Caring Anna

Trevor often made things up when talking about himself while meeting girls on dating apps — sometimes he’d say he had a startup, sometimes he'd pretend to love animals, and once in a while he’d pose as a poet in search of his muse. But at some point, he got bored and decided to take it further: 'What if I create a fake girl, just for fun? Let's see how many idiots fall for it.' He found a suitable photo generator, set the parameters — a cute face, plump lips, red hair tied in a ponytail... And thus Anna Smith was born.

— Anna, 23 years old, 161 cm. I love cooking, coziness, romance, dreaming of finding a caring man... — he smirked, reading out the profile he’d written himself.

The first responses came in quickly. Guys came in droves — with boring lines like “Hey, sunshine” or straight-up dick pics. Trevor found it hilarious. He cracked up in front of the monitor, replying sometimes with sarcasm, sometimes in a cutesy tone, sometimes copying lines from women's forums. But soon one reply stood out.

"You’re so sweet. I see something real in you. Message me if you're looking for more than just romance — if you're looking for magic."

Trevor winced, almost ignored it, but it was just too cringe — especially that dumb line about “magic.” He couldn't resist roasting this next hopeless flirt and typed:

"Omg! Magic! 😍 Are you a wizard or something?))"

The reply came instantly, as if the guy had been waiting for Trevor to hit send.

"A little bit, yeah. Enchanted by your beauty. You're like a goddess."

— Jesus, what a cliché, dude. — Trevor muttered, wiping his eyes from laughing. He felt like he could mock these romantic fools all day long.

"Goddess? Aww, you're sweet 😂 Do you have a magic wand, or are you just really good with your tongue? ;)"

This time the guy didn’t answer right away. The “typing…” sign kept popping up and disappearing.

— Shit, guess I overdid it, maybe the guy figured something out — Trevor chuckled and tossed the phone aside, turning to the console and the TV — well then, time to game.

Meanwhile, the phone screen blinked, and the message finally came through. But Trevor didn’t notice it right away. He was too busy blasting through some shooter, lounging in his chair with his feet on the table and a half-empty soda bottle in hand.

The phone screen dimly glowed:

"This wasn’t nice, ‘Anna,’ because I believed you. But alright. You’ll become who you pretend to be. Down to the last eyelash. And only after you've fully become her, then we’ll continue our conversation."

…

It felt like an eternity had passed, though in reality it was only the end of the second week since Trevor had woken up in this new body. The body he had come up with himself. Exactly like in the profile.

Anna stood in the kitchen, quietly humming a song from Trevor’s teenage years, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the man standing in the kitchen doorway watching her. She tried not to show it and acted like she was focused on greasing the buns. But every glance from him felt like an electric jolt down her bare back. Her top, stretched tight over her breasts like the fabric was about to burst, never let her forget what her body was now. Every move made her tits bounce slightly, the tight shorts chafed against her thighs and ass, and her ponytail, twitching with the slightest tilt of her head, drove her nuts with its “cute” girly motion.

— “I love singing while I cook”… right? — the wizard said with a smirk, leaning against the doorframe. His voice sounded warm, almost caring, but there was something chilling behind it.

Anna flinched. He was quoting the profile. The very same one she—he—Trevor had once made up for laughs. And now every point — every made-up detail — had become her new goal, something she had to fulfill to earn her freedom. Cooking. Ponytail. Morning yoga, when her tits bounce in a sports bra. Cozy home and… a dream of a “caring man.”

— I… yeah… I’m trying, — lifting the tray of pastries and carefully setting it on a wooden pad, Anna felt her hands trembling slightly from the heat and… from his gaze. She just wanted it all to be over already. The wizard had made it perfectly clear when she woke up in his apartment two weeks ago. Either she became “Anna” completely and entirely, exactly like the profile said, or he could make things much, much worse. Even turn her into a worm.

— Good girl, — he said slowly, stepping closer. — The buns look… delicious.

Anna shivered not from the compliment, but from the tone. He stood almost flush against her; she could feel his breath by her ear. She pretended not to notice how his eyes roamed over her thighs, her stomach, her too-tight white top clinging to her breasts.

— You even did the ponytail. Just like the profile. — He lightly touched her hair, and she flinched again, her face flushing.

— Well… I thought it’d be better if I… matched.

— You do, — he whispered. — Almost. But you know what you haven’t nailed yet?

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She only pressed her thighs closer together, like she wanted to disappear inside herself.

— The tone. You talk like Trevor with tits. But you should sound like Anna, — he leaned in, his lips almost brushing her ear. — Soft. Gentle. Feminine. Now, say to me: “Sweetie, I baked you some buns. Want to try one?” — He stepped back, smirking. — Go on?

Anna pressed her lips together. Her heart was pounding like crazy. It was all too… sleazy, too blatant. But he knew how to push.

— If you don’t say it, — he continued, bringing a finger to his lips, — tomorrow you’ll wake up in stilettos and a latex dress. And trust me, it won’t be your size.

She swallowed hard and, exhaling, whispered:

— Sw… sweetie, I baked you some buns. Want to try one?

He tilted his head, as if judging. Stayed silent for a moment.

— Better. Getting closer to Anna. But... tits out. — He demonstrated. — And smile. You’re dreaming of a caring man, remember?

Anna clenched her teeth, then straightened a little, feeling the top stretch across her breasts. She could feel them weighing down, swaying with every movement. It was insane. It was unbearable.

— That’s it. Now… try feeding me.

— What?

— Well, you’re a homemaker, so caring. Come here. Take one bun. And — slowly, gently — bring it to my lips.

Anna wanted to explode. She wanted to scream, to smash the tray in his face, to break out of this trap. But… she was scared. Too scared. And everything happening felt way too real. She lowered her gaze, took one still-hot bun and stepped toward him. Raised her hand. Her nails were neatly painted in soft peach. Just like Anna should have. Just like in the profile.

He opened his mouth. She carefully brought the bun to his lips. He took a bite.

— Tasty. — He smiled. — You’re becoming a real girl, Anna.