Wishes Gone Wrong - I Can Do Better

"Both!" my heart pounded. "I want them both! I want you to turn him into a girl and make it so that I'm better than him at everything important to him! That's my wish!"

"Master, please!" she shook her head. "This, I cannot grant."

"What?" My fists clenched. "Why!? Because of the girl thing?"

"No, Master!" She put her hands on her hips. "Because that is very clearly two wishes! You must decide down which path lies your true desire. Frankly, I think it is for the best. I do not think you quite appreciate the significance of what you are asking, it would -"

"I don't believe this!" I took a heavy step forward. "What kind of a bullshit genie are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"What kind of a shitty genie can't grant this one wish? Didn't you say whatever my heart desires? This! This is my desire!"

I loomed over her petite form. She cocked an eyebrow, rising to my challenge, daring me to take this just one step farther. The force of my aggression crashed into the wall of her resolve. The wind whipped like a sandstorm.

And then it stopped as suddenly as it had began. She sighed and gave a shrug.

"You know what?" her eyes flared and she put on a predatory grin. "I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. This sort of thing is, frankly, beneath me. I try to rise above it. I try to be better than my nature. Here I am trying to help you, Master. Here I am trying to provide quality client service." she looked at the feather duster in her hand then thrust it to my breast. "But if ever there was a Master deserving of this, it is you."

"You'll do it?"

"Make the wish, Master." It was a dare. The fire in her eye danced. The room grew dark as distant thunder seemed to rise. The wind rose once more

"And, uh, you're sure you're not going to screw me over?"

"Satisfaction guaranteed."

"Then, I wish... uh... I wish all that stuff I said earlier about him being a girl and me being better than him!"

"Granted!"

There was a flash of light and an eruption of sound and then nothing. She was gone.

I blinked. The folded laundry and the errant feather duster were the only indicators that any of this had been real. In the silence I could hear nothing but the beating of my own heart.

My pulse spiked as I turned to look at the trophy case. Had it worked? But no. It was unchanged. Where was my victory? Where was my wish!?

"You stupid fucking genie!" I yelled into the air as my fist slammed a whole through the drywall. "You didn't do anything!"

I spent the rest of the night fuming and doubting my own sanity. It had to have been some kind of hallucination. Some kind of stupid dream.

A stupid, sexy dream.

I masturbated angrily and went to bed.

-

Something was wrong.

I was asleep, conscious thought impossible in the thick fog of my torpor, but still I knew something was wrong. I rolled over onto my front, but landed on something heavy, something lumpy. Like two bowling balls jutting up from the mattress, pressing tightly - painfully - into my chest. My eyes squeezed tighter as I rolled back around.

I stirred. The sheets against my skin felt so smooth, so fresh. It tantalized and teased. I stirred and I wiggled and I pressed into it. Fuck, it felt so good.

I was getting weirdly horny - my body growing hot as my arousal climbed, my breathing growing heavier. Or at least, it was trying to. Something was squeezing me tight, gripping my waist and forcing me to breathe through my chest. The pace of my breath intensified in the low panic, the heat within me elevating in time with my gasping motions - a full body flush that left my whole body grinding, shifting and electrically sensate.

No dreams, not quite asleep, but my brain far from awake. On empty minded instinct, I spread my legs, silk against bare skin, my morning wood grinding up against the bed.

A soft sigh fell from my lips and then another and another. I shut my eyes tighter against the noise. I was rocking my hips now, forward and backwards, gentle yet strong. Something pressed within me as my hips rolled back, something firm and unyielding and just as hot and electric as the grinding of my throbbing meat.

My abs twitched, my back arched, my whole body was at the helpless mercy of this stupid horny buzz.

Some distant part of me frowned. It's not like this was the first time I'd awoke to my dick rock hard and rubbing in the middle of the night, - especially in a dry spell like this - but this was no flash in the pan morning ministration. It was building, elevating, my body so electrically, sexually hot that I was having trouble coping. Alarms were going off in my brain, but I couldn't hear them over the blank-minded bliss.

Faster it built, hips bucking, my whole body given over to animalistic humping like a bitch in heat, desperate to cum, desperate for relief.

And yet something - something still wasn't right.

