----Transformation Tracker ----
Amelia Harper -
Stacey Whitmore - Has to accept and complete any dare (Mental),
Ryan Carter - Enlarged Manhood (12inch).
Clarissa Bennett - Compelled Tomboy Masculine Persona Override (Mental),
(Amelia's POV)
My hands trembled as I reached for the dice. The weight of Clarissa’s change was still hanging in the air, thick and suffocating, but the glowing board didn’t care. It wanted more.
It wants me.
The crystal ball pulsed softly in the dim hotel room, the eerie pink hue swirling inside like it knew something I didn’t. I swallowed, glancing at Stacey and Ryan, hoping someone would say something—anything—to stop this, to tell me we could quit. But no one did. We couldn’t. The board had made that very clear.
I took a deep breath and rolled.
The dice clattered across the board, bouncing once, twice, and landed with an ominous finality.
Seven.
The piece representing me moved on its own, sliding along the winding path before settling on a pink space—Sex-related Physical/Mental Change.
The crystal ball flared brighter, bathing the room in a sickly pink glow. My stomach clenched as ornate lettering scrawled across the board, forming a cryptic riddle:
“A hole unfilled shall burn with fire, only a plug can quench desire.”
I blinked at the words, my mouth going dry. “What... what does that mean?”
Clarissa leaned forward, squinting at the board, but I could still see that cocky smirk tugging at her lips—not hers, not really. “Sounds like you’re about to get... real acquainted with something.”
Ryan shot her a look. “Not helping, dude.”
Stacey’s face scrunched in confusion. “Wait, what kind of plug are we talking about?” Her eyes widened in sudden realization. “Oh. Oh no.”
I felt a cold pit open in my stomach. No. No, no, no, this isn’t happening.
But then it did.
The warmth started low, deep inside me, like a tiny ember nestled in a place I didn’t want to acknowledge. It was slow at first, spreading outward in lazy, curling tendrils that made my legs twitch involuntarily.
I shifted on the bed, trying to ignore the growing sensation pressing in a place that had never felt this present before. My thighs tensed, and a shiver ran up my spine. It was an uncomfortable, crawling warmth—something building and waiting.
I clenched my jaw, pushing my legs together tightly, trying to suffocate whatever was happening. But the heat only grew stronger, more insistent, like a need that wouldn’t go away. I gritted my teeth as the warmth bloomed into something sharper.
A low, simmering burn ignited deep inside me, radiating out in waves. It wasn’t unbearable—yet—but it felt... wrong. Like something was missing. Like I was incomplete. My hips shifted involuntarily, searching for relief that wouldn’t come.
“Oh god,” I breathed, pressing my palms against my thighs. “I don’t like this.”
“What's happening?” Amelia asked, concern etched across her face.
I could barely answer. “It’s... it’s like something’s off,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “Like there’s a... space that—” I stopped, horrified at the words forming in my head. I couldn't even say it out loud.
The burning intensified, sharper now, hotter. My back arched slightly against the heat pressing inside me, and I gasped.
It felt like someone had poured liquid soap into my most sensitive spot, the sting crawling inward and deepening, demanding relief that I didn’t want to give.
Ryan shifted awkwardly. “Uh, are you... okay?”
I snapped my head toward him, mortified. “No, I’m not okay!” My voice wavered, high and thin. “It burns! Like, really burns!” My thighs clenched, a sharp tremor running through me. “I feel like—” I bit down on my lip hard to stop the next words.
I didn’t need to say it. Stacey’s face twisted in horrified realization. “Wait... so you have to—”
I squeezed my eyes shut, nodding rapidly. “Yes. I think I have to... fill it.” The words felt foreign and humiliating coming out of my mouth, and my face burned with embarrassment.
Clarissa chuckled—low, lazy, not the girl I knew. “Wow. That’s... tough luck, Ames.”
I ignored her, shifting my hips again as the fire inside me licked hotter, more demanding. My fingers twitched at my sides, the itching sensation gnawing at my insides. It was getting worse, spreading deeper, more intense. I could feel it tightening, clenching, pulsing in waves.
