Lost in the Spotlight (1/4)

Jack stood by the door, his manicured fingers gripping the silver purse at his side, his long, freshly waxed legs wobbling in the nude wedge heels. He felt exposed, his entire body on display in the emerald-green bodysuit that clung to every inch of his unwillingly feminized figure. The fabric sparkled under the hallway light, tiny rhinestones catching every movement as he shifted uncomfortably. Worse than the outfit itself were the cut-outs—strategically placed slashes revealing smooth, hairless skin and teasing the fake curves Sarah had painstakingly given him.

His chest rose and fell with each breath, the glued-on breast forms jiggling slightly despite how tightly they were secured. The weight of them was unnatural, foreign, but after hours of Sarah perfecting the blend with makeup and contouring, they looked disgustingly real. His shoulders slumped, but even that didn’t help. With his back arched slightly from the heels, his ass was pushed out more than he wanted, the skintight fabric leaving nothing to the imagination.

And then there was his face.

Jack barely recognized himself in the mirror earlier, and standing here now, the transformation felt even worse. His usually messy hair had been straightened to silky perfection, cascading down his back in glossy, chestnut waves. His eyebrows were no longer thick and unkempt but shaped into clean, feminine arches that framed his wide, smoky eyes. Sarah had gone all out on his makeup—long, fluttery lashes, bronzed cheekbones, and glossy, overlined lips that practically begged for attention. His nails were perfectly manicured, while his toes—exposed in the wedges—stood out in bold red.

Jack swallowed hard, gripping the purse at his side. He knew Sarah would make him pay after winning the bet—especially after what he’d made her do last time—but this was more than he ever expected.

"This is too much," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "You don’t even dress this way."

Sarah smirked, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall in ripped jeans and an oversized hoodie. "Maybe I don’t," she teased, stepping closer, her finger tapping under his chin. "But my bestie sure does. And tonight? That’s who you are, Jenny."

Before Jack could argue, Sarah gave him a firm push toward the door, forcing him to keep up in his unsteady wedges as she led him to the car. The ride over felt like it was over in seconds, his nerves only growing worse with each passing streetlight.

When they pulled up, Jack’s stomach tightened. The packed sidewalks, flashing lights, and pounding bass were overwhelming, but he had no time to react before Sarah yanked open his door and pulled him into the crowd. The sea of people, the energy, the sheer number of eyes—he could barely process any of it as she weaved them toward the entrance, each step making this feel like a bigger mistake.

Jack hated how much attention he was getting. Every step made his fake breasts bounce, the weight constantly reminding him of their presence. The wedges forced him to walk with an unnatural sway, his hips rolling with every movement. He felt the stares, the way guys eyed him up and down, how some whispered to their friends as he passed.

The venue was packed, the crowd buzzing in anticipation for Trey Luv, one of the biggest rappers in the game—and, according to Sarah, a total player. She had gushed about him the entire ride over, laughing about the way he always had a different girl on his arm.

Jack sighed, shifting uncomfortably as Sarah pulled him closer to the stage. His feet ached, his back throbbed from the wedges, and every movement reminded him of how exposed he was. He had done his best to play along—smiling, swaying, clapping when the crowd did—but all he wanted was for this night to be over.

Then, over the pounding bass, a voice rang out.

"You! The hottie in green! Get up here!"

Jack’s stomach dropped.

Trey Luv was pointing right at him.

Before he could react, Sarah let out a squeal, shoving him forward. "Go, Jenny! Oh my God, GO!"

Jack stumbled as security hoisted him onto the stage, the heat of the lights and roar of the crowd hitting him. Before he could steady himself, Trey Luv slid an arm around his waist, grinning.

"Damn, girl," he said into the mic, sending another wave of cheers through the audience. "What’s your name?"

"Jenny," he said in his most feminine voice.

Trey Luv’s grin widened. "Well, Jenny, let’s give ‘em a show." As the beat hit, he pulled Jack flush against him, his movements confident and possessive.

Jack barely had time to react before Trey Luv was grinding into him, his strong hands gripping Jack’s waist, keeping him locked in place. Every roll of Trey’s hips sent a firm, unmistakable pressure against Jack’s ass, the thick, hard outline of his cock pressing insistently through the layers of clothing, impossible to ignore. The crowd loved it, screaming and cheering as Trey led the performance, his touch lingering, teasing, completely in control.

Jack’s breath hitched, his entire body stiffening, but Trey didn’t ease up for a second. The rapper moved against him with effortless dominance, the rhythm commanding Jack to follow along. And front and center, Sarah was loving it—cheering, recording, her grin wide with amusement.

And the worst part? The song had only just begun.