Bike transformation - part 2 (Patreon)

The bedroom is mostly dark except for the streetlamp hitting the ceiling, and my heart is hammering against my ribs so hard I can feel it in my ears. Janet’s standing by the foot of the bed, just watching me. "Take them off," she says, her voice sounding thin and not like her at all. My hands are shaking as I grab the waistband of the blue shorts, the Lycra sweaty and sticking to skin that feels way too smooth. When they finally drop to the floor, her breath hitches. She doesn't say anything for a long time, just looks at the softness of my thighs and the way the hair stops early above a mound that shouldn't be there. She looks shocked, sure, but there’s this heavy flush on her neck that says something else.

She crawls onto the bed and straddles me, her weight settling into the new, wider shelf of my pelvis. I’m terrified, honestly, waiting for her to laugh or walk out, but she just reaches down. Her fingers are warm as they dip into the slick heat between my legs, and the second she makes contact, it’s like my whole nervous system gets rewritten. It’s not the localized pressure I’m used to, that build-up that usually goes outward. Instead, it’s this deep, hollow ache drawing inward, a heavy pooling of warmth in a space that used to be a void. I gasp and grab her wrists, my head hitting the pillow hard because the sensation is just too much to process.

She pins my hands down and starts to move, and the friction of flesh against unfamiliar flesh is blinding. My legs splay open naturally, the hip joints rotating outward in a way that feels right even though it’s completely wrong, leaving me totally exposed. It’s different from before—I can’t feel myself inside her, I just feel her pressing into me, every slide of her skin against mine sending a jolt through a cleft I didn't have this morning. I close my eyes and focus on the ceiling fan rattling overhead, the sound blurring into the wet friction below.