Let The Punishment Fit The Crime

The chair was rather ordinary. Made of sturdy wood, with a straight back, it was the sort you might expect to find ranked around a dining room table. A nude figure slumped against the back of the chair, stirring only slightly when a voice emerged from the surrounding darkness.

“Martin Redfield, awaken!”

The figure’s head raised slowly, eyes opening as if against great resistance. Lips moved soundlessly, and then a whispering voice emerged.

“Where, where am I?”

“Where you are is of no importance,” the booming voice replied. “Why you are here is bound in what you are, and what you have become.”

“I don’t understand,’ the figure in the chair stirred, head turning as if to look around. There was, however, nothing to be seen. The chair was illuminated by a soft, seemingly sourceless, light. All else was total darkness.

“Martin Redfield, rise.” As the figure in the chair struggled to its feet, the surrounding light expanding slightly, revealing a plain, old fashioned mirror. Gazing toward the reflective surface, the figure shivered slightly, as if possessed by a sudden premonition.

‘Martin Redfield, know that you have been judged by the Guild of Ages. You have been determined to be a user of women, utilizing alcohol, lies and misdirection to achieve your purpose, while disregarding the true desires and wishes of your victims. For this, you are to be punished.”

The figure standing before the chair shrugged. “They wanted it as much as I did. And if they didn’t, screw ‘em.”

“Indeed,” the voice replied. “Your attitude has influenced the decision of the Guild. Now, approach the Mirror of Judgment.”

The figure shrugged again, then shuffled forward. Once before the mirror, the figure looked into the reflective surface. A short, sharp scream burst from startled lips, and then the figured collapsed.

Martin Redfield, Marty to his friends, woke slowly. Putting a hand to his head, he rose from his bed and staggered toward the bathroom. Once inside, he stepped to the toilet. Reaching down, his hands encountered nothing but air. Puzzled, his hands searched for his cock, finding instead a softly furred mound. Stunned, Marty turned toward the door. Mounted on the back was a full length mirror. Marty froze, eyes widening at the reflection.

Staring back at him was a woman. Stunned, Marty’s eyes took stock almost automatically. Long, toned legs, widening into firm thighs and softly flaring hips. Slender waist, large, firm breasts with pronounced nipples. Slender neck supporting a head of sculpted beauty. Firm, pouting lips, now slightly parted in shock. Pert nose. Cat-like eyes of an almost luminous blue. All capped by a mane of flowing, shimmering blonde hair.

For long moment, Marty simply stared. Then, breaking through the shock, he threw open the door and staggered into the living room, only to freeze at the sight of the woman who stood waiting. Dressed in flowing robes, only the woman’s face was visible. It was a face of classic beauty, framed in flowing black hair. There was a smile on the woman’s lips, and eyes like chips of obsidian seemed to pierce straight to his soul.

“Who are you?” Marty asked, then stopped. His voice! Instead of his normal booming baritone, his words emerged in a soft, dusky alto. “What have you done to me?”

The woman’s smile seemed to widen slightly. “I am Anya, of the Guild. What has been done to you would seem to be obvious. I am here to explain you new reality.”

“Reality?” Marty’s mind struggled to understand what was happening.

Anya nodded. “As you can see, there have been changes. This is part of your punishment. You, who have misused and disrespected women your entire life, will now learn what it is like to be a woman.”

“Change me back,” Marty whispered.

The woman continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “As you have seen, your physical appearance has changed. In fact, your entire reality has changed. In this reality, Martin Redfield has never existed. In this reality, you are, and always have been, Martha Redfield. Your home, your job, your friends, all remain the same. Only you yourself have changed, as well as the memories of those who have known you, have been altered. The length of your punishment shall be determined by you. Once you have met the terms of your punishment, your reality will be returned to its previous state.”

“What are these terms?” Marty asked. “How can I get my body back?”

“By order of the Guild,” Anya replied, “the terms of your punishment are not to be revealed. There will be clues, however, implanted within your world, and within yourself, to guide you, should you be perceptive enough to find them. To be honest, I believe that, should you meet the terms, you will have no awareness of having done so until your punishment is removed. Have you any further questions? If not, my purpose here is served.”

Still in shock, Marty simply shook his head. Anya nodded, then simply vanished, leaving Marty alone to struggle with his new reality.

Living in a woman’s body, Marty quickly decided, was going to take some getting used to. His wider hips required a different stride when walking, and he could feel his new ass swaying with every step. In his mind, he could visualize the sight, each cheek bunching, rising and falling with his steps, his ass as a whole swaying gently side to side. He’d watched enough asses in his time to know what his looked like now. The hair would take some getting used to, brushing gently against his back nearly down to his ass. He considered cutting it short, then quickly rejected the idea, though he couldn’t say why. It was, after all, only hair.

No, it was his chest that would take the most getting used to. Specifically, it would be the two large mounds now adorning his chest. They just hung there, seeming to amplify every move he made. Walking made them bounce in an oddly pleasant way, both moving together, yet independent of each other. Even breathing caused them to rise and shift, ensuring that he would always be aware of them, even if their weight could be overlooked.

After an eventful trip to the bathroom (apparently, there was both a right and a wrong way to wipe afterwards), Marty moved to his bedroom to get dressed. Nice as his new body was to look at, he felt a need to cover it, as if to hide his new female status.

