The Quintessential Frat Boy-May/June community contest

[Storyteller8989]

The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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The Quintessential Frat Boy

Ron Johnson adjusted his Greek letter baseball cap as he scrolled through his phone, the dim light of his dorm room illuminating the smug grin that never seemed to leave his face. At State University, Ron had perfected the art of being the quintessential frat boy—charismatic enough to get what he wanted, detached enough to never feel guilty about it. His four years of college had been a carousel of short-lived romances, each one ending before it had truly begun. The longest relationship had stretched to an impressive two months with a sorority girl named Tiffany, before she discovered him texting another girl during what was supposed to be their anniversary dinner. The shortest had been a mere two hours with a freshman from his economics class, who left in tears after finding him already making plans with someone else while she was in the bathroom.

Ron's philosophy on relationships was simple: variety was the spice of life, and monogamy was a concept invented by people who lacked options. He cheated on every partner he ever had, not because he was particularly malicious, but because he was bored easily and possessed an ego that required constant validation. His fraternity brothers admired his "conquests" and often cheered him on at parties, while the women on campus whispered warnings about him in bathroom stalls, only to somehow find themselves charmed by his confident smile and practiced compliments.

That Tuesday afternoon, as Ron was nursing a hangover from the previous night's kegger, his phone buzzed with a message that made him sit up straighter. It was from Claire, a stacked blonde he had dated for exactly one month during his sophomore year before she caught him cheating with two different girls at the same party. The message was brief but intriguing: "Hey Ron. Been thinking about you lately. Remember that night in your dorm room after the formal? Best I've ever had. Want to help me relive it? My place, Friday night, 8pm. Apartment 3B, The Oaks."

Ron's mind immediately flashed back to that night. Claire had been different from his usual conquests—intelligent, witty, and with a body that could make a statue weep. Their month together had been filled with passionate encounters, each one more intense than the last. Even he had to admit, the chemistry between them had been electric. But his inability to keep it in his pants had inevitably ruined things, as it always did.

He typed back a simple "See you then" without a second thought. Ron wasn't a man who turned down sex, especially not with someone who had described him as "the best she ever had." The ego boost alone was worth the potential awkwardness of seeing an ex he had treated so poorly.

Friday evening arrived, and Ron spent longer than usual getting ready. He selected his tightest polo shirt to showcase his gym-toned physique and spritzed on the cologne that had never failed him before. As he drove to The Oaks, a slightly upscale apartment complex near campus, he found himself wondering why Claire would want to see him again after how things had ended. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe she hadn't found anyone who measured up. Or maybe she just wanted one more night of mind-blowing sex before moving on for good. Whatever her reasons, Ron was happy to oblige.

The elevator ride to the third floor felt longer than usual. Ron ran his fingers through his hair and practiced his opening line in his mind. When he reached apartment 3B, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door, his confidence wavering for just a moment as he considered the possibility that this might be some elaborate revenge scheme.

The door swung open, and there stood Claire, looking even better than he remembered. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and the red silk robe she wore did little to hide the curves that had haunted his dreams for months after their breakup. She smiled, but there was something in her eyes—a mixture of nostalgia and something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Ron Johnson," she said, her voice a purr that sent shivers down his spine. "Right on time. Come on in."

As he stepped into her living room, Ron's eyes widened slightly. The space was dimly lit with candles, and soft jazz played in the background. A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket on the coffee table, and two glasses stood ready beside it. Claire had clearly gone to a lot of trouble, which was both flattering and slightly concerning.

"I'm glad you came," she said, closing the door behind him. "I've been looking forward to this."

Ron turned to face her, his trademark smirk returning to his lips. "Well, when a beautiful woman tells me I was the best she ever had, I tend to show up."

Claire laughed, a genuine sound that put him at ease. "Some things never change, do they, Ron? Still as cocky as I remember."

"Only when it's justified," he replied, stepping closer to her. "And in this case, I believe it is."

Her eyes twinkled in the candlelight as she reached up to loosen his collar. "We'll see about that. But first, how about some champagne?"

As she poured the bubbly liquid, Ron found himself relaxing completely. This was familiar territory—seduction, compliments, the dance that led inevitably to the bedroom. Whatever Claire's reasons for inviting him over, he was confident he could handle it. After all, he was Ron Johnson, the guy who never said no to a good time, especially when it involved a beautiful woman who still wanted him after everything he'd done.

