Ethan sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, the glow of his ancient laptop the only light in the room. He was eighteen, but he still looked fifteen—skinny arms, messy brown hair that never quite lay flat, big hazel eyes that always seemed a little too wide, like he was waiting for the world to explain itself. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the fan and the occasional creak of old wood settling. His parents were downstairs watching TV, but they might as well have been on another planet. Ethan didn't have friends who came over. He barely had friends at all.
His only real one was Riley.
Riley had been in his life since third grade, the kid who sat next to him when no one else would. They weren't popular, weren't cool, but they had each other. Riley was taller, louder, always wearing hoodies two sizes too big and cracked glasses held together with tape. They played games together online every night—old Tomb Raider titles mostly, because Ethan loved Lara Croft with a quiet, guilty intensity he never admitted out loud. Riley teased him about it, but never cruelly. Just enough to make Ethan blush and mumble.
Tonight Riley had come over for the first time in months. They were supposed to co-op the new Anniversary remake, but Ethan had fallen asleep on the carpet waiting, controller still in his lap.
He woke up to a strange heat in the room.
The air felt thick, like someone had turned the thermostat up to ninety and then poured honey into it. Ethan rubbed his eyes, blinking in confusion. Riley was standing in the middle of the carpet, but something was wrong. Riley's hoodie hung loose on a body that was… changing.
"R-Riley?" Ethan's voice cracked.
Riley didn't answer at first. His best friend's head was tilted back, eyes half-lidded, lips parted like he was breathing through something sweet and heavy. A low, throaty sound slipped out of him—nothing like Riley's usual nasally laugh. It was feminine. Wet. Hungry.
Ethan watched, frozen, as Riley's shoulders began to narrow. The broad, awkward boy-shoulders he'd always had were shrinking, rounding, becoming delicate even as the rest of him seemed to swell. The hoodie started to strain. Not from muscle—from something softer. Fuller.
"Oh fuck," Riley whispered, but the voice wasn't Riley's anymore. It was lower in the throat, velvet and smoke. "Oh fuck, Ethan… something's… mmm… happening…"
The hoodie ripped.
Not dramatically at first—just a soft tearing sound as the fabric across Riley's chest gave way. Two enormous breasts spilled forward, heavy and round, straining against a black sports bra that hadn't been there a second ago. They kept growing. Growing. The bra morphed as Ethan stared, the plain cotton turning into sleek, dark tactical fabric—tight, cropped, with a deep plunging neckline that barely contained the impossible tits now bouncing with every breath.
Ethan's mouth went dry.
Riley's waist was cinching inward like someone had grabbed it with invisible hands and pulled. Hard. The baggy jeans slid down narrow hips that flared out dramatically, the denim shredding as thick, juicy thighs burst free. The legs lengthened, toned but plush, skin smoothing to a perfect sun-kissed bronze. Riley's sneakers split apart as dainty feet arched into combat boots—brown leather, laced tight, with a heel that made the ass now ballooning outward look even more obscene.
And that ass.
Ethan couldn't look away. Riley's flat boy-butt had become a massive, heart-shaped shelf—two fat, wobbling globes that jiggled with every tiny movement. The jeans were gone entirely now, replaced by tiny khaki shorts that rode up so high the bottom third of each cheek hung out, quivering like jelly. A thin leather holster strapped around one thigh, empty for now, but the sight of it made Ethan's cock throb painfully in his pajama pants.
Riley's face was last.
The glasses fell away, clattering to the floor. Cheekbones lifted. Lips plumped into a perfect pout, glossy and pink. Eyelashes thickened, darkening. The short, messy boy-hair exploded into a thick, chocolate-brown ponytail that swished down to the small of a back now arched in perpetual fuck-me posture. The eyes—God, the eyes—once a watery gray behind smudged lenses, were now huge and hazel, rimmed in black liner, sparkling with something ancient and filthy.
Riley was gone.
In his place stood Lara Croft.
But not any Lara Croft Ethan had ever jerked off to in secret. This one was exaggerated beyond reason—tits bigger than her head, waist so tiny Ethan could've wrapped his hands around it twice, hips and ass so wide she looked built for one thing and one thing only. And she was staring at him like he was the only thing in the universe that mattered.
"Ethan…" The voice was pure sex, British accent thick and dripping. She took one step forward, and her breasts bounced so hard the cropped tank top—now a tight brown tactical top stretched to the breaking point—creaked in protest. "Ethan, baby… look what the universe did… for you…"
Ethan's brain short-circuited.
