Clothes (Re)make the Man

He WILL Take This Lying Down

The Devil to Pay

 Cruising at 75 mph, winding in-and-out of a scenic mountain pass, in a perfectly-tuned ride that was as agile as a cat on the prowl... this was what freedom felt like... Suddenly, a loss of control, a spin, a slamming of brakes and the sharp "clang" of a breached guardrail, and the car sailed out, into oblivion.

 All at once, Hank Barlow found himself disoriented. Where was he? And why did his body seem so... strange? A patch of black ice on the road, that January afternoon, had ended his joy-ride... sending his muscle car hurtling off a high cliff... that's the last thing he could remember. Thankfully, he never felt the horrible impact of the crash that had sent him into Death's waiting embrace. Now he was standing in some sort of steamy, cavernous void, painted in crimson light and deep shadow. The acrid, rotten-egg smell of sulfur assaulted his nostrils, and he heard the hiss of escaping gas and the soft roar of hidden flames all around him.

"Where am I? What is this place? What's happened to me?"

He could feel that his shoes were gone, as well as his normal clothing, and he was holding something in his hand... the light was still far too dim for him to make it out. A pole of some kind... a broom handle, maybe? Why?

 He seemed to be wearing something that clung to him snugly, softly hugging the contours of his lower body, from his toes up to his mid-waist. Above that point, he was now shirtless, and he sensed something else, possibly a small hat, was resting lightly atop his head. Most troubling of all, he felt as though something was missing from him, and at the same time, that there was a bit more of him than before, somehow. His mind was still in too much of a jumble to figure it out.

 "Where the fuck am I, anyw--" he started to say, and stopped short, as the first of his words echoed in his ears. His voice was far too high, too soft and too breathy to be his own. It was the voice of a winsome young woman... so much like the women that he--...

 Suddenly, a ghostly head, easily three times larger than his own, and crowned with the twin horns of a ram, materialized. It hung in the air near him, translucently, visible in its own faint glow, and began to speak, in tones that seemed to reverberate from everywhere, both within him and around him. "Welcome to Hell, Mr. Barlow. We've been expecting you for quite some time now."

 Stunned, Hank gaped at the disembodied phantom in disbelief, his mouth quivering in a mute stammer.

 Undoubtedly Satan himself, the devilish apparition continued, in reserved, pedantic amusement. "Surprised? Ha-ha-ha... oh yes, Mr. Barlow... despite claims to the contrary from some of the more arrogant and misguided souls back in your former, physical world, I can assure you that Hell is very real indeed. And we have a very special part of our infernal landscape reserved just for the likes of you, sir... that is to say, for brutal serial rapists. Since you had carefully evaded punishment in life, you probably thought that there was no price to pay for your crimes after death. However, that's where you're quite wrong."

 As if to underscore his point, Satan's eyes traveled down Hank's body, and he was compelled to follow their lead, as a few columns of flame suddenly flared up around them, to better illuminate their surroundings. A full-length mirror, ornately-framed in serpentine bars of black wrought-iron, materialized before them, in a burst of fiery smoke. Considering his altered voice, what he now encountered really shouldn't have been that much of a surprise, as he gazed both down at himself in the improved light, and at the reflection staring back at him. Nonetheless, the sight made his jaw drop further. It was truly his worst nightmare.

 All he could manage for a vocal response was a soft, whimpering, "N-N-Nooooo...", as tears began to well up in his eyes.

 Satan grinned at him malevolently, and continued to goad him. "Yes, take a nice, long  look at yourself.... it's not quite the familiar form you're used to, is it, Mr. Barlow? A far cry from the imposingly six-foot-five, 250-pound, testosterone-fueled hulk of a man that you... were. A human monster, who has made countless women suffer through your sexual and physical assaults, including driving more than one to suicide, not to mention more than a few murders by your hand --to feed your hatred, and your mania for domination over practically any female you'd meet... especially the young, pretty ones. That's how you desperately maintained your fragile sense of manhood, isn't that right?" His smile drew wider, as his sinister eyes shifted into a mocking leer. "Behold, Mr. Barlow-- now you are such a girl yourself, with your male mind permanently trapped within! You are only five feet tall, outwardly girlish in all aspects, and a virgin.... so soft and weak and deliciously vulnerable!"

 Well-known as the Prince of Lies, Satan's words, in this case, were nevertheless absolutely true for Hank Barlow. The mirror image staring back at him displayed a petite, delicate, fair-skinned girl with a baby-face, looking no older than 21. The snug garment he wore was a pair of crimson tights, with red sequins that both circled the high waistline, and ran in squiggly seams down the outside edge of both legs, from curvy hip to tiny ankle. They weren't much different than pantyhose, highlighting every feminine curve. A fake devil tail of red satin was attached to the back, just above his round, teardrop bottom, and the "hat" was a matching set of faux devil horns. The "broom" he thought he was holding turned out to be a trident, albeit a harmless prop version... like something you'd find at a costume shop. In this grim, literal Hell, to add further insult to injury, he was made to look like a silly little cosplay poser version of a she-devil!

 The horror mounting, Hank looked at himself more closely. His eyes were now the eyes of a doe, larger in proportion to the rest of his face and festooned with black-mascara lashes and thinner, styled brows, which were currently upswept in a display of sweetly-pathetic surprise and worry. His nose was small and cutely turned up, and the pouting, puffy red lips surrounding his pretty little mouth resembled a couple of brilliant rose petals. What had once been a hard, threatening mask of masculine toughness, was now cherubic, vaguely child-like, and lovely... framed by a short, wavy, adorably "retro" hairstyle, replacing his former stark, shaved head. He was now a strawberry blonde.

 Likewise, below the weakened chin, his creamy, hairless body was also exclusively, and unmistakably, feminine. A mild layer of body fat now girlishly softened his entire diminutive frame. No Adam's apple was to be found gracing his slender neck. Round, narrow shoulders led to skinny, muscle-free arms. The nails at the end of his little fingers were longer, manicured, and coated in glossy red polish.

 Full round breasts, larger than Hank's dainty hands could fully cover, hung buoyantly from his scaled-down chest, their large pink nipples pointing perkily upward. His wasp-waist curved inward, before flaring dramatically outward at the hips and ass, then inward again as his shapely thighs gradually tapered down to his knees, and yet again as the rounded curves of his calves tapered into slender ankles and tiny feet. The muscular, washboard stomach he had developed, from countless hours of working out at the gym, was now a smooth "pooch" of a woman's tummy; nearly flat, but completely lacking in definition. Below it, where his cock should normally be, was a simple Y-shaped crease; the small mound of a pussy, flanked by soft inner thighs.

 He was also finding that, more often than not, he held his hands in limp-wristed poses, with his pinkie fingers outstretched. The very way he held his hands up to his face in surprise, resulted in a pose that practically screamed "prissy girl"; his arms pressed up against his chest, wrists touching each other as he cradled his chin in his small palms, while his pigeon-toed legs knocked together at the knees, the weight put on on one leg causing the opposing hip to jut out, noticeably. He also saw that he was standing up on his toes, as if wearing invisible heels.


 So this was his punishment. He wasn't just a woman... he had been reshaped into a cute, helpless little sissy of a girl, like some silly hybrid of Betty Boop and a Gil Elvgren pin-up model from a 1950s service station calendar. A silly little girly stereotype, who would be respected by no one.