I need it. The thought slammed into me, primal and insistent. My breath hitched, and my nails dug into my thighs. I could fight it. I could—
A sharp spike of heat flared inside me, and I yelped. My body jerked forward, legs pressing together so hard it almost hurt. “I can’t—I can’t take it.”
Stacey stared, wide-eyed. “Ames... I think you have to.”
“I know!” I snapped, panting now, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. The burning was relentless now, white-hot and consuming. “I don’t have... I didn’t bring anything like that!”
The room fell silent.
But the burn wasn’t waiting for my pride. It coiled tighter, biting into me with a fresh, agonizing wave, and I bit down on a whimper.
Ryan coughed awkwardly. “Uh... is there anything else that could work?”
My eyes darted frantically around the room, desperation clawing at the edges of my mind. Nothing. I had nothing. The idea of finding something—anything—felt humiliating beyond belief, but the fire inside me didn’t care. It was screaming now, begging for relief.
I pushed off the bed suddenly, pacing the room in frantic, jerky steps. “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening,” I muttered under my breath. Every movement sent another surge of heat through me, making me clench my fists tightly.
Stacey looked at me sympathetically. “I mean... maybe you just need to, uh, find something else that could fit?”
I spun around, panic flashing in my eyes. “No! I’m not... I can’t just... do that in front of you guys!”
But another burn flared deep inside me, sharp and relentless, and I groaned through clenched teeth. The game wasn't giving me a choice. If I didn’t find something soon... I wasn’t sure what would happen.
I staggered back to the bed, collapsing onto it and burying my face in my hands. “This is humiliating,” I mumbled.
Clarissa leaned back against the pillows, her smirk never fading. “Guess you’d better figure something out soon, Ames.”
I swallowed hard, my body screaming for relief. I didn’t want to do this. But the fire wasn’t going away.
And deep down, I knew it wouldn't stop until I gave in.
(Amelia's POV)
Ryan's voice had been low, hesitant, but the suggestion hung in the air like a bomb waiting to go off. "I mean... maybe you could, uh, use something more... creative?"
I stared at him, heat crawling up my neck as Stacey and Clarissa exchanged wide-eyed glances. My stomach twisted, the humiliation of the situation pressing down on me like a weight.
"What?" I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Ryan rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. "You know... something homemade? Like... you probably have something in your bag that could, uh, work."
Stacey let out a nervous laugh. "Oh my God, Ryan," she groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Could you be any more awkward?"
But I wasn’t laughing. I was already halfway out of my seat, my legs twitching from the relentless fire building inside me.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, grabbing my travel bag and making a beeline for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. My breathing was ragged, my heart hammering in my chest as I leaned back against the cold tile.
The fire inside me wasn’t fading. If anything, it was getting worse, growing hotter with every second that passed. Sitting down, standing, even the thought of walking back out there without relief made my stomach churn.
I set the bag down on the counter and zipped it open with trembling fingers, rifling through the neatly packed contents. What do I have?
A brush.. I woundnt be able to wear pants afterwords, deodorant way to wide, toothpaste eh—no, none of that would work. I shoved them aside, biting my lip as my mind scrambled for an answer. The burning ache inside me gnawed with relentless intensity, and I pressed my thighs together instinctively, trying to will it away.
I dug deeper, pulling out a small bottle of lotion, my face burning at the mere thought of why that even crossed my mind. No. No way. I pushed it aside and kept searching.
Hair ties, lip balm I might lose it inside…, an extra phone charger… a square though. My fingers hesitated over a sleek, cylindrical case, and a tiny spark of hope flared in my chest before it died just as quickly. My makeup brush. The handle was smooth, firm—but the sheer absurdity of it made me want to crawl under the sink and disappear.
I groaned, slamming the bag down onto the counter, my reflection in the mirror looking just as panicked and flustered as I felt. My blonde hair hung messily over my shoulder, strands sticking to the sweat forming along my hairline. I looked... desperate.
This isn’t happening. This shouldn’t be happening.
But it was.
