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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written in 1999 and was posted originally on a site operated by Tanya Sissipus. It is dedicated to Charr02; she wrote recently to ask where the story was these days. Now you all have it! TURNED INTO BIMBOS By Jacquie Windsor [email protected] I One of the happiest days of my life was the day I met Charlene. Like me, she was a transvestite. We met through a chat room on the Internet, and discovered that we had so much in common. We even lived in the same city. So naturally we met and shared our private secrets. Charlene was short, cute and in her mid-twenties; I was a couple of years older and a little taller. We shared all of our secrets with each other...fabulous! We ordered breast forms, wigs, shoes, lingerie and other stuff--visiting together at my place to open the packages when they arrived. We perfected make-up techniques with the help of instructional videos. "Face it, Jacquie," she giggled one day, "we're chicks!" I looked at her as she relaxed on the sofa with Jeopardy on TV in the background. "For $200 I'd say the answer is Mariah Carey," I laughed. Charlene was dreamy-sexy in her long brown wig, almond eyes, deeply-tanned complexion, round breasts and long smooth legs. "Daily Double?" she replied. "You're Neve Campbell-only bustier." I stuck out my tongue at her, playfully. In the wall mirror I caught my reflection-pale skin, lustrous brown hair, squinty eyes, cute nose and my preferred DD-cup boobs nestled under a tight sweater. "Instead of just playing around with, Char, why don't we do it? Go out as girls? It would be SO much fun..." "I don't know, Jacquie-could be risky." "What's risky? Hey, look-we've both wanted so badly to be just like chicks-so what's stopping us? Two years of dressing up like this-and we look perfect. What could be risky about it?" "Jacquie-you slut-you know you can talk me into this," purred Charlene. "Didn't you say that your boss, Donny, gave you a pair of tickets to the football game tomorrow afternoon?" The idea of going out in public-not just down the street but in front of 40,000 people-excited me. "There'll be tons of hunky guys there, Char," I enthused. "You have my mind made up for me, baby," she answered. Charlene and I went to the game, dressed to the tits-so to speak-and primed for all the attention we might get. Our seats were right next to the exit. What a great vantage point to watch all those hot butts and big muscles of the football players! Three-quarters through the game, our practiced feminine voices squealing with every delightful play, Charlene nudged me. She pointed at the cheerleaders. "If we could be cheerleaders-just like one of them-we'd get all the hot dick we needed. Don't you think?" "Oh-absolutely," I agreed at once. A strange feeling came over me. I stared at the cheerleaders again. I looked over at Charlene, who returned my glance. "Do you see that? Feel that?" We both spoke at the same moment. "Charlene, those two girls look almost like us!" I exclaimed. Sure enough, there were two cheerleaders, near the end of the line of girls, who turned amid the furious routine. One had long flowing dark hair like Char-the other was taller and bustier, close to my own appearance. My throat went dry. I don't know how long we sat and stared, forgetting about the proceedings on the field. Then the strangest thing happened. The squad began to leave the open grass and head into the bowels of the stadium. The two girls on the end sauntered a little behind the others, looking upwards. Our eyes met-one was looking straight at me and the other girl was similarly staring at Charlene. A tingle crept through my body. My hearing went dull and all my emotional being was absorbed with this pretty cheerleader in front of us. Five minutes? Twenty? "Charlene-it's as though my soul has been violated-or something-" "I-I feel it too," whispered my friend. Everything else vanished into the background as we left to go home. II Two days passed before I heard from Charlene. She was, apart from our fantasy life, married and decently employed. I was single, so I could afford to take more liberties than she could. I worked out of my home, too, doing web design and on-line consulting. So I was not as concerned about the events since the football game as Char was. "Jacquie-I've got to see you," she muttered over the phone. Sounded like she was on her cell. "C'mon over, hon, the door's unlocked," I smiled. Charlene was clearly under stress. She looked pale and her hair was all over the place. "Jacquie-what the hell is happening?" "Omigod, Charlene-you are experiencing it too? I thought I was imagining it." I offered her a brandy, which she cupped in her hands as she whispered her concerns. "I can't go to work, Jacquie-I've got boobs-honestly!" I looked down at Charlene's chest. Indeed, I could see a pair of small orbs under her buttoned shirt. "Charlene-shit-you know that I am growing them too?" I opened my own shirt, showing Charlene the evidence. "That football game-those bitches in the cheerleading squad," fumed Char. "They saw through us, I think-they are turning us into girls..." "Fine with me," I grinned, enjoying the feeling of my sensitive nipples against my shirt. "Oh great," she shrieked, "but what about me? My job-my wife!!" "Maybe it's just a temporary thing," I suggested. "Just call in to work and take a few days off. Tell the old lady you're going out of town on a business trip. We'll get this thing figured out. I mean, didn't we always talk about this? Isn't this one of our ultimate fantasies?" "Jacquie-ee-ee," she whined. "Not like this-like what if it's permanent and I lose my job!?" "For now you can stay here with me. I have a spare room, and I can still work and collect from my own business. I make enough for both of us right now." "Jacquie, you're a darling-that's it-I'll phone my wife and my boss and ride this thing out for a week. Then it'll go back to normal-I know it." She didn't. Over the next several days, our breasts continued to grow, all our body hair fell off, and the hair on our heads became thicker and fuller. Most disturbingly, Charlene and I reluctantly shared the private fact that our dicks were shrinking and nearly gone within five days of her moving in with me. "My voice is completely changed-my wife couldn't even recognize me last time we spoke," said Charlene. "Might be worse than that," I added. "I just had to turn down a web enhancement contract for $3,000. I started on it, but I had to run to my books to find out what I needed to do." "What do you mean?" "A simple web thing-can't even remember what it's called now-and I couldn't figure out how to do it." "Your mind is being affected?" asked Charlene. "Yeah-I am having trouble figuring out the stuff I do to make money-" We assessed the problem. I had enough money to last us both for maybe a couple of months. I couldn't make a living any longer with my Internet skills. Charlene's boss had to be told that she needed more time off. He told her (assuming she was her male alter ego's new love interest) not to bother coming back if she needed more than another week away. Charlene was now 34B, and I was 36-DD. She was a pretty, 5- 6 girl with thick lips and luxurious hair; I was a curvy brunette, about 5-8. "At least we have the clothes for it," I offered weakly. III The clothes for it? Right. Charlene and I had ordered just about every piece of sexy clothing we could find, and not a single scrap of practical female outerwear. Mini-skirts. Tight sweaters. Halter tops. Tube tops. Oh, these were going to be great things for job-hunting. The phone rang, interrupting my scrambled thoughts. "Unknown caller", explained the LCD read-out. "Should I answer it?" I asked Charlene. "Could be your wife's lawyer or something?" "She doesn't even know that I'm