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Preface: This story is fictional. Margie is a girl born with her bits. Chelsea is a closeted questioning queer.
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Chelsea poked at his stomach. It was less than ideal, no abs, no gutters, just a flat, hairless, pale expanse. He knew staring in the mirror prodding himself wouldn't magically fix all his body image issues, but neither would sighing about it and loafing around the apartment. Chelsea really needed to get exercising, start planking and going to the gym, really work out properly to get that muscular "gymbro" bod and pick up chicks for once. but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to do it.
So here he was instead, standing in the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, poking and squeezing his belly just in case he did have a magic button hidden under his skin somewhere. Margaret, his roommate and late high school bestie, banged on the door.
"Yo, Chelsea, ya done yet? I gotta fix my hair and my curler's in there!"
"Gimme a sec!" he yelled back, pulling his towel up just a bit more over his waist.
Margie was way too hot to see him like this. She was taller, skinnier, and even if she couldn't beat Chelsea in arm wrestling, gave off the aura of being stronger than he was. Chelsea couldn't believe his luck when she actually agreed to co-sign the apartment and live off-campus with him last year.
A tall, curly-haired dirty blonde, tawny-skinned bombshell with wide hips, a decent bust, and preciously amber eyes moving in with her average-height, brown-haired brown-eyed and chubby normie classmate felt like a social life death sentence. A semester away from graduation, though, and the need to appeal to social cliques like that was waning.
"Dude, I've gotta go in, like, less than an hour, so lemme just grab it okay?" she said, muffled by the door.
A little pang of embarrassment stung at Chelsea's heart. It wasn't that unusual for them to walk in on each other changing, but he always felt more awkward about letting Margie see him half-naked than the other way around. It'd be easier if he had something to show off like she did; whenever Chelsea caught her in a state of undress she just laughed it off and teased him about "liking what he saw." Margaret was the opposite of being a blonde bimbo stereotype, but she was still a little ditzy here and there. Margie hit the parties more than most - another of which she was getting ready for now. Whispering under his breath "Fuck it," Chelsea unlocked the bathroom door.
"Just get your stuff, I'm not done in here."
Margie zipped in, her face all smiles. "Thanks Chels! Sorry for peeping on you, I just gawtta get ready quick 'cus Andrea said she was gonna pick me and the other guys up so I dunno when she's actually gonna be here and oh my goood Chelsea are you hidin' a muffin top?" Her barrage of words was washing over Chelsea until the last two dumped ice in his veins. He tried to pull his towel up a bit higher, but Margie was already giggly and teasing him about it.
"Aw, duuude, that's adorable you're like a lil' puppydog! You're sooo cute! You're all chunky and sawft and oh gosh I just wanna squeeze ya!" she babbled enthusiastically, until finally noticing that her words were having an opposite effect than she wanted them to. Chelsea's face was as red as a plum tomato, his arms crossed over his chest (which was, to Margie, kinda delightfully plump too). She grabbed her curling iron.
"Unless, like, ya don't wanna be squeezed! 'Cus not everybody's like that! But, ya know me, I'm like, handsy, haha! Thanks, I'mma fix my hair now, 'kay?" Margie backed up, closing the bathroom door a little too fast for somebody with seemingly nothing to hide, though Chelsea didn't notice, absorbed in shame as he was.
Margaret was a total compliment-bomb for all her friends, but usually it was about how they dressed or how they completed their assignments, not body stuff. Ever since they'd moved in together Margie dumped appreciation onto Chelsea, from how clean he kept the place to how good he was at treating a hangover.
But Chelsea's appearance? Like, his bodily appearance? She kept her mouth shut. This was the first time she'd ever said something about it and the swirly, jumpy feeling in his gut had Chelsea stewing on top of the toilet in confusion until Margie said Andrea had arrived to pick her up.
"God, Chelsea, you're such a fucking wimp. You gotta get some muscle." He said to himself, trying to hold a plank on the bathroom floor for ten minutes but giving up at five.
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Meanwhile, Margie was scrolling through the mental pictures she'd taken of Chelsea's bod in Andrea's car, babbling to her college bestie about the guy she crushed on and moved in with as if she wasn't about to graduate with an astronomy degree.
"Drea I swear he's like a lil' marshmallow, I wanna run back up and eat 'im, my cock nearly split my shorts 'cus he's so dang cuuute! Ugh, holy shit Drea I was sittin' in the living room with a hardon thinkin' that if he walked out I'd ask him for a titjob like a lame porno! Holy Shit I'm so fucking stupid." Andrea rolled her eyes.
"Marj, you're my friend, and I'm saying this with my whole heart - but please just tell him you wanna go out. My ears have been bleeding for months hearing about how much you wanna make him your girlfriend. Don't you think now is a pretty good time? Maybe, I dunno, before you fucking graduate? How the hell have you even survived putting it off this long?"