I forced myself to breathe, wiping a shaky hand over my face. “Okay, come on, Amelia. There’s gotta be something.”
My gaze fell on the travel-sized bottle of conditioner nestled at the bottom of the bag. Small, rounded, and—my stomach clenched at the thought—the right shape.
I felt a fresh wave of heat flush through me, my entire body tingling with the mix of shame and desperate determination. I swallowed hard, picking up the bottle with trembling fingers and holding it up to the light. It wasn’t perfect, but... it might work. It had to work.
I stared at it for a long moment, biting my lip so hard I thought it might bruise. The ache deep inside me pulsed angrily, and I realized I didn’t have a choice anymore.
My fingers tightened around the bottle.
Just do it. Get it over with.
I glanced at the door, praying they couldn’t hear me outside, then took a deep breath and locked it.
The fire inside me demanded relief, and I had run out of options.
------
(Ryan's POV)
The bathroom door clicked shut, and the silence in the room felt suffocating. Amelia had barely said a word before rushing in there, clutching her travel bag like it was some kind of lifeline. None of us needed to say what we were all thinking—we knew. We knew.
I leaned back against the headboard, letting out a slow breath through my nose, trying to act casual, but my legs felt stiff, and my hands stayed locked in place over my lap shielding my penis. The earlier "change" I got from this stupid game was still making it impossible to get comfortable. My jeans strained uncomfortably against me, and no amount of shifting was going to fix it. I had a erection and it was pointed directly down when it got bigger. Too afraid to draw attention to it I did nothing.
Stacey sat on the bed, curled up tight, gnawing on her thumb, her eyes bouncing between the bathroom door and the floor. “S-So... do we, like... check on her?” she muttered, clearly dying inside from secondhand embarrassment.
Clarissa, on the other hand, was the opposite of tense. She sprawled out on the other bed, legs wide, arms flung behind her head, radiating an unsettling kind of confidence that definitely wasn’t her. “Pfft, she’ll figure it out,” she said, shrugging with an easy grin. “Ames is smart. She’s probably just psyching herself up.”
Her voice had this weird roughness now—casual, cocky, almost too relaxed. She looked at me differently, like she was sizing me up in a way that made my skin crawl.
Another muffled sound leaked through the door. A soft, shaky gasp.
I froze, and my fingers pressed harder against my lap trying to shift my penis just a tiny bit, trying to cover up the uncomfortable pressure that was getting more obvious by the second. Thinking about a female doing something that would normally be so secret was causing my mind to picture it as if I was trying to latch onto sexual nature of it.
Stacey’s eyes darted toward me, her cheeks already turning red. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, keeping my voice steady. Don’t react. Don’t think about it.
Clarissa smirked, sitting up and resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes flicking to me. “Relax, dude,” she said, her voice lower, smoother than usual. “I mean... she’s gonna have to do what she’s gotta do, right?”
I swallowed hard, not meeting her eyes.
Clarissa grinned wider, leaning forward. “C’mon, man, I know what’s going on.” She gestured toward my lap, and my whole body tensed. “You look real uncomfortable.”
I could feel my face heat up. “It’s nothing.” I crossed my arms, forcing a laugh, trying to play it off. “Just... sitting weird.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned back, laughing under her breath. “"its" just sitting weird. Guess the game didn’t just mess with Amelia, huh?”
Stacey groaned, hugging her knees.
Another sound from the bathroom, this time softer, but it was enough to send a fresh wave of awkwardness crashing over us. I looked down at the carpet, really wishing I could sink into it.
Clarissa, of course, wasn’t helping. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re both so uptight,” she said, stretching her legs out and slapping her knee. The motion was exaggerated, lazy, like she owned the space around her. “It’s just natural, right, well maybe not in size, but we all got needs.”
I shot her a glare. “Seriously…? Clarissa…?”
She just grinned, leaning forward slightly, her hazel eyes sharp with amusement. “What? I’m just saying, if I were in your shoes, I’d... well, never mind.”
Stacey buried her face in her hands. “Clarissa, stop! You’re making this worse!”