here," answered the dark- complexioned woman. "OK--Hello?" I said, swiftly pressing the receiver to my ear. "You don't know me--how's everything going? You little piece of fluff, you." A husky woman's voice. "Who the fuck is this?" I demanded. "Never mind...this call is for you and your pretty young girlfriend. You like being girls? You got it, you sluts." "What? Who is this!?" I shrieked. "I said 'Never mind' and I meant it. You two should be quite a sight by now." I looked down, bending forward as I realised I couldn't even see my legs past my overgrown breasts. Whoever this was, they knew I was in no position to bargain. "So what do you want?" I asked. "Just what I thought." A pause. "You enjoying this? You liking your life right now?" Another pause. "Paying your bills on time and everything?" I slammed the phone. I stalked over to where Charlene sat, grabbed her by the shoulders and glared at her. "Somebody KNOWS, Char." "What do you mean?" "Somebody knows we've turned into girls--that's what that call was about. Asked how we're doing for money." "Like it's any of their business," cried Charlene. "We are all right now, right?" "Wrong," I corrected her. I couldn't be too upset with her. She didn't know that I had, right now, no chance at all for recovering my memory so we could make a living at my profession. "We have no money any more. We have to look for work. Two weeks at the most--that's how long we have until everything unravels." "God--well I have been looking, anyhow, Jacquie," replied my friend. "There are a couple of things in the want ads-- we have to try them I think." "Let me see," I said, seriously, grabbing the newspaper from her weak grip. Charlene had circled three entries. The first one was telemarketing. D-uh! I don't THINK so. Second there was a clerical job at a refinery. Better. Third was a so-called business opportunity that looked like another multi-level marketing scam. Yuk!! "Honey, we're going to the refinery, then. It says to apply in person." "Hope they like trashy looking dames," said Charlene. "Yeah," I thought to myself. Great wardrobes we had on. Charlene had a bright-yellow halter top on, with a little jacket that didn't close in front. Her belly-button was on show--her whole midriff disappearing into a woven blue mini-skirt that was painted on her hips. I wore the best thing I could find--a burgundy cocktail dress blazing with golden sequins. We showed enough flesh to raise the dead. To top it off, our only footwear was precipitously high- heeled. Charlene had a pair of 4 1/2" heels on some blue velvety ankle boots and I had a silvery pair of 4" sandal- toes. This was not going to be easy to pull off--this job- hunting shit... IV We drove my ten-year-old Volvo to the refinery that was looking for office help. The receptionist admitted us coldly. She was a gum-chewing lady in her thirties, I guessed. She was all overdone in the make-up department, with a plain brown pantsuit offering none of the sexual innuendo that we had brought with us. She asked us to sit down in the waiting room before Hank-- the office manager--would see us. After waiting for twenty minutes, the receptionist told us which door to go through to see our prospective employer. Hank was a more-than-middle-aged fellow. He didn't make any attempt to hide his amusement as we strolled into the office. "What the hell are you two supposed to be?" he laughed. "Excuse me," interrupted Charlene. "We are here for an interview." "Interview?" he asked, still grinning. "Let me guess--uh-- you're whores, right?" "What!?" exclaimed Charlene and I in unison. Hank wasn't even talking to our faces. He was looking at Char's bust and then at mine. He continued talking as though it was our breasts who had showed up alone for the interview. "OK, then--not hookers--undercover cops?" He drew a breath, measuring the rise and fall of our chests as Charlene and I gasped. "Only two kinds of bitches dress like that," he continued, "whores and cops. You are definitely NOT seriously looking for a job--unless it's a blow job." "No, really, we are here for the job," blurted Charlene. Hank was lost, staring at her boobs. "Char--let's get out of here," I sighed, realising the futility of pursuing any line of reason. "If you change your minds, I've got a couple of crisp twenties for youse," Hank called after us. We left in a hurry, not speaking until we got to the Volvo. As the rusty vehicle sputtered onto the avenue back to my place, Charlene talked about how humiliated she felt. I acknowledged her rantings with a continual nodding of my head, until we arrived back home. "There's a message on your voice mail," commented Charlene, heading towards the bedroom. "I'm bushed--going to take a nap for a couple of months or something." "Just pray, Char," I called after her, "that this transformation isn't going to last forever." I hit the replay button to activate my voice mail. The guttural female who had called earlier had left another message: "Ain't as simple as you thought, I guess? Maybe you cunts ought to go shopping." Coughing. "Oh. Right. I remember-- you are just about broke, you hot little honeys." The mocking tone made me furious. I was about to click the receiver to stop this annoyance from bothering me any further. "...maybe you cunts should consider trying Adam's--it's page 83 in the Want Ads. Consider this a favour, bitch--you won't get too many from me. Click." I grabbed the newspaper from the sofa. Flipped to page 83. It took me a minute or two but I found it: Adam's Modelling. No experience necessary. Fashion portfolio shoots scheduled Tuesday and Wednesday only. Apply in person. Female only. I quietly circled the address. Tomorrow was Wednesday, and Charlene and I were going to visit Adam's--a hunch spurred into a lead by a mysterious phone message from somebody who knew what had happened--someone who knew that Charlene and I were forcibly transformed from transvestites into buxom, beautiful women. V I had a restless sleep that evening. Too much worry over the end of the month nearing and my cash supply dwindling. Vividly dreaming about men--feeling awash with guilt-- replaying scenes of my former male self staring at photographs of scantily-clad bikini girls--approached by some shadowy figure--a stocky, androgynous being who scolded me for lusting after women as though they were objects--pointing scornfully at my erection as I masturbated--dissolving into a scene where a secret camera recorded my fetish for feminine clothes--like a security camera at a department store--the voice on the telephone-- 'you think it's so simple being female?' it chided--'learn to live forever as a piece of cheesecake'--viewing my form undergo the transformation--many times over-- "Jacquie, wake up and get dressed. The appointment's in three hours!" My restless sleep was broken into clear reality. Charlene had thrown the quilt off the bed and was tugging playfully at my legs. Only half-conscious, I swore at her and tried to retrieve the bedding. It was no use. I looked at Charlene, standing there, hands on her hips and defiantly urging me to rise and prepare for the day. She must have been awake for some time--her hair and make-up were fixed. There was no possible way to mistake her for a man passing as a woman. She was all female, that's for sure. My best friend had done something with her hair to make it kinkier--almost in curls. She wore a vibrant lime-green cocktail dress that emphasised her cleavage and hugged her taut stomach and muscular hips. Her smooth, dark skin glistened in contrast. "Can't I just sleep?" I implored. I didn't really want to return to the disturbing scenes that flooded my dreams. I was tired, that's all. "Bitch, you need some light," she laughed, throwing open the drapes to let the morning sun wash the room. "And tunes!" Charlene sashayed over to the boom box on my dresser