocating, wrapping around him like an invisible weight pressing hard against his chest. Every shallow breath felt too loud in the oppressive silence, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
There was no way out. No taking it back.
With a shaky exhale, he let the dice slip from his fingers. They tumbled across the board, bouncing and rolling in a slow, agonizing rhythm before finally settling.
Four.
The board reacted instantly, the red space beneath his figurine pulsing with a dull, ominous glow—Physical Change.
Ethan’s stomach twisted into a tight knot, dread pooling in his gut like lead. The crimson hue cast eerie shadows across his face as his trembling hand hovered over the stack of red cards. The deck sat there, almost expectant, the weight of its inevitability pressing down on him. His fingers trembled as he pulled one free, the parchment unnervingly warm against his skin, like it had been waiting—anticipating this moment.
His eyes scanned the words, but they seemed to burn into his brain, each syllable burrowing deeper, refusing to be ignored:
"You are such a dog, Ethan. Watching her, thinking about her, unable to control yourself. Since you can’t keep your urges in check, now you’ll bear the mark of your nature—inside and out."
His breath caught in his throat, the color draining from his face as the words settled, their weight suffocating him in a way that had nothing to do with the stagnant air.
A cold shiver crept down his spine, but it did nothing to quell the sudden, growing heat that bloomed deep in his core—low, insistent, and terrifying. It coiled inside him, twisting, reshaping. Panic surged through his veins, but his body refused to obey, trapped between fear and the relentless pull of whatever the game had set in motion.
Ethan’s hands twitched at his sides, his entire body tense with a dread that had nowhere to go. He could feel it, something shifting, something changing. And he knew—whatever was happening, it was far from over.
A deep, sickening warmth unfurled through his lower body, pulsing with a strange and unfamiliar rhythm. Ethan stiffened, his hands instinctively pressing down over his jeans, his fingers trembling slightly as he tried to understand the sudden, intrusive sensation. It wasn’t pain—at least, not in the way he expected. It was pressure, a slow, creeping shift that made his whole body tense.
Something was changing down there.
He felt it—an undeniable pull, like everything was subtly rearranging itself beneath the fabric of his clothes. The usual weight that sat between his legs felt… different, no longer hanging as it should, but instead pressing snugly inward, contained in a way that left too much empty space in his jeans. His breath caught in his throat as he squeezed his thighs together, hoping—praying—that he was imagining it.
But the heat didn’t go away. It sat low in his gut, coiled and foreign, as if something entirely unnatural had taken root within him.
He swallowed hard, too afraid to check, too afraid to move.
His hands hovered uselessly over his lap, fingers twitching, pressing down as if to confirm what he already suspected—his manhood was no longer as it should be. It felt smaller, tighter, encased in something soft yet firm beneath the fabric.
The realization hit him like a freight train. A sheath.
The thought made his stomach lurch, and his palms grew clammy against his thighs. He didn’t need to see it to know it was there. He could feel it—an awkward, new presence, snug against his skin in a way that filled him with dread. The sheer absurdity of it all warred with the creeping horror of knowing that this was his new reality.
And then, just when he thought it couldn’t get worse—
A sharp, shaky inhale sliced through the suffocating silence, and Ethan looked up to find Stacey’s wide, tear-streaked eyes locked onto him. Her face was pale, the color drained from her cheeks, but beneath the fading flush of embarrassment, something far heavier settled—realization.
She clung to Amelia like a lifeline, her bare shoulders trembling as she curled in on herself, shrinking behind the thin barrier of her friend’s frame. One arm clutched tightly around Amelia’s waist, her fingers digging into the fabric of the hoodie as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. The other hand pressed low against her lap, her grip unrelenting, a futile effort to shield herself from the cruel truth spelled out on the discarded card before them.
Her voice, when it came, was small—fragile and wavering, like it might break apart at any second.
"You... you were thinking about me?"
The words landed like a gut punch, slow and uncertain, as if she couldn't quite believe them herself. The disbelief in her tone made Ethan's insides twist into a tight, suffocating knot.