"By hanging out with everybody, duh." Margie bonked her head against Andrea's shoulder, earning her a consolatory headpat from her black-haired compatriot. Andrea wore oval glasses, kept her hair tied up in a braided bun, and mostly wore muted colours that contrasted against her umber skin. They were old classmates from freshman year and the friendship just seemed to stick, even when their paths drifted and Andrea picked up a partner of her own. Margie sighed, "And focusing on the degree. Gotta sacrifice something, right?"
"True enough, I guess. But you gotta fix yourself at some point. You are tenting something ferocious right now and I do not need to be pulled over by some racially motivated cop thinking you're an escort."
"Oh my gawsh do you think I could be though? Oh, but I don't wanna fuck any type of guy though. It'd have to be some cuties. Other girls. Like Chelsea. God, I need to get him in a dress so bad. Drea, seriously, I wanna see him with earrings and lip gloss an-" Andrea stopped at a red light a little harder than she needed to, knocking the wind out of Margie mid-sentence.
"Girl, either learn to tuck your thing before it gets so big it breaks my windshield, or ask your boy crush out. We got other people to pick up and I do not want you all talking my ear off about horniness all the way to this party."
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Hours later Chelsea woke up to the apartment intercom's buzzer being rung. He'd been exercising, which turned into marathoning a season of some Netflix-recommended K-drama, which had turned into an afternoon nap on the couch wearing a slightly oversized sporty tank top, basketball shorts, and his "athletic" leggings. Margie had bought them for him as a housewarming gift and said they were branded that way, but whatever material they were made of felt way nicer than the "breathable spandex" type stuff in stores. Chelsea liked wearing them more than he could admit. They'd become part of his go-to loungewear.
Hopping off the couch, he checked his phone, walking over to the intercom. A couple discord pings, some Youtube notifications, the usual suspects and... twelve texts from Margie!? Two or three were normal, her sending him some party pics, but twelve stilled his heart for a second. It could be nothing, an accident, or worse, she'd decided to back out of their lease now that she knew Chelsea was a few miles short of "manly."
Whatever she texted would have to wait, since the intercom buzzed again. "Hello, who's there?" he said, pressing the mic button.
"Chelseee, issssh meeeeee! I don't got my keeeeeys! I forgor, teehee!" a drunken Margie slurred on the other side, her bubbliness amplified. "Wemme iiiin! I need you sssshoooo byaaad. Chels, pwease, wemme innnn pwease pwease pweaaaase, I wub youuuu Chels!"
Chelsea calmed down immediately hearing her. It was rare as hell, but a bunch of drunk texts from Margie made a lot more sense than anything crazy. She really could be a ditz sometimes. He smiled while buzzing her in, swiping open his phone to look at her texts while unlocking the door. The first couple were pretty normal. Margie and friends waiting in line for the club, Margie taking a selfie with Andrea and some drinks, Margie and Buddy sticking their tongues out... that one made his ego sting a little.
If it wasn't for him having what Chelsea called a babyface, Buddy was the man Chelsea wished he could be. Muscular, tall, took to exercise easily and could pick up girls (literally) any time he wanted. He was a fitfluencer and an actual PT, but didn't push his lifestyle on anyone who didn't ask for it. Chelsea had thought of asking for his coaching until he realised he couldn't afford it. Seeing Margie and buddy in the same picture without him, though, stung at what little pride he had. The next messages sent that pride rocketing back up.
mrgie: dude u should b here itd be way fun w/ u!
mrgie: i wanna c u : dancing emoji: : dancing emoji:!!
mrgie: + ur cute lol
mrgie: soz im gettin sloshed : joy laughing:
After that was something even more shocking.
mrgie: uufff y dont u come u r so cuuuute
mrgie: : eyes: what u do 2 me
The rest were pictures -- of what Chelsea could only assume was Margie's cock. her fat, veiny, uncut member tented her panties in a bathroom stall, the tip stained with precum (probably), her manicured hand wrapped around the shaft and squeezing it at the base so the veins bulged to the point he could see which ones were blue and red under her swarthy complexion.
Pictures with the flash turned on and taken from above, from Margie's perspective -- her pierced belly-button illuminated above the absolute monster of a dick sticking straight out of one of the legs of her shorts, curving just slightly to the left, her smooth legs blurry and out-of-focus compared to the blinding, high-definition view of her oversized package. It was at least eleven inches, if not a whole foot long, and every inch was as femininely sleek as it was unbelievably, rigidly hard. Chelsea gulped, throat too dry and mouth salivating -- fuck, he wasn't gay, was he?