and cranked it on. I grabbed my pillow and threw it at the insolent girl, feebly. My monstrous new breasts collided, throwing me off balance. "Shit--can't even throw straight," I cried and laughed. The music had the marvellous effect of improving my mood-- after a brief pillow fight, I was completely awake. A shower, breakfast in my silken bathrobe, then selecting a wardrobe for the day ahead. "Wear this," giggled Charlene. She picked a white mesh top out of the top drawer of the dresser. "Jesus, Char--that won't even cover my tits. Let alone it'll show my bra right through..." "So don't wear a bra," she teased. "You want me flopping all over the place again at an interview? No thanks--not after the way that last asshole treated us." "Chicken," laughed Charlene. "If you've got it, you should show it." I settled on wearing a black lace camisole under the mesh top, with a hip-hugging blue vinyl skirt that shouted 'sleazy'. My legs were curiously smooth enough to forego stockings, and I added a pair of five-inch white ankle boots with big silver buckles on them. Just walking made everything wiggle and jiggle all over the place. With Char at my side, we left my place looking like a couple of prostitutes, I thought, yet we encouraged one another. Silently, we knew together that this job had to come through. VI Adam's Modelling was a nicer place than I expected. The area of town was littered with warehouses and criss-crossed with train tracks. The outside of the building was in disrepair. "Is this the right address even?" asked Charlene. "There's cars in the parking lot, so we can at least ask," I replied. A sign on the front said "Adam's", in letters too small to see until we were right in front of the door. "Says so," I muttered. "Here goes nothing." We entered the building, whose door and storefront windows were papered over from the inside. The reception area, though was richly decorated. A few handsome couches, panelling on the walls, a broad oak desk near an interior doorway. "I'm impressed," nodded Charlene. "This place is pretty fancy for such a run-down neighbourhood." "Hello," I called out, noticing that there were no other people in the room. We waited a minute or two, then crossed the lobby silently to peer through the open doorway. There was a long hallway leading to several more doors--well-lit- -with tasteful and artistic framed portraits of women on the walls. We proceeded down the hallway, trying a couple of the doorknobs, which were locked. "Hello! Hello!" we called out almost desperately. "Anybody here?" "Welcome, girls," a deep baritone announced, practically scaring us out of our skin. We whirled about, seeing a very large and muscular man filling the corridor behind us. "Hi," I ventured, "we're here for the advertisement?" "Hmm. I see," he grinned. His eyes ran up and down my body- -then Char's. Seemed to take minutes before he spoke again. I reminded myself to get used to the attention my busty female form would have on a man. "Why don't we see about an interview--perhaps an audition?" Charlene and I looked at one another, then nodded. The man led us into a room and motioned us to sit on a beautiful overstuffed couch. He sat in a fine leather chair a few feet away. "How much does this pay?" blurted Charlene. The man smiled at her. "First things first. Do you two have any modelling experience?" "I'm afraid not," I answered. "We are pretty new to this." "I see. Have either of you ever acted? Done any dancing? Anything like that?" "Nope," we replied in unison. "How about escorting?" he smirked, looking straight at my breasts. "I don't think so," sighed Charlene. "Isn't this just, like, a modelling agency or something?" "Yeah, we're not hookers," I added. "All girls have their price," smiled the man. "I'll bet that you two do." I gawked at him, stupidly. He continued to grin and took a billfold out of his suit jacket. He withdrew a twenty- dollar bill, held it up, and motioned at Charlene. "This is yours if you show me your tits right now." Charlene nodded and shimmied the straps of her cocktail dress off her slender shoulders. The man chuckled sarcastically and leaned forward to drop the twenty on the floor in front of her. Then he turned to me. "Forty bucks for you, honey, if you show me your pussy." He took out the bills and motioned to me as he had to Charlene. I peeled my skirt up obligingly--knowing I needed the money badly. I drew my panties down to my knees. "Take 'em all the way off, girly--I want to see you spread." I smiled defeatedly and did as he asked. "Good start--I think this interview is going pretty well." A pile of money began to accumulate on the rich carpet as the humiliating orders continued. Soon Charlene and I were completely naked. "For amateurs, you are both very good," the man said. "And you bitches said you weren't whores? I think you are and you know it. I'd like to get some camera action going here. It'll make you both very famous." "I don't think so," I sputtered. "This is supposed to just be for modelling. You're out of line, buddy." He smiled again, unkindly--patronizing us. "Really--am I out of line? You," he said, pointing at Charlene, "suck out that wench's cunt while I take pictures--and you each get paid $300. Deal?" Charlene nodded eagerly. "God, great reputation we're going to have after this," I sighed. Still, the thought of Charlene's pretty mouth kissing, licking and sucking my pussy made me shiver with anticipation. VII "Right on! Slurp out that horny bitch-pussy," urged the man, clicking furiously from several angles. I writhed on my back on the couch--totally in ecstasy--my hands roaming over my massive breasts as Charlene ate me out. Rushing into a spine-wracking orgasm, I forgot myself in a flurry of gasping and squealing. "That's plenty of that," commanded the photographer, grinning at my performance. "You ladies totally earned that 300 bucks. I think we really have something here--let's get a guy in here to really get something working." "A guy!?" Charlene grimaced. "It will get you $500 apiece," winked the man. "Well, whatever," I agreed, knowing this payment would take care of the rent and then some. A door at the other side of the room opened and in strode a very average-looking guy. A little bald, maybe fortyish, dressed in a track suit. "Girls--this is Hank--he'll be your co-star." "Nice lookin' chicks, Glen," rasped Hank. "Look at those puppies...we gonna have us some hot titty-fuck action here?" "Whatever you decide," nodded Glen. "These bitches will do anything. And they're fresh meat. Word has it, anyhow." Word has it? What did he mean by that? My worries vanished as our co-star stripped. Kind of hairy- -a bit chubby to be a porn star--but his cock caught both Charlene and I wide-eyed and amazed. "Ya like it, girls?" he smiled. "Uh-huh," we answered meekly. His dick was growing as he neared the couch, standing out a good twelve inches if not more. And just looking at it, I felt my whole body quiver in anticipation. He snapped his fingers and pointed rudely at me. "Get in front of me on your knees, bitch. Hold out those jugs for me and I'm going to squirt cum all over them. And you there get on your knees behind me and lick out my ass...that'll be good for both of us." "Good thinking, Hank," joked the photographer. Two weeks ago, who would have guessed that Charlene and I would be kneeling and taking this kind of verbal abuse? "Get your tongue right into my ass, there, baby," urged the out-of-shape actor with the huge dick. "Yeah--that's it--I am gonna spray--hold those hooters out there and take my load..." The white liquid shot out in globs as Glen snapped in rapid succession. Clicking and cumming until Hank was done. I had streaks and pools of gism all the way from my neck to my belly button by the time the shoot was done. "I think you two have a great future," crowed Glen, "as a