 Satan chuckled, and his lips twisted into a sarcastic sneer, as his eyes sparkled with malicious glee, darting over to a space just beyond where Hank was standing. "Now take a look behind you, my dear..."

 Hank could now hear the dull slap of heavy bare feet upon the cavern floor, drawing steadily closer. He turned, and looking up, saw something that made him nearly choke in revulsion and terror. It was the looming figure of what appeared to be a huge man, well over seven feet tall, larger than even Hank had been, before the start of this unnerving, supernatural turn of events. Completely nude, and made of solid muscle, it resembled a sinister figure of Atlas, its bare skin as hellishly red as their subterranean environment, and glistening with sweat. Its eyes were a featureless glow of bright yellow, shining out of fleshy sockets, and the stubby nubs of horns grew from its temples. Most distressing of all, this hyper-masculine being sported a huge, erect penis, easily a foot long and probably a good ten inches in diameter, pointed threateningly at his nice round ass, like an arrow at a target. Hank gasped in abject fear of being violated, getting an inkling of what his own victims must've thought, just before he had violently fucked them.

 "Yes, 'Miss' Barlow, what you fear is going to happen to you next is just what is going to happen. This is one of my demonic minions, and they all come in this impressive size. Over the course of eons, I've been raising an army of them, you see, for the day when we once again rise up and storm the gates of Heaven. Though I have the power to simply materialize them, I think it's much more sporting, and amusing, to breed them... using women, like you, who are among the Damned." 


 The giant demon paused for a moment, to stretch and flex its muscles, like a bodybuilder striking a "circus strongman" pose... clearly done to establish an air of extreme male dominance over its female prey, which was superfluous. At his reduced height and build, Hank felt nearly like a child in its presence...  his head didn't even reach as far up as its chest! With his soft curves and involuntary feminine demeanor --which he internally fought all the way, to no avail-- Hank suffered the most devastating blow possible to his stridently male ego. The behemoth stared down at him and flashed an evil grin, licking its feral teeth with a long, wicked tongue. It grabbed its huge cock in one hand, and began to squeeze and stroke it a little, until a lubricating dribble of oily black pre-cum soon oozed from its tip. Hank wanted nothing more than to flee, but his transformed body defiantly craved a hard fucking, and his cunt became suitably moistened for slick entry.

"Now take a good look behind you, "Miss" Barlow... and see what your eternal fate has in store!"

Satan continued to mock him, compounding the horror yet to come. "This is but the beginning of your torment, 'Miss' Barlow. No peace will ever be yours. Each day, you will find yourself repeating the shock and confusion of suddenly becoming this girl in Hell for the very first time; the exact same emasculating shame and humiliation you're now feeling because of it." He paused for a moment, allowing that to sink in... then added, pointedly, "You won't even be allowed the minor solace of your former memories. You'll remember what you've done, of course, all the crimes and evils you've still actually committed, and that you were a man, but..." he continued, his evil smile growing bigger, "...when you try to picture yourself that way, looking back throughout your Earthly existence, your mind will now paint a dramatically different picture for you. Go ahead, try and see yourself as a big male ruffian again... if you can."

 Hank, bristling at being addressed now as 'Miss', did try... shuffling through the mental scrapbook of his former life, as the giant behind him prepared to mount and rape him. He thought back to his days as a young boy, the biggest and toughest kid in grade school, threatening other children for their lunch money and other acts of bullying. But now, as he recalled every incident of his juvenile cruelty playing out, or simply any male-oriented activity he enjoyed as a boy, he saw himself suddenly shrinking down in front of the people around him... changing into a cutesy, little-girl version of the woman he resembled now. Becoming smaller and weaker than the other kids, even the other girls. He was wearing a frilly little pinafore dress, his hair in pigtail curls tied with pink ribbons, and spoke with a pronounced lisp. Inevitably, he'd be teased, ridiculed, slapped, pushed to the ground and sent running home in tears.

 "Ha-ha! You think you're gonna take my lunch money, 'Hank'? Who do you think you're pushing, you little sissy?"

 "Hey look, you guys! Hank the little fairy got his secret wish! He's a real girl now! Go away and play with your dolls, 'Henrietta', you little pansy! Hahahaha!"

 "Awww... is the baby-girl gonna cry now?"

 "Yeah, run home to your mommy, you little crybaby!"

 He'd see himself doing just that, fleeing in tears to what was now a canopy bed, full of stuffed animals and dolls, jumping onto it and sobbing into a lacy pillow, as some of his tormentors would re-appear, laughing and pointing at him through the window of his girly, pink-themed bedroom.

 His high school memories were now even worse. Triumphs of early manhood became humiliating spectacles of his spontaneous transformation into a cute, petite redhead in front of his friends and classmates. Nerds he mercilessly picked-on suddenly became, relatively speaking, his physical superiors, in a turning-of-tables that also allowed them their first chance to kiss and grope a girl, with no fear of consequences.


 "I knew it! You always wanted to be a girl, didn't you, 'Hank'! Dumb faggot!"

 "Haha! You call that limp little girly slap a 'punch', you silly little bitch? Maybe you shouldn't pick fights with guys, if you don't wanna get hurt!"

 "The silly tranny homo probably just wants to suck our cocks! Maybe we should let her!"

 In team sports, games won were now lost, as he'd become this stereotypically-girlish female at crucial moments, preventing him from throwing properly, catching, or running fast enough. He'd unavoidably be called out of the game for being a girl playing on a boy's team, violating the official rules, as his teammates cursed him and made cat-calls, and the crowd roared with laughter and boos.
  
 "Nice going, 'Hank', we just lost because of you... you stupid little cow! You can 'take one for the team', when we get back to the locker room. Then you can try out for cheerleader, on the sidelines, where prissy little airheads like you belong!"


 Worst of all were his dating memories, which had originally been his first taste of what would become his life-long hobby of rape and assault... and eventually, murder. Now they were a gauntlet of sexual frustration and extreme, emasculating embarrassment. He'd arrive at a girl's front door, or about to make his move in the back seat of a car, his cock hard and eager for action... only to find himself suddenly shorter than her, baby-soft and dick-less. Their reactions were predictably crushing...

 "Is this a joke, 'Hank'? Maybe you should try asking out somebody on the football team... I've heard some of them talking about wanting to fuck you."

 "Do I look like a lesbian to you? Sorry, 'Hank', but I require my all dates to at least look like a boy and have a penis!"

 "Awwww... Why don't you find yourself a nice hot boyfriend, sweetie! You look like you could use one! Hahaha!"

 As an adult, he'd see himself in a back-room poker game with the usual bunch of rough customers sitting in, only to suddenly reduce and soften in front of them, into the sexy little Miss he now was in Hell. He could see his feminized self, dwarfed by his male companions, and now provocatively dressed in a tight, low-cut crop top and mini-skirt, all tits and ass and with no real fight in him; a full invitation for them to bend him over the table, which they were only too happy to accept.

"Well, well, well... looks like we've got a high roller with us tonight, boys... our buddy 'Hank' here has become a prime piece of ass! Who's up for a gang-bang, besides me?

"Oh yeahhh, I'd like to tap that just fine..."


 His many rape attempts would boomerang on him, as his would-be female victims found him shrinking down and matching their gender before he could really do anything to them, with their response being cruel laughter, followed by hair-pulling, bitch-slapping, face-scratching and his having the shit kicked out of him. Some of them would even go so far as to rape him, in revenge, with whatever hand-held penetrating object was handy.