The shaking of my body had stirred my languorous brain. I furrowed my eyes all the tighter against it. Sleep's placid paralysis battled now not only against my horny rutting but against the rising unease, the urge to panic was quickly eclipsing my carnal inclinations. My breathing was heavy and strained, that tightness squeezing me harder, denying me the deep breathes I needed to calm myself.

Oh god, I couldn't breathe.

I kicked off the sheets. They whipped against my naked dick, the length of if it pulling across it like a keelhauling of pleasure. I thrashed and I bucked and I screamed but all I heard was a woman crying out in ecstasy.

What the fuck?

Fear took precedence now, panic blasting away even my amped-up libido. I tried to rise but I couldn't - I couldn't bend my back and something heavy around my neck kept pushing me down.

I twisted onto my front and tried again, but the blanket was still wrapped tightly around my waist, still squeezing the air from me despite my kicking it away. I put a hand to it, to pull it away, but it was tight to my skin.

I rolled again, trying to claw and kick myself free of the mess I was in, but it was no use. Over the side I went, crashing chest-first to the ground.

I yelped. There was pain like never I'd felt before - like getting kicked square in the balls, but all throughout my pecs. I flopped over, tears in my eyes, hands racing up to rub my chest and meeting something else entirely.

"What - what the fuck?"

They were hot and soft and heavy. I screamed, struggling to rise to my feet as the new weight of my massive... my enormous... as my TITS heaved with every motion.

Oh my god, I could feel them. I could feel my fingers sliding around that tender tit-flesh, I could feel the low rush of raunchy endorphins surging through me with each grope and fondle of my disbelieving hands. Fuck - I swallowed - they felt so good. Even beneath the panic, my dick jumped as I brushed against one of the nipples.

Wait, fuck, my dick. My hand shot out to that most sacred of locations. No. Oh god. Not a dick: a clit. And what a clit - my knees buckled as my scream grew louder.

I fell back, gasping, onto the edge of the bed, but as I sat something shifted between the cheeks of my ass, something pressing deep within me, probing at some deep sexual core the likes of which I lacked all context for. I jumped, stars of bliss in my eyes, and fell over from the inertia of my swinging knockers.

I was left gasping on the floor, the source of my anaerobia now painfully clear - something tight was wrapped around my waist, squeezing me like a vice. I had thought it blankets, but it was something far more insidious.

I stumbled for the lights.

"Oh my god."

This wasn't my room.

The space was the same, same door, same window, bed in the same position, but that's where the similarities ended. This was the kind of room I dreamed about when I'd fantasized about horny schoolgirls pillow fighting as a teenager.

Artistic paintings of half-naked men covered the walls where the delicate darkwood wardrobe and vanity did not. Cutesy little ceramic animals mingled with condoms and lube. There was an entire shelf full of dildos and buttplugs, sorted by size and type. My face went pale as I saw one of the larger ones was missing. That would explain what I sat on just now.

A mirror. I needed a mirror.

I ran over to the full-length mirror on the back of the closed door. It was in an intricate wooden frame with "Elle Faut Souffrir Pour Être Belle" engraved in feminine script above the top. I furrowed my brow. I knew this mirror. My grandmother had one just like this. It had gone to my aunt when she had died. What was it doing here?

"Oh my god."

I held a hand up to my face. The girl in the mirror did the same.

There was no denying what I was seeing.

I was a girl.

And, holy shit - what a girl.

I would say she looked like some kind of pornstar come to life, but the effect was ruined by what appeared to be this woman's nightly beauty routine - a mask of green upon my face, fiery red hair up in a little mesh, and - most terrifyingly - a corset that sinched my already tight waist to cartoonish proportions. This was not some sexy piece of lingerie, this was an industrial, steel boned girl-squisher.

I fumbled to try to get out of it, somehow finding a way to deal with the knots despite the length of my long, intricately red nails. I gasped big lungfuls of breath as it came free. Who the hell would wear something like that to bed?

I looked back at the mirror. Jesus, the girl didn't even need it. The slimness of her waist just made it all the more apparent how curvaceous the rest of me was. Not only where these the biggest damn tits I'd ever seen, but they were the perkiest as well. It was like they were hoisting themselves into the air in front of me, just begging to be seen. And all that was to say nothing about those perfect strawberry nipples, throbbing at full mast.