couple of shit-licking cum-mops. Yeah!" He threw our payments onto the rug with the other money and left through the far door with Hank. Charlene and I wiped off the evidence as best we could and collected the cash. "We shouldn't put up with those kinds of comments," I told Charlene. "This might be easy work, but those guys were just assholes." "Oh--big surprise," said Charlene, adjusting her dress. "Hey, don't forget to put your panties back on, Jacquie." I was almost out the door before I realised I had put everything back on except them. "Shit, Char--maybe I am a whore." VIII The drive home was marked by silence on the part of both of us. We were in no mood for laughter since Glen and Hank had finished using us like prostitutes. And filming it. A red light--seemed like hours. I just wanted to get home and shower; I felt so dirty. "Jacquie--shit, look!" Charlene's shriek startled me, although the light turned green. A chorus of horns rose behind us, but my eyes followed the direction where my olive-skinned girlfriend aimed her delicate outstretched arm. Two men stood on the street corner, not noticing us. A short, squat woman stood nearby, at a telephone booth. She was looking at them and nodding while continuing to speak to someone on the phone. "Look at those two guys," squealed Charlene. "It's--it's--" Us. IX I must have sailed through three red lights and seven stop signs on the way back to my place. I wasn't even so certain whose place it was. Was it mine in this body or mine in the male body I recognised back where Charlene had seen us? "This just doesn't seem possible," whined my girlfriend. "How can we be here in these bodies if that was us right back there?" "Yeah--like I'm gonna have an answer for that one," I retorted. "Do you think that old scrag on the phone's got something to do with it?" asked Charlene as I brought the car to a halt in the parking lot of my apartment building. "You ask too many questions, Char--I'm getting a headache." She was quiet the rest of the way to the suite. Once we were inside, I had to soften--to break the ice--because I didn't like seeing her so sad. "After the rent's paid," I offered, "we should have plenty left for shopping. And we both need clothes. Would you like that?" "God--would I like that? Oh yeah," she said, posing with her hands on her hips. "We can go right after we take care of the rent, then." Together we left the suite, still dressed in rather provocative outfits. I had clean forgotten about my promise to bathe and relax as soon as we got home. I felt like taking care of myself and Charlene--our living arrangements--first, because deep down I knew we would spend all the money if we went out shopping right away. As we approached the manager's apartment, I got a weird feeling. Something in the back of my mind. A sixth sense? Woman's intuition? Nothing in my outward appearance, and very little of my memory and emotion, would make anyone confused about my sexual being. I looked, walked and behaved like a woman. So what was it about Darby that set my alarm bells ringing even before I got to his place? I rapped on the door eagerly, hoping to resolve the issue of the unpaid rent before we ran into yet another problem. Moments later, the door swung open. Suddenly I noticed something that jarred my memory. Sure--there was Darby, a mid-forties blue-collar kind of guy with few social graces and a high degree of impatience--yet there was a portrait that loomed behind him on the wall--sort of an emblem or his personal coat of arms. It was a glass-covered image of the gothic princess Julie Strain--vanquishing a monster of some description. The picture embodied Darby's view of perfection--which crept slowly into my consciousness--of a statuesque (and well-endowed) woman who could slay the demons that infected his mind. "Girls! Yay-hey," he growled, staring more-or-less straight at our busts. "You lookin' for a place? Hmm--could be a vacancy up soon--wouldn't stop me, no way." I smiled out of nervousness and a little bit of conceit. Like this bastard would ever get what we have. "Um--no--not looking--just paying the rent for number 8-B," I said. "8-B? You chicks don't have 8-B," he replied. "The guy is out of town--sort of sub-letting," I countered- -having to think something up on the spot. "Me and Charlene are taking care of his place." "Well, do come in," insisted Darby. "I have nothing but room for pretty bitch--uh--girls in this complex. You have cheques or...?" "Cash," interrupted Charlene. "Cash is good," he mumbled, still fixated by our revealing outfits and our gorgeous bodies. "You chicks only deal in cash, I guess." He chuckled to himself and abruptly moved into another room, beckoning us to follow so we could pay and get a receipt. I recoiled at the insinuation that we were hookers or something, until I realised that was exactly how we'd gotten the money. Darby's living room was a messy pile of unmatched furniture, videotapes of god-knows-what and empty pizza boxes. What a gem this guy was. Single, too, no doubt. "Have a seat while I get the receipt book." Charlene and I hesitantly sat down until Darby returned. He took about five or ten minutes, and re-entered the room dressed in a bathrobe. This was not a pretty sight, nor was it that much of a surprise. "Girls--mmm--I've got a little deal for ya's if ya want it. Half price--let's just party a little first." "I like parties," said Charlene brightly. Was she nuts or something? "No, Charlene, we don't like parties," I grimaced, touching her arm. "Sure I do," she answered, and I grabbed her and lifted her with me, off of the dirty sofa and into the kitchen. Hopefully, Darby would remain in the living room and out of earshot. "Charlene--this guy means, like, having sex--like sucking him off or something for a lower price on the rent." "Really?" cried Charlene, her almond-shaped eyes widening in surprise. "You can't tell?" I asked, shocked by her naivety. "No--I thought he might just want to go dancing or something--that would be OK, right Jacquie?" "He doesn't--trust me," I said. "He changed into his bathrobe--like he wants to fuck us--you see?" "Oh, geez. I didn't even know that." We returned together into the living room, where Darby was bent over a mirror, sniffing some kind of white powder up his nose. He looked flushed, yet happy like a real idiot might. "You girls need a sniff? We can start? Half-price honeys? Yes!?!" "No, we'll just pay the rent today," I said. I threw a thousand dollars onto the coffee table, much the same as Glen had thrown the money at Charlene and me. Darby crumpled the bills into a ball, pocketed them, then hastily scribbled a receipt. He handed it to me, staring me up and down with a contemptuous look I was sure to return to him. "You bitches really think you're something--turning down a great deal from Darby Sloan. I wouldn't hold that against you normally, but I know your kind." Our kind. Damn that asshole. I stormed back to the apartment with Charlene in tow. X I undressed and prepared for the shower I had promised myself before we went to pay the rent. As I caught my reflection in the mirror, I was shocked by my pure feminine beauty. I was dazzling. Even without make-up, my smooth skin, dark eyes and high cheekbones were nearly perfect. I leaned forward to touch the glass--perhaps in a belief that this transformation was only an illusion. I saw my breasts wobble like large bowls of jelly. Were they still growing? God, they looked big. In spite of their size, they hardly sagged at all--enormous pale globes with big, brown, elliptical aureolae--tipped with tiny projecting nipples. I placed a thumb and forefinger around one of the pronounced nipples and gently squeezed. A wave of warmth flowed down my spine to simmer between my legs. Jesus, I was getting turned on by the mere touching of my tits. And the desire I had was for a