In his bedroom, Marty found that all his clothes were gone, replaced by more feminine items. Unwilling to put on any of the panties, and refusing to even touch a bra, Marty dressed simply in shorts and tee shirt. The wisdom of this choice came into question almost as soon as he’d finished dressing.
The shorts weren’t bad. At least they hid any visible sign of his changed gender. The shirt, however, was going to be a problem. More to the point, his new breasts were going to be a problem. Unfettered, they moved with every step, rubbing his nipples against the cloth of his shirt. The resulting friction caused his nipples to quickly harden, sending small bolts of an unfamiliar pleasure shooting through his body. Reluctantly, he slipped off the shirt and reached for a bra.

Bra in hand, he paused. For all his experience at removing bras, he had no idea how to put one on. Finally, he wrapped it around his chest, clasp in front. After fastening the clasp, he rotated it on his chest until the cups were in front. Carefully placing his breasts within the cups, he slipped his arms into the straps, then put his shirt back on. The bra felt strange, but at least it kept his tits from moving so much.

Dressed, he moved to the living room and sat to consider his situation. He could, he knew, simply hide out here at home and hope to figure out how to end this punishment. Problem was, there was no way of knowing how long it would take. In the meantime, he still had to eat, not to mention the bills that would have to be paid. No, he would have to work, pretend that being a beautiful woman was normal for him, and hope it didn’t take long to figure this out. Marty didn’t relish the thought of going out in this body, but at least he had time to get used to it. By luck or design, the Guild had chosen a Saturday to inflict this punishment on him, so he had the weekend to familiarize himself with how this new body worked. Monday, he thought, would take care of itself.

By Monday morning, Marty had learned a few things about life in his new body. Shaving his legs was a lot different from shaving his face. There was a trick to putting on pantyhose straight. Be very careful leaning over the stove to sniff something cooking on a back burner (dipping your nipple into a boiling pan of macaroni is no fun at all). And be very careful in the shower when it comes to washing your breasts or crotch (even the slightest touch on either area causing feelings he didn’t even want to think about).

Surprisingly, the one thing he had no trouble with was makeup. Marty woke on Monday morning dreading the thought of trying to make himself presentable for work. Once he stepped in front of the mirror, though, his new body seemed to know exactly what to do, applying lipstick, eye liner, mascara (and where had all this stuff come from, he wondered, finally deciding it must have come from the same place as his new clothes), as if he’d been doing it all his life. Ditto for dressing, and walking in heels.

When he left for work, Marty wore an outfit that, as a man, he’d always disliked. A dark blue knee-length skirt and matching jacket, with a plain white blouse. An outfit that did little to compliment the body beneath. Looking at his wardrobe from his new perspective, however, he’d quickly seen the advantages of such a choice. Properly dressed, he set out for work (only having to return once, cursing and asking himself why women’s clothing didn’t have enough pockets that they wouldn’t need a purse).

At work, Marty quickly hid in his office. Fortunately, his job as an IT specialist meant he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone unless something went wrong, an event he fervently prayed wouldn’t happen. As it turned out, the day was nearly over before a problem presented itself. Not an IT problem, however. The problem came in the form of Cheryl Masters, an HR Specialist and open lesbian who, Marty somehow knew, had been after Martha Redfield since her first day on the job. Unable to think of a polite reason to not see her, Marty simply sighed when she knocked on his door.

“Marty (apparently, his female self had the same nickname as his male self), we need to go over your 401 to see if anything needs to be updated.” As she spoke, Cheryl dragged a chair behind Marty’s desk, seating herself right beside him. Taking papers from a folder, she spread them over the desk and began pointing out options he might want to change. But as her left hand pointed, her right hand found its way onto Marty’s knee, then began working its way up under the skirt. Twice he removed the hand, and twice it was returned.

He was just reaching to remove it the third time when Cheryl made a sudden move, and Marty felt her fingers brushing against the crotch of his pantyhose. Marty stiffened. He knew he should remove Cheryl’s hand, but that soft touch felt so good, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to end. Finally, he mustered the willpower to remove the hand, pointing out, in a voice that only shook a little bit, that it was time to go home for the day. Cheryl pouted, but gathered her papers and moved away. At the door, however, she stopped and turned back. As Marty watched, she raised her right hand to her nose, breathed deeply, then smiled.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, hon,” Cheryl said, still smiling. Marty waited only until he was sure she was gone before he fled for home, softly cursing himself for the wet spot on his pantyhose.

Over the next few days, things only got worse. Emboldened by the physical reaction she’d been able to provoke, Cheryl took every opportunity to visit Marty in his office. And each time, it became just a little bit harder to not submit to her advances. Marty knew he was fighting a losing battle, but something inside told him that, once he’d had sex in this body, everything would change.

As it was, things were changing, and not in a way he liked. His tastes, he found, were slowly shifting. He found himself dressing in ways that subtly enhanced his figure. His eating habits went from macho meat and potatoes to more varied food styles. Foods, he realized with a shock, chosen to help keep his figure. Silk slowly replaced denim as his favorite clothing. No major changes, these, but troubling all the same. In his mind, he saw himself shifting slowly from a masculine to a feminine point of view. And when he caught himself looking at a man’s ass, he knew he was in deep trouble.

By the time he staggered home from work Friday evening, Marty knew he had to do something. On her last visit, Cheryl had nearly gotten his blouse off before he could summon the strength to stop her. On the way home, he’d caught himself licking his lips at the sight of a construction worker bent over a pile of bricks. He had to find out what was happening to him, and fast!