Another picture, Margie in front of the bathroom mirror, a hand on her cock and some random girl, maybe a friend, maybe a hookup, hugging Margie from behind and trying to wrap their hand around the monstrous length. Neither of the girls could fit their fingers around its entire girth, hints of the swollen, purple-pink glans peeking from the pulled-back ring of dark foreskin around the tip.
mrgie: llol dis u l8r?? plsplsplsplsssss
The last picture had Chelsea's shorts suddenly feeling very tight around the crotch. It was taken inside a bathroom stall again, Margie sitting on top of a toilet with her face obscured, only her grin visible in the blurry edges of the photo. The same girl hugging Margie earlier was on her knees, her makeup ruined and running down her face, eyes red and bleary, frothy spit and other white slime mixing with tears and running down her chin. Margie's balls and shaft shone with throatslime polish, trails of spittle and glistening cum stretched across the girl's cheeks and lips, the back of her head resting on Margie's thigh while her immense cock pushed into the side of the girl's face. She held up a slutty 'V' with her fingers, the digits clearly soaked with femcum from fingerblasting herself while gulping down Margaret's mammoth girldick.
mrgie: draes sez i hsuld fesss 2 u omw cus im hrn yhaha
Chelsea's own penis was stone-stiff, his average, circumcised pecker pleasantly sliding against the leggings he was wearing. The air suddenly felt very cool below the belt as his stuffy balls found themselves dropping freely into the tent his rod was pitching, gears turning slower than molasses before suddenly clicking into place.
Margie was coming home. Drunk. Her dick was way bigger than he thought. And she wanted. To fuck. Him.
His sphincter clenched in fear (obviously) and a tingle ran up his spine, dick throbbing in response. Something else tightened too, behind his balls, and felt swollen... There'd be time to unpack that later.
The apartment building's elevator wasn't that slow, and if Margie was going to stumble home drunk then she was either going to puke on the floor or in the bathroom, and previous experience taught him anything Chelsea vastly preferred when she made it to the toilet bowl instead of half-filling a bucket, half-spewing on the floor.
He grabbed his junk and repositioned it to lie flatter against his tummy, twitching from the smooth sensation inside his leggings. Every step he took to get to the closet and find a bucket had the tight, pleasant restriction of his cock vibrating through his body, and the image of Margie's cock being so hard because she wanted him only amplified the sensation.
Chelsea didn't hear the door open, but he definitely heard it slam shut accompanying his name being called out in an unmistakably horny drawl. "Cheeeelllssseeeeeaaaaa, wheeerrre aaare youuuu, baby boooyyy?"
He was bent over pushing bottles of soap and mop handles aside trying to dig out a bucket when the heavy, warm weight of two soft somethings pressed against his back. His cock thrummed and his heart pulsed, Margie's hot breath tickling the nape of his neck. Her hands ran over his legs, the smooth, slick sensation oddly pleasant.
Chelsea shivered as Margie's orbs slid further up his back and her hips came to rest against his butt. A third warm weight pressed against his bottom, this one stiff and hard. Margie's hands ran up his waist, toying with his belly fat. Chelsea felt his face flush and his gut flipped -- it felt way better than he thought it would to have his roommate's hands on his skin.
"Cheeeellsss... you're shyooo cyuute... mwah..." she husked, a light kiss tickling the curve of Chelsea's ear. "I wanna party wif ya... mmh... why don't you come wif meee? Alwaysh hiiideiiing. I wanna.. worsh yew dansh..." her words slurred as she continued to smack her lips into Chelsea's ear, teasing pecks escalating almost instantly into wet, tongue-filled frenching. Her hips ground up against his ass, the bulge of her dick sandwiching between Chelsea's basketball shorts and pushing the fabric between his buttocks, his leggings becoming more exposed and one hand came away from his belly to grab at his tush and knead the fat, supple flesh there.
Her other hand snuck under the tank top, pinching the flabby skin of his belly and tugging it forward, practically pulling a deep, stomach-flipping sensation from Chelsea's body and causing him to exhale so hard he nearly coughed.
"M-Margie! Stop, you're fucking-- stop! You're so drunk right now, don't hurl on my fucking back!"
Margaret didn't listen, too drunk to be patient. She exhaled over his neck, pecking at it hungrily, sloppily. Her nails scraped across his chest, Chelsea's babyfat mounds tingling and nipples hardening when she ghosted over them. Chelsea whimpered involuntarily, the noise drawing a throaty groan of satisfaction from his assailant.
"M'gonna fug you Chels. Gonna make you m'girl. Look shyo cyute in a dress. Wearin' my stogkings. Hard'n'serrrghhh--" her words slurred even harder, hands going slack as Margie suppressed the urge to vomit. Taking advantage of the window, Chelsea twisted over, now facing Margie, and pushed her upright. She wobbled but he caught her wrists, stopping her from falling over. Her makeup was coming off, hair frizzy, if he hadn't known better Cheslea might've thought that Margie was cosplaying as a streetwalker.
"Margie, c'mon, we gotta--we gotta get you to the bathroom. C'mon, stay up, up, up! There you go. Lean on me." Chelsea maneuvered the inebriated Margie over his shoulder, half-dragging, half-walking her towards their bathroom where the blonde could finally drop to her knees, bend over the porcelain king, and belch out the liquid contents of her stomach noisily. Sweat dripped off Margie's face, melting her makeup and pooling into her cleavage, chest glistening every time she looked up and dry heaved for air. Chelsea patted and rubbed her back while she spewed, murmuring encouragement here and there between bursts of puke.