man, nothing else. I had to get into the shower, quickly, before I drove myself nuts. I wondered as I cleaned my body: Was Charlene being affected the same way? Were we destined to become attractive sluts for the rest of our lives? I wrapped a towel around my curves and dried my hair as best I could. It was so thick that it wouldn't be dry for some time unless I had a blow dryer. Charlene slipped past me on her way to the bathroom. "My turn to shower now," she whispered. "By the way, Jacquie, I just noticed that my lips are kind of--well-- sensitive--you know?" I admired her full lips--the kind we used to joke about. Cocksucking lips. It wasn't so funny right now. "Like you are kind of turned on when you touch them?" "Kind of? Like, really turned on," she giggled. "For me it's my nipples," I answered. "Now go shower and forget about it--we have to go shopping." XI For fun, when we were men dressing up, Charlene and I were fond of sometimes wearing specially-ordered brassieres measuring triple-D cup size. It used to be just an exercise in entertainment. But now I found it difficult to fit my boobs into them. Using a tape measure to see how big we had become, Charlene came in at a slinky 38-24-34, while my new body was an exotic 46-27-36. "I thought I got a rack--well you got a rack," teased Charlene. "You are Miss Boobies of the Next Millennium!" "I know," I muttered. "At least I'm smart enough to say 'No' to the dummy landlord." The shopping spree was a joy for both of us. We found some modest-looking apparel that kept our bodies looking good but not as though we were for sale. If we were going to try and fit in properly, we had to look like responsible women. Upon our return, we spent an hour removing tags and finding space in the closet for our newly-bought clothes. The relaxed atmosphere remained until the telephone rang. "Hello." There was a pause before a faintly familiar voice began talking. "Jacquie. I suppose Char is there too? Have fun at the mall today, girls?" It was that bitch who had called us the other day, just after we were transformed. "What do you want?" I snapped. "Maybe you sluts have forgotten something?" "Forgot to damn you to hell?" I responded. "No, only that you aren't men any more. In fact, I don't think you really deserve to live in such a nice place, do you?" "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" "I'll tell you what it means. It means you'll learn to treat your superiors with more respect. I suggest you take a lesson from me...try checking your door. You should see an envelope slipped under it. I think you'll understand perfectly what you deserve." With that the phone went dead. "What was that all about?" inquired Charlene. "Where are you going?" I tore out of the bedroom and into the foyer, where an envelope appeared under the door, as the woman on the phone had predicted. Charlene was close behind me. "What's that?" she asked as I picked up the envelope. "Blackmail or something--that fucking bitch on the phone again." I opened the envelope carefully, retrieving a folded note. The first thing I saw was the letterhead from the building's management company. The contents were simple. I read aloud to Charlene: "Dear Occupant: It has come to our attention that the leaseholder at 8-B Henderson Lane is not prepared to allow you to stay there..." "What?" squealed Charlene. "But you are the leaseholder!" "I know, I know--whatever--it says 'yada yada yada-- eviction without notice--yada yada--'" The rest of the note was incredibly clear. I looked into Charlene's dark eyes and stated that we had to report to the manager of the building to resolve any problems we had with the decision. "Darby--the same bastard we dissed earlier today," she remarked. "Exactly." XII It was almost 8 p.m. when we decided to go down to Darby's suite and try to bargain our way back into my own place. I wore a modest knit turtleneck and a medium-length skirt. Even at that, I had a hard time concealing my ample breasts. If anything I looked sexier than I did in the low- cut hooker-style gear we were wearing before. Charlene was sharp-looking too. She wore a simple patterned frock, that still hugged her lean curves. I guess we were doomed to look beautiful and sexy no matter how we dressed. Darby opened the door more quickly this time; he must have known we would return. He was still in the same bathrobe, and made no attempt to close it completely as he greeted us. His full chest and belly were visible, and the tops of his undershorts were also on display. "Yuk," I thought silently. "Oh--who have we here," he grinned sarcastically. "I do believe it's the squatters from 8-B. Do come in, sweethearts. Maybe I still feel generous." "Listen," I bargained, after Charlene and I took our familiar seats on the couch, "all we want to do is pay the rent and keep to ourselves. Understand?" "Not so fast," he answered smoothly. "After all, we are neighbours. No need to be all confrontational about it. Perhaps more than just neighbours." "I doubt that will ever happen," I sniffed. "Hey--come on and lighten up." Darby slid next to Charlene on the couch. He bent forward to pick up the plate-sized mirror on which three sizable lines of white powder were arranged. "Girls. Some coke before we start to negotiate?" "No thanks," we said in unison. "I insist," he said seriously. "Really. It's no problem. I can wait here forever for you to change your minds. Can you?" He had us over a barrel. For sure. Delicately at first, Charlene snorted one of the lines, then Darby passed the mirror to me. I gave Darby a vicious glance, yet accepted the gift and inhaled the other line. He withdrew the mirror and took the third line himself. "Now, ladies, we can really start to see how you can convince me." As time passed, I found the drug working its way into my system. I felt comfortable, yet not really relaxed. Maybe a little tense and anxious. Darby rose to put on some music-- something eerie like 'Portishead' I thought. "Want some more?" he asked as he returned to the couch, echoing my desire. "Yeah," I said half-aware. "Yeah I would really like some more. Please?" "Oh I think you both need some. And I need some too. Some what though?" He seemed to be teasing, but I didn't care. "You two fine bitches want to do some more. Tell you what, babies, take off your clothes and get comfortable. You can leave on your lingerie--for now." I couldn't believe I was acceding to Darby's request. As if in a dream--the music reverberating through my consciousness--I squeezed out of my sweater and skirt. Charlene unzipped her dress and we were soon both only in our underwear. Obligingly, Darby looked us over as he prepared some more lines on the mirror. After Charlene and I snorted our shares, he looked pleased. "I think we have a couple of crack-whores here," he smiled. "Isn't that right?" "I'm not a crack-whore," pouted Charlene. "She's only a cocksucker," I blurted. "A coke-snorter cocksucker." "Jacquie!" squealed my thick-lipped friend. "That ain't fair. Darby--she's a prostitute. She got me into this." "Girls, girls," laughed Darby. "No need to fight. There's plenty of coke for everyone. You do what I ask--you get more--you do it real well--you might even get to stay in the building. It's so simple!" At that, Darby slipped out of his bathrobe and shinnied out of his shorts. XIII "Charlene, you lucky cunt, since you're nearest you get the job of bringing me off with your mouth. Bend over--c'mon--" As Charlene hesitantly hunched down to find Darby's cock, he helped her by firmly taking hold of the back of her head. Although my line of sight was obscured by her head and back, I could hear her slurping and noticed her head bobbing rhythmically. "Don't wanna leave you out, hon," the manager said to me. "Come over here and take off that bra--gotta see if them titties are real or not." I lifted myself