Once home, Marty settled in front of his computer to do some hard research. Anatomy, physiology, psychiatry, he checked every science he could think of. And, slowly, he pieced together an answer.

Hormones. As a man, his body had produced male hormones. But now, his new body was producing female hormones. As the balance of hormones in his mind shifted from male to female, his mind changed as well. Eventually, his mind would be ruled by totally feminine hormones. When that happened, except for his memories, he would be a woman in mind as well as body. As Marty struggled to come to grips with this information, another thought struck him. Quickly, he turned back to his computer, verifying another awful truth. Sexual stimulation increased the production of certain hormones. Which meant that every time Cheryl touched him, and every time his body responded, only accelerated the process.

Marty slumped in his chair. There was, he knew, no way to stop Cheryl’s advances short of a direct “no”, something he wasn’t at all sure he could enforce if she pressed the issue. No matter how he looked, he could see no way out. Even now, after only a week, just the thought of Cheryl’s touch was enough to send a chill of pleasure through his body. Her hand on his crotch, softly stroking him, or on his breasts, cupping and squeezing……

“No!” Marty’s eyes, which had closed as he lost himself in thoughts he knew he couldn’t afford, flew open. He found himself slumped in his chair, one hand squeezing a breast while the other rubbed softly at his crotch. He leaped to his feet, only to stagger, his knees weak from the sensations in his body. He had, he realized, very nearly lost all control of this body’s desires.

Marty’s panic was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Gathering what wits he still had, he opened the door to find Bob, his best friend, standing on the step.

“Hey Marty,” Bob said in greeting. “Ready for a fight?”

Marty groaned inwardly. He’d been watching the fights every Friday with Bob for years. At the moment, television was definitely not on his list of priorities.

“Hey Bob,” he replied weakly, trying to think of a way out. “Um, sure, but I’m kinda out of beer at the moment.” Inwardly, he cursed himself for using such a weak excuse.

“No problem,” Bob replied, grinning and holding up a case of Coors. “It’s my turn to buy, remember? Why don’t you get out of your executive clothes? I’ll put this away and get everything set up.”

“Oh, ok,” Marty simply couldn’t think of any other excuse. “I’ll be right back.”

“And save the primping for your dates. I don’t want to miss any of the fights because you couldn’t decide what panties to wear. Or not wear.”

Shocked, Marty stared for a moment, then turned away. He and Bob had always picked on each other, and in some very personal ways. But hearing it from his new, female, perspective, it somehow didn’t sound quite so funny.

Upstairs, Marty quickly stripped and stepped into the tub. As he soaked, he tried desperately to think of a way to get rid of Bob without offending him. Right now, the last thing he needed was a man in the house. Especially one with such a cute smile, and such a nice, tight ass. Wait a minute! That kind of thinking, he definitely didn’t need. Marty stumbled from the bath, dried himself quickly, then threw on an old pair of sweats and an old tee shirt he found in his dresser. Piling his hair atop his head and wrapping it in a towel, he left his bedroom. He had to get Bob out of the house, now!

When he entered the living room, Bob handed him a beer. Without thinking, Marty reached for it, the sudden contact with Bob’s hand sending a slight shudder through him.

“Are you ok?” Bob asked, having noticed Marty’s reaction.

“Fine,” Marty replied, wanting only to change the subject (how could he possibly say that the touch of Bob’s hand on his made him somehow wish Bob would touch him in other places?). “Are the fights on yet?”

“Just about to start.” Grateful for an excuse to move away, Marty settled onto the couch, managing to stiffen only slightly when Bob dropped down beside her. They’d always watched the fights this way, sitting shoulder to shoulder, but this time, Bob’s nearness was an unusually strong distraction. Determined not to respond, Marty set his mind to enjoying the fights.

Enjoy them he did (only occasionally catching himself paying more attention to the fighters’ bodies than their techniques). Everything was fine, until, half way through the last fight, Bob glanced over at him, the glance turning into a lingering gaze.

“Dressing kinda casual tonight, aren’t we?”

Glancing down, Marty quickly realized what Bob was talking about. The old shirt he’d thrown on had holes in it. As he’d watched the fights (squirming only slightly), the shirt had shifted until one of the holes lay directly over his left nipple. A nipple that, under Bob’s gaze, quickly hardened.

“Here,” Bob said before Marty could move to adjust the shirt, “let me help with that.” Reaching up, he took the exposed nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. A long, soft moan escaped Marty’s lips at the sensation. By the time he recovered, Bob’s fingers had been replaced by his lips, gently sucking on the hardened but. Marty reached up to push Bob away, but his hands betrayed him, wrapping around Bob’s head and pulling his face more firmly against the exposed nipple. For long moments, the sensation in Marty’s nipple spread through his whole body, leaving him weak. Never had anything felt so good. He found himself wanting more, a lot more. It was this realization that finally gave him the strength to pull his nipple from Bob’s mouth.

“Bob, please,” he whispered. “This isn’t right. You’re my best friend.”

“Oh, we can still be friends,” Bob replied, leaning toward him again. “In fact, we can be even better friends. Come on, Marty, you know you want to.”

You know you want to. Somehow, remembering how many times he’d said those same words to a woman gave Marty the strength to pull away.

“I think we’ve both had more beer than we needed,” he said firmly. “Let’s sleep it off, and we’ll talk later.”

“Sounds like an idea to me,” Bob said, reaching for him.

“Alone, Bob. Go home, get sober, and we’ll talk later.”