Claire guided Ron to the plush leather couch, her fingers lingering on his arm just a moment longer than necessary. "Make yourself comfortable," she purred, handing him a glass of champagne. The bubbles tickled his nose as he took a sip, his eyes scanning the room with practiced confidence. He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at the effort Claire had put into this reunion. The candles, the soft jazz, the champagne—it was clear he had left an impression.

As they settled into easy conversation, Ron found himself relaxing completely. Claire laughed at his jokes, her hand occasionally brushing against his thigh as she leaned forward to refill his glass. He was just about to suggest they move things to the bedroom when a figure emerged from the hallway, causing Ron to choke on his champagne.

Raven stood there, her raven-black hair cascading over pale shoulders, a stark contrast to the black silk negligee that hugged her petite frame. She held a champagne glass of her own, her dark eyes smoldering with unmistakable desire. Ron remembered their two-week whirlwind romance from last year—intense, passionate, and ultimately doomed when she caught him texting another girl while they were supposed to be having a romantic dinner.

"Hello, Ron," Raven said, her voice a low, sultry whisper. She struck a pose that emphasized her curves, one hand on her hip. "I was hoping you'd show up tonight. You were the best I ever had, you know." She took a slow sip of champagne, her eyes never leaving his. "I've been wanting to relive some of those memories."

Ron's mind raced, trying to process this unexpected development. Before he could form a coherent response, another figure appeared from the kitchen. Briana, with her fiery red hair and athletic build, stood in the doorway wearing a green silk negligee that complemented her toned physique. Ron remembered their week-long affair—he'd met her at a campus grief support group where she was mourning the death of her father. He had helped her forget her pain, at least temporarily, until she discovered him cheating with two different girls in the same week.

"Ron," Briana said, her voice husky with emotion. "I never stopped thinking about you. You were my best lover, my favorite." She walked toward the couch, her movements graceful and deliberate. "When Claire told me she was inviting you over, I knew I had to be here."

Ron looked from one woman to the next, his ego swelling to unprecedented proportions. Three exes, all declaring him the best they'd ever had, all wanting another night with him. It was the ultimate validation of his sexual prowess.

"You don't mind sharing, do you, Ron?" Raven asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she moved closer to the couch.

Before he could answer, the three women converged on him. Claire's lips found his, her tongue exploring his mouth with practiced familiarity while her hands roamed his chest. Raven knelt beside the couch, her fingers tracing patterns on his thigh through his jeans. Briana took his other arm, her nails gently scraping his skin as she nibbled his earlobe.

Ron's rational mind screamed that this was too good to be true, that it might be some elaborate revenge scheme, but his body betrayed him. He was rock hard within seconds, his hands reaching out to touch, to explore, to possess. He kissed Claire back with equal passion, his other hand finding Raven's breast, thumbing her nipple through the silk. Briana's hand slid down his stomach, her fingers dancing along the waistband of his jeans.

"Let's take this somewhere more comfortable," Claire murmured against his lips, breaking the kiss.

The women helped him to his feet, their hands all over him as they guided him down the hallway to the bedroom. Ron stumbled slightly, his head spinning from champagne and overwhelming arousal. He kissed each of them in turn, his hands groping their bodies through the delicate fabric of their negligees.

The bedroom was bathed in candlelight, a queen-sized bed dominating the space. They laid him on his back on the cool sheets, the three women surrounding him. Claire straddled his chest, leaning down to kiss him again while Raven worked at the button of his jeans. Briana knelt beside him, her lips trailing kisses along his neck and collarbone.

Ron closed his eyes, lost in a sea of sensation as Raven pulled his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion. His erection sprang free, thick and hard, already glistening with precum. Raven wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly before leaning down to take his full length in her mouth. Ron gasped as her warm mouth enveloped him, her tongue swirling around his shaft. He remembered this—Raven's incredible oral skills, her complete lack of gag reflex as she took him deeper and deeper.

Claire continued kissing him, her hands working their way down his arms while Briana took his other hand, sucking his fingers into her mouth one by one. The triple stimulation was overwhelming, his hips bucking upward to meet Raven's descending mouth. He was so lost in pleasure that he didn't notice Claire reaching under the pillow until he felt the knots tightening around his wrists. She had tied him firmly to the bedpost with a silk scarf.

His eyes flew open, but before he could react, Briana had already secured his other wrist to the opposite bedpost. "What the—?" he started, but Raven chose that moment to deepthroat him, cutting off his words with a groan of pleasure.

"Don't fight it, Ron," Claire whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. "You're going to love this."