from the couch, reached back and undid the hooks as I sauntered over to the arm of the couch. I freed my breasts and sat down next to Darby, looking down at Charlene as she sucked on his erection. Her eyes were closed in a satisfied ecstasy. "Holy fuck, those are big mams, Jacquie," announced the middle-aged man. "Nice young firm meat like that is made to be sucked and licked." I obliged him, pressing my boobs together between my arms and leaning them towards his drooling mouth. The hot breath and eager sucking stiffened my nipples and brought back the warm feeling in my pussy. I became a squealing, moaning slut as Darby slobbered all over my breasts. I was certainly getting hornier by the second. Sensing my rising passion, the manager rubbed his hand roughly between my legs, probing my new pussy and feeling my wetness. "You really need it, don't you, honey?" "Oh--oh--yes-s-s," I stammered. "Get your head down there where your friend is. Start sucking and I might feel like giving it to you." I scrambled off the arm of the couch, just as Darby pulled Charlene's salivating mouth from his cock. "But I want to finish," complained my friend. "No fair!" Darby grabbed the back of my head and crushed me into his groin. He didn't answer Charlene's whining protests. The cock burst into my mouth as the man's pelvis drove upwards into my face. Immediately I was surprised by the wonderful taste. It didn't taste of sweat or anything-- rather it was almost sweet. I found myself eagerly sucking on it, salivating and thoroughly enjoying the experience. Had the transformation also changed my sense of taste? I would never have even dreamed of sucking dick before, even when Charlene and I dressed up as girls. Well, maybe dreamed, but certainly not like this. Darby humped my face for a minute or two and then I felt him pull me off him by the hair. Then he pushed Charlene's face back on his erection. He went back and forth between us, really just fucking our mouths in sequence--until-- He grunted and exploded into Charlene's lucky mouth. I could tell it was a big load, since she couldn't even swallow all of it. It trickled out of her mouth as Darby gasped for breath. "You were the lucky bitch that time," I cried. "Mmm," she replied, smiling and licking her lips. "I am just more skilled, right Darby?" "Shit, girls, you're both all right. Perfect party sluts, actually." "Do you want to screw me?" I asked hopefully. "Hell no," Darby answered in a scornful tone. "I got off. Get the hell out now." "Get out? Is that the thanks we get?" Charlene fumed. "Be thankful you got some free coke and another week in the apartment." "A week? We paid for a month," I said. "A week," he repeated. "Then we'll--eh--negotiate. In the meantime get your fucking clothes back on and get lost." We glared at him, yet dressed ourselves, feeling humiliated once again. "You two are basically sluts. I don't even know how you have any self-respect at all." Darby guided us to the doorway, not even allowing us a chance to fix our make-up or hair. We looked as though we had just finished giving head--if I looked anything like Charlene did. He grabbed my ass and squeezed as we departed. "I would never, ever have believed that you bitches used to be guys," he hissed as he shut the door to his apartment behind us. XIV Charlene and I shook our heads together in astonishment as we returned to my suite. "How does he know?" I wondered. "Did that evil witch run around telling everyone?" "Seems like it--oh shit!" "What?" "I left my panties back at Sloan's place." "Ah," I added, realising my melon-sized breasts appeared to be wobbling more than they should be. "I left my bra there too. I guess we'll have to pick them up later." A couple of guys I used to play poker with passed us as we went up the stairs. They were staring right at our chests. I wondered if they knew too. "Am I ever going to get used to this?" asked Charlene. "I mean, nobody's looked us straight in the eye since this happened. Only at our tits and asses." "Worse thing is," I chimed in, "is that we haven't even seen many cute guys to play with--only assholes like Darby and then before that was the chubby man at the modelling agency." Together we decided to take the daring step of going out that evening to a dance club. "We're sure to see someone worth bringing home," reasoned Charlene. It was almost eleven o'clock by the time we were ready to go. Dressing, applying make-up and doing our hair was really a chore and a half, but it was certainly an enjoyable chore. Charlene decided on a clinging red dress with a plunging neckline, matching four-inch heels and a simple white handbag. She intuitively straightened the kinks in her long brown hair and accentuated her eyes with plenty of mascara. I selected my one remaining brassiere, a black, underwired 36-DDD model that lifted my breasts proudly. Over that, I slipped on a daring see-through blouse and shimmied into a black suede mini-skirt. Our legs had become so smooth we didn't have to bother with pantyhose. My ensemble was completed with a slick pair of black knee-high boots with three-inch heels. We were dressed to kill--for sure. Flouncy, perfumed, curvy sex kittens are what we had become. So it was time to make the best of it. And besides, I was totally horny after being turned down by Darby earlier on. We left the apartment, got into my car and headed towards the club. This was going to be our night to forget our problems and just have fun. Three blocks from our destination, a short siren blast and the appearance of red and blue lights in my rear-view mirror indicated otherwise. XV "Officer," I gushed, as the uniformed cop approached the idling car. "What's wrong? Was I speeding?" "Licence and registration," he mumbled. The officer was the picture of the doughnut-eating trooper so widely lampooned in movies and on television. "OK," I chimed, reaching for the papers in the glove compartment. I gave them to him and fumbled in my handbag for my licence. It wasn't there. Of course it wasn't--after all, I am a five-foot-eight brunette with huge tits--not the man who would appear on my licence anyways. "Uh--I must have left it at home," I explained. The pudgy policeman was reading the information on the registration, ignoring me. He leaned into the car after a minute or two, looking at us and at the provocative clothes we wore. "Any identification at all--either of you?" We smiled wanly and shook our heads slowly. "You--sit there," he said, pointing at Charlene, "and you get out of the car with your hands visible." He helped me out of the vehicle and placed my hands on its roof. Then he slowly and deliberately patted me down-- rather he rubbed me down. He spent several seconds squeezing my breasts and fumbling with my ass. "Hey! What are you doing?" I demanded. "Shut up, whore," he replied. "This car is stolen. You are under arrest for theft and soliciting. One more word and I'll charge you with resisting arrest." "Soliciting? I didn't say anything!" I protested. He handcuffed me and guided me into the back seat of the cruiser, where I was joined shortly by Charlene. It must have been past midnight by the time we got to the station and were processed. The story he had was that we had ripped off a john and stolen his car. My last-second outburst added the complication of a resisting arrest charge. Thankfully, we weren't tossed into the "whore cage" as they called it. Instead we were taken to a small cell with a couple of cots in it--no larger than my apartment bathroom. "Trust me, Char, this is not what I had in mind." "I know Jacquie--it's not your fault. That bitch must have had your male body do this to us." It all seemed so surreal. A couple of hours passed before we were taken before a night-court judge who set bail at an impossible $2,000. I knew a lawyer I had done some work for and asked to make a call. That