“Damn tease,” Bob snarled. “And here I thought you were different.” With that, he stormed out of the house.

Alone, Marty sank onto the couch. What had just happened? His best friend had tried to seduce him. And even worse, he had nearly succeeded. After much thought, Marty decided the problem lay in his new body. The sensations it provided were so strong, and he had no idea how to deal with them. He had to find a way to control this body’s needs before they overwhelmed him.

The ringing phone woke Marty from a dream so erotic, he was almost glad he couldn’t remember it. Blearily, he answered the phone, only to snap awake at the sound of Bob’s voice.

“Hello, Marty?”

Here we go, he thought. “Hey Bob.”

“Look, I need to talk to you about last night. I was a jerk, and I want to apologize. Mind if I come over?”

“That’s ok, Bob, I understand. We both had more than a few beers last night.”

“I’ve had more than that, and never did what I did last night,” Bob replied. “Look, I need to say this to you, not to some damn phone.”

With an effort, Marty kept the sigh to himself. “Ok, Bob, but give me at least an hour to get woke up, ok?”

For this visit, Marty dressed with a bit more care. Specifically, he made sure he put on a bra under the loose shirt. A baggy pair of sweats completed an outfit that, he hoped, would keep his body from drawing the wrong kind of attention. Once dressed, Marty went in search of coffee. By the time the doorbell rang, Marty was working on his second cup. Reluctantly, he let Bob in, then retreated to the kitchen, leaning on a counter with his coffee. For a long moment, the two simply looked at each other. Finally, Bob broke the silence.

“Look,” he said, “what I did last night was wrong, and I’m sorry. I’ve always thought you were hot, and last night, I guess I got a little carried away.”

Marty’s eyebrow rose. “A little?”

“Well, it’s not like you weren’t enjoying it!” Bob retorted. Unable to deny the truth in those words, Marty turned away, rinsing out his cup to avoid facing his friend.

“Ok, yes, I did enjoy it,” he admitted. “It felt very good.”

“I know you did,” Bob replied softly, and suddenly, his arms were around Marty, hands cupping and squeezing both breasts. Startled, Marty tried to back away, succeeding only in pressing his ass back against Bob’s crotch. He could feel Bob’s cock harden, pressing between the cheeks of his ass. In a panic, he tore himself from Bob’s embrace, putting the width of the room between them.

“Damn it, Bob, I said no.”

“What the hell is wrong now?” Bob demanded. “You like it, you want it. I want to give it to you. What’s the problem?”

“Bob, you’re my friend,” Marty replied, realizing all to well that he had neither the physical strength, nor the willpower, to stop things if Bob decided to force the issue. “You’ve always been my friend, and that’s how I see you. As a friend, not……..”

“Not a lover, you mean?” At Marty’s reluctant nod, his face fell. “Well, thanks a lot. It’s really nice to know you’re willing to consider me a friend, even if I don’t have what it takes to be anything more.”

“Bob, don’t.” Marty looked for words. He’d been on the other side more than once, but he was just now beginning to realize how difficult it was from this side.

“Would you at least tell me what’s wrong with me that you don’t want me that way?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Bob.” And from a woman’s point of view, there wasn’t. Nearly six feet tall, muscular. Sandy brown hair framing a handsome face. And from the bulge that had been pressed against his ass earlier, Marty had no doubt that Bob was more than adequate in that area as well.

“Then what is it?” Bob asked. Marty searched for an answer. He knew he couldn’t tell the truth. That he was a man trapped in a woman’s body. That he couldn’t risk having sex in this body. That he was afraid that, if he did have sex, he would somehow lose himself in this new female reality. No way would Bob believe that. He’d think Marty was just making stupid excuses to get rid of him.

“It’s not you, Bob,” he said softly. “It’s……..well, it’s me, ok? Things are just a little bit weird with me right now.” Inwardly, he winced. How many times had he heard some variation on that theme?

“Well, when you figure yourself out, let me know.” With that, Bob turned and left. Alone, Marty dropped into a chair, resting his head on the kitchen table.

“Damn you, Anya,” he whispered, “what are you doing to me?”

“No more than what you deserve.” At the sound of the voice, Marty jerked his head up to see Anya sitting across the table.

“How do I deserve this?” Marty demanded.

“All your life,” Anya replied calmly, “you have acted as though women were placed on this earth merely for your own sexual gratification. You have given no thought whatsoever to their feelings, their needs or desires. Now those needs and desires are yours to deal with. Tell me, why did you not have sex with your friend?”

“Because he’s a man,” Marty spat.

“And you are a woman.” Anya smiled, a slight lifting of the corners of her mouth. “Have you not said many times that sex is the most natural thing in the world between a man and a woman?”

“I am NOT a woman!” Marty insisted. “You’re the one who stuck me with this body. I’m a man, damn it!”

“Are you?” Anya rose fluidly from her chair, moving around the table. Before he realized it, Marty found himself on his feet, backing slowly away from the advancing woman until his ass hit the counter.

“Stay away from me!”

Anya’s hands rose to the neck of her robe. “Are you certain that is what you wish?” she asked as she let the robe drop. Exposed, her body was every bit the equal of the one Marty now wore so reluctantly.

“Your body,” she murmured, stepping close to Marty, “was crafted with the greatest of care. Your sexual responses are much greater than most women, your ability to feel pleasure heightened.”

“So you want me to have sex in this body,” Marty retorted. “You want me to lose myself to this body. But if I do, how can I ever go back?”