Clarissa laughed, and the weird thing was... she didn’t seem to care. The old Clarissa would be freaking out right now, avoiding eye contact and blushing just as hard as Stacey. But now? She was eating this up, leaning into it, reveling in the awkward tension swirling around the room. And the way she was looking at me... like she was seeing something I really didn’t want her to notice.
I shifted uncomfortably again, now that it was know I just shifted in fast in broad daylight to get it over with. The pressure against my jeans wasn’t letting up, the size was both daunting and the pressure causing a loop of good feelings and Clarissa wasn’t making it any easier.
She smirked, nudging me with her foot. “Man, you’re seriously trying way too hard,” she said, dragging the words out with that cocky tone that didn’t belong to her. “Just... I dunno, think about baseball or something.”
I gritted my teeth. “Super helpful.”
Clarissa leaned back, grinning wider, clearly enjoying herself a little too much. “You know, if I were Amelia, I’d just—” she paused, tilting her head, a teasing glint in her eyes “—get it done. No hesitation, no fuss. Just in one push all in, shove whatever it is in there, problem solved.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis, and Stacey let out a mortified groan.
“Oh my God, Clarissa,” Stacey huffed, pushing off the bed and standing abruptly. “You’re unbelievable.”
She stormed toward the door, her hands running through her hair in frustration before she disappeared around the corner into the next room. The knock on the bathroom door echoed through the silence left behind. “Amelia?” Stacey’s voice came softer now, but we could still hear the concern lacing her words. “You okay in there?”
The faint shuffling on the other side of the door answered before Amelia did, her muffled response too quiet to make out. Stacey sighed heavily, lingering outside the bathroom, leaving me alone with Clarissa.
I swallowed.
And just when I thought this couldn’t get any worse, Clarissa shifted.
It wasn’t subtle—her legs sprawled wider, her body sinking into the mattress with an almost lazy confidence that felt like a challenge. The shift in her posture was so deliberate, so unapologetic, that it sent a wave of heat through my chest. My eyes flicked down, catching the way her toned thighs stretched out, the soft fabric of her shorts riding high, leaving very little to the imagination.
I told myself not to look.
But I did.
And then she looked back.
Our gazes locked, and suddenly it wasn’t just teasing anymore. The smirk on her lips softened just slightly, the air between us thickening with something heavier—something neither of us was willing to say out loud. There was an undeniable awareness flickering in her hazel eyes, a knowing glint that sent a jolt straight through me.
She knew.
(Clarissa's POV)
I stretched out further on the bed, feeling the way my legs sprawled without hesitation, the weight of my body sinking deep into the mattress like I didn’t have a care in the world. But inside? Inside, I was screaming.
What the hell was I doing?
This wasn’t me. I didn’t act like this. I didn’t push boundaries, didn’t tease, didn’t—flirt. At least, not like this. And yet, there I was, lounging like I owned the place, legs wide open, watching Ryan squirm under my gaze with a satisfaction that felt... good. Too good.
My mind knew this was wrong, that this wasn’t how I was supposed to carry myself, but my body? My mouth? They had other ideas. The words slipped out smooth and easy, the teasing, the confidence, the way I leaned in just enough to get under his skin—it all felt so natural, so effortless. And the worst part?
I was enjoying it.
Why? Why did I feel this sudden thrill in pushing him, in watching his hands twitch in his lap, his jaw tighten? I could see him trying to hide it, trying not to react, but I knew. I knew what was happening to him, and it sent a weird jolt through me, one that curled low in my stomach, making my pulse thrum in a way I didn’t want to think about.
I shouldn’t be feeling this way.
But I did.
And it was messing with my head. I was used to being in control, used to leading with authority, but this? This was different. It was a power I hadn’t considered before, a new way to take up space, to hold someone's attention—not by skill, not by force, but by something more subtle. Something dangerous. And somehow, that was... exciting.
I shifted my weight again, feeling the soft fabric of my shorts riding higher, the cool air brushing against my skin in a way that made me more aware of my own body than I ever had been before. The heat creeping up my neck wasn’t just embarrassment; it was something deeper, something instinctive that I didn’t know how to process.