wish, at least, was granted. How we were going to pay for his services remained to be seen. XVI The clanking of the cell door awoke me from a shallow slumber. I guessed I must have dozed off, but I had no idea what time it was. Charlene was also lying down on the other cot. There couldn't have been more than five feet between the cots, since the cell was only large enough to fit two 'comfortably'. Cold comfort--it was a little chilly. And without blankets I found myself shivering as the door creaked and large shadows filled the entrance to the dark hallway. "Who's there?" I called out drowsily. The dim light in the cell outlined a pair of figures-- rather large men by all appearances. "Jacob Hester--and associate," came the calm answer. The lawyer. I scarcely remembered calling one, so I was a bit surprised, and somewhat confused by the return to wakefulness. "God--oh yeah--I must have called you to get us out of here," I said. I heard the cell door shut behind what appeared to be two men wearing business suits. "We can certainly help you ladies out of this mess. I think you are going to be just fine." As Jacob spoke, I was a little disturbed to see him loosen his tie, take off his fine black jacket and start to unbutton his shirt. "My colleague and I are very well-rehearsed to defend innocents such as yourselves. We will spare no effort to get you out of here and into better circumstances." As his speech continued, Jacob and the second man kicked off their shoes and undid their belts. They were already unzipping their pants before I heard Charlene ask them what was going on. "Jacquie, here, explained you have no funds to take care of the bail, so we thought it might be a good idea to get acquainted--to get a little comfortable. If you can't afford $2,000 to get out of here on your own, you must not be able to afford our counsel." Fully awake and lifting myself on one elbow on the cot, I could discern the appearances of the two men. They were naked, now, for one thing. Each was a rather distinguished- looking, tall, and quite handsome man. I felt my heart actually flutter a moment. "Let me help you out of some of this stuff--just relax," intoned Jacob. He leaned over and pressed one hand firmly on my shoulder, until I lay flat on my back on the thin mattress. He nuzzled his face against my neck briefly-- sending another thrilling shiver through my body--then undid my skirt and began to draw it down my hips, over my knees and off my legs completely. I looked away, in a kind of coy embarrassment, only to see that his associate was undoing Charlene's dress and stripping her in a friendly but clinical way. It was a little weird to see my friend being so tactlessly undressed. But like me, she was not protesting. Besides, these guys were actually quite cute. Jacob continued silently undoing my apparel until I was utterly naked on the cot. He pried his legs in between mine and, looking down, I could see his erection. "Oh my," I whispered. "What a fantastic set of tits, Jacquie--you must be very proud. Be a good girl and spread your legs--that's it--just lay back and enjoy it. I know I am." Jacob slinked his arm around my neck and fondled one of my boobs with the other hand. He crouched forward and pressed his weight upon me, and I felt his cockhead against my pussy. I must have been slicker than slick, because the next thing I knew he had penetrated me. I heard a little squeal from Charlene, and reasoned she must be experiencing the same thing. "You're a pro," he grinned, as I intuitively wrapped my legs around him. My arms reached up to stroke his muscular back and to urge him to throw me a real good screw. "I need this so bad," I rasped. Jacob obliged, pumping his cock into me, harder and faster. I was gasping and squealing--all out of control in this gorgeous man's arms. I really did need this just so bad! "I'm going to come, baby, keep me inside you--yes--I'm-- going--to--cum--" Each word was punctuated by another thrust. I instinctively knew he was about to blow his load inside my pussy. And I was so glad I could shriek it from the hilltops. I was a wild, bucking animal--my breasts slapped up into my chin as the good sex went on--until-- I felt the juice blow into my womb--warming me to unheard of temperatures. I knew I was screaming in delight--and the echoes from across the narrow cell told me that Charlene was high on the same thing. Almost as suddenly, Jacob withdrew his leaking member from me and stood up, reaching for his clothes. He was a little sweaty, and I felt a sudden cool sensation over my entire body. God, how I longed for this man to hold me--and to keep on screwing me until I came. "I didn't cum, though," complained Charlene, echoing my own disappointment. "Maybe next time," replied Jacob's associate. "You're gonna get enough for your appetite, I am sure." "Plenty of chance for that," added the senior lawyer. "For now that was just fine and dandy. Yeah, Benny, you can have the big tittied one here next time. I want to try the little vixen." Their banter was so cold and unfeeling I began to wonder if we had only been used. "You ladies need a more permanent home, I think," continued Jacob. "Am I right?" "Anywhere but in jail, I guess," whimpered Charlene. "I thought that may be the case. We should have you out in three days tops. Maybe a week." "A week?" I cried. "Why so long?" Jacob adjusted his trousers, then his shirt and finally his jacket. "These things just take a little time, that's all. It's all very legalistic and so on. Hookers that steal from their johns aren't really that popular around here." "We aren't hookers," I protested. "I might have believed that," Jacob explained, "if you weren't so eager to put out for money--or in lieu of cash. I think you're both quite handy at this sort of thing." Rotten luck to be horny, I guess. One thing that hadn't been transformed was my appetite for sex. And I was never too choosy about who I fucked when I was a guy. "Just leave this whole process up to us--we'll certainly be back frequently enough--to--to--um--keep you ladies posted on how everything's working out. In the meantime--just try and remain optimistic." "Shit--easy for you to say optimistic," blurted Charlene. Her hair was slightly matted from the perspiration that the raw screwing had generated. "We're just in prison is all." "Prison?" chuckled Jacob. "This is just municipal cells. You won't have any problems here. I think you two would panic yourselves silly in a real jail." Benny summoned the guard, and after they left Charlene and I looked at one another, wondering what else could possibly happen. I was growing to fear the worst. XVII "I think I might be falling in love with Benny, you know," admitted Charlene. It had been four days of sex, sleep and solitude for us as we awaited the trial date. "Even if I had the choice, I don't know if I'd want my male body back," she continued. "I am just having too much fun, I think." "Or the prison food has screwed with your head," I teased. "Speaking of which, I am famished. I am sure it's way past dinner time." I rose from my seated position on the side of the cot. The jail uniform of bra, panties, jeans, T-shirt and slippers seemed to enhance our figures. The bras were perfectly sized, underwired and reinforced. They lifted and separated our boobs, forming mouth-watering curves from any angle. The T-shirts were probably a size too small for us, so the stretched fabric outlined our brassieres without much left to the imagination. The jeans were a little tight around the hips and ass, too, so we both looked a little like sluts, even in prison. Still entertaining Charlene's small talk, I went to the door to see whether there was anyone approaching down the corridor. I pushed against the door, wiggling the knob, in frustration. "Char!" I exclaimed. "The door is unlocked." "Serious?" she asked. "You're