 "What did you think you were gonna do to me, huh, you sick creep? Now that it seems you're a femmy little twat yourself, I think I'll kick your fat ass, you evil fucking bitch!"

 "You were gonna try and rape me, asshole? Ha! That'll be the day, 'Missy'! Maybe this zucchini up that new snatch of yours will teach you a lesson, you stupid little cunt!"

 After the fact, he was well-aware that none of these Earthly gender-morphing events actually happened to him. As he was reliving them, however, they seemed so incredibly real, with his true persona from those times frustratingly inaccessible; just a vague impression that he had stolen from this kid, scored that winning touchdown, pummeled this guy or raped that woman --with an alternate-reality exercise in feminized failure and humiliation taking its place.

"Oh my fucking God, No! No!! I can't take it!! Please make it stop!!" he cried, nearly going insane from this insidious messing with his mind.

Satan blithely tut-tutted his protests. "Now, now... there's no God to save you down here, I'm afraid, 'Miss' Barlow. You are beyond any possible redemption. Raping that order of nuns and dumping their murdered bodies down a mine shaft, --and getting away with it-- alone saw to that." he paused, tilting his ethereal head up a little and arching an eyebrow, adding, with a smirk, "I must say, I applaud your blasphemous initiative, but you must bear in mind that Hell isn't designed to be an alternative Heaven for evil men... or in your present case, evil sluts... it's a place for your eternal damnation and punishment. Speaking of which--"

 Hank heard a few more creeping footsteps behind him, and now felt the unsettling warmth of a body standing mere inches away from his back. The demon! He had been so distracted by the horrors of his false memories, that he momentarily forgot this huge humanoid beast was right there, preparing to fuck him! Hands, twice the size of his, suddenly grabbed hold of him, pawing and groping his hips, ass and breasts. Big stubby thumbs circled his erect nipples, repeatedly brushing and pressing down on them, as the giant roughly kneaded his soft, ample tits. He could feel the hot throb of its huge cock pressing against the crack of his ass, the warm stickiness of the pre-cum seeping through the thin fabric of his tights, smearing both soft cheeks of his alarmingly-expansive bottom. It made his flesh crawl, and he felt nauseous. As violently opposed to this as his mind was, he found his body yielding, his pussy getting wetter and wetter. Another of Satan's evil tricks! He's made this female body independently, heterosexually willing!

Hank let out a frightened gasp, quickly trying to cover his crotch, as he felt the demon's wandering hands suddenly grab hold of his hips and rip the flimsy tights effortlessly from his tiny body. The faux trident clattered uselessly to the floor. His delectable, peaches-and-cream body was now as completely naked as his unearthly rapist, who continued to fondle him all over. One large hand slithered in-between his thighs from behind, and plunged a probing index finger into his tight new twat, feeling around inside. It was as long and thick as a normal-sized, erect penis, brushing harshly against Hank's little clit and immediately popping his cherry. Hank let out shrill, woman's scream.

 While there are some out there, male and female alike, who might've found this rough sexual treatment thrilling... to Hank, it was all a waking nightmare. His body was extremely aroused, but his mind and sense of self-identity were like the opposing pole of a magnet. He desperately wanted any kind of escape or relief from this torment, but there was none to be had; all routes of flight were blocked. His messed-up memory bank was a horrifyingly-equal domain of extreme suffering.

 Just then, the demon's hands clamped tightly around his slight waist, encircling it fully, and hoisted him up off the ground, as easily as someone might lift a pet cat. Hank hadn't been picked up by anyone since he was much more than a toddler, and the emasculating feeling that it inspired in him now was a new, devastating low. It was about to get much worse. Hank's shapely, ladylike legs wiggled and kicked helplessly at the air, finding no targets, and promising no real defensive force if they had. And then he was brought down --literally impaled in mid-air on the demon's monstrous cock. Hank's ears were filled with the piercing sound of his own blood-curdling soprano screams.

 In the midst of his shock, Hank's pussy surprised him with its ability to stretch and accommodate something so big, but it was cold comfort, as he still felt like he was going to be split in two. He grimaced, and thought he was going to be sick, when he discovered that he could feel the beast's pulse beating inside him, from its throbbing dick through the slick walls of his pussy. The humiliation of being fully-fucked as a woman, taking the entirety of a hot, pulsating penis up his vagina and deeply into him, to the extreme of feeling its tip bump forcefully up against the back wall of his womb, was a level of shame pushed beyond all limits. His feet weren't even touching the ground. The demon was large and powerful enough, and Hank's female form was small enough, that the demon didn't need to brace Hank against anything. It could simply fuck him while holding him in the air, with the ease of an average man humping a fleshlight.

 Now the lifting and thrusting grew increasingly harder and more vigorous. Hank felt like he was a flailing rag-doll with a bomb sewn-up inside, about to explode. The air was thick with his high-pitched cries and moans. Blasts of demon breath were blowing hotly onto his neck and shoulders and he could feel large drops of sweat fall from its upper body and dot his back like the start of rain. The behemoth grunted, and Hank could feel a tremor run through the driving penis inside him. He knew just what it was, from when he used to be the one doing the fucking. A massive orgasm spread through Hank's feminine body, but in his current mental state, it was as welcome and enjoyable as the fall of a guillotine's blade. His soul died as he felt the hot, wet explosion of sticky jism fill his cavity. As with everything else with this beast, it was so much more... enough evil black seed to fill a large soup bowl. It burned in his womb like acid, and most of it leaked out of his snatch and ran down the gentle curves of his legs. Hank cried like a baby.

 With a deep guttural sigh, the giant demon finally pulled Hank off its softening member and dropped him, sobbing, to the floor... like a discarded toy, whose novelty had just worn off. Then it slowly walked away, into the shadows of the smoldering cavern's long corridor. Satan's head, still observing, let out a hearty laugh. "So, 'Miss' Barlow, that was your first. How did you like it, hmm? Perhaps as much as all of those women you yourself had so violently raped?"

 After spending a few moments crumpled-up in grief and exhaustion on the cavern floor, Hank rose weakly to his hands and knees, trembling. He could only glare at the Prince of Darkness with tear-filled eyes and a quivering lower lip, like an angry, disgraced child who'd just endured a harsh spanking. But then he fell violently ill, vomiting up a mass of bile.

 "Oh, messy, messy, "Miss' Barlow. That's no way for a proper young lady to behave... unless, of course, she's... not been careful." said Satan, feigning concern, and adding a little sting on the end for his captive to decipher.


 Hank immediately caught on, and covered his mouth to hold back another scream, his horror freshly renewed. It was at that moment that his belly began to swell. He stood up, his little hands clutched at his stomach, as it rapidly ballooned outward, gaining weight and heft in seconds, increasingly putting strain on his lower back. His navel inverted from the building pressure, becoming an "outie", looking like a displaced third nipple. As for his actual nipples, 'mother's milk' began to ooze from them, dribbling down his already-buxom breasts, which had just increased another cup-size. Accelerated pregnancy! Hank could already feel a small, second heartbeat thumping down deep in there, and several slight kicks, which started to hurt. Within moments, he'd come to full term.