I flicked my gaze back to Ryan, watching the way his hands pressed harder against his thighs, how his whole body screamed discomfort. But I could feel it—underneath it all, the tension, the pull between us. It was a game now, and my body loved it, even if my mind didn’t understand why.
I wanted to push further.
The thought hit me out of nowhere, sharp and undeniable. I wanted to see how far I could go, how much I could make him squirm, how much control I really had. A shiver rolled through me at the idea, my breath hitching just slightly, and I hated that it felt... good.
But deep down, behind the lazy grin and the teasing remarks, something in me was panicking. Because no matter how much I fought it, my body was in the driver’s seat now. And the part that scared me the most?
I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to stop.
(Ryan's POV)
I swallowed, my throat dry, shifting slightly in my seat, pressing my thighs together in a weak attempt to conceal the growing problem below. But Clarissa saw right through it. Her smirk deepened, slow and lazy, like she was enjoying this way too much.
Her knee bounced slightly, the rhythmic motion drawing my attention back down before I could stop it. And when I looked up again, she was still watching me, the weight of her gaze pressing into my skin, leaving me feeling exposed in ways I wasn’t prepared for.
Then, as if she had all the time in the world, she leaned back against the pillows, her arms folding behind her head, lifting the hem of her hoodie just enough to make my pulse spike. Her legs spread wider, and this time, I knew it was on purpose.
“Relax, dude,” she murmured, voice low and teasing, with just enough of an edge to make my stomach tighten. “You're acting like you’ve never seen a girl get comfortable before.”
I clenched my jaw, forcing a shaky laugh that didn’t come out nearly as casual as I wanted. “You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, focusing hard on anything but the way her eyes traced over me, lingering, calculating.
Clarissa's grin widened, and she tilted her head slightly, her gaze dropping, flicking back up to my face with a knowing glint. “Nah,” she said, her voice dropping lower, huskier. “I’m just observant.”
I felt my whole body tense, heat prickling at my skin. She knew exactly what she was doing. The way she stretched, the way she sprawled, the way her voice had taken on that lazy, masculine lilt—it was intentional. Calculated. And it was working.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want it to stop.
Clarissa let out a soft chuckle, her fingers drumming lightly against her stomach. “You can keep pretending, Ry,” she mused, her voice smooth and confident. “But I know what’s going on under there.”
My breath hitched, and I shifted again, my fingers digging into my knees, trying to play it off like I wasn’t affected. “Clarissa, come on.”
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “What? Am I making you uncomfortable?”
I swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at her, but it was impossible to ignore the way she was watching me now—like she was waiting, daring me to react.
I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.
But the way she licked her lips, slow and deliberate, told me she already had.
------
(Amelia's POV)
I sat there on the edge of the bathtub, the cool porcelain pressing against the backs of my thighs, trying to catch my breath. My fingers clenched the small travel-sized bottle of conditioner so tightly my knuckles turned white. The room felt too small, too bright, and my reflection in the mirror didn’t look like me anymore—flushed cheeks, wide, desperate eyes, and lips slightly parted from panting too hard.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
But the burning inside me had other plans. It pulsed in hot, relentless waves, twisting deep in my core, making it impossible to think of anything else. Every second I wasted felt like torture, the ache gnawing at me like an itch I couldn't scratch. I shifted, my legs pressing together on instinct, but it did nothing to quench the fire growing inside me.
My heart pounded in my ears as I looked down at the bottle in my trembling hands. The thought of actually doing this—of putting something like this there—made my stomach churn with embarrassment. I didn’t want to do it. God, I didn’t want to do it. But the heat kept building, insistent, making my thighs twitch and my breath come out in short, shallow gasps.
I swallowed hard, staring down at my lap. My hands shook as I reached for the waistband of my shorts—simple cotton sleep shorts, navy blue with tiny white polka dots, a set I’d thrown on before we started the game. I hesitated, heart pounding, then slipped my fingers under the elastic band, dragging them down over my hips. The cool air hit my skin, sending an involuntary shiver through me, but it did nothing to dampen the inferno inside me.