Shit, they couldn't be real, could they? But I could sure as hell feel them bobbed and sway and jiggle with every movement of my torso. Real tits didn't jiggle like that, did they? Not outside of anime, at least.

This had to be like... some kind of sexy mirage. Right? I reached up to grab them and was left week-kneed and gasping. Fuck. Okay, yeah, shit. Wow. They were real. I grinned as I squeezed again - okay, maybe not 100% real but real in all the ways that counted.

Ah, shit. I stumbled back, the weight of that warm flesh pressing and warping and spilling over my hands as I moved. It took a supreme effort of will to pull them away, to leave my tits cold and swinging in the air, to deny myself that sweet pleasure, but now was hardly the fucking time, was it?

I turned and shot a look back at the mirror over my shoulder, this body twisting farther and more comfortably than I'd ever have been able to go normally. My ass seemed just as gravity-defyingly round, just as huge and as jiggly and as pert as my tits. It had to be fake too, right? Oh, there was real elements in it - a healthy foundation of muscle and fat set between impossibly wide hips, but no true butt was this artistically perfect.

I turned back around and took a closer look. Long elegant legs and a tight narrow waist with just enough fat to hide the rock-hard abs beneath. Not that I could see my own waist with these stupid tits in the way.

I ran a hand along my body. I shivered and pinched and slapped in the hopes it would wake me up. My skin was smooth and supple and sensitive. There wasn't a single hair anywhere beneath the neck.

"What the hell?" It was a panicked whine. Even my voice was sexy.

I grabbed a tissue and started wiping the gunk off of my face. My heart stopped. The face beneath was my own.

Or, no. I looked closer. Not quite my own. An especially younger sexy sister perhaps? It was like one of those gender change filters on those photo apps.

My lips were especially egregious - puffy pink dicksuckers pouting plumply - but the rest of my face was softer and rounder too. Girly and feminine, but still undeniably familiar. All of my features, my slender nose and my strong brow and my sharp jaw, all softened and rounded and made stunningly attractive on this new female canvas. My freckles, once a splattered mess, now formed just the hint of a sexy blush.

Most surprisingly though was the vibrance of my green eyes. They'd always been so dull, now they blazed like emeralds.

I took a step back and took it all in.

Was this supposed to be me as a girl? I crossed my hands over my tits. I wasn't impressed. Okay, maybe a little. This was exactly the sort of slut that me and the guys were always trying to pick up after games.

Fuck. I swallowed dryly. Why was I so hot? My whole body was flush. I squirmed, a hand creeping up to my tit, the soft flesh yielding eagerly to my expert touch. My eyes rolled back; the rush of pleasure just as strong as it had been in bed. My body trembled and moaned. There was an emptiness inside me, a strange alien ache.

I looked at the dildos on the wall and bit my lip. My breath grew heavy as my flesh grew warmer and warmer.

All that grinding in bed had awoken something within me and my panic could keep it at bay no longer. Was that what this sensation was? A girl's arousal? I thought of all the big cock an ass like this could probably take, how hot and tight and throbbing this pussy must be. I smirked. Why did I feel so proud of that?

I grasped again at my tit, catching the electric pulse of my throbbing nipple between two of my fingers. My other hand crept slowly down the softness of my belly, down past the slender valley of my midriff towards my slick, girlish pussy.

Dare I?

A surge of stars exploded in my brain as my finger made contact with the engorged clit. Shit - my whole body tensed - my dick had nothing on this. I flexed my other hand. There was a need boiling inside me, and I knew just how to fill it.

I licked a finger to get it good and slick and -

Behind me on the dresser my phone screamed to life. I pulled my hands away from my hungry cunt, blushing like a schoolgirl caught in the act.

I turned to stare dumbfounded as it rang once, twice, three times, and then went to voice mail. It was like it was some strange alien artifact: a rhinestone-encrusted pink case. But this, this had to be my phone, didn't it? That signature crack in the screen was a dead give away, even if... even if it was a much nicer model.

The distraction was all it took. With my libido on hold, the weight of the situation crashed into me.

"What the fuck!?"

A dream. This had to be a dream, right? How else could I explain it? People didn't just wake up as sluts. I had to snap myself out of this. I shook my head and gave my arm a painful pinch. It was no use.

Besides, I licked my lips, no dream could feel this good, could it?