“Such questions,” Anya replied with a chuckle. As Marty watched, his body seemingly helpless to resist, Anya slowly relieved him of his clothing. He could feel, even smell, the heat coming from this woman, and he couldn’t deny the heat building within himself.

“Lovely,” Anya murmured, gazing at the naked body before her, then leaned her head and took one nipple between her lips, sucking it and gently nipping with her teeth. Marty’s eyes closed as a soft moan escaped his lips. When he felt Anya’s hands at the backs of his thighs, his body willingly boosted itself onto the counter.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, his words sounding unconvincing even to his ears. Anya simply smiled, her lips leaving the nipple to slowly work their way down Marty’s body. Pausing only slightly when she reached her target, Anya let her tongue move slowly around and over the sensitive lips, never quite penetrating. To Marty, the touch became a torture, so good, but building a need for something more.

“Please,” he moaned after several minutes, causing Anya to draw back and smile up at him.

“Please what, my dear,” she asked softly.

“Please, I can’t,” Marty whimpered, his mind nearly overwhelmed by a need he didn’t dare acknowledge. “Don’t make me, please don’t.”

“You may have what you desire,” Anya told him. “All you need do is ask.” With that, she lowered her head, her tongue parting the soft lips to flick gently against the clit. Marty’s body arched in response.

“Oh God!’ he cried in a strangled voice. “Please, please……”

“Yes?” Anya smiled.

“Please, no…..” She could see the struggle within him, his mind and body warring for control. She flicked her tongue again, and the battle was over.

“Please,” Marty moaned, “please lick my pussy.”

Smiling, Anya rose to her feet. “Men,” she said, as Marty raised his head to look at her through lust-filled eyes, “do not have pussies.” And with that, she vanished.

“No!” Marty cried, his voice filled with unfulfilled lust. His eyes filled with tears of frustration, he curled up on the counter. For long moments, his body shuddered from the physical and emotional overload he’d just been subjected to.

Saturday evening found Marty curled up in his favorite chair. As his eyes gazed unseeing at the blank television screen, his mind raced, desperately seeking a way out. It was amazing to him how quickly his world had been turned completely upside down. In only a week, he had gone from being a strong, confident man, to a confused, helpless, and hopelessly aroused man in a woman’s body. Even now, though, he refused to think of himself as anything other than a man. To think any other way would be to admit defeat.

There had to be a way out. Anya had said there would be clues. “Within your world, and within yourself,” she had said. Marty had looked within himself, finding only anger, steadily growing arousal, and, most recently, desperation. His world offered little more, seeming to close in on him a little bit more each time he moved. There seemed no way out, and he woke Sunday morning unsurprised to find himself still in the chair, where he had quietly cried himself to sleep.

“You wanted to see me, Marty?” Glancing up to see Cheryl at the door of his office, Marty hesitated, trying to decide if he should go through with his plan It had seemed to make sense when he thought about it, but now, with the moment at hand, he wasn’t so sure.

It had seemed a simple enough idea at the time. His body’s increasing need for sex was making it harder and harder to focus on anything else. So he decided to give his body what it needed, though not in the way Anya expected. She wanted him to have sex with a man, that much was plain. Well, he would have his sex, but with a woman. Hopefully, just the fact that it was with a woman would help keep his shaky masculine priorities intact.

It had seemed a good idea, but now, with Cheryl gazing at him with undisguised lust, he wondered. Would this help him maintain control, or would it send him that much further down this road he so unwillingly traveled? With an inward sigh, Marty decided to move on with his plan, and hope for the best.

“Marty?” With a start, Marty realized he’d been gazing quietly at Cheryl while his thoughts churned. Forcing a smile, he gestured the woman in.

“Yes, Cheryl, I did want to see you. I have a small problem, and I was hoping you could help me with it.”

Cheryl was smiling as she closed the door. “Anything I can do to help, just let me know,” she replied.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Could you come with me?” Turning, Marty led the way to a door at the side of his office, which led to his parts room. Once inside, he turned on the light and closed the door.

“Now,” Cheryl said, “what can I help you with in here?”

“Well, I seem to have developed a run in my hose, but I can’t see the spot well enough to tell. Could you take a look?”

Cheryl’s smile widened. “Why, I’d be more than happy to take a look at anything you like.”

“It just feels like there’s a breeze getting in where it shouldn’t,” Marty explained, reaching down and slowly lifting the front of his skirt. In preparation for this moment, he’d dressed most carefully this morning, right down to the crotchless pantyhose that now revealed themselves to Cheryl.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured, leaning closer. “I can see why things might feel a bit drafty. Maybe we should do something about that.”

“Any suggestions?” Marty asked, surprised by the butterflies that suddenly filled his stomach.

“Now don‘t you worry,” Cheryl replied, slipping to her knees. “I think I know just the thing. First, we need to make sure nothing’s caught a chill.” With that, she pursed her lips and blew directly into the open crotch of the hose. Marty shivered at the sensation of warm air across his skin.

“It seems there is a bit of a chill problem,” Cheryl observed, chuckling. “No problem, though, all we need to do is apply a little warmth.”

Marty thought he had prepared himself for just about anything, but when Cheryl’s tongue brushed across him, it was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling. He’d never expected the feeling to be so strong! Encouraged by Marty’s moans, Cheryl allowed her tongue to flick back and forth across the sensitive lips before her. Marty’s hands grasped her head, trying to draw her closer, but Cheryl drew back, smiling.