My underwear—plain white cotton briefs, nothing fancy, nothing meant for this—followed next, and I found myself biting my lip, my face burning at the humiliating reality of what I was about to do. I forced myself to focus, to breathe.
I quickly realized that sitting on the tub wasn’t going to work. The angle was awkward, and I needed... more room. More control. With shaky legs, I stood up, moving to the sink for support, gripping the edge so hard my knuckles ached. My legs wobbled beneath me, knees weak and trembling, and I shifted my weight awkwardly, trying to balance.
I ended up half-bent over, my upper body resting against the cool sink counter, my legs slightly apart in a stance that felt both vulnerable and practical. Every motion made the fire inside me twist tighter, and my breath came in shallow gasps.
I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Just get it over with,” I whispered to myself, barely recognizing my own voice.
With shaking fingers, I unscrewed the cap, my hands slick with sweat. I hesitated for a second, the cool scent of conditioner filling the air, sharp and artificial, so different from the raw heat inside me. A new wave of need twisted in my gut, making me bite down on my lip to keep from whimpering. I felt empty, like something vital was missing, and every second I waited only made it worse.
My thighs clenched again, hard, and I groaned softly, my body screaming at me to do something, anything to fill the aching void.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I reached down, the bottle feeling foreign and cold against my overheated skin. I flinched at the contact, the contrast almost too much, and my breath hitched in my throat.
Slow. I had to go slow.
I pressed it gently against my entrance, and my whole body tensed instinctively. The burning sensation flared, sharp and insistent, and I whimpered involuntarily. It was like my body was both desperate for relief and terrified of what was happening all at once.
With trembling hands, I pushed a little, feeling the cool plastic give slightly, and my legs twitched as the heat inside me shifted, coiling tighter. A strangled gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it. My muscles clenched down hard, fighting it, but I forced myself to take another deep breath, trying to relax, trying to let it happen.
My heart leapt into my throat, and I froze, my face flushing hotter than ever.
"I'm fine!" I blurted out, maybe too fast, too defensive. "I just... need a minute."
There was a pause, and for a second, I thought she might press further. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying she'd just go away.
"Okay..." she finally said, her voice softer.
Just a little more.
I pushed ever so slightly, my breath hitching in my throat as the cool plastic pressed against me. The resistance was still there, tight and unyielding, my body instinctively fighting against it even as the unbearable burn demanded relief. My legs trembled, sweat slicking the backs of my knees, and I clenched my jaw, trying to force myself to relax.
Then, without warning, the resistance gave way—too fast, too sudden.
A strangled, choked noise tore from my throat as the bottle slid in deeper than I expected, my entire body seizing up in shock. A sharp, biting pain flared inside me, a deep, stretching ache that felt like my insides were being forced apart in ways they weren’t meant to. It was too much all at once—too full, too tight, too wrong.
My knees buckled, and I gasped, a high, desperate sound muffled against the back of my trembling hand as I bit down hard on my knuckles to keep quiet. My chest heaved in ragged, uneven pants, my stomach clenching like a fist as every nerve in my lower body screamed in protest. The pressure, the burning, the way my muscles instinctively tried to push it back out—it all crashed over me in a suffocating wave, making me dizzy and nauseous all at once.
I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut so tightly that black spots danced behind my eyelids, trying to breathe through the sharp pulses of pain. My body felt like it was caught between two opposing forces—the desperate need for relief and the raw, tearing sensation that threatened to overwhelm me. The plastic felt cold and unyielding inside me, pressing against places I’d never felt so acutely before, and every tiny movement sent a fresh jolt of pain rippling through my core.
I clenched around it instinctively, and the pressure shot straight up my spine, making me arch and whimper again, my toes curling against the cold tile floor. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, and I swallowed hard against the rising lump in my throat, my breathing coming in short, shallow gasps. It hurt. God, it hurt so much more than I expected, and yet... the awful, gnawing burn deep inside me had finally dulled, just a little.
