Dainty fingers gripped satin sheets, knuckles white with strain, as his mind fought a losing battle against a body that was now irrevocably female. He could feel his slick pink cunt throbbing around the man’s cock, as masculine thoughts drowned in a sea of need. He bit his plump lip, tasting the waxy sweetness of the lipstick that painted his cock-sucking mouth. When had he put that on? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the exquisite tension building in his needy slit.

“No! I must resist!” He thought desperately to himself, fighting back against the pleasure. He knew what would happen if he came like a bitch, if he gave in to these alien sensations. The change would be permanent, inescapable. He would be lost entirely, mind warped to match body. Panic clawed through the fog of lust. How had it come to this?

It started as a last ditch attempt to evade the law closing in. He’d gotten the shady ‘X-Change’ pill from a seedy dealer, not caring what they did as long as they allowed him to hide from his pursuers. But he hadn’t expected something quite like this. The first shifts were subtle: a rounding of features, a newfound softness across his body. He figured the pill was just making him younger, but then the changes quickly accelarated. Narrow man-hips flared into a womanly child-bearing pelvis, flat chest swelling into perky handfuls ready to be groped. He tried to fight it, even as his body ached for a man’s touch. His voice rose to a feminine mewl, his skin turned porcelain pale. Worst, or perhaps best of all, was the greedy heat between his thighs where his manhood had withered away.

Little did he know that hormones were already rewriting his brain into craving strong men and their cocks. He was told the effects of the pill were temporary, that he would change back after a week, as long as he didn’t cross that line. But he couldn’t control these base urges, couldn’t resist the dance of his bimbo flesh. It was as if the pills had condensed the insatiable libido of a hundred horny women into this lithe, fuckable form he now wore. When a man had approached him at the bar, blue eyes smoldering with dark intentions, it had felt so right to fall into his arms, to be stripped and taken like a cheap whore.

Now here he was, splayed out on rumpled sheets, high heels digging into the mattress as he fought the orgasm that would seal his fate. Inky tears rolled down his face, leaving streaks in his heavy makeup. It wasn’t fair. This body, these feelings, they weren’t his. Not that it mattered anymore. His resistance shattered, eroded under the onslaught of searing ecstasy radiating from his weeping pussy. He could feel the remnants of his male identity slipping away, obliterated by raw pleasure. English became garbled Mandarin pleading from his cock-pillowed lips, the last traces of manhood dissolving in the heat of climax.

With a throaty moan of total submission, he came, squirting helplessly as his mind finally aligned with his body, welcoming its new existence. There was no going back now. In this moment of erotic rebirth, he was remade. No longer a man on the run, but a simpering Mandarin slut, an obedient China-doll fucktoy. And as the aftershocks faded into a satisfied glow, all she could think about was how badly she needed to find more dicks to fill her Oriental pussy.