She moved closer, hips rolling like she was dancing to music only she could hear. Every step made her ass clap softly under those shorts, the fabric wedged so deep between her cheeks it was basically a thong. She dropped to her knees in front of him—slow, deliberate—and the motion made her tits sway pendulously, nearly spilling out entirely.
"I remember everything," she purred, crawling forward until she was straddling his lap without actually sitting yet. The heat radiating from between her legs was unreal. "Every time you defended me when they called me a loser. Every time you let me sleep over when my mom was screaming. Every time you paused the game because I had to pee…" She giggled, high and bubbly, nothing like Riley's old laugh. "And every time you stared at Lara on the screen and got that cute little bulge in your pants, wishing someone loved you like that."
Ethan made a strangled noise.
She leaned in, tits pressing against his chest, soft and impossibly heavy. "I felt it happen, Ethan. I felt my stupid flat chest blow up into these fat fucking udders." She grabbed her own tits and squeezed, milk-white flesh spilling over her fingers as she moaned. "I felt my cock shrink away—poof—into this greedy little pussy that's been dripping for you since the second I changed." Her hand slid down between her thighs, rubbing the front of her soaked shorts. "I felt my brain go all pink and fizzy and perfect. All I can think about now is you. Your cock. Your cum. Making you happy forever."
Ethan's hands hovered in the air, trembling. He didn't know where to put them. This wasn't real. This couldn't—
She grabbed his wrists and slammed his palms onto her tits.
They overflowed his hands completely. Warm, silky, heavier than anything he'd ever touched. His fingers sank deep into the flesh and she let out a porn-star moan, grinding her crotch against the air.
"Touch me, baby," she begged, voice breaking. "I'm yours now. Your own personal bimbo Lara. I'm so fucking stupid for you. I'll wear whatever you want. I'll say whatever you want. I'll let you fuck every hole until I can't walk."
Ethan's cock was so hard it hurt. He could feel pre-cum soaking through his pajamas, a wet spot spreading.
She noticed. Of course she did.
"Look at that," she cooed, reaching down to trace the outline of his dick through the fabric. "Your poor little virgin cock is crying for me already." She licked her lips—slow, deliberate, tongue dragging across plump gloss. "I can smell it. I can smell how bad you need to cum inside your best friend's new cunt."
Ethan whimpered.
She ripped his pajama pants down in one motion. His cock sprang free—average, maybe, but rock-hard and leaking. She stared at it like it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "It's perfect. It's so cute and perfect and I need it inside me right now."
She didn't wait.
One second she was kneeling over him—the next she had shoved her tiny shorts to the side (no panties, of course) and slammed her dripping pussy down onto his cock in a single brutal motion.
Ethan screamed.
The heat, the tightness, the slick, filthy wetness—it was too much. She was so tight it almost hurt, but so wet she took him to the hilt on the first try. Her walls fluttered and squeezed like they were trying to milk him already.
"Fuuuck," she groaned, head thrown back, ponytail whipping. "Your best friend's pussy feels so good around your cock, Ethan. Riley's gone, baby. There's only Lara now. Only your dumb, thicc, cock-obsessed bimbo."
She started riding him hard.
No slow build-up. No gentle first time. She fucked him like she'd been starving for it her whole life. Her massive tits bounced wildly, slapping against her chest with lewd smacks. Her ass clapped against his thighs every time she dropped down. Juices squirted out around his cock, soaking his balls, the carpet, everything.
Ethan could only grab her hips—those wide, fertile, breeding hips—and hang on as she used him.
"Cum in me," she begged, voice high and desperate. "Please, Ethan, please cum in your new girlfriend. Fill me up. Make me pregnant. I want your babies so bad. I want to be your dumb little housewife with tits full of milk and a pussy full of your cum every single day—"
Ethan's vision whited out.
He came harder than he'd ever cum in his life, pumping rope after thick rope into her spasming cunt. She screamed, her own orgasm hitting at the same time, pussy clenching so tight it almost pushed him out. Her eyes rolled back, tongue lolling, drool dripping down her chin as she rode the high.
When it was over, she didn't stop.
She collapsed forward, tits smothering his face, and kept slowly grinding, keeping him hard inside her.
"That was just the first one, baby," she whispered against his ear, voice syrupy and adoring. "We have all night. All week. All year. I'm never leaving you again."
She kissed his forehead, gentle despite the filth still dripping out of her.
"The universe heard you, Ethan. It heard how lonely you were."
She smiled, slow and wicked, as her hips started moving again.
"And it's only getting started."