 Before he could fully react, his water broke. Hank fell back to his knees, in agony from contractions that were building, occurring closer and closer together. He tumbled further onto his back, laying there on the cavern floor, in discomfort, his legs bent and splayed apart. Craning his neck forward, he tried to see past his bulging, pregnant belly, but it was no use. Pain, like he had never experienced before, suddenly shot through his body, as he was involuntarily forced to push his demon offspring out. He could feel the head emerging slowly from his dilated cunt, and the sensation of two little hands creeping through and taking hold of his labial lips from the inside, in a leveraged effort to crawl out of him as he pushed. And it hurt; oh God, did it hurt, with steadily-increasing intensity. The thing was already larger than an average, human newborn --that, he could tell, as its head was already visible now, beyond the horizon of his distended tummy. The demon baby wasn't just crawling out of him, it was growing out. The pain, already horrible, went off the charts. Hank cried and wailed like he was about to die in the most excruciating way possible, as if that was even an option anymore.

 Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the creature fully emerged, at last. Hank's belly subsided, along with most of the pain, apart from some sharp, residual spasms from his vagina. It looked like a miniature version of its abominable father, only squatter, and with a larger head in proportion to its body --crimson skin, nubs of two horns, and eyes that were a yellow, featureless glow. It was the size of a human three-year-old, and Hank could see it continue to grow, both in height and build, before his disbelieving eyes. Within moments, it was nearly four feet tall, and it suddenly grabbed him and began to greedily suckle from his swollen, milk-heavy breasts. It was revolting and painful; sharp teeth pricking his sensitive titties, lips like wet liver and a hot, probing tongue, constantly attacking his nipples in a search for more milk, with some of his blood mixed in, for flavor.

 By the time it was completely sated, the spawn was Hank's size, then grew a bit larger, already physically dominant over its mother, and still growing rapidly. It took the opportunity to french kiss Hank, and grab his ass, as almost a way of saying, 'See you later... when I'll fuck you like Daddy did". Now it was six feet tall, with a large red dick swinging between its legs. It broke contact and trudged off in the direction its father had gone.

 Satan laughed malevolently, and offered withering praise... as well as a charted course for Hank's destiny. "Oh, good job, 'Miss' Barlow! You make an excellent mother... which is fortunate, because you have just experienced, in total, how your existence will play out here, from now on. That is to say, 'Miss' Barlow, that your eternal turmoil will be this cycle of acting as a sexual plaything and breed sow for Satan's Army. You will be constantly servicing and giving accelerated birth to endless demons, just as with those two. Most whom you deliver will eventually return, in due time, to impregnate you, themselves. And, as you might've guessed, your first demonic child has already implied this, with his lascivious behavior toward you, a moment ago."

 Further reiterating the horrifying terms of Hank's damnation, the Infernal One continued, smiling the frozen, insincere smile of a bored tour-guide on autopilot. "You should be aware that there are no actual days or nights in Hell, and certainly no rest... however... for you, 'Miss' Barlow, every twenty-four hours, it will be as I've stated previously: you will think that you've arrived here for the very first time, transformed into this virgin female, minus my direct presence. You won't know how or why you've become a small, sexy woman, but it will eventually become clear to you, over the course of each 'day'. Then you will reset back to square one again, reliving all this, throughout endless eternity." He then assumed a more poker-faced expression, and then tilted his floating head forward, as if to tip an invisible hat at the broken, self-loathing and thoroughly doomed young woman standing weakly before him. "Now, I must take my leave. I doubt we'll be having much further direct communication for quite some time. Anyway, you'll have much to occupy your time here. 'Enjoy' your fate, 'Miss' Barlow, and I bid you a fond adieu."

"No, Wait! Please!!" Hank cried out, ineffectually, to already-deaf ears.

 With that, the ghostly visage of the foremost fallen angel disappeared, in a fiery puff, leaving Hank alone to his feminized, shame-ridden misery. But only for the briefest of moments... as he once more heard the dull, beefy slap of huge feet on the cavern floor, advancing toward him, out of the darkness, with brutish, carnal intent. Its huge, erect cock emerged menacingly into the light, seeking its quarry, and Hank's mind cried out into the dark void...

Membership Has Its Privileges...

 Frank knew that trying to run and hide from The Family wasn’t an option... not when you were in the hole as much as he was, so he was going to have to face the music. It was a great deal of money, and there was just no avoiding it. This hard truth rang through his brain like the solemn toll of a bell, as he stumbled, nakedly, out of the tube-like chamber, and stood before mob lieutenant, Vinnie “The Thrust” Calpano, accompanied by a few of his well-dressed goons, who stood silently in the background.

 By this point, Frank had already lost several pounds, as well as nearly all of his body hair, in the few brief moments he’d spent in the tube. This was seconds after he was engulfed in a sudden, blinding flash of energy and accompanying sting of a million pin-pricks, which passed as soon as they hit. Now he was losing height, rapidly, as his legs and torso steadily shrank down to more petite proportions. Four inches... five... six inches lost... and then a couple more. Vinnie smirked, his eyes following Frank’s descent;  this man of average height, maybe 5' 10, whom Frank guessed he could probably take in a fair fight, back when he himself was 6' 1, now towered imposingly over his transmogrifying guest.

 The mobster's smirk widened into a full grin, and Frank broke eye contact with Vinnie,  looking down to see his own, once-familiar frame now resembling the body of a skinny, 14-year-old boy, except... softer. Much softer... and still changing. Dainty, girlish hands, nearly as slender as his delicate wrists, matching his equally tiny feet... hips flaring outward... his pelvis both growing wider and tilting closer to a 45-degree angle, causing his ass to stick out in an unmistakably feminine manner. His shoulders pulled inward, narrowing, as his waist did likewise, though even more so... giving him the hourglass shape that is so prized by women and lusted-after by men the world over. A wide assortment of familiar moles, scars and blemishes were clearly missing, replaced by a creamy landscape of fair, milky-white skin.

 Any lingering muscle tone was soon gone, steadily replaced by selective deposits of smooth fat, which filled out his thighs, buttocks, and the shallow, developing pooch of a belly, into a burgeoning womanly shape. And an especially attractive one it was, as the obvious bulge in Vinnie’s pants confirmed. Frank’s nipples mirrored Vinnie’s erection, pushing outward, enlarging into twin cones of pink flesh, rising atop a swell of breast-growth that soon expanded beyond his ability to cover with his small hands. The feather-light tickle of lengthening hair brushed softly against his forehead, as bangs formed, followed by lengthening tresses that fell down past his ears, to his fragile shoulders, eventually caressing his upper back like a brunette curtain.

 While he couldn’t see it, Frank knew radical things were happening to his face. His hands could feel silky-smooth skin... soft cheeks... higher cheekbones... a more delicate chin and jawline without even the faintest trace of its normal beard-stubble roughness. No question that his entire nose -his nostrils, bridge, etc- were smaller, less prominent, refined... and his lips were puffier, fuller. He could sense that they pouted without his intending them to. He also noticed a very subtle change to his eyelashes; they were longer. They felt like little Chinese fans, batting at the air whenever he blinked. Even his teeth felt different, as he ran his tongue across them; smaller, completely even, with no sign of his old dental work.