Stacey’s breath hitched, her face burning again—but it wasn’t just from embarrassment now. It was something deeper. Humiliation, betrayal, a vulnerability so raw it felt like it had stripped her bare in ways even the game couldn’t. She pressed her face against Amelia’s back, fingers curling tighter, knuckles white from the pressure.
Her gaze darted toward the card on the board, as if hoping—praying—that maybe, just maybe, it had been some kind of mistake. But the game never lied. And they all knew it.
Ethan's lips parted, a strangled breath escaping, but no words came. There was nothing he could say—nothing that could make this moment feel any less awful.
Stacey shook her head, a bitter, shaky laugh slipping through her trembling lips, though it held no humor. "Jesus, Ethan..." Her voice cracked, but she didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t need to.
The weight of her reaction pressed down on him like a stone, crushing and unrelenting. She wasn’t just angry—she was hurt. And that hurt was so much worse than the sheer horror clawing inside his chest.
Amelia, still sitting in front of Stacey, swallowed thickly, her arms tightening protectively around her friend. The tension in the room crackled, thick and oppressive, but neither of them could bring themselves to break it.
Clarissa shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the side, as if looking anywhere else could undo what had just been said. But the damage was done.
Stacey wouldn’t look at him now. She couldn’t.
And Ethan, frozen in place with something wrong between his legs and the awful weight of the truth hanging over him, wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to look at himself again.
The silence stretched thick and suffocating, wrapping around the room like a heavy fog. Ethan sat rigid on the chair, his fingers gripping his lap so tightly his knuckles were turning white. His chest rose and fell with shallow, unsteady breaths, a cold sweat prickling along his skin despite the unnatural heat still pooling deep in his core.
Clarissa was the first to break the stillness, her voice cautious but firm. “Ethan... what happened?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but the words refused to come easily. He could feel it—something wrong, something different—but shaping it into words felt impossible. Shaking his head slowly, his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t know... it just... feels weird.”
Clarissa leaned forward slightly, her brows knit in concern. “Weird how?”
Ethan hesitated, his face burning hotter. Every second under their scrutiny made his stomach churn, his pulse hammering in his ears. “It’s... tighter,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Different. Like, it’s not...” He trailed off, shaking his head again, unable to push the words past his throat.
From her place on the bed, Stacey curled in tighter against Amelia, her bare skin flush against her friend’s back in a desperate attempt at modesty. Her sharp, reddened eyes locked onto him. “So, what? It actually changed?” The bitterness in her voice sliced through the room, and Ethan winced. There was something vindictive in the way she said it—like she wanted him to suffer, to feel the same humiliating vulnerability she did.
Amelia shifted uncomfortably at Stacey’s side, clutching the sleeves of her oversized hoodie, her bare legs tucked tightly beneath her. She kept her gaze averted, her expression tight. “I mean... you think it’s different, but, like... we don’t know for sure, right?” Her voice wavered, the usual valley girl inflection struggling to mask her nerves. “Maybe it’s just in your head or something?”
Clarissa, however, wasn’t letting it go. Her eyes stayed locked on Ethan with an intensity that made his skin crawl. “We need to see,” she said, voice even but laced with an undeniable edge.
Ethan stiffened. “Are you serious?”
Clarissa nodded, lips slightly parted, the tension in her posture unmistakable. “We have to know if it’s real.”
Stacey’s arms tightened around herself, her fingers digging into her skin. “Yeah, we all had to deal with this.” Her voice cracked but carried a sharp edge of resentment. “Why should you get off easy? Just... show it, Ethan.”
Amelia groaned, covering her face with both hands. “Ugh, no! Like, I do not wanna see that! That’s, like, my brother, ew.” She squeezed her eyes shut but didn’t move to stop what was unfolding.
The walls felt like they were closing in, the air heavy and charged with a suffocating anticipation. Ethan’s heart pounded, his hands trembling as he forced himself to his feet, every movement mechanical and slow. He avoided their gazes, his face a mask of mortified dread.
“Fine,” he muttered, his voice hollow. “Let’s... just get this over with.”
