It all started with a shitty idea.
Mario and Leo had been obsessed for weeks with the pool at the “Aqualuna” complex. It was exclusive to women. No outsiders got in. The photos circulating in private groups showed perfect, tanned bodies in tiny bikinis. The two of them spent nights fantasizing about how it would feel to sneak in.
Until Mario got the pills.
“Shiny pink, full effect in twenty minutes, lasts twelve hours,” he said, showing him the bottle. “We go in, look around, touch if we can, and before the effect wears off we leave. Nobody finds out.”
Leo hesitated for only a second. Then he smiled.
“Let’s do it.”
They took the pills in the car, in the complex’s parking lot. The change was fast and brutal: breasts, hips, higher voices, empty crotches. They looked at each other with a mix of nerves and stupid excitement. They put on a bikini and a swimsuit they had bought that same morning (as revealing as they were ridiculous) and walked toward the reception trying not to limp.
The receptionist looked at them over her glasses.
“First time?”
“Yes,” Mario answered in a voice that was far too high.
She smiled with professional politeness and handed them two wristbands.
“The women’s pool is down the hallway to the left. Enjoy.”
She didn’t tell them that the arch they walked through didn’t only detect metal.
It also scanned intention.
And the intention of those two reeked for miles.
The “women’s pool” turned out to be a wide, sunny area… full of men.
All men.
Some in swim trunks, others with only a towel around their waist, most of them staring directly from the second they crossed the door. The water sparkled. The music was low. And there wasn’t a single woman besides the two of them.
Mario stopped dead.
“Leo… this isn’t…”
“Shut up,” Leo whispered, already pale. “Don’t look at anyone. We turn around and leave.”
They didn’t turn around.
Two tall, broad-shouldered guys stepped into their path. They smiled with too many teeth and with their hands pulled them closer to their bodies.
“Well, well. New ones?”
What inviting outfits…
Another one approached. Then a third. In less than a minute they were surrounded. “Accidental” hands on their waists, low comments, laughter. One of them tugged at the knot of a bikini top “to check if it was tied properly.” Another gave a hard slap on the ass that echoed.
“No… we just…” Mario tried.
“Just what, little slut?” the tall one said. “You came dressed like that to the men’s area. What did you expect?”
The truth crushed them all at once: they had been tricked. They had been deliberately sent to the exclusive male area. And now they were the only two women in a place full of guys who had zero interest in pretending to be polite.
They tried to push. They tried to complain.
It did nothing.
They didn’t really fight.
Because deep down they had never been brave. Just perverts with pink pills and too much imagination. When the situation became real, when the hands started getting more insistent and the voices rougher, they backed down.
One of the men yanked their bottoms down in one pull. Another forced them to turn around. Laughter mixed with whistles. Mario felt fingers between his new legs and let out a sound he hated. Leo trembled, eyes wet, not daring to scream.
“Look at them,” someone said. “They’re not even resisting. They knew exactly what they were coming for.”
They pushed them toward one of the more secluded lounge chairs and later into the rest rooms, where they took turns fucking them without rest. Mario’s bikini top ended up on the floor. Leo’s swimsuit was lost. The hands no longer asked for permission.
And they… they just lowered their heads.
Because when the fantasy became real, the only thing left was fear.
And the certainty that, deep down, they had always been exactly what those men were saying out loud: a couple of perverted little sluts.
The End.
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