"There there. God dammit Margie, you're such a fucking mess. You almost fucking! Puked all over my back in the fucking kitchen! How does Andrea even let you get this fucking drunk?!" Margaret was speechless, eyes bleary with tears and only giggling happily before going back to expulging her guts.
While helping her wasn't new, Margie groping and wanting to fuck definitely was. He wondered if she was so drunk that she thought that he was the fling she had back at the club -- a faint pang of jealousy there -- or if someone had slipped her some kind of aphrodisiac roofie. Also, what the fuck was all this about him being cute?! And her stockings? She said these were athleisure leggings! Margie might've looked a little like a bimbo trope sometimes, but she was smart enough to know how different the bottoms were.
Right? She wouldn't... lie to him, to make him wear women's stockings, right? Chelsea's cock stayed rigid, body still aroused and wondering what had been going through Margie's head just a few minutes ago when she'd... felt him up. When she'd pressed her thing against his ass. There was no way he'd give that up first, he was a man after all. A cute guy, that's what she must have meant.
Margie's puking abated, her head hanging limply while salivating into the toilet. Chelsea flushed for her, moistening a towel and wiping her face down.
"Alright Margie, you gotta go to bed. I'm gonna get you some water and then you're gonna sleep it off, 'kay?" The drunk whined like a kid instead, shaking her head and giving him streaky puppy-dog eyes.
"Nuh-uh, Iunna cuddle, 'm nodrungk! Yewr tooooo niiiisssseee, Chelssseeeee..."
Chelsea rolled his eyes, and with another half hour of struggle, managed to waddle Margaret to her bedroom and get her to pass out safely. He tried to ignore the raging boner in his shorts, pushing all the weird thoughts and questions for when Margie was a little more sober.
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"Shiiiit... What the fuck. Oh my god this hangover is so friggin' ass, dude..." Margie groaned awake with her head splitting, rolling over onto another pillow to bury her face from the sunlight finding its way inside her bedroom.
Last night had been awesome party-wise -- dancing, drinking, karaoke, dancing, drinking, making out with some randos, more drinking, flirting at a bunch of sorority chicks with Buddy, and something else -- every part of Margaret was sore, and she grinned remembering hazily as she woke up. If only Chelsea would come out with her partying, it would be so much fun getting him all drunk and watching him dance, being able to flaunt him in front of Andrea and everybody else...
Just the thought of it was getting her hard, as if morning wood wasn't enough. His fat ass, his chest, how smooth his legs looked while wearing her stockings. It was still wild that he fell for that, but damn if it didn't have her heart skipping and dick throbbing every time she saw him wear them. Speaking of throbbing, Margie's dick did so with healthy anger, growing ever more uncomfortable in the tight confines of her panties and urging her to hump into her bed.
"God, fuck... shoulda gotten laid last night... God dammit my dick huuurts!" Her hips jerked downwards into her mattress, the thick organ coaxing her to breed the fucking bedsheets. Margie knew why she didn't get laid last night, and the reason was just a bedroom away. She liked doing casual outercourse, but kept the penetration for special occasions. What she wouldn't give to be buried in some ass. Something plush and thick, like Chelsea's...
Thinking of him caused another hump, this one feeling as good as it felt like total shit from how constricted her dick felt. She was still in her outfit from last night, and as sexy as some bondage could be, the clothing was actually starting to dig into her skin and hurt properly.
She flipped over, eyes squinting, and tugged her skirt and panties off, struggling to actually tug her dick out of her panties from how tightly it'd stretched them. They were definitely ruined. With a wet, heavy slap against her tummy Margaret's mammoth cock was freed from the confines of last night's sexy outfit and free to bounce with every heartbeat. Margie's vein-corded pole was rigid, bending slightly to the left, faint blonde bristles of shaved pubic hair dotting the base and creeping up her abs. A pool of precum drooled onto her crotch from the wrinkled, dark hood of foreskin at her tip, steadily trickling down the shaft. Reaching out Margie shivered at her own touch, fat globs of milky pre pumped up from her nuts just from a few timid strokes.
Something had her super pent up. She needed to cum and fast, and Chelsea was already on her mind. She wanted him so fucking bad, and her girldick surged as she imagined pinning him down in their apartment and painting his insides with her seed. Margie grabbed her phone, hungry for the stash of candid pics she'd taken of Chelsea in the bathroom, thumb dancing across the glass screen as she entered the unlock code. Within seconds she stopped stroking and her heart thudded even harder.
The first thing greeting her on unlocking her phone was the text log with Chelsea. Where she'd sent him pictures of her veiny, steel-hard girlcock getting nasty, sloppy, literal lip service from one of the random chicks last night. Where she'd messily begged to put the same monster in him. Where she had, some-fucking-how, barely avoided actually, properly confessing her crush to him.