I was in the middle of a stream of angry profanity when the phone buzzed again. It was a text from Noah, and then another, and another. My heart leapt. Oh thank god, a hint of normality.

I slid a ruby-nailed thumb over the unlock and almost dropped the phone at what greeted me. A dick-pic. My eyes bulged.

This was... christ, this wasn't half bad. How long had he spent putting this together? The lighting and the framing were borderline artistic, and with just enough body to leaving no misinterpretations about who's cock this was. That coy smirk, that confidence. And no wonder - his dick was the size of my forearm. Had he always been so hung?

Not that... I tilted my head. Not that I was into that or anything. Just that... wow, I was impressed. I had no idea my friend had been packing something so... virile. My hand snuck back down to my juicy pussy.

I closed my eyes, breath hot. My petite fingers played their pretty part perfectly, somehow knowing exactly where and when to stroke, to rub, and to plunge to throw more fuel on the fire of my bubbling passion. I'm not one to brag about my skill in bed - I had never considered myself especially adroit at manual ministrations - but here I was, able to accurately state first hand that I was apparently a virtuoso.

I swallowed hard and swiped to the next pic.

"Oh," I gasped, "Wow."

My fire grew higher and hotter with each breath, imagining all the wonderful things that monster cock could do to me, imagining those powerful arms picking me up and sweeping me away. I clenched my ass rhythmically around my plug, feeling it press and tug, the depth of its penetration rocking me with every little push and pull.

This body was so hot, so soft, so ready to fuck. My breath escalated to a gasping chorus in time with my rapture, fingers digging in faster and more desperate.

I needed more. I flicked to the next picture. There was no dick? I whimpered. Why was there no dick? It was just his cocky smug face as the team cheered about him.

The blood turned to ice in my veins.

Wait, I knew this picture.

This was from the game a few days ago. I read the accompanying text. Bile rose up in the back of my throat. He'd scored the game winning play? He was the fucking goalie!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I threw the phone across the room and ripped my hand free from my reticent cunt.

What was I doing? What the fuck was I doing!?

That genie. That fucking genie. That was the only explanation. Somehow it had all been real. That bitch had double crossed me!

The lamp. Where the fuck was that lamp?

I stormed out of the bedroom into the apartment beyond. My heart raced. It was the same apartment, but just like the bedroom, everything was different, everything was aggressively girly with a hypersexual edge.

My personal home gym - thousands of dollars worth of exercise equipment, gone! Turned into a walk-in closet. Only the squat rack and a small pyramid of neon pink handweights remained. I tried not to think too hard about the array of easily-mountable dildos next to the rack. The smallest looked hardly used at all.

My computer, a old gaming rig, had turned into some kind of streaming set up. There was recording equipment and webcams and a greenscren and all kinds of little fairy lights. The statistics page for a private streaming service stared back at me from one monitor as video editing software displayed a close-up of a dripping pussy on the other.

Wait, shit, was that computer better than my old one? In fact, the whole place seemed just that much nicer. Everything was well built and cared for. No more Ikea furniture. None of the perpetual mess. Jesus, when I'd asked her to clean, this isn't what I'd fucking meant!

Then I saw my trophy case and I froze dead in my tracks.

The lustre of gold shone back at me.

There were more medals and trophies here than I'd ever seen in my life, all shining yellow and bright amid a sea of blue ribbons. There were pictures of a girl grinning atop podiums - the familiar face of the girl in the mirror. Younger, perhaps, more natural, but undoubtably me.

And that wasn't all, no. There, time and time again, laughing off her defeat - a girl that could have been Noland's sister.

My heart pounded. I was struggling to take it all in. These weren't all sports trophies. They started out as such - soccer, swimming, gymnastics? But they quickly transitioned to stranger things.

I tried to hone in on the earliest photo. There. That shot of me and Noland, exactly how I remember that day we met on the soccer field. We had just been two average boys. This time though we were anything but. Noland had a ribbon in her hair, and I had two.

I tried to put together a timeline. Kid's sports trophies turned increasingly feminine. Gymnastics turned to dance competitions turned to cheerleading rallies and beauty pageants. It was only a small jump from there to the national-level wet t-shirt contests and best up-and-coming model. Each photograph painted the two of us as more and more beautiful, but always I outshone her, it was always me in first.