The tension crackled, thick and unrelenting, as he reached down with unsteady fingers, fumbling with his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle sounded too loud in the silence, every sound amplified tenfold. He swallowed hard, hands shaking as he pulled down the zipper, just enough to see—and to show them.
His breath hitched sharply as his gaze fell downward, and his stomach churned with a sickening lurch. Where there should have been something familiar, something human, there was now... this.
A sheath of soft, light fur nestled against his skin, the foreign appendage drawn inward, snug, alien, wrong. Ethan’s vision swam, bile rising in his throat.
“Oh my God,” Clarissa whispered, her eyes widening, inching forward ever so slightly. Her gaze lingered, fascination and disbelief flickering in her expression.
Amelia recoiled violently, her face twisting in sheer horror. “Nope! Nope! Nope!” she squealed, whipping around so fast she nearly fell off the bed. “Ohmygod, I cannot—Ew! Just ew!” She buried her face in the pillow, shaking her head as if trying to erase the mental image.
Stacey stared for a long, awful moment, lips curling in something between disgust and a grim sense of justice. “Serves you right,” she muttered under her breath, the sting of her own humiliation still fresh, her flushed cheeks darkening further.
Ethan stood frozen, his breath shallow and ragged, hands clenched at his sides as he stared downward in silent horror. His pants hung loosely around his thighs, forgotten in the thick haze of panic that gripped his mind. This isn’t me anymore.
Where there should have been something familiar—something his—was instead something alien and wrong. The sheath sat there, snug against his skin, the soft fur covering what should have been exposed. It wasn’t just a change in appearance; it was a change in feeling, in presence. The subtle weight, the way it pulsed and shifted as if it had a mind of its own, made his stomach churn violently.
His body betrayed him further, the heat pooling low, and before he could stop it, he felt it—movement. A slow, creeping pressure as the foreign length inside the sheath inched outward, slipping forward with an uncomfortable inevitability. The tapered, slick tip appearing, a sickening reminder of how little control he had. Ethan's legs trembled under the weight of the realization.
A strangled noise escaped his throat, barely more than a choked whimper.
And then, he saw Clarissa staring.
Her lips parted slightly, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Sweat glistened on her flushed skin, tracing slow paths down her neck, collecting at her collarbone. Her wide eyes flickered downward for a brief second before she quickly looked away, shaking her head as if trying to banish the image from her mind.
"I—I can't," she whispered, her voice raw and trembling.
Amelia shifted beside her, her voice cracking with nervous energy. "Clarissa? Like, what’s wrong?" The usual valley-girl lilt faltered, weighed down by the unbearable tension in the room.
Clarissa’s hands balled into fists, her whole body trembling. "I can't take this anymore!" she gasped, the words spilling out in a desperate rush.
Before anyone could react, her fingers yanked at the hem of her sweat-soaked shirt. The fabric clung stubbornly to her damp skin, reluctant to let go, but she peeled it away in one swift motion, tossing it aside. It landed on the floor with a wet slap. Ethan’s throat tightened, his gaze locking onto her involuntarily.
Clarissa now stood in nothing but a set of deep red lingerie, the bra and thong clinging to her like a second skin, both thoroughly drenched with sweat. The lace of her bra pressed tightly against her chest, outlining everything beneath—the soft swell of her breasts, the hardened peaks of nipples that strained against the thin fabric. Droplets of perspiration trailed down the curve of her abdomen, glistening under the dim lighting of the dorm room.
The red thong, soaked and clinging to her skin, the full crease of her anatomy left little to the imagination. The delicate fabric stretched taut over her hips, accentuating the fullness of her curves and the damp outline below, the heat of her arousal unmistakable. The lace barely covered anything, leaving her feeling more exposed than she'd ever been, every inch of fabric molding to her like a second skin.
She made no effort to adjust it, standing there, breathing heavily, her flushed body betraying the 9/10 arousal that had been building relentlessly inside her.
Ethan’s heart slammed against his ribs, his gaze helplessly fixed on her as his unwanted arousal throbbed painfully, the growing pressure in his sheath undeniable and humiliating. His hands twitched at his sides, desperate to cover himself, but it was already too late.