Margie's cock was still hard as hell, but her hangover headache was even more noticeable now that panic gripped her.
mrgie: DREA : sob: WTF DID I DOOOOOO
d. r. e:?
mrgie: SIS WTF WAS I ON LN????
d. r. e: Idk. u were super tipsy.
d. r. e: U did not shut the f up about Chelsea
mrgie: YEA AND????
mrgie: I FKN SENT HIM : eggplant: PIX : sob: : sob:
mrgie: HOW TF AM I GUNNA LIIIVE
d. r. e: Told u to confess
d. r. e: Like u live together right now
d. r. e: Stop being a capital f freak and say u like him
d. r. e: Dick pics arent going to make him kick u out
mrgie: IM GONNA DIIIIIEEEEE...
mrgie: WHY DID U LET ME DO DIS
mrgie: drea idk even who this girl is what if he thinks shes my gf??
d. r. e: Girl i am not your keeper
d. r. e: We friends but not my problem when u get a bathroom bj from a slut
d. r. e: Plus isnt that supposed to be sexy. ms big dick gets bitches
mrgie: idk,,,,
d. r. e: Stop talking to me
mrgie: Y
d. r. e: Im going to lunch
mrgie: omfg i didnt even see the time WDYM ITS 12PM????
d. r. e: Go confess to your future girl ffs. im not replying more. bye
mrgie: u BIIIITCH
Margie threw her phone across the bed and shoved her face into a pillow, screaming into it while naked from the waist down. She had messed up SO bad. How was she going to convince Chelsea to stay cute for her when she'd just gone and... shown him her fucking dick?! She fished for her phone and checked the messages again to see if they were real.
Yep. That was her dick, that was her drunk asking Chelsea to dance at clubs, and that was her implying that she'd throat-fuck him. At least she hadn't said she wanted to see him in a dress...
"Margie? You up, you okay? I heard a scream-y kinda noise, and you were, like, mega-drunk last night." Chelsea's muffled voice came through the door, slightly startling Margie. Was her door even locked? He could walk in and see her cock -- again!
"Uh, um, yeaaaaah! I'm like, good, just have a maaaajor headache... Could you get me some water and an aspirin or something puh-leeeeeaaaase?" she said in her whiniest voice.
"Sure, your door's unlocked so I'm gonna come in when I get it, 'kay?" Chelsea replied, sending Margie into a flash, stripping off her top, letting her tits breathe without a bra, and throwing on a pair of cosy sweats and a baggy button-up shirt.
She wasn't as hard anymore, but her dick was tenting the sweatpants something fierce all the same. She tossed herself under the covers as if she was a kid hiding their toys, just in time for Chelsea opening the door with a big glass of ice water and a blister pack of aspirin. Margie popped a few and downed them with big, hearty gulps, draining the glass so fast her lips were numb and her front teeth hurt a little from the cold.
She shook her head, curls bouncing. "Whew! Damn, that woke me up! Thanks, Chelsea. You're a lifesaver dude. You're like, ugh, the beeest after a party night. I should've moved in with you aaages ago!"
Chelsea took a seat at the edge of her bed, mattress creaking. He was smiling slightly, face just a bit red with his fingers tracing little circles into the bedsheet. He looked so sweet and vulnerable, Margie's stomach flipping with equal parts hunger to shame. Why was she such an idiot, playing this crush game so long she sent him dick pics?
"Yeah, you're welcome... So, like, I'm just gonna ask... You didn't mean to send me those, uh, pictures last night, did you?" He avoided eye contact, and Margie used the opportunity to eat up the way his thighs squished onto the bed, how his belly pudged out on top of them, how Jesus Christ she was fucking horny and he was right there and he'd feel so good riding her-- Margie coughed and looked away too. Dumbass brain. He was being straight with her. She should too.
"UM, LIKE... Yes and nooo, I guess...?"
"You- You guess?" Chelsea's tone shifted towards being upset, and she snapped her head around to face him directly, grabbing his hand. Emotion was as high as her libido and making her crush angry was the last thing Margie wanted.
"Chels, I really want you to get out and do a little more than just college shit and shopping, so I meant it! About, like, wanting to see you dance and stuff." Her face was burning up. "I know you'd have fun if you weren't by yourself, and I wanna. Do that with you. Like back in high school." So fucking dumb and corny.
He blinked a lot, eyes shimmering.
"But I'd look so stupid. I'm gross, I'm still not manly, you call me cute as if i'm some kind of... pet, sometimes. And then, last night, you were so--" Margie gripped his hand harder, her core tightening when an image of Chelsea in animal ears and a tail plug came to mind, shaking her head.
"No, dude! You're like, super fucking attractive! Oh my gawd Chels, do you even see yourself?! When I say I wanna squish you I fuckin' mean it, okay?! I wanna put my hands all over you and shit, fuck it's so embarrassing hahaha!" She slapped her forehead, unable to control the embarrassed smile spread across her face.