A shudder wracked through me, my hands gripping the edge of the sink for support, and I forced myself to stay still, to let my body adjust to the invasive presence. My thighs trembled, the slick sweat between them only adding to the unbearable humiliation coursing through me. My face burned, hot and mortified, and yet I couldn’t move. I couldn’t pull it out—not yet.
I focused on breathing, slow and shallow, trying to regain some semblance of control even as every muscle in my body screamed to reject what I’d just done. My chest rose and fell in unsteady pants, and I let my forehead fall against the mirror, eyes squeezed shut as if blocking out the world would somehow make this moment go away.
What the hell did I just do to myself?
It was in. It was there. And... oh god, it actually helped.
The fire inside me dulled just slightly, the desperate edge taking a step back, leaving me feeling shaky and disoriented. I could still feel the heat lingering, pulsing around the intrusion, but it wasn’t the unbearable need it had been just moments ago.
I exhaled shakily, my body trembling as I leaned against the bathroom wall, closing my eyes for a brief moment of relief. My face burned with shame, my heart still hammering in my chest.
What had I just done?
I couldn’t think about that now. I couldn’t even begin to process it. All I knew was that, for now, the game had won.
And I didn’t know what that meant for the rest of us.
(Amelia's POV)
When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, everything felt off. The air in the hotel room was thicker, heavier, and the usual comforting presence of my friends felt more like an interrogation waiting to happen. My fingers tightened briefly around the doorframe before I forced myself to step into the room, every movement deliberate, careful—too careful.
Stacey sat on the edge of the bed, knees hugged to her chest, her eyes darting up the second she heard the door click open. Concern flickered across her face, but she didn’t say anything right away. Clarissa, sprawled out across the bed with an almost obnoxious ease, barely lifted her head, offering a lazy grin. But behind it, I could see something sharper, something calculating in the way she watched me.
And then there was Ryan.
He looked up, then immediately away, rubbing the back of his neck like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His fingers fidgeted against his knee, his jaw tightening and relaxing in an awkward rhythm. My face burned hotter just knowing what he was probably thinking—what they were all probably thinking.
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, the familiar fabric of my hoodie offering little comfort. The movement sent a faint but persistent pressure through me, and I had to fight the urge to shift. It was still there. Still inside me. Every step I took, every small adjustment, was a reminder—a dull, throbbing presence pressing against me, keeping the burn at bay.
I moved slowly, deliberately, walking to the bed with a stiff posture, easing myself down carefully. The moment I made contact with the mattress, I felt it, the shift deep inside, making me clench involuntarily. I swallowed hard, keeping my expression neutral, but my thighs pressed together instinctively. My fingers gripped the edge of the blanket tightly, grounding myself in the fabric.
“Uh... you okay?” Stacey's voice was cautious, like she was afraid of the answer.
I forced a nod, keeping my face blank. “Yeah. Fine.” My voice came out too quick, too tight, and the way Stacey's eyebrows knitted told me she wasn’t convinced.
Clarissa rolled onto her side, resting her head on her palm, her smirk still in place. “Told you she’d figure it out,” she said, voice light but with that new rough edge that made my stomach churn. “No big deal, right?”
I forced my lips into a thin smile, not trusting myself to answer without giving something away.
Ryan cleared his throat, still not looking at me. “We, uh... were about to roll again,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, fingers drumming against his knee.
The crystal ball at the center of the board pulsed ominously, casting strange shadows across the room. My stomach twisted, and I clenched my thighs a little tighter, the sensation sending another wave of discomfort through me. I had to stay still, to keep it in place, and the idea of sitting through the rest of the game like this made me want to scream.
I took a deep breath, willing my body to cooperate. “Let’s just get it over with,” I said, forcing my voice to sound steady, normal.
But nothing felt normal anymore.
Stacey shifted beside me, her knee brushing against mine, and I felt hyperaware of everything—the warmth of the room, the way my body felt wrong, the constant pressure that wouldn’t go away. I could feel Ryan sneaking glances, his jaw tight, his leg bouncing restlessly, and Clarissa watching me with that same smirk, like she knew exactly what I was feeling.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending I was fine.