 Despite this onslaught of emasculating shame, vulnerability and terror --or perhaps, because of it-- Frank couldn’t help but become aroused, himself. The added humiliation of getting a hard-on, while standing, nude, in front of another man... a man who held all the power in the room, while Frank resembled nothing less than some Bangkok lady-boy, was soon replaced by the inevitable. His fully-erect penis began to shrink and regress, in an accelerated reverse-puberty. Clutching his reducing dick, in vain, it slipped out of his grasp, eventually becoming too tiny and stubby to hold with anything more than his thumb and forefinger. He could hear some snickers coming from members of Vinnie's brutish entourage.

 Though it was still drastically reducing, the sensitivity of his tiny cock grew more and more intense as it became ever smaller, and it remained hard. It soon retreated inside its clitoral hood, itself withdrawing inside the parted lips of his tight new pussy, hidden below the small, fatty hump building at his crotch, that was now his mound of Venus. The canal of his vagina opened within him, which was a bracing experience, leading his wayward, diminished testicles to journey deep inside his womb, to their new home... changing inexorably into their female counterparts, pumping out eggs  and hormones, as though they had been there all along.

 The queasy sensation of Frank’s reproductive system altering, so drastically, finally subsided... leaving him, indisputably, a very attractive and sexy young woman. Still basically himself on a mental level, but overcome with newly-amplified feelings of helplessness and vulnerability... and an overwhelming sense of submissiveness at his core. He was now small and weak in a world full of men who would usually be bigger than him... and always stronger. He was embarrassed to find that this new dynamic was starting to excite him, and was making him wet.

 Vinnie stepped closer to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him around and pulling him, back-first, into a coercive embrace, one hand gripping his soft, skinny upper-left arm like a vice... the other... softly, yet threateningly... at his slender throat. Frank swallowed hard as the last trace of his Adam’s Apple faded away beneath Vinnie’s pressing thumb, and he could hear the sound of his own breathing rise in pitch. Frank could also feel the increasing hardness of Vinnie’s cock, pressing hotly against the crack of his ample, curvy derrier, implicitly promising deeper exploration in the very near future.

 In a last-ditch effort to bargain with his captors, Frank cried out for an extension, only to be taken aback by the breathy, baby-girl whine that delivered his plea... and Vinnie’s crushing response--

Wife-Swapping

 "Now I've finally got you where I want you, Peter..." Sally purred, as her new, manly physique pressed heavily down on her girlish husband, completing its final stages of masculine development. She added, mischievously, "Amazing how fast the nanobots work, isn't it, dear?" --her formerly high, melodious voice slipping further down from a contralto... to a tenor... and finally to a medium baritone, as the words tumbled out.

 Fast, indeed... Peter knew this all too well, from the moments after they sampled the bottle of wine his lovely wife had poured. She had spiked the glasses, and he found himself starting to shrink, and his wife, to grow. Her look of gleeful enthusiasm, in the brief period when they were the same size, and about equally androgynous --and just after that, when she had crossed the gender line, gained an inch or so on him, and was appreciably more male than he-- was a look that would stick with Peter for the rest of his life.

 This impromptu dual-metamorphosis was surprising, but not entirely inexplicable... not now, at the beginning of the 22nd century. Consumer-ready home genetic re-sequencing, via nano-tech, was still pretty new, having been on the market for the past five years, but it was already safe, in most cases, and popular enough to seem almost commonplace. It was a boon toward treating a multitude of severe and/or life-threatening inherited conditions. Most people, though, used it simply for light enhancement of their regular, everyday selves. Gain or lose a few inches in height, a change in natural hair type and/or color, substantial weight loss for the morbidly obese, maybe add an extra trace racial component to your original mix --in fact, permanent genetic tans were one of the most popular uses by the more fair-skinned subset of the global population. Skin-lightening was the rage with some others. The term, "bottled blonde", along a few other old colloquialisms based on hair dyes and other temporary chemical treatments, had essentially lost their meaning. Some people even went to rather exotic, customized extremes, like mimicking some mild animal traits in their human genomes, such as adding an attractive pattern of leopard spots to unobtrusive areas of the skin, like a beautiful, DNA-based tattoo. Most people didn't opt for a full-on gender swap, however... not many straight married couples, anyway. The latter was also fully legal, but the unique genetic risks in trying to switch back, if the new gender was found to be unsatisfactory, kept many people from pulling that trigger in the first place.

 Amazingly enough, all of this was pretty easy, too. First you'd buy a starter set of nanos in static state. They were available pretty much everywhere, and cheap. Then you'd choose the specific app you wanted them to perform, from one of countless accredited online companies specializing in different treatments. A quick download of the selected app, which your 'home dispatcher' unit would then take and broadcast the nanobots' activation code and specific directives, via wifi. Upon entering your body system, usually by ingestion, your 'live' fleet of microscopic workers would then set to speedily work on you, multiplying as needed for the job at hand. There were many safeguards built into the system, as well, to prevent medical emergencies, mischief and criminal use, such as literal identity theft.


 Lying in bed, on his back, with his wife still on top of him, Peter gazed at his chest, and beyond, to regard the slender grace of his own feminizing body, with its pronounced curves arcing sensually inward and outward, now reaching the end of its own transformative journey. It was so much smaller and more delicate, especially from his point-of-view, than he was used to. All the excess biomass he had lost in his reduction had been seamlessly transferred, by nanobot, to help build up Sally's larger male frame... it wasn't passion alone that inspired Sally to french kiss him so often, as they were changing. His perky B-cup breasts, which were hard, toned male pectorals not fifteen minutes before, now swelled to a C-cup size, and quivered like twin mounds of gelatin, before finally settling down, and the last traces of appreciable biceps sank into the supple softness of his skinny arms. The higher pitch of his short breaths was disconcerting, and he swallowed hard, catching the hint of a soprano murmur at the end of it.

Sally looked down at him, at the new softness of her husband's pretty "little girl" face, surrounded by shoulder length auburn hair, and smiled. "Mmmmm... gotta love modern technology. You have no idea how satisfying it is to be able to seriously pin you down like this, Peter, and be the one who penetrates, with something I can sexually feel, rather than play-acting with some strap-on dildo, after a lifetime of taking it in." she said, her lower voice resonating through the bedroom in a way that Peter's higher, softer tones no longer could, when speaking normally.

 Peter looked up at his wife, who was now a striking, dark-haired Adonis, a head taller than him, and physically bulkier, with a strong, hard body of muscle and sinew. He writhed helplessly under her weight, as she playfully fondled and squeezed his brand new boobs. The new size difference, the reversal of roles, combined with the attentions Sally was giving him, in places that were now far more sensitive than most of his old male body... all of this was seriously turning Peter on. He could feel himself growing wet, for the first time in his life.

 Signaling what was to come next, he felt her big right hand reach in-between his thighs to part his shapely legs --which he had kept tightly together, after his penis and scrotum had regressed and altered to become their vaginal counterparts, and she did so with ease. He could feel the thick head of her large new member, dangling bouncily from above, and warmly brushing up against his moistening cunt, ready to be guided and thrust deeply into him, from a variety of potential angles. Though he still loved her, Peter gazed, with fearful eyes, at this rugged, formidable man who was once, outwardly, his beautiful wife. She loomed over him, making him feel so vulnerable and submissive, lying spread-eagle on his back, ready to be fucked, Missionary-style. He finally had to speak up.

"But why, Sally? Why did you spring it on me, like this, without our discussing it first? I don't know if I'm ready for a life like this!" he pleaded. 

