Leila - part 2

— I’m not fucking Leila! Hey, professor! What the hell?! Get me the fuck out of here! — Trevor screamed, stepping forward. His new hips, round and smooth, wrapped in sheer fabric, swayed from side to side. Along with them, light golden chains jingled around his waist. And the worst part was that there was no sign of the professor. In fact, everything felt way too real, especially the silence that followed Trevor's outburst when the music suddenly stopped.

— What the hell is this fucked-up body?! Hey, can anyone hear me?! — Trevor jerked forward, intending to grab the nearest person by the shoulder and shake them for answers.

But he stumbled immediately.

His graceful legs, adorned with thin bracelets, buckled, barely keeping him upright. Damn, his center of gravity was all off. What the hell?! Every movement felt alien, unnervingly fluid... and the disgusting sway of his boobs.

— This bitch is completely out of her mind! — a deep, rough voice sounded nearby, and Trevor spun around.

In the half-light stood a man in a turban and expensive caftan, with a thick beard and an angry expression. A heavy ring gleamed in his hand, and a dagger hung from his belt. The other guests, who had been watching the dance a moment ago, now stared at Trevor… no, at Layla, in tense silence.

— I swear to Allah, she can’t wait to get whipped! — the man stepped closer, tilting his head mockingly. — Shahin, your girl is out of control. Do you really let her shout like that?

Trevor frowned, and of course, he didn’t realize they were calling him a “girl.” He tried to catch the gaze of someone who could explain what was going on here, but then he heard another voice — calm, but full of barely hidden threat.

— Layla. Come here.

Trevor didn’t even turn. He still thought they weren’t talking to him. But when the general tension in the room flared, when the dancers moved aside, when the sound of heavy footsteps drew closer, Trevor realized — it was him they were calling. He turned and saw him.

The massive man, especially large for Trevor’s new fragile body, stood in the half-darkness, waiting. His broad shoulders seemed like a stone wall, and his dark, watchful eyes looked as if they could see right through him.

The guards, armed with curved daggers, began to move when the man raised his hand, stopping them. He stepped closer, and the air in the room felt heavier.

— Layla, — he repeated quietly, but with a tone of iron authority. — Are you making me repeat myself?

Trevor froze.

No, he didn’t just freeze — it was as if he was crushed to the floor by the power of this man’s voice.

Trevor didn’t know who this was, but the way he said that name — Layla — left no doubt. It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a shout, it wasn’t even irritation. It was an order. And that icy tone made Trevor’s insides twist into knots.

But he wasn’t going to obey.

— Listen, buddy, I don’t know what kind of circus this is, but I need to…

Trevor cut himself off sharply when he saw the man’s face change slowly, dangerously. This Shahin, whoever he was, looked at him as if this one mistake could lead to an order that would decide whether or not he would live.

He swallowed hard. The feeling of reality hit his head like a hammer, but his gut still refused to accept the obvious. This was nonsense! Complete, utter nonsense! He was just dreaming some ridiculously complex and detailed dream, and for some reason, his mind refused to believe it was false.

But then why was his tits still swaying with every sharp movement? Why did the weight of the gold bracelets feel so real against his skin? Why was that damn high voice tearing out of his throat?

— You talk too much, — Shahin said quietly.

That voice was like soft silk sliding over a sharp blade. And it made Trevor feel something inside tighten.

— And you talk too boldly, — he added, narrowing his eyes.

— Why the hell are you pussyfooting around with her, Shahin?! — came an irritated voice from one of the guests. — If she doesn’t want to dance, punish her and be done with it!

Trevor, still trying to process the chaos happening around him, felt his skin break out in cold sweat. His body — no, whose body was this, anyway? — his new body shuddered as male voices began to whisper louder around him.

Trevor swallowed hard, realizing the situation was slipping out of control. Hell, it had already slipped. Completely. The room was dead silent, as if everyone was waiting for Shahin’s decision. And he remained silent, staring. His gaze held no fury, no mockery — only an icy evaluation, as if he was deciding what to do with him, with Layla.

— Take her, — his voice rang out, calm but unarguable.

In the next moment, strong hands gripped Trevor’s wrists. They jerked him forward, making him stumble on unfamiliar legs, and roughly dragged him away, like a doll with no chance to resist.

— Hey! — he cried out, trying to break free, but the slender female wrists were helpless against the iron grip of the guards. — Do you even know what you’re doing?! Do you know who I am?! I’ll tear this fucking circus apart! My father—!

Crack!

A sharp whip crack against the floor froze Trevor, his voice cut off, stuck in his new high-pitched throat. Trembling with adrenaline, he cast a glance and saw a broad-shouldered guard with a grim expression angrily clutching the handle of the whip.

— Shut up, dancer! — he spat gruffly, and the second guard, gripping Trevor’s shoulder, yanked him forward again.

…

The cold stone walls… They surrounded Trevor from all sides, pressing down on him with the weight of raw stone and weak light filtering through a barred window. He sat on a rough cot, with a stiff, dusty, straw-scented bedding beneath him. And most importantly — he felt.

Yeah, he felt too much.

Every movement echoed with completely alien sensations. He moved his legs — and immediately realized how different they were. Soft, round, awkwardly flexible. The light belt that wrapped around his wide hips, which felt as though a cushion had been strapped to his ass, was too tight, almost digging into his skin. The long, thin fabric barely covered… well, barely covered anything. And the worst part — there was nothing underneath. Nothing, just this flat female crotch!

And his tits. Goddamn fucking boobs! His Boobs!

As soon as he moved even slightly, those heavy sacks, those damned curves strapped to his body, swayed with him. They were real. They responded to every movement, they weighed down on his ribs, they… were part of him.

— Fuck… goddamn it… — he exhaled, bringing his hands to his face. — This can’t be real, — he whispered, but the voice that came out was high and melodic, like it wasn’t him but a sweet girl speaking. — This is bullshit. A dream. A hallucination.

It was all real, though. It wasn’t some VR simulation or anything else. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, but even in the dark, he felt the weight of his new breasts, their firmness, their swaying with every breath.

— Fuck, — he whispered, and his voice once again sounded like Layla’s. — Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He stood up, but his hips reminded him of their weight once again. "How the hell am I supposed to live with this?!" he thought, bracing himself against the wall to avoid falling, and felt his breasts sway once more, as if reminding him of its presence.

— Professor, — he whispered, staring at the ceiling as if an answer might be up there. — Get me out of here, goddamn it!

But there was no response. Only silence, broken by his own breathing, light and fast. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, small and quick, like a bird’s. He could feel his body, so fragile and delicate, trembling from cold and fear.

Trevor approached the door, trying to push it, but it didn’t even budge. He slammed his fist against it, but the sharp, burning pain made him step back. He looked at his hands — thin, delicate, with long fingers now covered in scratches. He groaned, feeling the helplessness tighten inside him.

— Hey! — he shouted, banging on the door again. — Hey, you there! Let me out! I’m not your fucking bitch! I’m not her! I’m Trevor Hale! Do you hear me?! Trevor Hale! Fucking billionaire, okay?!

In the distance, someone snickered, and immediately:

— Shut up, you little bitch! — a deep voice from the darkness thundered, and Trevor fell silent, as if someone had turned off the sound. He stood there, pressing his palms against the cold door, his breasts swaying unnaturally with every breath. His tits. Fuck. This couldn’t be real. It was so damn wrong, so fucking wrong!