His ankles were next, each quickly tied to the bottom bedposts with silk scarves that felt deceptively gentle against his skin. He was completely immobilized, spread-eagled on the bed, his body exposed and vulnerable to the three women who now held all the power.

Raven released his cock from her mouth, replacing it with her hand as she continued stroking him. "You always did like being in control," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "How does it feel to be helpless?"

Ron's mind was racing, a mixture of fear and arousal coursing through him. This was definitely not what he had expected when he arrived at Claire's apartment, but his body was still responding to their touch with undeniable enthusiasm.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desire.

Claire smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "We want to show you what it's like to be on the receiving end for once. To be the one who's used and then discarded." She leaned down, her lips barely touching his. "But don't worry," she whispered. "We'll make sure you enjoy every minute of it."

The three women exchanged knowing glances before descending on him once more, their hands and mouths exploring every inch of his exposed body. Ron struggled against his restraints, but the silk held firm. He was completely at their mercy, and as the night unfolded, he discovered that being helpless in the hands of three determined women could be both terrifying and incredibly arousing.

Raven's mouth was a warm, wet vacuum of pure skill, her head bobbing in a rhythm that spoke of countless hours of practice. Ron's hips bucked involuntarily, his mind a haze of champagne and overwhelming pleasure. He was completely at their mercy, his body straining against the silk scarves that bound him to the bedposts. Claire and Briana's hands continued their exploration, their touches alternating between gentle caresses and sharp nails that left red trails on his skin. He was so lost in the sensations that he didn't notice Briana slipping away until she returned.

The glint of silver caught his eye, and Ron's pleasure-addled brain struggled to process what he was seeing. Briana held a small, curved knife, its blade catching the candlelight with an ominous gleam. His body tensed, but before he could form a coherent protest, she leaned over him, her expression unreadable.

"Don't worry, Ron," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "I'm not going to hurt you... much."

She carefully traced the knife along his skin, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of his body. It was an intimate, almost tender gesture that sent shivers down his spine despite his fear. The blade danced across his chest, his arms, his stomach, never breaking the skin but leaving ghostly trails in its wake. Ron's breath hitched, his body caught between terror and an inexplicable arousal.

Just as he was starting to relax into the strange sensation, Briana suddenly moved with swift precision. Before Ron could react, she had sliced off a lock of his carefully styled hair, holding it up triumphantly. The sharp sting of the pulled hair was nothing compared to the shock of what she had done.

"What the hell?" he gasped, struggling against his restraints.

Raven began working his cock with even more vigor. It drew his entire focus from what the other women were about. She worked her tongue along his shaft, alternating with taking him into her throat until he couldn't hold back any longer and unloaded into her eager mouth.

Meanwhile, Claire had opened the nightstand drawer, retrieving a thick leather-bound book and a man-shaped wax figure. The book looked ancient, its pages yellowed with age, filled with strange symbols and diagrams that made Ron's blood run cold. The wax doll was a crude but recognizable likeness of him, right down to the smug expression on its face.

The three women gathered at the foot of the bed, their earlier playfulness replaced by a solemn intensity that was far more terrifying than anything they had done before. They began to chant, their voices weaving together in an eerie harmony that seemed to vibrate through the very air in the room. The words were unfamiliar, a language Ron didn't recognize, but their meaning was clear in the intent behind them.

Raven, who had just brought him over the edge of ecstasy, now knelt before him, her mouth still full of his essence. With deliberate slowness, she drooled his sperm onto the wax doll, the fluid gleaming in the candlelight as it coated the figure's chest and groin. Briana added the lock of his hair, pressing it into the wax until it merged seamlessly with the doll's head.

The chanting continued as Briana and Claire produced small vials of henna and fine brushes. They began painting intricate symbols on Ron's body, one girl on each side of him. The designs were complex, swirling patterns that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy as they took shape on his skin. The henna felt cool at first, but as it dried, it began to burn, a tingling sensation that spread through his veins like fire.

Raven sat cross-legged between his calves, her attention focused on the wax doll. She began working it with her hands, her fingers pressing and molding the wax with practiced skill. At first, Ron couldn't tell what she was doing, but as he watched in horror, he realized she was reshaping the doll, changing its form from that of a man to something else entirely.

As Raven worked her fingers on the wax figure’s feet, Ron felt a strange sensation begin in his own body. It started as a tingling in his extremities, a pins-and-needles feeling that slowly spread inward. His toes curled, and he gasped as he felt them begin to shrink, the bones seeming to compress and rearrange themselves beneath his skin. The pain was sharp, like needles being driven into his flesh, and he cried out, but the women's chanting only grew louder, drowning out his protests.