 Sally gave him a look of sympathy, kissed him softly, and spoke very supportively. "It's not bad being a girl, Peter, not at all... especially such a beautiful girl, as you are now, honey... you'll see. And what's more, you'll feel." she grinned. "There will be a lot for you to enjoy. But for me, baby, I needed more... much more. I guess it's the tomboy in me, that I never quite grew out of. " She gradually turned more serious in her explanation. "I'll be honest with you, Peter-- I never liked being small... being the "weaker sex". Oh sure, most careers have been open to gals like me, thank God, but I've also always craved size and physical strength, at a level beyond what intensive gym workouts or steroids could possibly provide for the average woman. And what's more, I've always wanted a working penis, and not the sterile kind with a hand-pump. If Nature wouldn't let me have all of that on my own, at least I could vicariously experience it through you, my love."

 This was a revelation to her husband. "Oh, Sally, baby... I really had no idea you felt like this. Not even a hint."

 "And then", she continued, "When I heard you talk in your sleep, countless nights in a row, about wanting to be female, I figured this was a gamble worth taking. I wouldn't have done this on a silly whim, you should know that. As if I even could."

 "But that's just a kinky fantasy I have... I honestly had no idea it had planted itself that deeply in me", Peter protested, "It's arousing, but I never felt like I ever had to act on it for real... and there was always the risk I'd lose you, if it ever did become more than just an idle sexy daydream."

 Sally remained firm. "Listen, Peter... I did need to act on it, for both our sakes. If you're repeatedly saying to yourself , 'how great it would be to become a beautiful woman', while deeply asleep, your desires are saying a lot more about who you really are than you're admitting to yourself."

 Peter reluctantly nodded. This had to be true. The very fact that he had transformed in the first place, that the nanobots were allowed to proceed, meant that Sally had used a simple brain scanner to do a diagnostic of his subconscious, while he was asleep. This was nothing special, every household had at least one scanner, which was about the size of a golf ball. A wave of one of those handy little gadgets, directly over the skull, can get to the root of a lot of deep-seated psychological issues, buried in the recesses of the inner mind. She would've done this repeatedly, over the course of weeks, to insure she got a 100% accurate reading of what she was looking for.  Under some circumstances --like his, apparently, such multiple readings, that showed similar data, were as good as an authorized signature, approving nano treatment. And under current law, since they were legally married, a subconscious affirmative for gender transformation, via this scanning method, was sufficient evidence to allow a spouse to go ahead with it, privately, in the manner he or she saw fit. The electronic paperwork concerning their change in gender identity and appearance, for all the official records, was undoubtedly already being processed. Legally speaking, within a couple of hours, it would be as though they had been born in their present forms.


 "I think we were always meant to be together, darling, but like this, where I'm the man and you're the woman", Sally said, pressing the point further. "Thank goodness we live in an era where such things are possible. Otherwise, I think these deep feelings we both have would have festered, and would ultimately have destroyed our marriage."


 Peter seriously pondered this. He never wanted to lose her. Sally was absolutely the best thing that ever happened to him. And facts were facts. She definitely wanted to be this way. She would've submitted a self-diagnostic scan to affirm this, or she wouldn't be male now. His own scan couldn't be argued with, even if his ego had put up a valiant front. These scans were like sessions with an unassailable lie detector. And while her secret longing to have been born a man was something Peter never saw coming, upon reflection, he could understand why she took a sneaky route to get them both to where they were now. Sally liked excitement, and surprises, and always had. Peter did, too. That's one of the big reasons they fell for each other, in the first place. This was her way of  throwing the biggest, sexiest surprise of their lives, one that could never be topped. And she had succeeded.

 He turned his head to kiss Sally's arm, and finally nodded in agreement. "I'm fine with this, honey, since this is what you've wanted. And, I guess, it's what I've wanted, too, without fully realizing it, until now. I love you so much, Sally, and I'm sure we can do just as well as before, even with our sexes flipped."

 Sally then lightly pressed her forehead against his, and smiled. "I agree. We're inseparable. Let me make one thing perfectly clear, though, my darling..." She took a moment to caress Peter's silky-soft cheek with her free hand. "From now on, at least as far as things here in the bedroom are concerned, I'm the boss. You are now too small, soft and submissive to be anything other than the Bottom in this relationship. And more than anything in this world, I want to dominate you, and I will take you whenever and however I wish. I think I've earned this, considering how things had been with us in bed before, when you were in this role."


 Peter let out a soft gasp, and gulped, while nodding again. It was all a little scary, but he felt that, ultimately, he was really going to like this arrangement. Anyway, he was going to have to learn to like it, as there was clearly no turning back. After all, unlike the more common uses of the technology, this particular type of comprehensive, extreme transformation by nanobot, though miraculous, was always highly risky beyond the initial changeover, for a host of complicated reasons. Any attempts to transition back, if even permitted, could possibly kill either, or both of them. Efforts were constantly being made to conquer this problem, but to date, very little progress had been made.

 So, unless the process was ever ultimately improved upon, to the degree that multiple, back-and-forth genetic sex changes were entirely safe, this was it. He was "Peta" now, the pretty little supportive wife of a big, handsome, dynamic man. He --now she-- sexily bit her luscious lower lip, and threw her head back against the pillow, as Sally --now "Saul", her loving husband, entered his wife's pussy for the first time, gently brushing against her sensitive clit, then gradually accelerating his drive, pounding her harder and harder as she picked up the rhythm and counter-thrusted against his plunging cock. He paused for a moment, to flip her over, helping her tuck a pillow under her belly for support, then began to vigorously take his wife from behind, occasionally giving her ample bottom a sharp slap, which she appreciated. Peta gripped the bed sheets tightly in her little hands... while Saul grunted, banging her mercilessly, bringing her closer and closer to the brink of cumming and blowing his hot, first-ever load into her. Peta gasped and moaned and cried out his name like a porn actress... except she wasn't acting.

Well, I'll Be a Son of a Gun!

Going off the Pill

The resolution of the dialogue in the balloons isn't so good, so here's the text of their conversation, for better clarity:

The Girl:

"NO, CARL! STOP IT!! YOU'RE MY BEST FRIEND! WHAT ARE YOU, SOME KIND OF FAG??? HOW THE HELL COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!?"

The Guy:

"IT'S PRETTY EASY MATH, DON...

I'M A "RED PILL" GUY,  JUST LIKE YOU, UH... *WERE*  HEH...

EVERY CHICK I'VE EVER TRIED TO NAIL TURNED OUT TO BE A SHRILL, ENTITLED, MONEY-HUNGRY LITTLE BITCH, WHO DIDN'T "KNOW HER PLACE"...

I'VE OFTEN ASKED MYSELF, "WHY CAN'T THESE SPOILED HARPIES JUST CHILL AND BE MORE LIKE MY BROS? WHY CAN'T THEY ACT LIKE MY BEST BUD, DON?" 

--EXCEPT TOTALLY OBEDIENT... AND DEVOTED TO PLEASING ME. 

I STILL WANTED SOME PUSSY, BADLY, BUT IT WASN'T WORTH THE HASSLE. SO I DID THE WHOLE "SEXODUS" THING. NO CUNT FOR MONTHS, JUST PORN AND FAPPING...

AND THEN, I FOUND THE CRYSTAL... 