Clarissa’s fingers dragged through her damp, tangled hair, pulling it away from her face as she sagged onto the floor, pressing her forehead against her knees. “I just—it's too much,” she muttered, her voice breaking.
Amelia squirmed beside her, visibly uncomfortable, tugging nervously at the oversized hoodie swallowing her frame. “Ugh, this is, like, totally the worst thing ever," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut and hugging her knees tighter to her chest.
Ethan stood frozen, his pulse hammering against his ribs, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The world outside his head blurred into a dull, oppressive hum—Clarissa, Amelia, Stacey—just distant figures in the suffocating haze that had wrapped around him. His entire focus was locked downward, staring in stunned horror at the grotesque, alien reality now exposed to the room.
The heat inside him pulsed, a relentless pressure that had been building since the moment he drew the card. It pushed, stretched, and then—there it was.
A slick, red appendage, rigid and unmistakably inhuman, jutted forward from the furred sheath nestled beneath his waistband. It wasn’t just present—it was at full attention, standing out obscenely, a horrifying testament to what he had become. Where there should have been something familiar, something he had known all his life, was now something foreign, something that didn’t belong. The tapered, pointed length curved slightly upward, a grotesque contrast to his trembling hands and the jeans still tangled awkwardly around his thighs.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. His brain scrambled to make sense of it, to rationalize it away, but there it stood, undeniable in its full, rigid reality. The sheer wrongness of it made his stomach churn.
The room hung in heavy silence, thick enough to drown in.
Stacey clung to Amelia from behind, her arms wrapped tightly around her friend’s waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her hoodie like it could somehow ground her in the chaos. Her face pressed against Amelia’s back, her breaths shallow and shaky, but even as she sought comfort, she couldn’t stop herself. Slowly, hesitantly, she peeked over Amelia’s shoulder, her wide eyes flitting between Ethan’s flushed face and the unsettling sight below.
She swallowed hard, feeling the heat in her cheeks grow unbearable, but still, she didn’t look away. Her eyes traced the foreign shape, the way it jutted forward, impossibly rigid, an inescapable reminder of how drastically everything had changed. The logical part of her brain screamed at her to shut it out, to retreat further into Amelia, to pretend none of this was happening. But another part—something deeper, something she didn’t want to acknowledge—held her gaze, drawn to the stark unfamiliarity of it, the sheer reality of what stood in front of them.
Her grip on Amelia tightened involuntarily, fingers twisting in the hoodie’s fabric, but her eyes remained locked in place. She watched, breath catching in her throat as she flicked her gaze up to Ethan’s face, the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darted nervously. He was humiliated, trapped in his own skin, yet... she couldn’t deny there was something about it, something that stirred uneasily inside her. The way it stood there, the shape of it—something about it made her stomach flip in a way she couldn’t explain.
Her heart pounded against Amelia’s back, and she could feel her friend's steady breathing beneath her, a rhythmic reminder of reality. And yet Stacey’s gaze drifted down again, lingering for just a moment longer than she should have. She bit her lip, chewing it anxiously, her thoughts racing, her emotions tangled in a knot of fascination and dread.
She knew she should stop looking, that she should bury her face back into Amelia’s shoulder and block it all out. But the truth was, she couldn’t. The sight of him—of this—was too strange, too surreal... too real. And no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, a part of her didn’t want to look away.
Clarissa sat frozen on her bed, beads of sweat trailing down her temples, her chest heaving in shallow breaths. The red glow of the game board cast eerie shadows across her face, accentuating the conflicted tension in her eyes. She didn’t look away; she couldn’t look away. The flush that had already painted her cheeks deepened, and her hands trembled slightly as they gripped the edge of the bed. Her lips parted, but no words came—just an exhale laced with something between disbelief and something she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Amelia, seated stiffly in front of Stacey, hugged herself instinctively, visibly squirming. "Bro..." she whispered, the usual valley-girl drawl stretched thin with unease. “Why don’t you, like, sit down or something? I think you might, uh... pass out or whatever.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she shifted uncomfortably, trying not to look but failing miserably.