Raven started working on the doll’s legs, and Ron could feel the changes move there as well, his calves and thighs slenderizing, the muscles softening and redistributing. He could feel his hip bones widening, a painful stretching sensation that made him arch his back against the restraints. His waist narrowed, his ribs seeming to contract as his entire torso reshaped itself to match the doll Raven was molding.

"What are you doing to me?" he screamed, his voice already sounding different—higher, softer.

The women ignored his pleas, their concentration absolute. Claire and Briana continued painting symbols on his changing body, their brushes moving in time with the chanting. The henna burned hotter now, and Ron could feel the designs sinking into his skin, becoming a permanent part of him.

The pain was blinding, a white-hot agony that consumed Ron's entire being. As Raven's fingers began working the wax doll, a searing fire erupted in his chest, spreading through his body like wildfire. He tried to scream, but his throat constricted, and the world began to spin. The women's chanting became a distant hum, their faces blurring into indistinct shapes above him. His last conscious thought was of the wax doll in Raven's hands before darkness swallowed him completely.



Ron's consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. The first thing he noticed was the weight on his chest—a strange, unfamiliar heaviness that rose and fell with each breath. His eyes fluttered open to the dim candlelight of the room, his body slick with sweat and trembling with exhaustion.

The women's chanting had ceased, replaced by an eerie silence that somehow felt more menacing. He tried to sit up, but his limbs felt weak and uncoordinated. That's when he noticed the silk scarves still binding him to the bed, holding firm against his struggles.

His eyes widened in horror as he looked down at his body. It wasn't his. It was slender and curved, with smooth, hairless skin that seemed to glow in the candlelight. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, revealing full, rounded breasts with nipples that hardened against the cool air of the room. The sight sent a jolt of terror through him.

Frantically, his gaze traveled downward, past the narrow waist and flaring hips to between his legs. Where his manhood had once been, there was only smooth, sensitive flesh—a void where something essential was missing. Panic seized him as he struggled against his restraints with renewed desperation.

"What have you done to me?" he whispered, his voice a stranger's in his ears—high and feminine.

Claire stepped forward, her expression devoid of warmth. "We've given you what you always gave us, Ron—a new identity, a new body, a new life that you never asked for."

Briana moved to his side, her eyes cold as she looked down at him. "You used us, changed us, and then discarded us when you were done. Now it's your turn to be used, to be changed, to be someone else's plaything."

Ron's eyes darted around the room, landing on the wax figure Raven now held up. It was no longer a crude likeness of him but a detailed representation of the person he had become—delicate, feminine, and utterly changed. The doll seemed to pulse with an inner light, as if it contained some part of his essence.

"The spell is complete," Raven said, her voice soft but carrying an undeniable finality. "You are no longer Ron Johnson, the frat boy who broke hearts and moved on without a second thought. You are someone new now, someone who will learn what it means to be at the mercy of others."

Ron struggled again, his new body feeling weak and unfamiliar. The silk scarves held firm, and he realized with dawning horror that he was completely helpless, trapped in a body that wasn't his own, at the mercy of three women who had every reason to hate him.

The night was young, and as he looked into their eyes, he saw that his transformation was only the beginning of what they had planned for him. The real punishment was yet to come, and he had a feeling it would make the agony of his physical changes seem like a pleasant memory in comparison.

[sinfulwords]

Me reading this when the voodoo dolls and spells came out:


Very The Craft coded Hopefully you’ve seen this witch classic so my reference isn’t falling flat on its face

Another well written story. Your prose is as enticing as ever 10/10 on the writing.

Knowing your work at this point, right when u started describing Ron’s infidelity I knew he’d be a girl by the end of the story

I liked the witch stuff tho that was the best transition mode yet imo. It’s always cool to see the power of femininity portrayed by way of magic. Especially when revenge is involved The concept of magic really complimented your trope.

Cool stuff dude

[Shocker]

Very interesting concept, though the implications of his sex change has yet fully sunk into Ron.

[RapeU]

Forcing a playboy to become a woman is the most humiliating thing that can happen to him. I was actually expecting a guy who is friends with all the women to show up and have his way with him. But I liked it that you left it ambiguous. Let the reader imagine the horrors he had to go through.

[Interception]

Interesting...in terms of text, there may be one or two stories in this contest that I like even better, but when it comes to creativity, your story definitely scores. It would have been even better not to indicate what to expect in the title