“I think we really should get more comfortable, don’t you?” As she began to unfasten the buttons on Marty’s blouse, Marty returned the favor. Both naked, they sank down onto the floor, locked in a passionate kiss.

When the kiss broke, Cheryl turned herself, placing her head over Marty’s crotch. This left Marty gazing up at Cheryl’s neatly trimmed pussy. Now this was how he was used to seeing them! He reached up and grasped Cheryl’s hips, drawing her pussy down over his waiting mouth. Slowly, Marty used his tongue to explore between Cheryl’s lips, gradually homing in on the hardened but of her clit. Below, he could feel Cheryl matching his moves so exactly, it almost felt as if he were licking himself. As he slowly built Cheryl toward orgasm, he could feel his own arousal growing, his moans mingling with hers. Finally, both bodies stiffened as their orgasms rushed through them. Spent, they relaxed together.

After a moment, Cheryl rose to her feet and began to dress. Still overwhelmed by his first ever female orgasm, Marty took a bit longer making himself presentable. Once dressed, they returned to the office and moved to the door. Before leaving, Cheryl turned and kissed Marty slowly. Breaking the kiss, she placed her lips against Marty’s ear and whispered, “Same time tomorrow?” Taking Marty’s silence as assent, she slipped out, closing the door behind her.

Alone, Marty leaned against the wall, savoring the sensations still coursing through him. In his mind, he congratulated himself. Even in this body, he still knew how to please a woman. To him, this only proved that his masculinity remained intact. Returning to his desk to work, Marty found himself idly wondering what to wear tomorrow.

By the time he got home from work Friday, Marty was in a state of happy exhaustion. Cheryl had indeed returned on Tuesday. And Wednesday. And Thursday. On Friday, she had brought her favorite toy. The memory of being filled by Cheryl’s strapon, and the skill with which she used it, brought a tremor to Marty’s knees even now.

At first, his enjoyment of today’s session had bothered him. After all, taking pleasure at being filled was a feminine reaction. It had felt so good, though, that he had dismissed his own concerns, convincing himself that, as long as he was with a woman, his masculinity was safe. Besides, how could anything that felt so good be bad? Right? Right.

After a light dinner, Marty decided to go out. Other than work, he’d been cooped up here for two weeks now. A drink or two, in a bar where he hadn’t been previously known, would do nicely.

When Marty entered the bar, all heads turned. Dressed in a skin tight, black leather blouse and micro skirt, sheer black stockings and black leather heels, he appeared in all ways the very kind of woman that he, in his own body, would have approached. Somehow, while selecting his outfit, the utter femininity of his selection had escaped him, and now he enjoyed the stares he was getting. Sidling over to the bar, he took a seat, ordering a glass of wine. Wine seemed somehow appropriate for tonight. Wine was for celebrating. He had survived two weeks in this body without losing his masculine instincts, and that, he felt, was well worth celebrating.

Somewhere during his second glass of wine, Marty sensed a presence beside him. Turning, he saw a man that (he assumed) any woman would find attractive. Handsome face, framed in wavy brown hair. Muscular body casually clothed in slacks and polo shirt. Soft brown eyes gazed at Marty over a warm smile.

“Hello,” he said. At Marty’s nod, he continued. “I was wondering if you would allow me to buy you a drink.”

Marty glanced at his glass, finding it nearly empty. He quickly downed the rest of the wine before handing the glass to the man beside him, who quickly signaled the bartender for a refill.

“I’m Jim,” he said, extending his hand. Marty took the hand, finding the grip both firm and gentle.

“Marty,” he replied.

Jim indicated the stool next to Marty. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked.

“Please do,” Marty replied, strangely pleased that he had asked.

During that third glass of wine, Marty discovered that he enjoyed talking to Jim. During the fourth, he discovered that he really enjoyed talking to Jim. Jim seemed to understand much of what it was like to be a woman, including some things Marty hadn’t quite figured out yet. At the same time, there was no doubting that he was a man, something Marty found vaguely troubling. They talked until last call, and Jim offered to give Marty a ride home, seeming totally unoffended when Marty declined.

“I’m here every Friday night,” he said, smiling. Marty said good night and left, already looking forward to the following weekend.

The next Friday found Marty back at the bar, seated on the same stool. His blouse had been replaced by a leather halter that almost concealed his breasts from view. Marty was in a fine mood. His affair with Cheryl was still going strong, with daily “sex breaks” every afternoon. The wine was good, Jim was great company, and all was well with the world. Until Jim asked Marty to dance. Startled by the request, Marty had no idea how to reply. “I’m not a very good dancer,” was the best he could do.

Jim smiled. “Me either. But I’ll make you a deal. I’ll hold you up if you hold me up.” At those words, a vision of being pressed against Jim’s muscular body flashed into Marty’s mind. Frightened at how appealing the image was, Marty shook his head.

“Thank you for asking,” he said, “but I don’t think I’d better.” Again, Jim seemed unoffended by Marty’s reply. Once more, the two talked until last call, and once more, Marty declined a ride home.

Marty spent the weekend lost in thought. Something here didn’t seem quite right. He thought he was still in control of the situation, but his hold seemed to be slipping somewhat. His relationship with Cheryl seemed to be going well, but there was a catch. Their daily “sex breaks” worked well to satisfy his body’s need, but at the same time, that need seemed to be slowly growing. This past week, each session had seemed to last just a bit longer, and Marty found himself looking forward to the feel of Cheryl’s strapon deep inside him. This bothered him, but he calmed himself by insisting that, so long as it was with a woman, he was safe.