fooling me, ain't ya?" "No way," I said. "It's open." Charlene cautiously approached me, grinning as though I was lying to get a rise out of her. To prove I was telling the truth, I slowly turned the knob and slowly swung the door open. "Shit, Jacquie--if it was open all the time..." "I just want to get out of here," I interrupted. "Let's at least see where the hallway goes." "Oo-ooh, so exciting," whispered Charlene. The slippers quieted our footfalls, and I slowly closed the door behind us, then turned to lead Charlene down the corridor. It was very dimly lit, and I guessed that heading right might not direct us towards a guard station. We hurried quietly along, tested another door several meters along at the end of the hall. That door, too, opened, and we found ourselves in a laundry room. It was empty. "Where do we go now?" Charlene despaired. The room was ringed with a mezzanine level, with two staircases leading up to it. There were also three more doors on the same level, plus the one we had entered through. "I'd flip a coin, but I don't have one," I said. "Let's just go across to the other side and look through the window. Maybe we can guess from there." We crossed the room quickly, and I peeked through the small glass pane. There was a short crooked hallway, leading to what looked like an exit. "There's sunlight out there," I explained to Charlene. "I think that might be the way out." "Oo-ooh, escaped cons," she shrieked. "So neat, hey?" "Quiet, sugar," I smiled, although the noise of the washing and drying machines drowned out her excitement. "Let's go before someone returns for their laundry." We tiptoed along until we reached a pair of large glass doors. Outside it was sunlight, a walkway, and, to our disappointment, a high fence. "Maybe we can climb it," I suggested. "It doesn't look too tough." "I haven't climbed a chain-link fence like that since I was a boy--um--", Charlene answered solemnly. I pushed against the door handle--the kind found in schools and office buildings--and it did not budge. "Darn it," I cried, "it's locked. We'll have to try another way out." We turned to retreat and found ourselves face-to-face with a couple of burly, uniformed guards. XVIII "Goddammit," exclaimed one of them. "Looks like an escape attempt. Baldy, radio the warden. Now you two honeys be good and put your hands behind your back." They were such a commanding presence that Charlene and I complied quickly. Our wrists were manacled and we were led through a series of corridors to an office. The whole way, Baldy and the other guard leered at us. The handcuffs had the side effect of forcing our chests out even further, and the two prison officials truly enjoyed the sight of our wiggling asses and jiggling tits. The warden was a chubby, older woman--prim, proper and bespectacled. Not terribly pretty, either. "Attempted escape?" she began. "That's not good--not good at all." "Our door was left unlocked," I protested. "We were just exploring." "Did you enjoy your adventure?" she smiled. "It was very exciting," said Charlene. The warden scowled. "Baldy, stand guard outside the room. Manson, unlock the bitches and you can go into the hallway too--that's the fourth escape attempt on your shift this month." I thought I detected a smirk on both of their faces. Charlene and I were freed of the manacles and directed to stand as the warden returned to her desk and Manson departed as he was told. "Attempted escape is a very serious infraction of the rules," muttered the older woman. "Before I have you sit down, take off your clothes." Charlene and I acceded to this demand, although it seemed a little unusual to me. The woman peered at us as we stood before her, buck-naked. We twirled slowly at her command. "How old are you girls?" she asked, holding a pen in her meaty hand. "I'm not sure," answered Charlene, truthfully. "Not sure? Is this a joke?" "Twenty-four?" I offered, shrugging. I wasn't sure why she was asking this kind of question, and I didn't know whether she wanted a truthful answer, or if she was simply testing us. "You both look, uh, rather perfect--I think that's the word--maybe, um, a little enhanced," she continued. The warden was looking very obviously at our breasts. "Have you had surgery or something? Those can't be your natural boobs." "Natural, not really, I guess," I stammered. "Explain yourself," she said sternly. She was visibly annoyed by our odd answers to her questions--if only she knew. So, I thought I would tell her. "Charlene and I aren't actually girls," I began. "We used to be guys, and someone switched our bodies with--these." "So you're transsexuals? You look too damn convincing to be that. I've seen TS-girls in here and they don't look like you. Besides, if you used to be men, I would expect you would be normally a bit repulsed at the idea of having sex with men--am I right?" We nodded. "The second major infraction," she went on, "concerns this unauthorised sexual contact." The warden opened a large envelope on her desk and retrieved a selection of photographs. Black and white and grainy, they were nevertheless portraits of Charlene and I in the throes of ecstasy with Jacob and Benny, our lawyers. "You had our cell bugged?" I queried. "That's not fair." The warden grinned at me sarcastically. "Let's see what we have here. A couple of hookers, charged with grand theft auto, furthermore found in direct violation of civic by-laws inside a municipal institution. Add to that an escape attempt and outright lying to an officer of the city. Boy, that that sure adds up to a shit- load of trouble." "This is all a mistake," whined Charlene. "The only mistake, dear girl, is lying, stealing, cheating and causing trouble. I know exactly who you two are, and this is no mistake. You are a couple of prostitutes who work out of a hotel near the airport. You have been licensed as escorts for four years--give or take--and you used to be good little taxpayers." The warden was improvising with her commentary, but appeared to be reading directly from information on her desk. I saw two sheets of paper, apparently the escort license applications from the 'real' owners of our bodies, bearing snapshots that looked identical to us. "But those girls," Charlene interrupted, pointing at the papers, "have our real bodies right now. And they're the ones who called the cops to say we stole Jacquie's own car." "You really must think I was born yesterday," sighed the warden. "I think I know one way for you two to redeem yourselves--partially, anyhow." "Anything," cried Charlene, who rubbed a tear from her cheek. She was obviously stressed and exhausted from the perplexing events that had crossed our lives. I brushed a tear from my own cheek, not even realising I was that upset myself. XIX "You are both uncommonly attractive creatures," said the matron. "I think you deserve a little break, and that's what I am offering you." "Sure," I shrugged. "What kind of break?" "First, a fresh set of clothing. Try these things on." The warden retreated to a large wardrobe at the far end of the office. From it, she selected two outfits. They were flattering, to say the least. Charlene was offered a shimmering deep-blue top that tied together just under her breasts. The open neck revealed two half-moons of flesh. Her hips were barely covered by a little white mini-skirt that showed off every inch of her creamy thighs. I was given a pair of pink hot pants that looked as though they were painted on, and a very tight T-shirt. The fabric was bright yellow, and a pair of black handprints was stencilled on, to make it look as though they were grabbing my big breasts. "This is a break?" I shuddered. "We look like a couple of bimbos!" "Reality hurts your feelings that much?" sneered the warden. "Perhaps you'd prefer it back in your cells. Only no lawyers to visit or to fuck you either." She le