"So, it wasn't just that... girl in those pics making you..?" He didn't finish, but his eyes flicked downwards. Margie wondered if Chelsea could actually see how fucking hard she was right now. Her dick was painfully hard.
"Chels, I-I. I am like. Mega-embarrassed but you turn me on so bad. I definitely sent you those pics by accident, but, um. Even drunk-af me told the truth." They were quiet for a few seconds, just staring at each other.
"The truth, like, um... you gave me one of your pairs of stockings?" he asked. Margie made a weird, strangled sort of noise and scratched the back of her head.
"Y-Yeah, that's true. I just thought-! You were looking for-! Mmmm! Fuck, Chels, you were sooo wanting a pair of leggings and your legs are so mmgh and you look fuckin' good in them!"
"... and I'd look good in a dress, too?"
Margie froze. She hadn't said that in her texts. Where did he get that from?? Did Andrea say something??
"Wh-Wh... Where'd you get that idea, dude, haha..?"
Chelsea looked away, withdrawing his hand from Margie's frozen grasp. He crossed his arms again and Margie couldn't help looking at the little mounds that formed under his shirt.
"Margie, last night, you were so drunk when you got home. And combined with those pictures, I didn't know what to think when you came in and said you wanted to. To fuck!" he started jerking his leg up and down, the nervous tic sending his thighs jiggling tantalisingly.
"And then you started fucking touching me, out of nowhere, you didn't even ask--" Chelsea's voice went hoarse, and Margie couldn't believe she didn't remember doing this. Part of her was mortified that she'd come onto him without asking, but the other part? Jealous that she didn't remember, hadn't gone further and taken him.
"Chelsea. I am so effing sorry. I was drunk but that doesn't make me, like, not responsible, and consent is super important so I understand if you want me to go--"
"IT WAS HOT AS FUCK, Margie!" he yelled, voice breaking. "It feels so weird. you said you wanted to dress me up! I'm not fit or muscular like buddy, he's a much better man than i am, and even if you hook up with random chicks, it's wild that you'd send pics like that to me -- so when you got home and you... you fuckin' groped the hell out of me Margie," Chelsea smiled and started laughing a little, his smile honest.
"I thought you were going to puke on my back while trying to hump me! Shit, I was so hard, you were on my back and I could feel your tits, your dick, and you kept saying I was wearing your clothes, girl clothes, it's fucking wimpy but fuck it turned me on. Am I a bad man? Does this mean I'm some kind of sissy? I'm so messed up."
Margie pushed the covers off herself and grabbed Chelsea, tugging him back onto the bed with her. She squeezed her arms around him in a big hug, trying to fight back the urge to thrust her dick in between his legs and instead comfort her roomie.
"Chelsea, you fuckin' dummy. I've known you since high school and you're the cutest, handsomest, squeezable-est boy that I wanna cuddle and pet and make you scream."
She rolled over, moving Chelsea under her and straddling him. If the bulge in her sweatpants wasn't obvious, the drenched fabric would be. Margie's cock hadn't softened or stopped flowing with precum since she'd woken up, and hearing how Chelsea got turned on by her drunk ass being a molester? Margie's balls were positively swollen with cum and pouring out a waterfall of clear, sticky precum. The dark patch where her glans pumped it out was so saturated with juice that when Margie's girlcock pulsed a bead of pre actually bled through the fabric.
"Chelsea I wanna turn you inside ouuuutttt-uh! I'm still super sorry about what I did last night. I've been meaning to say it for the longest fucking time but I didn't know how to tell you! Fhhhuuuuck you make me so stiff!" Margie's hips bucked and splattered drops of precum onto Chelsea's torso, his eyes glistening with teary wetness.
"... In your text when you said 'fess,' you meant, like..? Um. Ro... Romantically?" he gulped. Margie could see Chelsea's own dick was tenting his shorts, too, and she wanted so badly to drop her weight on top of him and rub their cocks together -- her girlcock and a girldick-to-be sliding over each other and coated with slippery cockjuice -- but she had to say it first.
"Yes. Chelsea, I. I wanna go out with you! I wanna fuck you. I want you to fuck me. I friggin' love ya! But," she paused. Chelsea looked worried, though his face was so flushed Margie couldn't tell.
"But?"
"I need- I want- You're gonna be my fucking girlfriend. Like, you'd never be a 'man' again." Her breathing turned ragged, manic. She smiled wickedly sweet, lowering her face to Chelsea's and exhaling across his rosy cheeks.
"Chels, I'm gonna date you so hard you'll have a pair of fat, heavy tits before we fucking graduate. My dick is going to reshape your asshole into a pussy and we're totally going to frot our goddamn girlcocks until that soft, squishy tummy of yours is coated with my jizz. You gotta say yes. Please say yes. Puh-leeeassssse! pleasepleasepleaseplease Chels, i'm gonna explode if my cock isn't sliding across yours in seconds, I'm gunna lose it! Please say you'll be my girlfriend!"