And now there was Jim. Marty couldn’t deny he enjoyed Jim’s company. The man was fun to be with, easy to talk to, and in a way that seemed somehow right. Still, there were those occasional glances that Jim stole at Marty’s body, the lingering touches on his hand, his cheek, the repeated offers of a ride home. These things pleased Marty, while bothering him at the same time. He feared his thoughts of Jim were becoming more those of a woman than a man. After much thought, Marty made a promise to himself. Next Friday, when he saw Jim, he would be more careful with his feelings.

It was on the third Friday that Jim finally talked Marty into dancing with him. Marty had entered the bar in a slightly unsettled mood. The day’s session with Cheryl had found him on hands and knees, gasping his pleasure as Cheryl thrust into him from behind. The intensity of the feelings, and his own desire for them, had frightened him greatly. Thus, when Jim asked him to dance, Marty had accepted, needing something, anything, to distract him.

Now, standing on the dance floor, Jim’s arms around him, Marty asked himself why he hadn’t agreed sooner. Jim’s arms seemed to form a barrier keeping the world out, and for the first time since he’d found himself in this new body, Marty felt safe. He didn’t question the feeling. He simply savored it.

“Hey, baby, wanna dance with a real man?” Glancing over, Marty saw a young man in flashy clothes leering at him. Even as he sought a reply, he felt Jim’s arms tighten protectively around him.

“The lady is with me,” Jim told the man, his voice cold.

“Well maybe she’d rather be with me,” the young man retorted.

Marty looked at the man, not bothering to hide his disdain. “I’m quite satisfied right here, thank you,” he said. “Now go away”. Angered, the youth turned and stalked off.

“Damn bar trash,” Jim muttered. “Looking for a quick roll, and don’t care who or how.” Despite his harsh words, his voice sounded thoughtful. Fully aware of how well those words described his behavior in his old body, Marty kept his thought to himself, and the evening ended in a restrained silence. Before saying good night, Jim asked for Marty’s phone number. On an impulse, Marty provided it, unsure why, or where it would lead.

The next week, things seemed to be falling apart. On Monday, Cheryl had asked Marty to join her at her house on Friday night. When Marty replied that he had plans to meet someone for drinks, Cheryl had become angry, storming out the door after calling Marty a two-faced bitch. For the rest of the week, she stayed as far away form Marty as she could.

It bothered Marty to think that he had hurt Cheryl. Worse, his body was no longer getting the sex it now craved. Marty wondered if he should try to patch things up with Cheryl before his body’s need betrayed him. By Friday evening, Marty was tired and frustrated. And horny. When Jim called, asking what time he wanted to meet at the bar, Marty had blurted out, “Why don’t you pick me up and we’ll ride together.” Jim quickly agreed, giving Marty no choice but to tell him how to reach his house. After arranging a time, the call ended, leaving Marty wondering if he’d just made a mistake.

When Jim arrived, Marty greeted him wearing an outfit that, just two weeks earlier, he wouldn’t have touched, much less put on. His leather skirt barely covered the tops of his sheer black stockings. A black denim shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing a wealth of fishnet covered cleavage. Standing atop spiked heels, he presented an image that many women would have died for; an image that, somehow, he had come to accept as normal.

At the bar, it took only one drink for Jim to coax Marty back onto the dance floor. They danced every slow song the rest of the evening, and Marty noticed something. With each dance, Jim’s hands seemed to find their way a bit lower on Marty’s back, pressing them more closely together. Finally, on the last dance, just before the song ended, Jim’s hands slipped down onto Marty’s thighs, rising again to rest beneath Marty’s skirt, squarely on his ass. An ass that, somehow, he had neglected to cover with panties. Startled, Marty had quickly moved Jim’s hands to safer territory, and the dance continued.

Marty was quiet on the ride home. At his house, he invited Jim inside for a nightcap, feeling a strange desire to not be alone just yet. Inside, he poured two glasses of wine, and they drank in silence. His glass empty, Jim rose, saying it was probably time for him to leave. Marty followed him to the door, strangely reluctant to see him go. As he moved to open the door, Marty put his hand on his shoulder.

“Jim, I…..” Marty never completed his sentence. When Jim turned, Marty was standing so close that their lips brushed against each other. Both seemed to freeze for a few seconds, then they leaned together, the brushing of lips deepening into a lingering kiss. By the time it ended, Marty’s heart was pounding, and his knees threatened to give way.

“Marty, I’m sorry,” Jim said, loosening his hold. “That was wrong of me. I really should go.”

‘Jim,” Marty replied, “if you let go right now, I am going to land right on my ass.”

“Excuse me?” Jim looked puzzled.

“For some reason,” Marty said, quite seriously, “I seem to have lost every bone in my body. If you let go, I will collapse into a heap.”

For a moment, Jim was silent. “Maybe,” he finally said, “I should put you to bed.”

“Maybe you should. The bedroom is upstairs, first door on the left.”

Without a word, Jim carried Marty upstairs and laid him on his bed. Carefully, he removed Marty’s shoes, then the skirt, shirt, and fishnet tank, leaving Marty wearing only his garter belt and stockings. Straightening, he gazed silently down.

“Marty,” he said softly, “you are a very special lady. I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. But if I don’t leave now, I will very likely still be here in the morning.”