...WITH THE POWER TO MOLD MINDS AND BODIES --BUT IT ONLY SEEMS TO WORK ON DUDES... 

SO, INSTEAD OF TRYING IN VAIN TO FIND THE PERFECT GIRL WHO ACTS LIKE YOU, IT WAS A WHOLE LOT EASIER TO JUST CHANGE YOU INTO THE PERFECT GIRL!

--AS YOU CAN SEE, I'VE MADE YOU SMALL, SOFT, SEXY, STACKED, HORNY AS FUCK, WEAK, VULNERABLE, COMPLETELY FEMININE AND COMPELLED TO OBEY YOUR MAN. GOT THAT, "DONNA"? 

ANYWAY... ME FUCKING YOU NOW IS THE OPPOSITE OF "GAY", SUGAR-TITS, SO NO MORE BACK-TALK FROM YOU!

NOW TAKE THE REST OF MY COCK INTO THAT NICE, TIGHT LITTLE TWAT OF YOURS... LET ME HEAR YOU MOAN LIKE THE SWEET LITTLE FUCK-BUNNY YOU ARE... THEN GO FIX ME A SANDWICH, LIKE A GOOD GIRL..."

The Girl:

"Y-YES, MASTER... OHHHH... AHHNGGHHHNNNNNNNN..."

Pushing Her Point Home

His Wish Is Your Command

Your best friend, Steve, has found a strange little trinket at a street fair, earlier today, from a vendor whom he describes as being of oddly uncertain nationality. It's a rotund little human figure, somewhat resembling a hybrid of a genial Buddha and an African fertility statue, carved out of smooth, dark stone... its tiny arms held, palms-up, over its head in presentation, as though supporting a large, invisible sphere. Carved into its belly, are three identical notches, for reasons unknown.

Hanging out with you now, as he often does, in the relaxing shade of the common courtyard patio area of the apartment complex that you call home, Steve sits there, fumbling with his exotic, pocket-sized prize, dropping it a few times. "This would make a cool key-chain, if it had a hole in it or something", He mutters. "Not that I have a lot of keys for one... just my crappy used car and crappier apartment, thanks to my dead end job at the Shop 'n Save... God, I wish I was rich..."

The trinket suddenly flies out of his hands, as Steve is startled by the sight of the first carving in the miniature's belly, brightly glowing white, which then quickly subsides. Suddenly, he perks up, and holds out his left hand, as a solid gold Rolex miraculously materializes on his wrist. Incredulous, he stands up and feels in his pockets, pulling out a fat roll of cash, no bill smaller than a twenty. His wallet, now expensive-looking leather, contains several major premium-membership credit cards. A quick run to the street reveals a new, top-of-the-line sports car, where his old, rusted-out clunker once stood. Additionally, his battered, nearly-obsolete iPhone has been replaced with the latest model, with every app imaginable already installed. He does a little checking, from some banking websites and private passwords that he says have just now popped into his head, and triumphantly announces that his bank account shows that he's a multi-millionaire, all legal an above-board. Neither of you have any memories of his being wealthy --or being anything more than a struggling slacker-- before this moment, but it's clear that he is, now.

"Aladdin's Lamp, buddy, that's what this is! Woo-hoooo!", he shouts, laughing and slapping you on the back and practically dancing a jig in front of you. "Let's see what else this thing can do!"

He quickly pops into your apartment and checks himself in the mirror, and while running back out --trinket clutched tightly in his fist-- says aloud, "I wish I had a permanently buff and healthy, ripped physique --no matter what I eat-- six inches taller, with a monster 8-inch cock and powerful balls, that can last as long as she can!"

Now, both the first and second carvings on the little figure glow blindingly white, and for a second, a white aura flashes around Steve's body, like the sun's corona. Looking down at himself with the joyous awe of a small child on Christmas morning, Steve begins to grow, every second adding an inch to his normal five-foot-ten-inch frame. Flab, from years of corn chips, pizza and diet soda, melts away, his body re-sculpting itself into a tight, built, impressively-chiseled figure of prime masculinity. Six-foot-four... a beer belly replaced with six-pack abs... twenty-inch biceps, with rippling pecs, traps, triceps, deltoids, and iron quads in his thighs, to match them. Seriously, if this was the 1980s, he could probably give Dolph Lundgren a run for his money. Our eyes both travel down to his crotch, normally the domain of a somewhat sub-par three-inch member, which Steve has often complained about, as an unmistakable bulge strains against the fabric of his jeans, growing larger and longer as it snakes a good way down his right inner thigh.

Steve is ecstatic, striking an assertive pose of self-presentation. "Yeahhhhhhh! Who's The Man? Has to be me, right? Haha! I feel incredible!"

Again, as with the money, you have no memory of him previously being this tall and built, but you just know him to be this way now. It just, strangely, seems normal. No doubt, like his bank balance, all of his records have altered to reflect his new appearance. You both look at his driver's license, listing him as 6' 4, which confirms your assumption.

You're happy for him, of course. In a matter of a few minutes, he appears to have gained everything, going from a pathetic pauper to a pumped-up prince... but you wonder how well he'll deal with all of this. Good looks and big money can open a lot of doors, to be sure, but they are still surface qualities. You've known Steve long enough to understand his life history and his faults. His social skills are practically non-existent. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that you're his only friend, and that's mainly because you took the initiative and drew him out of his insular, sulky routine. He's never been on a date, not even trying to ask a girl out, due to his massive insecurities. You also remember catching him on some pretty strange fetish websites a couple of times, the sort of things that probably wouldn't exactly endear him to a potential girlfriend. Everybody's got their personal quirks, right? So, who are you to judge? That's been your philosophy all along.

Steve does love the ladies, though, as stroke mags are nearly his only material possession. In fact, his former iPhone was loaded with pin-up images... particularly with coy, "babygirl" blondes, usually trying to emulate a vaguely "Marilyn Monroe" look, wearing nothing but sheer black stockings and garters, oozing sex and looking adorably needy. He was always showing them to you, excited when he'd find an exceptionally hot new addition to his collection. You figure it won't be long before he uses his wealth and his body to get one or more such women hanging on his arm and riding his cock, but you predict a rather shallow, empty life for him, if he takes that path. You also feel a bit resentful that he's used two wishes entirely on himself, when he could've just as easily made both of you rich and hunky.


As you complete these thoughts, you look up and notice that Steve is giving you a weird look, his mouth curling into a subtle smirk. "Three notches, three wishes, that's how this must work... I'll use this last wish for both of us!", he says with enthusiasm... mixed with a trace of mischief in his eyes, his smirk widening into a grin.


You hear his third wish, but it doesn't quite register at first, as you are rocked by a quick, white flash and a strange tingling sensation throughout your body. As it passes, you look over at Steve, and he's still smiling, only now more broadly. The white glow, predictably emanating from all three carvings on the sculpture, now turns a crimson red, then subsides, and the trinket itself fades... and seemingly disappears from existence, its wish-granting purpose apparently completed. Standing up, you suddenly realize that something else is happening... you feel a slow, deliberate sinking sensation in the core of your body, and Steve seems to be gradually growing... taller? Why? Isn't he tall enough, already? No, wait... the room's perspective also seems to be subtly changing, too... you're shrinking!