If his brain was functioning, there might have been another pause, another second to think it over. Instead, Chelsea's brain could only see three things. One, the massive shape in Chelsea's pants trickling streamers of precum over his shorts. Two, his roommate Margie's gorgeous tawny face begging to be kissed. Three, his future with him tit-fucking her and churning his insides raw. Chelsea answered almost instantly.
"YES! Margie, I'll be your girlfriend, I need you!" Chelsea screamed, shutting her eyes and forgetting all inhibitions. She just needed Margie's girlcock as soon as possible, her heart hammering out of her chest.
Margie dropped her weight and slammed her lips into Chelsea's, their bodies turning into a gay girl frenzy as each struggled to rip their clothes off. Margie's fat, foot-long member crushed Chelsea's, its heat and weight strong enough to be felt through two layers of fabric, one of Margie's hands reaching down to try and grasp both lengths and press them even tighter together. Chelsea fumbled with the buttons on Margie's top, every one of her fingers working double time to free Margie's plump chest.
Neither girl could see the other, their eyes shut tight while mashing their faces together. Margie bit and tugged at Chelsea's lips, sucking on her new girlfriend's bottom lip as she would sweet candy, raggedly breathing and running a hand through Chelsea's hair, relishing how much of her she could now touch, fondle, frot.
Margie's shirt came undone, and there was a pair of hands on her chest, Chelsea's hands kneading and squeezing and tugging on Margie's hardening teats.
"Ungh," she grunted into Chelsea's mouth, tongues dancing together in unbridled lesbian bliss. Nothing felt better than knowing Chelsea would make a good girl than finally being able to fuck her like one.
Margie ripped her hands free of their cocks and Chelsea's hair, frantically grabbing at her hips and tugging her shorts down, freeing the delicious, rigid new girldick begging to be jerked off and crushed under her own.
"Fuck, Chelsea, your dick's sexy. I wanna gobble it up. I wanna eat you up and out and make you scream." Margie slapped her dick down on top of Chelsea's, fat ribbons of slick juice spurting across her abdomen and Chelsea's belly. Margie latched onto one of Chelsea's tits, biting down around the areola before sucking on her nipple, hard.
"NNNHHUH!! SH-SHIT, MARGIE!" Chelsea screamed, her voice breaking on the bite, her hips bucking involuntarily into Margaret's and smashing their cocks together, the lubricated members sliding over each other. Every thrust tugging down Margie's foreskin, jacking her monster off with Chelsea's normal-sized prick, the blonde shoving her cock back and poking Chelsea's stomach with the head and pressing her into the mattress. All while Chelsea moaned and mewled, her meagre handfuls of tit just enough for Margie to bury her face between and kiss, lap, suck to her heart's content. She swapped back and forth, gnawing on Chelsea's smooth skin, marking it with her bruising bites and twisting on whichever nipple she wasn't trying to milk with her mouth. Margie's tongue swirled over and over, trying desperately to drink from her girl's breasts even though she knew they were dry.
"Mmgf, fuck, Chels! Grow these fucking tits, I need to fucking suck them! Need you milky and soft so I can fuck your tits and cum all over 'em, Chelsea pleeeaase ohmygodohmygodfuhck imgonnhacuhm," she warbled, voice wavering, strings of spit still cascading from her mouth to Chelsea's spit-shined smooth chest, her frotting growing more frantic with the building orgasm inside of her. Margie wasn't even in her yet, and her cock felt close to bursting, the girthy, foot-long member pounding away against Chelsea's soft belly and her hardness. Chelsea, speechless, let out a pathetic groan from her throat, hands meekly hugging Margaret closer and legs wrapping around her waist, as if she were truly being penetrated by her best friend. Her roommate.
"He" had known Margie was way out of "his" league, but the way she lapped at her, ground their cocks together in a frenzy, grabbed the back of her head and pulled it up to her face, looked straight into her eyes and moaned... "He" would never have asked for better.
"Chels, my girlfriend, my fucking girlfriend, m'gunna cum and make you my babygirl, shitshitshhiihit--" and they were locking lips again, Margie's soft pillows velvetly coating Chelsea's and her mouth being violated by tongue. Margie exhaled through her nose and began trembling, her pink muscle thrashing in Chelsea's mouth against her tongue, the woman's hips speeding up while that gut-busting cock spat out cloudy globs of precum. Chelsea felt her balls tensing, Margie's perineum swelling as her cock prepared to coat Chelsea's belly, both women trying to say the other's name breathlessly while kissing.