Marty gazed up at him, fully aware of what he was about to do, but beyond caring. “Jim, if you leave before morning, I am going to be very unhappy with you.”

That night, Marty experienced things he’d never dreamed possible. It seemed as if Jim knew exactly where, when and how this body wanted to be touched. His touch drove Marty to peaks that made the most thunderous session with Cheryl seem weak. By the time Jim poised himself above him, Marty was beyond caring. Wrapping his legs around Jim’s waist, he drew the man down onto, and into, him.

Cheryl’s strapon could never have prepared Marty for what he now felt. It was kind of the same, but where the strapon had been cold, this was hot. It was alive. It filled his body, then expanded to fill places he never knew existed. His world shrank, until nothing existed but the hardness inside him, and the man thrusting so deep. Marty’s orgasm, when it hit, was shattering, and the feel of Jim pumping his seed deep only seemed to intensify the sensations. Marty shivered, shook, writhed, moaned, and only avoided screaming by biting his lip. Finally, spent, he collapsed, barely noticing when Jim collapsed on top of him.

“Bravo!” With all the effort in the world, Marty opened his eyes to see Anya standing at the foot of the bed. Stunned, Jim rolled from atop Marty, drawing a blanket over both their bodies.

“Anya?” Marty, also, was stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“Yes,” came a booming voice. “What are you doing here?”

Three heads turned as a tall man dressed in black moved to face Anya. Dark eyes seemed to spark within the handsome face as he glared at her.

“By what right do you interfere with my work?” he demanded.

“Your work?” Anya seemed unsure whether to be shocked or outraged. “How is this your work?”

“The Council of Light assigned me to oversee Jasmine’s punishment,” the man replied. At these words, Marty turned to stare at Jim.

“Jasmine?”

Jim blushed. “Um, well, Marty, I don’t know how to tell you this, but until about two months ago, I was a woman named Jasmine Wilkes.”

“A woman,” the man in black stated, “who was transformed into a man as punishment for both her behavior and attitude towards men in general.”

Three heads turned once more as Anya burst into laughter. For long moments, the others simply watched as she, hands holding her sides as if in pain. Finally, her laughter subsided.

“Oh,” she gasped, “oh no, this is priceless!”

“Would you mind,” the man in black growled, “telling me what you find so infernally funny?”

“I’m sorry, Robert,” Anya gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. “but when you hear……” Breaking into laughter again, Anya could only wave her hands helplessly.

“Hear what,” the man, Robert, demanded, once Anya’s laughter had once more subsided.

“Let me guess,” Anya said. “Once Jasmine had willing sex with a woman, shared sex rather than the simple expression of lust, her punishment would end, and you would change her back. Am I close?”

“How did you know?”

Anya smiled. “Well, the story does seem strangely familiar.” She looked at Marty. “Wouldn’t you say so, Martin?”

“Martin?” At the stunned sound of Jim’s voice, Marty smiled weakly.

“Martin Redfield,” he said, holding out his hand. Jim grasped the hand, eyes wide.

“Pleased to meet you,” was all he could say.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘Pleased to meat you.’?” Anya asked before dissolving once more into laughter. This time, the other three joined her, and for long moments, the room rang with their mirth.

“Oh, oh no!” Anya finally gasped, tears streaming from her eyes. “Oh my! I haven’t laughed like that in centuries! Who could have guessed?”

Growing serious once more, she gazed down at Marty. “Martin Redfield,” she intoned, “know that the terms of your punishment have been fulfilled. It is the judgment of the Guild of Ages that you be given back the life of your choice, and your record expunged.”

“Jasmine Wilkes,” Robert said, “you, also, have fulfilled the terms of your punishment. You, also, will now be returned to the life you once had. As a token of respect for the way in which you fulfilled your punishment, the Council will, within reason, adjust your life in such a way as to make your remaining years more pleasant.”

“And you as well, Martin,” Anya added. “You may now live the life you choose.”

For a long moment, Marty gazed at Jim in silence, then turned to Anya. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I think I know the life I want.”

“As do I,” Jim said.

“Happy anniversary.”

Smiling, Martha Wilkes (nee, Redfield) opened her eyes, watching as Jim maneuvered the laden tray through the door.

“Happy anniversary,” she replied with a smile, raising herself to a seated position. Jim placed the tray over her lap, then sank down beside her.

“It’s been a wonderful year, hasn’t it?” he asked.

“A very wonderful year,” she replied, leaning to kiss her husband. “And it’s only the first of many more to come.”

“Any regrets?”

Martha shook her head. “Not a one. Though it could have maybe happened sooner,” she said with a wink.

As she ate, Martha thought back on that night. By their mutual request, Martin Redfield and Jasmine Wilkes had ceased to exist. Marty had become Martha Wilkes just weeks later. Since that day, Martin and Jasmine had become no more than dim memories of a life that no longer existed. Even the old nickname, Marty, had gone, Martha refusing to answer to it. Now she was simply Martha, a woman by her own choice.

“Oh, by the way,” Jim’s voice cut short her thoughts, “I spoke with Anya just a bit ago.” Both Anya and Robert had kept in touch since that night, becoming fast friends of the new couple.

Martha smiled in anticipation. “And?”

“Twins,” Jim replied, beaming. “One boy, one girl.”

“Perfect.” Martha rubbed her belly, which had only just begun to swell. “We’ll name them Anya and Robert.”

We will also, she thought, but did not say, make very sure to teach them to respect the thoughts and desires of others. After all, why take chances?

 

05.12.08