The words cut through the unbearable stillness, forcing reality back into Ethan's bones. He twitched, his hands jerking down in a frantic attempt to cover himself, to shove his shirt over the obscene sight, but it was no use. The monstrous length stretched too far, the furred sheath pressing tight against his skin, making it impossible to hide.
He swayed slightly, the heat, the weight of it all pressing down on him like a crushing force. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, his knees weak under the pressure of the wrongness spreading through his entire body.
Clarissa exhaled shakily, dragging a damp hand over her face as if trying to wipe the scene from her mind. She finally tore her eyes away, swallowing hard, her knuckles white against the fabric of her sweatpants. But the damage had been done.
Stacey, pressing herself tighter against Amelia, whispered hoarsely, "I... I can't even deal with this right now..." Her grip on Amelia tightened, nails digging slightly into the fabric of her hoodie as she fought against the overwhelming weight of the situation.
Amelia awkwardly patted Stacey’s arm, her fingers fidgeting against the clingy fabric. "Yeah, no, this is, like, so not okay," she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut, but the image had already seared itself into her thoughts.
Ethan stood there, frozen in place, his hands trembling at his sides, the grotesque appendage throbbing uncomfortably in the open air. His throat felt too tight, his mind too fractured, trapped in his own body with no escape.
He just wanted this to end.
The silence in the room was suffocating, thick with the weight of everything they had just witnessed. Ethan stood frozen in place, his face burning, sweat clinging to his skin in beads that traced down his temples. His hands trembled as they gripped the waistband of his jeans, a feeble attempt to reclaim a shred of dignity. But no amount of tugging could make the fabric fit right—not with the grotesque, foreign thing now taking up space where normalcy once resided.
He gave an awkward, frustrated grunt, shifting his stance as he tried again, wincing at the discomfort of squeezing himself back into the confines of his jeans. It didn’t work—not fully. The unrelenting pressure, the impossible bulk of it, made it clear that nothing was the same anymore. Each inch he forced up made the weight more pronounced, pressing against his stomach, his thighs, and it was all he could do not to shudder.
With a defeated sigh, he settled for pulling them up just enough to sit back down, but even that was awkward. He shifted uncomfortably on the chair, his thighs spread wider than usual, the denim stretched tight in ways it shouldn’t be. Every subtle movement reminded him of the alien presence beneath the fabric, an ever-present humiliation he couldn’t escape.
Stacey sat curled up on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her bare skin pressed into Amelia’s back. Her gaze flickered uneasily between him and Clarissa, the disgust in her expression layered with something else—something softer. Pity. He hated that look. He didn’t want sympathy; he wanted this nightmare to end.
Clarissa exhaled sharply and wiped a trembling hand across her sweat-slicked forehead, strands of damp hair sticking to her flushed face. She sank onto the edge of her bed, legs splayed slightly, her chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths as she stared at the board in front of them. “We have to finish this,” she muttered, her voice raw and heavy with exhaustion.
Amelia, perched beside her, fidgeted with the sleeves of her hoodie, chewing anxiously at her bottom lip. She crossed her arms over her chest like a shield, her expression a mix of discomfort and determination. "Ugh... we, like, need to keep going," she said, her voice unusually soft, hesitant. The usual valley-girl lilt was still there, but the weight of what they were dealing with had taken most of the bite out of it.
Ethan swallowed hard, his throat thick, his eyes locked onto the glowing board. The eerie light pulsed mockingly, as if it knew what it had done to them—what it still had left in store. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tight as he forced himself to face it. The thing between his legs throbbed with an unwelcome awareness, an intrusive reminder of the change that had taken root deep within him.
He picked up the dice with trembling hands, their small plastic weight feeling unnervingly heavy, like holding his fate in his palm. He turned them over slowly, as if stalling would somehow change the inevitable.
They were past the point of turning back.
Clarissa, still perched on the bed, watched him with tired, wary eyes. Stacey pressed her forehead against Amelia’s back, breathing slow and measured, while Amelia sat stiffly, gaze flickering nervously toward him but never quite meeting his eyes.
Ethan sighed shakily, gripping the dice tighter before handing them over to Amelia. There was no use delaying it anymore.
They had to keep going.