Every few seconds, you are clearly losing an inch of stature, as your legs and torso shorten. It's not just overall height, either, as you glance at yourself in the nearby reflection of a sliding-glass door, to see that you are rapidly losing body mass, especially from your upper body, making you resemble little more than a skinny teenage boy... one who is still struggling, unsuccessfully, through puberty. Your hands and feet become small and delicate, with your hands now as slender as your narrow wrists. What the fuck???

Everything about you seems to soften... your muscle definition, your hair, your skin... you try to voice your incredulity at what's happening to you, and hear the pitch of your speech rising, becoming disturbingly sing-song in its delivery, with a slight whisper and a hint of a lisp. Oh God, you sound like a total sissy! And now you start to realize what's actually happening to you, as budding breasts begin to develop, tight knots of flesh under tender, expanding nipples. Your tits swiftly increase in volume and heft, pushing out noticeably under the thin cotton weave of your t-shirt, their pendulous gravity now a reality, as they rest proudly upon your now-slighter chest, with the points of your nipples just as clearly defined.

You feel your face and it is both shockingly silky-smooth and evidently more refined, if your fingertips are accurate in their assessment of your nose, brow and cheekbones... and your jawline, likewise, feels different, too. Your mouth seems puffier, as your probing tongue slides in a complete, counterclockwise arc across your upper and lower lips, which taste of waxy gloss and are quite obviously fuller. The soft, tickling creep of lengthening hair crawls down over your temples, ears, the sides of your cheeks and the back of your neck, its soft weight brushing lightly against the junction of your neck and upper back. Grabbing a lock of it, you hold it into view... to find that it is becoming a light, honey-blonde. You suddenly fear for what you might see in a mirror. 

Your penis and testicles rapidly reduce and regress, shrinking down, transmogrifying into their female counterparts, and retreating into the soft, vertical cleft that is swiftly forming below them. This is evident not only from your internal sensations down there, but also from your little hands reaching down under the elastic of your briefs and furtively grasping around for what is no longer there, other than a highly-sensitive little nub hidden inside your new pair of nether lips. Touching it makes you gasp out loud, which obviously pleases Steve, who continues to observe your progress with both wonder and obvious glee.

Your ill-fitting clothes suddenly fade away like specters, exposing your soft, creamy skin to the open air, its relative coolness raising goosebumps and triggering your enlarged, protruding nipples to stiffen like fleshy gumdrops. What you'd been wearing seconds before is replaced only by a snug, elastic garter belt in black, connected to a pair of sheer, silky black stockings that envelope your increasingly-shapely legs. You are otherwise as naked as a newborn baby, your swelling ass in full view, as its cheeks increase in weight and volume, following the steady expansion of your hips and upper thighs and the shifting angle of your pelvis and lower back. And the words of his final wish come back to you, this time with sobering clarity: "I wish my best friend here would transform into my totally hot and sexy, devoted, cock-craving, forever-young-and-beautiful dream girl, right before my eyes!"  

You lash out at him, letting him know how unbelievably pissed-off you are at his selfishness and complete betrayal of your long friendship, only to be taken aback by the breathy, little-girl soprano ringing in your ears, speaking your words... like an air-headed Playboy model throwing a silly tantrum. It holds no threat at all, and could almost be considered amusing. Not only is it coming out of your mouth, but it is now the voice of your inner thoughts, as well. You try to summon your familiar male voice to your  mental narrative, but it stubbornly won't return. That's it, then; the son-of-a-bitch has obviously subverted your entire being to conform to his sick little fantasy. You're still you, as far as you can tell, but Steve's wish has apparently blocked off all avenues that would allow you to express your male identity, apart from your memories. You assume that, like his wealth and physique, the past hasn't changed for you, but you will nonetheless be accepted simply as this girl you appear to be, unquestioned by the world, with all your records altered to reflect your new state of being. Oh Fuck!

As furiously angry as you are with him, so very close to wanting to kill him, it is superseded by your utter physical need of him, which seems to come out of nowhere. A deep, instinctual desire for him to hold you... and caress your new body, all over. His fingering your soft, wet pussy, while you clutch his hot, rock hard penis in your soft little hand and-- No, dammit! You're not gay! You like girls, not guys! --But, still, you need him... need his formidable cock thrusting deeply in and out of your tight little snatch as much as you need food and water to survive. That's what it feels like, anyway. You can't get these thoughts, these burning desires, out of your mind, try as you might.

You find yourself standing differently, trying to entice him with a girlishly seductive pose, inwardly torn between loving him and hating him for what he's done. You absently suck on a slender, manicured finger, wishing instead that it was the velvety tip of his erect penis brushing against your pouty lips, seeking entry. You'll make him pay for this, somehow, the bastard... but first, you hope that your incredibly nice ass is inviting enough that he'll soon want to take you, hard, from behind...

Too Much of a Good Thing?

Greetings!

Hi there. I'm Mr. Lass, and welcome to my blog.

I'll begin by saying that I'm not a crossdresser, nor am I transgendered. I'm just a straight "average guy", happy as I am, who nonetheless likes to secretly fantasize about this stuff now and again, because I think the fantasy version of men being changed into beautiful women (or a man and a woman having their sexes magically reversed, both becoming idealized versions of the opposite sex) is totally hot. I won't lie, however... even though I'm comfortable in my own male gender, if fairy tale magic actually existed in the real world, and I came into possession of Aladdin's lamp or something, I'd seriously consider trying a down-to-my-DNA transformation into a petite, pretty, sexy young lady, if it was painless, reversible, and was rapid enough that I could see and feel the changes happen to me, over the course of a few minutes. I'd probably go so far as to have a fling with some guy. Even with some of the downsides or trade-offs to being female, I think it would be (at least, on a temporary basis) like the ultimate theme park ride for an adult newbie to the gender.


I particularly enjoy the "process" aspects of magical gender transformation, which I fetishize, especially the physical shrinking and growth involved. I also like the changing dynamics, in scenarios where the former man becomes physically smaller, weaker and mentally submissive, suddenly at the mercy of other men and women (or women who've become men) who want to dominate him in one way or another. I prefer to have my (male) subjects either be transformed unwittingly, forced against their will, or, if they are voluntarily changed, ultimately finding that they've gotten more than they bargained for, and are in over their heads. So, if that rings your bell, too, you've come to the right place.


While I'm not what I would consider a professional writer, and have no real aspirations toward that end, I can put words together reasonably well, and I'm pretty adept at descriptive prose. This blog is a good outlet for getting some of my fantasies out there in concrete form, which is both cathartic and a fun creative exercise. A few items that I'll probably post are things I've originally written elsewhere, on a message board or two, but it will be good to have them all here, under one roof.

Please remember that the material posted here is all in the realm of frivolous fantasy, as the title of the blog clearly states. What goes on in these little stories and vignettes does not necessarily reflect my actual view of men and women in general, how they should act or be treated, and what their roles should be in real life. These are twisted, often dark (but ultimately harmless) little excursions into make-believe, peopled by stereotypes, intended entirely for private jollies, nothing more, and are generally presented tongue-in-cheek. Though I certainly don't go out of my way to deliberately offend anyone, I also don't subscribe to identity politics, nor political correctness, so if anything here rubs you the wrong way, dear reader, my advice is just to move along, and seek the multitude of other venues out there that are less likely to trigger you.

I can't promise anything more than sporadic updates, because most of my time is taken up with other things, but hopefully what I do post, once in awhile, will be worth the effort to read.

Ever have one of those days?