"Mmrhgeee, mmhk! Mrrghee!! Wumd id, I wumd 'ur gum-"
"Chlsh, mmfg, Chlsh, 'm gunna fughing cum!" she pulled away and screamed,
"I'M CUMMINNNGGG, AH-- OOOH, FUCK!!" and hot, boiling ropes of girlcock cream splattered into Chelsea's bellybutton, all over her dick, racing up Margie's abdomen and splattering behind her breasts. Rivers of semen broke out across Chelsea's body, waves of pleasure burning her skin with every blast of hot cum, Margie shaking with her orgasm on top of her, eyes scrunched shut, biting her lower lip. Margie's scrotum stayed taut, her balls emptying the tanks as utterly and completely as they could, the rush of sperm cascading back onto Chelsea's and driving the new girl to her peak.
Chelsea tried to scream, tried to moan as she came, instead making a strangled noise as she curled up into Margie's body and locked her limbs in the throes of orgasm. Sparks seemed to shoot across her body as she felt every jetting pulse of hot cum from Margie's dick and ignite Chelsea's, vision going white and blind while she shot her own load into the belly of Margaret's girldick, spraying semen into the puddles of dense cum already forming from Margie's orgasm.
"I'mcummingasagirlI'mcummingasagirlI'magirlnowI'mhergirlI'mcumminglikeagirlI'mgirlcumming" Chelsea's cockhead engorged, trying its hardest to impregnate the underside of Margie's cock, uselessly shooting streamers across it and into the air instead. Streaky white ropes mingled and flowed together down the womens' trembling bodies, soaking into the mattress.
Accompanied by the sound of ragged breathing, light traffic outside, and each other, Margaret stickily peeled herself off of Chelsea's body -- "his" tits and clavicles covered in red tooth marks, face bright as a tomato. She splayed a hand across "his" belly, smearing cum over it and filling "his" bellybutton, tugging at it with a finger. "He" jolted at that and Margie could feel "him" vibrate with an aftershock, "his" cock flexing underneath hers still and trying to shoot more.
She couldn't be prouder, happier. "He" was completely, utterly spent, and deliciously replaced by her. Margie's new girlfriend. The girl she saw hiding inside Chelsea in their senior year of high school, waiting to be dragged out of "him" and fucked into bliss. Her cock was still rock hard, hungry heat in Margie's core that demanded to spread Chelsea's anal cunt and stuff her until that adorably chunky belly was taut and round with a baby. Margie wanted it so bad. She had been so backed up from last night, even after the blowjob with the floozy. This was the best orgasm she'd had all year and there hadn't even been any penetration.
"Chels... that was friggin' amazing. Gawd, you're a beautiful girl. All for me. I've wanted you for sooo long," she drawled, hunching down and peppering more kisses over her/his? face. Chelsea couldn't find it in her/him? to smile or grumble about it, skin tingling in the afterglow of the weirdest sex she/he? ever had.
"That..." He/She? croaked, "Wasn't what I expected. When - Where the hell'd that come from?" An arm came up to stroke Margie's shoulder, the blonde leaning into it and giving his/her? hand a kiss. Margaret's manicured hand stroked the side of Chelsea's face tenderly.
She giggled, "Oh, shoot Chels, are you a dummy or what?" and snaked her fingers into Chelsea's unoccupied hand.
"Why'd'ya think I moved in with you? I freakin' wanted you in senior high. You're so sawft and so cyute and... college got in the way, ya know?" Margie laughed while twirling a lock of Chelsea's hair.
"And now I'm gonna get to dress you pretty, and make you my lil' honeybun, and get these--" she poked her/his? puffy chest, "--to be some nice titties for me."
Chelsea shied his/her? eyes away, heart racing. Margaret smiled almost wickedly, scooting back and laying on top of him/her? properly, head nuzzling under her/his? neck. Warm cum squished between them, stickily uncomfortable, but Margie was too happy to care.
"Yeah? You knooow you want 'em. You can't wait 'till you've got a bouncy chest you can gimme a boobjob with."
"I DON-- WH-- WHAT TH-- Why do you want me to be a girl so bad!?" he/she? blurted, nervously laughing and trying not to tear up. Margie just looked up with innocent eyes and interlocked her fingers with his/her? other hand.
"'Cause you'd be a pretty chick. And I don't wanna date a different dickgirl," Margaret explained, stroking her thumbs over the back of Chelsea's hands. "You always seemed, like, sooo bothered with being a man, so I'm just gonna make you a girl! I don't care if you weren't born like me. We can be a t-girl/d-girl couple!" Margie giggled, kissing Chelsea on the cheek. Her lips bloomed from how hot her/his face was.
Chelsea was speechless. She/He'd heard of queer stuff before, yeah... was it that obvious she/he'd been that uncomfortable in his/her body as a man? It really did feel better being thought of, being seen as a girl. Maybe his/her brain was warped. She/He shuddered. Margie had seen him/her like this since high school. That was going to take some unpacking.
For the moment, both girls were content to lay in bed making out, jack off Margie's still-hard cock, and enjoy ruining her bedsheets with their sweat and juices. Tough questions, laundry, and a shower could wait. After all, Margaret had a new girlfriend to fuck a baby into, and Chelsea's ass wasn't going to train itself.
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